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[Well, he wishes he could say anything about this night was new.

He does stop, but doesn't freeze when the gun presses against his head, when he hears the familiar click of the safety off. There's something almost feline-like in the way his focus sharpens in his eyes, in the way he takes a sharp intake of breath and his shoulders go perfectly still. First thought is that an enemy of his has finally arrived to this place, where so many worlds meet and so do old acquaintances. Then comes the voice - Caleb's voice, but it's not him - and the name that he heard before.

Petre is smiling. This is the opposite of fear. He wishes he'd pull that trigger just to see what would happen next.]

What did I say about you telling me what to do?

I'm not fucking around, Petre.

[There's nothing uncontrolled about his voice, no unbridled rage; it's all cold steel like the barrel of the gun. Deadly, but no-nonsense about it.]

I've cleaned up way worse messes than you. You just finally gave me a reason.

[He turns around. Not a single drop of dread on his face. He wasn't kidding when he said he eats things like Cole for breakfast. There's still some synthetic equivalent of him waiting inside his fridge.

Cole is cold, Petre is hot with pure defiance, pure amusement.]

I barely touched the guy. I got what I needed to know and let him go.

[Which is in no way him scrambling for words to get that gun out of his face. It might as well not even be there.]

But go ahead. Make a mess. It's been a while.

And I thought you were out for survival at any cost.

[He was, and is. That's the thing. This behaviour makes no sense, even as bravado, which Cole knows all too well.

Didn't he tell Connor, they don't even know what trouble means here?]

What do you mean, it's been awhile.

He did the same thing to me too, you know that?

[Ignoring the question.]

Pointed the gun right at my head. Only difference is we didn't even know each other and I was trespassing. What's your excuse? I doubt you do this to all your friends.

Shut up about him. We've got nothing to do with him.

[He's getting agitated now, which is only breaking down any threat he might have carried initially. This situation is so infuriating.

At the last comment, he curls his lip.]

You're not my friend.

And yet, all these similarities! You can't blame me for being nostalgic.

[Agitation is good. Agitation provides distraction. Truth be told, Petre could go for that gun and overpower the man. He did not get the chance to see what he could really do before the official stepped in that first time.]

That's hurtful.

That's bullshit. You're after one thing, and it's not friendship.

[And Cole's indulged that desire when it suited him, hasn't he? He never said he was perfect, but he was trying to improve, once.]

I'm after many things. Why can't friendship be one of them? I'm not completely heartless, you know.

[and look at him, proving Petre was right to want him around.]

[He's not heartless, but he literally has no soul. Which is meaningful somehow, even if the idea of the soul is a bit too conceptual for Cole to make any solid judgments on that fact.]

You didn't have to attack him.

I didn't. I only grabbed the guy to get his attention.

He attacked me first.

[as all these men with your face seem to do.]

Yeah, I would too. Getting grabbed by some stranger out of nowhere means kill or be killed for some of us. You better learn that pretty quick.

[The rigidity is slowly going out of his arms, elbows bending ever so slightly. He's losing steam fast here, as much as he still has an answer for everything.]

Oh, you mean like you did to me just a second ago?

[oohohhhhhhh]

This is an attack.

[He pushes the gun forward a little, nudging it against Petre's forehead.]

Right. Pointing a gun at the back of my head.

[Not sneaky at all.]

So what're you doing with it.

You really don't think I'll do it.

[That's the only reason he can think of for Petre being so calm.]

I've killed for less. Way less. You shouldn't test me.

I don't know about that. I'm just hoping you will.

[testing you all the way.]

Why?

[The two sides of him are warring fiercely inside him, that old one that would wipe him out just for questioning and the new one that wants to erase the old. He had a reason when he came here, but now he's just hopelessly caught between pride and morality.]

To see what you're made of.

[All that talk about what he had to do to survive. Let's see if the instinct is still there.]

Why do you care so much about what I did.

[That's it. The safety clicks back into place, and he lowers his arm.]

I'm not shooting you to impress you.

[The tension's broken, or at least thinner in the air. Of all the stupid things. And he nearly did it, too.]

Fine, suit yourself.

[reverse psychology works. Damn.]

What are you going to do, then? Or was Birkhoff just an excuse.

Birkhoff's a point you're not getting. I put up with you, but not that kinda shit. You're gonna push it too far.

[He's even tucked his gun into the back of his pants again, though. The threat is over for now.]

Did I do anything to him? Leave a mark? No. So we're good. You can stare at your face and have it stare back and look just as pretty. Everybody's happy.

[he spreads his arms, hands open.]

As long as you don't forget. We've got nothing to do with your past.

[He looks ready to walk away now, apparently satisfied at least. If not happy, not exactly.]

Right.

[he'll be the judge of what you've got to do with him.]

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splintercells - 2015-05-24 22:42 (UTC) - Expand