<strong>Name:</strong>Giga<br/><strong>Location:</strong>Campsite<br/><strong>Summary:</strong>Waiting For The Miracle To Come<br/><strong>Tagged:</strong>Maria, Noah, Matt<br/><br/>Giga calmly re-assembled his cleaned weapon while the pair of redheads huddled close to one another and gossiped. He was okay with that, and paid scant attention to their back and forth. The man was more engrossed with proper weapon maintenance; he would be putting his life on the line sooner or later, and when that time came he had to rely on the weapons at his disposal. And so they needed to work and be in good condition. There was absolutely no one who would give a damn if Giga died. Nobody would mourn him or mark his passing. But even so, he did not wish to die any time in the immediate future. He worked the various moving parts of his gun, testing that he had done so appropriately. It worked appropriately, so Giga slid the magazine into place and chambered a round, and then slid the magazine out to top up the number of rounds in the magazine. He set the safety, and then holstered the weapon for now; Giga would take it out and stow it under his pillow while he slept.<br/><br/>The enormous raider did hear Noah's expression of disbelief, but he chose not to make an issue of it. There was no utility to it to Giga, so he could not muster the desire to expend the energy to take Noah to task over what amounted to nothing worthwhile. But he looked up suddenly, his cold, dead eyes flashing as his heavily muscular body went into motion. The big guy moved rather quickly for someone as massive and armoured as he was. Giga smoothly drew his Bowie knife from the sheathe at the base of his back, holding it in a reverse knife-fighting grip. The raider's lunge carried him to where Noah and Maria were huddled together, crossing the distance very quickly. But they were not his target: the steel glinted and whistled past the two, sinking into a scorpion that had crept up beside Noah. It was a medium-sized specimen, but excellently adapted to its environment: the scorpion's exoskeleton was the same colour as the dirt beneath the trio. Giga watched the scorpion twitch and on his blade, the tail flailing impotently in an attempt to stab something with the sharp stinger at the end, while its claws snapped down on nothing. He tilted his head slowly one way and then the other, and when the thing finally stopped moving, Giga pulled it off of his blade and tossed it out and away from the raiders' camp site. He then wiped his blade on his pants before sheathing the large, long blade.<br/><br/>Giga turned, and Matt was there. The other raider was leering at the pair of red-heads, openly drooling at the pair of them and sporting an obvious erection that he shamelessly stroked with one hand. "So that's where you got your skinny fucking rat-ass off to!" Matt said, voice grating and annoying as he came closer. He ignored Giga as he got closer, and giggled. In the Old World, this would draw a comparison with an animal called a hyena, but without the knowledge of the fauna of the world, the only thing that Matt could be was shrill and creepy. "Got plans for skinny fucking ass, ya little red-headed stepchild." Matt inched his way up to the pair. "Aw, what's this? You grow yourself a fucking sister? Betcha Chris'll think you're right awful purdy, betcha he will. Gonna f-" And that was as far as Matt got with that before Giga wrapped his hand around Matt's helmet, grabbing the face mask and using to wrench Matt up and throw him away from the two redheads.<br/><br/>Matt landed heavily on his back, the wind knocked out of him. Giga was on him in a second, and a brief line of silvery light the only indication that he had drawn his knife again. Matt was obscured, except for the soles of his feet, from Noah and Maria as Giga hunched over his fellow Coyote, blade to Matt's throat. Matt was disoriented and panicked, causing him to push against the sharp edge of Giga's knife and draw a thin line of blood. Matt gave a sound half between a gag and shriek, pulling back as far as Giga's hand on his face mask would allow.<br/><br/><strong>"Mine."</strong>Giga said slowly, and at least for Matt, there was all the more menace to the extensively clear deadpan of his enunciation for its lack of cadence or effort to actually include inflection associated with menace.<br/><br/>"Yeah, yeah. Fine, Giga. Yours. Yours." Matt said, coming short of begging Giga not to take his life. Giga gave Matt a shake, and Matt blubbered some more but it was incomprehensible syllables that were sound and submission, not actual human language. Satisfied, Giga got up. He stood over Matt, and violently jabbed a finger away from his site. Matt slide himself backwards, coming up into a squat, and then crab-walked a few steps away. For a second, it seemed like Matt was inching towards his 9mm . . . but then he got up and walked away at a brisk pace. Giga wiped his knife for a second time and stowed it. He watched Matt depart, and did not take those dead blue eyes off Matt's back until the other raider was out of sight.<br/><br/><strong>"Hnngh."</strong>Giga growled quietly. He flexed his hands outward, before allowing them to relax again. The thought of killing Matt in several different ways came to brief, glorious life in his mind, a series of grim, bloody fables with unhappy, bloody endings. But it was not to be, not today. Sadly. Matt was a stain, a pussing sore, and absolutely deserved to be laid to waste. But then . . . so was Giga.<br/><br/><strong>"Going to sleep. You should come into the tent."</strong>The raider declared, and then bent to collect his mask. He held it in his hand, contemplating putting it on again, but decided not to. There were nights where he slept with it on, but decided against it. He trundled into his tent, and proceeded to disrobe. The interior of Giga's tent was fairly spacious, as these things went; it was an army surplus thing. There were no personal effects decorating the interior, just a wide foam mattress on the ground, five pillows (without cases), and a pair of sleeping bags unzipped and laid on top of each other. He put his pistol on top of the largest pillow, and then his sheathed knife. The rest of his clothes he set in a neat pile beside the east side of the tent. His body armour pieces went into one pile, and his regular clothing in the other. Giga's nude body was a testament to his history of violence, the various scars a cipher for the damage he had suffered over the years. A lot of them were so old and faded, but others were new. His muscles were large and well developed, heavy and powerful in a way that - in the absence of Devon - no other raider was. Every part of Giga was an enormous, bulky slab of mass.