Quick note: I know this kind of thing is everywhere in Black Lagoon, but still, if it makes you uncomfortable, this chapter features discussion of Rape.
Chapter 4: Let's Make A Deal
True to her word, Revy followed Rock on his path to his room, dragging him into her room instead. She had promptly enticed him with a fridge stocked full of their favorite beer along with a stash of Bacardi. Curiously, she also had a stash of lemons nestled next to the beer, which she'd justified by saying she occasionally liked to squeeze some into her water.
They cared not for the time on the clock, only measuring passage of time by the accumulation of empty cans as they toiled in their conversation. There was also music drifting from Revy's vintage cassette player. She had put in a tape, aptly named "Cryin' In Your Beer Shit' some time ago. It had already played through Free Bird and Simple Man; the wilting guitar sounds of an old Alice Cooper ballad were slowly coming to an end.
Only women bleed
Only women bleed
Only women bleed
Only women bleed
Rock looked down to the caramel depths of his first glass of rum as a thoughtful silence settled over the pair. Something from earlier in the day that he'd pushed to the back of his mind came back to his attention.
"Hey, Revy?" He wondered, eyeing her blearily through the beginnings of the transition from a buzzed state into a drunk state.
"What's up, partner?" A stupidly inebriated grin stretched across her face.
Black eyes all of the time
"Don't spend a dime"
"Clean up this grime"
And you there down on your knees begging me please
Come watch me bleed
He thought back to her fight with Eda, and her outburst at Rowan's, the ongoing pattern of it all and fixed her with an innocent gaze, thinking nothing of the implication. "Why do you get jealous?"
Revy stammered and blinked and blushed, taken aback by his drunken forwardness. "I-I-I uh don't know what you're talking about." She was suddenly very aware of a massive elephant in the room in the form of her repressed feelings, and the atmosphere had just become incredibly awkward. She was grateful he didn't seem to notice and took a large swig of rum to hide the blush on her face, sighing in content as it burned a trail on the way down.
"Of course, you do." Rock persisted, oblivious.
The last notes of Alice Cooper faded out and gave way to another American classic rock slow ballad as Revy deflected, offering a half-truth in response to Rock's prodding. She hurriedly downed her drink and poured another, figuring if they were going to explore all the shit she hated talking about, she needed to be more drunk a lot quicker.
"I dunno," she shrugged. "I guess I've just gotten used to protectin' ya."
Day after day I'm more confused
But I look for the light through the pourin' rain
You that's a game that I hate to lose
But I'm feelin' the strain
Ain't it a shame? Oh!
Rock mulled it over. It was like she'd effectively told him if she couldn't have him, then he was off limits to anyone else. He wondered if she intended such an implication. Truth be told he would kill to have her reciprocate, but he'd never been lucky in that area of his life. Even as he thought about it, he laughed internally at the idea. A small part of him felt as if he'd only be dragging her down, a weight around her neck, if he burdened her with his feelings toward her.
"So, that's it then? You're just trying to protect me from this city?" She stared at him, wide-eyed at how he so astutely got to the heart of the matter. She mused about a conversation they'd had in this very room three months before. She was the gun and he was the bullet. That seemed even more like a perfect summary of their relationship. She was violence, instinct, danger. He was sharp, precise, and the perfect foil to her brash personality. And just the way her cutlasses fired the bullets housed inside their chambers, she had woken Rock to his new life. One that could very well destroy everything that endeared Rock to her. It was a terrifying prospect to realize.
Give me the beat boys and free my soul
I wanna get lost in your rock and roll and drift away…
Oh!
Give me the beat boys and free my soul
I wanna get lost in your rock and roll and drift away…
"Dumbass." She scoffed, fondly. She was putting up another front and Rock saw straight through it. "Of course, I am. I person like you won't last long without help."
"Or without killing." Rock added, the mood in the room suddenly souring as the incident from yesterday came back to both of them. Revy idly toyed with her glass of rum, thinking. She hummed her agreement, which only brought more despair from Rock.
"Relief." She spoke suddenly, bringing him to cast a confused gaze on her. Asking for an explanation with silence.
"Earlier you asked what I felt the first time I killed." Her eyes were slowly drifting away, fixing on some far off point on the wall behind his shoulder. She was beginning to dissociate herself from what was sure to be an arduous journey into her psyche.
"And you felt relief? Why?" Rock wasn't entirely sure this was a road he wanted to go down and he didn't relish the idea of causing her undue pain, but she was offering him the chance to hear things he'd always wanted to know. Things no one else had heard about. It was a chance that might never come again if he passed it by now.
"Because for ten years, dear ol' dad made my life a fuckin' living hell." She took the time to take a nervous drag from a fresh cigarette, leaving rock with just that moment to imagine the horrors she went through before she filled in the picture. "I was his favorite punching bag—and his favorite fuck doll."
Rock felt his eyes widen involuntarily at the horror of the statement, only to clamp shut tight against the aftershock of outrage, but it was just the beginning.
"Almost every night he'd beat the shit outta me. Got real creative too. Once I couldn't stop pissing blood for three weeks." She was eerily unmoved, speaking as though none of this affected her, though both of them knew that carefully constructed wall she guarded her past with would go straight back up tomorrow.
"And then he started raping me right around that same time. I'm pretty sure I had a miscarriage after one of the beatings—the bastard never did use protection."
"Revy…" He was uneasy, torn between wanting it to stop because he couldn't bare to hear anymore, and wanting her to stop hurting herself for his sake. Regardless of his meek protest, she continued her grim story.
"So yeah, you bet your ass I felt fuckin' relieved about blowin' that fucker's brains out. Would do it again too. But then real life bit me in the ass when I realized my pathetic excuse of a dad was only the low man on the totem pole and bigger, meaner monsters came for me."
She mercifully wrapped up her story there as the music switched again, both having forgotten entirely about the tape playing away in the cassette player.
"So yeah, Rock, I used to feel bad about killing. I know what you felt earlier in the market, but everything in my life forced me to become a killer just to fuckin' survive another day."
Rock looked at her, still reeling at the story she just told and the cocktail of emotions he felt in his gut for her plight. And then he felt bile rise in his throat again at the renewed sickness caused by his first kill. It was all too much to take and he slammed down what was in his glass before pouring another and chugging that glass too.
"Revy…tell me I'm not gonna become a killer." He pleaded with her. He didn't think anything less of her for it anymore, understanding even before this story that it was how she'd survived, but he felt as if he'd lose himself if he turned into the same thing.
"I wish I could, Rock." She spoke sympathetically, already sensing the beginnings of a transition on the horizon.
"What?!"
"You gotta realize something: Killing is a disease. Once you get that first taste of blood, its all over, partner. Doesn't matter why you did it." At seeing his paling face she added, "Its something you're not cut out to handle. That's why I've tried to keep you from it. So I have just one thing to ask."
She watched him take another liberal swig of rum and look into her eyes, despite his frazzled state they conveyed the promise of anything she desired. She adored him for that selflessness.
"Just…don't kill unless you have no other option." She requested, sounding embarrassingly pleading.
He could live with that. He could live with the people he'd killed knowing that it was to keep his crew alive. And even if killing always made him feel sick, no matter how many times he did it, he could live with it if it was to protect those he cared about. He could become a killer, as long as he didn't lose sight of that which tied him to his place in the twilight.
But he still wasn't quite ready to take up shooting just yet.
A calmness passed over the room and Rock felt as if a weight had been lifted from his shoulders. Revy too. Traumatic as it still was to think about, let alone talk about, she could move forward, secure now in the knowledge that she didn't have to bear the burden alone if she chose not to. They had forged another layer to their bond tonight, born of understanding and compassion. And neither was going to forget it any time soon, no matter how many drinks they might have tonight.
"Rock," Revy tossed her empty carton of cigarettes over her shoulder, missing her waste basket by a good margin. "Gimme a smoke. That's enough of this depressing shit for one night."
He smiled, obliging her. His tone as he spoke coming out leagues more positive. For that, at least, Revy was grateful. "You know, I think I can live with what happened. With you to guide me back to my place in the twilight, I mean." Her face softened at his admission, touched that he thought of her that way. " I've never been much of an addict, after all." He cracked.
Revy's face fell flat. "….I hate to break it to ya, bud, but you smoke a pack a day and you're a fuckin' alcoholic."
"Yes, but so is everyone else in this city. I mean, you kinda have to be in our line of work, right?"
Revy chuckled lightly at his reasoning and offered a playful punch to his arm, slurring lightly. "Whatever you say, partner."
Hush now don't you cry…
Wipe away the teardrop from your eye…
You're lying safe in bed…
It was all a bad dream, spinning in your head
Your mind tricked you to feel the pain
Of someone close to you leaving the game of life
So here it is, another chance
Wide awake you face the day
Your dream is over
Or has it just begun?
Neither Rock nor Revy knew exactly what time it was. They'd lost track of the boozy remnants of their drinking some time ago, and of the hour on the clock even longer ago. By this stage they both laid sprawled comfortably, tangled up in a mass of drunken limbs on Revy's mattress. Both had become lethargic and dazed, content to lie in wait for the darkness of sleep to take them away from reality, still slurring out casual conversation every so often.
"Hey Revy?" Rock hiccupped out of the blue as he attempted to give voice to a question that popped into his muddled brain equally as sudden. "What kind of—of gun would you be…if you could…be any gun?"
Revy cackled as if he'd made the most hilarious joke in the world. "Isn't it obviscious? That guy there." She pointed to the wall next to the door, confusing Rock until he realized one of her cutlasses was hanging by the crossdraw holster from yet another gun; a modified AR-15 Smith & Wesson issue.
"Oh…" Rock gasped, pondering the earth shattering revelation.
"And guess what?" She poked him in the chest. "You'd be a 9mm silver bullet."
"Cuz it goes with the…with the…what's that called again? With the gun?" Referring to the 9mm capacity of Revy's twin cutlasses.
Revy nodded in the affirmative, slowly shifting them so that she could climb on top of him. She looked down into the depth of his stupor hazed eyes with a similar expression. "And because it suits you." Though she failed to elaborate.
Rock's body stiffened suddenly in surprise as he felt her fingertips graze against a very intimate part of him. The unexpected touch brought forth a shiver of pleasure, and his alcohol hazed mind brought him to reflexively grasp at the full hips that were starting a gentle, yet seductive rhythm in his lap.
Good God! Was she…purring?
Whether she was purring like a tiger or growling like demon, he couldn't be sure, and he struggled to maintain a clear head; he was like a lost sailor adrift in a choppy sea of inebriation and lust.
Revy leaned down close to him, pushing her ample chest up the length of his torso on the journey to meet his ear. There, she took his ear in her mouth before whispering; low, and soft, and sultry, with a twang of drunk slurring.
"You wanna know somethin', Rocky baby? This is why I get jealous." Feeling bold, she gripped him possessively over his pants and Rock let out a gaspy moan. Good god, he wanted her, wanted to feel more of her. He wanted to roll her over and tame this wild animal hovering above him inside and out. But something in him underneath all the jumble inside his head held him back. It spoke softly that he would regret this later; said this wasn't right.
Apparently, his partner wasn't on quite the same page. Just as he was about to give voice the idea that they shouldn't be doing this, she pounced, pinning his body firmly to the bed and fixing his arms in place above his head as her mouth met his in a violent clash. Neither was sober enough for finesse and the kiss was all the things it shouldn't have been, a sloppy mess of too much teeth and tongue coupled with bad timing, but it was also strangely appropriate.
They chased each other on this path, managing to fall into the same rhythm by some miracle. Both of them moaned into each other, lapping each other up as they went. Rock's hands had a mind of their own at this point. They explored Revy's hardened body eagerly; every scar was like a hidden treasure.
Revy's hands wove through his hair, grazing into his scalp before venturing back down his body, considerably leaner in his sailor lifestyle than it had been in Japan. Strange, he seemed to have changed physically right before her eyes as well. He wasn't muscular, exactly, but he was defined, and the feel of those wicked curves excited her even more, drawing out a devilish grin and spurring her on.
They remained locked up in each other for a while more, Rock still ambivalent but lacking enough sobriety to act on it, and then Revy's hands trailed lower, back down toward his pants. This time, Rock felt her invade his underwear entirely, suddenly wrapping a surprisingly soft hand around him.
His eyes shattered open and reality came down crashing on him. He couldn't let her do this.
Revy looked up at him with a horny, peeved expression as he steered her hand away from him. He silently objected, wearing his resolve in his stubborn, unyielding gaze.
"Oh, come on, cowboy. Just a little? It'll be worth it." She drunkenly seduced, trying for him again and Rock held her firm, speaking to her silently, willing her to understand. Not like this.
And then somewhere inside of her, something broke. The wild-eyed, lustful gaze she'd had gave way to something deep and sincere. A side of Revy that Rock had yet to see. It was the innocent, unvarnished little girl she was before life fucked her over, sideways, and under, slightly warbled by her drunken state.
She pulled away from Rock and stopped her advances. If she were sober, this was the part where she might be embarrassed with herself, maybe even threaten to shoot him.
Instead, she looked at him with that innocent expression and a moment of deeper appreciation for each other passed between them.
"Thank you, Rock."
He could contemplate the exact meaning behind that later, for he found that his world was slowly growing darker, and soon, he was out like a light amid the pre-dawn twilight filtering through the window, Revy's cassette player still providing a soundtrack for their dreams, as a new tape had been put in at some point.
Black hole sun
Won't you come…
And wash away the rain?
Black hole sun
Won't you come..
Won't you come…
It was Saturday evening at La Rouge, the finest restaurant in Roanapur. While it was one of the few places in the city where refinement could be found, it wasn't without the deceptive quality and the scamming nature that was a motif throughout the city of sin.
Notably, the only thing French to be found in the place was its name, the filet mignon was actually fancy looking rump roast, and the borscht was made from Chinese ingredients (though, the Russians were none the wiser).
Outwardly, the place resembled any other low class hovel in the city, not much different from the business fronts that lined Racciada Street. Inside, it was a world apart. The carpeting was a deep red, and the drapes were all a matching red velvet. The walls were a deep mahogany, with sparse white and gold flooring on the outskirts of an expansive dining room. Overhead, there was a crystal chandelier amid several smaller golden brass ceiling lamps for lighting. It created an intimate and dimly lit, yet sparkling atmosphere.
Each table was forged in the same mahogany as the walls, carefully crafted with intricate woodwork on the legs and lacquered on top, though this wasn't seen from under the perfect white table cloths.
Fittingly, the wait staff all dressed to the nines as they flitted about, attending to the needs of Roanapur's few wealthy. They wore white dress shirts beneath jet black waist coats and matching pants and ties.
The place truly was Roanapur's best kept secret, and on this night, two of the city's most powerful were taking full advantage of that to recede from the eyes of their criminal compatriots.
Chang and Balalaika sat at a table in a secluded corner of the room, chatting amicably over two glasses of wine, and their entrees. Chang had lemon chicken in front of him, while the resident head of Hotel Moscow was having what appeared to be a rather extravagantly prepared "Russian" dish. The pair had been seated for quite some time, leisurely laughing and talking about personal matters in a way that made clear that there was more to their rivalry than met the eye. But, as some say "nosey types aren't too popular" and so the wait staff who did notice minded their own business.
About an hour after being seated, Balalaika decided it was time to get to the matter at hand. She knew all too well that Chang didn't ask her out to dinner without an ulterior motive.
"Alright, Chang." She spoke, clipping the end of a hand-rolled Cuban cigar before lighting it. "I think we've had enough merry-making, don't you? Why don't we get down to why we're really here?"
Chang smirked from behind his wine glass and trade mark sunglasses, a glint in his eyes and a burning cigarette between the fingers around his glass. He was completely at ease. There was no hurry.
"I would've thought we could mix a little pleasure with our business. We're both multitaskers, aren't we?" He retorted ever so suggestively. His casual smirk turned devious as he felt her foot hooking around his calf under the table, taking his suggestion to heart, though her businesslike expression didn't falter.
"Maybe if you behave yourself…baby." There was that loathsome nickname that both irritated the triad leader and turned him on; made him putty in her cold, calculating hands. Perhaps that's why he hated it.
"You're gonna play it that way, are you?" Underneath the table, his free hand found her knee and he caressed the charred skin lightly; playfully. "In that case, I have a mutually beneficial business proposition for you."
Balalaika's foot continued to stroke a sensual pattern on his leg, a promise of the kinds of things she might do to other parts of him later.
"Oh really?" Her voice conveyed interest in both his idea and his hand's precarious position along her thigh now. "And what does the Triad have to offer that might interest me?" She challenged shrewdly, blowing a ring of smoke in his direction.
The phrase "playing hard to get" came to Chang's mind. But then, their relationship was full of pushes and pulls in all of its facets. He removed his hand entirely from her leg, then, and she let out a whisper of a disappointed grunt in response, unhooking her own foot from his calf.
Now that was probably enough pleasure for the time being.
Chang leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table, peering at her through focused eyes from behind his aviators. A plume of smoke created by their mingling tobacco products surrounded them both, casting them into their own little isolated bubble.
"It's trivial, really. It just occurred to me, especially after all that business with the blood hound, that the balance of power in this city has walked a tight rope for far too long. If we don't do something to strengthen our relations soon, eventually the pot'll boil over to a point none of us can get back from. So, I'm reaching out to you, first."
She took a moment, taking another drag of her cigar and holding in the burning, intoxicating sweetness as she mulled it over.
"That all sounds well and good, Chang, but perhaps I didn't make myself clear." Her voice was sharp, yet cordial, every word articulating the fact that he needed to give her a reason to listen. "What does the Triad have to offer Hotel Moscow?"
Chang shrugged, unfazed. "For starters? How 'bout the opportunity to increase your business operations in South East Asia ten-fold? I can imagine those you answer to back in the motherland will think pretty highly of you."
He was sounding an awful lot like a smooth-talking luxury car salesman, and Balalaika bit hard on the bait, her interest piqued.
"And just how do you propose we do that? You just conveniently happen to have all these extra resources hiding in your burberry, do you?"
Chang's brow twitched at her skeptical jab. "In a manner of speaking: yes. And it's a trench coat." He snuffed out his cigarette before immediately reaching into his pocket to pull out another one. In a gesture of good faith, he gave her something up front.
"There's a pretty lucrative independent human trafficking operation run out of the golden triangle. It's run by some two-bit pirates. It'd be easy work for you to step in and take it over."
"And what about the Manisarrera Cartel?" She was secretly thrilled to have a chance to stick it to Abrego and his bunch, but…"Weren't you just saying something about cooperation? As I recall, human trafficking is one of their main businesses."
Chang simply nodded. "Yes, and so is the import and export of drugs. Doesn't that just chap your ass?"
She glared as he continued. "That's precisely my point, we've all been working against each other and trying to keep the balance among factions in this city. The balance will continue to be fragile as long as we're all vying for the biggest piece of the pie."
Balalaika's skeptical glare hardened. "Then explain to me why you're offering me a chance to expand my business, and by extension, my power?"
He simply grinned at her, resting his arms on the back of his chair with a knowing expression on his face. He knew she cared too much about power to say no to his little proposal. He had reeled her in, all he needed to do was drive the final nail in.
"That's a discussion for a different time, I'm afraid. Think about it, if you'd like. But for now…why don't you take my tip?" He lowered his sunglasses to leer directly at her, implying more than he was saying.
Balalaika's own pirate smile greeted him before she stood from the table.
"I have just one last question."
"And what might that be?" Chang stood with her, offering his elbow to her in a gentlemanly display.
"What do you get out of helping me?"
He let out one of his amused guffaws at the question.
"That's another question for another time, but let's just say, you scratch my back and I'll scratch yours."