you ain't no nice guy.

Chase waves off the apologies, back slightly hunched in a minor attempt to constantly make himself smaller. Cracks in the sidewalk pass, shoes dragging the pavement. It seems he cares little for the century-old paranoid saying, only realizing footsteps have stopped a little too late.

It’s kind of ironic, really.

Not that it matters if this guy is fooled or not -- it’s far too late for that to matter.

‘You heard him, right?’ he says suddenly, words aimed at Silver but stare on Proton now, engaging, threatening. He still hasn’t stopped coming forward; by the time his feet hit critical space, that area between shit-talk and fight, he’s already pushed past it. ‘Has something to do with me. Actually, s’got a lot to do with me – and I mean. If we’re being nice now…’

It’s like he’s got blinders on. He practically ignores Petrel as he gets in Proton’s personal space, stopping just a foot away from him. ‘I can’t just ignore ‘em. Right?’

The pause is meaningless. He surges forward and grabs the ridiculous R on the Rocket’s chest, dragging Proton down to his level. The look in his eyes is dangerous.

‘You ready for Round 2, fucker?’

He locks eyes with Gold, and doesn’t move an inch as he’s approached. The distance shortens dangerously, and it becomes evident this is mere moments from becoming a similar scene to the one it was a few weeks ago, and Proton has true little complaints. He’s still bitter, humiliated over the injuries he’d received, and regardless of what he’d dealt already…

He wanted to give it back tenfold.

Hands fist in his shirt, and he hisses slightly as he’s tugged downwards towards the other’s far shorter level. There’s liquid malice in those green eyes, and for a moment he simply gives the younger a dull look before he allows his lips to twist upwards. 」

That depends, shit-for-brains.

Are you?

「 Without one hesitation, one hand tightly balls into a fist, then shoots up and immediately slams down towards the younger’s face. 

Just like last time. 」

His own stupidity comes forth in the form of words, spat at the Rockets as if they tasted of brimstone. “I don’t give a damn what either of you has to say.” He doubts that will keep the taller from telling him something he absolutely does not want to hear, but he says it anyway, as staying silent is hardly an option.

When Proton leaps into action, so too does Silver, though not nearly in time to prevent a hit on either side. As if the two were creatures of rational thought, he shouts, “What the hell do you think you’re doing? Do you idiots think violence is gonna solve anything?”

The rest of this skit is going to be entirely improv, anyway.

<<Yeah... I’m sure you don’t, kid.>> He takes a real deep drag on his cigarette, burning it down to the filter before tossing it away, then begins the difficult maneuver that is getting out and lighting another one with just one hand; the crowbar, after all, is still hanging loose from his left hand.

<<Violence won’t solve anything, huh? Funny, hearing that from someone like you -- from what I heard, you were always the problem child, stealing and getting into trouble... >> He’s grinning around the cigarette he’s finally managed to light. <<Or are you going to pretend you’re a little better than that? Come on, try harder to convince your little friend here, because no one else is believing it. Probably not even you, right?>>

Petrel laughs, like he’s telling a joke instead of not-so-slyly making a dig at the kid.

      ❥  It wasn’t difficult to make a point of avoiding someone you didn’t want to see in this city– especially now that the space available to them had doubled with the introduction of the skyscrapers made of a once-grey sky. Yet, for all this mirror image did to enthrall his fellow citizens, without so much as a passing care did Roman pay the threat looming above, steps carefully measured where he traipsed his path along the pavement.

From the glowing end of his cigarette a faint curl of smoke wafted, gaze distinctly set to the immediate road strewn before him as what scant traces of day remained wore on into the flood of yellowing streetlamps which accompanied the onset of night. So did it go without saying that little forewarning was the thief permitted before within arm’s reach he had drawn to this particular predator staged now before him.

Relieved by a foreign hand of the cigarette at one moment comfortably poised between his lips, jade eyes lifted to scrutinize the features of the offending party. Familiar they appeared, the redhead taking a moment to place just where he had come by the sight of the other’s ire before…

Ah, that’s right…

      “Such a cold greeting… You could stand to look a lit-tle more pleased to see me. You’ll break my heart.” Teasingly was this remark imparted in the full knowledge that the line he toed was a precarious one indeed. For, it had been in the course of their last meeting perhaps a month prior that the fleeting relationship the two shared was thrown all out of sorts by some petty thievery. That was, if Roman had the capacity to settle for anything “petty” (which he didn’t).

      “Don’t be too upset now, dear. You’re not the first, and you’re certainly not the last. But there is a lesson to be learned from all this…don’t you think?”

Still, he’s not going to murder the man yet. Yet. Instead, he saunters on up as casually as he can manage -- leg’s treating him good today, a blessing all on it its own -- careful to keep in his blind spot so as to get the jump on the other before he ever realizes Petrel’s even there. He hasn’t planned this out in the least, aside from the obvious goal of revenge, and spotting him in a darkened street, lazing about and smoking a cigarette like he owns the place, gives him an idea, a flash in the old brain pan. 

He only has to lean just a bit to swipe the cancer stick straight out of Torchwick’s mouth, quick to take a deep drag on the thing before letting it rest in the corner of his mouth as he hovers over the seated man’s shoulder. Then, as an afterthought, he allows a single white-gloved hand come to rest uncomfortably close to the other man’s throat: a gentle reminder.

<<Yeah, I learned something, alright... you’re a lot more pleasant to be around when you can’t talk, Torchwick.>>

<<But I guess making off with the rest of my cash and my last pack of cigarettes was just a bonus, right?>> There’s an edge of harshness to his tone, normally so easygoing and jocular in nature, that Roman would do well to note. 

A lot has happened since the beginning of this “war.”

Their homeland hasn’t been safe by any means, but there isn’t a single doubt that they somehow have it worse than their opponents. While they’ve staged all-out assaults on the other city, they’ve only sent stragglers into theirs. Some of them are reasonably powerful, thereby commanding quite a bit of Silver’s time, but the rest? It’s nothing but child’s play, and he’s had enough of it.

A decision is made.

It isn’t long after he decides that he comes across a familiar face, and one of the most fitting for what he has in mind, on top of it. “Hey – Petrel!” Calling him by name; what a rare treat. “Come with me. We’re going into the other city.”

While he’s wondering whether or not he should make a couple calls and see if he can ditch what’s likely a fruitless venture in favor of getting drunk off his ass, the kid shows up. Though, he figures, he probably shouldn’t be calling his de facto leader a kid, but not saying it aloud helps greatly.

<<Getting antsy waiting around, then? I don’t blame you in the least, but... nah, it’s not my place to say no, right?>>

Chase jumps the slightest bit at the arm suddenly flung around his person, small smile somewhat awkward. It didn’t seem like there was any ill-intent behind it, so he shouldn’t really be complaining at the rare occurrence of somebody being nice. Besides, the odd way the other is walking suggests he’s not the only one with a bout of bad luck with injuries.

Fingers twitch, and for a moment he seems ready to decline. But finally, his shoulders sag in defeat and he slowly follows, lagging a bit behind. 」

…Right. Name’s Chase.

I’d rather not get shitfaced right now, so you don’t need to worry about that.

Instead, he’s walking to his veritable grave. So goes the job.

They head down about a half a block before Petrel points them around a corner, adding some nonsense about it being a ways before they reach his favorite joint, and would you forgive me for walking so slow?

Another block, they finally pass the building he’s staked out in this sector as a temporary base of operations. That, he figures, is close enough.

He doesn’t look…that bad, to be honest. Pretty nice, actually, even though Chase has learned to never judge based on appearances. It is a welcome sight, the carefree expression on his face. Viridian eyes blink at the laugh, and he actually feels his shoulders relax…a smidgen.  」 

What? I mean– yeah, I’m legal.

And, uh, thanks. First person to not give me crap for it.

「 The idea is ever so tempting, but warning signs still liner in the depths of his paranoid mind. He doesn’t know the older man, doesn’t know which side he’s on, despite how tired he seems like he is. 」

Not a bad idea, I guess. Would be nice to try and forget this stupid shit for a while.

Still, that jackass smile is on his face as this idiot starts to lower his guard like he’s never been swindled in his entire fucking life before now, so he figures he can lay it on a little thicker, and heartily swings an arm around the guy’s shoulder, gives a quick squeeze before letting him go and starting to walk on, playing up the hobble made evident from his bad leg.

<<Tell you what, I’ll even buy the first couple rounds -- hell, however long you last, so long as you don’t get piss-yourself, fall-down drunk, that is.>> He stops, turns around.

<<If we got a deal, you can keep following me. My name’s Petrel, by the way.>>

He didn’t belong at the front lines like all these people, though, and that was he only thing he was glad for; that he could leave the survival to someone else who knew what they were doing when it came to the battlefield. It would make no difference if he left, right? Or at least, that’s what he thought as he attempted to slink away from both the line of fire and line of sight.

The sudden cold weight on his shoulder is enough to nearly make him leap out of his skin, back rigid and surprise splashed over him like a canvas. It takes a second before he quickly tries to straighten himself and actually turn to look at the guy, but he manages. 」

Jesus christ, man, what the hell? You always make your job giving people heart attacks, or am I just special?

「 He shifts his footing and crosses his arms, a nervous habit. And he’s more than a little nervous, especially considering the object the other has in his hands. 」

In the end, though, they all end up bleeding the same. Bones crack the same. Fingernails? Teeth? Hair? Comes out the same. What they don’t do is scream the same -- that’s kept it interesting all these years.

Petrel is smiling the same goofy grin he’s always been known for throughout this line of thought, as if he’s planning nothing beyond going home and getting drunk and calling it a day.

Still, he laughs like he thinks this guy’s made the funniest joke in the world.

<<Haha! Yeah, you’re real special. Unique, anyway. First smart guy I’ve seen all day, getting away from it all.>>

starts sweating. 

Silver’s not supposed to be here – but then, neither is that asshole, turning the corner like he’s got every right to hang around. Gold lurches forward a step at the sight of him, expression darkening immediately. ‘Course… ‘course more Rocket douchebags are here.

‘Yeah? You’re being “nice?”’ he yells back, co-opting the conversation. He starts walking, coming in on the two Assholes Supreme. ‘So you don’t mind if I’m “nice” too, right? Help you out a little?’

He tosses a hesitant look over his shoulder, but doesn’t stop. Petrel being here is one thing, but Silver, he doesn’t have to hang around at all.

He’s better than this.

He slides beside his partner in crime without a care for the advancing younger boy, head cocking at the outburst and allows a scoff to slide from his lips. 」

Oh, what? You wanna carry our belongings like a good bitch boy? Or maybe you come crawling back to have me kick in your skull again!

Never took you for a masochist, but apparently breaking in your face wasn’t enough for you, was it?

「 He was really not in the mood for some little asshole’s bullshit.  」

The scowl he presents them is almost acidic in the way it burns. “Don’t fucking call me that,” he threatens, well aware that he’s never once spoken his name to one of these goons. “I don’t associate with cowards like him – or you.”

Then it’s Proton’s turn to chime in where he’s not wanted, and Silver’s eyes narrow further, burning scarlet beyond the grey. As Gold moves forward, so too does he. No longer is the blade of his tongue focused on his enemies, but one person he could almost call a friend. 

“I said, Stand aside, Gold. This doesn’t concern you.”

It doesn’t concern either of them, in the end.

It’ll be a real shame if he’s got to prove it.

Proton’s already champing at the bit, sour as he’s been these past few weeks about his broken finger, and Petrel is almost shocked he hasn’t started an all-out brawl yet. Not that it matters: they’ll get there soon enough, whether Petrel wants any part of this or not.

<<Jeez, the two of you have a lover’s spat or something?>> The cigarette is slid back between his lips for a long drag.

<<Alright, since I don’t have to be so nice anymore, you want to hear something, little mister daddy issues?>>