|
|
Post by Funhouse Gear on Feb 26, 2012 3:59:19 GMT -5
*I dodge from side to side as I run, too angry to be grateful for the killjoy's poor aim. We get right back into it as soon as I'm close enough for hand-to-hand, with the added challenge of not tripping over the other two and the bike.* Give me the gun! *I hiss at him, deflecting his hand as he tries to shoot me with it. He's an idiot, using it in such close quarters. I'm positive now that it's Arson's, though I have no idea how it ended up with Red*
*I have to say, I'm surprised by the demand. I glance down at the gun, painted red and yellow over the white, and wonder if maybe the kid didn't lift it off someone after all* Why d'you want it, piggy? You got some other bastard killjoys helping the dracs? Or your girlfriend, maybe?
*I see his eyes narrow at my last comment, and my smile widens* Oh, I see! The kid got ahold of your fuck buddy's gun and you want it back!
*I can almost feel the nerve snap when he insults her, and slam my fist into his face so hard it makes my whole lower arm hurt* Her name, *I snarl, twisting his wrist until he drops the gun, and then bringing the stock down on his head so he falls to his knees on the pavement* is Arson, you fucking bastard.
*Remembering the scene in the back room, I take a moment to kick him below the belt with every ounce of energy I can muster, and then break into a run again before I have time to give in to the temptation to shoot him with something rather more permanent than 'stun'.*
|
|
|
|
Post by redhavoc on Feb 26, 2012 4:14:45 GMT -5
*I hear the shouting increase and sounds of blaster fire. I tell Flame I'll be right back and take out my knife. Jogging to the front of the store, all I see is my buds, including the Capt., lying on the ground. Slink is rolling around holding his crotch and I can make out that the other two are breathing through the blood. A broom is off to one side*
Well, dang, guess I'm driving *I mumble to no one is particular*
...
*I glance up enough to confirm that it's Max before holding my head again. I only know that we enter the theater again by a change in temperature. I must be really out of it, because more quickly than seems possible Max is setting me down on the bed I've been using in one of the back rooms. I quickly shirk away to the corner so my back is pressing against where the two walls meet. I pull my knees up to my chest and bury my face. I'm vaguely aware of Max's presence in the room and the fact that I can't seem to stop shaking*
|
|
|
|
Post by Max Griffiths on Feb 26, 2012 4:22:27 GMT -5
*I stand back a bit when she cowers back in the corner, more worried than ever. I don't know whether I should stay or leave her alone. Her cheek's still bleeding, though, and I realize her shoes are missing; she must have been running, because her socks are scuffed and torn, and the soles of her feet look raw* Red?
*I keep my voice low; she reminds me of nothing so much as the killjoys fresh out of Wolfblood treatments, when they're put back in their cells with nothing but the memories of the films running through their heads. Staring at nothing in particular, easily panicked.* I'm going to get first aid for your cuts. Stay here, all right? I'll be right back.
|
|
|
|
Post by redhavoc on Feb 26, 2012 4:26:43 GMT -5
*I nod slowly, not really seeing Max or the room. Hands reaching toward me, red eyes, no, don't touch me... I look around and realize by some miracle I still have my red jacket. I pull it on for comfort, the fabric warm from the sun*.
|
|
|
|
Post by Funhouse Gear on Feb 26, 2012 4:33:38 GMT -5
*I get back to the theater without being followed, and push through the front doors. I don't see Moon, and Nack takes one look at me before retreating to the other side of the stage. I go straight for the back rooms without slowing down, Arson's gun held at my side and the blood drying on my face and knuckles. Red's in her room with no sign of Max, and the door slams against the wall when I shove it open.*
What the /hell/, *I say, my voice louder than normal* were you thinking?!
|
|
|
|
Post by redhavoc on Feb 26, 2012 4:37:28 GMT -5
*I start to visibly shake, startled by Gear's entrance. His anger, more than the blood on his face, actually scares me. I try to mime 'food' as best as possible and then give up. I keep my eyes lowered, feeling ashamed and stupid. It really was my fault and I put others in danger... I half-wonder if he'll take the gun and just shoot... I half-wish he would*
|
|
|
|
Post by Funhouse Gear on Feb 26, 2012 4:45:03 GMT -5
*She doesn't answer - of course she doesn't - but I can tell what she means. It doesn't inspire sympathy.* You wanted food? We all wanted food! Why do you think the others left? You couldn't just sit here and wait? *I realize I'm gesturing with Arson's gun, and set it down on the rickety table by the door with a clatter* I'm sorry if you're used to three square meals a day in the city, but that's not how it works out here. You could have gotten yourself killed - you could have gotten /me/ killed - and you lost us the only motorcycle we had left! God - *I put my hands behind my head, flinching when I feel the lump from when I hit the concrete* Did you think that through at /all/?!
|
|
|
|
Post by Max Griffiths on Feb 26, 2012 4:50:02 GMT -5
*I step into the doorway behind the killjoy, having heard the shouting from down the hall. Any appreciation of his having rescued Red evaporates when I hear his words*
I think you need to leave. *My voice is cold* Now.
|
|
|
|
Post by Funhouse Gear on Feb 26, 2012 4:57:44 GMT -5
*I tense when I hear Max's voice behind me, and I turn to face him, hands up to defend myself. He towers over me, more threatening than ever now that I can see the expression on his face. Thoughts of the fight over the Beattle Bombs flash through my mind, and I can almost feel myself choking on the gas, Max's knee on my chest. A long moment passes in silence before he steps aside, and I pick up Arson's gun and walk out into the hallway, staying as close to the door frame as possible as I pass.*
Just keep her in the room, *I mutter, standing where I am for a few seconds after Max closes the door. Then I turn and make my way to the kitchen, digging out the spare first aid kit under the sink and wishing Jump were here to help patch me up.*
|
|
|
|
Post by Max Griffiths on Feb 26, 2012 5:05:45 GMT -5
*I close the door, crossing the room to Red and sitting down on the edge of the bed. There's still a fairly wide space between us, and I open the first aid kit and take out some sanitizing pads.* Can I touch your feet, or would you like to do it yourself? Your cuts need to be cleaned.
|
|
|
|
Post by redhavoc on Feb 26, 2012 5:10:08 GMT -5
*I don't like the idea of anyone touching me right now, but I realize they won't get properly cleaned by themselves. My face still feels red from the shame of Gear yelling at me, so I just nod, not making eye contact with Max. I pull off my ruined socks and Max carefully beings cleaning the raw areas. It stings, but I don't react, feeling I deserve whatever pain I get at this point. I tense a little when Max leans in, even though I trust him. At this point I just can't help it*
|
|
|
|
Post by Max Griffiths on Feb 26, 2012 5:17:49 GMT -5
It's good that you want to keep trying, *I finally say, as I get the last of the grit out of the scrapes on her feet and open a new sanitizing pad for the shallow cut on her cheek* You just have to be patient. *I fall silent, pausing a moment to make sure she's still handling my proximity before I reach out and gently start wiping the blood from her cheek. I'm careful to only let the damp pad touch her skin, and get a band-aid on as quickly as I can. Noticing a backpack in one corner, I stand and open it. I find a new pair of socks among other clothing, and bring them back to the bed.*
Wait a while, and then you can put these on if you'd like. Do you want me to stay in the room, or outside?
|
|
|
|
Post by redhavoc on Feb 26, 2012 5:24:44 GMT -5
*Go, stay, both, neither... I look from Max to the door, not so much considering as going by instinct. I point to the door solemnly, noticing that I'm still shaking. If there is one person I trust in this world, that would be Max, but I don't want any males around me, not after- I shake my head to get the images out, not wanting to think about it right now, and reach for the blanket to cover myself in more safe layers... I'm sorry Max...*
|
|
|
|
Post by Max Griffiths on Feb 26, 2012 5:31:37 GMT -5
*I nod, moving the blanket so it's within her reach before I open the door and step out. I'm far from offended; if anything, her gesture just adds to my concern. I need to find out what happened.* I'll check back in a few hours, unless there's urgent news before then. *I hesitate, not sure how to articulate my thoughts* I wish... I could help, more. *The words are clumsy, and I close the door quietly behind myself, feeling awkward.*
*Now, though, I have other things to think about. Time to go talk to the killjoy.*
|
|
|
|
Post by Funhouse Gear on Feb 26, 2012 18:24:17 GMT -5
*I don't put anything on my knuckles, but my skinned elbow warrants a bandage and the cut over my eye doesn't seem to want to stop bleeding. I consider sending a transmission to update Arson and the others on the events of the past hour, but decide against it; we're not in any immediate danger and they'll get the whole story when they get back. Better to let them focus on finding food. The defunct refrigerator against the far wall has a metal exterior, and when I glance over at my reflection I see the left side of my face is already starting to swell. I'm going to have a lovely black eye by the time they're here. Great.*
|
|
Yes, I'm still running - sort of. But it is lonely out here. Haven't seen anyone else for a while.
//