Supernatural Asshole

[Blaise Barton]

Prompt List

• Night
• Thrill
• Laughter
• Lie
• Slap
• Misfortune
• Waiting
• Unfair
• Damage
• Kiss

[Blaise Barton]

L A U G H T E R

Blaise sat in the driver's seat of the heavily modified (which meant incredibly loud, incredibly fast) Phoenix Yellow 2001 BMW M3, his hands on either side of the wheel. Next to him sat Graham, who was practically bouncing up and down in his seat as he continued on about how he told Blaise to slow down. In the back was Taylor, who was probably the least intoxicated out of the three. She was somewhat less panicked then her froggy boyfriend, only leaning forward to speak to Blaise, her voice low enough to undercut Graham's exclamations.

"Want me to make him go away?" she offered.

Blaise flicked his eyes up to the rearview, watching the state trooper glare his license plate (RUI8QT) with a look on his face that suggested he had a daughter who wasn't eighteen. "Nah," he said, aware he had alcohol on his breath, but not likely to care. "I got this."

"You sure?" she asked, her brows raising.

He turned his head to look at her more fully, then grinned his sadistic grin. "Positively sure, princess. Sit back and watch daddy work his magic." He paused. "If you want to slip out of your jacket and let the twins come out to join the party, though, I won't stop you." She responded with a loud scoff and sat back, but he noticed that she did quickly slide her jacket off and toss it into the floorboard, then reach inside her bra to 'perk up' her sweater puppies.

"Graham," he snapped. "Shut up." He turned his head to look at his best friend quickly, raising a finger off of the wheel and holding it up to indicate that he was talking now. "Just calm down, buddy. I'll have you and your lovely lady home in no time."

Graham nodded, fumbling with the too-long sleeves of his sweater. "You had more to drink then both of us, dude," he hissed.

"Yeah, and I'm not drunk, so calm down," he snapped. He was losing his patience, and it was obvious. Right about then, he heard a tap against his very, very illegally tinted window, and pressed the button to roll it down. "Good evening, officer. What seems to be the problem?" he asked, smiling innocently.

"Skip the chitchat, kid. I clocked you at seventy-one in a forty-five. License and registration, now," he commanded.

Blaise handed him something from his wallet, but both Taylor and Graham could see that it clearly wasn't his license and registration. It looked like a gift card to Applebee's and... a receipt from the bar they were just at, actually. And yet, the officer took it and stalked off with it, the glamour Blaise had enchanted the items with good enough to keep him busy punching a false name into his computer. Somewhere in Long Island, someone would be very unhappy when they found out a bench warrant had been issued for their arrest for failure to appear in court.

As soon as he was out of earshot, Graham grabbed Blaise by the arm and jerked him around in the seat. "Are you crazy?" he barked. "That dude's not gonna fall for that!" Behind them, Taylor, who had her neck craned to see what was happening, reached out suddenly and slapped her boyfriend. What was meant to cuff him on the face caught him across the ear, causing him to sink down into his seat with a loud "OUUUCH!"

"Can it, spaz! He's coming back, so apparently it did something!"

Blaise brushed his arm off, looking pointedly at Graham, and then turned to receive the officer as he came back to the window. "I trust everything is in order, sir?" he asked, laying on the Jedi mind trick with the suggestion as thick as he could. The officer deposited the gift card and the dirty bar receipt back into Blaise's hand, then held out his little board.

"Sign here," he said. "You're lucky I'm not towing your car, Mr. Grimm. I wrote you for twenty-nine over. One more mile per hour and you'd be going to jail," he informed him. "You're also lucky your two little friends are wearing their seatbelts," he added, leaning in to spread his stern glare around for Graham and Taylor's benefit. His eyes lingered on Taylor for a moment longer then necessary, and Blaise felt his lips twitch as he resisted the urge to smile. "Signing this is not an admission of guilt, it's just acknowledgement for receipt of the ticket. You have thirty days to follow the information on the back. I've included the driving school pamphlet with the ticket, though in your case, I somehow doubt you'll be eligible."

He pulled back from the car. "I'll be keeping an eye out for you, Thomas. You'd better slow it down. My daughter would love a car like this for her graduation present," he threatened.

Blaise only grinned, taking the ticket and handing it back to Taylor. "I'm sure she would. Unfortunately, it's a little too powerful for a teenager, though I'd be happy to give her a ride anytime she wanted one," he said smoothly. "Have a nice evening!" And with that, he turned the ignition over and pulled out before the state trooper could decide whether he wanted to yell at him or yank him out of the car completely. No sooner then had Blaise hit second gear on the interstate on-ramp did Taylor burst out into peals of hysterical laughter.

"Oh my god, that was fucking amazing!" she yelled. "I'm not wearing a seatbelt! What the hell did you do to that guy? And an APPLEBEE'S CARD?" she hooted. Even Graham was laughing, although his was more nervous as opposed to amused. "I thought I was going to lose it when you told him you'd take his daughter for a ride," she said, snorting into her hands as she kicked her feet against the panels.

"Hey!" he shouted. "Watch the interior!"

"I think next time we go out, we should take a taxi," Graham suggested helpfully.

"Not a chance, buddy. Hey! Lighten up, live a little!" Blaise said, slapping the less-than-enthused Graham on the knee, hard. "I said I'd take care of it, and I did. Now relax. The bars may be closed, but this party is just getting started."