11: Spam: Let’s say we had a disagreement.

[omar]

[Open spam]

[Omar's been content to lay low for his first month or so back. Get his bearings, learn the new lay of the land, find out who the new players are, where to draw his new lines. Now that he has a fairly good idea of where things -- and people -- are, how they're going, he relaxes a little bit on all the surveillance. He stops lurking in hallways and corners and making little notes about things.

Which doesn't mean he stays in his cabin. In fact, he's almost never there. He's fallen right back into old habits: he sleeps in common rooms or empty cabins more often than in his own, sometimes even in the back of the library, if such a place really exists. He doesn't make a routine out of anything, except that after the incident in the chapel he swings by there once every Sunday to check in on things. He never actually goes inside -- just looks the place over and leaves again. He can be found, in short, loitering just about anywhere and at just about any time, looking for all the world like he's lazing on a stoop in the summer.]

[Spam for Dark Mousy]

[...except. Now that Omar's got this new warden, he can't sit completely still. With Barge ennui nipping at his heels, it was getting on time for him to start something, but being paired with Chris gives him a good boost of incentive. If he's going to play a little anyway, he might as well pay Chris back for all the disrespect in the process.

And anyway, it's fun. He turns up at Dark's door early Wednesday morning, knocking lightly. When it opens, he's standing there with what does, in fact, appear to be a newspaper. Omar flashes a broad grin: found you.]

Home delivery.

[Spam for Jimmy Darmody]

[And then another visit, one he's been planning for a while. He waits in the corridor outside Jimmy's cabin, still before breakfast, positioned so that the door hides him when it swings open. As soon as Jimmy steps away from it, Omar slips smoothly up behind him, pressing something solid into the small of his back.]

'Eyo -- you ever do anything for April Fool's Day?

Comments

[thelastbullet]

[He grits his teeth and gives his head a little half-shake before moving right back into the cabin he'd just walked out of.]

Gonna make me late for work, Little. Deprive all the civilians of a good breakfast.

[omar]

I'll be quick, then.

[Not for the first time, he misses his boys, the string of serial boyfriend-slash-underlings he left behind. For once, though, it's not about the companionship. It would just be a lot easier to do this if he didn't have to keep his gun and his eyes on Jimmy and try to loot the cabin at the same time.]

[thelastbullet]

[There's genuinely not a lot in his cabin: it's clearly smaller than his home had been, the furniture cramped in there. There's an unloaded gun that looks more like something out of Omar's time than Jimmy's in his nightstand; there's plenty of tie-pins in the dresser, some cufflinks; a watch. There's a photo album on the table, an old-fashioned record player taking up the rest of the space available.

It's not much, even though it's obvious that all the furniture had been new and expensive. The moment Omar comes near to the few photographs he has standing around, when he comes close to the photo album, he's twitching; the rest of the time he's standing there, silent.

If he sees a moment, even a flinch of one, in which he can make a grab for his ankle knife, he'll do so.]

[omar]

[Well, the gun is definitely now his -- he takes it right away and stuffs it into his waistband. After a moment's rifling, he decides on the cufflinks too, although to his eyes they're more likely to become earrings. He fingers the watch thoughtfully, then puts it back. He flips a few pages of the photo album, lips quirking--

And then he spots Jimmy's movement out of the corner of his eye and he retrains the gun on him, cocking it before he's even finished turning his head.]

Nuh-uh-uh, bro.

[thelastbullet]

[He'd already figured Omar would take the gun, and he doesn't really care too much about the cufflinks. He clenches his jaw when Omar looks at the photographs- they're deeply personal to him, even if they probably look stiff and too-posed to someone like Omar.

He'd decided to use that distraction, and he'd gotten his fingers through the loops of the trench knife. He's still hunched over when Omar turns back to him, and he straightens up, slowly, knife dangling from his fingers.]

[omar]

[Ooh. Shiny. Omar lets the pages of the album rest and turns to face Jimmy fully, circling him from a bit of a distance to get a better look at the knife.]

I like that, too, but I suspect you'll have something to do about it if I come in close enough to take it.

[thelastbullet]

[It's very shiny, the light glinting off the skull crusher on the end of the knife.]

You suspect right.

[omar]

How about you just put it on the floor nice and slow, then?

[thelastbullet]

[He's boiling on the inside, but if there's one thing Jimmy Darmody is good at it's appearing neutral. He bends down again, sinking through one knee, only bending the other once it can't be avoided. The knife slips off his fingers and makes a dull thud when it hits the floor.]

[omar]

[Good. He nods, then beckons with the hand not on the gun: kick it over, Jimmy.]

[thelastbullet]

[He does, watching it spin towards Omar. He sucks on the inside of his lower lip, focusing his energy on that little action.

He got that knife back from plenty of crooks, before. None of them lived to tell the tale, no reason for history to not repeat itself.]

[omar]

[Excellent. He crouches -- not bends -- to pick it up, slowly, keeping the gun carefully trained on Jimmy as he does so. Once he's back on his feet, he takes the luxury of admiring it, grinning to himself.]

And you said you didn't have nothing, Old Timer.

[thelastbullet]

Memory must be going in my old age. [He still has his hands raised, slightly, looking more put-out than anything else.]

[omar]

Well, I appreciate the gifts.

[He slips the knife into a pocket, the cufflinks already squirreled away, Jimmy's gun still tucked into his jeans. He surveys himself, then the room again, and nods with satisfaction. A small haul, but a good enough one for his first time out in a while. He starts backing for the door, his eyes still fixed on Jimmy.]

[thelastbullet]

[He doesn't turn with him, not now that he's completely unarmed. He just keeps his hands where Omar can see them.]

Glad I could help, then.

[omar]

[He grins.]

So am I, baby. So am I.

[And with that, he gets the door open behind himself and ducks through. Once it's closed, he finally lets himself turn, heading down the hall with a cheerful whistle.]