3. could be worse could be raining

[rickitikitarr]

[Audio]

These things, they're coming through holes in the fabric of... well, space itself. Is there any way to close them?

[Is the technical explanation that Ricki stumbles for. It's only a seventies scifi explanation of a phenomenon he barely understands, but it's what he's got right now.]

It means that until they stop opening, any of the normal tactics- a perimeter, a systematic sweep- are totally useless. They can crawl right in behind us. Normally I'd suggest gathering everyone in the mess and working our way out, but if a tear opens up in the back, it has the potential to turn into a slaughter. We actually may be best keeping the vulnerable on their own, in their rooms, while everyone who can tries to clear down the halls.

[Then, silence, and finally two quick gun shots. The feed remains dead a little bit, as he gets his adrenaline down. His voice is still low, very level, when he can continue.]

But that means people may be trapped without food. It might be worthwhile to get volunteers to make runs for their neighbours. It'd be better to work in pairs to accomplish that.

Anyone game? [And, belatedly.] Anyone trapped?

[He'd do a better job of organizing this if it weren't on the fly. But as it is, he can hear something approaching. Heavy footsteps that may only just be captured by the feed. Then there is the sound that some residents will recognize as a gun being reloaded, before the feed cuts off.]

[Spam]

[Ammunition is scarce, but Ricki makes the most of what he has, hoarding it closely as he makes his perilous way through the halls of the ship, sometimes hunting, occasionally being hunted. The gun helps against the felhunters, and he isn't shy of shooting the succubi either, but on more than one memorable occasion he gets into it with a golem and ends up having to run for it, god damn it.

He'll help and need help, both in reasonably equal measure.]

Comments

[formerself]

Nah, I did all that before. Gymnastics through school, runnin' round the estates an' that. You know who locks their windows in a top-floor flat? Fuckin' nobody.

[Okay, so he's not proud of his nascent career as a petty criminal but he's well aware that he had a useful set of skills. Kingsman just built a lot of aptitude for killing people (and, apparently, glowing rock monsters) on top of that.]

[rickitikitarr]

[Ricki looks up at him for a second, stopping his busy construction of molotov cocktails to appreciate for a moment how cool Eggsy is- not because of the gymnastics thing but rather because he has such sensible ideas about top floor windows. He has the unusual feeling of wanting to impart every bit of wisdom he has to him.]

So what do they have you on? Sure as hell not deskwork.

[formerself]

[He gets the idea as regards the Molotovs and circles around the bar without having to be asked, rummaging through the bottles for the insane Russian-killing high proofs while Ricki preps the bottles. Petrol would be better, but where are they gonna get that?]

They got the Cambridge graduates for that, don't they? Plebs like me're just cannon fodder, in't we.

[rickitikitarr]

Sure. Human resources.

[Agreeing, but not with any particular rancour.]

Some of 'em will see us that way.

[But there's a lot more to it, of course.]

[formerself]

Yeah.

[And then, because he can't spit on Harry's memory even in the interests of maintaining some vague semblance of a cover:]

Not all of 'em, though.

[rickitikitarr]

As someone who's been in this line of work near twenty years, it's never a downside when someone sees you as less than you are.

[Screwing the last cap tighter.]

All it is is an opening. You don't suppose the ship is flammable, do you?

[It has literally just now struck him that this might be a terrible idea.]

[formerself]

[Oh, that much he knows. Watching Arthur's hollowly satisfying death - watching the old prick die because he couldn't imagine being outmanouevred by some chav kid - taught him that.]

Dunno. Those fuckin' rock things ain't set it alight yet.

[rickitikitarr]

[How wrong can it go, then. He goes back to prepping the bottles Eggsy finds.]

Course, I'm not the best example to follow. You know which side my judgement came down on.

[He's an inmate, after all.]

[formerself]

[Eggsy shrugs and passes him something that doesn't seem to be labelled in any human language, but is completely odourless and makes the inside of his nose feel like burning.]

I ain't the judge, mate.

[If Ricki fucks him over then they've got a problem, but until then? He feels like they both need all the help they can get.]

[rickitikitarr]

[Good. Because he wants to kill these things, even if it blows up half the boat, and it'll be easier with help.]

Still got the shakes? The effects pass before too much longer.

[formerself]

[He sets down the bottle and looks at his hand for a few seconds. There's a slight tremor that he hadn't noticed before; it seems to go away when he's focused, when he's handling something. He keeps rummaging through the bottles.]

Be alright in a minute.

[Unlikely - his neck is killing him - but it's not like he can stop for the month of physio it feels like he needs.]

[rickitikitarr]

The death toll can knock it out of you.

[He'd hesitated on whether to say that.]

[formerself]

[Fuuuuck.

He stops, his shoulders dropping.]

...I was dead when you got to me, weren't I?

[Said in the tone of someone who, deep down, already knew this was the case.]

[rickitikitarr]

Broken neck.

[Agreeing, quietly. But;]

It's over, you're back now.

[formerself]

[He can't even come close to processing that properly.]

I really did think you was takin' the piss. But. I s'pose if he can do it anywhere he can do it here, can't he?

[Which he knows is basically a remark on what his deal is, but it's only really the finer details he feels much need to keep to himself.]

[rickitikitarr]

Yeah.

[Watching him closely, inferring from that- but the head on approach is not the best one, and certainly not right at this moment.]

It's happening to most of us, this time. I've never seen so many people killed in such a short window.

[formerself]

Barge ain't full'f fuckin' monsters most of the time.

[He hopes. Could be a normal week for all he knows.]

[rickitikitarr]

Nah. But what do I know, I'm as new as you are, in the grand scheme o' things.

[Talking to Eggsy is bringing his accent out in earnest, unconscious mirroring.]

[formerself]

[Eggsy's noticing, and he can't deny that he's pleased.]

Yeah, no shit. Maybe it's gonna be zombies next week. Robots an' all.

[Zombies and/or robots, he thinks he'd be better equipped for.]

[rickitikitarr]

[Ricki's is weird- a muddle of colony-kid, his father's Australian, and then a good spell of years in and around Brixton, but that's part of while it slides around so easily with his mood. Right now he's feeling rather violent, rather willing to risk a little collateral.]

Or a combination of both.

[But for now, he pulls out his lighter, and sets it on the bar-top. As soon as they're ready, they can head back out there and cause a hell of a lot of damage, with these.]

[formerself]

Yeah.

[He looks at the row of wicked bottles and the lighter with a renewed sense of purpose that, at least psychologically, offsets the hideous pain in his neck.]

Right. Let's stop fucking about, then.

[rickitikitarr]

Let's shall.

[Fuck, he's missed this. He picks up two, and starts for the door.

How wrong can it possibly go?]

[formerself]

[One way to find out. He grabs a couple for himself and follows.

Eggsy's not exactly short on weaponry. Gun (bit light on ammo) in the back of his jeans, one more grenade in his pocket, electric-shock signet ring on his right (that is to say, 'wrong') hand. But there's something about the weight and heft of the bottles in his hands that makes him feel better.

Shit, even if he thinks better of starting a fire below decks, there's a lot of damage you can do with a broken bottle and a bit of visceral determination. He pretty deliberately neglects to shut the door on the way out - maybe it'll shut by himself but that won't be on him - and it's quiet on the stairs but that doesn't necessarily mean anything.]

What else you run into downstairs?

[rickitikitarr]

This thing made exclusively of spines.

[Is the only way he can think to put it.]

Tusks, spikes, snapping tentacles-

[formerself]

Yeah, I seen 'em. Looks like a dog on a shit acid trip, sounds like...

[They've barely set foot on Level One when he hears the snarling from the other end of the hall, and really, Eggsy doesn't doubt for a second that Ricki fucking jinxed them somehow.]

...that?