Another word for desperate

blow the wind southerly, southerly, southerly


It's a relatively clear night, by the Pit's standards, and the moon is taking its goddamn time in setting. Grimke had passed the earlier hours of the evening by entertaining himself with whistling the only song he knew, but he'd stopped when Chauvin's breathing had evened out in sleep. That had been around ten o'clock, if Grimke's calculations were anything to go by. With nothing to do but wait, Grimke had done so. He'd grown bored of that after forty-five minutes, and fiddled with his bootstraps instead, unthreading and rethreading every one of them. He did this for a total of three times.


Around eleven he'd gotten up to stretch his legs. He'd paced a few steps. He'd lain back down. He'd gotten up again and paced a few more steps.

He'd thrown his coat over Jean Chauvin.


An hour later he changed his mind and took it back.

Then he'd stood there, looking past the shards of broken window down at the silent city.


He'd considered taking breaking one of those shards and digging it deep into the tick upon his wrist.


He'd sat back down. Chain-smoked his way through his remaining cigarettes, had thought about smoking Chauvin's for him, but ultimately decided that it wouldn't do to wake the other man. Not at this stage.


Then Grimke had started counting away the seconds to keep track of the time. His patience lasted twelve minutes before he settled back down with both hands cushioning the back of his head.

Grimke's lain in that position ever since. He's doubtful that anyone's boredom could match his right now, and he feels slightly guilty for it (this is a lie.) Any decent person should rightly be feeling something else, anything else, for what he's about to do.

Instead, here he is, bored out his head.


blow the wind southerly, southerly, southerly


Tonight is the parting of the ways. He can't afford for this last chance to go to waste, can't afford to lose his only ticket out of

this.


Finally. Judging from the positioning of the moon Grimke deduces it is around three or four in the morning. Frankly, he no longer cares. All he knows is that the rendezvous time is near, that he needs to leave, that he's not coming back.

From this vantage point he is unable to see Chauvin's face; the man's entire upper torso is in shadow, and Grimke keeps no image of it in his head as he turns and steps away.

The steps are clear and free of debris, he'd made sure of that during the day. Nevertheless, Grimke steps lightly, taking care not to make a noise. The sudden and unexpected desire to whistle surprises him, and he suppresses the urge and hums the tune in his head instead.

blow the wind southerly, southerly, southerly

He's out. Shrugging his coat on and jamming his hat firmly over his head, Grimke bids farewell to Jean Chauvin under his breath. A goodbye is all he has left in him for his partner, but if he's honest to himself, there's not even that.

blow the wind southerly, southerly, southerly
blow the wind south o'er the bonnie blue sea


Grimke begins whistling again, quietly.

He hadn't meant to fall asleep, only meant to feign it. And usually Jean Chauvin's good at feigning things. It's something he has to be good at. But sleep is something that Chauvin can't fight off.

Not a problem. That was expected. Earlier he'd pocketed a spool of thread, and he'd rigged one end to Grimke's bootstraps. Then gave himself a good length of loose thread and wrapped the other end around his little finger. Not the cleverest of traps but, truth be told, Grimke wasn't the cleverest of men; Chauvin's been using the thread trick for three nights and Grimke hasn't caught on yet. Or tried anything.

Tonight, Chauvin is woken up by a tug on his pinky.

He has his knife out before he even opens his eyes and he cuts the thread to stop Grimke from noticing the resistance. Then Chauvin slips the remaining loop off his finger as he gets to his feet, silently. He's just woken up and his thoughts are a little groggy. All he really wants to do right now is go back to sleep or start yelling curses at Grimke who -- judging by the thread, and by common sense -- has gone down the stairs. Trying to leave, again.

That bastard.

Chauvin takes a step towards the stairs and stops when he is hit by another idea, one born out of frustration and anger. He checks to make sure all his belongings are securely strapped down. That done, he climbs out the window. He'd climbed into this building via window many times, and though it's dark, he thinks he knows the path well enough to navigate by feel alone. He does slip a few times and fumbles the whole way down but he makes it there in one piece.

Probably arrived earlier than Grimke. It's a long, winding route down from the stairs. Chauvin hits the ground with both feet, and moves to block the door.

Hell if he knows what he's going to even say, although every nerve of his body is telling him to punch the man in the face.

Grimke stops his whistling when he sees the tell-tale silhouette in the doorway.

His footsteps echo faintly in the wide, dilapidated room, but he doesn’t falter. If anything, he picks up his stride, intending to shove his way past Chauvin like he’s done before. Doing stupid things is easy, after all, if you try on a daily basis and work your way carefully, very carefully, through it.

He has nothing on him, not a cigarette, not a weapon of any sort. They told him to bring nothing, seeing as he would soon be provided with all that he needed, once he was in. In a way he thinks it an odd twist; supposing he met one of the monsters that inhabited the Pit, what then? Then again, it would be nobody’s problem but his own, at that point.

Grimke goes as far as to tip his hat to his partner as he is approaching, “Evening, Jean.” Voice amiable as always and a ready smile/smirk on his face. As casual as can be, but the only flaw is that perhaps, perhaps Chauvin now knows him well enough to be deceived. For some reason Grimke has observed that strangers know him best, and are the most understanding.

(He’d given up on the endearing nicknames a while back.)