Sharkface thins his mouth, not a smile. There's something different about Holloway, a sincerity that he ought to dislike or at least distrust immediately. Most of the men here are traitors or criminals, and all of them are killers. The reasons don't matter. Sharkface spelled his out a couple times in the beginning, defended his reasons, but he's largely stopped. No point. They're all trapped in here just the same. Most of them will die in here, too.
But it does beg the question, doesn't it? What someone like Holloway did to get tossed in here with the rest of them.
Sharkface shakes his head and files out.
The food is singularly awful, surprising no one. Sharkface takes his without a word and sits down in the corner he's claimed, his back to a wall and his blindspot jealously guarded. No one approaches him, exactly the way he likes it. But there's a group of Insurrectionists a few tables over that he's spoken with a couple times, and he gestures to one of them, flicking his hands to get their attention.
It's easy enough to sign across the distance, no need for spoken words at all. If the guards notice, or any of them understand sign language, they've never done a thing to stop it.
Sharkface spells out Holloway's name, one letter at a time. "The fuck did he do?"
The Insurrectionist, a hawk-faced man named Anders, bares his teeth and signs back Terms are negotiated. Favors for favors. Sharkface is always good to beat the shit out of a body, and Anders is never short on clients. He's running some sort of racket, or at least is calling it that to avoid admitting his people just like beating up the UNSC prisoners. But he's tapped into just about everything that goes on in the Tartarus, and there's always value in knowing a man like that.
Turns out Anders and his people already had an eye on Holloway. Turns out he killed someone up in the ranks. Turns out —
Sharkface actually laughs at that, startling Anders and a few nearby prisoners. Magpie. Of all fucking people.
"I don't fucking believe it," he murmurs, and laughs and laughs and laughs.
no subject
But it does beg the question, doesn't it? What someone like Holloway did to get tossed in here with the rest of them.
Sharkface shakes his head and files out.
The food is singularly awful, surprising no one. Sharkface takes his without a word and sits down in the corner he's claimed, his back to a wall and his blindspot jealously guarded. No one approaches him, exactly the way he likes it. But there's a group of Insurrectionists a few tables over that he's spoken with a couple times, and he gestures to one of them, flicking his hands to get their attention.
It's easy enough to sign across the distance, no need for spoken words at all. If the guards notice, or any of them understand sign language, they've never done a thing to stop it.
Sharkface spells out Holloway's name, one letter at a time. "The fuck did he do?"
The Insurrectionist, a hawk-faced man named Anders, bares his teeth and signs back Terms are negotiated. Favors for favors. Sharkface is always good to beat the shit out of a body, and Anders is never short on clients. He's running some sort of racket, or at least is calling it that to avoid admitting his people just like beating up the UNSC prisoners. But he's tapped into just about everything that goes on in the Tartarus, and there's always value in knowing a man like that.
Turns out Anders and his people already had an eye on Holloway. Turns out he killed someone up in the ranks. Turns out —
Sharkface actually laughs at that, startling Anders and a few nearby prisoners. Magpie. Of all fucking people.
"I don't fucking believe it," he murmurs, and laughs and laughs and laughs.