Striking in complete silence / devastating, isolating, until I lose control

[gotbottle]

Who: Raylan Givens and Rachel Conway
What: Saving the day! Aaaand opening up a CR can of worms.
Where: Champion's Walk, Griss Twist.
When: Backdated a few days, in the midst of monster madness.
Notes: N/A
Warnings: Violence against monsters.

She'd been driven from her apartment three days ago, driven from her neighborhood a day after that. Rachel had managed to pack a bag on her way out, slung across her body now, full of what meager first-aid supplies she could gather and everything she could possibly use as a light source.

...Not that she intends to go that route. Ever. But better to be prepared for something you don't have to do than to be pushed into that corner and not be ready.

She's been moving through the city, doing what she can, sleeping when she can. She's hardly prepared for this; she's been a book editor and a tea house waitress and a low-level volunteer for a political party, there's nothing in her background to ready her for circumstances like these. But she couldn't just hide somewhere and not try.

The side streets tonight are reasonably quiet, if demolished here and there, bearing scars of earlier skirmishes. She makes note of buildings that look like they'll stay standing, and when she comes across the odd person wandering the street, she checks to make sure they don't need medical attention and then she shoos them off to the nearest safe place.

But as she nears Champion's Walk, the odd people become groups of people, and they're not wandering, they're fleeing. She catches the ones she can, directing them to a safe place, unable to get much out of them besides "monster" and "didn't want to be trapped."

There's a knot of people running through the open back door of a business that faces Champion's Walk. She fights her way through, dodging people, and she gets out the front door. She still can't see much--there's a group of people coming toward her, and some more, lit by the few street lamps still working, congregating by some buildings on the next block.

And then a shape moves between her and a lamp, flitting by so fast there's only a silhouette, and an impression of size. Great size.

She can't just stand here and do nothing.

Back through the shop she goes, back out the back door, but instead of joining the others fleeing onto the side streets, she takes one that parallels Champion's Walk. She sees another stream of people coming down an alley, and she squeezes through, popping out into the crowd of people gathered there.

"Who's in charge?" she asks the nearest person. "Is there anyone helping you guys right now?"

Comments

[toooldforlosing]

"I didn't realize I was doing it, until you pointed it out," he confessed. "But I guess that makes sense."

[gotbottle]

"Well, I'm not surprised," she says, glancing over at him. "I imagine anyone who does a lot of investigative work's got some way of organizing all the information they take in or the tasks they have."

[gotbottle]

[pssst, wrong journal. :D do you want to repost?]

SORRY

[toooldforlosing]

"Well, generally back home it was chasing fugitives," he says, glancing back as he hears a sound, but deciding it was nothing important a moment later. "It's fairly linear, as law enforcement goes."

No worries, it happens!

[gotbottle]

She waits a moment for his appraisal of that sound. She heard it, too, but if he's not concerned she'll let it go.

"But it's still a lot of information," she points out. "I mean, I imagine there's a lot to keep track of, even if you're more or less traveling in a straight line. Where someone's been, where they might go next, who they know, what resources they have or might be looking for. It makes a lot of sense, now that I think about it, that you make lists. You probably always did. 'We're looking for this guy, he's lived in these four places, has these three known associates, likely took one of these routes out of town', and so on."

[toooldforlosing]

"I guess that's true, when you put it like that." He just never thought about it as lists until she pointed out the feature of his speech. "Usually the file on the guy comes to you - either from the police, or the FBI sometimes. You're just trying to finish it."

[gotbottle]

"Mm. So you're a guy who sees things through, too." Though that much, she'd already known, already gotten that sense from him.

"It also seems like a job that'd take some..." And here's a pause for an attempt at polite wording, "...testicular fortitude. I mean, like--not that all cops aren't brave and not that anyone ever wants to get hauled in by one. But it seems to me that a person who's been on the run would be extra desperate not to get caught, and more likely to take it badly when he's cornered."

[toooldforlosing]

He laughs. "I guess? Sometimes fugitives are just out due to dumb luck or law incompetence, but yeah, most of them are pretty desperate by the time we're after them." Of course, other marshals didn't end up shooting quite so many.

"We do other things too, but even so. It's true for marshals and for cops - you try not to corner someone you think is really desperate. Usually ends bad."

[gotbottle]

"Yeah, it seems like--"

She's cut short by the crash of a garbage can beside a building just ahead. She reaches over and puts a hand on Raylan's arm, both to warn him and to steel her nerves.

And then a cat saunters out from the toppled can, shoots them both a filthy look, and stalks off. Rachel laughs in spite herself. "That was, like. The worst horror movie cliche right there. God."

[toooldforlosing]

He laughs too, shaking his head. "All we need now is a creepy little kid singing a nursery rhyme or something."

[gotbottle]

There's a brief, faintly horrified silence as Rachel contemplates this.

"Raylan." Her voice is grave, her expression matching. "I want you to know that I genuinely love children. I might even manage to have a few of my own, someday. I would never want to see one come to harm. However. If we see what you just described, you have my permission to shoot it, because that never ends well in the movies."

She presses her lips together slightly, almost managing to keep up that mask of seriousness.

[toooldforlosing]

He laughs harder, though he keeps it quiet. "I will keep that in mind. Let's just hope it doesn't come to that."

He's not sure if he could shoot something that looked like a child, even if he knew better. He'd rather not find out.

[gotbottle]

She sure couldn't do it. Which was probably the complete evil genius of such an idea--what decent person could?

"You got any ideas on where we should head, or should we just keep moving?"

[toooldforlosing]

"Non particular. Sobek Croix or thereabouts? I'm open if you've got any better ideas." As far as he could tell, no where seemed particularly safe.

[gotbottle]

She thinks on this a moment before nodding. "Sobek Croix is a good idea. Hellsing's probably the best equipped to deal with this kinda thing; being in their neighborhood is probably the best bet for us, right now."

[toooldforlosing]

"Also, besides the militia, I think they're most likely to have shotgun shells." Or another weapon. "Over the river and through the woods, then. Damn, I miss cars."

[gotbottle]

"Right?" She shakes her head. "I'd even settle for, like, some rickety city bus with trash under the seat and grease on the widow pane from where somebody fell asleep with their head against it.

...God, I never thought I'd see the day when I'd miss that."

[toooldforlosing]

"Sitting in freeway traffic, not moving at all," he adds with a small laugh. "Blowing a tire a hundred miles from anywhere."

[gotbottle]

"That's right--traffic. Never thought I'd miss traffic." She laughs, shaking her head.

"I see people on horses all the time, here. Maybe I should learn how to ride."

[toooldforlosing]

"Maybe. You may be shocked to know that I'm not much of a rider myself." He knows how, more or less, but it's been years and years since he was on one. Hat and Kentucky heritage aside.

[gotbottle]

She flashes him a grin. "I didn't expect there was, like, much horse riding going on in Miami, no. If anything you'd think I'd have some better idea how--Santa Barbara's full or ranches and farms but we didn't live on one."

[toooldforlosing]

"People have assumed before. The hat." He pauses, considering whether he's heard a noise, but decides it's nothing to worry about for now. "I guess we could both stand to learn."

"At least I can drive a stick. Not that it does me much good here."

[gotbottle]

"You're way ahead of me, then," she replies; but he pauses, and so does she, eyebrows raised. He doesn't seem to think anything of whatever made him pause in the first place, so she carries on.

"I mean, like. I can drive a stick? But it's not pretty. Tell you what, though, if I find somebody decent for horse-riding lessons, I'll let you know."

[toooldforlosing]

"Alright. I talked with a guy on a horse once, when I was jogging. I think he was a Hellsing type."

Unfortunately, he is also dead, but Raylan didn't know Boromir well enough to put that together.