caughtinanetwork | 003; accidental video

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003; accidental video

[ There's nothing but a blur of blue at first, a muffled groan somewhere. ]

What in the actual fu--

[ A pause, a gasp, and then the sound of running feet. ]

Dirk!

[ THUD. A second later, the SFC that's on has tumbled out of the pocket it was in and lands on the ground, showing the current scene a little sideways.

Roxy's laying on top of Dirk, her arms wrapped awkwardly around him, and she has her face buried in his chest. They're wearing some interesting outfits (nice pants, Dirk), but that seems to be the last thing on their minds. ]

You're okay! I thought you weren't because fuck the Batterwitch but you are you're okay and I'm okay and nothing is going on and look! We're back and-- you know what I probably shouldn't be laying on top of you should I. Lemme just...

[ She caaaaaaaaaaassually slides off of him and picks up her SFC, shutting it again and turning it back off. ]

((ooc; ps dirk and roxy are back from their update 8U replies will probably come from both))

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[It sounds like a power-up, all right, but Dirk expects him to pull out a weapon, not to go through some sort of soul power-up that tugs at some sense within him he's sure he never had before. It's not much, he can barely tell it's there, which wouldn't be surprising were he given the time to think about it. He's not a seer, after all.

There's barely enough time for him to get his sword up in preparation again, before Kid is doing his leg-sweep and Dirk has to flashstep back to avoid it- somersaulting would require dropping his sword.]

So you're finally not arguing about needing a handicap to make things fair. About time.

[There is no reply from Kid, only the piercing gold of his gaze as he lunges forward again, palms thrust ahead of him in a move that intends to knock Dirk back if he doesn't dodge again.

He's managed to scrabble a meager foothold in this concept of an advantage, and won't see it squandered. Kid seeks to keep Dirk on the defensive, for all that Kid is the one who is facing a god unarmed.]

[Dirk dodges with a spin to the side, bringing his sword up with the movement and following through on his dodge with a slash aimed at Kid's head.

He's not about to be kept on the defensive, not when that's how all of their fights have gone until now. He's not about to let this be the usual.]

[Kid tucks his chin down and manages to avoid losing his head to the keen edge of Dirk's blade, but it clips his hair, slicing clean through the tip of a lock of his dark fringe as he advances.

The grim reaper pauses a moment, realizing this with nothing less than mute horror. Where once this might have ended the battle immediately with the shinigami collapsing in a melodramatic faint, there has been some maturing since those days.

One might say there isn't that much of an improvement, seeing how the clipping of his bangs slightly off-center only enrages him:]

You're going to pay for that! I'll shave your head, you impertinent swine!

Like fuck you will!

[Delicious, delicious rage.

Well, no. Dirk doesn't feel as proud of inciting this anger as he might normally. Because what this requires is baiting someone. But this is usual- this is Kid getting angry about symmetry again, rather than some inexplicable fact about Dirk's God Tier. This is how they always are.

And that usual is what finally gets Dirk to dredge up a smirk.]

I'll just clip the other side too. C'mon, it won't hurt a bit.

Will you?

[All at once, Kid has stopped, hands down at his sides, the swelling pressure of his soul wavelength receding to a low simmer, just on the edges of his perception.

Docile, at least for the moment, he tips his head slightly with a huff exhaled through his nose, haughty, entitled to his time.]

Then do be quick about it, I haven't got all day and I'd rather we continue this fight as soon as possible.

[He can't be serious.]

Go on.

[...Ugh, Kid, why.]

Are you fucking kidding me.

[Then again, this is Kid. Of course he isn't kidding, he's just that ridiculous. His symmetry thing is more important than anything else.

Dirk steps forward anyway, sword still in hand. He stops a few feet away, then, after a moment of observing, flicks the sword casually- and sure enough, there's the same cut on the other side now.]

There. Now, am I going to make sure that I injure you symmetrically, too?

[His averted gaze notes the number of dark hairs fluttering down to the ground; when Kid looks back at Dirk, he's smiling, his relief as profound as it is sincere.]

Don't be ridiculous.

[That's when his wrists, followed then by his arms, alight on Dirk's shoulders, then the pressure shifts until a palm cups his face at either side. Kid tilts his own head a little to the left, then the right, as he speaks, golden eyes intently fixed on his.]

You say that as if you'll have a chance to injure me at all. [He sighs, and then it becomes apparent that he's only been checking his handiwork in the reflection shining on the surface of Dirk's sunglasses.] Exemplary work.

[He leans in, his smile sly.

Someone on the outskirts, one of the many bystanders, shouts something that Kid fails to register. Edit: It sounded like 'kiss him'. It also sounded like Roxy.]

Have you thought about a career change?

[Careful, Dirk; Kid intends on driving his knee right into your gut.]

Edited 2013-03-13 00:57 (UTC)

[Dirk tenses as Kid first touches him. There are very few people Dirk is comfortable having contact with, let alone be the ones to touch him. He nearly pulls away when Kid touches his face, but he realizes what Kid must be doing. It's enough to keep him from drawing away, but he's still very obviously tense, no matter how distracted Kid might be with using him as a mirror.

His shades make it hard to see his eyes, that's the entire reason he wears them. And this is better than Kid just snatching them off to use for himself. But from his side of the shades, it feels uncomfortably like Kid is looking him in the eyes intently. It's a hard impression to shake. It's hard not to stare back.

He stays still, because there's not much else he can do- he can't raise his sword, not with this little space in between them.]

Like I can't multitask. Now- ghhh!

[He meant to suggest that Kid let go of him so that they could start this again, go back to where they were before. He doesn't get that far, considering Kid's knee drives all the air out of his lungs.

He makes a swing at Kid's face with one hand- the one holding his sword, though the way he's holding it means he has to try and strike with the hilt, rather than the blade. He doesn't care. He just needs some fucking distance so he has time to get his lungs to cooperate again.]

[Dirk has the satisfaction of feeling his blow impact flesh and bone; the direct hit knocks Kid's head to one side, and the coppery taste of his own blood immediately leaks past his teeth, the inside of his cheek torn. There's little to show for it when Kid's swift retaliation has his flat palm aiming an upward blow at Dirk's chin, followed by a twist of his body, ducking in close to drive his other elbow into his chest.

No sign, except the macabre sight of the flash of his bloodied teeth in a brief and gratified smile. He turns his head again, spits, but in the second before he drags his dark sleeve across his mouth, in the shadow of his arm his madly grinning mouth appears to have been sewn shut.

Or maybe that's just a trick of the light. No such irregular signs appear when the grim reaper levels a stern glare on him, fully anticipating his vengeance.

It's a brawl, now.]

[Dirk's busy trying to force his breathing to work properly, to finally get a breath in instead of just wheezing out, to really prepare for a counterattack, so Kid's double blows knock him back, into a fall that he just barely manages to turn into a backward somersault. He grabs for his sword again, one hand to his chest as he finally takes a proper breath.

It's only a moment, he barely sees it- a trick of the light, what else would it be? And there are more important things to focus on, anyway. He's still too close to Kid, he needs to attack again before Kid gets a permanent upper hand the way he did in all their fights before. He doesn't have attention to spare for smiles that aren't happening.

He's still in too close to use the full length of his sword, but he moves closer anyway, flashstepping at Kid's side, intending to slice his shoulder if he can.]

[There's the purring rip of a blade shearing through cloth, and one jarring impact traveling up the weapon and into Dirk's grasping hand as the metal skates across bone. Kid misjudged both his speed and his aim, and pays for it with a cut biting deep into his shoulder.

To the grim reaper's credit, he doesn't cry out so much as gasp, placing the flat of his palm on Dirk in order to push him away, yanking the blade out of his shoulder as he staggers backwards to grasp it.

A few round, fat drops of blood darken the cobblestones, dripping from his sallow fingers, but by the time Kid brings his hand away from his shoulder, the wound has already begun knitting itself, raw, pink skin streaked with crimson between the ragged tufts of black cloth.]

Tch-- Destroyer of Souls... is that really how you wish to spend your days, Strider?

The soul is eternal, but only so long as it's protected from those who would corrupt and destroy them! As a human, you can't possibly understand how precious even a single soul is in an entire universe!

But even in your gross blindness, you have the capacity to choose! You humans--

[Kid straightens, standing tall, but he grasps the other sleeve with his now almost entirely recovered arm, fingernails digging into the shoulder of that side of his coat.]

--are capable of feats that may meet... no, may even exceed a god.

[Riiip. He damages one side to match the other.]

So I offer you a choice. You can embrace your role in your session, or you can forsake it and protect the souls of mankind along with me, under my Honorable Father's dictated Order!

[Dirk comes to a halt as Kid barely reacts, and more importantly, doesn't retaliate. He allows himself to be pushed away, and though he raises his sword to a ready position, as soon as he's gotten the proper distance, he doesn't attack again. He watches as the wound heals, before turning his attention to Kid's face.

With his free hand, he taps the symbol on his chest, the heart shirt that he still hasn't taken off.]

I can't just switch it off, you know. I can't say "oops, I don't want this power. Sburb, take your God Tier back." Some day, this power may be the only thing between my friends and a doomed timeline. And I will not let them die again, do you understand? Not as long as I have the power left in me to stop it.

[He takes a breath, and squares his shoulders, hands steady on the hilt of his sword.]

I can't use it yet. I don't know how. And fuck if I know what Sburb will mean by it. I won't make any promises I can't keep. But I'm not about to use a wildcard like that unless I have to.

Is that good enough for you, protector of souls? Or do you want me to promise that if I start destroying souls, I'll start with my own?

[Because Death the Kid has realized he's outmatched as he is now, and dares not embrace the increase of power available to him in Madness or in connecting even a single Sanzu Line, not with all these bystanders present. He can't win.

And he's trying to be sure he won't have to, if this title of his might be figurative, some cosmic joke at the expense of an already heated rivalry.

Kid hates that he hears Dirk Strider saying the very things he's thought, about the power to protect those that were important to you, about seeing to it they don't die again. He hates that he agrees with this man who has accomplished more than make his blood boil and his jaw ache with teeth clenched.

Golden eyes narrow.]

What a revolting promise! If you begin destroying souls, rest assured that the first one I collect will be yours!

[It's uncertain what different outcome Kid expects when he charges at a man better equipped than he is, but the darting point-to-point teleportation will eventually have him reappearing in what he hopes will be Dirk's blind spot.]

[Dirk is pulling off 'casual' with his shades firmly in place, and now, he's completely thankful to have them on.]

How fucking unproductive. You'd get distracted from a real threat, just because of me?

[Dirk doesn't consider the possibility that he'd be the one to become a real threat. He may be the puppeteer behind the scenes, but he knows the ends he's working for, and he knows what means cannot be justified.

He plans for a reason. He plans so that things won't get dire enough for him to have to pull another martyrdom again.

Teleportation is harder to track than Dirk's flashstepping will ever be, because there's no in between. But Dirk's only recently been punched in the face by someone teleporting in front of him. That time, he didn't see it coming, but now, he knows Kid's getting closer, for all that he can't predict where he turns up next.

Which is why he's prepared for Kid to try and turn up somewhere he doesn't expect. The moment he hears so much as a scuff of movement behind him, he turns, leading with his sword, held just above waist-height. If Kid wants to avoid another injury, he'll have to move quickly.]

[That scuff is Kid's heel turning on the paving stones of the plaza as he throws himself into a midair twist that intends to lend the kick he's planning on flattening Dirk with a little extra momentum.

It's that same momentum that sees him descend on Dirk's blade. Resistance brings him to a staggering halt, but not until the length of that keen weapon has vanished into the bleak black of his cloak by a full third.

Then Kid's weight leans full against the blade, and one hand clutches at the bare metal, using it to drag himself forward, just a little closer, and there is no way Kid isn't pinning his stare directly at the eyes on the other side of those inscrutable planes of tinted glass.

Unseen, blood splashes on the paving stones, somewhere beneath the ragged hem of his cloak.]

You say that as if you're not--

[His reedy retort breaks off into wet coughs, reflexive and the worst thing to do with a sharp length of metal punched through one's chest; Kid sucks in air with a hiss, and finally cocks back one fist to throw it at Dirk's cheek.

Hard.]

[It's one of those moment's where looking away is impossible, unthinkable. Reflex has him holding his sword steady with both hands, but his attention isn't on the blade. Who the fuck cares about his sword, Kid is pulling himself along the fucking blade. What the hell are death gods even made of?

That punch hurts like hell, but hard as it is, it's nothing like getting stabbed. When Dirk is knocked back, he loses his grip on the sword and is sent sprawling- good for Kid, otherwise that injury might have gotten a whole lot worse.

His lip is split and bleeding down his face, but Dirk ignores the cut and his smarting cheek to lever himself back to his feet. His glasses have been knocked- not off, but down, enough that when he glares at kid, it can be seen.]

Give me your fuckin' proof that I'm about to flip off the goddamn handle and start mass murder. 'Cause if you say it's because of my power... then you need just as much watching as I do.

[Dirk falls.

So does Kid, crumpling to his knees on the ground where he remains, head upright but jaw hanging, breaths coming quick, shallow, sticky with blood. One hand lifts, drops clumsily to the handle of Dirk's sword, but under the Prince's indefatigable glare the grim reaper's only reply is a low groan.

He's dragging the sword out of his chest in single, long, unflagging motion, until the blood-streaked weapon clatters to the ground and black vapor crawls out from the wound, gathering there like a ribbon of smoke.

Kid's laughter is horrible, not the least because one lung is a sucking chest wound and his throat is coated with the coppery taste of his own blood, because it sounds like he knows he's defeated the way he is now and that's devastation made noise.]

And wait for the inevitable suffering your role will cause? Ha ha ha ha! I hate you! I hate you more than I can stand! Ha ha ha ha--

[It's a very good thing a fit of wet coughing interrupts him, because it might have gone on, and he might have really lost it. As it is, when he's caught his breath again he's a little calmer, one golden eye staring up at him through the fall of dark fringe split by white lines. He lifts his chin, his smile cold.]

Be that as it may, I admire your resolve. Are you going to finish me off?

[That fucking laughter.

Dirk's hands itch for his sword, because that is not the Kid he's used to dealing with. That's not sane. Defeated it may sound, but it sounds like a last stand, and however serious this fight was, it wasn't supposed to be an end like that. Kid showed up three hours late and asked him to even out his hair, for fuck's sake.

If he hadn't broken off in coughing, Dirk might have punched him anyway, and damned the consequences. That's not the Kid who's been trying to better him this whole time.

He doesn't respond immediately. He fixes his shades, then approaches, step by step, so he's standing over Kid. He picks up his sword. Considers the blood on the blade.

And captchalogues it.]

What the fuck would I do that for?

Good.

[Because there's no question that Dirk would be able to, under the present circumstances; the tip of the reaper's tongue pushes blood away from the corner of his mouth, absently, his eyes momentarily blotting out the sight of Dirk's empty hands in one slow blink.

This time, when Kid smiles, it's with stern determination.]

I'm not finished with you yet, Dirk Strider. [Magnanimously:] But you may consider this your first win. Congratulations.

[Despite the nearly condescending tone in which it's said, it actually gets a smile out of Dirk. It's nice to hear, to be sure of, even if it's something this fight has already shown.

Whatever else has gone shitty, he can still fight properly.

Now that the battle is done, he offers Kid a hand.]

You should get to the clinic before you ask me to poke a matching hole in you for that one.

[A peculiar look is leveled on that offered hand, and for Dirk's charity, Kid seems to accept it without complaint, one markedly cooler hand clasping his--

--And the other reaches up behind the Prince's neck, when the somber line of Kid's mouth splits into a thin grimace.

In spite of his dizzying bloodloss, he can manage this in a fit of spite; one leg lashes out at Dirk's, yanking him forward and down, and if Dirk's guard has slipped enough to see him face-first to the ground there will be one knee -- pantsleg soaked through with his own blood -- planted against and grinding into the small of his back, his own weight bearing down on the arm across both of his shoulderblades, and a fist grasping one savage handful of his hair.

That's if he's lucky enough that Dirk doesn't put him down like a rabid dog.]

Don't press your luck, Dirk.

[Not expecting it, he goes down, but he gets an arm up before he can do damage to his face, or worse, his shades. He'll probably get scrapes, but it's the least of his worries. He's more concerned with getting Kid off him before this can turn into another scrabble, one where Kid might actually have the advantage.

Which is why he gets one arm free and jabs his elbow back, intending to get Kid in the side. Maybe it's a dirty move, but fuck that, Kid's got a handful of his hair.]

Don't press yours!

[Kid wheezes an undignified noise that proves Dirk had hit him exactly where intended, and the Prince's hair slips through his numb fingers as the grim reaper rolls off his back, curling up in a reflexive effort to protect the gradually knitting wound.

He's still trying to pull air into his healing lung when he fires back:]

There-- might be a day when-- [OW?] When we regret not destroying each other when we had the chance. [There's an interruption, when he's coughing something coppery and sticky out of his throat.]

I won't do it until I'm sure. There's much I haven't-- haven't seen from you yet, Strider.

Don't disappoint me.

Edited 2013-03-21 11:33 (UTC)

[As soon as Kid's hands are off of him, Dirk rolls to the side to push himself to his feet again, to brush the dirt off his clothes. Their audience is still there, but they're even less worth his attention than before. The fight is over.]

[Coughing up blood is worrying, but Dirk's learned his lesson about offering Kid help. Apparently Kid doesn't think it's that big of a deal, so Dirk won't make anything out of it. From the way Kid's talking, he doesn't plan to bleed out, anyway.]

As if I would.

Maybe next time you'll even win.

[And of course, it's time to make his exit through the crowd. He's already thinking of when the next encounter can be.]

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003; accidental video

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I RISE FROM MY GRAVE

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