[This wasn't either of their finest moments, they could both admit that. Armando was a fool for releasing Ray without some sort of precaution in place, and Ray... well, he was stupid for even attempting this in the first place. Even if he got himself free, then what? He'd already mentally been through this a hundred times; he didn't know where he was, he was naked, there were probably cameras and goons everywhere and he still didn't have any solid method for getting Fraser back beyond threatening the Feds until something happened. But he couldn't help it. He couldn't resist the opportunity to get out of those bounds that had kept him down for so long, and certainly couldn't resist socking that mafioso in the head.
In one move, or technically two punches, he'd managed to possibly screw it all up, but that still didn't stop him from fumbling with the other tie as Armando staggers back. All through the fiddling of the knot his gaze flicks back and forth, switching between the task and whatever the mobster is up to. He can do this, he's got this, he can still take this guy down, escape the mansion and get back to Fraser. It'd be easy. He was better than this guy and-- shit, he was going to die. Or Fraser was. The coke was wearing far too thin to install the sort of confidence he had at the start of all this, leaving him panting and exhausted as covered in blood, even as he manages to release his right hand and drag himself to his feet.
His legs feel weak, almost collapsing under him for a second as he stumbles forward a step, but then he sees Armando grappling for his jacket and the last thing Ray needs is that dick raising an alarm or getting his hands on a weapon. And so he sucks it up, forgets the pain and exhaustion to try and charge forward, hoping to clear the space and get on top of the other. Except he only manages a few charging steps forward before Bam, his ear drums feel like they've exploded and there's a shattering behind him.
Ray freezes, stopping dead the moment his mind processes that it's a bullet that was just fired, and for a panicked second he has to look down at himself as though he's not quite sure if he's been shot. There's blood everywhere, it's virtually impossible to tell, but no, there's no pain beyond the numbness of those old cuts, and at this range he would have felt the full force of that gun, even with it's size.
Armando knows how to handle a firearm, he already knew that. That shot wasn't a miss, but merely a warning, and it worked. Ray knew better than to argue with a coke fuelled mobster with a gun. One twitch and he could get it.]
Easy, scumbag. You wanted Chicago hard guy. I was just givin' it to you.
[Ray sounds raw, his throat dry from too much growling and coke. His hands lift just above his hips, tiredly weighted in the air, which is a ridiculous gesture in hindsight because he's naked. There's no hidden gun he'll be reaching for in a hurry, but it's an ingrained movement, one that somehow makes him feel safer, like he can tame a beast just by a few carefully placed hand movements.]
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In one move, or technically two punches, he'd managed to possibly screw it all up, but that still didn't stop him from fumbling with the other tie as Armando staggers back. All through the fiddling of the knot his gaze flicks back and forth, switching between the task and whatever the mobster is up to. He can do this, he's got this, he can still take this guy down, escape the mansion and get back to Fraser. It'd be easy. He was better than this guy and-- shit, he was going to die. Or Fraser was. The coke was wearing far too thin to install the sort of confidence he had at the start of all this, leaving him panting and exhausted as covered in blood, even as he manages to release his right hand and drag himself to his feet.
His legs feel weak, almost collapsing under him for a second as he stumbles forward a step, but then he sees Armando grappling for his jacket and the last thing Ray needs is that dick raising an alarm or getting his hands on a weapon. And so he sucks it up, forgets the pain and exhaustion to try and charge forward, hoping to clear the space and get on top of the other. Except he only manages a few charging steps forward before Bam, his ear drums feel like they've exploded and there's a shattering behind him.
Ray freezes, stopping dead the moment his mind processes that it's a bullet that was just fired, and for a panicked second he has to look down at himself as though he's not quite sure if he's been shot. There's blood everywhere, it's virtually impossible to tell, but no, there's no pain beyond the numbness of those old cuts, and at this range he would have felt the full force of that gun, even with it's size.
Armando knows how to handle a firearm, he already knew that. That shot wasn't a miss, but merely a warning, and it worked. Ray knew better than to argue with a coke fuelled mobster with a gun. One twitch and he could get it.]
Easy, scumbag. You wanted Chicago hard guy. I was just givin' it to you.
[Ray sounds raw, his throat dry from too much growling and coke. His hands lift just above his hips, tiredly weighted in the air, which is a ridiculous gesture in hindsight because he's naked. There's no hidden gun he'll be reaching for in a hurry, but it's an ingrained movement, one that somehow makes him feel safer, like he can tame a beast just by a few carefully placed hand movements.]