Polluted Jianghu: 新年少鹏

The qualia of mercy is not dispensed with. Sorta. "You should call a doctor." You reach a finger into your mouth. Your teeth only feel like they're loose. They're still rooted. For now. "They're all dead. Or they're all dying." Just leave, man. I'm tapped out for the night.

Yuexia's hand opened and closed around her sword. She looks at Oldhead, gurgling froth behind you. "If you leave," he says, eyes red and bloodshot. "I'll never. Tell you. Where. He. Is."

So she has reasons to larp vigilantism other than bougie flexing. That's surprising. You open a filing cabinet in your mind and toss that away. "You have two hours, I guess, of gasping on." You turn to Oldhead. "I think your curses are funny, and I hope you live. I want you to see me again and call me a bitch again."

"Fuck you, bitch. There. Now let her kill you."

You shrug. "I respect your commitment. But, you know. If you die, you won't be able to tell her whatever you wanted to tell her. On account of your, you know. Death."

"All this talking around won't solve anything!" A sword flashes, she's drawn it for dramatic effect, flourishing it in the warehouse. Your eyes follow it. "I'll beat the stuffing out of you before the ambulance gets here!"

"I respect that spirit. And in that spirit, drop your sword," you invite, "seein' as the only thing I've got is this kinda spear." You look down. The half that would have formed the tip is in Oldhead's gut. "Kinda half a spear."

"No."

"Fuck."

She came at you like a moonlight spectre, you exploded forward like a cannonball. She was a world apart from this one, each of your steps left deep prints in the concrete floor. You thrust the metal spar at her and the thing just passes through her. You blink. Everything still hurts. This isn't a hallucination. You'd feel a lot better if it was.

"First round goes to me," she says smugly.

"I want to rub your dumb face against a cheese grater," you reply. There's no blood on the strut. Was that some sort of qigong? Man, you wish you knew how to do that.

"Jealousy is a sign of a small mind," she grins in an even smugger way. "Take this! Moon Scar-Sword!" Then she-

She's above you. Her sword like a guillotine. You duck forward, stumbling and feeling that cold steel pass so close to your neck. Then she roundly clouts you about the head with her free hand, landing behind you in a flutter of cloth. The world rings, distant and tinny. You turn. "Did you fuckin' call out your attack?" You're ok. Just rattled. Next time you're breaking her nnnwait you're on the same side.

"Yeah?" Youxia raises an eyebrow, resting her scabbard on her shoulder. "Why, is there a law?"

"No," you admit, turning the strut in lazy circles, "but it's sort of cringy, isn't it?"
"Oh, you say what's right and what's wrong now? The guy that looks like Pharaoh Tut, but as like a washed up forty year old pretending he's still a high school rebel."

"I'm younger than that," you reply, lacking any better rebuttals.

"Okay. Thirty years old!"

"Fuck the both of you!" Oldhead. He's still alive. Wow. "Do the fucking job you were paid to do!"

"Eh, four out of ten. Could be better." You waggle a hand. Youxia nods under her hood.

"I will beat you like a taiko drum."

"There we are! See, this is the kind of material I expect, y'see- wow rude." Youxia's blade, reflecting the moon from the windows, slices in front of your eyes and you grab her wrist and squeeze. Your fingers hook into the flesh between her bones. So she's made of flesh after all. Not moonlight and trust fund money. Imagine that. Sweat beads on her brow. You trained for this. Uncle had you squeezing rocks until you could crush them in your grip. Youxia would feel her bones creaking together and this pressure, her veins and arteries rubbing together until they feel like they would pop-

She hits you with the end of her scabbard. Your teeth rattle. You think one of your pearly whites is leaving the gums. One cut turns into two. Two cuts turn into three. If her wrists hurt, Youxia isn't letting it show.

You are losing. Slow and certain. With each clash, the strut gets carved down, from a meter to three quarters to half until it's just a nub above your fingers, each time, she opens a long, thin cut across your arm, your shoulders and your sides. You're faster than her. Stronger. Every time you move your limbs snap like gunshots. Just that she's never there where you expect. You could blame how Metalhead broke you into bits, you could blame sleep deprivation but honestly she's just pretty good, you think as you toss the last ten centimeters of steel at her face and pedal back.

You wish you had a cheese grater. Her sword whips over you as you dive into a tackle. She vaults over you before you could grab her.

Now you are pacing around each other. You miss Metalhead, you think as you watch her for any moves. Harder than it looks. Her raincoat is pretty baggy. He might have beaten you into a pulp but he didn't do any of this tricky dick you'll never hit me shit. And the thing is, you consider, making an abortive jab to her eyes, she has the absolute advantage. Light enough to just flow around anything you can throw at her. And she's got a not shit sword, and you're not nearly good enough to beat her barehanded unless you want to shove your gangrenous body into it and go from there.

Which uh. Why do you care, again? Really. Why do you care? You're working together.

Fuck, you just don't want to lose. She doesn't want to lose. If you ask her she'll laugh and keep beating you like a taiko drum.

So it goes.

"Hey!"

A stick hits you and clatters against the floor. "What the hell?" You turn. Ming Ming pointing at Hairshock. Hairshock pointing at Ming Ming.

"It wasn't me!" both of them say.

"Both of you are dead when I get my gut fixed," Oldhead snarls.

"Zero out of ten." You kick the staff up. Geeze. It just feels good. Light and whippy. You twirl it around yourself and it's like you never lost your old one. Wait, which old one? It's darker, finished oak of some kind.

"So, uh," Youxia coughs, "Are we gonna-"

You were always an early starter. Before she finishes her sentence the tip of the pole pieces where her eye were. She's in a backflip, one hand wrapped around the end and you slam her against the floor. A dinner plate sized crater manifests, Youxia bounces like a basketball. When she tries to get up she finds you next to her and for once she blocks, the flat of her blade nearly touching her forehead.

She disappears in a swirl of white. You throw an elbow on a guess and it hits something soft and squishy. Youxia backs away, choking and you scythe out her legs and point the pole at her.

"Fuuuck," she swears. "I give. I give."

"Cool beans," you say and help her up. "Call an ambulance or something. Hey, oldie, you still up?" You walk over to the old man. "Feel like walkin', or do I need to help you up?"

"I am going to skin you with your own teeth," he says, carefully picking himself up. "And wipe my ass with it. No. Help that big lunk." He goes to help Bubblegum. Slackjaw is heavy, but not that heavy. The five of you work in silence. You feel like you're the one making it awkward. The car they came in guns away under the moonlight, a fifth man, a driver, at the driver's seat.

Man, you could really go for a smoke right now.

What Happens Afterwards?
[]- Kirishima's here. All six feet of fury, scar tissue, and cigarette smoke, asking about this, asking about that.
[]- A moment of peace before you pass out. Just you, the temps, and the manager, having an easy talk.

A/N: Apologies for the break.