8th Wave

[tentacruelest]

Th' next time this Barge feels like poking around in my head, I'll be keeping to my quarters. The lot of yeh - useless dregs not fit to scrub a floor. It's bad enough I'm locked in here with you, I don't need to call any of yeh friends.

[Private to Bush]

Was dealing with me yerself so difficult that you sought to work through less offensive channels, Captain?

[Private to Arthas]

A word, my king.

[Can you feel that heavy sarcasm, Arthas?]

Comments

[spam]

[halftheman]

[ With a very large crabman trundling over, Dent's quick to flick his cigarette butt over the side of the barge; it's ember twinkles just a bit, before it vanishes among the pulsating, muted colors of the 'night'. ]

[ Harvey doesn't notice. He's already on the move, snagging his bundle and letting the cloth fall away; two rods, metal. Traditional yantok are made from rattan, if they're for sparring; these are the Bat's, and there is no way the rattan would hold up under the use that people like Barbara or Dick put them through. ]

[ They feel right, in the moment, in Harvey's big hands. He buys himself some space with sharp flicks, cutting the air with the tips. ]

At least ask me to dance nicely, Captain. God knows we need it much as you do.

[spam]

[tentacruelest]

[Davy is unsurprised that Dent brought weapons; he's only somewhat surprised that they aren't guns. He's a tough old bastard and with his heart safely tucked away in his cabin, there's little that can really kill him. He's built to withstand the crushing pressure of being leagues under the sea with no protection and a few sticks don't scare him. Blunt force is something he can appreciate.

He staggers forward, ignoring the swipes the sticks make through the air and even attempts to catch one in his claw as he comes forward]

I've given yeh enough advantage, boy. Come here and face me instead of running off like a coward.

[spam]

[halftheman]

You haven't given us anything.

[ Harvey Dent charges forward, to the side slight, to meet that mutual charge. He's not about to let the man have his weapon, not even when he has two. They're the only advantage he has against the undead monster. ]

[ The claw scrapes over the edge, the noise hideous, as Harvey yanks it free of the grip before it can solidify into something vicelike. But with Davy's focus on keeping the other stick gripped, Harvey swings the other, hard, looking to leave heavy bruises, down to the bone. ]</small

[spam]

[tentacruelest]

[The noise irritates Jones, and his tentacles seize up in annoyance. Still, he presses on and attempts to catch hold of it but Dent rips it away before he can crack the stick in two. The second stick catches him off-guard and he juts forward with a grunt of pain. He lashes out with the tentacled hand, attempting to grasp any part of Dent to hold him still, lure him in....

Dent is at a disadvantage with no projectile weapons; he has to get close to hit with the sticks, and Jones has the longer reach]

[spam]

[halftheman]

[ Harvey has a gun; two guns, in fact. He simply hasn't drawn them, and his jacket is closed over his holsters. He didn't want to bring a gun to a duel, pistols to a brawl. It just didn't seem... right. Not for what they'd said... ]

[ It seems even more appropriate now, that he knows what bothers Davy. Now, it's less about Iris and more about... other things. ]

[ Davy's tentacles seize on him, curling down the stick and onto his hand; he's been slimed by worse. He yanks back and smacks at the offending limb, trying to pinch the muscular flesh between the two metal rods, hoping that'll dissuade him from being grabby. ]

Haven't you earned yourself a sword, yet? Or is your bloodthirsty nature keeping you from all the good toys?

[spam]

[tentacruelest]

[The tentacles latch on and squeeze, but it's a bit different hauling Dent around than a tiny Victor Creed, the last victim of a one-on-one with Jones. He gives a roar of pain and is forced to let go, but chases after Dent to make up lost ground, attempting to inch him to a place where his back'll be up against a wall.]

No sword, no strength, and I'll still cleave yeh to pieces.

[spam]

[halftheman]

You'll try! Oh, you'll try. But I've taken down bigger and meaner.

[ Harvey dances back, swinging when Davy comes in reach, double arcs, both rods parallel. If Davy wants to earn his retreat (though backing him into a corner may prove both difficult and dangerous; the Bat taught him to use walls to vault and launch) he'll have to pay a toll in pain. ]

C'mon, terror of the open water! Come on, Davy Jones. My father was a cop, my grandfather a farmer-- make me glad we never went to sea!

[spam]

[tentacruelest]

Then take me down, instead of talking me down!

[Jones continues to inch forward, hauling his head back to avoid the sticks being flung in his face and lower. He supposes he could catch one stick with his claw, but it would leave the other opening to attacking his more sensitive features. Instead he presses on, intent on wearing Dent out if he can't trap him]

Yeh want sea, Dent? I'll give yeh the sea!

[He suddenly rushes foward in a blind grab, dragging Harvey to the side of the ship]

[spam]

[halftheman]

[ That's going to leave a mark. And smart in the morning. Harvey grunts in pain-- but Two-Face shunts him aside, taking the pain and riding it, eyes wild and grin like a skull's rictus. ]

[ Trapped between the rail and Davy's weight, he has one solid option: the call it the Glasgow kiss; as Dent brings his head down sharp and hard in the general vicinity of where Davy' nose just to be. ]

[spam]

[tentacruelest]

[Davy doesn't have a nose, not quite; it's mainly hard, flat bone covered by soft, squishy tissue. As he attempts to haul Dent over the side, his opponent smacks him square in the face.

Stunned, he twists his head aside, temporarily blinded by the sudden flash headache]

[spam]

[halftheman]

[ Harvey can't close his eyes; at least, not one of them, and that one doesn't tear up, anyway. The other, though, that screws shut and he reels a little from his own blow; the nerves in his face are deadened mostly, after two rounds of acid and multiple bouts of plastic surgery... but that still smarts. ]

[ He doesn't need to see to bring his leg up, though, and try and stamp his foot into Davy's crablike leg, trying to drop him to a knee if he can't take him completely off balance and down to the ground. His arms work blind, now, shoving forward -- trying to get him down. ]

There's no sea here, Davy. More's the pity. I was a port town's son.

[spam]

[tentacruelest]

[The crab leg has its own armored protection, but where the point meets the ground is where it's weakest, and it doesn't always have the traction Jones wishes it might. It skids out from underneath him, but he lunges to grab the side with his claw, enough to steady himself and prevent an all-out tumble.

Then the sticks come out and rain down on his head and shoulders. He gives an audible snarl and fights to turn the battle back in his favor, pushing up with his downed leg and forward, to knock Harvey back]

I am the sea!

[He's had enough; the claw comes back, and heedless of the blows coming fast and hard, he sweeps the arm high and across, powerful and heavy even when his strength is sapped]

[spam]

[halftheman]

[ Slower and smaller than Croc, none the less Davy hits like him. Harvey gets the sticks up to take part of the blow, but despite that it saves his ribs from being broken, it doesn't allow him to keep his feet. He tumbles, rolls, coming up into a awkward crouch, and briefly he remembers: ]

[ Sloppy, Dent. You're down, you're dead. Get up. We'll do it again. ]

[ But then, then it passes. He shakes it off, and gestures. ]

Alright, alright, you are the sea.

[ And while they're both angry, it feels less and less like they have any heart in this fight. ]

[spam]

[tentacruelest]

[Dimly satisfied - and yet somehow, not - Davy straightens back up with slowness and care. In the heat of battle it's easy to dismiss injuries; adrenaline will carry a man through a fight more than most things. But now that his opponent is clearly yielding, the bruises and aches rush up to meet the old sea captain and he seems to stagger, wounded]

[It's the truth; he has no heart or passion in this fight. Dent's not the man he wants to be facing, not truly]


...

[With a nod of acquiescence, he steps back and removes his pipe from his coat, to resume the activity immediately prior to the beating]

[spam]

[halftheman]

[ Two-Face grumbles, but Harvey says the pain the would only get worse if they went on, and neither have their heart in this. Instead, he rolls to his feet, brushes himself off. ]

[ In the dark, so far from others, he feels safe in shrugging off his jacket; his holsters and guns are clear; leather straps criss crossing his broad back. He dugs into his bundle again, and takes out a couple of water bottles, and offers one, almost companionable, to Davy as he drinks from his own. ]

[spam]

[tentacruelest]

[Without a word, Davy takes the bottle in hand and uncaps it. Instead of drinking from it, he pours the contents over his face and head after removing his hat, tentacles making their odd popping noise in response]

Yeh aren't half bad.

[spam]

[halftheman]

[ Not the weirdest thing he's ever seen. ]

Been fighting a long time.

[ He drinks normally, thank you. No need for a smoke after all that-- he needs to breath. ]

[spam]

[tentacruelest]

[Giving a grunt, Jones with his pipe finally staggers away from the rail, somewhat disgusted with himself. He hurts, and the fighting did nothing to improve his mood]

[spam]

[halftheman]

[ Harvey's generosity and compassion only goes so far. He won't stop Davy; he will, however, go bang on the door to pub once he puts his coat back on to hide his guns and get a beer and maybe some ice for his face. ]