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THIRTY ✖ SPAM
[Spam for Erik]
[Charles had been on his way back from the soup kitchen to his apartment late. Really late. He'd almost taken Mrs. Turner up on her offer of just spending the night in the spare bedroom at her apartment, but ultimately decided he'd rather just be in his own room tonight.
So he'd headed off, sticking mostly to the well lit streets and trying to keep an eye out for anyone suspicious, and it seemed like he was more or less home free when he heard what was unmistakeably a fight, probably in one of the alleys near by, maybe twenty or so paces ahead.
He knew he should probably stay back, that this was a really good way to get himself killed and it wasn't like he had a weapon on him or anything, but he couldn't. He'd never been great at looking the other way when someone was in trouble, so instead of just walking past, taking another route, putting his head down and pretending he hadn't heard anything, he quickly ran towards the sound of the fight and stopped for a moment in the mouth of the alley, really not sure what he was planning on doing, exactly, but needing to do something, and he quickly ran in.]
Hey! [It was dark, and he could make out maybe two or three figures, probably two, and another pushed up against the wall and half slumped on the ground.] What the hell are you doing?
[Charles had been on his way back from the soup kitchen to his apartment late. Really late. He'd almost taken Mrs. Turner up on her offer of just spending the night in the spare bedroom at her apartment, but ultimately decided he'd rather just be in his own room tonight.
So he'd headed off, sticking mostly to the well lit streets and trying to keep an eye out for anyone suspicious, and it seemed like he was more or less home free when he heard what was unmistakeably a fight, probably in one of the alleys near by, maybe twenty or so paces ahead.
He knew he should probably stay back, that this was a really good way to get himself killed and it wasn't like he had a weapon on him or anything, but he couldn't. He'd never been great at looking the other way when someone was in trouble, so instead of just walking past, taking another route, putting his head down and pretending he hadn't heard anything, he quickly ran towards the sound of the fight and stopped for a moment in the mouth of the alley, really not sure what he was planning on doing, exactly, but needing to do something, and he quickly ran in.]
Hey! [It was dark, and he could make out maybe two or three figures, probably two, and another pushed up against the wall and half slumped on the ground.] What the hell are you doing?
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Obviously you've got a different definition of "a few scratches" than I do. [He carefully reached out to put a hand on his shoulder, not sure if he'd shrug him off or not, but stubbornly refusing to just turn and walk away.] Come on, you need to get cleaned up before someone else decides they want to try finishing you off.
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Y'ought not to be here, y'know. Streets are dangerous this late. Can't you stay in your god forsaken soup kitchen? [Where it's safe.]
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Erik, seriously, let me help you. I think it's pretty obvious I'm not the only one who could get into trouble out here.
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I've seen enough friends get themselves killed to last me a lifetime, thanks, and I'm not interested in watching you add your name to the list.
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Don't tell me you're going to start following me around, make sure I keep my nose clean.
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I'm not your mother, Erik, but would it kill you to find something else to do? There are plenty of honest jobs you could do, no one's making you stay here. You're too good for this life.
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You don't know shite about me, Charles, don't go judgin' me too fast.
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I'm not the naive, sheltered idiot you seem to think I am. I used to be, but then I thought it would be a lot of fun to go play soldier in a trench for a year and a half, and obviously I realized my mistake all of three seconds after I got there. Watching people's heads get blown off changes you, a bit. [Which was more than he'd told anyone here, about what had happened before he came to town, and he wasn't sure how he felt about it, all things considered.]
So I've seen what horrible things men are capable of doing to each other, but that doesn't make me an idiot for saying you still have a chance to get out and do something different. [A painful chuckle forced its way out of his mouth.] And you may have noticed I don't exactly have a lot of friends, so you'll forgive me for not wanting to hear you've been beaten to death in an alley.
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There's no gettin' out, Charles. This is it for me. [He wondered, if he looked hard enough at the other man, if Charles would catch his eye and understand. Know to drop it know, to get that there was more to him already, damn it.]
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So he just stood his ground and pushed again, wanting to know what was so important that he couldn't walk away from this, what they held over him that kept him here.]
Why? What's so important that this is "it" for you?
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Get outta me way, Charlie.
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No. You can trust me, Erik, I'm not going to tell anyone. [Not that he really had many people to tell stuff like this too, but.] I just want to help.
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I don't need your God damned help getting outta here. [But his voice dropped, barely above a whisper.]
I got things to do here, still. [Please just let him assume he had a grudge to settle, and drop it. Because he was dangerously close to telling this nosy bastard the truth.]
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He swallowed and didn't look away from him, very aware of the fact that his back was literally to the wall, here, and if he was wrong about all this, he was likely going to be found bloody and concussed tomorrow morning by whatever person happened to stumble across his body first.]
What?
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(But if you couldn't trust your friend, could you trust anyone?)
His voice dropped, he was barely whispering, half hoping Charlie wouldn't hear him. He was stupid, stupid, should just leave the bastard with a bloody nose and move on with his life of secrecy, but--]
You really think the feds haven't got their ins on the gangs?
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Erik, you can't kill a federal agent! They'll kill you for something like that! [And, perhaps more confusingly and/or importantly, because for all he knew now he was an accomplice to this:] Why are you telling me this? I thought you just owed someone a debt or something.
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I'm the fucking fed, you dumb bastard!
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Well, that made a lot more sense. And now he felt like a total idiot for not realizing it earlier, although, really, that probably meant that Erik was just doing a good job, because if he'd been able to tell, he'd probably have gotten himself murdered months if not years ago.
So he just stared for several seconds, really not sure of what to say, and really not liking the way your face is bruising from this angle, buddy, you seriously need some ice or something.]
Oh.
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You gonna lay off, now?
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Come on, my apartment's not far. I've got some ice and running water, at least.
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This is strange, now. Having a friend.
Looking down the alley in the opposite direction, he thinks about refusing, but rubs his jaw and turns to spit the taste of blood from his mouth.]
All right, [he said slowly.] Lead the way. And not a word a bout this, Charlie.
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[Which probably at least partially explained why he'd latched on to someone he had every right to think was a criminal instead of just going on his way after making sure he wasn't about to keel over dead the first time they'd met.
He started heading towards his apartment, turning back to make sure Erik was following.] You can trust me, Erik. I won't tell anyone.
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He reached over, clapping Charles on the shoulder, and smiling vaguely past a bloody lip.]
You're all right, you know that?
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And you're an idiot who's going to get himself killed. [Which could and had been said about both of them, but. Oh well.] What exactly was your plan, if I hadn't shown up?
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Keep gettin' up till they got bored, I suppose.