Marc Russo (bluelined) wrote in remains_rpg, @ 2017-01-10 21:53:00 |
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Sister Slaughter always made it pretty fucking clear when he wanted to be left alone -- except for Miz Deliverance, of course. Not that Marc could blame him. The revelation that the Capitol had never been in this to destroy the Prax, even though it was tearing the city up and leaving dead addicts in its wake, had shook them all. His hands shook with a barely-contained fury as he left Sister Slaughter's train car, nodding towards his own. He wasn't yet ready for the conversation to be over, and whoever wanted to follow would. The lack of light down in the tunnels was something he'd gotten used to over time. He didn't have to strain to see that Leo wasn't home when he opened the door, but that didn't bother Marc any. His brother didn't want to be involved in this shit, considering how fresh his detox had been, and Marc wasn't about to push it. So he turned to the person who had followed him over, arms coming up to cross over his chest as he snarled, "Should've known you can't trust those two-faced bastards any." “Can’t usually trust anybody,” Torrie retorted. “Least of all fucking fat cats.” She matched Marc’s posture, her skinny arms folded over her chest. “I wouldn’t be surprised if they were trying to use us to get rid of their Dog problem.” Although it seemed stupid to her, since it was more likely that the Prax would take out the Ghouls before they could take out the Dogs. She’d seen more addicts die in the tunnels than she’d like to admit. Not only from the Prax either; there were monstrous people beneath the city, and if she didn’t have Sister and Miz watching out for her, she’d carry more than her gun around. “It’s all a fucking joke.” There was a constant war inside of her between the addict and the person that wanted to stay clean. It would have been so much easier if the drug had been destroyed. There was a flashlight on the table -- Marc had just put new batteries in it earlier that day, once they'd picked up the latest crate of Capitol supplies -- but he didn't see the point. The mood he was steeping in didn't need any illumination, and he didn't think the rage behind Torrie's words needed to be seen, either. Still, he thumbed the side button of his phone just enough to pull out a chair and sit down in it. When he let go of the phone, he could feel that he'd gripped it tight enough to leave a mark. "Sister said we could trust 'em," he pointed out. "So we did." How much that trust had gone was something else altogether, but Marc had wanted to believe they had a solution. Years on the force had given him enough belief in authority, when it was right, and he'd believed Virgil wouldn't lead them astray. "But it's not over yet. Dog King's dead, god willing." Even if they hadn't yet received actual confirmation, Marc had been there when Carver'd stabbed the fucker, and it'd been a pretty thorough job. "We can take out the rest." He'd gut every fucking Dog if it came to that. Dropping herself into the other chair, Torrie made a frustrated noise in the back of her throat. “They’re mean fuckers.” Like Marc needed to be reminded. “Worst thing we could fucking do is underestimate them, even with that blond motherfucker dead.” She stayed out of the things with their leaders, kept her distance, but she knew them from where she’d watched just a rifle shot away, and even if the Dog King was six feet under, his second was about as bad. Maybe worse. “We won’t be able to do jack shit if Sister doesn’t want to,” she pointed out, scuffing her boot against the floor, her dark eyes still flinty with tense anger. “These sad fuckers won’t follow you or me.” They barely followed Sister, and he’d earned the authority he had. As much as Torrie hated admitting it, that was one thing the Dogs had going for them, they were stupidly loyal and willing to follow orders like good little mutts. "There's no way he's leaving this shit the way it is," Marc interjected, slapping the top of the table for emphasis. This whole fucking thing felt like there was something boiling just below the surface, ready to explode. "He's pissed off, not that I blame him any, but we've waited too long." There was truth to her words, though; there wasn't much they could do with a group of people who'd barely managed to unite. Even the skirmishes they'd won felt like they'd only swung their way due to sheer dumb luck. "He just needs time to cool the fuck off." Just like maybe Marc did, too -- not that he could or would admit it just then. "But he'll think of something. We're not just gonna roll over and let them kill us all, even if the Capitol's fucking betting on it." It would be nice if she could have that same kind of faith in people. She owed Sister a lot, but even she had her doubts about whether or not he’d come out of his anger long enough to figure out a plan. “Meanwhile, the Dogs keep fucking with people down here,” she retorted neutrally, although the way her arms were still crossed broadcasted that she was still upset. She wondered what Solomon would think about everything; he still had to live with the Capitol and play nice. She couldn’t think her brother would be that happy, though. “You have any ideas how we’re going to set a trap for the rest of them?” Even if it would take Sister’s influence to get the rest of the Ghouls moving. “Because I’ve got jack shit. Unless we just start trying to pick them off out on the street.” She could probably pop a few tires if she had a clean shot, but that was a skill, not a plan. "Would be easier if they stuck to a specific couple of routes." Too bad that even when he'd been working the Austin beat, the Hellhounds had been unpredictable. Plus they didn't have the manpower or the weapons to counteract the Dogs once they swept them into any kind of ambush, anyway, and this wasn't the first time they'd talked ideas and pipe dreams of getting one over their rivals. Still, even if it felt like a real uphill fucking battle, people's lives were on the line here. "If we got a chance of taking one or two of them, you think they'd want to go after their own?" Torrie shrugged. “Could be worth trying.” Not without a lot of risk, though. The Dogs were vicious, even down to the lowest of them. “But who the fuck do we even try for?” She made a face. “I don’t know about you, but I wouldn’t want to try shit with any of the big fuckers.” A fairly widespread description of the fucking idiots who wore leather cuts, but she thought Marc probably got the point of what she meant. Marc gave a humorless laugh; the sound hung in the still, tepid air before fading. "It's like he doped them up on steroids before setting them loose. Bunch of fucking idiots. They don't know shit without someone to follow, though. Just gotta separate them from the top dogs." At least, it sounded like it could work in his head, in theory. The further along they got in the conversation the more Torrie felt like they were just spitballing. But it was better than the alternative when she felt like every negative emotion she had was boiling just under the surface. After her last Prax run-in she was trying to be better; she didn’t want Solomon down in the tunnels again, trying to sort her out. “But hell, if we got one of their officers...” Torrie smirked, even though it was pretty far out to think they could organize enough to snag a big fish. “They’re already down a Dog King.” "I'd like to see them try to put two and two together without him barking around orders." Marc leaned back in his seat and gave a heavy exhale, and just like that the direness of the situation hit him like a ton of bricks. His gaze lifted, looking for hers in the darkness and only just barely making out the shape of her face in the meantime. "You think we're fucked, Torrie?" “Fuck, I don’t know.” Torrie pulled her knees up under her chin, shrugging her shoulders. “Today it feels like we are, but tomorrow could be fucking different.” She was a realist, but tried not to be a pessimist. Or maybe it was just Solomon’s influence; her brother was incapable of that much negativity. “I don’t want those biker jackasses to win, and I don’t want Olinger to win, either.” When had it become such a fucking war? She hadn’t signed up for it. “I don’t fucking understand why everyone’s decided to shit on us, like somehow we’re worth less of their time than the walkers.” Anger had seeped back into her tone with each word, and she was almost vibrating with the desire to do something, but had no outlet for it. "Humans always do this shit. No matter what, even when shit's fucked up we always have to pick someone to step on." Marc had never been a history kind of man in school, nor had he ever really been a school kind of man, but he'd gotten an education on that here in Austin over the last year. He'e thought he'd seen the worst of humanity during his time with the BPD, but all of this was something else. He scoffed, shaking his head. "You're right, though. The god damned dead's walking around outside and we have to worry about this petty bullshit. All I know is we can't lose, you know? There's too much on the line." Torrie made a noise of agreement. “Not like we’re going to find a plan right now, though. We’re just fucking spinning our wheels.” Throwing ideas into the air wouldn’t make them stick. “We might as well wait until Sister is done being pissed off, then have a talk again.” Which did not a damn thing for a how pissed off she was, but she’d get over it. “But I can’t just sit here,” she continued as he nodded his assent. “What are the odds that the Dogs are skulking around? There’s a Walgreen’s north of the Capitol that looked like it hadn’t been cleared out yet.” At least scavenging would be doing something. "May as well head out. If we run into trouble, we give them as good as we can." He gave her a brief, grateful smile that was barely visible in the dark as it was. If he'd been allowed, he'd happily continue bitching about shit they couldn't change just yet. "Let's go." </d> |