It's the first thing you realize when coherency comes back; survival instinct ruling out the hazy, numb grief that's clouded your mind ever since you unlocked the door to that shack by the greasy, muck filled river weaving it's way through the slums.
Your lawyer, linked to your elbow and cane idly tap, tap, tapping away in front of her as she walks, gives your forearm a squeeze and steers you down another dimly lit street without making it look like she was guiding you. She's turned the act of supposed helplessness down to an art, and that is why you wouldn't have chosen anyone else to help you bring Sollux's murderer to justice, however biased and corrupted the higher-ups in this world may be.
And with the last hour's revelations, you are going to do just that.
Pictures were snapped, evidence gathered, promises of a proper burial were made, and at the end of it all, the only thing you want to do is burn away the images of your best friend laying in pieces on a cold, concrete floor.
But you can't forget; you owe him that much.
And that is why, when you turn the street and the sound of discrete footsteps followed by the sound of a silencer being attached to a muzzle reaches your ear, the blow you administer to the dark shadow that had been stalking you for at least three blocks is harsh and unforgiving. You hear bone crack as the other is hit in the ribs by that lame, dragon headed cane that you've come to appreciate and fear in the past couple of weeks.
When the two of them lay unconscious, your knuckles split and bleeding but nothing compared to the ass-whooping you've given them, Terezi turns one over and relieves him of his handgun.
"Hired goons, typical." She snorts, turning it over in her hands and putting the safety back on. "Stupid ones, at that."
"They know that we've found them out."
That's all you care about. They know you're on their trail, they know you very well could expose them and their 'connections' for the horrible, greedy, back-stabbing bastards they are, and they know that you and her need to be out of the picture to keep everything nice and quiet again.
You suddenly want a drink, despite all the times you've verbally and physical expressed your distate for a good deal of beverages of the alcoholic persuasion before.
"That's not an attitude I wanna hear from you, Karkles." She sniggers, getting to her feet with their weapons in hand. You offer her a hankercheif to wipe the blood from the end of her cane despite the irritation that builds up inside you at the nickname. "We have what we need; we can bring the defendant to swift, sweet justice, and we'll have him hanged before you know it."
"Great, now all we gotta do is make sure we don't get massacred in our sleep, which I'm pretty fucking sure they're gonna try to."
"Of course they will." She says this as though it's a fact, holding onto your elbow and falling back into the 'helpless blind girl' routine that catches all hired goons and would-be murderers off guard. She has to, especially in these parts of town with chances of being sprung at by sick fucks and desperate muggers at an all-time high, and they never see the pain she can bring coming.
In the nicer parts, she walks with strong, almost banshee cackling confidence that both annoys you and unwillingly brings your eyes to her swaying hips. You recall the time you met a reliable lead in one such place during the first few days of investigation, and how she easily pried information from his drunk-off-his-ass self and laughed and laughed about it later in a rather stragetically placed getaway vehicale. You also remember the flashing of the seizure inducing strobe lights mixing with the cop cars outside as they crashed the party, claiming to be busting drug users, but in reality, looking for the only one who knew the truth behind the murder of your best friend, hacker extraordinare who just happened across a few of the goverment's dirty little secrets.
It's exactly where she leads you next, and you admit that the comfort of a crowded street and noisy traffic is reassuring compared to shady, grimy alleys.
You expect her to let go of your arm and stride on ahead, but she doesn't. If anything, she leans hre head on your shoulder. You're not quite sure what to feel about that, but you think that you kind of like it.
FILL: TEAM JAKE<3JANE
forgivemethisisstupid.
- - -
You're being followed.
It's the first thing you realize when coherency comes back; survival instinct ruling out the hazy, numb grief that's clouded your mind ever since you unlocked the door to that shack by the greasy, muck filled river weaving it's way through the slums.
Your lawyer, linked to your elbow and cane idly tap, tap, tapping away in front of her as she walks, gives your forearm a squeeze and steers you down another dimly lit street without making it look like she was guiding you. She's turned the act of supposed helplessness down to an art, and that is why you wouldn't have chosen anyone else to help you bring Sollux's murderer to justice, however biased and corrupted the higher-ups in this world may be.
And with the last hour's revelations, you are going to do just that.
Pictures were snapped, evidence gathered, promises of a proper burial were made, and at the end of it all, the only thing you want to do is burn away the images of your best friend laying in pieces on a cold, concrete floor.
But you can't forget; you owe him that much.
And that is why, when you turn the street and the sound of discrete footsteps followed by the sound of a silencer being attached to a muzzle reaches your ear, the blow you administer to the dark shadow that had been stalking you for at least three blocks is harsh and unforgiving. You hear bone crack as the other is hit in the ribs by that lame, dragon headed cane that you've come to appreciate and fear in the past couple of weeks.
When the two of them lay unconscious, your knuckles split and bleeding but nothing compared to the ass-whooping you've given them, Terezi turns one over and relieves him of his handgun.
"Hired goons, typical." She snorts, turning it over in her hands and putting the safety back on. "Stupid ones, at that."
"They know that we've found them out."
That's all you care about. They know you're on their trail, they know you very well could expose them and their 'connections' for the horrible, greedy, back-stabbing bastards they are, and they know that you and her need to be out of the picture to keep everything nice and quiet again.
You suddenly want a drink, despite all the times you've verbally and physical expressed your distate for a good deal of beverages of the alcoholic persuasion before.
"That's not an attitude I wanna hear from you, Karkles." She sniggers, getting to her feet with their weapons in hand. You offer her a hankercheif to wipe the blood from the end of her cane despite the irritation that builds up inside you at the nickname. "We have what we need; we can bring the defendant to swift, sweet justice, and we'll have him hanged before you know it."
"Great, now all we gotta do is make sure we don't get massacred in our sleep, which I'm pretty fucking sure they're gonna try to."
"Of course they will." She says this as though it's a fact, holding onto your elbow and falling back into the 'helpless blind girl' routine that catches all hired goons and would-be murderers off guard. She has to, especially in these parts of town with chances of being sprung at by sick fucks and desperate muggers at an all-time high, and they never see the pain she can bring coming.
In the nicer parts, she walks with strong, almost banshee cackling confidence that both annoys you and unwillingly brings your eyes to her swaying hips. You recall the time you met a reliable lead in one such place during the first few days of investigation, and how she easily pried information from his drunk-off-his-ass self and laughed and laughed about it later in a rather stragetically placed getaway vehicale. You also remember the flashing of the seizure inducing strobe lights mixing with the cop cars outside as they crashed the party, claiming to be busting drug users, but in reality, looking for the only one who knew the truth behind the murder of your best friend, hacker extraordinare who just happened across a few of the goverment's dirty little secrets.
It's exactly where she leads you next, and you admit that the comfort of a crowded street and noisy traffic is reassuring compared to shady, grimy alleys.
You expect her to let go of your arm and stride on ahead, but she doesn't. If anything, she leans hre head on your shoulder. You're not quite sure what to feel about that, but you think that you kind of like it.