You know what I like about Canadians? They're real easy to elbow out of the way.

“No, I’m not saying that. I’m just sayin’ you’re not gonna find your answer in StreetWise.” The tip of Ray’s forefinger smashed against the newspaper’s headline.

“It’s possible. These articles are written by the vendors themselves, Ray, they may be riddled with clues that we’re just not seeing.”

Ray gave the Mountie a look of long-sufferance, despite the fact they had only been partnered for less than two months. “They are not vendors, Benny, they are homeless people.”

“Who have written numerous articles on the increasing crime rates in the Greater Chicago Area. Who better to talk to than the victims themselves, the people experiencing the terror and degradation of modern society?”

Fraser? I want you to come to lunch with me. Or I can come over to yours, I don't care. Just choose somewhere and tell me where.

She better not lay a finger on him, I swear.

I have no idea why I insist on speaking like that at the oddest moments.

Anywhoo, here are some icons. I have more bases but they're not finished so they're not here. Duh.

Screencaps by _scally  . From Victoria's Secret, boohoo.

EMO!Benny:




FOR!SHAME!Benny:

   

And because I'm fickle, four variations of the same icon. Yay! ....WIN?

DEAD!Benny:

  

   


Am I getting better...?

There’s a fine line between heroes and villains, so subtle sometimes you can't even see it. They may look the same, walk the same, talk the same, but there’s something inside that distinguishes them, separates the good and the bad within them.

But sometimes it’s not that simple. Hero and villain can be made to be one and the same.

Ray Vecchio lived a whole year of his life, a villain on the outside, hero on the inside. He’d learnt the latter quality from Benton Fraser, studied it you might say, studied him; learnt how to be good and do good from the examples Fraser set him. It had always been there, buried deep, hidden by brash offensiveness, loud clothes, and an even louder mouth. But Fraser, his friend, brought it out of him.

When he left Chicago, bound for the glit and grit of Vegas, it slipped back inside, obscured by expensive suits, smoking cigars and Scotch whiskey. The good had to be veiled beneath a layer of evil. Langoustini was all villain; it spread like wildfire, over Ray’s skin, in his teeth, between his toes, and as the months went by, the piece of good in him, the piece of Fraser and his old life got smaller and smaller, and pushed deeper and deeper until Ray wasn’t sure he could feel it anymore. That was when he wondered just what he was: hero or villain. Vecchio or Langoustini. Protector or murderer. 

Sometimes he still wonders, but at least now, back in Chicago, he has Fraser to look to and remind him what it is to be good. He might not be a hero but he’s the closest thing to it that Ray will ever know.

Check it out:

Happy 21st Birthday, Sally!


ooc: Yeah, I'm tugging on Ray's strings so hard now. This is IC but Ray doesn't actually know Sally, nor does Fraser or Kowalski on account of the fact she's my sister. He sent her a card, as ds characters often do... *ahem* And has posted this little birthday cheer for her too. That's about it. *ahem*

ooc: Sorry it took so long! Clicky!


It’s only when Ray yanks open the door and steps back to let Fraser inside, that he thinks maybe the Hard Rock Café wasn’t the best place to come to celebrate the Mountie's engagement. It’s noisy and packed out and there are people walking around covered head to toe in badges. Sewn on, stuck on, pinned on. Waiters and waitresses that look like over-stamped letters, colourful patchwork designs that bring to mind harlequins and clowns, neither of which make Ray feel particularly comfortable. The music hits him like a wall of sound, Elvis Presley crooning something about his Blue Suede shoes and how he doesn’t want anyone to step on them. That much, Ray can understand. Only sadists would be crazy enough to stain those babies.

The air is thick with heat, sticky, turning clammier the further in they go. Ray nudges Fraser towards the bar, dodges out the way of a travelling platter of KnickerBockerGlories, melting over the sides, pooling at the bases of their tall glasses. It was unusual for Chicago to be so hot when they hadn’t even really hit summer time yet. But it was a freaky evening, and the clouds were promised to lift by the morning so it should be cooler by then.

Ray’s attempts to keep his cringing down to a minimum aren’t very successful. Neon lights really ought to be kept outside, he decides, blinking back the hazy glare from the orange illuminated Cadillac suspended over the bar. The retro décor seems to go down well with the kids, even the teenagers don’t seem to mind it too much judging by the way the group of would-be rock stars are jamming it down by the jukebox with their air guitars.

Fluorescent green stools, leather ones to boot, just aren’t made for the average middle-aged man though. Ray snags two nevertheless, signalling over to Fraser to let him know he’s actually found a place to sit in this kitsch jungle they call a restaurant.

“Hey, Benny!” He’d never factored in getting a sore throat from all the yelling they’d have to do when he made this evening’s plans. “You ever seen anything like it?”

His arm sweeps over the entire expanse of the establishment - a child blowing out candles, with a group of Swingin’ Sixties singers jazzing up a rendition of “Happy Birthday” Hard Rock style; a couple of jocks seeing who can down a S.O.B Burger and a Chocolate Yazoo the fastest without throwing up; a full length table with two extras stuck on the end to accommodate over twenty Japanese tourists and their Scottish tour guide; and finally Marilyn Monroe who's currently passing an appreciative eye over Fraser before pulling out her notepad and pencil from God knows where on her skimpy little outfit and heading their way.

Oh God. Ray is scrambling to get out my head, just so he can go take the mickey out of Benny...

What I wouldn't give for this to have been Fraser instead of Paul Gross!

LOOK! *points down at link*


http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7l0zCYUMf5s



Mmm mmm mmm, instant mashed potato!!

Ray pulled up outside the Consulate, slamming on the brakes. He’d spent most of the morning arguing with Al over the price of the work needed for the Riv and had ended up paying a hundred dollars on top just so he could get his hands on the keys today. It’d been worth it though, she ran like a dream. He didn’t know why, but being behind the wheel made Ray feel great. He was Vecchio again, he was in Chicago and had his Riv. Three things he’d been missing for too long. The fourth was sitting in the Consulate, probably arguing with the Dragon Lady over some weird Canadian thing, like whether the Queen would appreciate a mint on her pillow should she ever decide to visit Chicago. Which was kind of stupid, Ray thought, since he was pretty sure there was a British Embassy in the city somewhere so surely she would stay there.

He was stalling, he knew this. Finally, finally he would be seeing Fraser again. They were going for lunch, like they had done a million times before but this was different. So much had changed for both of them and the last time they were together, Ray was lying in a hospital bed drugged up to his eyeballs. He can’t expect to simply walk in and everything to be the same, to go back to how it used to be, no matter how much Ray wished.

Turning off the engine, he sat in the car for a few minutes and stared at the building. It would be okay, Fraser was his best friend. He could do this. Ray looked at his watch. He was a early and Fraser had said he has lunch at one. Okay, not too early. Grabbing the keys, he shoved open the door and pulled his jacket tighter around him. Only November and already feeling like winter. As he walked up the steps, he couldn’t help grinning at Turnbull, all dressed up in his pristine Mountie costume, standing to attention out in the cold. Nodding at him with a ‘What’s up?’ he reached the door and pushed it open. There’s nothing better than normality. He stuck his head through before his body followed and yelled, “Fraser?!”