Ground Rules

[Latin For Dragula]

((Vahka Basayev Continued From O Death))

He hadn't gotten this close to the beach before, when he'd met Eden. It was a little surreal to think about that, as he stomped across the crisp, dusted ground. After he'd met with her, he ran into Marcus.

Turned him into her killer. Not exactly what he had planned, but he could work with it. He could bury his guilt deep and let it fester until he was gone. Until then, he'd do anything necessary.

That was the game plan. It was time to let someone else in on that.

Vahka scooped a handful of the cold, wet sand up and wrapped it in a spare shirt. He'd find a way to dry it out later. Might be useful. Then he planted his sword into the sand and leaned in on it, staring into a camera at the top of one of the icy umbrellas. A large, meaty finger tapped at his collar.

"Hey. We need to talk. Actually, you just need to listen. It ain't been near twelve hours yet, so this'll be pretty one-sided. That's just the way I want it."

Deep breath. Show time.

"Y'know, it's funny. Back home, I used to do these shows with some of my old man's gear. Fake beat up a few guys, work out some cheesy death, maybe chew some scenery. And at every show I heard the same damn thing at least once."

Pause.

" 'That kid belongs on Survival of the Fittest.' "

A smirk drew over his face as he invented the memory. It never happened, but they didn't need to know that. This was story-building. Destiny. The hero's journey and all that shit. He'd been lectured on it a dozen times in the troupe. Time to put it to good use.

"They were right. I do belong here. But you, boss? You don't know piss from rain."

His smile turned to a glare and he gripped his fingers around the hard pommel of my sword. "What kind of fuckin' amateur do you think I am? Scratch that, what kind of fuckin' amateur are you? I may not know this show, but I know these goddamn people."

Names flashed through his mind. "I know how dangerous Pia is, I saw her shoot somebody fer Christ's sake! I don't need your fuckin' reminder. That didn't piss me off, though. You kept that quiet and didn't fuck me. Dougie, though..." He spat like just saying the name brought a bad taste to his mouth.

"I know I was agitatin' him. I did it on purpose. I threatened Lily instead of him for a goddamn reason. I can put him in line and playin' for the team, while you..."

He shook his head slowly. "You can't do a fuckin' thing to tug on his leash. Be glad that threat might just keep 'em together, or you could lose that fucker for good."

All bullshit, as far as he knew. He had no idea what he could do to Dougie, but now they never would, and that robbed him. He was pissed about that.

"You wanna ignore me? You wanna make threats? Fine. But I'm gonna take an educated guess and say I'm the only fuckin' hope you've got so far."

Another bluff. It didn't matter if it was true or not, though. If it wasn't, he was already fucked and he'd win without any help. If it was, it might just force her back into his corner.

"If you wanna win, though...I'm here. I'm ready. You wanna tap on my shoulder and make sure I know somethin' can go wrong? Stay real quiet about it. Fuckin' yell like that again in the middle of my job, and we're done, boss."

The sword slung back up over his shoulder and he nodded to the camera. "Find me when you're ready to back a winner, not a fuckin' coward."

It'd have to do. Maybe she'd get back to him, or maybe she wouldn't. It didn't matter. The stunt back in the orchard had already established the one thing that was important.

She was afraid of him, and what he could do. That meant he was sending the right message.

((Vahka Basayev continued in Better To Be Alone Than With Bad Company))