revenge. mk I

[453gof_flesh]

Who: Clapet and West
When: this evening, people.
Where: Third floor - between the showers and Clapet's room. Aka: outside West's room.
What: A stabbing.
Warning: A stabbing.

Comments

[major_west]

Patience had paid off, it seemed. West had remained largely quiet since the end of the black out, and he stayed away from making too many overt allusions to revenge. And as Clapet's guard slowly went down again, West simply watched him. He remained patient, observing the man as he settled back into a routine, and saying nothing. He played the part of the model inmate until the moment seemed right.

And when Clapet left the confines of his room to enter the showers, West was ready. He selected a wine bottle that had been left over from one of many gifts he'd received on the Barge, and gave it ten minutes before leaving his room and waiting near the door to the showers. The moment the butcher stepped out, West was going to strike with the bottle, aiming for the head. Hopefully, it would be enough to stun the man long enough for the soldier to shatter the glass and truly get to work.

[453gof_flesh]

Clapet hadn't expected to be hit on the head by anything, to be perfectly honest, and when he was, he brought his hands to the back of his head, a little stunned by the blow. "Merde! What the..." He blindly swung a fist in the direction of his assailant without really looking to see who, or where, they were.

[major_west]

West reared back to avoid the punch, largely thanks to the shoddy aim that went into it. If Clapet had managed to get a good, solid hit on him, it likely would've stunned him. The man was clearly more powerful than he was. He swung the bottle again, harder, aiming to get Clapet across the face this time. There was rage behind his swing, at Clapet for butchering Billy and reminding him of the ravenous monsters he'd left behind, as well as old rage at the thought of his boys, their deaths. How he'd been robbed of his loved ones like this before.

[453gof_flesh]

It was a good hit, and Clapet reeled back just a little, blood dripping onto his hand from his face - possibly from his nose, or somewhere else entirely, and he had to lean forward, planting his hands on his thighs just to get his bearings. He looked up at West, running his sleeve across his face, recognising who it was, if nothing else, "Look... I..." He realised arguing wasn't going to get him far, and he just tried to punch him again.

[major_west]

This time, the punch connected, and West stumbled back a few steps, adrenaline keeping him alert despite the pain flaring across his cheekbone. Quickly, he smashed the bottle against the wall, getting it good and sharp now, and reached out to grab the butcher so that he could slash the broken bottle down on him, wherever he could get him.

"Do you think you're the only one who comes from a world without a future?" he growled. "Your response to the lights going out is to try to rob me of mine." His world or his future, really, Billy fit both descriptions. Their relationship was pretty codependent.

[453gof_flesh]

Clapet took one look from the broken bottle, to West's face, and back again, and panicked just a little. But his first instinct was always fight, not flight, so West could get a good hold of him, but he did try and get out of it. He realised now he had to say something placatory, or find a way to fight his way out.

"It... It wasn't against you! Or even him! I thought it'd have to be someone in the end! Nothing was coming back!" Or... at least, he didn't think it was. He attempted to push West away and get out of his grip. The broken bottle made him wary of doing anything too drastic.

[major_west]

He tightened his grip, although the other man was jerking hard and making it difficult to maintain. "You're no better than the Infected. I told you we had ways of dealing with your kind back home." He stumbled back a little when Clapet pushed him, then swung with the broken bottle, aiming to draw blood.

[453gof_flesh]

Clapet felt the glass cut him, even if he tried to duck away, and the hot blood run down his skin. Not that this was about to stop him, as the blood just made him angrier, and his determination to avoid death kick in harder. He attempted to swing a fist hard at West, just to get him off him.

Part of him knew he deserved this, but that didn't stop him wanting to live, either.

[major_west]

West raised his arm to block the punch-- or, at least, take the worst of it. It hurt his forearm, but better that than his head. He wanted to be perfectly clear and aware right now. The fact that he'd drawn blood was certainly encouraging, and, arm throbbing with pain, he slashed the bottle down again, this time targeted, aiming for the face. The throat, of course, would have been a better place to strike, but he would wait until he got the butcher on the ground for that. He hoped that speed was on his side, where brute strength wasn't.

[453gof_flesh]

Clapet was about to throw another punch, about to try and make his mistake when the bottle slashed down his face and he was afraid of all sorts of things - that when he opened his eyes, he wouldn't be able to see, that he'd bleed to death, and that fear made him blindly push at West with one hand, and grasp at his face with the other, the stinging cuts all the way down it starting to pour blood onto his hand. This wasn't good.

He spat a little of the blood off his lips and said to West, "Alright, alright... I'm sorry. I shouldn't have done it, I made a dumb mistake, you've got revenge... please, stop. I won't tell anyone you did it, just stop."

[major_west]

He let Clapet push him away, then struck out to stab the man's reaching hand with the bottle, practically baring his teeth in aggression as he did so. "You took him. You took his life, his brilliance, his spirit, and you made him meat," he growled out. "And you think this makes us even? Your only choices right now are a slow death or a quick one. That's the only mercy I'll grant you."

[453gof_flesh]

Clapet swore loudly when the glass hit his hand and he breathed heavily, trying to figure out where he was bleeding most, and how to slow it down a little, "I don't want to fight you, but I'm not letting you kill me. I... I'm not trying to even justify it any more, just don't kill me."

He swung his bloody fist at West, the pain in his face and sheer desire to survive eclipsing just how much it hurt to use that hand.

[major_west]

"You killed him," he said simply, his voice soft, almost gentle. "And you desecrated him. Like he was nothing but livestock. You deserve death."

As the butcher lashed out, West pulled back and laughed softly, thinking back to baiting Mailer, remaining just out of his reach...

Mailer, who ultimately killed him. Tore his face apart, clawed at his throat...

That thought fresh on his mind, he reached out to hold Clapet in place and brought the bottle down, hard and fast, twice in succession. He didn't want this to be clean; he wanted to mirror whatever brutality he imagined Billy had to endure, before and after his death. And, although he wouldn't admit it, he wanted to put the man through a death as violent and wretched as his own.

[453gof_flesh]

Clapet didn't quite know what to say to that to dissuade West, because he was right. Luckily, he didn't have much chance to try and dissuade him, and the fight had been taken out of him for a moment or so, which meant both of West's downward strikes hit, and hit hard. He swore again, in French, and this time, just scrambled to try and get away from the other man, aware he was losing blood very fast, and had to get to somewhere - a vague, distant somewhere where West couldn't hurt him, before he passed out. Well, died, at this rate.

[major_west]

West gave Clapet a moment to scramble a few feet away, calmly watching him, before following after with quick, purposeful strides. He reached out to grab hold of Clapet and yank his head back, intending on drawing the glass across his throat for a fatal slice.

[453gof_flesh]

Clapet hadn't managed to get far, the blood loss clouding any judgement of which direction to go in or where to aim for, and he was easy to catch up with. He didn't expect to be caught by the hair, although, on reflection, he should have, and he knew there wasn't anything he could do right now to stop West killing him. That, in itself, paralyzed him with fear, and even if he thought he could fight back, he was frozen on the spot. He was as good as dead right now, and he knew it.