[ wash continues to listen in silence, taking a slow drag from the stolen cigarette and watching smoke curl lazily through the air at the clatter of something or the other being thrown against a wall. temper, temper, though he supposes locus has every right to be angry. its' just not anything personal, not to wash.
not in that way, at least.
he checks his device briefly for messages from south -- no word from felix. of course. maybe whatever happened here felix is unware of, but wash wouldn't be surprised if felix was just being careless about when to tell him about it. sinking back into the couch slightly, quiet, thinking. ]
You accused me of giving you the run-around, but you've not really asked me much, you realize that?
[ locus has barely asked him any direct questions except for weird ones about whether or not he gave people meaning and would do anything to protect them or something. that suited wash just fine, he assumes felix would've warned locus away from him. he taps the ash from his cigarette. ]
He didn't tell me you were here, you know. I had to find out myself.
[ is felix really worth this shit? really. irritating bitch. ]
Its your business with him, either way. Like I said, it wasn't my responsibility, so if he wants to keep things from you, that's his choice.
[When he returns it's probably been an hour or more of "radio" silence from Locus as he fights with Felix...and not just loses, but shuts down almost entirely. Most of the wait time is just Locus forgetting he even had a conversation with Washington going and ignoring everything around him. So when he returns, his voice is much more subdued. Not calm, that would be positive, but subdued, a slight echo to the natural reverb of his deep voice that felt tired and somehow lost like a ghost floundering in the dark. His sentences, his paraphrased words really, dart around confusingly as if he barely follows the thread of their prior conversation but was making an attempt to respond appropriately.]
His choice... understood. [...] I know. He doesn't tell anyone anything.
[ its a long hour. wash waits patiently and considers the possibility that the conversation is, in fact, over, and that suits him perfectly fine, though it leaves some things more up in the air than he'd like. he keeps south updated, lights one more cigarette as time passes, speculates with her a little what might be happening, though wash is pretty sure he knows. locus yelling at him is -- pointless, and misdirected. wash has no obligation to tell him any truths, doesn't owe him anything. he should really be talking to a certain someone else.
a conversation that, knowing felix, was either going too smoothly ( smoothed over with a purr and a silver tongue ) or like an absolute disaster ( a fuse burning down inevitably to a messy, messy end ).
when locus' voice does come back on the line, its -- interesting. the words themselves tell him less than his tone does. quiet, but not at all seady, soft in the way of someone dazed and staggering. lost and unmoored. he can't tell what happened, but he can tell that he's hearing someone drifting. losing an anchor, or already lost it. ]
You really don't need to play messenger for him, Locus.
[ but he's sure that serves a purpose, filling a silence. ]
No one gives me orders. [ so whatever direct order locus was talking about, wash was never going to take in mind. a pause. ] Are you sure you don't have any questions?
[There was another silence on Locus's end, but this time it wasn't complete--instead it was obvious Locus was still there, as if he'd hit reply and then stopped to contemplate his response.]
His text was meant for you.
[He almost said "understood" in response to not giving orders, but he was aware the phrasing was his fault. Habit to speak in military jargon. Easier for him as the (im)perfect soldier. An embarrassment. Pathetic.
Another silence. The real reason he lingered next on the docket of conversation. Of course he had questions. But...]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
not in that way, at least.
he checks his device briefly for messages from south -- no word from felix. of course. maybe whatever happened here felix is unware of, but wash wouldn't be surprised if felix was just being careless about when to tell him about it. sinking back into the couch slightly, quiet, thinking. ]
You accused me of giving you the run-around, but you've not really asked me much, you realize that?
[ locus has barely asked him any direct questions except for weird ones about whether or not he gave people meaning and would do anything to protect them or something. that suited wash just fine, he assumes felix would've warned locus away from him. he taps the ash from his cigarette. ]
He didn't tell me you were here, you know. I had to find out myself.
[ is felix really worth this shit? really. irritating bitch. ]
Its your business with him, either way. Like I said, it wasn't my responsibility, so if he wants to keep things from you, that's his choice.
1/?
2/3
His choice... understood. [...] I know. He doesn't tell anyone anything.
I gave you a direct order. You still...
I have no more questions.
3/3
He'll want to renew the contract when it comes up next month. Assets... funding... weapons... the usual.
no subject
a conversation that, knowing felix, was either going too smoothly ( smoothed over with a purr and a silver tongue ) or like an absolute disaster ( a fuse burning down inevitably to a messy, messy end ).
when locus' voice does come back on the line, its -- interesting. the words themselves tell him less than his tone does. quiet, but not at all seady, soft in the way of someone dazed and staggering. lost and unmoored. he can't tell what happened, but he can tell that he's hearing someone drifting. losing an anchor, or already lost it. ]
You really don't need to play messenger for him, Locus.
[ but he's sure that serves a purpose, filling a silence. ]
No one gives me orders. [ so whatever direct order locus was talking about, wash was never going to take in mind. a pause. ] Are you sure you don't have any questions?
no subject
His text was meant for you.
[He almost said "understood" in response to not giving orders, but he was aware the phrasing was his fault. Habit to speak in military jargon. Easier for him as the (im)perfect soldier. An embarrassment. Pathetic.
Another silence. The real reason he lingered next on the docket of conversation. Of course he had questions. But...]
Would you really answer them?