InsaneJournal

Tweak says, "... Have A Nice Day"

Ezra Jeong (oftheaether) wrote in containmentrp,
@ 2015-07-11 10:58:00

Entry tags:

2215-02-03, dewitt, ezra

Who: DeWitt & Ezra
What: All this tension in camp.
Where: The crew corral.
When: A little while before sunset.

Ezra closed his eyes and leaned in to the stack of sturdy boxes at his side. He was situated in the back of the van; door swung open, and had fashioned something of a couch from boxes and a blanket laid over them and the van's floor. He had one foot out and one in; his form stretch along the length of where the back doors anchored when they were closed. There was a bottle of whiskey in one hand; he had it resting against the side facing the openness of camp.

He was still pissed off that there was Haven Military in their camp, and those fuckers weren't dead. They were off limits; were being nursed back to health, and they would be sent back to Haven. To their hive. Ezra had been tense since the moment that declaration had been made, but there were other factors stated that had taken hold of him more deeply. That story Flint had told? Truths; frightening to so many others, but he got it. There were barbaric people; one lived within his own heart. It should come as no shock, and it didn't. At least, not to him and those who sheltered such things within them. Now, to be a considered target of a horde of viciousness? Just how big was this army? He'd been watching people all day, taking in their reactions to the news. Ezra had ghosted through the camp; even without his abilities in practice, watching some of his 'fellow' Diaspora had been easy. No one really paid him any mind or notice. They were so distracted, so concerned. So afraid.

They were going to be sitting ducks, what with these common reactions. Even if they moved, didn't matter. Sitting fucking ducks, with a great big target on their back. He rolled his eyes at the thought, and took another deep swig of the whiskey he'd procured. There was a slight buzz running under his skin; it was warm, comfortable and made the texture of his flannel shirt feel almost like thick velvet against his skin. Was he going to drink until he couldn't remember his own name? It depended, really. Maybe. He had to see what the others in the family wanted to do. The fact that he was sitting in the midst of a living target made him want to forget a lot of shit, but the majority of his actions were always dependent upon those he loved. If they went, so did he. If they remained, he would be stationary too. As for his own wants? They didn't matter. If he'd had no one left? He would have been gone from this place a long time ago, and none of this would matter a shit to him. There was a small voice which snickered inside of him, of course - that he might, had he not almost died as a child, been part of this army the camp was so terrified of. It was a possibility of another life and he knew it. Did it bother him? Not in the least. He'd long known what he was. How could he not, when he was reminded at least once a week by someone else in the camp?

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aintnodamnhero
2015-07-12 11:44 pm UTC (link)

DeWitt wanted a look at those fucking soldiers, if nothing else than to see for himself what kind of wounds they'd been carrying when they'd been found. The Pit Dogs had their own methods, signatures, preferences for getting what they wanted out of someone. He wanted to know once and for all if someone had been stupid enough to enlist those wackos for whatever grand hell they were planning. He'd asked himself why it really mattered more than a few times after finding out, knowing full well that none of those assholes meant shit to him anymore. Trouble was brewing, people were going to die, that much he knew. Maybe he just wanted confirmation that he'd have to start killing off people he knew again.

And he'd fucking do it.

They wouldn't stay in Manhattan, that much he figured. No one built an army for fucking fun. He'd spent a good portion of the past couple hours circling the encampment, trying to visualize what might happen if anyone he knew from the city tried to lead an assault on them. The consensus was there'd be a hell of a lot more color on the snow. The diaspora would have the hometown advantage, but that would only carry them so far with the numbers of bandits he was hearing. Traps, they could boobytrap the snow. It might give them a head start to get the hell out of the area if the army planned on moving while the weather was still shit.

No, that would be fucked up, though that depended on who was getting them all together in the first place. Faces flashed into his mind, though his brain didn't age them properly. Still young and vicious. Even his youngest siblings were full on adults now, if they were still alive. They might not be wiser. Fuck, his brother sure as hell hadn't gotten any smarter those last few years. Someone had though. For as long as he'd lived in the city, not once did anyone ever consider some sort of mass unification. No one was stable enough, sane enough, trusting enough. It took more coordination and pull than anyone DeWitt had ever met could muster. So who the fuck had done it?

He hadn't even realized he'd made the trek back home until he saw Ezra, grunting to himself as he raised a hand, rubbing it against the back of his neck with exhaustion. It seemed like Ez had the right idea, grunting by way of a greeting and dropping heavily beside him. "You better not be thinkin' a'gettin' shitfaced without me, pal."

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oftheaether
2015-07-13 02:50 am UTC (link)

"S'up?" He asked, as the other sat. Ezra pulled his knee in closer, to give the other man more room to rest in. "Oh, no - never, man. I was waiting on your ass to come along before I got completely plastered." The younger man grinned, then chugged back a swallow of the mentioned drink. After that, he held the bottle out in the other man's direction with an even wider grin on his face. There was something like a playful light in his eyes, too - first there had been for the majority of the day. Which was highly atypical of Ezra, considering he usually hid all his emotions under glee or feigned ignorance.

In truth, he was just glad that his friend was there, that there could be something of a distraction from all the thoughts running around his head. Knowing DeWitt, he was most likely in need of the same thing. Alcohol would always help in that. Still, it would be best to talk about the elephant in the camp than it would be to pretend it wasn't a thing, and he really did want to get DeWitt's take on the whole shebang.

"So, what do you think of all this shit?" He questioned, nodding in the direction where their 'guests' were being catered to. It really did get under his skin; they should just kill them and be done with it; make their choices from there. He hated that they were going to be patched up and sent on their way. Ezra was certain that DeWitt would be able to read that much in his body language; then again, anyone who knew him well enough would probably be able to read his damned mind when it came to such a subject. So much had been taken, after all, by the ones their people were then tending to.