Nightshift 29, Patient Library
There was music playing in the library.
The door was closed and shut, but music filtered out anyway. Inside, the room was lit with battery operated lanterns set on tables. The tables themselves had been moved and arranged into a U formation, one table horizontal in the center of the room with two tables parallel to one another set against its ends ( Read more... )
He'd never promised answers.
"You boys don't ask the right questions, anyway. There are rules. Now if you want me to arm you, I can do it. But like I said - I've got to be able to give at least something to everyone who comes through that door. It's only fair. You made it here, you get your reward."
He rolled his eyes and ran a hand through his dark hair, obviously growing agitated.
"Answers mean nothing here. Answers won't help you. Go looking for answers and you'll go mad, alright? And not the fun mad. You'll find yourselves pulled into a madness you've never imagined, where even your blood screams out in terror at the memory.
"Now either take what I am offering or let me know where you're headed next - I've got more coming."
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Whether it was "up for sale" or not wasn't even the point. Apparently he needed them just as much to take Landel out, and as far as Sanzo saw it, arming them with actual information was just as much a weapon as a gun.
Sanzo started to bristle....
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Reaching out, Qui-Gon discreetly laid his hand on Sanzo's elbow. He doubted he could actively influence the other patient; he might be angry, but he was hardly weak-willed and wouldn't be the type to be so easily influenced. Qui-Gon focused on keeping his voice neutral, calm.
Everyone had to be reasonable, even if they didn't get what they wanted. Or needed.
"We'll take what you can spare us," Qui-Gon said, removing his hand. "Thank you."
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Fading wasn't even the right word, it felt more like it'd been drained right out of him.
Sanzo blinked. Something had just happened right then, and it wasn't a change of heart: he still didn't agree with how any of this was going down. He'd been downright pissed up until...
...Qui-Gon touched his elbow.
The monk turned his head just enough to look at Qui-Gon, somewhat suspiciously.
What the hell did you just do?
He didn't say it out loud; the look on his face was enough.
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It seemed to do the trick, as the anger faded, and no harm was done. As stubborn as his former Master could be, he could certainly smooth things over when the situation called for it.
Managing a smile in spite of himself, he turned to "Mr. Radio" and gave a brief nod. "Yes, anything you can spare us will do. Seeing that our normal methods of self defense are unavailable to us, we'll take whatever we can to defend ourselves with."
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"For the brave knights from beyond the stars," he went on, pulling out two knives from the darkness below his table. They were nearly identical, long and sharp and far more dangerous than stolen cutlery.
"And for our easily agitated friend... a little fire spitting demon of your own." A small revolver was displayed, followed by a single box of ammunition that boasted 50 reloads. "And I'll even sweeten the pot, seeing as I'm such a nice guy." A cigarette was set on top of the box of ammunition.
"Think you can defend yourselves with those?"
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Qui-Gon took the knives in his hands, passing one to Obi-Wan. They shone in the light, the blades giving off silver gleams. They certainly looked like they meant business. Qui-Gon was more accustomed to using a lightsaber with more range and an entirely different blade, and would have to adjust to using a knife. But it was considerably more reliable than his Force abilities at the moment.
And the man behind the radio knew they weren't from Earth, knew they were Jedi. Or maybe he had a flare for just being dramatic. Qui-Gon flicked a curious glance at him, but could read nothing in his face.
"Yes," Qui-Gon said. He dipped his head in thanks. The device the man held out to Sanzo appeared to be some kind of hold-out blaster, small and compact and easy to conceal. The box he held out looked rather big to be carrying a power cell for the blaster. "Thank you."
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The cigarette was another surprise. Outside of his servants, and maybe one or two patients here, Sanzo didn't think that many people knew he smoked. Or that it would was that newsworthy to go around at all.
The gun's make couldn't be a coincidence either.
"I'm not even going to ask how you knew," said Sanzo. No, he wasn't going to turn it down either. He took the gun and box, as well as the single cigarette.
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