"We are talking about anger here, Fraser, a human emotion. Are you human? Because if you are, human beings feel things. Okay? They feel anger. They feel love. They feel lust and fear. And sometimes, I know you don't want to hear this, sometimes they even cry."
[Once on that flat surface, Ray didn't move. Didn't even care what Armando was up to behind him or whether he was tempted to approach yet again. If that cage door opened, he may well try his luck one last time, but for now, curled up in a ball on the floor seemed like the most comfortable and irresistible spot in the world. His ears are still perked, listening for movement, but there's no reaction as Armando, and only the vaguest lifts of his head as he hears footsteps retreat upstairs, only to check he was left alone, head dropping heavily back down the moment he's assured he's alone. There could be cameras, he doesn't discount that, but it doesn't really matter when he's not going to fucking move no matter what.
Briefly he considers checking over his wounds, but the lighting wasn't good enough for it and there was no point agitating wounds that were already sealing themselves up quite effectively. Moving was just going to aggravate them. Might as well just lay still.
There's nothing to register how long he's been there, or if he even fell asleep, but after Armando leaves, the next thing he recalls is him arriving again amidst a distant murmur of voices. Ray doesn't move at first, teeth gritted as he half expects something to happen, skin cringing just slightly as he hears the rustle of fabric pushed through the bars but staying unmoving until that brush of a touch through his hair.
He wishes he'd been ready for it, really, just to be able to sink his teeth into a hand again, but instead he's left slowly uncurling and pushing himself to his feet just in time to witness the cage opening. Freedom. A chance to escape. But what the fuck was the point in 'escape' now when he was being released anyway? The worst of it had already come, and if they did intend to kill him on the drive back... well he could sort that out when it came, but it seemed counter productive considering Armando's need to get rid of the Mountie.
After staggering on his feet for a second and trying to readjust his bearings to being vertical again, Ray slowly reaches for the wash cloth and then his clothing, dabbing himself slightly cleaner and then dressing himself with all the delicacy of someone who's got plenty of injuries to show for themselves. He avoids bending down when he can and refuses to face the other as he moves to hide any obvious instinctual flinches or winces. He's fine. He's good. He'd heal, but that mobster had a point. No point trying to act the hard guy in front of those men if the entire point was to portray three hours of agony.
Slowly he steps out of the cage, grunting as he moves his arm just a little too quickly to catch the thrown item, and then pausing to look down at it and register just what the point of it is.]
You're a sick fuck.
[But whatever, he's moving for the stairs, heading up them with some obvious stiffness that only increases as he approaches the top, just to give the goons a show. There's already blood seeping through his relatively thin shirt, but that couldn't be helped, it'd help add to the sight of him being bruised and battered. By the time he's out of that basement, he's staggering to the nearest wall while flinging that sausage at what looked to be the smallest member. Armando better fucking appreciate the play along, Ray's only doing it for the sake of easy cooperation to get the fuck out of this place.]
[ They emerged back into the bright Vegas afternoon, so little changed from where they'd gone below ground into the depths of sweaty hell. Back in the cool embrace of the Adobe built house with its naturally cooling walls and the blessed reprieve that was central air, Ray let himself exhale some of the tension he'd been feeling. The ordeal really was over. This guy would be taken safely away, his reputation would benefit from the experience, and more importantly he'd sleep well tonight knowing that in the morning Fraser would be leaving Vegas forever.
Ray played along, a real demonstration of cooperation considering where they'd started, and he'd use it as reference later on. Cowed him into submission, terrified of him, and who could really blame the guy? He'd gone in kicking and spitting and screaming, and now here he was following orders like all the other good little Vegas piggies.
The started goon who'd caught the sausage now stared at it, then back at Armando, and Vecchio poured off another stream of clipped Italian and laughed, but the poor guy didn't understand. At last, completing the joke, the older guy - Si - provided a translation in English, and the young man flipped the sausage into the air and jumped six feet away from it. There were laughs all around then, except for from Armando who now looked deadly still and serious. ]
Hey, pick that up. There's little kids starving to death and you're wasting food? For shame. Besides, the States Attorney is coming for dinner and you know how he likes his pork sausage. Kitchen. [ He gestured. ] Then have the driver get the car running.
He's a hothead. [ He went on, when the younger man had left with the sausage in hand. ] I want you with him. Cop's no good to me dead now, I put too much work into him. So you make sure he gets put out on the patrol route. Leave him water and give him his shit back, and make sure that little cocksucker doesn't think he's doing me any smart favors. I need this guy.
[ Si nodded, then stepped out after the other guy, leaving Armando with two nameless thugs he could care less about. He turned back to Ray, stepping back over toward him and clasping his head in both hands, leaning in to press a kiss to his forehead. It was more menacing than remotely sexual. Like it said "I could kill you right now but I choose not to."
He looked him square in the eye, still holding Ray's head. ]
If all goes well, Detective, we'll never see each other again. If it doesn't--well, you'll visit that room once more, and the last thing you'll see is the vultures picking out your friend's eyes right before they peck out your own. You take care now, Ray.
And yet dealing with humiliation was almost as difficult as anything that had come before. Ray hated it. He hated being seen as incapable. Hated having those scumbags laughing and joking about it all.
It was for the best that he was exhausted and stuck on a downer. He could fight this but it felt like far too much effort and something he was barely capable of right now. It'd be a waste anyway. Trying to lash out at this lot now would make the last few hours completely useless. He'd cooperated because he knew it was one of the only ways to get Fraser back to Chicago, and he'd continue to cooperate until that happened.
The vague cooperation didn't stop his lips curling into a tired snarl as Armando got near, teeth clenched at that press of lips, amazed at his own self-restraint. The fact he resists hitting that guy is a miracle, but it's all for Fraser.]
Be seein' you, scumbag.
[He mutters back, barely audible but showing enough physical compliance that he manages to make it look more like a vague agreement than any threat to the audience. Let those idiots think what they will, Armando knows that Ray would rip his head off right now if it weren't for that fucking Mountie.
And it's that fucking Mountie that has Kowalski willingly led away by Si, hunched and suitably injured for the sake of the viewers, but still ready to spring into self defence at a moments notice. There's that temptation to think about shooting the guys the second his gun is returned, or even attacking with fists if it's returned bulletless, but yet again: that fucking Mountie.
Fuck it, he'd stand on some dusty Vegas road and flag down cars if he needed to, all far the sake of Fraser.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}
no subject
Briefly he considers checking over his wounds, but the lighting wasn't good enough for it and there was no point agitating wounds that were already sealing themselves up quite effectively. Moving was just going to aggravate them. Might as well just lay still.
There's nothing to register how long he's been there, or if he even fell asleep, but after Armando leaves, the next thing he recalls is him arriving again amidst a distant murmur of voices. Ray doesn't move at first, teeth gritted as he half expects something to happen, skin cringing just slightly as he hears the rustle of fabric pushed through the bars but staying unmoving until that brush of a touch through his hair.
He wishes he'd been ready for it, really, just to be able to sink his teeth into a hand again, but instead he's left slowly uncurling and pushing himself to his feet just in time to witness the cage opening. Freedom. A chance to escape. But what the fuck was the point in 'escape' now when he was being released anyway? The worst of it had already come, and if they did intend to kill him on the drive back... well he could sort that out when it came, but it seemed counter productive considering Armando's need to get rid of the Mountie.
After staggering on his feet for a second and trying to readjust his bearings to being vertical again, Ray slowly reaches for the wash cloth and then his clothing, dabbing himself slightly cleaner and then dressing himself with all the delicacy of someone who's got plenty of injuries to show for themselves. He avoids bending down when he can and refuses to face the other as he moves to hide any obvious instinctual flinches or winces. He's fine. He's good. He'd heal, but that mobster had a point. No point trying to act the hard guy in front of those men if the entire point was to portray three hours of agony.
Slowly he steps out of the cage, grunting as he moves his arm just a little too quickly to catch the thrown item, and then pausing to look down at it and register just what the point of it is.]
You're a sick fuck.
[But whatever, he's moving for the stairs, heading up them with some obvious stiffness that only increases as he approaches the top, just to give the goons a show. There's already blood seeping through his relatively thin shirt, but that couldn't be helped, it'd help add to the sight of him being bruised and battered. By the time he's out of that basement, he's staggering to the nearest wall while flinging that sausage at what looked to be the smallest member. Armando better fucking appreciate the play along, Ray's only doing it for the sake of easy cooperation to get the fuck out of this place.]
no subject
[ They emerged back into the bright Vegas afternoon, so little changed from where they'd gone below ground into the depths of sweaty hell. Back in the cool embrace of the Adobe built house with its naturally cooling walls and the blessed reprieve that was central air, Ray let himself exhale some of the tension he'd been feeling. The ordeal really was over. This guy would be taken safely away, his reputation would benefit from the experience, and more importantly he'd sleep well tonight knowing that in the morning Fraser would be leaving Vegas forever.
Ray played along, a real demonstration of cooperation considering where they'd started, and he'd use it as reference later on. Cowed him into submission, terrified of him, and who could really blame the guy? He'd gone in kicking and spitting and screaming, and now here he was following orders like all the other good little Vegas piggies.
The started goon who'd caught the sausage now stared at it, then back at Armando, and Vecchio poured off another stream of clipped Italian and laughed, but the poor guy didn't understand. At last, completing the joke, the older guy - Si - provided a translation in English, and the young man flipped the sausage into the air and jumped six feet away from it. There were laughs all around then, except for from Armando who now looked deadly still and serious. ]
Hey, pick that up. There's little kids starving to death and you're wasting food? For shame. Besides, the States Attorney is coming for dinner and you know how he likes his pork sausage. Kitchen. [ He gestured. ] Then have the driver get the car running.
He's a hothead. [ He went on, when the younger man had left with the sausage in hand. ] I want you with him. Cop's no good to me dead now, I put too much work into him. So you make sure he gets put out on the patrol route. Leave him water and give him his shit back, and make sure that little cocksucker doesn't think he's doing me any smart favors. I need this guy.
[ Si nodded, then stepped out after the other guy, leaving Armando with two nameless thugs he could care less about. He turned back to Ray, stepping back over toward him and clasping his head in both hands, leaning in to press a kiss to his forehead. It was more menacing than remotely sexual. Like it said "I could kill you right now but I choose not to."
He looked him square in the eye, still holding Ray's head. ]
If all goes well, Detective, we'll never see each other again. If it doesn't--well, you'll visit that room once more, and the last thing you'll see is the vultures picking out your friend's eyes right before they peck out your own. You take care now, Ray.
no subject
The worst was over.
And yet dealing with humiliation was almost as difficult as anything that had come before. Ray hated it. He hated being seen as incapable. Hated having those scumbags laughing and joking about it all.
It was for the best that he was exhausted and stuck on a downer. He could fight this but it felt like far too much effort and something he was barely capable of right now. It'd be a waste anyway. Trying to lash out at this lot now would make the last few hours completely useless. He'd cooperated because he knew it was one of the only ways to get Fraser back to Chicago, and he'd continue to cooperate until that happened.
The vague cooperation didn't stop his lips curling into a tired snarl as Armando got near, teeth clenched at that press of lips, amazed at his own self-restraint. The fact he resists hitting that guy is a miracle, but it's all for Fraser.]
Be seein' you, scumbag.
[He mutters back, barely audible but showing enough physical compliance that he manages to make it look more like a vague agreement than any threat to the audience. Let those idiots think what they will, Armando knows that Ray would rip his head off right now if it weren't for that fucking Mountie.
And it's that fucking Mountie that has Kowalski willingly led away by Si, hunched and suitably injured for the sake of the viewers, but still ready to spring into self defence at a moments notice. There's that temptation to think about shooting the guys the second his gun is returned, or even attacking with fists if it's returned bulletless, but yet again: that fucking Mountie.
Fuck it, he'd stand on some dusty Vegas road and flag down cars if he needed to, all far the sake of Fraser.
The Mountie better appreciate this.]