iii. - [ VOICE ]

[brandedjustice]

Anyone already signed up for the Task Force, I need you on the docks now. No questions, no nothing. I need that placed locked and secured.

[There's a harsh whirl of air; it nearly muffles Smoker's voice completely.]

Damnit, kid. Why did it have to be you?

[ooc; strikes are muffled. Smoker is raising hell by the docks and he's coming for you,

Comments

Action; i missed this so much jesus balls

[brandedjustice]

[When the jitte struck, Smoker felt a sensation he hadn't felt in a while. It tingled up his side, burned through his gut and up his chest. His teeth bit into tobacco and he swallowed a little too much smoke as another strike battered his side; he could feel the poison of the sea sucking him dry and he could feel salt biting past the stale tobacco. Blood?]

Justice is - the only thing - that matters in this world. [He watched the gun re-train on Spike before shooting his gaze back up to Giovanni; blood spilled between his cigars, soaking brown tobacco in pure red. He shifted them slowly, making sure to remember to balance his now-heavy body. He shifted his weight to his better right leg and leaned in, shoving his body forward. Almost too close.]

You're a waste, a failed experiment. Heine at least has potential - you, I almost feel sorry for. [With that, Smoker spat, sending two very lit and very hot cigars directly towards Giovanni's face, in hopes of gaining some sort of ground. His hand whirled around, unable to shift into smoke, and quickly tried to make a move for the gun.]

Fuck with me all you want, boy. But my men are off limits. [So feral was that voice, bitter, bruised and raw from cigar smoke and blood. He could feel it curdling in his throat and he spat it past his lips - if the cigars didn't get him, he hoped to damn Hell that he could at least smear those pretty little sunglasses with some blood. Make the little shit look him directly in the eyes.

But as he jerked, he felt something crack and he visibly winced. Two broken ribs, he surmised. That and probably some damage internally - nothing too bad, not yet.]

Action;

[pseudism]

[Just the suggestion that the nebulous concept of justice had any importance was too foreign to Giovanni to process. In his world, in his understanding, in the degraded and rotting city that his kind swelled beneath like a brewing plague, survival was the reigning principle.

And Giovanni survived without justice. Surely it couldn't be all that important.

He could see the blood carving lines like paint around the Commodore's teeth, pooling on his gums, proof of his solidity and of Giovanni's success. And he could also see Smoker glancing at the gun, and his grip on the weapon snatched a bit tighter, warier.

But Smoker's words, the burning embers and the blood he spat at him were enough to shake him from his concentration, and something burned viciously under the metal plate fastened to the back of his neck, grinding his teeth together until his gums ached and the smell of the blood on Smoker's breath made his chest lurch with something like sick-hunger and desperation. His muscles felt like live wires and he wanted to move, to beat the eyes out of Smoker's head and rip the skin off his face and pry his huge body apart with his fingers, no longer enough to just win and show his superiority, but to revel in the programming that prevailed over his logic.

Smoker made his lurch for the gun. Giovanni snapped out of it, shot at the ground blind - missed Spike by a good half a foot - and swung the jitte up at the opposite side of Smoker's head, all with the intention of distracting him from the gun.]

Action;

[brandedjustice]

[Even without his logia available to him, Smoker could feel the energy rippling off Giovannni; his muscles tensed, his jaw clamped and there was an obvious change in the man. Something had hot-wired him; could have it been that mechanism Heine had talked about so long ago? Smoker couldn't recall, but it was clear he had to move. And fast.

Blood and ash smacked Giovanni right where Smoker wanted it; it gave the Commodore the time to reach out and snare hard fingers around Giovanni's wrist. Or he had hoped so, even as the jitte came crashing down on the side of his head. He felt his teeth knock, felt the haze over his eyes, then felt the floor smother his back. Blood pooled into silvery-gray hair, staining it red almost instantly. But Smoker held onto that wrist, grabbed it with all the force he could muster.]

This ends, Giovanni-!

[But his words were slurred - even he could notice it through the thick haze that now surrounded his sight. He grunted, trying to shake it off, but it only darkened with more force. Son of a bitch. His logia couldn't even react, even though it begged to be released.

Smoker placed pressure on the wrist, using his own almost-intolerable pain to fuel him. Thick fingers tried to dig their way into Giovanni's flesh, tried so damn hard to do so. If he could only get that damn gun..]

Action; Aaaa, I'm sorry if there are any typos, can't brain. :(

[pseudism]

[Oh, that was almost too satisfying. The crack of the jitte coming down on Smoker's skull was almost enough to make him forget about the struggle for a moment and just relish the sight of the blood crawling a trail through Smoker's hair and down over his forehead. Amazing. Amazing that he was even conscious, and frustrating that even like this, even solid and human and everything he naturally came to think of as inferior to what she had made of him, he was still getting the best of him.

When Smoker fell, Giovanni buckled with him, dragged onto his knees by the wrist Smoker had in his grip. He jerked at it, lip curling in frustration, and brought the jitte around to beat against Smoker's arm, over and over. So fucking stubborn, and his grip was getting tighter instead of looser, and Giovanni compressed the trigger blindly again, another shot whizzing over Smoker's head and pinging off the metal door.

His whole body wrenched at the first crack of his wrist, and his grip on the gun loosened, his fingers trembling and unfurling with every twitch of Smoker's fingers. He dropped the jitte, and it clattered and clanged loud and echoing on the ground, and Giovanni made to grab the gun in his better hand - hopefully before Smoker beat him to it.]

Action; it's perfecto sir!

[brandedjustice]

[Teeth pulled back as dark lines of blood dribbled down from the jarring head wound; a darkness crept thickly crossed his gaze, smothering it in a milky sort of film that was hard to shake. It caused the Commodore to writhe just that much more as he fought Giovanni for the gun.

He felt a crack shoot up his arm and he grunted in response, admitting a gruff noise of obvious discomfort. Well, that made his right arm practically useless and as he struggled, more sensations flew up the length of his arm in sharp, distinct waves. Smoker's teeth set then and he tried to push on, shifting the fight over to his other hand.

A crack gave him hope; it was like sweet damn music in his already-pounding ears. His eyes searched half-blindly through the thicket of haze and blood and locked onto the shifting form of Giovanni. Seconds later, he smelled the distinct tinge of gunpowder.

Had a shot gone off? He didn't hear it - everything was a dull lull in his head, pounding relentlessly against his brain. A flash of silver blurred past his vision and bounced off to his left side - he watched it skid and he went for it, fingers of smoke breaking free from flesh. They snarled around the handle of a familiar weapon, desperate and hungry to return the beatings that he had received over the course of the evening.

The metal sprung to life and Smoker could feel the distinct vibrations through the piece as he dragged it across the floor and into his quickly-solidifying hand. When he found his grip, he raised it, thus releasing Giovanni's wrist.]

Eat it, you son of a bitch! [His voice sounded no more than a garbled base line, but the Marine didn't care. Raising his formidable weapon, he jerked his whole body in hopes of cracking the back of Giovanni's neck.]

Action;

[pseudism]

[It hit him so hard and with so much force that for a moment, Giovanni forget where he was, and what he was doing. The pain from the impact crawled up from his neck to encompass the back of his skull, synapses firing in clusters to the point that he could barely process them. When he came about, he'd buckled, inches from Smoker's face. The scent of tobacco hit him almost as strongly.

It was enough to make him remember. His gun wasn't in his hand any more, lay impotent somewhere to the side where he'd been trying to retrieve it, but that hardly mattered now. He was at least close enough to obscure Smoker's vision of his next move; he'd just need to be fast enough to take advantage of it.

His nose bumped against Smoker's. His workable hand grabbed the other gun, tucked in the back of his pants. He grazed his teeth on Smoker's lips, snarling, ready to rend and tear and smash through skin and bone and teeth to clamp his jaws down on anything...]

What is it you want me to eat, Commodore?

[... But he didn't.

The gun was up in a second, and he fired.]

Action;

[brandedjustice]

[Smoker tried to jerk himself away as Giovanni's body slumped forward, smothering him into the damp floor of the disclosed location. His eyes flew open wide, but fading flashes of color covered most of his vision; hot breath fell against his skin and he snarled, blurting over a very dry tongue that tasted like a horrible mixture of copper and ash. The only satisfying sensation he took pleasure in was the tingling splinters he got when his jitte finally collided with the back of Giovanni's thin neck.

But now his left arm was awkwardly posed over Giovanni's seemingly-dormant body. White-knuckled fingers gripped onto the weapon, desperate to flicker back into his logia, but his energy was low. Bits of his skin peeled off and fleshed out onto the floor, thickening the air with paling smoke.

Lips grazed Smoker's own and he tensed, gurgling words that didn't have any meaning at first. He felt Giovanni moving over his body, felt the warmth of his most loathsome enemy suck his own from his body and he cursed the very day he ever let Giovanni mean something in his life.]

This- [Smoker managed to hiss as he tried to force whatever bits of logia he had floating around right up and into Giovanni's nostrils. But as he tried, he heard the gun go off, the smoke fill his lungs and a sensation of absolute burning in the pit of his gut.

[Blood bubbled up, smearing the smoke. It painted the albino's lips red as drops blurted out from between tightly-clenched teeth.]

Action;

[pseudism]

[There was something very final about the way the sound of the gunshot traveled through the cavernous room. Giovanni didn't move an inch, frozen like a waiting insect, staring at Smoker's face as the brief flurry of smoke dispersed in the air between them, diminishing from clouds to wisps to nothing but blood. Giovanni breathed out slowly, and the air he'd held in his lungs was still thick with the smoke the Commodore had forced on him.

He smiled, ran his tongue across the specks of blood on Smoker's mouth. And then he stood up with an efficient, relaxed sort of ease, tucked the gun safely away and bent to pick up the other one, already cleaning up the evidence of his presence there. That just left the mess he'd made.

He gave his broken wrist a careful twist and grimaced. That'd take a few days' rest to heal, but it was hardly a major concern. He couldn't say that he had any immediate obligations, any more.]

Shall I leave the lights on for you?

[He stepped over Smoker, already making for the door. All efficiency now that the struggle was over. He only gave the man a passing glace as he moved over him, the same look one might give any obstruction.]

... Then again, I doubt it'll make a difference for you, will it?

Action; aaaaa hope this is okay

[meronymous]

[ and then, the door exploded. -- well. not so much exploded as it was barreled in by a large and bulky form that really had no business barging indoors, but either way, the door splintered inwards.

truth be told, kasukabe probably would have wandered away from the docks eventually -- he wasn't very good at sitting around being bored -- and had been just about to leave, after spending a good amount of time waiting for the commodore to show up. but jackson had suddenly perked his head up, termite-antennae wiggling in the air -- then suddenly down the street at top speed without warning, scattering random clicking and squealing noises in the air as he ran.

all kasukabe could do was hold on, even as the nine-foot-long termite went barreling into the doorway and skidded to a half just inside. ]

Aahh -- Jackson, why on earth --

[ peeking out from over the termite's spiny carapace, he started to speak, then paused at the sight sprawled before him. two injured persons. one uninjured person. was the latter responsible for the former? jackson must have heard or smelt something from the docks and led him here, but kasukabe couldn't tell if the man in the sunglasses was an enemy or not. so, still perched on the giant termite's back, he simply said, ]

Ah. Hello.

Action; :D I love waking up to you guys jesus

[brandedjustice]

[Smoker's head slid back and he could feel his hair moistening with more blood. He frowned, lips twisted even as Giovanni licked away at his wounds with the sort of smile that was left for the worst of men. The Commodore grimaced, blue eyes swallowing Giovanni whole.]

If you think - for a god damn minute - this is over - [His fingers slid against the ground, slicking themselves in blood, but he just stared at Giovanni, even as the haze around him continued to thicken - he was leaking and out of control of himself. A bad time to be a close to the bottom of a bottle; he wasn't prepared for this.

But a loud crack and the splintering of a door caused Smoker's gaze to waver and catch two big eyes of a much smaller man. Smoker's teeth set then, rage and pain turning into worry and contempt. No one was supposed to come, no one. But here was one little sheep that had left the flock to go perusing around the wolf's den. The Commmodore swore openly, mustering whatever little bit of energy he had left to stumble onto his feet; his body quaked as he did so and the evidence of the fight was obvious as blood leaked through thick white-leather and speckled it red.

Smoker said nothing though. His body flickered, flashing from flesh to smoke in almost an instant. Bits and pieces of him remained solid, a torso here, part of his skull there, maybe a hand or two, and a pair of boots.

When his voice came through the barreling smoke, it sounded distant and distorted.]

Hold your breath.

[Thick tendrils of logia whipped out and climbed up walls, trying to make a distinct barrier between Giovanni and Smoker's two men.]

Action; Likewise! :')

[pseudism]

[Giovanni jumped back from the resounding bang of the door bursting open, gun drawn ready for whatever might be waiting - but it was a pretty sure thing that nothing adequately prepared someone for a man riding a giant termite.

... But not a threat, by the looks of things. So Giovanni took a moment to survey the scene as it stood, with Spike prone on the ground and Smoker trying not to be, still thinking of his men over himself, still trying to hold his body together when it was crumbling apart and form some semblence of defense. There was an audible drip, drip of blood. The smell was thick enough to rival the smoke.

So there was the Commodore's weakness, after all; physically superior, stubborn, single-minded, but even he had a clear vulnerability, just like any other normal person.

He really should have tried this sooner.]

I don't think you should be worrying about me, Commodore.

I'm afraid I should be going home, now. When you get back from the dead, you'll tell me what it's like, won't you?

[Giovanni smiled quirkily, gracefully slid up to Kasukabe and wormed through the small space between the termite and the open door, slinking off into the outside.]

Action; c:

[meronymous]

[ though kasukabe had been staring at the scene dumbly for a long moment, it didn't take too much longer for him to figure out what was going on. especially once the gunshot wound was visible. (ah, so. the man in the glasses is probably the culprit, and i assume the man tied up is the hostage. at least his injuries don't seem too bad, but that gunshot wound looks terribly close to the vital organs, and --)

the sudden shouted command and the explosion of smoke startled him out of his thoughts. he was really a doctor, not a combatant, and though he instinctively clapped his hand to his mouth to hold his breath, he almost fell off jackson's back when the spectacled figure came darting forward.

not that he was just going to sit there staring, though. because after only a brief moment's pause he jumped off jackson's back, pointing out the doorway and shouting, ]

Go after him, Jackson!

[ with a resounding screech, the enormous termite went barreling down the street after the fleeing figure, clawed legs clacking along the pavement.

and kasukabe went wading into thinner area of smoke, calling out almost amiably, ]

Sir, I'm not sure what you're doing, but you should probably stop so I can look at that wound.

Action;

[brandedjustice]

[Despite his strength, Smoker solidified almost immediately after Giovanni's departure. His head cracked against solid wall, smearing it with distinct trails of blood and grime; he felt ill, sick in his stomach that his prey had escaped. It was more damage to him personally than any bullet wounds or head trauma and he growled out Giovanni's name through the phlegm that had heavily built up in his throat.

His body slummed, knees too weak to keep him up anymore. He watched through the cloudy-darkness, examined the twisting smoke that tried to hold his body together. His own logia felt like it was choking him off, smothering him instead of the enemy. The Commodore coughed and groaned. fingers digging into solid concrete in a desperate attempt to just fucking stand. Stand damnit, he barked internally. If you don't fucking stand - ]

Spike - get him out of here. Get him out! [Wild eyes tried to make out the form of Kasukabe, but he was only a shadow in the ever-growing mess that swirled in the Marine's vision. His teeth pulled back, revealing stained ivory and battered lips.] - that's your damn order!

[His feet ground into the floor as he tried to stand again, but he couldn't.] Giovanni. [Only a whisper now, faint and dim.] Giovanni! [A roar from the pit of his stomach; it split him open, spilling a nice chunk of blood onto the floor, which was chased quickly by smoke - grab it, grab it, put it back, heal yourself, kill the pirate. No, not a pirate. Enemy. Just that plain and simple - a murderer of justice, of righteousness and he was slipping away into the dark that flooded him.

Thump. Smoker felt like his head was going to split into two. Thump. Was that blood pumping through his veins or just smoke? Was that all he was? Smoke and ash - blood was hardly a concept he understood anymore. A life's blood pumping through thick veins; it was masked with smoke, always with smoke. Another growl and the Commodore was pushing his way through the door.]

GIOVANNI-! [He screamed, or maybe just gurgled. But his back met a wall and he was stuck there as his vision padded away into the dark, smothered in black, smothered in ash.]

Action;

[meronymous]

[ oh, it was always troublesome when his patient (or patient-to-be, sometimes) refused to sit still. but kasukabe knew better than to try and argue with someone this far gone. especially since it looked like they were made or smoke. intriguing and confusing, and kasukabe made a mental note to himself to gather some of this smoke later as he waded into the midst of it to tend to 'spike.'

it was difficult to see and breathe and move in all this smoke, but kasukabe still managed somehow. grabbing the lapels of the jacket, he dragged the unconscious form across the floor (it would have been nice to lift up his patient, he thought, but unfortunately strength wasn't quite his forte) and out the door. and once outside, he gently laid the figure down on the pavement to inspect the headwound. it was a nasty looking cut, bound to leave behind a nasty concussion, but it didn't look fatal.

the commodore's wound, on the other hand, had definitely looked worrisome.

somewhere down the streets, he could still hear the distant screech of his termite pursuing the attacker. jackson's carapace could easily deflect small-caliber bullets, he knew. it would be nice to be able to catch the pursuer, but he worried that jackson wouldn't get back in time to help him move the commodore to a safer location, because god knew kasukabe wasn't anywhere near enough to move the other by himself.

speaking of which. sighing, he waded back into the building, shielding his eyes from the residues of smoke. he spoke calmly, as if discussing an annoying bout of weather: ]

I think he'll be fine, but to be honest, you probably need the medical attention more urgently now. Would you please stay still and wait for a moment? Jackson will probably be back soon and can carry you.

[ the medical bag he'd brought along hung at his belt -- just the absolute necessities. he'd have to transport these two to his makeshift lab as soon as possible. ]

Action;

[brandedjustice]

[Wounded eyes slid to watch Kasukabe emerge with Spike wrapped up in his arms. It made the Commodore silent for a moment as he tried to push away the fog - Spike had gotten it rough and that was his responsibility. His men counted on him and now, he was in no state to even lend them any sort of hand.

Smoker's eyes shut as he let his body collapse by the entrance way. Numb fingers twitched to life, running up familiar lapels of leather, over tough green fur, to strapped down tobacco. Two were removed, plucked from their resting spots, and placed in his mouth after a couple of seconds of fumbling. A flick and a flare later, and the Commodore was sucking hard on dry tobacco, tasting as it meshed with the copper aftertaste of blood.]

Then start patching - [His voice was weak, but hard. He threatened his medic with a growl at the end, as if this were just a normal battle wound or something on those lines. Teeth clamped down on his cigars as he inhaled again, feeling his chest rise and his lower stomach region pump more evidence out onto the main street.]

Tsk - [His head lulled back, rubbing against the back wall like it was the best massage in the world. His face muscles hardened then and his hands slumped to his sides; one fell into clean earth, the other found a nice forming-puddle of DNA to rest in. Smoker wanted to laugh at the irony of it all, that he of all people was bleeding out, that he of all people was smack-dab in the middle of another war.]

Out of one rat hole and into another - [Humming, his throat bobbled as he tried to swallow.] - remember my jitte. [A fog consolidated over him, his logia reacting to the loss of blood violently. The Commodore just remained silent as he lifted away his jacket to press a tight hand to the bubbling wound. Kasukabe had better be the medic Smoker hoped he was.]

Action;

[meronymous]

[ trotting after smoker, over to where he had collapsed on the ground, kasukabe simply stared at the hulking form for a moment before deciding that attempting to move the other would only be a waste of time. he did, however, plop down on the ground and start to don a pair of surgical gloves, extracting what supplies he had from their protective cases in his med-pac.

any intense surgery would have to wait until they got to somewhere cleaner and more stable, but he could at least stop the blood for now. snapping his gloves on, he deftly sliced a section of smoker's shirt away from the gunshot wound. lifting up his scalpel for a moment before pausing -- and pulling a pre-prepared syringe of anesthetic out of its sterilized container. leaning up, he jabbed it into the appropriate vein in smoker's arm without warning, saying cheerfully, ]

I'm afraid the dose isn't big enough to knock you out completely, and two shots would be a bit too much. It'll take the edge off the pain, though, and we can put you on something more stable once we get somewhere cleaner.

Oh, and --

[ leaning up, he neatly plucked the cigars out of smoker's mouth. ]

I don't think it's a good idea for you to be smoking right now. Please stay still.

[ he was still endlessly cheerful as he started working on the biggest injury. the broken ribs and other blunt trauma injuries could wait, but tying off the severed veins and stopping any internal bleeding came first. -- and in the distance, jackson the termite slowly came scuttling back down the street with a scrap of giovanni's jacket held in its mouth. it sounded a little disappointed as it clicked, settled down on the ground next to smoker ]