legionmissions | Out With the Old [modplot]

"Dude, if I were any more at ease, I'd be taking a nap."

Felix runs his tongue over his teeth. Alright. The guy's got some push back, but he can work through this. No one kids a kidder, and no one is going to out-manipulate him in a head-to-head competition. So he takes the opportunity to saunter in closer, still seemingly without a weapon to hand.

Those knives, painted steel and orange, blend in a little too well against his armor.

"So I'm not with the Legion. Big deal. How much does a badge really count for anyway? We're just two people on opposite sides of a fight bigger than us. That's the way war works. But you're wound up like I shot your fucking dog. So why don't you tell me why that is?"

"Nap away." It'll make arresting him easier. Of course being believable and trustworthy and, well, charming isn't the fucking jedi mind trick. Otherwise he'd handwave this asshole off a cliff. Isn't that a nice thought?

It is. Too damn bad.

Another step back for distance, settling into what most people that know him and have seen him go would recognize as his usual bullshit ready stance. Which. Isn't much of a fighting stance at all till he gets moving. "You tried to kill Wash and Carolina- and you yanked Locus around for fucking years. So. You're kind of dick, man, and I really want you to stay right there. Just. keep your distance."

So he can throw a grenade at his face.

And he does halt at that, cocking his head curiously. So it appears.

What rage bubbles beneath the surface at the mention of those names, the sudden surge of absolute fury, York need never know. Locus is here. It's not a question. It's truth, an opportunity, and he could almost laugh. The traitorous son of a bitch is here, with all these rookie heroes, and isn't that just perfect?

"Bullshit." He snorts, though he stays at the distance he is. More than close enough to throw the knives, if need be. "You don't get to talk about it like you knew us. Who the Hell are you, anyway?"

"Locksmith, at your service." It's enough leeway to palm a few marbles on the sly, helmet cocking to keep his good eye locked on Felix. Trying to get a subtle note out to Delta that HEY he's gonna need a little backup is difficult when they're not mind to mind but-

Something to think about later.

"And I'm? His new best friend. I know you dragged him around for a good long while, I know how he views you. I know he hates you. And I know I sure as shit don't mean to let you just wander back into his life to start fucking it up now that he's turning it around."

I know he hates you.

Funny. It was so much funnier was it was part of an act, a comfortable dynamic. Not the unsettling truth. But it didn't matter. Felix was already seeing red, and York was the only thing in line of sight at the moment.

If this fucknut thought he was moving on his territory, he had another thing coming.

"Hey, hey. Easy. You're giving me a little too much credit here, and trust me. I never skimp on taking credit where it's due." One finger lifts upwards to halt York's little spiel. "But everyone's responsible for their own choices, and Locus made his. Some real shit decisions lately, but hey. Who hasn't?"

Just keep cool. Take another step forward.

"I'm sure this is all some big misunderstanding. Just let me know where the big guy is, and we'll get all of this settled before it gets ugly."

"Spinning a line about how you need each other and are partners and nothing that can't survive you deserves what it gets?" Yeah. Locus shared those tidbits too- and remembering the soft stilted uncertainty in his voice, the tension around his eyes whenever he thinks someone's using doublespeak-

When he doesn't understand, when he's uncomfortable because he doesn't trust what's being said? Every fucking time he second guesses the things that come his way? It's this asshole's fault. Remembering that makes it easy to start charging the marbles in his back palm, to brace himself for a fight.

To grin so hard behind his visor that it's shit eating entirety is audible through the commline. A quick command has a tickertape warning sent through to Delta, Azucar, and Locus. 'Got Felix. Will Handle'. "Fucked if I know! He's with his other bestie right now and we both know more than enough to keep him away from you, Felix."

"Oh. You don't know a goddamn thing."

And now for the real dick move. He straightens, nodding down towards York's clearly armored feet.

"Shoe's untied, by the way."

He isn't wearing shoes with laces, but he still manages to make it sound utterly convincing. Like it really could be untied, like maybe he should check just to be sure--

And a second later he launches himself forward, a hand at his hip swiftly drawing a blade and bringing it up to swipe in an arc just under York's jaw. Best friend. Yeah. He'd fix that.

It doesn't work the way Felix wants it to- but that doesn't change the fact that in a way?

It totally does.

There's that split second of 'They're maglock armored greaves you fucknut' flickering through York's head, all indignant at the asshole's inaccuracy before the guy's right up in his face and York? Falls back.

Literally dropping and flinging a marble up at roughly visor height as he tries to roll away. Enjoy a mini flashbang!

of course luck v luck is gonna end up with some wonky statistically fucking IMPOSSIBLE bullshit but who the fuck knows? Maybe he'll be good AND lucky! Or. Get shanked. A lot. And bleed out. Again.

Fuck he didn't think this through. Luckily (ha) Delta pings through to help track Felix- but that's all he can swing at the moment.

"Son of a BI--"

He breaks off and drops, shaking his head to clear his vision before scanning furiously for sight of York. He's not getting away that easily, and as soon as he sees movement he's bearing towards him, surprisingly agile in all that armor.

Two more knives appear in his hands, arcing through the air towards whatever bit of exposed suit he can aim for.

Note to self: Knife proof the mesh. The bulkier bits of armor can handle the scrape but Felix isn't aiming for those which makes this all kinds of fun. God he'd forgotten what it was like to be stabbed but- go at it like sparring with Connie.

Just.

More lethal if he fucks up.

Felix comes in hard and York snaps out another marble at his shoulder, bringing an armore'd arm up to block at least one blade. Leaves his ribs open but he's pretty sure his kidneys and liver are covered by plating.

Pretty sure.

Doesn't stop Felix from turning away from the snap of another marble, that loud pop and bang concussive but not enough to do damage. The blade in his hand flips, switching the direction of the grip, and instead of jabbing he curves it inward, driving towards a slash just above the hip plating.

Time to see whose luck ran out first.

Meaner than Connie. Okay. He can work with this, taking the hit because he can't block it, blade sliding in cold and sharp and fuck he misses the healing unit- snapping a knee up and hooking an arm around Felix's shoulders to haul him back and down. Time to wrassle, motherfucker.

Of course back means falling through a thin panel of wiring that he'd meant to get to before this particular encounter but, hey. He wont' get tangled.

He thinks.

About 50% sure here.

Felix snarls as they go down, hauling back and trying to break that hold, but York's got more muscle mass, surprisingly. Instead, Felix drags his knees up to try and leverage him back into those wires and pull himself free.

He ends up straddling him instead, though it's an excellent position to try and drive the knife down again, this time aiming for his throat, or at the very least that nice, meaty connective tissue between shoulder and neck, where the armor tends to be thin for flexibility's sake.

A LOT meaner than Connie, fuck. Note to self: if he survives this? he needs to go back to sparring with her. Up his game. In the present he snaps an arm between Felix's knife and his throat, the other hand scrabbling up to lay flat against his helmet.

It smells a little like ozone, that could be the sudden glowing pulse of energy he fills the armored plating with- or the cables to the surrounding cameras snapping and powering down. Hard to tell what's what at the moment.

The fizzle and pop is less than the marbles and his arm gives as he twists (lucky), blade catching one of the damn sealed clasps keeping his own helmet in place.

For a moment, he's not sure what happened.

His ears are ringing, and he's not staring through a HUD any longer, his helmet having literally popped off and rolling back and forth across the ground nearby. Surprise quickly turns back to fury as he stares down at Taylor, bearing down even harder with the knife, trying to angle for a good, deep gash into his throat, rather than up into the helmet's lip.

"Stop that!"

"HA!" That's a new trick. Popping off helmets- he'll have to remember that for the future. His humor is, of course, shortlived when he shoves against the knife and the seal gives, sending his own goddamn helmet rolling free. No HUD, no helpful analysis from Delta- just this fucker's face braced over him in the dark, knife still trying to find his throat.

"You're gonna have to elaborate-" But he does, in fact, stop charging up the bit of wire his hand tangled in. "Cuz there's a lot going on here, buddy."

"Breathing. There's a start for you," Felix hisses. "Save us both a lot of trouble here."

But it's becoming clear just what this guy's deal is. So keeping his hands occupied is going to turn into necessity. Abruptly he draws the blade back before bringing it down, this time aiming for the guy's face.

Reflex'll have him defending with everything he's got. See if he feels like popping something else off after that.

Without the filter of the helmet or Delta there's a half second where he does, in fact, stop breathing. A single, terrifying second.

"How 'bout no?" Okay good voice works lungs work and that motherfucker is actually kinda hot ~~notnowboner~~ why does he think of this shit NOW this is not the time or place and he hates his brain, it's official. He's not distracted so long that he cant snap his other hand up to guard against the slash, knees swinging up to try and hook his legs around Felix somehow and haul him off. No leverage in this mess of wires, not even a little.

"Come on. It'd be easy. This shit...isn't your fight anyway. Be a whole lot easier just...letting go."

Oh he's not giving up now, not this close, and there's an almost eager gleam in his eye as he keeps bearing down. Oh, York gets close, the movement of his legs damn near bucking him off a few times, but straddled this high up on his waist? No cigar.

And as that blade edges closer, Felix bears in on that space between, closing off hope of escape. He's got him. He's fucking got him, of course he does, God but he's awesome.

"You just leave Locus to me."

It would, wouldn't it? It's been hard, the fighting, the horrors, the ideological differences. They are gonna get killed unless they kill back, being the bigger guy, public trust- they aren't cops. They're soldiers. They're fighting threats no one else can fight.

Why have the moral high ground? It's so damn wearying and he's still cold to his bones from the Silent Horizon. It'd be nice to just...

Stop.

His arms stop flexing so hard and- why's he fighting again? No real point-

Then that name.

That fucking name, everything this asshole put Locus through, everything he'll probably try to do and be twice as good cuz he can talk people into not breathing, he won't stand a fucking chance-

The charmed lassitude snaps into narrow eye'd focus, lips curling in a snarl as he hauls back with one hand and swings, aiming right for Felix's fucking mouth. "You leave him alone!"

Alright.

Not the button to press. How tangled up was this guy in his former partner, really?

This question has time to rattle around in his brain as his head snaps to the side, York's fist colliding with his jaw with a meaty 'thud', and he rolls his jaw with a grunt before closing his eyes, taking a deep breath.

"That. Was fucking rude."

And that second blade swings upwards into view, aiming in an swipe for that one good eye he has left.

It's not long- but long enough for York to get his legs under him, his eye to flare a bright blue as he pulls on probability and shoves upward with arms and legs and shoulders, rolling free of the grapple and leaving the gift of glowing, charged wires in his wake.

Boom boom boom, motherfucker.

"So's trying to stab a guy, guess we're even!"

"Shit!"

He scrambles back quickly, wincing as those charges go off, with nothing between him and the explosions. Ugh, but it's merely a distraction. He knows that. He's got to get after York before he manages to detonate something else.

Time to swipe up his helmet, while he's got the opportunity.

"Oh we're so fucking far from even, you're never gonna see black."

"Aww- you mad Locus moved on? Stings, doesn't it, to remember that you're dead weight." Shittalking is rusty, side effect of trying to be less of an asshole- but he can recall the basics. He has to hit while the helmet's off, hurling another handful of marbles at Felix's face while he rolls to recover his own.

Well, as luck would have it? It turns out that helmet is pretty handy for batting those marbles away as he darts away, fuming. A second later and helmet jams back into place, two fresh knives at the ready.

"So I guess that makes you the rebound."

Alright, time to place where he's at. Determine if it's worth closing the distance again, or heading to find someone bigger and meaner to do the swinging for him.

Out With the Old [modplot]

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