Safety first [Open/Active]

[guardiangunman]

Who: Ricardo, Mello, and YOU!
Where: In the parlour
When: Day 001
What: In which Ricardo is on edge and Mello is a projectile weapon.
Warnings: Accidental violence? Possible language?

Comments

[is_not_number1]

Mello had gotten used to his plans turning out differently than he’d intended. He’d had to; that sort of thing happened to him more than often enough, so he didn’t exactly have much of a choice in the matter of whether or not he wanted to. Thus, he had almost grown to expect things to go wrong. Not always disastrous, perhaps, but certainly wrong.

Never, though, would he have expected his most recent kidnapping endeavour to turn out like this. He’d known there was a significant chance that this would end badly, and he wasn’t even expecting to make it out alive. He realized that he’d probably have less than a chance if Takada had taken any sensible precautions in case something like this happened. And that was perfectly fine. If he did die, it was more than likely that things would turn out well in the end. He was prepared to take that chance.

He was not at all, however, in any way prepared for what actually did happen. He’d been driving, and he was sure he’d swerved or something. That much wasn’t a surprise; he had become

[guardiangunman]

Ricardo brushed dust off of the canvas covering the couch. It certainly didn't seem like anyone was living here, or had even visited this place in a long time. This was making less sense by the minute--

A rushing of air, the rustle of clothing, somewhere behind him.

Behind him? But how--

He hadn't managed to fully face the thing when it barrelled straight into him. It was a good thing that he'd turned to look, because it was travelling impossibly fast; if it had hit him square in the back, he may be facing paralysis. As is, it hit him in the side, knocking the air from his lungs and sending him crashing to the floor. His right arm shot out instinctively to catch him, but he didn't have time to position himself properly before he and his assailant both hit the floor in a tangle of limbs, hair, and cloth. Then there was an unnatural popping sensation, someone screaming, and more pain than Ricardo wanted to deal with just now.

Damn it.His kidnapper had already gotten the jump on him, and if he didn't get up now, it would surely be

[is_not_number1]

It was a few seconds before Mello even tried to move; he was a bit distracted by both the pain of the impact and the shock of what had just happened. Mostly the latter.

He wasn't entirely sure if what he was seeing was even real. How could he have been driving one moment, and here-- in what appeared to be some house that he was sure he'd never seen before-- the next?

...Perhaps he'd died? That possibility almost made even less sense, though, even aside from the fact that he had no memory of having died. He didn't exactly think much of Takada, but he was sure she was at least bright enough not to try writing his name on a scrap of a death note while in the back of a truck he was driving. He figured he must have been drugged.

And on that note... If Mello had been driving the truck and he was here now, then what the hell had happened to Takada? He didn't see her anywhere; he didn't see anyone here, except for... well, the guy he'd just plowed over. Who, just like this house, Mello had never seen before

[guardiangunman]

The brat in front of him certainly didn't look like a menacing kidnapper or a professional assassin. He didn't look like much of anything, except wounded and confused. Not surprising. At those speeds, it would have been impossible to escape unscathed. The boy looked utterly harmless, sprawled out and dazed as he was

[subjuwhat]

Eight has had a little while to fortify his tiny new home inside the boot in the closet. It now has another boot blocking its entrance, and Eight can push one boot aside and hide in the other as he pleases. It's a simple design for a gate, but suitable for someone of his mental capabilities.

Having settled that, he must find himself a weapon. Without some way to defend himself, he's anxious. He misses his knife most of all.

He peers around the closet door and nearly goes back into hiding as he sees a person, many times larger than him, and armed with one of the loud hand machines that the large people used to have in the war. He knows people are dangerous, if only because they trample on you and things next to them tend to blow up.

But rather than hide, he freezes, half in and half out of the doorway. Some dull spark of curiosity tells him not to run away yet. He stares at the person and hopes not to be seen, though he makes no extra effort to conceal himself.

[guardiangunman]

It was the movement that caught his eye. In an instant he was ready, aiming his rifle at the closet-- which remained stubbornly empty. He hesitated. Surely, he wasn't seeing things. Something was there. But all he saw were ugly coats and boots and...

....ah. What was that thing?

Ricardo lowered the rifle and took a step closer, squinting down at the doll. It was a crude creation. Burlap and leather, and the creator hadn't even bothered to give it hair. A little girl somewhere must have been very disappointed. Maybe that's why she'd abandoned here?

It didn't matter. Something had moved, and this certainly wasn't it. He pursed his lips and moved back against the wall again, eyes darting around the entryway.

"Show yourself," he called, his voice sharp and commanding.

[subjuwhat]

Eight remembers from the war that you very much don't want to be standing in front of those hand machines when they make noise. Even with it lowered, the weapon is intimidating. The person has a nasty scar on his face, too. Generally, that means some combat experience at the least.

At the sharp noise, Eight darts back into the closet, leaving a trail of tell-tale dust in his wake.

[guardiangunman]

There it was again, just out of the corner of his eye. He heard it this time, too.

He snapped his attention back to the closet, but it was empty again. Honestly, this was getting old. There must be something there. Could there be some kind of invisibility arte cast on it? Was that even possible? Wait-- the doll was gone. There was a trail of dust where it had been before, leading back into the closet.

Oh, no. Absolutely not. He had been under quite a bit of stress lately, but he had endured worse before without losing his mind. He was not about to go thinking that a living burlap doll had kidnapped him away to an abandoned house. Still...

"Is there someone there?"