08-13-2019, 03:26 PM
[align=center][div style="width: 530px; text-align: justify; font-family: arial; font-size: 12px; letter-spacing: .3px; line-height: 1.3; padding: 4px;"]Abd al-Malik was loathe to say he wholeheartedly agreed with either of the toxic twins, but Caustic's words weren't far wrong. In leaving, Wolfsbane had left a huge void to fill, and the people of Los Santos weren't merciful. They toyed with morality— with mortality— and keeping them in check wasn't easy. He knew that. Bane had known it. Nevertheless, he couldn't help but feel that something had impaired their former boss' judgement in making this decision.
He wasn't a violent soul, had never revelled in what Los Santos had done— had been capable of doing— under Bane. Impulsive, murderous bastards at worse, and plain anarchical at best — Abd al-Malik was a man who appreciated the illusion of routine, and the chaos of this place was far from ideal. But he didn't disagree with Caustic (and that was the scary part, really, more than anything else)— you came to Los Santos knowing of its violent nature, seeing its rough edges and loving it anyway. To some degree, there had to be acceptance, and Abd al-Malik was no different. He didn't want to judge books by their covers, but there was something distinctly not-Bane about these new leaders. The man reeked of "running from a bad past" (and he knew what that was like, was doing it himself, in part), but in the vow-to-goodness sense, all hope and optimism and virtue. The woman...
Something suggested that Los Santos was on the verge of losing its hard parts. And it wasn't that he was complaining because he liked the callousness, but because the callousness was what made Los Santos itself, and to take that away undermined everything the group had seemingly stood for (or stood against, more accurately).
Maybe he'd be surprised. Maybe Caustic would be surprised, if he stuck around to see these guys through. Abd al-Malik couldn't say he envied them, couldn't say he wished it was him (he didn't — he'd had his taste of authority years ago and decided it wasn't... well. He'd do it, always, but that didn't make those first months fun), but he'd trusted Bane, and he'd never seen these two before, so one could forgive him for being wary, for having his doubts. Just until he was proved wrong. (Or until he wasn't. He couldn't really say.)
He tried to stifle his snicker at Caustic's open irritation, plucking at the seam on his jeans. For Josiah's sake, he stuck around — he wasn't an asshole, wasn't chaotic enough to throw aside common courtesy — but the more he heard, the more he wondered how their new leaders were going to handle... everything. "Smooth isn't..." he smiles, gestures vaguely with one hand. "How it— goes around here. If you need something, let me know." (Whether that was weeding the graveyard again or trying to stop an assassination attempt was to be seen.)
He wasn't a violent soul, had never revelled in what Los Santos had done— had been capable of doing— under Bane. Impulsive, murderous bastards at worse, and plain anarchical at best — Abd al-Malik was a man who appreciated the illusion of routine, and the chaos of this place was far from ideal. But he didn't disagree with Caustic (and that was the scary part, really, more than anything else)— you came to Los Santos knowing of its violent nature, seeing its rough edges and loving it anyway. To some degree, there had to be acceptance, and Abd al-Malik was no different. He didn't want to judge books by their covers, but there was something distinctly not-Bane about these new leaders. The man reeked of "running from a bad past" (and he knew what that was like, was doing it himself, in part), but in the vow-to-goodness sense, all hope and optimism and virtue. The woman...
Something suggested that Los Santos was on the verge of losing its hard parts. And it wasn't that he was complaining because he liked the callousness, but because the callousness was what made Los Santos itself, and to take that away undermined everything the group had seemingly stood for (or stood against, more accurately).
Maybe he'd be surprised. Maybe Caustic would be surprised, if he stuck around to see these guys through. Abd al-Malik couldn't say he envied them, couldn't say he wished it was him (he didn't — he'd had his taste of authority years ago and decided it wasn't... well. He'd do it, always, but that didn't make those first months fun), but he'd trusted Bane, and he'd never seen these two before, so one could forgive him for being wary, for having his doubts. Just until he was proved wrong. (Or until he wasn't. He couldn't really say.)
He tried to stifle his snicker at Caustic's open irritation, plucking at the seam on his jeans. For Josiah's sake, he stuck around — he wasn't an asshole, wasn't chaotic enough to throw aside common courtesy — but the more he heard, the more he wondered how their new leaders were going to handle... everything. "Smooth isn't..." he smiles, gestures vaguely with one hand. "How it— goes around here. If you need something, let me know." (Whether that was weeding the graveyard again or trying to stop an assassination attempt was to be seen.)