Ryland had seen the flyers. You had to be blind or strung out of your wits to miss them. And nothing said ‘organization’ like some hastily scrawled sharpie on a kleptic stash of paper.
Still, it had perked his interested. He’d be terrible at his job – his real job – if it didn’t. If the Ghouls were trying to assemble then it was information that he’d damnwell be privy to. So he’d followed along with the masses, slipping into the room in the midst of a teaming group of miscreants and shuffling towards the back. He’d found a spot against the wall and kept it, kicking a slew of boneless washers out of the way.
Once there he’d reached into his pocket for his smokes, tapped one out of the hole in the top of the packet and set fire to the tip.
He watched as the man behind the messy scrawl stepped into the group, and grimaced at the whistle. That was completely inappropriate and totally uncalled for. It screeched through Ry’s head like nails on a chalk board, the high pitched tones ripping at his hangover in a way that had him gritting his teeth and sucking air in fast. Rude fucking asshole.
The speech went on, riveting in its simplicity and lack of biting reality. Ryland simply listened as one of the many, his cigarette burning down with each self-satisfied pump the bow cut through the air.
Well, this was certainly interesting. It seemed that one of the little rats wanted to turn into the hunter and, judging by the rumble that followed the driving point, many of the sewer creatures shared the same misconception.
“And what’s your plan, Legolas?” Ry asked with a flick of his cigarette. The ash landed on the shoe of a bloodshot eyed junky who was far too busy reacting to the sound of the room to give a damn about the slight. Clearly the perfect solider and Ryland was hard-pressed not to roll his eyes.
He didn’t step forward, didn’t identify himself with some flourished action that craved attention. That wasn’t the game he played. Bystander; shadow, that was all that Ryland was. Neither a player in the intricate game of Ghoul politics nor a hopeful leader in need of instant mental validation.
“Ya gonna pipe the rats into war armed with rocks and wood?”