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And it goes like this:
Party Poison is the one in charge. Poison says where they’re going and how fast they’re going to go to get there and when they should stop; Poison says who does what.
They don’t decide that alone, of course— Jet will say something if he has a better idea, and Kobra will stare Poison down and tell them a plan’s stupid, and Ghoul doesn’t hesitate to disagree if it doesn’t want to do what Poison wants him to do. In general, though, they look to Poison for the answers. They go hard, and fast, and authoritatively, and that’s enough to keep the whole crew in line for the most part.
Ghoul still gets in fights with them— spitting vitriol and swinging fists, hyena-laughter spilling out— but that’s more to do with who the Fun Ghoul is than anything about the crew’s leader.
If Poison’s incapacitated, Jet Star takes over. Sometimes Poison’s unconscious, or intoxicated, or… whatever, and so Jet steps forward and says what the whole crew is going to do.
He’s good enough, in charge, at least for short periods of time. He just never knows where to take them all, and he’s never quite sure the other two will follow him. Sometimes he’s disappointed they’re following him.
Jet’s a loner, at heart. He doesn’t talk much, and he’s happiest at the edges of groups. He likes being alone. Sometimes he wanders away from their little fire at night to sit atop a dune and stare at the stars for an hour or two, just re-centering himself within himself. When he’s the leader, he doesn’t get that time. It makes him snappish and insecure, and he doesn’t like feeling like that. He doesn’t like being in charge.
And if Jet’s out of commission, the Kobra Kid’s in charge. Poison eagerly grasps authority and Jet doesn’t like authority, but Kobra refuses to take charge.
The Fun Ghoul is unfailingly loyal to him, of course, same as it is to every member of their crew, but he’s abrasive and sharp, a perfectionist, and he falls apart at the seams from memories more for every minute he has to take care of the rest.
So he refuses. Unless it would mean Ghoul would be in charge. The Fun Ghoul is fundamentally unsuited to authority. It cannot comprehend time— even the limited ability the rest of them have to judge when noon is in relation to morning or mid-morning, and where among those they are, is beyond him. He doesn’t understand money (it’s “something about numbers,” it insisted. They just don’t let him handle money, and he’s content with the arrangement) and he knows a-little-too-well how to get under someone’s skin and convince them to put it at blaster-point. It doesn’t trust anyone, even when that person might be someone who would help, and he can’t tell the difference between its emotions.
Well— most tumbleweeds have a difficult time telling what they’re feeling. A decade (at least) on BLi’s meds will have a body messed up seventeen ways to seeing Destroya when they get out into the Zones and start feeling angry or happy or grieving . Ghoul just feels bad.
So it ends up that if Ghoul’s left in charge he’ll go wavey on anyone who dares get close: wavey as in as hopping mad as a wave-head whose rays have been interrupted. He’s good enough at following single orders of varying complexity (get our Girl out. Kill every Drac you can. Get us to shelter) but it’s hopeless at making up its own.
So it goes like this:
Poison’s dead. Blaster-shot to the brainpan through the chin. Dead and left behind to decay— or, worse, be dracked— and Jet’s pulling the ‘Am out through the tunnels they came in by, behind the Radio Crew’s van, which their Girlie is in.
Kobra’s falling into pieces in the backseat. He’s doing it silently, thank the Witch, but there’s no sign of light in his eyes when Jet chances a glance in the rearview mirror.
Ghoul’s doing its thing in the passenger seat, but it’s still breathing in a rhythm slower than hyperventilation, so Jet lets it be.
He’s already sick of them both. He doesn’t want to be here, he doesn’t want Ghoul to look at him expectantly and he doesn’t want to try to keep Kobra alive for just a little while longer, just a little while longer, for our Girl like he knows he’ll have to, he doesn’t want to and it’s creeping through his chest and up his throat and aching through his skull. And he doesn't want to and he doesn’t want to and he doesn’t want to but he has to get them all back out into Zone One
But one way or another, Kobra’s going to leave and then the Fun Ghoul’s going to leave and he’s caught between good riddance and this is the only crew I’ve loved this fiercely and why couldn’t I have died first this time
And he just wants to sit down in some shadow, curl up, and not think for a little while. Get back to center. Breathe and exist without expectations for a moment. And he knows that all-too-soon he’s going to be alone for good.
Because the Kobra Kid refuses to think too far ahead. To be falling apart now— his goal was, most likely, to get the Girl out, and he will have refused, and will refuse, to make any plans past that now that she’s back in the Zones.
And after that, well… he and Ghoul are only in sync as long as they’re operating at the same authority level, and he can’t keep the same tight reins on it as Poison can— could, whatever— so it’s not going to stick around for long.
The ‘Am pulls out of the tunnel into the searing light of the Zones. The van goes right, so the ‘Am goes left, North, leading as much of their tail away as possible. There’s a stockpile of explosives all three of them know of to the North-East. They’ll take out the dracs and exterminators and (maybe) the Scarecrow(s) (probably) on their tail. Or maybe they won’t. And after that— who knows.