[day 1, morning][tez, momo, sengoku, marui, jackal@e4] turnabouts and unfair play
Jackal had a headache like a motherfucker, and he bit his lip hard to try and focus. He must've passed out for a bit, since he was lying face down, and there were strange voices, and sounds of a struggle--no, sounds of a beating. And it sounded like Marui...shit.
No, he had to keep cool; he'd been in similar situations enough to know that trying to be a hero was just gonna get them both beaten, and that wasn't going to help anyone. He just had to ignore that little voice that kept saying that the Battle Royale meant people probably weren't going to stop at bruises...
Jackal clenched his fingers into the dirt as Marui let out another muffled cry. Hold on...just hold on. He'd find a way out of this, the others weren't paying attention to him, and damned if he wasn't gonna make sure that was a mistake on their parts. ...Somehow.
+ + +
Momoshiro gave the Rikkai kid a last leisurely kick, the "that'll teach ya!" to having the gall to try and mess with him and Buchou. Momo had been lucky enough to run (literally) into Tezuka and get Tezuka to accept him as a teammate in this ultimate of competitions; there was no way in hell anyone could beat them. The two Rikkai boys had been their first target, and for that, Momoshiro was happy; it was those assholes who'd beaten him and Kaidou at Kantou. It was sortof like they deserved this. He hadn't really expected the redhead--Marui, was it?--to take out his partner, but hey, one less thing to take care of, right?
And it'd been easy, real easy. Of course, Tezuka had done most of the work, but that's because Momo was backup! Nothing to do with last-minute butterflies in his stomach or anything, no way. Still, maybe he should've gone ahead after all... "Hey, Buchou, you alright?" Momoshiro peered anxiously at his captain, trying to get a better view of where his arm had started to bleed.
Other than a crease in his forehead--and that could mean irritation, or gas--Tezuka's face was stoic as always. He gestured towards the Rikkai players lying on the ground. "Take care of them."
"Buchou, I..." Trailing off, Momo kicked the redhead again, less to be cruel and more to kill time while he worked up his courage. For some reason, the fighting and threatening bits of the Program were a heck of a lot easier to go through than the killing bits.
"Say," Momo began, aware of just how weak he sounded. "He still hasn't got the curtain thing off, maybe we can just leave it there, and the problem'll take care of itself?"
Tezuka frowned, pulling another staple free from where it'd been embedded in his arm. "Don't be careless. Use the gun."
Ahh yeah, that... Nodding, Momo reached under his shirt and pulled his government-issued pistol from where he'd tucked it into the waistband of his shorts, then pointed it at Marui, aiming deadon as if he was getting ready for a perfect dunk smash. He could do this. It was only murd--no, it was only something to help out Tezuka, yeah. It was super simple. He just had to pull the trigger. ...
+ + +
There weren't a lot of people from Yamabuki here, Sengoku had realized that almost immediately. Which probably meant, since this was the Program, that the lot of them were already... Dead. Man, it even hurt to think the word, how uncool was that? He remembered everyone's faces almost exactly, and wondered how some of them might have looked when they died. Terrified? Angry? Weepy?
He had to make it out of here alive. He was Sengoku Kiyosumi, maybe he even was lucky enough to make it out alive. Maybe.
Hopefully.
That meant he had to fight his way through, of course. Luck was nothing but self-made results after all, and if he were to get lucky, he had to work for it.
Voices carried over to him as he trudged through the forest, and he stopped, wide eyed, at the scene in front of him. Omoshiro-kun, was it? Well...
He had never seen anyone kill anyone else before, and maybe allowing someone else do the killing before he had a chance might be bad luck... And he couldn't have that.
He had to make the first kill.
"Hold it, Omoshiro-kun! What's going on here? You're not... You gonna do this shitty game for real? You?" And with that, he stepped into full view, an uncertain smile on his face and fingers clutching the knife in his pocket.
"S-Sengoku-san?" Momo jumped and whirled at the sudden voice, at the incredibly unexpected presence of the smiling, carrot-topped boy. Inexplicably, he felt ashamed, and withheld the desire to hide the gun behind his back or something. "What are you doing here?" Oh, real smart question, there. What the hell else could he be doing here? (The question ought to be, what was he going to do about it?)
"Watching you doing something that totally isn't you, apparently," Sengoku mused, stepping closer, nudging the dark-skinned boy from Rikkai with his foot. "What happened to them?"
"Hey, that one had nothing to do with us," Momoshiro began, defensive. He was stayed by a harsh glare from Tezuka, who stepped forward.
"What do you want, Sengoku?" His tone was flat, and oddly dangerous.
"Oh, Seigaku's captain, isn't it? Just...passing through, you know?" He shrugged, wide grin gaining a bit of an edge as he took one step backwards, not letting his gaze wander from Tezuka for even a second.
"I think you should leave," Tezuka said, voice clipped, and glancing back at Momoshiro. He had never been much of a fan of Sengoku--too unpredictable, too frivolous. If he found some way to appeal to the younger boy's better nature... Tezuka wondered if the boy held a weapon, and whether or not Momo would force them to find out.
Sengoku tilted his head to the side, getting the distinct feeling this was Tezuka's way of telling him to fuck off. Well, tough luck. He wasn't moving, as the gun Momoshiro was holding most certainly had his name on it. "What's with the unfriendly attitude, mister captain, sir? But fine, I'll go... But how do I know you won't shoot me in the back?"
Flustered, Momoshiro ran a few steps closer to Sengoku, moving agitatedly. "I-I wouldn't-- Uh--" Momoshiro turned to his captain like a toddler looking to his parent to see if he'd done something warranting a spanking; Tezuka merely blinked.
"I know you wouldn't, but your captain might think it's a good way to get rid of me, yanno?" Sengoku's grin felt more and more fake, and because of that he grinned wider and wider until he thought his face was going to split in two. "Come on, let's all be friends here, huh?" He walked up to Momo and patted him on the shoulder. "Just... Killing is bad, right? Shouldn't do it."
"It's...sortof why we're all here," Momo said slowly, trying to pull away without actually pulling away. He did not like that smile, every time he'd seen it previous it usually meant that something "lucky" was going to happen...which usually meant Momo was going to get in trouble. And if Sengoku didn't stop acting weird, then he was pretty sure someone was gonna get in trouble, even if it was just him with Tezuka... "C'mon, man," Momo continued, summoning up a smile of his own. "We won't hurt you, so just go on, okay?"
Now or never, the redhead supposed. Just a quick stab, grab the gun, and then he'd have the upper hand. Right. No hesitation. Sengoku closed his eyes for a split second, hurriedly digging the knife from his pocket, and without thinking, stabbed it in the first place he could think of; Momoshiro's gut.
Would you look at that... It required more force than he had initially thought it would.
"Sorry man, can't do that..."
Momoshiro blinked; there was something sticking into his stomach, what the hell. For a long, long moment, he just stared accusingly up at Sengoku, how could you do that? And he heard Tezuka coming up behind him but didn't care, and instead focused all his power into a right hook.
Sengoku saw it coming and quickly dodged, reaching out to yank the gun out of the dazed boy's hand, feeling the cold metal against his skin just as Momoshiro's fist brushed over the upper side of his head. "Lucky~"
Oh crap-- "Fucking boxers," Momo grunted, stumbling forward and clutching at the blade sticking out of him. With an effort and a horrible, terrible noise, he pulled it out, flinging it away.
Oh-- Oh-- Holy shit, but that hurt. His mouth was dry and somehow full of spit, like right when you're gonna puke... Swallowing hard, he lurched forward, trying to keep his weak knees from giving out. Fuck. Fuck. Gotta keep going. Gotta protect Buchou. Momo turned again, swinging more wildly, running towards Sengoku with a loud battle cry. He had to get that gun back...!
Sengoku was barely touched by the flailing hits; partially due to the resistance he'd built up in training, and partially because he could read the Seigaku player's movements like a children's book. Bend down, then uppercut and smack into Momoshiro's jaw with the hand holding the gun, move again, quick on his feet, dodge and then point the gun at the second year... Sengoku moved swiftly, taking a deep breath as he pulled the safety back and pulled the trigger.
*click*
Falling down on his butt, Momoshiro scrunched his eyes closed (no wait please) and then slowly unscrunched them...what the hell. Suddenly, slowly, he started to laugh, the sound raspy and wheezy, a harsh burn in his gut. "Nice job, ya jerk. Looking for these?" Movement slow and deliberate, he fumbled in his pocket (between bloodloss and head trauma, fine motor control was getting kinda tough) and pulled out the clip of bullets, waggling it in his hand. He'd forgotten; he hadn't wanted to shoot his balls off by mistake, so had kept the clip in his pocket until time to actually fire (which he'd, ah, sortof forgotten about with the Rikkai kid, but it'd worked out in the end, so there!)
...Speaking of, where'd everybody go? Indeed, after a long, ponderous look, neither the doubles team nor Tezuka was anywhere to be found, and if Sengoku was taking this opportunity to approach, Momoshiro certainly wasn't paying attention.
Sengoku frowned. Well, no use firing if you were out of bullets, right? Damn it... He wasn't sure he would manage to shoot another time, since the first time was just his gusto speaking. If he had to fire a second time, he might stop and consider the fact that Momoshiro was alive, and a person, and that wouldn't be good.
Trying not to think, he grabbed the shell case away from Momo's nearly limp fingers and chucked it into the gun, swallowing.
"Luck's up, Omoshirou-kun."
Bang.
+ + +
Tezuka stiffened as the gunshot rang, echoing through the trees, but he only let himself stop for an instant before continuing to walk.
Tezuka was a sportsman; he would play in fair fights and in honorable challenges, but there was nothing fair or honorable about the Program. The sacrifice of Momoshiro was regrettable yet an acceptable loss; the pistol less so, but Tezuka could think of no way to retrieve the weapon short of throwing rocks or even himself bodily at the Yamabuki player, and even these extreme "solutions" seemed quite unlikely to be of any use. No, he would have to accept this game as a loss, and instead concentrate on the next part of the match. For now that meant relocating, to find a better weapon and an easier mark.
He would survive--he would win, and then it would be alright.
"Think again, fucker," came a low growl near his ear, and suddenly there was a heavy pressure at his throat and something dark blue pressed over his face--a very familiar something, like the government-issued shower curtain he'd wrapped around the smaller of Rikkai's Doubles Two not a half hour before. Dammit--
Tezuka immediately dropped to his knees, the sudden shift in weight pulling his assaulter (ostensibly the larger of Rikkai's Doubles Two) down after him and loosening his grip. He couldn't see anything--his glasses were caught in the fabric--but he was away from the Brazilian, and that was what mattered; he stayed low and rocked to his feet and--
An explosion of pain in his head, like being hit with something blunt and heavy with uncomfortably pointy sides, and before he could catch himself from falling over, there was the heavy impact of a body jumping onto him, then little firey pinpricks of pain over his scalp--the crown of his head--his face--punctuated by the sound of a stapler firing over and over. Someone was screaming, and he had the uncomfortable feeling it was him.
But no, "this is payback, you asshole, payback," the higher voice of the redhead cried, and he was the one stapling that damned shower curtain to his cheeks, ears, throat. And it hurt, like when his elbow had gone but better (he didn't need a face to play tennis), but worse (if he lost here, he would never play tennis again). Tezuka bucked and batted and grabbed at the boy atop him and pulled--and from nowhere (or from anywhere, he couldn't see--his glasses were fogged and broken and worthless) he was decked across the mouth, a tooth going loose and blood welling in his mouth.
Tezuka coughed and spat, immediately wishing he hadn't, since the curtain was pulled so tight against his face the liquid ended up splattered against his chin and up his nostrils. He ripped at the fabric but it would not come free, only pulling at the staples, little bleeding points all over his face. This...this was not how things were supposed to go.
"We're even now," Marui said, yanking hard on the top of his head. Tears came to Tezuka's eyes, and his stomach caught, as if it knew what would happen next. A half-formed syllable caught in his throat; then a knife did, the wound hot and wet and deep and he could not decide if he was thankful he couldn't watch the life gush out of him or not. He was pushed to the ground, and lay there as things began to turn red. At least it wasn't that damned blue...
+ + +
"Let's get the fuck out of here, Jackal," Bunta said, trembling and weak and achy now that the adrenhaline was beginning to wear off. The dark-skinned boy pulled the switchblade from the Seigaku kid's neck, wiping it on his clothes before popping it back into its handle.
"Oh, now you're worried about the danger and stuff now, huh?" Jackal quipped, voice wavering too much to really be sarcastic. Bunta let the comment fall into silence. Grimacing at the strain and looking but not-looking at the corpse, Jackal grabbed a bag and trotted up, a little too close beside Bunta as they walked before clutching his hand. This time, Bunta let him.
+ + +
[RESULTS:
Boy #14, Jackal Kuwahara - bruised and dizzy but mostly unharmed. GAINED switchblade, Tezuka's stuff. Headed towards Old Hotel.
Boy #24, Marui Bunta - worked over, possibly some bruised ribs. Headed towards Old Hotel.
Boy #26, Momoshiro Takeshi - DEAD at E4. LOST Colt .357 pistol.
Boy #33, Sengoku Kiyosumi - minor bruises but unharmed. LOST switchblade. GAINED Colt .357 pistol. Headed towards F4. ((played by tghohkz!))
Boy #38, Tezuka Kunimitsu - DEAD at E4.
]