“Safety first. What are you? FIVE?” seems Claudio to me
Johnny folds himself into the passenger seat with a scowl mean enough to spook a Rottweiler and spends about five minutes pointedly adjusting the seat. Claudio pretends to be scrolling his Twitter feed and doesn’t even dignify the display with a look. He only glances over when he hears the exaggerated sound of the seatbelt clicking into place. Johnny shifts around, tugging at the belt, trying to get comfortable.
“If you’re so damn uncomfortable, leave the seatbelt off,” Claudio suggests in what he considers a perfectly reasonable tone, pushing the button to stow away the glass roof and pressing the other button to start the Roadster.
“Safety first,” Johnny replies haughtily, patting his gelled hair and hoping it won’t all go to shit when the wind hit it.
“Safety– What are you, five?” Claudio snorts laughter, peeling away from the curb, but without the customary squeal of tires that one would expect. Tesla didn’t roll like that. “Safety first. You forget you literally participate in gang warfare for fun?”
“Because that is fun, idiot. Flying headfirst through your stupid car’s windshield at a cool 80 em-pee-aitch ain’t.”
“Also maybe if you didn’t literally eat, shit, and sleep at the gym you’d be able to fit into my fly ass, sleek ass, not-at-all-stupid car.” Claudio pulls up Safeword on the built-in GPS, and no sooner had he mapped the route than he heard reggaeton blasting from a vehicle approaching the upcoming intersection.
“Knew it,” Claudio mutters, “just fucking knew it. Goddamn Luchadores can’t ever take a night off.”
The jeep spots them as they zoom through the intersection, and immediately veers in their direction. Claudio counts five jacked-up Luchadores in his rearview, and he’s more than pretty sure they’d have company soon enough… but not yet.
Claudio sighs, seeing the bridge approaching.“Johnny. You got a rubber band?”
“What?”
“Answer the fuckin question.”
“Yeah, I got a fuckin rubber band. Why?”
“Tie my hair back.”
The Luchadores open fire. Claudio veers around a corner and their shots go wide. Johnny, who could sometimes ask stupid questions but usually didn’t make a habit out of it, takes off his seatbelt, reaches over, and briskly pulls Claudio’s hair back. While he’s securing it with the rubber band, Claudio seamlessly shifts the Roadster to auto-drive mode, and when Johnny’s finished he reaches behind the seat and pulls out his sleek new rocket launcher – deep red, to match the car. Everything’s gotta match.
“Unbelievable,” Johnny mutters as Claudio hops up in his seat and turns around, his back against the edge of the windshield, his butt almost touching the steering wheel but not quite. He plants himself in his seat as the Luchadores start shooting again, and humps the rocket launcher up onto his shoulder.
“In conclusion, fuck safety,” he cackles as he lets loose.
[drabble challenge]
