Farrington-Gores: Abraxas the asshole

A/N: Since websites have not yet made a hate button for the likes of Tate, Miles or Abraxas, I offer this as an alternative:

Enjoy using it.

'How we doin' this?'

'Let's just keep visibility low. It'll be tough - no, nigh impossible - to deny going here if someone happens to see us, but if we appear non threatening, then that'll give us some well needed deniability.'

'Gotcha.'

*BANG BANG BANG BANG*

'Oh fan-fucking-tastic. I should've guessed Tate would send you running over sooner or later.'

'Can we come in?'

'Go fuck yourself.'

'Later. For now, I'd very much like for us to be given entry.'

'And I'd very much like for you to drop dead in burning fucking agony, but we don't all get what we fucking want. Now go suffocate yourself, you useless cunt.'

'Are you fuckin' thick? You wanna get a closer look at my piece or somethin'?'

'How about you stick your piece barrel first up your ass and shoot?'

'Look, we can do this the easy way or the hard way, and the easy way would save us all time.'

'I've got nothing to say to you - you threw me and Wed out, remember?'

'I threw you out; your stupid braindead sister decided to willingly follow you into the gutter. That isn't my problem. However, despite throwing you out, I do have a legitimate reason for visiting. After all, this very house was bought with my money. It might be in your name, but it counts as my house.'

'I'm pretty sure that's not how real estate works, Abraxas.'

'You think I can't make it work? Tate would be more than happy to seize any assets you bought with my money, believe me. Step aside, let us in, and I'll call it quits. I'll write the money off as lost and won't pursue what small material goods you possess.'

'Yeah, like I'm going to trust you. Narcissists and financial promises aren't notorious for being bullshit, or anything.'

'Hm? You're not the one making any promises though.'

'...Did you just seriously call me a narcissist? Holy fucking projection!'

'We ain't gettin' nowhere with words.'

'I agree. You've got a silencer on that thing, right? Shoot the stupid bitch.'

'Gladly.'

'Indigo?'

'Oh good. Your sister can witness your injury.'

'...Shit. Alright, fine, get in, say your fucking piece and drop dead.'

'Not a very nice place, is it? Terrible colour schemes. Awful patterns. Tacky.'

'You should feel right at home then.'

'Oh no, it's far too small for my liking. I'd like a place that I can actually breathe in; merely standing here feels like being trapped in a sardine can.'

'That's nice. Get to the point.'

'I want you to come back with me. There are things we need to discuss.'

'No. Anything you want to say you can do here.'

'I disagree. Coming back home would allow me to get my point across better.'

'I don't give a one flying fuck about your stupid point, I'm not going with you.'

'Alright, allow me to make it even easier a decision for you.'

'Are you fucking serious?!'

'Wednesday is so pathetically useless that all she is is a burden. A parasite. A black hole for time and money. It would be better if she was put out of my misery. You'd get over it soon enough, I know you would.'

'...Alright! You fucking win. On one condition: you and Saul put your fucking guns away and don't so much as look in Wednesday's direction. If you do that, I'll go with you.'