Twenty: In Which Shit Gets Realer Than Ever [Locked to Ples and Hiccup]
[About mid-day Monday, Klaus puts out a phone call. It's filtered to a very specific person: the person he has been tasked with murdering. Ples Tibenoch.]
I would like to meet with you, preferably somewhere secluded. Makeout Point is likely deserted at the moment and would be ideal.
If you have been given a weapon, bring it.
[He hangs up without ( Read more... )
I would like to meet with you, preferably somewhere secluded. Makeout Point is likely deserted at the moment and would be ideal.
If you have been given a weapon, bring it.
[He hangs up without ( Read more... )
He could feel his other half tinge and sting at his temples, gritting his teeth and pouring himself a shot of this town's horrible whiskey before he headed out with the flintlock pistol he had regained. Or rather, that he regained, and a small cloth that he had make-shifted into a little bag for the few bits of lead balls that had come with it.
The hill known as 'Makeout Point' was, of course, deserted,and Ples carefully walked up the worn path to the top with the pistol slung between his belt and his trousers. It was usually nested in a part of his pelvis, were it clockwork, but that wasn't the case at the moment.
3:00, on the dot, and Ples sees Klaus standing there. His other half pushes at his head again, and he cringes, shaking his hair back and fixing his glasses to better calm himself. Even if his heart was beating a mile a minute. ]
Klaus? You... called?
Reply
I did, yes.
[All he can do is get it over with. If he does it quickly and without thinking, he'll be able to get through it.]
I challenge you to a duel, Ples Tibenoch. Do you accept?
Reply
-what. Did he. Just. No. ]
No... Klaus...
[ He's shaking his head, his leg stepping back and turning slightly, in a sort of 'bracing for the worst' pose. Oh god his head was throbbing, no, please, he couldn't. ]
Y-You can't... no... you aren't serious... no...
[ The pain, the screaming in his head is becoming unbearable, and his head ducks in defeat. ]
Reply
But̴,͡ yo͝u ar̡e s̷erio̸u͠s,͠ ąr͜e̷n't y̶ou.
[ He stands up straight, bowing his head with a hum of a chuckle. ]
I̛r̴onic, tha͟t̢ this ͢h͟a̴d ̵t̡o happe͘n, ̸isn̷'̧t̶ ͞it̵? M̸aýf̛ie͡ld͢ ha̕s a͜ ̕wi͝cke̡d h̛umor̨, d͢on't̡ t͠h̷e̶y̢.
Reply
He's actually not entirely sure why he felt the need to come out here anyway, but whatever. He's here now.]
Reply
Whether you find it funny or not is a moot point. Do you accept? I am very serious and I would like this to happen in a timely fashion.
Reply
Of͘ cơur͟s̸e I d̸ơ! Wh̕y̶ ̷wo̵u̵ld ̀I͟ ̕ever ͠g͜i͡v̀e up̷ su͠c͟h̴ ̴a̸ r̨equest f̛r͞o̕m̢ ̧you?
́Bar̷o͜n̴?͢
[ His hand shifts to his side, fingers stroking the hilt of the pistol. ]
Reply
Good. We will fight to the death and I will not tolerate any deloping. But I am not worried about that from you; the thought that you'd give up an opportunity to harm me and purposefully misfire is ludicrous. For this reason, we will not stand back to back and pace: I find it likely that you would turn early. We will stand at a measured distance and alternate shots. You, as the challenged, will go first.
Do we have an accord?
Reply
[ Oh Klaus, you make him chuckle so easily. His hand goes out in a roll at his side, bowing his head. ]
We͘ do. ͢H͟m,̡ ̸y͠o͞u're s̸m̛art, ͡Ba̵r̛o͝n.͜ ͢I̡t's ͠a̛l͢m͝o͟st̛ as t̵ho̷u̵g̴h͢ y͠ơu ̕k͜nòw me ̨s͢o̧ we͞ll͟.͜
[ He looks left, then right, then behind him, then ahead of him, motioning to two trees, one some feet back from Klaus, one some feet away from himself. ]
We ͘st͡and̀ at͘ the ͞s̶ides̕ ̨o̧f ̀the̷s̨e two t̴ŗee͠s, p͞e͝r͘h̕a͠ps?̶
Reply
Start when you're ready.
Reply
Oh Klaus, it's never the size that counts, it's how you use it.
He loads it idly, then turns on his side, arm straight, the gun aimed and pointed. ]
At͢ ̨t̶his͘ st͝ag̛e,͜ l̶u̴ck ̵ìs̴ a͠ ͘dw͞ìndl͡i̷ng̢ op̡tiơn fo̕r̢ yo͜u͡, ͠Bar̡ǫn,̨ ̨I wi͜ll̶ saỳ th͟a̕t̀ ̡now̧
[ And he fires. ]
Reply
But if Ples insists. Klaus lifts his own gun, arm straight, not shaking. No worries. No hesitation.
And then, at the last moment, he angles the gun downward and hits the roots at the base of Ples's tree. The radium that laces the bullet causes a few sparks on impact and glows dully blue from within the shattered shell.]
I have never relied on luck, creature.
Reply
Ples' eyes dart to where the bullet had landed, eyebrows up in a slight surprise at the ... blue of it. Huh. He snickers, eyes rolling to look at Klaus, before the rest of his head follows. ]
At ͟l͜east ͟I̢ ̕dec̢id͡e͜ ̡tò ̸st̕ay ̛t̴ra͟dit͞ìo̵na͢l, ̛Ba͡r̴on. ̶I ͟a̛l͡wa̕yś fi̢nd ͢it͞ ́r̸ąther͝ s̕a͞d́, ̵y͜oú ca̷l̨lin̵g͜ me̸ ̸cr̕e͡atu̵re̛,͟ ͠oŗ ͟p̷ar̶a̴s̴i͢te̴,͟ o̷r an̸y̶ o̴f ͟th͝ose̷,̨ ̀w̢heǹ ̸yo̡ų'̶d ̨e͟xpl͝or̴e ̢m͘e̛ as̢ m̵u̡c̢h͢ as you͝'d̀ exp̶lo̷re ̴t̷h́e͢ ̡m͞éc̕h͜àn͢ics ̧o̧f ̀Ples' clǫck̷work.̢ Yo͘u͞r ̴f̴ascin͞at͞ed w͝it͜h ̸t́hem, a̶n͟d w̡i̶th ͜m͘e, ̵y̸et ̨yo͝u wish́ t͢o b̴et͟te͠r͘ the on̡e, ͢and̢ de̡str̸oy tḩe̴ other̶.
Can ̀yòu̢ im̷ag͘ine ̡w͜h̵at̴ w͘ǫu͢ld ̸ha̛pp̛en̴ if ͡you͘ ̀s͡uc͜ce̢ed̕e̴d, ̨b̵ut́ ̢v̵ic̶e͞ v́e͜r͟sa͜? ͠I͝f ̨y̕ou̶ ̡b́ettere͢d͢ me, ͡an͝d w̧orsén̶e̸d ͜his c͜l͟o͘c͡kw͢o̵r͘k,̀ would ͘yo͜u t̵reat͠ m͘e ̛w͢ith s̶uc̛h̷ f͡a̷s͞cin̡aţi͘o̕n?́ O̷r m̡ore͞? ͘Y̨o͝u͜ ̛cán̸ s̵ee ̴e͠įther ͘of͟ those͢ worki͜ng̨,̵ c͡a̵n͢'t̛ y̷o̴u͠?
[ He's taking his time loading his next shot as he's talking, all through a smile. He turns his body, and aims again, his arm suddenly jolting back as his proper half is fighting for control. ]
S-stop I can't-[ He whimpers, then hisses, throwing his head back, the urge gone as he focuses. Huff. ]
Ca͜n͡ ͝yo̴ų im͠ag͟ine m̷e o̷ut̸ t̷h͠e m̕a͘j͟or̡i͘t͝y of ̛t̸he day?͢ ̧W̡o͠u̧l͡d̶ y̨o͟u̵ s̛t͜ìl͟l͢ stud͡y my bo͢d̸y͘ ás͞ mućh ͝as ̴y͢où do͜ w͘i̢t̡h̵ ͜P̀l̕e͝s?̡ ͝Wo͟ul̨d yo̢ư ͜destr͞o̵y͡ m̷y m̨o̧d͠i̵f̸ica̕ti͝o͠n͠s͘ t̡o͢ ǵet to h͠i͞m̀? ̡How̛ do y̴ou kn̸o̴w̧ ͟th̛is i̶s͞n't th̷e ca̧se̛?
[ There's a hum, and he fires, aiming higher up, to the left, probably leaving a graze to his shoulder. From a lead effing ball. ]
Reply
Then Ples speaks. For just a moment, Klaus hesitates. Maybe they don't have to--
So help him, Darkples, he'll kill you. And it will feel excellent.]
Be quiet!
[He shoots. The bullet grazes Ples's hair, miraculously not doing him any damage, though it does splinter the tree behind him something fierce.]
Reply
H̴a̴hah̵àh̨a!͢ ̧I'҉m s̴or̡r̀y͡, ́B̀aro͡n, ̵y͡o͝u w̛ant m̨e͘ ̀to̡ ̷do-҉
[ There's a zing! through the black waves at the top part of his hair, stopping immediately, turning around to look at the tree and the mark it left there. It took off the bloody bark, for god's sake, look at it. Maybe even more into the tree. His eyes dart back to Klaus, reloading his pistol in fervor before it drops to the grass and he hisses loudly again, his hand to his forehead, bending over. ]
I-I can't! What am I doing-Klaus I can't! You aren't my t-target I can't do this-!
[ It's Ples again alright, pained, as if he had actually been shot, the fact that he had done something like that to Klaus just making this worse. His hands are jittering back, then down, then back forcibly, then forward, as if fighting to grab or not grab the pistol. ]
Reply
I know I am not your target, Ples. But I... The... The person I have been tasked with killing is someone I care very much about. I am not pleased with the assignment but I have hope that they will, in time, understand my motivation.
[It's the closest he can get to disclosing who his target is. Ples should understand.]
We have to finish this duel, now that we have started. And if you can't do it, your other half will.
[He feels heartless saying it even as it leaves his mouth. Is he really doing this? Is he really putting his pride and his inability to back away from what he perceives as a dare on Mayfield's part before the safety of this man? Putting the success of a half-conceived counter-experiment above the trust he's worked so hard to cultivate between them?
There's no turning back now. Heartless or not, it is Ples's turn to shoot. All Klaus can do is wait.]
Reply
Leave a comment