Are we Seriously not talking about all that?! | Group DMJ

Matsu

Apparently not!!

Matsukaze hadn’t watched Fenna die. They couldn’t make themself – listening and smelling was far bad enough. They do, however, see Nemesis’ whip wrapped around Jack’s throat.

Was he going to die too? That was more fair, at least (none of this was fair. Life wasn’t fair. They hated this), but he doesn’t. Does seeing Jack punished make them feel better?

No. Viper was probably just going to dote on him, anyways. Why doesn’t she just dump Abel and get engaged to Jack? Not that they care. Not that there’s a twisting queasiness in their stomach whispering you’ll be next.

They’re visibly shell shocked and exhausted from all of…. all of that. They don’t want to talk to anyone, so as soon as they see that they’re being urged into different cars, they all but push past people to be the first into one of the cars farther back. They slide all the way through, hoping no one follows them, and proceed to just stare out of the window on the far side, arms folded tightly over their chest. If only they had something to play music through. If only they could fall asleep.

Maybe anyone else who gets in the car will leave them alone.

Dexter Blanche

No, we’re not!

Dexter is holding a freshly printed polaroid, straight from his camera. Straight from the moment Fenna’s false-bravado dropped, and it lead to her death. It was a moment immortalized. Maybe he should have read the room, maybe he would have some justification, but in that moment he wanted it. Because once they left that room, Fenna would be, effectively, gone forever.

Many people were quick to start piling into Cars… Dexter wasn’t nearly as nauseous, or ready to pass out. How many times had he seen a squirrel fail a jump, or a coyote devour a gopher? Nature is… filled with unfortunate ends. This was just one of them.

He sits down, gently, in the backmost car, putting the Polaroid back into his camera bag. Ah… it was…

“Mx. Ito.” He begins. Awkwardly.

A beat of silence. He doesn’t start conversations often, but he feels like he should say… something. Anything, after that. Something to break the silence. After that, if they snapped at him to shut up, he’d be perfectly silent.

“…I’m sorry they ganged up on you like that. I believe your observations about Miss Viper were correct.”

He goes silent. That’s all he wanted to say, to break the tension.

Roadie 🪶Jack

Oh, absolutely not!

Fenna’s death was quite the show. A little too immersive, when it was already hard enough to tell what was real—but that quickly ceased to be Jack’s most pressing issue.

Nemesis struck, and everything fractured.

Move. Move. Hurts, move. Too many. Have to. Not good. Ahead. Somewhere—cooler. Not. Air hurts. People still—stay back. Whoever—don’t know. Matter. Don’t. Hurts. Don’t. No more. Back, back, back.

Door. Move. Have to. Too many. Not safe. Hurts. Hurts. Any air, any movement. Have to. Have to. Not here. Not yet. Forward. Move. Hair, too. Anything. Everything. Hurts. Have to. Fix. That won’t—but.

Door. Cooler here. Breathe. Barely. Still blurred. Hurts. Mist. Water. Should—should. Burn. That should. Hurts. Cooler. Just get—there. Spray. Soft. Still hurts. But it’s cooler. Since—hopefully safe. Didn’t really test. Too many—stay back. No. He had to—please. It was cooler. Please don’t, don’t, don’t.

Not sure who he was fighting off. Also soft. Still hurt. Anything brushing against—any tilt of his head—anything. But cooler. Washed. Just had to—just had to dress it. Get away, he had to…

Still too hard to hang on. Shoe’s loose. Not easy to. Where was he? Too many people. Things. Whatever was shooing him away from… Not the time. To give in. Had to find somewhere. Alone. Safe. Safer. Too hard to keep track of his feet. The others. Anything. Still hurt.

Tossed in, knocked against things. Slam. Cramped, twisted neck just enough, hurt, hurt, hurt. Didn’t matter, never mattered. Could still move—had to dress this. Had his things? Felt like it. Sit up, and… And…

…There were still people here. Couldn’t really register who. They were here, and it still hurt, and staying upright was hard enough before the floor started lurching. Could attack anytime. He had to stay alert. Stay ready.

He still wasn’t safe.

Matsu

Shit.

Matsu tenses when someone slides into the car, but doesn’t turn around. Instead, they watch closely through the reflection. Dexter. They… don’t really know anything about him.

They exhale, somehow shrinking down into their seat even more.

“…Yeah? You do?” That was disheartening. They’d kind of hoped they were wrong… though wasn’t it reassuring that they weren’t? They weren’t stupid. They were right.

They’d only been stupid to let their guard down and trust her.

Matsu glances over at him for just a moment before turning back to the window. Was that glance supposed to be a thanks for the sympathy? Seems like that was as close as Dexter would get that moment.

Because suddenly, something was being flung into the back seat – no, some one. Matsu lets out a startled yelp, trying to pull their legs out of the way, when it feels like for a moment that their heart stops.

It was Jack.

He definitely had knives on him, like so many knives, and they know he’s much stronger than them.

So the only thing they had on their side was maybe surprise.

Almost on reflex, they kick at him hard – they don’t care if they hit his face or neck or shoulders or anything, even the seat would be fine. It would show that they weren’t defenseless and he couldn’t just attack them, and then they could get out and run for it.

They grab at the handle of the door, trying desperately to open it but it wouldn’t open. They rattle the handle, as if trying harder would force it open.

The door stays shut.

Dexter Blanche

Dexter didn’t reply to Matsukaze. He realized they probably needed space. And that was fine! Dexter wasn’t exactly a prime conversationalist anyways.

And then Jack stumbled in and such peace was tarnished.

It makes sense, really. He was hurt and he doubted anyone would have willingly let him into their cars. Well, Viper maybe, but changes are she would be outvoted. He had to go somewhere, and he looked… bad. Dexter wasn’t sure what happened to him with that whip. Burns? Electrocution? Whatever it was, he was stumbling like he could barely stay conscious.

He respected Matsukaze as a person, somewhat. Not being afraid to call out human hypocrisy. It was a commendable trait in a person, even if they’re slightly prickly elsewhere. But Jack? Dexter respected him as a force. The same way you respect icy conditions or a sleeping bear. Because when you don’t respect the forces of nature, people get hurt.

And now Matsukaze is freaking out and kicking him. And by kicking him, they really meant kicking wildly wherever, even if that included Dexter in the crossfire. And because Dexter respects Jack as a force, he knows that in approximately 0.76 seconds, all hell is about to break loose. His self preservation wins out over his passivity.

“Ah! Stop! Stop!!!”

He projects his voice, now trying to stop this impending doom. He doesn’t care if he gets a kick to the shoulder or side. That said, this is still a vehicle and it’s incredibly awkward to move around in here.

“Both of you please don’t do this! Calm down!” He shouts, projecting his voice. Whether it’s grabbing onto Matsu’s Leg or holding Jack’s arms back or even getting between the two, he doesn’t want to be in this car when a brawl breaks out, and he will try to do whatever he can to, at least, disrupt the impending fight for half a second so that he can attempt to de-escalate.

Roadie 🪶Jack

Between the lack of wiggle room and his nearly-white vision, Jack didn’t get much chance to dodge. Matsu’s kick wasn’t as solid as their last one—half because it mostly just clipped his head—but the amount of force meant nothing. The only takeaway was that he was under attack.

He slammed a hook into Matsu’s knee—don’t kick me don’t hurt me stay back—and fumbled to draw his knives. Now wasn’t the time for this. Had to end this quickly so he could—so he could—aagh. Even if the burn had cooled enough to stop getting worse, every motion or puff of a/c sent spikes of pain ripping across his neck. Had to fix it. Had to…

And then a second person was coming after him and shouting and pulling and—

He reflexively snapped his gaze in that direction, and another searing pain flooded down. Though he stayed about as upright as he had been, anyone watching his face could tell he dead passed out for a few seconds before clawing his way back. Any sense of location he’d mustered together was scrambled again. All he could do was grip his daggers hard and strain to catch his breath before they started trying to kill him again.

Matsu

“Ow!” Matsukaze can’t bite back the pained exclamation when Jack hits the side of their knee, sending a spike of pain through their leg.

They grab the handle more firmly and slam their shoulder into the door, as if they thought there was a chance it was just stuck. It wasn’t, and that definitely was going to be another bruise.

Dexter pushes himself between them and Jack, which is fine! Let him get stabbed first! They start to scramble back farther into the corner of the back seat (they’re already there) and try to pull their legs up into the seat with them, helped a little by Dexter’s pushing, actually.

“Don’t TELL ME to CALM DOWN!” Matsukaze snaps at Dexter, their voice raising and getting more of a shrill panicked tone with each word. “He’s the one with the knives! He’s got the fucking–” They see a glint of light on metal and realize that oh god the knives were out. It’s just like in the trial. Just like when everyone acted like they were more of a problem than the literal murderer who had attacked them.

They don’t think before acting. When have they ever thought first?

Matsu kicks at Jack’s nearest hand, hoping to knock the knife loose from his grip (and then what?! They don’t know!) in nearly the same motion that they grab at Dexter’s arm and shoulders. Once their foot connects with whatever it hits, they pull on Dexter, to try and pull him in front of them.

Dexter Blanche

“We are in a tiny vehicle! You can squabble la-WHOA!” Dexter… well, he began to snap back at Matsukaze, but instead, they decided to grab on to him and use him as a human shield. Do not let the previous post’s narration fool you. This was not fine. Dexter didn’t think so at least!

But this is fine. Dexter has… well. He hasn’t been in this situation before, but he knows of basic self defence protocol. He’s read books before. He tries to go for Jack’s wrist. As awkward as it may be, considering that Matsu is STILL kicking! Then what was the point of using him as a shield!? This is a Disaster, Dexter thinks.

“HEY!” He calls out, being jostled around. The guy’s stronger than he appears, for what its worth. “Just- Stop kicking! Put the knives away! Don’t drag me into your fights! We’re in a- Cmon! Seriously!”

He’s trying to position himself so that Jack is the one apprehended, at least. He is the one with the knives after all. But its also important, in his head, to get Matsu to stop kicking, as its only adding grease to the fire. But most importantly, this was about not getting stabbed. That would… suck, honestly.

Roadie 🪶Jack

Jack didn’t get much time at all before they started trying to kill him again. Going right for his hand—purpose was sure clear enough. Not enough force to knock the knife away, though, not from his white-knuckled grip.

Someone else gripped his wrist. No, no, no, he wasn’t in shape to fight off two people unarmed and they knew it but he wasn’t unarmed yet…!

He slashed with the other knife, any arc that might hit both targets. Just drive them off, and—and—there’s clearly no way out of here and nowhere to hide so he’d just have to keep going till they stopped.

Instead, he stopped as his other wrist was seized. Instinctively he reared back to kick, but there wasn’t space, and all he did was pop his back against the center console.

Dexter Blanche “Just- Stop kicking! Put the knives away! Don’t drag me into your fights! We’re in a- Cmon! Seriously!”

Ah, words. Talking. That was… That was also a way out sometimes. If he could think. Not looking good right now. Really not. Just let him go, just leave him alone, just, just, what do you want, just…

He strained to concentrate as his vision prickled and sweat stung his neck worse.

“You want me t…” The breathiness of his tone seemed to make him wince in and of itself. “…stop fighting you, th… then stop fighting me! Ugh!”

He tried to jerk his hands back, or maybe just fling Dexter back over his head, but considering the current leverage situation, his odds weren’t great.

Matsu

That had been stupid.

Dexter is seeming to embrace being between the two now, so much as using it as a separation strategy counts as “embracing.” Matsu’s jostling is fairly ineffective, they’re smaller and lighter and not very physically strong at all, but they are definitely trying at least.

But then there is a glint of light on a blade again. Movement. A dull impact on their lower leg that makes them yelp in pain before the searing heat of what was bound to be a bad gash radiates through the limb and turns the yelp into a scream. Oh. Oh no.

Matsu jerks their leg back with enough force to nearly bring their knee to their chest, and they let go of Dexter to instead grasp at their leg. They don’t want to look. Already they can feel wetness starting to soak into the thin fabric of their gloves, they can smell the coppery tang in the air, they can see the blood on Jack’s knife.

The blood that had to be theirs. They didn’t even register that Dexter may have been hit too.

Their breathing is fast, shallow. It hurts so bad– Matsukaze finally tears their eyes away from the knife to look at their leg. The tights, already torn on the knees with mostly-healed scuffs, have now been cut open. So has the skin and flesh underneath it with what already is looking at passing glance to be fairly significant gash only a few inches over the top of their boots.

It’s hard to breathe. They feel dizzy. If Jack moves adrenaline will probably take over, but until then they’re just trying to process the cadence of I’m going to die throbbing through their head with every heartbeat.

This means, for the moment, Matsu is not attacking, but are rather reeling from the consequences that just hit.

Dexter Blanche

Admittedly, that did hurt. Admittedly, that hadn’t been one of Dexter’s smartest moves. He was intentionally kicking himself. He should have had more respect for the danger. But what was he to do?\

His arm and coat had been slashed. Through the jacket, and through his sweater. Thankfully, they caused his cut to not be TOO bad. Nothing a bit of styptik and bandages can’t stop, but still. That was a nice expensive coat!

He takes a deep breath in, sucked through his teeth, and takes in what Jack is saying. This is a panic response. He’s cornered, with nowhere else to go. Plenty of animals in the wild exhibit the exact same behavior. Which means…

“STOP! ENOUGH!” He shouts. “JUST-Enough! Ito! Stop the kicking!”

Not much he can do as he’s being leveraged over Jack’s head, but Dexter can at least try to stop the kicking by putting his own boots down on Matsu’s ankles. Trying to take care, he DID note that they were now bleeding too. But… this is about the best that he can do at the moment.

“JACK! Jack! We aren’t going to hurt you! I’ll handle Mx. Ito, just- Augghhh! Dangit! Everyone calm down!”

This sucked.

Roadie 🪶Jack

Keep swinging till they stop.

Well, they stopped.

The impacts, at least, though Jack had to admit that was a generous description. The attacker had pulled back, so they were either done or rearing for a bigger hit. The wail or whatever was going on there felt more like done. Retreat, lick your wounds, either hit back with interest much later or give it up altogether if you can get away. That was about how it went with him, at least.

As for the tugging side, the little guy’s grip was at least weaker. Jack could probably free himself with one more good tug, if he timed it right. If he could pay enough attention to time it right. The burn still hurt and he hadn’t figured out where he was or who was here with him, aside from registering them as familiar. Little hard to see clearly when the slightest tilt of his head sent white flashes skittering across his vision. Had to fix this. Wasn’t… Wouldn’t… Hgh.

Dexter Blanche “JACK! Jack! We aren’t going to hurt you!

Okay, so they either weren’t going to hurt him, or needed his guard down to do a good job of it. ’s a good sign. Former’d be real nice since he wasn’t sure how much longer his adrenaline could hold out. Maybe just stay alert, not… what—whatever this was right now. Overdrive. Didn’t need it if his… neck wouldn’t kill him otherwise. Ugh. Ggh. Wasn’t any blood dripping down soaking anything, and he could still breathe (mostly) and… talk? Had he said something? He couldn’t remember. Kind of afraid to find out. If he…

No. It was fine. Don’t think about it.

Dexter Blanche I’ll handle Mx. Ito, just- Augghhh! Dangit! Everyone calm down!”

“…y’mean? ’m… perfectly calm.” A pathetic excuse for a mumble, but it had made it out. His shoulders slumped a bit.

Matsu

On the list of things Matsu was expecting, Dexter pinning their feet with his was not high at all. It jostles them back, they release their hold on their leg to try and brace against the door, and they try to ignore the throbbing pain in their leg. It’s not like it was a new feeling for them.

Calm down, he says again? Stop saying that.

They start to wiggle to try and pull their legs free, but it is definitely not working. Dexter is stronger than he looks, and Matsu very much looks every bit as strong as they are, so it doesn’t work.

“I SAID to stop saying that!” A frustrated shout tears its way out of their throat. Calm down, he said. Are they crying? When did they start crying? They reach up with both hands and shove Dexter as hard as they can, away from them – which unfortunately means towards Jack.

“Get OFF!”

Big words for someone who had just been using him as a human shield.

Dexter Blanche

“Dhoof!”

He was pushed forward by Matsu. Gosh- were they THAT insistent on continuing to be a problem? Apparently!

As Dexter faceplants into Jack’s chest, he at least has the foresight of pushing the knives AWAY from his face rather than toward.

Dexter, now, is also scrambling. He’s worried that this impact is going to set off Jack again and now, in these quarter-seconds, he’s in the perfect position to just. Get 2 knives lodged into his back if Jack wanted! Hug of death style.

So he bunches himself up, and decides to do something admittedly a little stupid. He’s going to roll to the side, dropping down onto the floor of the back seat. And the intention here is that the sudden leverage of gravity will allow him to disarm Jack. Dexter didn’t have to have the knives (they could get thrown to the front seat for all he cared) so long as Jack did not have the knives and was no longer stab happy.

His arm still hurt.

Roadie 🪶Jack

Ah, and this was what he got for relaxing in the slightest. Figures.

There’s no space to dodge the incoming Canadian missile, but maybe it would be distraction enough for Jack to finally get his hands free—

But not with the knives, as it turned out. He only caught the barest glimmer of something sailing to the front seat, but he couldn’t even tell if that was one or both of them. Only heard one thunk, though.

Fine, fine, let’s beat up this guy AND make sure he doesn’t have his lifeline and and he just wanted to fix his stupid neck for cripes sake leave him alone!

“Yeah, doing a real good job a’ handlin’ ’em.” It’s more to have something to say than a genuine complaint, though he wasn’t not complaining, either.

He checked over his shoulder—OW OW OW OW NEVER MIND—before ~~mom says it’s~~ his turn to shove Dexter off of him. With what little momentum that afforded him, he attempted to launch himself back over the console. Success, but his head smacked the ceiling before he could reach an actual seat. His ears rang, his breathing strained. Both hands, one a little bloody, gripped the sides of the console beneath him as he wavered. He would not be falling unconscious right now not not not doing that.

Matsu

Matsu is a little surprised that they were able to push Dexter off of them so easily, but they had put everything into it. Their leg is throbbing, and every movement reminded them that there was a bleeding wound there – but at least Dexter was less likely to hit it with his leg now, right?

Wrong.

It’s just a light bump, but it’s a bump nonetheless when he rolls himself into the floor. They yelp and then start to frantically try to open the door again (still no use… and it leaves a smear of blood where they touched with their sanguine-soaked gloves. Ew.

Out of the corner of their eye, though, they spot Jack using that momentum to ~~lunge at them~~ try and get to the front seat, and they visibly startle, watching him with wide eyes. At least he hit the roof (a problem they would never have) and so hadn’t gotten the knife…

The other knife.

Jack was clearly going towards the one in the front seat, but there had been two where now his hands were both empty. They quickly start looking around the backseat and floorboards, seeking the blade. Dexter doesn’t have it. It’s– There!

They dive forward, slamming their left shoulder into Jack from behind and hoping to shove him fully into the front seat while reaching for the knife that had partially fallen under the front seat, alarmingly close to Dexter. They’re practically throwing themself at Dexter now in their desperation to grab it. Oh how the tables table.

Oof. That was one more in the ‘not their smartest move’ book, as their hip hits the cupholder area thing and shoulder hits Jack, which was intended but also more painful and less effective than they had hoped. Their poor leg also hit the side of the seat that they’d been sitting on, and their knee goes down kind of hard on something, though they don’t process whether it was Dexter’s leg or the floor. The adrenaline is pumping. Now it’ll be time to retreat, as best as they can…

At least they got the knife.

Roadie 🪶Jack

Matsu’s shoulder slam did nothing to force Jack back, but it did get them a literal knee-jerk kick in return and halfway startle him out of whatever he was doing. Sitting there, apparently. While still under attack. Idiot.

After a second to orient himself, he finally shoved backwards into the front passenger seat with an “oof.” Searching for the knife with minimal head turning was not terribly efficient, but he grabbed it off the now-injured dashboard before too long. Didn’t see the other one, but there was only so far it could’ve gone. Closed vehicle and all. If the attacks had stopped, finding it wasn’t the next priority.

Shakily poising himself in his more defensible-feeling location, he kept his dagger at the ready and slowly retrieved the jar with his other hand. Slightly trickier without moving his head, but only just. Would’ve been nice to rinse the sweat off first, but that’d be even less convenient, and more would just take its place in an instant, anyway. He may have been capable of some speech now, but he sure wasn’t calm. Best to just get this disinfected and wrapped up before he could strain it any worse. Weird that he had some bandages loose in his bag instead of tucked away in the safely waterproofed section, but less trouble for him now.

Crouched on the seat, he just kept the knife up and his gaze wary as he dabbed the goop along his injury with a hiss of pain. If anybody else felt like attacking now, they were getting this in the eyes and boy did it burn.

Matsu

Jack’s reflexive kick is surprisingly more effective than anyone would expect as it connects with their ribs, eliciting a pained and surprised cry but thankfully no lasting damage. Matsu’s heart is racing as they scramble backwards with the knife, clamboring to get back up onto the seat. It hurt, just like their hands and leg and pretty much everything at this point, but it could have been much worse.

If Jack had wanted it to be it could have been much worse. That knowledge is terrifying.

Matsukaze finally gets back up onto the back seat, breathing heavily, grasping the dagger in their possession tightly until the pain in their knuckles faded to a dull throb. Their leg is definitely bleeding all over the place, and to remedy that they try again to put pressure on it with their left hand. Nothing to clean it with. They were totally going to get infected and die of sepsis. That was probably Jack’s plan.

They sit in the farthest corner of the back seat from Jack, pressed against the door. Thankfully, they’re breathing raggedly enough that they don’t mouth off any more – they just have their feet up in the seat with them, knees pulled to their chest to take up as little space as possible, eyes locked on Jack. They, too, hold the knife at the ready between them and him, so that he knows that they’ll fight back just as nasty as he will if he tries to attack them again.

Poor Dexter.

Dexter Blanche

Okay! Okay. Okay? Okay… Okay!

It’s been 5 seconds without any screaming or roughhousing which means either they settled their differences amicably, or one of them was dead. And Dexter, still on the ground, was only really hoping for one of those outcomes.

“Uh… fellas?” He croaks out, shifting his body to try and sit up. He doesn’t wanna catch any more Stray knife strikes, so he’s still on guard. “Are we… are you all done this now? I really do not wish to get involved in another knife fight…”

Ah. They’re at a standoff. There was a secret third outcome this entire time! “Okay… let’s uh, let’s put the knives away, alright? See? You two are… separated now, so there’s no danger, no need to hurt anyone, let’s just… let’s just sit here and wait til the car wash is done, ok? Please??”

Dexter is still sitting on the floor, but he can see Matsukaze’s wounded leg from his position. They definitely got it deeper than his own arm.

“Ah… and then when we’re done, we can patch you up. I ah… probably should get my arm wrapped up too.”

He glanced over, warily, at Jack. He’s got space now. And he isn’t deciding to move on the offence. That’s good.

“Let’s just… let’s just hang tight, okay?”

Roadie 🪶Jack

Jack managed a near-zen (or near-unconscious) state long enough to coat the burn and wind some bandage over it. Would’ve been less messy to just coat the bandage, but only so many one-handed techniques available here. And he had no intention of putting the knife down.

Especially once he caught sight of Matsu holding his other one. On one hand, boo hiss that was his give it back now, on the other, that made it a lot less likely the thing’d get lost and left in this car. All he had to do was take it back when he could. And he may have had his shortcomings, but he was sure good enough at taking things.

He could smell their blood, too, though he just assumed it was probably his. Ah, right—leg. Necessary at the time, but never great to have injuries stacking up on top of each other. He tugged his pants out of his boot to reveal a handful of near-parallel cuts. At least they looked shallow. Not enough bleeding to worry about once he wiped the rest of his handful of goop over it with another wince. Probably needed to slap something on the fabric now, too, if he didn’t want it to stain too bad…

Dexter Blanche “Are we… are you all done this now? I really do not wish to get involved in another knife fight…”

Right, this guy was here, too. Jack peered over for a second, struggling to get him to come into focus. Then again, it wasn’t like Jack’d be able to read his expression. Not much use in a witty retort, either, or at least he hoped not because he’d already lost track of what had been said. He may have gotten his preventative treatment in, but it sure didn’t do a lot for the pain. Or the lack of sleep. Just another day for him.

Dexter Blanche “Okay… let’s uh, let’s put the knives away, alright? See? You two are… separated now, so there’s no danger, no need to hurt anyone, let’s just… let’s just sit here and wait til the car wash is done, ok? Please??”

“Perfectly fine waiting.”

“Not puttin’ the knife down with one still aimed at me. ‘d advise givin’ that back soon.” He shot Matsu a glare, but it only held out a moment before the exhaustion overwhelmed it. Taking care of his clothes. Right. Had something for that.

Dexter Blanche “Ah… and then when we’re done, we can patch you up. I ah… probably should get my arm wrapped up too.”

He retrieved some mottled powder from a resealable bag in his satchel before managing to process what got said this time.

“…Materials on hand ’f you’re willin’ to pay.”

Well, at least he’d gone back around to typical Jack behavior. As if that had ever been a good thing.