imatreenow | thirteen [voice/action/just terrible]

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thirteen [voice/action/just terrible]

[Mid-morning is drawing near, and the house is too quiet. Martel should have been awake already. Despite the uncertainty that has settled heavily between him and his sister, there are plenty of things Mithos does still know about her, and this is definitely out of the ordinary. Softly, he knocks at her door. No reply. With a knot of worry tightening in his stomach, he carefully pushes the door open to look inside and...

He's greeted by an empty room. No sister, none of her personal possessions. No sign that anyone had ever occupied this space. Only one conclusion sits at the end of this equation. Numbness overtakes his body and heart. Desperate, his mind fights against the truth; he runs for his journal and hastily, shakily, flips it open.]

[VOICE - filtered to Martel | filter VOIDED]

Martel? Martel! Where are--

[--He stops. The filter isn't working. She can't hear this. His journal falls from his hands and the feed ends. The chilling realization that she's gone pierces him as suddenly as the first time she was taken from him. Classic vertigo. He doesn't know how to breathe properly. He forgets how to stand on two feet and slowly crumples to the floor. He doesn't fall to pieces; that would imply that there's something left to break. Whatever remains is quickly grinding to dust. He lets it out, the pain that's rapidly smothering him from the inside. But no matter how much he diffuses, there's still more to take its place.]

[ACTION - AFTERNOON]

[He's scraped himself up off the floor (for now) and run out of tears (for now), and he needs someone to blame. Anyone. He doesn't care. The only truth of the world: Martel is gone, and he deserves compensation for his loss. Everyone owes him something, and he owes them retribution. Mithos prowls the village, looking for any and all opportunities to inflict some of his own pain on a scapegoat.

Later, when he's exhausted his body but his hurt and rage continue to burn, when he's hit the point where he can't feel any emptier, he reaches for the journal again. It's all he can think to do.]

[VOICE - filtered to Kaori| 100%]

...Can I come see you?

[ooc: For my own sake, chronologically the threads flow as follows: Frey, Nephry/Dist, Jeb, Silver, Grune/Dhaos, Kratos, Kaori.]

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[The sudden explosion of pain in his left arm forces him to step back, gritting his teeth and wincing. Another insignificant speck wants to shatter too? He'll grant that wish; he'll break as many people as he can, as much as he can. He shifts his attention to the newcomer and launches himself forward.]

[The fact that his bullet hit doesn't feel like any sort of triumph. Dist sees the sword connect with Nephry's arm, the spray of blood, and he pulls the trigger of his gun again. This time, though, it's a blind shot. Dist doesn't aim, he just wants this...this brat away from Nephry. Away from her and to a place where he can rip him limb from limb. Rrgh...if only he had his fonbots...this little blemish would be easy to remove if Dist had his fonbots here.

The force of the tackle, and the fall - damn those blasted wings - takes the breath out of Dist's lungs, and he's left gasping for a few seconds. No, no! No, no, no, he's not going to let this urchin get the upper hand on him! Dist forces his way through the pain, practically snarling and using his size and weight to hopefully overpower the boy.

If he can just throw him off...pin him down, and get his hands around that scrawny, pencil neck. Or, better yet, shove the barrel of his gun down this child's throat...!]

Saphir!

[That? That was almost desperate. It doesn't matter that he has some kind of weapon, she doesn't want him to get hurt.]

Don't hurt him! [Of course she's talking to Mithos. She's ready to do something about it (isn't she?) if she has to. How can this one small boy do so much damage?]

[His intent is to get the weapon out of Dist’s hand. A long-range weapon like that is dangerous for him and he doesn’t need to be damaged anymore; the idea was to drag as many other people down with him so he could at least have their bodies to stand up on. As Dist struggles to overthrow him (and he very nearly succeeds), he struggles back to attempt to send his sword through the man's arm. He won't have to worry about being shot at again if his opponent's arm is reduced to a bloody mess.]

[Dist is becoming more and more frustrated the more he sees that this little whelp is just not getting off. He's vulnerable on his back like this, in a horrible position, and with a sword being waved so close to him. In fact, it's only by a narrow margin that Mithos' sword misses his brachial artery - a quick death if punctured. Instead, the sword slices a shallow but long cut down his forearm.

The pain makes Dist not only cry out, but loosen the grip on his gun, dropping it entirely.]

Aagh--! You...you filthy little dog! I'll...I'll turn you inside out! [He gasps, tears stinging in his eyes. Thankfully, some of the adrenaline numbs the pain, but not all of it. Even still, Dist manages to get his uninjured hand on Mithos' sword arm, keeping it at bay for as long as his strength holds out.]

[Nephry hates watching this. Saphir and the boy are struggling and now Saphir has no weapon. That sword could kill him, easily.

- That monster will kill him... -

...And then, likely, her.

- Saphir, no! -

Did she say it aloud, just now? She doesn't know. What she does know is that it was only a few steps to pick up the gun, she didn't even feel the pain of them, and turn it around in her hands.

Not to shoot. Her hands were shaking too badly and even if they weren't - but she's not thinking, is she? In the same breath as that possible shout she's raising the gun in her hands to bring it down on the back of Mithos's head.

And her chest constricts, in pain, and she falls again. Missed. Missed, and for now she can't manage to get up again. Will Mithos know that? She forces herself to look, to make sure Saphir isn't...]

Your threats are as meaningless as everything else in this tainted world! [Mithos fights against the hold on his sword arm. Come on, closer, closer -- he wants to slit this vermin's throat, make him fall apart from the inside as everything pours out. One arm isn't nearly enough more more more.

Then--

Nephry's attempt does not connect, but he can feel the weapon moving through the air behind him. It's reflex, instinct: his head turns.]

[Dist's eyes first snap to Nephry - what are you doing - then back to the boy on him. A second is all he needs. Just one second's lapse in concentration. With Mithos' sword arm still gripped tightly and securely away from any and all vital body parts, Dist endures the surge of pain from moving his injured arm, ignores the blood spilling from it as he brings it up, quickly, and strikes the boy hard across the face with his fist. And if that's not enough, Dist also throws all his weight forward, in an attempt to throw the boy off as well.

If that succeeds, Dist will scramble to his feet and go to Nephry. However, he's not aiming to check on her just yet. Not when there's still a threat involved. Oh, no. He wants his gun back. He wants his gun back and he wants to blow whatever's inside this boy's head out through the back of his skull.]

[Nephry, for better or worse, is holding onto that gun with all the strength she can summon up while she tries to get her breathing back under control. But Saphir's not dead. That's what matters.]

[He's knocked off and rolls to the ground, landing hard on his back. A grimace - not very pleasant with those wings. It will be a moment before he can try to push himself up to a sitting position, and by then....]

Nephry, let go!

[Dist practically snarls, unable to bring himself to simply prying the weapon from her hands. He knows she's injured - he is, too - and doesn't want to aggravate her wounds. She's taken more than he did... But he still holds her hand, trying to get her grip to loosen, and release. He can't, he won't let that little cretin get away with this.]

Release you grip! Nephry!

[Nephry may be down, but she hasn't lost her mind - she knows exactly what Dist intends to do with this weapon if she lets it go. Knowing that, how can she? Even without any strength in one arm (it has already released the gun) and knowing it would endanger-

...Both of them. No, she can't let that happen, either.]

Saphir... [Is this really out of her hands?

Regardless, the gun is, because she's let it go.]

[He quickly climbs to his feet, falling automatically into a defensive stance. Slowly taking a few steps back. That long-range weapon makes him extremely wary. Run away or try to break a little more...]

[He hates the tone of her voice. He hates it. It makes Dist hesitate once the gun is in his hands. It makes him actually consider letting this slimy little pup go free. Still, his rational, and perhaps darker side takes control. This isn't something he can consider. Nephry wouldn't ever provoke a battle...Dist knows that. This child is dangerous, and he needs to be taken out. He needs to be taught a lesson.

No one...no one goes after his closest ties. Not unless they want to die.

Dist steels his resolve and lifts the gun at last, desperately trying to aim it right at the boy's chest. It's difficult, the pain in his injured arm is making him shake, and his vision is getting cloudy, too. Damn it...come on, Saphir. Focus. FOCUS! You can't let this creature live!]

[Behind him, Nephry is slowly getting up; it's difficult with nothing to lean on. Still, when she sees Saphir and the state he's in...it doesn't take much, just a few careful steps forward, and her uninjured hand on his shoulder for support.

In whatever he decides to do.]

[He could continue to back away, slowly, no sudden movements so as not to trigger the enemy.

Or he could run forward, sword ready to tear the other apart. His grief-addled mind, far beyond the edge of reason, pushes him toward this option. He isn't going to drop this. He won't let these worthless pieces of trash leave without tearing them apart a little more. Litter this filthy world with their filthy blood...]

[Dist, perhaps, needs that support. Not just to keep him steady, but to really give him the resolve he needs. Mithos' advance is all the more reason he needs to want to shoot him. Dist mumbles something under his breath to Nephry ("look away"), feeling bad somewhere in the back of his mind but this is necessary now.

He readjusts his aim and fires. Not one shot, but two. Both will miss, but only just. The closer Mithos comes, the better his aim will be, and Dist knows that. That's why he doesn't curse when he misses, why he doesn't grimace. He only gives the boy a challenging look. Dist is not backing down to some demented child.]

[As if she could look away.

But- he missed! Twice, no less. Was he...was that intentional?

Her head is starting to cloud, and the hand on his shoulder for support tightens. The last thing she needs now is to fall over, to get in the way.]

[One of the shots grazes his shoulder but he barely registers the pain through all the layers of turbulent emotion. He'll keep running forward, swinging his blade across Dist's body with as much force as he can put behind it...]

[Not really intentional, no. His arm is bleeding heavily, and his breathing is becoming ragged, vision blurred... On top of that, Dist never was a good shot.

But Mithos barreling toward him again is pretty much impossible to miss. Snarling, Dist pushes Nephry out of the way, for her safety, and fires again. The bullet, at such a close distance, will tear through the left side of Mithos' chest, and even damage his wing a little bit as well, as it exits. It's not enough to kill him, but it will seriously cripple him.

However, Dist still gets hurt. The blade pieces his side, digging into his flesh. Not a deep wound, and it could be treated if he gets help fast, but damn does it hurt.]

[Well, the ground is probably safer than standing directly behind Dist while Mithos is swinging a sword at him. But it's still hard to land on.

She looks up in time to see both bullet and sword hit their marks, unable to contain a gasp.]

Stop!

[A searing pain splits through his chest and he drops to his knees to clutch at where the bullet of fonons entered. Luckily it only clipped his wing, damaging some feathers but leaving nothing too heavy. All he can focus on at the moment is the pain though, as he breathes roughly, in out in out in out it hurts. He's still firmly clutching his sword in his other hand, pushed against the ground in an attempt at support, knuckles white.]

[Excellent, it worked. Dist breathes out, and clutches at his own wound, hoping to stop the flow of blood even a little bit. Little brat...how dare he! How dare he do this to him and Nephry! Dist raises a shaking hand once more, but it's a half effort; the gun is lowered before he even brings it high enough to aim. He's tired, and weary from his injuries. The adrenaline is wearing off, and Dist can't keep this up. He's amazed he has managed to stay standing for this long. His tenacity truly is something.

But Nephry's isn't, and he's concerned. She sustained heavier damage, he expects, and goes to her side as quickly as he can without falling.]

Nephry...we need to leave. Immediately. Can you stand? Lean on me if you must.

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thirteen [voice/action/just terrible]

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[action] bah sorry

[action] no worries! \o/

[action] even laaaater

[action] /DOESN'T GIVE UP

[action] /BELIEVES IN YOU BOTH

[action] /ALL THE TAGGING

[action] KEEP IT STRONNNNGGG

[action] TIL THE EEEENDDD

[action] Dist are you a stormtrooper.

[action] the one that runs into the doorframe

[action] woman shut up, i am saving your life.

[action] by throwing her to the ground. gj disto.

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