anothercontinuity | Red vs Blue pt 2

This guy was lucky that he was hot because Tucker wasn't sure he would be this okay exerting this much effort over anything that wasn't. He grunted, then laid the clothes out, hopefully in the path of the sun once the storm clouds left. He frowned a little because he didn't have anything to carry the rain water that had collected into the crooks and crags of the rock, but he'd be okay for a little while, right? Maybe?

Fuck. He hoped so. Human bodies were weird.

There. Out. Tucker took a selfish moment to breathe, to think about the situation, to hope the school kept Junior a little longer while he did this. He'd be here tonight and maybe a few days with the way things were going. Tucker took a rock and stuck it on the clothes so they wouldn't blow away. A few hours til they were dry.

Well, then... He pushed off the rock, half belly-flopping into the water before he swam around choppy waters to the front under the overhang. He emerged in the shadows, watching this guy for a minute. He looked strong, and this guy had protected him at the cost of his own safety, his own life. It really was only fair that Tucker returned the favor.

He swam over to the human and pulled himself up to sit beside him, tail idly dipping back and forth in the water. "So, they're up there and should be dry in a bit.The waves usually calm down in an hour and maybe then we can plot some shit on how to get you back to your own kind. Unless, you know, you find the merfolk life a little more fun, which I won't blame you for."

"Fun?"

Wash stared at him incredulously for a moment, before his free hand flopped into the air, gesturing around them. "This is fun, for you?"

Maybe it was. What else was there to do in the wide, open ocean but revel over these little mishaps? Probably the most exciting thing to come by in some time, but he was allowed to resent being someone's form of entertainment.

Hey! He had a lot of shit to keep him entertained! The amount of times he tried to not-die from certain wild life that would love to take a bite out of this beautifully fine tail? The ships that tried to harpoon him? The fishermen that tried to net him? A son who liked to get way too close to everything, including the deadly stuff? Yeah, his life wasn't boring, Mr. Sandwalker. It was just fine, with different dangers and different hobbies, but it wasn't dull.

"Okay, you being stabbed? Not fun. You being a dick about this? Even less fun." Want the scowl? Get the scowl. "But our life isn't bad! I know it seems shitty right now, but..."

His hands clenched in the rocks. "I mean, I'm trying to fucking help! I'm not the one that threw you off a ship! What else do you want me to do?!"

"I listen to you," Wash says, then, under his breath, "When it's not ridiculous."

Then he clears his throat, looking at both of them bedore he settles on looking at Locus, knowing that staring him straight on could be good or bad depending.

"And I want you with me - us." It had nothing to do with winning any arguments or strength. He just wanted Locus nearby - a fact he reassures by reaching up and patting an arm.

It's an acceptance he wasn't quite expecting. Being an adjunct while Washington recovered, before he had his life back as he knew it? He could wrap his head around that. But having a place in that life was not on the table, not as he'd understood it.

It seemed once again, he'd assumed incorrectly.

Tucker touching Wash touching him, a chain that was forging itself here in front of their eyes, a connection that in months prior he might have shied away from. Instead, there's a thread of longing there, a weariness to his eyes as they lift. This is for Washington, in truth, but Locus has been alone for a long, long time.

He doesn't like it as much as one might assume, given his introverted nature.

"I would hate to disappoint," he finally manages, the dry, crackling edges of a joke, even if his expression remains dead solemn.

“…nice save, Wash.”

A little annoyed, but not jealous. Tucker didn’t get jealous often, a lowkey feeling he reserved more for his friends not acknowledging him more than any romantic setting he had. He wanted attention, but it was more catlike than anything: pet me, stroke me, shower me with affection but go on when you want. He just wanted to make sure he wasn’t left out, or abandoned, forgotten.

Really, all that mattered to him was that Wash was happy. Not that he would ever admit it.

And Locus’ joke was bad, hard to even tell with that deadpan default of it, but goddamn if Tucker didn’t feel the Come-Get-Some sparks just shooting up from here. “Just shut up and make out already, but at least let me get the camera first. I bet I could make good money for Freelancer/Merc porn.”

That’s how you do a joke, Locus. Or make money. Either or.

Wash still hasn't clued in to Tucker's concern. He himself would say he's not here to replace Tucker with Locus in any way, shape or form. The joke, though, gets him looking up at Locus with a little quirk of an eyebrow. Wash turns and gives Tucker such a look - before he smiles a little bit.

"Tucker," he says sweetly, "If I'm not allowed to do anything strenuous, what makes you think that there's going to be anything like that going on?"

Think about that, Lavernius.

Locus just shook his head, eyes rolling shut. No. It was unlikely Washington would be fit for anything like that, at least for some time. Something that would see Tucker wound up in the weeks to follow, he was certain.

Perhaps he ought to go check on the navigation again.

"A subject we can discuss from somewhere more comfortable. The journey will be a few hours long, at least."

"Oh, don't act like you've never just laid around and let someone do all the work for you, Wash." You're going to come at him like that? Really? Because Tucker has an answer for everything if it comes to sex, and you're not about to sway or dissuade him. He's better than that.

Locus caught his attention again, and Tucker couldn't help but roll his eyes. "Is this a 'change into something comfortable' sort of reference, or 'shut up til we're home'? Because unless there's a bed hiding somewhere, I think this is as comfortable as it gets until we're home.

"And if there is a bed in here, fuck, kinky, man. Kinky."

Antagonistic occasional lovers via the bodies they cohabited with other minds entirely. York likely had a more succinct way of putting things but for now? 'Close' will have to be vague enough to suffice.

Is, in fact, enough to let him set aside the usual expectations when tangling with Felix and instead enjoy the differences here. The lack of teeth, the pliancy, the sweetness. The reciprocity done out of something more than pride.

Delta leans into it, shivering faintly at the stroke of Isaac's hand, greatly pleased by this turn of events. At his catching on with every twist of his hand and stroke of code, intent on leaving Isaac panting.

"Not that it matters, but generally I don't," Wash tells Tucker with his own roll of his eyes. "Also - no, there is not a bed."

But Wash finally stretches in his chair a little, settling back against it fully. "I might take a nap, though."

It's been some time since he's felt this sort of...contentment. Peace with what is and what will be, the very peace he sought when he first took the hood for himself. This is what being an Eagle should be.

Locus and Maine reside the closest to York's quarters, though it is the former Eagle that takes over drawing his baths, reading to him, and warming his bed. He wouldn't have been surprised if there was a ripple of jealousy through the ranks, but so far as he can see? Most of the other hawks are simply pleased that York is being attended to, and living vicariously through what Locus is being allowed.

Of course, they don't know the half of what goes on behind those closed doors. Delta suspects, he thinks, and it doesn't seem to have helped the man's already sour opinion of him.

Still, he's not here for him. He is here because he belongs, body and mind, to the man who saved him on the auctioning block. A mad Eagle that no one else would touch. That had been by design, of course. The idea, though he didn't know it at the time, would have been that no one would touch him, seeing him as too much trouble or a probable liability, a poor investment. Then, when his outlook seemed bleakest, in would swoop his master to emphasize just how much he needed him.

Things had not gone to plan. And though Locus didn't know this either, his former master was at the very moment making plans to recover his lost property. First things first. Time to meet the man who'd taken what was his, face to face.

Things are good. Business is rolling along smoothly, there've been no new attempts on his life or the lives of any of his partners; profits are rolling in, changes in real estate are going through, gang violence is at a low. For the first time in awhile he feels like he's got a handle on this. That he's got his feet under him and is able to point the family in the direction his boss had wanted, everything he'd talked about accomplishing, back when he'd been a potential member of his mews.

The only thing that's not comfortably settled is, well. Delta. Still sour, still tense and frustrated with York not letting him into the mews, with keeping him where he was in the family-

With being moved to his own apartment outside of the manor after one too many arguments about the same damn thing and cross commentary about Locus. It's an extended fight, whatever this is, but they were friends. Are friends. They just needed to not live in each other's back pockets for a little while. York still listens to his tactical know how in politics and business and sometimes? They have dinner together. It's...they're getting there.

But it does make for a tense front when they're at the office, Delta leading in someone connected to the auction block. It's not a visit he thought he'd be getting- research into who Locus' owner had been had happened and they'd left it at that. Keeping Delta on his side of 'not selling Locus back' shouldn't feel difficult- and yet?

Well, he knew how to present a compelling case.

Felix had a way of regarding his surroundings with vaguely veiled contempt. Sure, the place was nice, there were a good number of good-looking Hawks, but it might as well have been so much dressing. He only had one Hawk with him, a mean-looking Falcon with what looked like severe burn scars covering half of his face, the eye on that side entirely black.

While the hawk glowered, Felix smiled broadly as he approached. "You know, when I heard the old man kicked it, I wouldn't have put money on this place sticking around. But you've really made it your own, haven't you? Nice work."

Introductions? Please. That was for the help to deal with. As far as he was concerned, York and he were already well-enough aware of one another. They weren't quite competition, but certainly within the same social spheres where it counted. Enough for him to have known the man who would have had York take the hood, in his day.

Maine shifts from where he's standing behind York, helmed head angling slightly to the burned mess of a hawk behind Felix. Not one they know of but- worth minding.

"It's almost like having a family to run keeps things, I don't know, running." Even if he hadn't been blood- even if half of them aren't blood- the family takes care of it's own. Picks up the pieces and walks on forward head held high and all that jazz. Ten years on and he's, well.

Settled. Confident. Curious as to why Felix has decided to pop up now rather than sooner but hey. He's got an hour for this meeting and does try to commit to appointments Delta makes; even if he's half sure this has nothing to do with business. They've never worked together or even alongside one another; Felix does his own thing and the rest of the community knows well enough to leave it alone. Nothing gets blown up, no one gets shot and that? That's how shit works.

York's content to leave it at that. "What brings you in today?"

Felix chuckled, glancing to the burnt hawk. "See? I like that. Other family heads, they'd try and do the song and dance, all the pleasantries, all the pomp, trying to show how fucking classy they are. But not this guy. Straightforward, to the point."

His attention turned back to York, his hands clapping and rubbing together briefly. It was clear, at a glance, that he was not accustomed to staying still. There was a restless energy moving through the man.

"Fair enough. I won't waste too much of your time. My associates informed me that you were down at the auction block and picked up something of mine that happened to find its way there." A sigh, and Felix shook his head. "A misunderstanding, on several fronts, and terribly inconvenient I know. But the point is that I've invested a lot of time and effort into this particular hawk. Putting it plain? I really would like to have my property returned."

Those clasped hands opened, one waving absently to one side. "Now, I understand you're a little tight on personnel. So, I'd be happy to compensate you for the trouble. More than enough to buy two or three good hawks to replace him with, plus whatever he's cost you for upkeep. I think that's more than fair, don't you?"

"Other family heads haven't been in the gutter for a few generations." Not like him and Felix. York grew up there and got hauled in, worked his way up- Felix climbed up with a viscous sort of understanding for the game. As long as those knives were turned against the family? York didn't much care. He didn't bring too much attention to the business and didn't start shit he wasn't ready to finish and that made him more decent than most idiots that clawed their way up and had more money and power than sense. York relaxed a touch, smirk on his lips, something small and friendly because- well.

They did both have a better idea of how to get shit done than the other heads of various families. Knowing when to do the bullshit and when to cut to the chase is pretty damn important.

The smile faded in short order at the mention of the auction. The misunderstanding. All the little tells and tricks and everything in Locus that painted him as uncertain of his standing with York. You didn't ask a man to put on the hood and then sell him; you sure as shit didn't do it as, what, a mistake? Maine rumbled behind him quietly and York made a brief gesture with his hand, cutting off that sound of discontent. "I don't sell my hawks."

Hiding the contempt inherent in the statement was...difficult and he didn't rightly manage it entirely. Some things in the family were knew- but this? The mews, how they were handled? As old fashioned as it got. "And I don't recall your name being on his paperwork anymore."

"Yeah." His smile didn't precisely vanish as much as it morphed into a grimace. "See, I wasn't trying to sell him. A point that seemed to go over the head of the individual who drew up the paperwork for the auction. He's been dealt with already."

Another dismissive wave, and the scarred hawk's lip curled slightly.

"Doesn't matter, water under the bridge. He's my hawk. I put the hood on him, you see. You don't take on that kind of thing lightly."

"You don't take a Hawk or their contract to the auction block lightly either." You don't do it period- but it's done and for the most part it's somewhat accepted. The practice exists and he can't stop it, can't really condone it and can't spit on it because he'd gotten Locus there after all, hadn't he?

One good trade out of how many awful doesn't make it a decent practice.

"What were you trying to do, then?"

"Discipline. Of a sort."

Felix's smile still hadn't gone anywhere, but it was obviously shifting in tone as he turned, pacing to one end of the office and tilting his head at one of the pictures on the wall. "I don't like smacking my hawks around. I know, I know, they're our property, we can do what we want with them, everyone else does it. Beating them themselves, having them beaten, it just..."

His nose wrinkled in distaste.

"I mean, don't get me wrong. I enjoy violence as much as the next guy. Give me a guy who's done me wrong and I can go to town. Don't like to brag, but I'm kind of an artist with a knife. Ain't that right, Sharkface?"

The burnt hawk grunted as Felix wheeled around, eyes resting once again on York. "So yeah, I got no qualms about gutting a guy who gets in my way. Little pleasure with the business. But a hawk? They don't fight back. They can't, that's the point of them. Just isn't right, you know? But you gotta keep them in line somehow when they start acting squirrely. And when Locus starts acting squirrely?"

He let out a shrill whistle, shaking his head.

"So. If you don't want to hurt them? You scare 'em. Next question: What do you threaten a hawk with?"

"Labor." It was an easy and time honored solution in the family. "Useful, exhausting, generally not what they want to be doing in the first place and effective enough to dissuade acting out without violence or whatever the hell you were pulling with Locus."

All that warmth and easy camaraderie offered to another guy from the gutter? Gone.

"So you call it discipline, I call it bullshit." Discipline? Discipline. It was impossible to take that at face value, not when he could remember so clearly that quiet sense of loss, that driving need to prove that he was worth something. That he wouldn't fail. Locus was his, was content, was loved but he could still look over any hour of the day and remember his profile. The soft murmur of his voice, so damn small.

I don't know what I did wrong.

"You owned him. You don't play headgames with your hawks- and you don't let something like that get you all the way to an actual auction, let alone put them on the block. You know what happens to the ones that don't get sold because they've been labeled unstable."

Felix watches the warmth seep out of York, how cold he turns. Alright. So there's something here, he thinks. Roots already laid, something like loyalty or affection or whatever the fuck York thinks he's gotten himself with Locus.

"Yeah. Yeah I do," he replies softly, head cocking slightly. "...which makes me wonder why you picked him up regardless of that fact. Mercy? That's a lot of coin for someone who's just working on keeping things running."

The burnt hawk, meanwhile, had shifted his attention to Maine, silently gauging something behind that blown black eye.

"I needed an eagle." They didn't come up on the block all that often; an eagle trained and hooded was worth double their weight in gold; especially in good armor. The mews had been thin for years and one more body wasn't going to make that much of a difference-

Except in all the ways that it had.

Maine rumbled quietly- helmet golden, gleaming, and impenetrable

"Unstable is used to mark insubordinate hawks more often than actual violent tendencies. If he was insubordinate, I could train it out of him. If he was violent, eh." He shrugged, let his hands splay over the desk. He was mafia. "We have ways of handling that."

"But it's not an issue with numbers, or you'd have already agreed to give him back."

Felix sighed and shrugged, striding back across the room towards the desk York was now propped over. As if on cue, the scarred hawk took a few steps closer. Slow, almost casual-like. "I get it, I do. On a good day, he's a damn good Eagle."

"And on a bad day?" The likes of which he hasn't seen, honestly. In the Mews he was given space if he wanted it, included where he wished; had a space in York's bed, had a purpose guarding him. There had been no sign of 'getting squirrely' as Felix described. Not yet.

Red vs Blue pt 2

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Bird of Prey AU

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