((that said lmk if anything ever needs an edit! gestures vaguely, we'll stumble through this part together, dw))
[Things happen fast after that. Gratifying, at least, to hear Marc follow behind and straight through the door. Even more gratifying to hear the subsequent impact as whoever's busy ransacking the inside hits the wall. There's a little nag at his attention in the moment. Some old ghost of the habits one picks up working with a partner, the long-disused impulse to wonder if Marc's having trouble in there. A glance through the door doesn't immediately dispel it, given Marc's not exactly choosing which wound he'd rather take so much as choosing to take...all of them, in favor of barreling forward uninterrupted.
But. Can't argue with the results. And maybe he can't necessarily pick up everything Marc's saying to Dirtbag Numero Dos from out here, but he gets enough.
Nice. Okay. Great. He can work with that.
With the first offender safely underfoot (for the moment) and Jason looking though the door, the woman takes the chance to ask who the hell are you. Jason throws one more glace back over his shoulder at Marc and his new friend backed up against the wall inside. With no small amount of irony—]
Housekeeping. [Apparently.] Heard you had some complaints about the accommodations.
[Ought to do something about that. He considers the options for a split second but in the end—reaches for a pocket to lob her the key to his room a floor below. Should be quieter down there. And if he hid a few things in a corner of the drop-ceiling, well. He’ll just have to swing by to collect them later. She seems like a smart girl. She can figure out the rest.
Of course, here is about where Dirtbag Numero Uno decides to reassert himself. He makes a wheezy noise of protest about being ignored and starts to buck up against the boot still pressed against his chest. Jason drops into a crouch, grabs for the hilt of his dagger, and twists.]
I'd stay put if you ever want to use that arm again. [He'll have to find a pretty good doctor, pretty fast. Or.] Or, I could pull it all the way down and save us both the trouble.
[Rather than take this very generous advice, the guy reaches for something at his belt with his good arm. Pulls a heretofore concealed handgun and takes aim kind of wildly. It's knocked to the side with the knife once its out, but bullet goes off and goes wide, embedding into the drywall somewhere close to the ceiling. The gun gets twisted out of his hand and cracked quickly against his temple to drop him for good.
Louder than he'd like. But progress. How are things inside?]
HONESTLY THO...same. action my beloved, and yet.
[Things happen fast after that. Gratifying, at least, to hear Marc follow behind and straight through the door. Even more gratifying to hear the subsequent impact as whoever's busy ransacking the inside hits the wall. There's a little nag at his attention in the moment. Some old ghost of the habits one picks up working with a partner, the long-disused impulse to wonder if Marc's having trouble in there. A glance through the door doesn't immediately dispel it, given Marc's not exactly choosing which wound he'd rather take so much as choosing to take...all of them, in favor of barreling forward uninterrupted.
But. Can't argue with the results. And maybe he can't necessarily pick up everything Marc's saying to Dirtbag Numero Dos from out here, but he gets enough.
Nice. Okay. Great. He can work with that.
With the first offender safely underfoot (for the moment) and Jason looking though the door, the woman takes the chance to ask who the hell are you. Jason throws one more glace back over his shoulder at Marc and his new friend backed up against the wall inside. With no small amount of irony—]
Housekeeping. [Apparently.] Heard you had some complaints about the accommodations.
[Ought to do something about that. He considers the options for a split second but in the end—reaches for a pocket to lob her the key to his room a floor below. Should be quieter down there. And if he hid a few things in a corner of the drop-ceiling, well. He’ll just have to swing by to collect them later. She seems like a smart girl. She can figure out the rest.
Of course, here is about where Dirtbag Numero Uno decides to reassert himself. He makes a wheezy noise of protest about being ignored and starts to buck up against the boot still pressed against his chest. Jason drops into a crouch, grabs for the hilt of his dagger, and twists.]
I'd stay put if you ever want to use that arm again. [He'll have to find a pretty good doctor, pretty fast. Or.] Or, I could pull it all the way down and save us both the trouble.
[Rather than take this very generous advice, the guy reaches for something at his belt with his good arm. Pulls a heretofore concealed handgun and takes aim kind of wildly. It's knocked to the side with the knife once its out, but bullet goes off and goes wide, embedding into the drywall somewhere close to the ceiling. The gun gets twisted out of his hand and cracked quickly against his temple to drop him for good.
Louder than he'd like. But progress. How are things inside?]