the_last_resort | Belloq chose...poorly

"The Orions were a major contributor to events." A non-answer answer.

Belloq glared at Tuco and snarled, "It's a diamond they want, not gold. An enormous shining diamond."

He had no expectation or hope that the Orions would be forgiving. Their local crime boss was notoriously pitiless and impatient. The best he could hope for is to trick them. Perhaps if he captured the Prop and somehow forced it back into the shape of the diamond sword long enough to hand it off to the smuggler captain. Then it would become someone else's problem.

He fell to his knees and peered under the bed.

"Help me capture that creature."

"Do you know, I'm not completely sure what it's called," she said conversationally, gently plucking the used dart from his fingers and setting it aside. "But please don't worry, it won't kill you. You'll just start to feel a little sleepy soon." He was plainly more distressed by the dart than she'd expected and she almost felt bad...but not quite. "Come now, I don't want you to fall and hurt yourself."

Edited (typo fussing ) 2015-01-31 10:02 (UTC)

Tuco opened his mouth, meaning to point out that a phrase was a phrase, and he didn't mean it literally—only to think better of it. There was a time and a place to argue semantics, and right now, with Belloq one step away from scrabbling across the floor, this was obviously not it.

Still, he was faced with a big question: was it really worth sticking around, or was this the time to make his silent getaway? His general reading of the situation was that Belloq was well and truly fucked... but then again, he'd always been an infuriating optimist when riches were concerned.

Breathing a heavy sigh out from his nose, he took a step forward and craned his neck, searching for signs of any unexpected movement past the boundaries of the bed. "Next time, try not to throw it so hard," he mumbled, helpful as ever.

"What..." What are you going to do to me? he wanted to ask, but his lips felt clumsy and his tongue heavy, like an ox stood upon it and rendered him silent as Agamemnon's watchman.

But she wasn't going to poison him; at least there was that consolation. He reckoned that he shouldn't be surprised by it, or excessively reassured. Una Persson was more Penthesilea than Medea. If she wanted him dead it wouldn't be by poison.

No, when Una wanted someone dead, she was impeccably direct about it: a clean shot through the heart. So Belloq's survival was at least assured.

She eased him down and waited, silently now, for the drug to complete its work. Once he was well and truly unconscious, she got to work.

Some short time and a passage through the transporters later, Belloq would awake to find himself sitting propped up against a pack of some kind in a sort of hollow in the earth, like a battlefield foxhole, on the top of a barren hill. All around, the landscape seethed and burned with unnatural colours; in the near distance below armies clashes with a fearful sound of swords, pikes, and armour. And nearby Una sat on a rock, impassively watching the battle and smoking a cigarette.

When awareness first crept upon him again, he first thought he was having a nightmare about Passchendaele. The earth, the stink of fear and war. But then he regained full consciousness and recalled Una and the dart. He glanced around wildly, still shaking sleep from his limbs.

"Where are we? What is this place?"

Not Blackway, he knew that. Not anywhere on Quadratus.

She took a last drag on her cigarette and put it out, carefully secreting the stub somewhere in her pockets. "Ah, you're awake. As to your question —" She shrugged. "It's hard for me to describe to someone used to living in a linear mode. It's a plane far from the Earth you know—or perhaps it predates your entire known universe. Or both. Time is stranger than you know, Rene." She stood up and stretched. A cry went up in the battle below, coming from the throat of a white-faced man in black armour, riding a massive black steed and wielding a black greatsword that seemed to glow hellishly as he laid about him. "Really, the important bit is that you're a very long way from home. And now that I'm satisfied as to your welfare, I'll be on my way."

She pulled up the cuff of her jacket and began making minute adjustments to the device that would send her back to Quadratus.

Edited (effin typos) 2015-02-01 03:24 (UTC)

"Your suggestions are not helpful," Belloq growled. He saw a shadowy lump under his bed and reached for it. As soon as his fingers brushed the edge of cloth, the beret nee-sword darted off, out the other side of the bed and under a desk.

Belloq scrambled to his feet, still unsteady from the soporific in the dart, but desperate. He started and flinched at the crash of battle nearby, his eyes wandering in their sockets as he tried to make sense of the strange and unholy landscape before him.

"You can't leave me here!" He reached for her wrist to grab hold of it.

It wasn't as if she could fail to see him coming; she jerked back and took a step away.

"Can't I?" She shook her head, almost sadly. "Is that what Niko said when you left him? Ah, Rene, you've made the classic mistake of thinking that I'm actually a nice person. Which is fair enough, since it seems I made the same mistake with regard to you."

And with that, she flicked a button on the transporter control and vanished.

Not that she actually meant to leave him. Let him stew for ... oh, it wouldn't even have to be that long to put the fear of God in him, would it? Ten minutes, perhaps?

In the transporter room back on Quadratus, she set her watch and sat back to wait.

"No!" he shouted as Una vanished. And then he was abandoned here, in this place which made no sense, but was very obviously dangerous.

He had to stay alive, that was his first priority. He fell immediately into the old patterns of the Great War. Down here was safer than up there, so down here he'd stay. He took handfuls of dust in his hands and smeared it over his face and his white linen suit so he would blend in better to his surroundings.

But beyond that, he had no weapon, no food, no supplies, not so much as a compass to help him find his way. Logically, he knew there was no way he would be likely to survive this.

It had all gone so wrong.

Meanwhile, Una finished her latest cigarette and stepped back onto the transporter pad.

She'd had time now to feel a little guilty about what she'd just done. There was always the chance that something might go terribly wrong and Belloq would get killed—even if the warriors of that age had plenty on their minds without having to pay attention to him. As well, the more she thought about it, the more this gesture seemed ... a bit childish. It was the metatemporal equivalent of hanging someone off a high ledge by their ankles to frighten them.

Still, it *had* cheered her up a bit. And hopefully underlined to Belloq just how dangerous she actually was, which was much of the point.

She touched the controls and in a glimmer of light, she reappeared at the edge of the hollow. She stared down at Belloq, at what he'd done to himself—and she was soldier enough to understand—and sighed.

"Come on, you fool," she said, extending her hand. "I'm not a nice person, but I'm not as cruel as all that."

Chaos was surging up toward them now, a mass of seething creatures that were not quite men, not quite beasts. As soon as Belloq took her hand, she would activate the transporter recall and return them to Quadratus.

Tuco's thumb was already in the process of drawing back the Colt's hammer when it struck him that maybe Belloq didn't want the beret blasted with a signature five and one. Kissing his teeth, he lowered the pistol again and held up a hand.

"Slow down," he growled back. Belloq didn't exactly have the look of a man who'd grown up chasing his dinner. He had more of a silver platter kind of air about him. "You need to pin it. Block it off or something, huh?"

He's shifting the blame, she decides. Either way, she's not dealing with either of them again.

"I'll be heading back to my place. You'll need someone else to document your digs from now on," she says before turning away from him.

He hesitated to take her hand for a moment, but only for a moment. She was his only hope out of this place and he couldn't afford suspicion. He took her hand in a firm grip and waited for whatever would come next.

"I suspect I will not be digging again for a long time in any event."

She wrapped her hand firmly around his wrist, in a way that made it clear she wasn't going to let him go, and triggered the transporter. Only when they were safely materialised did she release him—and that she did quickly.

She resisted the urge to wipe her hand off on her trousers and folded her arms, watching him. After a moment she took a clean handkerchief out of her pocket and handed it to him.

"I suppose you'd like to know why," she said, after giving him some time to recover.

He took the handkerchief, wiped the dust off his hands, his face. He pulled in a few deep and steadily breaths before responding.

"For you, or for Niko, I imagine. Or perhaps for both deceptions."

"The injury done to Niko, the matter of my own wounded pride—" a little self-conscious, theatrical irony on that phrase, "yes, there's that, but here's the real point."

She sat down on the edge of the transporter platform and, with a nod of her head, indicated that he should do the same.

"They didn't hire me as a Travel Agent just because I was an actress with a pretty face," she said. "Nearly every sentient being passes through time in a linear mode, but I don't. I haven't since I was very young. I have rescued people from temporal zones even more hellish than the one you saw, and I've left men suspended in Limbo on the point of life and death for all eternity." She wasn't bragging; it was just a flat, calm statement of fact. "I could have helped you. I also could have destroyed you. But you've lost your chance at the former, and you just don't rate the latter."

He sat at her urging. He didn't dare not to. He listened, only half understanding, just as he could only half understand what he saw in that place she took him. But he understood enough to comprehend her point.

"I have not trusted in others to help me or save me in a very long time. Perhaps that is to my folly. Although my opinion may be worth little to you now, I do like you. And Niko as well. That was never pretense. You were both far better friends to me than I was capable of being for you. The ending was inevitable, I think, like the ending to Aesop's tale of a farmer and a viper. But I am sorry for it."

She looked away, so that he wouldn't see the emotion that passed over her face—anger, regret, a kind of grief. She felt sorry for him—really, genuinely sorry, though that didn't diminish the awareness that even the most monstrous people had their human sides. And Belloq, plainly, was no exception.

"Go home, Rene," she said wearily. "Go by way of the alley behind, and keep to the shadows. You should be safe that way."

He said nothing. There was nothing left to say. But quietly took his leave, slinking into the shadows alone.

Belloq chose...poorly

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject