A raven-haired man sat weakly doubled over. A corpse lay by his form, and the dark-haired man shook violently. Vomit ran past his dry lips, mixing in with the heated sand. Fuck, when was I hit? The sweat and dirt were stinging his eyes, and he gagged once more. The fabric covering his belly and right arm was smoking from the burn of the blasts. He'd hardly had time to register the pain during the fight, but then it was over and he was sinking into the sand and sicking up. His arms shook violently and he glanced to the side as he faintly felt a hand tugging on his vest. His dark eyes looked up to see a familiar man standing above him, his helmet reflecting the sun's rays. As much as Ghoul needed to be treated, at that moment, getting away was more crucial.
Two large men, both in helmets, hurried over to help the smaller man to his feet. The one in bright red winced at the acids and partially digested food being absorbed by the sand. Hoisting Ghoul's weight on their shoulders, they rushed to the vintage car. They slid his pitiful form into the back seat and both hurried inside. The final member of the group joined them soon after, his red hair and bright yellow mask unmistakable even through the sand flying around as if it were the first heavy snow in the Midwest long ago.
"Where'd he get hit?" the last arrival barked to the other men as he put his car into drive. The engine purred like a familiar animal, jolting to life as they took off speeding over the sands. The air was thick, tense, as he focused on the road, and he could faintly hear zippers being pulled and the muted sound of fabric being brushed off of flesh.God dammit Ghoul, I swear if you shit out on me…I'll fucking kill you.Keeping his glare harsh as he looked to the road, he refused to think about how bad it was, that his best friend was lying there and could die at any moment. No, he had to keep a lookout for any approaching cars, or—worse yet—any ongoing raids.
Once his helmet was removed, the blond man known as Kobra Kid frowned at the wounded man before him. When the clothing was tugged off, blonde brows met, as the burns were fairly deep. With one quick motion the man grabbed his flask and poured the cooling liquid over the wounds. He looked up and met the tallest man's gaze with a frown, watching Jet pull a small first aid kit from the side of the door. After a moment, Jet frowned as well. Half of this shit is used up! Tommy better not have screwed us over! Opening up the cracked eggshell box, Jet rummaged around, finding a needle and some thread, some old used up gauze, and a few bandages. Another frown found its way onto his wide lips. Removing his helmet, he looked to the box again—it was just full of shit! Goddamn it! Releasing a few swears under his breath, he began throwing things out of the container until finally he found a half-used bottle of burn ointment. The man sighed and handed the tube to Kobra. The blonde took it quickly, squeezing a large cream-colored blob out on his palm. Wasting no time, he applied the potion to the inked man's stomach.
Ghoul let out a small hiss as the cool concoction touched his bare, sweaty skin. The sensation of the potion against his own burned flesh was as painful as sitting on a cactus then deciding to roll around in a bag of salt. Despite it all, the man merely gritted his teeth and suffered through it. While the guys wouldn't say anything at that moment, he knew any tears spent would lead to mocking later on. No problem, not a problem. I can handle this, I'm the mother fuckin' Fun Ghoul, nothing's gonna bring me down. Feeling another wince coming on as the cream was rubbed onto his arm, his entire body tensed up. He could faintly register yelling between the two men above him; however, his vision was growing blurry from the pain. Tears pricked at the corners of his eyes before they shut, his normally tanned face becoming a sickly shade of white.
"Goddamn, he's out." Kobra tugged at his blonde hair, ignoring his brother's earlier question. Come on, you dirty bastard, don't you dare give out on me. The man swore as he did his best to wrap Ghoul's wounds with the clean side of the gauze. Focusing on the task, he could hardly feel the change in the motions of the car as it moved from sand to pavement after making a sharp right. He cursed himself as the gauze came loose. He motioned for Jet to lift Ghoul up and sighed in relief, since this made his task much easier. With a clockwise motion and a quick line of stitches, the wrap was made to hold on tightly. Poison's question was the furthest thing from his mind until he looked up. In the rearview mirror his brother's eyes were burning back at him, not only with worry, but also with a searing rage that made his flesh crawl. Letting a small shiver pass up his spine, he shook his head. This isn't happening, this isn't happening.
"Got blasted in the lower stomach and pretty bad on his right bicep. He's out now, but it's pretty bad. He puked a shitton up and that's gonna be a bitch to handle later. He lost some color and I think he might be sick, we need to get him somewhere to rest…" His voice trailed off into a growl, mind racing for nearby houses, towns—anywhere they could stop, rest, and get the proper medical treatment this man clearly needed. They sure as hell wouldn't find that out here.
"And where do you propose we stop?" Jet cut in with a snarl. Despite his normal cool demeanor, when stress came along it was like someone flipped a switch in his brain. The guys often joked about it, though sometimes it could frighten them. It's like what was said: it's always the quiet ones. "We can't get to the fucking diner from 'ere and the station is even further away! Do you wanna stop at some wave-head town in the middle of nowhere and deal with that?!"
The younger man shot him a heavy glare. "And what would you rather do?! You want to pull over and get him what he needs here?! Oh wait, there's just so much water I don't know what to do with it!" Goddammit, Jet. This is not the time to be a girl about your shit.
"Both of you shut the fucking hell up before I kick you out of the car and let you handle the heat," Poison snarled, using his 'I'm-the-boss-so-you'd-better-listen-to-me' tone. Or, as Kobra liked to call it, the 'you'd-better-fucking-knock-this-shit-off-or-I'll-shove-my-blaster-so-far-up-your-ass-you-won't-take-a-crap-for-two-months' tone. After shooting them both a strong glare, Poison shot his gaze back to the road. "Do something useful and keep an eye out. We're going to find the closest town and get supplies. We'll also stay there until Ghoul is as well as he needs to be to go out on runs. Till then I expect you two to pick up the slack his absence is gonna make." With that last growl, silence fell over the car, particularly the back seat. There was no point arguing once Poison announced his final decision.
Driving through the desert was unpleasant in itself. Nothing here but dust and air. Alert as they were, and with the stress of the situation, they almost felt sick. This couldn't happen, they couldn't lose one of their own. Especially such a strong fighter. Jet swallowed thickly from the humidity in the Trans, rolling down his window. Hot air hit him straight in the face, but it helped with the moisture in the car. His eyes stung from the bits of rock and sand flying at him, and with a swallow he squinted his eyes heavily. The orbs scanned for any break at all on the horizon. They widened slightly, seeing a formation of buildings in the distance.
"There!" he called out, gagging as a decent sized rock went into his mouth. Spitting it out the window, he winced yet again as his own spit hit him in his dust covered face. "To the right!" he added as the Trans' engine was spurred into a growl, the car rushing for that massive group of buildings.
Don't be a warehouse, don't be a warehouse. Poison's eyes narrowed as he focused on keeping the engine roaring. He had to reach it! Every second they wasted could be Ghoul's last moments! Swearing softly to himself, he rushed into the town, nearly knocking over a sign perched on the right side of the road. Closing his eyes as a chunk of wood went flying, he managed to open them again to a squint, not even looking at the surroundings or people. It could've been a Draculoid colony for all he knew in that moment. I gotta get someone, gotta stop, this isn't happening. Poison swerved heavily, almost drifting as the car swung to a stop right in front of one of the buildings. The Trans let out a little lurch of protest as it handled the move, but showed no other signs of the strain of the stunt. As always, the car could handle anything and still look as smooth as a great pair of tits.
Hopping out, the redhead almost didn't remember his car keys, making a jerking motion at the last moment to grab them and slipping the ring around his middle finger, catching it on the dirtied brown cloth of his overworked right glove. Jogging as fast as he could, he found himself panting and out of breath by the time he reached someone. "I need a room…" he managed through gasps. He was feeling woozy from the fight and the stress, not to mention the lack of water. "My teammate… wounded, we need water and…" he gasped, his entire form rising and falling as he tried to get the words out. Vision blurring slightly, he shook his head, focusing back on the task at hand. Seeing he was speaking to an old woman who appeared to be of Mexican descent, he started over slower, blinking a few times before he continued. "I need a room." His voice was smoother this time, and he sounded more like himself. "My teammate was badly wounded and we are in dire need of water… get us these things straight away." Despite the more pleasing sound of his voice, there was still the ordering tone of a commander in battle.
The woman went pale as Jet and Kobra brought in Ghoul's damaged body. In a flurry of broken English, she slipped out, "I'm Mrs. Palafox—get your friend up to room, how you say…" She paused on the word, unsure of the translation, before the flurry began again. "Up the stairs and to your right, four doors down." She shooed them with a flick of her wrists and the throw of a key, and then she began to dart around to collect water for the men. She looked up only seconds later to see all four men gone and to hear the faint sound of footsteps rushing up the old staircase.
As soon as the key was placed into Poison's hand he took off like a shot. He had to get the door open before anyone else could get there—if Ghoul had to wait another second to be laid down… he shuddered at the thought. Taking the stairs two at a time, it still took him a good five minutes to reach the top. It must've been hell for the two carrying the youngest man. Hand shaking, he managed to jab the key into the hold and began turning it. Unfortunately, it seemed the lock was stuck, and with a long drawn out group of swears he jammed the key in deeper and used his foot to balance himself. A few wild jerks later he managed to get the door open with a unwilling creak. Turning to check over his shoulder, he frowned, seeing the others weren't up yet. One hopping motion later he was racing back down those godforsaken stairs, and nearly crashed into the three coming up.
Jet had Ghoul slung over his shoulder as one would carry a sack of potatoes or a child in jest. Kobra was busy checking the man's pulse. Losing balance as Jet made a motion to steady himself from Poison's onslaught, he frowned. The doorway to the second level loomed above them as they took off with the best speed they could. Nearly tripping twice, Kobra brought up the rear, helping to lay down the man in ripped clothes.
Jet seemed ready to collapse, but jumped up to head downstairs to check on that water. Approaching the bottom of the staircase, he saw the woman who had given them the key, two buckets of water slung over her back as if she were a Chinese merchant heading to sell a heavy product. With a gracious nod of thanks Jet-Star grabbed both of the pails and hurried back up the stairs, doing his best not to spill any of the sloshing liquid in his containers. His legs were almost ready to give out as he reached the top of the stairwell and did an odd sliding motion, crinkling the mauve rug under his feet.
Kobra had undone the bandages while they waited, Poison lurking worried at the foot of the bed all the while. A deep red wound had become visible at the center of each burn. Thick with newly forming scabs and oozing yellow pus, they were a sickening sight. Some trickles of blood would force their way out and pool near his navel every time the man took a breath. The burn on his arm was more shallow, but the flesh surrounding it was an angry red and farther spread. A sigh of relief found its way out of Kobra upon seeing Jet. One of the buckets was quickly taken and a rag soon dipped into the clear liquid. This pail would be used to clean the abrasions and help cool Ghoul's pale sweating form. Kobra hoped that doing so would wake Ghoul so that he could be helped with drinking the second.
The pus and scab rubbed off as Kobra tried to remove any dirt and sand around the afflicted area. As the team's medic, he was used to seeing this, and hearing Poison gag would have normally brought a chuckle out of his lips. But considering the dire situation, he was nowhere near smiling, let alone laughing. Once the task was completed he took the remaining water to soak the brightly-colored handkerchief as best he could, and Jet lifted the bucket to help as the water was poured down the man's pale, slender body.
Kobra's brows furrowed at the task of keeping the liquid from dripping off Ghoul's body. Kobra started at the neck and headed down, then came back up to wipe the sweat, dirt and blood flecks from the face.
Ghoul let out a tiny moan as the cool water dripped down his form, thick lashes parting to reveal hazel irises. Vision was something his eyes were striving for but hardly reaching. A few squints later he made out Kobra's hand. He knew it was Kobra's from length and shape. Just seeing that made his body let go of a bit of tension. His team was there, at least, and from the pain flooding his body he could assume he wasn't dusted, lying out in some dip in the sand. The wounded man let out a sigh, and an ounce of anxiety seemed to be lifted from the room.
Tugging his jacket off, Kobra took his flask to fill it with the unsoiled water and pressed it to Ghoul's lips. "Drink," he commanded, with the authority of an ER doctor who had been scared out of his mind. Tilting it back, he watched as Ghoul's adam's apple bobbed back and forth quickly as he gratefully accepted the heaven-sent drink. Once the flask was emptied, Kobra headed for more, repeating the motions with similar effects. After the sixth flask, Ghoul weakly pulled back with a wordless moan.
Slumping onto the bed behind Ghoul's, Kobra took a moment to drink in his surroundings. Poison was still standing, seemingly in shock, and staring at the man who was weakly panting. Ghoul himself looked horrible, his cheeks stained a deep red, though the rest of his body still had that waxy lemon tint. His chest moved slowly and painfully with every unwilling breath it accepted, and his hands were clenched into tight fists. From his position, Kobra observed that Ghoul was still fighting pain, and he made a mental note to try to get ahold of an herbal remedy for the pain. Cursing himself mentally for not having anything on hand at that moment, his eyes soon jumped to the other dark-haired man now slumped against the wall. It seemed his legs had finally given in to exhaustion and he'd just collapsed against the structure.
Running his hands through his dark curly hair, Jet looked like a shaking mess—not that anyone could blame him. The threat of losing a teammate was terrifying. Lifting his head and seeing a broken mirror on the other side of the room, the man's eyes met his own reflection and widened slightly from the sight. He was shaking violently himself, his features gone as white as Battery City. His sweat caused dark brown drips to descend from his hairline, painting his face as if he were an overly-zealous Alice Cooper fan. Swallowing, his eyes focused on how the man in the mirror's throat moved with his. Looking to hands, he could see the shaking better. It was as if he were a cell phone set on vibrate.
Resisting the urge to bury his face in his hands, Kobra looked up when his brother finally moved, first uncertainly sitting by the weak man, then standing once more. Poison seemed to be experiencing the most shock, and yet he also looked numbed. Perhaps for the moment that was kinder; however, Kobra frowned at the thought, since that would be similar to condoning exactly what Better Living was doing to the masses at this very moment! His lips parted as if to speak, but quickly snapped shut as his brother took a decisive step, then soon stomped out the door, his footsteps echoing as he headed down the stairwell.
Poison finally took a deep breath in, the action filling him with a mix of cooling relief and utter despair. His best friend could have died just then. The thought sat in his stomach like a rock at the bottom of a pool of water. Thickly swallowing, the red-haired man took a moment to take in his surroundings. The old stairwell's walls were a musty yellow-brown, cracked with age and lack of care. A border of torn wallpaper surrounded the wall pushing against the ceiling. The wallpaper was peeling and falling apart, the square designs within it warped into odd ovals and nameless shapes. Hand resting on the banister, he jumped slightly as the old barrier swayed. It was flimsier than he'd anticipated. A shudder crept up his back as he thought what could have happened if Ghoul had been set on there. Shaking it off, he continued his descent to the lower floor.
The old woman stood there timidly. Her winkled hands wrung a dirty washcloth. At one time it was probably white, but it was now dingy, covered with patches of grey and brown. Poison watched her hands, noticing that her knuckles were warped. He winced slightly. Probably arthritis. Probably why so much of this place was a dump. His eyes darted from the slightly gruesome scene to the room surrounding him. Everything within the walls seemed to have a thick coat of dirt and dust. Probably hadn't been cleaned in weeks, at the least. A mirror sitting over an oddly-colored coffee table was thick with spiderwebs, or so he thought. A few blinks revealed them to be cracks, with a few drops of dried blood at the center. Someone must have punched it, he thought. At second glance Poison realized the color from the coffee table wasn't natural, because it had bleached spots as if set out in the sun. Perhaps an outdoor table? Another thick swallow came on. The ability to take in his surroundings quickly came fairly naturally to him, but was hyped up due to life on the run. Survey, decide, overcome, survive. That seemed to be how life out here was. He didn't even notice the elderly woman move from standing by the old desk to sitting on one of the dusty couches. Only the faint sound of coughing made him realize she was even still in the room. How long had he been looking around? A red tint covered his cheeks, but he shook the feeling off, dismissing it as a reaction to the heat.
"Your friend," came her old, accented voice. "He is okay, yes?" She arched a thick, dark brow. There were undertones of black not only in her hair but also in her brows. She had a proud chin and defined cheekbones—a mix of Native American and Mexican? Thick lines surrounded her mouth. She not only gave off a sense of pain and worry, but also an age-old wisdom, one that came from a grandmother who'd learned enough to change her, experienced enough tragedy that she feared for anyone in her path. The silence stretched on for a few minutes before her thickly-accented voice carried on, "I know who you and your friends are…"
A tremor went up his spine. Thankful that his mask was still on, he contemplated a response, feeling the color drain from his face. Jet and Kobra… even Ghoul… they didn't have masks on. If this place had surveillance… which he doubted, considering the age and condition of the hotel, but… if it did, she could turn them in to BLI… at least, she could turn in their full images. His blood ran cold at the thought. A confirmed killjoy sighting would put Better Living in an uproar. Before he could respond, the same raspy voice spoke again.
"Do not give me such a look, young one," she scolded, gently shaking her head, her dark eyelids shutting over her brown eyes. It was almost a sad, pitying action. Poison's blood ran colder. This woman pitied him?! Feeling his face burn red with a flash of anger, he found his response cut off. "I not turn in you and your friends… you may stay here as long as your friend needs to find himself healed. I charge not, but perhaps you help me clean?" she offered. Even in her hoarse voice it could be heard she was trying to be soft, trying to help these men, fugitives that she didn't even know. "I am old, cannot clean you see." Her hand motioned to the dust-coated walls and furniture. "Cannot reach the spider webs and such." She swallowed thickly, a bit parched herself. "You clean and fix, I let you stay," she said firmly, with a swift nod, not so much asking him as telling him.
At first, Poison felt the need to argue with this woman, but he shut his mouth when his eyes again rested weakly on her gnarled hands. Her fingers almost looked like old tree trunks, curled and falling apart with age… though she did give them water and a bed… a frown caught his lips at the next thought. She could just as well be lying. Better Living could be on their way as he stood here deciding. Trust outside of his team was so foreign to him at this point. However, he nodded. "A'ight, I guess we could help ya out… bu—"
"Start tomorrow!" She waved him off, with her hand holding the dirtied rag, standing hunched over. Her entire being reminded Poison somewhat of a pear—her body shape, the horrid green muumuu she was sporting, the shade of her hair and skin against the color… and her personality, a bit. "I give you list, you finish, I give food, water and bed. Now go sleep, change clothes, you look as if pig!" she scolded, and waved her rag at him, forcing him up the stairs to avoid it.
Thickly swallowing, the man obeyed, but by the time he reached the top of the stairs he was fuming. Who the hell was she to tell him, Party Poison, how to dress? To dismiss him? But his thoughts flew back to her hands, and that aged look on her face, and the wisdom he could feel swirling around her as if her aura were real… and the thoughts took over him. As unsafe as he worried he was… he didn't feel unsafe. A sweet scent faintly caught his nostrils. incense? It'd been years since he smelled that… it had a comforting, almost homey smell that caused his stress level to fall significantly. It reminded him of a time before the wars, before this pain and destruction, before he had to make choices he could never take back. They were dangerous, the thoughts that swirled in his head, too safe, too perfect and unreal. Most of all, they brought back too many emotions for him to handle under this stress. Poison trudged back into the room holding his head up, his arrogance back in place.
Turning to the two conscious men in the room, Poison pulled his 'leader' voice back out. "We'll be staying here until Ghoul heals, and in return we're helping the old crone fix this dump up. I expect daily monitoring to be upheld, not only around this place and in town, but also in our usual target spots as well. We need to get ahold of CB straight away and contact D. He'll be pretty goddamn pissed when he hears this one."
Poison's voice was a low hiss, although he was barking these common-sense orders at them like a general. No one argued or rolled their eyes, or even mumbled something sarcastic about 'captain obvious' to the man. Clearing his throat, Poison continued. "Someone needs to be by Ghoul's side at all times, and as soon as he's healed up we're out of here. Now Jet, you're going to scout out the town, see if there is any possibility of a threat here. If there is you'll report back straight away and we'll take care of it. Kobra, you clean up first, we need ya to be able to take care of Ghoul given the chance somethin' goes wrong. I'll take the first shift of watching him, and once Jet gets back he can shower and Kobra'll watch him, then we'll go from there… is that clear?" His voice dropped to a dangerous hiss, and he wasn't even aware that he could have been repeating himself. Poison was focused on the goal. Get the fuck outta here and move the fuck on.
With a quick nod, Jet-Star took off, running his hand through his greasy, ratty mess of hair. Hopping to skip the last four stairs or so, he jogged out of the door. His eyes scanned the town set before him. The sidewalks were paved with gravel, and the streets were plain dirt. Simple enough to get away on, he mentally noted for his report back to Poison. His feet finally decided to slow to a casual pace as he headed down the road to examine the buildings. For a town not under the control of BLI, it seemed to be a fairly decent size. At this time, the sun was going down, so, thankfully, not too many people were on the roads. Making a few more mental notes, he observed an all-night diner not too far from the inn. The scent of coffee hung thick in the air when the door swung open as a few patrons entered. It made his mouth water. Wiping at his chapped lips with the back of his hand before running his tongue over them, he could faintly taste blood. God dammit. That would be a bitch to deal with later.
In addition to the diner, there was a small general store, a medic station, a weapons dealer, a car garage, a tattoo parlor, and a load of unmarked buildings. The town was torn between a "wild west" feeling and the aura of a run-down back alley of a city. Quite the odd mix. The sun was setting and Jet's brows furrowed, since there didn't seem to be much of a threat in this town. Then again, that was quite a bit more alarming than if there was. It was like if you jumped into a tank full of piranhas but weren't getting eaten alive… chances are there was a shark around. The thought made his hair stand on end as he walked back into the inn. A few quick glances around proved that there wasn't any Drac hiding there. The only thing he could hope was that the guys were still in the room, just fucking around, and not lying dead or dying from blaster wounds.
The walk up the staircase was agonizing, everything was so quiet. While the desert got quiet, it was rarely this eerie. Jet's hand dropped to his dark blue blaster… he didn't draw it, but just having his hand on the hilt made him feel a bit calmer. The stairs creaked under his feet and his hair stood on end, his heartbeat taking off. He was a nervous wreck. Everything about this place at night was screaming for him to bolt—forget your shit, your teammates, just get to the fucking car and drive like Korse was hot on your tail. As he ascended, the view seemed to get even darker. There were no dimly-lit yellow lights or slow-burning candles along this corridor. Each step of his dirt-encrusted boot gave off a maddening creak. Head and palms beginning to pound, it felt like his heart was about to leap out past his lips.
Finally reaching the door to the room where his teammates were last, he could hear soft mumbles coming from the other side. His ear pressed against the door as he tried to make out the voices behind those noises. When he couldn't, he drew his blaster, and in one swift motion he opened the door, blaster aimed and at the ready. "Freeze, fuc—"
A very annoyed-looking Poison shot him a glare. "Jet, what the fuck is wrong with you?" His eyes fell to a plate of what looked to be rice and beans in his lap. Ghoul was sitting up and eating something that looked halfway between a burrito and an enchilada. Smacking away happily, he gave Jet a small, very Ghoul-like smirk. Obviously, he was enjoying this. A soft bang came from the bathroom from where a clean Kobra emerged, steam drifting out of the dimly lit room behind him.
"Damn!" Kobra exclaimed as he stretched, towel draped lightly around his slim hips. "Fucking hot water, man. I could have lived in there for the rest of my life! Is there any food left or did fuckface down it al—Jet, what the fuck are you doing?" Kobra arched a heavy brow and dropped his arms, steam still rolling off his tanned form as his limbs crossed. When the man began stumbling over his words, Kobra rolled his eyes. "Well, at least lower the damn gun!" he joked, as he slid onto the unoccupied bed.
Jet stammered a bit more before finally taking Kobra's advice and lowering his weapon. He was honestly shocked. What he was thinking before… it was so real! Or was it? It must've just been his mind playing tricks on him, new location and all… plus, wave heads always gave him the creeps. Once his gun was safely charging back in his holster, he shut the door that had remained ajar from his rough treatment. "Where the fuck did you guys get that?" he asked, trying to control his drooling.
"The old bat," came Poison's swift answer. "She wanted to make sure we got plenty into Ghoul to help him 'heal up.' I personally think it's a punishment for allowing a madman to go into her town unsupervised." He added, "Give Ghoul all the rice and beans, get him nice and gassed up to stink up the room and make us suffer even worse than having to give him a sponge bat—" A pillow collided with Poison's head with enough force to push him forward.
"Hey, shut the fuck up!" Ghoul quickly snapped at him. "You know you can't wait to get your hands on my sexy body!" Normally, this would be accompanied by his stroking his own chest and hips and doing a little wiggle to shake his goods, but it seemed that even though his spirits were back up, he was hurting pretty badly.
Jet rolled his eyes at his group. "Anything for me?" Poison motioned to a covered plate on the nightstand, one Ghoul had been eyeing with heavy interest. Jet shot him a bit of a glare. Healing or not, Ghoul sure as hell wasn't getting his little inked-up hands on Jet's food… he would sooner throw him out the window. Real food was too hard to come by. Jet made a beeline toward it but was stopped by Kobra's arm in front of his body.
"Go shower first, man, you fucking reek. Plus, I'm sure it'll taste better without dirt as a topping." The man chuckled a bit to himself at his own joke, oblivious to Jet's glare, and helped himself to his own covered plate. It had one of those creations Ghoul had been eating along with a serving of rice, beans and what he assumed were peppers. Scooting the spicy food to the side, Kobra felt torn. Did he dig in and stuff his face right away? Or take it slow, and enjoy the food while he could? With a shrug, he began piling the food into his mouth. As he licked off what got on his newly-clean fingers, he made fake orgasm noises. Ignoring the eye rolls at his own expense, he kept downing the food, considering trying to talk between his mouthfuls, but deciding he'd rather have food than conversation at the moment.
Jet scoffed at Kobra—he ate like a starved dog! Glancing to his covered plate and back to the steamy shower, he sighed in defeat. "Ghoul, if you so much as think about touching my food, I swear to god, I will kick your ass to Battery and back again. I'll even let Korse carve his name into your ass with a shiv." Shooting both Ghoul and Poison a deadly look, he headed for the shower and shut the door, the sound of rushing water following soon after.
Poison sat back, almost licking his plate as he finished it. He swore to himself, remembering he should've asked Jet for that status report before he was shooed off to clean up. He frowned and started to stand up, debating on disturbing his shower to get it, but the idea of seeing Jet's junk again made him shake his head and even mumble to himself, "No fuckin' way I'm going in there." Along with the unappealing idea of seeing Jet's bits, there was something about this place, a relaxing feeling swooping over him. Maybe it was that smell that reminded him so much of home, or the helpful woman sleeping downstairs, but something deep in his soul just told him he was safe here, as if all this was meant to happen and they belonged here. Knowing the Zones were their home, a small frown tugged at his dry lips. How long would this feeling last? How long would it take for Ghoul to heal, and, most of all, why did he give a shit? Attachments were dangerous, whether they were to people or places. Nothing was definite in life before Better Living, and post-takeover it was even worse. Full families, towns, anything would be there one day, and then be cleaned out the next. Occasionally, ashes of the burning buildings mixed in with the sand, or some aimless book, toy, or piece of discarded furniture would be left to be found sticking out of the sand. But those weren't the worst souvenirs of Better Living's attacks. Even more rarely spotted, but spotted nonetheless, were human remains, not often full corpses but arms, hands, or rib bones, some of them small enough to fit fully in a man's hand. Children slaughtered when their parents wouldn't comply. Families destroyed because they refused to give in. Just the thought made Poison's stomach drop. How many innocent kids and even babies died because of this rebellion? How many times had they seen those kids runnin' 'round the Zones trying to copy them, trying be like them and force the revolution to continue? So many deaths were pointless. Not that they should have stayed in Battery, hell no. But finding a decent neutral town, waiting this shit out… man, that would be the best option for 'em. Or finding some way outta the Zones, at least.
As unlikely as it seemed, between Tommy, Dr. D, and Pony—even Cherri Cola—they were trying to find just that. Somewhere the radiation was easing up, just enough to make it livable, so they could keep pushing it back until they could create a hole of hidden safe-houses. It amazed Poison, the stupid choices people made at the end of the world. People fucked and ended up knocked up. Either the dude would run like hell or step up. Either way he was screwed, because stepping up usually meant they had to quit running and focus on protectin' the woman till the kid was out, then protectin' the kid 'til it was old enough to fend for itself. Sometimes it seemed Better Living loved targeting kids. Well, of course, you got a kid as a hostage, and the parents would do anything to save it… surrender, accept their choices, even die if it kept their kid from bein' killed. If the man ran off there'd always be that naggin' question. While, sure—there were some guys who couldn't give a shit—he imagined at least some of 'em would worry, since in this life family bonds, whether tied by blood or friendship, were all you got. To abandon that, you'd have to be some heartless fucker.
The redheaded man tried to shake the thoughts from his head. The only thing that snapped him out of it was Ghoul's loud snoring. The water was still running in the other room. Poison's eyes met his brother's relaxed form. The younger man was laid out, his tired eyes drooping, finally relaxed from his shower. Poison moved his shoulder in its socket with a slight wince, since his muscles were tight from the stress of pushing himself as hard as he did that day. He knew his eyes must've been red from the irritation he felt in them. He winced and picked at the inner corner of one eye as an eyelash fell in. He swore as a dirty nail just barely touched his eyeball, causing him to jerk it back.
Kobra jumped slightly from his brother's sudden commotion, but felt his heavy lids fall again. The fight, Ghoul's injury, the treatment… it took a lot out of him. Now. here he was, warm and relaxed from that hot shower, in a comfy bed with clean, soft sheets. It was hard not to lose himself in the moment. Sliding against the blankets, the blond let out a contented sigh, his dark lids finally closing. Cutting off the one sense made him appreciate where he was even more. While the walls were dirty and dusty, the linens were kept clean, and compared to his sleeping bag it was like sleeping on a fragrant cloud. Hell, even the ratty carpet would be heaven compared to sleeping outside, but this… this was beyond that. He detected another faint, sweet smell… must've been that incense his brother had mentioned. He was right, it did make him feel like he was at home. Hugging his pillow tight to his chest, he smiled softly, allowing himself to be the adorable dork he really was deep down. Even if it was just for a moment, and no one could see it, Kobra Kid had never really grown out of his shy awkwardness. And for once it felt nice to just be that part of him and not the stressed-out, serious medic he had to be when they were running.
About an hour later, the rushing of the water stopped with a small bang. Poison jerked awake from his lulled state, remembering he was keeping watch. He blinked a few times to see Jet's dripping form emerge; however, he was still wearing his jeans and a loose tank top, unlike Kobra's more… relaxed attire. Considering there were only two beds and four men, well, they'd wanna be as clothed as possible, considering no one could really control morning wood at times. There was nothing more awkward than waking up with a raging boner while spooning your teammate. Thank God it'd never happened to him, but he was sure it had to someone, and, well, he wasn't planning on experiencing that himself any time soon. Seemed Jet had the same thought, as the man gave Poison a quick nod, quickly glancing at the food and soon slumping onto the far side of the bed, facing away from Kobra. Loud snores soon filled the room. That was the last thing Poison heard before he too found himself drifting into an uneasy sleep.
