4: Disembarking

Samael wasn't sure why the train hadn't stopped amid all the commotion, but he could take a wise enough guess considering one of the hoopsters that trickled back into the freight car was sporting a bloodied engineer cap. HADES undoubtedly already had another ship en route, and he was fairly confident they'd handle bringing the engine to a somewhat-safe halt. He figured he could murmur a blessing for the remaining passengers and -- with the spirits' kindness -- any soldiers who still drew breath in the forward cabins.

Everything felt muted, like a shapeless blur playing out before his eyes as they bagged up as much of the loot as they could into durable canvas bags. The trucks lined up alongside the train and the hoopsters started tossing their haul into the bed of the first vehicle while Rolland snapped his fingers in front of Samael to draw him from his stupor.

"Hey, little man! You hit your fuckin' head after dropping that HADES ship??"

Samael tossed out a noncommittal grunt, shifting his eyes away momentarily before fixing the hoopster with a pointed look. "Nah. I'm fine. What's up?"

"Need you on the roof."

Rolland must have known what a piece of shit he was, considering the way he avoided Samael's frustrated stare up at him. Samael moved very deliberately into his line of sight. "Why."

Rolland seemed like he almost wanted to apologize, but instead chose to snap: "Because you're the fucking new guy. Get up there, let us know how close we are to the next tunnel, and watch out for any more dropships." He leaned closer. "Gotta problem with that?" His tone was domineering though Samael spotted the flicker of reservation. Maybe taking out the earlier ship had earned the rebel respect points. Samael had already moved past that, though -- wasn't even the first damn HADES dropship he'd had a hand in bringing down.

Buncha rookies.

Samael grumbled and turned around to stalk to the back of the freight car, waving one hand idly to signal his comprehension. "Next time Andee can do the fuckin' solo gig for you fuckers," he uttered before easing through what remained of the back door and hopping onto the ladder.

His annoyance just about overcame the looming fear of his increased elevation as his stocky legs barely trembled once he clambered onto the roof. He sighed and dropped to a knee to study the horizon, giving his eyes a few seconds to adjust to the open night sky. "Go up on the roof, face yer fears, look fer the tunnel, look fer another dropship...hey, while yer at it, how 'bout you take that one out, too...oh by the way thanks fer the first time," he complained in a caricature of Rolland's voice. "Fuckin' asshole..."

The only lights he saw blinking in the distance belonged to stars or the nearest Stigman town. If an approaching gunship wasn't yet visible, he guessed they had at least five or ten minutes. "Almost done with this shit," he announced to the deaf winds that whipped past before peering over the edge as a couple of hoopsters jumped to the first pickup truck while the second moved into place to be loaded. He waited for the nausea to threaten his equilibrium before turning away and shifting to check for a tunnel.

He froze as a familiar silhouette stood at the far end of the roof, muscular arms crossed over a broad torso supported by two deceptively slender legs. "You ain't done yet, gatito!" A saw-toothed grin accompanied the challenge -- and it was a challenge. Samael had no doubt about that as he slowly stood with a frown to gaze into the eyes of the soldier. Something hurt in this guy's soul, but he hadn't been beaten into submission by the War, nor had he gone insane in pursuit of bloodlust. Samael wasn't sure yet what he was fighting for, but he sure as fuck was fighting. "Told you it was gonna be me and you!"

The Movement needed him.

Samael took a step closer and held up a hand. "Lemme ask you one question, hon!" he called over the rushing air.

The soldier cocked his head, and Samael swelled with hope. But then the Red unfurled his arms as his single metal fang glimmered. "Me first."

Samael blinked as the soldier charged forward, setting himself with a soft curse as he raised his fists. "Motherfucker!"

This guy was different.

The first punch smashed into the midget's cheek, but he didn't fall over, he barely even stumbled. His reply came in the form of a fist that buried so hard into Robin's stomach, he tasted bile.

He felt himself slide back from the force -- an impressive feat against the blistering air pressure that buffeted into Robin's spine. Robin nearly doubled over, which would have put him right in the path of the blur of grey that streaked past just under his chin.

This guy was different.

Robin took a moment to grin curiously down at his opponent, who offered a confused frown even as he launched another unforgiving uppercut. His technique was sloppy, but there was no denying the raw power in the fist that crunched into his lower jaw, fracturing bone and perhaps loosening a tooth as Robin's metal legs lifted briefly from the roof of the boxcar. Through the spray of blood, however, Robin let his instincts take over as his body arched against momentum to instead tap into the unrelenting force of gravity.

Shorty's eyes bulged at the curved steel prosthetic that cut effortlessly through the air, smashing into a forearm that lifted just in time to defend his head. Robin could feel the hoopster's muscles flexing and absorbing the force of the blow, and he used it to his advantage to spring backward and glide several feet along the grooved roof. Sparks kicked up from his legs to illuminate the first honest smile he'd formed in weeks, his eyes only showing delight as his determined counterpart sprinted toward him, barely seeming to notice the powerful gusts that whipped his thick fur and strangely-pierced tail in all directions.

Robin prepared himself for a blind haymaker, or perhaps a simple thrust; he wasn't ready for the frustrated shout and full tackle. His own eyes widened as the smaller chupa barreled into him like a fucking truck, knocking them both sprawling backwards to slam into the roof with a heavy thud! "Jus' fuckin' listen to me!" Shorty yelled hoarsely, one hand gripping the top of Robin's chest plate as the other fist hovered in the air. "I c'n give you summin' better!"

Robin's grin spread even wider as his hands flew up faster than the hoopster could react, gripping into his shoulders and yanking him down as Robin slung himself upward to ruthlessly headbutt the redneck in the face. Blood spurted from the other chupa's maw and he rolled backward with a shocked yelp. "You already are!" Robin rasped, preparing to spring back to his feet only to be surprised by his somehow-not-dazed enemy lunging forward. He managed a "Verga!" around Shorty's embittered roar, flattened once more onto his back and this time treated to a rapid one-two-three strikes from the guy's brutal fist.

His head smashed back against the roof, blood running down his throat as his claws scraped over the metal roof. Damn, this would have been one fuck of a fight if he hadn't already gotten punched and shot and stabbed and --

Robin's eyes opened wide, which made Shorty hesitate and stare down at him, their chests heaving with equal exhaustion.

"You...you ready to...listen?"

Robin's claws continued to move along the metal plating until they glanced off the short but thick handle still buried in his thigh. He didn't answer the blue-eyed redneck, only panting heavily as he yanked out the blade. He grunted but set the pain aside to feel later. This was definitely more important. "Enough talkin'," Robin suggested, closing his fist around the handle before jabbing firmly into Shorty's side.

His enemy howled in agony and rolled off of his chest, allowing Robin to jump...well, climb unsteadily to his feet. He knew the blow hadn't been fatal, as he'd felt the blade glance off a rib. This motherfucker was lucky as hell. It made Robin all the more excited, however, using the precious few seconds to catch his breath and steady his stance while the hoopster clutched his side and checked the wound. Those soulful azure eyes met Robin's once more, and for a brief moment, he felt something.

Robin hated to feel.

Shorty hoisted himself back onto shaky legs that Robin targeted with a sweeping kick. His opponent winced, lifting one paw swiftly enough but finding the other caught in the curve of the prosthetic. Robin yanked to the side to send Shorty tumbling down once more, and he followed up with a downward punch, his fingers curled tightly around the knife to stab it mercilessly into --

"Fuck!!"

The hoopster succeeded in denying his chest the puncture wound, taking the blade into his forearm instead. Robin wrenched his fist back, finding his opponent's muscle thick enough that it was like pulling the knife from stone. And as he went for a follow-up jab to the face, Shorty gasped a denial and folded his legs up, planting his paws into Robin's torso and kicking outward with tremendous force.

For the second time that day, Robin's legs left the ground against his own will. He felt the rush of air forcing him backward but he focused only on his opponent as he landed, planted his prosthetics, and flexed against the momentum. Shorty was stubborn, though, doggedly climbing to his paws again while reaching down to pull a crowbar loose from where it was hanging on his hip. "Don't wanna do this, hon..." he panted, barely audible over the clatter.

"But I do," Robin answered, savoring the third or fourth surge of adrenaline as the two chupas tensed across from one another before Robin initiated another assault. He lurched forward and swung his free fist in for a feint that was blocked, creating an opening that he greedily attacked with the impromptu punch-blade. He caught the hoopster's eyes flicking to the jab, surprised by the way that Shorty didn't try to dodge entirely but instead shifted his chest to catch the knife in the thick bulge of his shoulder.

Robin tried to yank back, but this time found the handle too slick with blood to maintain his grip. Shorty twisted to the side to jerk the knife out of Robin's fingers before he turned his motion into a firm thrust of the prybar into the soldier's gut. Somehow Robin still hadn't come to expect the raw power in the little guy's body, gasping from the impact before gargling as an upward swing of the blunt tool caught him in the throat. But even as he flailed backward, even as Shorty narrowed his eyes and pressed the attack, Robin could feel him holding back. Just like when he'd shouted at his cohort for gunning down Miller and Lovell, or when he'd tried to stop the massacre in the dining car. The guy didn't like taking lives.

That was gonna be Shorty's downfall.

Robin let the third blow collide with his cheekbone but then quickly bobbed his head forward, lessening the impact and catching the curved end of the bar against his armor. His eyes gleamed as he arched his back and forced the hoopster to stumble toward him before he leaped up and scissored his legs around his opponent's torso. Shorty's eyes widened in realization, but he couldn't react fast enough to counter Robin clamping his thighs and then wildly rotating his body.

Shorty's paws left the roof of the train, the two of them rendered airborne for what felt like seconds. Robin's fingers stretched out against the flow of time to close around the base of the knife and successfully extract it. And as they spun back toward the roof, Robin lodged his legs into his opponent's stomach to shove him away while springing into a backflip. He landed neatly a meter or two away while Shorty slammed down hard enough to impact the metal, a wheeze flying from his maw as he bounced and rolled onto his side.

Robin's blood pulsed, begging him for more, and he was happy to oblige. Shorty had only gotten back to his knees by the time Robin dashed back to him and lifted a leg impossibly high, his prosthetic hovering near his muzzle. Those same determined eyes stared up at the imminent axe kick, and the confusing mix of emotions lurking under the feral survivor's instinct made Robin twitch. But he wasn't here to be introspective, he was here to satiate the gnawing pit of darkness. He grit his teeth and brought his leg down in a blinding steel streak, determined to draw out the animalistic fury in his foe.

He wasn't expecting the bone-jarring clang as his prosthetic collided not with flesh or bone, but with the crowbar that had materialized in front of Shorty's features. Robin's kick still carried enough power to smash the heavy tool into the hoopster's muzzle, but he couldn't hope to stop the reprisal of the tiny beefcake shoving back with both arms. Robin could feel his tendons whimpering against the monstrous strength coiled in Shorty's bulging arms, and he had no choice but to hop backward to avoid being thrown entirely into the air for a third time.

His other knee dropped to the roof while his body slid back from the force. He contemplated what Carlos might have suggested next, but then realized Shorty had planted a paw on his bent leg in order to launch himself into the air above Robin. He stared up at the cocked-back crowbar, at the disappointed grimace, at the eyes that somehow still pitied him despite Robin's multiple, near-fatal attacks. What the hell was he supposed to do now?

Carlos had never told him what to do against flying rednecks.

Reality caught back up when the metal bar smashed into Robin's skull, his eyes flashing hot white as his body collapsed from the impact. But even as he tangoed with unconsciousness, he knew the blow wasn't fatal. Even now, this crazy baboso was trying to show restraint.

Get back up.

He could hear yelling through the clacking of the train over the rails. A plea, too, just audible over the distant locomotive's wail.

Get back up.

"Hey, redneck! We're leaving! You still alive up there?!"

We didn't die for you to go out like a bitch.

Get. Back. Up.

"Gimme a sec!"

Robin felt fingers clutching into his shoulder straps, shaking him firmly.

"C'mon, man...c'mon, eyes open, it ain't too late."

You stay down, we mean nothing.

His eyelids cracked apart to see the fuzzy visage of a colorless blob hovering over his head.

"You ain't gotta sec, redneck! We gotta go, now!"

A warm sensation pressed against his cheek as the grey mass slowly came into focus.

"Hey, hey, there ya are! Listen, hon, you gotta come with me, we need you."

We need you to keep fighting. What else you got to do?

There were those fucking blue eyes again, threatening to pull his memories back through the veil of numbness.

"I just need you to get back up..."

Get.

Back.

Up.

Yeah. He could do that.

Robin's fingers closed together and a wavering smile trickled across his muzzle. Shorty's arms flexed and lifted his chest, and Robin was treated to a hopeful flicker in his opponent's gaze. He wrapped an arm around the hoopster's head while jabbing the knife into his back, almost tasting guilt for playing dirty.

Almost.

These hoopster motherfuckers were just as bad as the Omegites, as the armies they commanded and the corporations they championed. Robin was thin on mercy already, and these assholes certainly weren't worth a drop.

Shorty yelped into the crook of his arm, and Robin attempted another bladed thrust while he still could. But the hoopster was just as stubborn as him, ducking quickly to escape his chokehold and staggering backward on his paws as the crowbar tumbled to the roof from his fingers. He stared at Robin as the soldier pushed himself slowly to stand across from him, and Robin wondered if he'd finally get to see this determined bitch go for the throat.

"Thirty seconds, little man!"

The voice from below told Robin all he needed to hear. He flung himself into one final charge, cocking his arm back and shouting indistinctly as he leaped at the hoopster.

The crimson-stained blade glinted in the starlight, streaking even faster than the train that rumbled along beneath them. Shorty denied him, however, and reached up to grab his wrist before pivoting on one paw while yanking Robin through the air and into a nauseating satellite throw. Robin's already-dizzy vision perceived only a spinning kaleidoscope of stars and smoke revolving around a sea of grey and blue.

The iron grip loosened around his arm mid-arc, sending his boneless body toward the a distant end of the universe. He crashed into an unforgiving metal surface moments later, managing a single gasp as his senses returned long enough for him to scrabble uselessly at the grooved roof. The hoopster dove toward him with wide eyes, his arm outstretched in realization and desperation alike.

Robin's hand brushed past Shorty's and clutched into the edge of the roof as their eyes locked long enough for Robin to toss out an easy grin. He felt the curve of the tracks before the train did, strangely prepared for the way the carriage shifted and bounced his body outward.

"Hah...verga..."

His fingers slipped as Shorty thudded down heavily on the roof, just shy of snatching Robin out of the swallowing obscurity.

Helluva last fight.

"No! Fuck!"

Samael's claws whisked through empty air, his fur standing on end despite the billowing wind. He stared at the bloody handprint for a second or two before attempting to crawl forward. But a sharp jerk on his tail brought his head whipping around to see Rolland crouched behind him, his fangs bared in an infuriated snarl. "You come with me now or you stay behind!" he yelled.

Samael closed his eyes and exhaled, his body sagging. "Yeah...comin'," he muttered. Rolland grunted and the two turned around to crawl to the other side of the freight car where the final pickup truck thumped alongside the rails. Samael cast one last look where the soldier had fallen, regret clawing at his already-tattered soul.

"Fuck, looks like you got into a fight with a craw-bear!" Rolland shouted, at last seeming to notice Samael's multiple, fresh wounds. He didn't wait for Samael's response, however, only jerking his head toward the horizon. "Dropship inbound." Samael lifted his eyes but didn't really care at this point, acknowledging the approaching floodlights with a shrug. "You're lucky, short-stuff. Only reason I came to get you is 'cuz you handled those HADES bitches." He jammed a finger into Samael's chest and earned a dark scowl. "So now we're even. Let's go."

Samael watched Rolland leap down to the bed of the truck, his impact enough to make the suspension bounce. He closed his eyes and choked down the thick lump, pretending he could blame it all on the heights.

This was like Highguard all over again...except even then, he'd been able to cling to the goal of protecting the Movement, and having Andee at his side.

He sighed in an attempt to vent the disconsolation, letting his legs hang off the edge of the boxcar as he gauged the distance to the rattling truck bed. The gunship's turbines were now audible, no doubt the reason for Rolland slamming a fist into the cab while shouting up to him: "Move it or lose it, little man!"

It was becoming increasingly difficult to resist punching this guy in the face.

Samael nodded to himself, swinging his legs once and then pushing himself off the roof. He half-closed his eyes and held his breath, plummeting through the terrifying miasma before his paws landed heavily in the truck bed. Samael's bulk made the pickup shudder even more than Rolland, but Samael no longer felt any fear now that he was on familiar footing. He stood up slowly from the crouch to find a place to sit as Rolland pounded the roof of the cab. "That's everyone, Diego, get us the fuck outta heee..." He trailed off as he turned back to Samael, staring past him up at the train. "The fuck??"

Samael blinked and began to turn just as a hurtling mass smashed into his upper body, tackling him over the side of the truck and into the moist dirt below. The air was knocked from his lungs and he donkey-kicked upward on instinct to redirect his attacker as he slid several meters backward into a tree trunk.

"Shit! Turn around, we lost Little Man!" Rolland shouted.

Samael struggled to regain his bearings, shoving himself back against the tree to aid the rise back to his feet. He glanced at the other shifting lump in the darkness, and Nerom's light reflected off two extremely distinct metal curves. Part of him was glad this guy wasn't dead.

Part of him wondered how.

He turned around dizzily to stumble after the truck, calling out in a strained voice: "Get back here, you fuckers!"

Rolland stared back at him while the sharp retort of the driver dissolved in the night air, and Samael could only watch helplessly as the taillights faded into the thicker depths of the forest. He realized why when the powerful roar of the HADES gunship passed nearby, its blinding spotlights carving inquisitive lines through the trees. He cursed and scrambled to the cover of the nearest trunk, watching the circle of white dance between the retreating train and the small clouds of dust that had been kicked up by the escaping vehicle. "You fuckin' kiddin' me..." he grumbled.

"It just ain't your day, gatito..."

Samael grit his teeth as he turned around, clenching his fists in anticipation of the --

He froze, eyes wide and locked onto the gun barrel leveled at his forehead. "Wh-whoa, whoa," he whispered while raising his palms slowly as his tail drooped. "Hol' up, hon, hol' up a sec..."

The Red tilted his head a bit to study the tattoo on Samael's wrist, moving the tip of the barrel toward it for a moment. "That's what I thought. No wonder you're tryin' to hide from the boys in black, pendejo..." He smiled calmly and shifted the pistol back to Samael's head. The lack of any waver in his arm brought a chill to Samael's throat. "I'm supposed to shoot people like you on sight. Or turn you in?" The soldier screwed up his muzzle in thought. "Maybe both."

"Wait-wait-wait," Samael pleaded, meeting the soldier's eyes in a desperate search for the same flicker he'd seen before. "Yeah, I'm with the Movement, but we ain't the monsters the House makes us out to be, honest..."

"I don't give a damn what the House says. I got my own two eyes." The gun remained steady even as the Red looked Samael up and down before jerking his head into the darkness. "You workin' with monsters, eh?"

Samael's heart sunk and he licked his muzzle, letting his tail sway gently in an attempt to alter his tack. "I know, hon. But we gotta do what we gotta do sometimes."

The soldier smiled in thought. his gaze drifting briefly to the smaller chupa's tuft before meeting his eyes again. "We sure do, gatito..." Samael began a hopeful smile in return as the Red tossed the pistol aside, only to whip a leg up and shove a prosthetic into Samael's chest before he could react.

A hiss flew from the rebel's maw and he thudded back against the tree trunk, given just enough time to wince and drop to a kneel to avoid the rocket-like punch that smashed a chunk of bark from the tree. "Aw, c'mon!" he wailed in disbelief. "We really doin' this again?!"

He threw himself into an uppercut against his own desire, still bewildered what the fuck was driving this guy. The exhaustion from the soldier's ordeal seemed nonexistent as he twitched his head to the side to avoid Samael's fist while driving a knee into the rebel's chest. Samael's eyes bulged but he resisted the urge to double over, instead wrapping his other arm around the Red's thigh to successfully fling him onto his back. Samael's lungs burned but he urged his body to cooperate, pouncing atop the soldier before he'd even fully hit the ground.

The Red attempted to buck him off but Samael jammed his knees into the other chupa's side and settled firmly atop him. He leaned forward and pinned both the soldier's wrists, using the moment of helplessness to stare into the soldier's eyes. They burned, but not with madness. This man was no Red Army fanatic, he was just driven.

"Listen, hon! Why don't you fight fer somethin' worth fightin'!?" he plied.

"I don't give a fuck about a reason," the soldier growled. He lifted his hips again and this time bashed a knee into Samael's spine to jolt the smaller chupa forward. Samael fought to drop his weight back down, but his opponent was faster and twisted them both to invert their positions and leave the rebel on his back. A wicked jab flew into the arms Samael crossed defensively over his face while the Red's voice added bluntly: "I just wanna fight."

"Then join us!" Samael shouted as he threw his arms out and managed to clutch into the soldier's chest plate. Their eyes met again and he choked down a breath before uttering: "We c'n give you a fight. Biggest fight...y'ever had..."

A fist was still raised by the Red's bloodstained muzzle, his expression still frozen in a calm frown. Samael waited for the knuckles to crash into his jaw as their ragged breathing slowly overcame the silence that had fallen around them. The train had long since continued down the tracks, and the dropship had eventually followed, leaving the two in an oddly serene darkness.

The Red soldier lowered his fist and then rubbed at his muzzle before shrugging and giving a single nod. "Yeah, sure."

Samael blinked, his muzzle working stupidly for a few seconds as he tried to process the response. "I...what?"

With a grunt, the soldier reached up to peel Samael's fingers off his armor so he could stand atop the rebel. "What, you deaf now? Sign me up."

Samael was still half-expecting a kick or diving elbow from the Red. "Yer...yer...that's it?"

The soldier quirked an eyebrow before leaning over to examine Samael from a different angle. "I musta hit ya harder than I thought, Shorty. I figured ya rebels wanted new recruits."

He was serious, wasn't he?

Samael slowly sat up, failing to mask the bewildered stare. "It's just...it usually. Ain't that quick?" He bent one knee, then pushed down on it to force himself to stand, the two of them both swaying slightly in their winded states. But the expression on the soldier's face had become almost...bored. Like he hadn't just made a completely life-altering decision. "Yuh-yeah, we do want new folks, though," Samael stammered before finally pulling in some of his composure and rubbing the back of his head. "Yer...yer really in? That easy?"

The soldier glanced down at one of his wounds for a moment, poking at the half-dried blood with a claw while replying in an off-hand tone, "You got fights for me? You got me. Seems easy enough?"

Samael felt a faint smile tickle the corners of his muzzle. "Yeah," he murmured before smiling wider. "Yeah, easy enough." He brushed his hand against his shorts before offering it to the soldier. "I'm Samael. Welcome to the Movement."

Robin regarded the outstretched hand for a few seconds before rolling his neck on his shoulders. "Castro." He sized up the shorter chupa again while lending a thoughtful ear to the blood that hadn't stopped coursing vigorously through his veins. Samael's smile wavered a bit as he eventually dropped the ignored hand, and Robin turned his head to spit a wad of blood to the side. "Robin. Whatever ya like more." He eyed the redneck again and his pulse thudded in accordance. "So how long 'til someone comes to pick us up?" he inquired as he reached up to undo the straps for his chest armor. "Looks like ya hoopster friends are long gone."

Samael's smile dissolved and he rubbed at his bare chest sheepishly while glancing over his shoulder. "Ehhh...yeah, 'bout that. I'm kinda..." He cleared his throat and tipped his head back toward Robin for a moment. "Well. This was originally just a li'l side-trip, and now I think we're gonna hafta maybe, ah. Find our own ride back to base."

"Cool. We got time then." Robin sighed in relief as he slid the dented armor over his head, welcoming the decreased pressure across his broad torso. Samael cocked his head when he began to remove the wrist cuffs.

"Oh, uh -- don't get rid'a that stuff, hon." Robin only regarded him from the side of his vision while tossing the bits of armor aside and moving to undo his lower harness. "It'll still be useful! We're always short on gear 'n it's real handy fer infiltration 'n stuff."

"Hm? Oh. Yeah, sure, whatever." Robin unclasped the torso straps as his tail swished a few times when the blood surged downward. "This is so we can fuck."

The thud of Robin's waist armor dropping past his prosthetics was the only sound for several seconds until Samael's befuddled voice drifted out. "Wh...whuh. Wut?"

Robin peered at him with confusion as he stepped out of the harness and peeled off the top half of his underarmor, wincing only somewhat from his still-fresh injuries. "Man, I'm still pumped!" he declared, bouncing from one leg to the other as his eyes roved over Samael's muscular form. "We fought in a train...we fought on a train...we jumped off a train." He paused with his thumbs hooked in his waistband, tossing the rebel another expectant look. "I just deserted, gatito, after you 'n me kicked each other's asses for fifteen minutes. Don't you wanna fuck?"

He didn't have to be a psychic to detect the hunger in Samael's eyes. The guy was hot, sure, but something about him had been more than just attractive from the moment they'd first bumped into one another. He had a kind of magnetism he no doubt made use of for his role within the resistance, and on top of that, well. Robin didn't need to surrender to his emotions to know when someone found him fuckable. He'd long since tossed out the strange social rituals around sexual interactions -- waste of time and energy as far as he was concerned.

"I mean..." Samael had moved beyond the stuttering, at least. His eyes answered for him even if it seemed like he was fighting his instincts. "Usually this comes before the recruitment," he muttered while running his tongue along his muzzle. The flesh was bright blue. Exotic.

Robin didn't mind exotic.

Robin heard a voice suggesting he apologize, but he pushed it away. Little man wanted a quick fuck, he'd given him a quick fuck. "Probably not the worst thing you dry-humped, eh? You rebel babosos must fuck all kindsa nasty shit to get what you need. Whole ring's after ya..."

"Haw, I'm leadin' the charge on that," Samael replied cheekily before he bumped his muzzle against Robin's. "Speakin'-a which...you still sure you ready to cross o'er to our side?"

Robin shrugged, shifting slightly and allowing his hand to rove idly through Samael's chest. "Toldja. You got a fight, I'm on board."

"Mmm. Izzat why you signed up fer the Army? Or...was it..."

Robin's features hardened even as he left his muzzle pressed against Samael's cheek. "You think legs like this come for free?"

Samael was silent for a few seconds. "I'm sorry fer whatever you went through, hon. If it gives you a reason to fight, though --"

"Already told you my reason for fighting, gatito. Just here to fight. Don't need no reason beyond that."

Another moment of quiet before Samael nudged him lightly with an elbow. "You keep sayin' them funny words. I ain't heard 'em before."

"You're one to talk," Robin retorted. "Bet there's plenty of words you ain't heard before."

"Shit, I know I'm dumb, ain't gotta tease," Samael mumbled. "I like it, I think it's purdy awesome how this ol' ring keeps showin' me new things."

Robin opened his eyes to gaze past Samael and into the shadowy forest protecting them from Nerom's faint searchlight. "Guess you ain't never come by my neighborhood. This is just how my people talk." His fingers settled into place on Samael's stomach while the rebel's hand drifted along his arm. Robin relaxed further into the peace. "Omegrad's a big place, if ya didn't know. My family, my whole community talked like I do. Ain't strange to us."

He could feel Samael's smile against his maw. "Aw, I know how that is." Samael's tail lifted briefly to the side to give another quiet jingle. "I got raised up in mah own li'l corner, too. My people gave me a lotta good shit. 'S where I got this thing." Robin eyed the red two-part piercing for a few seconds. "You get that purdy necklace from yer kin?"

"Kin," Robin snorted, though it was less derisive than he intended. "Ya really are one of them country-boy cousin-fuckers." Samael's tail laid back down, looping lightly around his own while his eyes played out memories between the ebony-coated trees. "My sisters made this for me. We used to drive out of the 'burbs, out of the city, to the woods. Sometimes we'd dig up shiny rocks by the river, and they found this pretty stone once..."

He stared at the smiles that had become too clear, blinking away the shades of recollection as he snapped his jaws shut. Last thing he wanted was Shorty asking more questions and opening more doors. He was surprised Samael didn't prompt him to continue, instead only closing his fingers around Robin's wrist as the silence settled around their loose embrace.

"Rest up, hon. Got a few supplies on me, we c'n close up the worst of our holes 'n go lookin' fer a ride after. Gotta long drive and an angry mama to look forward to..."

Robin closed his eyes and shrugged. "I'm good whenever, Shorty. Tell me when we move out, I'll be ready." He tapped a claw briefly against Samael's stomach. "In fact, you go ahead and make a note right now: you ain't ever gotta check in with me. Don't care what it is. I'll be ready."

Red vs Blue © Rooster Teeth. Halo © 343 Industries. Concept by Myshu, assisted by The Department of Chupapology.