Post by Benedict Squire on May 21, 2016 14:24:45 GMT -5
(Recap: Johnny and Sierra escape from a group of hostile bikers, with the whereabouts of Drake and Sienna unknown. Benedict, who has recently fled from his father and his crew of bandits, stumbles upon them, and a hostile conversation erupts.)
Benedict heard the jingle of the bell above the door before he saw the person come out, but once he did, he immediately trained his gun on Benedict and told him to drop the weapon. The woman chorused after him, demanding the same, before ducking away behind him. Benedict stood his ground, his one hand still in the air in defense, with his gun still pointed down at the ground. He told him that it wasn't a bed and breakfast, and asked why they should trust him and let him stay. Benedict pursed his lips at that. He didn't have a good answer, not really. He had just wanted to seek refuge and sleep, and he didn't have anything to offer them other than that. He didn't see any other buildings on the high way, but if this guy was going to be so hostile, perhaps it wouldn't be a good idea for him to stay in the first place.
Assuming they let him leave. Benedict hated being under the gun, under the pointed comments of others. It reminded him of his father, but then again, he was always under the proverbial gun with Clyde. He didn't drop his gun, but he didn't lift it up, either. All Benedict wanted was a place to lay his head and sleep, because he knew that he would need the strength. Clyde and his crew were already after him, he was sure. He didn't want to hurt these people. He didn't want to kill these people. But he would if they didn't let him leave, if they kept threatening him.
"Drop my weapon?" Benedict echoed, and he stared into Johnny's eyes without fear, without cowardice. He had faced worse, protected Haruka from worse. "I have my gun to the ground, probably could barely get a shot in if you decided to pull the trigger. You know, since you're the guy waving his gun around." He twiddled the fingers on the hand raised in defense. "I made no moves on you or your girl, wasn't hostile in the slightest, and you're holding me at gunpoint and telling me to drop my piece." Perhaps it was the lack of sleep, or the heightened anxiety from his escape, or maybe even the freedom to finally say what was on his mind, but Benedict quirked a brow at him as he spoke in calm tones. "Sure, let me just throw my only line of defense in the dirt. Do you want me to hand over my ride and get down on my knees too, make it easier for you to get in a head shot while I'm at it?" He scoffed. "Drop my piece. What are you, high?"
But even still, despite his remarks and defense of himself, he still didn't raise his gun, not yet. If he was going to get killed by these people, he'd rather have it be over his mouth than his actions. Just once, it would be nice not to be the killer. Maybe it was his own experiences coloring him, the knowledge of what he could do to these people if he so chose. "Yeah, I know it isn't a bed and breakfast. I wasn't asking you to make me a bed and rub my feet. I just wanted to crash on one of those booths which, unless you are the owners of this establishment, doesn't belong to you in the first place." He eyed the both of them, their attire, the exhaustion and tension in their eyes and bodies. "And I'm willing to bet my ass that neither of you owned this place. You're squatting, just like I am. Running, just like I am. What makes you better, that you get to decide who should live and who should stay out here and die?"
The guy asked why he should trust him, and Benedict supposed that he shouldn't. Benedict probably shouldn't trust these people, either. But that's why he wasn't asking for companionship, for comfort. Just a play to lay his head, nothing more, nothing less. He had driven all night, all day, and hadn't found a nugget of safety like this for miles. He could take his chances out on the road again, but he didn't want to. He had seen bad things on the road, been bad things on the road. And right now, all he wanted was just a place to lay his god damned head. "You know, I was out here for a good second before your girl came running out. Unarmed, all in a frenzy. I could have shot her, could have killed her, but I didn't. She called for you, you came running. I could have shot you, killed you, the moment your head came out of the door, but I didn't. Even now, I could try and fight you. See who can pull the trigger first. But I won't. Because it's not worth it." He lowered the hand that he has raised in the air and rested it on his bike. "All I wanted was a place to crash. You wanna be hostile, turn me away? That's fine. I'll go elsewhere. But then why should I trust you to not shoot me in the back as I'm driving away?" He cocked his head slightly, watching him closely. "Gonna tell me you wouldn't? That you don't want trouble like that? Well then, the roles have reversed, only I'm not waving a gun in your face."
The silence that rested between the trio was tense, but momentary. The incoming roar of bikes filled the street, multiple engines revving at once. Benedict's face dropped, and he looked to the street. How had they found him already? He had gotten a head start, at least three hours if they hadn't woken up during his watch, less if they did. But either way, he hadn't stopped. They shouldn't be this close. He holstered his gun and went to switch the bike on, but as his eyes trailed back over, he notice that the pair from the diner had scattered, just like that. They were frightened too for some reason, must have been. As the bikes roared closer, Benedict cursed under his breath. He didn't have any time. With a reluctant sigh, he threw his leg over the bike and climbed off, rolling it to the side of the building and hiding it as best as he could. He rushed up the steps and into the diner, the little bell ringing overheard. He turned the lock on the door, stepping away from it and back into the diner. The air was just as tense in here, heavier, if possible. He took a deep breath and tried not to be afraid, even the slightest hint of his father making his hair stand on edge. He moved behind a booth and crouched down, pulling the backpack off of his back and making quick work of preparing his weapons. Gun in hand, he pressed himself against the booth as he heard the engines approach, and then slow.
"You can fight me later," Benedict said to the pair in the diner, wherever they had relocated. He couldn't see easily over the back of the booth. "Right now, we have bigger things to worry about."
Benedict heard the jingle of the bell above the door before he saw the person come out, but once he did, he immediately trained his gun on Benedict and told him to drop the weapon. The woman chorused after him, demanding the same, before ducking away behind him. Benedict stood his ground, his one hand still in the air in defense, with his gun still pointed down at the ground. He told him that it wasn't a bed and breakfast, and asked why they should trust him and let him stay. Benedict pursed his lips at that. He didn't have a good answer, not really. He had just wanted to seek refuge and sleep, and he didn't have anything to offer them other than that. He didn't see any other buildings on the high way, but if this guy was going to be so hostile, perhaps it wouldn't be a good idea for him to stay in the first place.
Assuming they let him leave. Benedict hated being under the gun, under the pointed comments of others. It reminded him of his father, but then again, he was always under the proverbial gun with Clyde. He didn't drop his gun, but he didn't lift it up, either. All Benedict wanted was a place to lay his head and sleep, because he knew that he would need the strength. Clyde and his crew were already after him, he was sure. He didn't want to hurt these people. He didn't want to kill these people. But he would if they didn't let him leave, if they kept threatening him.
"Drop my weapon?" Benedict echoed, and he stared into Johnny's eyes without fear, without cowardice. He had faced worse, protected Haruka from worse. "I have my gun to the ground, probably could barely get a shot in if you decided to pull the trigger. You know, since you're the guy waving his gun around." He twiddled the fingers on the hand raised in defense. "I made no moves on you or your girl, wasn't hostile in the slightest, and you're holding me at gunpoint and telling me to drop my piece." Perhaps it was the lack of sleep, or the heightened anxiety from his escape, or maybe even the freedom to finally say what was on his mind, but Benedict quirked a brow at him as he spoke in calm tones. "Sure, let me just throw my only line of defense in the dirt. Do you want me to hand over my ride and get down on my knees too, make it easier for you to get in a head shot while I'm at it?" He scoffed. "Drop my piece. What are you, high?"
But even still, despite his remarks and defense of himself, he still didn't raise his gun, not yet. If he was going to get killed by these people, he'd rather have it be over his mouth than his actions. Just once, it would be nice not to be the killer. Maybe it was his own experiences coloring him, the knowledge of what he could do to these people if he so chose. "Yeah, I know it isn't a bed and breakfast. I wasn't asking you to make me a bed and rub my feet. I just wanted to crash on one of those booths which, unless you are the owners of this establishment, doesn't belong to you in the first place." He eyed the both of them, their attire, the exhaustion and tension in their eyes and bodies. "And I'm willing to bet my ass that neither of you owned this place. You're squatting, just like I am. Running, just like I am. What makes you better, that you get to decide who should live and who should stay out here and die?"
The guy asked why he should trust him, and Benedict supposed that he shouldn't. Benedict probably shouldn't trust these people, either. But that's why he wasn't asking for companionship, for comfort. Just a play to lay his head, nothing more, nothing less. He had driven all night, all day, and hadn't found a nugget of safety like this for miles. He could take his chances out on the road again, but he didn't want to. He had seen bad things on the road, been bad things on the road. And right now, all he wanted was just a place to lay his god damned head. "You know, I was out here for a good second before your girl came running out. Unarmed, all in a frenzy. I could have shot her, could have killed her, but I didn't. She called for you, you came running. I could have shot you, killed you, the moment your head came out of the door, but I didn't. Even now, I could try and fight you. See who can pull the trigger first. But I won't. Because it's not worth it." He lowered the hand that he has raised in the air and rested it on his bike. "All I wanted was a place to crash. You wanna be hostile, turn me away? That's fine. I'll go elsewhere. But then why should I trust you to not shoot me in the back as I'm driving away?" He cocked his head slightly, watching him closely. "Gonna tell me you wouldn't? That you don't want trouble like that? Well then, the roles have reversed, only I'm not waving a gun in your face."
The silence that rested between the trio was tense, but momentary. The incoming roar of bikes filled the street, multiple engines revving at once. Benedict's face dropped, and he looked to the street. How had they found him already? He had gotten a head start, at least three hours if they hadn't woken up during his watch, less if they did. But either way, he hadn't stopped. They shouldn't be this close. He holstered his gun and went to switch the bike on, but as his eyes trailed back over, he notice that the pair from the diner had scattered, just like that. They were frightened too for some reason, must have been. As the bikes roared closer, Benedict cursed under his breath. He didn't have any time. With a reluctant sigh, he threw his leg over the bike and climbed off, rolling it to the side of the building and hiding it as best as he could. He rushed up the steps and into the diner, the little bell ringing overheard. He turned the lock on the door, stepping away from it and back into the diner. The air was just as tense in here, heavier, if possible. He took a deep breath and tried not to be afraid, even the slightest hint of his father making his hair stand on edge. He moved behind a booth and crouched down, pulling the backpack off of his back and making quick work of preparing his weapons. Gun in hand, he pressed himself against the booth as he heard the engines approach, and then slow.
"You can fight me later," Benedict said to the pair in the diner, wherever they had relocated. He couldn't see easily over the back of the booth. "Right now, we have bigger things to worry about."