Troy's run through a lot of ideas in those early days with the Saints. Some good, some bad, but most had him asking some variation of "Is that wise?" every time. He's pretty sure this idea isn't, but can't help but leap for it anyway. Pre-SR1.
"Hey, got a light?"
Troy glanced over at the Saint that had asked, one of the kids that had been in the ring shortly after he'd come out of it, and watched him wiped at the trail of blood coming from his nose. He had to be around eighteen, give or take, and Troy tried to ignore the sinking feeling in his stomach that came from the fact that there had been way too many others around here his age or younger.
It only made Troy feel older as he reached into his pocket, his own bruises still aching from the beating he'd caught the night before, and held the matches out to him. "Sure, kid."
The kid ruined the first match trying to get it to catch – his hands shook a bit too much – but his cigarette took on the second, and he handed it back, gratefully. "Thanks, man. I owe you."
Troy waved him off, and watched him wander towards the small crowd that had gathered after the canonization. Julius had already given them his blessing, offering words of support along with a promise that they were working towards something greater. A Stilwater that could be better, and Troy had to admit after hearing it twice, it hadn't lost much of its impact. It had still held him rapt until the end, and as he flicked at the ashes on his cig, he wondered how many others the Saints were going to take in this week.
There weren't that many tonight, four total, but the canonization the night before had put him next to five others, and he saw that glint in their eye. They'd wanted it. Had been more than willing to be beaten into the ground for it, and when he'd caught nearly one hit too many, he'd wondered if he'd shown even a tenth of it. That dedication that Julius was set on. He'd needed to show it, believe it, and seeing as he was still standing here now, he'd passed well enough.
It was his job to. He puffed on his cigarette as he recalled his last conversation with Chief Monroe, where he'd been told that this was going to be a hard-sell. He couldn't hesitate in any regard, because you do and you're dead.
"You do, and this falls apart. You don't want that now, do you, son?"
Troy took in the people around him, those that had come here willingly, to do something about the shit happening around them, and no. He didn't. Not when he'd come here wanting the same.
But it wasn't that simple. Not with the wires he'd had to pitch shortly after the first time he'd passed through, and not with the stares he'd had to weather from people at least ten years younger than him when he'd stepped up. He needed more than an in. Something better than words and assurances, and bruises that would fade in a day or two.
None of those things earned you loyalty, only a temporary pass, and he needed more than the odd pat on the back to distinguish himself as someone that could get shit done. That he was a Saint, or at least as close to one in name as he could get.
So, when he heard a familiar voice drift by, he ignored his initial reflex. The one that told him that he'd be better off blending into the crowd, because you don't ask for attention from Johnny Gat. Only cocky son-of-bitches did, and it took one to stand toe to toe with him even on neutral ground.
The guy held himself tall, completely at ease, but in a sense that no matter what angle you'd try to take to shank him it wouldn't work. Wouldn't make an ounce of difference, he'd snap your arm and put two in your head for the trouble, if he didn't leave you bleeding out on the pavement. The night before, Johnny had been challenged directly, and his answer to that had left the challenger writhing on the floor while clutching their face. Gat hadn't said a word, only offered a smirk as he stood in front of them, and the others in the circle shied away from him seconds before he'd put the other man down.
The chill that had run down Troy's back after that had made him want to turn away, but he couldn't. His attention had been caught as his cigarette burned down to nothing but cinders, and later, when Troy had made it through his own canonization, he'd nearly choked on the breath he'd taken in when Gat had given him a single nod.
So, everything said to tread carefully around this guy. The old reports, the stories, the goddamn evidence he'd built just hanging around the church for the last couple of days, it all added up to a picture that hadn't been far from the one built from hearsay, and wasn't to be handled lightly.
The Saints by Gat milled around him as he traded words, and even clapped a few of them on the back, but Troy couldn't pick out much from this distance. He'd have to get closer if he wanted anything solid.
"Hey, you." Troy felt someone fling an arm around his neck, and tensed instantly. "You were here yesterday, right?"
He glanced at the woman that had entered his space, and after running her cotton candy colored hair and sly grin through his memory he found he actually did remember her. She'd been from the canonization right before his, and had been all too eager to share the horror stories from that night in extensive detail.
So he relaxed when he caught her friendly tone, but only a fraction. "Yeah, came back for seconds, but I can't say I'm sad I get to skip that now."
"Canonizations always blow when you're new," she said, her volume going up by the second. Taking a drink of her beer, she wiped her mouth with the back of her hand and pointed towards Johnny. "Though sometimes you get some asshole that thinks it'd be a great idea to fuck with Gat. You remember which one, right? The guy from the other night? That ass was lucky they could scrape him out of there."
Troy nodded, taking a long drag off his cigarette, and watched the woman down the rest of the bottle. "Not surprising."
"No, though he's got to be grateful that Johnny doesn't kill anyone willing to enter the ring with him. I mean, they're all assholes, but to him they're still Saints. Counts for something, right?" She smiled, and when Troy continued to give her a weak one in return, she laughed. "You don't remember me at all, do you?"
It took him a few seconds, but he managed to dig it up. "Dee, right?"
"Blondie, but yeah. Dee's right." She set the empty bottle down and he watched her sway slightly as she considered him. "T. It begins with a T. Travis?"
"Troy."
"Fuck it, close enough. Hey, why don't you come over?" Dee stood up, keeping her balance set for someone that he suspected had to be sloshed, and gestured towards the circle. "Fresh blood's having some fun mingling."
"And?"
"You can't mingle much in a party of one," she pointed out, angling her head back.
There it was again, the voice that told him it was a bad idea to consider any of this at all, but with one last puff of his cigarette, he tossed it down, and crushed it beneath his shoe. "Eh, why not?"
Her smile went sly again, and he gave her a few paces before following.
Gat had turned a grin on the group surrounding him – six in total - more than a few now attempting to re-enact the fight from earlier, and when they joined the circle, Troy could feel his eyes on them. No matter how prepared he'd been for it his hair still stood on end, and he shoved his hands into his pockets to keep them occupied while the mock fight continued.
"Yo, hold on there," Johnny interrupted when one of the Saints threw an exaggerated punch. "That was fucking sloppy. Probably why you" - he pointed directly at another Saint, one with a bloody nose - "got the shit kicked out of you when it didn't connect. Clean that up or there won't be a next time."
The woman stood up straighter as Troy dug out another cigarette, and he offered one to Dee before lighting up.
"So, Johnny," Dee asked, speaking up, "got any other tips you'd like to share?"
Troy kept his eyes on his cig as he lit it, but the moment that Gat started talking his attention went right to him.
"Some."
"Like...?"
"I've done this shit before, and don't remember much listening then," he said, bluntly. "But you motherfuckers think you'll do better?"
Troy opened his mouth, and almost bit his tongue. "Gotta, if we'd like to stick around, right?"
Johnny cracked a smile. "It helps. This ain't a fucking handbook, though. I'm not going to tell you shoot first, shoot often, then write a pretty little A at the top if you make it down the whole list. What you do have?" He gestured towards Troy, then another Saint to his right, then to one on the other side of the circle – "The person next to you. Blood for blood, once you join us, you are one of us. Saints protect their own. Wear that color, get shit done, and someday you'll earn the name."
"Not everyone's going to be flying purple at all times, though." Johnny slowly turned his way, and Troy nearly sucked the smoke in his mouth down into his lungs. "Smart ones do."
"Yeah, they do," Gat agreed, watching him carefully.
"What do we do if we want something a little more permanent?" Troy gestured towards his neck and tamped down on the nerves rising up. Recalling the fleurs around the courtyard – and in the photographs he'd spent months poring over – an idea took hold, and he didn't wait to think twice before running with it. "I've seen decent ink around, but none like yours."
The tattoos running around Johnny's neck were one of a kind, to the point that he'd bet serious money that they weren't just for the Saints if even at all. Under the dim streetlights, Troy still couldn't see all of the careful detailing that had to have gone into them, but even so he doubted he would've been able to tie them back to anything useful. The decorative lines didn't form any distinct shapes, and below the collar Gat could've easily hidden more.
Gat smiled again, this time with an edge reminiscent of the ring. "Won't find none. But I know a guy if you'd like to add a little something extra."
"I might." Troy exhaled and took his eyes off of Johnny's tattoos to meet the others' eyes. "Figured we all would."
A few of the Saints around them looked at each other while they thought about it, while others cheered outright, and after checking with them, Gat laughed. "That so?"
The Saints cheered again, gaining momentum, and after a moment of watching Dee and the others all get pumped up – some more so than the rest, judging by the strength of their cheers and the bottles they raised – he gave them all a nod.
"Good."
They hit the Rusty's Needle not too far from the church. Troy had seen the spot on a few passes, but hadn't pegged it as a Saints only joint until they all waltzed in and the artist working there raised his head in welcome. "Hey, Johnny. Been a while."
He lowered the tattoo gun to clap Johnny on the shoulder, and Troy tried to see how many of the guy's tattoos he could commit to memory before he turned his attention their way. Not too many, but with a face to go with it, it'd help.
"Fresh blood," Gat said, giving them all a wicked smirk. "They want something that'll last longer than bruises, if you've got time."
He checked the group, counting every member as he passed over them, and dug for his phone. "Let me make a couple of calls."
So he did, giving Troy ample amounts of time to smoke his pack into oblivion while Dee cracked open a few beers they'd dragged over, and they all got...better acquainted. By the time they'd started getting ready to be inked up, Troy had a buzz going, a hell of a lot more of one than he'd told himself to pick up, but it helped with the nerves. About getting in the chair, for starters, but it sure as hell helped him be in the same room with a roaming Gat as he paced and refused to stand still.
He hovered over another of the guys, and watched the needle move as the fleur was seared into his skin. They shared a joke, something Troy wasn't able to pick up easily over the other sounds in the shop, and Johnny moved on, his attention shifting to the next best thing.
Troy's turn didn't come until he was in the chair, his shirt stripped off so the lead artist, Russ – believe it or not - could get an idea of what he was working with.
He'd flipped through the catalogue and gone for something simple, the black outline of a fleur, but didn't get it put in a showy place. Deciding to finally play it safe, he went for his left shoulder blade, a place that he could easily hide it most days. But it would be there. He'd know, the others would know, and that's what counted.
Still, he had a moment where he wondered what the fuck he was doing. Putting himself out there, getting blasted with a few kids he wasn't sure would last the week, and getting inked up in the hopes of adding another notch to his belt seemed like a shit idea.
Well, not too much of one, but it was a decent starting point, and when another beer went his way Troy didn't hesitate to tip it back. Even when it came from Gat's hands. "Thanks."
"It helps. Maybe not always, but it'll do." Troy put more back, and nearly choked on it when Johnny spoke again. "Didn't think you'd be back so soon."
Fuck. Guess he hadn't been under Gat's radar after all. He swallowed the sip he'd been in the middle of and took in a deep breath. "Why?"
"Oscar nearly put you out." The amusement in his tone made Troy relax a hair, but not by much.
"And like a fucking genius I didn't choose to stay down." He'd been huge, and when Troy had been clipped by him, he really had wondered if he'd made a huge fucking mistake getting in there. "Probably would've saved me the hurt, eh?"
"Probably."
Troy flicked at his cig while Johnny came around to see what Russ was doing, and he blinked a few times while he turned to keep an eye on them. The blurred vision hadn't kicked in just yet, but he wouldn't be surprised if it followed soon enough. "Nothing for you?"
"No. There'll be others."
"Not much left to cover?"
Johnny shrugged and perched himself on the edge of a nearby counter. "There's enough. It's better just to space it out."
"Ah. Gotta think about it first? Leave no room for regrets?"
Gat didn't respond, but he didn't shoot him down either. Only slid his attention back to Russ, while he continued to prep.
"It's tough staying still for long, though," Troy commented, feeling his foot try to tap out an uneven rhythm on the floor. "You go for anything flashy like the shit you've already got, and that's a good session and a half at least. Not counting future touch ups. Don't know how often you'd need to visit your guy for that."
Troy turned his attention to Johnny only then, and had just started to move along the sharp, violet lines on his neck when Gat canted his head and turned to stare right back at him. Panic tried to kick in as Troy felt his grip on the neck of the bottle tighten, but the expression crossing Johnny's face wasn't threatening or suspicious.
So, Troy ignored the warning bells and parked his eyes right on Gat's sunglasses as he slowly put the cigarette back between his lips. "What?"
The corner of his mouth turned up. "Nothing, unless you want it to mean something."
Drawing his eyebrows together, Troy twitched when he felt Russ graze his back, but didn't drop his eyes. Johnny was smiling now, and Troy almost reached for another cigarette to light up alongside his current one. "Nah, we're cool. Just curious."
"Still?" He relaxed and got up. "Too bad."
The minute he walked away Troy put his dwindling stub out, and drew in as calm of a breath as he could manage. After a moment, however, Russ chuckled.
"Worth a shot, eh?" he offered, and Troy pursed his lips as he dug for his pack.
Troy's eyes creaked open to the pleasant sensation of his skin burning. It wasn't a sharp sensation, but he was damn well aware of it unlike his immediate surroundings as he slowly woke up.
It took a few minutes, but the walls and furniture began to register, and he breathed a sigh of relief that he'd ended back up in his apartment. He didn't remember much about the drive home from the shop, only scattered laughter as the other Saints tried to show off what they'd picked, but he did recall fumbling for the key as he shoved it at the lock, and collapsing soon after.
But as he shifted he'd forgotten one other thing. Well, maybe not so much forgotten, but willfully ignored as he tried to move his head, and felt his upper back throb and complain with every motion. The tattoo on his back was fresh, and unlike the one he'd put on his forearm years back, this one was going to be a pain in the ass to work with and tend. And from his position on the couch – shirt off, face down, and with a headache already calling – he knew he was in for a day, if not a week.
Then his phone rang. The sharp sound made him squeeze his eyes shut as he pushed himself up with a groan, pain prickling along his skin the entire time, but he managed to grab his cell off of the coffee table before it stopped ringing.
"Hey," he croaked, clearing his throat before speaking up again. "What's up?"
"Morning," Troy's eyes snapped open, and stayed open as Johnny's voice came through loud and clear. "You awake? Julius says he needs a group to run down to the factories. Interested?"
Troy sat there as his muddled brain ran through the request, and immediately started scanning his apartment for any sign of his discarded shirt. "Yeah. Very. Head to the church, or...?"
"Yeah, get your ass here, and drop by his office. Don't be late."
Gat hung up, and Troy let the phone drop to the couch as he climbed to his feet.
Maybe he'd added that notch after all.
