4. voice

[rickitikitarr]

All right, this is all good fun and games, kids, but I'm going to be the one who spoils it by asking the question.

What the hell is going on?

And, for that matter, if we're the ones apparently running the show now, is anyone steering the boat?

[Ricki does not want the barge to smash into a sun and everyone to burn up, even though he's currently in the inmate-reclaimed bar and part of him is rather enjoying the fiddling.]

Comments

[rickitikitarr]

Bad manners, to say the very least.

[A shrewd glance over at him.]

So you want to, what, get something back? Stop it happening again? Send a message?

[thelastbullet]

[He raises his eyebrows in faint amusement-- exactly.]

All of the above.

[rickitikitarr]

This sounds like it has plenty of potential to turn into a pissing match, and one with a lot of collateral. Not that I think you need to necessarily stay one upped, but how are you going to manage something that doesn't turn the place into some sort of escalating gangland nightmare?

[thelastbullet]

[You say that like there's something wrong with gangland nightmares, Ricki.]

He wouldn't agree to stay to his side of the ship last time because he thinks he has the upper hand. He needs to realize that it's better for both of us to just leave me alone.

[He's walking a fine line, now- trying to explain to Ricki how this works, while not knowing how much the other man already knows; at the same time he's trying not to get annoyed with the situation. He hadn't been without a gun on him in 4 years, and it's frustrating how hard it has become to even protect himself.]

[rickitikitarr]

I'll give it a try.

[Is all he can offer. Because he gets it, gets pride, and boundaries, and how fucking awful helplessness can feel when someone is deliberately screwing with you.]

This chap- he's a warden, so I can't make promises. I'll tell him what you've told me, and probably to get in touch with you himself if he wants to help out. Me, I don't want my name anywhere near this.

[When this goes incredibly wrong, he'd prefer not to be bandied about as a contributing factor. As far as the rest of the barge is concerned;]

I'm good as gold, I am. Not the kind of fellow you can go to to get a gun.

[thelastbullet]

[He doesn't quite sigh in relief when Ricki says that, but he does reach back inside of his suit jacket and hand over the last few cigarettes, as a gesture. Just like a real prison, now- trading cigarettes for weapons.]

A model prisoner. [Some amusement has seeped back into his voice.] Don't worry.

[There's one thing he can say for himself: he has rules just like Omar does, and they don't include snitching.]

[rickitikitarr]

[He plucks up one more cigarette to light now, and holds his hand up to deflect the rest. He appreciates the gesture, but would rather keep this less bought-and-paid-for. Besides, he's not greedy, and he's realistic about how little he's actually doing for him;]

Keep 'em. I'm just having one chat, there are no guarantees, and it's costing me nothing. Besides, I want to ask my new warden for a pack, all helpless and trusting-like.

[Turning to lean his back against the rail now, facing the same direction as him as he lights up.]

You know, this is the most it's been like home since I got here.

['Just like a real prison' is it exactly. It's nice be dealing with tangibles, and ones that make sense, neither pool parties nor zombies.]

[thelastbullet]

[He tucks the packet back inside his breast pocket without any more urging, choosing not to take one for himself right now.]

I'm grateful anyway. [For this, and for the fact that Ricki apparently trusts him enough to talk.]

The below-the-table gun trade or just the lack of otherworldly monsters?

[rickitikitarr]

Both. Maybe just doing something serious that actually makes physical sense. Improvising explosives to fling at otherworldly monsters is all well and good, technically within my abilities, but feels a little like an unexpectedly bad acid trip. The rest of it is so... banal. Laundromats, library books, cups of tea.

[This is a nice, happy medium. He gives a little wince, is aware that it sounds a bit like he's glad for Jimmy's misfortune, and it certainly isn't that- but still. It's homey.]

[thelastbullet]

[He lets out an amused huff, looks at Ricki's hands where they're hanging over the railing.]

Queer thing about this whole affair is that this fella looks exactly like someone I knew back home. Someone in the business.

[rickitikitarr]

What do you mean?

[Because there's exactly alike and then exactly alike.]

[thelastbullet]

I mean that I called him by the other fella's name when I first saw him. They're exactly the same, down to the scars.

[rickitikitarr]

Jesus. How does a thing like that happen, I wonder?

[He's immediately wondering whose face he'll meet here.]

[thelastbullet]

Aren't there those two fellas here, too? Dean and Ben? One of 'em's a little younger than the other, but they look like the same guy. [He shakes his head, and gives in to the urge to pull out another cigarette.]

Fucking unbelievable.

[rickitikitarr]

I know Dean, but I haven't seen Ben yet. Unless I have and I mistook him for Dean.

[Shaking his head. This fucking place.]

[thelastbullet]

[He huffs a little laugh.] They look alike, but hey don't act alike. You would've known.

[rickitikitarr]

I'm keeping an eye out for it, now.

[He flicks his cigarette butt overboard. Dusting his hands off, before straightening up, tucking them in his pockets.]

Well. Best get to it.

[thelastbullet]

[He's not done with his own yet, but he lets it hang between his lips as he turns around.]

Alright, Tarr. Be hearing from you, then.