iii. - [ VOICE ]

[brandedjustice]

Anyone already signed up for the Task Force, I need you on the docks now. No questions, no nothing. I need that placed locked and secured.

[There's a harsh whirl of air; it nearly muffles Smoker's voice completely.]

Damnit, kid. Why did it have to be you?

[ooc; strikes are muffled. Smoker is raising hell by the docks and he's coming for you,

Comments

Action;

[pseudism]

[He had promised to meet Spike, sooner or later.

Though Giovanni very much doubted that approaching him as he staggered home in the dark, beating him with his gun and kicking him into the wall so hard he smacked his head open against it was quite what Spike had had in mind at the time the date was made, Giovanni had never been one to back out of his promises. And that was why Smoker should have seen it coming, as well. He should've known better when he challenged his competence.

But with things changing as they were, there was plenty of time for him to learn a different set of manners.

With Heine, and now with Smoker, a small deviation in the usual pattern was already making things change, get new and exciting and interesting in a way they hadn't been for a long time. It wouldn't last, but it only needed to work once, and he'd be more than satisfied

Action;

[brandedjustice]

[The one concept the Commodore didn't practice was the art of being subtle, especially in a situation where his comrade's blood was spilled all over a warehouse somewhere on some god-forsaken shit hole he happened to stumble back onto. It was far too obvious to see him coming; putrid fingers of blackening smoke slithered underneath the front door entrance, permeating through and onto the floor. It twisted and coiled, like a gather of snakes just ready to strike and boy howdy, was Smoker ready to strike. Fingers formed and expanded through the cloudy haze, digging into the foundation of the remote location; it was difficult to stay in such a form and it took only seconds for the Commodore's body to piece itself back together. An uncomfortable experience all together, but that was lost behind contempt and rage

Action;

[pseudism]

Won't you?

[Giovanni turned to look at Smoker, fully formed and fumificating, thickening and heating the air around him. There was no concealing his pleasure at the sight of it. It'd been a long time since he'd seen him, and longer since he'd seen him anywhere near as angry as he was now. Months had passed since the last time, but being a prisoner to someone other than her wasn't so easy to forget.

Still. It'd been a mutual decision to settle the score, this time. Smoker didn't have anyone to blame but himself.]

I think you'll find it hard not to, under the circumstances.

[He bared his teeth menacingly, and the click of his safety was a heavy, thick sound in the short silence between them.]

You can stay solid. You can also take out your jitte, put it on the floor and kick it to me.

You might like to disagree, but I'd also quite like to shoot him. Shall we make it a mutual favour?

Action;

[brandedjustice]

[Smoker frowned, his lips twisting around tobacco so tightly that they snapped. He spat out the extra and watched it bounce a few times across the floor before jamming his heels into the mound still smoldering on the cold, damp floor.

The jitte was removed and tossed shortly after; it smacked into the ground with a resounding thud, spun once, then slid, hand-out to Giovanni. Smoker eyed it with a heavy face. It was too dangerous to give it up, but he wouldn't punish Spike for a mistake he alone had made. Never let the guard down, he had promised himself. Well, it was too late for that, now, wasn't it?]

I'd rather have him intact. [Smoker went for two more cigars, laced them into his mouth and lit them as if this sort of thing were casual. And it had to be, all things considered. As much as he wanted to throw punches, seeing Spike like that? It stopped him and put him straight for the time being.]

So, what, do you want to end me with my own weapon? I know that thing better than you do, hound. [The Commodore pressed a foot to the tip

Action;

[pseudism]

[That finally gets him moving. Giovanni heard the jitte scrape noisily across the ground, metal on concrete, and caught it with one foot as it came careening towards him. He put one of the guns away to pick it up, hooking it on Spike's shirt, and hauled the unconscious man up in one hand. With the gun still trained on the unconscious bounty hunter's limp head, he slowly approached Smoker.]

I don't think I can threaten you on a physical level, Commodore. You've proved that to me enough times for me to learn something from it. I've never been the most perfect example of what the Professor made.

But I do think that nobody can survive having their head dashed to pieces on the ground. Not Spike. Not you, Commodore, and not I.

[He bared his teeth, walking right up to him, meeting Smoker's look behind the solid shield of his glasses.]I think the amount of skill someone has isn't going to matter if they can't use it. I think if you defend yourself at all, I'll shoot him in the head

Action; short so so sorry

[brandedjustice]

[Smoker's teeth would have set, had the cigars not been there. Instead, he just inhaled and felt his knuckles tense behind thick brown leather. Giovanni was worse than most pirates he had suffered through; Portgas D. Ace, Monkey D. Luffy - at least they held some kind of honor. But this kind of slime held nothing, just a curved smile and a pair of legs that made it easier for him to run. It made the Marine's blood boil hot.]

Fine. [The Commodore watched his reflection in Giovanni's eyes and he smiled right back, hairless brow twisted over his eyes. Smoke billowed from between his teeth and he shot it right over those shades, sending the thick ribbons parting over equally thick glass. He would have laughed if he were a more devilish kind of man, but he didn't. Instead he stood there with his arms crossed across a thick chest

Action; nonsense, sir! it's excellent.

[pseudism]

[Even through a film of blown smoke (-- that familiar and unforgettable scent from so long ago, the unbearable thickness of it swelling up in his throat, asphyxiating him --) Smoker's expression couldn't have been a more apparent challenge

Action; i missed this so much jesus balls

[brandedjustice]

[When the jitte struck, Smoker felt a sensation he hadn't felt in a while. It tingled up his side, burned through his gut and up his chest. His teeth bit into tobacco and he swallowed a little too much smoke as another strike battered his side; he could feel the poison of the sea sucking him dry and he could feel salt biting past the stale tobacco. Blood?]

Justice is - the only thing - that matters in this world. [He watched the gun re-train on Spike before shooting his gaze back up to Giovanni; blood spilled between his cigars, soaking brown tobacco in pure red. He shifted them slowly, making sure to remember to balance his now-heavy body. He shifted his weight to his better right leg and leaned in, shoving his body forward. Almost too close.]

You're a waste, a failed experiment. Heine at least has potential - you, I almost feel sorry for. [With that, Smoker spat, sending two very lit and very hot cigars directly towards Giovanni's face, in hopes of gaining some sort of ground. His hand whirled around, unable to shift into smoke,

Action;

[pseudism]

[Just the suggestion that the nebulous concept of justice had any importance was too foreign to Giovanni to process. In his world, in his understanding, in the degraded and rotting city that his kind swelled beneath like a brewing plague, survival was the reigning principle.

And Giovanni survived without justice. Surely it couldn't be all that important.

He could see the blood carving lines like paint around the Commodore's teeth, pooling on his gums, proof of his solidity and of Giovanni's success. And he could also see Smoker glancing at the gun, and his grip on the weapon snatched a bit tighter, warier

Action;

[brandedjustice]

[Even without his logia available to him, Smoker could feel the energy rippling off Giovannni; his muscles tensed, his jaw clamped and there was an obvious change in the man. Something had hot-wired him; could have it been that mechanism Heine had talked about so long ago? Smoker couldn't recall, but it was clear he had to move. And fast.

Blood and ash smacked Giovanni right where Smoker wanted it; it gave the Commodore the time to reach out and snare hard fingers around Giovanni's wrist. Or he had hoped so, even as the jitte came crashing down on the side of his head. He felt his teeth knock, felt the haze over his eyes, then felt the floor smother his back. Blood pooled into silvery-gray hair, staining it red almost instantly. But Smoker held onto that wrist, grabbed it with all the force he could muster.]

This ends, Giovanni-!

[But his words were slurred - even he could notice it through the thick haze that now surrounded his sight. He grunted, trying to shake it off, but it only darkened with more force. Son of a bitch. His

Action; Aaaa, I'm sorry if there are any typos, can't brain. :(

[pseudism]

[Oh, that was almost too satisfying. The crack of the jitte coming down on Smoker's skull was almost enough to make him forget about the struggle for a moment and just relish the sight of the blood crawling a trail through Smoker's hair and down over his forehead. Amazing. Amazing that he was even conscious, and frustrating that even like this, even solid and human and everything he naturally came to think of as inferior to what she had made of him, he was still getting the best of him.

When Smoker fell, Giovanni buckled with him, dragged onto his knees by the wrist Smoker had in his grip. He jerked at it, lip curling in frustration, and brought the jitte around to beat against Smoker's arm, over and over. So fucking stubborn, and his grip was getting tighter instead of looser, and Giovanni compressed the trigger blindly again, another shot whizzing over Smoker's head and pinging off the metal door.

His whole body wrenched at the first crack of his wrist, and his grip on the gun loosened, his fingers trembling and unfurling with

Action; it's perfecto sir!

[brandedjustice]

[Teeth pulled back as dark lines of blood dribbled down from the jarring head wound; a darkness crept thickly crossed his gaze, smothering it in a milky sort of film that was hard to shake. It caused the Commodore to writhe just that much more as he fought Giovanni for the gun

Action;

[pseudism]

[It hit him so hard and with so much force that for a moment, Giovanni forget where he was, and what he was doing. The pain from the impact crawled up from his neck to encompass the back of his skull, synapses firing in clusters to the point that he could barely process them. When he came about, he'd buckled, inches from Smoker's face. The scent of tobacco hit him almost as strongly.

It was enough to make him remember. His gun wasn't in his hand any more, lay impotent somewhere to the side where he'd been trying to retrieve it, but that hardly mattered now. He was at least close enough to obscure Smoker's vision of his next move; he'd just need to be fast enough to take advantage of it.

His nose bumped against Smoker's. His workable hand grabbed the other gun, tucked in the back of his pants. He grazed his teeth on Smoker's lips, snarling, ready to rend and tear and smash through skin and bone and teeth to clamp his jaws down on anything...]

What is it you want me to eat, Commodore?

[... But he didn't

Action;

[brandedjustice]

[Smoker tried to jerk himself away as Giovanni's body slumped forward, smothering him into the damp floor of the disclosed location. His eyes flew open wide, but fading flashes of color covered most of his vision; hot breath fell against his skin and he snarled, blurting over a very dry tongue that tasted like a horrible mixture of copper and ash. The only satisfying sensation he took pleasure in was the tingling splinters he got when his jitte finally collided with the back of Giovanni's thin neck

Action;

[pseudism]

[There was something very final about the way the sound of the gunshot traveled through the cavernous room. Giovanni didn't move an inch, frozen like a waiting insect, staring at Smoker's face as the brief flurry of smoke dispersed in the air between them, diminishing from clouds to wisps to nothing but blood. Giovanni breathed out slowly, and the air he'd held in his lungs was still thick with the smoke the Commodore had forced on him.

He smiled, ran his tongue across the specks of blood on Smoker's mouth. And then he stood up with an efficient, relaxed sort of ease, tucked the gun safely away and bent to pick up the other one, already cleaning up the evidence of his presence there. That just left the mess he'd made.

He gave his broken wrist a careful twist and grimaced. That'd take a few days' rest to heal, but it was hardly a major concern. He couldn't say that he had any immediate obligations, any more.]

Shall I leave the lights on for you?

[He stepped over Smoker, already making for the door. All efficiency now that the

Action; aaaaa hope this is okay

[meronymous]

[ and then, the door exploded. -- well. not so much exploded as it was barreled in by a large and bulky form that really had no business barging indoors, but either way, the door splintered inwards.

truth be told, kasukabe probably would have wandered away from the docks eventually -- he wasn't very good at sitting around being bored -- and had been just about to leave, after spending a good amount of time waiting for the commodore to show up. but jackson had suddenly perked his head up, termite-antennae wiggling in the air -- then suddenly down the street at top speed without warning, scattering random clicking and squealing noises in the air as he ran.

all kasukabe could do was hold on, even as the nine-foot-long termite went barreling into the doorway and skidded to a half just inside. ]

Aahh -- Jackson, why on earth --

[ peeking out from over the termite's spiny carapace, he started to speak, then paused at the sight sprawled before him. two injured persons. one uninjured person. was the latter responsible for the former?