Luneshale Pass [m] es la otra mano

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@Juárez  @Soto

Wasn't his idea of a good night. Niño liked to get high, burry his bone, listen to los jefes parley.
But it wasn't their strain, simple as that, and easy enough to dispatch.
Two dead is a light day in guanajuato. World isn't a moral bodega. Collective punishment delivers all the message they'd need. Two less to worry about.
Boy sniffed the air for the two he did.

octavio. que paso? soto thumbs his nose and gestures to the man, more road-worn than he'd seen him last.

no glaring wounds. all four limbs intact. two eyes in the same holes they'd been in when soto'd seen him last. he trusted octavio had done the errand bid of him, and his eyes weigh upon the slim figure waiting for confirmation.

The jaguar lingered not far behind his brother. The blood of his eyes searched the young wolf with an unreadable expression. The boy had always been loyal. And loyalty was not easily won. 

Niño... Juárez spoke in a rough voice. It had been many months since they had last seen the greasy-haired runner. At least he hadn't gone and gotten himself killed. Some small blessing, perhaps. The boy looked a bit uglier than he last had. Not that it mattered. They were all ugly on the inside.

Soto.
He’s about as best a friend as Niño has, but there's a careful hierarchy to divide them. Jefe is greeted with a vacant stare and a stray tongue that darts up over the edge of offal-stained teeth. He may as well have well confessed his deep and abiding love. 
“Estaba atado. Con dos,” he drawls, “aquí ahora.”
Juárez then, the feline keeping to his shadows, sizing him up, no doubt.
Fuck. He needed a fuck and a bath. Maybe they'd be pleased. Maybe they'd find him dispensable. He'd followed them out to god knows where like the staunch dog he was. It was pathetic, or reliable. Probably both.
Niño didn't much care either way.

soto expects bad news. a supply run gone dry. a thwarted heist. but niño delivers as he always does.

just two, presumably taken care of. as it should be.

juárez steps in, materializing in the languid manner of a cat. soto gives him a nod and steps back, understanding, much like octavio, that there was a hierarchy to these things.

this is a cameo unless shes spotted <3

the panther and the bloodman. gato y sangre. their faces blended together in her mind, kept now in a constant state of fracture by the shadow's herbal pleasantries. the green drank her so that she might exist beneath one of them. and the green provided its own sight. a voice the whisper of water beneath moss woke silvertongue from her crumpled place in the sand; grains falling from bruised shoulders, she took a long breath of desert air. there was pain in all of her, echoing in the recesses of her bones. silvertongue fought a moan, biting it back as her senses searched entire for her captors. she felt as though their shapes wavered not far off, but she could not be certain. tongue heavy, eyes almost too weighted to open, she slid backward in the dunes, back again, back. away! away! exhorted the tiny green voice inside silvertongue, and she climbed slowly to her feet, turning to stagger off as silently as she could.

Gonna have stinky man follow Silvertongue.

The jaguar did not really want to converse. He wanted the warmth of his bitch's body against him. And his eyes flicked to see her three-legged form retreating. She would not make it far before he brushed up alongside her and guided her back to their campsite. 

Before he left, he regarded their runner with a cool and bloody gaze. 

Hay trabajo que hacer. Ayuda a Soto a reunir las drogas. Entonces los ejecutarás. 

And then he pursued his prize.

Juárez had carried off with a woman. The hound could tell she was new, still had grizzle in her. That'd fail as soon as the dependence kicked in. He eyed their retreat like a man starved. Jowls flat with desire. Maybe he’d get a go at her later.
The boy grunts, rounding back to Soto. Man seems deceptively calm, but Niño knows he turns on a dime like a scorpion.
“El alijo,” tongue tucked against teeth, he speculated idly on if the brothers brought what they had from Guanajuato, or if they’d ganged up with a local supplier. Not the dog’s business either way. He shifted his weight on his paws and listened for Soto's order.

his gaze pans to sudden movement; silverflash between eaves of soft green. the woman makes her break. 

vaya con dios, he thinks with a flick of an ear in response to juarez’s order. 

 back to niño. soto’s look is drawn, reserved. he motions for the man to follow, and the pair disappear into a gulch where soto has begun their stockpile.

Nothing like it, the green from Guanajuato.
Long and deep, he drinks their sublime fragrance from the air.
It’s nearly a hit in itself.

He bundles the green like he would swaddle a babe and grabs a mouthful, a terse nod for jefe.

It’s business as usual.