Cry Havoc and Let Slip the Dogs of War

“Hey, you never know.”

He grants a hint of a smirk, the edge of a tease.

“Is there someone you hold dear?”

“Don’t you feel any guilt?”

“You’re actually afraid to be alone, aren’t you?”

“There must be something you fear.”

“Do you have a home?”

“Is there someone you like?”

“Are you really expecting a positive outcome out of this?”

“Aren’t you ashamed?”

“Aren’t you happy?”

“Who do you despise?” 

“How do you sleep at night?”

“What do you think of kindness?”

“What do you think of hatred?”

“Why do you fight?”

“Why do you live?”

“How much blood have you spilled?”

“How much death have you seen?”

“Don’t you think your actions are reckless?”

“Don’t you know how much good you’ve done for others?”

“Can’t you tell they love you?”

“Can’t you see he/she would die for you?”

“Can’t you tell the truth for once?”

“You’re not tainted.”

“You’re not alone.”

“You’re awful.”

“You don’t think of anyone but yourself.”

“You’re an emotionless robot.”

“You’re just a lap dog.”

“It’s not over.”

“He/she needs you.”

“Stop lying.”

“Stop fighting.”

“Stop pushing others away.”

“You’re cruel.”

“You’re far too kind. Too kind for your own good.”

“You depend on him/her too often.”

“You’re overprotective, it’s stifling.”

“He/she is bringing you down.”

“You’re too timid, it’s easy to see you as a target.”

“You need to listen.”

“You need to speak up more often.”

“You’re weak.”

“You’re too proud.”

“You won’t always be around to save him/her.”

“One day, he/she won’t need you anymore.”

“You can’t cheat death.”

“You can’t hide forever.”

“They’ll find out the truth eventually.”

“That person is only holding you back.”

“They’re too good for you.”

“You’ll be rewarded for your efforts if you keep trying.”

“It will get better.”

“You look lonely.”

“You look bitter.”

“You look tired.”

“You’re hiding a painful burden.”

“You’re perfect.”

“You’re beautiful.”

“You will always be worthless.”

“Your hands are too dirty, too tainted to be clean.”

“You’re lost in this world. Wandering without a purpose.”

“You’ll rise above them all.” 

“You’ll find your place in this world.”

“It’s not my fault people like to run their mouths, especially when they don’t have the facts.” 

It was literally the story of her life. People making assumptions about her and her family and she has to set the record straight. Unfortunately it usual ends up being with her fists. 

Her words gained a smirk in answer, even if he kept the bulk of his attention on the gun in front of him.  That he could appreciate for sure.

By now he’d finished the first and was partway into cleaning the second, parts disassembled and laid out on the wooden tabletop while he methodically went over one part after another.

“You always have a choice in accepting house guests.” She told him as she got back up and strolled over to make herself some coffee. 

“Depends on the kind of houseguests you’re sayin’ no to.”

It could have been a joke, it could have been serious; given the tone and expression, it was anybody’s guess.

“Ooh, a therapist.”

He probably should have tried harder to keep some of the derision out of his voice, but he had better things to be worrying about.  Sure, he got it.  Therapists were great.  For some people.  For him?  Not so much.

“I can see that’s helpin’.”  Another tease.  Maybe.  Probably.

Kennedy flicked her hair off to the side with a head gesture as she sat back, crossing her legs and her arms. 

“It’s court ordered.” She explained before picking her mug back up and taking a sip. “The only way my dad could get me out of going to juvie.

“That bad a kid, huh?”

There wasn’t any particular judgment in the words, just a mild question.  Fishing for information, but not as direct as he tended to be with his usual targets.

“Me?  Nah.  I’m boring.”

6. shove from behind

@anecessarydevil

The contact comes from behind, where he can’t see, and the reaction is immediate.  A step forward, weight shifted to compensate before he goes down, then a pivot, hands going up, clenched in fists, to counter.

It’s Red.  The idealistic idiot who fights in his PJs.

He doesn’t stand down, because it was still an attack, because it’s not beyond Red to try to take him out for whatever Greater Good he’s motivated by at the moment, but he doesn’t hit him back (at least, not past the first shot, aimed for the face, already started when he turned because anybody who makes a move on him’s going to regret it no matter who they are).

“You keep sayin’ that,” he grumbles, attention more on the dart and the building than on the other man.  He glances around, trying to determine whether that’s the end of it or not, hand moving to the gun in his waistband on reflex now there’s an unknown in the equation.

“But I’m still not quite sure.”

“Who says I can’t do both?”

There’s a grim smirk attached while he surveys the building in question and compares it to what he’s got handy.  Actually questioning the guy will probably involve a little more than just going over there, but he can make the time.  Long as Red lets him, anyway.

“If you’re gonna babysit, better keep up.”

“You always have a choice in accepting house guests.” She told him as she got back up and strolled over to make herself some coffee. 

“Depends on the kind of houseguests you’re sayin’ no to.”

It could have been a joke, it could have been serious; given the tone and expression, it was anybody’s guess.

“Ooh, a therapist.”

He probably should have tried harder to keep some of the derision out of his voice, but he had better things to be worrying about.  Sure, he got it.  Therapists were great.  For some people.  For him?  Not so much.

“I can see that’s helpin’.”  Another tease.  Maybe.  Probably.

6. shove from behind

@anecessarydevil

The contact comes from behind, where he can’t see, and the reaction is immediate.  A step forward, weight shifted to compensate before he goes down, then a pivot, hands going up, clenched in fists, to counter.

It’s Red.  The idealistic idiot who fights in his PJs.

He doesn’t stand down, because it was still an attack, because it’s not beyond Red to try to take him out for whatever Greater Good he’s motivated by at the moment, but he doesn’t hit him back (at least, not past the first shot, aimed for the face, already started when he turned because anybody who makes a move on him’s going to regret it no matter who they are).

Without a word the devil pointed to the brick column next to them where a dart was stuck. If he had not pushed the other, probably that dart would be on Frank’s neck by now.

“You keep sayin’ that,” he grumbles, attention more on the dart and the building than on the other man.  He glances around, trying to determine whether that’s the end of it or not, hand moving to the gun in his waistband on reflex now there’s an unknown in the equation.

“Yeah, well you’ll have an easier time if you don’t stand out there like you’re waitin’ for the mothership.”

Frank never actually looks directly at her, just keeps on with what he’s doing; not like he needs to think about it, cleaning his guns is all muscle memory anyway, putting the pieces back together.  He can keep a better eye on her if he doesn’t let on he’s actually paying attention to her anyway.

“Oh I know.” She said, finally sitting across from him. She watched him clean his guns. The muscle memory was the same as when she boxed or painted, just something you did, never thinking about it. 

He glances up briefly as she sits down, as much out of habit as curiosity, fingers working on autopilot.  It’s therapeutic, in its way, although he’d never say it out loud; idle hands, and all that shit.  Keeps him out of more trouble than he needs to be in on top of making sure he can get out of the trouble he starts.

Why she’s watching him is the real question, but he’ll get to that.  For now he just sizes her up.

“Yeah, I’d bet that’d take a toll.”

There’s more than a hint of sarcasm in the words but no real malice or teeth; as hard as Red doubts it, he’s plenty capable of holding a conversation that doesn’t involve his fists or a gun.

So to speak.

“Yeah, well you’ll have an easier time if you don’t stand out there like you’re waitin’ for the mothership.”

Frank never actually looks directly at her, just keeps on with what he’s doing; not like he needs to think about it, cleaning his guns is all muscle memory anyway, putting the pieces back together.  He can keep a better eye on her if he doesn’t let on he’s actually paying attention to her anyway.

options range from the joking and less severe to very, TRIGGER WARNINGS apply!

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