He should have been listening. He should have committed to memory every last syllable that Heath had offered him. Chiseled the words in stone. A notepad. Anything. Instead he stared off into space. His expression went blank for several moments as he drifted off into a reflection of his situation. The entirety of it. How he had went from bussing tables at a bar, worrying over touching the grimy food left on the plates by the patrons -- to bussing tables of another sort. For the infected. Instead worrying about losing a finger, or worse, getting bitten.
Life was strange.
It was then Colt seemed to notice Heath was no longer looming over him. Keeping him pinned, or really, rather grounded to the current situation above all else. His absence had clearly left room for Colt to think of other things. A defense mechanism, in all honesty. To keep himself from slipping off the cliff. He blinked, then sat up some; though didn't leave the desk. Which seemed to be the general gist of the reprieve. The allowance. Heath was clearly not done with him.
Maybe he should haven taken offense to what Heath was still insisting was the truth. That Colton had made up what he had said about Atlas. A figment of his over active imagination. His lips straightened, eyes wincing together like he was trying to decide if Heath might be right. Maybe that hadn't been real. Maybe. Colt wasn't sure anymore.
He tilted his head into his shoulder, almost leery of saying what he was about to say. "Got it.... but you already know where the arena is? Weren't we there already?" Colt swallowed, he was starting to hate asking Heath any question at all. Like he might of been lighting the match to an explosion without knowing it. "I mean. I'll... check for more…" he was quick to amend.
A head count, locations... weapons? Colton tried to hammer it in his head, but he was concerned he would never have the answers. Even if he knew they had guns, which seemed to be a given, it wasn't like he would know the specifics.
At this point it seemed like the only way to make it through the day was to nod and agree. This was a problem for tomorrow, not this hour. Heath lit a cigarette and Colton unapologetically wrinkled his nose. "It might take me a week or two..." he suggested, knowing good well he was short changing himself, when he probably needed a month.
"They don't trust me." -- and why would they? A former military brat? Brand new? Still green and wet behind the ears? He was lowest on the totem pole. Unfortunately though, he gave off an aura of being harmless. This was probably because he was, but maybe he could make it work to his advantage if he could focus long enough to try. "But I'll figure it out..."
With that he went to stand up, causally patting his pocket to make sure he felt the pills beneath the denim of his pants leg.
A dark, unimpressed expression — mixed with something else — flickers across Heath's face at Colton's first words, the barely-there lighting amplifying the shadows of his face. Having knowledge of only one place wasn't good enough; the Jabberwockies were too good to put all their resources into just one location. Besides, knowing of a place without immediately squashing it like a bug under their boots meant they had opportunities to go in and learn more about the gang. Which is exactly what the Lieutenant was doing with the young man in front of him. While tempted to snark back a reply with a heated range, Heath holds his tongue long enough for Colton to realize the error of his ways, and correct himself that he would find more.
Good. The brat was already learning.
Heath doesn't even react to Colton's visible disgust over his vice. The room's small enough that the smoke quickly fills the air, and the man calms his nerves with the taste of ashy nicotine. Anger slowly begins to leak from his body with each puff taken — along with acknowledgement given that Colton seems to understand his task better. The timeframe given causes a slight furrowing of his brows, but Heath doesn't say anything. A quick flick of his gaze towards the pockets Colton had hastily shoved pills into is his only form of acknowledgement — the kid had enough to last the couple weeks he promised, and soon enough he'd come crawling back anyway. It wasn't like Colton could exactly ask for more time considering the... Nature of their payment. He was reliant on Heath now.
A sigh leaves Heath's lips as Colton begins to almost talk to himself, muttering about how the Jabberwockies didn't trust him. How he'd try — but it left very little faith for the Military officer to have in the young man. Still, what choice did he have? He already showed just a taste of what Colton could expect should he fail Heath yet again — hopefully that would inspire him to do better this time.
"Trust is earned, not given," Heath finally begins to speak as Colton finally lifts himself off the desk and back onto his feet. Another drag from his cigarette before he continues. "And in this world, trust is a very hot commodity. Regardless of who you are or where you come from, it's not something you would earn immediately in the Jabberwockies." Even if Colton had been fresh meat straight off the street, he wouldn't have immediately earned trust. It was something rare, even in the Military itself. Heath learned that the hard way — that even decades of trust could be easily misplaced. His face furrows in anger as once more hatred of Colton's sire breaches the surface.
"Start with those lower on the totem pole. They can guide you on how to earn trust... Many of whom no doubt have loose tongues themselves."
Colton wanted to open his mouth and interject to what Heath was saying. The thing of it was, was that it made complete and utter sense. Perhaps it was the most understanding stream of conscious words he had offered Colt since the moment they had met up in this long forgotten corner of the commercial district. --And yet, as he spewed forth this wisdom about how the Jabberwockies wouldn't trust him, how he had to earn it, Colt wondered if he understood what he was admitting to. In doing so, he was proving that the timeframe Colt had been given to get reliable information had set him up for his first failure. Being slammed on the table for delivering unworthy and useless information hadn't been necessary.
Colt was never going to have anything of value tonight, and even if he did -- no he had, he insisted he had… it still wouldn't be good enough for Heath.
Which lead him to wonder if it hadn't been about the intel at all, but a warning. Maybe both. Probably both; but it boiled a fair bit of anger in him. It was posturing. Setting an expectation that Heath was in control and Colton shouldn't compare him to the same guy he grew up knowing. They were two completely different men. Maybe Heath realized he had to shatter those memories and discern the difference... maybe he thought it would get him better results. He wasn't wrong, if that had been the goal. Colton already looked at him differently whether or not that theory was correct.
He shifted his weight, from one foot to the other; but he listened, dawdling over the idea of trust in regards to him and Heath. There was certainly a forced level of it between them. Colt had to trust that if he did good he would get his meds, and ultimately a way out of the hell hole he was in. If he didn't have that, he had nothing. "Okay". he held back from his go-to response of I'll try. Not wanting to shake Heath's improving mood.
Colt took a few steps towards the door, knowing he would have to get back soon otherwise run the risk of being caught. He turned though, just before he got to it, "Heath, what if they catch me? You think... they'd kill me?" his face seemed to lose color at the recognition, but there was a way in which he asked that made it apparent he was looking for Heath to assure him in some way. The corner of his lip twitched, like he wanted to frown, but didn't. TagHeath Langstrum
Okay. It's just one, single word, but it's enough to give the Military officer some misplaced sense of hope that maybe, just maybe, the young man wouldn't prove so useless next time. Heath knew he was sitting on a goldmine — it took months, if not years, for a normal officer to work their way into the ranks of the Jabberwockies. Disgusting sewer rats were awfully picky about who they came to trust. Yet Colton waltzed right through those doors the moment his father signed him over like chopped liver, and he was just the perfect bait to be used.
Gone, is any semblance of care for the younger man. All Heath could see in his face now, is the man that stabbed him in the back. Too much like his old man, really. He watches in silence, drag after drag, as Colton finally begins to back away towards the lone door allowing him exit from the room. But as though he just couldn't help himself, he stops — their eyes meet, as the question fills the previous silence of the room.
There's that look — a look he'd seen before from Colton. A want, a need, for reassurance. Kill. The thought of it would pale most, but Heath dealt in a world of death. If it wasn't the death of Infected, it was the death of Jabberwockies — of Stronghold civilians. Heath's hands had long been bloodied, his heart hardened, and he had no reassurance for the kid.
"Probably," is what he finally offers Colton after another long drag of his cigarette, words like steel. Another smoke, and then —
"So don't let them catch you." It's a warning, more than anything.
In the belly of the beast, Colton would have to survive off of whatever wits he was taught by Charles. It was up to him to protect himself, as Heath wouldn't be around to protect him. Finally the Lieutenant waves Colton off and turns his eyes towards the boarded up window, barely enough light filtering through to lighten the otherwise dark and dusty room. Only time would tell if Colton would return to him — and if he'd earn himself another reward. Or worse, another punishment.
Posted 03-01-2022, 12:41 AM
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