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shh, I'm an assassin. (![[info]](http://www.journalfen.net/img/userinfo.gif){kind=small} res_show) wrote,@ 2008-10-06 12:23:00 |
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Shh, I'm an Assassin - Gerard, Frank, Jimmy
Who:slithermyway - Gerard Way, stone_the_crow - Frank Iero, res_show - Jimmy Sullivan
Where: Gerard's apartment, Downey Enterprises
When: Current, October 6, 2008
There's no answer when he knocks on Iero's door, his Eagle tucked into the back of his pants (lest he blow his balls off if it's tucked in the front), but as it turns out, Way's address is on the same floor, just down the hall. Sweet. Again, he raises his fist, again he knocks, tucking his file folder under his arm and putting on his best disarming smile. "How are you gentlemen! I'm Jimmy. Shh, I'm an assassin." Much like the shirt he's wearing, that says exactly the same, obnoxious yellow cotton with black print. Subtle.
When Gerard opens the door, security is the last thing on his mind. His hair is damp, the soft cotton of his olive green t-shirt is askew, and he looks Jimmy up and down before pressing his lips together and raising his eyebrows. He blinks once, slowly, and then again as he takes a little breath in through his nose and says, in his best talking-to-strangers voice, "Mikey isn't going to be home for another few hours. Do you want me to tell him you came by?"
"Nah, dude. I'm looking for... you? And someone named Franklin?" Jimmy thumbs open the file, sees the pictures. "Do you have any beer? I need some liquid courage before I'm supposed to kill you, y'know? Not my forte. Not into blood." He shifts his weight to his other hip, looking down at Gerard. "Though I seriously don't know why I'm supposed to do this shit. Fuckin' Patton got what he deserved. And!" Going on like he and Gerard have known each other for ages, instead of a matter of moments, between a knock and a greeting. "That asshole's still alive, thanks to me. Fuck, man. If I never see another fuckin' IV again, I'll die happy. Anyway, beer?"
This time, when Gerard blinks, it sets off a chain reaction that sends his eyebrows creeping up towards his hairline, like he can't even help it. He clutches at the door post a little, just in case this guy tries to push him, and licks his lips carefully before asking, voice dead even and cold, "If you're here to kill me, why shouldn't I kill you first? I've done it before, you know."
"Dude, I know, and that's why I'm supposed to whack you, and not in the fun sexytimes kind of way. And did you notice I said supposed to kill you? 'cause I'm not gonna. I don't want to, man." Jimmy glances past Gerard, into the spacious apartment. "Can I come in or something? I- I kinda wanna talk to you about some stuff, since you're on the shitlist." He pulls the gun out from the back of his pants and holds it out to Gerard. "Seriously, take that shit as a sign of good faith. My nerves are fucking shot, you know? Fuckin' Downey shoots Patton right in the gob, and I had to clean it up. I had to donate my sweet, sweet bloods to him to bring him back to life. How gay."
With the amount of silent staring he's doing Gerard is starting to feel a little like a preying mantis, but in the face of this guy's non-stop rambling, he doesn't really know what else to do. He blinks at the gun before taking it, holding it gingerly before he figures out where the safety is and clicks it on. Then it goes next to his ashtray full of string and paper clips on his entry hall table and he takes a half step to the side, looking up at Jimmy with nothing but suspicion on his features. "Keep your voice down, Frank's sleeping. Finally. And there's beer in the fridge."
"What's wrong with him?" Jimmy asks, kicking his Dravens off and helping himself to a cold one. "Here, take this shit, too." He hands over Gerard and Frank's respective folders. "An' do you know...." Boink, another peek at Jimmy's hand-written shitlist, so he doesn't have to constantly refer to the laptop or the files he's carrying. Seriously. They want him to kill these people, and they give him fucking files to take with him. Does not compute. Apparently Lindemann's logic is not like Jimmy's earth-logic. But then again, Jimmy's logic is pretty much unlike anyone else's either. Whatever. Anyway. "...Robert Bryar? Apparently he's an affiliate of yours? Took out two of our guys. I mean, got rid of 'em. We know how they died." And he looks impressed, considering that Gerard's not very big, looks fairly soft, and much like a toddler about to go down for nappy-nap time.
Gerard flips through the folders idly as he stands, unconsciously positioned between Jimmy and where Frank is zonked out on the couch. "He has nightmares," he says, not looking up until he's satisfied himself that this guy's legitimate, and not just trying to get on their good sides before going all zap-kerpow on them, or whatever. "And you can sit at the table, since we don't really have a lot of furniture. Mikes keeps saying that he's going to buy some, but he never does. And yeah, I know Bob. He's not my affiliate, though. He's my friend."
"No shit." Jimmy parks himself at the table, taking a long drink of the beer, and belching resoundingly. "That hits the fucking spot. But yeah, no shit that he gets nightmares. He's a kid." Apparently Jimmy hasn't exactly studied his files properly, other than names, addresses, photos. "So, yeah. Apparently it's all super secret that Patton's still alive, but shit, man. I don't want his job. I'm gonna suck at it. I don't even want to be there anymore. It's like a hive." The last word comes out dark. "We live there, work there, you know? It blows. And I don't see a point in killing people just because they're like me, right?" He glances over his shoulder toward the door, at the gun by the ashtray. "You can shoot me, if you want. You can even keep the bullet as a souvenier."
Gerard squints contemplatively at Jimmy's face as he walks over and sits down carefully across the table from Jim, still putting himself between the kitchen and the rest of the open-layout apartment. Just because Jim seems like a nice enough guy doesn't mean that he wants to take any chances. Finally he says, somewhat amused, "I don't think he's that much younger than you are, you know. He just looks really young. And I don't like guns. They're so loud." He wrinkles his nose, tucking his fingers between his knees, and says in a so-calm, reasonable voice, "I'd rather work with my hands."
Jimmy holds out his hand. "Break my wrist, then. Snap it. Ulna and radius."
After only a moment's hesitation Gerard reaches out, carefully wrapping his long, delicate-looking fingers around Jim's wrist. He looks from his hand to Jim's face, his own eyes wide as he bites his lower lip, shifting his fingers carefully against the thin skin that covers the bones of Jimmy's wrist. Then quick as anything he tightens his grip, enough to make the bones grate against each other, and snaps his wrist to the side, fast enough that bone gives before the rest of Jimmy's body can shift to compensate. He lets go and crosses his hands in front of his chest, raising his eyebrows in a way that indicates, along with the delicate, almost prim press of his mouth, that he's far more interested to see what happens next than he is disturbed. "Like that?"
The only indication that it actually hurts is the way Jimmy's mouth presses into a fine line, the wince on his face, and a breath that he lets out when Gerard lets him go. "Yeah, like that." But he wiggles his fingers, hand dangling limply, and grins. "Here's the fun part." He rests his hand flat on the table for a second, two, before Gerard can see the lumps of bone where they'd been snapped straighten out, knit together. "And ta-da! Good as new. That's a pretty nifty little power you've got there, Snakemawstah." But now it's actually time for serious stuff, even as he can hear Frank mumble from the couch, shift, roll over. "He okay over there? I wanted... I wanted to talk to you about what-all's been going on. I'm gonna talk to Mr. Downey, too. I've seen some bad shit, serious, heavy shit, and I know you guys are involved. I wanna help get rid of whatever it is that Lindemann's doing, what he was using us for. You know? Testing and shit. And from the list of powers I've got, it kinda looks like the Halls of Justice, you know? Complete with a couple of girls." He pauses, brain finally catching up to what Gerard said when he opened the door. "Who's Mikes?"
"I don't see what's so nifty about it." Gerard doesn't mean to sound like he's sulking, but, well. He stands up to pour himself some tea, raking his fingers through the almost-dry mess of his hair as he looks back over his shoulder at Jimmy and raises his eyebrows pointedly. "Mikes is my brother. Like I said, he'll be back in a little while. And you don't need to talk to Robert. Whatever it is, we can handle it. There's no need to get Mr. High and Mighty involved."
"Is there issue with said Mr-High-and-Mighty?" Jimmy carves out a smile around the mouth of his bottle, glancing toward the couch again when Frank raises his head, eyes sleepy and hair snarled, Hick, Dick and Dock peeking up to see (smell) who the new person is. "Looks like your little friend's come back to the world of the living."
Frank does not look amused.
"What's your brother's power?" Jimmy continues, as if Frank's waking was absolutely nothing. "I figure since you're all inherently serpenty, then there's something up with him, too. Lemme guess... he's a biter?"
Gerard just finishes sweetening his tea as Jimmy and Frank encounter each other, and takes a sip before observing, his hips leaned back against the edge of the counter, "You're not nearly as stupid as you look, you know. And if you want shit actually accomplished without fuckin' special ops getting air lifted in or whatever the fuck, it'd probably be a good idea not to tell Robert. I'd also probably keep your involvement with Patton to yourself around him, unless you want to see just how good your super special regenerative powers of awesome are. He gets pissy where his- Where Jess is concerned."
"Is it the hair?" Jimmy makes an attempt to maul it down on top of his head, setting his beer on the table. "So you know her too, huh? Yeah, Patton nuked her a good one. Uncool man, that babe is hot. I'm gonna talk to him anyway, let him know he's on the shitlist. But if you think you can pull this mother off without him, dude. Be my guest. I can get you in." He tips his head to the side, eyes narrow. "Why did you use a possessive when it came to her? Does Downey keep her on a leash or something?"
Frank rolls off the couch and shambles toward the kitchen, briefly muttering against the side of Gerard's neck before helping himself to some of Gee's tea. "Who's this asshole?"
"He basically abducted her and now she's his, like. Live in sex kitten. Literally." Gerard curls an arm around Frank's waist without even seeming to realize that he's done it, holding him close to the side of his body as Frank finishes off the end of his mug of tea. He doesn't look away from Jimmy until after he's squinted contemplatively at him for a moment and concluded, without a trace of sarcasm, "It's mostly your face." Then he ducks his head to kiss the space just below Frank's earlobe, nuzzling against the warmth of his skin as he says quietly, "This is Jimmy. He's gonna help us kill that Patton asshole. How'd you sleep?"
"Terrible." Frank sets the cup in the sink, all but inviting Gerard into a hug, while Jimmy rolls his eyes and works on his beer. For now, Frank's content to be near Gerard, to feel the solid weight of his body, and listen to what dickhead-with-the-bad-hair has to say.
"Dude, wouldn't you, if you could? Seriously? I'd totally tap that if, like. She wasn't someone's live-in sex kitten. I'd totally take my chances." He belches again, rocking back in his chair, eying the snakes in Frank's hair with something like suspicion, even as they're doing the same to him. "Okay, man? If you're part snake, tell those little things to stop staring at me. They've got weird little google-eyes." He hefts his feet up on the chair across from him, looking from the folder with Frank's picture clipped to the outside, and to Frank himself. "So, your boyfriend here gave me a demo of what he can do. Can I get the same from you?"
"No."
"Right then. Well, Gerard Way, since Franklin-"
"Frank." Usually Frank's a morning-afternoon-evening cheerful person, but not after a nap that was jagged with dreams of stone and sledgehammers and death. Frankly (no pun intended), he's grumpy, though Gerard's touch definitely helps.
"-Frank is being a douche and doesn't want to play super-power-peekaboo, you wanna call this Bryar dude and see what we can hash out? Do you have a laptop or a computer or something I can use?"
Gerard snickers softly as he hides his nose against Frank's hair, sliding a soothing hand up Frank's back to try and get him to calm down before anything in the apartment gets a surprise granite makeover. "I'm the one who's part snake, by the way. Frank's just a gorgon, they're pretty much accessories. And you can use Mikey's laptop, if you can figure out how to make it work. I don't want you to, like, get weird counter-agent cooties on my desktop or anything. Also it's, you know... Half put together."
"Yeah. I just want something that's not going to be traced back to mine, you know? Also, you, uh. Might want to throw up a mental shield or something. Chances are good that Das Uberbitch is crawling around in at least one of you, right now, and that would mean we're all gonna be pretty fucking dead, you know?"
Frank's all but dozing off on Gerard's shoulder again, comfortable against the soft cotton of his t-shirt and his familiar cool-warm touch, so Jimmy doesn't have to worry about him. And he's not sure how much of Gerard Rebecka can read, but best to warn him, anyway.
"I don't even know where to start... I was thinking I could bring you guys in as like, my prison bitches or whatever, just to get you inside the building. Or into the lab, or whatever it is that you need to take care of, and from there... do your thing. I'll just, you know. Stay back and try not to get blood on me. Deal?"
Gerard's blink is somewhat disbelieving, and his eyebrows creep up his forehead again before he can force himself to settle and ask, somewhat amused, "You any good with that gun? It'd be useful if we didn't have to do everything ourselves. Frank gets headaches."
Frank mutters something against Gerard's shoulder, arms loose around his waist, his attention span (along with his consciousness) all but gone.
"Yeah, I'm okay with it. I mean, we're trained on this shit for self-defense or whatever. Doesn't mean I like them. And besides, what use would I have for a gun when I'm just gonna spit the bullet out anyway, you know?" Jimmy finishes his beer, picking absently at the label, and mentions, "Wanna get me that laptop?"
"It's over there," Gerard points helpfully, before curling both of his arms carefully around Frank's middle to keep him standing as he starts to snore softly against the side of Gerard's neck. He offers Jimmy a closemouthed little smile before saying quietly, "Make yourself at home."
Who:
slithermyway - Gerard Way, stone_the_crow - Frank Iero, res_show - Jimmy SullivanWhere: Gerard's apartment, Downey Enterprises
When: Current, October 6, 2008
There's no answer when he knocks on Iero's door, his Eagle tucked into the back of his pants (lest he blow his balls off if it's tucked in the front), but as it turns out, Way's address is on the same floor, just down the hall. Sweet. Again, he raises his fist, again he knocks, tucking his file folder under his arm and putting on his best disarming smile. "How are you gentlemen! I'm Jimmy. Shh, I'm an assassin." Much like the shirt he's wearing, that says exactly the same, obnoxious yellow cotton with black print. Subtle.
When Gerard opens the door, security is the last thing on his mind. His hair is damp, the soft cotton of his olive green t-shirt is askew, and he looks Jimmy up and down before pressing his lips together and raising his eyebrows. He blinks once, slowly, and then again as he takes a little breath in through his nose and says, in his best talking-to-strangers voice, "Mikey isn't going to be home for another few hours. Do you want me to tell him you came by?"
"Nah, dude. I'm looking for... you? And someone named Franklin?" Jimmy thumbs open the file, sees the pictures. "Do you have any beer? I need some liquid courage before I'm supposed to kill you, y'know? Not my forte. Not into blood." He shifts his weight to his other hip, looking down at Gerard. "Though I seriously don't know why I'm supposed to do this shit. Fuckin' Patton got what he deserved. And!" Going on like he and Gerard have known each other for ages, instead of a matter of moments, between a knock and a greeting. "That asshole's still alive, thanks to me. Fuck, man. If I never see another fuckin' IV again, I'll die happy. Anyway, beer?"
This time, when Gerard blinks, it sets off a chain reaction that sends his eyebrows creeping up towards his hairline, like he can't even help it. He clutches at the door post a little, just in case this guy tries to push him, and licks his lips carefully before asking, voice dead even and cold, "If you're here to kill me, why shouldn't I kill you first? I've done it before, you know."
"Dude, I know, and that's why I'm supposed to whack you, and not in the fun sexytimes kind of way. And did you notice I said supposed to kill you? 'cause I'm not gonna. I don't want to, man." Jimmy glances past Gerard, into the spacious apartment. "Can I come in or something? I- I kinda wanna talk to you about some stuff, since you're on the shitlist." He pulls the gun out from the back of his pants and holds it out to Gerard. "Seriously, take that shit as a sign of good faith. My nerves are fucking shot, you know? Fuckin' Downey shoots Patton right in the gob, and I had to clean it up. I had to donate my sweet, sweet bloods to him to bring him back to life. How gay."
With the amount of silent staring he's doing Gerard is starting to feel a little like a preying mantis, but in the face of this guy's non-stop rambling, he doesn't really know what else to do. He blinks at the gun before taking it, holding it gingerly before he figures out where the safety is and clicks it on. Then it goes next to his ashtray full of string and paper clips on his entry hall table and he takes a half step to the side, looking up at Jimmy with nothing but suspicion on his features. "Keep your voice down, Frank's sleeping. Finally. And there's beer in the fridge."
"What's wrong with him?" Jimmy asks, kicking his Dravens off and helping himself to a cold one. "Here, take this shit, too." He hands over Gerard and Frank's respective folders. "An' do you know...." Boink, another peek at Jimmy's hand-written shitlist, so he doesn't have to constantly refer to the laptop or the files he's carrying. Seriously. They want him to kill these people, and they give him fucking files to take with him. Does not compute. Apparently Lindemann's logic is not like Jimmy's earth-logic. But then again, Jimmy's logic is pretty much unlike anyone else's either. Whatever. Anyway. "...Robert Bryar? Apparently he's an affiliate of yours? Took out two of our guys. I mean, got rid of 'em. We know how they died." And he looks impressed, considering that Gerard's not very big, looks fairly soft, and much like a toddler about to go down for nappy-nap time.
Gerard flips through the folders idly as he stands, unconsciously positioned between Jimmy and where Frank is zonked out on the couch. "He has nightmares," he says, not looking up until he's satisfied himself that this guy's legitimate, and not just trying to get on their good sides before going all zap-kerpow on them, or whatever. "And you can sit at the table, since we don't really have a lot of furniture. Mikes keeps saying that he's going to buy some, but he never does. And yeah, I know Bob. He's not my affiliate, though. He's my friend."
"No shit." Jimmy parks himself at the table, taking a long drink of the beer, and belching resoundingly. "That hits the fucking spot. But yeah, no shit that he gets nightmares. He's a kid." Apparently Jimmy hasn't exactly studied his files properly, other than names, addresses, photos. "So, yeah. Apparently it's all super secret that Patton's still alive, but shit, man. I don't want his job. I'm gonna suck at it. I don't even want to be there anymore. It's like a hive." The last word comes out dark. "We live there, work there, you know? It blows. And I don't see a point in killing people just because they're like me, right?" He glances over his shoulder toward the door, at the gun by the ashtray. "You can shoot me, if you want. You can even keep the bullet as a souvenier."
Gerard squints contemplatively at Jimmy's face as he walks over and sits down carefully across the table from Jim, still putting himself between the kitchen and the rest of the open-layout apartment. Just because Jim seems like a nice enough guy doesn't mean that he wants to take any chances. Finally he says, somewhat amused, "I don't think he's that much younger than you are, you know. He just looks really young. And I don't like guns. They're so loud." He wrinkles his nose, tucking his fingers between his knees, and says in a so-calm, reasonable voice, "I'd rather work with my hands."
Jimmy holds out his hand. "Break my wrist, then. Snap it. Ulna and radius."
After only a moment's hesitation Gerard reaches out, carefully wrapping his long, delicate-looking fingers around Jim's wrist. He looks from his hand to Jim's face, his own eyes wide as he bites his lower lip, shifting his fingers carefully against the thin skin that covers the bones of Jimmy's wrist. Then quick as anything he tightens his grip, enough to make the bones grate against each other, and snaps his wrist to the side, fast enough that bone gives before the rest of Jimmy's body can shift to compensate. He lets go and crosses his hands in front of his chest, raising his eyebrows in a way that indicates, along with the delicate, almost prim press of his mouth, that he's far more interested to see what happens next than he is disturbed. "Like that?"
The only indication that it actually hurts is the way Jimmy's mouth presses into a fine line, the wince on his face, and a breath that he lets out when Gerard lets him go. "Yeah, like that." But he wiggles his fingers, hand dangling limply, and grins. "Here's the fun part." He rests his hand flat on the table for a second, two, before Gerard can see the lumps of bone where they'd been snapped straighten out, knit together. "And ta-da! Good as new. That's a pretty nifty little power you've got there, Snakemawstah." But now it's actually time for serious stuff, even as he can hear Frank mumble from the couch, shift, roll over. "He okay over there? I wanted... I wanted to talk to you about what-all's been going on. I'm gonna talk to Mr. Downey, too. I've seen some bad shit, serious, heavy shit, and I know you guys are involved. I wanna help get rid of whatever it is that Lindemann's doing, what he was using us for. You know? Testing and shit. And from the list of powers I've got, it kinda looks like the Halls of Justice, you know? Complete with a couple of girls." He pauses, brain finally catching up to what Gerard said when he opened the door. "Who's Mikes?"
"I don't see what's so nifty about it." Gerard doesn't mean to sound like he's sulking, but, well. He stands up to pour himself some tea, raking his fingers through the almost-dry mess of his hair as he looks back over his shoulder at Jimmy and raises his eyebrows pointedly. "Mikes is my brother. Like I said, he'll be back in a little while. And you don't need to talk to Robert. Whatever it is, we can handle it. There's no need to get Mr. High and Mighty involved."
"Is there issue with said Mr-High-and-Mighty?" Jimmy carves out a smile around the mouth of his bottle, glancing toward the couch again when Frank raises his head, eyes sleepy and hair snarled, Hick, Dick and Dock peeking up to see (smell) who the new person is. "Looks like your little friend's come back to the world of the living."
Frank does not look amused.
"What's your brother's power?" Jimmy continues, as if Frank's waking was absolutely nothing. "I figure since you're all inherently serpenty, then there's something up with him, too. Lemme guess... he's a biter?"
Gerard just finishes sweetening his tea as Jimmy and Frank encounter each other, and takes a sip before observing, his hips leaned back against the edge of the counter, "You're not nearly as stupid as you look, you know. And if you want shit actually accomplished without fuckin' special ops getting air lifted in or whatever the fuck, it'd probably be a good idea not to tell Robert. I'd also probably keep your involvement with Patton to yourself around him, unless you want to see just how good your super special regenerative powers of awesome are. He gets pissy where his- Where Jess is concerned."
"Is it the hair?" Jimmy makes an attempt to maul it down on top of his head, setting his beer on the table. "So you know her too, huh? Yeah, Patton nuked her a good one. Uncool man, that babe is hot. I'm gonna talk to him anyway, let him know he's on the shitlist. But if you think you can pull this mother off without him, dude. Be my guest. I can get you in." He tips his head to the side, eyes narrow. "Why did you use a possessive when it came to her? Does Downey keep her on a leash or something?"
Frank rolls off the couch and shambles toward the kitchen, briefly muttering against the side of Gerard's neck before helping himself to some of Gee's tea. "Who's this asshole?"
"He basically abducted her and now she's his, like. Live in sex kitten. Literally." Gerard curls an arm around Frank's waist without even seeming to realize that he's done it, holding him close to the side of his body as Frank finishes off the end of his mug of tea. He doesn't look away from Jimmy until after he's squinted contemplatively at him for a moment and concluded, without a trace of sarcasm, "It's mostly your face." Then he ducks his head to kiss the space just below Frank's earlobe, nuzzling against the warmth of his skin as he says quietly, "This is Jimmy. He's gonna help us kill that Patton asshole. How'd you sleep?"
"Terrible." Frank sets the cup in the sink, all but inviting Gerard into a hug, while Jimmy rolls his eyes and works on his beer. For now, Frank's content to be near Gerard, to feel the solid weight of his body, and listen to what dickhead-with-the-bad-hair has to say.
"Dude, wouldn't you, if you could? Seriously? I'd totally tap that if, like. She wasn't someone's live-in sex kitten. I'd totally take my chances." He belches again, rocking back in his chair, eying the snakes in Frank's hair with something like suspicion, even as they're doing the same to him. "Okay, man? If you're part snake, tell those little things to stop staring at me. They've got weird little google-eyes." He hefts his feet up on the chair across from him, looking from the folder with Frank's picture clipped to the outside, and to Frank himself. "So, your boyfriend here gave me a demo of what he can do. Can I get the same from you?"
"No."
"Right then. Well, Gerard Way, since Franklin-"
"Frank." Usually Frank's a morning-afternoon-evening cheerful person, but not after a nap that was jagged with dreams of stone and sledgehammers and death. Frankly (no pun intended), he's grumpy, though Gerard's touch definitely helps.
"-Frank is being a douche and doesn't want to play super-power-peekaboo, you wanna call this Bryar dude and see what we can hash out? Do you have a laptop or a computer or something I can use?"
Gerard snickers softly as he hides his nose against Frank's hair, sliding a soothing hand up Frank's back to try and get him to calm down before anything in the apartment gets a surprise granite makeover. "I'm the one who's part snake, by the way. Frank's just a gorgon, they're pretty much accessories. And you can use Mikey's laptop, if you can figure out how to make it work. I don't want you to, like, get weird counter-agent cooties on my desktop or anything. Also it's, you know... Half put together."
"Yeah. I just want something that's not going to be traced back to mine, you know? Also, you, uh. Might want to throw up a mental shield or something. Chances are good that Das Uberbitch is crawling around in at least one of you, right now, and that would mean we're all gonna be pretty fucking dead, you know?"
Frank's all but dozing off on Gerard's shoulder again, comfortable against the soft cotton of his t-shirt and his familiar cool-warm touch, so Jimmy doesn't have to worry about him. And he's not sure how much of Gerard Rebecka can read, but best to warn him, anyway.
"I don't even know where to start... I was thinking I could bring you guys in as like, my prison bitches or whatever, just to get you inside the building. Or into the lab, or whatever it is that you need to take care of, and from there... do your thing. I'll just, you know. Stay back and try not to get blood on me. Deal?"
Gerard's blink is somewhat disbelieving, and his eyebrows creep up his forehead again before he can force himself to settle and ask, somewhat amused, "You any good with that gun? It'd be useful if we didn't have to do everything ourselves. Frank gets headaches."
Frank mutters something against Gerard's shoulder, arms loose around his waist, his attention span (along with his consciousness) all but gone.
"Yeah, I'm okay with it. I mean, we're trained on this shit for self-defense or whatever. Doesn't mean I like them. And besides, what use would I have for a gun when I'm just gonna spit the bullet out anyway, you know?" Jimmy finishes his beer, picking absently at the label, and mentions, "Wanna get me that laptop?"
"It's over there," Gerard points helpfully, before curling both of his arms carefully around Frank's middle to keep him standing as he starts to snore softly against the side of Gerard's neck. He offers Jimmy a closemouthed little smile before saying quietly, "Make yourself at home."
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