Log:Thing 1 and Thing 2
In the park beneath the pavilions there are a number of picnic tables and on one of them, his booted feet on the bench, is Morrison. He has a clove between his fingers, and he lifts it to his lips every so often to let the smoke trail away from his lips. The boys have been dropped off to work on something with some friends, and so for a little while, he has some time to himself where he's not driving them around or watching over them.
Is she stalking him? Nah, there just ain't that much to do in this town, at least according to George. Today's fun is perhaps hinted at by the metallic clink when she shifts her bag and the dusting of neon pink spray paint on the hem of her too-short skirt. Something has been redecorated in the park, although at the moment, she's just sauntering by, sipping rather blatantly from a paper bag. Spotting Morrison, she 'huhs' to herself and then veers that way. "Where's Thing 1 and Thing 2?" she asks, having noticed he's been spending rather a lot of time with the twins.
"Studying, or .. working on the paper, or yearbook, or.. whatever else they're working on," Morrison says with a shrug of his shoulders. He doesn't much care what they're doing so long as he knows where they are. He takes another drag off of his clove and then pulls out the pack, offering it in her direction. "What're you up to?"
George caps her paper bag and stows it away beside the can of spray paint, before helping herself to an offered clove. "Nothing. Bored," she admits with a shrug of her shoulders, as she hops up onto the table beside him. "Just finished a little artwork." She gestures vaguely off into the distance. "So... you're the chauffeur now, or is it just some weird bonding thing?" She's, as they say, out of the loop.
Morrison pulls out his lighter and tosses it over to her when she sits down on the table next to him. He glances off in the direction that she gestures, but doesn't seem to expect to see what it is that she's been redecorating from where they sit. He nods, and then takes another drag off of his clove. "They got themselves mixed up with this Painkiller gang that is getting a bunch of kids hooked on some really fucked up drugs, which is why they're a mess right now. And these folks are bad news. They've already killed one person, as far as we can tell, and are hunting down Hector and Cash. I'm making sure we detox them, and that they don't get dragged back in for another hit of whatever it is they're hooked on."
George catches the lighter and sparks it up, taking her time to light the clove while she considers this information, weighs it over. "Well shit," she finally replies, expelling a long stream of smoke. "That's fucked up, and not in a good way." She offers him back the lighter, squinting out at the horizon for another moment to think. "Even I don't mess with that shit." And she'll try pretty much anything at least once. "So you're babysitter until the mess blows over? Lucky you."
Morrison takes the lighter back and tucks it back into his pocket, "Dumbasses." He rubs a bit at his face. "Yeah, pretty much. Theodore and I pretty much have them under house arrest until this is over. In the meantime, this gang could come after them if they don't go back when called. So, it's going to be ugly for a while." He shakes his head and looks over at her, "Do not.. take any drugged wine.. from anyone. You want booze, I will buy it for you." He glances at her bag where that capped bottle is. "Sealed containers only. Got it?"
"'When called'? Fuck, this gang doesn't mess around, huh." George muses that as she flicks some ash off into the wind. "You let me know if you need muscle," she offers, flexing a very bony arm and smirking faintly, before it fades back into a more serious expression. "Seriously though, if I can help. I mean, I've dealt with some sketchy dealers and shit, but..." But nothing quite like this. Patting her bag where her own bottle is, she nods. "Got it, boss. No wine. Just free booze from big bro."
"Yeah, I'm still not sure how that shit works, and I don't know shit about gangs," Morrison admits. He boxes in legit matches most of the time, and he's been in his share of brawls and bar fights but gang activity isn't really something he's ever been messed up in. He glances over at her offer of muscle and says, "Between you and Amy? We could probably take out the whole gang." He's joking, but it comes off pretty dryly. The clove is lifted to his lips and he gives her a nod when she agrees to free booze. "I can think of worse deals."
"Yeah, I don't know much about these guys. Painkillers... They new?" George wonders aloud, trying to recall if they sound familiar or not to her. She can be a magnet for trouble, but gangs are a little out of her league, as much as she might talk big. At his dry joke, she narrows her eyes and fights back a smile, opting instead to slug him on the arm -- with barely any weight, assuming she manages not to miss. "Oh yeah. I've definitely had worse deals. You get a raise recently or like... I just want to know what sort of budget I'm working with here," she teases, just as dry as his.
"No idea," Morrison says. It's not really the sort of thing that he keeps track of. He takes the slug to his arm easily enough. He's a boxer. He gets slugged a lot, and she'd have to put a lot more force into it for him to react other than to say, "You should come train with Amy at the gym sometime." Where he teaches her to box. He lifts the clove to his lips and takes another drag off of it, smirking over at her. "Don't push your luck, cupcake."
George shrugs her shoulders. "No. I suppose not." She didn't expect him to have the answers anyway, but is perhaps a bit surprised that she hadn't heard something about them first. She does pride herself on being a troublemaker, after all. "The gym?" she echoes skeptically. "That sounds like work. I dunno." Then again, if bad shit is going down, maybe it wouldn't hurt to know how to look out for herself. She lets out a little burst of laughter, which immediately ruins her attempt to look innocent. "What? I'm just trying to be considerate! I don't want to make you broke..."
"The gym. You ever see Amy get in a fight?" Morrison asks with an arched brow. She probably would if she was at school more often. Amy's a little thug, and so is Lennon for that matter, Morrison's full-blooded sister and George's half-sister. "She's a bruiser, that one. Wouldn't hurt to take a few lessons from her." He smirks at that innocent look, not buying it for a second. He knows her well enough. "Yeah, you're just a beacon of consideration."
"Well, yeah, but that's Amy. I mean, I've seen her stuff people into lockers... Does that count as a fight?" George wonders, before shrugging off the question. But he does have a point, maybe. "I didn't say it'd //hurt// -- although it probably would, knowing Amy..." Still, she looks like she's musing this over. "Maybe. If it doesn't interfere with my schedule." Her oh-so-busy schedule of graffiti and day drinking. "I am very considerate, I'll have you know," she retorts finally, but doesn't even hope to sell that one. "Like... I'm considering letting you drive me home, even. See? Considerate."
"Stuffing people into lockers isn't fighting, particularly when it's that Thistle kid. He folds up like a lawn chair and fits in a glovebox. He doesn't count," Morrison says. "A fight is when you take on someone who has a chance of actually beating you, not bullying a kid built like a rickety toothpick." He crushes out the last nub of the clove and flicks the butt into a nearby trashcan. "Yeah, I'll take you home. If I ever decide to quit the factory, I could take up being a driver at this rate." He doesn't seem to actually mind, though, at least not where his siblings and cousins are concerned. "And hey, no more cracks about me picking up people at the school. After all that shit that went down with Hector, I had a bunch of people basically calling me a pedophile, and that shit's gotta stop." He and Hector had in fact had a brief thing for a few weeks back in February. When they'd met, both had mistaken the other for college-aged. But it's the one and only time Morrison'd ever made that mistake.
"I've got a temper and a smart mouth. I'm no stranger to having my ass beat. Fighting back though..." George shrugs, like getting beaten up periodically is just one of those things that happens. Not as often as it might though, if she didn't have a knack for freaking people out, at least. Scoring herself a ride home, she grins, but that quickly fades away as he brings up her poor joke from the other day. "You know I didn't mean anything by it," she replies, an edge in her tone appealing to him to understand that. "I only joked 'cause I knew you'd never... Fuck, if I'd known Cash was sitting there waiting to be a wiseass..." She's not really one to apologize, so she tries to shift things slightly: "Hey, how about I learn to fight and then I can kick his dumb butt for you?" she offers, with a hopeful grin.
"I know you didn't," Morrison says, which is why he didn't react to it when she'd said it, immediately. It was Cash's need to chime right in, and then the escalation by the twins that just cascaded things. He leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees and looking out toward the water. He nods then and says, "You learn to fight, and when you can beat Amy in a sparring match, you can think about kicking someone's ass for my honor." He reaches over and gives her hair a little ruffle. "C'mon, I'll take you home. You want something to eat on the way back?" He stands then, sliding off the picnic table and beginning to head over toward the black '93 Camaro that is his car, rather than the convertible that belongs to the twins that he drives when he's carting them around (mostly because it has more room).
George nods, relieved that Morrison at least seems to know she hadn't meant anything by the stupid joke. "What is that guy's deal, anyway." She shakes her head. Why people gotta butt in like that and ruin her stupid jokes. Not many folk are allowed to ruffle her hair, but Morrison gets a pass and just a quiet 'tch' of teen annoyance as she ducks out from under. "Sooo... never. You're saying never." No way is she ever beating Amy at that, nor is she sure she wants to. All that healthy living stuff is so not her scene at all. Tossing away the last shred of the cigarette, she hops to her feet. "Fuck yeah," she agrees to the food, readjusting her bag.
"Cash?" Morrison shrugs his shoulders, "He's eighteen, and thinks he knows what's best for everybody else, and likes to shoot his mouth off with a lot of opinions on stuff he knows nothing about." He grins as he opens the door to the car, a wolfish grin back at her and says, "Never say never." He slides into the driver's seat then, and once she's in, it's off to find food before heading home.