Participants:
| Scene Title | Russian Fucking Roulette |
|---|---|
| Synopsis | Mortimer and Mister Jack don't quite have words. |
| Date | September 18 2009 |
Locos Base
"I put it all together." says Mortimer as he stands in the middle of his gadget-filled room, wearing nothing but a pair of blue jeans and some boots, holding a revolver. "You killed that guy, I don't care if he was a killer, you killed that guy and got Cassidy kidnapped you bastard! You're gonna answer for it. Russian fucking Roulette!" He drops all the bullets out of the gun except one, spins the barrel, then holds it up to his head. "Fucking fix it, fix it or I'll start shooting!"
It's hard to say if Mister Jack truly hears a thing, or if he can even watch when Mortimer is in control and just plays dumb, or, hell, maybe their subconscious knows what's best for them, but he comes out and stares at the gun. "Russian Roulette, really? And what's that for? Pissed that you can't get a girl like my Southern Belle?" With a maniacal laugh, he writes the last sentence on a chalkboard.
Back out comes Mortimer, staring at the board, then down at his gun and the changed position. "What the fuck? I don't care about that whore! You hurt Cassidy! You deserve to fucking die! What the fuck is wrong with you?!" He picks up the piece of chalk, then writes, You hurt Cassidy, sick fuck!
"Fuck you!" Mister Jack yells when he sees the chalkboard, then drops the gun and rips it down, smashing his boot into shelves, wildly tossing his things around the room as people start knocking on the door.
"You okay in there, boss?"
Mister Jack is not okay, and the newbie should know better than to ask when he's in a bad mood. The metallic door swings open, and Mister Jack leaps on to the newbie Loco and starts wildly punching him in the face. "I'm not, fucking, okay! I didn't hurt Cassidy on purpose, it's not my fucking fault, it's not my fault!
"It's your fault!" Mortimer exclaims, standing up from the guy, and Mister Jack yells again, "It's not my fault!" They go back and forward, seemingly having no communication with eachother, but both desperate to somehow convey the point to the other with more yelling.
Meanwhile, with his men standing around staring, they seem to have no idea what to do, except of course make sure he doesn't spot any guns laying around.