Belloq chose...poorly

[archeologue]

Who: Tuco and Belloq, Niko and Belloq, Una and Belloq, and open to others as desired
What: Threads of Belloq's bad choices coming back to haunt him. All threads of comeuppance are welcome here.
When: First thread after this thread with Tuco when Belloq was announcing Niko's "death." All other threads after Niko returns alive and well.
Where: All around Blackway.
Notes & Warnings: Swearing. Probably much swearing. Threats of violence. Others tba.

Comments

[theugly]

"The Orions?"

Tuco swiped at his nose—a nervous tic of sorts. As loath as he'd be to admit it, when push came to shove, Belloq was apparently capable of making a very compelling argument. Tuco—for all that he was sneaky, conniving and occasionally outrageously brutal—was also a realist. This wasn't home. He couldn't just grab a horse and flee, spitting and cursing. Having already experienced "good treatment" at the hands of Wallace, he wasn't overly keen on the idea of catching Jabba's attention, either.

He pressed his lips together in something that wasn't quite a frown, and stared at the sword. He stared hard, head tilting one way and then the other, looking like he had a pair of his very own animated advisors sat whispering into each ear.

Finally, with a snort: "I like to make friends." He flashed his teeth, meeting Belloq's eyes again. "You need a little help, you come to the right man."

[archeologue]

Belloq's glare turns instantly to a charming smile. "Good. The Orions are better to have as friends than enemies."

He ran possessive and avaricious fingers over the sword. It may not technically belong to him, but for now it was in his possession and he was going to enjoy it.

"Now, the smuggler's ship leaves in--"

Belloq was interrupted mid-sentence as the sword twitched, popped, and then Belloq was holding not a diamond sword, but a red beret in his hand. The beret struggled for a few seconds, then went limp, just a bit of red wool draped over his fingers.

Belloq stared at it in horror.

"What?" he rasped. "What is this?"

[theugly]

Tuco was also staring, his face stuck in a rictus grin, eyes wide and owlish. For a moment, he was entirely unable to comprehend what he was seeing. Then, even when he could, his mind still refused to believe it. He wasn't being wilfully stupid, either; he knew he was staring at a Prop. His problem was more that he considered the pests a minor (if not fascinating) nuisance. That they would transform themselves into some priceless relic? He was—

He was laughing. From the sudden twist of his eyebrows, it seemed he'd surprised himself with the harsh, donkey-like bray, and yet that didn't stop him, either. He took a step back, shaking his head, even bringing his hand up to stifle the sound.

"Shit," he managed eventually, pitch wavering like he'd lost control of his vocal cords. "Tell me—" He stopped and forced himself to stare at the ceiling. With a deep, steadying breath, he tried again. "Tell me the real thing is still in the kuh—"

I so rarely get to use this icon...

[archeologue]

Belloq flung the beret to the ground, hard. It squeaked and scampered off under the bed.

"Bordel de merde, nique ta mere...!" A string of swearing spat from his mouth as he ran to the safe to rummage through it. There had only been one sword in there when he'd removed it, but he had the hope of the desperate that somehow an extra sword would be in there now, one that he had somehow overlooked.

"Où is it? Where is it?"

PERFECT

[theugly]

Maybe it was belated empathy, or maybe it was a little fear bubbling up in the face of Belloq's desperation, but Tuco finally stopped laughing. He was stood there, eyes drawn to spot where the beret had disappeared, his shoulders lowering slowly.

For him, it was a case of nothing lost, nothing gained, he supposed. It was maddening, yes, but he hadn't the same claim to the sword as he did with Carson's gold. He hadn't staked his life on it, or spent the best part of six months tracking it all down. In the end, it felt more like that old, overused adage: If it looks too good to be true, then it probably is.

He scrubbed his hand across the bristles on his chin, both awkward and uncharacteristically silent.

[archeologue]

There was no second sword miraculously appearing for him. There was only one treasure which last the Orions saw had been in Belloq's hands and which they expected to be delivered soon. He pulled his hands through his hair.

"If I have nothing to give the Orions when their ship leaves, they will think I stole it from them."

[theugly]

At that, Tuco just looked at him, mouth ticked up on one side. The irony was, had Belloq not stressed the dangers of crossing the Orions, (and name-dropped them in the first place) he probably would have offered to help somehow. He'd have almost certainly insisted he was a very capable bodyguard, and that for the right price, he'd put his life on the line.

Now, it felt a little more like he was watching a ship sink in front of him. He couldn't help surmising that it was better for him to row his figurative raft as far away as possible, lest he be dragged down, too.

And so, with a jerk of his head and shoulders, he proceeded by setting his hat back on. "That's too bad," he said, failing to embellish the words with anything more than flat, token sympathy. "Try telling them: No todo lo que brilla es oro." He gave his hand a flourish. "Who knows? Maybe they more forgiving than you think."

[archeologue]

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."

[theugly]

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.

[archeologue]

"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.

[theugly]

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?"