| abstract | - Just off the main barracks, sits a small room, Hart's office/living area. It's a rather cramped affair, but it seems to have a bit more space after Andrew passed away. At the moment Hart's cleaning out the draws of the small ramshackle desk. Her guard loiters outside. Fitzgerald sits in the main quarters, reading over a piece of paper. His expression is grim and somber. Tapping his foot as he reads, he suddenly growls and crumples the paper before stuffing it in a pocket. Several men are standing around in the Barracks, including Alderton. Upon seeing Fitzgerald's frustration with the letter, he walks closer to him. "What's the matter, sir?" he asks with concern in his voice. Hart continues to clean out her office, more paper work being tossed into the bin. The bin's is then dumped into a garbage bag and Hart just gives it a nice boot out of her office. A moment she comes wandering out, managing to catch Fitzgerald rather grumpy expression. "Is there a problem Captain?" she asks. Fitzgerald gives Julia Hart a stern look in the eye as he pulls the crumpled letter out of his pocket and straightens it. "I'll say there is," he bellows in frustration and takes a few steps toward her, "There's a big fucking problem!" He holds the paper up and waggles it around. "What is this business about a cease fire?!" "Lower your voice and stand down Captain" Hart warns Fitzgerald, not stepping down. She's completely calm and in control. "I am not Andrew; I will not be pushed around by a man who doesn't use his brain." She offers a rather caring smile after this. "You have your orders, correct? Now, be a man and stand down and return home. I'm sure you've got someone to return to." Fitzgerald grumbles and glowers at Hart. "I will not lower my voice," he says looking her in the eye still, "And you're right! You aren't your husband. He would not give into such... such cowardice!" He shakes his head solemnly as if someone had just died. "No, I have no one to return to. I gave up all to fight for this cause. I do not like to see it so easily thrown away." Hanging his head, he walks back toward the wall then turns again to face Hart. "Have we accomplished nothing?!" he asks, for once, a slight glimmer of emotion peaks out from his generally hardened personality. "We've got the government to finally listen to us," Hart replies, still calm as anything. "Which means we've won. We can return to our lives... Our lives we had before all of this started." She offers a rueful smile and a shake of her head. "Please Captain, do try to be reasonable through this. There will be no more blood shed or violence. No more hiding in jungles and swamps." She turns to make her way towards the door, her guard falling in behind her. "Good morn to you, Mister Fitzgerald." "If you wish to believe their lip service," Fitzgerald mutters, kicking at the ground with a foot. "I do not trust them. I know their ways. They say one thing and do another. It's why many of us are here. We were being /told/ that things were going to change, to improve, but did they? No!" He tosses his hands in the air in exasperation. "Because we haven't had the chance to negotiate before now," Hart replies, before sighing. "We have that chance; we've got people in power in the New Luna Militia who are helping us. Representing us." She shakes her head. "Have you given things a chance to improve Mister Fitzgerald, or have you simply been sitting in the back seat, trying to tell the driver how to drive?" "These men have us right where they want us," Fitzgerald retorts, "They'll say anything to stop this movement to save their own power and holdings." Hart opens the door, and then looks back to Fitzgerald. "Obviously you're a genius in every field possible Mister Fitzgerald," Hart replies, arching a brow. That same friendly smile rests on her lips. "Perhaps you'd like to enlighten the entire room on how getting a weapon online is going to change anything? Perhaps you'd like to explain how torture is going to win the hearts of the people? And perhaps, you'd like to tell everyone your master game plan." "I am kind to the people," Fitzgerald responds indignantly, "And I use the best methods available against the dogs of the state. That weapon helps disrupt their supply lines. That ship was carrying items vital to their efforts against us. Thanks to our little weapon, its cargo can no longer threaten us." "A cargo of medical supplies?" Hart asks politely, as she tilts her head to the side and studies Fitzgerald. "How is a cargo of medical supplies meant to be a danger against us? Congratulations Mister Fitzgerald, you have climbed from the rank of Captain to war criminal. Did you ever think once of those lives that would be robbed when that weapon was fired? Did you ever think of the children who are going to be missing their mothers or fathers? And what right do you have, to kill an innocent man? I can hear your reply now... Because they were a tool or dog of the state. Or, they're productivity was aiding the New Luna Government... Correct?" Fitzgerald trembles, his fists clenched at his sides. "You apparently can not stomach the cost of change. So like a woman! Your cease-fire has destroyed every effort we had made. You've only condemned us to be back at square-one with our tails between our legs. I will not be surprised if they execute you and every last one of us despite their nice words. That's all they ever give. Nice words!" Out of breath, he stopped to catch it. He glanced about the room at the crowd that had managed to gather in the room. He then returned his attention to Hart, "I tell you this: These men have all gotten sick of nothing but nice words and whimsical tales of fantasy that Governor Seale and his cronies give the people. If they had any truth behind them in the past, we would not be here now, fighting this bloody campaign. If you feel they have changed their ways and will actually listen to you, then you run your pretty little ass back to Greenville. But don't you /ever/ come back around here to cry to me when you realized I told you so!" "Mister Fitzgerald," Hart replies, as she regards the individuals in the room. "I wish you and your cohorts a good day. We will be going now." Money certainly seems to be the order of the day, as her hench stay loyal. "I will make sure I do attend your execution, how ever." She gives a curt little bow and then heads towards the door, one Guard waiting beside it, until the rest are out. Fitzgerald lets out a slight chuckle as he quips, "And I yours." He gives an oddly unsettling grin before turning to address his men.
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