Ramon Salazar

Feel that, Ramon?

That’s the barrel of a gun digging into your stomach.

Sands smiles serenely, eyes sliding shut.

“You can’t cry,” he whispers, “when you’ve got no eyes.”

Click goes the gun, as it’s taken off of safety.

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It takes a moment to register and then the red haze comes down in earnest because Sands, of all people, has just pulled a gun on him again.

His hand goes to his pocket and there's a jerk of his wrist, accompanied by the metallic slide of a flick knife coming free of its handle. He doesn't hesitate in case Sands fires, just lays the thing against his cheek with the point pressing into the bottom of his eyesocket.

'Pull that trigger and you're losing an eye all over again Sands. You want to risk it?'

He's banking on the fact that he won't. Also, that a shot to the stomach won't kill him outright and there'd still be time to get healed before he lost that much blood.

But mostly, he's not thinking at all. Mostly he just wants to see that eye pop out and hear him scream and watch him die painfully underneath him right now, begging for mercy. He'd give a lot for that to happen.

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The trouble with doing anything in close vicinity to the forest is you're likely to be observed by the resident treehuggers. Gorlim is not QUITE that environmentally friendly, but he gets tired of walls -- force of habit, after five years sleeping on a moor. He hasn't seen the WHOLE fight, indeed, he hasn't seen much more than this. And he had intended to leave it be and let Ramon get on with his business.

Then... the gun and the knife showed up. And this is where Gorlim encounters a moral dilemma. He likes Ramon. He knows Random would not like it if Ramon were to be shot or thrown in the cells for dismembering someone. And dismembering people isn't nice, even when they have a gun pointed at you.

If only because Ramon's knife is nowhere NEAR suited for the task.

And if Gorlim knows Ramon, this is not a situation that's likely to diffuse on its own.

Therefor Sands? Whoever he is, the lucky gentleman finds himself being barreled over in VERY short order by a spazzy scarecrow.

A spazzy HEAVILY-ARMED scarecrow.

Sands gets pinned down by Gorlim's full weight and a somewhat longer, slightly curved knife pressed to his throat.

"DROP IT. THAT'S NOT A REQUEST." Gorlim is talking to both of them, because Ramon has a broadsword pointed at him. "BOTH OF YOU DROP IT NOW."

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Sands eyes snap open again.

He stares blankly up at the spazzy scarecrow currently pinning him down, and then, with a slow and deliberate care, releases his gun.

Crazy though he may be, a knife against your throat is not something you argue with.

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Ramon doesn't drop the knife but he does lower it slightly. His target's moved anyway. But he doesn't move, he just stands at looks down at Sands with pure hatred on his face, forcing himself to stay still, no matter how much he just wants to fall forward and bury that knife in his head.

'Stay out of this Gorlim.'

His voice is low, and furious.

'He fucking deserves everything he gets.'

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Gorlim is very sure he does, but that isn't the issue right now. He swiftly sheaths the sword, grabs the gun, and moves off of Sands. The nice thing about a gun is you don't need to be gung-ho and charge with the Light Brigade to be EFFECTIVE. But the knife stays in his hand.

"You. Stay where you are. RAMON, I SAID GET RID OF THE KNIFE."

Gorlim has that LOOK. He doesn't have it often, but he can mean it just as much as Ramon can. And he's got the trigger now and the safety's still off. "You know I can use this. You taught me how. Back off. You know I mean it. And you know you're going to be in deeper shit with Random than you'll EVER get with me if you don't."

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Whether Gorlim meant for him to remain motionless or not, Sands pushes himself up into sitting position. Ignoring the other two, he rubs at his bleeding nose, smearing scarlet across his face.

“Shit,” he murmurs, lips twitching into a faint smile. Eyeing his gun where he let it drop, he laps blood off the back of his hand.

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Ramon stares at Sands but he hears Gorlim, and can't fail to notice that he has a gun trained at him now. It takes a while though, to calm himself to the degree that he can think about stepping back - but he does eventually, retracting the knife and sticking it back in his pocket. It remains close at hand though, ready to be grabbed again if Sands tries anything.

'Don't shout at me Gorlim. And point that fucking thing somewhere else, preferably at him.'

He thinks it's a low blow to bring Random into this but can't deny that he's now thinking about the shit he'd get if it had been a security member that had caught them and not a friend of his.

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Gorlim stands slowly, and the knife and the gun switch hands, so now the gun is towards Sands. Mostly because he knows Ramon better. and maybe trusts him enough not to make any sudden moves at this point. "You stay put," he warns Sands again. "What the hell happened?"

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“Or else what? You’ll shoot me?”

Sands’ grin is a bloody one, fingering his bruised face with a distracted air.

He does, however, remain still. Perhaps simply because it hurts to move.

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'He will fucking shoot you, you jerk,' Ramon mutters, then glances at Gorlim, calming further now that there's no weapon pointing at him.

'Asshole here thought it would be a good idea to rile me into pounding on him. He got what he asked for.'

It's the simple explanation to what happened, and fairly accurate, he believes.

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"Uh-huh." Gorlim believes him. He really does. The thing is? That same version of events could conceivably be Ramon's interpretation of infinite realities.

The one thing he's really right about is that yes, Gorlim will shoot him if he does anything stupid.

Gorlim is smart enough not to take his eyes off Ramon completely, and he manages to shift his attention without letting his guard down, now to Sands. "Right. Who are you, and what's going on?"

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“I’m Sands.”

He laughs softly, wincing.

“I got what I asked for.”

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Ramon glares at him, hating him even now. In the end, almost killing him isn't enough. Beating on him isn't enough. There isn't enough blood for him to be satisfied, although the bruising will be impressive.

'There you go Gorlim. Now what? You going to call security on us?'

He's pretty sure he won't. He knows Gorlim.

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Gorlim gives Ramon a look. "Of course not. You think I need that kind of bullshit?" He does put the knife away. "I am going to make you two split it up, though. Is this your gun?" he asks Sands.

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“Yup.”

He’s on his knees now, watching them both with an expression of mild amusement.

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Ramon says nothing. He knows full well that Sands won't leave it at that - and that's OK, because with the mood he's in right now, he'll give him a repeat performance anytime.

'Don't give it back to him Gorlim. Bastard will probably shoot you in the back.'

Like he's one to talk. His hand goes into his pocket and fingers the knife again, glad to have it near. He has his own gun too, of course. but bringing it out at this point would be stupid.

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"Of course I'm not giving it back. I'm giving it to Bar. Later. She can decide whether or not to return it. Right now..." Gorlim gestures to Sands with the hand holding the gun. "Up. Get inside. And if you've got any sense, you'll disappear from there. Right?"

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Sands laughs again at that, climbing unsteadily to his feet.

“I’m not going anywhere,” he remarks calmly, “without my sunglasses.”

He staggers, rights himself, and proceeds to scan the ground for the missing glasses.

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Ramon spots them, near to where he'd landed the first punch. Two quick strides and he picks them up. He turns them over in his hands, looking at Sands...then simply snaps them in two. The pieces are tossed casually to one side and he just grins, though there's nothing nice about it.

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Gorlim rolls his eyes. "Thank you, Ramon, for that mature and obviously necessary display. Sands, get the hell inside before I lose my patience, too. The glasses are easier to replace than a hand. Got it?"

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For a second, it seems like Sands is about to start forwards. Without his sunglasses, the momentary flicker of rage is obvious. Then a slow and bright grin spreads across his face

“I’ll be seeing you, sweetcheeks,” he promises.

With as much dignity a man covered in his own blood can muster, he turns and walks back to the bar.

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Ramon watches the rage with satisfaction, it being exactly the emotion he'd hoped to see. His eyes don't leave his back as he walks away, then he turns to Gorlim.

'I'm not going to thank you for stepping in. I would've liked to have his eyes out again.'

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"I know."

Gorlim shoves the gun into his pocket.

"I wasn't expecting thanks. I would, however, like a somewhat more detailed explanation." If only to pass the time before he'll trust Sands to have decided it's a good idea to make himself scarce and let Ramon go back inside, too, without risking a war.

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