The Death March - part eight [completed RP with doug_ramsey
Title: The Death March
Part: Eight - The Amazing Race
Previously: Prologue | One | Two | Three| Four | Five | Six | Seven
Note: completed RP with the fabulous doug_ramsey
The Amazing Race with Mortal Peril turns out to be rather peril-less. Doug and John have kept themselves on the move, traveling through Asia and Europe, mostly, to find random little shops, big open public ones, and even farms or towns in the country side.
Having Doug and his language powers is totally useful. John feels like he's said the phrase Don't know what I'd do without you, babe more then anything else in his life. He really doesn't know what he'd do without Doug.
It's all been rather easy going, surprisingly. They've collected a few herbs, some liquid stuff, and a couple of talismans. It's all been rather easy. Too easy.
Which, of course, has John right on edge. Because he knows peril will turn up at some point.
It leaves him even more tense since his health is deteriorating at an alarming rate. All he wants to do is sleep. He feels like an ass, because Doug's left with too much work planning things and booking transportation, while John's taking naps in the bed, on the couch, on the floor, in the train, on the plane, in the taxi - hell, sometimes the cement of the street looks like the softest bed in the world to John. (He does refrain from sleeping there, though.) He gets terrible headaches, and attacks of pain that leave him doubled over and crying out. They're short, but alarming, for both John and anyone who has to witness it. (Usually Doug, the poor guy.) But Doug, thankfully, is supportive in a non-patronizing sort of way. John wonders how much he doesn't say or show, about his concern, and John wishes there was something he could do to make Doug feel more reassured that he's fine. But he's at a loss for that, usually, since he never feels fine.
Now, they're in Russia. St. Petersburg, to be exact. Having just arrived on the red-eye earlier that day, they got a hotel room and fell into bed, exhausted. But they get up sooner then they'd probably like, and prepare to make it out for the day. They have an item to get - the second last one - and may as well start as soon as they can.
John stands, looking out the window, looking at the vast city spread out before him. Somewhere in there, is a chance to live. Somewhere in there, he and Doug will find it.
"Funny, huh," John says, not turning around, but hearing Doug enter the room, coming from the bathroom where he'd been showering. "We were here half a year ago, sight-seeing and having sex for your birthday. At least I've seen this city before."
"Yeah," Doug says, "but I don't remember looking out for magical amulets or whatever last time around." He fiddles with the room service card, which is entirely in Russian (apart from some broken English that's even harder to comprehend). "I don't suppose the concierge would be much help."
Having one towel tied around his waist, he uses another to try and dry his hair, looking a little anxiously at John. "So any pointers on where we might be going?"
"Diamond shavings," John corrects. Not amulets, diamond shavings. "Some sort of special magical kind that, I don't know, must have been dipped into holy water or shit out by a witch's brother's sister-in-law's bastard cousin's friend or something. Fuck, this stuff is driving me crazy."
John turns around, eyes up a partly-naked Doug, and leers at him. "Much rather stay inside, you know? Make you have to have another shower."
Doug rolls his eyes. John just nods - yeah, this so isn't the time.
"We're going to some little shop thing. In a bad part of town, I hear," John says, shrugging. He purses his lips together, annoyed. "We're not the only ones looking for it. Someone else is on a mission too, I've heard. Not the same one, but one that includes super rare magical diamond shavings. So. We need to be careful."
John walks over to his bag, and pulls out his flamethrowers (the awesome ones that Freedom Force got him, with the ability to be concealed through all sorts of security.) He straps them to his wrists.
"Why's everything in the bad part of town?" Doug asks. "Why can't they just sell mystical diamond shavings at Wal-Mart or something?" He starts to get dressed, too - khaki cargo pants with pockets for various things he might want to carry around, a t-shirt with a band logo on it, a beaten-up padded leather motorcycle jacket he had bought along the way just in case someone wanted to beat him up.
"It kind of sucks, though," he says. "You know, if we get something and the other guy doesn't, so he has to die. I mean, not that I want you to die," he adds hurriedly. "But no one should have to."
"Survival of the fittest," Pyro says, voice hard and cold and determined. "And like fuck I'm going to let Toad be the fittest."
But then John shrugs. "Maybe their thing isn't death. Maybe it's... something else. I don't know. How many dead people could really be walking around, right?"
John pulls a black hoodie over his head, tugging the sleeves down to conceal the straps of his flamethrowers. He grabs his baseball hat, puts it on backwards, covering up the locks of his faded brown hair. "All right. Let's go. Let's get this over with."
---
It's a little later then they thought by the time they make it out on the town. Dusk is falling, but the city is still very much alive. They take a taxi down to where they need to go. John makes Doug check the address and cross street names over three times, because all they've arrived to is a nondescript little black building. It doesn't even have any names or markings or numbers on it, but according to John's sources and the map, this is where they need to go.
Inside, things are different. There are brightly coloured walls, and shelves full of mystic things, and some ordinary looking things. ("What do you think this backscratcher with the fake head of a monkey on the end has anything to do with magic?" John asks, making Doug snort.) But they're there for serious reasons, and when approached by what John assumes is the shop owner or at least an employee, he becomes more professional.
"We're here for diamond shavings," John says. He has no idea how to pronounce the actual mystic name of them, but, really, how many different kinds of mystical crystal shavings could there possibly be?
And, if need be, he'll totally rely on Doug to do some translating.
"Cost is not a problem."
Though, really, how much translating will that need?
The owner looks them both up and down, and down and up, and up and... Doug is momentarily mesmerised by the fact that the man's head seems to be on a spring. "Cost isn't a problem if we do this quickly," he says in fluent Moscow-accented Russian. "We're not here to make any trouble. Just two honest boys."
But the owner is fixed on John rather than Doug, and mutters something in a thick dialect that isn't quite the way Doug had been speaking.
"He thinks he's seen you somewhere before," Doug whispers to John by way of explanation, and effortlessly shifts into the other dialect. "It doesn't matter if he's Tom Cruise. If we do this quickly and quietly, you'll get a fair price."
The owner glares at John, and John is on the point of raising one flamethrower-armed hand when Doug stops him. "You'll get a fair price," he repeats.
It still takes another moment for the owner to nod, and gesticulate towards the rear of the shop, which is hidden by a rather mangy burgundy-coloured curtain. "We'll go back here," the owner says to Doug. "This is... sensitive business, you understand?"
"Totally," Doug agrees, but lets John go first. There's no telling who might be lying in wait for them on the other side of the curtain.
Apparently, though, there's nothing much worse than a few potted plants and packing crates. The owner turns to a shelf in the wall, and takes a box from it. Within that box is another, far smaller. "We need to see the merchandise," Doug says, as John stands next to the curtain, peeking out every few moments. The owner nods, and lets Doug see. Really, he has no clue what makes diamond shavings any different from, well, bits of glass, but these look impressive enough to be the real thing. "What do you think?" he asks John.
John leaves his position at the curtain to examine the box. After a good long look, though, he only shrugs. Well, that's good enough. "How much?" Doug asks.
They haggle for a few minutes in very fast Russian laced with local swearwords and the occasional imploring call to god and the saints. But, finally, the box is in Doug's pocket, and quite a lot of money is in the owner's hands.
"Okay," Doug says. "Let's get out of here."
"Fuck yeah," John agrees.
Just as they step out through the curtain and out of the back room, the little bell hung above the door rings as the door opens.
John sees the guys wearing shades and bulky coats reach into them and he just knows what's happening (all that Brotherhood and Freedom Force training not going to waste), and pulls Doug down behind the counter just as the guns start to go off. Doug and John huddle together, and John throws an arm over Doug's shoulder, instinctively, trying to shield him.
The guns only shoot a couple rounds, up higher and they aren't hit, but the store owner lays on the ground, in the entrance way to the back room, gasping and gurgling as blood pours out of his mouth.
"Give us the shavings, or we will shoot you."
They'll shoot us anyway, John thinks.
"I noticed a back door," John whispers to Doug. "We have to go out that way. I'll create a distraction." His fingers click at his flamethrowers, but he doesn't ignite it quite yet - just getting the point across to Doug.
Because, if they go through the front door, casualties will be a lot greater. And it won't be John and Doug. Pyro will make sure of that.
"Uh, right," Doug whispers back. He's reasonably sure that fire won't stop bullets, and he really doesn't like the noises the store owner is making next to them. "What if there's someone back there?"
John doesn't answer, maybe because he's too busy keeping track of the other guys, maybe because it's a stupid question. They have to go out that way. There's no other choice.
John's thought is, if there's someone back there, we'll deal with them. But he's busy figuring out how much of a distraction he can make without killing the guys. He didn't think Doug would approve, really. Plus, it wasn't exactly a way to keep going unnoticed.
"Okay," John says. "I'll fire up, and you go, okay? On the count of three. Three... two... one."
John clicks the ignite on his flamethrowers half a second before he says one, so that by the time that he does, there is a stream of flame snaking it's way over the counter without John even standing up. John's pays close attention to his surroundings, and he sees Doug take off, hunched down and stepping quickly over the shop owner, disappearing into the back.
John controls the fire so that it comes at the guys like a big sheet bearing towards them, wrapping around them, but not touching them. No, his fire doesn't stop bullets, but it heats up everything and it can melt them, if he chooses. It would, however, cause a lot of damage to the guys lost in the fire storm.
Instead, he makes it pop and crackle, almost sounding like a gun, and he hears the guys screaming out.
He ducks into the back, and follows Doug out.
Doug might be relieved about getting out of the store in one piece if he had any time to think. But as soon as he gets through the doorway, there's a hand, and a gun, moving to point right at him. He instinctively keeps moving, ducks under the arm, twists around in the knowledge that, if he doesn't do something, John might get a bullet in the face. Thank God for Danger Room training. Just as John appears in the doorway, looking back at the fire, distracting the other gunman's attention, Doug kicks out with both feet, taking the man's legs from under him.
They both land on the ground, and although the gunman yells with surprise, there's no reassuring pop or crack of bone that Doug had been listening for. And he's still holding the gun.
Doug, however, is younger and fitter, and recovers first, throwing himself on top of the gunman in an improvised ju-jitsu hold, locking out his arm, making him drop the gun into Doug's hand with a yelp. And then Doug kicks him in the side of the head for good measure. He'll live, but he'll be out cold for a while, at least - long enough for John and Doug to make their escape.
He gets to his feet, dusting himself off. He'll have a few bruises in the morning, but hopefully a hot shower chez Allerdyce will sort out his aches and pains. Inside the store, the fire is still burning, but the yells of their pursuers seem to be getting closer.
"Let's get out of here," Doug says to John.
John grabs Doug's hand, and pulls him into a quick hard kiss. Dangerous, maybe, because they really do need to get out of there. But when he pulls away from Doug, his eyes are shinning and he has the old cocky smirk on his face - he hasn't felt this alive in months. "Yeah, let's go."
As reported in the local newspaper, this incident does not raise any suspicion against two young American males, nor a pyrokinetic mutant. According to the article, it was members of the community robbing an old man's little shop. It did turn for the worse, and the owner was killed by gunfire, and the suspects started fire to the shop to get rid of the evidence. The suspects are still at large.
Part: Eight - The Amazing Race
Previously: Prologue | One | Two | Three| Four | Five | Six | Seven
Note: completed RP with the fabulous doug_ramsey
The Amazing Race with Mortal Peril turns out to be rather peril-less. Doug and John have kept themselves on the move, traveling through Asia and Europe, mostly, to find random little shops, big open public ones, and even farms or towns in the country side.
Having Doug and his language powers is totally useful. John feels like he's said the phrase Don't know what I'd do without you, babe more then anything else in his life. He really doesn't know what he'd do without Doug.
It's all been rather easy going, surprisingly. They've collected a few herbs, some liquid stuff, and a couple of talismans. It's all been rather easy. Too easy.
Which, of course, has John right on edge. Because he knows peril will turn up at some point.
It leaves him even more tense since his health is deteriorating at an alarming rate. All he wants to do is sleep. He feels like an ass, because Doug's left with too much work planning things and booking transportation, while John's taking naps in the bed, on the couch, on the floor, in the train, on the plane, in the taxi - hell, sometimes the cement of the street looks like the softest bed in the world to John. (He does refrain from sleeping there, though.) He gets terrible headaches, and attacks of pain that leave him doubled over and crying out. They're short, but alarming, for both John and anyone who has to witness it. (Usually Doug, the poor guy.) But Doug, thankfully, is supportive in a non-patronizing sort of way. John wonders how much he doesn't say or show, about his concern, and John wishes there was something he could do to make Doug feel more reassured that he's fine. But he's at a loss for that, usually, since he never feels fine.
Now, they're in Russia. St. Petersburg, to be exact. Having just arrived on the red-eye earlier that day, they got a hotel room and fell into bed, exhausted. But they get up sooner then they'd probably like, and prepare to make it out for the day. They have an item to get - the second last one - and may as well start as soon as they can.
John stands, looking out the window, looking at the vast city spread out before him. Somewhere in there, is a chance to live. Somewhere in there, he and Doug will find it.
"Funny, huh," John says, not turning around, but hearing Doug enter the room, coming from the bathroom where he'd been showering. "We were here half a year ago, sight-seeing and having sex for your birthday. At least I've seen this city before."
"Yeah," Doug says, "but I don't remember looking out for magical amulets or whatever last time around." He fiddles with the room service card, which is entirely in Russian (apart from some broken English that's even harder to comprehend). "I don't suppose the concierge would be much help."
Having one towel tied around his waist, he uses another to try and dry his hair, looking a little anxiously at John. "So any pointers on where we might be going?"
"Diamond shavings," John corrects. Not amulets, diamond shavings. "Some sort of special magical kind that, I don't know, must have been dipped into holy water or shit out by a witch's brother's sister-in-law's bastard cousin's friend or something. Fuck, this stuff is driving me crazy."
John turns around, eyes up a partly-naked Doug, and leers at him. "Much rather stay inside, you know? Make you have to have another shower."
Doug rolls his eyes. John just nods - yeah, this so isn't the time.
"We're going to some little shop thing. In a bad part of town, I hear," John says, shrugging. He purses his lips together, annoyed. "We're not the only ones looking for it. Someone else is on a mission too, I've heard. Not the same one, but one that includes super rare magical diamond shavings. So. We need to be careful."
John walks over to his bag, and pulls out his flamethrowers (the awesome ones that Freedom Force got him, with the ability to be concealed through all sorts of security.) He straps them to his wrists.
"Why's everything in the bad part of town?" Doug asks. "Why can't they just sell mystical diamond shavings at Wal-Mart or something?" He starts to get dressed, too - khaki cargo pants with pockets for various things he might want to carry around, a t-shirt with a band logo on it, a beaten-up padded leather motorcycle jacket he had bought along the way just in case someone wanted to beat him up.
"It kind of sucks, though," he says. "You know, if we get something and the other guy doesn't, so he has to die. I mean, not that I want you to die," he adds hurriedly. "But no one should have to."
"Survival of the fittest," Pyro says, voice hard and cold and determined. "And like fuck I'm going to let Toad be the fittest."
But then John shrugs. "Maybe their thing isn't death. Maybe it's... something else. I don't know. How many dead people could really be walking around, right?"
John pulls a black hoodie over his head, tugging the sleeves down to conceal the straps of his flamethrowers. He grabs his baseball hat, puts it on backwards, covering up the locks of his faded brown hair. "All right. Let's go. Let's get this over with."
---
It's a little later then they thought by the time they make it out on the town. Dusk is falling, but the city is still very much alive. They take a taxi down to where they need to go. John makes Doug check the address and cross street names over three times, because all they've arrived to is a nondescript little black building. It doesn't even have any names or markings or numbers on it, but according to John's sources and the map, this is where they need to go.
Inside, things are different. There are brightly coloured walls, and shelves full of mystic things, and some ordinary looking things. ("What do you think this backscratcher with the fake head of a monkey on the end has anything to do with magic?" John asks, making Doug snort.) But they're there for serious reasons, and when approached by what John assumes is the shop owner or at least an employee, he becomes more professional.
"We're here for diamond shavings," John says. He has no idea how to pronounce the actual mystic name of them, but, really, how many different kinds of mystical crystal shavings could there possibly be?
And, if need be, he'll totally rely on Doug to do some translating.
"Cost is not a problem."
Though, really, how much translating will that need?
The owner looks them both up and down, and down and up, and up and... Doug is momentarily mesmerised by the fact that the man's head seems to be on a spring. "Cost isn't a problem if we do this quickly," he says in fluent Moscow-accented Russian. "We're not here to make any trouble. Just two honest boys."
But the owner is fixed on John rather than Doug, and mutters something in a thick dialect that isn't quite the way Doug had been speaking.
"He thinks he's seen you somewhere before," Doug whispers to John by way of explanation, and effortlessly shifts into the other dialect. "It doesn't matter if he's Tom Cruise. If we do this quickly and quietly, you'll get a fair price."
The owner glares at John, and John is on the point of raising one flamethrower-armed hand when Doug stops him. "You'll get a fair price," he repeats.
It still takes another moment for the owner to nod, and gesticulate towards the rear of the shop, which is hidden by a rather mangy burgundy-coloured curtain. "We'll go back here," the owner says to Doug. "This is... sensitive business, you understand?"
"Totally," Doug agrees, but lets John go first. There's no telling who might be lying in wait for them on the other side of the curtain.
Apparently, though, there's nothing much worse than a few potted plants and packing crates. The owner turns to a shelf in the wall, and takes a box from it. Within that box is another, far smaller. "We need to see the merchandise," Doug says, as John stands next to the curtain, peeking out every few moments. The owner nods, and lets Doug see. Really, he has no clue what makes diamond shavings any different from, well, bits of glass, but these look impressive enough to be the real thing. "What do you think?" he asks John.
John leaves his position at the curtain to examine the box. After a good long look, though, he only shrugs. Well, that's good enough. "How much?" Doug asks.
They haggle for a few minutes in very fast Russian laced with local swearwords and the occasional imploring call to god and the saints. But, finally, the box is in Doug's pocket, and quite a lot of money is in the owner's hands.
"Okay," Doug says. "Let's get out of here."
"Fuck yeah," John agrees.
Just as they step out through the curtain and out of the back room, the little bell hung above the door rings as the door opens.
John sees the guys wearing shades and bulky coats reach into them and he just knows what's happening (all that Brotherhood and Freedom Force training not going to waste), and pulls Doug down behind the counter just as the guns start to go off. Doug and John huddle together, and John throws an arm over Doug's shoulder, instinctively, trying to shield him.
The guns only shoot a couple rounds, up higher and they aren't hit, but the store owner lays on the ground, in the entrance way to the back room, gasping and gurgling as blood pours out of his mouth.
"Give us the shavings, or we will shoot you."
They'll shoot us anyway, John thinks.
"I noticed a back door," John whispers to Doug. "We have to go out that way. I'll create a distraction." His fingers click at his flamethrowers, but he doesn't ignite it quite yet - just getting the point across to Doug.
Because, if they go through the front door, casualties will be a lot greater. And it won't be John and Doug. Pyro will make sure of that.
"Uh, right," Doug whispers back. He's reasonably sure that fire won't stop bullets, and he really doesn't like the noises the store owner is making next to them. "What if there's someone back there?"
John doesn't answer, maybe because he's too busy keeping track of the other guys, maybe because it's a stupid question. They have to go out that way. There's no other choice.
John's thought is, if there's someone back there, we'll deal with them. But he's busy figuring out how much of a distraction he can make without killing the guys. He didn't think Doug would approve, really. Plus, it wasn't exactly a way to keep going unnoticed.
"Okay," John says. "I'll fire up, and you go, okay? On the count of three. Three... two... one."
John clicks the ignite on his flamethrowers half a second before he says one, so that by the time that he does, there is a stream of flame snaking it's way over the counter without John even standing up. John's pays close attention to his surroundings, and he sees Doug take off, hunched down and stepping quickly over the shop owner, disappearing into the back.
John controls the fire so that it comes at the guys like a big sheet bearing towards them, wrapping around them, but not touching them. No, his fire doesn't stop bullets, but it heats up everything and it can melt them, if he chooses. It would, however, cause a lot of damage to the guys lost in the fire storm.
Instead, he makes it pop and crackle, almost sounding like a gun, and he hears the guys screaming out.
He ducks into the back, and follows Doug out.
Doug might be relieved about getting out of the store in one piece if he had any time to think. But as soon as he gets through the doorway, there's a hand, and a gun, moving to point right at him. He instinctively keeps moving, ducks under the arm, twists around in the knowledge that, if he doesn't do something, John might get a bullet in the face. Thank God for Danger Room training. Just as John appears in the doorway, looking back at the fire, distracting the other gunman's attention, Doug kicks out with both feet, taking the man's legs from under him.
They both land on the ground, and although the gunman yells with surprise, there's no reassuring pop or crack of bone that Doug had been listening for. And he's still holding the gun.
Doug, however, is younger and fitter, and recovers first, throwing himself on top of the gunman in an improvised ju-jitsu hold, locking out his arm, making him drop the gun into Doug's hand with a yelp. And then Doug kicks him in the side of the head for good measure. He'll live, but he'll be out cold for a while, at least - long enough for John and Doug to make their escape.
He gets to his feet, dusting himself off. He'll have a few bruises in the morning, but hopefully a hot shower chez Allerdyce will sort out his aches and pains. Inside the store, the fire is still burning, but the yells of their pursuers seem to be getting closer.
"Let's get out of here," Doug says to John.
John grabs Doug's hand, and pulls him into a quick hard kiss. Dangerous, maybe, because they really do need to get out of there. But when he pulls away from Doug, his eyes are shinning and he has the old cocky smirk on his face - he hasn't felt this alive in months. "Yeah, let's go."
As reported in the local newspaper, this incident does not raise any suspicion against two young American males, nor a pyrokinetic mutant. According to the article, it was members of the community robbing an old man's little shop. It did turn for the worse, and the owner was killed by gunfire, and the suspects started fire to the shop to get rid of the evidence. The suspects are still at large.