Walkies
Characters: Batou and Erol
Location: Batou's room and Carnival
Date: Late night
Rating: R for violence probably
Erol snarled and paced at a quick march, driven by something he always felt (which had gotten worse in the past two years), but never so keenly as when all his distractions were removed. There really was little crueler that could be done to ( Read more... )
Location: Batou's room and Carnival
Date: Late night
Rating: R for violence probably
Erol snarled and paced at a quick march, driven by something he always felt (which had gotten worse in the past two years), but never so keenly as when all his distractions were removed. There really was little crueler that could be done to ( Read more... )
But - whispered the logical part of his brain - if an ally saw you, or someone who might talk where they could be heard, THAT wouldn't be such a bad thing.
The few like-minded individuals on the ship wouldn't much appreciate the idea that one of them could be imprisoned with no consequences. Besides - he'd just done both Even and Cadence a bit of a favor, hooking them up to break into that restaurant, it would be quite clear that sticking together was advantageous. Someone would do something. For the advantage of having Erol owe them a favor, if nothing else.
I don't NEED someone to rescue me -
No you don't NEED it, but it'd certainly be nice at this point, wouldn't it.
... Yes.
Stubbornly Erol took the leash between bound hands to keep slack next to his neck. It would minimize the leverage Batou had - for what that was worth, which wasn't much - and give Erol at least an illusion of control.
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Batou did not speak as they moved towards the familiar doors, and mostly his attention was on his surroundings to make sure there were no observers of this. In all honesty, Batou would have preferred it if he hadn't collaborated with the others, as he was doing a fine job on his own and the cyborg wasn't sure which of them could be trusted. The redhead, sure, but for all Batou knew, the woman was a spy.
He frowned as they came to a stop and the doors opened. Thunder rolled inside Camp Carnival, same as always, and Batou tugged impatiently at Erol for him to follow.
"Come."
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Carnival was before them too soon. Erol's ears pricked at the rumble of thunder. Thunder?? ... The hell? He could feel the air differential, sense that it was outside, but that was impossible. They were facing the ship's interior...
"What's in there, anyway. And do I get a Mardamned weapon."
At the yank he snarled, pulled back on the leash with wire-bound hands. "Don't FUCKING pull me around." Breathing free air had quieted his nerves enough so that he was no longer compulsively twitchy, but he still hated being controlled and restrained.
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"Give me a reason to trust you," he said, and opened the doors. They slid into the walls and Batou yanked with a slight fraction of his strength, nearly spilling the elf on his face.
Inside it was much the same as before. The carousel tinkled away as the horses whimpered in pain, the concrete ramp had spots of fresh blood and the bruised, greenish-grey sky rolled with thunder that threatened to spill. The scent of blood and something burning came on the sickly breeze, and Batou began to lead Erol down the ramp.
"I'll release your hands at the bottom. Try to go for the door and I won't hold back. We're going to have fun and then you're going back into the cage. Behave and we'll go on walkies again."
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When the cyborg warned him off the door, Erol glanced back towards it with palpable longing, but the rest of the spectacle kept him distracted. How the FUCK did this exist? Well... as Celeste had pointed out, logic didn't really apply on this boat.
His nose flared at the scent carried past by moisture-laden breeze. This was... bizarre. Erol was a cruel man, had inflicted agony and suffering that made him the terror of Haven City. But this was prolonged sickness, agony and torture on a level he struggled to understand. After a certain point even Erol would grow bored and kill his victims. When they broke, when pain ceased to become fresh and new, when they no longer flinched or even tried to appease him and they got that dull, hopeless look in their eye - the game was over and it was time for a new toy. Hell, even Praxis would allow someone to die eventually.
Things here just kept on suffering.
Like a hound that had scented quarry, Erol's pace quickened, weight shifting to the balls of his feet, the set of his shoulders changing as his posture adjusted. Come on COME ON what's this place got to offer
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"Are you capable of putting aside personal grievances, Erol? If you are, I suggest we treat each other as comrades for the time being, and kill together. Agreed?" Batou can't help but let a tremor of excitement into his own voice. There are shapes moving in the darkness--more bears that turn into bats?
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Erol knew he couldn't hurt Batou - the man was little more than a distraction, at worst a hindrance as far as Erol was concerned. Now was all about THEM - whatever THEY were. Not the prey he was used to, women and children and rebels. Not even Metal Heads. And damn if he wouldn't have felt better with a good pistol or at least a dagger.
But it had been so long he couldn't fucking care less.
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