This wouldn't end well. Not by a long shot.
"What the hell you lookin' at?" That was all Fort needed to hear. The hellcat was going to get them locked up or worse at this rate. And that was not at all on the agenda for Fortinbras Carlyle. Not that night, and not any night afterward.
Desperately Fort began, his own tune running under and around Saint's own, a desperate balm to soothe scorched pride, swathed on as thickly as he dared. "I understand that your upset. You have every right to be. It's obvious to see." Ophelia's hands were snaking down toward her hips and all Fort could do was try and talk her down from the ledge.
"I was in the wrong. But I will make it up to you. I'm gonna make this right." They'd missed their quarry. Maybe he'd heard Fort singing in the alleyways. Sure, perhaps he'd had the time to clean out his room in the minute and a half it had taken to ferret out his hidey-hole. Whatever. He'd take that blame if it meant that they could creep away and manybe have a snowball's chance in hell of getting the arsehole next time.
"If we could put this in the past. And never speak to anyone about this gaucherie." It was poor form, and unprofessional besides to fire at officers of the law, after all. Especially when you weren't getting paid for it.
His reasoning became a litany and one hand extended, halfway, before he realized that only Saint's derriere was close at hand for a meager bit of human contact. That was liable to get him shot instead. Nope. Not a good choice. Even so, he tried to reason with the woman."No tears. No noise. No cause. No choice. No lock. No key. No third degree. No flight. No flaws. No breaks. No pause. No clues. No trace. No hands. No face" He rattled off the many reasons that this was all a bad idea. Right now, they were looking at a possible breaking and entering of an empty room. The thief-taker had nothing on them yet. And they could break away clean. If...
"No black. No white. No source of light. No second chance. No end in sight. No friends. No stone. No blood. No mess. No hate. No love. No sweet caress. Nothing to see. No leaks. No ties. No time for that. No long goodbyes. No lies. No fakes. No secrets. No problem." If they cut their losses now, if they'd only turn away from the window, let their tempers cool. If they just melded back into the anonymity of the tumble-down fortress city shadows. If they just dodged this bullet.
But Saint was already on the triggers of her matched pistols. Time slowed down and it seemed to Fort that the fall of the hammers of the sleek firearms took a slow, languid eternity to fall.
Fort's indecision was gone in that moment of sulphur and flame and he wrapped arms around the little hellcat, dragging her bodily off the sill.
"We're leaving." He set her on her feet and made for the door.
"Gods damned amateurs. Like I ain't never been shot at b'fore." The sheriff's reply caught him a little off-guard. That was quite a hail of bullets. He'd expected wet gurgles and maybe a final sobbed prayer. Not corn-pone and sarcasm. "Nevermind. We're REALLY leaving."
Fort'd tussled with some bad company. But anything that bullets bounced off of was something altogether different. Though, in passing the old scoundrel wondered if, and only if, he bought her a round the next time she sat in the corner looking dark and mysterious, she'd teach him THAT trick.
Lyrics provided by Darkest of the Hillside Thickets "Shh"