Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/7399282.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Graphic_Depictions_Of_Violence, Underage
  Category:
      M/M, Multi
  Fandom:
      Rooster_Teeth/Achievement_Hunter/Funhaus_RPF
  Relationship:
      Michael_Jones/Ray_Narvaez_Jr.
  Character:
      Jack_Pattillo, Ryan_Haywood, Michael_Jones, Gavin_Free, Jeremy_Dooley,
      Ray_Narvaez_Jr., Mica_Burton, Lindsay_Tuggey_Jones, Geoff_Ramsey
  Additional Tags:
      Ableism, Abuse, Child_Abuse, Slurs, Implied/Referenced_Rape/Non-con,
      Transphobia, Drugs, Sexual_Harassment, Underage_-_Freeform, Death
  Stats:
      Published: 2016-07-05 Completed: 2016-07-13 Chapters: 9/9 Words: 49591
****** word; definition ******
by MelodramaticMrTails
Summary
     You start with a runaway and if you’re lucky, you survive. Then you
     find more and make yourself a crew. After that? Shit, the world is
     your oyster. A slimy, gross, valueless oyster. Aka: How to start a
     FAKE crew.
Notes
     Each chapter has it's own set of warning tags so please heed them and
     stay safe friends. This fiction will be updating once a day for the
     next eight days
     Jack Warnings; child abuse, transphobia, slurs, violence, sexual
     harassment, harassment, mentions/implications of rape, underage
     [drinking, minor/adult relationship], death
***** Jack *****
The word is; wrong.
The definition is; not correct or true, mistaken, unsuitable or undesirable, in
a bad or abnormal condition; amiss.
Usage; “My dad says that boy's wrong in the head, he thinks he's a girl.”
Jack likes the simple things. She likes listening to old music, she likes
laying in the grass, and she likes the cheapie candies they sell by the bag at
the dollar store. On days she doesn't like going home, she'll sit in the grass
in the park with a CD, some headphones, and a bag of sweets to watch the clouds
go by. It's easy sometimes, too easy even, to forget her troubles in a nice
afternoon. If she could, she'd never leave this place.
Two more years of school, she thinks, but what the hell does that even mean.
Even once she's done with high school, her parents are going to want her to go
to college as if that's going to be any different. After college then what? Get
a job and be miserable just like everyone else. Get married, have a kid, ruin
that kid, restart the cycle. Jack can't say she's interested in any of that.
She'd like a cat maybe, an apartment to call her own and an old record player;
they're neat.
Mostly though, she'd like to be anywhere but here.
“Hey Jack,” the voice is not unfamiliar. Jack tries to ignore him as she always
does but he'll if that ever work. He leans into her sight, blocking her view of
the sky and making himself impossible to ignore. “Eating again I see.”
“Leave me alone,” Jack says sharply, already reaching for her stuff.
“Hey, come on,” he persuades. “Relax. I just, you know, wanted to say I'm
sorry.” Yeah right. This little sadistic fuck wouldn't know sorry if it bit him
in the ass. “I only pick on you because I like you, you know. Maybe you'd want
to go see a movie some time or something?” It's a joke. Jack knows it's a joke
because she can hear his friends laughing in the distance. She's been the butt
of jokes like this before and she's not taking the bait again.
It's funny to them, the ‘girly boy’. It funny to them to cut her hair and tear
her clothes and steal her stuff. It's funny she still has to use the boy's
changing room for gym; funny that she's not a girl to them, not really, but
they still harass her like she's the only woman they'll ever see undressed. Oh
and it's especially funny to push her around, ‘accidentally’ grabbing at her
tits and crotch like they have no idea what they're doing.
Jack thinks it's funny she carries a knife now.
“No,” she snorts back, shoving her stuff back into her purse. “Why would I want
to go on a date with you? You can't even figure out a bar of soap judging by
your smell, let alone a washing machine.” She says it because she knows it
cuts; she knows his family is very poor. They could have been friends, she
thinks at least, she could be friends with anyone. Instead, he's a cruel,
pitiful little boy and she'll swing just as hard as he does. “I'm not that
desperate.”
“Fuck you, Jack,” he bites back angrily, clearly upset that his little prank
backfired. Then he swings at her, as if he's ever needed a reason to do that,
and the blow knocks her down. In a fit, she fights back. She yanks him down
with her and they end up in a vicious struggle. There's blood but she's not
sure whose and then there's yelling. In the end, he has friends and she
doesn't. They only finally leave her alone when some people passing by threaten
to call the police.
“You alright, son?” one of them call but they don't really care enough to even
check on her.
“Fine,” Jack replies irritably, rubbing her face in her hands. It's definitely
her blood now. Her parents are going to be pissed. “Thanks!” She picks herself
up, hurriedly gathering her scattered stuff again, and shoves it into her bag
again so she can get home before anyone else decides to attack her.
As she makes the walk back across town, she fishes one of the boy's wallets out
of her pocket. She didn't get a chance to see who it belonged to exactly but it
doesn’t matter much. Jack rifles through it gladly; some cash, a fake ID, and
oh, a credit card. She supposes she can stop by the library tomorrow after all.
Since they broke her CD player, she'll just have to get herself a brand new
one. Oh how terrible.
- x -
“You threatened another student with a knife, Jack?” her father demands. It was
only a ‘threat’ because he moved out of the way. She would have stabbed him.
Jack looks away, crossing her arms stubbornly. “Answer me, young man! They
called the police! You're suspended!”
“They were going to kill me,” Jack replies stiffly.
“They were not,” her mother snips. “Don’t be dramatic.”
“They were!” Jack bites. “You've seen what they've done to me in the past! I
wasn't going to let them beat me to death.” If no one else was going to stop
them, she'd just have to do it herself. She's pretty sure they won't be
bothering her again.
“Maybe you'd get in less fights if you didn't dress like a walking freak show,”
her father snaps. Jack doesn’t make a reply, turning herself away from him
sourly. They've been over this more times than she can count; she's not a boy
and she's not going to dress like a boy. Maybe if they actually helped her like
the supportive parents they should be she wouldn't have to wear thrift store
women's clothes and learn how to do her make up through trial and error. It's
hard. It's so hard.
“Go to your room,” her mother instructs and points upstairs with the hand she's
not holding her temples with. “I don’t want to see you for the rest of the
night.”
“We're going to the school tomorrow after your mother and I get home and you're
going to apologise, do you understand? And you better not be dressed like a
fucking drag show,” her father instructs harshly. Jack still says nothing. She
heads up to her room without a word and without looking at them, snapping her
door closed behind them. No way in hell she's apologizing to anyone, especially
the boys who have been beating her. She knows what her parents think, it's not
that they don’t believe her, it's that they think it's good for her. If she
gets beat up enough, maybe she'll grow out of this ‘phase’ faster- or at least
be better off dead.
Jack's not apologizing and she's not staying here.
- x -
Neither of her parents say goodbye but she hears them leave. Jack waits a bit
to assure they're gone for good before even daring to leave her bedroom. She
spent a vast majority of the night deciding what she desperately needs to take
with her and what she can leave behind. What she really needs is cash, though,
and with her parents out of the house, she's going to take it. She grabs a
little silk bag, the package to a pair of undies she bought in secret, and
hurriedly begins to scrounge the house. Any loose cash lying around she takes,
including the money her father's been saving for a new grill because that's
what they've always needed another one of those.
When she can't find anymore cash, she grabs little valuables; her mother's
jewelry, her father's watches, and any ‘antiques’ her grandmother left behind.
Jack stuffs them into her suitcase with the rest of her stuff and makes sure
it's sealed tight. She decides last minute to take her mother's make up bag as
well along with the Playstation they had bought her long ago and later
confiscated because ‘if you're a girl then you can't play with boy stuff’.
With her suitcase and backpack full, Jack leaves the house with no intention of
ever coming back. She's sure they'll be glad she's gone but not with their
stuff. If she had anymore time to waste, she'd wreck the house too but getting
away is more important than her spite for them. Last thing's last, a final fuck
you to another pain in her side. She takes her bags and hurries a few houses
down to the familiar pick up truck parked on the curb. After a while, Jack
would think they'd wise up to her pick pocketing hobby but they never did in
the end.
Stolen keys in hand, she tosses her suitcase in the bed and her backpack in the
seat beside her. It's not in the greatest shape, but it'll do for now. Now to
not get caught. The guy she knows is weird, makes her uncomfortable, but she's
bought weed from him for years and more recently, a knife. Hopefully he was
telling the truth when he said he could help her get away. Jack is sure to take
it easy, not wanting to get pulled over on the way over, but she's already
anxious to get out of town. She's never stolen anything this big before. Hell,
she's never stolen anything this valuable before.
“Whoa kid, you actually did it?” he asks in amusement. “Figured you'd chicken
out.”
“Can you make it so I can drive this thing out of here or not?” Jack asks
irritably as she climbs out.
“Oh sure, sure. We'll paint it up for you, get some fake plates and
everything,” he promises. She nearly sighs in relief. “That stuff’s not cheap,
you know.” No, it could never be. Jack shoves the pouch of valuables and loose
cash at him and he peers into it curiously. It's not a lot and she knows it but
it's all she has.
“If you need more than that, I'll have to pay you back later,” Jack assures but
she thinks they both know she'll never do that. She's never coming back to this
shit fucking town ever again.
“Keep it, sweetheart,” he says, handing it back to her. Jack needs this. He
can’t do this to her now. “I like ya, Jack. I think we can come to an
agreement.”
“An agreement?” she scoffs back. The agreement is about to be he fixes her car
and she doesn't shank him.
“Yeah,” he grins. He's taking advantage of her and Jack knows it. She knew she
didn't like him for a reason. “You'll need that cash for starting over, you
know. Hey, we'll even both get something out of this. A girl your age out on
your own? You're gonna need some skills to make money.”
“Sex,” Jack says flatly. “You want sex.”
“I'm cutting you a huge deal here, Jack,” he urges. It's not like he can’t
afford to do her a favor out of the goodness of his own heart. She guesses
people really don't have that anymore. “If you don't want the police after you,
you're gonna need to do something about that stolen car.” She'll gut him.
“I have a penis,” she assures him shortly. She's also fucking underaged,
fucking pervert.
“I'm alright with that,” he confirms with a grin.
“Fine,” Jack says between her teeth. “Whatever. As long as you fix the truck
first.”
“Deal. You won't be going anywhere without a spark plug anyways,” he assures.
Jack glowers at him.
- x -
She won't be going anywhere without his cellphone, either. As soon as Jack is
out of the city limits, she dials 911. He'll regret ever messing with her.
“Y-yes, I'd like to report some suspicious activity,” she sniffles, putting on
her best fear voice. “The auto shop on third street- it's a chop shop and- and
I'm pretty sure there's drugs in there. Lots of them. Oh god I'm so scared. My
daughter just went in and she hasn't been back out yet. What if that creep has
done something to her?” As soon as the operator assures someone will be over to
check it out, Jack thanks them and tosses the phone out the window. What a
shame that fire started in the basement. Sometimes all it takes is a little
spark. The police will have to search the place and they sure as hell will be
finding a lot.
Jack reaches over to her bag, gladly pulling it open and ruffling her road
snacks out. Some money falls out with the bag of sunflower seeds, both ‘gifts’
from her dear old weed dealing friend. Like he said, a girl's got to have
skills out there and Jack's skills are sticky fingers. She pops a few sunflower
seeds in her mouth, hopeful that they'll get rid of the gross taste, and flicks
on the radio. Only four hours to Los Santos. If there's any place that she can
start over, it'll be there. No one will look for her there, no one will know
here there, and as she hears it, people know how to mind their own business
there.
- x -
Jack rents the cheapest hotel room she can find; ten dollars a night. It has a
single bed, a cramped bathroom, a microwave and nothing else. The door doesn’t
even close all the way and the only lock is a chain that can easily be unlocked
from the outside. Jack takes her suitcase and her backpack with her everywhere
to prevent it from getting stolen from her room and at night, she wedges the
handle of her suitcase under the door to prevent it from being opened. She
sleeps with her knife always at hand; hell, she walks with her knife always at
hand.
Los Santos is a dangerous, dirty city but she’s in love with it. She needs cash
and it’s easy to get. All the valuables she took from her home, the jewelry,
the watches, the silver, she takes to the closet pawn shop. The guy flirts with
her, tells her pretty things, and then lowballs her. She haggles with him and
out of the ‘goodness’ of his heart, he gives her a better deal. Jack accepts
it. She takes all the shit she stole while he was trying to rip her off to the
next pawn shop and repeats the process.
She makes a lot of money very fast but she knows better than to try it more
than once at any pawn shop. She might need them in the future and it’s better
to stop before they catch her. As long as she has enough money to keep some
kind of roof over her head, she’ll be fine. She skims enough money off them to
pay for her hotel room for a few months at least and lightens the load of
having to carry around all the old junk from her old life.
Now she needs a skill. Jack finds it’s easy to put the skills she has to work.
Casinos throw away a lot of things and while she has to fight off some other
homeless people for it, she manages to grabs a handful of chips and a pack of
cards. There’s a hole punched through the middle of the entire pack, a sign
that they can’t be used in the casino again, but they work for what she needs
them for. She finds herself a nice street corner and sets up an enticing game
of three card monte.
It’s not the game she makes money on, though. She doesn’t cheat, lets people
win their money back far too often, and picks their pockets while they’re too
interested in picking the right card. Jack has quick fingers and people are
much too amused by the way she works a deck of cards. Usually it’s only a
dollar or two, money it doesn’t hurt to give back to the winners, but
occasionally some big ol’ asshole will come along and try to scam her out of
her well earned cash.
A man smacks down a fifty one day and grins at her too sharp. Jack assures him,
politely, she doesn’t have that much and he should go somewhere else. Of
course, he doesn’t take this for an answer. That’s fine, he says, if I win you
can pay me with that pretty body of yours instead. Jack agrees but only if she
gets his wedding ring if she wins. He agrees. He’s so flustered by how fast she
moves the cards, he gets angry before he even loses. You cheated, he shouts,
it’s in your sleeve.
Jack just backs away from the table and tells him to check the cards for
himself then. Realising she didn’t cheat, didn’t have to, just makes him
angrier. They fight. He drags her to the alley by her hair and she shouts at
him to stop. He grabs her chest and tells her the awful things she ‘deserves’.
Jack shanks him hard and repeatedly. She hopes he’s dead but she doesn’t think
about it too much. She decides to call it a day, packs up her things, and
returns to her hotel room with a shiny new ring and nice leather wallet.
For a while she’s worried the police will come but they never do; they don’t
care. Another dead body in Los Santos is nothing new. For the first time she
realises she could die in this city and no one would even know. She loves Los
Santo a little more and a little less.
Jack finds a new street corner to practice her card trick on.
- x -
“Hey chicky,” a gentleman says to her as he approaches her little set up with
his friend. The two of them clear out all her customers with a few harsh
movements and aggressive lurches, scaring the well ‘paying’ customers off. Jack
shuffles her deck of cards calmly. Several people have already tried to hustle
her out of her spot and it’s not going to happen; this is a good street corner
and she’s willing to fight for it.
“Good afternoon,” she replies with a friendly smile. “How can I help you, sir?”
“You’re younger than I thought,” he murmurs before nodding his head at her
table. “You know whose territory you’re in?”
“Fraid not,” Jack says, watching the two of them carefully. There’s a lot of
gang activity around here and a lot of things happen quickly and without
reason. Different crews fight for the city in large, loud struggles, and
different crews claim different part of the cities at different times. Jack has
found it’s easier not to pay too much attention to them; they’re usually too
busy fighting among themselves than bothering with little people like her.
“Look, we ain’t want any trouble, alright?” he promises. His friend smiles at
her fondly and Jack smiles back. “We just need a cut of your profit, got it?
Some protection money, eh.”
“Protection money?” Jack murmurs back. “Are you gonna protect me?”
“Sure, sweetie,” he says as he pushes the sides of his jacket aside to show off
the less than friendly gun at his side. “You give us fifty percent and you’ll
never have to worry about us again.” Jack averts her eyes back down to her deck
of cards. Fifty percent? Absolutely not. She’s barely making it by as she is.
“I have a better idea,” she hums.
“Do you?” he sneers, already becoming impatient with her lack of cooperation.
His buddy doesn’t seem to mind, though, obviously having taken an interest in
her at first sight. Ever since she started buying clothes that actually fit
right and started being able to do her hair and makeup the way she wanted,
people have taken to her far more kindly. Both a bad and a good thing.
“I do,” Jack smiles at him. “This is a busy place, you know. Lots of people,
lots of things, lots of talk. I don’t make much money here, surely you should
know that. You want, what, twenty dollars? Ten?”
“Seventy percent will do,” he assures her sharply. Jack laughs.
“How about zero?” she offers instead, simply continuing to smile as he sneers
angrily. “And instead, you make me a part of your crew.” His sneer disappears.
The two of them look at each other questioningly for a moment before looking
her over again.
“You?” he repeats.
“Sure,” Jack grins. “I need someone to actually watch my back and you could use
a pretty face.”
“Who says you’re pretty?” he snips.
“Me?” she replies. “Just now?”
“I think you’re pretty,” his friend murmurs and receives a quick smack in the
chest. “Hey!”
“If I’m part of your crew, I’ll be far more useful to you than you taking a few
bucks from me here and there,” Jack assures. “Maybe you see what I see, maybe
you hear what I hear.”
“You’re awfully bold, aren’t you?” he says and by his grin, he’s had a change
of attitude. “You really think you’re crew material, girl?”
“I guess we’ll see,” Jack smiles back.
“Alright,” he agrees. “We’ll be back to ‘check’ on you later, then. Maybe do
yourself a favor and get loss before then.”
“I think that would make your friend sad,” Jack assures, sharing another
flirtatious smile with him. She has no interest in him, no interest in knowing
him, but a connection is a connection and she needs as many as she can get. If
that means flirting with some gross guys twice her age for a free meal then so
be it. A benevolent gross man is better than a malicious one; the lesser of two
evils.
“Let’s go, dipshit,” the guy scoffs at his friend.
“See you around,” Jack hums after them.
- x -
Jack moves in with her new boyfriend. He’s twenty nine, she’s seventeen. He
doesn’t mind; he doesn’t mind she’s that young and he doesn’t mind she’s a
‘tranny’. Jack’s skin crawls every time he touches her. He respects her,
though, to the extent that respect is possible in a relationship like this, and
when Jack says no he listens. He buys her things, many many things, and that
eases some of Jack’s discomfort. She hates herself, just a little bit, for it
but she’d rather be in a luxury apartment and thousand dollar dresses with a
rich perv than in a ten dollar hotel room with perv neighbors looking for a
free show.
The crew welcomes her openly once she proves how good she is. She steals, she
deals, she spies; the whole package. With some work, she fights, too. She’s
always been a fighter, a scrapper, she’s always had to be, but the crew helps
her learn form. Jack’s surprised how easy it is to take down a man twice her
size with a few easy moves- especially when they’re expecting her to have a
lower centre of gravity.
There aren’t a lot of other women in the crew, mostly just wives and
girlfriends of members who would rather not be around. Jack would love not to
be around but she doesn’t have that luxury. She learns to assert dominance and
she learns ‘bitch’ isn’t a bad word. Bitch means they leave her alone even if
it takes a few broken hands first. If she can’t deal with it herself, her
boyfriend does it for her.
Jack comes to love the casino. The crew gives her a fake ID to buy booze and
gamble away the nights. She doubles her money then triples that. The casino
doesn’t appreciate it but her boss does. Jack leaves her twenty nine year old
boyfriend for her forty year old boss. Her ex screams at her; calls her a whore
and a tramp and a tranny. He new boyfriend shoots him dead. If she’d rather be
in a luxury apartment, she sure as hell would rather be in a penthouse, too.
Her new boyfriend cares a little bit that she’s only seventeen but not nearly
enough for it to bother him. He simply tells her not to mention it so he
doesn’t feel ‘guilty’ about it. He doesn’t call her a tranny, either, something
Jack can’t be glad enough for. In fact, he’s rather helpful about it. He buys
her hormones and implants and all the clothes and makeup she could ever want.
He does get a little upset when she refuses bottom surgery but- it scares her.
They don’t talk about it; he doesn’t like her scorn.
Despite her less than ideal situation, Jack is proud of herself. Barely a year
ago she was living in a house with two parents who would have let her get
beaten to death and now she lives with her somewhat loving boyfriend in a
beautiful penthouse. She loves Los Santos and Los Santos loves her.
This is her home now.
- x -
“You’re home awfully late,” her boyfriends say as he grins at her from over the
back of the couch. Jack smiles back at him.
“Sorry,” she murmurs. “Had to deal with some guys down at the pier.”
“Someone giving you trouble?” he asks but he goes back to reading his newspaper
all the same.
“Nah. Other way around,” Jack promises. She tosses her bat on the counter and
he gruffs out a shallow laugh.
“That a girl,” he says. A million dollars is a lot of money. Jack browses
through the kitchen for a moment, rifling through the fridge to find a bottle
of the good beer. She kicks her shoes off at the bottom of the stairs before
heading into the livingroom. Her boyfriend is too invested in his newspaper to
pay her much attention at the moment but she simply goes about pouring him a
glass of bourbon from the liquor cabinet.
“My birthday’s coming up,” Jack murmurs nonchalantly. What’s better than a
million dollars? A business that makes a million dollars by the hour.
“That’s right,” her boyfriend replies. “I should get you something nice.”
“You don’t have to get me anything,” Jack promises with a chuckle. “You already
do so much for me.” She pads up alongside him, handing him the little glass and
he smiles up at her as he takes it.
“That’s true,” he agrees. “Maybe we can take a romantic trip instead.” Jack
just laughs a little, taking her beer and sitting alongside him on the couch.
He drinks a bit from his glass before resting it on the side table and Jack
reaches to start up her Xbox. Her boyfriend tenses up suddenly, putting his
newspaper down to clutch his chest.
What’s better than a business that makes a million dollars by the hour? Getting
rid of a creep boyfriend who owns said business and making an extra million on
the hit put out on him.
“You know, I don’t think I ever thanked you for taking me in like you did,”
Jack says softly. “You helped me get to where I am today.” She is feared and
respected by his entire crew partially because she’s his girlfriend and
partially because she has him wrapped around her finger. What’s scarier; the
mob boss or the one that makes him dance? If people weren’t sure before,
they’ll be sure now.
“Jack,” he rasps out painfully, gritting his teeth through the pain. Jack leans
her head on his shoulder.
“Please die quicker,” she says. “I need your body for another stepping stone.”
“Jack,” he says a little more viciously. He tries to grab for her but it’s far
too late by then. With a final curse on his breath, he goes limp. That was much
easier than she thought it would be. She assumed he’d know something was wrong
and they would have a struggle or something but this was much easier. It feels
so good to finally be free of him. This crew is going to be going under a lot
of changes in the next few weeks but for the time being, Jack drags his body
over to the one window in her apartment that opens. She unscrews the clasps
holding it shut and pushes it open just enough to kick his body out.
Before she even hears it hit the ground, she has the window closed up again and
the apartment all to herself. She tosses his glass in the trash and then his
newspaper and the excessive, ugly crap he keeps on display as well. That’s a
start at least. She’s going to have a lot more cleaning to do if she wants his
shit out of her apartment in a timely manner. Jack pulls her phone out as she
grabs another trash bag to start ridding herself of his junk.
“This is- Pattillo,” she says. She doesn’t mind taking his name; he doesn’t
need it anymore. “I kept my end of the deal like I said I would. You can come
get him off my sidewalk if you want. I look forward to working with you in the
future.”
No one is ever going to take advantage of her again. No one’s ever going to put
their hands on her without her permission again. She’s never gonna grit her
teeth and bare it again. Most importantly, though, no one’s ever going to make
her feel any less than she is ever again.
Not if they’re smart.
The word is; Jack Pattillo.
The definition is; someone who is not to be wronged; dangerous.
Usage; “You better have Jack Pattillo’s fucking money.”
***** Ryan *****
Chapter Notes
     Ryan Warnings; ableism (including crooked psychiatrist, abuse, and
     mentions of psychiatric hospitals), slurs, violence, harassment, drug
     abuse/addiction, death, sexual content
The word is; psycho.
The definition is; a person who is mentally ill and often dangerous or violent,
a deranged or psychopathic person.
Usage; “Stay away from that boy, he’s a fucking psycho.”
Ryan is a guy who likes to keep to himself for more reasons that one.
Fortunately, this has become even easier lately. He really doesn’t bother
anyone and he wishes he could say the same for other people not bother him but
he very much can’t. All he wants to do it make it through the school day just
like everyone else so he can go home and, hopefully, return to his computer
games. Ever since his parents took him to that psychiatrist they’ve been
limiting a lot of what he does. Honestly, it’s starting to get to Ryan a
little.
Schizophrenia. Ryan’s heard of it before but he can’t say it ever was an
interest to him. They say it can be hard to pin down sometimes and there’s room
for error, of course, but the likelihood that he has it is pretty big. So he
has to take medication now to ‘help’, though Ryan can’t say what they ‘help’
with. He’s never felt like he needed help but they never asked him, either. If
anything, he thinks the meds make him feel worse. He’s just exhausted all the
time now, and agitated for no reason. They say it’ll go away.
“Tsk,” a voice calls to him but Ryan ignores it. “Tsk. Haywood.” When he
doesn’t respond, the boy throws a ball of paper at him. Ryan sighs irritably to
himself but he bites his tongue. Of course, his parents told his teachers and
his teachers told all the other students. He supposes their intention was to
try to help him in some way but all it’s really done is make everyone avoid
him. Actually no, because being avoided would be better than this.
“Come on, Haywood,” another voice says. “If you’re such a pyscho, do something
psycho.” What does that even mean? Ryan raises his book to try to hide his head
in but it doesn’t do him all that much good, honestly.
“Ryan?” the teacher calls worriedly and Ryan tiredly raises his head again.
“Are you alright?” This, obviously, causes the entire class to turn to look at
him as well. Can’t he just learn in peace?
“What?” Ryan replies. “I’m fine.” He would be more fine if everyone would just
leave him alone. He’s so tired. She nods sympathetically before turning back to
the board to continue the lesson. The two boys teasing him snicker. Ryan’s
always had a bit of a thick skin, he’s learned to, but he’s also never gotten
this much attention before let alone this much negative attention. When the
bell rings he lets out a relieved sigh and gladly stuffs all his things back
into his bag.
One more class and he can go home. His mother keeps wanting him to ‘get some
fresh air and exercise’, but even that’s better than being surrounded by a
bunch of students hell bent on harassing him. Weirdly enough, he’d rather be
forced to do yoga with his mother than have kids throwing things at him and
calling him a ‘psycho’.
As he exits the classroom and starts for his locker, another student grabs his
backpack. Ryan takes a hold of it firmly, not allowing the other boy to take it
from him. They struggle for it for a moment before the other boy lets go and
Ryan’s momentum makes him stumble backwards to the ground. The students around
him move out of the way to assure they’re at a safe distance as if he’s going
to lash out or something. He’s never lashed out before, he’s never even raised
his voice at school before. He might as well have been a wallflower up until
this month.
“What’s wrong, Haywood?” the boy teases him. “Voices bothering you?” They want
‘crazy’, he’ll show them crazy.
“The only thing bothering me is your voice!” Ryan snaps at him. “I’m gonna rip
your throat out and show it to you!” The outburst causes the entire hallway to
go hushed and the boy bothering him reels back like he really has been cut.
Ryan stares him down coldly and he flinches away. Is that what’s going to get
them to leave him alone? “What’s wrong? Isn’t that what you wanted‽ Don’t you
want to hear how I’m going to use your skull to play fetch with your dog‽”
“Ryan!” a teacher yelps, hurriedly making her way between the crowd and urging
him back to his feet. “Ryan, come here.” She pulls his arm hard, guiding him
through the hall as the other students stare like he’s grown a second head.
He’s just doing what they all expected him to do- what they all wanted him to
do. If they’re scared, good.
- x -
He hates this office. Ryan tries to sit still but it’s hard when he’s so
uncomfortable here. More than the room, though, his psychiatrist makes him
uncomfortable. She’s an older lady, perhaps a little older than his mother, and
she seems to love taking his habit of not always being able to talk very well
to put words in his mouth especially when his parents are around.
“You snapped at another student I heard,” she says. Ryan shifts a bit, rubbing
his fingers to ease himself a little. “Ryan,” she says sternly. “Pay attention
to me, please. What happened at school?” He is paying attention regardless of
how much he really would not be here. She won’t be happy until he stops
‘fiddling’ so he balls his hands up to place tensely in his lap in hopes that
she’ll find this suitable and leave him be.
“They wouldn’t leave me alone,” Ryan replies. He won’t refuse it, he did snap,
but only because they kept bothering him. “They keep calling me- names and the
teachers aren’t doing anything about it. What do you want me to do?”
“They’re not calling you names, Ryan,” she promises gently. “That’s just your
delusions and paranoia. You have to let go of these things if you ever want to
get better, do you understand?” It’s not a delusion. At least, he’s fairly
certain it’s not. The way she says it makes him rethink himself. She keeps
trying to convince him he hallucinates, too, and he knows he doesn’t do that.
Well, he does actually but not the way she says; he knows when it happens and
he knows they’re not real. She treats him like he has no control over his
actions and never has any idea what he’s doing.
“The medication you’re making me take isn’t working, then,” Ryan points out
scathingly. “It’s just- I just-”
“It’s working,” she assures. “You just have to give it time.”
“It’s not,” Ryan snaps back. She’s not listening to him. “It just- fuck. It
just-” He knows what he wants to say and he knows he knows it but he can’t
think of it and it frustrates him beyond belief. This isn’t anything new but
before at least he knew how to handle it better.
“Ryan, you need to relax,” she says firmly as if he’s about to jump out of his
chair and attack her. He’s not angry, just uncomfortable and frustrated, and
even if he was angry, why is everyone acting like he’s going to hurt someone?
He’s never hurt anyone intentionally; animal or person or even himself.
“Stop treating me like I’m dangerous,” Ryan demands. “I’m not scary. I just- I
don’t want to take those meds anymore. I don’t like them.”
“You have to take them, Ryan,” she insists. “If you stop taking them you’re
just going to be a danger to yourself and others.”
“No I’m not!” he barks. “It’s your stupid meds that are making me- making me-
angry. I was fine before!”
“Calm down, Ryan,” she says even harsher than before. “Your parents brought you
here because they were worried about you. We’re going to fix you, alright?” The
problem is, he wasn’t fucking broken. He doesn’t even know what he did to make
his parents bring him here in the first place; he’s never done anything but
mind his own business. Ryan puts his head in his hands, trying not to let
himself get any more stressed out. His psychiatrist sighs deeply and takes to
scribbling down more notes.
“It’s obvious this isn’t working for you,” she murmurs. “I’m going to recommend
a good insane asylum for your parents to check you into.” Ryan lifts his head.
She can’t be serious. This is ridiculous. “This is for your own good, Ryan.”
- x -
He’s not going to the institute. Psychiatric hospital, that’s what I told you
Ryan, she said, I would never use the term ‘insane asylum’. She’s a liar. She’s
doing this on purpose and Ryan doesn’t know for the life of him what he ever
did to her to make her hate him so much but he’s not going to stand for it. It
seems silly to him, ridiculous even, that he has to run away from his problems
but what else is he supposed to do? His parents want to put him in a
psychiatric hospital for the rest of his life. He’s seen the place and it’s
nothing but a glorified prison with more doctors and nurses just like his
psychiatrist.
He’s not going.
Ryan kisses his mother goodnight and she says she’s glad he’s okay with this
and that he understands that they’re doing this for his own benefit. He ignores
his father. He thinks he can come to forgive them but he thinks he’ll hate them
for the rest of his life anyways. All they had to do was listen to him; to
believe him over some strange doctor they’re feeding hundreds of dollars into.
They didn’t, though, and now he’s being forced to run away from the only home
he’s ever known.
He lays in bed awake until he hears the distant snoring of his parents and then
he’s to action. His bag’s already packed, a preparation for them to take him
away tomorrow morning, making it exceptionally easy to have no time for second
thoughts. There’s nothing to think twice about; if he wants his freedom he
can’t stay here. Ryan takes his suitcase and his duffle bag, filled with things
they most certainly wouldn’t have allowed him to have at the hospital, and he
hops out his window.
It’s a quiet walk to the end of the block, Ryan desperately not wanting to draw
any attention to himself, and an even quieter ride in the taxi to the bus
station. He doesn’t know what’s going to happen now. He’s not sure if his
parents are going to look for him, he’s not sure if the police are going to
look for him, he’s not sure his lovely psychiatrist isn’t going to make him out
to be some monster on the loose hell bent on hurting someone.
There is one thing he knows for sure, though; he’ll be safe in Los Santos.
- x -
“Hey, kid,” the convenience store owner calls to him as Ryan is trying to
decide which dollar food is better worth it. He’s been sleeping out in the
streets and eating literal junk food for nearly a week now, not having enough
money to rent a place and even if he did, he wouldn’t have enough left over for
food anyways. The weather is mild at least, making it at least semi-comfortable
sleeping on his suitcase. Some of the other homeless people are nice, some of
them try to stab him, Ryan’s still getting used to things.
“Kid,” the guy calls again and Ryan blearily looks up, turning to the man
curiously. Hopefully he doesn’t think he’s stealing or something. Ryan has
learned that a lot of places around here have guns and that they’re totally
alright with shooting thieves. He never actually thought about stealing but now
he knows for sure he never will.
“Yes?” Ryan replies politely, already ready to bolt if necessary.
“You’re that computer kid, right?” he asks. Ryan nods. He’s been trying to
rustle up some money by doing any sort of work he can get his hands on but
really, his only skill is working with computers and while he is fairly smart,
no one really has the patience to hire a new guy to train. The owner gestures
Ryan towards the counter. “I’ll give you twenty bucks to look at my computer,
eh.”
“Alright,” Ryan agrees because twenty bucks buys him food for the next week and
he can’t really say no anyways. He follows the guy into the backroom and is
immediately met with the sight of a computer at least a decade old. Ryan didn’t
know they still made these things. He sits himself down and the guy hovers over
him. It’s immediately clear what’s wrong with it; it’s infected with several
vicious viruses likely gotten by bad porn sites if the constant pop ups are any
indications.
“So?” the guy asks.
“Uh,” Ryan murmurs, rubbing one of his eyes. “You should probably get a pretty
strong antivirus program if you’re going to be browsing malicious porn sites.”
“Anti-who a what?” comes the puzzled reply. Ah, right, of course. “Can you fix
it or not?”
“Yeah,” Ryan sighs but he nods. “I, uh, I’m going to need more than twenty
dollars for this.”
“I’ll give ya fifty, kid,” the guy assures. “And some food on the house.” God,
food sounds amazing. Ryan’s stomach growls and he’s just too hungry to say no.
“I’ll take that as a yes.” While it’s not that difficult to clean up the old
thing, especially with such a lack of any kind of personal information on it,
Ryan works diligently. The owner supplies him with some real food, if
convenience store burritos and diet coke slush counts as real food. It’s a nice
treat none the less.
When he finishes, the guy is very pleased with the work Ryan’s done. He is
happy to be able to browse his computer again and all the incredibly disturbing
porn he can get his hands on. Fortunately, he also pays which Ryan wasn’t
entirely sure if he would. Needless to say, Ryan thinks he’ll have work here
again.
- x -
The guy does give him work again but not for himself. The owner of the little
convenience store explains that he has a buddy that could use a trustworthy guy
to help him with some stuff and Ryan agrees because he needs to take all the
work he can get. He’s given a card with an address on it and told to head over
after six and tell them he was sent.
Ryan heads over a little before six, it’s not like he has anywhere else to be,
and at six he makes for the door. Initially, the bouncer won’t let him in,
asking for an ID Ryan doesn’t have. He explains that he was sent to help with a
computer problem and the bouncer laughs and lets him in. Immediately Ryan
realises this is a strip club and he does everything in his ability not to
stare at anyone or anything for too long. The lady that leads him into the back
suggestively offers him a dance but she loses her sultry tone when he assures
her he has no money.
Fortunately there aren’t any naked ladies in the back. The DJ-slash-owner
explains the problem he’s been having with his computer and Ryan goes to work
on trying to fix it. When he takes too long, the owner gets bored of waiting
for him and wanders off to deal with other business. Ryan prefers this if he’s
honest, allowing him to work in peace. For a little while at least. It’s barely
five minutes before one of the dancers wanders in.
She’s already topless and Ryan adamantly focuses on his work while he tells her
he doesn’t have any money. She laughs and offers him some tips on what he’s
doing. It’s awfully helpful but then again, Ryan’s never been formally trained
in computers before, either. She says her name is Daisy, though Ryan isn’t sure
if that’s supposed to be her real name, and she would have fixed the computer
herself if her boss wasn’t a raging sexist. Ryan stammers out an apology.
Daisy asks if he’s one of those homos and what’s wrong with her breasts. Ryan
assures her he just doesn’t think it’s very polite to stare especially when he
doesn’t have any money to spare for doing so. She laughs something about there
not being as many respectful men in this city anymore and asks how old he is.
He lies. She offers him a job and before he can babble out a polite refusal,
she assures it’s a computer job, he doesn’t have to worry.
Ryan accepts because he can’t keep living like this and a steady job will at
least assure he has food. She gives him her business card, a suspicious looking
thing, and tells him to meet up with her in the morning. He does.
Much like her card, the building looks suspicious; no signs, the windows are
all boarded up, and abandon looking. Somewhat worriedly he knocks and she
answers. Daisy smiles at him and Ryan is glad she has a shirt on. She’s
surprised he came, he would have been smart not to in Los Santos, but glad all
the same.
She’s only a dancer at night, something she does for fun and for men’s money,
and during the day she makes a good chunk of money making bombs and hacking
bank accounts. As long as you have a bomb, there’s someone in Los Santos
willing to pay for it she says. She asks if he’s ever worked with bombs before
and he says no and she asks if he wants to learn, it’s perfectly safe as she’s
only lost two fingers in the last twenty years, and he says yes.
After she shows him her hacking rig, a massive computer that chugs away twenty
four seven with parts Ryan can’t even imagine ever being able to afford, they
talk a little. She finds out he’s sleeping on the street and offers to let him
live with her. He can sleep on the couch if he wants but it’s uncomfortable so
he’d be better off just sleeping in her bed- with her. Daisy then assures him
nothing will happen, she’s gay and even if she wasn’t, he’s not her type. Not
sleeping on the street sounds too good to pass up.
Ryan never really assumed he was going to be taken under the wing of a hacking,
bomb making stripper but here he is.
- x -
It’s fortunately rather easy to ignore the sounds coming for Daisy’s rooms as
long as he has his earbuds in. The walls are thin and her and her lover are
loud and active. It doesn’t bother Ryan any, he’s become so used to this
lifestyle he doesn’t even think twice of it anymore. Daisy often wanders around
without clothes, or at the very least without a shirt, and frequently brings
people home both for fun and to make a quick extra buck. She is very gay but
she assures she also really likes sex and it doesn’t matter much to her when
she gets an itching. Fortunately she also stops propositioning him when he
admits he’s not even eighteen yet. She just laughs and promises him a raincheck
if he wants one. Ryan will confess to thinking about it.
He does peer over his shoulder when the bedroom door opens and Daisy’s
temporarily lover wanders out. She smiles at him and Ryan offers a somewhat
awkward smile in return. Obviously she doesn’t have much of a problem being
naked, either. He turns back to his computer to continue his scrounging for
bank numbers as she rifles through their fridge. After a moment for two, she
comes to sit on the couch in the living room with him. She holds her beer
bottle to him and Ryan puts his stress ball down to open it for her and hands
it back.
“Thanks doll,” she murmurs.
“Yeah,” Ryan replies.
“What cha doin’ out here?” she asks. Ryan glances at her curiously. Due to his
age, people often assume he’s Daisy’s son. Neither he or Daisy take much effort
to correct this thought mainly because they’re just going to be gone the next
day anyways.
“Working,” he assures her.
“Ah,” she mouths. “You want some help with that?” If Ryan remembers correctly,
this is a dancer Daisy works with from time to time. Of course that doesn’t
mean she wouldn’t be perfectly capable of helping him but he’s not sure why she
would want to. Obviously that’s not what she meant. She holds out a little bag
for him to see and Ryan is immediately unsure as to where she was keeping that.
“What- is that?” he questions.
“Just a bit of coke,” she assures and she moves off the couch to sit on the
floor with him in front of the coffee table. Ryan watches as she goes about her
business cutting lines on the glass top. She snorts a line and proceeds to rub
her nose a bit and smile at him. He’s not a fool, he knows the risks and
troubles that come with hard drugs. After practically being force fed
medication by his own parents, however, there’s something alluring to having
his own say in things.
“Sure,” Ryan murmurs. She moves away a bit to give him some room and he mimics
her motion of inhaling a line of the white dust. It scratches the back of his
nose and burns his throat something awful causing him to hack up an inelegant
cough.
“Yeah,” she laughs. “That’ll happen.” Ryan rubs his nose on the back of his
hand while she sniffs up the rest of it and twitches her nose pleasantly.
“Cheers, kid.” She raises her bottle to him and then she’s off to rejoin Daisy
in the bedroom. Ryan returns to his own work. He doesn’t feel much different,
if at all, but he supposes he should give it time.
- x -
Ryan loves cocaine. It makes him feel like he can actually get something done;
he thinks better, he has more energy, people are bearable. The downside is, he
feels terrible once it wears off but he’s felt terrible his entire life, he can
deal with that. Is this what his meds were supposed to do? Ryan knows, he
really does, that it’s bad for him and how addictive it can be so he uses it
sparing; only when he really needs it and only a certain amount each day even
then. No matter how much he would love to do nothing more than be high all the
time, he withholds. It’s hard, harder than he thought it would be, but he does
it.
Daisy is disappointed in him when she finds out which doesn’t take very long,
Ryan doesn’t hide it from her. She insists that’s the last thing he needs to be
spending his hard earned cash on. When he tells her why he’s in Los Santos,
about how he nearly got put away for his ‘oddities’ by his own parents, she
lightens up a little. Just take it easy, she says. She doesn’t want to see him
face down over this. Ryan appreciates her looking out for him; it helps his
self control knowing she doesn’t want anything bad happening to him.
He blacks out for the first time after buying a bad batch from a shitty dealer.
He wakes up somewhere in the Los Santos hills hugging a dead deer with no idea
how he got there or even where ‘there’ is. It’s a blurry ride home and when
Daisy finds out, she rips the dealer a new one- as in a new throat hole. With
her knife. Several times. Ryan’s a little startled but she simply instructs him
to help her get the body in the nearest dumpster and they go home.
No one comes looking for them, the police don’t seem to care, and Daisy doesn’t
have a hard time sleeping over it. Ryan decides not to, either.
- x -
The crash doesn’t initially make Ryan panic but Daisy’s yelp does. He jumps to
his feet in a hurry and grabs a knife off the kitchen counter before he knows
what he’s going to do with it.
“Get off a me! Help-!” her cry is cut short and Ryan kicks her door in without
thinking twice about it. The bulky guy she had brought home is well on top of
her with his hands tight around her throat. Daisy is not a big woman and though
she squirms and kicks, he’s simply too big for her to get him off. Ryan doesn’t
even hesitate. He drives his knife firmly into the back of the guy’s neck and
when he tries to whip around to attack him instead, Ryan hurriedly stabs him
again in the face.
There’s a moment of silence where neither of them are sure he’s actually dead
before Daisy is shoving the body off of herself and urgently getting out of her
bed. Ryan looks at his bloody hands. That’s a first. He can’t even say he feels
bad about it; he had to protect Daisy. A small ‘thump’ brings him back to and
he glances at her as she throws her bag onto the bed and starts shoving stuff
into it.
“Ryan,” she says and she stops what she’s doing long enough to hold her head in
her hands. She’s spotted with blood and her neck is already turning a gnarly
shade of purple. Ryan is certain she’s close to crying. “I’m sorry Ryan, I
can’t- I can’t-”
“Are you alright?” Ryan asks softly, not quite sure what he should do for her.
“I’m fine,” she promises as she goes back to hastily packing. “I just can’t
stay here anymore, Ryan. I can’t. That’s the third fucking time this month. I
got to get out of this town.” Third? He didn’t even know about the first two.
“You’re leaving?” he murmurs. Daisy stops again to look at him sadly.
“I’m sorry,” she says gently. “I’m sorry, Ryan. I’m almost fifty, baby. I still
have a hot bod and I’m not about to die with a hot bod, okay? I- I gotta get
out of this town. Find a nice wife, settle down, maybe move to Italy.”
“I- understand,” Ryan agrees. He’s sad to see her go, especially without
thinking it through so much, but he gets it. After living here for so long, he
can see how a place like Los Santos can rub on one’s nerves. “You’ll be okay?”
“Oh, I’ll be fine, honey,” she promises and she comes to kiss him on the cheek.
“And you’ll be fine. I taught you everything I know. You’re such a good kid. If
I thought my kid would turn out anything like you, I would have had one years
ago. You stay in this apartment, you make bombs, you get money, and you don’t
let anyone fuck with you. I’m so proud of you.”
“I’m proud of you, too,” Ryan replies, smiling at her faintly and she smiles
back sadly. “Thank you. For everything.”
Ryan doesn’t see her again but, occasionally, he’ll get a letter. It’s good to
know she’s doing well.
He takes over all of Daisy’s job and connections; they deal with the vagabond
now. For every one that asks where Daisy went, he replies with a short ‘dead’
just to assure no one bothers looking for her. Most of them don’t care enough
to think on it and accept Ryan’s work just the same. Unlike Daisy and her
smaller frame, easier temper, Ryan takes to a more ‘hands on’ approach. He
meets more clients face to face, he shows off more products in the middle of
town; he takes more sides. It’s for Daisy, though, the woman who was never
respected the way she should have been by this shitty city.
Ryan takes names, holds grudges, and gets what’s rightfully his whether it’s as
easy as asking for it or taking it. No one’s ever going to make him do anything
he doesn’t want to ever again. He’s never going to flinch away and let anyone
convince him he’s anything he’s not ever again. Most importantly, no one’s ever
going to make him doubt himself again.
Not if he has anything to say about it.
The word is; Ryan Haywood.
The definition is; a vindictive killer; dangerous.
Usage; “As long as you treat Ryan Haywood with respect, you don’t have anything
to worry about.”
***** Michael *****
Chapter Notes
     Michael's Warnings; ableism, child abuse/abuse, slurs, violence,
     harassment, mentions of rape, transphobia, drugs, death [man
     slaughter/murder], arson
The word is; stupid.
The definition is; lacking intelligence or common sense, having or showing a
lack of ability to learn and understand things.
Usage; “Pay attention, you stupid boy.”
Go to school, go to work, go to sleep, repeat. It’s been Michael’s schedule for
nearly a year now. He tries not to go home if he can help it but that’s usually
not the case. The later he gets home, the better in those cases. He can’t say
he has many interests, video games and tv mostly, but it’s been awhile since
he’s done either. Legend of Zelda is his favorite and currently the only one he
can get to work on his busted tv after the ‘accident’ with his xbox.
While he would love to at least finish high school, Michael could care less at
the moment. The second he has enough money saved up, he’s getting out of this
town and away from his step mother. Ever since his father remarried, she’s been
nothing but awful to him and his dumbass father is so smitten he doesn’t even
care. The two of them can rot in hell together.
“Mr. Jones,” his teacher calls irritably. “Please stop that incessant tapping.”
Michael stops clicking his pen and gives her a suggestively annoyed look that
he’s stopped and she can fuck off now. She goes back to her reading with a
sigh. While he doesn’t hate school or learning or even his teachers and fellow
students, Michael just has a hard time being here for so long. The only time he
can find it in him to sit still is when there’s something in his hands and even
then, it can be difficult for him.
Even now he’s not paying attention because he’s bored out of his goddamn skull.
Worse comes to worse, he’ll just get his GED and be done with it but he doesn’t
think it’s going to come to that. Where he’s planning on going, he doesn’t
think he’ll need it. Los Santos is, by anyone’s answer, probably the worst city
in the states. There’s rampant violence, murder, theft, and the police are more
likely to shoot a person down than arrest them. People know how to mind their
own there and that’s exactly what Michael is looking for. Besides, his step
mother wouldn’t step a foot in a city like that.
She’s threatened him before, she does it a lot, and he has no doubt she’ll make
good on her threat to make sure he never leaves home in one piece. He just has
to make sure she doesn’t know he’s leaving. If not for his father, Michael
would definitely give her a run for her money in a fight. Once in Los Santos,
safe and sound, he can go right back to his electrician work and finally live
in peace. Just a couple more weeks.
The ring of the bell is a god send to Michael’s increasing nerves. At least at
work he can walk around and fidget all he wants while he works without anyone
complaining about it.
“Michael,” his teacher calls just as he’s almost free for today. He sighs and
begrudgingly turns around to walk to her desk. She gives him a knowing look. “I
heard you hit another boy- again.”
“Yeah,” Michael snorts back. “Course I did. He called me a fag.”
“Michael,” she says disappointedly.
“What? I wasn’t about to let him get away with that,” he scoffs. “You know I
don’t start fights.”
“I know you don’t, Michael,” she agrees. “But that’s not what other students
say. Please, just try to keep your temper in check.” Michael cross his arms
irritably, not offering a solid response of agreement. His ‘temper’ isn’t the
problem. If people have a problem with him liking boys, then they’re going to
have the problem of having to go to the hospital, too. He likes girls too but
for some bizarre reason, that doesn’t bother them as much.
“Can I go?” he asks shortly.
“Sure,” she says. “Let me know if you still need help with your homework,
okay?”
“Yeah,” he grumbles. “Thanks.” She’s probably the only teacher that actually
believes in him around here. He used to be better at this, he used to have more
friends, he’s not sure what happened; people started getting tired of him.
Michael hears her sigh as he leaves.
- x -
He can’t wait a few more weeks. One day, without any kind of warning, his step
mother hits him closed fisted in the face and breaks his nose. Before Michael
can choke the shit out of her, his father steps in and holds her back. She
screams at him to ‘control his kid’ and demands an apology. Michael doesn’t
even know what brought this on but hell if he’s going to go along with it. When
his father urges him to just apologise, Michael replies with a swift ‘suck my
dick’.
This, of course, makes her even angrier. It’s a good thing his father holds her
back because he is done with this shit. He’s let her harass him, hit him, talk
down to him- he’s let her break his stuff; all because he thought she made his
dad happy. Maybe she does but he just doesn’t fucking care anymore about either
of them. As she screams about ‘Michael the troubled child’ and ‘Michael the not
her kid’, Michael rubs some blood from under his nose.
Whose side are you taking, she demands, mine or his? Michael makes it easy for
both of them. He storms out of the room and she screams to know where he thinks
he’s going. Michael ignores her. He haphazardly packs up his things, it’s not
like he has many of them anymore, and his father tries to dissuade him from
doing anything stupid while she continues to screech like a banshee in the
background. His father assures he’ll be back within a week; he doesn’t know how
to live on his own. Michael assures him he’d sooner be dead within a week.
His step mother chucks whatever she can get her hands on at him as he leaves
with his bag and a broken nose. Yeah, Michael would love to see how his father
fairs now that he’s not going to be around to hold her attention. So with a
middle finger and fuck you, he leaves for Los Santos only hoping he has enough
cash to scrap it through until he can get a solid job. With no one else to turn
to, not even any friends, Michael asks his teacher for a little help.
She’s sad to see him go but she understands. She takes him to the bank to
withdraw all his money, then to the train station so he can get as far away
from here as possible. She never asks where he’s going and for that, Michael is
thankful. He hops on the first train he can catch out of this shit hole and
never looks back.
- x -
“Scram kid,” the guy standing at the door instructs. Michael scowls at him. “I
ain’t gonna tell ya again.”
“I’m the electrician, dumbass,” Michael snaps at him, showing him the flyer
he’d plucked off the local board at the laundromat and shaking his bag of tools
with the other hand. He’s young, he knows, and he looks even younger than he
actually is, but this is getting ridiculous. No matter where he goes, people
greet him much the same. He’s here to do his work and get paid just like
everyone else.
“Aren’t you a bit young, kid?” he asks curiously, a bit suspicious but
otherwise believing it.
“Aren’t you a little old to not be minding your own business?” Michael scoffs
back. The guys laughs.
“‘ight. Come on in. AC’s been on the fucking fritz all summer. They say it’s
gone be gettin’ up to a hundred degrees and we ain’t about to do without an
AC,” the guy explains as Michael follows him into the building. The gun at his
waist is much more obvious from the backside. This is coming to be rather usual
for Michael, though. Everyone in his city seems to have a gun. He should
probably think of getting one for himself; his knife isn’t nearly intimidating
enough in a gunfight.
“You and everyone else, buddy,” Michael grumbles. “I’ve fixed four ACs this
week alone.”
“That’s shitty Los Santos workmanship for ya,” he laughs. Michael glances
around as they make their way through the building. There’s an awful lot of
drugs around here, that’s for certain. They seem to be packaging up a lot of
very illegal stuff here. That’s also not new. “Maybe you wanna keep your eyes
to yourself, eh kid.”
“I know how to keep my mouth shut,” Michael assures him sharply. “I’m just here
to fix your shit and get paid.”
“I like ya kid,” he says. “You know how to mind your own.” Michael doesn’t want
anyone digging into his personal life and he’s not going to dig into anyone
else’s; everyone for themselves. The guy gestures him to the dusty old box
where their AC resigns and he starts getting to work. If he wants to work in
another job today he’s going to need to get this done fairly quick. The motel
he’s staying at is letting him stay for free in exchange for some maintenance
work but he doesn’t want to be stuck there forever. He needs to save up for a
laptop and a cellphone so he can, hopefully, expand his work and not live off
odd jobs for the rest of his life.
“How’d you like to make an extra buck, kid?” the guy offers. Michael shoots him
an irritated look.
“You better not be propositioning me for sex,” he scowls. Again, the guy just
laughs. It would be funny if it hasn’t already happened several times. Between
Michael’s ‘baby face’ and the obvious fact he’s still a teenager, there are
plenty of pervs out there willing to give him a heavy buck for some heavy
petting. If Michael had a better temper and a stronger stomach, he’d probably
take their money.
“Hey, you might got a fem face but I ain’t a fag, kid, don’t worry,” he
assures.
“I am,” Michael replies flatly. This makes him stop laughing.
“Uuuh. Sorry. No offense or anything. You do you,” he murmurs. Michael turns
back to his work. “Like I was sayin’ though. You want to make some extra cash,
we could use a guy like you.”
“What would I have to do?” he asks but he already knows it’s going to be
something pretty illegal.
“Just peddle some drugs for us,” he assures. “You keep doing your little
electric gig and we’ll give you some ‘product’ to hand out while you do it. You
keep making money and you get a cut of the profits.”
“How much is a ‘cut’?” Michael questions. If it’s good money, he really can’t
refuse. If it’s not, well, he still probably won’t. He needs the money and if
he’s learned anything from working in Los Santos so far, it’s that people are
safer when they work for a gang- to a degree at least.
“For your first sale? You get to keep all of it. After that, twenty percent is
typical,” he explains.
“How much does that usually bring in?” Michael asks. It’s worth knowing the
details first at least.
“If you’re good, enough to live on,” he promises. “If you’re not, it’s still a
cushy job. Granted you ain’t get yourself picked off by the cops.”
“Yeah, well how about we start with paying me,” Michael says as the AC kicks
back on and a chorus of happy sighs fill the building. “Then we can talk.”
- x -
Michael’s new gang is both pleased and not about his first sale. When they told
him he could keep a hundred percent of the profits from his first sale, they
didn’t expect him to move two grand worth of product immediately. Apparently,
Michael’s good at this. He would have loved to have known that sooner. They
give him a full time gig right off the bat; giving him drugs to peddle, people
to intimidate, and money to collect just like the big boys. It pisses off the
other members, the older members mostly, so Michael fights. He’s not one to
stand around a let people bother him and they learn that quickly; they also
learn he’s a hell of a scrapper for a guy his size.
This only benefits him more. When they see how much of a fighter he really is,
they teach him to fight more and better. Michael knows what they’re thinking,
he’s young and moldable, but he just lets them. If they want to teach him how
to hold a gun, how to curl his first, how to arch a grenade; all the better for
him. They say he’s a quick learner, something he’s never heard before, and
Michael agrees. When he’s not confined to a small room with thirty other kids
at a small desk, he learns very well.
They’re all a little surprised when he gets a girlfriend, Michael included. It
certainly wasn’t anything he planned. He let her stay in his apartment after
some creep kept following her and then she never left. She’s twenty five and
Michael isn’t even eighteen yet. He thinks she stays because he has no interest
in touching her. Michael’s not even sure if they’re actually dating; he’s never
had a girlfriend before. She cooks and she cleans while he works then they
share a bed at night and he’s not even entirely sure if he’s attracted to her
but he doesn’t know how to tell her to go the hell home.
Everyone’s less surprised when he kills her. That wasn’t intentional either.
He’d never admit to it but she hit him and he got scared, far more scared than
he ever thought he could be. He hadn’t realised how strong he had gotten; he
shoved her away. They don’t believe him, of course, they just laugh and tell
him it happens sometimes. They hide the body for him and congratulate him on
his first blood; the first of many.
Michael’s just waiting for a chance to stab them in the back.
- x -
“Michael,” his boss says and Michael glances at him shortly as he looks away
from his game. “This is my daughter.” Right, his boss has been meaning to
introduce them for a long time now. As he keeps saying, she was with her
mother. As Michael keeps hearing, she ran away. He’s not sure if that’s true
but knowing what he knows about his boss, he wouldn’t be surprised. The fact
that she’s here makes his skin crawl but he ignores it.
“Right,” he murmurs as he puts his controller down and stands to greet her.
She’s very- tomboyish; short hair, baggy shorts, heavy sweater. She’s also
incredibly unhappy looking. Michael holds his hand out to shake and when she
ignores him, his boss grabs her arm hard and she begrudgingly shakes his hand.
Michael has to stop himself from lashing out at his boss.
“I’m Michael,” he introduces himself. She yanks away from her father irritably.
“I’m not interested,” she huffs back.
“Danielle,” he snaps at her, grabbing a handful of her hair. Michael grits his
teeth. He grabs his boss’ arm.
“You’re gonna bruise her,” he insists and he lets go. Danielle moves out of his
reach as soon as she’s free, rubbing her head sorely.
“Be nice,” he sneers at her. Michael withholds the want to deck him. He needs
this job but more importantly, he’d like if he wasn’t dead. A guy like this, he
can’t be sure Danielle wouldn’t end up dead, too. Better safe than sorry. He
points at her aggressively and Michael instinctively takes a step in
preparation to put himself between them. “You leave this building without my
permission and next time I chain you in your room.”
“I’ll watch her,” Michael promises him shortly, an eager attempt at getting him
to leave. “I got it.” He glares at his daughter but finally gives Michael a
proud nod before heading off to do whatever it is he does around here. Michael
waits until he’s well gone before turning back to her. She stare back at him
sourly.
“Don’t touch me,” she says. Michael wasn’t planning on it. “If my dad told you
to touch me, I’ll kill you.”
“Relax,” Michael scoffs back. “He didn’t tell me anything.” All he knows is
that they’re about the same age and for whatever reason, his boss thinks
Michael can ‘help her figure some things out’. If he was supposed to take a
hint from that, he definitely didn’t. Honestly, he didn’t even dedicate much
thought to it at the time.
“I’m a boy, anyways,” Danielle grumbles. Oh. Michael gets the picture now. “As
I hear it, that wouldn’t deter you anyways.”
“Would you chill out,” Michael snaps at him. “I’m not gonna hurt you or-
whatever you’re suggesting.”
“Rape,” Danielle says without hesitation. “Cause the last guy my dad paid to do
that ain’t got a working dick no more.”
“Jesus Christ,” Michael murmurs. He hated his boss before but now, is there
anything lower than that? He already wants to see the man rolling in a grave.
“I’m not- no. That’s not gonna happen. I- sorry.”
“Uh huh,” he replies, crossing his arms mildly. Michael gestures to the tv and
the game he was just in the middle of.
“Well look, I got a second controller if you can keep up,” he assures. Danielle
glances at his game for a moment before offering a sarcastic huff of a laugh.
“I dunno dude, I’m not very good at video games,” he murmurs.
“Try not to suck too bad at least,” Michael insists. He finds out rather
quickly that Danielle has fucking scammed him; he’s ridiculously good at this
game. He tried to take it easy on him and got his ass kicked, then he stopped
taking it easy and really got his ass kicked. Admittedly, Michael might have
brought that on himself a little by being so short with him but he’s not the
greatest with people- especially people his own age. It gets him to relax a
little at least.
“You’re fucking bad at this,” Danielle laughs.
“Shut up, I don’t have a lot of practice,” he grumbles. “Shit. What the fuck?”
“True,” Danielle replies a little too quickly. “I mean, I do get to spend
ninety percent of my time locked in my room so that’s fair.” Michael doesn’t
say anything. “Sorry, too real for you?” Again, he decides it’s best for both
of them to just not say anything. This doesn’t stop Danielle. “What’s a guy
your age working for my father for anyways?”
“How ‘bout you mind your own business,” Michael murmurs back, intently focusing
on the tv screen. The hand on his leg, needless to say, startles him a little.
Danielle leans into him far too fondly, far to affectionately for what either
of them should be comfortable with.
“You can tell me, Michael,” he says lowly. Michael freezes. He doesn’t know
what to do. He doesn’t want to push Danielle, doesn’t want to touch him at all
if he can help it, and the quick solution is to just stand; abruptly. Danielle
looks up at him questioningly, obviously searching for something in his face
but Michael can’t be sure. “What’s wrong? You’re not a virgin, are you,
Michael?”
“What the fuck is wrong with you?” Michael snaps at him. “Don’t touch me. Don’t
touch me and don’t make me touch you.” Again, Danielle looks him over. Whatever
it is, he simply ends up shrugging.
“Relax, dude,” he murmurs. “I’m just fucking with you, jeez. I didn’t know
you’d flip.” That’s a lie though Michael isn’t sure which part. Like father
like son.
Or in some cases, like step mother like step son.
- x -
Michael’s chance for a bitter revenge comes swift. He and Danielle turn out to
get along shockingly well. They like the same games, the same dumb idea of
comedy, and can chat for hours about most things; they come from the same kind
of home. Once they come to realise, both of them, that the other really is a
friend in a dark place, things come much easier. Danielle laughs easier,
Michael’s less guarded; is this what a friend is like?
Michael nearly blacks out in rage one day when Danielle’s father hits him so
hard he breaks his nose. Danielle is so unresponsive, so numb, and it only
makes Michael angrier. He doesn’t know what to do with it, the only thing he
wants is to beat his boss to death with his bare hands. He suggests this to
Danielle when they finally have a moment alone but he refuses. No, he has a
better idea.
Danielle wants to see his father’s gang burn. He doesn’t care about running it,
he doesn’t care about the money, he doesn’t even care if his dad survives; he
wants to see it in ashes. Michael wholeheartedly agrees. There is a lot he can
put up with; drug peddling, blackmailing, murder and constant harassment. The
second his boss decided to put hands on his own son, he was a dead man. The
only thing that makes it worse is that he somehow thinks Michael is okay with
it, that Michael agrees with him and is happy to help. The amount of times he’s
been forced to stand by and just watch as he beat his own child again and
again- Michael will make sure he pays for it.
Sure, he thinks, he’s mixing up his own abuse with Danielle’s and when it comes
down to it, he would never take that satisfaction away from him, but hell if he
can’t take his anger out on every last asshole who laughed, who helped. They
were right; that was only the first blood of many. He’ll use every skill they
helped him hone to break every last one of their bones.
Michael would never say it but Danielle is much like his father; intelligent,
cunning, deceptive, and vicious. He can’t do much himself, not with his father
watching him like a hawk on a good day, but he can instruct Michael to do
things and Michael follows them to every last period. Between the two of them,
it shouldn’t be possible to take down an entire crew filled with savage killers
and brutal criminals but they do. Danielle is so intimately aware of all the
weak points of his father’s crew, so aware of how to make them crumple, it’s
almost scary.
Day after day, it falls a little more. So subtle sometimes, they don’t even
notice, and so unbelievably extreme other times, they would never even guess
it’s the work of the boss’ son and the bratty seventeen year old. He makes sure
his father knows every single loss, though, that he knows exactly what’s being
taken away from him every step of the way and he makes it hurt. The only
downside is- it usually hurts Danielle too.
They sleep together once and only once, after a particularly nasty conflict
with his dad that left Danielle with a broken hand. Michael thinks he regrets
it more than he’s ever regretted anything. It was spontaneous and unplanned, a
meeting of two broken people trying to find even the slightest bit of solace.
Danielle cried for nearly an hour afterward but assured it was nothing Michael
did. A part of Michael knows that; a part of him knows Danielle is broken and
suffering and damaged in a way that may never really be any better. But a part
of him, a selfish, childish part of him, wishes that being together could be
enough to fix him. Both of them.
So they watch it burn in the early dawn against the stars that fade. The
buildings and the bodies and the money they burn up in the biggest fire Los
Santos has ever seen. It stretches across several buildings artistically placed
to stretch the fire department thin. It burns so bright, Michael thinks, it
ignites the coals that have always rested inside him. It burns so bright that
for the first time, Michael thinks he’ll be alright.
Very quietly, he tells Danielle he loves him and Danielle laughs. Michael moves
to kiss him and he ducks away so fast he could give himself whiplash. I love
you too man, he said as he laughs awkwardly, no homo. Very homo, Michael
assures, all of the homo.
Danielle laughs it off. He thanks Michael for everything and he hugs him
tightly before mentioning something about getting something to eat. He asks if
Michael wants anything and he refuses. Michael wonders if it would have
mattered if he answered any different.
He never sees Danielle again.
- x -
Michael knocks firmly on the side door leading to a warehouse that, from the
outside, looks abandon. There’s a brief moment before it opens and the guy
inside looks him over unsurely. He’s met with a sour look.
“Who are you?” he demands shortly.
“Electrician,” Michael assures him. “You gonna let me in or what, asshole?”
“Electrician?” comes the unsure reply. “What do we need an electrician for?”
“How the hell should I know? I got a call so I came,” Michael snaps. “Where’s
your boss or whoever the hell called?” The guy looks him over again before
moving out of the way to let him in. With a small gesture of the head, he
motions Michael to follow him further into the building. When they reach the
office inside, he stops and turns back to Michael sharply.
“You respect the boss, got it? One false move and he’ll have you executed on
the spot,” he warns.
“Yeah, whatever,” Michael scoffs. When he turns back again, Michael lashes out
at him. In a swift move, he has the guy’s throat cut and his body propped up to
prevent from making a sound when it falls. Fucking dipshit. At least the last
one bothered to attempt to check him for weapons first. He settles the guy on
the floor before retrieving his pistol from the holster under his shirt.
Confidently, Michael pushes the door open and before either of the men inside
know what’s happening, he puts a bullet in both of them.
They definitely overpaid him for this job. He rolls both guys over just to
assure he got the right ones before sending his client a quick text confirming
completion of the job. With that done, he helps himself to the ‘boss’s chair
and browses through the drawers and computer at hand. Nothing too interesting
unfortunately.
As it turns out, when you collapse one of the biggest gangs in Los Santos,
people notice. Now there’s no proof Michael did it, there’s definitely no proof
he was responsible for all those fires, but people get to talking and talking
people are either dead or useful. Michael, thus far, has found them pretty
useful. He lives in a good apartment with a good job and people are fucking
terrified of him. People don’t fuck with him.
Hell, no one will ever fuck with him ever again. No one’s ever going to beat
him again. He’s never going to let himself be miserable for the sake of someone
else’s happiness ever again. Mostly, though, no one’s ever going to tell him
what he is and isn’t capable of again.
Not if they like their teeth in their mouth.
The word is; Michael Jones.
The definition is; a person determined to survive; dangerous.
Usage; “If you’re smart, you’ll stay out of Michael Jones’ way.”
***** Gavin *****
Chapter Notes
     Gavin Warnings; slurs, harassment, acephobia [verbal sexual
     harassment], death
The word is; obnoxious.
The definition is; extremely unpleasant, annoying or objectionable due to being
a showoff or attracting undue attention to oneself.
Usage; “Not that one, he’s too obnoxious.”
Gavin still doesn’t know why they make him stay here. He’s nearly old enough to
live out on his own after all, they could at least give him a head start but
now, he has to continue living a life as if any family is going to want him. If
they didn’t want him when he was a baby, they’re not going to want him now,
it’s that simply. It’s not that Gavin hates it here, the people that care for
him are quite lovely actually, it’s just that he hates having to pretend as if
someone’s going to want him after his own parents didn’t even want him.
With a small sigh, Gavin tucks himself behind the usual shop and fishes through
his pocket to find his pack of cigarettes. As much as he doesn’t want to stay
in foster care, he supposes he just has to put up with it for a few more years.
His foster parents are nice but- they don’t want him. They’re just there to
take care of him until someone does want him or until he’s old enough to live
out on his own. His friend, really his only friend, Dan had been one of their
foster kids for a long time too but Dan was older than him and as soon as he
was old enough, he joined the military and got out.
As much as Gavin wanted to believe Dan when he said he would come back to
‘adopt’ him as soon as he could, he knows that was little more than a fevered
dream. They’d never let something like that happen after all. They’d rather
keep him in the system than let him freely live with his buddy who actually
likes him.
He puffs on his cigarette a bit as he unwraps his little after school snack and
settles himself on a little ledge to enjoy it. As nice as they are and as much
as they’re good about taking care of him, Gavin just isn’t very into it. They
signed him up for after school activities of which he immediately signed
himself out of with a quick forged signature. He isn’t a sports guy. He’s like
eight stones- maybe, he’s not going to last in a game of rugby with kids three
times his size. Of course, they never checked into it much.
Instead he spends his afternoons hanging around town and more often than not,
trying not to get himself into trouble. It’s actually quite harder than he
thought what with always trying to practice his pickpocketing, people always
having something to say about his smoking habits, and store owners kicking him
out for stealing stuff. He has wants too, after all. How else was he supposed
to afford the things he wants? A while back he nearly had enough to buy himself
a nice camera but unfortunately he ended up having to spend it on getting his
bike fixed after a nasty conflict with an even nastier store clerk. There’s no
way Gavin could tell his foster parents his bike got wrecked because he was
trying to steal a pack of cigarettes.
They already don’t want him.
“Hey Gavvy,” someone calls and Gavin peeks up a little to see who it is.
Another kid from school. Gavin doesn’t get along much with any of them for
various reasons but for the most part, they all leave each other alone.
“Hey,” Gavin replies mildly before promptly turning back to his half sandwich.
The boy and his friends wander down the alley to join him much to Gavin’s
discomfort. He’s isn’t sure what they want after all.
“You got a light?” one of them asks and Gavin hands over his lighter so they
can join his smoke break. They hand it back afterwards and he neatly tucks it
back into his pocket. This is sort of weird, isn’t it? “So I heard Jen showed
you her knockers.”
“Huh?” Gavin replies curiously. Did she? Does he even know Jen?
“Ya, she said she brought you into the loo and everythin’, mate,” another
insists. Oh yeah, he remembers that now. He wondered why she dragged him into
the ladies room without warning like that. “Is it true, then?”
“Y-yeah,” Gavin agrees. “Totally.” It is, in fact, true. He probably should
have been paying more attention at the time. Honestly he can’t even remember
what he had been doing. He thinks she asked him to help her with her bra or
something?
“So?” the first urges on. “How was they?” How were what? Her breasts?
“Lovely?” Gavin murmurs. “They were- real lovely I guess.”
“You guess?” one of them bites. “What do you mean ‘you guess’? It ain’t every
day Jen’s bloody flashin’ her tits to just ol’ anyone.”
“Yeah, especially someon’ like you,” another agrees. Well that was rude. What
is that even supposed to mean?
“I gotta go,” Gavin assures them mildly as he balls up the wrapper of his
sandwich. “Nice chattin’ with you mates.” Or something. He’s not fully sure
what this was even supposed to be about. As he pushes past them, they scoff and
and jeer at him.
“Fucking poof. Figures a fit bird like Jen’s all over ‘im.”
- x -
Someone wants to adopt him? Immediately, Gavin doesn’t like the sound of that.
While he’d love a home, a family even, he knows it’s too good to be true. He’s
met with loads of families over the year looking to adopt but none of them ever
wanted him. No one’s really ever told him a reason but he can take a wild guess
as to why. He’s ‘pretty’, sure, but he talks too much, asks too many questions,
isn’t very ‘smart’. All of that was bad enough when he was younger but now that
he’s older, he might as well call it quits. Older kids almost never get adopted
around here.
The couple his foster parents introduce him to give Gavin the shivers. He can’t
really put his finger on why but he has learned a long time ago to trust his
gut feeling no matter what. Sometimes it leads to bad things but more often
than not, those things are still better than the alternative. When he voices
his concern to his foster parents, they react with exasperation and assure him
he needs to just get over it. After all, he’s lucky anyone even wants to adopt
him at this point. On top of everything else, he’s a ‘troubled’ kid now just
because they caught him smoking from time to time or stealing something now and
again.
It’s a sure thing, they promise. This new couple have come to the conclusion
that Gavin is definitely the addition to the family they need and now all there
is to do is wait for the papers to be put through and finalized. Gavin wouldn’t
mind if they never went through.
In the meantime, his new parents spend an awful lot of time visiting and doting
on him. Gavin was hoping at some point that the pull of his gut when they’re
around would go away but it never does. Perhaps it’s the way she smiles with
her teeth clenched too hard or how he always seems to be waiting for Gavin to
say something wrong. Gavin adamantly, but politely, refuses to visit their home
for as long as possible.
When he finally does, when his foster parents finally make him, he’s not happy
about it. The place is so clean, too clean, and he can’t get comfortable. He
wishes he could say that he just didn’t fit in with them but he knows in his
heart that’s not true. Gavin can’t say for sure what is causing this feeling
but he knows he can not let them take him home for good.
Maybe, just perhaps, it’s the muffled whining from the basement that strangely
they won’t let him see.
‘That’s going to be your room,’ she says. ‘It’s not ready yet.’
He has to get out of here.
- x -
Gavin thought it was a fevered dream but perhaps he should have had more faith
in his long time friend.
“Gavin?” comes an unfamiliar voice and urgently he fumbles with his cigarette
and lighter to try to hide it. He’ll be in so much trouble if they catch him
smoking again especially so soon after ‘officially’ getting adopted.
Fortunately or otherwise, it’s no one he knows. Gavin stuffs his lighter in his
pocket and flicks away the rest of his cigarette before awkwardly shuffling
away from the stranger.
“Oi, I got a knife, mate. Don’t try anything fishy, ‘ight?” he insists, trying
his best not to sound too nervous. The stranger laughs a little.
“Relax,” he says. “Dan sent me, okay?”
“Dan?” Gavin replies brightly, perhaps a little too quickly dropping his
defensive act. “Where is he, then?”
“Afghanistan,” the stranger replies. Gavin deflates immediately. So much for
hoping. “We serve together. He told me to come and find you while I’m on
leave.”
“Did he?” Gavin murmurs back. “How long’s he gonna be gone?” If he’s not back
soon, there’s no way he can stay and wait. Gavin doesn’t even want to chance
being left alone in that house with his new parents for even a night.
“A- a while,” the stranger admits reluctantly. “We’re gonna get you out of
here, though.”
“You are?” Gavin says eagerly. Bless Dan and his perfect timing. “How? Where?”
The strange pulls out a note from his pocket to hand over and Gavin hurriedly
unfolds it to give it a read. This is definitely Dan’s handwriting, Gavin could
spot it from a mile away. After all, Dan never quite had the same hand for
forgery as he did.
Sure enough, Dan says he’s not going to be coming back for a while. However, he
says when he does he’s not coming back to England. Instead he’s planning on
moving to America for reasons his letter don’t exactly make clear and he wants
Gavin to go with him. If that doesn’t sound like the best idea he’s ever heard,
well he just doesn’t know what is. His buddy here, Princeton, is going to help
him when he’s ready.
“Alright,” Gavin agrees as he finishes the letter. Princeton grins at him.
“What do I do?”
“Now?” Princeton replies, a little taken aback. “You don’t want to think about
this first?”
“What’s there to think about?” he insists. “I’m ready to leave. Just tell me
what I need to do.” He trusts Dan and he trusts Dan’s decisions even if he
buddy can be a little ditzy sometimes. He hasn’t been let down yet. Even if
this is a bad idea, he trusts his gut that going home with his new parents is a
worst one.
“Okay,” Princeton says in a bit of surprised amusement. “We gotta smuggle you
out of the country, alright? You get all the stuff you need and meet me back
here tomorrow night and we’ll get everything started.”
“Top!” Gavin grins. The sooner the better is good for him.
“From there, we’re gonna get you onto a cruise ship as a worker and then a
friend of ours is going to take care of you on the ride over. We call her Mama
and if anyone asks, she is your mama, okay?” Princeton explains hastily, the
short version of a long thought out plan. Gavin nods without any argument. That
sounds weird as hell but if it’s getting him out of here in the nick of time,
he’ll go with it. “She’ll make sure nothing happens to you. I’ll meet up with
you across the pond and we’ll go from there.” He could be planning to launch
Gavin at America with a fucking super cannon and Gavin would agree to it at
this point. Whatever gets him out of here faster, sooner. “That sound good?”
“That sounds great,” Gavin promises swiftly. “Thank you so much!” He shakes
Princeton’s hand firmly and the lad laughs a bit at his over eagerness. He just
doesn’t understand how close Gavin was to getting moved in with a possibly
serial killer family. If they weren’t killers of some sort, he would be
thoroughly surprised.
“I’m just the messenger here, kid,” Princeton assures with a smile. “But I’m
sure Dan knows how much this means to you. That guy would not stop talking
about you.” Gavin beams sheepishly, a small tint of a blush touching his face.
No, he knew Dan would never let him down. He never should have thought anything
else.
“You promise you’ll be here tomorrow night?” Gavin asks just to be completely
sure. If he’s not, he knows he’ll just have to figure something out then. He’ll
run if he has to.
“I promise, Gavin,” Princeton agrees. Maybe his shit life is finally turning
around after all.
- x -
Gavin doesn’t say a word to his foster parents but they definitely notice his
better mood. Of course, they simply attribute this to him finally ‘coming to
terms’ with getting adopted and move on. Even as he packs up all his things,
they just smile and assure him that the paper will be going through any day
now. That’s good on them but he sure as hell isn’t going to be here for it. In
the end, Gavin thinks, he should have been taken care of better than he was.
All the hand me downs, and hand me ups, all the times they did their best to
keep him out of the house, the surprisingly sparseness of food on occasion; he
had attributed it to his foster parents being poor but in retrospect, it seems
like the money the government gave them to take care of him rarely went to
that. The new kitchen looks nice though.
When the next night finally comes, Gavin leaves without so much as a goodbye.
After all, he was never their kid, never really wanted, why should they care
that he was leaving to be happy somewhere else? Fortunately, Princeton really
does show up. He gives Gavin a change of clothes to get on the cruise ship with
and explains that he’ll take the rest of his luggage with him so it’ll be there
when Gavin arrives. He’ll have to make do with a backpack of stuff for the
cruise but it shouldn’t be that difficult for him.
It’s literally a free cruise ride with plenty to do, warm beds to sleep in, and
free food. Gavin thinks he can survive on a few changes of clothes- he doesn’t
exactly have anything else to his name anyways. Princeton shows him a picture
of so called ‘Mama’, a younger looking lady who Gavin isn’t entirely sure could
pass for his mother but he supposes it doesn’t matter that much. She does this
a lot and she’s pretty good at it. He’s got to keep his head down until they
leave port and then she’ll meet with him on the ship.
Princeton warns that she can be a little- snippy but that she is good at what
she does and she will make sure he makes it to California. He also suggests
that maybe just stay out of her way when possible. Gavin knows how to stay out
of people’s ways.
Getting on the ship is actually very easy. Despite being so small and much
younger than most people, his uniform doesn’t make anyone look at him twice.
Gavin keeps himself busy doing miscellaneous tasks to prevent anyone from
talking to him and it works wonders. It even makes it super easy to keep his
head down so no one notices when he suddenly isn’t a part of the crew.
When the ship finally does leave, Gavin immediately hurries off to the nearest
bathroom to change back into his usual clothes. As he exits, a woman he
recognises immediately as Mama descends upon him like hell’s fury and quite
literally drags him off by his ear, scolding him for wandering away from her
and ‘scaring’ her like that. Gavin wisely plays along, quietly apologising and
complaining a bit that he’s fine and he’s not a kid anymore.
Once they’re safely in their room, she lets him go and properly introduces
herself. She assures that he should still call her Mama, that is her name, but
if anyone asks, for this trip her name is also ‘Kimiko Free’. No one will ask,
she promises. The room is very cozy and sports both a bedroom with two single
beds, a small living-slash-kitchen area, and a private bathroom. One bed for
him, of course, and the other for her. She also only has two rules; if there’s
a sock on the door don’t come in. A strange request but Gavin agrees. The
second rule involves not bothering her while she’s trying to hit on hot single
parents. Again, Gavin agrees.
In fact, there really isn’t much reason for them to be even remotely together
most of the time. She spends most her time sunbathing on the deck and drinking
herself shit faced drunk while Gavin happily wanders around to explore the
entirety of the ship. He learns very early on that there are not a lot of
cameras and it is very easy to get into other people’s rooms.
Only once does she really ever ask anything about him and it comes as more of
an insult than anything else.
“What’s the matter with you, boy?” Mama questions when they’ve been corralled
back into their room by the cruise ship employees. As usual, she’s drunk enough
that she’ll probably immediately pass out giving Gavin most of the night alone
to enjoy some games on the kindly provided Xbox.
Gavin isn’t sure how to answer this question mostly because he doesn’t know
what it’s referenced to. There is, quite admittedly, a lot of answers to that
question. She shakes her head before restating her question.
“There’s a bunch of hot rich chicks probably your age on this ship and you
spend the entire time-? I don’t actually fucking know, but you sure as hell
ain’t bangin’ any of them. They try real hard, too,” Mama insists. Gavin is
pretty sure she’s just imagining that. He greatly doubts any of the girls, or
anyone else, has any interest in him. None the less, he’s not exactly
interested in any of them anyways so perhaps he just didn’t notice.
“I just-” Gavin murmurs with a vague shrug.
“Ya dick don’t work or something?” she asks.
“Wot! No! I just- haven’t seen anyone that’s caught my eye yet,” Gavin promises
with a dismissive shrug. It is the truth after all. He’s never seen anyone who
even remotely caught his interest enough to even consider wanting to have sex
with them. It’s not exactly something that he’s invested a lot of time thinking
or worrying about, either. He has way more interesting things to occupy his
time with than some strange bird’s knockers.
“Whatever kid,” she yawns. “You do you.” That was weird.
- x -
“Here we are, Gavin,” Princeton says as he pushes open the door to a dingy
little room. It’s much different than the cruise ship room he’s used to. To be
fair, Los Santos is much different than anything he’s used to. “Everything’s
worked out so you can stay here for now.”
“Neat,” Gavin murmurs as he sets his bag down and gives a look around. It’s an
entire apartment all to himself. He’s never had anything like this before. It’s
a little- overwhelming for him. Fortunately, it already has most of the
furniture, appliances and bedclothes leaving him to not have to worry about
shopping for them.
“It’s going to be a while before Dan can get back,” Princeton reminds him
again. Gavin remembers, he has the entire cruise here to think about it. “I
gotta ship back soon so you’ll be on your own. You’ll be okay?”
“Oh. Um, yeah,” Gavin promises. This is all hitting him at once. He’s not in
England anymore, he’s not with his foster parents anymore, he’s not in school
anymore- he’s all by himself. He’s going to be all by himself until Dan gets
here whenever that’s going to be. No one to look out for him, no one to scold
him, no one to anything. It’s a little scary.
“I’m gonna make sure you have a way to contact us in case anything happens,
alright? Make sure you have a phone and someone close by just in case,”
Princeton assures. Yeah, that is probably a good idea. Los Santos isn’t exactly
the friendliest of cities he’s seen. In fact, he’s pretty sure he saw someone
get stabbed on the way over here.
“Thanks, Princeton,” Gavin says softly. “Sorry for being so much trouble.”
“Come on kid, you’re not any trouble at all,” Princeton replies. “You settle
in, I’m gonna go deal with some stuff, ‘right mate?”
“Sure,” Gavin nods in agree. Princeton gives him a little, unsure smile before
departing. This is it, then isn’t it? Once Princeton heads back to wherever the
army sends him, Gavin’s going to be all alone. He’s going to have to take care
of himself. He was always prepared for this, sure, but he never really
understood how quick it was going to happen. Ending up in a strange, violent
American city was never in the plans, either.
Gavin flops down on the couch and puts his head in his hands. This is going to
be so hard, isn’t it? Perhaps he had jumped the gun a little, after all. Could
those people who wanted to adopt him really be that bad? Was he just imagining
that bad feeling because he couldn’t stand the idea of someone actually wanting
him? He quickly decides it’s too late now, Dan has already went through all the
trouble of getting him here safely and assuring he has somewhere to live in
peace. There’s no going back now.
He tries not to cry, he doesn’t want to, but he finds it rather difficult at
the moment. Everything seems to be hitting him all at once now but he won’t let
himself believe he’s made a huge mistaken. He can’t.
All he has to do now is keep busy until Dan gets here. Easy, right?
- x -
Gavin nearly has a panic attack when he sees it. The news is reporting a story
from back home, a story about the arrest of two people connected to dozens upon
dozens of crimes from kidnapping to- torture and murder. The two people they
show are, without a doubt, the pair that had nearly adopted him. That was
almost him. He almost- he could have died.
That night he talks to Dan for nearly two hours about it until he finally falls
asleep and has a stress dream about Dan dying. He doesn’t tell Dan about that
part. Part of Gavin is almost happy to know he had been completely right about
his gut feeling- the other part of him is so angry that his foster parents were
so eager to get rid of him they would have gladly pawned him off on a pair of
serial child killers.
Is he really that annoying? Is he really that unlovable? Does Dan even like
him?
Gavin distracts himself with work. He joins the local crew and puts his skills
to work. With them watching his back, he can pick pockets and steal to his
heart’s content. The crew doesn’t necessarily like him, but they don’t hate him
and they’re not completely useless. That’s not to say Gavin doesn’t busy
himself picking their pockets from time to time, either. In fact, he discovers
rather quickly there’s more money in destroying a gang than helping one.
For the right price, Gavin dishes out all the information about his current
crew to a better one. With the information he gives them, they wipe out his
crew and he has a new boss that, for some reason, doesn’t believe Gavin will do
the same thing to him for the right price. He does. Someone else offers him
more money and Gavin sells out his crew in a heartbeat. They don’t like him and
he doesn’t want to be liked. He would think after the third time people would
start talking but the fact of the matter is, no one pays him enough attention
to realise it’s his doing.
Idiots, honestly.
A few people try to get close to him but Gavin flinches away from their
friendship so hard, they don’t bother trying again. He doesn’t need anyone else
and he knows for a fact he’s safer without anyone else especially in a city
like Los Santos. Oh but he’s friendly and he’s smiles and charm- people like
him sometimes even a little too much. It’s hard for him to know where the line
of ‘friendly’ and ‘intimate’ lie and he often finds himself bolting over this
line without warning. Sometimes it’s more of a startle to himself and
sometimes, well, it’s more of a startle to the other person that he can swing
so hard.
He finds something, though. It’s a single word that makes him feel so much
better; asexual. That makes sense and knowing that he’s not the only one and
that it’s actually pretty common is kind of nice. He never thought of himself
as strange for not be interested in anyone sexually before but it is good to
know there was never any reason for him too anyways. What makes him feel less
good is the way people react to the word. In truth what he thought was a good,
easy way to assure people he just isn’t interested in their sexual appetites
turns out to be a very good way to make people very upset. Even Dan meets it
with confusion and uncertainty though he does eventually accept Gavin as he is.
This just makes it easier to not need anyone else; not want anyone else.
So he keeps himself entertained with thieving and lying and manipulating people
with his quick fingers and ‘ditzy’ charm. He becomes a whisper of a name that
people are a little afraid of if only because they’re not completely sure who
he is or what he’s done. The list is truly too long to whisper anyways.
Dan will come home eventually.
- x -
Gavin rubs the lense of his shades on the corner of his shirt as he pins his
phone between his shoulder and ear. They cost him all of his last ‘check’ and
he’s not about to ruin them so quickly. He loves them far too much for that,
perfectly fitted, perfectly dimmed, and perfectly gold.
“Don’t worry about it, B,” Gavin promises again. “I’m doin’ top, I promise!”
More and more they push Dan’s leave back. The one time he actually managed to
get off when they said he could, he immediately had to fly back to England to
meet his long lost grandparents. Gavin most certainly couldn’t take that away
from him. He keeps talking about quitting but, well, it’s not exactly that
easy. If he were to guess, he would assume that’s the reason they’re so adamant
to not letting him actually take his leave; they’re too worried about him going
AWOL. It’s a good thing to be worried about.
“No I swear,” Gavin urges. “I’m doing great! Los Santos is incredible, Dan. I
can’t wait for you to see it!” He kicks the body out of the way from the front
of the couch so he can sit down again and rests his heels on the still fairly
warm corpse as he drops his shades into the collar of his shirt. “I’m probably
going to have to move soon, though. This apartment is nice and all but I just
need a change of pace, you know? I have enough money saved up for a really nice
place closer to the middle of town.”
It turns out to be very difficult to get blood out of a carpet. Not to mention
that sounds an awful lot like work that he absolutely isn’t going to do. He’s
been saving up money for quite a while now from various different ‘employment’
opportunities. There is a nice, sky high apartment with a view that has his
name on it- quite literally. His new rug here gave it to him for a good deal.
“Really, I’m fine,” Gavin says. He really isn’t in any dire need of having Dan
here right this moment. It would be nice, he will admit to that, but he’s doing
a pretty good job of taking care of himself thus far. “Come on, I’m almost
eighteen anyways. By the time you get back you won’t even want to live with me
anymore.”
Dan becomes quite disgruntled at the very suggestion and Gavin laughs. He’s
glad for it, though. One day Dan will get away and he will come to Los Santos
and when he does, Gavin is going to amaze him with the sheer amount he’s
accomplished in just a few years. He’s really made a name for himself here; a
home for himself. It’s going to be Dan’s home, too, just the two of them.
“Alright, alright, relax,” Gavin grins. “I’m just sayin’, I’ll be an old man by
the time you get your ass out here, B.”
That would be okay, though. In all honesty, perhaps it will even be better that
way. Gavin’s never going to live his life just for someone else ever again.
He’s never going to base his self worth on how much people want him ever again.
More importantly, though, he’s going to live his life purely for the sake of
his own happiness, of his own pleasure, and no one’s going to stop him.
Not if he can help it.
The word is; Gavin Free.
The definition is; an aggressive and sybaritic person; dangerous.
Usage; “Be wary of Gavin Free, he’ll rob you blind.”
***** Jeremy *****
Chapter Notes
     Jeremy's Warnings; abuse [child/spousal], sports injury, forced
     dieting, death, racism
The word is; broken.
The definition is; having been fractured or damaged and no longer in one piece
or in working order, reduced to fragments; tamed, trained, or reduced to
submission.
Usage; “There’s no point in keeping this up when you’re so broken.”
Breathe. Jeremy has found that’s the most important thing. It’s helped him in
many situations but admittedly, there are some situations that simply can not
be helped. He tries to prevent those ones as best he can. With another calm
intake, he settles his nerve and takes a run at the spring board to attempt his
trick again. The impact, the twist, the handspring, and the land. It’s harder
than it looks but he’s been practicing for what seems like ages now.
They always seem to happen quicker than he expects and he has both feet back on
the ground before he knows it. He landed it? He landed it! Jeremy’s heart does
a nervous little flutter of excitement at the realisation that he finally
nailed it after such a long, unending day of practice. He hasn’t had lunch, he
hasn’t had dinner, the sun has already set and maybe now he can finally go home
for the night. Eagerly, he looks in his father’s direction for confirmation
that he did good.
“What the fuck was that‽” comes the sharp scold. Jeremy flinches away
automatically as his father storms towards him.
“I’m sorry,” he says quickly, anything to soften the blow of what comes next.
“I’m getting better, though! I landed it this time!”
“Landed it! You call that a landing‽” his father yells at him. Jeremy turns
away enough to assure his face is shielded. He knows his father would never hit
him but- it doesn’t always feel that way especially when he starts gesturing so
violently. “That’s not gonna get you to the olympics, Jeremy! You want a gold,
don’t you‽”
“Yes sir,” he murmurs back. He couldn’t imagine saying anything else for fear
of that ‘never’ turning into a ‘certainly’. Truth be told, he really couldn’t
care less about getting a medal in the olympics or even /going. In fact,
gymnastics kind of makes him sick to his stomach. He’s not sure if it’s all the
tumbling or the lack of food or the knowledge that no matter what he does his
father is going to get mad at him, but he just doesn’t like it. He’s never
liked it to his recall.
“Then you’re gonna do it again! And you’re gonna do it right this time!” his
father demands. Jeremy nods urgently.
“Yes sir,” he says again. This trick is not easy and pulling it off the way his
father wants is even harder. All he really wants is for this to be over with so
he can go home and probably have an unsatisfying meal. He’d love a hamburger
right now. Unfortunately he gains weight so easily and he’s so naturally ‘thick
boned’, his father keeps him on a very strict diet to assure he’s in the best
of shape to perform. All he has to do is land this and they can both go home.
So Jeremy does it again and his first landing wasn't a fluke but the second
time he stumbles. He knows he just needs more practice but he's so tired.
“Do it again! Better this time!” his father commands and Jeremy really never
considers disobeying. He's not sure what would happen if he did and he doesn’t
all together want to, anyways. His father is just trying to help him be
something amazing. Jeremy does the trick again and again until he physically
can’t. He's so exhausted he can’t even get off the springboard anymore. His
father sighs in agitation and rubs his temples in his hand.
“Alright,” he gruffs out and Jeremy practically sighs in relief. “That's enough
for today but tomorrow, you're going to do this right, you understand?”
“Yeah, okay,” Jeremy murmurs softly, simply glad to finally be able to rest.
“What was that?” his father snaps at him.
“Yes sir!” he corrects. Tiredly, he collects his things and the two of them
close up the gym before meeting his mother at the car. She smiles at him and
hands him his dinner which Jeremy immediately brightens to. It's just carrots,
celery, lemon, and water but he hasn't eaten anything since his small breakfast
so he scarfs it down without hesitation. It's not very filling and he's still
hungry afterwards but at least it's something. His parents argue in the front
seat in a language he doesn’t understand. Unfortunately his mother doesn’t
speak much English and his father never let Jeremy learn much of it because he
thought it would take away from his training. He picks up a few words here and
there, though.
His mother's upset that they've been working so hard again. Jeremy tries to
focus on his food as his father finally grabs her. “Deport?” he growls, a word
Jeremy knows well in either language. She shakes her head.
- x -
It happens so quick, Jeremy doesn’t even realise it. He's trying a new trick.
It's a little complex but doesn't seem that far out of his reach with a little
effort. He hits the springboard then he hits the floor. Even with the mats in
place, the blow to the head discombobulates him hard. A sharp pain lurches up
his leg and he knows he's shouting but he feels so distant from himself. He
blacks out.
Sometime after that, he’s taken to the hospital where he wakes up. It doesn’t
hurt anymore and he's more or less aware of what's happening, he's just drowsy
and hungry. This is probably from the drip attached to him, feeding him
painkillers that numb all of him. Jeremy can already hear his father shouting
at someone in the hall but his mother is at his side. She smiles at him sadly
and he just smiles back. He feels rested for once.
While he's checking out the cast on his leg that reaches all the way up over
his hip and around, his mother hurriedly goes through her bag. She hands him a
little hospital cookie and Jeremy quickly looks in the direction of his
father's voice before looking back to her. Eagerly, he scarfs the little treat
down before his father returns and his mother gives him a soft pat on the head.
It's so good.
The doctor returns with his father and they explain what happened. His poorly
executed trick broke his knee, pelvis, and femur. Typically this would be
pretty hard to do all at once but Jeremy was in such bad health, the doctor
says it was only a matter of time before his body gave out on him anyways. His
bones are brittle, his muscles in bad shape, and his vitals were off the
charts. He asks if Jeremy has been dieting lately and Jeremy refuses. The
doctor doesn’t believe him but a quick snap from his father hushes him up.
He's not going to be able to do much of anything for a while and there is a
good possibility he won't be able to continue his olympic training- ever. The
news makes Jeremy’s heart flutter in excitement before promptly dropping out of
his chest when his father starts arguing with the doctor again. The doctor
isn’t having it. Unless Jeremy recovers right and unless he gets his health
back, he may never do gymnastics again- not without critically injuring
himself.
A part of him wants to sabotage himself just so he doesn't have to ever do
gymnastics ever again and other part doesn’t think he'll have to. His father
surely won't have the patience or care to follow the doctor's instructions. The
thought, suddenly, is scary. If he's not doing gymnastics, if he's not going to
the olympics, what worth does he have? His whole life has circled around him
being a gold medalist.
His mother asks something and his father gives her a short glare. This doctor
is truly a godsend and he understands without the need for his father's false
translation. Jeremy has to stay in the hospital until his vitals aren’t
bottoming out. It might be a while, he assures. His mother smiles at him again
and gives him another pat.
- x -
Admittedly, Jeremy has never had a lot of free time before to do, well,
anything. He finds it a little difficult to get used to doing something other
than gymnastics while he's recovering. He doesn’t have any friends because he's
never had time to make any but the other gymnasts from his school put a little
care package together for him while he's out. It's mostly stuff his father
won't let him have like sweets and baked goods and the rest of it is stuff he
doesn’t want like video tapes and ‘hope you're back soon’s. His mother lends
him her laptop to entertain him, though, where he discovers minecraft and more
importantly, a new friend.
Jeremy is more than enthused to spend his recovery time building strange little
things and talking to Matt about all kinds of odds and ins. It's nice to have a
friend, he discovers almost immediately. He wishes he'd had one sooner.
“Jeremy,” his father says and the immersion of his game falls apart
immediately. Jeremy naturally flinches. He hasn't done anything wrong he knows
but he feels like he's in trouble by simply not training right this instant all
the time. “Come on, buddy. We gotta get back to work. The gym’s waiting.” Back
to work? He just got his cast off yesterday. If he tries to do anything
strenuous now, he'll just hurt himself again. Jeremy swallows nervously.
“N-no,” he replies. His father seems taken aback. “The doctor said I have to-
keep resting. I'll pop my stitches.” Why can't he just wait? He hasn't even
begun his physical therapy yet.
“Jeremy,” his father says a little more stern. He sets the laptop aside and
Jeremy shifts uncomfortably. He really wishes Matt was on call with him right
now at least. Doing this alone is scary. “I don’t care what the doctor said.
You need to get back to your training. Exercise is the best medicine. Don't you
want to get a gold?”
“No,” Jeremy murmurs. He just wants to heal and maybe have some fun for once.
“No?” his father echoes and he gets much angrier. “What do you mean no? You're
just giving up on your dream?”
“I- I don’t really care,” he admits. He's been doing gymnastics all his life
and he just doesn’t want to anymore. “I don’t even like gymnastics, dad.” His
father hits him so hard, Jeremy's vision goes white. It catches him so off
guard, he doesn’t know how to respond for a moment.
“Oh,” his father murmurs. “Jeremy, no. I- I'm sorry, buddy, I didn't mean-”
Jeremy cries. When his father reaches for him, he jerks away instinctively.
“I'm so sorry, Jeremy. It's okay.” It’s definitely not okay. Jeremy urgently
gets up, reaching for his crutch and exiting the room as quick as he can
handle. Fortunately his father doesn’t follow and Jeremy makes a beeline to his
mother. She drops what she's doing immediately to see what's wrong. The large,
red spot on his face isn’t discreet in the slightest.
“Hayete,” she says softly, wrapping her arms around him. “It is okay.” It's
not. She hugs him tightly, trying to soothe him, and it helps a little. Jeremy
jumps when his father enters the room.
“Jeremy,” he tries again. Jeremy panics. He doesn’t want to get hit again but
he doesn't want his mother to be hit anymore, either. His mother starts
shouting and suddenly the two of them are in an argument again. Jeremy urgently
backs away. Again, his father tries to put hands on his mother but this time,
it doesn't go nearly as well for him. She shoves him back, forcibly making him
let go, and threatens him with the nearest object- a gold trophy. Their
argument amplifies. She warns him to keep away from her and her son and his
father doesn’t heed.
She hits him hard in the head and he goes down like a brick wall. Jeremy lets
out a panicked noise and his mother hurriedly drops the trophy. It takes them
both a second to come to their senses and then she's gently cooing to him
again.
“He is sleep,” she says. Jeremy only believes this because he's still moving if
only slightly. “You go,” she insists. “Please, hayete. I love you.” He has to
go. He's not safe here but neither is his mother. Jeremy doesn’t think that's
the reason he has to go, though, because he doesn’t think he's the only one
thinking it; too bad he's only asleep.
- x -
Jeremy packs what he can and after a heartfelt goodbye with his mother, he
leaves. He doesn’t know where he's going; she doesn’t tell him and she doesn’t
ask. Perhaps that is safer for both of them. His leg makes it hard to get
anywhere but he manages and he tries to take it easy. He heads for Los Santos.
That's where Matt said he lived, after all. That is a very long ways away but
Jeremy doesn’t think he could get far enough away from this place.
The journey is long and tiresome but he makes it not because he has to anymore
but because he wants to. He wants a life of his own. What little money his
mother had to give him he uses on bus tickets, train tickets, and small
necessities. Fortunately he's quite used to getting by on small amounts of food
and water. People here and there help him along, likely feeling bad for his
injury, and that makes things a little easier.
Once in Los Santos, Jeremy is lost. The city is so big and he's never been out
on his own before. People are less kind to him here. With nowhere else to turn,
Jeremy tries to contact Matt again. He's surprised to find out he's in Los
Santos after not hearing from him in so long but he assures that Jeremy can
come stay with him. His apartment is small, though, and Matt already sleeps on
the couch. It's hard living in Los Santos, he says. Matt is nice enough to take
turns sleeping on the couch.
The first real meal he gets Matt buys for him. Jeremy scarfs down the burger
like he's never had one and truly, he hasn't. It's kind of gross, actually, and
it makes him sick, but it's better than cold vegetables and lemon water. Matt
is a little amazed he can down an entire liter of coke in one sitting but he
also doesn't realise how starving Jeremy is for anything he's never had before.
The change from nothing but raw veggies to nothing but junk food isn’t easy on
his belly but Jeremy would be happy never eating vegetables again.
Jeremy pretends he doesn’t find out about his mother being arrested and, in all
likelihood, deported.
It takes some effort, but they live together comfortably. Jeremy has a chance
to let his leg properly heal and when it does, he spends more time than needed
making sure not to hurt it again. He has to manage his physical therapy himself
but having spent his entire life as a sport prodigy, he knows how to do that.
Once his leg is back to normal, he's free to do anything he wants. It's not a
feeling he's used to.
Matt shows him the ropes of the city and that helps but the fact of the matter
is, Jeremy has never done anything besides gymnastics. He doesn’t have the
computer skills Matt does, he doesn’t know how to work a job, he doesn’t know
how to cook or clean or anything. All he knows is gymnastics. Of course, he
doesn’t tell Matt this. He has to pull his weight now; he doesn’t want to make
his only friend mad at him.
So Jeremy does what he can with what he has; gymnastics. He sees some people
running through the city, scaling buildings and jumping rooftops with ease, and
he decides he can do that. It's not the same as the padded gym he's used to but
without someone yelling at him for every mistake he makes, he finds it easier
to learn. He also finds that he doesn't really hate gymnastics at all. In fact,
he used to love it dearly.
Then he becomes a runner. Matt starts working for a gang and Jeremy follows his
lead. It's an easy job, really. They give him packages and he delivers them
preferably without getting caught by the police. With his formal skills and his
knack for free running, it's so effortless. Jeremy loves it. He loves making
his way through the city, he loves teaching himself new tricks, and he fucking
loves food. Gradually, they move up in life.
Eventually, though, Matt moves in with his boyfriend and Jeremy awkwardly
decides not to be the third wheel and gets his own apartment- right next door.
Weirdly enough, he's happy here.
- x -
“Hey kid, here's your cash,” his boss hands him an envelope and Jeremy grins
happily. He's almost got enough saved up now for the next Xbox. It's become a
hobby of collecting, hoarding really, any games he can get his hands on. He
never knew they were so fun. If he doesn't live his childhood out now, when
will he? Sometimes he forgets he isn’t even eighteen yet and he's living on his
own, making his own money.
“Thanks,” Jeremy beams. His ‘boss’ isn’t the crew boss but no one sees her
much. Jeremy is just fine with that, honestly. She seems kinda scary to him.
The older man gives him an odd but amused look. This isn’t all that unusual,
many people around here find Jeremy an oddity for some reason. He doesn’t think
he’s ever done anything particularly strange.
“Ain't you ever in a bad mood, kid?” he asks. Jeremy blinks at him curiously.
Why would he be in a bad mood? Things are going fucking fantastic for him right
now. He has a job and a place to live and friends and is even doing something
he loves. He wouldn’t go back for the world. “Nevermind,” he laughs. “Hey, I
got an offer for you, though.”
“An offer?” Jeremy repeats inquisitively as he stuffs his money into his bag.
It’s a real hit and miss whether an offer in Los Santos is going to be good or
the worst idea ever. “What kind of offer?”
“Ever thought of expanding your skill set?” he asks.
“Uh, I guess?” he replies. He does like learning new things. “Like what,
though?”
“Boss has a pretty little present in mind,” he explains. “One of the biggest
diamonds in the world.”
“Ah,” Jeremy says, a little awestruck by the very idea. That’s gotta be one big
ol’ rock if the boss wants it.
“She'd never let someone as young as you do something like that obviously,” he
assures. “But maybe think about taking some robbing jobs? You go in, take some
things that aren't yours, and get out. Lots of people think you gotta steal big
stuff, tvs and shit, but just between you and me, there's way better shit. If
you turn out to be good at it, maybe she takes you on her next big heist.”
“I'm listening,” Jeremy urges on. This sounds not only interesting but right up
his alley. Running is a great job but he likes to have his options especially
when it comes to impressing his scary boss lady.
“First thing's first,” he grins. “Prove to me you can get in and out without
getting caught.”
“Alright! I can do that!” Jeremy agrees. That's no problem. Most people in Los
Santos don't have security systems anyways and the places that do aren’t
exactly expecting him to climb up thirty floors like fucking spiderman.
“Good. Here's the address,” his boss hands him a notecard and Jeremy tucks it
away into his pocket hurriedly. He knows this city like the back of his hand by
now. “Get my shit back and we'll talk.”
- x -
It’s not easy. It would be easier, of course, if it wasn't a trap. When Jeremy
shows up to do what he needs to do, they’re waiting for him. The second he gets
into the house, someone grabs him hard and Jeremy isn’t nearly skilled enough
in actual fighting to get him off. They struggle as Jeremy urgently tries to
get free and make a run for it but in the end, the guy is just too big for him.
The guy ties him up and then- just leaves him?
Jeremy is confused. His attacker ties his hands with rope and then leaves him
in a room by himself. Of course as soon as Jeremy realises he’s not coming
back, he unties himself and quickly gathers all his things again. That was
strange, wasn’t it? He takes a look out the window before deciding that he
shouldn’t leave just yet and instead peers out of the room. There’s no one in
sight and he quietly moves through the house before finding a little closet to
hide in.
His so called boss arrives rather suddenly with a group of other people and
they chat like they’re friends. He asks about Jeremy and confirms that he was
caught. Technically he’s not wrong. Then they discuss how what Jeremy is going
to tell them is going to help them get a leg up on Pattillo. Jeremy isn’t sure
what they think he knows but it’s definitely not that. He’s just a runner and
he’s a good runner which means he doesn’t ask any questions. People give him
packages, sometimes labeled sometimes not, and he takes them to where they need
to go. Usually he doesn’t even interact with anyone, simply leaving the package
in a designated location. Why do they think he could tell them anything that
would even dent the crew?
Then his boss comments about how he totally intends on killing Jeremy once they
got what they need. Who knew hiding in the closet worked in real life too?
Jeremy just listens as they wander past him without a second thought back
towards the room they were keeping him in. When they discover he’s gone, they
all jerk into action and his boss quickly instructs them to ‘fucking find him’
which prompts them all to again rush past the closet and out of the house.
Jeremy recalls he left the window open and that they probably think he left
already, sort of explaining why they didn’t bother to check the house at all.
Instead of trying to go anywhere yet, Jeremy just waits in the closet for
everything to settle down. He’s not sure why they’re trying to overthrow
Pattillo, she’s by far the most stable crew around, but he has long since
stopped asking questions like that in Los Santos. The struggle for power is
just that; for power. Jeremy has learned that if he's smart he'll keep his head
down and stay loyal to Pattillo. Once everything has calmed down a bit and most
of the people have left the house, Jeremy moves again. He finds his little hand
pistol, an assurance of self defense, and peers out of his hiding spot slowly.
His supposed boss still loiters, truly a man never interested in doing his own
work. One should do it, right? Jeremy has never actually done this before. He
carefully switches the safety off, keeps his finger off the trigger, and
silently aims for the man’s head. One shot is more than enough. Wow that’s
certainly a thing. He didn’t think there'd be so much blood. Hurriedly, Jeremy
rustles through the dead man's pockets to find his wallet and then high tails
it out of the house before anyone returns. He does the wise thing and takes
this intel straight to Pattillo.
Sure enough, she isn’t pleased to hear about it but she is glad he told her.
She’ll remember this.
Matt seems amazed that Jeremy got to not only talk to her but that she liked
him. She seemed nice. Not nearly as scary as Jeremy thought she would be. He’s
assured that she’s actually notorious for hating men which is why it’s so rare
that she interacts with her own crew. Jeremy finds that hard to believe but he
takes his friend’s word for it. Nevertheless, she gives him a raise and offers
him some more ‘legitimate’ jobs for being reliable and trustworthy; a change
that he welcomes gladly.
He loves Los Santos and Los Santos loves him.
- x -
“Find it yet?” Matt urges.
“Calm down,” Jeremy replies easily. “I’m workin’ on it.” He thumbs through
another stack of files leisurely in search of what he’s looking for but none of
these seem to be it. If it’s here at all Jeremy would be fairly surprised.
“Look, I don’t know how long this guy’s gonna be able to distract him so maybe
hurry it up?” Matt insists. The vagabond is not a friendly guy but Jeremy
doesn’t plan on meeting him. He’s just here to grab what he needs and get out.
Fortunately that’s pretty easy when the guy’s house is kept cleaner than one
would expect. Searching jobs are always the most tedious but a clean house is a
happy Jeremy.
“I said I’m working on it,” Jeremy assures him again. He’s really not all that
concerned. The fact is, he has a knack for these kind of things; breaking and
entering, assassinations, goods retrieval, and running. As long as no one
touches him, he’s truly an unstoppable force and he’s become very good about
not being touched.
“Alright, time to bail,” Matt announces. “Vagabond just put our guy on his
ass.”
“Probably because he was acting super suspicious,” Jeremy says. It really
doesn’t look like what he wants is here though so he decides to call it a day
before he also ends up on his ass. They really didn’t expect the Vagabond to be
so loose with his secrets, anyways. Jeremy carefully slips back out the window,
careful not to trigger it going this way either, and hops up onto the roof.
“Well next time you can talk to him face to face,” Matt promises. Jeremy’s
going to go ahead and make a hard pass on that. He makes his way a few rooftops
over before stopping to pull off his gloves and tucks them away into his bag
with the rest of his gear. It’s been an eventful day for him and he’s ready for
a good meal and a nice, long sleep in his warm bed. Or barring that, a warm
meal and a long night of very entertaining video games. He does almost have all
the achievements in all of the Halo games.
“Heeey, Jeremy,” Trevor says over the headset suddenly. “Guess who’s birthday
is soon.”
“Don’t ruin the surprise,” Matt scoffs.
“The surprise that it’s his own birthday?” Trevor replies pointedly. Jeremy
laughs a little. “We got a cake, we got drinks, it’s gonna be great.”
“Ah sweet,” Jeremy chirps back. “I can’t wait.” Some of the best birthdays he’s
had have been in Los Santos, Matt and Trevor have been sure about that, and he
doesn’t expect this one to be much different. It’s just enough to be with his
friends, really, and maybe some cake. He does like cake.
Even the days spent alone are better, though. There’s no one to coordinate
every second of his life anymore, no one to make him do anything he doesn’t
want to do anymore. He never has to flinch away in fear anymore. Most
importantly, though, his life will never belong to anyone else ever again
anymore.
Not as long as he has one hand on his gun.
The word is; Jeremy Dooley.
The definition is; someone who is viciously independent; dangerous.
Usage; “That Jeremy Dooley is a kid you don’t want to cross.”
***** Ray *****
Chapter Notes
     Ray's Warnings; self harm, suicide attempt, transphobia, child abuse,
     drug use, death, underage, mentions of attempted rape, arson, slurs
     Thanks bearybee for translations!
The word is; useless.
The definition is; not fulfilling or not expected to achieve the intended
purpose or desired outcome, without useful qualities, unavailing or futile.
Usage; “You’re such a useless little girl.”
Ray draws his fingers through his long, curly hair; just like his mother’s. He
wraps it around his hand and with his knife, cuts it off at the nap of his
neck. His so called father tries to keep sharp things away from him both to
prevent him from continuously cutting his hair and to make sure he doesn’t kill
himself; two very different concerns. This rarely stops Ray though, his short
hair and the scars laying way of evidence. His father tries so hard to keep him
alive and truth be told, Ray doesn’t want to die but hell if he’s going to give
his father the satisfaction.
“Danielle!” his father barks again, he and everyone else in the building
seemingly trying to knock down his bedroom door and with it the bed and
bookcase Ray has wedged against it. They’ve been through this before and
they’ll be through it again; his name isn’t Danielle. His name is Ray Narvaez
Jr. just like his mother and her mother and the mother before that. Calling him
the wrong name isn’t going to change that.
“You let us in here right now!” Of course, Ray just ignores him. He knows
they’ll get in eventually and Ray doesn’t have anywhere to go being forty five
stories up but he doesn’t care too much. Instead he simply relishes the time
alone. With the sharp edge of his blade, he trims the edges of his ragged hair
down to the way he likes it. It’s become a necessary skill to be able to cut
his hair with whatever so happens to be at hand. Fortunately he’s actually very
good with a knife anyways. He’s very good with a lot of things ‘anyways’.
“Open this door!” That’s what happens when a guy spend most of his time locked
in his own room; he develops skills. It certainly helps that Ray is a natural
born killer, too. Knives and guns and murder come naturally to him and to be
fair, his father is probably wise to try to contain him. He is a weapon capable
of destruction the likes of which his father couldn’t fathom on his own. One
day he will get out of here and god forbid he gets the upper hand, he will
murder his father without hesitation.
It’s only a matter of time before he slips up.
Another thump hits the door but still Ray ignores it. He faces no worse
consequences than he already has and thus, isn’t worried about what his father
will do. With his hair the way he wants it finally, Ray uses his knife to open
up his pack of weed. His father may scare the shit out of most of the people
around here but the fact of the matter is, some of them would rather follow Ray
to the grave. He is, after all, the successor here and many already think his
father has outstayed his welcome. Not to say all of them that think that think
Ray is competent enough to take over, but the smart ones do.
Ray rolls himself a blunt and strikes a match against the side of his vanity.
He hears his bed and bookcase scrape against the floor ever so slightly as they
finally manage to get it unwedged. A small peer over his shoulder assures
they’re still going to be at it for a while, though. Honestly, his father needs
to make up his mind; does he want Ray locked in his room or not?
“That better not be marijuana, Danielle!” he shouts.
“Oh yeah,” Ray murmurs to himself. “I’m ‘bout to OD all up in this bitch.” He
inhales a few puffs before twirling his little switchblade in his fingers.
“Let’s see who wins this time, eh.” Neatly, he runs his blade across his tongue
before driving it into his wrist violently. Oh, that was a good one. When he
yanks it out, blood bubbles up and immediately begins to pool under his chair.
That’s a small timer right there.
“See you in hell, asshole.”
- x -
Ray escapes from the hospital. It’s not like it’s the first time and it’s not
going to be the last either. The problem is, he has nowhere to go once he gets
away. Anywhere but Los Santos. Really, he wants to go back to Puerto Rico to
see his mother but he knows for a fact that his father will hunt him down and
he has no desire to lead the man straight to his mother. In a fair fight, or
even an unfair one on one, his mother would certainly win. However, his father
isn’t keen on letting that happen which is exactly why he has no idea where she
is.
If Ray ever wants to see his mother again, he has to get rid of his father. If
it were that easy, though, he would have done it a long time ago. His father
wants him alive, to eventually mold him into someone worthy of ‘taking the
family business’, and that’s the only reason Ray hasn’t killed him yet; he’s
had plenty of opportunities to. If Ray’s going to be leading any gang, it’s
going to be his own. Some of his father’s top players do not feel nearly the
same way about him. If his father were to die, they would immediately try to
murder Ray.
So somehow, Ray has to first get rid of them and then his father without
letting his father know they’re gone and without tipping anyone off. Ideally
getting rid of all of them in one fatal swoop would be nice but so rarely are
they in the same place together to pull this off in any fashion. Ray simply
does not have the means to accomplish this right now.
This only means that eventually his father finds him and drags him back. Of
course this time when Ray gets back, his room is in even worse condition. He no
longer has a bed frame or a bookcase, and most of his other stuff has long
since been taken away because he kept using it to either hurt other people,
hurt himself, or ‘embarrass’ the family name. His father will give him his Xbox
and a screen back after he’s ‘calmed down’ and ‘understands why you left’ but
he’ll just take it away again the moment Ray does anything even remotely
unacceptable- which is most things.
His vanity remains, though, rummaged through and checked for hidden secrets and
still stained with his own blood. His clothes laid nearly folded on the floor
along one wall, all checked through and left with no dresser to put them in. At
least he has some of his blankets back, those got taken away when he tries to
use them to climb out his window and onto the roof. It truly isn’t hard to
escape and the measures Ray goes to are less out of necessity and more to make
his father pissed- hopefully enough to give up on him.
It could never be that easy though.
When he gets back, his father introduces him to a new member of the gang about
his age. Why a kid Ray’s age is working for his father is beyond him but
apparently he’ll help him ‘straighten out’. In his dreams. Michael definitely
looks like he belongs in this crew, a permanent look of displeasure and
irritability pinned to his face, but he’s gentlier than meets the eye. He
doesn’t want to touch Ray, doesn’t want Ray to touch him, and seems to want to
put himself between Ray and his father at the drop of a hat. It’s kind of
strange for Ray.
Once they talk a little more and get to know each other a little better, Ray
realises why this is; Michael’s step mother hit him a lot and his father wasn’t
against some physical restraint every so often either. This makes him feel
inclined to do something to at least try to make things easier on Ray.
Honestly, it’s not as if Ray needs it; he can actually protect himself from his
father just fine. He decides not to tell Michael this, though.
So how’d you kill ‘em, Ray asks. Didn’t, Michael replies. Oh, Ray says, when ya
going to? Not, Michael says. A part of Ray kind of wishes he could have that,
to just leave and be able to forget about everything. Another part of him finds
it a strange idea; everyone gets what they deserve eventually and some people
deserve a cruel death. Like Ray and Ray’s father- like Michael’s parents.
It's only after Ray makes one too many comments, much too sharply that he
realises the extent to which Michael is willing to help him. Already annoyed,
Ray gets a full on, closed fisted punch to the face from his father for his
lack of ‘respect’. It breaks his nose but that's certainly not a first; not a
first broken nose, not a first broken bone. Michael seems to use every ounce of
will to not jump at that very moment. Later when they're alone again, Michael
offers to kill his father.
This is the mistake Ray's been waiting for; the upper hand.
Michael is his father's golden boy; the prodigal son he never had. He's
skilled, he's violent, he does as he's told and he doesn’t ask too many
questions. It's really too bad Michael hates him with a passion. Ray's going to
destroy this gang from the inside out using his father's favorite against him.
And Michael is happy to help.
- x -
“Got everything placed,” Michael murmurs between bites of his food.
“Cool,” Ray agrees. Since he's been ‘behaving’ lately, his father has lightened
up on a lot of things like only making one guy watch him and only from a
distance. Of course, this is exclusively because behaving makes things easier
for Michael. His father thinks since they've been friends that Michael has
rubbed off on him and not the other way around. All the more reason Michael is
his favorite. Ray can just see the man trying to groom Michael into, well,
probably a right hand man for Ray. He'd never actually let Michael take over.
Blood may be thicker but water is pure.
Michael hands him another burger and in the wrapped hides a little pack of
weed. It's been much easier getting things smuggled to him thanks to Michael.
He's the only one allowed to get close to him reliably and without question. It
makes planning things easier, too. Ray hungrily eats.
“Check with Percy,” he replies in an equally quiet murmur. “She knows a guy
that'll get you the stuff.” Michael nods. They've been real busy over the last
few weeks and in just a few more, everything should be in place to burn this
place to the ground. Ray's skin crawls with excitement by the day.
“You gonna be okay?” Michael asks. Ray snorts a laugh. He's probably referring
to the black eye or maybe the new cuts on his wrist. The further his father's
gang falls, the angrier he gets and it's rarely not directed at Ray. He doesn’t
even realise it should be.
“I'm gonna be fine,” Ray assures. He’s survived more than this. His father
won't kill him; he doesn’t have the balls. “Make sure you get the wire on
dipshit before you kill him. I got a guy fudging some records for me. Ol’ daddy
isn’t gonna be happy when he finds out one of his best guys was FIB this whole
time. Should buy us some time till melt down.”
“Danielle,” Michael says firmly. He doesn’t know. Ray doesn’t want him to. “I'm
serious. Kraid’s been getting a lot more violent lately. If we need to get you
out of there-”
“More frequent is not more violent,” Ray promises. “You think this is the worse
he can do? Just stick to the plan.” Michael wants to protect him, wants to help
him, but he just doesn’t understand Ray doesn’t need it. Ray lets his father do
these things, he doesn’t bare them. Then again, Michael is just a brute and
he'll never see the bigger picture. It's probably for the best.
“Fine,” Michael grumbles through his teeth. “Whatever you say, boss.” He knows
where their lines are just like Ray does.
- x -
They sleep together once. His father gets so upset over something so little, he
breaks Ray's hand with a hammer. It's the final straw. Ray stabs him in the
throat again and again and again then he goes for the face. He's at it so long
and so viciously that when he's finally exhausted himself, there's nothing left
of his father's face but a mangled mess of blood and exposed flesh. One of
Ray's followers helps move the body into hiding and then takes him to Michael’s
apartment for final preparations.
Michael tends to his hand and Ray is so hyped up on adrenaline and anxiety,
he's not fully certain how it happened. He's always known Michael had a thing
for him; some sort of hero complex where Michael isn’t sure who's saving who.
Despite his father's multiple attempts at trying to make him a woman again with
someone else's dick, Ray is still a virgin. It's pretty obvious Michael is too.
Afterward, Ray cries. It has nothing to do with Michael or what he did even if
he seems to think so. It's simply that Ray has had time to come down from the
thrill and really realise what has happened. His father is dead and while they
were fumbling around like the stupid teenagers they are, all across the city
buildings are starting to burn down with his father's gang trapped inside. He's
finally fucking free. Ray doesn’t know what he feels but he knows it's mostly
relief; relief and for the first time, happiness.
He thinks perhaps he cries so much just because his feelings have been pent up
so long and so fiercely, the first chance he gets to let them out causes them
all to surface.
Michael probably doesn’t notice, he is kind enough to give him space, but
between all the tears, Ray is laughing. He knew he'd win; he knew he'd get his
father first. An entire life of torment and abuse and hate and Ray drew last
blood. The victor at last.
When he finally stops crying, he gets dressed again and Michael sits with him
as they watch the carefully placed fires grow out of control. They burn hot but
fast. The initial fires have already burned away and what's left is what they
already spread their fire to. It'll peter out eventually on its own but for
now, it's easily the biggest fire Los Santos has ever seen. His father burns
and with him, his city. Ray never had any interest in running a gang, even his
own. This city knows that now.
I love you, Michael whispers. Ray knows. He laughs awkwardly. Truth be told, he
likes Michael, he really does, but Michael scares him. His temper, his bite,
his kindness; Ray doesn’t understand him. Always that nagging feeling, even
now, that Michael turned on his father and Ray's just like his father so why
not turn on him, too? Always that worry that if one man who loved him could
treat him so bad, another definitely could.
Michael tries to kiss him and Ray moves away like he's been cut; too quick. I
love you, too, he promises, no homo though. What's he supposed to say? Very
homo, Michael’s always straight to the point, all the homo. Ray laughs again,
shrugs it off and tries to brush it away. He thanks Michael, hugs him goodbye,
and offers to grab him something to eat. Michael refuses. Ray wonders if it
would have mattered if he answered any different.
His few loyal followers, his friends, take him away. He has a plane to catch
and a mother to see.
He has a new life to begin at long last.
- x -
“Hey mom,” Ray grins so broadly when his mother sees him, she looks like she's
going to cry. She hugs him, checks him over, then hugs him again. How long has
it been now? Years. He still recognises her even if he had barely known her.
Almost everything he knows about his mother was learned second hand from one of
her old partners but it doesn’t matter. Not to Ray.
“You're alright,” she says in relief. “Mi espina, estoy tan orgullosa.” Ray
hugs her tightly, so tightly he doesn’t want to let go. He's missed her so
much. She ushers him inside and urgently makes him have a seat before hurrying
off for gear. Ray smiles awkwardly at his dad perched on the recliner and the
man offers a small smile in return. His real dad is a quiet guy, a man with no
blood on his hands and probably not a violent bone in his body.
No, his mother would never have a kid with the kind of guy that tried to raise
him.
At once, Ray's mother starts tending to him. Obviously having decided whatever
treatment he had gotten before wasn’t good enough, she strips off his bandages
to do it herself, cooing worriedly at him the entire time. His Spanish is kind
of rusty, though, sometimes he doesn’t understand her. Really none of them are
as bad as they look. Alright, that's a lie. She has to re-stitch some of the
cuts on his wrist just because they're so mangled and raw.
“I'm so sorry,” she murmurs and she gives him a kiss on the head. “I'm sorry I
had to leave you behind.” Ray knows. He’s never felt any sort of anger towards
her. She'd never even had a fair fighting chance to take him with her. She was
right to flee; he ex would have killed her.
“Nah, don’t worry about it, mom,” Ray promises with a smile. She smiles back at
him sadly, distracting him long enough to snap his hand back into place. He
only winces. “He's dead now, okay? You can come back.”
“Oh, Ray,” she replies with a small sigh. “No, no. Yo estoy aquí ahora. I am
happy. Los Santos has nothing more for me.” Of course. Ray understands this
very well. There is no reason to go back there or anywhere else she's been.
She's been out of the crime game for a long time now and Ray isn’t itching to
see her back in it.
“That's fair,” he agrees quietly. She pats the back of his hand tenderly.
People like them, this is as heartfelt as a reunion will get.
“It is safe now for you, though. No espera para mí, Los Santos has a life for
you,” she urges. As much as he hates to admit it, Los Santos does call for him
just like Liberty City called for his mother years and years ago. At least with
his father dead Ray is free to travel and speak with his mother as much as he
wants. In truth, he can really do whatever he wants now. He just doesn’t know
what he wants. His mother beckons to her husband to bring her case and he
gladly agrees.
“Live your life while you can,” she urges. “You only get to once.” Maybe he
doesn’t have to know what he wants. Maybe all he needs is to know he can do
whatever he wants. His dad sets a case down on the table and his mother thanks
him with a small pat. She opens it up and turns it to Ray. “This is for you,”
she says. “It's always been for you.” He knows what it is, his mother's pink
sniper rifle; painstakingly made by her own hands to do what she needs it to do
when she needs to do it.
“Oh man,” Ray murmurs in awe. “I- have no idea how to use this.” His mother
laughs.
“Do not worry, mi espina. We have much to catch up on,” she assures. “Yo te
enseñaré.”
“Yeah,” Ray grins. “Thanks mom. I'd really like that.” She can't change things,
she can't raise him again, but she can teach him how to live with what he has.
She can teach him to be a Narvaez again.
“But for now,” she says. “Vamos a comer.”
As she cooks, she rustles up a commotion that seems to get the attention of
everyone in town. People bring in food and Ray meets relatives he didn't even
know he had and some he didn't used to have. It's a bit hectic and a little too
crowded for him but he loves it too much to complain. They celebrate for two
days, eating plenty of food, playing various 'games’, and sharing with Ray
stories he really wishes he could remember later.
- x -
Ray stays in Puerto Rico with his family for a while. His mother spends her
days teaching him in the ways he already has a knack for but never the proper
training for. It feels good to be able to just enjoy his mother's company like
this, doing the things they both enjoy doing. He learns guns, sniper rifles
especially, and the math behind using them properly. He learns knives, too, how
to use them and how to strip a piece of meat clean. Pigs are like people, his
mother says before pausing to think about what she's said and laughing, in more
ways than one.
She shows him explosives, too, and when he tells her he already knows a little
free running, they start taking trips through town together. The only thing she
can't teach him is cooking. She tries but Ray is just so bad at it, she says
he'd have better luck eating a bullet and they both laugh.
His dad doesn't speak much English, if any, and Ray’s Spanish is too rusty to
easily speak it, but they get along. He seems to understand that Ray really
isn’t in a position to trust men right now and he's constantly making sure not
to get too close without permission, not to accidentally make Ray feel trapped,
and even tries to assure they're never alone together. Ray really does
appreciate it.
When Ray is finally ready to go back, though, he's not alone. Percival is his
mother's old partner and she's tried her best all this time to aid Ray with
some success. His father never fully trusted her and for good reason. She's a
bit older than his mother but she's not quite ready to settle down. Instead she
goes back to Los Santos with him. The assurance that he won't suddenly be alone
and that if anything happened, Percival will be there to help him makes him
feel much, much better. They don’t live together but close by; he needs his
space.
Ray still speaks to his mother everyday. Partly because he wants to and partly
because she calls everyday to make sure he's okay. Yes, he promises gladly, he
is still okay. He's still always going to be okay now. She gives him some tips
now and again, too, that help him secure some jobs for himself and
simultaneously keep a low profile. He takes the name Brownman and he only takes
the jobs he wants; the ones that sound fun.
Really though, he just takes it easy. He's got nearly seventeen fucking years
to recover from, he thinks he deserves some downtime.
- x -
“Listen kid,” Percival murmurs. “I ain’t a sport person. I understood none of
that.”
“Yeah, well,” Ray laughs. “Long story short, I'm pretty sure the Los Santos
football team is made up of people who exclusively play sports not football.”
To this, she laughs as well. They make their short trek down the street for
their usual dinner meal. Ray has yet to be able to cook something not needing a
microwave and Percival isn’t much of a chef, either. Instead they scrounge out
the best places around town. As it so happens, the convenience store around the
corner has the best burritos.
“Apparently I ain’t the only person not into sports,” she jokes.
“No kidding,” Ray agrees. They separate inside the store, Percy to grab the
burritos and Ray to grab everything else. Chips, absolutely, redbull, yup, that
looks tasty whatever that is. He busies himself with grabbing enough stuff to
sate him both tonight and come the following morning so much so that he barely
notices the guy coming up on him. Ray notices everything always but an
assurance that it isn't a threat to him leads to a quick disregard of most
things.
“You're Brownman, right?” the stranger murmurs. Ray effectively ignores him.
Despite his low profile, people just know him sometimes. After all, he's still
his father's kid and some people are smart enough to put two and two together.
There was a reason his father maintained one of the largest gangs around. By
now, though, all the pieces left behind have been swept up by bigger fish. All
that remains are whispers of his kids, one being Ray of course and the other
being- Michael probably.
“You- you're a merc, right?” Ray pops one end of a red vine in his mouth as he
reads the back of the bag. There's probably like some nutrition in these
surely. If he eats like twelve of these, that'll be just like eating an orange
slice or something. That's how this works, right? “I have a friend looking to
hire you.” The stranger looks at him pointedly and Ray blinks.
“Yo, you talking to me?” he replies curiously with a mouthful of candy. “Like,
I don’t know what to do here, man, but I feel like I should call the police or
something.” The stranger looks surprised before quickly hurrying off without
another word. Undercover agents are so fucking dense, as if Ray didn't see him
from a mile out. He shakes his head mutely as he grabs all his goodies in arm
and heads to the front to meet back up with Percival. She nods at him in
greeting.
“Ready to go?” she asks.
“Oh yeah,” he agrees gladly. He's ready to get back to his own apartment and
spend the rest of the day enjoying his new game. With no one to dictate when he
gets to enter or exit his own room, he's much happier. With no one trying to
orchestrate his entire life, with no one trying to beat him into submission,
with no one trying to make him into something he's not, life is so much better.
Most of all, no one's ever going to do those things to him again.
Not as long as he's still breathing.
The word is; Ray Narvaez Jr.
The definition is; a person willing to destroy themselves and everything else;
dangerous.
Usage; “You'd be better off dead than fighting Ray Narvaez Jr.”
***** Mica *****
Chapter Notes
     Mica's Warnings; racism, police brutality, wrongful imprisonment,
     death
     as a note to people who don't know me and would assume otherwise; i
     ain't white
The word is; thug.
The definition is; a violent person especially a criminal, a cruel or vicious
ruffian, robber, or murderer.
Usage; “Act like a thug and you’re going to be treated like a thug.”
Mica is good at things. She’s always held good grades in school, always tried
to make friends with anyone who wanted to be friends, always tried to do good
by her family. She’s made some mistakes, of course she has, like any other
normal person would. She’s a kid, though. She likes video games and make up and
dying her hair pastel colors to match her outfits. She wants to go to school to
become an actor and model.
So they arrest her.
They planted drugs on her, they lied and faked bruises, they pretended like she
was some sort of criminal who had struggled when they arrested her. Even when
they assaulted her and arrested her for no goddamn reason she didn’t fight
back! The worst part by far is that people fucking believe them.
“The jury has found Mica Burton guilty of two counts of possession of
controlled substances, one count of conspiracy to commit grand theft, and one
count of aggravated assault of an officer of the law. You are hereby sentenced
to thirty years in prison without parole.”
Mica loses her footing, stumbling into her chair in horror. Thirty years? She
didn't even do anything. She was framed, they found her guilty, and now they're
giving her thirty years for what? Drugs she didn't have? Things she didn't do?
She's a minor! How could this have happened? She's too startled to even cry,
honestly. Thirty fucking years for something that would have been a minor
offense even if she did do it. She’s never even had a ticket before. She's
going to be in prison until well into her late forties.
Her lawyer says this isn’t over, that they can get it overturned or lightened
or something but Mica knows better. They're going to toss her in jail and
forget about her. She looks back at her dad, crying into his hands already, and
she knows she's been wrong. All the missing evidence that proved her innocent,
all the people that were there that would insist she did nothing wrong; all
surprisingly gone- as if it would have made a difference anyways. She's not
going to jail because she did anything wrong, she's going to jail because the
sweat and blood of young black people like herself keeps their fucked up system
turning.
She's going to jail because a white cop didn't like the color of her skin.
As the jury is dismissed, Mica puts her head in her hands, the rattling of her
handcuffs sinking her stomach. Her lawyer touches her shoulder fondly, trying
to comfort her but there isn't much she can do now. She did everything she
could- she did everything right. They're going to take her away now, from her
family and her friends and her future. The very idea is so hard for her to
understand, for her to wrap her head around. She never did anything wrong.
When they come to lead her away, Mica turns back to her dad again as if by some
miracle he could suddenly do something. He doesn’t even look up, too stunned to
even move. How could he have ever prepared her for this? She swallows
nervously, tries to steel her nerves, and lets them take her away. There's
nothing she can do.
- x -
They tried her as an adult, something Mica still can't understand as if that’s
the only thing wrong here, and as such she is sent to an adult prison. All the
hoops they jumped through just to get her here, just to make themselves sound
like the good guys for putting her away, and people will believe every word of
it. ‘Problem daughter of mildly successful actor in jail,’ they cry as if Mica
has ever been anything but well behaved. She learned long ago she had to be.
Now she wonders why, though, if they were just going to put her in here
anyways.
The processing isn’t nice or gentle and the guards, a mix of mostly men and a
few women, shove her around the entire time. Los Santos isn’t exactly known for
their kind ways and tender touch, that's for certain. They bruise her something
terrible but it’s not like anyone cares. Truth be told, the guards worry her
more than the other inmates. Not that they don’t worry her, too.
When she's finally shoved into a small cell with another woman, it turns out to
be a very big other woman. She's easily twice Mica’s size and looks like she
bench presses log cabins. You want the top or the bottom, she asks. Mica
doesn’t know the correct answer to this question but hell if she's going to
piss off her new roommate immediately. The lady then continues, I prefer the
bottom, eh, don’t wanna accidentally squish you. Oh.
While Mica’s roommate isn’t exactly a gentle giant, she's kind and sweet most
of the time. Really though, she's happy to make sure no one messes with Mica.
Not many people do, in fact most of them are willing to mind their own
business, but it's a big prison and there are more than a few other women who
maybe smile at her a little too fondly. Her roommate, who is typically just
referred to as ‘Axe Wound’, deters most people by simply making it known that
Mica belongs to her.
This isn't true, of course, as Axe has the sense to know Mica isn’t even an
adult yet and shouldn't even be here. In actuality, a lot of the other inmates,
especially the older ones, tend to treat her like an actual teenager. They help
her out, they help get her stuff, and they typically don't get too upset when
she messes up. Mica discovers very quickly that's because this prison is just
brimming with people who shouldn’t be here whether it's simply sentences too
long for crimes too small, or being found guilty of a crime they didn't
actually do.
Mica asks Axe once if that's the case with her. She assures it's not and that
she killed multiple people in a rampage about twenty so years ago. She doesn’t
want to talk about it, she says. Mica’s weirdly okay with that.
As much as she hates getting used to it, she does. Just because so many of them
were wrongfully imprisoned doesn’t mean they're soft. Mica picks up on things
rather quickly. She's small, both because she's young and because she just is,
and she uses this to her benefit quite often. It's easier for her to get into
places she shouldn't be, hide in places they wouldn't check, and smuggle things
around without anyone the wiser. Not to mention with the classes she had taken
before being incarcerated, she can climb and tuck herself into areas the bigger
inmates can’t even hope to reach let alone where the guards would think to
look. This earns her quite the rep with people.
Unfortunately she doesn’t really have the strength and size to fight like Axe
does but some of the other smaller women around show her how to get out of most
holds and use what she does have to her advantage. The same ladies also show
her how to fashion a shiv out of basically anything as well as how to use them.
The lengths they go to help her still surprise Mica sometimes. Hell, she even
started a riot once without even knowing it. Apparently someone decided to try
to fight Axe for her which went about as well as expected and of course once
one person is fighting, everyone has to. It’s not something she’ll soon forget.
Her father still visits often, every day if they let him. They rarely do. While
he promises he's trying to do what he can to get her out, Mica doesn’t have
high hopes. She only hopes he doesn’t get himself in trouble in the process.
There's no reason they both need to be locked up like this.
Or even really one of them.
- x -
“What will you do when you get out?” Axe asks. Mica pauses in her reading to
listen, only looking away from her book momentarily before going right back to
it. There isn’t exactly a lot to think about is there?
“I dunno,” she murmurs. “That’s- a long time from now.” By then, she’d be a
different person. Thinking about it makes her ill on the stomach anyways and
she tries not to do it very often. For as long as she’s been here, it’s barely
made a dent on her sentence.
“For real now,” Axe insists. Mica adjusts slightly, making sure she’s not
putting her elbows into Axe’s shoulders as she moves. She might not be very
heavy but she’s still quite a useful weight replacement for her roommate's
workout. Mica certainly doesn’t mind very much, she’s not exactly doing
anything else.
“See my dad?” Mica offers. Regardless of how long she’s in here, the moment she
gets out she wants nothing more than to show her father she really is okay.
He’s so worried about her. Admittedly, sometimes Mica is very worried about
herself, too.
“Sure, sure, of course,” Axe agrees. “But after that.” After that? What kind of
life would she even have after that? Even when she does get out, everyone’s
always going to see her as some sort of jailbird. She could try to finish
school but that takes money that she’s certainly not making here. Just the very
idea of trying to get a job after spending so long in a cold little prison
sounds impossible. That’s granted she even gets out. Too many people around
here seem to suddenly have much longer sentences and with no one on the outside
to fight for them, they’re forced to stay.
“I guess I have time to think about it,” Mica replies with a dejected sigh.
She’s already had to throw away her dreams once, it would probably be better if
she just takes things day by day nows. There’s no guarantee she’ll have
anything when she does get out and she isn’t exactly hoping for it. There’s no
reason to think about it now.
“What if you didn’t?” Axe asks. Mica snorts a bitter laugh. At this point, she
really wouldn’t be all that surprised if the guards came by and made her decide
what she was going to do when she got out thirty years from now. That sounds
about as reasonable as anything else they do around here.
“Then I’d buy a pony and get revenge on the people that put me in here,” she
promises with a sarcastic little inflection. Axe laughs.
“Well I dunno about the pony,” she says. “But I think we can help ya with the
other part.” Oh, Mica has no doubt about that. Axe may not have been in a gang
when she got here but that sort of thing just happens after twenty years.
Besides, gangs keep a person safer especially from the guards. As vicious as
they are, there are more inmates than there are of them. It only takes a
handful of them to beat the shit out of a guard in a dark corner.
“That's nice but I think I'm okay,” Mica assures. She doesn’t want other people
to put their lives at risk just for some vindictive revenge.
“What if I told you we're getting out of here?” Axe urges instead. Mica stalls
a bit, adjusting unsurely. “The men's prison is staging a mass escape. While
those idiots are distracting all the cops, we're going to be making a break for
it.” That sounds like a terrible idea if Mica has ever heard one. The cops
around here are already trigger happy and starting a riot sounds like a great
way to give them all the reason they need to shoot whoever they want. On the
other hand, does she really have anything to lose at this point?
“What- would I have to do?” she asks. “You know, theoretically.” Axe stops what
she's doing and Mica folds up her book to get off her roommate's back. She sits
aside and Axe gives a small sigh before looking at her.
“You'd have to kill,” she says. Mica swallows nervously. “The cops and the
guards will be aimin’ to see us dead. You gotta get them before they get you,
Mica.” She's not sure why she asked, she already knew. “If you don't want to,
I'll stay here with you.” Jeez. It's one thing to stay behind on her own but to
make Axe stay with her- Mica isn’t sure she can do that. A part of her wants to
argue that there is no reasonable way she can convince herself to do this but
what's the alternative. Hell, a part of her even wants to know there are more
than just bad cops but is there really?
Even ‘good’ cops withhold the law that wrongly imprison her here. Even ‘good’
cops obey the racist, sexist code written by other racist, sexist men. Even
‘good’ cops help take the land Axe’s family has lived on for centuries.
So she can either rot in here having done nothing or she can give them a
fucking reason for putting her in here. They don’t play fair, why should she?
Mica knows if she does get out, if she does get away, they'll just keep
painting her like the worst menace this city has ever seen but they're already
doing that, aren’t they? Either way the life she thought she might have had
once is long gone.
“Y-yeah,” Mica says. “Alright. I'm coming too.” She should think about this
more, it's going to be dangerous, but she doesn’t want to. She wants her life
back or at any rate, a new one. Axe grins at her.
“Don’t worry,” she assures. “I'll be right there with you, ‘ight?” Mica smiles
smalley.
- x -
It's so nerve-wracking to wait and Mica can just feel the tension rising all
over the prison but everyone tries to remain cool. She stays close to Axe just
in case and quietly helps smuggle any kind of weapons she can to whoever will
take them. Everything kicks off so suddenly, her first instinct is to panic.
Axe won't let her out of her sight and many other women try to assure her
safety as well.
Mica is sure to follow every instruction Axe gives her to the dot. The crowds
of bodies pushing for the exit is a mass of danger moving. Every guard in the
place is doing their damnedest to hold them back but with a large majority of
them sent to help control the men's prison, they're easily overrun. As soon as
the entrance is open, all the inmates swarm out urgently. It'll only be a
matter of time before military forces start arriving.
Axe hoists her up suddenly, startling Mica as she's tossed over her friend's
shoulder like nothing. Admittedly, it is the easiest way to make sure they
don't get separated. She holds on tightly as they dart across the parking lot
to the vehicle's other inmates are trying to hot wire. The one they approach is
already up and running and several women are packed into the back. Axe tosses
Mica inside before hurriedly hopping in with her. A lady hanging off the side
yells something in Spanish, full up full up, and the other inmates quickly
swarm to another van.
Someone shoves a gun into her hands and Mica lets out a small yelp. When they
said she'd have to shoot, she thought that meant like a pistol or a bb gun not
a fucking SMG. She's never fired a gun before! The van takes off and Axe grabs
her to make sure she doesn’t tumble out the open back. Mica’s already surprised
they got this far. While some of the women fire at the police cars starting to
appear behind them, others take potshots at the choppers.
Mica hasn’t even been this close to gunfire before. A woman next to her drops
dead and she gasps, not specifically in horror but surprise certainly. Perhaps
she hadn't truly realised the severity of this situation before. Axe chucks the
dead body at the closest car, making it swerve off the road completely. She
touches Mica’s head gently. You have to shoot, baby girl, she says, they'll
kill us before they bring us back. It's far too late to change her mind. Mica
does her best but shooting a gun turns out to need much more effort than she
assumed.
Eventually, though, they lose their pursuers. They hide in the darkness of an
underground train tunnel and no one makes a peep as they tensely wait out cops
zipping by overhead. Axe makes sure to shield Mica with her body just in case.
Mica doesn’t think it would do much good but she appreciates it none the less.
Finally a truck pulls up behind them and someone in it whispers to them in
Spanish she can only brokenly understand.
Quickly and quietly they all pile out of the stolen police vehicle and into the
friendly one. Everyone urgently starts stripping out of their prison get ups
and random clothes are passed out for the time being. They ditch their guns
with the van and then they're off. To where, Mica isn’t all that sure but she
knows it's better than where she was.
- x -
“Please,” Mica sobs. “Can you help me? My car won't start and I loss my phone.”
Her words slur together as she hangs on the guy's arm, unsteady on her heels
and already disheveled from the night. He blinks at her curiously before
grinning.
“Oh, of course,” he promises sweetly. “I can help you.”
“Thank you,” Mica breathes out, grabbing his arm and pulling him away. He grabs
her waist to make sure she doesn’t fall when she stumbles and they head into
the dark night away from the bustling club.
“Where are your friends?” he asks. “Are you here alone?”
“Friends?” Mica hiccups. “I came out to get fuckin’ wasted not- not make
friends.” He laughs a little as they head down the alley towards the car park.
She grips his arm even tighter, hanging on him a little. “Sides, don’t you
know? Only friend a girl needs are diamonds.” He stops smiling.
“Oh sweetie,” her friend says as the lot of them step out in front. Axe is
suddenly behind them, effectively blocking both exits of the alley. “We know
you're holding those diamonds for Weston. Hand them over.”
“What- what is this?” he turns on Mica as she strangely enough finds her
balance and sobers up on a dime. She grins at him as Axe hoists him off the
ground and assures he's not going anywhere. Not that he was going anywhere
before, either.
“We're the ones asking questions here,” her boss snaps. “Give us the diamonds!”
Mica whips out her knife and similarly, the rest of her crew displays their
various blunt and sharp weapons to assure this man they are not joking. Axe
tightens her grip on his neck.
“I don’t have them!” he snaps, viciously trying to wriggle free. “Not anymore!”
“Che. Worthless. I guess we'll just have to make sure you're not lying,” Boss
grins. When he struggles more, Axe bashes his head against the brick wall and
knocks him unconscious. Boss gestures her to take him back to the van and Axe
nods before dragging him off. She turns her attention to Mica, smiling with
much more sincerity. With a small gesture, she motions Mica to come along and
drapes her arm across her shoulders.
“That was smart thinkin’ there,” she compliments. Mica beams a little.
“Well thank you,” she hums back. It did seem a little silly to raid the place
and probably get police attention for one guy. If Mica has learned anything
from her new crew, it's that men love easy pickings and to use that against
them whenever it's useful. Not that the girls wouldn’t have loved to go to town
on the club.
“You're a good actor, ya know? I don't think I could stomach a guy touchin’ on
me for that long,” her boss laughs.
“Yeah, I definitely need a shower now,” Mica assures. She does feel a little
gross, that's for sure.
“You did good there, girlie,” her boss says, patting her back fondly. “We gon’
have a good ol’ time once we track down those diamonds. Get some real upgrades
going on around here. Finally get you ya own apartment.” Mica grins. She loves
Axe, there's no question about that, but they could do with their own space
really. She'd hate to have to keep mooching off her.
“Guess we better get him talking, then,” Mica insists. The criminal life isn't
so bad. She has a crew watching her back, she has a home and Axe of course, and
she's certainly never going back to jail. This really isn’t the worst turn of
events that could have happened. One day she may even find the courage to face
her dad and tell him what a terrible criminal child she's become but not today.
- x -
Axe doesn’t want her moving too far away so Mica doesn’t. She takes up her own
apartment in the same building and happily makes it to her own comfort. It's
really nice to have her own space and more importantly her own income. Plus,
she doesn’t feel like she's getting between Axe and her girlfriend Percival
anymore. Though the crew she's a part of is relatively small compared to most
of the ones in Los Santos, made only of about fifteen people, they keep busy.
They don’t control areas and they don't do a lot of tagging, these things are
pretty unnecessary, but that doesn't mean they don’t get around.
The skills Mica learned in prison are highly applicable outside of it, too.
She's very good at smuggling things. Sure, that means in and out of the
country, but more importantly, out of people's possessions. Combined with her
incredible acting skills and flawless looks, it's exceptionally easy for her to
get what she wants from who she wants it. All she has to do is bat her pretty
eyelashes until they bring her home, put them to bed, and help herself to their
goods.
Which ends up being a very good gateway to assassinations. Mica certainly
doesn’t make a habit of it but for the right price and the right rap sheet,
she'll do it. Someone has to pay for all her makeup and videogames after all.
Then there's the heists. She usually isn’t in on them herself, she's much too
small to do such heavy lifting, but she does gather most of the intel. Unlike
some of the other women of her crew in their cute but flashy get ups or simply
like Axe who are big enough to draw attention to themselves no matter what,
Mica is discreet. Usually. The flashy outfits are very nice and she owns more
than her fair share of them.
Any heat she draws never lasts long. Her crew is very good about keeping her on
the down low for more reasons than one. Eventually the lot of them move up.
Instead of hanging around their dingy, cheap little apartments, they use their
ill gotten gains to buy themselves a luxury apartment building in the nice part
of town. Each of them have their own view and Mica loves her’s.
Once upon a time, she dreamed of living in a place like this. She thought it
would take hard work, clawing her way to the top as a black actress in a white
dominated career. This is better, she thinks. Why should she have to claw when
others can stroll?
Mica takes on more difficult work the longer she hangs around. She's sure not
to push herself too far and needless endanger herself, but there's definitely a
kind of enjoyment she gets from robbing certain kinds of people. So much so,
she even starts a collection for it. It gets a little out of hand and
eventually Mica just starts tosses the badges into a drawer.
Life is good.
- x -
Mica shivers as she tosses back another shot and her crew cheers. They all wish
her a happy birthday in a large cheer and she grins. To think she never thought
she'd celebrate her eighteenth birthday outside a jail cell. Her boss pours her
another drink with another laugh but this one is taken much easier. She’s been
drinking ever since prison anyways.
“Mica,” Axe says and Mica looks at her a bit. “Here. My mother gave this to me
when I turned eighteen. I don’t know what it means, if anything, but it was
important to her and it was important to me.” Mica looks at the finely beaded
necklace for a moment before softly smiling and accepting the gift.
“Thank you, Axe,” she murmurs. She knows it’ll be just as important to her.
“This really means alot to me.” She always knew Axe treated her like family but
this is truly something else. She's not even fully sure what to say about it;
it's far too important to Axe for her to think anything less of it. Axe ruffles
her hair a bit.
“Hey! No fair!” Boss yips. “I'm the boss! I get to give my gift first!” It's a
playful and we'll meant tease if anything. Mica gently tucks the necklace away
in the pouch of her purse to make sure it's safe. She’s already gotten herself
a present from herself; a nice little tattoo on the back of one of her legs.
She had always wanted one but never thought it would be proper to get one. Fuck
that.
“Family first,” Axe argues. Boss sticks her tongue out at her with a wink
earning a small snort from the older woman. Differences aside, they all get
along very well. It’s easy to get along when so many people would love to see
them dead already.
“Fair enough,” Boss agrees before pulling out a box of her own and setting it
in front of Mica. “Here’s my gift. And it’s not a dildo. Open it, then.”
“Mine’s a dildo!” another girl assures. “A good dildo is a girl’s best friend!”
“Thanks, Boss,” Mica smiles at her. She tugs the pretty bow off, already
planning to keep it since she quite likes it, and pulls the lid off. Inside the
little box rests a single handgun with an iridescent like finish. The barrel
has little lines carved into it like scales and the handle is made of a
comfortable, gold grip. It’s small enough to hide in her purse but she can
already tell it’s a .50. This thing can rock a hole in a FIB armored van like
nobody's business.
“Never hurts to be prepared, right?” Boss assures.
“Yeah,” Mica agrees. “This is great! I love it. It’s so cute.” She takes it by
the handle and rolls it to examine every side. Oh, she likes this one much
better than the cruddy little one she already has. Cute and deadly. Her
favorite combination. Admittedly, she’s never really owned her own gun before
so this is especially nice. They made their rules and now she’s just playing by
them.
“My turn!” her other crewmate insists. “Aw fuck where’d I put it? Hold on,
someone else go first.” Mica laughs.
She doesn’t have to be scared anymore. Hell, she’s never going to be scared
again. She’s never going to flinch around police again. She’s never going to be
unsure of herself because of who she is again. Most importantly, she’s never
going to fake who she is ever again just to make some racist motherfuckers feel
better about themselves.
Not as long as she’s Mica Burton.
The word is; Mica Burton.
The definition is; a force of nature; dangerous.
Usage; “Crossing Mica Burton will be the last thing you ever do.”
***** Lindsay *****
Chapter Notes
     Lindsay's Warnings; slurs, sexual harassment, manipulation, racism,
     death, child abuse
The word is; bitch.
The definition is; a difficult or unpleasant situation or thing, a woman
considered to be mean, overbearing, or contemptible.
Usage; “No need to be such a bitch.”
It goes without saying, school is not exactly Lindsay’s favorite place to be.
It’s not that she’s bad at learning, she’s not, or that people are mean,
they’re not, or even that the teachers dislike her, they don’t. It’s just so
boring. Ever since her parents made her start attending private school her
entire life has become a terrible, monotonous existence. They want her to do
all these things and be all these things but they’re all such dull things.
“Why aren’t you eating, Lindsay?” a boy asks curiously. Lindsay rolls her head
to look at him, giving him a mildly annoyed look before sighing.
“Oh, I forgot my lunch money,” she murmurs. “I’m so hungry. They made my
favorite, too.” He sits down next to her eagerly and gestures his tray over a
bit in front of her.
“Here, you can have some of mine,” he assures. “It’s okay.” She’s not sure why
they all like her so much, she really has never done anything besides just
generally be friendly and cute. That being said, most of the girls around here
don’t much care for her. Again, really never did anything to deserve that
either. She takes one of his bread sticks to munch on, not really hungry and
certainly not having a lack of money for food.
“Did you forget your lunch?” another boy asks, coming to join them as well.
“You can have my tea.” Several more boys crowd around her at the table she had
previously been more than happy to sit alone at, each gladly sharing their food
with her. This is about her tits, isn’t it? There’s that stupid rumor going
around that she showed her breast to the science teacher for an A. Does every
boy in the school suddenly think she just goes around flashing her tits for
just anything. Besides, it was the math teacher and an A-plus. Not that anyone
believes that because the math teacher is a lady and ladies would never do
that. Whatever, she has her A-plus.
And apparently a new clique.
Lindsay helps herself to whatever food of the boys’ she wants and none of them
complain any. She wasn’t even particularly hungry which is why she didn’t get
her own lunch to begin with but it’s funny toying with them. When the bell
rings, they’re ready to wait around for her.
“Do you mind?” she asks, gesturing to her bag. “I’m really tired and my books
are so heavy.”
“I’ll carry them!” someone quickly offers, snatching up her bag before any of
the other boys can. As long as they’re useful she supposes. She heads for her
locker with her crowd of followers and one of them holds her bag as she puts
her books away. A hand suddenly slams against the locker beside her and the
older girl looks down on her with a grin.
“Tuggey,” she says. “We need to talk.” Lindsay glances up at her a bit before
placing the rest of her things away and closing her locker.
“Flynt,” she replies, shrugging a little. “Fine.” The boys around her look
unsure of this decision but Flynt is too intimidating for them to really do
anything about it. Not that Lindsay expected much more from private school
boys.
“If you do anything to Lindsay-” one of them murmurs, apparently finding his
courage somewhere in his pants. Flynt whips out her switchblade on a dime,
pointing it at his throat with a smug little smile.
“You’ll what?” she demands. He jerks back in panic, hurriedly changing his
mind. Flynt chortles a little, twirling the blade around her fingers before
snapping it closed again and shoving it back into her pocket.
“I’ll be fine,” Lindsay scoffs. She and Flynt go one way while the rest of her
cowardly clique head back to class. Flynt slips into the bathroom and Lindsay
follows after her. She watches a moment as Flynt checks under all the stalls to
make sure they’re alone and once she does, Lindsay hurriedly jams the door
closed. With an excited little smile, she runs at Flynt and her girlfriend
gladly picks her up to kiss her.
“Whoa, relax,” Flynt laughs. “You looked like you were havin’ fun with all them
boys drooling on you.”
“God no,” Lindsay assures. “I thought I was going to be stuck here all day. My
brain might start dribbling out of my ear at any moment.”
“Man, we oughta get you outta here, then,” Flynt urges playfully.
“Please,” Lindsay agrees, giving her another fond kiss. Flynt sets her down
again and she quickly pulls her hair out of its ‘proper’ form and yanks her
uniform shirt off over her head. That already feels so much better. While Flynt
plies open the bathroom window, Lindsay tugs on her casual clothes and stuffs
her uniform into the vent to retrieve later. Once she’s good to go, Flynt
hoists her up to the window so she can climb out and Lindsay props it open from
the outside so Flynt can follow. Freedom at last.
“Finally,” Lindsay breathes out. The two of them dart across the parking lot
and they tug on their helmets before hopping on Flynt’s bike. Then they’re off
and away from this place as quick as they can. This is what she wants. Flynt
takes them out to their favorite spot, a little beach always bare in the middle
of school days like this where they can relax. She holds her tits all the way
there. At the beach, they light up a pair of cigarettes to enjoy in the fresh,
cool air. Lindsay loves it out here.
“Your ma still trying to marry you off?” Flynt asks.
“Nah,” she sighs. “I finally told her I wasn’t interested in marrying a dude.”
Flynt raises a curious brow at her.
“Did you?” she replies skeptically. “And she accepted that?” Lindsay ruffles
her hair in her hands.
“I told her I was gay,” she murmurs.
“And why did you do that?” Flynt asks.
“Because if I told her I was hella bi I thought she would take that as a
challenge that she just had to find the right man,” Lindsay scoffs back. Flynt
nods agreeably, knowing she’s undoubtedly right.
“So your parents are cool with us dating?” she asks. Lindsay grimaces a little.
“You didn’t tell them we were dating.”
“One step at a time,” she insists. “You know my parents don’t like you. Like,
I’m surprised she took me being gay so well.”
“Oh, your poor parents,” Flynt moans. “Their precious white daughter off dating
some black, anarchist lesbian daughter of a lawyer. Their lives must be so
awful.” Lindsay gives her a playful push.
“Stop it,” she scoffs. Flynt laughs, wrapping her arm around her waist to draw
her in close.
“What? I’m guessin’ I shouldn’t be draggin’ them at dinner like that, huh?” she
jokes.
“That would definitely help,” Lindsay assures with a laugh of her own. “Not
that you’re not right.” Her parents are a lot of things she hopes to never be.
“Oh!” Flynt says suddenly, waving her cigarette a little before reaching for
the back of her bike. She pulls out a little box and hides it behind her back.
“I got you something.”
“Did you?” Lindsay replies, trying to peer around her a bit. Flynt swishes from
side to side to prevent her from seeing. “What for?”
“What d’ya mean ‘what for’?” she scoffs back. “Cause I like you, Tuggs. Why d’I
need a reason?” Lindsay gives her a skeptical look but Flynt just grins and
holds the box out for her to finally see. It's a little handheld game but this
one comes with little cat ears on it and has her name engraved on the back.
Lindsay gasps a little.
“Oh woof! It's so cute! Flynt!” she says. She loves it already. Flynt grabs her
face in both hands and Lindsay can’t help but smile.
“Not as cute as you,” she says. Lindsay flushes happily. “Now at least you can
lose to me in style.”
“Pfft. As if. Who won our last game? Oh yeah, me.”
“Nah son, I let you win. There's a difference. Ya know, cause I'm a great
girlfriend?”
- x -
Her mother has been so okay with her being gay, she’s exchanged the ‘husband’
folder with a ‘wife’ folder. This one cooks and cleans, she says, you’d never
have to do a thing again. Somehow this turns out to be far more of a pain in
the ass perhaps because her mother is the straightest woman on the planet. So
Lindsay finally just tells her that she doesn’t want to get married because she
is already seeing someone. Flynt.
Admittedly, Lindsay never really knew why her parents never quite cared for her
long time friend and now girlfriend Flynt. They’ve been friends since forever
and they never got into any particular trouble in all that time- at least
nothing that would warrant such a dislike from her parents. Flynt is a bit
older than her, a year and a half barely, but they’ve always been in the same
grade. Until her parents tossed her into a private school, they were always in
the same class, too. Sometimes Lindsay is sure her parents put here there just
to get her away from Flynt as if that would work.
So she supposes it’s really not that surprising that her parents don’t take it
like the end of the world. At least, she assumed that. Her mother just sort of
blinked and her father remained in the same sort of dazed state he’s usually
in. It’s not until later that she realises how not okay they really were with
it. After a small argument about Lindsay going out on a date with her
girlfriend in the middle of the day, her mother tries to cool them down but
sitting down and watching the news. Lindsay doesn’t want to watch the news; she
doesn’t even like the news.
It’s timed too well to be anything but intentful. Local lawyer and accomplices
arrested for gang activity. That’s Flynt’s dad. Not only is that Flynt’s dad,
that’s Flynt. Her parents got her girlfriend and her dad arrested. If that’s
not bad enough, the news is quick to assure that they’ve already been
transferred out of state to a prison better suited to handling ‘these kind of
criminals’. Lindsay isn’t sure she’s ever been more angry in her life.
Her mother assures that’s just too bad and shows her some more pictures of
potential wives. Incredible. Her parents never did want to take care of her.
Lindsay recalls so much of her childhood spent at friend’s houses and with
babysitters. Here’s some money now leave mommy alone. Here’s a puppy now leave
daddy alone. Here’s an expensive private school with so many after school
activities there’s no way you could have time bother us. Here’s a wife so she
can deal with you instead of us.
And when Lindsay finally has someone to spend all that awful, dreaded time with
her, they get her arrested. Flynt sure as hell loved her more than her parents
ever did. They might not ever say they don’t want her, but they sure as hell
can neglect and pretend she doesn’t exist like some toy they’re already bored
with. No, the only time they seem to care is when they want to take something
away from her; when something makes her happy. This isn’t the first time and
Lindsay knows it won’t be the last if she lets them.
She’s not gonna let them.
Lindsay doesn’t run away from home; she runs to Flynt. She packs up what she
needs to leave, not much, and then she goes to the bank and tells them she’s
here to make a withdraw for her parents. They believe her, they wouldn’t want
to piss off her parents, and she leaves home with her bag half full of clothes
and half full of hundred dollar bills. She’s not fully sure how she’s going to
get Flynt and her dad out of jail but even if she can’t, she can find someone
who can. They can deal with what comes after that together.
- x -
“What are you doing little girl?” one of them asks. Lindsay looks up at him
curiously and the rest of them all look down at her as well as if just noticing
her arrive. They all seem a bit confused as well.
“I hired you,” she assures with a smile. Her little group of mercenaries look
to one another unsurely. Lindsay expected this, of course, and has planned
ahead for it. One of them laughs.
“You?” he asks. “You’re the one that hired us?”
“Is there a problem?” Lindsay replies, blinking at him. He seems to find this
all too funny but the others have already seemed to have gotten over it. What
she’s learned about Los Santos so far is that people really like money.
“I’m not takin’ orders from a girlie,” he promises, leaning down to be at her
level. “I’ve broken better women than you.” And by planned for this what she
really means is she hired him specifically, specifically because of this. “I’d
make sure you never make it home, little girl.” Lindsay sniffles, earning a
smug grin from the man as if he’s proven his point in making a ‘little girl’
cry. One of the other mercs grabs him to yank him away from her.
“Hey man, what’s your fucking problem?” he demands. Lindsay hired him to be an
example. With him turned away, she shoots him point blank in the back of the
head, dropping him dead. The rest of the mercs jump away immediately, hiking up
their defenses. Likewise, Lindsay hired the rest of them for very specific
reasons as well; most of them have kids and families they love very much, most
of them are only doing this to make ends meet. They won’t lay a hand on her and
more importantly, they’ll want to protect their ‘little girl’. Even if she just
killed a man in cold blood.
“Well,” she says amusedly. “That was louder than I thought. If you guys are
still interested in getting paid, by all means stick around. Otherwise you’re
free to leave. He was kinda a perv anyways.” No one else makes any move to
depart though Lindsay isn’t entirely sure this isn’t because she’s still
holding a gun. She didn’t mean that to be threatening. Honestly, she just
wanted both them, and herself, to know that she is very serious about this and
she will spill blood to get her girlfriend back.
“Good,” Lindsay hums. She points with her gun at the merc who initially stepped
forward to assist her and he jumps back. “Relax, the safety’s on,” she
promises. “You’re my new personal bodyguard. Um. Take this.” He gladly takes
the gun from her and she brushes her hands off on her pants. “Now then, who
knows how to break into a prison?”
- x -
Lindsay’s new group of merc friends are dependable and little else. They’re not
particularly bright and really need to be told to do something to do anything
at all. Her parents are offering a lot of money to find her and one of them had
the ingenious idea of trying to bring her back. She assured him that if he
tried to do that, she would tell everyone how he kidnapped her and he would go
to jail for a very long time. Instead they’ve come to a mutual understanding
that none of them are going to do that and she won’t ruin their lives. It’s the
only thing they seem to understand.
In the meantime, Lindsay is trying to figure out how on earth she’s going to
get into a prison with just four men all while trying to keep her parents away
from her with a stick. Oh sure, suddenly they care about her now that their
precious good names are in jeopardy. They can’t just explain a child away now
can they? Not that they don’t try. Her parents don’t exactly look heartbroken
on what little they discuss about it.
More important, however, she has to figure out how to keep paying her merc
friends. They’re going to be a lot less ‘friend’ if she runs out of money. The
solution is pretty easy, actually; she just uses her mercs to steal more money
to pay them with. Since they’re apparently incompetent enough to plan anything
more complicated than a single course meal, Lindsay gathers all the intel they
need and makes all the plans and they execute them more or less accurately.
They make enough money to pay them for their effort and enough left over for
Lindsay to put towards better things. This is turning out to take longer than
she thought and she turns out to need a place to stay in the meantime. She
actually likes Los Santos a lot and if things work out, maybe she’ll keep
living here.
Her parents give up on her eventually. She knew they would. People keep
recognising her though so she dyes her hair and takes to wearing sunglasses a
lot until everyone else gives up on the reward money, too. The people of Los
Santos might like money but they like their lives much more. Then people start
recognising her for other reasons.
As it turns out, word gets around that she does things very well. People don’t
seem to understand how she could possibly be responsible for setting up such
intricate and well thought out heists- mostly because they clearly have no idea
how to do it themselves. It’s not even that she’s getting special intel or
‘highly trained’ mercs; Lindsay just knows how to make things work and people
like that.
Which is nice because Lindsay likes money and she doesn’t mind letting some
dense gang leader take credit for her hard work when she’s pulling in fifty
percent. Important people learn her name, the rest of them, well they aren’t
important then are they?
- x -
“Riot is in progress,” he confirms. Lindsay grins to herself, tapping away on
her little game as her men work. “They’re calling in reinforcements now.” While
they’re all toying around at the men’s prison, the women’s prison will be all
but free to sneak into and hopefully, sneak out of with one extra person. It’s
been so long since she’s seen Flynt now, Lindsay is both excited and
overwhelmingly nervous. All she can hope for is that Flynt really understands
there was nothing she could do about it and since then, she’s abandoned her
family completely.
“We’re ready to move in,” he announces. “Positions.” Lindsay tucks her game
away for the time being and straightens out the front of her uniform before
following her bodyguard into the building. None of the other guards look at
them twice; just another inmate too young to be here. As they walk the halls,
the rest of her men wait for the word to get ready to take off. She stops
outside one of the offices and the two of them quietly slip in while no one’s
paying attention.
Hurriedly, they both start searching through the stacks of papers to find what
they need. They don’t have the time to scrounge the entire prison just to find
one person. An alarm sounds suddenly and Lindsay jolts a little. Did someone
really notice them already?
“Shit,” another member of her team hisses. “The girls are starting to riot.”
“I guess we weren’t the only ones with an idea to bust out tonight,” her
bodyguard murmurs. With the lowered security, Lindsay isn’t all that surprised
that the women’s prison is trying to make a break for it while everyone is busy
trying to control the men’s. She just didn’t think they would try it so soon.
Her guard jams the door closed to assure no one can surprise them, the last
thing they need is to get caught dressed like guards during a riot. She’ll be
fine but her buddy certainly isn’t going to pass as an inmate.
“What now?” he asks. Lindsay keeps searching through some files. Chances are,
Flynt’s in the mass trying to get out too and if she’s not, there’s no way
they’ll be able to spring her for a while after this. If she can find out where
she is, though, then maybe they can find out where she’s going-
“Oh fuck,” Lindsay curses. “Flynt’s not even here!” Fuck.
“Where the hell is she, then?” he snaps back. Lindsay flips through the file,
trying to skim over it as quick as she can.
“It just says transferred!” she bites back. “Transferred where?”
“We gotta go,” he insists sternly. “We can’t risk letting them find us here.”
She bites her thumb harshly, considering her options as quick as she can.
Finally she just shoves the folder into her shirt to ponder over later.
“Fine,” Lindsay scoffs. “If she’s not here, it doesn’t matter anyways. Get me
out of here.”
- x -
With no leads as to where Flynt even went, finding her girlfriend gradually
moves to the back burner. Lindsay has no way of finding out where she went and
no way of even knowing if Flynt escaped or if her dad got them out already or
anything else. That would explain why the file only said ‘transferred’. Shitty
file keeping also would explain that, though. It's just easier to focus on work
than the heartbreak of having to admit she really has lost her best friend.
Lindsay will never forgive her parents for this.
She becomes something of a workaholic. Los Santos is a good city for someone
like her and if she wants to stay, she has to make money. Her four mercenaries
become five who become ten who become twenty. It gets to the point where
Lindsay is in control of so many men and so many jobs that most of her workers
don't even realise she's in charge. A good thing when her bodyguard takes a
bullet in the head after someone mistakes him for leader.
Lindsay decides that's probably for the best. So much so that she hires a guy
especially to act as the leader. It makes things easier on her when a bunch of
mercenaries don't think they're taking orders from a ‘little girl’. People in
Los Santos, and just in general actually, tend to have a hard time taking
instruction from a woman and particularly a younger woman. Not to mention she
doesn’t have to interact with any of them herself, a blessing in disguise she's
sure.
With the money she makes, she pays all the footmen under her and uses the rest
of it to forward her ‘small’ business. More workers means more jobs means more
money. Sometimes not all her mercenaries even come back which is nice because
then she doesn’t have to pay them. It's a system that largely sorts itself; bad
investments die while good ones bring back more money. She buys herself an
apartment in the middle of town with a view like no other. A beautiful view for
a beautiful woman. Everything her parents wanted her to be and it was never
anything like this.
This is so much better.
Power and money and she never even has to get her hands dirty. Not to say she
doesn’t. Lindsay has a particular fondness for palming small jobs and hanging
around little strip clubs in the dirtier parts of town. The women are cute and
occasionally, she can get a new worker out of it. This city is a goldmine of
untapped potential and Lindsay is going to use it to her every advantage.
If she knew this life was an option, she never would have suffered through her
parents for as long as she did.
- x -
“Looks like someone's giving you the heart eyes,” she murmurs. Lindsay glances
over her shoulder at the younger lad across the bar sure enough eyeing her up.
It's rare to see such a young guy in this bar. She likes hanging around older
men; they give her more things and it's much easier to take advantage of them.
She laughs a little, downing her drink. She did not come out tonight for the
sake of meeting some gang banger looking for a bump.
Lindsay just made final preps on a deal with a local gang and it's a doozy. If
all goes according to plan, she'll be looking at a pay check like none she's
seen before. If things go bad, well, it's no skin off her back. Tomorrow she'll
be sorting all her chickens in a row and assuring things can run as smoothly as
possible. So she's going to drink herself silly with some of her friends and
then go home and have herself a great sleep.
“He's cute,” she sings teasingly.
“I'm cuter,” Lindsay assures, tapping her shot glass down on the bartop. She
ruffles her hair with her fingers, grinning pleasantly. Her friend leans in
with a small sigh.
“Don’t you ever get tired of those old men?” she asks pointedly.
“Oh sure,” she hums. Rarely does she date them or even sleep with them,
typically only using them to get free drinks and drugs. Sometimes they're even
dumb enough to buy her something nice before getting to know her. Those are her
favorites. When it comes down to it, though, she just finds it very hard to
find a man she's attracted to. It's still so hard to compare with Flynt.
Lindsay certainly doesn’t mind being alone.
Not that she doesn’t mind company, either. She smiles at her little friend, a
dancer who's worked here for a while, and her friend gives her a curious look.
“You know,” Lindsay murmurs. “I like older women, too.” Her friend blushes.
“Oh,” she says. “You're- I didn’t- Oh.”
“You're getting off soon, yeah?” Lindsay offers. “Maybe we could- get off
together at my place?” Her friend blushes even brighter and nods quietly.
Lindsay's not actually sure she's even into ladies but obviously she's willing
to try. That's the motto, right? Work hard all day, party hard all night, sleep
when you're dead. This city's gonna kill her and they're going to bury her in
cold, hard cash.
“I'll be right back,” her friend says. “Just gotta- grab my bag.” She smiles
and Lindsay smiles back. She grabs her arm faintly as she turns to leave,
making her pause and Lindsay leans in to kiss her. Again, she flusters a little
but seems to grin excitedly as she rushes off. Lindsay peers over her shoulder
at her supposed admirer, particularly pleased with his startled expression. How
boring. She downs another sugary shot and tosses her hair back.
The best part is, she never has to deal with boring shit ever again. No one’s
going to tell her who she is or what she's going to do ever again. She doesn’t
need her parents or anyone else to ‘confirm’ or even acknowledge her existence
ever again. What's really important though, is that no one's ever going to take
away what makes her happy ever again.
Not as long as she lives.
The word is; Lindsay Tuggey.
The definition is; to be powerful and organized; dangerous.
Usage; “If you know the name Lindsay Tuggey then consider yourself either lucky
or dead.”
***** Geoff *****
The word is; fake.
The definition is; a person who appears or claims to be something that they are
not, to accomplish a task by improvising.
Usage; “The name of the game is; fake.”
Geoff curiously moves some bottles around on the shelf of liquor to read the
labels of some of the more finer brands. There's some good stuff here. Good and
expensive. When he hears the door open behind him, he pauses a moment, then
continues. He's never even heard of this kind of brandy. Someone clears their
throat.
“Top grade stuff you got,” he compliments. “Always like someone with good
taste.” He turns to face the three of them, smiling lazily. None of them look
particularly impressed with him but judging by the fact that they're here,
obviously he got their attention with something. That's all that's important.
When none of them move, Geoff goes ahead and takes the lead. He approaches
them, holding his hand out to shake.
“Sorry. I should properly introduce myself. I'm Geoff Ramsey. It's nice to meet
you finally, Pattillo,” he grins. She seems a little surprised if nothing else.
“Me?” she asks. Geoff looks at her oddly a moment before looking at the two
guys on either side of her.
“Yeah?” he replies. “You are Pattillo, aren’t you?”
“Most people don’t assume I'm Pattillo,” she assures. Geoff looks at her little
friends again before snorting a small laugh. Yeah, as if either of them look
capable of anything more than cracking open a peanut.
“I think I know a gang leader when I see one,” Geoff promises. Finally, she
shakes his hand. That's a good start even if Geoff already knew this coming in.
He never had any doubts in his mind Pattillo was a woman even if he never knew
exactly who she was. She doesn’t like making a lot of face to face appearances.
“Alright,” Pattillo says. “You have my attention. What do you want?”
“I'm putting together a crew for a heist,” Geoff explains. “A big heist.”
“Oh?” she murmurs, already bored. “And let me guess, you want to borrow some of
my workers?” Again, Geoff can't help but snort. She's put herself together one
of the most fierce crews in Los Santos but that doesn't mean they're
particularly smart nor useful to him.
“I want you,” he assures. “Or, I mean, I want you in on it.” Pattillo looks at
him unsurely. It's clear she doesn’t trust him, he didn't expect her too so
quick, and she's not sure if he's being serious. He's being very serious.
“And why would you want that?” she asks. Weary, sure. Interested, definitely.
It doesn’t look like she gets out much. Geoff understands why.
“Because I hear you fly like you lie,” he says. “Effortlessly and with intent.”
Pattillo looks him over again, checking him out a bit more seriously. Her
accomplices look at each other. She seems to lighten up suddenly, smiling I'm a
fond way that likely isn’t a good thing.
“Not many people praise me for my flying,” she murmurs. “Why don’t we go back
to my place to discuss this further?” Geoff shakes a hand at her.
“You're not playing this game with me, Pattillo,” he assures. Her little facade
drops the second he calls her out on it.
“Excuse me?” she sneers back.
“This ‘black widow’ thing. You know, where you make all nice like you're some
submissive little doll and let them into your apartment where they're never
seen again?” he reminds her. Pattillo crosses her arms over her chest, now
staring him down sourly. Geoff is not trying to power play her, he just wants
her to understand that he's very serious about this. At no point is his
intention to try to muscle her out of her territory.
“And why would I help you?” she finally asks. Now there's the important
question. Geoff doesn’t rightly know the answer him, he doesn’t know what
Pattillo is in this Los Santos life for. Money is typically a good answer,
though.
“We're a lot alike, you know,” he says, avoiding the question. Pattillo scoffs
a noise of disbelief. Fairly, they don’t know each other all that well but he
doesn’t need to, to know they're from the same cut of cloth.
“Is that so?” she replies blandly. He can tell she's not going to be putting up
with this much longer. Geoff approaches the liquor shelf again, picking out an
already open bottle and two glasses before returning to her. He smiles a bit,
placing each glass on the table and then looking over the label of the bottle
before setting that down too. When he reaches into the lapels of his coat, her
two accomplices immediately react. Geoff pauses, giving them a small gesture to
relax before very slowly pulling the keys out of his pocket.
“These are the keys to my car,” he explains, dangling them out. “It's not even
on the market, yet. Nearly three mil starting price. This thing can blow your
Adder out the fucking water.” Pattillo isn’t amused.
“And?” she says. “Are you saying you want to race me?”
“No,” Geoff laughs. “God no. I want you to drive it.” He holds the keys out and
she looks a little surprised, then suspicious. She nods one of her accomplices
to take the keys and check the car out. This thing was expensive as hell, he's
not about to blow it up. In the meantime, he pours two drinks.
“I'll ask you again, since you apparently like to avoid answering,” Pattillo
scowls at him. “Why.”
“Because you like cars and you like fast cars,” Geoff assures. “So I'm going to
make a deal with you. We take a little ride and if I haven't convinced you to
join me before you're done having fun- or before we crash- then the car's
yours. No strings attached. Do what you want with it, I'll hand over full
papers and everything. If you decide to join me, however, I'll make sure you
get one of your own. Right down to a custom paint job.” Pattillo watches him
uneasily, perhaps waiting some sort of alternate death threat, but he makes
none. Even if she doesn't end up helping him, he doesn’t want her as an enemy.
“Fine,” she agrees. “You have yourself a deal.” Geoff grins. He downs both
drinks, she's going to be driving after all, and brushes himself out. Then he
puts both hands on the back of his head and assumes the position to let her pat
him down. He knows she's going to want to if they're going to be alone and he
won't make her ask. Pattillo becomes a bit more unsure but certainly doesn’t
refuse. Of course she checks all the typical places; his back and arms and
side. Then she reaches around his waist and hips.
“Hope you're not looking for my dick,” Geoff murmurs when she pats down the
inside of his thighs. She gives him a dirty look. “Cause I ain’t got one of
those.” Pattillo blinks. “Don’t let the mustache fool ya, I used to be the
cutest little girl.”
“Oh,” Pattillo says quietly and her whole demeanor changes. It's different now,
he's not some overly charming brute looking to take her down; he's just a
friendly trans man needing the best pilot in this damn city. So maybe that's
not fully accurate but he wasn't kidding when he said they were alike and
Pattillo knows it. Geoff takes pride in being a trans man and hell if he
doesn't recognize another trans person when he sees one.
“So let's talk,” Geoff grins, gesturing her out the door. Pattillo smirks a
little.
- x -
Geoff pulls out a chair to have himself a seat and when he does, his new buddy
lowers his newspaper to look at him. He flips it back up momentarily while
Geoff settles before putting it aside.
“Hey buddy,” Geoff grins as he holds his hand out. “Thanks for meeting with me
and thanks for not wearing that mask. Your face paint is nice.” Haywood shakes
his hand faintly, not much interested in formalities.
“Thanks,” he murmurs. “What do you want?” A waitress approaches them and takes
a good, hard look at Ryan before deciding she doesn’t care and turns back to
her notepad.
“Two bloody marys,” Geoff says and she scribbles it down hastily.
“I don’t drink,” Haywood assures.
“Then don’t get anything?” he replies curiously. Haywood arches a brow at him.
“Diet coke,” he murmurs. She jolts that down as well and leaves them to their
business. Geoff makes himself a bit more comfortable in the stiff chair,
straightening out the front of his suit to make sure it doesn’t wrinkle.
Haywood watches him, obviously expecting him to try something, but Geoff quite
likes not getting stabbed. When Geoff doesn’t speak for a bit too long, he
seems to get anxious and starts fiddling with the ring on his finger. The
moment he realises Geoff notices, however, he stops and straightens his hands
again.
“You can stim,” Geoff assures halfly. “Don’t worry about it.” Haywood gives him
a suspicious look but seem to appreciate the effort, fiddling with his fingers
under the table now with the assurance that Geoff isn’t going to think he’s up
to something. To be fair, Geoff just sort of always thinks he’s up to
something. That’s really the only proper way to deal with the Vagabond.
“Are we going to get to what you want?” Haywood asks again.
“Oh. Right. Yeah,” Geoff nods. The waitress puts their drinks down for them and
he pulls out the piece of celery from one of them to munch on. He waits until
she leaves again before continuing. “I’m putting together a crew for a job and
I want you in on it.” Haywood doesn’t look impressed or interested. Still, just
like before, he did show up so something about Geoff and what he said got his
attention.
“As I hear,” Geoff murmurs. “If someone wants something in this town blown up,
they call you.” Haywood grins a little, letting out a small, amused sound. “Now
what if someone wants some tech done?”
“You call someone else,” Haywood answers simply.
“And I have,” he promises. “Here’s the thing about that, though. Techies? They
tend to be- how do I put this nicely? Fragile.” This gets an earnest laugh from
Haywood who nods a small agreement. “The guy I have now, he’s great. Does what
needs to be done and fast. But he’s not what I need for this. I need a big guy
willing to get his hands dirty and can work with computers while there’s guns
and explosive going on around him.”
“Sounds like you need me,” Haywood says, now grinning rather pleasantly. Or it
would be pleasant if the face paint wasn’t creepier than Geoff originally
thought.
“Exactly,” he agrees with a smile of his own. “Your demolition background is
just a bonus. I already got a guy in mind for demo but I’m sure you two will
get along very well.”
“I didn’t say I’d take it,” Haywood assures. “I don’t work with crews; why
should I work for yours? What’s your pitch here? Make me want to work with you,
Geoffrey.”
“It’s gonna make you money and it’s gonna be fun,” Geoff explains and he shrugs
simply. That’s really all he needs.
“What kind of job is this, anyways?” Haywood asks curiously.
“It’s a heist,” Geoff says. “If you want to know more than that, I’m going to
need to know you’re joining me, first. You know how it is. Trade secrets and
all that.” He downs a bit of his drink while Haywood looks him over, perhaps
trying to read his intentions. Geoff knows what people like.
“What kind of money are we talking?” he finally asks.
“Well,” Geoff murmurs, taking his phone out of his pocket. “I’m trying to get
seven other people besides you for this crew. Plus the foot guys like my little
techie, expenses, equipment, and the like. So I can only offer you about three
percent of the final cut like everyone else.” Haywood’s previously friendly
expression drops like a hat. Geoff pulls up the calculator on his phone to type
things in before setting it down on the table and pushing it towards him. The
look Haywood gives him isn’t thrilled but he takes a glance at the number
anyways. He looks startled, staring at the phone for a moment before giving
Geoff a questioning look.
“This is a big job,” Geoff assures. “With a big payout. That, of course, is on
top of a daily pay. You do work for me and I pay you, that’s how this goes.”
Haywood doesn’t speak for a bit, obviously seriously mulling this over now.
It’s not a small amount of money, that’s for sure, but it’s not fully clear if
he even believes it. If everything goes according to plan, there’ll probably
even be more. Still, Haywood doesn’t appear completely convinced. For a private
guy such as himself, a job this big will probably bring a lot of heat that he
wouldn’t want.
“If it helps,” Geoff says. “I was originally planning on taking Daisy in on
it.” Haywood looks up at him again, squinting suspiciously. Geoff reaches into
his coat to pull out the little postcard and hand it over. “We used to be good
friends. I’m glad she got herself out of this shit town before it was too
late.” Haywood reads the card over, smiling a little. After all, Geoff wasn’t
about to just go out of his way to meet with some masked demo guy just on a
whim that maybe he would be good on his crew. Daisy had nothing but good things
to say about him and he trusts her fully.
“Alright,” Haywood finally murmurs, handing the postcard back. “If it’s fun,
I’m in.”
“That’s good to hear,” Geoff grins. He holds his hand out to shake and Haywood
accepts it somewhat graciously. “Now, how ‘bout some food? This place has
pretty good burgers actually. On me.”
- x -
Geoff glances around as he enters the little strip club. It's not particularly
busy and he spots who he's looking for without a problem. He stands out among
the rest of the early morning drinkers and lonely night workers; a young face
with sober eyes. Geoff approaches him and has himself a seat near by, making
himself comfortable on the plush little sofa. Jones glances at him halfly but
not for very long, returning to watching the lone dancer before him. With a
little gesture, Geoff waves down a waitress.
“A nice beer, please,” he requests vaguely before gesturing in Jones’
direction. “And how ‘bout one for my friend over there, too. Whatever he
likes.” Jones looks at him again, now very aware that Geoff hasn’t chosen to
sit here by random, and takes a short puff of his cigarette. It’s likely he
already knew that, though. Jones isn’t exactly an unknown name in this city but
it takes a fool to mess with him.
“Unopened,” Jones scoffs and the waitress nods agreeably before scurrying off.
He side eyes Geoff a little, scoping him up proper, before promptly turning to
the dancer once more. She’s pretty but Geoff doubts Jones is actually here to
enjoy her work. He makes the decision to try to get this done with quick before
any ‘business’ starts.
“Do they usually let bouncers enjoy the girls like this?” Geoff asks curiously,
picking himself out a cigar from his coat to join the lad in his smoke.
“Who the fuck are you?” Jones snaps back, forgoing a reply to the question all
together. They did say he was a bit touchy. This isn’t exactly unusual to Geoff
now a days. He’s learned to tread lightly around the people he’s looking to
recruit.
“Geoff Ramsey,” he introduces himself plain and simple.
“Why do I care?” Jones replies flatly.
“I wanna hire you,” Geoff says simply. People have given him lots of advice for
dealing with Jones, including the piss poor idea of trying to beat him in a
fist fight, but Geoff has his own ideas; honest and straightforward- mostly.
“I'm putting together a crew for a heist and I want you in on it.”
“Fine,” comes the short agreement. “If the pay’s good, you got me.”
“People talk a lot about you, most of it not good, but you do good work and a
lot of it. I've seen it,” Geoff murmurs. “I'd be a fool to not have you on my
side from the beginning.”
“I already said fine,” Jones snaps at him. “I don’t need your pitch. Just pay
me well.” The topless waitress hands them each a beer and Geoff hands her some
money before she goes on her way. Jones plies the top off of his with his
fingers.
“That's not going to cut it this time,” Geoff murmurs. Anyone can pay a
mercenary to do a job, he needs a crew member to trust and be trusted; a cog
working in tandem with the rest of the machine. If he’s just there for money
it’s not going to work.
“Then find someone else,” Jones scoffs, settling back a bit more.
“I can’t have you running off the second someone promises to pay more,” he
insists.
“So what? You want a pledge of my loyalty or some shit? Go fuck yourself,”
Jones growls back.
“Nah,” Geoff assures. “Wouldn't ask you to do that.” Now rather suspicious,
Jones glances in his direction. It's clear he can’t really tell what Geoff is
up to but it's not clear if he's interested, either. “I'm just going to give
you a reason to stay.”
“Really,” Jones snorts in disbelief. Geoff smiles a bit. “You better be real
fucking careful, fucker. I've been threatened by better people than you.”
Believe it or not, Geoff isn’t really dumb enough to threaten a guy like Jone.
At least, not like this.
“Besides you and me, I'm planning on recruiting seven other people. I've
already got two of them; you know Pattillo and the Vagabond,” he explains. Now
he has Jones’ complete, if not weary, attention.
“Yeah. Of course I do. What the fuck kind of shit did you get yourself into?”
he asks plainly.
“Well, one of them is also Kraid’s son,” Geoff says. Jones stiffs up suddenly,
nearly choking on his drink of beer. He gives Geoff an incredulous look but
doesn’t make an sort of reply for a bit too long. “I haven’t talked to him
yet,” he continues. “But considering he’s the best sniper in this city, I
really can’t afford for him to say no.” Jones straightens himself, quickly
shrugging off his moment of surprise and exchanges it for one of sourness and
defense.
“What the fuck makes you think I’d stay loyal just because he’s around?” he
sneers back.

“Nothing,” Geoff admits. “I don’t even know if you two want to see each other
again but I have a gut feeling on this one.” He knows they had a thing, there’s
almost no one around that doesn’t, and their reunion might be more volatile
than expected but Geoff is betting on this. If Jones doesn’t stay loyal out of
love, then he’ll stay loyal out of fear; Geoff can’t imagine he’d ever risk
that fight. Jones presses his teeth together.
“Like I said,” he murmurs tensely between his teeth. “As long as you pay well,
I’ll be there. However the fuck you convinced Pattillo and Vagabond to work
together, I’m assuming you’re paying real fucking well.” It’s never as simple
as that but as long as he’s agreeing to show up, that’s all Geoff can ask for
right now.
“I think I can deal with that,” he agree with a half smile. “As of the plan
now, you’ll be our heavy, and if you think you can handle him, working with
Vagabond on demo.”
“As long as that freak keeps his hands to himself, we won’t have a problem,”
Jones grumbles back. Geoff can’t quite promise that. He’s sure the two of them
can work out whatever problems they might have; though whether it’s with words
or fists probably isn’t all that important.
“We’ll be in contact,” Geoff assures as he stubs out his cigar and gets to his
feet. He approaches the dancer and pulls out a fifty from his coat. She gladly
moves towards him and he just hands it to her before gesturing that she should
pay some extra attention to Jones. Maybe it’ll loosen him up some but Geoff
doubts it.
Things are shaping up better than he had hoped for.
- x -
This is the first time Geoff’s had a real hard time trying to pin down his next
recruit. Unlike the others who either willingly agreed to meet with him or
could easily be pointed out in a crowd, Geoff’s had to search him out. He knows
he’s going to have to be doing this a lot, though, so this is as good a place
to start as any.
He finds Free drinking at some shoddy bar in his expensive gear like some sort
of shining beacon of ‘rob me’. If he’s looking to start a fight, he’s certainly
on his way to getting one. Geoff saddles up next to him at the bar, ordering
himself a drink with a few taps of the finger. Free grins at him fondly and
blows a bit of smoke in his face. He’s real wasted.
“Are you Free?” Geoff asks. Free turns his fond smile into a much more
flirtatious one.
“I could clear my schedule I think,” he assures, shaking his near empty glass
suggestively. Geoff gestures to have his glass refilled and Free lets out a
pleased coo of a noise.
“Gavin Free,” Geoff specifies. Free is suddenly much more alert, his pleased
and bubbly expression swapping out for a nervous and guarded one. He looks like
he’s ready to bolt but Geoff doesn’t want to risk making him run by grabbing
him just yet.
“Who’re you, then?” Free insists. “Did that damned Merryweather send you? I
bloody told them, I didn’t steal their damn jet.”
“I’m not with Merryweather,” Geoff assures. “My name’s Geoff Ramsey.” Free
squints at him like he’s thinking for a moment before stubbing out his
cigarette and leaning on the bartop a bit.
“Never heard of you,” he murmurs.
“You wouldn’t have,” Geoff promises. “Haven’t been in Los Santos very long.”
Free taps his fingers a bit, looking Geoff over unsurely before throwing back
his drink. He’s not as drunk as Geoff has initially presumed; he’s definitely
looking for a fight tonight.
“How do you know my name, then?” Free asks pointedly.
“Because somehow, with all these gangs crumbling, you always seem to walk away
without a scratch onto the next,” Geoff says, making a little walking motion
with his fingers. “I just followed the carnage.”
“I don’t know what the bloody hell you’re talking about,” Free grumbles. “You
got the wrong guy.”
“I’m not here to get you in trouble, Free,” Geoff urges. “I’m putting a crew
together for a heist.” Free laughs quietly.
“Call me mental, but you just insinuated I bloody wrecked multiple gangs and
you want me on your crew?” he comments, slinking his head into his hand and
popping the cherry from his drink into his mouth. “Is that really the best
idea, mate?”
“I’m not hiring you for that,” Geoff replies. “I’m hiring you because of this.”
He points to the gun rather haphazardly concealed at Free’s waist, shiny and
gold like much the rest of him. Free swallows nervously, quickly adjusting his
shirt to hide it better. “Where’d you get that?”
“What’s it to you?” Free snips back. “You think I don’t got money?”
“I think those aren’t legal in the US,” Geoff answers. “You know your way
around a blackmarket, Free. I need someone like that on my side.” Again, Free
turns away from him and unsurely adjusts himself around like he’s either
waiting or looking for someone else to approach them. It’s not surprising he’s
so defensive and protective of himself; more so than most people around here.
He’s done some things people would love to have his head for.
“So you’re the mental one, then,” he assures mildly. “If you know what I do,
then you know you don’t want me in your damn crew.”
“I know the kind of crews you took down didn’t have the best people in them,”
Geoff says. “You do what you have to, to survive in a city like this and I’m
not going to blame you for that.” He has Free’s undivided attention now. He’s
still weary, still looks like he’s going to bolt at any moment, but he’s
listening.
“I can offer you money, the same money I’m offering everyone else, but I can
offer you more than that. I can offer you protection, from Merryweather and
whoever else, and my friendship,” Geoff explains. “As fucking gay as that
sounds.” It’s a long time before Free says anything, mulling over the offer and
watching Geoff so wearily. He doesn’t believe it, hell even Geoff wouldn’t
believe it, but it’s tempting and that’s all that matters. As long as he’ll
give it a chance, he doesn’t have to take Geoff’s word for it.
“Why would you do that?” Free asks finally, obviously having come to the
conclusion that he can’t make sense of Geoff’s ulterior motives himself.
“Because I used to be like you, Free,” he says. “Talented and aimless with no
one to believe in me.”
“And let me guess, someone believed in you,” Free replies sarcastically.
“And then I become a drunk trying to rally together a bunch of misfits to pull
off a heist so I don’t die having accomplished nothing in my life,” Geoff
corrects, holding up his drink in a cheers gesture. Free swallows. “I can’t
promise I’ll trust you and I definitely can’t promise anyone else will, either.
Hell, you’re basically public enemy number one to Pattillo, but I can promise I
will hear you out and I can always promise you a place in my home.”
“You- you don’t even know me,” Free insists.
“Then don’t agree,” Geoff says. “It’s your choice, I’m only making the offer.”
“You said you’re working with Pattillo?” he asks, rather quickly averting the
topic. “I never did a bloody thing to him, why does he hate me?”
“Don’t worry about her,” Geoff promises. “You just get her a little wound up
about the safety of her crew. She’s been through a lot to get to where she is
now and if you threaten to take that away from her, well, that’s you’re choice,
too.”
“Pattillo scares me, to be honest,” Free murmurs reluctantly. “Always tried to
stay away from that one.”
“Now the two of you can work together and have nothing to worry about,” he
assures. “Right?”
“Alright,” Free smiles again, tapping his glass to request another on Geoff not
too discreetly. “Sounds like a good time. I’m bloody in.”
“Another drink on me, then,” Geoff says, gesturing to get them both a relief.
“Good to have you with us, Free.”
- x -
“You must be Dooley,” Geoff says, holding his hand out to shake. Dooley jumps a
bit, quickly turning to face him before making the split second decision to
shake his hand. “I’ve heard good things about you.”
“Thank you?” Dooley replies curiously, take a precautionary step back to assure
there’s a fair enough of room between them. “Uh, who are you?”
“I’m Geoff Ramsey,” he introduces himself. “I’m putting a crew together for a
heist and I’ve been working closely with Pattillo lately. She said if I was
looking for someone to recon for me, I should look into you.”
“Oh,” Dooley murmurs. “I guess I could do that, sure. I’ve never really done
anything like that before.” He has even if he might not know it. He’s a runner,
he gets things from one place to another, and a lot of those skills overlap
very closely with the kind of skills Geoff’s going to need for his recon guy.
“It pays well I assure you,” Geoff says. “And you won’t be working it alone, so
don’t worry.”
“Yeah,” Dooley replies slowly. “You said Pattillo told you about me?”
“She did,” he agrees. “We came to a, uh, agreement between us while we work
together. She doesn’t want me dealing with her crew but she signaled you out.”
Dooley looks at him unsurely as if this doesn’t sound like something she would
do.
“Right,” he says reluctantly. “Well if Pattillo said so, then I can help you.”
“It doesn’t work that way,” Geoff assures him. “You don’t have to work with me
if you don’t want to. She’s not ordering you or anything.” This only makes him
even more unsure of what’s going on here, moving to distance himself a bit more
from Geoff’s personal space. “Pattillo says you’re the best at what you do and
I believe her. I’ve seen your track record.”
“I worked hard for it,” Dooley nods, beaming a bit in his own pride. Geoff
smiles.
“We can help each other,” he says. “Your mother’s still in jail, isn’t she?”
Dooley stops smiling at the drop of a hat. He freezes, perhaps not expecting
Geoff to know anything about his mother- or anything about him. Whether he’s
not sure what to say or perhaps he dare not say anything, neither of them speak
for several seconds. Geoff didn’t mean to startle him, he just didn’t know it
was a secret that a kid on his way to being an olympic athlete suddenly
disappeared and his mother was blamed for both his and his father’s death. That
kind of thing tends to get around.
“Well,” Geoff continues slowly. “If you help me, we can work to get your mother
out of prison.” Still, Dooley doesn’t say anything. He’s obviously trying to
think and quickly but the process is clearly taking a toll on him. Perhaps this
was not the proper way to go about things.
“N-no,” Dooley finally answers. “Thanks but- but I don’t think I need your help
with that. I, uh-”
“Whoa,” Geoff says quickly. He laughs a little. “Relax. I wasn’t trying to hold
her hostage or something. I phrased that wrong. What I meant was, I got your
mother out of prison and I would like if you help me. Consider it a token of my
friendship.”
“You what?” Dooley blurts out before he even gets to think about it.
“You’re Jeremy Dooley, aren’t you? When I looked you up, I found an article
about you and your family. You, uh, didn’t know this?” he murmurs. This is
awkward. Dooley slowly shakes his head. “Whoops. Well, when you’re on your way
to be a gold medalist, people tend to get in your business. Supposedly, uh,
your mother went into a ‘murderous rage’ killing both her husband and you.”
“That’s not- I thought they deported her,” Dooley admits worriedly.
“Deported? Um,” Geoff scratches the back of his head a little. “I don’t think
I’m the one who should be telling you all of this. Anyways, I sprung her for
you. It wasn’t really that far of a stretch to find her. She’s being flown out
today.” Dooley perks up suddenly, looking around all at once like he just
remembered he has a thousand other things to do first. Geoff tries to get his
attention again.
“Like I said, consider it a token of my friendship. You don’t owe me anything
for it. Make up with her, kill her, whatever you want to do,” he assures.
“What?” Dooley yelps. “No! No. I- I don’t want her dead.”
“Hey man, I’m not faulting you for whatever you feel like you have to do,”
Geoff assures. “We all got some dark shit in our pasts. I’ll give you some time
to catch up or- whatever. Either way, know I’d really love to have you involved
in this, Dooley. This is gonna be a big job.”
“Thank you?” Dooley says. “This is a lot to take in but- thank you. Jack- I
mean, Pattillo is helping you, right? You’re working together you said?”
“We are,” Geoff agrees. “She’s a hell of a woman and having her partnered with
me is going to make a big difference. I’ve also gotten the Vagabond to agree to
help me, as well as Michael Jones and someone named Gavin Free.”
“I’ve heard of them,” Dooley assures with a simple nod. “If Pattillo thinks
it’s a good idea to help you then I will. You can count on me. You seem like a
good guy.”
“That’s good to hear,” Geoff grins. “I’m glad to have you on my crew, Dooley.”
Again, he holds his hand out to shake and this time, Dooley accepts it a bit
more firmly. He smiles, obviously taking Geoff’s token in good faith. That’s
what it is, after all. Sometimes all a person needs is to know that they’re not
going to get taken advantage of when the opportunity is there.
“And thanks again, Ramsey. I- you don’t know how much this means to me,” he
murmurs.
“Don’t mention it,” Geoff promises. “Really. Not everyone is as nice as me. Try
to keep your family under wraps next time, alright?”
- x -
Geoff pats out the front of his suit a bit before coming to sit down besides
his next recruit on the tops of the room. He makes a small grunt of a noise at
having to get down so low and Narvaez huffs a laugh at him. So he’s not as
young as he used to be. A small peek over the edge of the building lip assures
they’re very, very high up.
“Hey, thanks for meeting up with me,” Geoff says, trying to get comfortable on
the gravelly ground. “I know how busy you are now a days.”
“Don’t worry about it,” Narvaez replies distantly though he doesn’t have the
opportunity to take his eyes off his target. He does good work, excellent work
even. Both Pattillo and Dooley are competent snipers, and hell Haywood isn’t
bad himself, but Narvaez is something else. Plus, he doesn’t panic at close
range. Sniping skills aside, he’s likely the best asset overall skill wise to
this crew. The metaphorical ‘ace’. Free being the literal one.
“How’s Percy doing?” Geoff asks. Narvaez makes a vague shrug.
“Doing better,” he assures. “She’ll be on her feet again soon.”
“That’s good to hear,” Geoff replies, nodding agreeably.
“What are you doing working with Jones?” Narvaez says, getting straight to the
point. Geoff has his ways of learning things and apparently Narvaez has his.
Granted, Jones isn’t much for secrecy and Geoff hasn’t much been either. He’s
been pretty vocal about trying to find the very specific people he wants to
recruit.
“I would have asked you first but I couldn’t find you,” he says. Narvaez is
hard to find and even harder to keep a hold of especially when he doesn’t want
to be.
“Did you tell him about me?” Narvaez asks.
“Yeah. I did,” Geoff agrees. “He didn’t have much to say about you.” Finally,
Narvaez looks away from his scope long enough to give Geoff an obviously
displeased expression. He looks back shortly after. “You think he didn’t know
you were around anyways?” Geoff didn’t know it was a secret.
“What do you want from me?” Narvaez replies instead. It’s likely he already
knows, especially if he knows Geoff has already talked, and convinced, Jones to
join him. It’s the same question everyone else seems to ask; why him.
“Your Kraid’s son,” he says. “If I didn’t at least ask you to be in on my crew,
I’d be shooting myself in the foot. It’ll pay better than whatever you’re doing
here.” After all, Narvaez’s father was the only one to ever come close to
comparing with Pattillo. The two of them were the powerhouse of his city for a
very long time and the fact that Narvaez got rid of him so effortlessly is
nothing to shake a stick at. He’s the kid his father raised after all.
“And all I have to do is face Jones again,” Narvaez murmurs. “How could I ever
say no.”
“If you don’t want to see him, that’s fine,” Geoff promises. “I’ll keep him far
away from you. All you have to do is say so.”
“Nah, I’m not a pussy,” he replies. “But why should I help you?”
“Job security?” Geoff offers. Narvaez laughs sarcastically. “Look kid, I can’t
tell you why you’d want to help me. All I can tell you is what I got and what I
got right now is the promise of a big payout, powerful allies, and a heist more
fun than sitting on a roof for several hours waiting for some slow asshole to
slip up.” To this, he gets a slightly more sincere chuckle out of the lad. “And
as you said, you get to be reunited with your partner in crime.”
“I don’t think that’s a benefit,” Narvaez says.
“He was going to meet up with you eventually,” Geoff urges. “Especially since
apparently you can’t keep yourself out of Los Santos.”
“Like I said, I’m not a pussy, man,” Narvaez assures again. “Jones doesn’t
scare me.”
“So I take it you’re in, then?” Geoff asks.
“Percival says to stay away from you,” he says simply, still avoiding giving
any direct answer he doesn’t want to. “You know why she’d say something like
that?”

“Probably because I’m an alcoholic asking you to join a dangerous heist I’ve
hobbled together to make up for my shortcomings?” Geoff offers up. “Or because
we got in a fight that one time and kicked the shit out of each other and she
never forgave me. Who knows, I’m not a good guy.”
“Alright,” Narvaez says. “I’ll join your crew. Better than whatever the fuck
I’m doing.” He scoffs a noise out under his breath and Geoff grins a little.
“Glad I could convince you,” he jokes. Having a Narvaez on his crew has to do a
lot more than just his skill. Just having him along is the definition of a
power play. Between him and Pattillo, that’s all the name dropping they’re ever
going to need. Geoff could almost pat himself on the back for being the one to
join the two most powerful gangs together- if only Narvaez still had a gang.
“But I have a request,” Narvaez says sharply. Geoff glances at him a bit but
nods an assurance that he’ll at least listen to what he wants. There’s not much
he could ask for at this point that would be out of the question, at least
Geoff doesn’t think so. “Less of a request and more of a warning.”
“A warning?” he repeats.
“If and when you die, I’m taking out Pattillo,” he says. “And burning her gang
to the ground.”
“That- seems like something you’d be dead set on doing anyways,” Geoff
comments. Narvaez just half smiles; insincere. As he knows it, Narvaez never
had a good relationship with his father but he supposed that doesn’t mean
Narvaez isn’t still salty about some of the things Pattillo and Kraid might
have done to one another. If that’s the case, it really is a good thing Geoff
offered him a place in the crew. “I’ll keep that in mind.”
“Thanks for the job, then,” Narvaez grins at him. “It should be fun.”
“It’s definitely not going to be boring,” Geoff assures. Not with the circus of
a crew he’s got so far.
- x -
Again, Geoff finds himself in a seedy bar looking for a less than seedy looking
person. Fortunately, this does make her very easy to find. As she watches the
news report on the telly, he comes to sit beside her and orders himself a
drink. She smiles at him flirtatiously and he offers a small smile in return.
It’s clear she’s here for a reason but those reasons could be many.
“Can I buy you a drink?” he offers. Instead, Burton just holds up her own drink
as confirmation that she already has one and likely a statement that she
doesn’t want to be bothered by him. Which, if Geoff was here to flirt, would
otherwise be fine with him. He watches the tv for a bit before popping the top
off his beer and really settling at the bar. He’s not here to flirt. “Hell of a
guy, isn’t he?”
“Yeah,” Burton replies longingly. “He is.”
“I didn’t think your dad could get so mad over something,” Geoff murmurs.
Burton jolts to a stop, giving him a startled look. “It’s understandable,
though. You ever gonna tell him you didn’t die in that prison riot?”
“Who the hell are you?” she asks sharply, immediately on the defensive.
“I’m Geoff Ramsey,” he introduces himself. “Sorry. That was an honest question,
I wasn’t trying to intimidate you.” After all, he prefers not getting stabbed
to death in a shady bar.
“What do you want?” Burton snaps at him, perhaps not believing him at all.
That’s fair. Geoff maybe hasn’t gone about some of these things the proper way.
Still, he’s gotten six of six so far.
“I’m putting together a crew and I want you in on it,” he explains. “I have a
big heist in the works and I think you’d make a great addition.” Burton makes a
small gesture with her hand and Geoff glances over his shoulder at the rather
large Native American woman obviously there with her. Oh. Wow. Geoff stepped
into this one without looking. He turns back to the bar again. He would also
prefer not to be stabbed by that woman if at all possible.
“How did you find me?” Burton asks suspiciously.
“It wasn’t easy,” Geoff murmurs back. “But your boss, appropriately named Boss,
tipped me off. Said you were looking for work and I got it.” She squints at him
suspiciously. Again, considering Boss’ reputation for this kind of thing, this
does sound out of place. They’re definitely not a ‘man’ friendly gang.
Fortunately, also again, Geoff’s proud trans man title comes in handy. Better
than getting him into a fight at least.
“Did she now?” Burton replies; careful, cautious.
“Believe it or not, you’re one of the best assassins in this city,” he says.
“I believe it,” she says pointedly.
“Probably even in the state. You are very good at what you do, Burton,” Geoff
insists.
“Is this flattery going somewhere?” Burton asks sharply, giving him a
displeased look. “Or should I just fawn over you for telling me something I
already knew?”
“Sorry. Point is, I would love to have you in my crew. I have a sniper that
uses a bright pink rifle and a fucking dealer decked out in gold, discretion
isn’t exactly on my side right now,” he explains. “Not to mention you’re not
exactly someone I’d want as an enemy. This heist is going to step on a lot of
toes and I don’t want yours to be one of them. Or- hers.” He spares a glance at
Burton’s friend and again Burton just motions her to remain at ease for the
time being.
“What’s in it for me?” she asks.
“Good pay,” Geoff assures. “Good enough to get the Vagabond to agree to work
with me. You’ll be getting the same cut.” He knows she’s not in it for the
money, if she was she’d be taking a lot more jobs than she does, but money
always helps. Everyone has something they need to pay for.
“I’m not the Vagabond,” Burton replies pointedly. “You think I don’t make more
money than he’s seen in his life?”
“That’s fair,” he murmurs. “Well, there’s going to be plenty of opportunities
to, uh, ‘defend’ ourselves from cops. Quite a lot of them, I’m pretty sure.
Even if everything goes according to plan, we’re going to be drawing some major
heat.” This time, Burton seems to show some interest. Likewise, everyone has
vendettes, too. Some of them, like Burton’s, are a little more well placed than
others of course. She taps the bottom of her glass, considering his offer
quietly for a moment before looking to her companion.
“As I hear it, the Vagabond doesn’t just work with anyone,” she comments.
Haywood will definitely sell to anyone; working with is another story.
“Neither does Pattillo,” he assures. Burton even manages to look a little
impressed by this. The two of them and the gangs they belong to certainly share
similar philosophies even if obviously they don’t go about them the same way.
Pattillo believes in accepting work from people she doesn’t like; Burton and
her crew significantly less so. They’re both dangerous and touchy crews. One
wrong move could very well end Geoff, and anyone else, injured.
“Pattillo’s working for you?” she asks with some air of disbelief.
“With,” Geoff corrects. “I’ve somehow convinced her to partner with me for the
extent of this heist.”
“Yeah, somehow,” Burton snorts back. “If that’s the case, sure. I wouldn’t mind
working with them. I still don’t know who you are but if Pattillo has
‘partnered’ up with you, you’re probably good on your word. And if you’re not-”
she trails off. Yeah, Geoff’s got himself tangled up with some dangerous
people. He doesn’t see any of them as a threat to himself because he doesn’t
plan on doing anything that would cause them to come at him, but dangerous
people are volatile all the same.
“I’m sure we’d both be glad to have you on board,” Geoff assures. He holds his
hand out for her to shake and Burton accepts it somewhat reluctantly.
“Now please leave me alone,” she says. “You’re going to scare off my target.”
“I’ll make sure we’re in touch,” he promises.
- x -
With the rest of his crew in order, Geoff has finally made contact with the
most important recruit. It’s been by far the most difficult to make contact
with her compared to anyone else, partially because she doesn’t like making
herself well known and partially because she avidly avoids contact with anyone
even remotely considered ‘powerful’. Geoff doesn’t fall into this category, no
one really knows who he even is, but his crew certainly does. He’s rallied up
some of the best of the best and their track records alone are enough to get
people’s attention; together, the city is trembling.
It’s likely why she’s finally come in contact with him; to assess whether or
not they’re going to be a problem to her.
The man that enters the office is not someone who holds Geoff’s interest. He’s
just a face and Geoff knows it. He’s much more interested in his little
‘assistant’ tailing after him; Tuggey.
“Nice to finally meet you, Ramsey,” the guy says. Geoff bypasses him all
together to approach Tuggey instead. She acts a little startled and a little
shy, looking up at him unsurely. “Don’t mind her. She’s just here to take notes
for me.”
“I have an offer for you, Tuggey,” Geoff says simply.
“Why would you have an offer for my assistant?” he insists. Geoff gives him a
bland look.
“Look man, you need to go sit down somewhere,” he replies. “I know a boss when
I see one.”
“It’s fine,” Tuggey assures, gesturing her pawn to step aside for the time
being to which he does obediently. She drops her act immediately. Geoff’s
really not sure she ever expected to hold it up. “You’ve been awfully busy,
Geoff. What can I do for you?”
“You know I’m putting together a crew, I’m sure,” Geoff says. “I’ve already
recruited all my quality players for this. Best of the business.”
“What does that have to do with me?” Tuggey asks curiously. “You want me to
join you?”
“Not exactly,” Geoff assures. “I want you to run it.” If she was expecting
anything from him, it wasn’t this. She looks taken aback if nothing else. The
fact of the matter is, she’s good at what she does- she’s the absolute best at
what she does. They both know that.
“Really?” she replies. “You spent a lot of time gathering all these people up
and assuring they’ll work for you and you don’t even want to run the crew
yourself?”
“Look at me,” Geoff insists. “I’m old and I’m only getting older. Believe me
when I say I am more than capable of running my own crew but the fact is, it’s
just not going to work out that way. I’m not going to spend the rest of my life
sat up in some pent house growing old while I try to pull the strings to this
city.”
“You just want me to do it,” Tuggey says, unamused.
“Here’s the thing; you don’t have you. I act like the boss, I reign like the
boss, I look like the boss,” Geoff explains. “You already got that asshole
acting front for you, this isn’t going to be a whole lot different. If anyone
targets us, they’re going to target me. When I say it is absolutely vital that
if and when I die, this crew doesn’t fall, I am not being dramatic. This crew,
these people, they are more than just ‘the best’. They are the best of a bad
situation. You included. You forged yourself from hate and struggle and fear
and you made yourself out when there was nothing for you. You flourished in a
desert; bloomed in the snow. That’s what this city is. It’s a home for people
trying to make their ends meet, trying to make something for themselves, trying
to fight just to survive and all people do is take advantage of us. If this
goes according to plan, we could make things so much better, Tuggey.” He has
her interest, unwavering, but she presses her teeth together hard and firms her
shoulders.
“What about this heist makes you think you could change anything?” Tuggey asks
pointedly.
“It’s not about the heist,” Geoff assures. “The heist is just so I have enough
money to pay these people and to keep them from straying off too soon. It’s
about creating such a sheer force of people, that we can take this city back
bit by bit even if we have to do it by force.”
“So you can what, exactly?” she presses on, biting her teeth.
“Lots of things,” Geoff says. “Rebuild, renovate, upgrade. There’s all this
money in this shit fucking town and none of it goes to the people. We’re forced
to make it by doing the dirty work for people not even willing to pay us enough
to keep their fucking money safe.” Tuggey shakes her head a bit, the look on
her face clearly saying she doesn’t believe him and doesn’t know what he’s
really up to.
“What’s it matter to you?” she asks. “You just started living here.”
“This city- it could be a safe haven,” he urges on. “It’s already a beacon for
the damned and they wander here looking for better lives and so rarely end up
as well off as you have. We have this opportunity, Tuggey- Lindsay. We can help
people in a way that we were never helped.” Tuggey watches him sharply, trying
to make out his true intentions, but in the end, she just sighs.
“What about Pattillo?” she insists. “I don’t exactly think she would be alright
with someone else trying to run her gang.”
“She agrees with me,” Geoff assures. “She’s made a name for herself, a very
targeted name, and you have a lot of life ahead of you. Even she doesn’t know
exactly how far your reach goes- I don’t even think she knows who you are. You
are the prime candidate to run this operation, I’m sure of it.”
“And if I refuse?” Tuggey asks.
“Then Pattillo and I will do the best we can for as long as we can and after
that, I don’t know,” he admits. “But I’m hoping it doesn’t come to that.” She
mulls it over a little to herself, looking at him unsurely before ultimately
shrugging.
“I’ll have to think about it,” she finally says. “This isn’t something I’m
going to jump in head over heels into.”
“Alright,” Geoff grins. “Alright.” Tuggey gestures him to the door to leave and
Geoff holds back a moment. “Before that,” he murmurs. “Before I came here I
spent a lot of time smuggling in Texas.”
“So?” Tuggey replies mildly.
“Well, here’s the thing about not letting anyone know who you are,” Geoff says.
“No one knows who you are.” She’s not impressed with him in the least. “What
I’m saying is; do you know someone by the name Flynt Coal? Black lady? Shaved
head?” Tuggey adjusts herself a bit, swallowing nervously before giving a small
nod of the head.
“I do,” she agrees. “Why do you ask?”
“She’s working down in Mexico,” he tells her. “She, uh, would mention someone
from time to time. You, I would assume now that I’ve met you. She also assured
me if I gave this number to literally anyone, she would skin me, but I think
this might be an exception.” Geoff hands her the little business card and when
Tuggey takes it, he can see her hands shake. He doesn’t mention it.
“Thanks,” she says shortly. “Now if you don’t mind, I have some business to
attend to.”
“Of course,” he nods. “I’ll be looking forward to hearing your answer.”
- x -
Geoff sets the seats in his living room up very meticulously, placing each
hastily written name place exactly where everyone needs to be. The reason for
this is fairly simple; everyone had very specific needs. Pattillo shouldn’t be
sat next to any guys, Ryan can not be next to Pattillo or Jeremy, Michael can
not be next to any gals or Ray, Gavin can not be next to Pattillo or Lindsay,
Jeremy preferably needs to be next to Pattillo but not next to Ryan, Ray can
not be next to any guys especially Michael and can not be next to Pattillo,
Mica can not be next to Ryan or Michael but preferably next to Pattillo or
Lindsay, while Lindsay, fortunately, can sit just about anywhere. This feels
like his first wedding all over again.
None the less, he feels like he has everyone planned out in such a way that the
least amount of discomfort and conflict will arise. This is the first time
they’ll all be gathering in the same place and it’s going to be what will
define the tone of this relationship for a very long time. If they don’t get
along or if they can not put aside their differences, it’s going to be a major
problem moving forward until they do. Hopefully, Geoff has settled things in
such a way that even if they do have problems with one another, they’re going
to be minor and easy to solve today.
Pattillo arrives first as planned out. Beyond that, Geoff has tried to assure
that everyone else simple arrives far enough away that they don’t meet anyone
else outside. He motions to the cabinet beside the door and she looks at it
mildly before looking back at him. Reluctantly, she takes the key from one of
them and places her weapons inside before locking it up and heading for the
meeting area. It’s important that these people feel safe and they’re not going
to be able to feel relaxed if they’re all holding weapons. Letting them know
where they’re weapons are and that they can get to them on their own certainly
helps.
“Beer?” Geoff offers, holding a bottle to her. “Unopened.” They’ve been in
contact a lot lately and Geoff really feels she’s starting to understand that
he is not a threat to her. Sorta mean sometimes, booze’ll do that, but never a
threat. Pattillo takes it after only a moment of reluctance, plying it open in
the palm of her hand and taking her seat where her name is placed. She tries to
make herself comfortable, checking her phone a bit, before finally settling in
for the time being.
Jeremy arrives not long after, cautiously peering in to make sure Pattillo is
actually here before letting himself in. Like before, Geoff ushered him to put
his things into a locked drawer before heading for the couches. Much the same,
he’s a little weary of putting his things down but he ultimately does before
pocketing the key and coming to join Pattillo on the couch. Geoff hands him a
beer that he accepts somewhat graciously.
Mica’s next. They go through the same short greeting of showing her where she
can put her things and her reluctantly doing it. Even if she might not fully
believe that Pattillo and Jeremy has fully cooperated, the sight of the two
drawers with missing keys does seem to make her feel better. She refuses the
drink and simply takes her seat, exchanging curious looks with Pattillo.
They’re not quite willing to talk to each other yet, probably a good thing.
Michael comes along soon after her. He stops at the door to rub the blood off
his face with his jacket before hanging it up and moving to join them. When
Geoff motions him back, he scowls a bit. He opens the door, tosses his bloody
bat outside, and then comes down to sit with everyone else grumpily. Geoff
hands him a drink that he takes with a mumbled thanks and sinks into his seat
with.
Ryan is the next. Though his body language assures he’s not exactly comfortable
with this either, he puts on a bit of a more pleased facade. Geoff thinks at
least; his face paint makes it hard to tell. He puts all his things in a drawer
after a bit of finagling and then promptly comes to join everyone else. Unlike
the others, he’s not much of a drinker. With no one else talking, he decides to
hold off as well.
Then Lindsay. Same as everyone else, she follows the courtesy of putting her
things in a locked drawer before following everyone into the livingroom. She
accepts a beer and Geoff pops the top off for her as she takes her seat in the
proper place. Most of them recognise each other but not Lindsay and for good
reason. They’ll certainly recognise her company.
Ray arrives wearing a mask from wherever he had been before and as he’s trying
to fit the bits of his rifle into one of the drawers, Gavin nearly bowls him
over coming through the door.
“Oi, sorry mate,” he say quickly, helping Ray rebalance himself. “Didn’t see ya
there.” He grins broadly and quickly makes to join everyone else without a
second thought, much more bubbly than the rest of the somber room. Ray rubs the
back of his head inquisitively before finally coming to join them as well.
Michael squints at him suspiciously as he comes closer, obviously recognising
him even beyond the mask but not quite sure of himself yet.
“Hey!” Gavin says excitedly, immediately getting in Michael’s face in a much
too friendly fashion. “You’re Mogar, aren’t you? Bloody hell you do some gnarly
work.” Michael doesn’t give him the time of day. He shoves Gavin out of the
way, nearly knocking the lad over, just in time to see Ray pull his mask off.
Alright, problem one.
“Danielle!” he shouts. “What the fuck! Where did you go‽” Everyone glances at
one another curiously as if anyone else knows what’s going on here. Ray doesn’t
do much in response to Michael’s shouting.
“My name’s Ray, actually,” he replies.
“What the fuck, Ray‽” Michael snaps back. Fortunately, they keep a distance
from one another. Geoff throws back the rest of his beer before starting to
intervene.
“I went home,” Ray scoffs. “Do you have a problem with that?”
“Alright, calm down,” Geoff urges, coming to stand between them. “Can we all
just have a seat?”
“And you couldn’t tell me that? You couldn’t tell me anything?” Michael shouts.
“You just disappeared!”
“I’m not required to tell you anything, Jones,” Ray answers shortly. “Not then
and certainly not now, dude. Let it go.”
“Seriously, if we can all just sit down,” Geoff says again.
“You couldn’t even have the courtesy of telling me you weren’t fucking dead
after everything that happened‽” Michael barks.
“I don’t know what you think we had but I don’t owe you anything for whatever
you think happened,” Ray assures a bit more sharply this time. “Let it go.”
“I said sit down!” Geoff bites loudly, giving them both solid looks. Finally,
Michael backs off- for now. He’s still obviously simmering and is bound to
return to it but at least he’s willing to give himself some time to think about
it first. Ray flops down in the remaining seat and Geoff rubs his head a bit
with a shake.
“Alright,” he murmurs as he claps his hands and rubs them together. “You all
probably sort of know each other. Just in case- introductions. I’m Geoff Ramsey
and I’m going to be your boss for, well, that’ll be up to you to decide. I’m a
transman from Alabama and I like, well-” he shakes his empty bottle pointedly
before turning to grab another. He hasn’t drank all day, he’s good. Again, his
new crew spare curious looks to one another. None of them are utterly sure of
anyone else’s intentions here but they all know him and they know his
intentions so they’re not too restless.
“I’m Jack Pattillo,” Pattillo introduces herself. “I’m here to fly and manage
the money most likely.” She nods, not willing to diverge nearly as much
information as Geoff had. Which is fine, of course, and not really necessary.
They’ll get to know each other over time.
“I’m Gavin Free,” Gavin introduces himself. “I’m here to manage the dealings.
Black market shite and all that, yeah?” Similarly, he’s not quite comfortable
enough to add any additional thoughts on himself. Geoff didn’t really expect
that much.
“I’m Mica Burton,” Mica introduces herself. “I’m here for assassinations and
undercover help. And yeah, that Burton but that doesn’t leave this room.” Geoff
nods agreeably and everyone else vaguely does the same. There’s a certain
understanding among all of them that perhaps even they themselves don’t
recognise yet.
“I’m Jeremy Dooley,” Jeremy introduces himself. “I’m here for recon and
breaking and entering.” By the looks some of them exchange, it’s clear they’re
starting to realise who the others are and that perhaps they do not like this
situation after all.
“I’m Ryan Haywood,” Ryan introduces himself. “I’m here for tech.” A couple of
them snort sarcastic laughs that he doesn’t seem to appreciate very much.
“What? I do more than blow things up you know.”
“I’m Lindsay Tuggey,” Lindsay introduces herself. “I’m here for clean up.”
Unsurprisingly, no one seems to have an issue with her. She is very good at
what she does. Geoff couldn’t have made a better choice if he’s being honest.
“I’m Michael Jones,” Michael introduces himself. “I’m here to be the heavy.
Fucking surprise.” He won’t take his eyes off Ray and likewise, Ray won’t take
his eyes off him. This, on the other hand, may just prove to be a huge mistake.
“I’m Ray Narvaez Jr,” Ray introduces himself. “I’m here to be the sniper.” This
is clearly a problem that needs to be taken care of first and foremost.
“Good. Now everyone’s met everyone,” Geoff announces. “We’re all going to be
working very close together for the next couple months while we make
preparations and execute this heist. So, first thing’s first; Michael, Ray, if
you two would just hug or something.”
“Nah,” Ray deadpans immediately. Michael gives him a sour look.
“We’ll take this one step at a time, then,” Geoff says. “Michael, why are you
mad at Ray?”
“What the fuck do you mean why?” Michael snaps back. “The last time I saw him
was six fucking years ago after we had just fucking burned down most of Los
Santos and murder fucking Kraid. He couldn’t even fucking tell me he was
fucking leaving.”
“So what?” Ray replies. “You want a reason why I didn’t tell you anything? You
think there is some magical phrase I’ll say that’ll suddenly make you not mad
that I ditched you as soon as I didn’t need you? Sorry, I had a life to get
back to that obviously didn’t include you.”
“I fucking loved you, you fucking asshole!” Michael shouts.
“Yeah, so much so you were willing to help me get rid of Kraid’s crew, right?
It definitely wasn’t because you were a blood thirsty teenage bag of pent up
frustration and rage,” Ray says, crossing his arms irritably. “Ready to go off
at any moment and take me with you. I wasn’t doin’ it, man.”
“You were afraid of Michael,” Geoff murmurs. “And Michael was afraid to be
alone.” Neither of them say anything but they so suddenly stop looking at each
other. Geoff nods. “Alright. Here’s the deal. Michael, you keep a buffer
between you and Ray until he feels comfortable again. Ray, I know you don’t owe
anyone anything, but just out of general decency, I think Michael does deserve
a fair reason to why you left without saying anything.” Ray sits back
stubbornly, clenching his teeth a little.
“Fine,” he agrees with a sour bite. “I left to go see my mother after having
never known her. I wasn’t going to risk you deciding to become an asshole and
put her in a position where she’d have to move again like Kraid did. Happy?”
“No,” Michael scoffs. “Fucking whatever. I’ll buffer or whatever the hell he
said.”
“Thank you,” Geoff says. Time will help now. “Anyone else with any problems
with anyone else?”
“Haywood’s lookin’ at me weird,” Jeremy murmurs unsurely.
“He was in my house,” Ryan assures. “Why.”
“I told him to go,” Pattillo steps in and Ryan has no problem averting his
‘weird’ look to her. “You were dangerous and I needed to know how dangerous you
were. Not dangerous enough, obviously.”
“Ryan, is that fair?” Geoff asks. Ryan squints at her a bit but shrugs simply.
“Understandable,” he says and nods.
“Any other problems needed to be solved immediately?” Geoff insists, glancing
around to assure everything is at least somewhat content. With nothing else
urgent, though Geoff is sure there’s plenty of under the skin concern, they can
move on for now. Anything else that crops up they can hopefully deal with as it
comes. “Good. Let’s continue with this meeting, then.”
“Are you finally going to tell us what this plan of yours is, then?” Mica asks.
Geoff points at her.
“Good idea. No. Not yet anyways. We’ll get to that,” he assures fleetingly. No
one looks shockingly happy about this but that’s not important right now. “See,
I know what all of you can do and for the most part, you all know what you can
do, but none of you know me.”
“Okay,” Pattillo says slowly. “So what now?”
“So now I’m going to show you all what I can do, duh,” Geoff replies. “It just
wouldn’t be fair if I made you guys jump into this with me blind. You all stay
here, try not to kill each other or trash my apartment, and I’ll be back with
some shit after I finish robbing some places.”
“You want us to just- hang out here until then?” Ryan asks. “Together?”
“Yep,” Geoff says. “Like I said, try not to kill each other and I do live here
so take it easy. Food and drink in the fridge, help yourselves.”
“Is that really a good idea?” Pattillo murmurs.
“Leaving you guys alone or letting you guys eat my food?” he replies. She looks
at him blandly. “Hey, you guys are mature adults. You trusted me enough to come
here and I’m trusting you guys enough to leave you here. I won’t be gone very
long.”
“As long as you got red bull,” Ray says as he picks himself up and heads for
the kitchen. Lindsay hops up to follow him and Gavin quickly returns to his
fanboy-ish assault of Michael who still pays him no attention. As Geoff is
leaving, Mica and Ryan seem to be engaging in a mostly friendly discussion
while Jeremy and Pattillo chat quietly. So far, this is a good tone. Of course,
Geoff will see how that holds up upon his return.
It won’t take them long to realise how much in common they have.
The word is; fake FAKE crew
The definition is; a person who appears or claims to be something that they are
not, to accomplish a task by improvising. To thrive in a situation that would
otherwise result in death, loss of self, or severe lack of quality of life;
dangerous.
Usage; “The name of the game is; fake.” Welcome to the FAKE crew.
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