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[Center][H2]By the Billy Bus[/H2]

[h3]Abigail and Billy[/h3][/center]

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As Siobhan appeared practically out of nowhere, and began having a go at Abi, Billy’s eyes widened in shock. He stuttered for a moment as she threatened Abi, standing sharply and holding out his hand to tell her to stop - as she vanished.

“I- I, what the fuck? Shit, Abigail, you alright?”

Abigail stared at the space where Siobhan used to be, open-mouthed and silent. She turned to gawp at Billy, then at her hand, then she sank back into the seats with a low hiss. "My hand hurts," she croaked.

“I-” he stuttered again, looking between Abi’s hand and the void Siobhan had left behind. After a moment he started to look all around, too, as if Siobhan would still be there, just watching.

“Fuck.” Billy swore, fists clenching for a moment as he tried to decide what to do. “Shit, Abi, what- no, what the [i]fuck[/i], Siobhan?!”

"What. What?" Abigail watched Billy as a frown started to creep onto her features. 

“Well, I- I- Look, Abi, I don’t know what all this is about her race or ethnicity, but she ain’t allowed to just go round threatenin’ you. Are you alright?”

"S'fine bud, I kinda had it comin' to me," Abigail slurred as she continued her gradual melt into the vehicle's furniture, twisting her body so she was lying on her back, hand in the air. "Hand still hurts though," she reminded him with a twinge of cheeriness. Her expression was clouded by thought. 

“No, that ain’t fine. Ain’t no part of that fine. I don’t care what you said or did, you didn’t visit violence upon ‘er and ought not have had it threatened against you. An’ I didn’t ask if it were justified, Abigail,” he added, his voice softening a bit as he handed her the little tube of anaesthetic cream, “I asked you if you were alright.”

"Peachy, chief, I'm fuckin' peachy." Abigail grabbed the edge of the dressing and tugged - once, twice - with grunts of discomfort. She muttered under her breath. She gingerly tried to peel back the swabs of material. "AwyagoddabefugginkiddinmeeeeRRRRARGH-!" she groaned, growled then yelled out as she tore off the wound dressing like a cheap bikini line wax strip. Her back curled with the pain, launching her back into a sitting position. Clumps of her hair stuck to her face with the residual sweat of her wound treatment and she squeezed half the tube in one hefty blob, smearing it into her hand and down her arm. 

As she [i]tore off the dressing and a part of her own hand[/i] Billy paled a little.

“Holy shit. Hey, ya might wanna keep that on.”

"I'm gonna fuckin' 'visit violence' on [I]your[/I] ass in a minute if you don'-...fffuck it, man! It's FINE! Now ain't the time for this shit!" Her voice was shrill and her breathing ragged. "[I]We got bigger shit to deal with,[/I]" she wheezed, regaining some composure. "Forget about the-...the lady. There's corpses everywhere! Priorities!" 

At the comment of visiting violence upon him, Billy’s eyebrow quirked upwards.

“Somehow, I doubt I’ll have to worry about you beatin’ the shit outta me, Abigail. Alright, you have a point, we can talk about this later - but Abigail, we [i]are[/i] gon’ talk about it later. As for that crazy bitch…” Billy’s fist clenched again as he turned and looked towards the house, where he could only imagine she’d gone.

“She won’t try anything, Abi. I ain’t gonna let her make good on any threats, alright? If she does try something then I hope she brought water, because she’ll be walkin’ home.” He spat into the dust. “An’ I very much mean that.”

"Good. Yeah. I…" she was staring at her hand again, watching it shake and ooze. "I shouldn't have done that."

With Billy's assistance, Abigail redressed her wound and mumbled something about lightheadedness. She was lying back on the seats when Ellen came in, and waved her bandaged hand around like a prize. "Hand's fucked!" She chirped. Her other hand pulled down the brim of her greasy baseball cap over her brow as she tuned out for the rest of the discussion, half-turning towards the backs of the seats as everyone crowded back into the bus.

Billy turned to face Ellen as she asked for the phone.

“Well shit, it’s good to know someone made it, even if they are in bad shape.” He replied, handing the phone over as Brooks approached. “Yeah, no, I reckon we prob’ly got a bit more than we bargained for with this one. Let’s just see what the folks at Goodnight think of it.”

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[center][h2] The House [/h2][/center]

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As the wounded bootlegger was heaved up, he gave a weak, agonised groan.

“Shit.” He muttered. “Fuck, wait, if you- if you need weapons, I had my gun with me in the kitchen, Alex- Alex dropped his in the living room when he got hit. You gotta, you…” he trailed off into mumbled grunts of pain as he was moved to the basement.

Just as they approached the basement, the door down to it opened, and Hans and Mark stepped out into the house, dressed in light clothes and carrying weapons; Hans was the more heavily armed of the two, carrying his rifle and wearing a body armour vest, magazines for the rifle tucked into pouches on its front, whereas Mark was holding an uzi uncomfortably in one hand, and had a baseball bat in the other. Which he awkwardly dropped about as soon as he saw all the blood in the house.

“Hallo.” Hans held up a hand in greeting as he approached the group. “Get him into the basement, they’re going to perform the transport to bring him back to Goodnight in two minutes.”

After that was done, and the wounded man no longer an issue, Mark and Hans organised everyone. The injured bootlegger was right, and there were two pistols to be found in the house - a browning hi-power in the kitchen, and a 1911 that had been dropped under the sofa in the living room, handle bloodied and stained, but perfectly functional.

Once they were all by the van, they broke the bad news.

“We have orders from Goodnight.” Hans began.

“Yep.” Mark agreed, before continuing. “You ain’t gonna like this, but it turns out this delivery was needed a lot more badly than we thought. Unless it turns out we’re somehow going straight up against the fuckin army or the FOE or some shit, we’ve been told to come help you track down and retrieve the supplies, a cool box in particular.”

“Yes. By any means we deem necessary.” Hans nodded grimly, patting the side of his weapon.

“So uh… what do you think, guys?”