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Never, but I fear I gotta let you go anyway. Where're you going?
Well, alright. You're a noble woman. Gimme a little extra food every now and then as compensation?
He has, somehow, ended up speaking in a thick, Louisiana French, and he hasn't yet discovered emojis. So, he tells her I have no fucking idea how to do the symbols, what's happening, and is sure she has no idea what he's saying in turn.
He makes a frustrated sound.
📲
👨🏻🦳
[He's cursing in his newly acquired French as he smashes through the instructions, somehow. He knows how to toggle between voice and text, and eventually finds an emoji he can easily understand.]
😠
[Nicely done, outlaw! Here's more his language:]
🍻❓
She scrolls through the communicator rapidly. Edward had mentioned the network, and when she goes back, she finds his post. She's a little too disturbed by the mere sight of him to listen to much of what he's saying. She knows she's fucked this one up badly, and for once, she doesn't feel like she's being disingenuous when she makes excuses for it... but she still made a mistake.
Anyone from her world could have made that mistake. Ellie might just do it too, a couple days, even a week from now. Who wouldn't shoot? She was generous enough to just go for the knee.
More disturbing to her: he's a warden. There's no way on earth he's not going to tell someone, and Larry's enough of a bootlicker that he'll say something when he figures it out. That's what that blue thing was, right? Larry's thing?
She swears she's going to lose enamel off her teeth, clenching her jaw like this.
The whole situation is fucked. She feels mangled, inside and out. Fucking Infected. She navigates away from Edward's post before she starts to feel nauseous. She goes right to Arthur's inbox, away again to Tiffany's, away once more to Larry's. She contemplates Misty and Jake and Butcher, and then goes right back to Arthur's. There's no avoiding this. No one else is going to get it and it's coming out no matter what.
She opens up an audio line:
"Arthur. I screwed up."
She sounds like she swallowed a frog.
👍👍👍👍
[Yes please. He's already getting up.]
He's never turned her down, not even when she'd gotten into it with Yunlan in his cabin - he'd helped her, told her he was angry, and then left. He's always tried to be empathetic.
He's doubly so more now. The moment he hears her voice he goes still, puts his cigarette down, and replies:
"Lemme come to you. Where are you?" His voice is soft, gentle, but firm. Let her rest herself in his hands for a moment.
"Inmate bathrooms," she replies. It's close enough. She can step out before he gets close. She drops her voice a little: "There's some guy on the barge who looks like an Infected. I shot him."
He's putting on his boots as she speaks, the thunks audible in the background.
"He die?"
First things first.
"So he ain't dead, and Larry saw you, but neither have come after you. Larry's gonna take him to the infirmary, and I'm gonna come pick you up. Alright?"
"Alright," she replies. And then, with the barest, most uncomfortable chuckle: "I think he's a warden too."
Like it'd be any better of a situation if it was an inmate? She's not sure.
"If I got the right guy," he does, who else looks like a corpse here? "You're likely right. He made a whole video about it."
A little too much for Arthur's taste, but he can understand the reasoning.
It occurs to her that she’s never shown one to Arthur, but it’s fine. She knows what she’s talking about.
"Jesus, the Admiral sure as hell knows who to bring here, huh?"
He's closing his door, and walking to the right level.
"Well, now he's both shot and ugly as hell," Arthur says, pragmatically. It's likely not very nice of them to say all of this; he doesn't give a shit. She's upset, so it's warranted.
"Alright, tiger, calm down," he grunts at her, shaking his head. "He's not gonna leave just 'cause you think he'd be better off without a leg."
"Well, I'm not going to be in the same space as him," she informs him. "Are you close?"
The more time passes, the more reason to think someone's raised some sort of alarm.
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