"Weird," Stark says, in response to South Dakota being a real place. "Next you'll be telling me that ghosts and vampires actually exist." There's a little bit of a grin for that, pulling at the scars on his right cheek and dimpling them, as he backs out the hotel door.
He needn't actually use the door, of course, but like Hell he's going to show his whole hand. There's a rapid jump to Vidocq and Allegra's apartment, and another to Max Overdrive to see Kas and leave the hotel sheet full of extra extras in the little loft he's called home. One last jump to Bamboo House of Dolls to say goodbye to Carlos and find a good bootleg leather jacket. He'd like to stop by Kinski's clinic, but he knows it's pointless; neither the Doc nor Candy have been there in weeks.
So instead, he walks along Hollywood Boulevard from the video store until finding a likely-looking vehicular victim. Precisely fourteen minutes after leaving the motel, he's parking a monstrous silver '65 Lincoln Continental, beautifully restored with suicide doors and black pinstriping, outside the door. Shoving the door open, he re-enters the room - now wearing an ankle-length black leather rifle coat atop the hoodie - and heads for the bed, collecting both duffel bags. Without stopping, he spins on his heel and gives Dean an impatient sort of look. "Haven't even tried to ditch me yet? Bad form."
As if Stark gave him time to.
He pulls open one of the back doors, backwards to the way the front ones unfold, and tosses in first one bag, then the other, leaving them on the backseat with a third bag of the things he acquired in his speedy errand-running. Slams the door and reclaims the drivers seat, once more retrieves the black blade from his boot, and jams the point into the ignition with a twist to start the monster motor growling.
no subject
He needn't actually use the door, of course, but like Hell he's going to show his whole hand. There's a rapid jump to Vidocq and Allegra's apartment, and another to Max Overdrive to see Kas and leave the hotel sheet full of extra extras in the little loft he's called home. One last jump to Bamboo House of Dolls to say goodbye to Carlos and find a good bootleg leather jacket. He'd like to stop by Kinski's clinic, but he knows it's pointless; neither the Doc nor Candy have been there in weeks.
So instead, he walks along Hollywood Boulevard from the video store until finding a likely-looking vehicular victim. Precisely fourteen minutes after leaving the motel, he's parking a monstrous silver '65 Lincoln Continental, beautifully restored with suicide doors and black pinstriping, outside the door. Shoving the door open, he re-enters the room - now wearing an ankle-length black leather rifle coat atop the hoodie - and heads for the bed, collecting both duffel bags. Without stopping, he spins on his heel and gives Dean an impatient sort of look. "Haven't even tried to ditch me yet? Bad form."
As if Stark gave him time to.
He pulls open one of the back doors, backwards to the way the front ones unfold, and tosses in first one bag, then the other, leaving them on the backseat with a third bag of the things he acquired in his speedy errand-running. Slams the door and reclaims the drivers seat, once more retrieves the black blade from his boot, and jams the point into the ignition with a twist to start the monster motor growling.