2018-02-22: Shoot The Hostage
- Log: Shoot The Hostage
- Cast: Ida Everstead-Rey, Gwen Whitlock, Morgan Newkirk, Cassidy Cain
- Where: Lost July
- Date: 2018-02-22
- Summary: After losing Jack Van Burace to Malevolence, the Everstead-Rey heiress leads her party back to Lost July where someone makes the mistake of taking Gwen Whitlock hostage in exchange for information Ida has regarding Elw ruins. It does not go the way he expects.
<Pose Tracker> Ida Everstead-Rey has posed.
Lost July is as desolate as it ever was, but it feels all the more hostile in the wake of last night's events. The skeletons of buildings loom like tombstones in the fading light, and exposed steel girders look knife-sharp. Sunset has filled the great glass crater with blazing light, lending the scene a hellish cast.
Ida hasn't said much since the little team set out on its journey back to the Pleasing Gardens. She knows the way, and she's careful to point out where detours are necessary--lots of the buildings are unstable, and the threat of banditry is ever-present. She's wearing the same battered overcoat she wore last night, and beneath it, a sleeveless shirt, linen slacks, and surplus combat boots. In addition to the usual food, water, and other supplies, she's carrying one of the lotus seeds from the dojo in a small canvas bag. It's tied securely in place in the bottom of a pocket, for luck.
Ida raises her head, and studies the surrounding terrain a moment. "This is the alley," Ida says, gesturing to a narrow corridor between two half-ruined buildings. There's enough room for people to get through if they walk single-file, but anything more than that isn't going to work. "I'll take the lead." Bracing carefully, Ida starts picking her way across the shattered bits of building. Nearby, there's the sound of tumbling, broken masonry.
<Pose Tracker> Cassidy Cain has posed.
If she had it her way, Morgan would be taking the lead. He was built for punishment.
His status as the closest thing she has to a best friend, these days, should attest to the fact.
They are at least out of the sub-zero tundra that Garrett Stampede (really???) had fashioned in the middle of the desert; the cold amidst the sands was terrible enough as it is, whatever the Hellion did had made it even worse. Now, it is a more temperate thing and instills upon her tired tendons and ligaments the elasticity they need to keep moving.
Ida isn't the only person who is carrying some kind of good luck charm, though if asked, Cassidy would claim that she carries good luck, so bringing charms of any kind would be rather redundant. It could be different things: the lighter with its intricately engraved ouroboros that she always carries with her, or the pearls around her neck that she toys with on occasion. In truth, her body day in and day out is a walking mausoleum of pieces of other souls that have come before, spending her days carrying them like some kind of displaced valkyrie or wandering grim reaper. Not that anyone would ever guess; she prefers the guise of a trickster, the kind to die in the middle of laughing.
Whatever they had encountered the night before, and witnessing Jack Van Burace's fall from grace, it doesn't seem to have affected her as her other companions, though nothing could be further from the truth - his story, or whatever pieces she was able to glimpse, runs with dangerously close parallels to her own and is in fact largely the reason why she has made no move to stop the man from doing what he wants to do. To most of the world, Revenge is a sin and one not worth committing - only forgiveness, they say, can soothe those kinds of wounds.
There are others, also, who do not care either way.
And there are a few, like Cassidy, who treat it like a sacrament - some kind of sacrifice that must be offered before they could know any peace. Any relief.
But she is as casual as can be even now, following Ida's shadow and white-gray wisps of smoke curling sinuously from the end of her cigarette. There's a smile and a tilt of her head at Ida's declaration, nevermind that she would have chosen a different tactic, but she was always so willing to just observe what happens.
She likes surprises, you see.
<Pose Tracker> Morgan Newkirk has posed.
"So why come back here again?" The warm drawl of Morgan Newkirk sounds more amused than anything else. Because wen walking though this kind of destruction if you can't laugh a little bit, then you might as well be crying. He moves easily though the ruins of the town, his boots crunching against the rubble as he moves along with the others.
His ARM glows dangerously in the half light, the intricate etching in the surface of the metal glimmering with restrained power as he moves, his ears pricked for any sense of a threat.
He hadn't been at Jack's fall, though he saw the icy remains of its turning. The fox had wondered on it, but when Gwen, Cassidy, Ida and others had returned and just started drinking. Well...he thought it better to get the story later.
So he is here instead, keeping an eye on the little group. Watching their back once again, a familar broad shouldered and tall eared presence. Something solid, which is what he has always tried to be.
Even when some people keep trying to shove him away.
Which doesn't work. If anyone is wondering.
He carries no visible weapons in his hands, beyond that ARM of his. Just keeping an eye out for whatever trouble thats bound to happen upon them.
...because there is always trouble in this world.
He might not have been born here, but he sure has learned that one.
"You know," He doesn't even look towards Cassidy and her death stick that hangs from her lips. "I've heard those'll kill ya."
She can't see it, but one can just hear the smile.
<Pose Tracker> Gwen Whitlock has posed.
For all of Gwen's courage and inspirational cheer following the wake of Jack's transformation, as well as her possible hand in helping it along, Gwen certainly took to the bar at the tavern like a cat to a milk bar. Well, a literal milk bar. That just serves milk. Even though cats can't really handle milk.
Anyway. The morning had found the courier still groggy and slightly hung over, surprised that Ida is still going out the following day after such an event. Still, Gwen insisted on coming along, hurriedly trying to comb her disorderly hair into something that didn't look like a field of cowlicks before just realizing that she'll likely be in places where she'll never need to take off her hat, unless she wanted to be courteous when entering some ruins.
There may be bandits, after all. Gwen couldn't let Ida just go off on her own.
Which is why they're now with Morgan and Cassidy! Fun times.
Rubbing a hand against her numb face, Gwen grunts as they enter the alleyway. "... I feel like I'm in a cattle pen..." Bah, it's going to be a long day, isn't it?
<Pose Tracker> Ida Everstead-Rey has posed.
The plan, Ida explained, was to hook back up with the rest of her team, or the Caravan Kinship, which had made a base camp inside the actual Elw ruin. Ida lit up a little when describing it--a network of massive stone platforms, suspended in mid-air above the mountains through sorceries she can't even fathom. From below, Lost July looked like a model city. Ida almost felt like her old self when she first found it, but that feeling died a cold, miserable death in the wake of what happened to Jack.
The alley is a little claustrophobic, but the group makes it through without incident. As Gwen emerges, Ida stops a moment, and glances around--first up, then at the holes in the building walls where rubble has spilled out into the alley. She could've sworn she heard something crumbling, like brick finally giving up the ghost after fifty years of neglect. She turns around, looking back to Gwen and the others. "I think there's someone else--"
The masonry on either side of Gwen erupts from its resting-place, taking on the form of barbed, interlocking spikes. Mercifully, they're not aimed at her--just around her, encasing the courier in a cage of magically-altered brick. Those spines are still awfully close to her vital organs, though.
"Gwen!" Ida cries--more of a scream, really, and her eyes shoot open as she whips around, settling into a fighting stance. In that moment, a figure steps out of the ruined building, a gleaming gunsmoke revolver in his hand. He's tall and rangy, wearing a weather-beaten black duster and a charming smile.
"That's far enough, I think," he says. "Hands where we can see them, folks! I think you can imagine what can happen to your friend if you don't. Wouldn't want to ask my friend to do that to someone today."
Ida realizes she's clenching her jaw as well as her fists--her face is halfway to a rictus of anger, stopped only by the presence of the revolver and the barbed cage around Gwen. It takes effort to unclench her hands, and to raise them.
Masonry shifts and crumbles atop a building across the street.
<Pose Tracker> Cassidy Cain has posed.
You know, I've heard those'll kill ya.
There's a low, appreciative laugh. "Ay, well, everything that's good can kill you. Cigarettes, alcohol..." Cassidy angles her gold-and-verdant stare towards Morgan. "Steak. Could you imagine living a life without red meat? I'd rather fookin' die right now as opposed tae killing myself slowly with deliciousness."
With a hungover Gwen Whitlock stumbling after them, shoulders lift slightly. "Dinnae ken, but I'm sure we'll find out sooner rather than later."
The plan to meet up with the rest of Ida's party or the Caravan Kinship has generated not a peep of protest from the conwoman, if not just because Lunata Croze makes fantastic tacos.
But in the midst of Ida remarking about hearing 'someone else', Hawthorne's revolver is within the secure grasp of long, dexterous fingers in an eyeblink, too fast to register until it's in her hand.
That's far enough, I think, says the charming, black-coated brigand. Hands where we can see them, folks.
With a shrug, she makes her other hand visible, and pulls her other revolver out in the process, pointing two guns in the man's general direction. She flashes a smile of her own - brilliant and searing, liable to cut like a scalpel, and blind the unsuspecting.
"Well, far be it for me tae deny a handsome lad such as yourself," she tells him. "S'pose we cannae settle whatever grievances you may have over a drink or a duel? The effective approach is nae always the more interesting one, but methinks you've got some place tae be and so do we, and we dinnae have all day."
Lashes lower over her eyes.
"So why dinnae just get on with it and tell us what you want?"
<Pose Tracker> Morgan Newkirk has posed.
When the plan had been explained all Morgan heard was 'payment' and 'tacos'. That was good enough for him. Espicially the latter. But of course like most things, plans don't really survive contact with a hostile force.
In this case a few hostile bandits it seems.
The fox shifts a second too late to prevent Gwen getting caged as he spins towards the noise. Thats not your normal bandit trap either.
No this was specificly placed for a purpose. For them? Well they do have bounties on their heads half a dozen places. But...this doesn't feel like that.
Bounty Hunters are not usually stupid enough to gloat.
So he turns towards the man, smirking his his direction. Neither hand straying towards the weapons on his belt at all, instead the fox just quirks an eyebrow towards him.
"Ya know, ya are interrupting a damn fine conversation on steak. And steak is mighty important." The fox drawls in his direction as his eyes flicker towards the cage that holds Gwen for a split seconnd, looking for a weakness to exploit.
<Pose Tracker> Gwen Whitlock has posed.
It takes Gwen a moment to realize what just happened. First, there's the crumbling masonry, whipping to form a cage of spikey bricks, making her look more akin to a very dangerous looking hollow cactus. A very strategically spiked cactus, in fact, as Gwen quickly finds out when she tries to move.
"SHI-" A curse very unlike the usual sorts of comments the laidback courier makes nearly makes it out of Gwen's throat before she realizes that her bare throat is dangerously close to one of those spikes.
Ah. So. It's going to be not only a long day. It's going to be a painful one, as well. Gwen's not really going to test how quickly one of those spikes could make her day go from an inconvenient one to a final one.
"Ghh." She flexes her right hand, barely able to do much more than that. If she could just move her right ARM... but this will take time. The moment she tries to force it, that spike next to her heart or the vein in her neck could draw more than just a little blood.
<Pose Tracker> Ida Everstead-Rey has posed.
Cassidy pulls a second gun. Ida's nerves fray just a tiny bit more. The man laughs, and oh-so-casually points his own gun in Cassidy's general direction, so this is a right and proper standoff. He's being awfully confident for someone acting alone, which Cassidy would know means he absolutely isn't. "Just a few moments of your time," the man says. "I saw her--" A meaningful glance at Ida-- "--running about, and wondered if she'd found that Elw ruin everyone's been after. I thought to myself, wouldn't that be something? An Elw ruin, here? Of course, it's so dangerous, I thought it might be for the best to ask someone else." As the man talks, something moves on the roof of the building with the crumbly roof across the street. Something that might be a person, hunched low and moving slowly.
The cage, meanwhile, is unquestionably magical--maybe being reinforced by someone nearby. If they cast it once, they could cast it again, and who knows if they'd be as merciful the second time around? Morgan could probably break it open, but breaking it open without injuring Gwen--or possibly killing her--is a different matter entirely.
"And of course, if you want to hand over some money, I wouldn't say no. No pressure."
The man smiles. The rocky barbs around Gwen gleam in the sunlight. "So, young lady," the man says. He looks to Ida. "What will it be?"
"Ida looks at Gwen, icy dread and red-hot anger warring inside her. "I would have to write it down," Ida says, measuring every word. "It's convoluted." Oh. So you're just going to give them what they want, no resistance whatsoever. After you put everyone in danger by taking a route you knew could be dangerous.
"No, you don't have to," the man says. "Because we're going to leave your friend here while you show me. If you'd be so kind as to drop those ARMs, too..."
<Pose Tracker> Cassidy Cain has posed.
Just a few minutes of your time.
"Ay, I've heard that before," Cassidy replies cheerfully. "Too many mice in my life, y'ken. Give them cookies and next thing y'ken, they want glasses of milk tae go with them and then, later, they're taking everything you ever cared about. Unfortunately for you, lad, I've been in this position before...that time, I gave in."
Her thumbs cock back both hammers in her pistols. And while her smile remains, her eyes darken considerably.
"The people I wanted tae save....they died anyway, and I was humiliated in the process, right after I gave the mouse his cookie. Died, too. Dinnae ken how I came back tae life, but....maybe I cannae die. If that's the case..." She laughs, brightly and unfettered. "Then you and I are going tae have ourselves a very good time in a few minutes."
And with that, she turns both barrels of her guns...
...to Gwen Whitlock, trapped in the cage.
"See, I dinnae have any guarantee whatsoever that you'll keep your word. That's always the rub, is it nae? It's the kind of gamble that you dinnae ken what the cost is going tae be. So if I cannae prevent it, I might as well pull the trigger myself. Because unlike before..."
Her eyes lid.
"I dinnae give a shite if this one dies."
She angles a look towards the trenchcoated man. "So, methinks this poor lass is going tae die anyway, because I'm going tae kill her myself. And then I'm going tae kill you for putting me in this position, and once I'm done with you, I'm going tae go find your friend that caged her in the first place, and kill him. Nobody wins, lad."
Her smile lifts higher on her lips.
"Thankfully, though, I'm a Take What You Can Get kind of lass. I dinnae mind a tie."
<Pose Tracker> Gwen Whitlock has posed.
It's a joke. Cassidy's joking. Right?
Somehow, hearing Cassidy say this feels just a tad bit more hurtful than all the times Janus has done so much worse.
But.
If Cassidy didn't really care if she died, she would have definitely killed her that night Gwen attacked her.
"FFFFFFFFFFfs-" Nevermind, she's still mad as hell, and she can't even cuss properly with that spike at her throat
There's only the quiet, easily overshadowed sound of a coilgun beginning to power up, a faint whirring noise that begins the loud, arduous process of turning the ARM from a simple, heavy magical prosthetic to something far, far more effective as a weapon. All it needs is the proper push. And for Gwen to just not care that her clenched body is making some of those spikes begin to sink past her clothing and into her skin.
Then it blows.
The cage explodes, spikes, bits of fabric and magically altered brick scattering haphazardly as a bloody enraged Gwen just stands there, metal ARM exposed.
"WHAT THE FLIPPIN' HELL, CASSIDY?!" If Morgan doesn't get to Cassidy first, Gwen will, lunging fist first at the aiming blonde with a sudden stupidly low lack of regard for her safety.
<Pose Tracker> Morgan Newkirk has posed.
Morgan slowly sighs as demands are made, responces given, and Cassidy Cain as always makes it worse. He glances over to the woman for a moment, listening to her speak. The way she moves, the way she speaks of the past. He's seen her lie. Seen her spin a yarn out of thin air. Seen her do horrible things and wonderful capers.
...and he doesn't think she's lying in this case.
"See, kid." The fox says with a sigh. "This right here. THIS is what happens when you interrupt a man and a woman who were just going to start a conversation on just how to cook the perfect steak." The fox says with a shake of his head as he takes a half-step back. Just into Cassidy's line of fire.
His head cants towards her and he frowns. "And you! Oh my god this is Port Timney all over again! You aren't gonna shoot anyone! I bet those aren't even loaded!" Now he's raising his voice, working himself up into a fine yell.
He knows those are loaded.
...and he is pretty sure she'll shoot somoene.
However he also knows that no one can cause a scene of a distraction like Cassidy Cain can when she's mad about something.
Quick little hand motions, hidden from their new 'friend' gesture for Ida to do something while they have his attention.
"With how much you drank last night I bet you can't even hit the broadside of that HOUSE. I know how you shoot usually!"
She's accurate as sin itself usually. But they don't have to know that.
Besides he has his ARM and his shields if she actually shoots him. In fact if she does...well...who knows where the ricochet might go.
And still he's listening, any little hint to where this mystery mage happens to be.
Of course, then Gwen's cage explodes and as the fox half-turns in suprise he realises he is inbetween Cassidy Cain and her guns. And Gwen Whitlock and her really angry ARM.
Which is now coming right for his face.
"Ah hell."
And then a cyberarm slams into him and he goes down in a tumble of arms, legs, and metal grabbing for Gwen as he falls.
...man...with friends like this...
<Pose Tracker> Ida Everstead-Rey has posed.
The black-coated man chuckles, but his aim never wavers. "A very good time, eh? I'll be the judge of that." There's an edge in his voice, all of a sudden, and he stands up a little straighter. "Hm," he says, as Cassidy's guns swivel towards the hostage.
"Cassidy," Ida says. The color is slowly draining from her face, and anger starts to twist, melding with that all-too-familiar sense of helplessness. One of the few people who still trusts her could die right here because of Cassidy Cain's past. Gwen could die right here, and Ida couldn't do a damned thing to--
Morgan speaks up, starts shouting, starts motioning for Ida to do something, but she's rooted to the spot. Ida looks up, scanning the rooftops for that shape she thinks she saw, the one that could easily kill one or more of them if it got the drop on them. Ida's hands clench.
Things happen in quick succession. A coilgun barks, and the cage shatters; the man in the black coat whirls on Gwen, his eyes going wide. He whirls back at Cassidy, and shoots from the hip--inaccurate, but maybe less so at close range. And it might not even hit Cassidy, considering Morgan and Gwen get right up in her face.
"Frank!" the black-coated man cries. Someone answers him from the rooftops, a one-eyed man in Aveh military surplus. He raises his hand, and a Crest Graph glimmers. A forked tongue of lightning lashes down from the roof, aiming to cook Gwen, Morgan, and Cassidy all at once. The man in the black coat tries to get a bead on Ida, but--
A booted foot lashes out, knocking the revolver out of his hand. It tumbles to the ground, the chamber jostling open. Brass spills onto the cracked cobblestones. Ida twists into a second kick, one that knocks the man's head to the side. He reels, but recovers quickly, charging Ida with a wild haymaker. She's already got both feet on the ground again, and ducks under the swing, rising to land a jab in the man's gut.
<Pose Tracker> Cassidy Cain has posed.
To say that this is all part of some grand and crazy design would be convenient and cement Cassidy Cain as a master strategist, when nothing could be further from the truth.
She has tried her best to keep her old skills at bay, but the last few months have had her digging into those forbidden boxes, using the tools she had been given to turn the odds to her favor. It is not what she prefers and her modus operandi, in the end, tends to be this: to shake the hornet's nest, to play her games...and let human nature take its course. There had been a time when a traveling alienist had been a boon companion, and in spite of her tendency to keep others at bay, to burn lasting bridges and slap away the hands extended to her now and then, this is the incontrovertible truth.
She knows people. She can read them like nothing else. And while nothing is ever certain, what is certain is that any one of her companions aren't the sort to take abuse lying down. Including Gwen Whitlock.
It is part manipulation, and part luck. She has only seen a fraction of the capabilities of Gwen's ARM, but she knows she has it, and knows that it is carefully disguised - and can pack a punch when necessary. She just had no idea whether it was enough.
The risk, as always, rejuvenates her, and the fact that none of her companions disappoint...?
Well. The faint smile on her face grows. She doesn't even attempt to get out of the way.
Which leads to her getting shot, and Morgan getting punched in the face.
As the man stumbles towards her at the wake of Gwen's strike, he collides with Cassidy, sending the two of them tumbling into the ground. She elects to be underneath him, because she knows Morgan, too. Those ears are not just for show. And as his muscular and more significant weight bears down on her and pins her to the ground...
She twists her arm away from him, going wide, and tosses her weapon upwards just before she goes down.
...leaving the pistol airborne...
....and falling right into Morgan's grasp....
Morgan Newkirk, with his fox ears, who probably has a better idea where the mage is running better than anyone else in the group.
And his aim isn't bad either.
<Pose Tracker> Morgan Newkirk has posed.
Morgan Newkirk is no stranger to pain, but getting socked in the face by a cyberarm is a special kind of pain. His head rockets back and further back he goes, crashing into Cassidy. He bowls her over, just as he know he would, left hand grabbing for Gwen to pull her down too. That tangle of arms and legs calculated to look just random enough to fool those who don't know any of them.
He sees the fork of lightning and a smile forms on his face now, the fox's eyes lighting up as he fixes his gaze on that rooftop figure.
Out of the corner of his eye he sees that six shooter fly up, so casually tossed. So random it looks when its anything but. His smile grows as he slides his arm out, catching the gun without even looking towards it.
He knew it would be there.
He knows Cass well enough by now, he trusts her. This trust comes over and against her implicit warning to do anything even similar to trusting her. Which he of course ignores. His fingers close around the six-shooter, raising it up in one smooth motion. His own ARM flares, energy channeling into the gunsmoke weapon, into the shell as he pulls the trigger just as the iron sights kiss the spellcaster's shadowy form. The round trails fire though the ruined city intending to punch though the caster's midsection before he can finish that spell. Into a lung to be exact, because if he can't get breath he can't finish an incantation.
Because he doesn't want to get hit by lightning today.
<Pose Tracker> Gwen Whitlock has posed.
The problem with a moving train is that there is no easy, graceful way of stopping. Either the train keeps going, or it meets something with enough mass or an equal amount of competing force to keep the train from moving further. Replace the train with a courier running with a metal fist poised for a friend's face, and you get the scope of Gwen's current situation.
Fist meets Morgan's face, and the two crumble down against Cassidy in a confusing and, for Gwen, embarrassing mess of limbs and arms. After her head clears from the impact (which doesn't begin to compare to Morgan's own), a blushing Gwen rapidly spits out her apology to Morgan, halting when she realizes that Cassidy is bleeding. Or is that her blood? Man, she's bleeding an awful lot, isn't she-
"OhGuardiansyou'rebleedingnowdon'tdieCassidy!"
Gwen may not take abuse lying down, but she's also the sort to forget it a bit too quickly in the heat of the moment, as well. Or maybe she's a little loopy herself from some blood loss?
<Pose Tracker> Ida Everstead-Rey has posed.
Morgan's shot flies true. The bullet flies across the street, striking the mage on the rooftop high in the chest. At this distance, none except Morgan can hear the sudden, choked-off gasp of pain, or the low gurgle that follows. The man drops the Crest Graph before he can cast again, sinks to his knees, and disappears from view as he slumps over onto the roof.
The man in the black coat doesn't see what happened to his companion-- but his eyes narrow, and he flashes teeth as he pulls something out of his boot. The blade of a knife gleams in the fading sunlight, and he steps towards Ida, slashing at the back of her hand. Ida's one step ahead. She twists around, pulling her striking hand back and jabbing at the man's elbow with the left hand. Chi flares around her knuckles; bone snaps, and the knife goes flying. The man howls in pain, grabs at his broken forearm.
"W-- wait!" he chokes out.
He looks at Ida, pain and fear replacing the confidence he exuded mere minutes ago. Ida looks back at him, feels nothing but white-hot rage at someone who tried to use her, to hurt her, to hurt her allies. She strikes again, a high punch with her right hand--golden light boils down the entire length of her right arm, dancing around each meridian. Bone snaps beneath her knuckles. Flesh compresses in ways it absolutely shouldn't.
The man in the black coat takes a stumbling step backwards, his chest staved in like a metal barrel someone hit too hard. Blood wells up at the corners of his mouth. He coughs, or tries to-- it's more a gurgling sound. Blood splatters the ground, and Ida's hand, as he collapses.
Ida looks down at him. Rage evaporates like dew, and she uncurls the fingers of her bloody right hand, staring at it. More blood trickles from the man's open mouth, pooling on the road next to his head. Ida's mouth opens, but she can't find words. It's not like the last time she killed-- there's no overwhelming urge to go somewhere and vomit and then shake until someone goes and gets her. All she can do is stare, horrified, at the life she has taken in anger-- a life spent wrongly, but a life nevertheless.
Her companions have all but faded from her mind.
<Pose Tracker> Cassidy Cain has posed.
She is bleeding.
Thankfully, at least, she is well on the mend - Lily Keil had done a fantastic job in patching her up after Vorthuzahl did his best to kill her on the sands, keeping her in the desert as his draconic senses hunted down his human nemesis. The fact that she survived him is testament enough to Cassidy's will to defy the odds placed before her. If nothing else, the fact that she was stashed here in Lost July, forgotten and desolate, was to keep her out of trouble while her partner and his new group of mercenaries went off to Kislev. To recuperate.
Blood seeps through whatever bandages are hidden through her clothes, a few of the gashes rent open. The bullet wound has taken the fleshy part of her shoulder - it spills crimson, but she will not die from it.
"Ay, it's fine," she says, sounding somewhat breathless. She lies there patiently, waiting for Morgan to extricate himself from her body and pulls herself up from the ground. Veins of red drip down her arm, underneath her sleeve, staining her wrist and pale fingers.
Every nerve in her body screams with agony, but she manages to bite it back. Gradually, she straightens, and plucks her cigarette pack from the inner pockets of her jacket - she had lost her first one earlier, and she slips another between her lips. She hunts down her silver lighter.
And in the background, the sickening, wet crunch of a life taken is barely paid any heed.
There is no horror, or sympathy on the blonde conwoman's face. Ten years adventuring in this beautiful, terrible, dying world, one of the first lessons she has learned striking out on her own is that life on the wastes is extremely cheap, bought, sold and squandered by currency or circumstance. From where she is standing, the man got what he deserved.
Really, it's not her fault he didn't listen to sound advice.
A bloodied hand extends to rest on Ida's shoulder.
"There's plenty enough predators out there, luv," she tells her simply. "You did what you had tae do. Life's difficult enough tae be looking over your shoulder every minute."
<Pose Tracker> Morgan Newkirk has posed.
Morgan nods as his target falls, feeling a sort of professional pride at the round that just ended a man's life. He was a soldier, then a arena battler, and now a Drifter for many years. He's seen too much death on this world to let one more little bandit weigh on his conscience. Especially when the man was about to try to end all of their lives.
Self defense is indeed a thing.
He crawls back to his feet, untanngling himself from Gwen and Cassidy both, thugh his ears seem mounted on a swivel at this point as he tries to detect any more hostiles out there. Smoke curls up from the barrel of the revolver he just fired, but the energy glow from his ARM isn't there anymore.
Also he can't feel his face.
God does he still have all his teeth? Is something dislocated. Already that bruise is starting even as he winces slightly at the crunch of bone coming from Ida's direction.
A shake of his head. "...Cass warned em..." He mutters quietly before he sighs. Watching Ida realise just what she's done. "He didn't give ya much of a choice, Ida." Morgan adds as he looks first towards Cassidy, then towards Gwen.
Then starts fishing out some bandages.
They are both looking a might red.
<Pose Tracker> Gwen Whitlock has posed.
Loopy from from the loss of blood from her detonation and escape from her little personal torture chamber and panicking over the force with which she hit Morgan, Gwen's panic begins to subside as Cassidy's shoulder wound, while painful, isn't as deadly as it could have been. "You're such a liar, Cass," she says through tears, a slight grin on her freckled face. "You meant this all along..."
A few tears drop against Cassidy before Gwen has the sense to back away, allowing Morgan more freedom to free himself from the tangle all three of them made.
Wait.
Where's Ida?
The sickening crunch of bone and the silhouettes of Ida and the crumpled man give Gwen her answer.
Cassidy and Morgan accept it as a necessity. Gwen, meanwhile, just kneels there, feeling numb.
This was necessary. It was self defense. It was...
Too much.
Which is irony, considering Gwen just tried to thrust her fist into Cassidy's skull, but there was always that voice inside her, always there to stop her before she ever went too far before the amount of violence exceeded what was considered acceptable, here in the Badlands.
There's also the fact that it's Ida. Ida, whose self journey has wandered far from the path she was traveling on when Gwen first met her.
If you're able to easily crush a life with your hands, you can't indulge in it more than what is necessary. Maybe never, if it means that the second time will just come that much easier.
".... Ida..." Tears spring to her eyes, for the second time this week.
"I'm so sorry, Ida... This wasn't supposed to...."
<Pose Tracker> Ida Everstead-Rey has posed.
Ida sucks in a breath, but it doesn't feel nearly sufficient to fill her lungs. Cassidy's hand comes to rest on her shoulder, and she can feel the tension boiling through Ida's frame. She's shaking. Cassidy speaks, but Ida keeps staring straight ahead, jaw tense. Five minutes ago, the woman reassuring her was seemingly dead set on murdering Gwen to spite the people who'd taken her hostage. Gwen was dead either way, until she suddenly wasn't. Now, two more people are dead, perhaps deservingly, but--
No sense. No reason. No goodness. Just lost, broken people hurting and killing each other in the dust of a dying world.
'I'm so sorry, Ida...'
'Sorry for what?', Ida wants to ask. Gwen isn't the one who just murdered someone. The horrible, hateful thoughts don't whisper to her because they're too busy pouring over her in a wave, threatening to drown her. He was begging for you to stop. Murderer. Butcher. As it usually does, the rage rises to meet the sickening helplessness, tries to defy it. He deserved it. They both deserved it. Why are you so upset?
"Gwen," Ida chokes out. Her hands are shaking. "Up ahead--there's a building with a sign, a meeting hall. The stairwell is off the first floor, it should be... unblocked. Take it down, then up. The encampment should be on the other side."
"I'll be right behind you." Ida's already walking off.
<Pose Tracker> Cassidy Cain has posed.
You're such a liar, Cass.
A liar. Lies.
After a bit of silence, the pale-tressed Drifter rolls her shoulders back. "Would nae be much of a con if I dinnae ken how tae be convincing," Cassidy says, her expression indescribable, and somewhat unreadable at the tears in Gwen's eyes. "People always pay attention when they stumble into sommat personal they're nae expecting, I just had tae make it sound good and make it fit the situation. Though you ought nae tae mistake me, luv. I would have pulled the trigger. But luckily for us..."
Smoke curls out from her parted lips, and she returns Gwen's tearful grin with her bladed own.
"...you had me fix your ARM recently."
She has seen it up close. Knows how strong it is, how dangerous it is.
She cried like that, too. Screaming, wailing, prone to violence when Cassidy did something particularly infuriating. She punched her when she asked her to marry her, because of the way she did it, the reasons for why she did it, and on her death bed, she cried then, too, but not out of fear.
She cried because...
The ache remains, but it feels like a distant thing, like the way an arm feels like it's still there long after it's been severed - a phantom that she hasn't shaken because of her unwillingness to let go. A wound that is getting, slowly but surely, easier, over time.
You're such a liar, Cass.
She takes another drag of her cigarette and turns away from Gwen. "Anyway, Morgan's a better medic than I ever will be." Though neither of them could hold a candle to Jude - he had been right, back in Lacour. If he chose to, he could be a simple country doctor.
With Ida walking away, she doesn't follow, sliding her hands in her pockets. To her remaining companions, she inclines her head.
"We ought tae get moving, then," she says, not even glancing at Ida's direction. She doesn't, because she knows. She is very familiar with the concept of wounded tigers.
And with that, she pivots on her heel, and starts heading for the encampment.
<Pose Tracker> Morgan Newkirk has posed.
She is a liar. Morgan knows that about Cassidy Cain. Just what she is lying about is always in question.
In this case...the truth might be closer to the surface than most people would think. There is a slight shake of his head as he fishes out some bandages. Starting to work on Cassidy's shoulder first, since that happens to be the most obvious wound. A smirk crosses his face though. "You could be a better medic, but you just keep loosing interest halfway though and wondering off like a damn hummingbird." He grumbles as he works...
...which is when she walks off the moment he's done...
"I'm a good medic WHEN THE PATIENTS STAND STILL!" He calls after her before there is a deep sigh and he turns to look towards Ida. The smile fades softly before he shakes his head. "Don't blame yerself, darlin'." He drawls towards her. But she's walking off too and the fox just watches, doesn't go after her. Because Cassidy is right about some things, sometimes that makes it worse.
Instead he just smiles towards Gwen. "Go on," He nods in Cassidy's direction. "Go get yourself patched up. I'll make sure Ida gets back safe."
That steady reassurance of the fox there, trying to smile around that bruise on his face. "We'll be right behind ya."
<Pose Tracker> Gwen Whitlock has posed.
It's easy to forget, in the midst of Gwen's happy-go-lucky mannerisms, awkward but earnest attempts at unrefined idealism, and the obsessive need to keep covered, that the 'artifical' arm (if an ARM can count as that, as close as synchronization can make it feel to a person's own body) is truly a weapon. It responds to her because it is her, in the truest sense, somehow grafted into her on a basis that is only a few steps away from a true conversion from metal into flesh.
But the grip Gwen has on Cassidy, before she moves away, is conscious of Cassidy's wounds, both old and new, as much as she can. The grip of her right hand, while it bares more weight, is no less gentle than the one of her left.
Her tears are real. For both Cassidy and Ida.
There's a lot of reasons Gwen could throw at Ida as to why she's sorry, of course. The fact that she got kidnapped, or the fact that she couldn't have thought of a way to have stopped Ida, or had the magic words to make Ida's pain be something more manageable.
Most of all, she's sorry it had to come to this.
Because someone has to be.
Ida chokes out a reply. Morgan tries to pin down Cassidy in order to treat her. Gwen wipes her tears, and smiles. The fact that she cries, at least, makes the gnawing fear that she'd be next to fall to Malevolence temporarily go away. If she could still cry over things like this, maybe she's not as close as she might think?
"You guys better follow, or I'll drag y'all back by force." The threat is made with another one of the courier's smiles, the sun glinting off her drying tears. "We still got work t'do."