DECLAN
Declan feels a sigh curl the muscles between his shoulders, tightening his arms, his posture, his expression. He stills as the governor finishes with the sand and comes to help him with the soapy blood, and for a moment he simply watches. Watches how the man avoids his gaze and envelopes himself in the work to be done. It's a shell of a person that's in front of him, and he knows enough about people to see that.
Sunjata, of course, was right - and Declan has no straight answer for his questions. There are a myriad of potentials, some of them good, some of them bad, but all of them were up to Sunjata. Whether he had the strength and fortification to see it through, the steel. Declan knows nothing of the man's past, nothing but that he is an Outsider and he's seen some shit. Fair enough, so has everyone - outsider or insider.
Whatever makes Sunjata different from the everyday person, Declan doesn't know for certain, but he knows that he is, because he's got wolves at the door and blood on his hands. And many, many sleepless nights ahead of him.
Perhaps if Declan knew the relation, he might be able to offer up some more specific advice. But he doesn't, and he feels like there's something Sunjata isn't telling him, so a frown deepens the look on his face further. As if he's trying to reach a conclusion, a lifeline to offer the man in front of him, but he just doesn't know enough. Fuck.
"Pretty shit plan," Declan rumbles casually, even though he can't come up with anything much better at this point, "you'd need someone with ya fer that. In case it goes wrong. Don't have to be me," he shrugs, and he really doesn't care either which way. The less involved he is in this - not that he isn't already deep in the shit - the better. If Sunjata had told him he'd be helping him rid of a body, he would've laughed in the man's face and called him on the lie.
Yet, here they sit, with a bucket of blood and a body bag.
"Ya shouldn't go alone, whatever the fuck ya decide to do. You know where to find me, if yer... needin' another body picked up," the last bit of that comes out like it's almost a joke, but it isn't. Not at all. Might as well add it to the list of services he offers. "But it better not be yours."
But he's picking himself up, suddenly. It's still early. Torchliners are notorious for drinking till the morning light; a lot of them will be too hungover or too fuckin' tired to notice him slip by. They hardly notice him on a normal day, anyway. He can do this.
"Ye should get out of here, go... clean yer'self up, I can handle the rest of this," he said, turning back to Sunjata as he stood there. There's not much of a question in these words for him to argue against. "But whatever ya do, don't pretend this didn't happen, and don't think it won't happen again... This guy, whoever it is yer plannin' on confrontin', I get the feelin' he wants to play games. So let's beat him at his own game, yeah?" And, at that, Declan reaches out to grab the man's hand and help him to his feet. "Before he turns me and everyone else around you into pawns."
Sunjata, of course, was right - and Declan has no straight answer for his questions. There are a myriad of potentials, some of them good, some of them bad, but all of them were up to Sunjata. Whether he had the strength and fortification to see it through, the steel. Declan knows nothing of the man's past, nothing but that he is an Outsider and he's seen some shit. Fair enough, so has everyone - outsider or insider.
Whatever makes Sunjata different from the everyday person, Declan doesn't know for certain, but he knows that he is, because he's got wolves at the door and blood on his hands. And many, many sleepless nights ahead of him.
Perhaps if Declan knew the relation, he might be able to offer up some more specific advice. But he doesn't, and he feels like there's something Sunjata isn't telling him, so a frown deepens the look on his face further. As if he's trying to reach a conclusion, a lifeline to offer the man in front of him, but he just doesn't know enough. Fuck.
"Pretty shit plan," Declan rumbles casually, even though he can't come up with anything much better at this point, "you'd need someone with ya fer that. In case it goes wrong. Don't have to be me," he shrugs, and he really doesn't care either which way. The less involved he is in this - not that he isn't already deep in the shit - the better. If Sunjata had told him he'd be helping him rid of a body, he would've laughed in the man's face and called him on the lie.
Yet, here they sit, with a bucket of blood and a body bag.
"Ya shouldn't go alone, whatever the fuck ya decide to do. You know where to find me, if yer... needin' another body picked up," the last bit of that comes out like it's almost a joke, but it isn't. Not at all. Might as well add it to the list of services he offers. "But it better not be yours."
But he's picking himself up, suddenly. It's still early. Torchliners are notorious for drinking till the morning light; a lot of them will be too hungover or too fuckin' tired to notice him slip by. They hardly notice him on a normal day, anyway. He can do this.
"Ye should get out of here, go... clean yer'self up, I can handle the rest of this," he said, turning back to Sunjata as he stood there. There's not much of a question in these words for him to argue against. "But whatever ya do, don't pretend this didn't happen, and don't think it won't happen again... This guy, whoever it is yer plannin' on confrontin', I get the feelin' he wants to play games. So let's beat him at his own game, yeah?" And, at that, Declan reaches out to grab the man's hand and help him to his feet. "Before he turns me and everyone else around you into pawns."
I'm not always good.
