#world;mc

eagle-eyes-malone: 

"Their fuckin’ loss, man." Sips agrees, sliding the door open a crack with the barrel of his gun and listening down the hall for activity. He looks over his shoulder at Ross, a grin dancing around his eyes, obvious even though his mouth is covered, "but you know what they say, two’s a company, three’s a crowd, and four’s too-many-fuckin’-moochers-gettin’-a-share-of-the-loot." He chuckles under his breath as he turns back towards the door, "don’t ask what five is."

He rocks slightly on his heels as the train comes to a complete stop and leans away from the door as he hears someone shuffling down the hall, not ready to jump the gun just yet. They’re fairly close to the front of the train, right up in first class. The tickets cost an arm and a leg, but its nothing they won’t be making back. Sips likes to think of it as an investment. Usually time’s more of a factor, as far as these things go, and you wanna be sure to hit the people who have anything worth stealing first, instead of wading through cramped cars of immigrants and laborers at the back for pennies.

With three hours they could empty the pockets of everyone on board. Twice over (on the off chance they missed something.) They probably won’t need the extra time though, in and out as fast as possible was still the best route. Having only two people on a heist was great for maximizing loot distribution, but it was bullshit for crowd control. Hopefully nobody felt like gettin’ fresh.

"Alright, you got the bags? Guns? Extra ammo? You know what you’re doin’??" He wasn’t usually uptight about these things, preferring often to play it by ear and instinct, but Ross was right, there were some high-class fuckin people on this train, and this job could leave them sittin’ pretty for life. Or at the very least, a goddamn while. Notch willing they could buy Second Breakfast and ride that show pony all the way to the Rio Grande, "Right… You fuckin’ ready?"

   Ross falters as the train comes to its halt, though it doesn't knock him too bad. The heel of his boot lands with a heavy 'thud' as he steadies and re-positions himself, returning to his usual stature. If the nearby passenger(s) had a keen eye ear, they'd have heard Ross' movement over the trains' wheels protesting against the track.  There was a small gap between their carriage and the first class ahead; you would ideally expect the first class carriage(s) to be connected, but only if it were a true cruiser-of-sorts. No, this one was of a lower grade than one would expect, and they were stuck in the "first-class peasants" carriage - how else would they be able to pay to board in the first place?  If it wasn't for the train stopping, the pair would have to make a risky move or two jumping between carriages - fortunately, this isn't the case. Unfortunately, however, this would allow the other passengers to move freely without stumbling; something that was very, very problematic.

   "Got everything we need, right here," Ross points to the gun holsters sat neatly on his person, "and here." Another point, this time to the two remodeled potato sacks slung over one shoulder, both ready to be filled to the brim with loot (while also currently carrying the extra ammo, since Ross didn't really think it through).  Sips' attitude was... worrying, to say the least. Double-checking their inventory, muscles actually tense for once. This would be no ordinary heist if it had Sips this riled up. Ross could only hope he could pull the support of the absent comrades.

||¦ prep with askgenderbentlalna

                 [Marble Test Tubes] have entered the games.

   ―――

   Ross wakes with a groan, sunlight piercing his vision when he decides to open his eyes. Raising one hand to his brow to shield his sight from the sun's rays, it doesn't take Ross long to realise he wasn't in familiar territory.  Which would mean he was dragged to this area - certainly no sleepwalking involved, and the lack of filth stains on his clothing or leaves and twigs in his hair cancelled out the 'dragging' thought.  Which would then mean that teleportation was involved, which would then mean that this was intentional.

   He stands, dusting himself off, only to find an unfamiliar figure was beside him - Lalna..? He'd never really known the scientist all that well and fucking hell were there so many variants scattered about. Regardless, they were probably in the same situation; confused and naked-with-clothes-on.  Ross sighs in disbelief as he recalls what he had signed up for.

   Survival games.

✞ my muse taking care of a your muse while they're sick // aka i hope i do okay

   Smiffy had gotten himself ill, again. There was no doubt about it - he had been playing about with magic and took it yet another step too far. Thaumcraft had its perks, yes, what with arcane levitators and arcane bores being the reason Ross still had a straight back, but the green man would always babble about the practice of the art and bloody hell did it begin to drive Ross insane.

 He would say that his friend deserved it if he didn’t really care about him. Truth was, Ross didn’t really want to spend the rest of his life dealing with Trott by himself, so trying to help Smiffy get back onto his feet was the only option.

   Which was the reason why Ross found himself looming in the doorway, half-in half-out, with a bowl of soup in one hand and a wooden spoon in the other.

>No. No, not this guy. Not this fucking guy.

   Ross gimaces at the sight of yet another orange-clad spaceman. The other Sjin - the one he had spoken to beforehand - didn't seem all that bad; he didn't appear to know much about Ross, which meant that he wasn't the Sjin he wanted to avoid. The Sjin standing before him, however, he was sure he knew; there was some form of history between the two of them, much to Ross' dismay. He jabs a finger in Sjin's direction, scowling.

 The small girl takes Ross by surprise. He'd heard about this one; something to do with that purple magic-smoke-magic-goo-magic-magic-magic thing. 

>Flicks..? Flecks..? Flooks..? Yeah, 'flooks'. That's definitely it.

   Ross forces a smile regardless.

   Ross pulls at his collar. He didn't really know what to think of this guy - while anybody is a viable customer, the blond was just... different. Not in a rude way, of course, just that his whole getup seemed off and dear god is that blood.

 He would extend a hand to greet - would, if it was somebody else - but the man doesn't look like he'd own anything of worth. 

 He turns his back to the bearded man, refusing to even acknowledge his existence. Instead, Ross twiddles his thumbs - something, anything, to avoid contact with Sjin. It's only about twenty seconds later that he realises how ridiculous he looks, gazing up at the sky and whistling.

   His shoulders slump as Ross sighs, spinning on his heel to greet Sjin. Might as well be the better man.