’ very romantic ’ - a joke, yes, but enough to make her cheeks flare up into a tint of red to challenge their vests, smile damn near contagious as she fought off the urge to comment about that specifically. Instead, Beth nodded in agreement.
“I was thinking that we could make some plastic explosives, maybe? Or get some, uh,” The English for her next thought escaped her for a moment. Brows furrowed before she recalled it and continued: “Get some sticks of dynamite, like we’re in the Wild West, y'know?”
Watching intently as he played with the sand, Beth found herself slowly sinking to her knees; shifting a little to get comfortable, her hands came to rest comfortably in her lap. For some reason, she figured this to be a quick conversation. Happily, she found that to not be the case.
Ah, that name. Hermosa. Once more her face grew red, gaze averting down, to the ocean, towards the jungle - anywhere BUT him. If it were anybody else, she would’ve told them not to say it. But she quite liked hearing it from him.
“ ’ us ’ ? ” Confusion was thick, brows furrowed as her lips pursed briefly. “I don’t know about ’ us ’ , Hoyt never said anything about me joining you?” A look out to the ocean, solemn in a way. Vaas would ensure she accompany him, that much was always certain. Now was her time to pick up some sand, allowing it to trickle between her fingers and onto her cargo pants.
“I heard the destination is Yara, a country like Cuba. Dictatorship. Military. That sort of thing. I’ve been there a few times. It’s nice,” A small hum escaped her, gaze gentle as the final piece of sand hit her knee. “What will you do off-island? Bring me back a souvenir? Go to a pub?” A pause. “If you don’t want to go, I can try talking to him. Work something out?”
And he liked the way her tone dipped a shade, liked those small humble reminders that she was not complete immovable stone. All the little miss tough shit she was into these days, all the screaming and the threats. She would blow up like something flammable, all steam and burning embers. But to have her this way, softer, just for him. The grin he wore now threatened to split his face in two.
"---yeah. Fuck Hoyt. I go you follow, these were the rules, yes? You remember you signed the fucking documents? The legal agreements? The vows, mi dulce, the honeymoon. "
Seeing her crouch down, to his level, appeared to be all that he hoped for. Dropping the sand between his fingers, Vaas slowly let himself creep on all fours closer so that the space between them was nearly nonexistent. Something he was known to just do when it came to Beth. Get as close as possible, making it impossible for her to take her attention elsewhere. He was all smiles and glee until he heard the name ' Yara.'
Vaas had heard stories. You always did in this line of business. War-torn countries were ample ground for crops. Fathers were liable to auction off daughters as their culture permitted, not knowing of course that their doing so meant little Sally would be indentured to a life of misery. And Daddy would only be seeing a sliver of the production she got back. Same thing happened in Kyrat, another event similar in South Africa. Made you wonder why they couldn't pillage someplace fucking big time like Munich or Paris. Someplace high-class assholes could be taken down a peg.
His demeanor sagged a bit, making him rather dramatically lie down on his back right next to Beth. The sky was particularly blue today, the clouds taking on the shape of a dessert's whipped cream dragged across the blue plate. Vaas tried to think of what it would be like elsewhere, tried to think of a world not surrounded by water and sand. Vaas didn't particularly like the idea of Beth being anywhere but here. Did not like to think of her life before he had been in it.
"---Bethany, tell me this. Listen to me for a fucking minute. Have you heard of the legend the natives have here, the one about the Pakina tribe? The mother, her two sons and the shit bag pendejo of a husband?"
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