|
Post by Deleted on May 23, 2017 5:07:12 GMT -5
For a couple of seconds, Gale felt guilty about doubting how genuine Al was. They were going with truth for a truth (he hoped), which meant that the sudden snappiness had probably been for a reason. Pushing it aside and giving a more genuine grin, he gave a two-fingered salute to Al.
"Thank you," he said, but did not clarify on what he was thanking the older man for.
Now, he'd have to interact with the rest of the team, he supposed. He wasn't sure if he wanted attention or if he just wanted some idle conversation, or something - but anything would work. He wasn't going to take offense if they ignored him because he was the newcomer, and that was just how it was. He wasn't even sure if he was a temporary thing, but it felt likely. Either way, he followed Al, absently toying with the cuff of the shirt he wore in something that was simply an absent-minded gesture, something that kept him occupied.
Jasper's behaviour caused his smile to remain idly on his face, but he didn't respond otherwise. Simply followed. Listened. That was all he'd been doing, so far. When he was talked to, he blinked and glanced towards the the man - Maurice. His memory never failed him. He wasn't surprised that he remembered names of people he'd barely met.
"Nope," he responded, now picking at his own nails just for something to do. "The fanciest place I go to eat is Semsema," it was supposed to be a joke, but he wondered if they'd pick up on it. Ah, well. The general gist of it was that he was someone who had a humble diet which meant fast food and whatever his sister made him (plus takeout leftovers). It was a wonder he was alive. It was probably Kesi's doing. She knew exactly how to make sure he ate well and that meant calling him for meals often. It was wonderful and he was being babied, because she and he both knew that he was a completely capable cook. If anything, he was better than her at savory dishes, and had a wider knowledge. He was just busy. Usually too busy, if not in Cairo.
In his mind, he said 'you don't need to force yourself to talk to me', but that would be rude to say out loud, and so he kept it to himself and maintained a small, polite smile.
|
|
|
Post by L’Éᴛʀᴀɴɢᴇʀ on May 23, 2017 5:34:50 GMT -5
He accepts his position as the spectator. The watcher. He doesn't think he has the energy to involve himself in the conversation or make himself the center of attention and steal the floor the way he generally would have. Rather, he allowed Jasper to ramble on and on about the menu and idly glanced towards Maurice who was actually trying to interact with Gale much to his surprise. Of the three, Zhannah or Jasper were the most likely to speak to Gale, but it was Maurice who had taken the initiative.
However, he could feel the intensity of eyes on him and it didn't take long for him to meet Zhannah's gaze. There's something there that sets him off the wrong way, a softness he remembers only in the eyes of Seraphin. He finds himself swallowing thickly, offering her a smile. He knows its a bad one when Zhannah's gaze seems to soften even more than he thought possible. She says nothing but he knows she's watching him. He's almost certain now that she noticed the shaking.
Instead of focusing on Zhannah, he decides instead to pay attention to Maurice and Gale, to judge how they're getting along. Maurice is shy at best and anti-social at worst. He knows the man has a hard time forming relationships, much less close ones. So, when the words Maurice says comes out awkwardly, he winces inwardly. Maurice is trying, he really is, but Maurice is a man married to his work. Hunting people down, not socializing over lunch the way he and Zhannah were used to or empathizing for families who lost loved ones like Jasper once did.
His eyes were watchful as Maurice smiled awkwardly, rubbing the back of his head. "I'm not sure what Sensema really is, but I understand the sentiment. I didn't much like the fancy dress up we had to do before, but I'm starting to get used to it." Even he's not sure where Maurice is trying to take this conversation, but he can't exactly dock points for Maurice's terrible attempt. At least he made an attempt.
He watched as Maurice took a deep breath. "Look," he said, almost gently by Maurice's standards. "What I'm trying to say is that I get what you're feeling. You don't feel like you fit in, but give it time. You'll find your place."
He feels a soft smile tug at his lips. Despite most peoples' reservations on Maurice's intellect due to his cold nature and blunt tongue, he wasn't. He truly wasn't. He was kind and he cared, but he had a hard time allowing others to see it. But his eyes were drawn away from the conversation as a waiter approached them, Jasper having led them to the Romanov, a European grill in the hotel. Of course Jasper would find his way to a grill. The man loved grilled food as much as he loved deep fried food. And he knew Jasper was the kind of man to sell his kidney for french fries.
And for the briefest moment, everything felt fine. Everything seemed to be working out. Maurice was waiting on Gale's reply, Jasper was grinning brightly, and Zhannah wasn't staring at him but casing out the location. And then her gaze was back on him and he was reminded exactly why. Because he was fragile. And how he detested that word, the thought that he was weak and broken and- He stops, smiling even as the waiter smiles at all of them. He doesn't take note of the man's name this time, however. His mind is racing too much to notice it. He has to remind himself when they are done eating, he has to leave a tip. It is the right thing to do.
As they're led to a table, he waits, holding the chair for Zhannah before slipping into his own seat, smoothing out the lapels of his suit. He smiles to the waiter, it's easy, it's practiced. He's done this a thousand times. He allows Jasper to take control from here though, listening as Jasper rambles off a number of grilled dishes from the menu and asks for an expensive bottle of Le Baron Brut Sparkling Wine for good measure. From his understanding, despite his half-attentive state, they're going to be eating sirloin, chicken breast, sea bass, tenderloin, and an angus beef burger for good measure. There's a pause after Jasper is done and the American meets everybody's eyes.
"Is that good for all of you?" Having no complaints, he shrugs.
|
|
|
Post by Deleted on May 23, 2017 5:47:03 GMT -5
Something didn't quite feel right, but Gale didn't have a say in it. He didn't say anything, just glanced back to Al and thought about the snappish tone. His gaze lingered for only a few seconds before he turned his gaze back to Maurice and blinked owlishly, slowly realising that he was being...reassured? Maybe? That's what it seemed like. His smile dropped and he studied the other man's face for a few moments.
He'd never really had a place.
"Thank you," he said lightly, quietly. "I really don't mind, though."
I'm used to not being a part of things, went unsaid. He was. He didn't mind as much as people assumed he would, considering how loud his presence could be, when he really felt like it. Despite personality, Gale's quieter presence was sometimes good. Almost always good, especially if he was working. Then being ignored was welcomed, just another ghost. He found it rather amusing, considering what they called Al in the Mukhabarat. But he didn't dwell on that. Instead, he raised an eyebrow at Maurice.
There wasn't really a way to express gratitude, for Gale. His gratitude was a quiet, calm thing, a separate entity compared to how he really was. People rarely understood, but he felt like he'd thanked these people more than he'd thanked his own family. It was strange, but felt...right. They were trying and it was new, felt strange. Nobody had really tried. Either they just...did things their way, or accepted his way. This was someone trying to say that he'd find his place. A place, something permanent, sounded ideal. He hadn't really considered wanting anything before, but now? Now, he badly wanted to befriend these people, to become someone they trusted. Instead of respect me, it was please, trust in me. What a strange feeling.
"Semsema is a good restaurant, by the way," he added, with a grin that was almost friendly rather than teasing.
However, he didn't contribute when it came to the food because hey, he ate whatever he was given and was very rarely picky. That was how he was raised, so he didn't really see a point in contributing to a food choice when he already knew that he didn't care. Really, he found himself wanting to learn more about the people around him.
|
|
|
Post by L’Éᴛʀᴀɴɢᴇʀ on May 23, 2017 19:55:07 GMT -5
It almost feels normal. Natural, even, as Jasper continues to ramble and Maurice gives Gale his undivided attention in a manner only Maurice is capable of. Jasper has made an art out of rambling and entertaining himself to such a degree, Alphonse finds it impressive. His eyes are still on Maurice who seems pleased with whatever it was Gale told him, a slight smile threatening to find its way across Maurice's face. It's in this moment that Zhannah nearly scares him with a gentle touch.
Her hand lays over his hand and he raises his gaze to look at Zhannah and there is nothing in those vast brown eyes except a degree of concern that leaves him feeling slightly sick. His hand must have been shaking. "Al," her voice is soft and gentle with an endless kindness he doesn't think he deserves. She doesn't say anything more than that, however. It's enough of an unspoken statement though, he knows she's going to pursue the matter later. Not in public, but later in private. She knows better than to speak about personal matters in public.
She squeezes his hand lightly and he offers her a weak smile before turning back to Maurice and Gale. It's easier to keep the thoughts out of his mind when he's watching the others, when there is something to pay attention to other than the gaping emptiness in his life despite the criminal empire that he's built. Zhannah's touch vanishes with his shift in attention and he knows she respects what he's doing. She's not going to call him out on it.
He can tell by the way Maurice has a thoughtful look on his face, there's something the other Frenchman wants to say. And he does. "It's easy to come to believe you don't have a place. Or to even accept that," Maurice is many things, but few would call him kind or sweet. In Alphonse's opinion, the man is both. "You deserve better, that's the only reason Alphonse brought you." He knows Maurice has never been one to mince his words for easy consumption, but the bluntness of that statement makes him wince.
That wasn't exactly the only reason, but it's a heartwarming notion for Maurice to take control like this. Then the man continues, almost uncertain what reaction he received for those words and unconcerned at the response it will garner. "Besides, now you have to take me to Semsema."
The conversation doesn't extend past that because Maurice is cut off when the waiter returns with the food in tow. It's a lot of food, more than he was expecting even when he had listened to Jasper order. He hadn't really been paying attention to how much as opposed to what but it is what it is. Jasper passes out the plates with a twinkle in his eyes even as he gives Al the sea bass. "Y'all better share, because I'm going to be annoyed if I don't get to taste a bit of everything." Of course that had been Jasper's intention. Of course.
|
|
|
Post by Deleted on May 23, 2017 23:15:44 GMT -5
Something about Maurice's words made Gale frown, though it was hard to tell whether it was through thoughtfulness or something else. He tilted his head down to look at his hands, folded neatly in his lap, and thought carefully. Someone else had told him something similar, once. Years ago. When he'd been younger and more naive, when he had believed in a sweeter, kinder world. He blinked and then gave the other man a faint smile, deciding it wasn't worth dwelling on.
"We have a proverb," he mused idly. To himself, he murmured it in Arabic as he tried to translate, and then nodded. "At the time of a test, a person rises or falls."
His grandmother, one of the few from his father's side that had enjoyed his company, had told him it. He stated it solely because it seemed to fit this situation, the one that he was in. When he was a child, he would not have believed that he would ever have to be tested to see if he was worth something - even the Mukhabarat had taken him without thinking of any possible consequence. Something about this felt like a test, something about the way Al interacted with him or how the others were, but he wasn't quite sure if he was supposed to do anything about it. He doubted it. He decided not to. Being himself seemed like the best option.
For a few moments, he simply stared blankly at Maurice. Then, he gave a mischievous smile.
"I don't have to do anything, but it would be a shame if you missed out on the food there, I suppose."
His own way of agreeing to doing something. Frankly, Gale didn't know when he'd last agreed to do something, but today seemed to be full of it - going with Al, giving Nahla the details of the Mukhabarat, accepting that he'd take Maurice to Semsema. It felt strangely natural, as if he'd known these people for a while.
If he took note of Jasper's words, he didn't show it. It was probably best not to say hey well, I don't eat much so it's whatever. Just better to sit and watch passively.
|
|
|
Post by L’Éᴛʀᴀɴɢᴇʀ on May 24, 2017 5:52:00 GMT -5
For a small man, Jasper sure could eat a lot. It wasn't just simply that he was short or that he was skinny, it was the fact that he was a full foot shorter than Maurice and weighed half the other man, but he obviously ate more than Maurice ever could stomach. Alphonse just couldn't fathom how Jasper managed even as the man helped himself to the sea bass. It's good, well seasoned, and fresh, but something about the situation leaves it tasting bland and tasteless.
He chews it even though it tastes like rubber, knowing full well it doesn't. It's his mind playing tricks on him again. The entire desire to eat has long evaporated and he's left forcing the food down, not taking his time as per usual. It would be easier if this entire spectacle could just pass quicker, but he tries to pay attention to conversation now. He knows the silence will come to inform Jasper and Maurice something is wrong eventually.
Both men may lack Zhannah's observational skills, but they were not dense and much less stupid. He waits though, allowing Maurice to respond to Gale's words. It gives him time to pick his words anyways. "That's a good proverb," Maurice says, thoughtfully nodding even as he wolfs down a bite of sirloin and washes it down with the wine. There's a certain twinkle in his eye that says he's up to no good and Alphonse knows what's happening almost immediately. He had missed it earlier, but now it was clear. Maurice must have been informed by Jasper and they had taken to treating him like one of their own. And henceforth, the hazing followed. "Do you think you'll rise or fall when tested?"
It's a gentle inquiry but a dangerous one nonetheless. Confidence of success will confirm Jasper's beliefs of Gale's arrogance but a lack of self confidence would not do. He knows Maurice will not comment on Semsema, the man will find his way to go there on his own even if Gale decides to not take him. He's almost interested to see Gale's response before Zhannah cuts in, shooting Maurice a withering look.
"That's not a fair question, Maurice. It's too broad," she huffed. He stays silent, accepting the situation. If his team fills the silence with their own antics he doesn't have to get involved. He's certain he'll just make it worse anyhow with the current mood he's in. "There's not enough information."
Even as they're finishing up dinner, Maurice shrugs almost cheekily. "I think it's an important question, however. A man should know what he's worth." The food must have been good, he thinks idly as he looks at the clean plates. Jasper had picked the remains of what he didn't eat and by the time the waiter is back he glances up with a lazy smile. "Thank you," he says quietly even as Jasper passes his compliments to the chef
It's becoming harder to pay attention to what's happening, but at least he remembers the tip.
|
|
|
Post by Deleted on May 24, 2017 6:02:38 GMT -5
Almost absently, Gale picked through his food. Food was food, it didn't matter. Once upon a time, he would've been pushed into eating everything on his plate. Nowadays, he ate enough to keep him sustained. That, of course, wasn't much, considering his lean build and smaller height. Frankly, he found it more useful to eat less. Having a completely full stomach made him sluggish and react slower. He hated being slow.
"Hmm," he squinted at Maurice before looking back down. He agreed - it wasn't a fair question, but he wanted to answer.
That was strange. To want. For the longest time, he hadn't really wanted anything. Life moved about him and he just...didn't really care. Wanting things was foreign, but wanting to answer someone was even stranger. He did not smile this time, instead choosing to run through his mind. Well.
"We'll see," he said eventually, "I've never been tested before."
In theory, he had been tested. In reality, nothing had ever pressed on him enough for him to call it a test. If anything, it was just how life was. Gale didn't know if he'd be okay with these people, if he'd rise or fall, but he was hoping he'd rise. At least then, he'd be worth more than if he'd stayed at the Mukhabarat. Hell. Even if he failed a test, he'd be worth more. It was just a matter of being careful, he supposed.
|
|
|
Post by L’Éᴛʀᴀɴɢᴇʀ on May 24, 2017 6:18:20 GMT -5
Maurice seemed content to let the conversation end there as if that in and of itself was a test. Alphonse did not move to intervene, in his mind, there was no reason to. Perhaps it was a test to see if Gale wanted to reach out - to involve himself. Or perhaps it was because the other man had exhausted his energy and had called conversation quits. Or maybe it was just that it had been a long day. Alphonse wasn't really certain, but he couldn't find it in him to look deeper and exhaust the options and figure out what it was. No, he'd just leave it be.
He was tired after all, but not in the same way he was certain the others. His soul was exhausted, it was as if his age was finally catching up to him. He never felt his age before, but right now, as he made the trek up to the bedrooms he wondered what he was going to do. He was probably going to leave Gale to sleep and find himself a drink. He had been cautious with the wine despite needing more, but social drinking and drinking to forget were two very different things. Or perhaps he was going to finally get that smoke he needed.
It's all very jumbled, he's not sure what he'll need more. The drink or the smoke. Maybe both. Both sounds like a reasonable approach to the dull ache in the pit of his stomach and the bile in his throat. Maybe they'll be enough for him to just black out and forget about the day's events entirely. It's unlikely, but he hopes he'll at least be able to sleep once the worst of the pain is out of his system. There's a long day tomorrow and he's no fool.
It's when they arrive at the door of the bedrooms that he's surprised. They had elected him to be Gale's roommate, so when Zhannah responds in like by grabbing his hand in the hallway he knows there are four pairs of eyes all focused on Zhannah. His included. She smiles at him and if it weren't for the agonizing sensation of his heart bleeding itself dry, he would have found the situation pleasant. Charming, even. Instead, he's starting to find himself more like an animal cornered due to the strange turn of events. He hadn't been anticipating this.
"Come, Al. I think you still owe me for today," the words are seductive but somehow he highly doubts that's Zhannah's intentions. It does nothing to stop Jasper and Maurice to assume what they will as they share wide, obnoxious grins. He says nothing but nods, briefly wondering if Gale will feel like he's been abandoned. No, he won't wonder about that, not with Zhannah enforcing her promise of later. He'd rather spend the night in her room rather than with Gale anyways. The young man is still a stranger after all, and if he does do anything outrageous, he would not want Gale to see.
|
|
|
Post by Deleted on May 24, 2017 6:54:44 GMT -5
Gale didn't question anything that happened.
He didn't know how dynamics worked or how things were supposed to work here, so he simply glanced to Zhannah and Al, and then away. He didn't particularly care. Sleeping in a room alone sounded better, for his mental health and for the fact that he was already on-edge at the idea of sleeping away from his own home or Kesi's. It had been years, really. The most he'd done was sleep in a sniping spot that he'd found years ago, and even then, it wasn't with people around. Just him and his gun. He didn't have that luxury. He had knives. He worked better with guns. He was not safe and he was on-edge, which brought him to the better thought that Al would not be around if he had a nightmare.
Whatever happened next did not quite stick in Gale's mind, though if he looked upon it later, he would certainly be able to recall it with perfect clarity. That was just how things went. As it was, in present time, he simply...went with the flow. Went to bed, he supposed.
A glance to the bed told him that he didn't really care, and, after a brief rearrangement of two pillows supporting the middle of his back, he settled on the floor with his back to the wall and his body facing the door. It was closed and locked, he knew because he'd done it (since he figured Al wouldn't be coming back tonight), and so he was okay. The room was unfamiliar and felt worse in the dark, stifling, even.
He wasn't going to be able to sleep. Gale knew that, and yet he still tried. He closed his eyes and tried to think of nothing, let his mind blank. Nothing bad would happen. It was just like a mission away from home, or something. He hadn't been on one for years. As uncomfortable as he was, he at least had a wall at his back and his body facing the door. He was settled down, to a degree, and yet he still didn't like it.
Nevertheless, he dozed off.
The desert is blank, the sand warm beneath bare feet. Dry wind ruffles his hair, bits of sand scratches at his cheek. In the distance, he can see the silhouettes of pyramids.
He curls his toes inwards and glances towards Sabah. She stares at him blankly.
"Hey, Nuri," she says, and points downwards. "We'll have to sleep eventually," her tone suggests it's not up for question. He stares at her blankly before looking to their goal. It's so far away, his throat is dry and his eyes hurt. They're probably bloodshot, but he doesn't care about that. He hears the shifting of sand and then a hand is in his hand, pulling his hair back lightly. "I said we have to sleep, a**hole."
"Okay," he says quietly. "We can set up."
And set up they do. A quiet, simple process, because the two of them have been in the desert for a long, long time. Walking, barefoot. It's a stupid idea, but they travel in the evenings and through the nights and rest during the day, so the sand is usually cool to the touch. Once their light tents are set up, they bid each-other good...day? For they are sleeping during the day, so that they do not have to deal with the heat of the day.
It is in broad daylight that he notices that something is wrong. Jerks awake at quiet murmuring, low laughter. Sabah's voice, communicating in rough...Russian? He supposes, that's what it sounds like. He doesn't speak the language, and so he simply lays still in his tent. Then, he dozes off again.
A hand around his calf jerks him away again, and he's being pulled from his tent. Instinctively, he kicks out, but a quiet murmuring alerts him to the fact that it's his companion.
"Sabah," he mutters sleepily, "what?"
"Shh, Nuri," she says, "it'll be over soon."
A knife presses against his throat.
With that, Gale started himself awake, sitting forward until he was almost in half, shoulders trembling lightly and hands finding themselves tightly wound in his hair. He took one breath, and then another. Breathe, he told himself. It's okay.
The darkness didn't do much to soothe his nerves, so he stood up and turned the light on before returning to his place against the wall. He wanted to be sick, but instead he found his hands at his throat, gently pressing and feeling the quick tap-tap of his heartbeat. Far too quick. Too quick to sleep.
And so he found himself remaining awake, waiting patiently for the morning to roll around so that he could get out and do things.
|
|
|
Post by L’Éᴛʀᴀɴɢᴇʀ on May 24, 2017 22:45:55 GMT -5
Zhannah knew it was the moment the door closed behind them that made all the difference in the world. It was like whatever Alphonse had been trying to combat on his own, hidden deep underneath the surface, eating him alive, finally reared its terrible face. It was that moment when there was something different in his eyes, not the stoic mask he had learned and perfected like everybody in the field. It was the haunting emptiness in his eyes that would stick with her.
She would never forget how terrible it felt to see those eyes, bright and clear with witty cunning and amusement, so terribly lost. He stood there as if he did not know what to make of himself, hands at his side now that she had closed the door behind them. There was no inhibition, no desire to do much of anything, not even smoke as she knew he often indulged in when stress got the better of him. She remembered when she had first met him twenty years ago, he had been a younger man with a brighter grin and a cigarette case with no cigarettes.
He had been trying to quit then, on accounts of a promise. She hadn't known him well, she had only worked with him twice. When she had met him again, he was a different man. He still wore the same smile, but the cigarette case had cigarettes. When the person he had promised died, the reason to stop had followed.
"Alphonse," she tests the weight of the name on her tongue, looking into those lost eyes. She knows it's not her place to say his name like that or to try to help him, but she's going to be damned if she doesn't try at the very least. It's not a sudden response, but slowly Alphonse's eyes seem to focus on her. He's trapped, she knows, in the own hell of his mind. Zhannah remembered being there, not once, but multiple times.
And every time there's a gentle voice telling her she's okay, a warmth next to her, and a pair of blue eyes that would never judge her for the weakness. Every damn time he had been there, careful not to touch her, but close enough to let her know he was there. Nobody had ever done that for her. They touched her, tried to placate her with the familiarity of human contact and sent her deeper into her fears causing her to lash out. Then they left, wounded and affronted by the backlash. And Alphonse - god, Alphonse - he was damaged in the same ways she was. He knew that she didn't need the comfort of touch, but the simple solace of knowing he was there and that things were going to be okay and she was safe.
It's this exact reason that has her here, because she knows he's like her in many ways. He's used to fighting this battle alone and drowning in himself, but sometimes fighting the battle alone is hard. Sometimes being strong and brave isn't enough. "It's okay."
The seconds passed by quickly even as he finds himself appraising her. There's a part of him that wants to go back out, to not face this. The last time someone had told him those words in that same tone in that same manner, terrible things happened. It was not okay. She died telling him he was a good man, that he deserved better, that this emptiness he felt was a result of the world's cruelty to him and not because he deserved it. Not because he deserved to feel pain for all the pain he had inflicted and caused.
He doesn't want to admit it, but Zhannah's softness and kindness, so palpable and within his reach, appealed to him. He's never wanted so badly to be able to do what he had did then with Seraphin, to just accept that even as he is - broken and weak - that he's still worthy of being loved. He wanted to say something, to respond so badly, but there's a lump in his throat and as he watched Zhannah extend a hand out, careful not to touch him he finds himself leaning into it. He doesn't remember finding his voice, but when he speaks, he doesn't recognize the broken quality of it. "I can't."
I can't do this anymore.
Nothing fazed Zhannah Sokolov. She remembers being tortured and screaming until her voice was hoarse. She remembers seeing dead bodies of fathers and mothers and children, she had not thrown up the way several of her squad members had. She was good at compartmentalizing events, not allowing them to get to her. She was good at being the machine everyone said she was, the cold unfeeling tool meant to do nothing more than kill and follow out orders. The broken quality of Alphonse's voice though - the agony dripping off each syllable like poison - that hits her in the gut. It's like a bullet.
It's easy from there though, because the admission of the pain is acceptance. He lets her take his hand, he lets her lead him to the sofa. He lets her pull him in close, shoes be damned. He lets her hold his head against her bosom, her fingers carding through his silky hair in the way Seraphin's used to. And he lets go. She doesn't ask any questions, doesn't say anything, just holds him close as he clings to her like a life line, sobbing brokenly.
He's never been alone, but he's always been fighting alone. It seems like hours before he's exhausted himself and Zhannah watches him with sad eyes, he doesn't look up. His head stays buried against her and when he falls asleep, she finally lets out the breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding. She has always seen Alphonse as strong and capable in every way, but as he worked hard to put everyone back together, he allowed himself to break in silence. It's not stupidity or arrogance, it's fear.
Ever since the first time he had sat with her as she cried and tore herself apart, she'd known he was a strong man. Weaker men fled the scene, they feared damaged hearts. It's terribly unfair that while everybody - from Jasper's drinking problems to Maurice's outbursts - is being taken cared of by him, nobody watches over him. It's guilt, she realizes, that hurts her so much. They'd left him alone, believing him to be as capable with his heart as he was with theirs. It's unfair.
She knows she's not going to be able to sleep with the guilt weighing heavily upon her heart, so instead she tightens her grasp on him. Lets him know she'll still be here when he wakes up in the morning.
It's only 6 am when Alphonse comes to, almost surprised at the gentle weight of arms wrapped around him and the warmth of a body pressed up against him. When he raised his head he found Zhannah, silently dozing. Alphonse leaned against her chest, listening to the rhythmic beating rather than moving. The events from last night cling to him like an old friend, but after everything he feels slightly better.
Clement had been there to get his head out of the gutters when he was drunk, high, or off on some death wish. But Clement had never been there to tell him that, even with Seraphin gone, things would be okay. Because between him and Clement, they both knew things were never going to be okay. Nothing could ever replace her. She had been more than just the love of his life, she made up every aspect of his world. She made all the terrible things pale in comparison and it was the sound of her name that quelled his demons in the darkest of nights.
He's slept around a lot, found himself in the arms of strangers - men and women alike - trying to recreate that sensation of absolute bliss he had felt with Seraphin. This was the closest. It's the tender touch of Zhannah's loose hug, the beat of her heart that reminds him she's still alive, and the lack of concern about appearances and comfort as they both lay in their expensive and decisively not fit to sleep in attire. He almost feels like he's at home once again, in Seraphin's arms, in that pocket of safety in a terribly cruel world.
And then the seal comes to mind. Alphonse grimaced, shifting for the first time and waking up Zhannah in doing so as he moves to sit up. Zhannah blinks blearily, looking at him in what seems to be brief confusion before smiling to him. He smiles back, and this time it's genuine. "Thank you," Alphonse murmured, voice still heavy from exhaustion and ragged from the countless tears. It's honest.
She shakes her head. There's no need for thanks. He understands the sentiment and nods to her as he stands up, moving to return to his and Gale's room for a change of clothes. "I'll see you in twenty for breakfast." Early day.
He's never actually contemplated the manner in which he moved. It was as much habit as it was instinct. His movements were silent by nature, but as he lets himself into the room he finds himself rather nervous about making noise. He doesn't want to wake Gale or let the man see him in his disheveled state. As he enters, he moves directly for his luggage, pulling out a new clean suit, underwear, and a pair of socks. He doesn't bother to check to see if Gale is awake, something tells him the other man is.
Instead, he moves to the bathroom for a quick shower before looking into the mirror. He feels exhausted and it shows, but that doesn't matter. He's confident Gale will not question it. The young man has more sensibility than to do that. Heading back out, he takes a seat on the bed and starts to wear on his shoes before glancing down at Gale. That's a strange position to sleep in. He doesn't comment on it. Occupational paranoia is a trait he's commonly faced with all of his team. Gale would be no different. "You should get dressed, Gale," he said, feeling more like himself now than yesterday. "We're going out for breakfast then our work begins." It's going to be a long day.
|
|
|
Post by Deleted on May 24, 2017 23:14:42 GMT -5
In a half-aware state he remained, aware enough to pick up subtle sounds and yet not quite there. Gale's skin crawled, and he absently scratched at his leg, trying his best to remove the memory of the knives. That, of course, was not going to work. He envied people who could forget, wished that he could - but instead he had to just...push it to the back of his mind, think about other things. It was hard to do. He didn't see himself as strong for being able to do it, just...nothing. To have to remember every little detail, from Sabah's smile to her companion's little twitch as he carved away, it felt as if wounds burned along his body, as if his throat remembered everything he said and more.
There was a reason men like Gale hated words. He had three words. They were quiet, locked in the back of his mind.
He wasn't too sure when he brought himself to his senses, but he didn't feel rested. He inhaled sharply and tilted his head back, staring up at the ceiling and stretching his legs out. Resting on the floor meant that he was stiff, that he would be in some pain for a few moments. It was nothing. Temporary. He was used to it. Even in his own home, he found silence deafening. He supposed that the quietness was supposed to be comforting, but instead it was suffocating. Reminded him of too much. Even background noise would've been appreciated, but he didn't move from his spot. Instead, he sat and waited, staring blankly towards the ground. The world around him was nothing, it didn't matter.
Even when he heard Al return, he didn't move. Didn't respond, didn't check to see if he was okay. It didn't come naturally to him. He didn't find it in himself to care, at the moment. Mornings were often like this, and it reminded him of why he hated sleeping.
A man like Gale did not often admit to being scared of many things, but he had admitted to himself a long time ago that he was terrified of sleeping. It made him vulnerable to his demons, caused his mind to spiral out of his control. Made him weaker, sluggish. It was worse in an unfamiliar place. He didn't know if he regretted accepting to come with Al's team. Nothing, yet, had made him think that it was worth the sleeplessness, the simmering fear, the steps he took to make sure they didn't even brush past him. His fingers moved idly from scratching at his leg to his thumb and forefinger circling his wrist, the pad of his thumb pressing against his pressure point. His pulse was normal. It didn't feel like that - it felt more like his heart wanted to crawl out of his throat, leave him behind. He didn't feel real. At least his pulse had slowed from when he had originally woke up - but how long ago had that been? Far too long ago. He inhaled slowly.
When Al spoke, he started. He actually started, and immediately cursed himself inwardly for it. For the barest of seconds, he hesitated, before tilting his head up to look at the older man. He exhaled slowly through his nose. This was not dangerous - and he was not in danger. Yet his pulse had shot up again, skipped a beat, even. To distract himself, he moved and stood up, lightly setting the pillows on the bed before he went into the bathroom. He did not speak as he did so.
A quick shower did nothing to help him, no matter how cold he changed it to be after the initial warm shower to soothe his muscles. He dressed in an almost mechanical way and stared at himself, briefly, in the mirror. He didn't look bad - in fact, he looked...normal. Not as haunted as he felt. He passed a hand over his jaw, the barest hint of stubble there. He didn't really care enough to deal with it, and so he exhaled and washed his face with some more cold water, just to try to see if it would help any. It didn't.
Once he deemed himself presentable, he exited the bathroom and leaned against the wall to pull his boots on. It felt normal, almost - and yet he could remember doing the exact thing with his family. No, not family. Friends. In a poor place, where the roof was falling apart and yet they were happy, because they were safe. It hadn't lasted long. From Mori's loud laughter, to Jacques' general bulk that took over the room, to Tea's small smiles and Sabah, the leader. Who made her leader? Still. It hadn't lasted, because it had been a tiny lifeboat. Someone had had to go to let the others survive.
"Alright," he exhaled softly, and gave a sharp grin to Al, "I'm done."
|
|
|
Post by L’Éᴛʀᴀɴɢᴇʀ on May 26, 2017 3:56:29 GMT -5
If it shocked him to see Gale start, Alphonse chose not to show it. It was the least he could do in terms of respecting another individual's privacy. Had he been stuck in a similar trance, Alphonse was uncertain if his reaction would be any different. So instead, he decided to ignore it completely. If Gale wanted to address it, he would. Besides, Alphonse was not delusional enough to believe that they were close after sharing one dinner. Instead, he gave his undivided attention to tying up his oxfords which, now that he noticed, was scuffed slightly from the dust and dirt. He would shine that tonight.
As Gale took his shower, Alphonse had pulled out his black shoulder holster, slipping on the shoulder holster before sliding his pistol into the holster. He made certain the other pocket contained the silencer he would need if things got messy. His routine was automatic, robotic even. It was a familiar comfort even as he slipped the suit jacket easily over his shoulders, concealing the holster with ease. As the door of the bathroom closed, he was routinely checking over his gear. Two pistols, check. The familiar weight of his balisong rested in his inner vest pocket. The remainder of his knives were scattered, but from his mental catalog he knew all of the other six were on his personnel as well.
Glancing up even as he pulled out his cigarette case, he paused briefly. He had forgotten to see if Gale would be fine with a simple smoke. He knew Jasper, Zhannah, and Maurice were unconcerned with his sparse habits, but there were a variety of responses to such a vice as smoking. "Let's be on our way then," he spoke simply, an easy smile on his face. It was strange how natural it felt to give Gale genuine smiles. Holding up his cigarette, he tilted it slightly "You don't mind, do you?" He waited in silence, awaiting the other man's verdict on the matter.
In the meantime, he contemplated the job they were about to do. He needed the Mukhabarat rather than Nahla for one simple reason. Her men had various contacts, but they were loud regardless of all the tips and tricks he had shown her. That and the men under her, despite being dependable, lacked a certain grace in the field of battle. They were all about entering with guns blazing, putting criminals in their place and slaughtering entire organizations for the deeds they perpetuated against women and children alike.
The Mukhabarat on the other hand was a clandestine agency, and despite its short comings, had the benefit of acting in the shadows and having secrets the public would balk at if they ever found out. They ran the benefit of surveillance, having eyes and ears in places even Nahla could not hope to have contacts. They had systems that were set up, and as talented as Jasper was, running the risk of hacking the Mukhabarat would leave them as enemies. Alphonse was not a man to make enemies where he could set up a mutually beneficial situation. Even if the Mukhabarat was incompetent.
So that was the first plan, try the facial recognition systems in the cities. Find a point of entry into this ghost's - Kamila Nowak's - tracks and move on from there. He had no doubt she had left one of the big airports with a new identity and almost unidentifiable appearance. However, if the Mukhabarat's technology was anywhere as advanced as the FBI or the MI6 - and he had no doubt it was - it would find the points of access. It would single out those with similar facial structure before moving on to finer details until it pinpointed the target with the exclusive facial details Kamila Nowak possessed.
After locating the airport Kamila Nowak exited, it would be a matter of finding out her new alias - tentative and probably long forgotten once she had reached Egyptian soils - and figuring out her transporter and where she stopped. It would be hunting a tail and Maurice would come into play. The man hunted wild game and secret agents alike, using Jasper's eye for detail as an accessory to figuring out where cold tracks left. He read most spies like books, using their own paranoia to track them down to the end of the world.
Once on the tail, he would allow Zhannah to make contact. She was still an unknown face, whereas Maurice was a hound hot on Kamila's heels for months. That, and Jasper would be unable to hold his own in a fight against Kamila. The woman was trained by the looks of it, and despite Jasper knowing rudimentary combat skills, he would without a doubt lose. Once Kamila's schedule was mapped out, they would close in on the target and take her alive. That was the plan. Simple and clean.
Simple was never dangerous unless the players failed their parts, but Alphonse knew his team. They rarely failed. And then there was Gale. His eyes remained on Gale even as he waited for the response. The wild card. The sniper and linguist who was equal parts an interesting man he wanted to keep around and a liability. If the situation arose for Gale to be situated as a sniper, would he prove his capabilities? Or would he prove Alphonse had made the wrong call? Only time would tell.
|
|
|
Post by Deleted on May 26, 2017 7:11:45 GMT -5
Feeling vulnerable was not something Gale enjoyed, and he wondered, briefly, why he felt like that. Aside from the nightmare, nothing was particularly out of the ordinary; he'd even been able to sleep in a room on his own (though sleep was a vague term for it). He realised, with a small jolt, that he was only equipped with knives. He was not really a knife type of man, his expertise had always lain within guns. Sniper rifles, to be specific; but even a smaller gun could hold his attention. His aim was good because of his sharp eye, and that helped no matter the size of the gun. He did not have a gun. At the moment, he was as harmless as a kitten. A knife could certainly slice into someone's abdomen if he really felt threatened, but when it came down to it, he wasn't as strong as most. He was lithe and agile, built for further distances.
His thoughts were broken, once again, when Al spoke. Gale flicked his gaze to the man and squinted at him, before holding out a hand lightly, a small, playful smile toying at his lips.
"Only if I can have one too."
He was cheeky and he knew it. In his back pocket, he knew his own cigarettes - some illegal, obscure brand that was made underground somewhere in Egypt - sat, but he was running low, and it would be a while before he could get another supply. Sure, he was supposed to be quitting or something (Kesi often complained about how his stamina would not keep up if he kept on), but he'd cut down by a large amount and sometimes, just sometimes, he needed to smoke. Well. Sometimes often meant every morning and every evening. When had his last been? He supposed he'd had a few on the journey over to Cairo, before he'd met Al. Hell. Had it really been that short a time? He was...not quite surprised, but unnerved. These people had a way, some sort of...aura. They were welcoming and homely, and he almost wanted to have a home with them.
It reminded him of simpler times. The numbers were the same, too, when he thought about it. As his mind trailed over this, he looked away from Al.
Once upon a time, someone had told him that his eyes told a story, that, much like the common phrase "the eyes are the windows to the soul" said, he was an open book. It was not so true with his little habit of lying; staring someone in the eye and forcing them to believe something was easy enough, but hiding his most innermost thoughts? The idea of someone being able to probe that far just from a look into his eyes had always spooked him. He was good at eye contact, but hell if he'd keep eye contact when his thoughts strayed downwards, pulling at weak scars. They held because the scar tissue had formed, but if they were pushed too hard, they'd break open and bleed once more. After a deep inhalation, Gale looked back to Al and raised both eyebrows.
"I'm going to have to place a call with Isa sometime today, to ensure that your contact has talked to him. While I'm at it, I can probably put in any requests," he paused, almost as if he were about to say 'nothing too major', but decided against it. Gale could tug strings, and as long as it wasn't going to endanger himself, then he could deal with it. "Tell me whenever you think of them. I won't forget."
His words were not a promise, but pure truth.
|
|
|
Post by L’Éᴛʀᴀɴɢᴇʀ on May 29, 2017 3:46:21 GMT -5
Very few individuals ever stopped him from smoking before, generally due to their own bad experiences with the vice or that of someone they once knew. Fewer ever requested one of his cigarettes without him offering it and those who dared were those he knew well. A soft chuckle concealed his surprise as he nodded, plucking one of his cigarettes, his poison of choice, a Nat Sherman black and gold, and extending it out to the younger man. After handing off the cigarette, he removed one for himself and placed it purposefully between his lips before returning the cigarette case to his jacket.
"We learn something about one another every day," he spoke with an air of amusement as he lowered his head, lighting the tip of the cigarette before offering the burning light to Gale as well. It was something of a mockery of the original saying and an amused quip. He knew many in the job drank and smoke. They were windows of peace in a world of chaos and whereas alcohol was an untrustworthy companion for clearing one's mind, cigarettes were not. At least for him.
He had been offered one when he was young and shaking, it had been difficult to pull in the lungfuls of nicotine then. It didn't sit right with him then. He had long gotten used to it now. Taking a drag of the cigarette as he leaned against the doorway choosing instead to indulge in conversation and a brief moment of peace, he lifted his gaze to look at the other man, briefly wondering who had got him started and why. For Alphonse, it had always been an escape from reality - a moment in which the shaking in his hands quelled themselves.
It had been the only constant companion when people dropped like flies, dying on the battlefield. The man who had first offered him one had been one of those that had unfortunately died in the Gulf War. And what more was the promise it offered, an offer to men like him who needed ways out but who were far too... cowardly to take it. Too cautious. Too broken over a promise. Death. With a warning like death, it was hard to stay away from after Seraphin had died.
It was the warmth, the taste of the paper between his lips even as he idly smoked that brought him back to the topic at hand. Of course, even now business haunted. A soft chuckle escaped him as he removed the cigarette from his lips, holding it loosely between his fingers. "I am more than certain Nahla will not disappoint," there was no bite in the words, no hint that he believed Gale thought poorly of Nahla. It was a simple statement even as he shrugged, "However, if you would be so kind, please inform Isa that I will need permission to utilize the Mukhabarat's surveillance equipment and technology to run facial recognition for my mark."
Ah well, the moment had not lasted long. Smoking with another individual always did bring about conversation whereas all he wanted was silence and time to mull over everything. He supposed after his episode yesterday, it was for the best that Gale was here. To keep him together, remind him to keep up the facade and to push the thoughts away. There was a time and place for everything. Heading over to the window, he cracked it open and leaned out, the heat and noise assailing him quicker than he would have liked. Tapping his finger lightly against the cigarette he could feel the hollow weight of their wedding band.
He had always been sentimental regardless of his claims otherwise. "I suppose the others can wait until we finish our cigarettes. After all," he chuckled but did not turn back to spare Gale a glance. "I hardly think Jasper's truly awake."
|
|
|
Post by Deleted on May 29, 2017 4:06:07 GMT -5
There had always been something about his imports that he had grown used to, an underlying knowledge that they were banned in this country. It amused him greatly. Smoking legal cigarettes (he assumed, at least) was something he was unused to, but in the end? It was all the same. His first drag was a deep one, as he had always been taught. He was a slower smoker, but always required to just inhale at the beginning. He tilted his head back and exhaled slowly, watching some of the remaining smoke trail into the air. If Kesi could see him now, she'd probably be rather annoyed. He was supposed to be trying to quit - and yet the habit kept coming back to him.
His mother had never smoked. His father hadn't, either. It was frowned upon in the Amari family, a don't do this or you'll die type of deal. He was quite sure that he was the only one. Honestly, Gale wasn't too proud of how it had happened, but it didn't come up in conversation. It was irrelevant, a hidden truth in the back of his mind that would never be asked for because nobody was curious enough - or brave enough - to ask. He had a soft face, a soft voice; he did not seem like the type to smoke, and he was well aware of it.
"Mm," he glanced to Al from the corner of his eye. "I'll talk to him about it," he told the other man. His 'boss' threw fits if he didn't keep in touch, knew that even the slightest loss of control would result in losing the Mukhabarat's slightly more useful member. Isa continued to be unaware that he had no control, that he was going to lose Gale Amari sooner or later, and frankly, it looked like it would be sooner.
It brought his thoughts to how he knew he would be leaving Isa so soon. What made him so sure? The idea of being bored after this was over, or just the idea of returning to more 'legal' methods until someone else turned up to entertain him? He was tired of day-to-day life, tired of being cooped up indoors, translating some text or other, never having his true skillset utilised. Now that he looked at it, it felt like a waste. Money was money, however.
"I don't think--" his impulsive nature caused him to start speaking before he thought about it, but he was quick to cut himself off, shutting his door was an almost-audible click as he clenched his teeth together. A muscle in his jaw tightened ever-so-slightly, and he fell completely silent once again, focusing elsewhere as he continued to smoke. With his free hand, he pushed his hair out of his face and adjusted his shirt collar, absently and with movements that suggested it was a habit that he didn't even notice, something that had been around for years and yet he'd never been called out on. Instead, he tilted his head to glance at Al once more, studied the man quietly. "Why are you trying to find the Polish woman?"
Gale was a curious person by nature, had been considering the question and how to bring it up. Might as well be blunt.
"I mean - there aren't really Polish people in Egypt? If she's in Cairo or another large, tourist-filled city, it will be hard to find her, but if she's in a quieter area, it would be..." he made a vague gesture, "not easy, but a quicker process. To find her. To find her here, yourself, instead of simply contacting someone - to actively seek to get caught by the Mukhabarat. You are a strange man, Alphonse."
|
|
|
Post by L’Éᴛʀᴀɴɢᴇʀ on May 29, 2017 4:39:54 GMT -5
If it were not for the fact they were still strangers, he would have laughed at the absurdity. Curiosity was a dangerous trait in this line of inquiry, this career did not suit those who asked questions well. It had not served him well, it had not served Jasper, Maurice, Zhannah, or any of his other associates well. It had led him on a chase to nowhere on a trail that never existed. Until now. It was dangerous, and it was a trait that this young man - Gale Amari - seemed to possess in spades. But he supposed, there was no harm in indulging the younger man.
Gale was more or less an addition to his team, a forced on by the Mukhabarat that he could have easily evaded, but also an interesting man that he wanted on his side if a fight were to break out. He was a man of principle and of set rules and standards - some meant to be broken as necessary - but he stood by one sacred self-imposed law. Those who worked for him he had to be able to trust entirely with anything and everything. It was hard to trust someone with your life if you couldn't even converse with them, after all.
So he didn't laugh, but instead he smirked raising the cigarette back to his lips to take another long and calming drag. His eyes once again crossed the room to spare the younger man a glance before he returned to staring at the streets below. It was almost humorous how from just three floors up, the world outside seemed far larger than him. He supposed the truly humbling reminder of his insignificance would be broadened only by a rooftop. How small they all were, just specks on this planet meant to fight until there was nothing left of them.
"Not many ask me why I do things," he spoke, words calm and even as his eyes remained fixed on the outside world. It was as if there was a fine divide between in here and out there. Perhaps it was that terrible division people felt, that isolation the impoverished and poor felt from the rich and powerful. He had chuckled then, "But I suppose I can explain the method to my madness."
He was not a man of impatience and recklessness. He was not a man who jumped before he looked. He was a man of contingency plans and careful research and dedication. And then in some cases, he was forced to make things up as he went. This was one of them. This entire fiasco was one of those cases. This was not his battlefield, not one he drew up and forced others to play upon. This was a war he was invited to enter, a series of battles where he was the one playing on another's territory - trespassing into unknown territory.
And he could work with that, he had done so many times in the past. It always came down to a number of things. Intel, preparation, planning, and execution. This was the first phase, intel. They had to locate Kamila, they had to figure out who she was working for, and they had to find out if she had any accomplices in the area and how to properly handle and capture them without tipping off her employers.
"Jasper is more than capable of tapping into Mukhabarat's intelligence and using your equipment for my intended purposes," he admitted. Very few were on his team without reason. "However, doing so would only alert the Mukhabarat of an enemy. They would hunt me down while I'm working this case."
A small smile toyed on his lips then as he finally straightened his back, turning to look at Gale fully. He wanted to take in the other man's response, to judge if this man was truly made of the same cloth as the others on his team. Gale Amari had not disappointed him so far. "I do not need the unnecessary hindrance that follows avoiding the Mukhabarat while I'm chasing my mark. And besides," he drawled, "They think I'm the only one here."
|
|
|
Post by Deleted on May 29, 2017 5:02:28 GMT -5
For a couple of seconds, Gale mulled this over in his mind. His cigarette was beginning to burn low - but he'd always had a terrible habit of letting it burn as close to his fingers as possible. Al's words were something to consider, more worthy than a lot of things people told him. He hadn't been brushed off or laughed at, he hadn't been told 'you'll see' - though he hadn't gotten a reason to why they were hunting a Polish woman. He could accept that; he'd been given more than he had expected, anyway.
"I can get clearance without Isa," he said lazily, "it's probably faster to go through him, though."
It felt weird to admit that, to outwardly acknowledge that he very rarely needed Isa's help. In fact, the boss of the Mukhabarat had very little say in what Gale did - it was more of an act that Isa could control him, so that they wouldn't be in trouble, or something like that. So that other organisations wouldn't think that the Mukhabarat were too weak to control just one of their translators. He huffed softly and half-closed his eyes, rocking back on his heels in an idle fashion. Everything he had done so far had been lazy and without much thought. He could probably do more for Al's team if he put more effort - but effort meant that he wanted to be there, and it was hard, at the moment, to admit that. There was just...a better atmosphere. A feeling of home, a feeling of family, and the last time he'd felt that? It had gone wrong.
He didn't want this to go wrong.
"I can appease the Mukhabarat and keep them off our tail," he breathed softly, tilting his head to glance at Al again. "It's not too hard to keep them pleased so that they keep looking in the opposite direction," he paused, then, and gave a slow smile that felt more genuine than he'd been for a long, long time. "As far as they're concerned, you and I are the only ones working this case, and they aren't going to see otherwise."
His thoughts drifted to better contacts he had - those who could be more useful than the Mukhabarat. Truth be told, the facial recognition software was cool. It was fun to toy with. But hell, it could be annoying and it sometimes caused trails to be lost and he hated that - hence why he'd gotten into the habit of having several leads. If you had more than one, then you could connect them. See which was more accurate. It always helped.
Right now, though, Gale wanted to learn more about the team that Alphonse had brought. See if they were trustworthy, see what was needed. He reached his free hand up once again, pressing his thumb against his lower lip. It was yet another habit, something he'd fallen into recently to stop himself from chewing up his lip, or from chewing his nails. A thoughtful gesture, more than anything else. He focused his gaze ahead, watched the bumbling life of Cairo far below them, the civilians blissfully unaware of an oncoming storm that did not concern them. That was fine with him, to be quite honest.
"Do you need anything for this?" he asked. He was referring to the truth-for-truth, the thing that had started his own interest in Al's actions. "I don't like owing people things."
|
|
|
Post by L’Éᴛʀᴀɴɢᴇʀ on May 29, 2017 5:27:35 GMT -5
Taking into consideration Gale's words carefully, he walked across the room to the tv table where an ash tray sat. Extinguishing the cigarette in one adept movement he leaned against the table, slowly pocketing his hands in a familiar movement. It wasn't a tell, just a habit he had picked up on from others in the job. Hiding one's hands meant hiding telling movements, from the slight tremors of fear to the slight twitch of anger. He sighed, taking into consideration Gale's words thoughtfully.
If he wasn't cautious, he would say Gale was... eager. Eager to prove himself, determined to be seen as valuable. There was something about the manner in which he easily offered that he would appease the Mukhabarat and let them know it was only Alphonse and him working on this case that tipped it off. It was... almost endearing and peculiar. Most of the others had been harder cases, more difficult to draw close and into the fray.
Gale was a smart man, an interesting man, but he was easier to pull in than Alphonse had first thought he would be. But then again, here was a man who was used to being underutilized, allowing his talents to rot away due to the arrogance of an organization that treated their assets poorly. His eyes glanced up and down Gale, taking him in once again. There was so much here he didn't understand and that never served him well, but there was also a lot he could understand. A lot he could sympathize with, even.
Perhaps the last push Gale needed was family. It was a hard word to think, a harder word to say. After his had been torn from his very fingers, he never thought he would find something reminiscent of what he had lost. It didn't fill in the hole, the gaping emptiness that followed Seraphin and Colette. They weren't the same, but somehow, the broken pieces of the men and women he had found, as strange as it was became something of a family he never anticipated being able to have again.
"I'm truly grateful for your assistance," and the words were honest. Gale had all the right in the world to report the truth to Isa, and when he hadn't, it had been what interested Alphonse. He had not shared his name then and he would not share it now to Isa. He was even offering to protect Jasper, Maurice, and Zhannah for him. There was a pause before he continued, shrugging a little, "Besides, with all you've done, I don't think you owe me anything."
Slowly he tilted his head, contemplating the door past Gale. Ah yes, breakfast. That was still an ordeal. "I think we've held the other three long enough, we should go," a small smile played across his face, something a little devious and cheeky. "And perhaps you can inform me of the proper pronunciation of 'belief' while we're at it."
|
|
|
Post by Deleted on May 29, 2017 14:41:10 GMT -5
Seeming to almost follow Al's lead (as if he hadn't noticed his cigarette was burning so low, too), he ashed his own cigarette and brushed his fingers gingerly over his scarred fingers. Most of them weren't work-related; those which were, however, were purely his own fault. He glanced at Al, wondered what stories his scars told. It was hard to tell - some people told their stories, some didn't care. Gale was part of the latter, had, once upon a time, told the stories - and now it was hard to remember them all. There wasn't a point in keeping track.
I don't think you owe me anything.
He opened his mouth to argue, but closed it after a few moments. Really, he had no argument; not telling Isa that it was more than just Al, not telling Isa that Al had a name (a full one, at that) - and furthermore, not keeping him up-to-date on their plans? A long time ago, he would never have done any of this. If he had met Alphonse's team when he had just been starting out, he would have sold them all out in a heartbeat, because he had been eager to please and convinced that he would be worth something.
It had been a harsh truth to find out that he wasn't worth much to them. They could replace him, had reminded him every single time he'd stepped a toe out of line. He hadn't done it many times, but god, they liked to lecture him about routine, about this and that. How the thing was supposed to be done, about how this was supposed to be said. He was sick and tired of the same old routine, of translating and translating and getting the bare minimum in return.
Besides. No-one would notice, in the Mukhabarat, if he was gone. Isa, maybe, but only because he would no longer be a puppet. The others would forget within days, if that, would just continue with their lives. He was replaceable, forgettable, not worth the trouble of finding. So far, what he'd seen from Al's team told him that things weren't the same, and yet it wasn't just that that had managed to lure him in. The prospect of finding a family again; it meant more to him than he had ever realised. Thinking of Sabah and of Mori, of Jacques, too. His siblings, in a way, people he cared dearly for - and then Tea. Not a sibling, someone closer and dearer and--
He halted his thought process, visibly twitched his head to the side slightly to snap himself out of his thoughts. Any vague smile that had been on his face vanished, and he blinked owlishly. Right. He'd been spoken to. He managed a distant smile, eyebrows raised.
"Yep, yep," he gave a lazy two-fingered salute, "after you. I can definitely tell you the proper pronunciation of 'belief'. While I'm at it, how about 'thank you' and 'damn'? They're pretty useful."
|
|
|
Post by L’Éᴛʀᴀɴɢᴇʀ on May 30, 2017 2:40:13 GMT -5
With the younger man close, he found his eyes lowering to the other man's hands and seeing even more scars than the ones that he had first glimpsed yesterday night. This was a man with many scars, a man who had faced many challenges and survived. He was a survivor, and Alphonse could respect a survivor. Alphonse had always thought that an individual with scars was an individual with a story of hardship and survival, a symbol of somebody who fought for what they had rather than take it. God knew enough people took things for granted nowadays.
Damaged people though, individuals who faced their share of hardships, on the other hand there was a certain air of capability to them. They knew what it took to survive, and even more so - they knew how to not only survive in terrible conditions - but how to thrive. That was what he was capable of, and that was what this young man before him was capable of. Even if Gale didn't look the part, he was every bit as vicious and dangerous as any who dared try to tread where Alphonse did.
The corner of his lips quirked up in a smile before he nodded, heading to the door while contemplating what Gale had said. Was his pronunciation that terrible? He knew he was rusty, but apparently he was just downright bad. "That would be appreciated," he said honestly as he locked the door behind him. Briefly he paused, wondering if they would get into trouble. It brought another thought to mind. Did Gale even carry any weapons on his personnel? Alphonse wasn't afraid of a knife or something trivial.
Yes, knives were dangerous. They were weapons of great destructive capability, both dangerous to the assailant and the assailed. They were easy to handle, but vicious and unforgiving. It was one of the many reasons why he preferred them, why he favored them and learned more than anything how to wield a knife and how to disarm anyone quickly before too much damage was wrought. He hadn't even stopped to contemplate if Gale carried such a weapon. Something told him the man had a weapon, but what was uncertain.
In a close quarters fight, unless Gale managed to take him by surprise - a feat in and of itself - he had confidence in his victory. But when guns got involved, matters were far more complicated. Perhaps if there was trouble and Gale truly didn't have a gun on his personnel - a foolish mistake, but somewhat forgivable - Alphonse would lend him one of his own. But only if.
In the hallway, he found three familiar faces already waiting. Zhannah looked exasperated at having to wait, Jasper was still yawning, and Maurice looked the same as always. Stoic and well composed. He smiled to them, "Well, I suppose we've wasted enough time. Let's go eat breakfast, we can discuss the basics then and set up a base of operations in-"
"Can it be in Zhannah's room this time," Jasper's tired and whiny voice cut in, causing him to raise an eyebrow. "It's so weird with you just popping into our room to scribble out new plans. Last time you walked in on us-"
"Jasper!" Maurice's sharp and warning tone cut Jasper off, the Frenchman was clearly embarrassed.
He couldn't help but grin as he glanced towards Zhannah who mercifully nodded. "I suppose I can arrange that." The walk downstairs was far less detached than yesterday night, but also far more silent. Jasper was still not fully awake to ramble, Maurice was paying rapt attention to keeping Jasper from tripping down the stairs, Zhannah didn't speak much during the mornings and he suspected she was making sure he was not fragile - not in the same state of mind as yesterday. So he fell into the comfortable silence with the others.
It wasn't long before they arrived at a different restaurant, The State. Getting seated in the ungodly hours of the morning was an easy task, most of the other patrons not up and about, but enough for there to be activity. Settling down and taking note of the server's name - Yasmina, a wonderful young woman with bright eyes and a kind smile, he allowed everyone around the table to order their respective drinks and meals. He was nothing like Jasper, controlling the food choices.
That was something only the American did when he felt at ease with his companions and determined to steal food. Right now, Jasper was still nursing a coffee for his terrible inability to properly wake up in the morning. Alphonse couldn't help but roll his eyes. When Jasper finally blinked blearily at him, eyes slightly brighter he knew. The man was awake enough.
Before he could settle on the proper topic however, Jasper had a slow devious grin on his face. "So how was last night, hmm?" He would have flinched at the implications had it not come from Jasper in that ludicrous tone. Of course Jasper would assume they had intercourse. Of course.
Taking a sip of water - it was too early for alcohol - he shook his head. "Zhannah is not interested in men," he said simply before Jasper's eyes shot to his hairline. "Or," he added pointedly, "Women, for that matter."
"And I thought you two were getting freaky," Jasper muttered, rubbing the back of his neck. "Looks like I lost the bet to Jia, I told him you had like an eye on nailing everybody on the team."
He nearly spat out his water. Nearly. "You have what?"
"A betting pool, there's like at least half a million there and now it goes to Jia and his backers. Ugh!" Jasper threw his hands up, "But since Zhannah doesn't have any interest in you, then you can't nail her which means I've just automatically lost."
If looks could kill, Jasper Lee would have been a very dead man. His voice held no sympathy for him as he stated what he thought with a hint of venom. "Good," ridiculous, every last one of them. "But that aside, business."
"Right, right, business," Jasper agree. "So, just to get things straight. I compile the data."
"I track down the trail," Maurice added gruffly.
Zhannah followed right behind, "And I make contact."
"We'll take details later," he said simply, pleased that they knew their roles. It was also a perfect moment to stop seeing as their food had just arrived. Soon enough, the table would return to idle conversation, after all.
|
|
|
Post by Deleted on May 30, 2017 3:15:51 GMT -5
Frankly, it wasn't rare for Gale to have a mood drop. It was almost common, more so in the mornings than any other time. It was also easy to hide, easy to pretend that sure, he was happy and fine and just as childish as people often took him for. A distraction was appreciated, and being able to help Al with his Egyptian Arabic would be good. Fun, even - though he wasn't sure how quick the other man was at learning. Possibly fast, he seemed intelligent. Had to be intelligent, to have orchestrated so much and be in control of most matters. His mind flicked back to the interrogation room, to how at ease the other man had seemed. Isa was many things, but easily unnerved was not one of them. He had been unnerved by Al. Probably knew that he wasn't a low-life criminal, but someone worth more.
Hm.
It was easy enough to follow Al, to pause when he needed to. His thoughts had to sift through themselves, order events. Think about the ifs and the whens. What if she appeared? It was Cairo, after all. He had many reasons not to be here, and being here overnight was already putting him on edge.
Everything felt slow and mundane, from the chatter he heard from Al's team to the responses they got. It was only when he started focusing on words that he blinked once, and then twice, and then ducked his head to hide his amused smile. Okay, that was...it was something. And yet, it felt like something distant; something he didn't need to get involved in. So he didn't, instead idly sipped his qasab, listened to their interactions. Once again, it was not unlike something he had once had; and in a way, it was almost comforting.
"People with no interest can still get it on," he mused idly, so quietly that it seemed almost to himself, aside from the fact that it was almost definitely directed at Jasper.
Then it was business and he listened, but again, did not contribute because he didn't need to. He was here on behalf of the Mukhabarat, he didn't need to state the obvious. However, it was nice to know which role was with who - and the roles seemed fitting. He looked down at his food and picked at it idly, having never been fond of breakfast. Fūl, of course, was on of his exceptions - solely because it was a staple in Kesi's household, a breakfast that would be there for the entire family.
"Is that a normal thing?" he asked Al, switching to Arabic for the sole reason that it was easier, that it required less thought and it came naturally. Besides, he was supposed to teach the man some pronunciations, so might as well make it a conversation. Right? "The betting. Doesn't seem like a very good use of their money."
|
|
|
Post by L’Éᴛʀᴀɴɢᴇʀ on Jun 2, 2017 1:00:26 GMT -5
It was easy to notice that Gale Amari was a silent man, much like Riagan, now that he thought about it. Interesting. The other man didn't interact much with the others unless spoken to, was that a sign that the man preferred it that way or did he feel out of his comfort zone? There was a vast difference from the man he had with him today and the one who had sat with him in the interrogation rooms at the Mukhabarat. Perhaps it wasn't even that he didn't feel comfortable, perhaps Gale was a listener. That was always a good trait, one that Zhannah commanded with skill.
Either way, Alphonse didn't feel it necessary to drag Gale into the conversation. The topic was, after all, on what his team was doing and not Gale's role in the subject. They had already discussed Gale's role earlier and there was no telling if the man's ability as a sniper would be useful. There was no telling if it was even a safe play to put a sniper rifle in Gale's hands. After all, if Kamila had arrived to Egypt, perhaps the shadow organization had some influence here.
Whatever it was, he would allow things to run their course. He had high hopes for Gale, but not high enough that the man's betrayal would come as a terrible experience. Perhaps there would be some surprise at the other man's ability to get past his carefully guarded walls and interest, but other than that nothing. Gale was an interesting man, but he didn't seem terribly dangerous. Not to him, at the very least. That was subject to change regardless of how vulnerable this man also seemed.
It was paranoia, he realized, as an afterthought. Though he did not allow it to settle in and bother him to much even as Gale finally interacted with him. It was something that always bothered him, even when he had recruited Zhannah and Jasper and the others. They had all come from desperate backgrounds, all in various states of use and misuse. Even as he had placed them back together with careful hands, there was always an underlying thought of whether or not they were worth his trust. If they would leave him high and dry to bleed out in the sun.
Each had gotten past that stage in due time, each proving not only their loyalty but their right to be one of his. He couldn't help but smile as Gale talked to him, words easy and curious. It was obvious this was a man who liked to know despite his own reluctance to interact.Like the others, he would give Gale a chance. He would pull down some walls, as he had done many times before. His eyes softened even as he chuckled, responding in the language of Gale's choice. "They're hardly as professional as they act," he admitted with a hint of fondness and exasperation. "The betting is one of their unfortunate hobbies and it is nowhere as terrible as the dares."
He tilted his head, interested at the other man's own practicality. "Doesn't seem like a very good use of their money." Well, that was an interesting detail to keep in mind. Idly, even as he gave Gale his attention, he started to pick away at his breakfast with the fickle nature of a cat. After the previous night, he couldn't say he was exactly in the mood to eat, but not eating was a terrible idea. Though he was no stranger to starvation or even conveniently forgetting to eat, he consumed what Zhannah had grabbed with no complaints. He chose to ignore the conversation around him to listen to Gale and allow the man to know that he was an equal here and his words held weight and that he could speak, even if it wasn't related to the matters at hand.
His lips twitched up into a small smile, "They're a terrible lot, every last one of them, but they're good enough to keep around." He would not deny the hint of pride in his voice and if Gale called him foul on his words, he would not admit to it lest Jasper brought the news back to the others. The gloating would last for days - maybe weeks.
|
|
|
Post by Deleted on Jun 2, 2017 4:38:05 GMT -5
Nowhere as terrible as the dares - now that was something that Gale could imagine. Well, he doubted they were as bad as the dares back then; these were adults, and he had been barely an adult when his dares had been given. They were usually stupidly reckless, or just ridiculous, with no in-between. It was a low chance that they were safe, but there was an even lower chance that someone would actually get hurt. They had looked out for one another, though the teasing that came after a failed dare was nothing to sniff at.
Being paid attention to when he asked questions - that was something relatively new, though only in recent years. Since he'd worked for the Mukhabarat, his questions had always been responded with that's a need to know basis, until he'd finally managed to worm his way into Isa's good books. Even then, it was through Isa's mouth and not the source's, and so he didn't trust the answers he got. He picked and chose at what he'd even vaguely believe, and hoped that it was good enough. That, in itself, had never felt good enough. Being talked to and answered was something that made him sit up a little straighter, and if he were an animal, his ears would likely be perked and his head tilted. Well. His head was tilted, so that clearly wasn't an animal-specific thing.
"Dares," he repeated, looking vaguely amused, "I'm pretty decent at dares, if I do say so myself."
If Sabah had been here, she would've denied it. Even if Gale was the one who had completed the most dares, while she had never really bothered. I'm the boss, she'd always say, why would I need to?
Sabah, however, would lead to more unpleasant thoughts; and so he shut her out, ignored the little pull at his heart and smiled idly at Al, looking down to continue picking at his food. Old habits died hard, and even if he'd been told time and time again to eat more, he didn't really care. He was the sort of person who could survive from sugar and caffeine - which terrified his poor sister half to death.
"Alright," pausing momentarily, Gale glanced to Al from the corner of his eye, seeming to consider him carefully. This man had many stories - he could tell, not from appearance, but from the way he acted. Last night had to have been an example, possibly of it being too much? He wasn't sure. Being more considerate of people's feelings had never been something that Gale was particularly good at, but he tried his best. "Well, if you say so, then I'll accept that."
It was almost as good as outwardly saying if you think they're worth having around, then I'll think that too.
|
|
|
Post by L’Éᴛʀᴀɴɢᴇʀ on Jun 6, 2017 18:42:06 GMT -5
I'm pretty decent at dares if I do say so myself. The soft musing came as an amusement to him as he grinned at the words. Alphonse could respect a man who preferred dares to bets, after all, gambling was a matter of luck whereas bets were a measure of one's own ability. Though they always seemed to get out of hand, starting with almost innocent and childish ones to dangerous and terrible ones. If Gale vouched his own ability with dares, he wondered what the team would make of the other man.
It was strange to already believe that Gale was one of them, but he fit in simply enough. They had plenty of tentative spirits in his crew and Gale slipped in easily, falling into the lull of conversation in a manner as if he had been here before. That was not to say he was going to trust him. He knew plenty of men and women with the ability to slip into a team - a family - wearing the cloak of a sheep before revealing their fangs. He had worked those types of jobs, he had assimilated easily and had destroyed families and organizations by tearing them apart inside. Being easy to trust and deserving said trust was two entirely different things.
He couldn't drop his guard even if he wanted to. Though he would see. After all, there was one dangerous thing about Gale. It was the fact that he was just so easy to underestimate him, and that was exactly where the other man's abilities laid. He looked small and less threatening when compared to the rest of the team - Jasper not included - that it would be easy to imagine he wasn't well versed in defending himself. That would be the first and last mistake. Alphonse did not make simple mistakes like that. Perhaps Gale wouldn't be able to kill him with words, poison, or a knife - but even an average gunman could cause a lot of damage. If Gale's words held true, that he was indeed the best shot, that made him far more dangerous than the average gunman.
"I wouldn't tell them that you were good at dares," he chuckled, pushing his thoughts aside. He would keep a careful eye on Gale. He would hold his reservations despite wanting Gale to join them. "It's an advantage," he added with twinkling eyes. After all, his profession had made it certain that information that could be used against others was an advantage. It was strange to advise the man as if he were already one of them, but somehow it felt right. He just hoped the advice wouldn't come back to haunt him.
Still, there was a certain something about Gale that told him Gale was not the type of man he was. He might work for a clandestine organization, but Gale was not a spy. He was a sniper and he was a translator, brilliant and observant - but not two-faced and dangerous the way spooks were. But there was no saying. He could have been a spy once with his files removed from the records. Alphonse had done the same to his own files.
He smiled regardless, feeling warmth in the way Gale accepted his words about his team. They were his pride and joy, he would always vouch for them as the best. He was certain his team could outperform any other group of individuals. They had, after all, left many clandestine organizations running circles around themselves and criminal regimes in tatters. "I'm glad," he responded simply, and it struck him how true those words were.
"So tell me Gale, why does a man of your talents work for an organization that doesn't know how to utilize them?" It was something that had interested him. Was it because Gale was keeping a low profile, avoiding something? Or was it because he had nowhere else to turn? It would give him more insight into the translator in ways that files that Jasper could dig up would not.
|
|
|
Post by Deleted on Jun 6, 2017 19:03:05 GMT -5
If not telling the team that he was good at dares gave him an advantage, then he certainly would heed that advice. He laughed - a shock to even himself - and leaned back in his seat a little. This was comfortable and felt almost too good, and he was reminded of what had happened last time.
Last time.
He did not like to think of himself as a haunted man, but even he had to admit that his previous team had, to a degree, screwed with him. When things turned upside down and he found that no-one was on his side, that he was alone and would likely be alone for a long time. Fitting in just meant that he was doing well socially - it didn't mean that he had any right to stay. Staying was dangerous, could result in a repeat of last time. He wasn't sure he'd be able to survive that, wasn't confident in his ability to bounce back from another betrayal. The only solution to that was to not trust, and he hated that idea. Gale liked being able to trust people, and Alphonse and his team seemed worthy of that. But he wouldn't do it - not this soon into meeting them. He'd keep his guard up.
"Mmm," he glanced away at the question, his smile flicking down into a frown. It was a sudden change, and not a pleasant one. His brows furrowed and he bit his lip.
It would be easy to just find a lie - to pick anything from his mind, to twist truths. However, he decided it wasn't worth it. Instead, he turned his head to look back at Al and gave something of a bitter smile. "When I joined them, I wanted to die."
His answer was not a glaringly obvious one, but it wasn't hugely vague. I wanted to die - it was pure truth. Gale had joined the Mukhabarat with the intention of throwing himself into his work and seeing how long it took him to overwork himself. It hadn't worked, because he'd become a valuable asset, and then it had become fun. He'd found mild fun in influencing Isa, starting out slow, until he'd finally taken complete control of the man. Frankly, Gale had been surprised - just the other week - that he was still standing, still breathing. He didn't know how, didn't know why; maybe it had been Kesi's efforts, maybe it had just skipped his mind that he hadn't wanted to be alive. Either way, he was almost glad to be around now. Meeting Al and his team, that was, just maybe, worth it.
It was something to cling onto, to hope. The possibility of having found something worth living for was nice. Gale was not a man who gave up easily, but he was also a man who did not have much to live for. Right now, he wanted to see this mission through, and he wanted to do it alive. Maybe he'd put effort in. It seemed like a good idea, seemed like a decent thing to do. Hell, he hadn't been very nice in recent years. The Mukhabarat had taken the brunt of most of his aggression, had not really paid much attention to it even so. Kesi had had to sit back and watch, because there was little she could do.
Honestly, Gale was starting to wonder if he could find something he had lost here.
|
|
|
Post by L’Éᴛʀᴀɴɢᴇʀ on Jun 8, 2017 5:35:23 GMT -5
Had he been a far less tactful man he would have resorted to the simple and most basic responses. My deepest apologies. But he knew, through firsthand experience, how little apologies did. They meant even less coming from a stranger's mouth, tasteless and obviously only there to to fill the space. Many who resorted to it thought themselves sympathetic and kind, but he saw right through it. It was rarely ever sympathy but more often than not pity. He would spare Gale that false concern and pity.
No, he knew what it felt like to want to die - to desperately wish against everything that the Earth would cease to revolve, that he would crumble and fall and just stop. So, instead, as he looked at the mockery of a smile on Gale's features, bitter and terrible, he matched it with a thoughtful frown. He had been desperate, then. He had been seeking for a reason to keep living, a purpose in life. His gaze softened as he nodded to Gale's words, accepting it, rather than questioning it. It surprised him, to some extent, that Gale would admit to such a heavy burden. Then again, he supposed if Gale asked directly about why he was doing what he was doing - requesting him to not give him half of the truth but all of it, he would tell Gale the truth.
It was a well known truth among all his assets by this point. There was not a single person who followed him that didn't know that all he did was under some misguided notion of revenge. Had he been younger with his family, he would have laughed at those words and scorned the foolishness of a man blinded by revenge. But he had nothing now and he had nothing the day they had died. Had it not been for that bitter word, he would have not lived as long as he did so perhaps people would laugh at him, but it was the one thing keeping him alive.
But still, it was a hard matter to respond to. The words were simple, short and sweet for such a terrible thing. I wanted to die. So, contemplating his next words, he picked up his glass of water and took his time drinking before finally responding. It was always better to contemplate heavy topics before answering. Rushing to respond only felt... terribly insensitive. "They mistreated you, underestimating your desperation for lack of value," he finally said, tone somber even as digested the weight of the words.
There was no malice behind the word desperation. It was sensible. To be lost, to be hurt, to feel like he was drowning in himself. But the Mukhabarat had taken advantage of that. The Gale Amari that had joined the Mukhabarat had been a younger one, full of pain and naive in a way the man the Mukhabarat referred to as "the translator" was not.
It was strange to desire to offer Gale something better in return for all the Mukhabarat had taken from him, but it was not unusual. It had been the same pain he had found in Jasper and Zhannah and in many of his most trusted associates. "But we won't do that here," and somehow those words felt right. Not exactly a clean cut promise, but a promise nonetheless. If Gale chose to stay, he would never take advantage of the young man the way the Mukhabarat had. He would never let such raw talent and potential go to waste.
|
|
|
Post by Deleted on Jun 8, 2017 18:39:21 GMT -5
It was like a disease that never went away.
Even now, when he was mildly content, his feeling if not wanting to be here was as strong as ever. His routine was mind-numbing, and held no motivation for anything. Just a five years ago, he'd been hellbent on revenge. It had died with a month of realising how unrealistic his goal had been. Then he had had nothing to live for.
He still didn't, really.
But it was new for someone to not apologise, to not treat him as a delicate flower, to not baby him and make sure he was doing everything in his power to stay alive. This was a man who had to understand - well, they did say that like called to like. The Mukhabarat had been full of hardworking men and women, people who wanted to not just survive, but live. He had just been breathing, going through motions. Frankly, his impulse to follow Al's group was solely because there was nothing else for him. His gaze flicked away.
They mistreated you.
That was something. To think it was one one thing, to hear it out loud - that was another. He looked down at his hands, proof of his hard-won battles. One finger drummed absently against his thigh, and he thought back to the people of the Mukhabarat - Isa, who was too blind to see when Gale was controlling him. Tarek, who knew exactly who ran the organisation, Aline, who warned him that he wouldn't get away with what he did. None of them particularly cared about him in the long run - the Mukhabarat had close-knit groups of friends here and there, and he just wasn't part of that. He wasn't part of them, had always been something of an outcast. Gale slowly turned his gaze back to Alphonse and stared at him for a moment.
"I believe you," he said, because it felt right to do so. To tell Al that his truth had been accepted. He inhaled deeply and sipped his qasab again - his throat was dry. "I don't feel like that much anymore," the much, he supposed was a key word, "don't feel much of anything, really." he paused, squinted down at his own hands even further, studying every slice, remember the sting of the blades that had done them. "I have eidetic memory. If I didn't numb myself," he looked back to Al and smiled again, this time fainter. More tired. "Well. I don't think I'd be standing here, to be honest."
It would've been great if he could've chosen what he remembered, but he couldn't. If he flicked back without thinking too much about it, it was just so easy to stumble across vivid memories of blood and fire and hell, pure hell. Some wars were not talked about, were not paid attention to - because they were wars of smaller people, and not a worry for the government.
Gale was not a soldier, but he had experienced the battlefield.
|
|