"Really, Charlie, that explosion didn't tip you off?" Sue her for being childishly amused at the thought of cluttering up the channel while armed police are running the streets ready to give the lot of them trouble for looking at them wrong. Or being in the wrong place. Or being Nathan Drake, which is all of the above heaped into a pile.
She's lurking in a closely knit pair of merchant stalls tucked casually behind a row of colorful scarves: it won't mask the hiss and click of her radio, but it means she's much harder to spot by contrast. "Getting more crowded over on the northeast end of things," Chloe has to drop her voice a touch as a lone officer goes running past to catch up with a group at the end of the block. "might not want to drag them this way or we'll both be penned in."
"At least I'll have some company in firing line that way," Nate adds resting his head against the wall as another frustrated squad runs passed his position. By his count, only one left to pass him before he could make a break for it. "'scuse me for the lack of etiquette. Must've slipped my mind with all the grenades flying around. Bloody yank and all."
There's a long pause, one where Nate makes sure not to let go of the button so Charlie can't get a word in. He's glad he can't see him -- if the police didn't shoot him, he might've encouraged something from Charlie with the grin on his face.
"If you are where I think you are, Nate," -- because the explosion is hardly specific, Chloe. "Then there's a fire escape sort of thing about three doors down from you. You should be able to use that to get to higher ground without anyone's seeing you - so long as you're quick about it."
He holds the button down for another solid thirty seconds of hissing white noise.
And unlike Nate, Chloe doesn't need an immediate exit so long as Nate keeps his distance or no one points out the woman chatting on something that's clearly not a cell phone. For now she keeps her eyes on the blockade getting itself set up at the end of the far road and tosses out a smug little 'over' before lifting her finger.
No "over" from Nate this time. Charlie had given him an out. He could get Chloe back after he wasn't in danger of being shot. Or at least less in danger of being shot, because Nathan Drake was in danger of being shot so long as he was breathing. Maybe even after the fact depending on who was in the area.
He doesn't wait for the third squad he knows is coming, instead turning on heel to duck into the door mentioned. He slithers through the building until he spots the ladder of the fire escape outside of the window. So Nate moves to unlock the window--
"Uh."
Or not. The lock is clearly caked with rust. He picks up the radio again.
"No good, this place is a dump. Any other ideas, chief? I can break it, but. Well, you know."
He had a gun, but it wouldn't do much against an entire armed police force once they decided to swarm him.
"Have you never heard of a bit of elbow grease?" But he's being facetious - mostly. Shockingly, Nate is sometimes smarter than he looks. In this case, keeping the volume level down is probably a good thing. "Try the other side. The building neighboring that one might be close enough for you to jump across and catch a bloody window sill or something."
Because picking locks can't be all their forte's, apparently. Honestly, Nate. Lock pick set, lighter: it's not a long list.
Charlie scans over toward where Chloe is, searching momentarily through the tangle of brown on brown to locate-- Ah, there. "How're things coming together over there, darling?"
Still, she didn't expect the cavalry to stick around for the long haul. It means they'll start getting restless, start scanning every corner for something-- or more accurately someone-- out of place. She sets her back to them despite the fact that it means they could easily start to encroach on her space during a transmission without her knowing. Better than them glancing over to see her chatting away.
"Not my kind of party but I'll live. Just make sure they don't start creeping onto the rooftops: won't do us any good to have our GPS shot right out of the sky."
"You should probably get a move on, Chloe," Nate's voice comes, slightly steely. "Unless you're planning on shacking up with some young Yemeni boys." Its safe to say he's made it to the next level where Charlie's directed him. Definitely a jump he can make with about a 50% chance of someone spotting him while he climbs to hide on the roof. "How's it looking west-side? Maybe we can make a break for it there. Short-cut."
This window opens without difficulty, and Charlie might spot Nate's head poking out to look around. If the way he's positioning himself says anything, he's not waiting for an answer.
He springs for the windowsill, which he grabs and hangs from for just a moment before he starts scaling the piping toward the roof.
"Really? Is that your type these days? I've been wondering-- Oh shit."
Which is pretty much all the warning Nate's going to get before an RPG sends a large section of the rooftop he's going for exploding outward in a hail of stone and cement, dust and smoke.
"Fucking hell!" --Not said into the radio. Charlie scrambles to his feet, binoculars trained on the building as the smoke clears. Into the radio this time: "Chloe, seriously, get out of there." He quickly makes his way across the rooftop, any thought about escaping off to the west shoved away. 'Close the distance, provide some covering fire' is at the top of the list despite how feeble the small caliber handgun at his side feels. Getting anything like decent firepower in this country is like trying to find water in the desert - current RPG bombardment aside, apparently.
"Really--?" Chloe snaps, finger belatedly hitting the trigger on her radio before dropping off entirely. She was going for a quiet exit, but the location of that rooftop getting pulverized draws the police's attention faster than she could've prepared for or anticipated. Most of the merchants duck in; Chloe doesn't belong. Which means yeah, fine, her only option is to run.
They're not exactly light on the gunfire once the shouts for her to stop prove less effective than a few well placed bullets.
"Could use a place to go right about now if you're not all that busy!"
With the explosion, of course, comes the dislodging of the pipe Nate had been using to get to the top of the building. So much for the quick get away. He barely has time to swear and absolutely zero time to jump away. As the pipe buckles under Nate's weight, he braces himself for impact.
Luck's on his side again as it jams itself against the other building, leaving Nate hanging out to dry like lingerie on a clothesline in the summer.
"Crap."
No time to waste. He immediately swings off the pipe as it snaps in half from the force and grabs onto the corner of the broken building, the other being too high to reach from his angle. Still no bullet wounds. Still winning.
He rips his weapon from its holster and starts to pull himself up -- hopefully before another RPG fires off.
"There's a stairwell at the back of that market. Go up and hang a left, that'll put you out on a high street. You should be able to get roof access from there." It's a thin lifeline to throw her, but he's busy jumping across the narrow distance between rooftops, pulling his gun as he slides between tiling and cement and back again. Shit, shit, shit. Bugger this rooftops business.
"Find us a lift, won't you bright eyes? --Nate, I'm headed toward you. Over."
"Oh sure, I'll do all the hard work while you lads play abou--" the sound of her voice drowned out by a sharp, too-close crack of gunfire, "shit! Son of a bi--"
Nate strategically turns to press the button of the radio using the side of the building. "Charlie, forget about me! Get to Chloe and find us a way out of here!" Is all that comes across the channel before he's on the move again. It only takes a few gunshots over the side of the building to clear off the top of it --
Well, most of it anyway. Nate soon finds himself being dragged up by a rather large Yemeni who sees fit to toss him into the adjacent wall. That'll keep him busy for a while. At least it'll keep the RPG fire away.
Oh for Christ's sake-- Never again with Yemen. He doesn't care how cheap the airfare is.
"Roger that. Don't get shot." Whether or not Nate gets that message during the whole face-to-wall incident... --Charlie quickly changes tack, stepping over the wall of a rooftop garden and swearing loudly as he slides on the polished roof tiles. His whole trip across the rooftops is a series of 'Fuck, shit, bastard, bollocks, don't you fucking dare--'s as he closes in on Chloe's position or at least something close to it.
He runs into a hiccup - or rather a gap too wide to jump - a few blocks shy. He lifts the radio: "Oi, darling. If you can draw them down the lane, I can take some potshots into the barrel and give you some cover."
And with a pack of them on her heels from the setup they'd had, she could use a few of those potshots right about now. Problem is that fuss was the radio getting clipped and she's got no way to backtrack for it-- so she follows his previous instructions as best as she can remember: ducks down behind (and leaps over) the mess of carts and displays lining the street to keep herself a hard target till Chloe (unintentionally) lines herself up with the lane to give Charlie a solid shot. Or more. Hopefully more.
Don't mind Nathan Drake, he'll be over on the rooftop throwing punches with the Yemeni thug determined to knock his lights out. As expected, it keeps the RPGs off his target. Perhaps unexpectedly, it causes them to aim at his allies. He'll only get to fire one toward Charlie's rooftop before Nate ducks a punch and aims at the offender to take him out.
It works at the expense of getting punched square in the head, which dizzies him into stumbling for cover. He fumbles for his radio, the crackle picking up shouting surrounding him.
'Or more' is pretty accurate as Chloe skids down the lane, Yemeni militia in tow. Charlie takes aim and a moment later there's that low crack of the Walther - a jerk from the leading man as Charlie wings him. It's warning enough to send the rest scattering out of the middle of the street, diving for cover.
Charlie's midway through a celebratory "Ha!" and then the howl of the incoming RPG registers. It's all of a half beat before it hits and takes out a chunk of wall and roof, spitting dust and debris. The roof yawns and his boots start to slide; the instinct to go leaping for some kind of handhold comes a half instant too late as the plaster and tile under his feet collapses in on itself and Charlie falls through along with the brick and debris.
There's nothing direct on Chloe's end that points towards Charlie being the target of that obscenely loud crash on the rooftops above her; still a cursory glance over her shoulder to see the pegged officer means the gears are turning when she swings into an alleyway connecting with Charlie's failed nest.
It's a tight fit, even for her, but it buys time, and more importantly it lines her up with the tail end of a battered pickup left running while a shopkeep unloads. Or was unloading before everything started turning to chaos.
The plaster to her right splinters from a wild shot as she squeezes herself out, dust catching her eye (prompting a mild bit of swearing when she goes for the door of the truck) it's just a comforting thought that the one responsible for firing at her won't have the luxury of fitting himself through the alley in her footsteps.
Nate hears the explosion behind him and quietly hopes that Charlie had the mind to jump before it happened. Before he can check, he has to deal with this asshole in front of him. So when he's charged, Nate sidesteps the punch and throws a few well placed punches of his own until he has an opening to knee the bastard in the stomach. While he bends over and struggles to catch his breath and bearings, Nate turns and makes a break for it, leaping across the rooftop and firing ahead of him.
No sign of Charlie anywhere, and the only gunshots are his own and the ones being aimed at him. Not good. On instinct, he heads for the collapsed building.
"Charlie? C'mon Charlie, give me something to go on here--" he starts, peering down the hole. Its impossible to see with all the wreckage and the dust, but he starts down as best he can. "If you're not lying down there unconscious, say something will ya?"
A floor down, gone grey nearly from head to foot thanks to the dust of crumbled cement and sheet rock, Charlie slowly extricates himself from the tangle of debris with a groan. His back aches something fierce, but that might be from the table he landed on. He does a brief inventory of his personal effects (balls, cock, wallet and watch) to make sure nothing's busted. Part of him isn't surprised to discover that the radio is the only serious casualty of the fall - it's hissing and popping, screaming from where it's lost signal. He tries for a moment to re-tune it and then dismisses the effort entirely and clicks it off. So much for that.
Limping slightly - piss, bollocks, his shoes are going to need a thorough conditioning after this nonsense -, Charlie makes his way from the thankfully empty apartment and clatters down the shared staircase to the ground floor. He doesn't bother with holstering his weapon before he moves out onto the street - the bloody roof just caved in and he's covered in dust. If that's not the definition of conspicuous, he doesn't know what is.
Chloe's already slamming the truck door shut by the time Charlie comes hobbling out into view. Covered in plaster, powdered brick and pulverized stone and sporting a brand new limp, there's no dismissing the idea that he could be badly injured.
It's why she promptly leans out the window and asks, rather cheerfully: "Need a lift, cowboy?"
She won't mention the dirt if you don't mention the eye, Charlie.
There's a soft mutter ("Crap") when Nate realizes he can't actually drop down the hole without seriously injuring himself, and opts instead to straighten and look over the ledge, searching wildly for any sign of either of his partners.
"Alright. Explosions, huge hole, no word from Chloe or Cutter. Huge swarm of foreign police out for your blood. Think, Nate, think--"
Almost on cue, Nate catches the sound of a safety clicking off behind him. Before he even has time to think about it, he finds himself jumping across the rooftop and--ends just a bit too short, scrambling to hang onto a window awning. He feels the sting of something slicing his arm ("Great, now I'm gonna owe interest on top of everything else"). It takes every ounce of his willpower not to just let go, but at the moment he's hanging off a building out in the open.
That shot may have (mostly) missed him, but there's a good chance the next one won't.
Chloe in a car, apparently not terribly worse for the wear is a sight for sore eyes. He almost makes a joke of it-- and then there's the crack of gunfire as he swings about to catch sight of Nate climbing to a bloody window ledge, feet scrambling at the wall. Two limping strides down the road and the angle opens up enough that the man with the gun aimed toward Drake is clear enough.
So Charlie levels the Walther, fires, and that's that.
"Oi!" He doesn't bother with holstering the gun as he calls to Nate. "Quit messing about!"
"Seriously." Chloe chides, reaching over to pop the door open for Charlie, foot still stuck on the gas pedal. "Haven't got all day to toy about with these clowns."
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She's lurking in a closely knit pair of merchant stalls tucked casually behind a row of colorful scarves: it won't mask the hiss and click of her radio, but it means she's much harder to spot by contrast. "Getting more crowded over on the northeast end of things," Chloe has to drop her voice a touch as a lone officer goes running past to catch up with a group at the end of the block. "might not want to drag them this way or we'll both be penned in."
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There's a long pause, one where Nate makes sure not to let go of the button so Charlie can't get a word in. He's glad he can't see him -- if the police didn't shoot him, he might've encouraged something from Charlie with the grin on his face.
"Over."
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"If you are where I think you are, Nate," -- because the explosion is hardly specific, Chloe. "Then there's a fire escape sort of thing about three doors down from you. You should be able to use that to get to higher ground without anyone's seeing you - so long as you're quick about it."
He holds the button down for another solid thirty seconds of hissing white noise.
"Over."
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Zing.
And unlike Nate, Chloe doesn't need an immediate exit so long as Nate keeps his distance or no one points out the woman chatting on something that's clearly not a cell phone. For now she keeps her eyes on the blockade getting itself set up at the end of the far road and tosses out a smug little 'over' before lifting her finger.
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"Oh sure, that's original."
No "over" from Nate this time. Charlie had given him an out. He could get Chloe back after he wasn't in danger of being shot. Or at least less in danger of being shot, because Nathan Drake was in danger of being shot so long as he was breathing. Maybe even after the fact depending on who was in the area.
He doesn't wait for the third squad he knows is coming, instead turning on heel to duck into the door mentioned. He slithers through the building until he spots the ladder of the fire escape outside of the window. So Nate moves to unlock the window--
"Uh."
Or not. The lock is clearly caked with rust. He picks up the radio again.
"No good, this place is a dump. Any other ideas, chief? I can break it, but. Well, you know."
He had a gun, but it wouldn't do much against an entire armed police force once they decided to swarm him.
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Because picking locks can't be all their forte's, apparently. Honestly, Nate. Lock pick set, lighter: it's not a long list.
Charlie scans over toward where Chloe is, searching momentarily through the tangle of brown on brown to locate-- Ah, there. "How're things coming together over there, darling?"
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Still, she didn't expect the cavalry to stick around for the long haul. It means they'll start getting restless, start scanning every corner for something-- or more accurately someone-- out of place. She sets her back to them despite the fact that it means they could easily start to encroach on her space during a transmission without her knowing. Better than them glancing over to see her chatting away.
"Not my kind of party but I'll live. Just make sure they don't start creeping onto the rooftops: won't do us any good to have our GPS shot right out of the sky."
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This window opens without difficulty, and Charlie might spot Nate's head poking out to look around. If the way he's positioning himself says anything, he's not waiting for an answer.
He springs for the windowsill, which he grabs and hangs from for just a moment before he starts scaling the piping toward the roof.
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Which is pretty much all the warning Nate's going to get before an RPG sends a large section of the rooftop he's going for exploding outward in a hail of stone and cement, dust and smoke.
"Fucking hell!" --Not said into the radio. Charlie scrambles to his feet, binoculars trained on the building as the smoke clears. Into the radio this time: "Chloe, seriously, get out of there." He quickly makes his way across the rooftop, any thought about escaping off to the west shoved away. 'Close the distance, provide some covering fire' is at the top of the list despite how feeble the small caliber handgun at his side feels. Getting anything like decent firepower in this country is like trying to find water in the desert - current RPG bombardment aside, apparently.
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They're not exactly light on the gunfire once the shouts for her to stop prove less effective than a few well placed bullets.
"Could use a place to go right about now if you're not all that busy!"
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With the explosion, of course, comes the dislodging of the pipe Nate had been using to get to the top of the building. So much for the quick get away. He barely has time to swear and absolutely zero time to jump away. As the pipe buckles under Nate's weight, he braces himself for impact.
Luck's on his side again as it jams itself against the other building, leaving Nate hanging out to dry like lingerie on a clothesline in the summer.
"Crap."
No time to waste. He immediately swings off the pipe as it snaps in half from the force and grabs onto the corner of the broken building, the other being too high to reach from his angle. Still no bullet wounds. Still winning.
He rips his weapon from its holster and starts to pull himself up -- hopefully before another RPG fires off.
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"Find us a lift, won't you bright eyes? --Nate, I'm headed toward you. Over."
shortest tag known to man you're welcome
/touches your face
Nate strategically turns to press the button of the radio using the side of the building. "Charlie, forget about me! Get to Chloe and find us a way out of here!" Is all that comes across the channel before he's on the move again. It only takes a few gunshots over the side of the building to clear off the top of it --
Well, most of it anyway. Nate soon finds himself being dragged up by a rather large Yemeni who sees fit to toss him into the adjacent wall. That'll keep him busy for a while. At least it'll keep the RPG fire away.
Maybe.
get a room you two
"Roger that. Don't get shot." Whether or not Nate gets that message during the whole face-to-wall incident... --Charlie quickly changes tack, stepping over the wall of a rooftop garden and swearing loudly as he slides on the polished roof tiles. His whole trip across the rooftops is a series of 'Fuck, shit, bastard, bollocks, don't you fucking dare--'s as he closes in on Chloe's position or at least something close to it.
He runs into a hiccup - or rather a gap too wide to jump - a few blocks shy. He lifts the radio: "Oi, darling. If you can draw them down the lane, I can take some potshots into the barrel and give you some cover."
only if you're coming with
:* cmon abby come get some
It works at the expense of getting punched square in the head, which dizzies him into stumbling for cover. He fumbles for his radio, the crackle picking up shouting surrounding him.
"Ain't getting any younger over here you two."
i guesssssss
Charlie's midway through a celebratory "Ha!" and then the howl of the incoming RPG registers. It's all of a half beat before it hits and takes out a chunk of wall and roof, spitting dust and debris. The roof yawns and his boots start to slide; the instinct to go leaping for some kind of handhold comes a half instant too late as the plaster and tile under his feet collapses in on itself and Charlie falls through along with the brick and debris.
you mean yes
It's a tight fit, even for her, but it buys time, and more importantly it lines her up with the tail end of a battered pickup left running while a shopkeep unloads. Or was unloading before everything started turning to chaos.
The plaster to her right splinters from a wild shot as she squeezes herself out, dust catching her eye (prompting a mild bit of swearing when she goes for the door of the truck) it's just a comforting thought that the one responsible for firing at her won't have the luxury of fitting himself through the alley in her footsteps.
Now to find the boys without a radio.
Bollocks.
what she said
No sign of Charlie anywhere, and the only gunshots are his own and the ones being aimed at him. Not good. On instinct, he heads for the collapsed building.
"Charlie? C'mon Charlie, give me something to go on here--" he starts, peering down the hole. Its impossible to see with all the wreckage and the dust, but he starts down as best he can. "If you're not lying down there unconscious, say something will ya?"
grumble grumble
Limping slightly - piss, bollocks, his shoes are going to need a thorough conditioning after this nonsense -, Charlie makes his way from the thankfully empty apartment and clatters down the shared staircase to the ground floor. He doesn't bother with holstering his weapon before he moves out onto the street - the bloody roof just caved in and he's covered in dust. If that's not the definition of conspicuous, he doesn't know what is.
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It's why she promptly leans out the window and asks, rather cheerfully: "Need a lift, cowboy?"
She won't mention the dirt if you don't mention the eye, Charlie.
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"Alright. Explosions, huge hole, no word from Chloe or Cutter. Huge swarm of foreign police out for your blood. Think, Nate, think--"
Almost on cue, Nate catches the sound of a safety clicking off behind him. Before he even has time to think about it, he finds himself jumping across the rooftop and--ends just a bit too short, scrambling to hang onto a window awning. He feels the sting of something slicing his arm ("Great, now I'm gonna owe interest on top of everything else"). It takes every ounce of his willpower not to just let go, but at the moment he's hanging off a building out in the open.
That shot may have (mostly) missed him, but there's a good chance the next one won't.
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So Charlie levels the Walther, fires, and that's that.
"Oi!" He doesn't bother with holstering the gun as he calls to Nate. "Quit messing about!"
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