(Determining whether I insert myself into this or not…hm…)
He must be crazy, maybe have PTSD or something…
"Interesting," Christine dismissed it, forcing herself to not roll her eyes, but keep them on Milo. "It's…Milo, right? You've grown quite popular 'round here." Christine walked over to him and forcefully grabbed his forearm, not caring whether he went with her willingly or not.
"I'm in the blue Ford Escape," she gestures to it with her free hand, being directly outside of the bar.
"Oh, but we haven't even been on our first date," he said with a giggle, letting her drag him to the car with zero resistance.
"You know me? I guess I'm turning into a celebrity. Will I get a red carpet into my jail cell?"
"Oh, shut it, or I will use the cuffs on you. I've been nice enough already. You wouldn't like me on patrol-you're lucky I've finished with patrol today." Christine said, locking the doors once she got in. "Try not to bleed everywhere, I'll be pissed if I have to deal with another mess in my life, let alone you."
(I gtg, I'll be on tomorrow)
(Okay!)
"Oooo, cuffs? Man, you move quick in this relationship." He grinned as he sprawled across the backseat without buckling up. "Very bold, very bold indeed."
Christine was almost at her tipping point. "I swear to god I will not hesitate to shoot you again, Milo, she said, her voice kept calm as she started the engine. She adjusted the rearview mirror to allow her to see Milo, and she pulled out of the parking space after putting on her seatbelt. While driving, she purposefully went over as many potholes and bumps as she could, a slight smirk on her face.
"Woah, bumpy ride," he said, ending up on the floor of the backseat. "Could this be considered cruel and unusual punishment? 'Cause I saw someone on the news that sued the police force and they made bank."
"Smart ass," Christine scoffed, but she stopped running over bumps and such purposefully. She ponders for a bit, keeping her eyes on the road. "So, why are you so content on being arrested? Last I checked, criminals who do things like you don't go down easily."
"Someone stole my dog, and I'm too sad to really fight right now." He got back up into the seat with a grunt. "And, to be frank, your prison won't hold me for long."
He reached behind his head and began to untie the bandanna, struggling sightly. "Damn it, MotoMoto, why does it have to be tied so fucking tight?"
I'm sorry, but I have to make my posts longer and more descriptive.
"Suck a cock."
"I have doubts about your statements." Christine scowled at his last few comments. "Imaginary friend? Voices in your head? Or are you trying to screw with me?" She wasn't in the slightest surprised or offended at anything Milo had said.
Milo sighed, finally getting the bandanna untied. "No, I'm taking to the narrorator for my side of the roleplay."
Milo, shut the fuck up.
"Why?"
'Cause she doesn't know it's a roleplay, dickhead.
"Oh. Yeah, I forgot that." He turned back to Christine. "Forget everything I just said."
Okay, he's crazy. That's…great. Just go along with it, Christine. You've been through worse, she convinced herself, trying to keep her face straight.
"That's nice. You know, I have a narrator, too. Fun stuff, roleplaying. But I'm not too into it myself."
"Eh, I'm forced into this. And why are you being so nice after shooting me a few hours ago?" He poked his head into the front seats of the car. "Seems like a drastic change of opinion."
"Do you want me to be mean? Because I can-and will-be mean if I have to." Christine sighs, pulling into the police station's parking lot. "I get out first, then I'll have to handcuff you. You struggle or try to run, you get a bullet to your foot. Go peacefully and we won't have much of a problem. Deal?"
He shrugged. "Sure." He went to open the door, but found he couldn't. "Do you have childlock on or something?"
"Yes, but no, I don't have children. I have it for situations like these." Christine said, getting out and opening the door behind the driver's door. "Out. Or I can always be meaner and force you out."
"You're implying that I'm gonna run like I didn't give myself up. But," he said, sliding out of the car. "The attempted intimidation's cute."
"Like you could do any better." Christine challenged. "Besides, you're the criminal here, not me." She paused for a second after. "Shit. The building's still blown up…"
"Well, things that were blown up tend to stay that way. Newton's Law and all th-" his horrible joke was cut short by the sharp Rap! of a small pistol and the sound of tires screeching. A black Cadillac came roaring past the police station, a middle finger thrown out of the window along with a piece of paper as Milo inspected yet another gunshot in his chest.
Christine burst into action, putting herself between Milo and the shooter, simultaneously readying her gun. She took a few shots at the car, sometimes glancing worriedly at Milo. Gunshot wounds hurt like hell, she knew, and she wasn't a stranger to said hell.
He looked completely unbothered, if not a little mad. "Damn it, Ms Christian is gonna be pissed when she has to sew this shit up."
The car drove away, the piece of paper floating towards the two.
"Dammit!" The vehicle was long gone, and Christine noticed the lack of a license plate. "Motherfuckers… Okay," she turned to Milo. "You alright? You're not phased? Woozy? Nauseous?" She was caring too much and she knew it.
He was staring to get tired of her constant worry, so he decided a demonstration was needed. Before she could protest, he snatched the gun from her hands and put it to the side of his head, shutting his eyes tight and squeezing the trigger.
"Ow, fuck!" He said, tossing the gun aside and putting a hand over the bullet hole right beside his hairline. "I am immortal, for fucks sake. I'll be fine, it'll heal in a couple of minutes."
"What? No. Don't-shit! What the hell?" Her words came out rushed, and she stopped when Christine finally noticed that he wasn't dead.
"Wait, so you can-haha! Yes! I'm not. Fucking. Alone! I'm sorry, I'm so used to seeing people die, I've just never…" Christine was a mix of apologetic and giddy. "Just, thanks for not dying."
(I honestly had no idea how to respond, so I did the best I could)