Re: [M] You Can Check Out Any Time You Like, But You Can Never Leave
Posted: Wed Jan 09, 2019 7:58 am
Somewhere Safe? | evening
30 Vortas 2718
It still stung, but the green eyes had focused upon the thin gap beneath the couch. Their nostrils twitched, form tensing despite the hissing complaints, the growing sense of numbness that began to creep down their leg. A weakness, the circulation feeling as if it was draining away – bleeding out into the surroundings and becoming noticeably warm. Or perhaps that was more accurately the dull beat that was beginning to fill their skull, the distinct pressure that pressed against their temple in a lingering threat. What form of threat? Irrational, they saw the thin strands beneath, the small clumps of dust that had yet to be dragged away mingling with hairs. Osta or human? They were not sure – there was too little light to determine what exactly.
They curled inwards as Rhys passed, no longer doting on Charity. They did not meet his gaze, far too aware of the tensing of the fields that threatened to consume the room. Smothering, consuming, it pooled into the depths the situation. It was odd, serving as a filter between one who clearly wanted to rampage, while the other sought something else – softer gentler and far too alluring for her own good.
At least the bucket of water seemed to be doing its work. That was a small mercy.
Gale was silent. Listening to the words as they spilled forth. For them it was too much information – not to process but in the reminder that bliss can be found in ignorance. The less they knew the less of a liability they would be. But that was only a half truth, one who knew could prepare. Vigilance against an encroaching storm. The mind flickered, snatching between the words. It looked not to emotion but to the information. The intent. The baggage of the heart was thrown aside – much like other sensations that smashed against the mental walls of the smith that threatened their prison of solitude.
Establish point one. Drugs. Specifically the Crop. Diaxio also known as Xi. Foreman for an overseer.
The eyes narrowed, darting briefly to the cup that rolled across the floor. There was no smash, merely the rotations as it gradually came to a stop.
“A gun? Did you get a look at it? What can you tell me about it?”
That was the first question. Though less to the others but more to their own internal library of information. Legality aside, firearms were rare; there were few makers, and makers had a tendency to have a particular style. The fact there was a click suggested it was a flintlock. They did not want to jump to the conclusion it could have been liberator. That was far too damning for their own psyche to handle right now.
Three known heads. The next is a Benjamin, the third an unknown.
“How many fields? How many were there? You said there was a woman, describe her.”
An odd question, but it gave them their own mental count – informed them on who they were dealing with and aided with cross referencing their own internal information. Even with the verbal slap thrown at them by Charity, the intoxication clearly overriding their sense of social tact.
And reminding Gale of the place they held in society.
“Yes. You’re right. Of course I don’t care. Stupid selfish human that I am that plays pretend on somethin’ they’re not,” their eyes sifted back to the dust beneath the couch. Was that a spider they saw there? They watched the tiny shape skitter underneath and out of sight, “I cannot help with tomorrow. That’s your fight.”
But what do they lose? They made a threat, for what reason?
“Dunno what answer you want from me. Just a villain here after all. Anyways,” the brow pinched, lips pulling into a line as they felt an unwelcome tremble in their leg, “You seem to think runnin’ away is the way to fix it all. And you seem to think standin’ up will just get you dead.”
Stitches complained. Chest tightening as the berating words slapped against them, self-depreciating and attempting to pull upon the strings of emotion. Gale brushed them aside, “And now you’re being selfish.”
Someone to had to say it.
“But I ain’t a quack to hear about yourself hate and drug fuelled mind. So fuck you and your self-depreciatin’ thoughts. I’m passin’ that buck to Rhys,” the smith gave a snort, “You can either give up, and get fucked lying down. Be another pawn in their game, another cog in their wheel – or you can grow a damned spine and do the right thing. Fight back, if not for yourself then others. For ‘im. For the others who were sunk into and being forced. Wassit… a chain is only as strong as its weakest link.”
Gale’s head turned in the direction of Rhys, speaking out, “Less you’re just another one pushing the wheel of the damned and dead.”
“What do they gain if they kill you? What do they lose? What are they scared of,” Gale sniffed, “And who’s pullin’ Diaxio’s chain? You said employed, right? So why is she so interested in keepin’ you in their little circle? Keepin’ you pliable and accountable. What's next?”
They curled inwards as Rhys passed, no longer doting on Charity. They did not meet his gaze, far too aware of the tensing of the fields that threatened to consume the room. Smothering, consuming, it pooled into the depths the situation. It was odd, serving as a filter between one who clearly wanted to rampage, while the other sought something else – softer gentler and far too alluring for her own good.
At least the bucket of water seemed to be doing its work. That was a small mercy.
Gale was silent. Listening to the words as they spilled forth. For them it was too much information – not to process but in the reminder that bliss can be found in ignorance. The less they knew the less of a liability they would be. But that was only a half truth, one who knew could prepare. Vigilance against an encroaching storm. The mind flickered, snatching between the words. It looked not to emotion but to the information. The intent. The baggage of the heart was thrown aside – much like other sensations that smashed against the mental walls of the smith that threatened their prison of solitude.
Establish point one. Drugs. Specifically the Crop. Diaxio also known as Xi. Foreman for an overseer.
The eyes narrowed, darting briefly to the cup that rolled across the floor. There was no smash, merely the rotations as it gradually came to a stop.
“A gun? Did you get a look at it? What can you tell me about it?”
That was the first question. Though less to the others but more to their own internal library of information. Legality aside, firearms were rare; there were few makers, and makers had a tendency to have a particular style. The fact there was a click suggested it was a flintlock. They did not want to jump to the conclusion it could have been liberator. That was far too damning for their own psyche to handle right now.
Three known heads. The next is a Benjamin, the third an unknown.
“How many fields? How many were there? You said there was a woman, describe her.”
An odd question, but it gave them their own mental count – informed them on who they were dealing with and aided with cross referencing their own internal information. Even with the verbal slap thrown at them by Charity, the intoxication clearly overriding their sense of social tact.
And reminding Gale of the place they held in society.
“Yes. You’re right. Of course I don’t care. Stupid selfish human that I am that plays pretend on somethin’ they’re not,” their eyes sifted back to the dust beneath the couch. Was that a spider they saw there? They watched the tiny shape skitter underneath and out of sight, “I cannot help with tomorrow. That’s your fight.”
But what do they lose? They made a threat, for what reason?
“Dunno what answer you want from me. Just a villain here after all. Anyways,” the brow pinched, lips pulling into a line as they felt an unwelcome tremble in their leg, “You seem to think runnin’ away is the way to fix it all. And you seem to think standin’ up will just get you dead.”
Stitches complained. Chest tightening as the berating words slapped against them, self-depreciating and attempting to pull upon the strings of emotion. Gale brushed them aside, “And now you’re being selfish.”
Someone to had to say it.
“But I ain’t a quack to hear about yourself hate and drug fuelled mind. So fuck you and your self-depreciatin’ thoughts. I’m passin’ that buck to Rhys,” the smith gave a snort, “You can either give up, and get fucked lying down. Be another pawn in their game, another cog in their wheel – or you can grow a damned spine and do the right thing. Fight back, if not for yourself then others. For ‘im. For the others who were sunk into and being forced. Wassit… a chain is only as strong as its weakest link.”
Gale’s head turned in the direction of Rhys, speaking out, “Less you’re just another one pushing the wheel of the damned and dead.”
“What do they gain if they kill you? What do they lose? What are they scared of,” Gale sniffed, “And who’s pullin’ Diaxio’s chain? You said employed, right? So why is she so interested in keepin’ you in their little circle? Keepin’ you pliable and accountable. What's next?”