"We tried to be better, but we aren't. I don't think anyone could last more than a week here if they weren't willing to do bad things." - Alba Reyes

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Blastinus
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That's Just Crazy Talk
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From where George was standing, the newcomers' approach wasn't hard to miss. There were two of them, and they looked nervous as could be. Evidently though, George and Remy hadn't been nearly as visible, seeing as the girl in the duo had apparently been startled by stepping on a twig, as if that had somehow given the two of them away.

He supposed he couldn't entirely fault her for being startled though, given the tenseness of the situation, but what he could fault her for was drawing a gun and apparently firing it, though he didn't see it go off from his perspective. George flinched back, expecting to die right then and there, but the cry of pain behind him was a good indicator of the bullet's true destination. Turning, he saw the results with his own eyes. This man who he had just met had been shot, and as George turned back towards the shooter, he saw that the gun was still waving in the air. The girl's friend was talking her down, trying to get her to lower her gun, and he apparently was succeeding.

Good for him. That'll make this easier.

George had been going through a lot of shit lately. He'd been degraded and insulted at every turn, a psycho had killed his girlfriend, he'd been tossed down a steep hill, and now someone with an itchy trigger finger was throwing bullets his way. All things considered, it was a wonder that he hadn't gotten to this stage sooner. Raising the chair above his head just as the girl's arm dropped to her side, he charged the short distance between them and swung that chair out with as much force as he could muster. Who cared if the guy fought to defend his friend? George could take him. He needed someone to take his frustrations out on anyway.

There goes any honor I ever had...Eh, who cares?
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