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."
He needs less time than that to find a foothold firm enough to let him jump to the nearest lamppost, which he then proceeds to slide down. Nate had spotted Charlie limping, so he slows his sprint toward them to a trot once he's level with him.
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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.
no subject
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.
no subject
"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.
no subject
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!"
no subject
no subject
He needs less time than that to find a foothold firm enough to let him jump to the nearest lamppost, which he then proceeds to slide down. Nate had spotted Charlie limping, so he slows his sprint toward them to a trot once he's level with him.
"Need a hand?"