Survival Of The Fittest

There was a pattern to it all. The way things turned when they inevitably went sour. One moment all was fine and dandy, the next someone had a knife in their ribs. Maybe that wasn't entirely fair to say. The movement, the waving, the steady advance and little bantering jabs. But there was nothing about it that could have predicted the next movement, the one where Theo went from zero to coward in nothing flat. Because he just couldn't handle it. Because Steven was a killer, except that she was a killer too, and something of a deadlier one if she had to quantify it. But he had no problem with that. And he was running now, and with him went a sense of warmth, the absence of which sent goosebumps tightening the skin on her painfully bare arms. A feeling like she'd tried to climb one more stair without realizing she was at the top of the flight already.

She snapped her head back to Steven, the killer Theo feared and the one she should at least respect, knuckles whitening on the grip of her gun.

"You fucking idiot." She felt a little twinge in her chest, the curse flying out almost of its own accord. She would have found it a little funny, could have seen the humor in the fact that a little twist of her tongue weighed more heavily on her than the prospect of murder, but all was washed under a wave of sudden rage that erupted in her chest, splashing her cheeks and her forehead with burning red.

"Look at him run. Like a scared little dog who doesn't know biting's wrong and he just pissed on the rug cause you opened the door too loud. Is that what you want to be? Is that what you're... flashing your cred for? You want to be a neurotic mutt too so you can slip past the bouncer of the cool kid's club?"

She could easily slip off after him. Probably catch him too, at least over a good distance. But that didn't matter in that moment. She'd been denied something. An argument, a debate, a pistol-raising, hammer-clicking standoff. She could lose those. Concede her argument or slip out when things got too hot. But this was no loss. It was a complete denial of it all. Win or lose, she hadn't even played the game, and there was one person responsible for it.

"Know what," she said suddenly at the cause of all her life's woes. "You want a tip? Here you go. Here's how you do it. You just put up your little gun," she started, demonstrating with her own. "Two-handed for safety, of course. And then you find some stupid face to point it at. What do you know, that wasn't a very long search. And then you say, well, I wonder what this guy's life means to me. I wonder if there's a single reason to let him live. So," staring right into his eyes, "why don't I pull this trigger right freaking now?"

"Whoa, whoa, hey," Steven said, some because it sounded okay for a lead-in but mostly because stuff had just escalated and changed a whole lot faster than he'd been expecting and a little verbal filler gave his mind a few moments to catch up. "How about if the guy's backing off? Like I said, I think we're all on the same side here. No reason to wreck each other when everyone else is gonna try. And besides, you don't know what I've got up my sleeve. Shoot me, maybe I die but maybe I spend the rest of my life trying to make sure you do too."

It was taking a lot of work to not blow his lid and scream at Kat, explain that, no, he was pretty much trying to keep Theo from being panicked, at least until he could get the guy alone. He wanted to scream at her, call her an idiot for killing and break down exactly why it was not only an immoral choice but also a stupid one. She was ruining everything, making it likely he'd lose out on both fronts.

He'd hoped to separate the two when he'd arrived, but had been more interested in ending up with Theo. Two on one was a fight he couldn't win. Him against a gun was a fight he couldn't win, not when it was pointed and ready and Steven only had a chair leg and a pillowcase full of rocks. Him against Theo, though, now there was a fight he was starting to suspect he could carry.

Something had obviously gone seriously wrong for the boy. The announcements had said he'd killed Xavier with his own gun the day before. That was interesting, since he'd already had a gun prior to that, had shot both of his initial victims. So why had he needed Xavier's gun, and where was it now?

And the answer of course was that it wasn't anywhere, because Theo hadn't been carrying a bag. He'd looked roughed up. Something had happened, and now, now he was likely desperate. All the calm walking off into the sunset in the world couldn't hide it from someone who'd paid enough attention to know the score, but the infuriating thing was that Steven couldn't do anything about it if he got gunned down here. He had a real chance to accomplish something. Maybe he could make progress with Kat instead, but her demeanor made him doubt it. No, this was a battle he'd need some decent weaponry for. He'd had some ideas as to how to overcome that issue before, but they wouldn't be half as believable now that he was on the spot.

He took a few steps backwards, keeping his eyes on Kat, his hand hovering near his pocket. It was about posturing, now, sowing just enough doubt too keep her from making any rash decisions. Kat was still semi-rational, it seemed, and that meant she was killing to survive. Threaten that outcome, she lost all reason to bite. And Steven needed to get away.

It wasn't even that he was afraid to die, for that was still the inevitable endpoint of this mission. Losing out before trying would be humiliating, but hubris had no place in doing what was right. No, he had to get away because he knew which direction Theo had gone. If the boy just kept on walking, catching him would be no problem, but his rapid departure made Steven suspect he'd change directions or go to ground once he was out of sight. That was alright. Steven had another stop in mind first anyways, and now he could roughly isolate which quadrant of the island Theo was in.

Steven was realizing that searching was going to take a lot of his energy, and he'd need to be fast to comb the place in a reasonable time frame. An idea was brewing to minimize both those problems.

So he kept moving, slowly and cautiously distancing himself from Kat, all the time half expecting she'd open fire anyways. As soon as he made it to an alley, Steven ducked down it to break the line of fire. Then he quickly sprinted to the other end, made his way out, and began to circle through the area, keeping away from where he'd seen Kat and keeping track of which way Theo had gone. At the same time, he kept his eyes open for what he was searching for. He'd know it when he saw it.

((Steven Salazar continued in Loretta, My Darling))
((Passive GMing of Kat not shooting Steven and letting him bail approved))

She stood silently in the chill of the morning, hands beginning subtly to shake while the sting of adrenaline drained from her cheeks, breath gradually slowing. Regaining her presence of mind. Steven's threat rang totally hollow, doubtless though he meant it. Clashed so neatly with her own, that fervent, believable, and fully toothless front. Did he think she cared the slightest if he tried to make his death difficult? She was no garden-variety psycho. Far from it, though that little misconception was a good one to log away. The notion that she'd stay a second in a situation she didn't think she would get the best of was, quite frankly, retarded. What a stupid little punk. He didn't understand why he'd scared Theo away. Didn't understand why she was so ready to shoot her. Didn't understand why that was the last thing she was prepared to do.

Her fingers twitched over the smooth gunmetal, taking turns testing the point of the trigger. She couldn't spare a hand to flick back her bangs again and that bothered her even as it heartened her. There was something she could focus on. Couldn't not focus on it half the time, of course, but a little slice of normality was always nice. She was back in control. Not that she'd lost it, of course. It was one thing for adrenaline to lubricate her words, another entirely to coast all the way to a fatality over it. The day she let her emotions rule her was the day she died, and she meant that entirely literally. That was what set her apart. That was why she wasn't the Republic serial villain Steven seemed to think she was. Murder out of hatred or spite was no different than murder for sport, and if the journey was what she lived for then she wasn't living long. She had to think, and feeling wasn't thinking.

So. Think then. Take stock. Steven wasn't looking for a fight, and neither was she. A simple resolution, except nothing could ever be freaking simple there. Maybe that was what drove people mad in the end, not the guilt of spilling of innocent blood but toll of the endless, pointless posturing. And that wasn't a battle she would so easily win. The silence spoke volumes. Can you really do it? he said. Are you that far gone? Or do you even have the balls?

Draw it and you're dead.

That was her response. And she didn't have to say it, because she didn't have to tell him who had the upper hand. Who was dangling their sword over the Gordian knot they'd tied. He could lay out his cards and she could keep her hand to her chest, and let him try to discover it if he wanted. Anyone was capable of murder, but who else could add restraint to that list?

She walked him back away, and then she grabbed her bag and her scythe and she followed her unfinished business.

((Katarina Konipaski continued in Memories of the City))