Title: Can't We Just Blow it Up?
Author: Obi the Kid
Summary: The brothers say goodbye to an old friend. (dialogue only).
"Can't we just blow it up?"
"Can't we just blow you up when you've outlived your usefulness?"
"Many have tried –including myself, not necessarily on purpose - but none have been successful. Yet."
"Let's keep it that way, shall we? And no."
"Come on, Nik. Just look at the damn thing! It's old and broken and…just flat out not cool."
"We have no room in our lives for cool. It's enough just dealing with other things, such as keeping you awake during the days when we don't have anything to kill. That seems to have developed into a full time job as of late. So, you see, we've no place for cool. Since when is cool a factor in anything we do anyway? Have you acquired friends recently that you feel the need to impress?"
"I can count my friends on two fingers and I'm pretty damn sure that neither of them has ever owned nor will ever own anything like that thing. I on the other hand have lived a substantial chunk part of my life with it."
"As have I. It's part of the family, Cal. It got us through a lot."
"No, you got us though a lot. That thing just made the journey much more adventurous than it needed to be. It's dead now, so say goodbye and walk away. We'll catch a cab home."
"No, we'll jog home."
"No, we'll catch a cab. It's a ten mile trip to our place. And it's cold and rainy and…and don't hit me in the back of the…ow! Damn it, Nik!"
"You should've have been ready for it, instead of running your lips. Be prepared for anything, always. Have I taught you nothing? Now, say goodbye."
"I am not talking to that thing. I'm glad to see it go. Damn piece of rusty, old, crappy…"
"Cal, be nice. This car represents us and our lives."
"Burned out and ready for the grave?"
"It's had a hard life."
"Yeah, we'll so have we, Cyrano. You really are sentimental about this piece of…Ouch! Goddamn it, stop that! I'm starting to develop a bald spot back there because of you."
"Another crack and you'll be jogging ten miles a day for the next month."
"Fine. Jesus! Okay, see ya later, car. Thanks for all the miles you rolled and all the gas you guzzled in all your brown and purple glory. I guess your seats were pretty comfortable to slouch in and your dashboard immense enough to house a large pizza. And being as large as a mammoth, you did help me stay alive when that wolf tried to eat me by sticking that giant, snappy, furry head of his through the window. The backseat being so expansive, that I could avoid him long enough for Niko to kick his ass from behind. Thanks for that, I guess. Sorry we can't come and visit after this, but I have an aversion to rats and this place is Party Town, USA for those disease infected creatures. So, uh…bye!"
"That was…painful. But I suppose those are memories all the same. The new car that Goodfellow sold to us…"
"Please don't call that thing new. It's a 1978 Lincoln Continental. It's the size of a friggin' tank. I think it actually may be a tank. We don't need it to share memories with us. We just need it to get us from point A to point B without being sliced, diced, burned, shot, possessed or eaten. And I have my doubts it can do any of that. Now, can we move on? If we've got to run home, I'd like to be there before Monday."
"No appreciation for quality and sacrifice, little brother."
"I appreciate the quality of my guns, your swords and every damn thing you've ever sacrificed in your life because of me, Nik. But I am not getting all mush-faced about a four-wheeled pimpmobile that should have been put out of its misery twenty years ago. The 70's are dead, Cyrano. It's time to move on."
"Which car are we talking about?"
"Does it really matter? No. Can we go, please?"
"The car may not mean much to you, Cal, but it's all we had when you were…when you came back. I didn't have much to hang onto when you were…recovering…and I was dragging you from place to place to try and keep out of the reach of the Auphe. This car helped keep us alive and keep us sane."
"You, Nik. It kept you sane. You kept me sane, not the car."
"All interconnected, little brother."
"Yeah, I know. Now say goodbye, Nik, because if you don't, I really am going to blow it up. I have a special grenade with a happy face on it just for the occasion."
"I said my goodbyes yesterday. We can go."
"What the hell? You dragged my ass all the way out here for nothing? No, not for nothing. You did this just to make me run a marathon to get home, didn't you? Sneaky bastard. Don't admit to it either. No, no. Don't do that. Just keep thinking of ways to torture your brother. Well, two can play at that game, I'll race your ass home and if I win, you owe me dinner out for the next week. Place of my choosing each night. Grease and goodness galore. And you have to eat it. Ready? Go. Later, sucker!"
"Cal, you may want to come back and try that again! You're running in the wrong direction, unless you recently moved to New Jersey without my knowledge."
"Figures….that you're…a damn…geo…graphy expert….now."
"Out of breath already, I see. After ten strides? Shame. And I've been a geography expert since I was ten. So, I'll take your gamble and raise you a week, at restaurants of my choosing. Better prep those soy and flax seed taste buds, little brother. See you at home!"
"Damn it, Nik, No! I hate you! I swear…wait. Come on! Can't we talk about this? Soy and…I'll kiss the car goodbye for you! Sing it a song, give it a rubdown and everything…two weeks of…I can't eat flax…what the hell is flax? Nik! Nik, get your ass back here! If you don't turn your ass around right now, I swear I'll come back here tomorrow and blow this damn thing up! One boom and that's all she wrote! Nik, get back here…NIK!"