[in progress/closed]
Who: Sam Vimes stony_faced and Ulquiorra Schiffer sfigato_quarto AND LATER Motoko Kusanagi deuxesmachina
What: Ulquiorra goes to get groceries for himself and Kairi, only to run into the AMC sergeant who's been after him.
When: Monday, December 8th, afternoon.
Where: Some market in Monacello territory by Ulquiorra's apartment.
( this is a cut. :D )
What: Ulquiorra goes to get groceries for himself and Kairi, only to run into the AMC sergeant who's been after him.
When: Monday, December 8th, afternoon.
Where: Some market in Monacello territory by Ulquiorra's apartment.
( this is a cut. :D )
Wrong. Vimes felt rage bubble up inside of him with the knowledge that this was a Monacello, a man who had killed coppers, a man who had killed civilians, a man who had killed people who didn't know any better and just wanted to get through life. And nobody touched Vimes' men. Still, he had had his encounter with the Beast before, and he knew to hold it in, to wait. Wait until he needed it. Wait until he faced the goddamn leader of this. Ulquiorra was just a grunt.
He lunged forward and drew his gun--didn't fire, 'cos there were people out there, and you didn't harm civilians, but it was good to scare the bugger. Besides, Vimes was more experienced in the art of the pistol whip than the art of actually shooting. He moved quickly, if not used to strength, than used to ducking and fighting in an offhand manner. Out of the corner of his eye, he spotted a brick lying there.
Anything can be used as a weapon. Keel taught him that, a long time ago, and he was going to damn well use that advice to the most of his ability.
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But the gun was a certainly a problem for anyone. He had to worry about that first. But he also had to consider, would Vimes actually use it? Shooting at this time of day ran a large risk of civilians in the cross fire. Ulquiorra knew he did not care, but what about Vimes?
This was a delicate question. He just watched the gun, and waited. Maybe if he disarmed this man and got in one more hit, he could make a break for it. He certainly did not want to run the risk of being shot in the back.
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All right, bone was hard. Cheeks weren't supposed to be. Shit. He was one of those modified bastards, wasn't he? Just Vimes' luck. It was risky, too risky to use a gun, and there was no way in hell that he'd try to connect his fist with the bugger. Goddamn it.
In a moment, he decided with a fatalistic air, he would probably be in a world of pain.
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Ulquiorra was knocked back by the hit, there was nothing he could do. His shoulder collided with the pavement, and he tossed his legs back over his head, rolling over that shoulder to save himself from injury. Now he had gotten his suit dirty.
Now he was just mad.
Cold, calculating mad. If he had had a gun, at this point he might have just shot the cop, even though having another death on his hands would only spell disaster. Bombing the casino was one thing, but killing a cop was another. He wasn't quite that insane, and he didn't actually have his gun. He didn't even have his sword, which he actually preferred to his gun for fights. His gun was more for defense and finishing hits. But all these options were out of the question. He didn't carry either when he was getting groceries for his girlfriend.
He needed to mess this cop up without killing him. He could do this.
He used the distraction of his fall to get out one of his daggers. Those he always had on him. He rebounded, coming for Vimes again. He jumped, and came down with the knife into Vimes' shoulder and twisted. He wasn't going to used that arm to pistol whip him again.
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He staggered backwards, not thinking much of anything, except to get the damn dagger out of his shoulder as fast as possible and to get Ulquiorra off of him because oh god he's been shot before but it doesn't make getting hurt again any less painful.
Managing to stumble away from Ulquiorra, he bent down to the ground lowly and for a moment, it was as if the dagger's hilt disappeared underneath his hand as he gripped it and - fuck fuck it hurt it hurt - yanked it out. He held onto it, sickly fascinated by the sheen of his own blood on it. Revulsion rose in his gut, but he ignored it, ignored the pain, ignored the Beast.
Now this bastard was really asking for a fight.
If only he didn't stab his punching arm. Raising himself slowly to his feet, he growled, "All right--" a sharp intake of breath, "--that's it." Vimes was prepared to take the sunnavabitch down, even if he had to use his gun to do it.
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But none of that mattered. All that mattered was disabling Vimes.
He continued his rampage, coming up and planting a kick to the injured shoulder as soon as Vimes was up. he heard Vimes' words, but ignored it. Getting the job done was all that mattered to him right now. He didn't have his knife anymore, so this was his only option.
Using the shock from the kick, Ulquiorra grabbed the opposite side of Vimes' shirt from the shoulder wound, and pulled towards himself while his other hand braced his fingers for his strike. He sent his hand into the shoulder wound, right below Vimes' collar bone. With the skin opened and his steel enforced skin, Ulquiorra managed to rip halfway through Vimes. But he wasn't strong enough to do much more than that. But it was enough.
The hand holding the shirt released, hoping the cop would fall and give him time to run.
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Control it. Control the pain and harness it and feed it to the Beast and take this fucker down and that was what had to happen and take a deep deep breath. He took a deep breath and crumpled to the ground. With a shaky arm but a steady hand, he whipped out his gun with his left hand and shot, twice. Don't aim straight ahead. Aim towards the ground, so no one else is hurt. Ankle. Knee cap. Thigh. Anything.
His arm jerked back with the exertion of trying to fire at the awkward angle and he paused, a deep, shuddering breath escaping his lips. This wasn't what he was built for. He was built for running, and chasing, and cuffing and thinking, not battling against mutants.
Even though his ears were ringing, he watched Ulquiorra carefully, dread hanging in his stomach. Did it hit?
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The feeling of his leg being crippled.
One bullet had found it's mark in the same leg that had so crippled him months before. The injury that had made him lose what felt like everything. This bullet could not have found a more crippling spot.
If Ulquiorra had one weak spot...one flaw...it was that leg.
The forward momentum from his failed attempt to run took him down flat on his stomach. The shock of the pavement and the whiplash on his neck made his head hurt, even if it hadn't made contact with the ground.
No. This was not it. He was not going to be defeated by this leg again. He had vowed that he was much stronger than that. What had he gone home and trained for? What had he left Reggio Calabria to accomplish? Was he really back where he started? Only this time he was not crippled on Grimmjow's kitchen floor, but in a dirty back alley with a cop standing over him.
No. It wasn't going to end like this. Now he was mad. So mad that the heat of his rage warmed his usually cool and calculating eyes. He was going to rip this man's head right from his shoulders with his bare hands. No one was allowed to cripple him like this. No one except Grimmjow.
Ulquiorra gritted his teeth and struggled to his feet, lunging at Vimes. his hands closing around the cop's neck. His leg failed him again, and the rest of his body came swinging into the other man. But this did not release his grip. Not. Yet.
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Wham. His pistol crashed against the soldati's head. He kept on going until the hands loosened and Vimes found himself able to breathe again, but he didn't trust this suspect. Not one bit, and fuck, he hurt, all over. "You are being arrested underneath the suspicion of bombings," he said, hoarsely, between hits. "You are being arrested for resisting arrest. You are being arrested for suspicion of being involved in a criminal organization."
His mind was working on auto now. "You have the right to remain silent. You have the right to resist unethical treatment. You have the right to a speedy trial. You have the right to speak with a lawyer."
Vimes gasped as he found that his pistol drew blood, and he faltered, resting the back of his wrist against his forehead. He let the Beast out. Then, eyes wide with a mixture of hysteria and paranoia, he regarded Ulquiorra with a wary sort of disbelief; was he really unconscious?
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It was a battle now. Could he choke Vimes before Vimes knocked him unconscious? Ulquiorra's tough skin helped him stay alert for a bit longer than a normal person, so by now he figured Vimes had to at least be seeing double. But he was seeing double too, and the edges of his vision started to wobble and blur. Then he felt his fingers slipping. He was not going to lose. He refused.
He felt the ground, and the wetness by the side of his face, and the vague realization that he was no longer choking Vimes. The last thing he heard was a crash and some yelling. But nothing more than that.
"HEY! HEY!" came a female voice. Soon a blur of a dark figured flipped over the edge of the roof of one of the buildings lining the alley. The shape twisted gracefully in the air before landing a few feet from Vimes, the impact of the metal body leaving cracks in the pavement.
"What the hell happened?" Demanded Sergent Motoko Kusanagi. Her gun was out in a second, and she dropped it down, aiming at the beaten figure on the ground while edging towards Vimes. Her red eyes scanned him up and down before looking down at the suspect. Keeping her gun out, she knelt and checked the young man's pulse while Vimes caught his breath. He didn't look very old or very dangerous unconscious and bleeding out of the side of his forehead. But judging by the shape that Vimes' was in, this Ulquiorra Schiffer character was not to be underestimated.
Motoko looked up at Vimes. "I need to get both of you back to AMC headquarters right away." Her car was just over parked on the next block. She picked up Ulquiorra and slung him over her shoulder. "Can you walk, Sergeant?" she asked, giving Vimes another once over. He had done enough today.
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oh. Oh. Motoko. Well, life was just one surprise after another. He regarded her foggily as she began making demands of him and waited for a few moments to collect himself, waited for the words to register. Gun clattering to the ground, he raised a tentative hand to clasp at his shoulder, raw and bloody. "He resisted arrest," he said numbly. Could he walk? Vimes tried to get up once and found his leg bending beneath him. That would be the fatigue, the bloodloss, the being kicked in the legs multiple times. He knew he had been through worse than this, though, and when he set his mind to it, managed to clamber to his feet.
"I can walk," he said hoarsely, his voice little more than a growl. "But you'll have to drive. And carry the kid." He nudged at him with his foot, feeling a little remorse for hitting him more times than necessary, but not much. He loped, following Motoko in the manner of an injured wolf.
With injuries like that, Vimes knew he'd be in for some interrogation too. HQ first, he decided, hospital second. But really, all he wanted to do was sleep.
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"Good. I've got the kid and the driving." She smirked. "Let's get out of here...we are pretty deep in their territory." The woman started off in a brisk walk towards the mouth of the alleyway and the light of the street, looking back once or twice to see if Vimes was following her.
"I'm sure the doctors at HQ will take care of you and this kid, unless you want to go somewhere else," Motoko remarked. They couldn't really just take this kid to the hospital. He was probably one hell of a flight risk. It was better to lock him up in a ward of the labs. By the look of what he did to Vimes, it probably would be nothing new.
They finally came to Motoko's car, and she holstered her gun to unlock her car. She circled around to open the passenger door for Vimes before opening the back seat and laying Ulquiorra down on it. The kid was going to bleed all over her car. She sighed, and popped her trunk, pulling out a first aid kit. She had to make sure that neither of them bleed out before they reached AMC headquarters. She wrapped up Ulquiorra's bleeding gunshot wound with tight gauze, trying to stop the blood flow. She wrapped his head a little the best she could, but it was a strange surface to bandage. Looking at his sleeping face, she wondered how someone so young and so innocent looking while sleeping could be such a monster. She would never get used to it. Not in war. Not now.
She circled back around to Vimes.
"Let me take a look at that shoulder..."
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"Sounds fine to me," Vimes grunted. In truth, he didn't trust the AMC's doctors. But he didn't trust regular doctors either. Sliding into the passenger's seat, he hit the back of his head against the headrest with a thankful sigh. God, it felt good to sit in a chair. It seemed as if he'd been on constant patrol for the last little while.
He watched Motoko move out of the corner of his lie, and against what his instincts told him about people who had funny coloured eyes, he trusted Motoko as much as he'd trust anybody who shared ranking with him. She was a good officer. Capable. Heard gunshots and ran - well, fell - towards them, probably. Normally, he'd refuse to let her take a look at his shoulder, preferring to let only his own hands around the vicinity of where his skin was ripped open. It was a very intimate part of him. Meaning that it hurt.
But now, well, he felt too drained to even do much besides clamp his uninjured hand against the gouge, so he decided to let her do whatever she had to. She'd know what she was doing anyways. He hoped.
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Motoko had long since forgotten her original eye color. There were many things about her "human" self that she had forgotten. Her name was one of them. But most of that was all pushed to the back of her mind The only thing that really drove her was her job. That was all that had ever mattered. Without the AMC, without the distraction, there really was nothing else she could do, no one else she could be. How would maintain her body? What other skills did she have? It was a prospect that she never liked to think about.
After her time on the battle field, Motoko had learned her share of first aid. She wasn't anywhere near the status of a qualified doctor, but she was used to getting people to a point where they wouldn't die right away, that they would last until they could get help from one of those qualified doctors.
Right now, Motoko just didn't want him to bleed out, so she wrapped the bandage tightly around his chest and shoulder. She placed his hands over the cut after she had cleaned it a bit and finished the bandaging. "Keep applying pressure," she breathed. Her hands riffled through the first aid kit again. "Can you take these without water?" she asked, holding out two pain killer pills. "It will take some of the edge off for now..."
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He shook his head at the painkillers, though. "I can managed until we get to HQ and this bugger--" he flicked his head towards Ulquiorra, "--is well under wraps." He didn't like painkillers. They made your brain fuzzy, your movements slow. You had to be under control at all times, especially when people had just witnessed an AMC officer and heard gunshots. Vimes may have not been able to throw a good punch, or even run very well, but he was capable of shooting a gun if need be, and he needed to be in the right state of mind for that. It wasn't that he didn't trust his fellow officer, he just preferred to know what was going on around him.
For a man who took a while to get drunk, he mused in relative disgust, it didn't take much meds to take him down. "Careful," he said. "People heard gunshots. People saw me chase after him. For all we know, there's men waiting to ambush us."
Do it, he dared them silently. We'll run over you fuckers and not a second thought. Only if they attacked first, though. Because Vimes was a good copper, not too bright but straight as an arrow, and good coppers never killed without being attacked without instigation first.
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"Then we better get our asses out of here," Motoko agreed. Both Vimes and Schiffer needed the medical attention at HQ. Motoko left Vimes' side, walking around the car and getting into the drivers seat. She revved up the car, and told herslef to drive more gently with the wounded in the car.
"How did you find this guy?" Motoko asked. She seemed to remember that he was a rather slippery Monacello soldati. "What exactly happened?"
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