ArchivedLogs:TKO
| TKO | |
|---|---|
| Dramatis Personae | 2014-11-14 Fight night. Warning: incredibly gory. (Set before ArchivedLogs:Date Night and a bit before ArchivedLogs:Nothing.) |
| Location
<NYC> BoM Safehouse - Lower East Side | |
Tucked away off a little-used side street in the Lower East Side, sandwiched between a youth drop-in center and a taqueria, this narrow three-story townhouse has very little to catch the eye. Boarded-up windows, a door peeling its paint, shabby grubby brickface; from the outside it does not look like much. Inside someone has gone to great lengths to renovate the building into something more habitable. It isn't glamorous but it is comfortable, old furniture dragged in, the place generally swept clean. The first floor holds a large living room, a smaller dining room, a spacious kitchen, a half-bathroom. There are three bedrooms and a full bathroom on the second floor; the attic is just a large empty space crammed full of boxes with a window out to the large flat roof. The basement, much like the attic, consists of a lot of empty space. A bare concrete floor, no windows, occasional poles running up to the ceiling. A tiny half-bathroom down here, too. Not a whole lot else. They're not the first and they won't be the last and the spartan basement already bears the telltale signs of it in the smells of sweat and heavy bloodspatter splashed liberal on the hard floor. Hard /cold/ floor, or at least it /was/, but that's been changing rapidly /this/ fight. Flash and sizzle and spark, more /burn/ than blood though there's some of that too. Ion's /smiling/ just now -- when /isn't/ he, mad-ass bastard, barefoot and shirtless and with half his side a blistering burned off mess his ribs may be a mass of ugly cooked meat but his teeth are clean and bright and white and grinning. It's an oddly illuminated smile, a crackling blue-white light from an arcing-dancing jolt of energy coursing away from the walls to his backstretched arm -- the /actual/ light fixtures in the room, meanwhile, are fluttering and going dark. The other arm flings outward, shooting a similar arc of lightning straight for his opponent. Though he's not /really/ being too cautious of bystanders in the room either, in his collection or his discharge. Does Jax count as a light fixture? He's certainly another point of light at this precise moment, albeit not a /bright/ one just yet. A faint reddish glow across the makeshift ring, it's contributing to the overall /eerieness/ of the fight. Also barefoot, also shirtless, just black shorts and an eyepatch, he isn't smiling. Jaw set, fists clenched, muscles tensed, he's expectantly marshalling himself for what's undoubtedly coming. Barely visible in the dark, a faint shimmer of glow has habitually erected itself in front of him. The lightning rips through it like paper. There's a heavy smack-thud of body hitting concrete with an unpleasant /crack/ that sounds like something might have broken -- but in the moment before it, a bright flash of white-hot bolt searing out towards -- /through/ -- Ion. Ion staggers back, a brand new hole lanced already-cauterized through his midsection (are there organs there he needs? There are probably organs there he needs.) He stumbles through a crowd of onlookers who very (very) hastily part for the erratically sparking man, thuds up against a wall, promptly disappears. He reappears nearly instantaneously, just behind where Jax has hit the floor across the room, and drops to his knees beside the photokinetic, whapping the back of his hand against Jax's bare shoulder, testingly. No response from Jax, really. A small flutter of eyelid. A brief limp twitch of arm. The skin beneath Ion's fingers is practically cold, by Jax-standards. Ion hisses out a small breath, smacking burned-bloody fingers harder against Jax's chest, this time. The touch sizzles and jolts with the crackle of energy coursing around his hands. He grips at Jax's shoulder, shaking a little harder as he casts a glance over towards Joshua in the corner, like, maybe a little help here? Jax's eye shoots back open, muscles briefly stiffening at Ion's /charged/ touches. His breath catches in a rough grunt, knuckles scraping against the floor as he pushes himself up with one arm. The other fist is lifting -- glowing bright and brilliantly fiercely meltingly hot -- to smack hard and solid against Ion's face. Again. And again. And again. Thiiis was not what Ion had planned for ohshit though the sudden application of /fire/ to his face means that his smile is getting even wider! Mostly, because his cheek is slowly melting /off/, skin peeling and tearing away to leave a skeletal grin beneath the mass of charring bubbling flesh. His head slams back against the concrete, and it's clear from the jerk-twitch of his body that he's not immune, himself, to the little shocks of energy spasming through him. His eyes roll back -- or maybe just look like they've rolled back, with as much as his face is getting /peeled/ just right now -- and his hands come up, thudding both palms hard against Jax's bare chest. The riot of light that happens next is brilliant, near-blinding. The basement falls into darkness once the lightning storm has faded. It takes a bit for Ines to get lights back /on/ to cast light on the scene. Two bodies still locked tight together on the singed floor, Ion's hands fused in against Jax's charred chest, Ion's face -- semi-attached to Jax's knuckles. Joshua is sliding down off the chair where he's been waiting to get to work, teeth faintly gritted against the scene in front of him though all he says to his fellow healer is: "... good fight." | |
