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Premeditation [one-shot]
Nov. 9th, 2019 02:19 pmNovember 4th, 2019
The weekend has been crowded. From John's murder to all that followed, Saoirse's party and Harry Goodsir's awful revelation to telling John what he'd learned, and finally to last night's late, surprisingly hopeful turn of events - Martin hasn't had many moments to really think about the next step. But he'd known there was a next step. He'd even known what it was. He knew it when he tracked down the establishment at the intersection John had named, dragged from the knife while it sat buried in his heart. He knew it when he picked up the knife while Eliot was focused on cleaning the floor, when he'd wiped it off and carefully pocketed it. Maybe he hadn't had time to think about it directly, but he'd known.
He'd have gone sooner if he could. The shop was closed on Sundays, or he'd likely have fit it in yesterday. Probably a good thing he didn't, considering it might have been difficult to conceal it from John that night. But there isn't really a rush. Now, after pocketing two hundred from John's absurd stash of drug money - between his own duties as accounting for the money and the fact that they aren't terribly careful about just swiping it for personal spending where necessary, he doubts anyone will notice - he leaves The Archive for the day and walks the fairly short distance to Madison Ave and Revello Dr, to the unassuming little shop with a bland sign proclaiming it to be Madison Tactical. Hunting gear as well as items of slightly less explicable purpose - the sort of place he'd never set foot in, generally. He hovers outside for a moment, peering inside until he's reasonably confident it's empty apart from the man at the back. Then he goes inside.
( Read more... )
The weekend has been crowded. From John's murder to all that followed, Saoirse's party and Harry Goodsir's awful revelation to telling John what he'd learned, and finally to last night's late, surprisingly hopeful turn of events - Martin hasn't had many moments to really think about the next step. But he'd known there was a next step. He'd even known what it was. He knew it when he tracked down the establishment at the intersection John had named, dragged from the knife while it sat buried in his heart. He knew it when he picked up the knife while Eliot was focused on cleaning the floor, when he'd wiped it off and carefully pocketed it. Maybe he hadn't had time to think about it directly, but he'd known.
He'd have gone sooner if he could. The shop was closed on Sundays, or he'd likely have fit it in yesterday. Probably a good thing he didn't, considering it might have been difficult to conceal it from John that night. But there isn't really a rush. Now, after pocketing two hundred from John's absurd stash of drug money - between his own duties as accounting for the money and the fact that they aren't terribly careful about just swiping it for personal spending where necessary, he doubts anyone will notice - he leaves The Archive for the day and walks the fairly short distance to Madison Ave and Revello Dr, to the unassuming little shop with a bland sign proclaiming it to be Madison Tactical. Hunting gear as well as items of slightly less explicable purpose - the sort of place he'd never set foot in, generally. He hovers outside for a moment, peering inside until he's reasonably confident it's empty apart from the man at the back. Then he goes inside.
( Read more... )
