(OOC: Sorry this took so long. I barely did anything the last few days, needed some downtime after driving back from LA.) Even if Denise hadn't mentioned the rabbit, Shane would have agreed with her. At this point in time he was fucked up in every sense of the word, and vest or no vest, unless Jebus...

Shane smacked himself in the head. What the hell had he gotten himself into? His head was aching, his side was still bleeding, and he was still a little stoned. And this twat wanted a duel now. "Bobby, I may be stupid, but I'm not fuckin' stupid. Get rid of that vest and maybe I'll think about ...

"I don't give a fuck what you do, Mark," groaned Shane, rolling over. He crawled on his hands and knees to a corner of the room not visible from the window and sat down, clutching his side. The wound was just a graze, but it was bleeding a hell of a lot. Denise's lecture had sobered him up...

For Shane, things had progressed to full-on "slow motion". His side still hurt, but it was dulled. He heard about half of what Denise was screaming at him, and it wasn't helping him that his head was slamming into the floor while Denise was shaking him. "Look, I'm a little fucked up r...

Shane hit the floor, blood spurting from his right side. A baggy shirt, a grubby window, and a little extra "padding" had saved him from being mortally wounded, but fuck did it hurt. "Fucking bulletproof cocksucker!" he yelled, clutching the wound. If you hadn't stood there in pl...

Shane groaned and rubbed his eyes again. From what he'd heard and seen from a few peeks through the window, this was getting progressively dumber. Jacks was a murderer. If they let him go, he'd kill again, there was no question about it. With two guns pointed in different directions, he wouldn't be ...

(OOC: Never mind this one. Sorry for the double post)

Shit, he'd almost forgotten about the other guy.

"Yeah, sure," said Shane. "Get another cot and prop it up lengthwise to block the window."

Shane chuckled, glad that he'd made Denise laugh. He pocketed the gun and helped her lift the cot.

"We should probably prop one side up under the handle," he said as they made their way to the door.

"Too late to run," said Shane, "We should block the door and windows and wait it out. If Fuckface tries to get in, I perforate him."

He faintly heard somebody yelling. Who was he? Neil...

"Hey, maybe Neil Patrick Harris out there could help us."

"This is a bad place for a barbecue." said Shane, getting up. At the moment, though his head was a bit clouded, he was still ambulatory. "We should probably get out while we still can."

Shane paused for a second to rub his eyes, then turned back to Mark.

"All right, I'd say go ahead, but it's really up to Dee."

That grin had just...really creeped him out. The guy didn't seem like too much of a threat, though. That is, if he really was unarmed.

Shane tensed up and grabbed the pistol, pulling it out of his pocket carefully and easing off the safety. Since he was sitting, he wasn't visible from the door or the window.

"That depends," he called out the window, "You planning on killing us?"

(OOC: I'm assuming Bobby is at the "party".) "Shane Rafferty," he said, trying not to look at her tits through the wet shirt. He leaned against the wall, then slid down to a seated position. He felt much safer here than he had when he was holed up in that cave. Something about hu...

Shane grinned. "Shit, you're my savior. I've had the munchies for days now." He shoved the gun into his right jeans pocket, pulled out a lighter, lit up the joint and puffed on it to make sure it got going. His buzz from last time was almost gone, and there was no way in Hell he could face...