Post by Craven on Nov 17, 2015 23:22:17 GMT -6
Driving around time in his beat-up black sedan, Warrick Craven pats just enough attention to avoid crashing into anything in evening traffic. The next line stays green and he continues on watching as storefront after storefront speeds by him. He weaves around two white SUVs and a shuttle van from the MGM Grand and then makes a left turn into the parking lot of a crumbling warehouse that looks abandoned. Merlyn “Rocket” Harper walks up to the passenger side, pops the door open and moves into the vehicle.
Craven: Find anything?
Rocket shakes his head as he pulls the door closed.
Merlyn "Rocket" Harper: That we wanted to find? No…
Craven nods as he puts the car into gear and pulls back out into traffic.
Craven: Nothing on Sky?
Rocket shakes his head.
Merlyn "Rocket" Harper: No, but you were right about Brit. She’s probably acting out off the books again.
Craven grits his teeth.
Craven: Damn…
Exhaling heavily, he shakes his head even as a candy apple red corvette swings in front of them, a vanity plate helpfully announcing the driver as “Flthy Rch.” As they are forced to slow down rather than smash into the corvette, Rocket shakes his head in disgust.
Merlyn "Rocket" Harper: Why do they get plates like that?
Craven snickers, glad for the change of subject.
Craven: That guy’s a regular over at the Luxor and Mandalay. His name’s Richardson, used to be a dealer once upon a time at the Excalibur until he won big on some prop bet on a Mayweather fight.
Rocket frowns, nodding slowly as they watch the corvette narrowly miss a rustbucket station wagon that bore a remarkable resemblance to the one the Griswolds drove in the movies.
Merlyn "Rocket" Harper: I thought they didn’t let that happen?
Craven shrugs.
Craven: I think he made the bet out of state on some reservation and they let it stand. The guy quit his job and started acting like he’s a high roller. He became a regular player, just enough to make sure everybody knows he’s coming in but he stays away from the big games. Tends to drink enough to make it worth their while though.
Rocket nods as the corvette turns off towards the strip.
Merlyn "Rocket" Harper: He come to the PD any?
Craven nods as they turn in the opposite direction.
Craven: Like playing with the twins.
Rocket chuckles.
Merlyn "Rocket" Harper: Are you sure they’re not playing with him?
Craven shrugs again.
Craven: Oh, I know they are. They always hit me up for some extra help to keep the party going with him because they know he’s gonna wanna go longer than he really can.
Rocket shakes his head, snickering at the idea.
Merlyn "Rocket" Harper: We seem to get a lot of those, don’t we?
Craven nods as they pull into the driveway of the house they share with their respective girlfriends and Brittany Conway.
Craven: The girls tend to call them “whales” the same way the casinos do.
Rocket nods and then glances to their neighbor’s house two doors down.
Merlyn "Rocket" Harper: I told Mrs. Dallas I’d help her with her oven before work today.
Craven nods, smiling proudly.
Craven: It’s nice of you to help her out now that Otis is gone. You go on, I’ll be inside. Gonna check a few things and a catch a shower before we go back to the PD.
Rocket nods, pops open the door and makes his way towards their neighbor’s house. Craven watches him go down and disappear into the house before even taking off his own seat belt. He reaches down between the seats, opens his goodie box and pops a pill from it. He closes the box, swallows the pill and then opens the driver’s side door. Stepping out from the car, he glances around to take in the afternoon air. Walking forward from the car, he looks up at the house, staring at it as if he's never been here before in his life. He reaches out for the handle of the front door with his right hand but stops short, making a fist just above it before allowing his hand to drop back to his side. Staring at the door and looking at it's aged creases and divots from the various owners and tenants scurrying by and inadvertently damaging it over the years, he takes a deep breath and reaches out again, pausing to catch the bag hanging over his shoulder to keep it from tumbling to the concrete walkway. He closes his eyes and leans forward, resting his forehead against the door to catch his breath. As he stands there, the old lady from next door on the left steps out onto her own front step, probably on her way to her weekly bingo game at the church two blocks away. She sees him standing there, head against the door and frowns, worried, looking quite motherly.
Lady: Warrick? Warrick Craven? Are you ok?
Craven stands up straight, startled and embarrassed.
Craven: Yeah, I'm fine, Mrs. Teller, thanks...
The lady nods, smiling sweetly and walks on to her small silver Volkswagen Beetle, firing the car up and disappearing as quickly as she had appeared on the scene and Craven goes back to staring at the door in front of him. He reaches down for the doorknob again, this time managing to grip it. He tries to turn it but finds himself frozen in place. Releasing the knob, he raises the hand up as if to knock and places his fist against the door.
Craven: Come on, Ricky... it's only your life...
He leans back away from the door, standing up straight and taking a deep breath. He reaches over, grasps the knob and turns it. He gives it a shove and the door slowly opens, creaking like an old horror movie scene come to life. He nods slowly and steps through the threshold, reaching back and closing the door behind him. He walks over to the couch, sets the bag down onto it gently and then looks around the living room. Rocket's baseball cap sits on the mostly empty bookcase, a picture of all five occupants sitting next to it in a silver frame bought specifically for the picture it holds. He shakes his head and wanders over to the fridge, getting a beer out and walking back to the living room. He sets it down on the giant spool coffee table and starts to sit down before the picture catches his eye again.
Craven: What am I gonna do, Skadi?
Sighing heavily, he allows himself to sit deeply into the cushions of the red couch that matches nothing else in the entire house.
Craven: Sin and Brit don’t know what to do at work without you. Sin’s started using more and Brit’s gonna get herself in trouble again working outside the PD over you and Ember being gone.
As he trails off into contemplation, the silence is broken by a chime from his cellphone. He shakes his head as his focus remains on the picture even while he retrieves the phone from his right pocket.
Craven: Where are you, Skadi? Who has you?
Glancing down, he checks to see what the phone was screaming about and nods at the notifications.
Craven: Spam… spam…
Shaking his head, he almost laughs at the various ads being sent to his inbox. He deletes them off and then checks his other boxes, finally coming across Michael Rivers’s promo. As Michael starts into it, Craven’s jaw slowly starts to drop. Words come from Michael and Craven’s mouth opens further and further. As the promo comes to an end, Craven has made it to his feet. Suddenly the phone falls from his hand as tears start in his eyes. His entire body starts to tremble as a banshee wail wells up in his throat, threatening to explode forth as he falls to his knees. Just as he makes impact with the floor, the front door opens and Rocket starts inside.
Merlyn "Rocket" Harper: Hey, Dub, Mrs. Dallas wants…
The scream finally finds it’s way out of Craven’s mouth and Rocket rushes over to him, the door falling closed behind him.
Merlyn "Rocket" Harper: Dub? DUB!?!!?
Rocket stops short, unsure of what he should do as Craven sits on his knees shaking. Craven’s starts crawling back, bumping the table and knocking the beer off. It falls and douses him but his gaze remains laser focused on the phone sitting just a few feet away from him.
Merlyn "Rocket" Harper: Dub? What happened? What is it? DUB?
Craven barely blinks.
Craven: He… he…
Rocket glances over at the phone and moves quickly to pick it up.
Merlyn "Rocket" Harper: What happened?
He checks to the last message and watches the Michael promo. As it finishes, Craven nods slowly.
Craven: That’s the second time…
Rocket nods knowingly.
Merlyn "Rocket" Harper: What is he talking about?
Craven pulls his hands to his face, folding them as if in prayer and placing them over his mouth and nose so that the tips split the difference between his eyes.
Craven: I’ve asked myself… who? what?
His hands lower and he looks up to his younger brother.
Craven: It’s her, Rocket… it’s gotta be her!
Rocket frowns, confused and just a little scared. Glancing down at the phone, Rocket cocks his head to the left, wary of what might be coming next.
Merlyn "Rocket" Harper: How… ?
Craven nods almost frantically to the phone.
Craven: Listen to him again, Merl. He’s talking about her…
Rocket shakes his head.
Merlyn "Rocket" Harper: He could be talking about anything, Dub. He likes to screw with people’s heads and everybody knows you, Fraser and Vega haven’t been…
Craven cuts him off.
Craven: No, listen to him, Merl. He’s never out of control except when he talks about me like that. He’s talked to her, Merl, tried to convert her or…
Shrugging, Craven manages to sit up on his knees again.
Craven: He’s seen her or knows where she is!
Rocket shrugs.
Merlyn "Rocket" Harper: I don’t know, Dub. Maybe he just sees the parallels between you and him and Sky and his Miss Dollie. You gotta admit, it’s almost scary how close y’all are that way.
Craven squeezes his fist and shakes his head.
Craven: Something is up there, Merl… there’s gotta be…
Rocket shrugs.
Merlyn "Rocket" Harper: Well, maybe there is and maybe there ain’t, but you can’t go losing your head the way Fraser has of you wanna get to the bottom of it.
Craven stares at the phone for a second and then nods.
Craven: You’re right.
He nods some more and then slowly stands up straight, his shirt sticking to him from the beer.
Craven: Ok… what do i need to do… ?
As the gears start turning in his head, Rocket can’t help but grin.
Merlyn "Rocket" Harper: Well, now you definitely need a shower, Dub. You’re gonna smell like Dude’s microbrew all night if you don’t.
Craven slowly breaks into a smile and nods ashamedly.
Craven: Yeah, I spose I should.
Rocket walks over and hugs his brother before handing him back his phone.
Merlyn "Rocket" Harper: Don’t worry, Dub, you’ll find her. You always do.
Craven nods as he glances down at the floor.
Craven: Man, she’s gonna kill me when she comes home…
Rocket nods.
Merlyn "Rocket" Harper: I’ll take care of that, you go on and get that alcohol smell out your hair.
Craven nods and wanders off as Rocket sets to cleaning up a spill like he has a thousand times before.
Craven: Find anything?
Rocket shakes his head as he pulls the door closed.
Merlyn "Rocket" Harper: That we wanted to find? No…
Craven nods as he puts the car into gear and pulls back out into traffic.
Craven: Nothing on Sky?
Rocket shakes his head.
Merlyn "Rocket" Harper: No, but you were right about Brit. She’s probably acting out off the books again.
Craven grits his teeth.
Craven: Damn…
Exhaling heavily, he shakes his head even as a candy apple red corvette swings in front of them, a vanity plate helpfully announcing the driver as “Flthy Rch.” As they are forced to slow down rather than smash into the corvette, Rocket shakes his head in disgust.
Merlyn "Rocket" Harper: Why do they get plates like that?
Craven snickers, glad for the change of subject.
Craven: That guy’s a regular over at the Luxor and Mandalay. His name’s Richardson, used to be a dealer once upon a time at the Excalibur until he won big on some prop bet on a Mayweather fight.
Rocket frowns, nodding slowly as they watch the corvette narrowly miss a rustbucket station wagon that bore a remarkable resemblance to the one the Griswolds drove in the movies.
Merlyn "Rocket" Harper: I thought they didn’t let that happen?
Craven shrugs.
Craven: I think he made the bet out of state on some reservation and they let it stand. The guy quit his job and started acting like he’s a high roller. He became a regular player, just enough to make sure everybody knows he’s coming in but he stays away from the big games. Tends to drink enough to make it worth their while though.
Rocket nods as the corvette turns off towards the strip.
Merlyn "Rocket" Harper: He come to the PD any?
Craven nods as they turn in the opposite direction.
Craven: Like playing with the twins.
Rocket chuckles.
Merlyn "Rocket" Harper: Are you sure they’re not playing with him?
Craven shrugs again.
Craven: Oh, I know they are. They always hit me up for some extra help to keep the party going with him because they know he’s gonna wanna go longer than he really can.
Rocket shakes his head, snickering at the idea.
Merlyn "Rocket" Harper: We seem to get a lot of those, don’t we?
Craven nods as they pull into the driveway of the house they share with their respective girlfriends and Brittany Conway.
Craven: The girls tend to call them “whales” the same way the casinos do.
Rocket nods and then glances to their neighbor’s house two doors down.
Merlyn "Rocket" Harper: I told Mrs. Dallas I’d help her with her oven before work today.
Craven nods, smiling proudly.
Craven: It’s nice of you to help her out now that Otis is gone. You go on, I’ll be inside. Gonna check a few things and a catch a shower before we go back to the PD.
Rocket nods, pops open the door and makes his way towards their neighbor’s house. Craven watches him go down and disappear into the house before even taking off his own seat belt. He reaches down between the seats, opens his goodie box and pops a pill from it. He closes the box, swallows the pill and then opens the driver’s side door. Stepping out from the car, he glances around to take in the afternoon air. Walking forward from the car, he looks up at the house, staring at it as if he's never been here before in his life. He reaches out for the handle of the front door with his right hand but stops short, making a fist just above it before allowing his hand to drop back to his side. Staring at the door and looking at it's aged creases and divots from the various owners and tenants scurrying by and inadvertently damaging it over the years, he takes a deep breath and reaches out again, pausing to catch the bag hanging over his shoulder to keep it from tumbling to the concrete walkway. He closes his eyes and leans forward, resting his forehead against the door to catch his breath. As he stands there, the old lady from next door on the left steps out onto her own front step, probably on her way to her weekly bingo game at the church two blocks away. She sees him standing there, head against the door and frowns, worried, looking quite motherly.
Lady: Warrick? Warrick Craven? Are you ok?
Craven stands up straight, startled and embarrassed.
Craven: Yeah, I'm fine, Mrs. Teller, thanks...
The lady nods, smiling sweetly and walks on to her small silver Volkswagen Beetle, firing the car up and disappearing as quickly as she had appeared on the scene and Craven goes back to staring at the door in front of him. He reaches down for the doorknob again, this time managing to grip it. He tries to turn it but finds himself frozen in place. Releasing the knob, he raises the hand up as if to knock and places his fist against the door.
Craven: Come on, Ricky... it's only your life...
He leans back away from the door, standing up straight and taking a deep breath. He reaches over, grasps the knob and turns it. He gives it a shove and the door slowly opens, creaking like an old horror movie scene come to life. He nods slowly and steps through the threshold, reaching back and closing the door behind him. He walks over to the couch, sets the bag down onto it gently and then looks around the living room. Rocket's baseball cap sits on the mostly empty bookcase, a picture of all five occupants sitting next to it in a silver frame bought specifically for the picture it holds. He shakes his head and wanders over to the fridge, getting a beer out and walking back to the living room. He sets it down on the giant spool coffee table and starts to sit down before the picture catches his eye again.
Craven: What am I gonna do, Skadi?
Sighing heavily, he allows himself to sit deeply into the cushions of the red couch that matches nothing else in the entire house.
Craven: Sin and Brit don’t know what to do at work without you. Sin’s started using more and Brit’s gonna get herself in trouble again working outside the PD over you and Ember being gone.
As he trails off into contemplation, the silence is broken by a chime from his cellphone. He shakes his head as his focus remains on the picture even while he retrieves the phone from his right pocket.
Craven: Where are you, Skadi? Who has you?
Glancing down, he checks to see what the phone was screaming about and nods at the notifications.
Craven: Spam… spam…
Shaking his head, he almost laughs at the various ads being sent to his inbox. He deletes them off and then checks his other boxes, finally coming across Michael Rivers’s promo. As Michael starts into it, Craven’s jaw slowly starts to drop. Words come from Michael and Craven’s mouth opens further and further. As the promo comes to an end, Craven has made it to his feet. Suddenly the phone falls from his hand as tears start in his eyes. His entire body starts to tremble as a banshee wail wells up in his throat, threatening to explode forth as he falls to his knees. Just as he makes impact with the floor, the front door opens and Rocket starts inside.
Merlyn "Rocket" Harper: Hey, Dub, Mrs. Dallas wants…
The scream finally finds it’s way out of Craven’s mouth and Rocket rushes over to him, the door falling closed behind him.
Merlyn "Rocket" Harper: Dub? DUB!?!!?
Rocket stops short, unsure of what he should do as Craven sits on his knees shaking. Craven’s starts crawling back, bumping the table and knocking the beer off. It falls and douses him but his gaze remains laser focused on the phone sitting just a few feet away from him.
Merlyn "Rocket" Harper: Dub? What happened? What is it? DUB?
Craven barely blinks.
Craven: He… he…
Rocket glances over at the phone and moves quickly to pick it up.
Merlyn "Rocket" Harper: What happened?
He checks to the last message and watches the Michael promo. As it finishes, Craven nods slowly.
Craven: That’s the second time…
Rocket nods knowingly.
Merlyn "Rocket" Harper: What is he talking about?
Craven pulls his hands to his face, folding them as if in prayer and placing them over his mouth and nose so that the tips split the difference between his eyes.
Craven: I’ve asked myself… who? what?
His hands lower and he looks up to his younger brother.
Craven: It’s her, Rocket… it’s gotta be her!
Rocket frowns, confused and just a little scared. Glancing down at the phone, Rocket cocks his head to the left, wary of what might be coming next.
Merlyn "Rocket" Harper: How… ?
Craven nods almost frantically to the phone.
Craven: Listen to him again, Merl. He’s talking about her…
Rocket shakes his head.
Merlyn "Rocket" Harper: He could be talking about anything, Dub. He likes to screw with people’s heads and everybody knows you, Fraser and Vega haven’t been…
Craven cuts him off.
Craven: No, listen to him, Merl. He’s never out of control except when he talks about me like that. He’s talked to her, Merl, tried to convert her or…
Shrugging, Craven manages to sit up on his knees again.
Craven: He’s seen her or knows where she is!
Rocket shrugs.
Merlyn "Rocket" Harper: I don’t know, Dub. Maybe he just sees the parallels between you and him and Sky and his Miss Dollie. You gotta admit, it’s almost scary how close y’all are that way.
Craven squeezes his fist and shakes his head.
Craven: Something is up there, Merl… there’s gotta be…
Rocket shrugs.
Merlyn "Rocket" Harper: Well, maybe there is and maybe there ain’t, but you can’t go losing your head the way Fraser has of you wanna get to the bottom of it.
Craven stares at the phone for a second and then nods.
Craven: You’re right.
He nods some more and then slowly stands up straight, his shirt sticking to him from the beer.
Craven: Ok… what do i need to do… ?
As the gears start turning in his head, Rocket can’t help but grin.
Merlyn "Rocket" Harper: Well, now you definitely need a shower, Dub. You’re gonna smell like Dude’s microbrew all night if you don’t.
Craven slowly breaks into a smile and nods ashamedly.
Craven: Yeah, I spose I should.
Rocket walks over and hugs his brother before handing him back his phone.
Merlyn "Rocket" Harper: Don’t worry, Dub, you’ll find her. You always do.
Craven nods as he glances down at the floor.
Craven: Man, she’s gonna kill me when she comes home…
Rocket nods.
Merlyn "Rocket" Harper: I’ll take care of that, you go on and get that alcohol smell out your hair.
Craven nods and wanders off as Rocket sets to cleaning up a spill like he has a thousand times before.
