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The bus slowly becomes quiet as the sinners file off to their own rooms. Some still chat in the hallway while others simply open their doors and disappear. The air is quiet, the atmosphere softer yet as the sun falls ever further. Eventually it leaves only Dante and two of the sinners on the bus.
“haah… It's fine Dante, we'll be alright.” “Yup, we've seen you yawning during those luxcavations manager bud, go on and rest up.”
With that final confirmation Dante also enters the backdoor with a simple tick of confirmation yet their pace is noticeably slow, waiting for any sign of hesitation. Yet they pass that threshold of the door, no longer at the whims of the backstreets surrounding them.
Gregor stretches, aware of the unnerving cracking as he moves. Ishmael doesn't mention it this time, instead opting to move to the front of the bus. “I'm gonna head outside and check the bus real quick,” she says curtly. The bus door opens with a simple hiss as she steps out mace in hand. No point in arguing with her on it, she needs to make sure everythings in tip-top shape and understood before she mellows out a bit with these things. It's a familiar pattern, yet at the same time he could never relate to the exhaustion of constantly worrying about something or other. He looks to his bug arm as if it wants to object to that thought with its existence, maybe he can relate to it in one way.
He hopes it's going to be an easy night, part of the reason they even opted to do a more balanced night watch is that if Dante spotted something small they would need to wake someone up. Even though Dante doesn't seem to need as much sleep as the rest of them it just doesn't feel right. It's still strange having a manager who actually seems to care about their employees enough to inconvenience themselves.
He sits in one of the longer seats this time, not like the assigned seating means much to the sinners anyway. At least they don't have to clean up blood off the floor. His attention goes to his bug arm again as he tries to get comfortable, worse really is a term isn't it. The sinners never really commented on it as a thing outside of jabs. Probably because it wasn't actively trying to murder anyone against his will. Just thinking about what might happen as they collectively get stronger leaves a bitter taste in his mouth. Another sigh escapes him, has he been doing that alot, that's usually Ishmael’s thing ain't it. Though he supposes she normally does it in frustration not whatever he's feeling right now. The strong feeling that he's always carried with him in spite of everything, Resignation, that it's inevitable that he'll push everything away again.
Finally, if to do nothing other than fill the silence the other member of this night watch finally comes back on board. Her mace remains close as she sets it aside to make sure the door closes properly. “Everything… looks good. Not a lot of people out right now.” Ishmael says, content. “Hopefully no syndicate or rats cause anything to happen.” “Don't jinx us.” he jokes, he really doesn't want to deal with that tonight.
Ishmael goes to pick up a book she was reading that she left on her seat, her assigned seat creating a bit of distance between them. It appears to be more related to research of the districts if the map Gregor sees is to be believed. “I Should’ve really gotten a book at our last stop then,” he comments, causing Ishmael to look up at him. “Did… you want to talk?” It’s an authentic question, almost confused. “If that’s alright with you, yeah.” The conversation doesn’t continue, an awkward silence settles uncomfortably between the two.
“What did you want to talk about?” Ishmael asks. Gregor ends up looking out the window, they’ve been at this and chatting for a year and this can still happen. “You got any stories bud?” A fond, almost sad smile seems to cross Ishmaels face. “Yeah, there’s quite a… few,” she pauses, now just looking at the floor. “Sore subject?” He breaks that tension with practice. “Haah… I just miss some of things from before all this, and yet that bastard tainted everything she touched.” That venom as she speaks is plenty enough a tell for him. Gregor simply nods, waiting for her to finish her thought. Ishmael meets his eyes for just a moment as she focuses on something. “Do I have something on my face?” “...Why do you have a cigarette in the first place if you don’t light it?” He doesn’t think her annoyance is about him. His fingers wrap around it, “Helps to have something in my mouth, for the stress.”
Ishmael finally gets up from her seat as she moves to one closer to Gregor, she’s on the opposite side of his bug arm it’s almost out of view from her perspective. “Hmm… how about this,” she shows the book to Gregor, “It’s a map but it’s got a lot of reviews on it, think there’s food places, fixer offices and all that.” Gregor does end up looking at it, it’s a tourist's book with places to go along roads. “I… think some car company made it to encourage people to go to different places at long distances.” Ishmael’s tone is meandering as she stretches her hand out. Gregor takes the book from Ishmaels hands as she offers it, flipping through. “You know, I’m quite surprised you want my opinions on food,” he says. “Yeah?” Ishmael seems confused at the comment a moment before some other expression crosses her face, to Gregor it feels like pity. “I’m just not a fan of canned foods, it’s not you.”
It’s a practical response to Gregor, and he was familiar with the practical response from people around him. And yet a part of him still wants to prove her wrong even if he doesn’t need to. “I asked Meursault to help with a few cooking lessons actually.” “Oh?” Ishmael says, awkward about the whole thing. “What’d you learn?” “Techniques, and some simple dishes, he gave me a recipe list, the thing looks like he copied it from a website and wrote it out by hand,” his bug arm twitches, thinking about how he used to cut with it to make food, it’s activity has only increased in the past few months as they go through each of their turns faster, soon he’s sure… “He’s… good at what he does,” Ishmael concurs, breathing in, “I wouldn’t mind trying it then.” “Aren’t you worried you’ll have to miss out on the same meal you eat everyday,” he says. That gets a reaction out of Ishmael as she brings a hand to her face. “You too… Everyone's a smartass these days, huh?” She huffs, “I really don’t see why eating decent food needs to be mocked. If it’s good, you don’t need variety.” Gregor gives a small laugh earning even more of a glare from Ishmael, “Don’t let Outis hear you say that, I’m sure she’ll give you an earful about it.” Ishmael rolls her eyes, retracting from irritation.
The silence washes over them again, Ishmael looks out the window to see the setting sun on its last legs. “Heh, I swear half of these places are bars,” Gregor mumbles, “Not sure if I’m a fan of this stuff.” Ishmael’s attention is back to Gregor as she turns, curious to know more. “Yeah… I’ve been meaning to ask, what’s your problem with bars? You never want to join anyone when they go to one.” Gregor holds up his bug arm towards Ishmael, he ignores how she uncomfortably looks away as he talks. “This thing,” He emphasises, “isn’t the greatest when it comes to losing your inhibitions. Don’t want to kill someone just cause I wanted to have some fun.” His bug arm remains in front of Ishmael, and apparently unlike her with anyone else in this situation she doesn’t try to push it away. “I… see,” she says slowly. It’s almost funny to see her like this, with how scathing her comments can be sometimes she doesn’t seem to want to push this subject specifically.
He pulls it back, noticing how her shoulders slouch slightly. “You mentioned it’s been getting more volatile as we’ve collected the boughs, right?” Gregor nods with that stressed smile of his through the cigarette, “Yeah, not looking forward to it.” Ishmael folds her arms, it doesn’t seem like that was the point she was trying to make. “No… uh. You have a bunch of people who can’t die, and if you ever wanted to try it…” The offer trails off, Ishmael clearly regrets the words coming out of her mouth, “Nevermind… that sounds stupid.” Gregor actually is contemplating it though, to do something new while he has the chance between all their dying and collecting. “If we are doing this, what kinda alcohol do you like?” Ishmael has a clearly bewildered expression upon hearing those words. “You’re sure, I mean you were just complaining about-” “Yeah, I’m sure,” Gregor interrupts before she can ramble on further, “So, you gonna answer my question?”
Ishmaels not making eye contact again, “Okay… yeah. Alcohol. I am the last person to ask, probably.” “I thought sailors were known for drinking people under the table, you bragged about it haven’t ya.” Ishmael sighs, “I just buy the cheapest cans of beer and consider that good enough, sure I know a good rum, but the good stuffs from u corp and I was never the one that actually ordered the stuff.” “Quite the palette then,” he says. Ishmael elbows him, it’s not as sharp as one she would give to Heathcliff. “Just ask Rodya or Heathcliff,” she contemplates for a moment, “I think… Meursault too, they’ll probably have a laundry list of suggestions.” Gregor nods, it’s nice that their rapport’s finally getting somewhere. He knows that most of the sinners aren’t the biggest fans of the whole family thing, but it’s nice to feel close to people that at least try to get to know him. Even if they can be a bit insufferable sometimes, or actually, a lot of the time.
“Let’s do it in your room then, bud.” Ishmael once again looks at him like he’s sprouted more bug parts suddenly. “Huh, do you… like wet socks?” Gregor closes the book pointing it out at her. “That’s the point, most of the others won’t even try to barge in.” Ishmael sighs, there’s a slight hint of disbelief in her voice. “Okay then, fine. I’ll try to make sure things stay… calm, no promises for what my room would look like if I’m drunk.” Gregor nods as he moves to stretch. “Gotcha fish bud-” “Nope.” “I didn’t-” “Fish bud is not a good nickname, Bug. Guy.” Gregor huffs at her emphasis. “Fine, Ishmael, still a plan though right?” Ishmael get’s up as well, checking her shield on her arm, “Right.”
Ishmael takes their moment of pause to look around the bus's surroundings again. An Alleyway to the side, the businesses on the street closed with metal grates. The world around them echoes with silence. Yet it feels exposed as she looks down at the road that stretches far beyond their view. Only the occasional car darting past, trying to get home before the sweepers begin their terrifying waves.
She jumps when she notices movement, the small glint of blades and weapons as a small group of some rough looking syndicate members make their way towards the bus. One of them, holding a longsword walks out in front with a wide gait. “I told ya, this thing is a sitting duck, there’s gotta be some good things to salvage in it.” He sounds very proud of himself as he presents the bus to his colleagues. “Sure, sure Alejandro.” One of the more gruff sounding ones dismisses as they fall into their own conversation.
The two sinners turn to each other, both irritated by this new development. “No such thing as a peaceful night huh?” Gregor whispers, not willing to risk them hearing. “We should be able to take them, if we don’t get injured, then we should…” Ishmael retreats into her mumbling trying to figure a plan out. “Maybe we should talk to them,” Gregor says. “No, you’ve had your chances on that,” Ishmael says quickly. “And If I told you I’d been practicing.” “I wouldn’t believe you.” Gregors smile fades, right, she really is more invested in things people can do over people themselves, and she wonders why they compare her to Outis. “You can jump in if things get dicey, but I’m sure Dante will be happy if we avoid injuries period.” Ishmael seems to take things into consideration before pointing to a wall. “If you do talk, talk over there, away from the bus.” Gregor, to his credit, is quite surprised at how quickly she relented after doubting him. “Just wait for my signal, if we need to start a fight,” she says. “Right.”
Gregor rolls his shoulders, his teeth grinding into each other slightly. He’s got this. He steps onto the lower step of the bus waiting to open it as he thanks the tinted windows for not giving either of them away. A loud voice shouts, “Hey! If anyones in there you got 30 seconds before we break this fucking door down.” Gregor opens the door, surprising the guy that was all angry before. “Hey~ pals, what’re you doing?” he steps off the bus, the syndicate members seem a bit too stunned from his calmness to really react before it automatically closes. Now does he see their audience, 6 guys, there’s a silent taller one as the leader. The one shouting was that Alejandro fellow who found the bus in the first place. “Pals,” the leader mutters echoing, “We’re pals?” Gregor shrugs. Before he can make a response, Alejandro again makes an energetic movement causing Gregor to sidestep. “This bus looks plenty valuable, you’re telling me they only put one fixer on it.” “And one of them,” a bigger guy mutters, Gregor doesn’t even have to look in his direction to know he’s focused on his bug arm.
“You’ve got it all wrong, pals,” Gregor backs up through them, putting distance between him and the bus. They don’t make a move to attack. “I-uh, it’s a bit hard to say in detail especially to some strangers.” “Details, schmetails, whatever, you were in there and now you-” The loud guy is interrupted by the boss, “Explain then, we don’t have all night.” And Gregor tries not to show his satisfaction that this ruse is at least working. “Well you see, sweepers took my sister last night, and I’ve been wandering,” he looks away from them with a dramatic pause, “Spotted this thing and it opened easily, I was just…” “waiting to die,” one of them finishes, “waiting for the sweepers to come to this and take you as well.”
Gregor slumps his shoulders; he really doesn’t have anywhere to go after they catch on. The leader gives a sigh, strangely sympathetic, “You look down on your luck then, well you see there’s a chance…” An offer’s on the tip of his tongue, Gregor can clearly see the variety of reactions from his crew. He knows what they’re focusing on over everything else. Though the energetic one seems to not buy into his sob story, which is incredibly worrying.
“Ha! you think we're idiots?” The boisterous one practically shouts as he knocks on the bus door with his blade. Gregor’s sure they’ll get an earful about letting the bus be scratched even if it can heal. “Sitting in a vehicle this pretty for a death wish, who do you take us for, idiots? Just cause we’re some small frys from the backstreets.” The leader seems to want to placate him as his tirade continues. He points to Gregor’s bug arm with the tip of his blade as he stands in front of the door. “You know what! I’ll slice that fuc-” The loudest thing on the street is suddenly silenced by the violent crash of a mace to his head.
He falls to the ground limp, blood pools from his cracked skull. Ishmael's face is shadowed as she stares down with that violent rather subtle smile of hers that only expresses bloodlust. That, Gregor supposes, is the fabled signal. “Shit, Alej-” The man who shouted for his colleague is unfortunate enough to be the closest one to Gregor. Which means he gets interrupted by the bug arm he was gawking at piercing him.
Ishmael’s quick to step off the bus and bash her shield into one of the other enemies. Though Gregor doesn’t have much of a chance to focus on that as the leader, who was previously calm and collected charges at him with a powerful fury. Metal clashes against chitin as the leader grits his teeth. “Hey, you wanted us dead first bud, not our fault your guys can’t win,” Gregor’s arm morphs to let him slash at the leader past the clash. The leader dodges out of the way as it grazes him, his blade glows something strange as he growls in lieu of a response. Of course the boss had to have some fancy workshop weapon.
The battle of two versus four rages, the two sinners are far better at endurance battles, and their edge was clear from the beginning. Though Gregor supposes one of the better things the sinners can do is keep fighting when most others would have passed out from exhaustion. Ishmael takes another one of hers down right as two of the enemies find a way to get at Gregor from both sides. That glowing blade slices through his human arm cleanly as he finally gets the one supporting the leader with the other. He’s aware how his body reacts, trying to harden and protect him in its own limited way as he reaches his limit. He’s a bit hurt now, so much for not needing to involve Dante. He’s on the back foot now and can tell the boss is clearly irritated over how he barely flinched from getting his arm cut off.
There’s a loud noise from Ishmael’s side of the Battlefield. Though Gregor isn’t able to check what’s happened as he’s knocked down with a blow to the gut. He just has to trust Ishmael was faring better than him. “I’ll kill you!” the boss shouts through gritted teeth, “you wings forsaken bug!” He stabs his blade down and Gregor can’t help but close his eyes and wait, yet the familiar feeling and sound of that squelch of a blade piercing someone's ribcage doesn’t come. He opens them to see a shield outstretched in front of him. “Weakened him up for ya pal,” he says weakly. Ishmael doesn’t respond as he lets himself rest for a moment while she charges. It’s a bit hard for him to get up right now.
He doesn’t come to until he sees Ishmael staring down at him with a worried expression on her face. She seems shocked when his eyes meet hers, “Oh. you’re still alive.” She hasn't come out unscathed either, he can see a bit of blood dripping down her face. She seems to be looking at something on him but he can’t tell through the haze of bleeding out. “...Can you get up?” He nods as he pushes his torso up, now that he’s gotten a proper look he can see that Ishmael is holding his dismembered arm along with her mace. “Little help,” He says, reaching out his only arm to her. She sighs as she reluctantly grabs it and wraps his arm around her shoulder. “Let’s go before the sweepers come.”
Entering the bus with a corpse or heavily injured sinner is no novel task so the process is pretty quick as Ishmael sets him down on the floor of the bus. She begins walking towards the back of the bus at a swift pace. Gregor isn’t able to make any quip or comment as he exhales, Ishmael already disappeared beyond the backdoor. He closes his eyes again.
He does feel phenomenally better when he wakes up. Though it is slightly soured by Dante and Ishmael both standing over him with their own variety of worried expressions. Dante begins though Ishmael is quick to interrupt. “Haah… we already talked about this, you aren’t productive when you don’t have proper rest, even if you don’t need as much it’s still important.” Gregor sits up from his spot on the bloody floor, “Listen to her, Manager Bud, running yourself ragged has never worked for anyone.” Ishmael hands Gregor a rag and he uses the opportunity to clean himself off. After some more of the quick conversation Dante excuses themself back to their room with some prodding from the two. It’s similar in the end, to that boss that was desperately angry and put himself in harm's way because of them. Yet Dante’s still alive, and that boss met his end.
The two are alone again, back on the nightwatch for the last hours of it. “Thanks, Gregor,” Ishmael says, she has a subtle smile on her face, “...Sorry for doubting you.” Gregor stands and moves back to his seat, “So you’ll vouch for my acting skills.” “Umm… juries still out,” she similarly moves back to her spot. “Thanks for the save too, Bud, you could have just let me die.” Ishmael to her credit looks annoyed at that insinuation, “I’ll leave the purposeful sacrifice to the one that can actually feel the consequences, it’s better to not die at all.” Gregor nods, though he does notice Ishmael’s eyes now linger on his human arm. “Did I miss something?” “No… I just didn’t realize that your…” Ishmael motions to the bug stuff, “thing is sort of is everywhere.” “Thing… you mean the arm?” Gregor says directly, not letting her evade her own statement. “The genetic stuff, your arm regenerated to stop the blood flow after you fell.” “Oh, it hasn’t done that in a while.”
There’s more serious stuff they could talk about but it’s clear neither of them want to follow that thread of conversation. The silence rings out. “Anyhow…” Ishmael says, not the greatest with the subtle art of redirecting a conversation, “We’ve still got a book to flip through if you're up for it?” “Sure, Bud,” Gregor says, accepting it.
Once the morning comes, the two end up being seen by the other sinners just waking up still chatting together about plenty of different things. Rodya, of course, can’t help but chuckle at them hunched over a book, earning herself Ishmael’s own ire as Gregor just takes it.