rickitikitarr | 3. could be worse could be raining

3. could be worse could be raining

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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.]

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Put the gun down. Save your ammo for when you absolutely have to.

[Dean is on the move himself, if the way his breathing interrupts his speech is any indication.]

We still need checkpoints. Places anyone gets cut out can get back to if they can and find help.

I'm being judicious.

[He isn't shooting at shadows, just the fleshy targets when they get too close.]

The food supply might not be a bad spot, then. With how these things come through, d'you think we'd be safer with a checkpoint in a small, contained room, where you can see it coming, or in a rabbit warren like the library, where there's plenty of tucking for cover but no way to know if the place is truly clear?

Judicious doesn't count much in a siege. We don't know how long this is going to last. Get a weapon that doesn't need rounds and get real familiar with it.

[He pauses, a massive grunt of effort and a several heavy, dull impacts, a high pitched shriek over it. Then the shriek cuts off, more impacts, and Dean is panting a bit more heavily when he continues.]

Small room. They don't know what they're coming into when the tears open, but if we know exactly what we're looking at and where to put our backs, we can hit them before they even set foot on our side.

[Ricki doesn't exactly appreciate the advice. He very nearly picks a fight, but a few seconds and a single deep breath put him past the desire to instruct him to fuck off. This isn't the time. He's a professional, he reminds himself, and it's time to act like one.]

Kitchen on level one. Inmate showers on level three, laundromat is on six, and- what's the layout of the cells in the bottom of this place?

That's ambitious. I don't know how many people we have.

[Dean is a professional, too, for all that he doesn't always act like it; several years ago he might have been able to admit that maybe this isn't a siege at all and that one massive show of force would be enough, but his life has been one battle after another after another, all with dwindling supplies.

For him the siege never stopped and he doesn't expect it ever will. He shakes his head.]

Kitchens and Zero take warden items to get into. Corner of the dining hall might work, we can make it small enough, but everyone needs to be able to get there. I'm collecting a few people. I'll get back to you when I know their status.

Christ, right, and he couldn't be persuaded to unlock the god damned doors for one fucking second-

[So much for professionalism. He grits his teeth, cuts himself off, suggests;]

Keep in touch. I'm going to keep cutting through to the mess.

Yes, it is possible. A simple matter, actually, since I am permitted to interfere in this place.

[ And he is so, so delighted by that fact. ]

Not possible for any unGifted human, I'm afraid.

Good- you're able to work on that? Do they try to come through while you're working on the holes?

Naturally. It is also necessary that every creature which came out of any hole be destroyed or returned before the hole can be sealed.

Hey-

[Reconnecting, a few minutes later, with new news.]

I don't know if you've heard this, but they're saying now we can close the holes off if and only if everything that's come out of it has been tracked down and destroyed. We may want to go much more on the offensive than we'd planned.

How do you know that?

[Wanting to make sure, before they waste ammunition on an out and out offensive.]

[Even with all of this going on, Cain was reluctant to trade in vodka for a weapon. He only has a few left (thankfully, steadier minds convinced him not to arm the entire inmate population).

He's got one hell of a headache--and let's not talk about the nausea, the aches--when he finally decides he's sober enough to go hunt. Or, rather, to check the network.]

Depends on what neighbor it is, but sure, if they're trapped and safe to let go I'll lend a hand.

[It takes Dean a minute to come back; when he does he sounds distinctly strained, moderately distracted, but focused.]

Who's they? Close them how?

Piss off with your petty grudges, old man.

[Ricki is of the school of thought that sometimes what it takes is a slap in the face. It's what he needed, last time he found himself drinking.]

Are you going to do something about all this or not? Because I'm pinned down out here. Second level, back corner, starboard. I don't think I have long.

[Dead calm, and very certain.]

Magic. Don't know who it is, the connected through this thing- I'll ask. They seem on the level.

[Though he couldn't tell Dean why, exactly. Call it gut instinct.]

I'm going to keep prying.

Got it.

[Dean doesn't exactly trust Ricki, but he knows he could do worse; at the very least they both seem invested in action now instead of later, they both have ideas, they're both on their feet. He could do a lot worse, for now.]

Some people are missing. Haven't noticed if there's a pattern yet, nothing like a complete list, but some heavy hitters have checked in. Infirmary's secure.

[It is a surprise. Most people give him a wide berth, for a variety of reasons. He can't actually remember the last time someone was that matter of fact with him--maybe back when he was an inmate, when it became clear he ignored yelling and turned violent when force was applied.]

...Fuck off, kid, you live long enough around here and you'll get a grudge of your own.

[He grumbles it at him but he's already gathering supplies: a small first aid kit, water, two hand-made and deplorably tasteless protein bars, along with the essentials like a torch and weapons.]

How many can you see?

All right.

[Since he has him, because he's running into a consistent problem;]

I took your advice and I'm working mostly with knives here, now, but it's doing fuck all against the big creatures, the stony ones. Bullets too, for that matter. Have you come across one of those, yet? I can't find a single thing to do about them but run.

Yeah, they're a pain in the ass.

[This is grim, acknowledging; he's run into them too and he has no solid course of action yet.]

They're rock. If I had some explosives, those might do the trick - or they're mostly topside. I almost got one over the rail before I had to run, too.

There's something made of stone and fire in the stairwell behind me. It doesn't know I'm out here or I'm sure it'd be on me. There's a pack of those dogs at the other end of the hall, round the corner, between me and the other way out. I've got knives on me and a taser, and a precious few rounds, but there are enough of them that I don't think I can cut through. There's a door is between me and them, but it isn't going to last long if they keep trying at it.

I've emptied a clip into them, but I think they know they've got me pinned, and if they wait my ammunition out and rush me, more than one of them, I don't like my odds.

I don't figure much works on a stone-fire monster. Except maybe a water gun.

How much ammo you got left?

[The stairwell being blocked means he'll have to go the long way, and he doesn't like the idea of talking while he's running, so he needs to get relevant information now while he's still lacing his boots.]

[It's Monday and Eggsy fucking hates the Barge.

Coming up to the (still existentially horrible) deck has not brought the hoped-for reprieve but instead the sight of his new friend from the 1970s booking it towards him, away from what is simultaneously the ugliest and coolest and most terrifying thing he's ever seen. He gives himself a second to appreciate that he's facing up to something made of rock and liquid fire --

Then actually does it.

He runs past Ricki with a cheerful - ]

Mornin', mate, y'awright?

[ - while digging in the pocket of his jeans for one of the 'lighters' he's brought out with him. The suicide run toward the golem is terrifying - he can feel the heat, smell the sulphur that burns at the back of his mouth - but this is his life now, innit.

He primes the grenade as he gets close, hurls it into the glowing green hollow in its chest cavity, ducks and rolls between its legs to dodge the descent of a massive stony arm. And overall it would have been a lot cooler if the resulting blast wave didn't throw him into the railing and snap his neck, killing him instantly.

Which will persist for about thirty seconds.]

Four shots. More in my quarters, but they're between me and it.

[Jesus, the kid is running at the thing, Ricki whips back around to try to grab him by the scruff of his neck- but then it becomes obvious that no, no this is not a situation he needs to be intervening in. He privately curses himself out roundly for believing that he Eggsy was actually a tailor, then rushes in through the flaming debris to him as he watches him die.

Shit, he's never going to get used to seeing that.

Ricki gets Eggsy down flat onto the deck, and drags him fast to a corner, between railing and pub, where they'll have a sort of limited cover while he comes back to life. Ricki checks how many rounds he has left, in the seconds he has before Eggsy rejoins him in the land of the living.

When he comes to it'll be to a hand on his shoulder, and the stars swimming above them.]

Breathe. Quiet.

[ He has the annoyed tone of someone who has had to explain a thing too many times. ]

I am a constellation. It is as plain to me as the nose on your face.

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