[There's another half a second of wild explosion in Locus's mind as a fair amount of things occur to him all at once.
First and foremost: Washington just confirmed his speculation. The wording said it all. Combined with what he was getting in the conversation that sparked this communication with Washington, he had little doubt left.
Second: Washington was still trying to hide it despite his shitty attempt. Or otherwise avoiding the absolute truth for whatever reason Locus couldn't fathom, but also didn't really care. He was just getting more pissed off with the run-around the longer this dragged on.
Third: Locus realized he wanted to kill something, and along those lines a fourth thing happened-
-which Wash would be able to hear in the background of Locus's reply as the large man broke the nearest breakable item to him. (It was the table. He broke the table with his fist.) His voice rumbled with barely suppressed rage.]
Enough!
No more games, Holloway. No more lies. No more omissions. Stop trying to be clever and cryptic and fucking say it!
There's no point in hiding anymore. No more giving me the run-around, I've had enough!
[ so much for that levelled calm: not that wash can really judge him for it, he has problems with his own temper. he just listens to the shattering wood, setting the device down on the coffee table in front of him as locus' raised voice rings out.
he needs a smoke, or something. probably felix's influence. he listens quietly to the rest of locus' yelling as he gets up, dipping briefly into another room -- he knows precisely where felix stashes his cigarettes, and he's not going to hesitate about stealing one, lighting up as he circles back around to settle back into the couch. ]
No games, Locus. I just thought you already had it figured out.
[ but clearly, locus needs and wants to hear it, to know it, had come straight to him rather to hear his voice make it real, and maybe he'll round on felix later. a slight sigh, a roll of his shoulder in a puff of smoke. he's already cracked open a window, but he never liked it whenever felix insisted on smoking while lounging around instead of just going to the balcony. the smell hangs around the furniture. ah well. ]
I've been Felix's contracted Dominant for over a year.
[The heavy silence was almost worse than the splintering of wood, the burning rage in ferocious voice. It ticked on like a silent time-bomb waiting to go off. The truth had been said out loud, finally, and it needed a moment to settle in Locus's brain.
Even if Washington was correct that Locus had already figured it out. Even if Locus already had that sinking feeling that he knew it was true.
A fucking year. They had been contacted for over a fucking year already.
Words came back to mind, and though most of them had never been said out loud, Locus could hear them perfectly in his head as though Felix were in the same room with him.
"I've been here a whole year and some change."
"I'm handling the freelancer. I've been handling the freelancer."
"If he tries to tell you some shit, you tell him to fuck off. Let me handle him."
"FYI Wash [...] Our contract's up next month."
"Fun funds here and there as thanks for occasionally sucking your dick and not murdering you in your sleep."
"We doing another round or we calling it good?"
It didn't matter. It was the way this city worked. It was required for everyone. It meant nothing.
Felix had wanted Locus to get a contract before his time limit was up. Locus knew the city had rules about contracts and disobeying them held consequences most would rather not live through. Several people had said as much to Locus. He knew it was true.
And yet why Washington? Why would Felix agree to that contract? It wasn't as if the submissive didn't have any say in who they contracted with, they simply had to have one. They could chose, they had to agree to the terms. Why had Felix chosen Washington?
Logically, there were several semi-rational reasons to chose from. Keeping a close watch on the Freelancer. Using him for access to weapons and funds. Or perhaps less positive reasons such as being coerced by the city and-- and what, Ortez? Choosing to agree to the contract over and over again as it ran out and Felix needed another? Why not change dominants? Why stick with Washington for over a year?
What the fuck was going on?
Why was Felix doing this to him? Why wouldn't he trust him anymore? Why bother to protect him, why bother to provide for him if he hated him so much? What had happened? On Chorus, in this city. How did it end up this way?
The silence was suddenly broken with a tumultuous roar and a thunderous crash as Locus lashed out at the nearest object again. The already broken table clattered across the floor as the mercenary threw it aside in a fit of rage. Then the silence filled up the empty space again.]
I'm sick of the both of you. How hard is it communicate pertinent information to vital personnel involved. I have a right to know. I-
[ . . . ]
I want to know what happened on Chorus.
I want to know what's happened here, in this ridiculous city.
[ 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
First and foremost: Washington just confirmed his speculation. The wording said it all. Combined with what he was getting in the conversation that sparked this communication with Washington, he had little doubt left.
Second: Washington was still trying to hide it despite his shitty attempt. Or otherwise avoiding the absolute truth for whatever reason Locus couldn't fathom, but also didn't really care. He was just getting more pissed off with the run-around the longer this dragged on.
Third: Locus realized he wanted to kill something, and along those lines a fourth thing happened-
-which Wash would be able to hear in the background of Locus's reply as the large man broke the nearest breakable item to him. (It was the table. He broke the table with his fist.) His voice rumbled with barely suppressed rage.]
Enough!
No more games, Holloway. No more lies. No more omissions. Stop trying to be clever and cryptic and fucking say it!
There's no point in hiding anymore. No more giving me the run-around, I've had enough!
no subject
he needs a smoke, or something. probably felix's influence. he listens quietly to the rest of locus' yelling as he gets up, dipping briefly into another room -- he knows precisely where felix stashes his cigarettes, and he's not going to hesitate about stealing one, lighting up as he circles back around to settle back into the couch. ]
No games, Locus. I just thought you already had it figured out.
[ but clearly, locus needs and wants to hear it, to know it, had come straight to him rather to hear his voice make it real, and maybe he'll round on felix later. a slight sigh, a roll of his shoulder in a puff of smoke. he's already cracked open a window, but he never liked it whenever felix insisted on smoking while lounging around instead of just going to the balcony. the smell hangs around the furniture. ah well. ]
I've been Felix's contracted Dominant for over a year.
no subject
Even if Washington was correct that Locus had already figured it out. Even if Locus already had that sinking feeling that he knew it was true.
A fucking year. They had been contacted for over a fucking year already.
Words came back to mind, and though most of them had never been said out loud, Locus could hear them perfectly in his head as though Felix were in the same room with him.
"FYI Wash [...] Our contract's up next month."
It didn't matter. It was the way this city worked. It was required for everyone. It meant nothing.
Felix had wanted Locus to get a contract before his time limit was up. Locus knew the city had rules about contracts and disobeying them held consequences most would rather not live through. Several people had said as much to Locus. He knew it was true.
And yet why Washington? Why would Felix agree to that contract? It wasn't as if the submissive didn't have any say in who they contracted with, they simply had to have one. They could chose, they had to agree to the terms. Why had Felix chosen Washington?
Logically, there were several semi-rational reasons to chose from. Keeping a close watch on the Freelancer. Using him for access to weapons and funds. Or perhaps less positive reasons such as being coerced by the city and-- and what, Ortez? Choosing to agree to the contract over and over again as it ran out and Felix needed another? Why not change dominants? Why stick with Washington for over a year?
What the fuck was going on?
Why was Felix doing this to him? Why wouldn't he trust him anymore? Why bother to protect him, why bother to provide for him if he hated him so much? What had happened? On Chorus, in this city. How did it end up this way?
The silence was suddenly broken with a tumultuous roar and a thunderous crash as Locus lashed out at the nearest object again. The already broken table clattered across the floor as the mercenary threw it aside in a fit of rage. Then the silence filled up the empty space again.]
I'm sick of the both of you. How hard is it communicate pertinent information to vital personnel involved. I have a right to know. I-
[ . . . ]
I want to know what happened on Chorus.
I want to know what's happened here, in this ridiculous city.
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?