thearena | If we met at midnight

Entry tags:

If we met at midnight

Who| All those on the liberation mission and all those being made to fight against them.
What| The liberation of District 2.
Where| District 2.
When| This week.
Warnings/Notes| War, violence, death. Please warn for more in headers.

The hovercrafts fly in over the tall mountains of the Rockies, dwarfing the towering trees. From the sky, the scene is beautiful, all glittering snow, blue water, and green that never fades. The planes stretch on into the east, seeming never to end. Nestled in the mountains is a city that doesn't appear to have ever seen better days. It's worn and patched, and were the temperature a little warmer, one's first thought might be of the old west. The trains only add to this image, going all over into the various mining mountains.

Propaganda can be seen everywhere here in the city; posters of Snow, of Capitol supporting Tributes, things seeking to inspire District unity. If it seems to rebels like they're the bad guys here, that's because they are. District two doesn't want liberation. A District home to people loyal to the Capitol, to their District and the Peacekeepers, fans of the Games, and full of indoctrination, rebels are not only unwelcome, they're considered threats. Loyalty means everything to them and rebels are disruptions to this loyalty. There will be no help from the people here unless you're a soldier for the Capitol, in which case, housing and bed are offered, as well as munitions. Poster of Albert, Anna, and Felicity have been placed up, saying "The Courage Of Sacrifice!", "The Light Of Victory Shines Ahead!, and "To A Bright And Protected Future!", respectively.

If you serve the rebellion, however, it's off to the mountains with you. It's not exactly safe, but it's the best that can be managed until a takeover is made. The hovercraft lands upon a wider ledge of the snowy mountainside, sitting there rather precariously. There's no cave, and only barely enough room in the hovercraft. Resources are heavily rationed. Camp fires will need to be made outside the plane, and food hunted. Simply pulling in breath in the high altitudes may be difficult. Fight off frostbite may be more so. The moaning winds inspire all kinds of paranoia. Best stick close to one another.

Although everyone is lucky to find the sun shines during the day, allowing for some warmth, as the night falls, the temperature drops. The District shuts down all power, putting it all into heating and leaving the city in total darkness. This provides an advantage of cover for everyone, but if you're not a Districter used to the dark, seeing what you're doing may very well be a problem.

The war continues, and in the back of everyone's mind is a familiar phrase; may the odds be ever in your favor.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Noticing everything around him is more than a matter of habit for Roland. It is a matter of survival. He twitches when Firo touches him, a whole body twitch, and for a second notices only his own surprise. Then he notices his hand's wrapped around the grip of that gun at his hip, notices it's Firo next to him. He processes the question and notices, vaguely, the way his mind is a little slow to switch tracks from action to speech, one friend speaking to another.

"Different line I'm headed to," he manages, slipping his hand off the gun and looking over the crowd. "Stay close to the peacekeepers, no matter what. You know that, don't you?" That's what he'd told Signless, before he'd been taken away that first time. Thirteen took him. He'd told him to stay close to the peacekeepers. Like a nervous father sending his child away for the first time. Useless. But there's a reason, this time. "They'll be the first to evacuate, once it's time. Once the avalanche starts. You'll do that, won't you?"

Roland's gaze swings from the crowd to Firo, one of his hands grips at Firo's arm and he stares at him. Roland won't accept a no.

Edited 2016-05-15 01:38 (UTC)

Firo doesn’t know that, actually, and has always tried to keep his distance of the Peacekeepers. He doesn’t want them right at his back if he happens to find himself faltering over offing a rebel again. The look of confusion on his face fades with the explanation, though he's not exactly pleased with it.

Firo starts when Roland grabs his arm--that sudden intensity is a bit disconcerting when it's aimed at you. But a heartbeat later he squares his shoulders and straightens up, getting as in Roland's face as he can. This is no time to be on the defensive, though he doesn't intend the gesture to be hostile--just firm. “That depends. Where’re you gonna be?”

Something fishy is up. Firo doesn’t care that Roland may be stepping out of line—at least, not in the way the Peacekeepers or Capitol citizens would. But he does care about what ultimately happens to his friend, and he has a feeling that any 'different line' could be dangerous.

Roland wastes a second on surprise - of course it'd be obvious that something was off, to someone who knew him. Rare enough that that's a problem, these days. And for a second, he considers it. Considers telling Firo honestly, asking him to come with him. Roland knows very well that he could use the help.

"I'll be fighting," he finds himself saying instead, and doesn't question it. "Same as you, Firo."

He could wish Firo luck and leave right then, and maybe he should, but something keeps him there. Something selfish, maybe, and something which Roland admits to himself is probably fear. He can't afford to spend much time here, but some. Enough to get Firo's agreement, maybe.

"You'll take care? Be watchful?"

If Roland's expecting any pushback on that promise, hopefully he'll be pleasantly surprised. Firo hesitates just a moment and then nods solemnly. "Sure I will. I'll need to be watchin' your back too, so I can't just be sloppy about it."

He can't hide the beginnings of a grin right there. Do you see where this is going, buddy?

But he's going to be careful, of course; he has been listening to his teacher. So he leans in (more like 'up,' with their heights) and lowers his voice. "All right, so which way are we goin'?"

Company is non-negotiable. Firo sees no reason for Roland to go off by himself if he doesn't have to.

That is not what Roland wanted to hear. He frowns at Firo, looking worried, looking dismayed, and the voice he hears then is his father's. What will happen if you try to keep this one man safe? To your lover? Your friends? To the rest of those fighting the fight you're too frightened to take up? Don't spend time whining and puling about it; you haven't got any of it to waste.

Still, he stares at Firo a moment longer, frowning, watching him. Then he pulls back.

"This way," he says, voice curt as he turns away and heads toward a group of peacekeepers gathered near some hovercrafts a little ways off. He waits in front of them a second, staring ahead with the unfocused look of a soldier waiting to be commanded and hoping Firo has the sense to do the same.

"What is it?" The one who asks it sounds impatient, but not suspicious. Good so far.

"We've been sent to help guard," Roland answers, very aware that he's spent little time actually observing these peacekeepers, isn't sure how well that gets across the message he wants it to: that is, that they've been sent because they're disposable, there to do the boring job while the good Capitol men get on with the important work. If this one doesn't believe him, well. He hasn't thought that far ahead. He'll deal with that if it comes.

Firo, who had fancied himself rather clever just then, droops a little to see that expression. Aren't they in this together?

But it's not a no, and that's good. Firo turns and follows right at Roland's side.

He doesn't share Roland's instincts for acting, but it helps that he still has no idea what Roland's goals or plans are. He automatically wears one of his usual faces of wide-eyed blankness. Look at this dolt. Better he and his lanky friend get stuck on this waste of a job than an actual valuable Capitol soldier, right?

The guard surveys them both, making a big deal of it as if it's his sacred duty to be sure that inferior soldiers not be given a pass--with the implication that these two may be of dubious quality. But good enough. Eventually, he shrugs and nods. "Don't break anything."

Roland gives a sharp nod and steps onto the hovercraft. And then he waits. There's always waiting but it's harder this time, as if he's out of practice. Maybe he is. For all the battles the Capitol has sent him into, none of them have been his battles, and he's been slower and slower at slipping into that state of mind, the red curtain over his mind which makes him ready to face them. He finds his hand trying to slip toward the Capitol-issued gun at his hip, as it's been wanting to do these days, as if it expects to find a smooth wooden grip there instead of a cold and impersonal one. He stops it. And then he waits.

Once the hovercraft lands near the top of the mountain Roland has no trouble with waiting. He feels calm, and sharp, and the promise of what will happen to him once he is finished with his business here is tucked away neatly in some corner of his mind, although never really forgotten. The guards again, that's the first thing. He looks to them in case they have orders, for he needs their cooperation at least a few minutes longer. Then he looks to Firo. Checking on the boy, that's the second thing. Odd, to feel he knows someone so well and realize they've barely fought together, that he doesn't really know whether Firo want to question Roland's purpose - for surely he'll have put it together by now - or whether Firo will expect him to have a plan all mapped out. Some men do, lay out every inch of what they mean to do in these sorts of matters long before they do it. Roland has always operated somewhat differently.

Firo doesn't wait gracefully, unable to resist the temptation to fidget on the ride over. He doesn't know what's going on and he doesn't really bother trying to figure it out, but the uncertainty doesn't sit easily on him. There's excitement, too--Firo has a pretty good sense of when he's going something wrong (or something that the Capitol would call wrong), and he's sure that's what they must be doing now. Why else would they be going a different route than all the other Offworlders?

He looks back at Roland, somewhat relieved to see some sort of communication, even if it's nonverbal. He raises an eyebrow, indicating that he's waiting for some sort of signal.

One of the guards grunts, ushering them off. He stands in a knot with his peers, eager to get to his next position, but not before he grudgingly directs his burdens. "If you know where you're going, then get there, and do it quick."

Firo exercises self control and gives this only the most mild of snorts as he again looks to Roland to see which way they're going.

"We'll need to know the location of the one we're here to guard," Roland says, his tone not quite dry but not quite not, either. Roland gets an impatient wave of the hand in response, gesturing to a certain direction, and since that may be the best he is going to get that's the direction he goes. Once he's gone a little ways he starts glancing at Firo, once, walks a little ways, glances at him again. Surely he'll ask now. Who wouldn't?

He keeps thinking of the rebel camp. Of Signless. Alain. "I'm glad you came," he murmurs at Firo, since he's now a little ways away from the guards. "I wish you hadn't."

The one. That gives Firo a big old clue--he couldn't mean the key player here, right? Either way, now he knows it's a person they're going for and not anything like supplies. He may be slow, but he's still sure that they're not going to be doing much guarding of anything.

A smile flickers onto his face, only to fade immediately when Roland finishes speaking. "What, so you could do it alone? I couldn't leave you like that--if you're gonna get in trouble, you need me there." What else could he have done?

But back to business. He watches the area out of the corner of his eyes, trying to stay vigilant without really looking it, just like he would when watching the casino. "What're we doin'? We get to this guy and then what?"

There are probably only so many ways this could go, but there are many actions that could lead to the end result. Firo already invited himself along; he doesn't want to get in the way.

Roland shrugs. His eyes move over the way ahead, and he sees a little tent. It's some way in the distance, light gray against the white snow. He moves toward it.

"What weapons do you have on you?" He should know that. One glance at a man and Roland should know that. He should remember.

He keeps thinking of Alain. Signless. The camp below.

Nevermind.

"Tell me if you see the guards. I don't know what they're here to do. Firo, I remember that fight in the factory, and I need you to tell me - honestly, now. How at home are you with killing?" The soldiers, the ones Firo insisted on leaving alive. Will there be another moment like that here? Best try and find out.

"Knife and a gun." They always make him carry the gun, but he insists on the knife. It's more useful to him. He nods his assent to the command about the guards, and he keeps his eyes open.

Ah. This again. His heart drops at the mention of an incident he'd hoped was forgotten, and for a moment he just stares up at Roland in surprise. Then, dryly, "It's not my favorite way to spend time." He deserves honesty, Firo supposes. He's never been properly bloodthirsty like most of the other gangsters, and he can't deny that he's lost the sharpness of his fangs since leaving the streets for the Martillos.

Firo considers Roland's face, then stares straight ahead as he thinks. It doesn't take long to come to a decision. Trust--just a little trust. He can do that. "I'll do it if you tell me to. We won't have any trouble."

The tent comes closer. This is very easy, so far. It shouldn't be. Or maybe it should - he knows how it is, that time before a battle. More so the more people are involved in it. Still, it's strange, having spent so much time in being so careful, and now this.

Roland glances at Firo a moment, then nods, his eyes turning again to what's ahead of him. Either Firo can carry through on that promise, or he can't. There's no pushing him on it now.

"The guards are spreading out. I see a few. They'll want to protect this place at all costs. If you see a place that's hidden, push me toward it. Some cave maybe, or a convenient rock."

Then the tent is here, and a man is bustling out of it. He does not look particularly like a man planning on killing however many people are living in the rebel camp below. He does not look particularly anything, except busy. He's carrying a couple large cases, struggling with them.

"Oh! Hello! A pleasure to meet you both, I'm sure." One case starts to slip and the munitions man struggles to hitch it up a little more, then looks back up between them. "The peacekeepers sent you, did they? What is it they want now? Honestly, it's like I'm the only one here who remembers we're on a schedule. Sorry, don't think I caught your names?"

It’s a relief when Roland presses no further, and Firo nods at the request. A hidden place and get Roland there. He can do that, and he keeps his eyes open as they approach the tent. He thinks he can see a promising cranny somewhere beyond that tent, quickly making a note of it for later when the man shows up.

As they stride closer, Firo realizes he could help the man with that case. He doesn’t, instead folding his arms over his chest and watching. The more this guy’s juggling, the more vulnerable he is, and Firo’s also decided that he just plain doesn’t like this guy.

As for names? No help with that either. “You don’t need ‘em,” Firo responds automatically, a habit from days when getting hauled into court was a major concern; the other guy not knowing your name helped a little when innocently denying everything. He wonders grimly if that’ll happen to them now or if they’ll just get shot on the spot. Still another part of his mind pipes up that they may be tough enough to get out of this, so he dismisses any further thoughts of the future.

Smiling his helpful-and-polite-casino-owner smile, he continues, “We’re just… here to help you with all that. Make sure everything stays on track.” His eyes flick back to Roland, hoping he’ll take over. He’s the brains of the operation.

Roland might disagree. For someone who claims to be so slow, Firo's certainly figured out the best tactic with no hesitation at all. That thought does not truly settle in Roland's mind, only touches down, finds little room to land there, and moves on. Roland does not acknowledge the look Firo gives him. He only stares at the Capitol's man, evenly.

"Well," the man says after a moment, blinking away and looking toward Firo instead. "Well, we'd best get started, then."

"Change of plans," Roland says, flat and abrupt. "First one's to be set off elsewhere. That way." He nods away from where the man'd been headed. That first direction would have taken them near a peacekeeper patrol. This new direction? Roland doesn't know. He doesn't nod at Firo, either, doesn't try in any way to remind him that he'd agreed to look out for likely isolated spots. Still a bit strange, in the back of his mind, to be doing this with someone whom he's hardly fought. Men sometimes act very differently in a real fight than they will at any other time, and the last time they'd tried to fight together-

Well. This will go well, or it won't, no matter how many times Roland has to remind himself not to turn it over in his mind any more. Too much time with nothing to do but turn things over in his head, he thinks. It's changed him, and not in a way he likes.

The snow. Think on that. The chill and the thinness of the air which comes along with being this high up, both things he's felt very seldom. Think on making his way through it, and there's no reason to look back to see if their Capitol man is following. Firo will keep him on track. Or he won't. Peacekeeper patrols will catch them out, or they won't. If nothing else, Roland's still in shooting range.

But Firo. Firo's a complication. Think on that later.

Firo knows it’s dangerous to explain too much, especially when this is something he has no idea about. But part of mob hits is also making sure the victim stays unaware, and sudden, unexplained changes can make someone anxious. He shrugs and smiles a smile that’s almost apologetic. It’s easier to put on an act when he thinks of this guy as just another working stiff in his casino who he’s going to take for all he’s worth. “They said somethin’ about the weather changin’. Wind or something.”

Of course, nothing this dull little Offworlder truly understands. Firo unconsciously tries to make that plain with the lightness of his tone—nothing on his mind, nothing in his head. Just a guy following orders.

He moves to follow Roland, but he stays an easy arm’s length from the munitions man’s side. Ready to direct him, nudge him, grab him and cover his mouth so that he can't scream…

All the while, Firo's eyes continue to roam for the right spot. He dismisses the one he’d spotted before—not quite shielded enough—but there. Just beyond it, roughly 20 paces forward and 10 to the left of where they’re walking. The narrow top of a crag peaks out from beyond a boulder—should be shielded enough from view. He just hopes it’s far enough from any patrols to get them enough time.

Now how to signal to Roland without alerting the other man? Misdirection, if he can manage it. Firo’s no magician, but, once again, the casino’s given him a lot of practice.

“Keep an eye out right over there—“ He uses one hand to gesture far off to their right, away from their potential hiding spot. “That’s a spot they told us to ask you about. If it’d work for a second one.”

While he’s talking and trying to steer their charge's attention the opposite way, Firo uses his free hand to jab a finger into Roland’s back. He draws a long line up and then a shorter one left. A little map of sorts—he just hopes it’s enough to get Roland to look in that direction and see their potential hiding place.

Firo is not a man given to those sorts of gestures, not for their own sake, and so Roland, even as he is right now, recognizes this gesture as significant immediately.

He does not, though, interpret it quite as Firo might have intended. He is thinking about the noise of a scream, even a muffled one. He is thinking on the speed at which he's seen the peacekeepers run. He is thinking about people who may or may not be living in the rebel camp below.

Then he is not thinking, has not consciously come to any decision but knows that one has been made, nonetheless. He knows this because his gun, sitting again in its holster, is hot, and because the nervous, polite little Capitol man has a hole in his head. Roland moves to catch him.

"Take him. Whatever it is you spotted, drag him there. Make sure you leave a trail." He looks up, wanting to meet Firo's eyes. It takes a little conscious effort but it's effort Roland does not spare, and he looks hard and close at the boy. "You agreed to follow me here, to obey without questions. Do you remember? If you remember, then obey now, quickly. They'll be here any moment."

He jerks his chin at the hiding spot, then looks back at Firo. Important that he understands the need to be quick here, because Roland won't be going along to urge him quicker.

Firo had expected they’d work their way to cover before killing the guy. Maybe kill him in a quieter way, too, like choking him or slitting his throat. So when the gun goes off, he flinches at the sound, startled. His brain catches up with what he’s seeing before the ringing in his ears even begins to fade, and then he just shrugs internally. Oh. Well, that neatly solves any questions of strategy.

And then Roland's speaking. This isn’t like before. This is for Roland—whatever his reasons are—not the Capitol. Though Firo doesn’t think on it, he doesn’t have anything to prove right now either. There’s no challenge, just teamwork.

And he already gave his word—that’s the only thing Firo thinks of when he makes his decision, because he’s already made it. He doesn’t hesitate; he just meets Roland’s eyes and nods, firm, before reaching for the body. “Got it.”

He loops his arms under the corpse’s to carry it. Leaving a trail won’t be hard, with the man’s legs dragging on the ground. The blood and gunk seeping out of his skull are just a bonus. The directive makes sense—the Peacekeepers will show up, and they’ll run to the body, which is hopefully away from wherever Roland plans to go.

Roland, he assumes, is going to get rid of the gun and take off. While he’s busy anyway with quickly testing and adjusting his grip, Firo hopes to give Roland some comfort that he won’t stray from the orders; with both of their lives at stake, he doesn’t want to ruin any part of the plan. He parrots what he thinks is implied in Roland’s orders, “You don’t need to worry. I’ll stay with him while you ditch the gun.”

He still thinks it might be possible for both of them to get away, but he won’t argue if Roland wants him to stay behind to stall or distract the Peacekeepers. Firo’d rather that than see his friend caught.

(I know saying this twice in a row is weird or something but I'm not 100% sure whether it's ok to assume that Firo dragging the guy means he's already behind cover, I can edit if that's not the case.)

Roland stares at him. It's the stare of a man who's just been told something strange and unexpected. That the sky is green today, perhaps, or that the Capitolites have all found some god or another and so decided to give up their fame and fortune for a life of modesty. Something so unexpected that it takes time to fit it into your own understanding of the world. Firo doesn't understand the situation here. Roland takes a second - half a second, maybe, although it feels like much longer because it always does, at times like this - to process this fact.

Firo doesn't understand that Roland may get away for a while, for a few hours, maybe even a day, but after that? And Firo. Firo is here, too, there are men who know he was here. There's Firo to think of.

Roland knows what his own fate will be, after this. His hand tightens on the grip of the Capitol-issued gun, the one he hadn't known he'd been holding to. It doesn't feel right under his fingers. This grip ought to be wood.

It's Roland's fate, the one the Capitolites will leave him to once he's been punished for this. It's his, and no one else's. Firo has his own path to follow. If someone is going to go down for Roland's sake here, maybe it's right that the someone is Roland himself. It isn't alright - he remembers the light, the creak of hinges, that hot smell of dry earth baked too long under unrelenting heat, he shudders and does not remember it anymore, remembers only that deep and deeply settled sense of dread - but it is right, nonetheless.

Roland does not know how long these thoughts have taken. Maybe too long. Maybe not long at all. He looks at Firo. "You stay with him no matter what," he says, and hopes Firo takes that as an order, too. He nods. He watches Firo go.

Roland cocks his head; boots in snow, he thinks he hears. Coming closer now. Good. Good timing. Luck's with him here, at least in this.

He listens to those boots as he kneels, as he figures out the fastening mechanism of those cases the dead man was carrying and clicks them open. He sets them at his feet, in clear view behind him. His gun, the Capitol's gun, points with careful aim at the boulder Firo's made his way behind, and his bullet takes a chip out from the edge of it.

"No need to try and save him!" It's a shout now, designed to carry not just ahead of Roland to Firo, but well behind Roland, too. Doesn't matter. These Capitol men aren't quick, not the peacekeepers. Quick enough to notice the bombs at his feet, if his luck holds, wary enough of the power of one stray bullet to know not to try shooting at Roland or, if he doesn't take orders and decides to leave cover, at Firo. But not quick enough to think anything of Roland's voice, the deliberate reach of it. They'll only hear. They'll hear, and that will be enough. "He's done for. There's no saving the Capitol's plan now."

Not what the Capitol's TV Personalities would call moving dialogue, not precisely, but it says what it needs to. Roland tilts his head back and stares up at the sky, listening. Boots in snow, almost on him now. Alright. Good.

(Not weird at all, I didn’t write that clearly, sorry! But this works perfectly because that answer would’ve had him scamper off, thanks!)

Firo nods once more at the order, certain he understands. Fast and light on his feet, he drags the body to their chosen spot, leaving deep ruts and bloodstains in the snow behind them.

In his mind, the plan goes a little something like this: Firo ‘hides’ with the body at the end of a trail the Peacekeepers will surely see. Before the Peacekeepers spot him, Roland is quick and runs off to get rid of the weapon and then to rejoin the Capitol troops as if he’s been there all along. Probably makes up a convincing story to go with it; Firo can’t think of what it’d be, but he knows it’d be good. The Peacekeepers find the body and its killer—well, the law says he’s still a killer just for participating, right?—and so Firo faces whatever they have for him.

It’s only when he hears the shot that he realizes how wrong he is.

Given that it’s Roland firing—from the distance of the Peacekeepers and then the man’s own shouting—Firo’s not at all worried about getting hit. He doesn’t think it’d happen, and, if it does, then it was supposed to happen. His friend isn’t dumb or clumsy enough to clip him by mistake.

He is worried about just why Roland is still here and in plain sight too. “What the hell’re you doin’?!” He knows that Roland, of course, knows that Firo isn’t and wouldn’t be saving this man. It’s an act, just like the very convincing act he gave to bait their enemies back in the factory.

Too goddamn convincing.

But why? Why like this?

For a split second, all Firo wants is to run back out there and push his friend until he flees from the Peacekeepers as he should. It’s foolish, because then they would see that the two are working together and they’d know both their faces. It's a stupid gamble, especially for somebody who prides himself on always betting smart. They say to never bet on a sure thing, but any idiot knows not to bet on impossible things too. But Firo's always been an idiot, he thinks, and he wants to do it however slim the odds are.

But he can’t.

It’s not his place to question and certainly not his place to lay a hand on Roland to prevent him from carrying out the plan.

He can try to petition, though, even if it loses him his tongue. If his friend is around to even cut it out, considering that Firo now realizes the one who’s most likely to get tortured and probably killed for this isn’t the one he thought. Back pressed against the rock, corpse lying beside him, and desperate, he cries out, “Roland, I’m beggin’ you, don’t—don’t do this!“

That emotion in the boy's voice sounds real. No time to think on that. What he does think on is that it's useful. It fits his script here - so far as he has one - very nicely.

"It's too late to convince me. It's done. Bring him out here so I can finish him off, or don't. The rebels will be moving soon, now they know of this." Do they? If they don't by now, they probably deserve to be ambushed. "All I have to do is stand here for a while, isn't that right, sirs?" With that he turns, addressing their audience directly. A shot actually scratches his shoulder and after the instinctive flinch away from it he raises his eyebrows, then sits crosslegged behind the open bomb cases.

"If you had a more finely made gun, you might have made that shot." He looks up at the sky - without, of course, wholly taking his attention from the peacekeepers. He thinks of Signless, and the Psiionic, and Alain. He thinks of Firo, and of his own fate once he delivers himself into the peacekeeper's hands. He shudders.

"I don't want to go," he says, speaking not entirely, or at all, to the troops ahead of him anymore. "But it's never truly mattered what I want. But I choose it this time. That's something. Do you hear me? This time I choose to go back." He shudders again, feeling the wind and the snow whip around him. It really is very cold up here.

"And no one dies for it, either," he murmurs, maybe loud enough for Firo to hear. "Not this time."

He looks down from the sky at the men ahead. "Suppose I've earned my punishment, haven't I? Well, come on. I've put the gun away, I won't fight you. What needed to be done is done."

Roland lifts his hands toward the sky, in keeping with this world's custom when a man surrenders without a fight. Or much of one. He feels the Tower tugging at him, even now, even now, a part of him wants it. He stares ahead, evenly. He waits.

The sound of the Peacekeeper's shot makes Firo flinch more than the one Roland fired in his direction. From his vantage point, he doesn't know for certain who made it, but... well, of course he knows. As near as Firo can tell, these Peacekeepers aren't in the way of Roland's plan anymore--they're part of it. But Roland? He's a target to them.

When his friend speaks again, the relief Firo feels is immense. He's still fine, mostly. He won't be very soon--Firo knows anger, and he wouldn't be surprised if the Peacekeepers wound up beating Roland to death right there. In that case, Firo knows he'd have to give up the plan entirely, even if it is the wrong thing for him to do.

They don’t, so apparently Roland's suffering will come later. Firo continues to sit tight and hold his breath. He listens to Roland’s surrender. Why? How can he say no one’s going to die for it when Roland might very well die himself? Firo feels his heart squeeze at the thought that he might never see him again—if he does, what state is he going to be in? Some bloodied corpse set out as an example?

Securing Roland is what Firo assumes they'll take care of first. So what does he do now? Just sit tight until they come to check on their very important corpse? Waiting is the hardest thing. But, ultimately, that's what he does, just as Roland told him.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

If we met at midnight

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if you were planning on this going down differently let me know and i can edit

This is perfect!

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