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     leather clad hands GRIP the wheel. the riff of acdc’s BACK IN BLACK echoed like the reflection of the hammering against his chest.  cracking along ribs,  as his foot tipped between duty and hitting the gas pedal... to finally ESCAPE the life.   the constant battle between the obligation of debt...  and the overwhelming crisis of SELF--   that seemed to fill every nerve as the dashboard clock flicked between the number of minutes like a pre-sharpened pendulum.  they only had ten more minutes before the next drop point.   ditch the motor and RUN.   it was all an endless cycle.   just with new tunes.

     lying in wait.   eyes unglazed as they stared straight ahead,  behind the tint of shades.  time was falling away.  they would be back any minute now...  ( buddy and darling were NEVER late. )   he couldn’t help but pick up on the general routines of doc’s usual crew.  they were the closest things he had to well...  friends.   like a determined family.   ( that just so happened to rob banks on the weekends. )   it was all about being unassuming.   not attracting attention.  until VIBRATIONS pulled his gaze to the window...     unless attention found you. 

     it was coming down to the final MINUTE.  ignoring wouldn't do any good.  he needed to think...   and think FAST.    cracking the window with eyes never leaving the dashboard.    voice gruff from under use,  “--   can i HELP you ? ” the abruptness of his own mutterings STARTLED him.   but, they needed the way CLEAR to make a CLEAN break.    it was a matter of getting the job DONE. 

🏎️ // @znosyns

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Baby Driver (2017) Quote RP Starters

"One more job, and I'm done."

"So, are you starting your day, or did you just get off?"

"The moment you catch feelings is the moment you catch a bullet."

"Now I don't think I need to give you the speech about what would happen if you say no, how I could break your legs and kill everyone you love because you already know that, don't you?"

"If you don't see me again, it's because I'm dead."

"I just can't believe your real name is *insert name*."

"Is she/he a good girl/guy? Do you love him/her?"

"They call, I go, y'know?"

"Sometimes all I want is to head West on 20 in a car I can't afford, with a plan I don't have, just me, my music, and the road."

"You doubt our credentials?"

"We've met before, right?"

"One of these days, *insert name*, you’re going to get blood on your hands, and you’re going to find out that that shit don’t wash off in the fucking sink."

"What's that song you're singing?"

"No, no, no, no. I’m the one got the mental problems in the crew. Position taken."

"Wait, wait, wait! I've got to start the song over."

"People love great bank robbery stories, so let’s give them something full and brazen as fuck to talk about over their lattes."

"You are my lucky charm and I’m not doing this job without you."

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         eyes were like STEEL,  focused on the PRIMARY objective. the sound of synth strings rolling around eardrums. trying to overcome the constant ringing... that only grew LOUDER. irises scanning lips... watching as words made NOISELESS connections to fast working synapses.  it was like second nature. a cryptic language,  only known to FEW.   forming directional patterns of the next JOB.  the next stick up... one step closer to the END. it had all become a BLUR from one track to another... the next playlist... the newest mix.   all reflections of a persona,   DYING to break free.   quiet to the world surrounding the basement...     yet filled with endless SOUND.  it was a dichotomy reflective of a double life.   a life,  ( un ) lived.   

         sudden FORCE incites an invisible shiver.  traveling up the spine,   FREEZING his posture in place.  coming off as merely un-phased to the eye. shades pushed up tighter to his face,  as his calloused thumb pushes them up the bridge.   the only motion he let SLIP.   air rushed into his ear, as the realization that the bud had been gently yanked... DAWNED.   there’s a slight narrowing behind tinted glass--   words weren’t his STRONG suit.

         his placid expression made the slightest of changes.  eyebrows lifting silently in question,   as the ringing began to irritate the opening.  all that was left...  was the ANSWER. 

🏎️ // @rightreaction

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    it all fell into a BEAT. rhythmic underpinnings, falling in sync. drowning out the relentless BUZZ  of the world at work.  one he merely played actor to. outside of itself, never really in the frame.  he couldn’t be…  ( it was the only way to COPE. ) it all needed to be ORCHESTRATED, forced into some cinematic medley.  led by the music.  to stifle it all to a dull ROAR.   that slight gleam of light,  peaking right through the end of the tunnel…   the HOPE ( more like the delusion )  that once it was OVER…   he could just walk away.   unscathed.  it was all he had left.

       but,   you had to play the GAME.  remain the outside pawn. lips perched in the singular reality of a stagnant line.  hardly batting an eye as the new ‘crew’  overly monologued their entrances.   playing to the ‘audience.’   arms crossed on the table, recorder perched next to his sleeve.  thoroughly detached,  playing BACKSEAT …  while his gaze caught EVERY movement behind tinted glass.     it was just another job,  a new playlist…  nothing else,  nothing more.

🏎️ // @jusstabite

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     hands SLID in and out of one another. physically exerting energy in BURSTS of trembling finger tips.  it was all part of the JOB. the pent up adrenaline from behind the wheel.  he could still feel the imprint of leather on his palms ; those very same gloves hanging out the side pocket of a battered vest pocket. ipod weighing them down in place.  these were the PIECES of his life.  the full culmination of what he was...  ( for YEARS. )  his very being hiding in plain site.  the latest job... only moments behind him.  as eyes darted behind tinted shades.  the ringing being forced to a dull roar behind the BEAT.  headphones firmly platted, irises searching the menu...   he’d had it MEMORIZED by now, of that familiar backlot diner.  his usual booth had been occupied...  ( a DISTURBANCE in routine...   )  the one commonality of peace amongst racing thoughts.

      poker face hardly revealing the SCREAMING inner workings.  throwing his leg over the bar stool,  to maintain some BALANCE.  hardly noticing the soft, brush past of a shoulder.    company wasn’t TYPICAL.  hell, it was never really an option.   voice dipped low.   he couldn’t just say nothing.    he struggled to find the syllables rise.    as if they were scratching up against his throat on their way forward. 

      “...  i-   i’m sorry.”   voice gruff with his light drawl. words left in the air, as if they were incomplete. 

🏎️ // @luckystartm

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     alright fam, it’s just about that time... here’s our very first, kick-off  STARTER CALL  !!      verse && length will vary. 

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you’re not selfish for wanting to be treated well

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    tag dump, pt. 1

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“Don’t feed me any more lines from Monsters Inc.!” 

Baby Driver (2017) dir. Edgar Wright

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- is he slow ?

independent film & heavily headcanon based,  MILES / BABY of baby driver. established september 2019. as loved by KAE.

( cred. )

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