GE- GE ME- GET ME OUT OF HERE! OH- FUCK! AAAAAAA. I DIDN'T DO ANYTHING JUST- GET ME OUT! AH- GET ME- GET ME OUT OF HERE!

[Dogs231]

He watched as Zander's swing fell short as the copper-haired girl backstepped out of the way. He determined that with his current lack of tools, it would be foolish to intervene. He opened the door and carefully stepped into the main office. He glanced around the room for something - anything - he could use. He needed something to make up for the weapon and supplies he had lost.

He, at first, saw nothing but scattered papers and furniture - it seemed that his captors had even taken the effort to remove the inkwells from the desks. He was agitated. He needed to find something to work with and fast. He rifled through cabinets and shelves and found little to aid him until he pulled the handle of a desk drawer. He determined that it had stuck in place, but a heavy pull was enough to dislodge the deteriorated wood and cause it to clatter on the floor.

He searched through the contents and found an object which piqued his interest. He saw an old wooden tool with a coat of heavy black paint. He identified it quickly as an antique stapler. He pulled it from the scattered items, then checked to see if it had any staples remaining, which it did not. He smiled despite this as an idea formed in his mind.

He stepped back out of the office and walked towards the harbour. He made sure, however, to keep his distance from the group. He held the stapler in his hand, the anvil and crimp area tucked inside of his sleeve. He pointed the circular hammer of the stapler towards Zander like a gun's barrel and held the handle with both hands as if it were the grip of a pistol. He took a deep breath and called out to the instigator.

"You, with the rock! Back the fuck down and quick, or I'll blow your head off!"

He had performed a bluff. He attempted to keep his voice unwavering and his expression stern. He was aware that the stapler was not a gun, but he believed that, from this distance, Zander would not be able to determine that.

He silently wondered if his gambit would work.

[Applesintime]

So, a few things happened at once. Katherine, noticing this wee prick Zander was trying to murder Deirbhile, stood behind him and didn't fucking do anything with the big fucking whip she had other than crack it. What the fuck was she playing at? Then, of course, the wee prick grabbed her shirt and smacked her in the bake with the rock, just on her forehead, and it fucking hurt. But, she had taken a few wee knocks before, some wee cunt with a rock wasn't gonna do shit to a girl from Derry. Then, some Brit dude ran out of the offices with a gun and told the cunt trying to kill her to go away or he'd give him a wee shot in the head.

It was good to see a Brit with a gun. Funny, she'd have absolutely fucking hated the thought of some wee soldier on her street last night. Now, she wouldn't give a shit if they were from London or Timbuktu.

Now, this wee lad had the unfortunate effect of not having a baldy that just because he had a rock, didn't mean shit. Sure, he got a good wee hit in, and fair play to that, but with the way they were, Deirbhile could get a hit in that wasn't just so wee, send him crying home to his ma. Stepping in to close the distance, Deirbhile sent a knee into Zander's crotch, while also trying to give him a wee bat in the mouth, or as someone who wasn't blessed with the knowledge of Derry lingo would call it, a headbutt. "FUCK OFF, YE WEE BALLICKS!"

Ah, the Derry accent was a thing of beauty. Much better than a Belfast smick.

[KamiKaze]

The whip had cracked just above his back, without any contact. The sound would have been effective by itself, but honestly? She didn’t want to actually hurt people, but sucked to be him if it connected.

‘Would’, though, is the keyword here.

He just kept going and going, and he was shouting, and Deirbhile was shouting, and there was more shouting probably from someone who came by and saw the whole thing, and she was damn sure she was shouting, too. Everyone was shouting, and Zander wasn’t backing down.

She gritted her teeth.

Stepped a bit closer for balance, to make sure.

And went for another swing towards his back.

She hoped it connected.

[Fenrir]

Were he a different man, Zander might have been willing to admit that his plan was not going well. The loud-mouthed girl, instead of falling to the ground in agony like people were supposed to do when hit in the head with rocks, had instead brought her knee up into his crotch and tried to head-butt him. The former hurt, a lot, but luckily the too-tall bitch wasn’t able to properly crash her forehead into his face and instead hit the top of his head instead. Still painful, but not the blow it could have been.

A different man would cut his losses at this and flee, but Zander had never been someone who took being denied something in stride. He was reeling back to smash the rock into her face again, to break her nose or break her teeth or anything else he could, when the crack sounded out again. This time the sound brought pain with it.

Zander arched his back as what felt like a searing fire spread from a line drawn across his back. The other girl must have finally caught up to what was happened and whipped him. Whipped him, like cattle; like he was a fucking animal. Anger rose up inside him and he let go of Deirbhile to turn and look at the other girl. He lunged for her, swinging his hand around as he sought to bash her head in.

Meanwhile the threat, the bluff, of the gun went ignored.

[Dogs231]

He stood silently as the situation continued to escalate and kept the stapler carefully trained on the head of the marauder. He watched as the attacker attempted to reel his arm for a second swing, only to be hit in the head and groin by the Irish girl. Zander was stunned and swung at from the back by the Australian and her whip. The other boy lunged at the Australian girl and attempted once more to land a blow.

He noticed quickly that the situation did not calm upon his attempt to bluff the would-be killer into submission. However, he did not believe that they had exposed his lie. He determined that it was more likely that his call had gone unnoticed. He felt that there was value in making another attempt to break the fight up. He took another deep breath and shouted as loudly as he could manage at the group, and then pointed his stapler as threateningly as possible.

"I said to back the fuck down! Do it, or I will fucking blow your bloody head off! Don't fucking test me!"

He kept the stapler pointed at the would-be murderer's head, aware of the weight of the wood and metal in his hands. He felt powerful even though he knew that any leverage he had in this situation was superficial. He questioned how long he would be able to maintain the façade.

[Applesintime]

Alright, apparently this wee cunt was Superman or something, because he didn't seem to give much of a fuck about him being kicked in the bollocks. The headbutt didn't go well either, and so she was left with a wee prick why didn't seem to have any fucking pain nerves in his dick. If he had one. She knew the score; wee boys with wee dicks always fucking postured and bragged and were just always playing the hard man to impress the girls. Thank Christ she didn't have to deal with that. Mind you, Amy couldn't fucking brag to save her life.

Anyway, the wee Brit started shouting more. Glancing at him, it didn't look like anything more than a dinky shitty pistol, but aye, a dinky shitty pistol was just what she needed right now. Zander tried to smack her in the face with the rock again, but thank Christ, Katherine finally got up off her arse and smacked him with the whip. All it did was draw his attention to her - Christ, what did this wee fucking bastard eat for breakfast, rocks or something? Fucking hell, he'd been whipped and kicked in the balls and he didn't even seem to flinch! She considered just running while Zander was distracted, but that'd just be a dick move. And she wasn't gonna let them catch her running away from a fight like a wee coward on their little cameras.

Looking around, Deirbhile's eyes were drawn to those wee desk drawers she had thrown out of the windies earlier. Good fucking thing she had had a temper tantrum, otherwise she wasn't gonna fucking have anything like this. Running over to the nearest one, she picked it up, and ran back at Zander, raising the drawer over her head, ignoring the paper flying into her face, and tried to bring it down on the top of his head.

"I AM GOING TO FUCKING NEUTER YOU WEE LAD!"

[KamiKaze]

What was with this guy?

He’d been whipped, and he was still going. He’d been kicked in the nards and headbutted, and he was still going. What did they feed people back in Singapore? She’d crack a joke, but--

It was her turn now.

She shrieked as the rock slammed into her jaw, and, intuitively, she cracked the whip another time, hoping to get another hit that’d actually get him to back down. Anything, please. Anything to stop the terror, to stop the pain.

Katherine heard more shouting, and then--

The drawer slammed downwards.

[Fenrir]

Zander tried to ignore the pain, tried to push it aside, tried to replace it with anger and sheer fucking indignation, but there was only so much he could do when his back was whipped and some giant bitch just tried to scramble his eggs. Fuck, that one had hurt a lot; there was a reason why he didn’t usually do this kind of thing himself but unfortunately he had no gang of useful, idiotic thugs to do his dirty work for him anymore. Back home it would have taken just a single sentence from him to see these girls strung up but now he had to do it himself, teeth and fists clenched.

Rock met jaw and for a second Zander felt a little better about his lot in life, the beginning of a smile creeping onto his face as he imagined what it would look like once he hit her again, and again, and again; teeth cracking and face bloody as he taught her, taught everyone, that he was not to be fucked with.

The whip struck the side of his face, opened his cheek up, and he came crashing back to reality.

“Cunt!”

He tried to ignore the pain, again, and his face locked into a grimace as he tried not to let the tears fall from his eyes. His only option was to win or else he would lose, badly, and he had a pretty good idea what would happen to him if that happened. These people would tear him to fucking shreds if he didn’t do the same first, so he ignored the pain in his balls, on his head, his face and across his back and he kept pushing forward.

Then something hit the back of his head and the last thing he saw before everything went dark was the ground rushing up to meet him.

[Dogs231]

He watched as Katherine received a stone to the jaw and cracked the whip against Zander. He adjusted his grip on the stapler as a drop of ocean water ran down his salt-covered face. He moved slightly forward and repositioned himself for a closer view of the fight.

He winced as he watched Deirbhile brought the drawer against Zander's head, which caused a loud crack of wood on the back of his skull. He stared as the other boy fell and crashed to the ground. He gathered that the other boy was unconscious from a blow of that severity. He saw an opportunity. He stepped slightly closer towards them, the stapler drawn, albeit lowered, and called out to the two fighters.

"One of you, restrain him, for fuck's sake. The cunt is still a threat, and I don't think he'll stay out for the count."

He inched forward, confident in control of the situation. He could recoup his losses at no potential risk to himself if he played his cards right.

"Oh, and toss his fucking bag over here. Before you try to bicker, I've still got the fucking gun here. It'd be bloody stupid of you to argue."

To survive, he would need every bit of supplies he could grab. However, he'd like to keep his hands clean for now - the last thing he would want is to become a target. If they forced his hand, there would be little he could do except abandon his bluff and run - though he was still confident in his ruse.

[Applesintime]

The shudder that went through Deirbhile's arms as the drawer smacked against the wee bastard's head hurt; what was more satisfying was watching the wee cunt topple over like a tree on a windy day. Dropping the drawer to the ground with a clatter, she managed a weak chuckle, reaching up to where the little shit had hit her, finding that there was a decent amount of blood running down her forehead. Right. Wee fucking cunt, she had done up her hair all nice before she went to camogie, and now there was blood in it. For that, he got a kick in the side.

"I vote we brain the cunt instead. Wee bastard tried to kill us, I'm not gonna lose any fuckin' sleep if we dump the fuck into the ocean." The words came to her mouth before her brain had time to process them, and she was shocked, like. She wasn't a violent person; well, aye, she was a bit of a potty mouth, and Ma always jokingly threatened to give her a good squirt of soap in her mouth if she kept using them words near her ears, but being a bit sweary wasn't a natural escalation to beating some fuck's head in. The Brit probably wouldn't object to that. Katherine, on the other hand, might have a wee bit to say about that, but aye, she could go fuck. Wee bitch had made it personal, and if she couldn't beat his fucking cunt in, she'd, like, at least wanna fucking make good on her promise to neuter the wee cunt.

And then the fucking Brit tried to threaten them to give the wee knocked out lad's bag over to him, and Deirbhile turned around, staring him dead in the eyes. "Oh fuck, you fuckin'... Bri'ish cunt! Go have tea with the Queen and go fuckin' ooh, off to Marks and Spencers to go fuckin'... fuck yourself ya wee shit!" Brits were at it again, no matter where you were, the Fountain, the Shankill, or wherever the fuck they were right now. And mouthing off probably wasn't a grand idea, but she wasn't bothered about if the wee cunt had a little ego to go with his little dick. Even as she protested, though, she started pulling the lad's bag off him. He had got a wee coat or something for his weapon, so it wasn't like she was handing the Brit a weapon to go shoot them with, no. He already had that, and if he wanted to do them with the gun and then steal all their shit, he'd have done that.

"Never fuckin' trust a Brit, I swear to fuckin' God. Wee cunts will backstab you the fuckin' second you turn your back to them and then they'll go and colonise your country or some shite." Giving off at Katherine about this all didn't exactly change anything, but it made her feel a wee bit better.

[KamiKaze]

Zander fell like a sack of potatoes, still but, she was sure he was still alive. Katherine held the whip closer to her. She realized she was shaking.

“Right-” she gasped.

With that, she untied the jacket around her waist, and approached Zander, making an attempt to tie the fabric around his hands. It wasn’t perfect, obviously. Just a few proper wiggles and he’d get out easily. Still, though. It could work for a bit until they find something better.

The other boy, the one who was barking orders, though…

Oh boy. He wanted the boy's bag. This was already getting to be a lot, even for this situation. Didn’t help that Deirbhile responded with a series. It seemed to not take long to get people to act like a bunch of violent bogans in this situation.

“Bloody hell…” she said, mostly to herself, then spoke again. “First, we need to figure out what we’re going to do with him. Maybe something a bit… sturdier?”

[Dogs231]

He shrugged at the proposal to throw the unconscious boy into the ocean. He knew that the other boy was an obstacle to his continued survival and did not feel the need to raise a finger in defence of his right to live.

"It doesn't concern me."

He felt concerned by the apathy he currently felt - it was difficult for him to care about the well-being of the unconscious marauder. He felt little at the prospect of this particular human being dying - a fact which made him deeply uncomfortable. He attempted to ignore these feelings for now.

After he demanded the other boy's supplies, a rant ensued courtesy of the Irish girl about how awful the British were. He was unamused by her rambling. He concluded that she was either ignorant or selfish. He was the only one among them who needed a bag, and he possessed what he claimed was a gun. As a result, the reasonable reaction would be to hand him the bag quietly. He decided that it was pointless to attempt to argue and rolled his eyes.

He remained silent as Deirbhile removed the backpack - designated as O28 - from the unconscious boy and tossed it in his direction, where it landed on the ground just in front of him. He pulled it from the ground and slung one of the straps around his right shoulder, then pulled the left side upwards to rest on his left shoulder. He would have time to assess the contents later. With the bag secured, he had no reason to remain with the other two. He turned and left, searching for a safe area in which to assess the contents of his newfound belongings.

(He went to I Vow to Thee, My Country.)

[Applesintime]

The British fuck got the bag and ran away. Oh, how Deirbhile wanted to beat his fucking head in. Wee fucker, threatening girls with a gun just 'cause his dick was too small and he had to get his fun somewhere. She gave him the finger to his back, and resolved that if she ever saw the wee bastard again, she'd give him a right good fucking banjaxing with whatever she had on her hand. It was a shite metaphor for the famine, really, British cunt with a gun threatening an Irish girl to gve him the shit that he didn't deserve.

"Fucker should have done this wee shit-" Standing up, she gave Zander a good kick in the stomach. "-with the gun. Kneecapped the fucker." It wasn't unfamiliar to her. The IRA did it all the time if you were a criminal, a housebreaker, or a tout. And if the Brit didn't have the bollocks to actually shoot the bastard, he could have made sure he wouldn't be getting up and threatening more innocent girls, like. Ugh. She wanted to kick the wee fucker into the ocean, but now that the Brit was gone and Zander was down on the ground she felt her anger subsiding.

Picking up the drawer, Deirbhile kicked the unconscious boy again for good measure. "Don't you be following me. I'm gonna find that wee fucker and kill him, so I am. Do what you want with the wee fucker." And with that, she turned her back on Katherine and Zander, following the Brit.

((Deirbhile Callahan continued elsewhere))

[KamiKaze]

Deep breath.

“Right,” she repeated.

And then the other two were off. Katherine felt a chill run down her spine. ‘Kill him’? People were really just jumping in, huh? Get kidnapped and do what they say, without thought. But she couldn’t just leave Zander like this, either. He was still tied up, and seemed still. They weren’t doing much to find something sturdier.

She just made sure to keep her hand on the jacket, to make sure it was tight enough for the time being.

[Fenrir]

Zander woke up with his face in the dirt. This was the first thing he realised, upon opening his eyes. The second was that he hurt.

He turned his head to the side so he wasn’t breathing in dirt and mud and his cheek burned as he pressed the bloody cut there against the ground. His breath hitched painfully when inhaling reminded him of the whip mark on his back, which only made it hurt worse as he let out the air in his lungs in a ragged gasp. And his head… his head felt like it had been split open with an axe. It wasn’t the first time he’d woken up with a headache, but this put the few hangovers he’d ever had in his life to shame; not surprising since on the few occasions he had greased enough palms to be served alcohol in the clubs he had never gone that far with the drinks.

The less said about the way his balls felt the better.

He’d lost the fight then. He must have done, or else he wouldn’t be lying face down in the dirt like some sort of discarded trash would he? His temper rose at the mere thought, but it died a quick death a moment later when all it did was make his head feel worse. He should be dead. The fact that he wasn’t surprised him, he was sure those girls would have killed him if he fell unconscious in front of them. Sure as hell he would have strangled the life out of them if he was in a similar position, but here he still was; his neck being one of the few parts of his him that didn’t hurt right now.

Whatever. Their loss if they couldn’t do it; his gain. His chance to still win this. He would win this, just as soon as he picked himself off the ground both figuratively and literally. Zander went to move his arms to do just that only to find that they were restrained by something.

“You fucking bitches!” Zander thrashed against the bindings keeping his arms behind his back, at the hand he only now realised was at his back, against the person he could now dimly see out of the corner of his eye. “Get your fucking hands off me!” He tried to rock his body from side to side, pressed his head against the ground as he bucked his torso off the ground and tried to get his knees under himself.

Fuck, it might be too soon to assume he wasn’t going to die here.