Participants:
| Scene Title | Breaking Rules of Common Sense |
|---|---|
| Synopsis | A self-stylized entrepreneur makes a quick buck by taking advantage of pent-up frustrations on Pollepel Island. |
| Date | November 26, 2010 |
A limited selection of board games donated with missing pieces, portable radios powered by batteries and rumpled decks of playing cards constantly passing between hands — there are only so many forms of entertainment on Pollepel Island, and while most of the refugees keep themselves busy volunteering in the kitchen, sorting supplies in the store room when shipments come in, or taking turns looking after each other's children, this is not enough mental stimulation for some.
A courtyard with squat, crumbling walls on the far side of the castle has been the place to go for the past two nights. It's one of the only areas outdoors where the island's residents have been given permission to burn a bonfire. The air is cold, thick with fog, and heavy cloudcover makes the flames unlikely to be seen from the sky if there are any military helicopters in the area, and no sighting have been reported since the patrol boat's encounter with Danko many miles away from the network's stronghold.
It's not around the fire that people are gathered, however. Warm bodies form a loose cluster around a circle drawn on the stones with a piece of chalk, barely visible in the torchlight. At its center, a silhouette with a silky mane of long, dark hair weaves around its partner as if partcipating in an elaborate bobbing, ducking dance, but when the pair gets close, it's not to take another by the arms and spin or dip — it's to lash out with fists and feet.
Eileen never said anything about fighting, and judging by the howls of good-natured encouragement coming from the assembled crowd, this altercation isn't an altercation at all. The air reeks of sweat and cheap beer, purchased by the participants at an inflated price from one of the smugglers doing business with the network along with other supplies, unbeknownst to the Englishwoman.
If she knew about the alcohol, about the brawling, she might take issue about how the courtyard is being utilized this evening. Fortunately for the participants and their audience, Eileen has no idea because Eileen isn't anywhere to found.
"Come on, Kirby! Flatten him!"
There's just something about these kinds of events that draw people, no matter what they'd say they'd think of them at any other time. Kendall isn't sure what he's gotten himself into, lurking at the very fringe of the group. He's halfway interested in what's going on, but the other half is, well…. scandalized. He's had a proper upbringing, and this kind of stuff just isn't supposed to happen. Except, of course, it does.
Magnes arrived not long ago, having brought two bags with him, one backpack and one dufflebag, leaving them both in a corner of the room where he can watch them. He's laying on the wall, hands behind his head, peering directly down at the people fighting. He's in a zipped up leather jacket and some black jeans, biding his time before his search for Abby.
He's tell Sable he might be going to Canada, but best not to stress her out about the band.
Huddled far from the fighting lest a wayward foot or hand comes her way, Nora sits, skinny arms wrapped around skinny legs that are swimming in a pair of PJ bottoms that are far too big for her slight frame. A small radio is clutched in one hand, its reception a little clearer than most around her. Her attention seems to be on the newscast she's picked up rather than on the fight, since a fight one can't see is about as exciting as listening to a baseball game on the radio — that is to say, not.
When the newscast turns to talk that doesn't interest her, she turns the wheel of the tuner looking for something interesting, before a mischievous smirk curves her lips and suddenly "Eye of the Tiger" blasts out of her speakers. That done, she picks up the bottle of beer someone left beside her and takes a hearty swallow.
Jensen Raith has a thing with unlicensed boxing in New York City: Sooner or later, he always seems to stumble upon improvised rings, wherever they happen to be. That this one happens to be in his backyard, as it were, just makes it easier to stumble upon. This is good news because, hey, it's less work for him to find the entertainment. This is bad news because there is a certain expectation of how people should conduct themselves while staying with the Ferrymen. And bareknuckle boxing is not included in that conduct.
To say that Raith is unhappy when he wanders out from the castle innards- moving past Nora as he does- and sees what is taking place isn't exactly correct. It's a complex set of emotions that he feels. To his credit, he doesn't start shouting or overturning tables (not that there really are any to be found). Rather, he advances calmly towards what is the center of attention. Because, if he's going to say anything, that's where everyone is going to be looking, and he wants to repeat himself as little as possible.
More than that, however, he needs to make sure that just because nobody's seen Eileen, that does not mean the usual rules are not still enforced.
"Excusez-moi," says a voice behind Nora and to the right. "Aren't you a little too underage to be drinking?" Walter drops down beside her in a squat, wrests the bottle of beer from her hand, not to deprive her of it, but to help himself to a swig and wipe off his mouth with his sleeve before pressing it back into her palm. "Man, I am makin' killing t'night. Let me tell you." He emphasizes his point by running his thumb along the edge of a clump of paper money he holds in his opposite hand, creating a dull rustling sound to supplement what Nora cannot see. "'s worthless way out here, but baby? Once I get back to the city?"
"She's cheating," someone else insists. "No way she isn't using an ability. She's been knocked around more than my husband swats at his own dick and she's still standing."
In the ring, Hannah narrowly dodges a blow to the jaw and comes back with a swift uppercut that sends her opponent staggering back, across the chalk line. The cheers are already going up before he's landed on his ass.
"Uh oh." This from Walter, who suddenly has less of a reason to celebrate. Blue eyes flick to Raith's approaching form and he fights back a smirk. "Busted."
Kendall isn't doing anything illegal because he doesn't have any money. That is to say, he's not drinking any beer, unlike Nora. And strangely enough, instead of being excited about the fighting, his fingers are twitching. Maybe he's really missing his Tekken 5 or Street Fighter IV or BlazBlue, and is trying to play combos in his head.
Magnes pushes off from his wall, and floats over next to Raith, hands in his pockets. He assumes this is a reinforcement of authority, and since Raith's authority is Eileen's authority, Magnes is just going to be there for a little backup. He's not saying anything, he's just going to stand next to the older man for impact, at least for now.
"Yeah? What are you gonna buy me? Baby needs a new set of…" Nora pauses, that mischievous smirk broadening, "eyes."
Another long swallow of the cheap beer is taken, and her nose wrinkles. "Tastes like crap. You can have it," the teenagers says, pushing the bottle back into his hand, and playfully making a grab for the rustling bills in his hand at the same time. "She kicking ass and taking names, huh? Who's bustin' the party? Eileen?" she asks, head turning toward the sound of feet moving on the ground, though she can't see who's come into the courtyard from behind dark glasses, white gauze, and of course the veil of blackness her blindness has dropped across her eyes.
The song on the radio turns to static before it turns to a classical station playing Bach's Toccata and Fugue in D Minor.
Walter is ignored for now. So is just about everyone, including Magnes, as almost everyone's attention is on the fighting. And doubtlessly on the single ringside online who is quite suddenly introduced to the match through no volition of his own: Raith was all too happy to provide that, ensuring that not only are all spectators looking there and, in turn, at him when he strides in, but so are the fighters, as their match was very rudely interrupted. Look alive, folks: A new challenger approaches!
"Not bad, everyone," he says loud enough for everyone to hear him, "We had a feeling you'd have no problems keeping yourselves entertained. Unfortunately, it looks like a lot of you are breaking a few of the rules we have around here. That just doesn't sit too well with me. See, you all know how we are about rules here and it looks like a lot of you forgot about them. Just figured I'd come on out and remind everybody before I go ahead and ask-" A half-hearted, half-shrug that's almost nonchalant- "Whose idea was this, whose idea was it to do it outside, and whose idea was it to make a bunch of noise at the same time?"
"Na," Walter tells Nora. "If it was her, I'd be proper fucked, but watch this—" Placing the bottle down on an overturned milk crate, he braces his money-clutching hand against the inside of his thigh and rises back to his feet. He folds the wad in half, tucks it into his jacket pocket and swaggers around Nora, a cocky swing to his step that makes him look more drunk than he probably is. Probably.
"King o' Swords, innit?" he asks, and although his words are directed at Raith, he speaks in a voice loud enough to be heard by everyone, including Hannah who has stooped to help her opponent out of the dirt, hand clasped loosely around his wrist. Walter places his across his heart. "If anyone's gonna be takin' responsibility for this here, that'll be me. My idea, y'see. People were gettin' just a touch," and he pinches his fingers together, "irritated what with being cooped up inside and all, no real outlets for their frustration unless you wanna count fuckin' their wives, and not all of us are so lucky to be, ah— shackled.
"Fortunately! Tibbs over there's an audiokinetic. Got a range of a couple hundred feet. Nobody shore side's gonna hear us out here, and we already got permission for the fire from Miss Ruskin herself. Exactly which rules are we breakin', sir?"
Kendall hears the conversation between the two men and blushes. Man, should he be listening to something like this? That's just… embarassing. He stands up, ready to run away since it seems a bigwig is trying to crash the party. "If only we could play my video games." he mutters. Stupid limited electricity.
"At least get padding." Magnes finally speaks up once Walter has said his peace about the matter, giving him a stern gaze. "Against the rules or not, what you're doing is very dangerous, and safety precautions need to be taken. Padding, all I'm asking is that you get some padding for their heads and fists." Looking around at everyone, he speaks a little louder. "I'll be staying here tonight, so if anyone is having a particularly hard time with boredom, I could teach them algebra, or maybe I could give a lecture about the birth of stars. I also have a lot of comic book stories memorized. We have to use our imaginations! No need to give eachother brain damage the second we get bored."
"Careful," Nora breathes out as Walter gets up and the radio cuts out suddenly and completely, Bach's melancholy haunting organ piece no longer accompanying Raith's presence. She uses the wall behind her back to help herself rise to her feet, tugging the blanket that's wrapped over her thin shoulders tighter around herself as she listens.
"Algebra? Did he say he could teach us algebra?" she mutters to whomever is near her — she's not entirely sure, now that Walter's facing off with Raith.
If nothing else, you're breaking rules of common sense," a new voice replies as the radio falls silent, a female voice with a bit of a Canadian accent. "Fighting, folks? Seriously?" Pushing off the wall where she had been leaning, the source of the voice steps slowly towards the group, pulling a hat off her head as she approaches.
Barbara had just been coming to check on how the fire was going. She hadn't expected to find this, arriving jsut in time to see Raiths tepping up to take charge, something she had appreciated. If it hadn't been for the man's challenge inr eturn, she probably would have just stayed there, watching how it was handled. But with the question that had been posed, she felt the need to intervene. "Beating each other up isn't exactly the best way to keep prepared, is it? Sure, we don't want the few medical perosnal we have here getting rusty, but sending someone in with a broken nose or a concussion induced in something like this isn't going to help anyone, I promise." Hands slide into her pockets as she walks forward, eyes moving form person to person before the settle on Raith, a bit of a nod given in his direction.
"Unbelievable," Raith says once Barbara finishes. He looks to Magnes. He looks back to Barbara. He looks to the audience as a whole and exclaims (not too loud), "Somebody gets it!" And then, his attention is right back to Walter. "That is why we have rules." It's almost with a snarl that the ex-spy says this. "We have limited venues of escape. We have limited resources. The rules we have in place, which includes no bullshit like this-" A sweeping gesture all around him to indicate, well, essentially everything around him- "Are there to keep everyone here alive. We make too much noise or too much light, or move around too much in the dark, we get found. We waste resources and force ourselves to leave the island more often, or go through channels we don't know we can trust, we get found. We get found, we die. There will be no arrests. But, I get it."
Like that, Raith's attention is off Walter. He's even walking away from him. "You're bored! People do stupid things when they're bored. Doesn't make them any less stupid, but there is a reason for it. So, here's the deal. One more fight-" A single finger raised in the air- "And then no more without clearing it with the Council first. No eye gouging, no biting, no abilities. One more fight. Anybody here-" Raith's single-finger raised in the air very suddenly becomes a thumb thumping against his own chest.
"Against me."
Walter scrunches up his sleeves up to his elbows, which is actually quite a feat when you stop to consider that he's wearing multiple layers including a sweater and long-sleeved shirt beneath his jacket, and runs his tongue over his front teeth behind pursed lips. A tip of his chin looks Raith up and down and he takes a solitary, scuffing step forward.
"I accept your challenge," he says, back straight and shoulders squared— "On behalf of Hannah Kirby."
At the edge of the ring, Hannah's dark eyes snap up and glue themselves to Walter's face. Her mouth opens as if to protest, but the argument gets tangled somewhere behind her teeth and she settles for stinging him with the most venomous look she can muster instead. She touches the tip of her tongue to the corner of her mouth to swab away the dried blood gathered there and flexes her fingers. "Fine," she says. Fine.
"So are you trying to do them a favor by torturing us yourself?" Kendall calls over to Magnes. Algebra? Seriously? "Sheesh, I could entertain everyone myself, if asked." yeah, how's that for an idea? Get the illusionist to do something. Speaking of… there seems to be a new challenge, so a health bar appears over the heads of Raith and Walter, and then the words 'Round One // FIGHT!' appear. "Oops." he didn't do it on purpose, honest.
Magnes steps out of the way of the two, shaking his head and crossing his arms to watch. "Try not to give eachother brain damage. I'm stopping the fight if it gets too dangerous." he warns, eyeing Kendall, then Hannah, then the health bars. "There's nothing wrong with algebra, people just don't think math is fun because they don't understand the fun applications. I could make a statistical analysis of this fight. In my head, using the variable 'robot riding', I can accurately determine that Raith will be the winner."
The blind girl wraps her blanket more tightly around herself, then bends, fingers outstretched until she finds the beer bottle that Walter left behind — Raith is busy enough it would seem with throwing down gauntlets to worry about a little underaged drinking. Despite the fact she said it tasted like shit, Nora takes another long drink of the beer, emptying the bottle and then bending to set it back down on the milkcrate carefully, making sure it doesn't fall and crash to reveal her spot a bit away from the rest.
Underage drinking isn't terribly weighing on Barbara's mind either, but more likely because of her many years spent in Canada rather than the States. Stopping on the edge of teh impromptu ring, Barbara shakes her head, letting out an audible sigh. "Raith…" is her only protest, her arms folding her her chest as she gives him a bit of a look, one that is offer over Walter's way, coupled with a furrow of her brow. "Are you really so eager to stir up trouble that you'd risk getting her ass kicked by the head of special operations?" she inquires, adding a bit of a chuckle afterwards.
What, it's kinda funny.
Still, she quickly readopts a serious face, a hand rubbing down her face. She takes a half step back, looking back once her eyes pokle out from beneath her hand. "For the record, I don't approve of this," is muffled but audible, "But if this is what it takes to get the point across…"
It's something of a concentrated effort on Raith's part to ignore the nonsence going on around him, but nevertheless, he looks to the exasperated Hannah, and then back to Walter. "Fine," he says, "This time." But next time? Raith simply raises up his hand and curls his fingers into a fist, knuckles cracking, before giving Walter a very sharp nod of his head to make sure he gets the message. And that's all.
Hannah's next opponent steps back from the ring to allow her a few moments to recompose herself, since she won't be coming into the fight fresh. The head of Special Activities (one of the heads, at least) takes the time to remove his coat. It also gives him a chance to follow up with the only sane person in attendance besides himself and, surprisingly, Magnes. "Unless she's some sort of expert, don't worry," is the half-mumbled reply to Barbara, "I won't hurt her too bad, everyone walks away happy, and then we figure out where all this booze came from." The holster hanging from his shoulder comes off next, and he has one more favor to ask of Ms. Zimmerman: "Would you mind holding my stuff? I don't normally worry about it taking a walk, but with things how they are right now…."
A bruise purples the hollow under Hannah's left eye, sweat plasters hair to flushed cheeks and when she barks at one of the spectators for a bottle of water, her teeth flash pink. Despite the weather, she's dressed in only a pair of jeans, worn brown work boots and a tank top fit snug against her dense frame, sweater and jacket cast aside much with her scarf: a heavy, plaid thing of red, navy blue and black. Blood carves a path along her jaw where a punch split the skin across her cheek bone, but she isn't staggering when she moves into the center of the ring after she's taken her drink and spat most of it out at her feet.
"I'm not stirring up trouble, Miss," says Walter. "She's been telling me for the last week and a half that she could wipe the fuckin' floor with him. Well. Maybe not in those words, exactly, but." He makes a vague gesture with his hand as if to say close enough. "Besides, she'll be fine. She used t' do this professionally."
"You shouldn't hit girls, especially if you're a person who can beat most of the people you enter combat with." Magnes says this to Raith, shaking his head with both arms crossed now. "And you," he peers over at Walter, eyes squinting. "You shouldn't encourage improper behavior. You know, we could be playing element mashups right now. Like, what would happen if we combined Rutherfordium and Thorium? I'm not sure, but we could sit down and figure this out with enough thinking."
"I dunno, Thorfordium?" Walter offers lazily.
Kendall is keeping a firm rein on his power now since it slipped out once already today. "Better than combining Francium with water." he comments, since Magnes already brought that up. "Although considering the rarity of it in its natural, pure state, I don't think it's feasible." considering it's nonexistent like that…
Nora crosses her arms, looking a little cranky since once more she's missing the action, but suddenly the radio that's been set aside on the ground turns on once more, an old, old song blaring out tinnily from its speakers:
It's poetry in motion
She turned her tender eyes to me
As deep as any ocean
As sweet as any harmony
Mmm - but she blinded me with science
"She blinded me with science!"
And failed me in biology.
"Tell Madame Curie to shut up and watch the fight already," Nora calls out, a snarky grin on her face. It's possible the beer is starting to go to her head just a little.
"Next time, Varlane." That's it, the sum of everything Raith has to say about alternative dispute resolution with regards to the current situation. He leaves his things with Barbara, and leaves everyone else behind as he steps back into the improvised ring, taking a moment to size up Hannah. Noting how she carries herself, where she's injured, or appears injured, and where she looks healthy. It's only after this careful appraisal that he slides his feet apart and raises his fists- right side leading- in a loose, flexible fighting stance. Anyone who's seen him fight will know that this is likely the only 'proper' stance he'll adopt for the entire confrontation.
His right fist is unballed just long enough to beckon to the woman facing him: Come and get me.
Hannah snaps into motion. It happens so fast that only an eye trained to follow it will be able to be able to track the sequence of movements that starts with her driving her fist at his face and ends with her landing two blows in quick succession. There are feints between, a block that splits open Hannah's knuckles when she connects with Raith's arm brought up to defend his face from attack. Although his size and strength gives him a distinct advantage over the small, wild-haired woman with sweat and blood streaking into her eyes, he's past his prime and Hannah is still at the height of hers.
She's faster, though not quite fast enough. She evades the first retalitory strike swung in her direction, but the second glances across her temple and she goes stumbling, catching herself only a few inches from the chalk line meant to separate not only the participants from the spectators, but the winner from the loser as well. She comes back with a vicious kick to his knee that brings him down to her level, followed by a strike with enough force behind it to split his lip and coat his beard in his blood. There's a beat of hesitation, then. A sharp intake of breath and narrowed eyes that flick over Raith's shoulder where Walter stands beside Barbara, mouth curved around a smile that would be more at home on his face if it had whiskers and a wet black nose.
"Come on," she mutters at Raith, her words made haggard by shortness of breath. "You can't lose."
"Of course he can't, it's a statistical impossbility, barring any variables such as innate abilities." Magnes confidently says, nodding, very sure of his numbers. "At least Kendall is in the spirit of element mashups. We're on an island full of stuff we could do experiments with."
"Professionally?" Barbara replies with a raised eyebrow - she had been distracted by the fight beginning before her, something which only earned another disapproving shake of her head. "She looks too… good to be a professional fighter," she muses, watching the event before her and Walter. When she watches Hannah actually get hits in, though, maybe it's time re reevaluate that stance. "If that's the case, I'm hoping you didn't intentionally set Raith up for a fall, sir," she says, looking over at Walter with a smirk. "We need people to keep taking him seriously. I'm not sure that'll happen if he gets beat up by a woman." And again, she chuckles. Raith getting beat up by a girl? Also hilarious.
Sparing a moment of attention form the fight, the redhead looks over towards Magnes, motioning him over. "Magnes, would you speak with me after this? I think I may have a job for you to do." Uh oh?
For what it's worth, Raith takes the beating and, even though Hannah gives his cage a good rattle, he does his absolute best to no-sell her assault. Just for a second, he dances his tongue over the cut in his lip and spits a small wad of bloody saliva onto the ground in front of her.
When he starts moving, it isn't for a fast attack as Hannah had done, but slower and extremely deliberate movement, like a cat stalking towards a cornered mouse. The ex-spy takes this analogy a step further when once he moves into range, he doesn't punch but rakes the nails of his right hand down at the cut on her cheek, immediately following it up with a fast jab from the same hand aimed at her already bruising eye. He surges forward as he does this, not to kick or strike with a knee, but to get his front foot between her legs and behind her ankle so that she won't be able to maintain her balance when he thumps the palm of his left hand against her chest (without any consideration for her being a woman) and shoves. Rather than knock-out, Raith has opted to win by ring-out, even though Hannah will have her breath knocked out of her lungs and will likely pick up some additional bruises when she falls to the ground. Hey, winning is winning.
There's an elastic snap in the time-space continuum that only those sensitive to it will be able to feel, and if there's anyone in the crowd who does isn't telling. One moment, Walter is beside Barbara. The next, he's there to catch Hannah when she falls. His arms fold around her and he draws her into his chest, absorbing some of her momentum but not so much that it sends them both into the dirt. He takes to a knee instead, dips his red-gold head and murmurs something into her hair. An apology, maybe. God knows she deserves one.
She splays bloodied fingers against his cheek and pushes his face away from hers, even as one of his hands finds her wrist and the other presses something glittering and gold into her palm he produced from his jacket pocket. Raith isn't the only one who asked someone to hold something for him.
Hannah makes a point not to look Raith — or anyone — in the eye as she loops the necklace around her throat, drooling out pink-tinged saliva from scowling lips, and clumsily but purposefully fastens the clasp at her nape. One side of her face and neck has gone red, hair and the material of her top thoroughly with blood oozing thick from the gash in her cheek made worse by Raith's swipe. She's going to need stitches — even Walter, with the amount of beer he's consumed, recognizes that.
"Alright, I think we're done, then." Magnes raises an eyebrow at Walter's sudden change of location, then shakes his head and turns for Barbara. "What do you need me for? I'm supposed to help Abby with something, but I'll keep an open mind. I always want to help."
When people wince and murmur a bit, enough for Nora to realize it's Hannah who's gone down somehow, the blind teenager pushes away from the wall and takes small, careful steps forward, hands out to grope her way to where the scuffle was. "Hannah? Is she okay?" Nora murmurs, bumping instead into Raith; her head tips upward at him as if she could see through those sunglasses on top of gauze, before she steps away.
"Sorry," she murmurs, stepping to the side, plaid blanket trailing behind her like a cloak around her wirey frame.
Barbara lets out heavy side, before she steps forward and into the ring, looking over towards Hannah and Walter. "Is she alright?" she asks with a worried tone, before looking around the crowd. "Alright, everyone, here's the deal! Raith said he'd leave this matter up to the council, so for the moment, here's your decision. There will be nothing more like this, until further notice. I will be bringing it up Eileen and the others, and maybe if there's interest in something such as this we can get some equipment and find a safer way for the lot of you to have a more physical brand of fun." Hands move to her hips, almost like a mom, as she continues to let ehr gaze sweep over people. "But for the time being, anyone else caught fighting, organised or not, will face the consequences of such. I understand your frustrations as far as entertainment goes, and I'll see what I can do about finding other means."
There, decision made. Hands still on her hip, she turns and looks over to Raith, nodding. "For a moment, I thought she had you," she kids with a smirk. Detatching the hat from the beltloops of her pants, she renatoches it and fits it back on her head. "You didn't hit 'er too hard, did you?"
A hand is placed on Nora's shoulder, offering to turn her in the proper direction as Barbara looks back at Magnes. "You see pretty smart, Magnes. If you're going to be around for a while, I may be asking a favour of you."
For the second time that night, Raith spits a wad of bloody saliva onto the ground, although there's not nearly as much blood in it as before. "She'll probably have a scar," he says, before he turns to Barbara and adds, at a much lower volume, "She threw the fight. She's the worst professional fighter I've ever met or she threw it." What the significance of that is, if there is any significance, is set aside while Raith works his knee. He rolled with the kick as best he could, but that doesn't rule out the possibility of permanent damage. "We need to keep an eye on both of them. We keep them on a short leash or I promise you, they will get us fucking killed."
Walter helps Hannah to her feet. Loops an arm around Nora's middle as soon as she's within range so they don't lose track of her in the dark. Their next stop of the evening will be the infirmary. "I'm fine," Hannah tells Nora, taking her sweater, coat and scarf when they're handed to her by the last man she knocked out of the ring. The crowd does not appear to share Raith's viewpoint, parting to make way for the trio as Walter leads them back inside, his focus on the teen rather than the woman at his side as soon as he's sure she can handle herself.
And she can. Apart from a slight limp, caking blood and the tremors in her hands, she's no worse off than she was a few minutes ago when he first stepped into the ring.
"I hope I'm smart, or that missing out on a childhood thing was a bit of a waste." Magnes snickers, shaking his head once more when Raith mentions a scar. You don't scar a woman's face! "You don't scar a woman's face! Now she'll have psychological issues for her entire life." He sighs, and his gaze is back on Barbara. "I think you're the nicest Trikki I've ever met. Well, I guess now you're Trikkarbra… or Brikki, Brakki? Maybe Bracibra…" He seems to be stuck in a bit of a loop, staring down at his shoes as he mutters off names.
"I'm probably glad I can't see you," Nora whispers, having heard people mention blood and face and claw. As Walter leads them away, she grips his arm, feet stumbling a little on the edge of a blanket, the alcohol in her system not doing her any favors in allowing her to keep her balance.
"Good job, guys, they said they're gonna keep an eye on you and a tight leash," she adds with a shake of her head — she was innocent, after all, in her corner drinking beer. "Did you at least make some money off of that? Or did you just blow it all 'cause she lost?"
Walter's reply, if he gives Nora one at all, is lost among the other voices of the crowd. He ducks his head, disappearing under a squat archway, and the trio melts seamlessly into the dark.
Barbara purses her lips as she watches the trio leave, neither the fact that Hannah is going to ahve a scar nor Raith's observation making her feel any better about what she came across this evening. "He seemed pretty sure of her, profressional or not," she responds quietly, hanging her head a bit. "Eileen'll want to know about that. They aren't the only ones who aren't entirely sitting comfortably with me right now, unfortunately." A look back up, and over at Raith. "If you hear of or see one them leaving the island, let one of us know, okay? I think it's best if we keep at least a loose eye on them"
She grimaces at Raith for a moment, before shaking her head and turning back to Magnes, a hand placed on the young man's shoulder. "I think we can put those smarts to use. The Lighthouse kids and several other children are on the island now. I've been thinking about speaking to Eileen about finding some capable Ferrymen, while we're here, to cover teaching the kids things they're missing due to beig unable to attend regular lessons…"
"I'll let the two of you work that out," Raith says, clearly meaning what to do about the kids from the lighthouse, "I'm not busted up enough to need a doctor, but I was in the middle of something before this horse shit interrupted me." The ex-spy affords a quick glance towards the retreating trio, before he turns back to the other two in his immediate addressing range. "We need to keep more than a loose eye on them. I could probably throw them reasonably far, but I don't trust them at all. I'm telling both of you, we give them an inch, and they get us all fucking killed, no question. If they do anything like this again, or anything even remotely suspicious, tell me immediately. And if you have to fuck up that red-haired prick for any reason, don't hesitate. But hey, whatever else you two need to work out, go ahead." For the final time in their presence, Raith runs his tongue over his split split and then spits on the ground. This time, his saliva is almost clean. "I've got shit I need to do."
And he, like many others in attendance now that the entertainment is over, is on his way back to whence he came. He has things he needs to do. Truth be told, so does everyone on Pollepel. The only difference, key though it may be, is that Raith is markedly more involved in keeping everyone on the island alive. And while he does carry a degree of authority, there is only so far it will go, short of putting in extra effort to ensure that the council members they have remaining are seen as the ultimate authority. Something that is generally not being helped along by everyone else.
Eileen, where are you?