singillatim | One more time and you'll be dead

Entry tags:

One more time and you'll be dead

Who: Wolfwood and YOU!
What: January catch-all, for event and non-event shenanigans
When: All through the month
Where: Milton and the surrounding environs

Warnings: Nothing yet; will update! See also warnings for individual comments in subject headers

locked to Astarion

He wakes up warm.

It doesn't register at first, as he's still shaking off the traces of the dream. They're always bad, his dreams, always full of blood and screaming, but since he's come here to Milton, they've been different. Stranger. They're not always memories anymore, not just visions of things he's done, things he's endured, things he's stood back and let happen to others. No, Milton's fucking with his head in more ways than one, and he has to say, if his dreams continue being odd horror movies instead of memories? He'll take it. He'll take it all the way to the bank.

There was a woman in this one, he thinks, trying to recall the details as he dresses for the day. A familiar woman, although he can't recall her face, or her name. She'd asked for his help, was that it? And then he'd been somewhere else, and there'd been a fire. He shivers a little, pulling on his boots. That part, he remembers. Nothing hurts like being burned.

But he's awoken without a scratch on him, and for the first time since he'd arrived in this frozen hellhole, he felt toasty. Not hot, not by a long shot -- this world will never be a desert with two suns -- but pleasantly warm. Warm enough that he lets his scarf hang from his shoulders instead of knotting it tight around his throat. Warm enough that he leaves his gloves in his coat pocket, and even the brisk air outside doesn't have him fumbling to put them back on.

He's warm.

Today's already shaping up to be a great day, he can feel it!

--------------------------------

locked to Raju

A few days after the aurora, when the sky clears and all the electronics have died back to useless hunks of metal and wire, Wolfwood's heading out into a nearby grove of trees to collect firewood. The idea of burning wood for heat is still tough to wrap his head around -- the idea of having trees around to begin with is strange! -- but it burns warmly, the smoke's not unpleasant compared to some things he's burned for heat before, and there's sure plenty of trees around.

The ax sits comfortably in his palm, and the thud when the head bites out a chunk of an aspen's leafless trunk is deeply satisfying. Two or three of these big boys, and he'll have enough wood for the week, and plenty to share around!

--------------------------------

locked to Goodsir

His wrist's been throbbing for three weeks, and he's finally had enough. Normally something this small wouldn't be worth the effort to even notice it -- sure, his wrist is broken, but not badly. It's just one little bone, as far as he can tell, and it's not stopping him from going about his day, not really. He can still do all the chores needed to stay alive in this miserable cold wasteland, can still feed and dress himself, can still shoot (not that he's wasting bullets to test that theory, mind)... but it hurts. It hurts when he rolls over on it in the night, it hurts when he swings an ax or lifts a heavy load of lumber, it hurts when he presses on it to push himself out of bed in the morning. Vash had wrapped it that first day, and Wolfwood had rewrapped it a time or too, but a snug scrap of sheeting wasn't doing anything for the ache.

He's tired of aching.

So a little before noon he's stomping his way across town to the address posted on the flyer, to track down an H.D.S. Goodsir, assistant surgeon, and to figure out why, after almost a month, his damn broken bone still hurts.

--------------------------------

locked to Ruby

The aurora's passed, the days are light again -- or as light as they ever get in this dim, miserable place -- and Wolfwood's running out of things to do. He's tried hunting, but he's only got so many bullets left and he'd rather save them for a fight. He's tried collecting firewood, but that only keeps him busy for so many hours during the day. The house he's moved into isn't in very good repair, but with a broken wrist and less strength than he's used to, going up on the roof to fix all those leaks seems like a good way to kill himself. (It's still on his list of things to do, just maybe after he finishes healing).

So that leaves security. There's no fence around the town, no watchtowers, nothing to stop something like that serpent from sliding itself right up Main street and eating half the town. If they're going to be stuck here for the time being, they need to have better security than just trusting in the cold to keep intruders out.

It's not long after dawn that he sets out, walking the perimeter of the town and making mental note of what the surrounding environment looks like. It'll take a lot to make this place secure, but every little bit'll help.

--------------------------------

locked to Bigby

He's started seeing it in the daytime. It follows him through town, peers through his windows at night, hovers just past his shoulder. He's wasted three bullets on the thing already, plugging slugs into the walls of his room when he wakes in the night, already sweating from a nightmare, to find his own ghost watching him from the foot of his bed.

He doesn't know what it wants -- it won't answer him, not when he threatens it and not when he pleads with it -- but after a couple of days, he thinks he's figured it out. Vash said that people here had seen ghosts, which Wolfwood had assumed meant the ghosts that they'd killed. He's been waiting to see familiar faces, honestly, some of the dozens (maybe hundreds?) of people he's gunned down over the years, but the only ghost that's haunting him is his own.

Because he got himself killed, didn't he? He knew what was waiting for him in December, knew that he'd need help to win that fight, and he'd gone alone anyway. He'd killed himself through his own stupidity, and now the ghost of that dead man wanted its revenge.

That's okay, he thinks, stumbling down the street in the middle of the night, hunched over against the cold. He's hurt so many people over the years -- if this is how they're taking their vengeance, then they're welcome to it. He deserves this torment.

--------------------------------

Locked to Knives:

The houses have been pretty well picked over by the time Wolfwood gets to them. It’s not surprising – none of them have shown up here ready for the cold, and those first few people didn’t have anyone but the old man here to help them out. The warm clothes are missing, as are all of the tinned goods in the cupboards. He hasn’t found a house yet that has so much as a handgun, although there’s been a few where it’s clear a gun had been there once. People have been pretty thorough in their resource collecting.

But Wolfwood’s not here for food or socks. He’s got a sturdy satchel over one shoulder that clinks quietly as he moves, and he’s found a crowbar that now hangs from his belt that he’s been using to break into any houses where the front door is still locked. It’s harder than it should be, to break into a house without messing up the doorframe too much – future visitors might need to take shelter in these houses, he knows, so he’s doing what he can to keep them in good condition.

He wedges the end of the crowbar between the door and the frame right at the lock point and leans his weight into the bar, listening to the wood groan. He’s getting better at this – if he does it right, the frame will only splinter right where the latch is, and the door will still be usable. It takes time, though. Everything takes time, now that he’s weak like a normal man.

--------------------------------

locked to Vash
It's been a month, and he's almost used to the sight of snow instead of sand, of gleaming, blindingwhite instead of the reds and oranges and dazzling golds of the desert. Almost. He's almost used to the dark, the dim single sun not ever putting out enough heat to warm his bones, almost used to the short days and long, cold nights. Almost.

The sight of water bubbling up from between the rocks, though, is almost too much to accept. It's so much water – and it's hot water, too – he can see the steam rising up past the horizon before the water even comes into view.

He'd been picturing a kind of bath, but out in the open... and he hadn't been all that sure how he felt about the invitation, to be totally honest. He'd come along, mostly drawn by his begruding willingness to do whatever Vash suggests, but his expectations hadn't been high. And he's never been so happy to be wrong! This place is something out of a dream. It's bigger than he thought it'd be, and both weird and strangely familiar.

His pace speeds up as they approach the edge of the pool, not bothering to hide his enthusiasm. “This place just gets stranger by the day. Are you seeing this?” Of course he's seen it, Wolfwood knows, but it's just so... so weird. That's a whole canyon, but it's full of hot water! There's been so much new in this month – the climate here is so wet, he's taking ages to heal, he's weak and tired all the time, problems are bigger when he can't just shoot his way into a solution... but he can smell the heat of that pool from here, and he can't wait to duck beneath the surface.

He looks around for anyone else in sight, but the place is empty of people, and so he's already reaching for the zipper on his jacket as he turns to Vash with a laugh: “We can just get in, right?”

Wildcard:
Got another idea? Hit me up on

notJoe or on the plotting post and let's plot!

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

This time, when the ax head thunks into the trunk and sticks, Wolfwood leaves it there. Quicker than a man of his size should be able to move, he snatches a chunk of branch off the ground and flings it hard in Raju's direction, aimed to smash into the tree the asshole's leaning against.

"Timer's started," he calls, taking the ax in hand again. One hour won't be long enough to get this tree down and he's beginning to realize that, but he'll make it work. There's some broken off branches on the ground he can use, he figures, not realizing that they're soft and rotten, and then if he works hard, maybe he'll get this whole damn tree down too. Wouldn't it be great to see the asshole's face when he comes back in an hour to see Wolfwood's prize! "You just gonna stand there the whole hour?"

The stranger's quick. And so is Raju, whose hand is out of his pocket and holding the chunk of wood before it can hit anything. He can't say he wasn't asking for another burst of temper, and though it came faster than he was expecting, getting it doesn't make his smile dim at all. He only tucks the damp wood under his arm along with his dry branches with a nod, as thanking the stranger for the gift.

"I'll meet you back here," he responds, and makes his way idly away, toward the town. Find stone and steel, that's the way. Extra wood after, if he has the time. Once he's decided he's probably out of the stranger's view, he walks more quickly.

He hadn't had his pocket watch on him when he'd ended up here; he tries to keep up with the time anyway. Most of it goes to finding a rusting hammer head, then a likely looking piece of quartz. He spends time after that shaving down a few of his smaller branches, taking the blanket off so the shavings will fall into the pocket he's sewn into it. He's shivering a little by the time he puts it back on, but that doesn't matter, because this is going to work.

He isn't sure how close the hour is to being over when he makes his way back; he's cut gathering more wood shorter than he normally would to be sure that he'll be in time. He doesn't need the fire to last long, anyway. His skin is a little redder when he does over his nose and cheeks, and a close look will see him still shivering just a little, but Raju hasn't paid any of that any mind. His posture is confident, of course, and his expression's curious: What really matters is how the other man's been doing.

The asshole's hand snaps out faster than Wolfwood was expecting, snatching the piece of wood out of midair with an easy movement. In any other circumstances Wolfwood would be impressed. Now, he thinks, watching the asshole saunter off, now all he wants to do is chuck more branches at the guy until that smirk gets wiped off his face.

He'll let the arrogant bastard show him how to start a fire, he reminds himself, taking up the ax again and setting to work at the tree trunk. And then he'll never have to see the bastard again.

For awhile, it looks like he's going to succeed in bringing down the tree. The gash he's worrying in the side is ragged as all hell, his back and arms are starting to complain, and his broken wrist is throbbing horribly, but with every stroke he's certain that he's one little bit closer to having a whole tree to burn for his fire. And then, a little over halfway through the trunk, the wind shifts in the uppermost branches and the tree groans and tilts, trapping the ax in the cut. He pulls at it, kicks it, shoves at the tree above the cut as hard as he can, but he's not as strong as he used to be. The tree stays put, the top tangled with its neighbors and the ax stays stuck in the clamped-shut cut.

Shit.

By the time the asshole returns, Wolfwood's gathered a good sized pile of powdery rotten wood, topped with a couple smaller (and very green) branches that he's pulled by hand off the nearby trees. The ax is still stuck in the tree.

"Took you long enough."

The greeting gets an easy smile. Raju looks from what the stranger's gathered to behind him, at the tree; he studies the tree for a moment, and the axe. It would be easy to say something about that. He might even figure out how to say it in a way that won't get this man throwing worse at him than a chunk of rotten wood. But the hour has dulled the sharp edge of the relief of letting go, of going after someone who's challenged him in a way that feels familiar, and Raju can remember the shame of needing to know something in this place, something basic and important and not knowing it, not being able to fend for himself at all, and he knows the way the shame seems honed and magnified in this awful biting cold. Firewood, at least, Raju knows enough about that he can figure out the rest. But there are other things.

And the man in front of him now isn't like... what was his name? That man at Akhtar's party. Had it been Jake? Jake would have deserved to have his face rubbed in it, getting his axe stuck in a tree like that. But this man, so far, has only had a temper. That doesn't mean Raju is going to start being polite, not unless this stranger does it first. Especially not now that it's a matter of winning. But maybe he doesn't have to take it so far as he could, not without getting a good reason.

After the moment of studying the tree Raju looks back at the man's face, his easy smile unchanged as he doesn't mention the tree at all. "I take it that means you're ready? I'd hate to keep you waiting any longer."

Raju can always ask where his axe has gone later, if he turns out to deserve the dig. He may have to ask anyway, if he can find a way to get any reply that isn't fury; it may be dangerous to leave that tree the way it is, and someone at some point will need the axe.

Later. For now, it's time to try, and win. Raju shifts the wood under one arm into both, ready to set it down and start using it, and raises his eyebrows, expectantly.

There's no way to hide his failure with the ax handle jutting out of the tree like it is, so Wolfwood decides the next best thing is to pretend it's not there. Between his reduced strength and the way trees act differently when chopped than stone or artificial materials, he never stood a chance at winning this competition. But Nicholas Wolfwood has never walked away from a fight in his life, and at least when he loses this one, the only thing hurt will be his pride.

The asshole's watching him like he's waiting for something, so Wolfwood grandly gestures at the ground in front of him. "Don't let me keep ya," he grumbles, shifting the stick he's been chewing on to the other corner of his mouth. It's not nearly as good as a real cigarette, but the flavor's kinda fresh, and it gives him something to fiddle with. "Light it up already."

Raju raises his eyebrows. “Without you?” he asks, wondering if this is some kind of play, making sure they each take a turn instead of both trying at once, to make it easier to say Raju’s took longer to light. “I wouldn’t dream of it. Come on, there’s plenty of space.”

He gestures at the open space in front of him, clear enough of trees to fit two campfires easily. Then he crouches and moves to clear a space for his own, grimaces as he realises doing it with his arm like this is only going to make the only thing he has instead of a coat wet with snow, and brushes away the snow and frozen leaves and everything under it with one of his sticks instead.

Tinder— No, he thinks, hand going still where it’d been reaching toward the pocket sewn into his blanket. Not on the wet ground. It must be different done outside like this than it is building a fire inside a stove. He starts laying down a layer of branches instead, loosely spaced, large enough that he can still grab them with both hands in mittens. He wants to take the mittens off, make sure he can do the more delicate parts of this properly. But he shivers again, rubs stinging fingers together inside the relative warmth of the caribou fur, thinks better of it.

Raju’s going to make sure to check on the other man, though, before he himself goes too far, looking over expectantly. It’ll be that much harder for him to cry foul if they both build and try lighting their fires at as close to the same time as he can make it.

The asshole wants him to move his pile of wood? What, so that he can see that there's nothing inside like a pile of paper, or a gas can, that Wolfwood'll use to cheat? He debates arguing the point, but is it even worth the effort?

With an annoyed huff Wolfwood reaches down, scooping up as much of the rotten wood and wet twigs as he can, smearing old mold spores and dust all over his jacket as he stomps over the the spot Raju pointed to. The wood doesn't make much of a thud when it hits the ground -- it's very rotten, and mostly falls apart into powder on impact. But that'll be good for burning, right? All that light shit, it'll burn great!

He's mostly watching Raju, though. mostly taking note of everything the other man does. Clearing away the snow from beneath the pile of wood? Check. What next? Stacking the wood up, but with spaces in between? Got it. He's not copying a damn thing Raju's doing, but he's going to memorize the entire process by the time they're done here.

To buy time, he fiddles with his own branches, stacking them up into as much of a pyramid shape as he can manage, brushing the powdery wood up with one bare hand. But there's really only so long he can fuck around before he runs out of things to pretend to do, so eventually he settles back on his heels and pulls out his lighter, giving it a shake. It's more than half full still, which is good, he thinks, striking the flame and holding it to the nearest twig. He doesn't want to waste too much fluid on this stupid contest -- five seconds ought to be enough.

Raju's thought about it, and stacked his wood differently than he would have in the stove at home; propped up against itself, with another ring of taller sticks propped up the same way around it to help protect from any wind, a little hasty but stable enough for now, with openings in front for him to reach inside. Then he looks over, raises his eyebrows. It looks just as strange as everything else in this place, but he knows a lighter when he sees it.

He'd be surprised if it worked at all on that powdery, rotting wood, but if anything would work short of that can of gas the stranger had threatened him about, this would be it. Even if it doesn't work, something about it still eats at him; he finds himself thinking of Jake again. Raju with nothing and the other man with a lighter is something Jake would try, and get away with. The trick, then, would have been to draw attention to it without saying anything. But there's no audience to play for, here. No need to be clever, or subtle. Still, he looks ahead of him at his own work as he speaks, keeping his tone casual. Habit, and good practice: let whoever you're speaking to be the one to get angry, if anyone is going to.

"Forgot your gas can at home, then?" He pulls the little bundle of wood shavings out of his pocket, and thinks the way he pulls the stone and rusting metal and a bit of newspaper out of it after will explain what he means, if the stranger recognizes what they're for at all.

It's probably better, being annoyed while he's doing this at someone who has nothing to do with anything that reminds him of home. That keeps his mind off Seetha even as he copies the remembered movements of her hands, the way she'd set cloth flat against the top of the stone as Raju's setting the newspaper now, as he holds the broken off head of the hammer by its flat end and strikes the claw against the sharp edge of the quartz in something like the sure, smooth way he remembers Seetha used to do. He doesn't remember the way she'd moved, exactly. Used to sit that way watching her so many times, but he's forgotten the angle of her hands.

Surprising absolutely nobody, the green twigs refuse to catch. Wolfwood holds the tiny flame to the end of one twig and counts silently to five, but by the time the lighter in his hand is warm, the twig is barely even discolored. Whatever he's doing, he's doing it wrong, he can tell that much. And it's not just the way he's got the wood stacked either, is it? It shouldn't make a difference whether the wood is a pile on the ground or a neat little pyramid, at least not for getting it lit, right? He doesn't...

Forgot your gas can? simpers the asshole, and for all that Wolfwood's been trying to keep his temper under wraps, been trying to just let the asshole win so he can learn a new skill, there's only so much mockery he can put up with. This guy's been making fun of him all goddamn day, and for what?

"Enough!" he snarls, rising to his feet and knocking Raju's stack of wood apart with a single kick. "What the hell is your problem?!"

Habit keeps him still, crouching while the stranger kicks at his wood, keeps his expression carefully unsurprised and a little unimpressed as he looks up afterward. Raju's sitting up a little straighter than he was but that's all, not sitting down and not standing up and not changing his expression. The moment you show anything but composure in the face of a challenge, let alone your temper, you've already lost — something this man has never learned. Or something he's never had to. And it's easier to keep that temper, oddly, when someone else is losing theirs; the annoyance of a moment ago has disappeared into something comfortable and calm. Maybe it's the risk of action, the thrill of that sudden threat of violence, that's more comfortable.

"Your lighter, sir," Raju says evenly, nodding toward wherever it's gone in the stranger's burst of temper. "I thought you didn't want any cheating." Raju offers up the head of the hammer, the quartz, the strip of newspaper on top of it under his fingers, with a loose grip and expectant, raised eyebrows. He'd be a little surprised if the stranger took and tried to use them but the offer is the point, the show of being more reasonable. That way if — when — the outburst keeps going, or grows, then whose fault is it, really?

It's Raju's fault! This whole situation is Raju's fault. Wolfwood holds up the lighter he's got still clenched in one fist, then slips it into his pocket -- when this argument turns into a fight he doesn't want to risk losing it in the snow.

"If you're that desperate for a fight you didn't have to go to so much effort, asshole." He doesn't even look at the pile of garbage Raju's got in his hand. A hammer head? A rock? It's ridiculous! What's he even planning with that handful of trash? "You coulda just thrown a punch, no need to draw it out by callin' me a cheater."

The stranger doesn't so much as glance at the offered stone and steel, and Raju's hand drifts back down to his knee. It's a little surprising he didn't knock it out of Raju's grip; more restraint than he'd expected. Or taken it from him only to mock Raju's method as something primitive, beneath him. But that would have been more Jake's style, and those like him. Raju isn't, he realises, seeing a lot of that here, none of that kind of arrogance. Only temper, and a lot of pride. There's something about it, this reaction, that might almost convince Raju the stranger wasn't actually thinking about the lighter as cheating at all.

It would be refreshing, if it were true. It's been a long time since he's met a challenge against someone who actually wanted to play fair. Except for Akhtar, who never knew how to be anything but painfully honest, and doesn't count anyway.

"So you are willing to use this with me, then?" Raju lifts the hand with the quartz and steel in it just enough to indicate it, his voice still even, not trying to start a fight even while he isn't trying to avoid one. It really might have taken a can of gas to light the kind of wood the stranger'd been trying to use more quickly than Raju could light his own, the lighter wouldn't have helped, but it's a matter of principle. "Or you've got a second lighter in a pocket somewhere that I can use?

"That would be generous of you," Raju adds, too used to the pretence of politeness in a back and forth like this to keep from saying it, or to keep the friendly little smile from his face. His thumb is tapping fast against his thigh. The pretence is important, even when whoever you're up against has forgotten his own. Maybe especially then.

Wolfwood's never walked away from a fight in his life, but he's starting to realize that this isn't a fight. It's not even a competition, and it's certainly not an opportunity to learn a new skill. This guy's just fucking with him.

"You want generous?" The ax behind him is still stuck in the tree, but he'll come back for it later, bringing one of the Vashes with him to push the damn thing over and retrieve it. It's not going anywhere for now. He leans into Raju's space, baring his teeth with frustration. The urge to knock the guy right into the snowdrift behind him is a mighty one, and it's taking all his self control to keep his hands at his sides. He's leaving -- he just needs to say one thing first.

"Generous is you not givin' what you deserve for this little game." All this time he's been wasting on building a fire out here in the middle of nowhere when he could have been collecting wood, and for what? For some asshole who thinks it's funny to show him up at every opportunity? "I'm done playing with you."

The stranger leans in close and Raju’s eyes narrow, his smile goes hard and pleased. This feels like winning, for all the stranger hasn’t reacted once like Raju expected him to, for all this hasn’t gone anything like it would have at home. But there are benefits to that, aren’t there? In his real home, as a boy, an argument with one of the other boys could end in a fight, but in the later years that ended. He’d been too busy for childish things. And in Delhi, a loss of another man’s temper is the goal and, by necessity, the end point. But here, Raju doesn’t have to keep himself crouched and restrained in the face of a threat. Here, there aren’t consequences for standing slow, deliberately unhurried, and smiling hard into the other man’s eyes. None beyond the physical.

So he does. The level of the stranger’s eyes is a few inches above his; Raju looks into them as he tucks the rock and hammer head into the mittens that he’s pulling off, tucking the lot into his pocket and fastening it closed. For once in the past hour, he might finally expect what’s coming. His fingers are cold suddenly in the air and wind, but he almost feels warmer already.

“Good,” Raju says, ready to duck aside, or try and grab a thrown out arm for leverage to pull the stranger by an awkwardly twisted joint, if he gets a chance to. “I’m ready to stop playing, too.”

Wolfwood doesn't once look away from Raju's face as the other man stands, although his attention focuses briefly on the hammer head and the shiny rock the asshole's got in his hand. What's his intent there? Is he making a weapon? Planning to swing that mitten like a sap? He'd believe anything of Raju at this point, any crime, any underhanded cheat.

But the mitten goes into Raju's pocket (the location of which Wolfwood marks, to watch the asshole's hands later when this turns physical) and he stands, still refusing to act. Still just taunting.

It's beyond infuriating.

"So what're you waiting for?" He copies Raju's placid tone and mocking smirk for the taunt, throwing back in the asshole's face the same disrespect he's been shown this whole time. He saw that catch earlier -- Raju's fast, and there's strength required to snag an object like that out of the air. The wood would have hit his palm hard and yet he hadn't reacted, save for that ever-present smirk. He's fast, he's strong.

This'll be a good fight.

Of course, now would be the one time the stranger isn't threatening to throw a punch. It's an interesting time to find his patience. More used to fighting than talking?

It isn't the time to try and figure the other man out, but it supports what he already knew: a man with a temper like that's surely got the kind of experience most people he meets doesn't. It's a relief, the anticipation of fighting someone who knows how to hit back. It lifts something off of him. There's a small part of him that wants to keep talking only to try and get what he'd been looking for, for the stranger to try to hit him first— but that would look like cowardice, at this point.

If the stranger was going to save his patience, now is a good time to use it. Raju moving first is going to put him at a disadvantage. Raju decides he can handle it. He finishes wrapping and tucking the ends of the blanket around him. He keeps looking into the stranger's eyes. He steps closer, wordlessly, and tries for something simple: tries for a grip around one wrist or arm, another hand against the opposite shoulder, stepping in to try and get a leg behind one of the other man's, wanting to pull him off balance. If it works, the stranger will be on the ground, and if it doesn't, they'll be in the middle of the fight. Some kind of win either way.

Finally the asshole does something other than talking! He moves in for a takedown, smooth and skillful, and Wolfwood notes that he was right -- this guy knows what he's doing. It won't save him from getting a faceful of snow, though. Raju steps in for that leg sweep and Wolfwood steps forward too, meeting the other man chest to chest and trying to use his bulk to upset Raju's balance.

Whether it works or not, he'll follow it up with a punch to the face with his free hand. His strength isn't anything like what it used to be, so it won't be the knock-out skull cracking punch he trained so hard to perfect. But it'll still hurt, if it connects!

When someone tries to overbalance him, and he isn't absolutely certain that he's staying upright — with his leg hooked around the back of the stranger's like this, he isn't — there's only one way to react, and that's to hang on to the other man and stop holding himself up at all, make whoever's trying to take him down take all of his weight. He tries to shift it so they roll, wanting to end up on top so he'll have the room to wrap his arm around the arm he's holding, hold it stiff and still, make it hard for the other man to move without pulling the shoulder out of its socket.

A fist hits the side of Raju's face hard before they even land and he grunts at the impact, grimaces, but doesn't let go; however they land, whether he gets the leverage to hold the stranger by his arm or not, Raju's instinctive reaction to the pain is to try and hold on tighter.

Ending up on his back when they land is usually fine by Wolfwood. His usual fighting terrain is flat and hard -- stone, plank floors, packed sand -- and while the snow is soft when it first drifts down to the ground, he's seen how it packs itself firm overnight during the freezes. He expects that when he hits the ground he'll be able to keep that momentum going and roll right over, pinning Raju, kicking his legs and turning those broad shoulders -- held tight in Raju's grip or not -- to end up on top.

But the snow's softer than he expected, and deeper. The ground's not where he thought it would be, and when he lands, he lands in the snowbank, ice up past his ears and caking instantly in his hair.

Shit.

He doesn't let the confusion stall him out for long, though. If he can't twist Raju off, then he'll slam him off; Wolfwood's shoulders sink into the snowdrift and he's curling up the next instant, aiming to headbutt Raju right in the face where that previous fist connected.

It does slam Raju back and he feels his weight shifting sideways, instead of staying on top. His expression twists in anger at losing the upper hand, determination to get it back, and without an instant of thought he throws himself forward, other hand going to the one arm his is wrapped around too and shoving at the shoulder, trying with his arm and hand to lever the shoulder joint hard enough that it hurts, wanting the pain to drive the stranger to roll back just to alleviate it.

Throwing himself forward makes trying to lever that joint further than it was meant to go easier; Raju tries to slam his head right back into the stranger's, making a sharp noise as he feels the pain of it running through him again, trying to aim for the nose.

And here Wolfwood thought this was going to be a friendly kind of fight! Blackened eyes, bloodied lips, bruised ribs... but then Raju distracts him with pressure to his shoulder just long enough to headbutt him in the face, bloodying Wolfwood's nose and sending pain shooting through his whole face.

There's a crunch when Raju's head connects, but it's only the dull crunch of cartilage and not, thankfully, the hard snap of bone. It still hurts plenty, though! Snarling curses, Wolfwood twists beneath Raju, bending one leg up with surprising flexibility, intending to jam that foot into Raju's gut and send him flying.

Raju does go flying, rolls to a knee but skids a little further still over the snow, doesn't waste an instant getting to his feet and running back the way he came, head and face still humming with the pain of the impacts, not paying the sensation any mind, not in this moment. This isn't just a tussle with someone who doesn't know how to fight, so it wouldn't pay to stop and think.

His shoes can't be trusted on the snow, not for long, so as soon as he thinks he can make the distance he launches himself off the ground, leaning his head away to lead with his shoulder, wanting to plow it into whatever part of the stranger he can reach this way, and maybe try to get a grip around a wrist, if he's lucky.

Wolfwood's a big, broad man, and his fighting style is one that suits his form -- he can be fast when he needs to be, sneaky and limber, but he's used to being able to finish a fight with just a few punches, or a grab and a throw, sending his opponent flying and crashing hard enough to be knocked unconscious. Fist fights don't last long, normally -- whether it's a display for a crowd or an angry drunk making bad choices, a couple blows of his huge fist have always been enough.

But he's weaker since he came here. His punches don't have the same bone-cracking strength, his throws don't get nearly the distance they used to, and all those years of training no longer apply to the way his body currently performs. The pain from his bloodied nose has him grinning ferociously as Raju comes in with that shoulder, and Wolfwood figures he'll grab the man's coat at the back and fling him off again, using Raju's own momentum to send him flying. But it's a lot harder to throw a grown man with an ordinary human's strength, even a big, broad human's strength, and so that grab-and-fling probably just sends them both to the ground again.

This is getting old! Why can't he just knock this guy out and be done with it?!

What Raju’s wearing as a coat doesn’t fling well in any case. A blanket that’s been wrapped and tucked and tied is still a blanket, still only fits loosely over him, and when the stranger picks him up by it Raju hears a couple stitches pop on the straps he’s sewn on to help hold it in place, not intended to hold up his weight. So Raju moves but he doesn’t go far, ends up on his knees again in the snow.

That’s going to be a problem once the fight ends, the cold and the wet clothes, but Raju isn’t about to end this early just because of that. And now, if things were different, is when he might say so — but the stranger isn’t doing this to be friendly, and as an adult Raju isn’t used to teasing during a fight with anyone but Akhtar. So the Keep throwing me all you like, I’ll just keep coming back shows in Raju’s grin instead and in action, in the way he just launches himself at the stranger again, whichever part of him makes for the closest, largest target.

Wolfwood managed to keep his footing after that last failed throw, but only just -- even these new boots with their sturdy tread aren't really designed for fighting in snow and ice; his feet keep slipping, and it's different enough to the way sand moves that he's not quite adapted yet. He'll get there, but for now any brute force action sends his feet sliding back, his arms pinwheeling to keep him off the ground.

All that effort's for nothing, though, when Raju just launches himself at Wolfwood again and they both go down again. He's getting real tired of having snow down the back of his coat. But that's fine -- iif standing is proving troublesome, he'll just stay right where he is and keep the fight in close.

He tries for an elbow to Raju's shoulder or back as they're heading for the ground, and once there he brings both fists up for a barrage of punches, with the intent of overwhelming the other man and driving him back. He's still not going for any permanent harm -- those punches are aimed at the sides of Raju's head, at his jaw, and cheek.

Above them, the wind shifts, treetops groaning as they're pushed in a new direction. The tree that Wolfwood chopped halfway through groans with them, leaning so far that the stuck ax falls right out of the trunk onto the ground. Wolfwood doesn't notice -- his focus is on Raju.

One more time and you'll be dead

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

(no subject)

(no subject)

(no subject)

(no subject)

(no subject)

(no subject)

(no subject)

(no subject)

(no subject)

(no subject)

(no subject)

(no subject)