[closed]

[alittlesweptup]

Date & Time: January 5th
Location: Columbia, 1973
Characters: Charlie Cutter and Nathan Drake
Summary: Charlie Cutter is doing his community service okay aka two guys bust into a Colombian cannabis plantation.
Warnings: Swearing, possibly some mild violence and likely lots of stupidity

He's been to Columbia before, but rarely in the country; it's hillier than he tends to remember, all green and sickeningly beautiful in the summer. Charlie isn't sure if that's got something to do with the fact that he's been in a bloody winter wasteland for the past months, a aluminium can on the moon before that, but he finds he simply can't help but bask a little.

The sun is shining, the birds are singing, and they're... -- well, they're hiding out on the top of a rocky outcropping, peering through binoculars at a lightly armed compound and plantation housing a major cabanas production. Charlie shifts on his belly, some small stones jabbing uncomfortably against the points of his hips and lower abdomen. He shifts his binoculars against his eyes, then passes them off so Nate can get a proper look at well.

"That warehouse beyond the fence line - the one farthest east. That'd be my guess."

Lowell's assignment for them isn't rocket science, but there were certainly easier ways to have picked him up a few bricks of marijuana.

Comments

get ready for some hilariously morose icons

[alittlesweptup]

Charlie's on time - he doesn't really have anywhere else to go once he's beyond the point of 'alright, well I'm not getting blown up quite yet so now what?' So he makes his way hastily back to the treeline, pulse hammering in his ears from the explosion, the echo of heat still at his back.

He crosses over into the trees just as he catches wind of the sound of guards shouting - close enough, no doubt, that they could've caught sight of him. He swears mildly, "Shit," and makes his way deeper into the trees, hoping to lose the bastards in the foliage. He goes for haste rather than stealth, crashing his way through the trees and brush. The more distance he can get between himself and the guards on his tail, the better. And if he leads them on a bit of a chase from a safe distance? Well then all the better.

[cyphered]

A few sleeper holds later and Nate is out the way he came with...just one brick. He had considered trying to carry more, but they were bigger than he had expected them to be. He could only fit one comfortably in his bag, and not having the use of his hands was simply out of the question -- not when these guys were clearly armed and he wasn't allowed to kill anyone.

He sees a few guards around the perimeter line now -- no doubt the direction Charlie went in, but most are tending to the blaze off to his right in an attempt to keep it from spreading. There is a lot of shouting and running around, as well as attempts to put the fire out. Always trust Charlie to set off a nice bomb. Now he just had to get out of there before the whole warehouse caught.

Sneaking out is a far greater task than sneaking in, but Nate manages to only catch the attention of just two men, and he's long gone into the outer brush before they see him. A few gunshots ring out and snap into the trees he flees passed, but he continues bolting in an attempt to find Charlie's path.

One lost partner being chased, and he has to dodge the group following Charlie while not getting shot by the two men a couple hundred feet behind him. Sure sounds like a Sunday.

[alittlesweptup]

Charlie's quiet when he likes to be, causes an almighty ruckus when he'd rather not and right now he's going for the later - crashing through the undergrowth as he zigs and zags, boots catching over the occasional snarling tree roots as he goes. He swears, not entirely unhappily, as he goes - sucking down air as he runs. There are men not a few yards behind him, eager to kill him (which is obvious by the not uncommon crack of gunfire, the splinter of tree bark not entirely far away enough to be comfortable) and eventually Nate will catch up to them, he'll lose them completely or some rough shod combination of the two.

At which point he abruptly finds the ground tipping out from under his feet, sliding down a loamy incline tangled with brush and ferns. Rather than fight his way up, he lets himself go: sliding down and catching the hill with the seat of his worn jeans, bringing his arms up to shield his face as he goes. It manages two things: gives him some distance over the small, armed band pursuing him, and means he's a smaller target as he goes which - all in all - isn't the worst thing in the world. Granted, it also gives the bastards the high ground, but they're too intent on killing him to keep it and come tumbling down into the ravine after him only are less graceful and organized about it.

Which makes catching the first one on the ground by the neck and throwing him into the second a relatively simple state of affairs.