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 Posted: Tue Oct 22, 2013 1:23 am
He had, perhaps, slacked far too much in his training. He was a Moon, yes, but that did not exempt him from duty upon the field. Being there to back up a Sun was something he initially desired-- a sense of purpose, and a sense of belonging-- and had ultimately failed at pursuing.
Nonetheless.
Kostya's interests laid in being a desirable asset to a team, a cog in the machine that he would willingly serve without question. That meant being well rounded: which meant he needed to catch up with his studies in the field.
He aimed Syntax's barrel at a target, powering up his shot with a whirring, one eyed close to hopefully increase the accuracy of his shot. He fired off a round, and it missed. As did the second. And the third.
He had his work cut out for him.
The crunch of grass underfoot alerted him to another's presence, and he turned on his heel to assess his company.
"Greetings," he said, leaving his weapon summoned, a case of blue-white glow atop his arm.
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Posted: Tue Oct 22, 2013 1:36 am
The stranger--all gaunt limbs and hunched body that made him about as threatening as a cave cricket and roughly as appealing to look at--cut to the chase, jabbing an elbow in the direction of the dummy. "Ranged weapon, he said. "So you actually get some use out of the ******** things. You ever sat around stabbing one with a knife? ********' ridiculous." A toothpick slowly crawled from one side of Taym's mouth to the other. He was sweating, but for whatever reason had not seen this as a reason to shed his coat. Make them ask. Drop the hint and make them ask so you can't turn it down. Turning it down would be the coward's move. Make them ask so you're forced to do it. He hated this, and made himself dance the stupid dance every time. It was the only way he could guarantee his own cooperation. He had to effectively take himself hostage.
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Posted: Tue Oct 22, 2013 1:51 am
Kostya's lips pursed. "Not so much. Am, ah...Vell. Aim not so good, da?"
He gave the thin, sickly stranger a glance up and down. The man needed someone to shovel food into him, that much was certain, and a good deal of it, too. A glance at his coat revealed the emblems of Death, the crossed sickles in gold. His eyes lingered, though not intentionally. In a thought of morbidity, Kostya realised that he would have thought the man was a cancer patient, were he not a hunter.
Inspecting the colour of the stranger's shirt, he felt better upon realising it was not the mint green of hospital scrubs.
"Your veapon is knife, then? Very personal. Sounding unpleasant." More than unpleasant, it seemed downright impractical to him, Not for the first time, he was thankful for the range that Syntax's shape afforded him.
Kostya tilted his head, his face an impassive stare as the stranger poked around, beads of sweat collecting on his shaven head.
"Summon it."
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Posted: Tue Oct 22, 2013 2:04 am
Taym's answering look was devoid of expression or challenge. Kostya might as well have not said anything. And then the line of his shadowed jaw tightened--irritation, resignation; something--and he absently cracked his knuckles before obeying. The dirk looked like something a thief would use to break a safe, but it suited him perfectly, and he bounced it in his fingers like he was testing a weight that should have been familiar to him long before now. "Russian?" A stupid, blunt question, because it kept him from making a stupid, defensive statement about his weapon or a stupid, snarky comment about Kostya's.
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its me debz rolled 1 20-sided dice:
6
Total: 6 (1-20)
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Posted: Tue Oct 22, 2013 2:12 am
Without judgment, Kostya inspected the weapon from afar. It was not large, but it was of a suitable size. With them as the wielders, so very much damage could be done, regardless the size of the package.
it was hard to remember that, sometimes. (How much damage, exactly, could a tablet sustain-)
"Correct," he said, and the sort of weariness evident in Taym's face a moment ago was now written in Kostya's. "Konstantin. Not comrade. Not Chekhov." The words were laced with something more brittle and dark than his still-empty face betrayed.
He was more than a simple stereotype to be mocked, even though he enjoyed his share of Star Trek. It didn't mean that he wished to be delegated to the role.
"Spar?" he asked, readying his weapon. "Since ve are here."
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Rejam rolled 1 20-sided dice:
16
Total: 16 (1-20)
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Posted: Tue Oct 22, 2013 2:17 am
Another long pause. He pulled the toothpick out of his mouth and stuck it, rather disgustingly, in his pocket.
"Sure," he said, voice unreadable. "And I was actually going to make a Dostoyevsky reference, but I can refrain, if you'd rather."
He hesitated, and again he bounced the hilt of the knife in his fingers, then slowly, deliberately, rotated it until the blade was point downwards. Probably if he thought about it he could summon it that way, but the thought never occurred to him. It was always a process--an indicator, partially to himself, partially to whoever he was across from, that he was navigating from waiting to acting.
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Rejam rolled 2 8-sided dice:
8, 6
Total: 14 (2-16)
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Posted: Tue Oct 22, 2013 2:20 am
He closed the gap, and he extended his hand for a cordial pre-fight handshake. And then, in a smooth, fluid motion that rose naturally from the innocent gesture, he brought the knife in sideways and aimed it at Kostya's ribs, his face steeled into the expression of a man yanking a bandage off a raw wound. HP: 40 DMG: 8 CHG: 1/3
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its me debz rolled 2 8-sided dice:
8, 4
Total: 12 (2-16)
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Posted: Tue Oct 22, 2013 10:00 am
He should have expected the move, from the likes of this mangy man, but it came as a surprise to Kostya nonetheless. The blow collided firmly with his fear shield, and Kostya let out an indignant whimper as it did. Battle was not his forte; he was still a child. Hand to hand spars and rifle practise did not hold up to these weapons of nigh immeasurable power.
Especially when the weapons were so close to his vital organs.
"Do not mind references," he gritted out, his voice undignified in how soft it was. With a moment's charge, a low electronic whine the only warning, Kostya fired a round of into Taym's side, skittering backwards as soon as he was able.
Range was his advantage. Range was what he needed.
HP: 32
DMG: 6
CHG: 1/3
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Rejam rolled 2 8-sided dice:
7, 7
Total: 14 (2-16)
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Posted: Tue Oct 22, 2013 12:22 pm
Taym needed to stop getting himself into spars with ranged fighters. The obvious disadvantages to him were exacerbated by his instinctive impulse to put distance between himself and whomever he'd just hit--a scenario that played out again as he snaked back in at Kostya, quick and oily as an eel, and ice-picked the blade into the first available scrap of bodily target--only to almost immediately fumble backwards, a retreat as graceless and ill-advised as the approach had been smooth. He realized the mistake as soon as he made it, and visibly checked himself, tried to recover the ground again, but he was all leery, nervous defense; all circling, prowling uncertainty. When you fought dirty and cheated your trust in your opponent's willingness to play fair quickly faded. "People really call you comrade?" he asked, forcing the talk because it always took the edge off the nauseating feeling that forever accompanied stabbing someone in the gut. "What is this, the 80s?" HP: 34 DMG: 8 CHG: 2/3
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its me debz rolled 2 8-sided dice:
3, 6
Total: 9 (2-16)
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Posted: Tue Oct 22, 2013 12:37 pm
This did not bode well for him. His defensive manoeuvres often did not account for the enemy being so up close and personal for extended periods of time. The other hunter was sticking closer to him than any shadow, and it raised his hackles more than the pain.
The gun on his arm whirred, powering down after the shot was fired, but it didn't stay that way for long. The man prowled around Kostya in a circle like a buzzard did to its prospective dinner. He hissed again at the impact of the second blow, cursing colourfully in Russian, his voice pained.
Konstantin did not emote often, but his threshhold for pain was not a high one.
"Several," he clipped out, staggering backwards. The shield would dampen the blows, but that one had been significant. Had he been a simple, more mortal human, he would have been dead and gone in two blows.
Disconcerting. "Polishman thought it vas funny. Spread from there."
The next shot was a wobbly one, and he cursed again.
HP: 24
DMG: 3
CHG: 2/3
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Rejam rolled 2 8-sided dice:
5, 1
Total: 6 (2-16)
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Posted: Tue Oct 22, 2013 1:50 pm
He matched the Russian cursing with an impressive round of English, and unthinkingly, stupidly, he put distance between the two of them in direct contradiction of what he ought to have been doing. He was a person of instinct, and pain > remove self from situation was apparently a particularly strong one. "I'm sure," Taym said generously, eyeing him and his strange gun with a leery eye, "that he's just bitter because you guys got all the better writers. You both have s**t food, though." The little feint he followed that up with barely warranted the term--a petty, transparent move to try and goad Kostya into firing. He was watching the gun. He was waiting to see whether it was just his imagination or if there was, in fact, a window of time after it was used that left Kostya vulnerable. "Obadiah Thompson," he added, much belated. HP: 31 DMG: sad CHG: 2/3
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its me debz rolled 2 8-sided dice:
8, 1
Total: 9 (2-16)
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Posted: Wed Oct 23, 2013 12:14 am
"Vill agree. Both counts."
He rarely got homesick for any reason except being able to clearly and concisely express his thoughts. He especially did not miss any of his mother's cooking.
"Obadiah," he repeated, the word rolling none so gently off his tongue. Konstantin did not try to disguise his accent, and it was as strong as ever. "Name is Konstantin Bashmet."
Kostya was a pet name he had not given permission to others to use, but they persisted nonetheless. It was a pet name, fitting for Mimsy and childhood friends, not for co-workers on an island of Death.
Unfortunately for the other hunter, the recharge time on Syntax's gun was minimal, and this was proven by another shot of white-hot energy barrelling in his direction.
HP: 24
DMG: 3
CHG: 3/3
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Rejam rolled 2 8-sided dice:
5, 2
Total: 7 (2-16)
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Posted: Wed Oct 23, 2013 1:02 am
Son of a b***h. He'd been so intent on gauging the weapon's cooldown he'd somehow managed to forget that it'd be aimed at him. At least he actually managed to move in the right direction this time, towards Kostya instead of away. Not that it did him much good, his swing clumsy, going wide. He inwardly blamed the fact that he was distracted by the thought of borscht. He could go for some borscht. His standards were slipping. Apparently four months at Deus with MREs was sufficient to accomplish what eighteen months of sleeping in the street had had trouble doing. Or possibly it was the lack of actual starvation, replacing need with appetite. HP: 28 DMG: 1 :T CHG: 3/3
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its me debz rolled 9 4-sided dice:
4, 3, 2, 2, 4, 3, 4, 4, 2
Total: 28 (9-36)
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Posted: Wed Oct 23, 2013 1:19 am
Being friends with Mimsy meant being comfortable with long swathes of silence as she worked, so the lack of response he elicited from the Death hunter was of little concern.
Obadiah's blade glanced off of him, deflected by Kostya's movements fortuitously lining up with the other hunter's. All the while, his weapon charged, humming and crackling as a ball of white-blue light grew at its end.
He felt, upon loosing the shot at the other hunter, that this would be the time to apologise, if he was sorry.
But he wasn't.
With a long suffering internal sigh, Konstantin mentally thought of the code required for Syntax's cooperation for releasing a charge.
↑↑↓↓←→←→BA
HP: 23
DMG: 19
CHG: 1/2 used, 0/3 charged
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Rejam rolled 8 4-sided dice:
3, 4, 3, 4, 2, 3, 4, 4
Total: 27 (8-32)
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Posted: Wed Oct 23, 2013 2:13 am
Luckily (?) for Kostya, an apology was apparently unnecessary. He barely had time to register the breath-stealing force of what had just happened to him, immediately falling back on his own charge. The blade's runes flared up, diluted but still as bright and full of misplaced cheer as afternoon light filtered through a canopy. He'd doubled up in silent pain, and now he watched Kostya without straightening, the blank, gasping stare dissolving into a brows-drawn look of rage. This was irrational. He knew this. He went into these situations anticipating pain and humiliation, but every time he received those things they pressed buttons, effective and unavoidable. "Was that a fluke, or have you been pool sharking me? Like a ton of ******** bricks," he spat, and he grinned, but just with his mouth. HP: 9 + 24 = 33 DMG: none CHG: using the chill
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