Guldrin’s Gluttony: Family Bound by Speed & Food

On the same day, Revy's arrival in California was less of a landing and more of a declaration of war on everyone's peace and quiet. 

Her speedboat screamed across the water, the engine roaring like a wounded beast and sputtering occasionally. Seagulls squawked in outrage, and local fishermen flailed in its wake, their curses lost to the wind. 

Revy, naturally, was loving every second of it. A cigarette clung to her lips, somehow defying both the ocean spray and the sheer force of her laughter, which echoed across the coastline.

The coast guard had been on her tail for a solid twenty minutes, or at least that was when she noticed, but Revy couldn't have cared less if she tried. The flashing lights in the distance were nothing more than an entertaining backdrop, like fireworks. 

Her gas tank had been flirting with empty for miles, but she wasn't about to let a little thing like fuel stop her. 

When Revy had a goal, everything else, laws, logic, and common sense included, went right out the window.

Who needs it?

As the shore loomed closer, she grinned wide enough to show all her teeth, as she took a deep, long, drag on her cigarette. 

Landing was not something she did gracefully, nor did she care. 

The speedboat plowed into the sand with a teeth-rattling crunch, scattering beachgoers and sending a plume of sand into the air, scattering all around. Revy leaped out with the kind of swagger you'd expect from someone stepping off a private yacht, not a half-broken boat held together by duct tape, spit, and luck.

Adjusting her denim shorts and shaking saltwater from her hair, she lit another cigarette with a practiced flick of her lighter. "Damn, I missed dry land, now, where is my wayward little brother?" she muttered, ignoring the fact that the beach had now become a scene of minor chaos.

Within moments, multiple Jeeps skidded to a halt nearby, kicking up even more sand. Coast Guard and Border Patrol officers spilling out, weapons not quite drawn but their hands hovering close to their holsters. 

The tension in the air was as thick as the humidity.

"Ma'am, step away from the vehicle!" barked one of the officers, a stocky man with a voice that suggested he'd rather be anywhere else.

Revy paused mid-strut, her cigarette dangling precariously from the corner of her mouth like a dare to the universe to mess with her. 

She blew a slow puff of smoke in the officer's general direction, the tendrils swirling in the air like her personal smoke signal of contempt. The smirk spreading across her face had the kind of energy that screamed, 'I'm about to ruin someone's day, and I'll have fun doing it.'

"Relax, Officer McNervous," she said, her tone dripping with mockery as she held up her hands in an exaggerated gesture of surrender. "I'm unarmed." The smirk widened into a full-blown grin as she saw the confusion flicker across his face. "Well… relatively unarmed," she added after a deliberate pause, as if she'd just remembered she wasn't fooling anyone. 

"No, wait, that's also a lie. I am armed." She tapped her temple like she'd solved the world's most complicated riddle. "Which, by the way, is my RIGHT under the Fifth Amendment. Or is it the Second?"

The officer's brow furrowed, clearly unamused.

"Ah, whatever," Revy waved her hand dismissively, exhaling another plume of smoke as if the finer details of constitutional law weren't worth her time. 

"Point is, I can have my weapons. America, baby!" She gave a mock salute, the kind that would've gotten anyone else cuffed, but somehow just highlighted how untouchable she felt.

The officers and soldiers exchanged uneasy glances, the kind that screamed, 'We do not get paid enough for this.' It was like watching two rookies realize they'd wandered into the deep end of the pool, and the lifeguard had just left for their break. 

One of them opened his mouth, probably to say something official, but Revy cut him off with a loud, exaggerated yawn.

"Let me save you the trouble," she said, pulling out some crumpled papers from her back pocket like a magician revealing the world's least impressive trick. 

"This here's my permit, my ID, I think, and some other boring stuff you're probably gonna want to pretend you care about." She shoved the paperwork toward the nearest officer, who took it reluctantly, his expression somewhere between annoyed and suspicious.

"Anyone got any booze?" The soldiers looked completely unamused, "Fine, you guys are no fun, how do you put up with people like me without booze?"

"Everything seems... in order?" the younger officer muttered after an awkward, tense silence, flipping through the pages. 

He didn't sound convinced, but he also didn't sound eager to dig deeper, which suited Revy just fine. She leaned casually against the hood of their patrol jeep, blowing another lazy ring of smoke into the air like she owned the moment.

"Of course, it's in order, genius," she said, her voice dripping with sarcasm. "I don't go around half-assing this stuff. Well… most of the time. Okay, fine, some of the time. Whatever, details." 

She flicked her cigarette butt onto the sand, grinding it out with the heel of her boot while maintaining eye contact like it was some sort of alpha move.

It worked, and she grinned triumphantly.

The officers hesitated, clearly unsure whether to be relieved or even more nervous. Revy took their silence as permission to continue her reign of terror.

"Look," she said, her tone suddenly shifting into something that might've been considered friendly if it weren't so blatantly patronizing, "I know I'm a lot to handle. Some might even call me... intimidating. Dangerous, even." 

She gave them a wink that somehow managed to be both playful and menacing. "But lucky for you, I'm in a good mood today. So, why don't we wrap this up before I start quoting more amendments, and we all have to Google whether I'm right?"

She loved messing with people who were in charge, or felt like they were, it just felt right.

A few tense minutes followed, filled with reluctant badge flashing, paperwork shuffling, and the kind of awkward small talk that could only happen when someone like Revy decided to "help" speed things along. 

Every now and then, she'd toss out a comment like, "You guys ever consider getting cooler uniforms? These scream mall security," or, "Do you get hazard pay for dealing with people smarter than you? Asking for a friend."

 By the time they were done, the officers and soldiers looked like they'd aged five years and were seriously questioning their career choices.

"Alright, you're free to go," one of them finally muttered, clearly relieved to be rid of her. "Next time stop for the Coast Guard.

Revy pushed off the car with a dramatic stretch, as if the whole ordeal had been physically exhausting for her. "That's what I thought," she said, cracking her neck and strutting away like she was walking a runway designed exclusively for chaos-loving lunatics.

As she sauntered back toward the wrecked boat that she'd parked on the sand like a delinquent teenager who'd stolen a car, she muttered to herself with a grin, "Being a Goldblood rocks." She glanced over her shoulder at the retreating patrol car, her smirk practically glowing with satisfaction. "Power, money, and no one gets to tell me jack squat. Best. Family. Ever… Even if I am adopted, still fucking counts!"

Revy struck the lighter with a sharp flick of her thumb, the tiny flame sputtering against the breeze before catching. She brought it to her cigarette, shielding it with one hand like she was performing some sacred ritual. 

The glow of the ember lit up her face for a brief moment, and she took a drag so deep it was almost theatrical. When she exhaled, the smoke spiraled around her like she was some kind of anti-hero in a low-budget noir film.

"I love that trick."

A seagull perched nearby squawked, interrupting her dramatic moment. Revy glared at it with the kind of disdain reserved for exes and telemarketers, in her opinion. "You got a problem, feather-brain?" she snapped, lobbing a stray soda can in its general direction. The bird flapped away in a flurry of indignation, squawking its displeasure as it went. 

Revy smirked, blowing a thin stream of smoke after it. "Yeah, that's what I thought. Beat it."

She raised her arm to hail a cab with all the grace of someone used to getting their way. 

A yellow taxi screeched to a halt, the driver eyeing her through the window like he was reconsidering his life choices. Revy yanked the door open and threw herself into the back seat, sprawling across the worn vinyl with the air of someone who'd already decided the world was hers.

"Take me to this place," she ordered, tossing a crumpled scrap of paper at the driver. The address was barely legible, written in what she could only assume was Rindo's version of handwriting, or perhaps the result of a chicken attempting calligraphy. 

She may be a good cook, okay an amazing cook, but handwriting wasn't something she had ever excelled at.

The driver unfolded the paper, squinted at it, then at her, before wisely deciding not to question anything.

As the cab jerked forward, weaving through the city's chaotic traffic, Revy leaned back and propped her boots up on the seat in front of her, earning a side-eye from the driver. "Relax, buddy," she said, not even glancing his way. "I'll tip you."

The man wanted to argue, but thought better of it and kept his mouth shut.

It was a good choice.

Her mind wandered as she stared out the window, the city blurring into a kaleidoscope of neon lights and grimy streets. 

She wasn't worried about finding Guldrin. 

The kid was clever, sure, but Revy had a nose for trouble, and she'd bet anything that he wasn't hiding quietly. 

Somewhere, someone had seen him, and she was determined to wring that information out of the nearest unsuspecting idiot.

The cab screeched to a halt outside a bar that looked like it had been pulled straight out of a low-budget crime drama. 

"Keep the change," She tossed a few bills toward the guy and wasn't even sure it was enough, but that didn't matter, at least to her.

The neon sign buzzed and flickered, the paint on the walls was peeling in a way that suggested the place had given up on appearances decades ago, and the faint smell of stale beer wafted out like a warning to any with the sense not to enter.

Revy grinned. "Classy."

She stepped inside, boots clicking against the sticky floor, and made her way to the counter like she owned the place. The patrons barely glanced up, too engrossed in their beers or the tired jukebox crooning a song that should've been retired years ago. Revy plopped onto a stool, her elbows hitting the counter with a loud thud.

"Whiskey. Neat," she barked, earning a raised eyebrow from the bartender. 

He was an older guy, his face a roadmap of bad decisions and nights spent regretting them. He poured her drink without a word, sliding the glass across the counter with the kind of resigned efficiency that came from years of dealing with people like her.

Revy knocked it back in one go, slamming the empty glass onto the counter with enough force to make the nearest patron flinch. 

"Alright, listen up!" she announced, her voice cutting through the low hum of conversation. "I'm looking for someone. Kid. About yay high." She gestured vaguely. "Smartass. Thinks he's clever. Name's Guldrin. Purple hair. Anyone seen him?"

The room fell silent, save for the soft hum of the jukebox and the faint clink of a glass being set down. A man in the corner hiccuped, muttered something incoherent, and promptly returned to staring into his drink. 

The bartender didn't even bother pretending to care.

"Lady," he said flatly, "this is a bar. Not a lost-and-found."

Revy narrowed her eyes, pulling a crumpled bill, it could have been one hundred, or one dollar, she wasn't sure, from her pocket and slapping it onto the counter. "Try harder."

The bartender pocketed the cash with the efficiency of a man who'd seen this routine before, but his answer didn't change. "Never heard of him."

Revy let out a frustrated growl, muttering a string of curses under her breath that would've made a sailor blush. She signaled for another drink, downed it with the same reckless abandon as the first, and slammed the glass down again. "This place sucks," she declared, standing up and glaring at the room as if the collective failure to provide answers was a personal affront.

One of the patrons snickered, earning a glare so intense it could've melted steel. "What's so funny?" Revy demanded, her hand twitching toward her hip before she remembered, she shouldn't cause trouble till she found Guldrin, lest she be thrown in jail and need Mama's help… 

Again.

The man quickly looked away, mumbling something about minding his own business. 

Revy rolled her eyes and stalked toward the exit, her boots squeaking slightly against the sticky floor. She pushed the door open with unnecessary force, stepping back out into the cool night air.

Lighting another cigarette, she took a deep drag and exhaled slowly, watching the smoke curl into the sky. "Bunch of useless drunks," she muttered to herself. "Can't even get a straight answer. Guess I'll just have to do this the hard way."

As she flagged down another cab, she couldn't help but grin. Sure, the morning search hadn't gone exactly to plan, but that was half the fun. After all, if there was one thing Revy loved, it was a good challenge, and she had a feeling this one was just getting started.

She spent most of the ride, alternating between grumbling about "brats who don't know how to stay put" and staring out the window with the kind of intensity that made the driver check the rearview mirror a little too often.

When the cab finally rolled up to the cafe-garage, Revy's eyebrows shot up. She hadn't been sure what to expect, but this wasn't it. The place looked... domestic. Cheerful, even. The retro signage and clean exterior gave it an almost quaint vibe, which clashed horribly with Revy's mental image of Guldrin and his chaotic rich-kid energy.

"Is this a front?" she muttered, squinting at the building like it might reveal some hidden layer of criminal activity. Tossing a wad of cash at the driver, probably twice what the fare was worth… 

She had some alcohol now, so she was generous with her payment.

She stepped out and surveyed the scene.

Her plan, if it could even be called a plan, was the kind of impulsive chaos only Revy could concoct. It involved exactly three steps: storm in, throw her weight around, and demand answers like the universe owed her a personal hotline. 

Subtlety? Out the window. 

Patience? Never heard of it. 

Strategic foresight? She probably thought it was a brand of beer for snobs.

Revy's boots crunched against the gravel driveway as she approached the place Guldrin was supposed to be staying, her cigarette dangling precariously from her lips. The morning sun cast a golden glow over the quiet street, mocking her high-octane energy. 

She was a storm in a teacup, ready to blow up what should've been a simple visit into a full-blown spectacle.

Did she care?

No, she was going to meet her wayward brat of a brother, and he was GOING to remember her.

Revy didn't bother knocking. She slammed the door open with the kind of force that suggested she had some unresolved beef with carpentry. 

"Alright, kid!" she barked, her voice echoing through the empty house. "Where the hell are you hiding? I've got questions, and you've got answers! I swear, if you don't remember me, we are going to have problems."

Silence greeted her. Deafening, mocking silence.

Revy squinted at the empty café room. A single couch sat askew, as if someone had left in a hurry, and an empty coffee mug stood abandoned on the table. She kicked a stray cushion for good measure. "Oh, great. Not even home. Just my damn luck," she muttered, her annoyance tangible enough to taste.

She stomped around the house like an angry rhino on a caffeine high, muttering profanities under her breath as she poked through random drawers. Not for anything specific, mostly just to satisfy her irritation. 

"Who leaves a house this clean, anyway? What is this, a showroom? Freakin' kid's probably out doing something stupid. Or worse, something smart."

Her irritation boiled over as she stubbed her toe on a misplaced footstool. "ARGH! Who puts this here?!" She kicked the offending furniture piece, only to realize it was heavier than it looked. A loud thud echoed, followed by an even louder curse as she hopped on one foot, waving her cigarette like a wand of rage.

She had no idea that the security system had locked everything down; no valuables or sentimental objects could be found anywhere. 

If Guldrin had been in this dimension, he would have been pinged continuously about a high-threat intruder currently on the premises. 

Due to the high threat, no defensive actions would be taken until Guldrin or Shiro, the admins, made a decision. 

—

–

-

Meanwhile, elsewhere in the city, Letty was navigating a completely different flavor of chaos. 

It was the sort that required nerves of steel, a poker face, and the kind of composure that made her question her life choices every five minutes.

'I swear, this better be good… If this is another I will do my best Letty, I might just castrate him.'

She was currently sitting in the dimly lit corner of a suspiciously sketchy warehouse, the kind of place that screamed, 'This is where bad decisions are made.' 

Mia sat beside her, arms crossed, radiating the energy of someone who wanted to be anywhere else. 

Across from them stood Brian, looking like a man caught between guilt and determination. His kicked-puppy appearance did nothing to melt Mia's closed-off heart. 

A few minutes later, after Brian explained the deal, they were both frowning.

Letty's face was set in stone, her gaze fixed on Brian with the intensity of a hawk sizing up prey. "So, let me get this straight," she said, calm but edging with steel. "You're telling me that if I play mole for the FBI, they'll wipe Dom's record clean?"

Brian nodded, his hands shoved into his jacket pockets. "That's the deal. This smuggling ring's been on their radar for months, but they need someone with your... skill set to get close and ID the head, who has evaded our investigations till this date. If you do this, Dom can come back. No charges. No running. Just... back home where he belongs."

Mia snorted, the sound sharp and bitter. "And we're just supposed to trust the FBI on this? Because, you know, they've been real reliable so far." Her words dripped with sarcasm, and she shot Brian a look that could curdle milk. 

He was this FBI in her scenario.

Brian sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. "I know it's not ideal, okay? But it's the best shot we've got. Dom deserves a chance to come home. You know that as much as I do."

Letty leaned back, crossing her arms as she mulled over the proposition. The idea of infiltrating a smuggling ring wasn't exactly her idea of a fun weekend, but the thought of Dom being able to live freely again was tempting. Most importantly, he would be home with Guldrin and the rest of the family. Too tempting.

The door groaned open with the dramatic flair of a horror movie set piece, and in walked two agents who seemed to have emerged straight from an instructional video on how to be blandly intimidating. 

Clipboard Guy led the charge, clutching his clipboard with the reverence of a priest holding sacred scripture. His partner, let's call him Stoneface, was the human embodiment of a brick wall, with all the warmth to match.

"Ms. Ortiz," Clipboard Guy began, his voice so monotone it could have doubled as a sleep aid. 

"We've been briefed on your background. Your mechanical skills, combat experience, and ability to... adapt, make you a prime candidate for this operation. You'll be briefed fully if you agree to proceed."

Letty leaned back in her chair, her expression a masterpiece of barely contained sarcasm. 

She raised a hand, wiggling her fingers to flash her wedding ring like it was a VIP pass to a better life. "Toretto," she corrected, her voice dripping with mock sweetness. "I am married, remember? But let's stay on topic. You mean, if I agree to clean up your mess, right?"

Clipboard Guy faltered, his carefully rehearsed pitch hitting a pothole. "I assure you, Ms. Toretto, this operation is-"

"Yeah, yeah, save the pitch," Letty cut in, waving a hand as if shooing away an overzealous salesman. "Let's just skip to the part where you tell me what's in it for us. And make it snappy, I don't have all day. I left my son at home for this."

Mia, perched on the edge of a nearby crate, smirked. Her arms were crossed, and she looked more relaxed than she had in weeks, clearly relishing the spectacle of Letty bulldozing a man who probably considered "assertiveness training" a life skill.

Guldrin and Shiro had rubbed off on Mia more than she knew or cared to admit if her appearance was anything to go on.

Brian, standing awkwardly a few feet away, looked like he wanted the ground to swallow him whole. 

He ran a hand through his hair, the universal gesture of a man regretting his life choices. "Letty," he started, his voice tinged with exasperation, "just… please. Hear them out. This could work."

Letty's gaze shifted to Brian, her expression softening just a fraction. "Fine," she sighed, though it sounded more like a growl. "But if this goes south, I'm holding you personally responsible. Got it?"

Brian nodded so quickly, that he might have strained a neck muscle. "Got it." If he actually understood what that meant was up for debate, but he knew the best chance to complete this mission is for Letty to agree. If he had to make assurances, that is fine.

Clipboard Guy cleared his throat, attempting to reclaim some semblance of authority. "As I was saying, Ms. Toretto, your unique skill set makes you indispensable for this mission. We need someone who can infiltrate a smuggling ring that's been a thorn in our side for years. If you can gather intel and help us bring them down, the Bureau is willing to make your husband's charges disappear. Completely."

Stoneface, who had remained silent until now, finally spoke, his voice gravelly and devoid of any hint of humor. "Regardless of your husband… This is about taking down one of the most dangerous networks operating on U.S. soil. You'll be doing the right thing."

Letty let out a short laugh, sharp and humorless. "The right thing?" She echoed. "What's next, I should sacrifice myself for the greater good?" 

"Spare me the moral high ground speech. I'm not in this to save the world. I'm in this for Dom and to bring him home to our family. So let's drop the pretense and talk business. How do we make this work?"

Looking entirely serious, they both nodded to each other and said, "His name is Braga, and you are going to take him down."

-

–

—

Back at the empty cafe-garage, Revy had finally given up on her one-woman rampage. She flopped onto the couch, lighting another cigarette and glaring at the ceiling like it had personally offended her. "Stupid kid," she muttered, blowing out a stream of smoke. "Probably out saving the world or something equally annoying."

The sound of a distant car engine made her sit up, her ears perking like a cat spotting a mouse. She peeked out the window, her sharp eyes narrowing as she caught sight of a figure approaching the house.

"Finally," she muttered, cracking her knuckles. "Time to get some answers."

The door creaked open, and Revy jumped to her feet, ready to unleash a verbal barrage. But instead of Guldrin, it was a delivery guy holding a box of what smelled suspiciously like fried chicken.

Revy stared at him. He stared back.

"Uh… daily delivery for Guldrin?" he said, holding up the box as if he had done it hundreds of times.

Revy blinked, then snatched the box out of his hands. "Thanks, kid. Keep the change," she said, tossing him a crumpled bill that may or may not have been a single.

"Wait, that's not-"

*SLAM*

Revy set the box on the coffee table, her irritation momentarily forgotten as the aroma of fried chicken filled the room. "Well, at least the kid's got good taste," she muttered, pulling out a drumstick.

As she bit into the crispy, golden goodness, she couldn't help but grin. Maybe the day wasn't a total bust after all. 

Now if only she could find the booze.

(Give me your POWER, Please, and Thank You! Leave reviews and comments, they motivate me to continue.)