Participants:
| Scene Title | Call Me Kazimir |
|---|---|
| Synopsis | Peter Petrelli hatches a plan to get Team Alpha into Iago's bunker, but how much of it is a ruse? |
| Date | December 10, 2009 |
Argentinean Jungle
The chirp of night insects blends in with the crackle and pop of a small campfire. The warm amber glow of the flames dances across the dirty faces gathered around it; tired and weary guerilla fighters sitting shoulder-to-shoulder with conscripted government forces. In the firelight, Dahlia Velasquez looks to have been hypnotized by the dancing flicker of the flames. Dark eyes reflect tongues of goldenrod and crimson tipped with shades of blue and red. Coils of dirty dark hair are flecked with dried leaves, smudges of dirt streak across her cheeks, and thin scratches and cuts run down the length of corded muscle in her arms.
Her empty stare hasn't changed much over the last few days, times of solace like this in the dark of night do little to lend to conversational moods. This camp, deep within the jungle, looks to be older than their revolution. A wooden shanty of tall timbers and pitched roof with no walls and a weathered, raised floor. The square of missing boards at its center gives way to a fire pit, and a matching hole in the ceiling vents smoke out. Moss clings to the roof in shingled sheets and grows up one face of the four posts holding the roof up. In a way, it is just as weathered looking as she is.
Insects buzz around the light of the lapping flames, drawn towards its radiance only to be consumed by it. They're funny that way.
Day 16
Trudging out of the woods, Peter Petrelli looks more worse for wear than he did that first day Team Alpha arrived. His pants have been torn in small places, boots worn and weathered looking, scrapes and holes in his tanktop. Dark hair hands down one side of his face in a greasy coif, stubble on his chin dark, matching the dirt smudges on his cheeks from being out in the woods. Behind him, that scraggly South American man with the eyepatch and black beret follows, taciturn as always, cigar pinched between his teeth and M16 over his shoulder.
Peter offers Rico a silent nod, motioning him to go over by the fire where Dahlia sits, and in the dark of that night, Peter's blue eyes sweep around the perimeter of the camp. He silently circles the shelter, passing by a few backpacks propper up against one post, moving over towards where Agent Ross sits, scribbling something in an old weatherbeaten journal with the stub that remains of a pencil. "We need to talk…" Peter whispers, crouching down beside the agent, blue eyes cast to the fire nearby, then back to Ross. "I need to address the team, we need to come up with a plan." A nod is made towards Ross' backpack. "We're going to need it."
It not being very descriptive.
Despite the relative warmth of the campfire, one of the Alpha Team members stands around the camp much as she does around the darker hours of their time… wrapped in a blanket. The blanket has seen better days, much like Gillian herself. It has dirt smears, rips where it got snagged and torn. Some of them caused by her, some from whoever had the blanket before. Thick and warm, it acts as a cloak, covering much of her as she moves around, arms hugging around her body keeping it close and snug. It blocks out most of the wind, even with the rips and tears.
Her feet peek out from the bottom, the boots she had since they found her warn and dirty, but not quite as heavily beaten as some. She doesn't go off into the woods very often at all. And there's a anklet that peeks out on her left ankle. The needle had gone through the boot and did what it needed to do. She hasn't tried to remove it more than a few tugs here and there. It made taking that boot off rather difficult, though. There's a slit down the side, to make it slip off easier at night, so she can stretch her toes.
"It? What's it?" she speaks up in a raspy voice as she makes her way closer to the fire as soon as Peter appears. So often she's tried to talk to him, and he disappeared back into that jungle. Assface.
It's been a stressful week, as long as the days have been. As far as Ross is concerned, the mission is all but terminated, as much as Team Alpha had agreed to carry on with it - because they have to. The Branded aren't as tractable as Dahlia would lead them to believe, her influence tainted likely by this secretive mission she's trying to assist with. Some don't want them across the river. Some don't want them to take the guns. Some don't even want them going back to El Palenque, the village facing enough problems as it is. If they new about a nuclear warhead, they might think differently.
If, if, if. Ross raises his head as Peter approaches, then glances over his shoulder towards the figures of the rest of the team and the scattered Branded that have agreed to watch for them. There's been minor whispers about something tracking them still, but never soon enough to attack. Investigations likely done out of boredom have lead nowhere.
As if the enemy is perfectly happy with them huddling here. Ross draws in a breath through his nose, and shuts the journal in his lap. A narrowed look to Gillian, before he sets about picking up his backpack. "It is not to be messed with," is rather unexplanatory, tugging the zipper free. "You want to address the team?" There's some sarcasm in his voice, there. "Go right ahead. They're right here."
Dahlia has since risen to her feet upon the sight of Rico's return, moving bare foot across the creaking wooden floor of the shelter. Her demeanor has been grim, lately, as one's mood will be when torn between opposing forces, like trying to grip the reins of two willful horses. While being stalked by robot cats in the jungle. She says nothing to her brother, just juts her chin up in a silent question, a tilt of her head to Petrelli.
"I hope 'it' isn't a deus ex mechina you've been hiding this whole time for a reason that'll make us all want to punch you in the face." Magnes sits by the fire, not particularly looking at anyone with the camo blanket around him, he's playing with a little marble of water floating inbetween his hands, twisting and shaping it as he continues his Pizzamir-induced journey of experimenting. "I still say we find the source of the robots and destroy it."
"More secrets?" Cardinal's head lifts from the tree he's been leaning against, cleaning his nails and trimming them with a knife he picked up somewhere along the way; one brow arching sharply upwards, gaze unreadable through the shades he's wearing, though it's clearly resting upon Ross as the agent reaches over for his backpack.
Veronica's dark head pops up from the sleeping mat she's been trying to rest on. She pushes aside the cover of her sleeping bag, the cuff on her wrist visible as she does so, a visible reminder of the dangers they face and the enemy they seek to vanquish. She pulls her legs out, getting up and moving to the makeshift fire pit where it's warmer. Her limp is noticeable, but she moves gracefully for a woman whose leg was slashed by a giant robot jaguar. "I'm awake," she says helpfully, glancing at Peter. "Whatever it is — it's gotta be better than what we're doing now." Which is a whole lot of hurry up and late.
'Right there' is not wholly accurate, perhaps, because it certainly isn't where Raith is. He's not far, of course, but still not there. Lately, glaring into the jungle has been his pastime of choice, if only because 'it' is out there, somewhere. Watching. Waiting. Hunting. Raith likes hunting. He does not like being hunted, and this is the most direct reason why he's uncomfortable with their present situation. He's been less approachable than usual, if that can be believed, given to spending time away from everyone else, by himself. Maybe his way of trying to control the situation a bit more; if he only has to worry about himself, there are fewer variables in the mix, less that can go wrong.
Or maybe being stuck in the jungle with a metal monstrosity hunting him has finally pulled the last can out of the six pack.
Blue eyes narrow slowly, and Peter regards Ross in a moment of prolonged scrutiny. His eyes focus up on Gillian, and his look sours to a mind your own business scowl before settling back down on the Agent. "Have it your way…" Pushing up to stand straight from his crouch, Peter brushes off the front of his camouflage pants and looks around at the people gathered by the fire, then down to Gillian, and finally over to Magnes. "…and shut up, Varlane."
Sixteen days in the jungle has done nothing for Peter's attitude, but there hasn't been much of what Gillian would recognize as Peter at all in the last three days. Walking away from where Ross sits, Peter's booted feet clomp up loudly on the shelter's raised floor, hands tucked into the pockets of his slacks. "Since you're all ready to get involved anyway, I'll cut straight to the point. I've been debating on how to handle our current situation since we arrived here, and I was hoping that present leadership would devise a plan of action without needing to put forth what I'm about to…" A look is offered to Ross, then back to the people around the fire. "We're outnumbered by the local Vanguard presence and operating in hostile terrain. We don't know the enemy's exact numbers, but we know its leadership to a point. We need to gather intelligence and at the same time deal with the threat that is no doubt still tracking us down."
A glance is afforded to Rico, who moves away from the shelter and starts patroling the edge of the camp, as if he doesn't need to hear this speech. Maybe that's what they were doing out in the jungle, preparing it. Or maybe he just doesn't care. "I know where Rameirez' bunker is, but there's no way we're going to be able to stage a full-frontal assault against it. We don't have the numbers, and we're not sure how many of those machines they have…" Eyeing Raith, Peter furrows his brows. "So Jensen and I are going to infiltrate it." Blue eyes flick over to the tree and Cardinal leaning against it. "Cardinal, I want you with us."
The more that she watches him, the less she likes it, even before he starts to explain his plan. Gillian pulls the blanket tighter against her, jaw tightening in a way that makes the brand stand out on one cheek, and a dimple seem to appear on the other. Not cause she's smiling at all. Dimples don't need smiles to show themselves. "And how exactly do you plan to infiltrate? I can see how Cardinal can get in and out easy enough, sneaking in on someone's shadows. They'd probably not even notice him. But how…" She doesn't get very far in her usual protesting or questioning, instead finally setting her jaw again, lips pressing tightly together.
Cardinal's query isn't dignified with a response, at least not verbally. Ross only takes it out from his backpack, fingers curled around the hoop of metal in a very cautious and by now, after much fidgeting, expert manner to avoid the needle protruding from the steel. It's a bracelet, the same fabulous accessory that Veronica, Magnes and Gillian bear, the same Cardinal was witness to Ross collecting the night he was found.
Levering himself up to stand, the Company agent grips the cuff without any regards to secrecy, letting it dangle between fingers as he listens. His eyebrows hike up at what Petrelli has to say, keywords like infiltration getting absolutely no argument.
Dahlia, too, listens in, and behind her, there's the sight of two silhouettes coming into being. By now, they might distantly recognise to the two Branded men, the larger man who grows bone plate armor, named Celio, and Jorge with his silver-shot hair who tends to wink towards any shadow that happens to be Richard Cardinal. The latter is lighting up a cigarette, both listening in unless turned away. Their unbranded leader isn't paying attention to them, only focused on Peter's words and the replies that come after.
Her expression is severe, and she gives a soft snort at Gillian's words. "If anyone could waltz on it, it's him," she says, angling a look back into the fire.
The agent at the fire ring arches a brow. "You don't exactly blend in, if you mean trying to get into their little club, Petrelli. You don't think they'll think it's suspicious, two Evolveds trying to join in? Raith might manage it, if he claimed to be working with us as a double agent, to bring information to them," Veronica says. Her eyes narrow at her own words, and she flickers a look over to where Cardinal's voice came from, then back. "And if that's the case… they're going to want some information as proof. What are you willing to give them?"
"Well, why exactly are you infiltrating? An assassination mission? Information gathering?" Magnes asks, throwing out a short list of possibilities. "If there wasn't a possibility that they might have prisoners, I'd be glad to use Gillian to try and collapse the base and everyone in it…"
"That is," Cardinal says with a slight nod towards Petrelli, fingers sliding up the back of the blade to fold it into the handle, "My area of expertise, after all. Of course, it would have been nice if you'd mentioned something about this earlier, Peter." The name stressed, with just a hint of sardonic twist, as the knife's tucked away into a pocket.
The bracelet's recognized, his head tipping in a slight nod before he looks around with a brow's pointed raise, "Someone's going to need to give me a goddamn gun, though. And don't worry, Sawyer. He very well can walk right in. He might be one of the only ones that can."
"Out of this lot," Raith says, turning his attention back to the group and walking to join them proper, "One of the only three. The other two are Richard and myself. Let's think back about two weeks to when we first got here. Didn't it strike the rest of you as perhaps a bit odd that I knew as much as I did about Rameirez when that information wasn't part of any mission brief? We're all here to hunt Vanguard, but Peter and I are the only ones with a personal stake in it. Or rather, a personnel stake. Take that however you like."
Blue eyes regard Veronica intently for a short time, then fall shut with a bobbing nod of his head. "No need to obfuscate the fact any longer…" Peter admits with a shake of his head to Raith's comment. "Iago Rameirez is a man who is blinded by the comforts of familiarity, by the slimmest chance of the status-quo being maintained. All I have to do, is tell him the truth and he'll believe any other lies that come out of my mouth after the fact. The truth of the matter is…" Dark brows furrow, and Peter's lips downturn into a frown. "Peter Petrelli isn't here right now, and hasn't truly been for some time, so I hope you'll all not mind my substitution in his stead." The words are offered with some measure of certainty, as if it were the truth. "Once Iago finds out the 'truth' about the Vanguard's leader having once more cheated death… The remainder will come easily."
Rolling his shoulders, Peter looks over to Magnes. "This is why no one respects you, Varlane. This is why everyone thinks you're a child. Because you talk before thinking. No one here cares about prisoners. You're so single minded in your naivete that you've completely forgotten the reason you're here. There may be a nuclear warhead inside that bunker, one that could be armed and primed to detonate with the slightest disturbance. So you'd irriadiate the interior of a mountain, source of groundwater for the entire region, on a whim?" He's getting sidetracked, but there looks to be little to pull him away from the disapproving tongue-clicking he's giving Magnes now.
"If the bomb isn't in that fortress, then you'd bury and possibly destroy any information they may have on its location. Again, on a whim. You say this idiotic things without consideration of what's been said previously, for— reasons I imagine only you think make sense. This is why people look at you like a child. If you care, then shape up. If not you'll make perfect bait for the second plan."
Rubbing a hand across the back of his neck, Peter turns to look over at Veronica again. "We infiltrate to soften the base's defenses from the inside. Jensen, Cardinal and I can do whatever we can to aid you from the inside and play it by ear. In the meanwhile, the rest of you can work on two things… One, using the tracking beacons you have to lure the robots out of hiding into traps. Varlane's ability can function something like an old fashioned tiger-pit if he times it right. They're advanced, which means they're expensive, which means they're finite in number. Develop a system and disable as many as you can. If we're lucky, one of us might be able to wrest control of them, or disable them entirely."
Brushing his hand over his mouth, Peter looks down to Ross, then up to Gillian and over to the others around the fire and in the came one by one. "I would prefer it if you addressed me as Kazimir from this point out."
Those words sting, even when they probably shouldn't. Gillian had hoped that wouldn't be the case, but hearing it… Lowering her head, thick unwashed locks of dark brown hair fall into her eyes, obscuring her face, as she finally moves closer to sit down, a little harder than she probably should. With the thunk, it's almost as if she fell rather than sit. The blanket gets pulled closer and she doesn't look up for a bit. She says nothing else for the moment.
Utterly irrelevent to and independent of talk of infiltration and cunning and verbal spankings and the gravitational collapse of a nuclear warhead, Jamón wanders into the shelter behind Celio and Jorge. Where they calculate for the caution that they may be asked to remove themselves, he does not.
Rather, he winds in to seat himself indian style near the fire, still shirtless and still with scarcely enough meat on him to cover the bones shorn long through his jack rabbit legs and bat wing arms. His hair is black and coarse, littered with leaves and twiggy bits of detritus.
But he isn't marked, and so far as anyone knows, he hasn't said much of anything about why.
The fire crackles through a short moment of silence while Dahlia says absolutely nothing, no shock written on her stony features as she slices a glance towards where she'd last seen Rico, before turning the dark chips of her eyes towards Peter. Or rather, Kazimir.
"We've got next to zero intel on the interior of their base," Ross adds, a hand up to scratch at his temple where a bug bite's been place when he hadn't been quick enough on the slap to ward it off. "Before we can think about anyone softening any kind of defense, we need to know what's going on in there. Aerial shots have confirmed the very likely possibility of Munin's presence," and he casts a glance to Magnes, to Peter, back to the larger group, "a silo located in the crater of Cerro de Hierro Negro."
"We can help you weed out the kitties." This from Jorge, now, signified most visibly by his lit cigarette and a sudden smile. "They give us as much trouble as they'll be giving you. I'll tell you now, though, guns won't be enough." Dahlia's shoulders rise up a little as if her hackles were going vertical. She's had this discussion before, after her promises with Team Alpha. "But if they're what you say, scrap fucking metal, you can be smarter than 'em."
She acted like she didn't know why Peter might be the best bet for infiltration, since it was a secret that Gillian confided in her. But now that everything's out in the open, Veronica watches Peter with narrowed eyes. A visible shiver runs through her body, despite the fire's warmth, when he asks them to call him Kazimir. And that shiver is followed by the fact that they think the weapon is here in the mountain.
"And what about communication? How long do you want us to wait for word or signal, if they decide to slit your throats the moment you walk in?" she asks, glancing first at Kazimir, then to Raith. "They might believe you, but they may not be willing to chance that you've been compromised by … Petrelli. Not saying it's not the best idea we have, but we need a backup plan if they don't believe you." She glances over at Jamon and smiles in appreciation for the offer of help.
There's a long moment of staring at that little sphere of water inbetween his palms where it looks as if he just might throw it, but Magnes resigns himself to simply not acknowledging Pizzamir's, or now Kazimir's, words. "I don't even know why I was brought here, but I'll help capture these sentinel cat things. Assuming they expected pits in the jungle, we'll have to bury them right after trapping them, 'cause chances are they jump really high, or can at least climb. I mean you saw how good those things were at compensating for being physically hindered. Anyone here who knows anything about robotics, or are at least familiar with anatomy notice any obvious weak points?"
At the 'revelation' from Peter - or Kazimir as he claims - Cardinal's lips twitch in a mirthless smile, his head shaking just a little at some inner thought. "I can get into the silo," is all he says, in quiet confirmation of his abilities, "Although if they have a telepath, things could get stickier."
"I wouldn't worry about a scanner too much," Raith says in response to Cardinal's statement, "I wasn't kidding when I listed off Iago's better traits. He hates Evolved more than anything. I doubt he's changed his opinion much." Some of them were more open-minded, but unless things have drastically changed, Iago wasn't one of them. "And Magnes, he wasn't talking about a physical pit in the ground. He was talking about your ability, smashing them to the ground and holding them there. You follow now?"
"Jensen is correct; Iago is a purist." Kazimir states levelly, "He won't afford an Evolved in his ranks, not without sufficient reason to, and his paranoia would never allow him to have a telepath. I watched Iago grow up from a boy to a man," metaphorically, "I know his particular quirks and preferences. I also have an idea about our Hector Steel that he's keeping company of, but until I can do more than throw a hypothesis at it, I'll keep that to myself." Something doesn't feel right about this, about him knowing as much as he does, it leaves questions that have uncomfortable answers dangling from them.
"The backup plan," Kazimir offers, leveling his stare towards Veronica, "is two-fold. If somehow we are captured, it would be Richard's responsibility to report our failure to you and— considering that— we may not be the best people to consider to deliver a backup plan as we failed with the initial one, yes?" Blue eyes drift over to Cardinal. "Should Richard, Jensen and I all be lost to never return, I would hedge your bets with whatever unknown abilities Dahlia's people have to offer. I'm leaving Rico with you because he knows these jungles as well as the other locals for that reason.If we fail, you may find yourself having to confront that bunker just as Magnes said."
Considering that, Kazimir looks towards Ross. "This brings me to an unfortunate topic. In my backpack…" Peter nods towards the olive-drab bag leaning up against the post opposite of him, "is a briefcase containing documentation obtained from the remains of the Delta Team in Shanghai. It seems they and the Vanguard in China slaughtered each other, and I was able to confiscate their nuclear technicians' documentation…" But Peter doesn't go any further, he only implies the remainder. "If the three of us fail on infiltrating and getting the rest of you in, then it falls on you to find and disable the bomb on your own. Failing that, ensure that it detonates in an area with as minimal casualties as possible."
Acceptable losses, in other words.
Hams has heard enough, apparently. The rawboned lad, still doing his best Mowgli impression, scuffs to his feet not long after collecting a june bug off the decking between his bent knees and turns to shuffle off on his own. Maybe back to whatever it is he's doing during the long spans of time no one sees him or hears from him.
In the meanwhile, all who happen to glance his way while he scans over the group on his way to absent departure are party to a singular rush of sensation up to the hairs on their chinny-chin-chins — a penetrating, sub-zero liquid cold that blanks the mind and throbs painfully at the extremeties. A burbled, gargling scream, a curse in a deeper voice and for more than one, the sensation of something heavy and slick writhing 'round an exposed calf.
Then it is gone, and so is he, sandals scuffing blandly away through the tree line, where larger and less friendly insects reside for him to peruse.
Despite her silence from before, there's a hint of a nod from the bundle of blanket and unwashed dark hair that happens to be Gillian. "All right," she adds in a raspy voice, tighter than usual, but her voice often sounds like she's sick. It just sounds a little more like that, now. It's more that her throat is tightened by emotion, and it's unlikely she has anything else to offer right now. Eyes glance up through her hair at Kazimir and stay there a moment, as if she wants to say more, but then they lower again. "Just try not to get caught. We're already a small enough fucking group as it is. Dividing us in two is dangerous enough, but if we end up losing two of the guys with all the knowledge, and three of the best fighters— seems like that would make the whole thing fail more than it already has."
There's a moment where Ross pauses, back going stiff and hand going tighter around the cuff he has grasped in his fist, and, distracted, his attention wanders to where Jamon is making is tramping way out. There's a murmur from where the two older Branded men are standing, and Celio breaks off to pursue the lanky teenager at a leisured pace, casting a last glance towards Team Alpha before disappearing into jungle.
Rubbing the back of his hand against his brow, where sweat's begun to dot and line his skin, Ross nods absently, taking a moment to catch up with what all Kazimir has said without needing to verbalise agreement. Silence is acceptance.
"I'm assuming you have the contents of that memorized, in case you three are the ones to need to do that?" Agent Sawyer says to Kazimir, since he already shared with her what exists in the suitcase that was as fashionable of an accessory as the lovely cuff she wears on her wrist. Then she makes the mistake of looking after the boy as he gets up, and shivers. Her brows furrow together, a clear What the fuck was that look on her face as she scans the group for reactions.
Magnes has been focusing on his little ball of water, and everyone's words, trying to process it all. "If disarming fails, I'll try and throw it into space." he suggests, before finally looking up at Kazimir. "I've heard things, about you and your plans. If you're really Kazimir, why should we trust you? Why are you even helping us? And don't give me a load of crap about black and white, this seems like a complete one-eighty compared to what I've heard about you."
Raith has partially disconnected.
As the skinny young man shuffles off, Cardinal slants a look after him — his gaze pausing there as a chill trickles down his spine, his back straightening a bit as lips purse in a thin line. Even after he's gone, he stares after him in the jungle for a moment, before with a tight shake of his head he looks back towards the others.
"In case we do locate Munin," he says then, suddenly, "I'll provide you all with a copy of the deactivation codes for it, although I recommend you leave it to someone who knows what the fuck they're doing. Once she's armed, she's unstoppable."
Once upon a time, strange sensations of, cold?- may have bothered Raith. But, not anymore. 'Jaded' is perhaps not strong enough of a word. However, he has nothing to say about it, or, at this point, about anything. For the time being, he is content to sit and listen.
The cold runs thorugh Kazimir like blood does through most everyone else. Proximity to that boy seems to warrant an uncomfortable look, and that bone-chilling cold only reminds him of what will be awaiting him up the top of that mountain. Perhaps, in a way, that might have been the point the child was trying to get across — or at least that's what worries Kazimir less.
"You wouldn't believe me if I told you…" Kazmir finally admits in a level tone of voice to Magnes. "Besides, I doubt you heard every side of my story. But— I imagine you got the important parts right." A blue-eyed stare is offered to Raith, one with a furrow of dark brows. Somehow there's an irony to this union here, the man Raith openly criticized by the founding of his Remnants, willingly going along with the new design. It may not be as cut as dry as Kazimir claims, his monopoly over Peter's intentions, and anyone who saw his frantic rescue of Gillian might be keen on that. Maybe this is all a part of the act, part of the infiltration. Maybe it's more complicated yet.
"I… have what Ineed from the documents, the geiger counter and other tools inside my pack will be yours to use. I plan on taking moe direct routes to locate the bomb once we're inside the bunker." Furrowing his brows, Kazimir looks over to Gillian, if only fleetingly, then finally to Ross. "If this is going to work, we all need to cooperate. Jensen, Cardinal and I can head out at first light. I'm not sure how hard of a hike it will be for the three of us up to the summit, but we should make it in quick enough time. You all should work on devising a trap — " he nods towards the branded that offered the similar suggestion, "Fight smart, not hard. If something goes wrong, you're going to want to not have to worry about those sentries. As far as communication goes, if we can get inside we'll try to send a visible signal in the air to let you know it's clear. A flare or the like, or if possible, one of the robots with a painted marking on it to guide you up."
Turning to look over to Raith, then Cardinal, Kazimir finally asks; "Do either of you have any objections to the plan as it stands? I figure you two know what will be needed of you both?"
"Too bad you can't just give it blue eyes. That'd be a marking," Gillian says, though her voice remains tight. No protests are voiced, even ifs he wasn't asked. It's likely she has them, many of them, but either doesn't want to say them, or refuses to give them voice in case they aren't listened to. The most she can do is exactly what she knew she could do when she came out here. Make someone else stronger so more could get done. "You gonna be up for this, Vee?" she turns toward the other woman, reaching up from the blanket to rub at her face for a moment, "We'll need you with firepower as a backup, just in case what Magnes and I do doesn't work. Or if there's a second one we didn't see. They're a lot more stealthy than they look. I spotted them twice and never heard them. Whatever bigger guns these guys got could be useful, even if all it'll do is maybe slow it down."
"Sorry, senorita," Jorge says, coming to step up onto the raised floor of the shelter. "What weapons we have, we've paid in blood for, only sometimes money and time. We will lend you what we are able, but you should save them for when you have flesh to wound. Your enemies are men, too. Many of them. Kazimir," and the name seems to mean little to the Branded man, "is right. We'll outwit 'em."
"You offering to be bait?" Ross asks, tossing the cuff in the air, catching it again, and Jorge only grins his hell no at him. "Should we worry about whatever the hell is still on our trail or wait 'til we're across the river?"
Jorge shrugs, taps out his cigarette. "They have more kitties near the mountain. This is your show, friends."
Agent Sawyer nods, stretching her leg a bit as she considers. "Perhaps something besides guns?" she asks Jorge. "Grenades, maybe." Her eyes flicker over to Jorge, and she nods. "We appreciate whatever help you can give us." She thinks for a moment more. "You're working with water now…" she nods to Magnes. "Wonder what water would do to their circuitry… Any ideas? Do they seem to do all right in rain and such?" she asks the natives.
"Water, fire, dirt, it's all starting to seem pretty much the same, just different effects. I'm starting to feel how heavy people are around me, it's weird. I'm not really sure what can of worms I opened." Magnes admits, still holding that ball of water. "It'd probably best if I'm one of the decoys, since I can get away from those things easier, unless it turns out they've got freakin' jetpacks."
"I'm still waiting for someone to toss me a gun, and it doesn't sound like I'm getting one, either," Cardinal observes, his tone mild and gaze steady on 'Kazimir' as he speaks, "Other than that, I'm good with the plan. Just so long as you remember what side you're on these days, hm?" A faint, tight smile twitches to his lips, though there's no humor and less warmth to it.
He drops down to a crouch, then, digging a sheet of paper carefully folded out of the side of his boot. "Gimme a notepad so I can copy down the codes for you guys."
"Water won't have any effect on their circuitry," Raith replies flatly. He fans his arms out to indicate all the environment that surrounds them. "Jungle. And they won't have 'jetpacks,' either. The technology necessary to produce a compact rocket motor with sufficient thrust and fuel economy to lift seven hundred pounds of steel jaguar into the air does not exist. End of discussion."
"You can steal a gun once we're at the bunker." Kazimir intones flatly, looking down at his hands and narrowing his eyes slightly. "I have some preparation work I need to do in order to ensure that they believe what they need to, and that involves washing some laundry in the river outside of camp." Blue eyes turn to Rico, one brow lifting expectantly. There's something that goes unsaid between the two, but Rico's moving to fall in line behind Kazimir, shifting his stare to look in the direction of the treeline, then to Dahlia.
"Richard," blue eyes settle on Cardinal. "Give the codes to Jensen," there's a strange certainty about the way he asks for that. "I'd rather he had them…" His pale stare levels towards Raith, followed by a slow and awkward nod. Maybe he doesn't trust himself to follow through, or maybe he doesn't trust Raith to, and that's part of the point. As always, his motives seem inscrutable.
As he turns to head towards the river, Kazimir pauses and offers a side-long stare to Gillian. Brows lowered, he watches her wordlessly, then begins moving out into the jungle with Rico on his heels.
As always… his motives are inscrutable.