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08: Voice/Spam: "Makes me sick, motherfucker, how far we done fell." -Bunk
[Public, Voice]
[It's rare for Omar to say anything on the network at all, and rarer still for it to be anything of actual substance. In the wake of the port, though, he can't stay silent. The chatter on his comm is telling him that he was far from the worst offender there, but that doesn't matter: he broke his own rules, the code he's held to since he was just a boy, and that's more unforgivable than murder to him.]
I know we all done a thing or two down in that place, and I know most of us ain't none too proud of any of it.
[That doesn't mean apologizing is easy for him.]
If I... done wrong by you, you let me know. I'll see to making it right.
[Private to Bruce Wayne]
No hard feelings here, man. That were the right way to play it. [Similarly, this is more or less a "thank you".]
[Private to Castiel, after the above]
Little bird tell me you was real busy this port, Castiel.
[Spam for Anya]
[This is the one he remembers best, even though he's never met the girl in his right mind before. After Bruce and Selina's arrival, Omar got back into his note-taking habit -- jotting down addresses, habits, and so on on his shipmates -- and it's hardly any work at all to pick out the new door.
He leaves a note, the writing neat and even, steadier than he feels:] Someone once said to me that "A man's got to have a code." You don't know me, but hurting someone like yourself ain't in mine. Right mind or no right mind ain't no excuse, either.
Omar Little owe you big now. Cash it in quick.
[Spam for Leslie]
[Then there's the part only his warden knows. He doesn't want to talk about that at all, but he knows she will. It's not so much beating her to the punch as trying to nip it in the bud when he shows up at her door, jaw tight and eyes hard, with a homemade and rather makeshift bandage around one hand.]
[It's rare for Omar to say anything on the network at all, and rarer still for it to be anything of actual substance. In the wake of the port, though, he can't stay silent. The chatter on his comm is telling him that he was far from the worst offender there, but that doesn't matter: he broke his own rules, the code he's held to since he was just a boy, and that's more unforgivable than murder to him.]
I know we all done a thing or two down in that place, and I know most of us ain't none too proud of any of it.
[That doesn't mean apologizing is easy for him.]
If I... done wrong by you, you let me know. I'll see to making it right.
[Private to Bruce Wayne]
No hard feelings here, man. That were the right way to play it. [Similarly, this is more or less a "thank you".]
[Private to Castiel, after the above]
Little bird tell me you was real busy this port, Castiel.
[Spam for Anya]
[This is the one he remembers best, even though he's never met the girl in his right mind before. After Bruce and Selina's arrival, Omar got back into his note-taking habit -- jotting down addresses, habits, and so on on his shipmates -- and it's hardly any work at all to pick out the new door.
He leaves a note, the writing neat and even, steadier than he feels:] Someone once said to me that "A man's got to have a code." You don't know me, but hurting someone like yourself ain't in mine. Right mind or no right mind ain't no excuse, either.
Omar Little owe you big now. Cash it in quick.
[Spam for Leslie]
[Then there's the part only his warden knows. He doesn't want to talk about that at all, but he knows she will. It's not so much beating her to the punch as trying to nip it in the bud when he shows up at her door, jaw tight and eyes hard, with a homemade and rather makeshift bandage around one hand.]
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I grew up on...something like a military base. The men in charge, they decided where you could go, who you could talk to, anything, everything.
That's what I think, when I hear power, I think something authoritarian, and...and regimented. But that's not how you mean it, is it? Gangs. That's not official. Just...anyone dumb enough to be in the way dies, that kind of power?
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Naw, ma'am. It get real authoritarian out there. Ain't like an army: it's like kings. The king sit on his throne and takes his dues from the people, and they do everything he want. Down to the letter. 'Cause one day, might be them gets that bit closer to the throne, you hear?
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[She pulls her knees up to her chest and perches her chin on top of them. It's not a position of defensiveness, this time - it's relaxation, letting herself appear childlike and informal. She smiles.]
Yes, I hear.
[She understands that.]
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Course, sometimes, you get a king don't need no throne. [Again, with the smug.] Don't take from his subjects 'cause they ain't got enough for theyselves... so he take from the other kings.
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[It's not something she really associates with kings. Some of her father's so-called followers seemed hardly more fonder of him than she was.]
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[There's no reproach in the question; it's immediate and quiet and honest. It's the only question worth asking.]
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Well, that... that's for the king to decide, ain't it. [He tips his head curiously.] Me, I just think there ought to be rules to the thing, is all. I don't mess around with no one ain't put themselves in the game. No fair citizens. No one just trying to get by with they day. That's why I-- wouldn't have done that up here.
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[This is a lie only in its most technical implications: she has only known one. Though it's true if one counts the Admiral.]