(no subject)

[musttellmybirds.livejournal.com]

There is a flash.

There is a bang.

There is now a pigeon coop where one had previously not been.

There is also a strangely dressed man apparently running around in circles screaming hysterically, while a few inhabitants of the aforementioned pigeon coop look notably alarmed.

Particularly the white one.

Who is being clutched rather fiercely by the also aforementioned strangely dressed man.

For this, this is not a rooftop in New York, New York.

It is, apparently, rather alarming.

Comments

[musttellmybirds.livejournal.com]

She's being meeeean.

Sadness.

But even Franz knows he needs a lift, seeing that he's kind of in the middle of nowhere at the moment.

"FINE. They can follow. But you," he sneers, "vill never insult my darlings ever again!"

[wolfskincoat.livejournal.com]

Her small chin lifts, all pleasantness gone.

"I do believe, dear sir, that you are in no position to tell me what to do."

[musttellmybirds.livejournal.com]

But they're his birds!

And this? This is his gun, that's pulling out. A classic German Luger.

"Ja, I am," he challenges, all adorably defiant and all.

[wolfskincoat.livejournal.com]

This is Little Red Riding Hood's shiny silver P99. And she's not brandishing it. She whips it straight out of the window and fires it at his gun hand.

[musttellmybirds.livejournal.com]

There's a sharply little-girlish scream as Franz drops his gun to clutch at his suddenly bloody hand. Because ow. Ow. PAIN.

"MY HAND! YOU SHOT MY HAND!"

Meanwhile, pigeons flutter around madly, taking off. Of course, Franz notices this.

"WAAAAIT! Otto! Bertha! Wolfgang! ADOOOOOLF!"

Flail flail running-around-in-circles-bleeding-a-lot flail.

[wolfskincoat.livejournal.com]

Red says nothing. Because she's too busy winding the window closed and starting the engine again.

By the time he calms down, she'll be dust on the horizon.