"C'mon, don' be shy," Serafine shouted down the dimly lit corridor, a wicked smile on her face.
"I wanna know 'bout that sweet lil soul you got with ya," Nico added.
Mordecai popped out from behind a corner, his eyes focusing with malicious intent, as he unloaded two bullets into the grunts between him and the Savoys before he yanked himself back behind cover.
"Aw, we're on de same team, yeah?" Nico asked.
Mordecai half-blurted out, "What gave you that idea?"
"Asa been payin' you, ain't dat enough?" Nico mentioned.
"I haven't gotten money from Asa in weeks. You two should know that as well as anybody."
Rocky carefully snuck a shot in as he peeked around the corner himself. The Marigold gunmen were pulling closer. They would either have to fire a lot more shots, or they'd have to pull back some more.
"So ya work for de guys dat steal ya?" Nico continued.
"Was I supposed to wait for my Creole in shining armor?"
"T'ought you'd 'ave more fightin' in ya. Didn' tink you'd give up in a month," Serafine interjected.
"I didn't give up— I changed plans," Mordecai explained.
Rocky leaned out and got another three shots, two of which landed in the same gunman. Rocky tried to signal to Mordecai that it was probably time for them to head farther down the tunnel and get behind another corner or alcove.
"Is dat boy part of de plan?" Nico questioned.
Mordecai looked over at Rocky, ignoring Nico. Mordecai nodded to his signal and began to provide cover for him.
"Oh, c'mon, answer de question," Nico reiterated.
"I would much rather work here than spend another minute with the likes of you two or Asa," Mordecai hissed as he pulled back behind the corner, Rocky having gotten where he needed to be, and with maybe four or five shoulders pierced through.
"Rude," Serafine uttered.
"Mais, what about dat Viktor guy? He's here, ain't he?" Nico smirked.
"You don't even know what you're talking about," Mordecai snapped.
"Don' I?"
Rocky loudly whispered down the tunnel, "Mordecai!"
Mordecai quickly glanced back. He was letting himself get distracted by the Savoys. He nodded to Rocky, and he himself got back to where Rocky was hiding now.
Behind cover, Rocky pulled back too, and said, "You should probably stop arguing with them."
"You're right," agreed Mordecai.
"If you survive dis, Asa'll love hearin' 'bout you betrayin' 'im," Nico loudly threatened.
The stairs down into the establishment were dark, and smelled vaguely of bleach. Wes knew that this environment was a bit treacherous for him and the other Marigolds. It seemed that whoever was in there, trying to defend themselves, knew that too, as they were trying desperately to keep them from spilling into the establishment. But, they also seemed to know that they were outmanned. They'd sustained minimal casualties by the time the force had forced their way in. There wasn't much in the way of cover by the door they came in from, and the bar that seemed perfect to hide behind… was occupied by the people shooting at them. Instead, everyone quickly ran over to tables, pillars, corners on the opposite side of the establishment from the bar, near the wall the door was by. A force of a few dozen gunmen up against maybe half a dozen fish in a barrel— it ought to be easy. Their haphazardly produced barricades and the war cry of one of the smaller ones alluded to a slightly different conclusion.
Dom was stopped simply by the mass of people still in the stairwell— people cramming through a vomitorium, or naïve infantry squeezing through a chokepoint. Regardless of which it was, he pulled around the corner and simply waited. There was no sense in trying to join in. He could incriminate himself, or get shot by any number of hostile gunmen. No, he'd wait just a little longer. And when the stairs were clear, he'd rush through and get to Roland. Surely, just from what he was hearing alone, there was enough chaos that no one would notice his presence.
"When was you gonna tell us 'bout your beau?" Serafine asked.
"I would once again like to remind you that I've been here for the last two months," Mordecai replied. Already he found himself unable to stop from arguing again.
"Mais, what've you been doin' 'ere?" Nico wondered, his smirk audible in his voice.
"Your distractions are as blatant as they are embarrassing," Mordecai stated as he drove a bullet directly into the lower throat of one of the unfortunate Marigolds. He found himself intensely focused, and yet still chatting with his assailants, as if it took no brain power to do so. Either the Savoys had become so derivative that it was pathetically easy, or it had become instinctual. Mordecai didn't have time to mull over it.
"It's cold and wet down 'ere— you've been makin' it steamy," Nico continued, an exasperatingly smug smirk besmirching his face.
"What is it that you're trying to accomplish? Are you trying to imagine what that would even feel like?" Mordecai was getting fed up with this, and surely either a bullet or a dryly delivered insult would shut Nico up. One or the other.
Nico chuckled, "You wish, peekon. All sorts'a people try to get wit me." He continued to smile, apparently completely unfazed by any of the number of things going on around him. "You jus' went wit the first guy you saw."
"And you, the first alligator."
Roland was herded with all of the other unfortunate patrons on stage, mostly out of the line of fire. There were all sorts of reactions among those with him. There were quiet murmurs of guesses or inferences that were being made about who was going to win, or what would happen to the patrons themselves. There were a few on the verge of bawling, terrified. A couple were so drunk they seemed to hardly be cognizant. And one seemed interested in the shootout just for the action.
Roland, however, was silent; it could keep him from being suspicious, or from making himself a target. After all, he had been sent here on a mission, and in his pocket was a camera with immense photographic evidence of the crimes going on here. And as it were, this bloody shootout was another. Another crime, that is. Roland peeked out from his hiding place. His camera was surreptitiously held within his coat. Roland's head and upper torso pulled out into the line of sight.
Despite the circumstances, Mitzi seemed to be relatively calm about everything. It might have just been because of the adrenaline. It could have also been that Mitzi was in some way prepared for this. Ivy didn't know, and if she was ever to get an answer, it at least wouldn't be tonight. Freckle was again acting maniacally gallant, if that was a way to describe it, as he had occasionally in previous engagements— despite his otherwise reluctant attitude to the violence. Viktor had a countenance so stern and resolute that one could assume he wasn't even aware of what he was doing. And as for Horatio, well, he was simply hiding behind the bar, sitting next to Ivy.
Viktor dropped down behind the bar suddenly. Not out of injury, but out of something of a tactical decision. He was looking down, messing with something on his person, or something he'd gotten from behind the bar. While looking down, he held out his hand in front of him. Like a minute ago, Ivy reached up and retrieved a bottle of alcohol, placing it in Viktor's hand. Before Ivy had even realized, Viktor had fashioned another incendiary bomb as he tossed the lit match he'd used aside. He turned and sprung up— surprisingly fast considering his knees— and lobbed the bottle across the room at the Marigolds. And nearly immediately afterward, he was firing again. Together, they'd transformed the bar into an impromptu defensive fort; a pocket of guerilla warfare-type resistance. It was incredible.
Dom found the stairwell completely unoccupied. Not mostly— completely. Dom took the opportunity to rush down the steps, stopping at the large doors, which were mostly open anyway. He half-hid behind one of them as he peeked out into the establishment and tried to plan out his next moves carefully. Tried, as it were, as he found himself mildly distracted; this place was exactly like he imagined it to be. Grandiose in its design and illegal in its acts; packed with patrons and presenting with evidence. He brought himself back on track, only to spot Roland across the room, on the stage, his from being the only target on that side of the room.
Roland snapped a picture of the shootout. And as if there were some supernatural forces trying to prevent such a thing, a ricocheting bullet off of a pillar burrowed partially into his chest, just above the camera. Roland staggered back, into a safe, covered position. But it did nothing to stop the effects of the shot; having landed in his liver, and perhaps reaching even the abdominal aorta. The other patrons nearby went over, asking what happened and what they could do, as he stumbled backward against the wall, sliding down into a sitting position on the floor.
Dominic heard the shot ricochet, and he saw it land in Roland. Indeed, Roland needed medical attention if he were to have any chance of survival, it seemed. And, that camera would not make it out if Dom didn't go in to help. With the conditions no longer allowing for careful planning, Dom pushed past the doors, staying low and running. He ran in the direction of the gunmen that had come in before him. He tried to stay disengaged and simply go behind them as he continued on towards the other side. They had their backs to him, and the Lackadaisy had its attention on them. It wasn't a perfect plan, but it was the best that he had.
As it were, he reached the stage and managed to pull himself up. He might have been noticed, but he hadn't been shot. Dominic came over to Roland, who looked up at him.
"Mr. Drago?" Roland muttered.
"Can you walk?" Dominic asked, his gun held in both hands.
"I— I—"
"We need to hurry. Can you walk?" Dom repeated.
"For how long?"
"Just long enough to get you out of here."
"I think I can," Roland grunted, his hands pressed on his injury, which was gushing blood out. Dominic was becoming less confident in Roland's chances of survival.
"Good." Dom saw the camera by Roland's side. He quickly stuffed it in his own pocket before he offered Roland his left hand. He pulled Roland to his feet, and Roland's arm was over Drago's shoulder.
Dominic tried to pull Roland along, but he was simply not in the condition to walk quickly. Otherwise, Dom tried to travel the same path that he had gone to get to the stage.
This time wasn't the same, however. Perhaps it was their slower speed. Or perhaps it was because it was his second trip. But, Dominic was noticed. And Freckle had seen Dom before. And Freckle knew what Dom was after. And Freckle knew what Dom had made Freckle do. And— to put it lightly— Freckle wasn't in a good mood.
Freckle hadn't been working primarily with a pistol for a week or two now. Focusing on defense in the establishment proper, he'd been working with a submachine gun nicked off of one of the Marigold grunts from raids prior. It had already been responsible for perhaps dozens of kills. Some by its previous owner. But most by Freckle. And he would add another two to its total.
With another candidly bloodthirsty laugh, Freckle unloaded a carefully curated selection of bullets into Dominic and the already dying Roland. Having painted an avant-garde piece on the wall next to him, Dominic sputtered to a stop, and collapsed alongside Roland. Only moments later, Freckle's attention had shifted back to the gunmen, and the two outsiders were just about dead on the floor.
On their persons, there was no identification. Nothing tracing them to law enforcement or even to their names. Just their handguns and Dominic's camera of incriminating evidence— the totem that they'd laid their lives down for. A totem that would likely not be brought outside the Lackadaisy. At least, all in one piece.
"Are you done with these charades yet?" Mordecai asked.
"Whaddya mean, Mordecai?" Nico responded.
"Your numbers're runnin' low."
It was true. Neither Mordecai nor Rocky had even been injured, against all odds, while the ranks of the Marigold grunts had been rather thinned out. They had pushed the two boys back quite a bit, but they could retreat back for a while longer before they really needed to dig in their heels. None of that was really good news for the Savoys.
"Yours're lower," Nico stated, correctly, all told.
"And you're stepping over bodies."
Nico stepped over a body. A couple of the gunmen looked at him. It was clear that morale was rather low. Nico looked back up, "Nah, you're wrong."
"Then what's that?" Rocky asked from behind cover, not even having taken a glance.
Nico glanced down, "Dat's noth—"
Rocky jumped out from cover and quickly fired at Nico, no longer hidden behind the front lines. Two shots were fired, and one went through his hand. Nico sort of yelped out in pain, a clear bullet hole in the hand; one you could look directly through. Immediately, despite his typical confidence and his previous remarks, he suddenly realized how much danger he and his sister were in now that so many of the gunmen had died. It was as if a switch had been flipped. It was possible, he thought, for the next shot to not just hit his hand, but something more important. It was time for him to begin organizing a retreat, and for him to try and stay behind one of the grunts this whole time.
Similar things were happening in the establishment. The bar that the Lackadaisy gunslingers had defended themselves behind was simply a better position than the impromptu ones of the Marigolds. The bar was taking a beating, sure, but it was holding. And the access to the alcohol to make, essentially, incendiary weapons certainly helped.
By the time that nearly half of the Marigolds had died either by getting shot or by severe burns, Wes decided it was time to leave, lest more people die. After a quick order, the group hastily began to make their way for the door again, losing a couple more in the process.
All told, it had been an unequivocal failure for the Maribel, again. By the time the Marigolds had regrouped outside, it was already clear that no one wanted to be the one who had to break the bad news to Asa when they got back. Though, it seemed that the Marigold Room itself could end up coming to close soon, so perhaps it wouldn't matter all too much in the end.
And for the Lackadaisy, there was a quick roll call in the establishment, as well as a check for injuries both there and among the two boys in the tunnels. And at the end of it, it was concluded, quite easily, that everyone had made it through it. But, there were still the matters of the bodies, as well as the patrons, some of which were quickly making for the exit. It seemed that there would still be quite a bit of recuperation, as it were, before they could claim victory. Or before they could plan anything of their own.
