war breeds torment

[USMC GySgt Preston Davis]

Preston held up the drugs, grenades, and cigarettes, slinging the gun over his shoulder again. She didn't seem to be lying, but some people were ridiculously good at it that you could never tell. "These were in your floor. Tyson is a drug dog, he finds this stuff easily. He used to do it for a living, for crying out loud. He's been specially trained to find explosives, too. If there's more here, Tyson will find it." The Marine scratched his dog behind the ears. His eyes never left Amber as he said "Good boy."

Tyson barked again. Normally, he needed to be told to hunt, but he sensed something and his owner hadn't asked him to find it. Eventually, the dog felt the need to protect his owner, and warn him. Thinking about this, Preston said "hunt," and the dog began sniffing around the room, pawing at the ground occasionally. After a few moments, Tyson stopped again at Preston's feet, sitting down. What he had already found was the only stash, apparently.

Back in the Corps, Preston had run into huge drug smuggling rings every once in a while. If this wasn't Amber's- and it was possible that it wasn't, but not likely- it was probably a drug smuggler's. of course, it could be both. But what about the grenades?

Okay, options.

One: The things were Amber's.
Two: They were from an old drug smuggling ring.
Three: A combo of one and two- Amber was part of a drug smuggling ring.
Four: Someone was setting her up.
Five: Someone broke in and was using Amber's house to hide drugs, cigarettes, and grenades, which nearly guaranteed that she was being robbed.

Okay, so none of those options sounded good, especially for Amber. Preston wasn't sure which was the truth, either. He would have to find out.

[Amber Juliea Watkins]

Amber rolled her eyes. "Yes, but in case you forgotten let me remind you that there has been a war. Obviously some one lived here before me, then ended up getting killed by the war. Or some one is hiding drugs here I guess....which of course means your right and I am going to have to move, or some one setting me up, I'm not exactly most popular. Any way I don't smoke, it's terrible to the lungs and you cant breath when running. I don't do drugs, especially now, since theres no food its not a great time to get the munchies, and as for the granades...." Amber's voice trailed off here, she had been pacing but she stopped, she wrapped her arms around herself as if cold as memories came floating back to her like wisp of smoke on a windy day. Memories of bombs, fire, death, screaming, the rush of thinking you did something that would change the world, and the crash she felt when she realized what she's done. So many dead....all on her hands, her hands were almost drowning in blood. It was different for her then for Preston. Preston knew what he was doing, he knew what he signed up for. "...I don't like explosions...or fire."

[USMC GySgt Preston Davis]

"You don't like murder," Preston observed. "Not liking explosions and fire are because you have murdered with explosives before, or you've seen people murdered that way, perhaps a loved one? But perhaps not. You have connections to some gang, mafia, or military, I am sure. The chances of just walking down the street and seeing a school explode are pretty low.

"Anyway, whether or not you're being set up, I am right. You do need to move, whether you believe me or not. You are an idiot to live in such a place, in such a way. My way of life is much more simple, much more practical." Not to mention that out in the woods there weren't many people, at least compared to the city, so there were less people to figure out who he was. If someone were to screamed 'Preston Davis' on the streets and pointed at the Marine Gunny with the limp, he'd be swamped with people wanting food, and the people he'd told he couldn't shoot would either be pissed or too hungry to care that he'd lied about shooting. The Marines who had set him up to shoot his father had made sure to keep his cane out of site and out of the story so that no one would be able to pick him out of a crowd. His face had been streaked with dirt and mud, so his features were obscured.

[Amber Juliea Watkins]

"I-I murdered with them, I didnt mean to though! They said the school was empty, that they just wanted to make a statment. And I was such a nieve fool that I believed every word they said. I was stupid..I...see that now...they were lieing to me the entire time. All this crap about a 'free irland' it was all for show. they didnt want irland free, they wanted to be the one's controleing it. And they saw me, this stupid teenaged girl, with a rather good knowlage of pirotechnics, all of which were from watching the techies build special effects...they saw me and knew I would be easy to control. They saw how much I hated the British for ruleing my country. They told me I was special, that I could help. And I was such a stupid little girl I believed them. I didnt even reliezed they lied till the first little girl started screaming. And...I paniced. I couldnt move. I just stared at it all, then I ran." Amber didnt relize she was crying, she had never actually cried about it before, she had never talked about it. "I..I was kind of part of the mafia. A kind of mafia." she said. Then she reached back and moved her shirt so he could see her tattoo.

[USMC GySgt Preston Davis]

United States Marine Corps Gunnery Sergeant Preston Felix Davis raised an eyebrow. Apparently he was right without even trying. Saying 'school' wasn't really even a guess, it was just the first word to come to mind. But apparently this girl really had blown up a school. That was surprising. She needed some time, he could tell- or at least, he wanted to believe she did. He wanted to leave, himself. So, gun and pack on his back, cane in hand, and Tyson's leash in his other, Preston headed towards the door. "Sorry to bring back old memories," he wanted to apologize, but he didn't. Instead, Preston walked outside. He closed the door behind him and continued down the street, lead by his drug dog Tyson.

The sun annoyed Preston, so he walked toward the woods, his back to the bright sunlight. Besides, he needed to go hunting. The deer Preston always hunted could be found in the woods. There was one place he knew of where he had never seen another person, even though he had spent hours there at a time, even a full day once. The trees and grass were green and lush, never trampled by young feet. There were, of course, other places with grass, but a lot of it was brown and crusty, and usually patchy because of all the people walking over it.