ＦＵＣＫ ＹＯＵ ！

i absolutely hate this

why didn’t the crash just fucking kill him. 

he’s frequently heard the words ‘good luck’ tossed around in sentences with his name in them, but it’s a little difficult to see that point of view when said good luck leaves a flaming bag of dog shit on his porch –

wrists rubbed raw, shoulder set improperly and crooked in an unnatural angle due to the restraints keeping his back flushed against a pole. burns and abrasions. it’s not a great position to be in, but he’s gotten out of tougher corners before. patience. that’s what he needs. he needs to be patient for an opening. or for dehydration to just take him under and drown out this fucker’s BABBLING.

❛ you thought that was entertaining? ❜ frank cracks open an eye despite what the pounding in his skull is telling him, and he has to blink away sweat just to properly see vaas. there’s little comfort to be found when the world, for a split second, tips. ❛ don’t have much to do around here, huh? ❜ the gun is as emotive as it’s handler; cold, flopping around, once second it’s a deadly threat and the next it’s bouncing towards the air. idiot. maybe vaas will save frank the trouble and shoot himself.

elation overcomes him when he spies frank’s eyes. excited to see them reflect the same somber intensity his stiff posture projects. vaas catches the tip of his tongue between sharp teeth. it was obvious his captive was conscious ( no sane person monologues to an empty room ), but it’s great to see him finally join the fucking party. he hunkers down, slowly shifting from one side to the other upon his perch. the grin he wears settles into a more casual amusement while he explores just how fixed frank’s gaze is.

❝ you come here dick first and kill the head gilipollas, and most his guys. not only have you solved half of my problems, you have PERSONALLY put me in charge, hermano. how is that not entertaining? ❞

his dilated stare falls vacant and his jaw slacks just slightly. a smoke-raw, dry laugh punches past his teeth. ❝ no, no, no, no, no. i have plenty of shit to do, especially since SOMEONE gave me the keys to the fucking kingdom. but here i am, talking to you like a human being. ❞ the wooden crate squeals in relief as vaas hops down to his feet. ❝ — because, you see, that’s what you are. not some force of fucking nature. not america’s god of vengeance. ❞

          ❝ you’re a very rude fuckin’ guest, you know that? ❞ unusually cold metal scrapes against the base of his skull, vaas satisfying more than one itch with the nose of a pistol. ❝ i invite you into my camp, i give you food and water, a spot in the shade --- AND YOU FUCK WITH MY SHIT! ❞ rage simmers from the surface and his tension goes lax.

raising his hands in surrender, he spins on his heels and flattens a hand against his chest. ❝ but you know what? i’m gonna forgive you. why? because i’m a nice guy. and i get it, okay? i understand. YOU ARE ANGRY. for once in your life you don’t have the bigger dick and that. is. unacceptable. ❞ commonplace this side of the islands, but understandable.

          a lot of people have come to his island. a lot. many, many, many fucking people. but this? this is bizarre. UNEXPECTED... and vaas appreciates that. in fact, he downright cherishes it. ❝ who are you, huh? what is all, ❞ a sharp whistle follows his appraising finger, ❝ of this? ❞ that same finger swirls in the air before landing on the helmet’s visor. one becomes another, and another until he’s palming plastic and kevlar. a dubious sound bubbles behind his teeth.