Participants:
| Scene Title | The Key Is In Her Bra |
|---|---|
| Synopsis | Mack wakes up to find out just who has captured him, and just how bad it might get. |
| Date | December 12th, 2009 |
The boiler room of a long abandoned building victimized by the Bomb.
The Orion Financial Advisor's building was once a nice building. It wasn't prominent, historic, or gigantic. It wasn't a Wall Street haven; it was just a simple personal finance office. The thing about the Orion that is noteworthy, now that everything about the second story is a twisted metal skeleton, a mockery of what it once was, is that three stories underground is a boiler room. It just any boiler room- it’s the boiler room that one Gabriel Patrick McNamara is a prisoner in.
Even though the boilers no longer run, it’s warm down there. Ghetto fire pits abound, heating the haven of a select handful of those who the system failed entirely after the Bomb. These here have gathered together, finding solace amongst others as they huddle together around the fires… and the smartest of the bunch told them to grab this sorry sack of shit and bring him down here. So Mack leans against one wall, barely conscious, his own blood dried down his chest even though the bullet holes that allowed it leak out have been covered over in a thin layer of soft pink virgin skin. A strong finger could probably poke right through it, but at least he isn't leaking on himself anymore. Each hand is handcuffed, though with separate sets. The other side is U-bolted to the wall, effectively trapping him. His ass is on the ground, so there's that, but just barely. This means that his wrists are raw from scraping against the handcuffs, and his arms are constantly stretched out.
An old metal barstool, charred black from the blast is there off to the side of Gabriel, and upon it perches a young woman. Black curls abound, fingernails short yet clean, she's holding her head up via her chin as she watches the man upon the ground. She is silent, just sitting there and watching him. People move around her, talking softly, doing business… but no one bothers -her- for they know she's watching -him- and that is what she wants to do right now. She finally sits up straight, hands rubbing down her thighs before grasping at her knees, holding on. Waiting.
It’s been hours since the shootout on the street up above. It’s a long time for Mack to stay unconscious. But finally, he starts to come around, gaining a little coherency. His eyes slide open revealing bulging red lines. His forehead immediately wrinkles from the pain; just because he survives doesn't mean it doesn't hurt. His eyes are open, but they're glassy, the world just a fuzzy shadow, a pond kicked by a jumping dog. He tries to speak, but just ends up mumbling incoherently. He tries, then, to pull his arms in to his chest, but they won't come. He pulls harder, and just cuts his wrists on the cuffs, letting blood glide soundlessly down his arms, before the skin rewraps itself so he can do it again later. "Whadafuck…" The words pile together, the fogginess in his brain still evident in his words.
Giselle watches Mack start to come to, a faint smirk pulling on her face. Sliding off of the barstool she walks around him, out of his line of vision. She looks to a particularly bad looking thug, a large black man as she makes a 'gimmie' motion with her hand. No words need to be spoken, and with silence she now was that metal prod that she smacked his against the skull with the other night. Something happens, and happens fast. She's suddenly by Mack's side, before she -WHACKS! - his chest with the metal prod, "Morning!" A sing song voice from her, another -WHACK-.
Whowhahow? Mack just screams, the metal coming right across his recently healed bullet holes. The sound is savage and primal; he's not thinking it’s just what you do when someone beats you with a very hard piece of metal. It being thin, contrary to what one might believe, doesn't make it hurt any less. More, if anything. He instinctively tries to pull his hands back into his chest again, resulting in his wrists slicing open once more. "Stop, stop, you crazy bitch!" He doesn't remember seeing her last night, and he hasn't gotten a look at her yet this morning. All he knows is she's beating him. His legs kick, trying to stand up or kick her away, who knows, though it’s not very effective.
Giselle actually laughs when he calls her a crazy bitch, as if that really amused her. "Indeed." A smirk from her at this as she simply whacks his chest once more before jumping out of the way of his kicking legs. "Pot calling the kettle black, are we?" Walking away from him now she hands the metal rod off to a teenager, a pretty young boy who probably hooks for a living. "Really Gabriel."
Mack writhes some more under the latest whack, but logic is starting to settle in. That just keeps ripping the skin off his wrists; it seems wise to try not to do that. The blood that runs down his arm tickles the sensitive hairs on the inside of his bicep near his armpit; it almost makes him want to laugh. When this woman uses his name- not the name everyone insists on calling him despite what he says, but his real fucking name -he he blinks away the fuzziness. Or tries to. It works enough for him to try to get a look at her. He spares the boy a glance. "Touch me with that and you better kill me, kid." The words are either ludicrous or terrifying, depending on who hears them. His voice is ragged, what from the being unconscious and the screaming, but the fact that Mack doesn't sound scared would itself scare some. It all depends, really.
The kid just seems to be holding the metal rod in its hand, not moving, just holding it. The dark haired female, however, has moved back over to her stool and takes a seat upon it, perching once more with her hands on her knees. Silence from her as she just regards Mack, "Don't threaten Thomas. He lost his family like me; he is family here, with us."
"Yeah, well, as long as that little stick stays away from me, I'm not threatening him." The light of recognition shines in Mack's eye, though. Even if he can only see her shadowy outline, the edges blurred. He'd know her if he was deaf and blind. He's confused, but he puts on a good show of masking it. "Not like I came over to ask to borrow some sugar."
There is a cocking of a gun in the shadows, then an explosion of sound and fire as the female just shoots Mack in the leg. Yes, she shot him in the leg as she stands there from the corner. "I am not amused." She finally speaks, cocking the gun once more, perhaps over his screams, if he screams.
Oh, he screams alright. It’s a loud, short- AAHAHHHAH -and then he reverts to ragged breathing. It hurts, no doubt, but it’s not a new experience for Mack. Again he tries to recoil on instinct, renewing the agony in his hands all over again. The leg twitches, but that is beyond his control.
"That girl with you. The one begging for her life and yours. Was that your girlfriend Gabriel? Are you fucking her?" During his screams she has moves back into her barstool chair, hands on her knees as the gun dangles from it. "Or maybe you have another girlfriend, one you shoved to the side, left to die." Another cocking of the gun, but she doesn't shoot him, yet.
Mack lets his head fall back against the wall. There's a muffled thud. Whether or not he meant to hit it that hard is anyone's guess. Maybe that pain will distract him from the aching throb in his leg. "No. She's just a kid. I work with her." Mack tries to pull his good leg underneath him, to get some of the weight off his bad one and his wrists. It doesn't work. "No girlfriends. Not since…" There's not really any need to say since what.
Silence from her for a long time, the female just watching Mack as she gun dangles from her fingers but she has a good hold on it. "Tell me why you're here Gabriel. You were a cop. A failed cop I see, but a cop. Tell me why you are here." She stands now, walking over towards a crate as she begins to rummage around it in, back to him as she lets him explain.
"The fuck you mean 'why am I here'? I'm here 'cause your bitch put three in my chest and then you cracked me in the dome." There's a lot going on underneath the surface of Mack- raging emotions of all different kinds. He keeps these hidden away. These are not for anyone to see. He's had years to perfect his angry facade; years to let his soul rot to dampen the pain wherever alcohol couldn't. "You knew I was gonna be a cop. You were the one that made me go back to school so I wouldn't have such a dangerous job." Okay, maybe COP wasn't what she meant, but they had agreed he could work a desk or something for the blues and it'd be safer than being a firefighter, anyway. So what if when he thought she was dead he eventually joined SCOUT, one of the most dangerous gigs on the PD. She wasn't around to start a family with, anyway.
A turning of her face to the side as she looks away from Mack, starring to the side of the walls for a long time then back at him. Out of the box she pulls an unmarked bottle of pills and a bottle of beer. Carrying both of these in her hands she moves over to Mack, slowly lowering herself to the ground upon her knees as she looks down at Mack. "Yes, and then you gave up on me, when I never gave up on you. Open your mouth." The bottle of beer is set by her side as she opens the bottle, tapping out three pills, unmarked into the palm of her hand.
There is a sudden wetness to Mack's eyes that he can not control. Nor does he acknowledge it. His eyes remain on hers, defiance and something else in there that’s harder to define, even when he's locked up and naked. "Funny way of lookin' at it." Finally, he does as she tells him. He opens his mouth and waits for her to wash the pills down his throat.
Giselle drops the pills into his mouth as her now free hand slips behind his head to help him lift up his neck. She does that so the bottle of beer can be sipped at without him making a mess of it upon her floor. She's watching him curiously, as if not really for sure what to make of him.
The beer tastes good to a dry throat, even if it does wash some mysterious pills down his throat. "What was that? If you wanna kill me there's definitely easier ways to do it than poisoning me." Oddly, he really doesn't seem angry. In pain, yes, annoyed, definitely, but not angry. Sad.
"It was Tylenol Gabriel," comes her soft voice, "Street quality, but safe. Not only do hard core drugs fall off the truck in transport, those who come to me also need Tylenol and other such things." A faint quirk of her lips at this as she places the bottle back to his lips so that he can have yet another sip of the beer if he wants it.
Mack takes the sip, gladly. Regenerators can be alcoholics too, even if he wasn't one before the Bomb. That was then. "Not that I don't appreciate that, Giselle, but you know it probly woulda been easier to just not shoot me a buncha times." For the moment, at least, there’s a tone to his voice that hasn't been heard for a long time. Softness. Gentle, one could call it. At least for now. His wrists aren't cut, at least for now, though the blood has dried running down his arms. The next words are a whisper, barely audible even between the two of them- she'd have to strain just to hear them herself. "I'm sorry, Zelly." Maybe it’s a bad time for a pet name. Maybe it’s never a good time for one. Who knows?
Silence from her as she lets his drink the beer, before pulling it away from him as she takes a sip herself, putting her lips where he put his lips. "Perhaps you will know why I shot you, if you saw me walking down the street with an attractive man, after thinking I was dead." A slight upturn of her chin at this, "I have been watching you, Gabriel. You go to that building near to where we lived, drinking, wasting away your life… but that's all you do. You stopped looking for me. And then…" A flaring of her nostrils as she pushes herself up off of the ground, "Maybe when I let you go, you will look for me this time."
"Probly be a little bit of an overreaction if I shot you for that…" Mack has a point, but then, there's not a very good chance she'd just heal if he did. Catch 22. Or something. "I did look for you. As soon as they'd let me out of that fucking joke of a field hospital. I tried to find you, to save you. And then I looked for your body, when there just weren't any survivors left to find. But there was no body, was there? There was no body…"
Walking back over to her barstool, she pulls it over to Gabriel's body, leaving it there as she perches upon it, hands clasping in her lap. "But now we know what you can withstand. Now I must decide what to do with you. Perhaps let my handul of people, the men, take me in front of you, filling up my holes. Or shoot myself in the head and die, and make you watch. I just don't know Gabriel. We'll see if your friends look for you first. Let's see… let's see how much that girl and man look for you. See if that, perhaps, were we not fucking, you would have looked for me more. We will see what is stronger, friendship or love."
Mack's jaw clenches at this new tactic. The bullet wound in his leg seems almost entirely forgotten. His breathing becomes rapid and shallow, and he intentionally pulls on the cuffs around his hands, letting fresh blood leak down over the old. He isn't trying to escape; or at least, if he is, it’s an extremely weak effort. "Fuck you, Giselle." Well, THAT isn't what he meant to say. But it’s what comes out, and that soft tone in his voice is gone all over again. Just same old asshole Mack, now. "Just fucking kill me and get it over with."
Giselle breath catches in her throat when he cusses at her, a glance away from Mack as she stares off into the distance. "Thomas." Calling out to the young teenager, he sulks over to Giselle, hands in his pockets, head down. Giselle simply pulls out a wad of cash, counting out a few bills before handing him the money. "Take everyone and go get some food. Buy some canned goods as well to keep here on hand." That done she turns to look back to Mack, just starring at him. Waiting for the room to clear out.
Mack doesn't bother watching as everyone starts to leave. His eyes slide closed and he drapes his head forward. His hands are forced to hold more of his weight in this new pose, though he doesn't seem to much care. A few tears find their way down his face, dripping off his jaw and into his lap. There's no sound, though.
Giselle is silent as well as she watches Mack handcuffed there, and as his own eyes are closed she uses that time to lift her fingers to her cheeks, brushing away the tears that have run down as well. A swig of the beer, as well as a clearing of her throat as she slides from the barstool once more, walking over to where Mack it but also moving past him. "I had Thomas bring whatever I could find from the building you squat in. I got you a fresh mattress to rest on, as well as clean clothes. I have your personal effects safe. We'll get you washed up as well. You smell."
Mack remains silent for several more moments before he clears his own throat. He makes an effort to wipe his face off on his shoulder, but he just doesn't have the appropriate range of movement. "I'm finding it difficult to maintain my personal hygiene, its true. My tongue just doesn't quite have the reach, ya know." He shakes his head as if arguing with himself, and then he speaks again. "I'm sorry. Thank you."
Giselle remains quiet as she speaks then apologizes, her voice soft, "You never used to have such a mouth on you." But then she never used to run a small handful of misfit hoodlums. "If I let you go, you can shower. Do not attempt to leave Gabriel, my guards are stationed, and they have orders to pop you full of lead. But you do smell." Fingers sink into her shirt now, pulling out a key to the handcuffs from her bra.
Mack can't stop a little laugh escaping at the location of the hidden key. "A lotta things changed. But some just stay the same." The way his eyes search her form, her face, her eyes; it’s almost sad. But he doesn't say anything, or try to move, or really do much of anything. "I'm not going anywhere. It'll be days before I can walk right again. Running is pretty much out of the question." I don't want to leave. Yeah, he doesn't say that last part, but he thought about it.
She moves close to Mack now, and while he stinks she smells fresh of soap and shampoo, and perhaps a little bit of gun oil considering. Bending over him her black curls cascade down over his face in a veil as she moves to unlock his cuffs. Once they are done she pulls them from his wrists, closing them up and laying them on the ground. Silently she wraps her arms around his middle now, to help him stand up.
Mack breathes her in, closing his eyes again. When his hands come free, however, he immediately pulls them in. This hurts; hurts so good. He winces at the pain and grunts, but otherwise just works his way through it. When her arms wrap around him, he does the same, though it isn't particularly easy for him to stand up. He does his best, though, even though there is an inherent awkwardness.
Giselle speaks softly about having him help her help him stand. A soft grunt comes from her as she pulls him up, which is hard as she's shorter and smaller than him. "Come on Gabe," she breathes out a bit rough, "Get your act together and stand!"
Mack pulls one arm back, slapping it against the wall behind him despite the fact that this stretches out the muscles in his arm and chest again. Then he jams his shot leg beneath him and pushes with it as well, finally getting himself to a standing position. He doesn't wander off to the shower immediately, however. He just stands there a minute, letting the feeling return to his good leg and trying to keep the weight off the other one. For the first time since being shot, he gets an opportunity to really examine himself. The tattoos that crawl over much of his torso and arms have a number of holes in them, now. "Going to have to get those fixed, I suppose. If I survive." The tattoos are one more thing that’s new- he had some, before, but he definitely has more now. Quite a bit more.
"I'm not going to kill you Gabriel," comes her breathy words as she begins to lead him towards the showers, helping support his weight. She makes no comment about the addition of tattoos, Giselle never getting any of her own when they were together, and probably not now either. Who knows? She has to be naked first.