capeandcowllogs | (no subject)

(no subject)

WHO: Koltira (

reactionary)
WHERE: Some place with not a lot of civilians.
WHEN: Sunday night.
WARNINGS: Violence
SUMMARY: AN ELF AND A VIGILANTE WALK INTO A BAR
FORMAT: Quickpara.

Night. This city. That he didn't want to be in. Supposed to be dead, supposed to have died for a cause.

All of that null. And void.

Porter's fault.

Rorschach leapt from the roof he'd been crouched over, peering at the minimal traffic in the street, rising slowly. Stuffed his hands in his pockets and started to walk, briskly, in fervent search for something to vent on. Someone with a neck to snap, bones to break, some urban criminal worthy of being treated like less than the dirt on his shoes.

He needed to get this out of him.

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Having imbibed enough rum to kill anyone who wasn't already dead, Koltira stalked out of the bar and into the street. He wasn't drunk. But he felt so off-balance that it hardly mattered. In this world, he was not a warrior; he was a toy. A children's toy, no less.

He almost didn't notice when he bumped into the man in the mask.

At first, the bump was nothing. Rorschach encountered the action frequently. Sometimes the other person had done it on purpose, and sometimes it was just an accident. Usually the vigilante would continue on his way.

Not this time. Running into this stranger, all it took was a quick once-over glance, and Rorschach decided he was going to lash out.

Without word or warning he swung his fist toward the other person (mutant?), aiming for the face.

The other man's fist connected with Koltira's jaw squarely. He hadn't expected the sudden attack, and he was so preoccupied that his usual guard was down. But not anymore. Growling and wiping off the green ichor that flecked his lips, Koltira struck back, aiming for this stranger's stomach.

"Walk away," he said, hoping to knock the man off his feet and change his mind about this fight. Well. Mostly hoping.

The moment he was struck - taking the hit - Rorschach immediately grabbed for his opponent, anywhere he could grab, and tried to pull him down with him. The fall was inevitable.

Koltira's spiked armor offered plenty of opportunities for grappling, and his eyes widened in shock as the stranger grabbed for the decoration on his pauldrons.

"I have no quarrel with you--" He stumbled from the man's surprising strength and they hit the ground together with a heavy crack against the pavement.

All right. This man was serious, and now Koltira was angry.

He kicked viciously at the man's mid-section.

Rorschach grunted at the kicking, making no attempt to dodge or block the hits. Instead, he simply struck back with his fists, barely paying attention to key knock-out points or areas that would inflict more damage. Didn't care. He just wanted to hit something.

Koltira tried to catch the man's wrists, to squeeze them to the point of breaking, even though most of his strikes were glancing harmlessly off of Koltira's plate armor. Though Koltira's face was not in the best shape.

His wrists were grabbed, and Rorschach struggled violently under the vicelike grip, now attempting to drive his knee into the stranger's stomach to spur him to let go.

Koltira's armor absorbed the majority of the force from the masked man's knee, and Koltira increased the pressure on the man's wrists, grinding his teeth as he did so.

"Hngh..."

He could feel the bone on the edge of shattering, a sick popping sound accompanying each increasing pound of pressure, and could do nothing but continue to thrash about in his grip, trying to break free.

The sound of the man's bones cracking gave Koltira a horrible thrill. Sickened, he loosened his grip just enough for the man to wriggle away.

And wriggle he did, as well as roll off, clambering to his feet and bringing the hand up to his chest to test the amount of movement.

It hurt. Badly. But it wasn't enough.

Rorschach stood still for a moment before turning again, aiming a foot toward the stranger to kick.

Edited 2009-11-16 00:27 (UTC)

The man was relentless, and on some level, Koltira respected that. It was why he hadn't drawn his sword yet.

The man's foot slammed into Koltira's side, and he winced--again, his armor absorbed the better part of the blow, but there was weight in the man's attacks. Koltira swung out with a plated fist, moving quickly and close in order to punch the stranger in the throat.

He let out a choke from the punch, hands grasping around his neck as he coughed, unable to catch enough air for a dangerous few seconds. Stumbled back a bit, putting space between them while he regained his breath.

His fists would be next to useless if he struck out with them. Likely, they had a single punch each left, before he'd have to use something else to fight with. If he wasn't knocked out first.

Rorschach paused for moments before rushing back over, drawing a hand back and then throwing it forward to try to punch the man in the face once again.

Koltira reeled from the blow, but he recovered quickly, sneering, and reached out to try to grab the man's arm once more. If he caught it, then the stranger would have much worse to deal with than simple unconsciousness.

A dodge was attempted, but he could feel the material of his trenchcoat grabbed by inches. In retaliation, he swung into the grab, trying to get a final punch in with the other fist. The one just used was now undoubtedly too injured to be wielded again.

Koltira felt the bone in his cheek break, but he maintained his grip on the man's coat, digging into the material with his armored fingers.

"Last chance," Koltira spat, his voice thick with the ichor that filled his mouth. He still didn't know why this masked stranger had attacked him. But the man sure as hell would live to regret it.

No reply. Just more struggling against the grip, his mask's patterns fluctuating rapidly.

Unholy tendrils of shadow flowed from Koltira's hand, seeping past the fabric of the stranger's coat and stealing into his skin, into his veins. If the man did not pull away in that instant, he would find himself in pain beyond reckoning.

It was unlike anything he'd ever experienced. Rorschach went rigid, frozen in place as the pain overtook him, first pulling in a sharp breath from shock and then falling to his knees. He shook from the effort of trying to manage the pain, trying to force himself to stand again, to keep fighting.

Koltira had afflicted him with the blood plague, a powerfully debilitating but short-lived disease. Unless he applied it again, of course.

It had been a long time since Koltira fought with an innocent person. True, the man had attacked him out of nowhere, but he was not a ravenous minion of the Lich King; he was a normal man. In a mask, with uncompromising strength and endurance. But a fragile human man nonetheless.

Koltira drew Byfrost and raised the runeblade, intending to hit the stranger with its flat side, to knock him out so that he would be spared the pain.

The sword went unnoticed, his view kept on the ground as he strained to get back on his feet and continue. And so, his attempt to dodge was only half-successful. Rorschach was struck, and flung back from the force, hitting the pavement back-first.

Through the blackness beginning to overtake his vision he managed to push his upper body back up, wincing at the stabbing pain his wrists were suddenly affording.

"I did not want to do this, stranger," Koltira said. He spat more of his green blood onto the pavement; his cheek was most assuredly broken, and his jaw fractured besides. "Remember that."

Rorschach offered a hateful grunt in reply, rolling onto his stomach and pushing himself up once again, using his elbows. The pain from the previous attack was still systemically hurting, and he stayed in that position, trying to will it away.

"The pain will pass," Koltira said. He wobbled a little, and massaged his cheek. He felt pain most of any other senses, and it was stinging dully in the back of his brain. "Though you may black out first."

This man hated him, Koltira realized, and not for any particular reason he could discern. But that was fine; that was familiar.

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