VIOLENCE IS THE ANSWER

QUEEN OF THE SOUTH

@violenceistheanswer, @notagamblingman, @beingacabronisachoice, @theheartbeatofnola, @hernameiswar, @heknowssomebody​, and @whosthecaptainnow​

STAR WARS

@untilnolongerprofitable​, @lightinhersmile​, and @nowandtilthespire​

[ There are other Star Wars, but these are the loudest at present. I also have several OCs, Cobb Vanth, Migs Mayfeld, Maul, Kit Fisto, and several others. If you have any interest in any of those, just let me know as they may perk up with plotting. ]

ONCE UPON A TIME IN WONDERLAND

@lovebeyondproof​ { Alice & Cyrus }

PRIDE & PREJUDICE

@onlytolerable and @perfectlyamiable​

MISCELLANEOUS DISNEY/DREAMWORKS

@roidestruands​, @heretherebedevils​, @neverhadafriendlikeme (under construction), and @alivingdarkness​

MISCELLANEOUS CHARACTERS

Charger had thought it overkill to painstakingly reproduce El Santo’s mark on bags identical to those containing the actual coke. He thought it bordering on the ridiculous to fill them all, bag for bag, with lactose powder. It seemed too much time and effort for an impossible outcome.

‘ Nothing is impossible. Especially when it involves Teresa. She made mistakes, and now she’s desperate. Do you remember what desperate people are capable of? ‘cause I do. ’

He remembers. Of course he does. The things they saw aren’t easily forgotten, if ever they could be. Even years later, he still jolts awake, screaming on the worst nights, waking disoriented, confused by his bed and by the lack of sand and by the quiet.

So, he remembers, but he hadn’t fully grasped exactly how desperate Teresa was or how clever she could be if given reason and opportunity.

But, of course, James knew. He knew and he prepared for it, planned for it as he plans for any foreseeable complication and outcome. The man is, as ever he has been, meticulous.

When the impossible had proved possible after all, it was James’ precautions that prevented disaster. At the end of the night, they were in the clear, both the cash and the coke in their possession and under heavy guard at the secondary location James had selected so that they could prepare for transport to Devon Finch.

With everyone else already returned, the next time the door opens, Charger turns toward it with a smile, ready to congratulate James on his victory, but… all it takes is a glance to know that it wasn’t without a price. The only questions are: how high a price? and had James been prepared to pay it?

His smile fades to an expression of thinly-veiled concern, but he merely watches and waits for James to issue the newest orders, even with his face half-covered in blood. His own, if Charger had to venture a guess.

When the orders are given, he bides his time until at last James retreats to his makeshift office.

Then he makes his approach, first aid kit tucked under one arm.

As he expected, James moves around the small space, gathering what he would require for the next step of the plan. The thought that a first aid kit might be one such necessity either has not yet occurred to him or, more likely, it is being deliberately ignored in favor of more ‘pressing’ matters.

Some things never change.

“James, you’re bleeding,” he states, so matter-of-fact, from his place in the doorway, leaned against the frame.

“Am I? I hadn’t noticed.”

There is no sharpness to the retort, none of the irritation that had turned swiftly to anger earlier in the night. There isn’t even the disappointment that had been directed with the lethal precision of a sniper at him after he lost Camila.

No, there is only a familiar emptiness to his voice and to his eyes, a fact Charger notices despite James’ deliberate attempts to avoid meeting his stare. This he has seen too many times from James, and he knows the sorts of triggers that cause it.

He will need to proceed with caution.

“You are,” he affirms, as though he needs to do so.

With his usual nonchalant, even stride, he crosses to the wooden table currently functioning as a desk and he drops the first aid kit on it. Briefly, James’ gaze flicks to the offending bag before he continues his current task.

“I’m busy.”

“Somehow I think this will not stop the blood.”

“It can wait.”

“James.”

There is an edge to his own voice, a note of command that finally gets James to look at him. There are hurricanes raging in those dark eyes now and for a moment Charger thinks he may have a fight on his hands. He mentally prepares himself for the battle that seems will ensue, braces himself to weather James’ wrath for a third time in one night.

Yet… just as quickly as the storm surges… it dissipates and James bows his head and exhales a heavy breathe before he all but slumps into the chair behind him, whatever tension that had been keeping him on his feet abandoning him. Still Charger does not move, not until he sees that almost imperceptible nod.

Then and only then does he step around the desk to take a seat upon it, pulling the med kit to him and flipping open the flap.

As he gathers his materials, he squints and cants his head to one side, trying to get a better look at the damage.

“… What happened?”

“FUCKing Pote happened,” James answers and there’s a petulance with which the words are spoken that might have drawn a laugh from Charger in any other situation. This, however, is not it.

“He tried to blow my head off through a window with a shotgun.”

Charger winces at that, realizing that must be the cause for the scatter pattern of what cuts and scrapes he can discern from the blood. The glass must have exploded with the shot, flying through the air as shrapnel and catching him.

It’s a miracle that the damage hadn’t been worse, or that the shattered pieces were all that had caught him––considering how protective Pote seems to be of Teresa.

Charger watches as stormy eyes once more flash to the ground, his hands clasped, pinching at the skin between thumb and forefinger on the other hand. It’s an old tell. A sign of agitation. A sign that he’s trying to ground himself, to remind himself to breathe, to focus, to center.

He won’t push him.

For the moment, he says nothing as he sets out his supplies exactly as he likes them, ready to be used as he needs them. Next he reaches for the lamp on the other end of the desk, bringing it closer and removing the shade to allow more light.

When he does speak, he remains to the matter at hand, his tone softer now, not wanting to further agitate him.

“Hey. C’mon. Look at me so we can clean this blood off your face, okay?”

It takes a few beats longer than he would like, but finally James raises his head again, though his eyes remain quite decidedly downcast.  [ He can’t hide behind his sunglasses now. ]

Charger adjusts the lamp and then careful yet firm fingers turn his face to better illuminate the wounds.

He lets out a low whistle at the sight before him and clicks his tongue. Pote had not been playing games.

James was fortunate indeed.

“Seems like your cheek got the worst of it, but the glass got your forehead and your neck, too… and… your ear, pero… Creo que es solamente una herida menor… ”

With that, he turns and takes up the cleaning solution and pours it onto a cloth… then he looks at James, expectant.

The fact that it takes as long as it does continues to concern him, as does the fact that when James does look at him––apparently realizing that Charger hadn’t moved to the next step yet––he seems puzzled for a moment before the reason occurs to him.

There’s the slightest wry upturn to a corner of his mouth despite himself, and his right hand moves to grasp the edge of the seat. Charger snorts but at last begins to clean.

Charger focuses on his task, occasionally offering a brief but sincere sorry when he would aggravate one of the scrapes and cause James to wince.

He notices when James starts watching him. Someone would have to be oblivious––he’s convinced––to not notice James looking at them, always with such intensity as though by that alone he might understand them, might read their minds.

He doesn’t ask, however. James will either say something or he won’t.

… but Charger is certainly relieved when he does.

“… I was a mile out of line tonight, Lorenzo,” he begins with a sigh, and Charger—Lorenzo—knows from years of experience that if his face wasn’t currently cut to hell, he’d have dragged his hand over it. As it is, his jaw clenches, and he looks away for a brief moment, and Lorenzo doesn't push for any explanation. He’s moderately certain of the reason for the statement. He can wait patiently for James to get his thoughts together and to continue at his own pace.

“… There was nothing else you could have done about Camila…” he says with a single shake of his head and a frown as he looks to him once more. “There were too many of them. If you had interfered, the only difference to the outcome is that you’d have gotten yourself killed. You made the right call, and I was wrong.”

“Es been a rough day, hermano. A rough few days,” Lorenzo answers with a shrug and that’s that. So far as he is concerned, there is nothing to forgive, and there’s nothing more to say about it.

Another matter, however………

He considers, debates, tries to decide whether or not to give voice to what he suspected from the moment James entered the building.

“……… Did you see her?”

The effect of the question is immediate.

His jaw clenches once more and his shoulders tense, expression hardening. Not certain that he’ll receive an answer—or that he’ll like it even if he does—he applies a sizable bandage to James’ cheek and then he stands and begins to clean up the mess.

“… She was there,” James admits at last, and there’s that sharpness again.

“… An’ you talked to her? Wha’ did she say?”

“She wanted me to betray Camila. To throw away my reputation and everything I helped to build.”

“An’ she thought that you would?” Lorenzo questions in disbelief, eyebrows rising. “Wha’ did she try to offer you?”

There’s a sneer at that and James releases the edge of the chair so that he can cross his arms over his chest instead, a spectacular scowl on his face.

“She goes from smuggling cocaine to an airport to thinking she has some revolutionary, new ideas for how to run the cocaine industry, and she thought that I would betray Camila to work for her.”

“¿de veras?”

“Yeah. Really.”

“An’ that’s all she said? I mean, Camila no es perfecta, pero, she just said ‘betray Camila an’ come work for me because I know better’?”

His question is met by a heavy silence, and that is Lorenzo’s answer that, no, that had not been all that she said, but as the quiet stretches, it becomes clear to him that James is not inclined to share whatever else had been discussed.

He redirects.

“Pues… Anyway. What’s next?”

“… We follow through on the deal with Devon and get El Santo paid while we chase down leads on Camila.”

Once more, Lorenzo hesitates before he speaks, uncertain if he should poke at this particular sore spot again, but he can’t seem to stop himself. The interaction hadn’t rattled James for no reason, and having to do this to her didn’t leave him hollowed out because he hates her and doesn’t care what happens.

Lorenzo just wants to verify that he’s thought this through to its likely conclusion, as he would any other scenario, that his anger—and whatever else might be swirling beneath the surface—isn’t blinding him to potential consequences.

“…… And Teresa?”

“What about her?”

“Well, we have the cash and the coke, so… what if she tries to take her shipment to Devon?”

He watches as James huffs a laugh and shakes his head, almost baring his teeth in his agitation.

“Regardless of how much she thinks she wants to be in this game, she won’t take lactose powder to Devon. Even she wouldn’t make that kind of gamble. She knows what he’s capable of. It would be suicide.”

It’s a reasonable enough answer, and Lorenzo can almost let it go.

Almost.

“… An’ you’re sure she’ll test it?”

That… that gives James pause, and it’s evident when that line appears between his eyebrows and his arms uncross… if only that he can clasp his hands, trying to appear relaxed.

He’s pinching at his hand again.

“… Of course she will,” he says at last, but there’s a bluster to it that makes Lorenzo wonder who he’s telling.

“She may not be cut out for the business, but she’s smart. And she’s observant. How many times has she seen us test the product? Every shipment, right?”

“That’s right.”

Lorenzo’s agreement does not smooth those lines from his brother’s face. Now that the doubt is there, it seems determined to remain.

“……… She knows better. She’ll check it.”

But what if she doesn’t?

Another sound that’s just a little too sharp to be a laugh follows.

“She's probably already figured out that it’s fake.”

She has Pote with her. Pote will make sure she checks it.

“She and Pote will be pissed, but they’ll regroup.”

But what if she doesn’t check it?