gotitwrong: (i kissed her right there outta the blue)
COMM: break in
VERSE: canon
WORD COUNT: 841



It was something he learned as a kid.

Ray stalked around the car, tapping his knuckles on the hood and roof as he passed them by. He hadn't had reason to do this often - he usually hotwired his own car when he lost his keys, or in very, very rare cases, hotwiring the Cortina because Gene was somewhere without it, and the call had come in to get the hell where Gene was. Employing that little used, but well honed talent, on something other than the Guv's car and his piece of shit one was a right treat.

He stopped at the driver's side door and jiggled the handle to no avail. He smiled to himself. Getting to smash in a window was always fun to do, and he removed his jacket to wind it around his elbow. Windows never broke in movies, Ray knew that, but he also knew how to break them. Ray aimed his elbow at one spot in his window, pulled it back, then slammed it down with all the force he could muster.

Pain spiked up his arm, but the glass cracked and began to give. Ray gave it one last smash and the window collapsed in, little bits and pieces folding inwards like some weird sheet. He stuck his hand in and yanked open the door. He brushed his hand across the seat and flopped in without much care. It was just a matter of getting things open to get at the wire, and that was a piece of cake.

Plus, he came prepared. All he needed was a screwdriver, and bam, it was open, providing him access to all the wires he needed. He tapped the ashes of his fag out the broken window, cracked his fingers, and got to the delicate work of hotwiring. A wire here, one crossed there. All and all it was confusing work for anyone who didn't know jack shit about cars and theft.

"Carling? What're you up to?"

Ray lifted his head up calmly, and flashed a smooth, guilt-free smile at the man. "Just messin' around, Tony. Figured you weren't usin' this junker for anythin', and it were me day off."

Tony sat down on the hood and smirked. "Thought you weren't into that anymore."

He crossed another wire and the engine roared to life. "Nah. Still into it, just can't do it. Guv'd have my head if I went 'round stealing cars." Ray slid back out of the car to speak to the man face to face.

Tony was a dark haired, wiry, shady sort of bloke dressed in grease covered overalls. He owned the car, he owned the other cars around the lot, and worked as a mechanic as a hobby. The man clapped Ray on his shoulder and tried to lift Ray's cigarettes off him with his other hand. Before he cleaned up his act, Ray remembered, he was an ace pickpocket. Ray stole cars, and Tony stole wallets.

"You coulda told me you were coming to visit," Tony said as he removed both his hands, Ray's pack of cigs in one of them. "I could have done something about that piece of shit you drive."

Ray laughed and snatched his pack from Tony's hand. "Yeah, maybe. But I wasn't really gonna make it a social visit." He tapped two cigarettes out and passed one to his old mate. "Just needed to see if I could still do it on sommat other than my car."

"Oh, so you were gonna make me out like the poor folks you used to steal from, eh?" He snatched the cig from his hand and produced Ray's lighter from apparently nowhere, causing Ray's ire to rise a bit. "I'm hurt, Carling. I thought we were mates."

"I think you're bein' a bit of a hypocrite, Tony," Ray said, taking his lighter back. "Your motor's still here. And I'm the one havin' to get my stuff back."

Tony took a deep drag. "So where's the kid what runs with you now? That Skelton bloke."

Ray shrugged. "Visitin' his mum."

"Momma's boy, huh? Sounds like a shite excuse for a copper."

His smile went from something amiable to something almost more sinister, just a bit more disturbed. "You insult him, you insult me, Tony. I'd watch your tongue if I were you."

"Hey, hey, no offense meant, Carling. I were just sayin'-"

"What you were sayin' is 'I'm a twonk who never learned to shut his bloody mouth'." Tony held his hands up in surrender, and Ray let it go, tossing his old fag to the ground and replacing it with the one he had tapped out only moments before. "How much to replace the window?"

Tony shrugged. "Don't worry 'bout it. S'just a window."

"You sure?"

"Yeah. Ain't gonna cause me a problem."

Ray grinned and slung his arm around Tony. "How 'bout we get out of here and have us some fun? Almost like old times."

Tony tilted his head to the side, then nodded. "Like old times."
gotitwrong: (down at the juke joint)
COMM: [livejournal.com profile] justprompts - Lost
VERSE: [livejournal.com profile] realityshifted
WORD COUNT: 713


Ever since things had gone right to hell, Ray had been even rougher on the people he knocked around. He never said why, never made any mention of anything, but it was plain to see that he put more force in his punches, in his strangleholds, in his restraints. He seemed just barely on the verge of snapping and doing permanent damage to whatever poor sod found himself on the receiving end - and Ray knew it.

The bloke who was now sporting a broken nose was starting to realise it a bit as well. It wasn't an interrogation, and the violence that Ray was using was uncalled for, but he didn't particularly care. The man had pissed him the hell off, and Ray was going to do whatever he felt like, especially if it meant turning the man's face into a bloody pulp. He didn't even know the man's name. It wasn't important. Not nearly as important as throwing an arm up to block a punch, then using his other to send a blow to the gut back to his opponent.

The man doubled over, and Ray grabbed him by his shoulders then proceeded to yank him upright. Ray took only a moment to look the man in the eyes before he smashed his head against his victim's. The shock and pain tore through his skull, but he ignored it as he threw the man to the ground seconds after.

Ray managed to get a few kicks in before someone dragged him away; he was sorely tempted to start being the shit out of them as well, but decided against it. His hands were already a bit sore, and his head was aching. He was better off calling it quits for now - if he felt like continuing, he was pretty sure he could find both of them to finish the job.

* * *


He was still brimming with the need to hit something when he got home. He slammed the door behind him, which was enough to snap Chris (who was sitting on the couch, staring blankly at the wall) out of his stupor. Ray didn't pay him any mind and ignored the curious stare and simply stalked by, headed off to his room.

Ray stood directly facing the wall and drew back his fist. With one quick motion, he slammed it into where he knew there was a stud, and was rewarded with the painful shock of flesh, muscle, and bone against a good, solid wall. He drew his fist back, and hit it again. Again. Again. Eventually, the pain started to fade away as it was replaced with adrenaline, and all he focused on was the hard sound of his blows hitting the wall.

He didn't want to think about things. It was nicer to just indulge in violence. Thinking about it made him feel weaker, like something had been taken from him, though he couldn't pinpoint what exactly. Thinking about it meant-

He smashed his hand into the wall again, leaving a small smear of black.

What the hell did it mean, anyway? If he thought about it, was he admitting he was weak? Because shit, he knew he wasn't. It wasn't his fault. It wasn't as if he had any way of-

Ray threw his fist again and fixed his eyes on the growing smear of black. It didn't look like blood - blood was red, blood flowed differently, blood smeared on walls differently, he wasn't bleeding. It reminded him more of motor oil than anything else; motor oil some queer tossed glitter in or something.

He seethed through his teeth and continued with the assault. Ray picked up the speed, turning his stuttering blows into a furious staccato, and with each hit the black on the wall spread. It wasn't blood; he was fine. His hands felt the thud and the dampness, but none of it came together to register that he was bleeding.

"...Ray?"

Ray stiffened at Chris' voice, but didn't turn. Neither did he throw his fist again, holding it back for now. His reply was half snarled. "What?"

"You... okay? I were just... well- I were just wonderin', 'cause you didn't say anythin', then-"

"'m fine. Nothin' you need to worry 'bout."

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Ray Carling

June 2010

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