The haughty dragon got up, the world still spinning. Bruised along the side of his face, blood drying against strands of his hair. All that he did was return the other with a nasty glare. Sitting his ass on the wooden table holding together several jars and trinkets.
Masamune’s anger was just bubbling now, watching as the pirate gave him a cocky grin. Boy he wished he could beat that shitty ass smirk out of him. Masamune wanted to so bad, drag the guys face right in the dirt where it apparently belonged.
The silence of the dragon was something to always be weary of, if anything it was the most deadliest thing next to his claws. There was no way he’d give up, or ever stop. Not unless he’d get knocked out cold.
He slides off the wooden table, rubbing some blood from his nose off his face. Masamune staggers a bit, but he breaks into a run aiming to slam an upper cut under the others chin. Otherwise he’d flip back, kick even, hell there was no fucking way he was going to go down without the other getting to an inch of his life.
That eye widened as there was no time to react, Motochika was too busy stroking the ego he had to see the Dragon moving in on him. Then there it was, a hard collision with the underside of his chin and if it weren’t for the fact that Masamune weakened his jaw prior, the pain wouldn’t have been this dreadful; he even bit his tongue a little. See, Motochika. This is what happens when you don’t keep your mouth shut.
The impact itself though, was strong enough to bring Motochika off his feet and to fall square on his ass. He was a little dazed, probably moreso, but like hell he was going to just sit there and allow that bastard to get another move on him.
“That was a cheap shot, Dragon..!” He growled, a line of red trailing from the corner of his mouth.
It might not have been as quick as Masamune, but if the bastard was close enough after that dick move, Motochika swung his leg out as swiftly as he could, in hopes of kicking him right from under his feet.
Fist came to face with a stunning recoil to his own face, he could have sworn it happened in slow motion. Feeling the others fist pound right against his face like he was a brick wall, no holding back. Just pure force whacking against him; Masamune unfortunately couldn’t return the punch with that much power. Stumbling back entirely crashing into a vender’s shop. Breaking several pots in the process.
“Ahh fuck…” Masamune grumbled not sure where the sky was at this point.
His head ached unbelievably, ears ringing. Masamune was certain he could hear someone shouting at him but where the fuck from.
When it came down to it, Motochika’s bite was definitely worse than his bark and Masamune met the fate of learning that fact no doubt. Though the pirate had his own fate to meet and he stumbled back, both of his hands now clasping his dislodged and bleeding nose. Oh man, did it hurt–and it hurt enough to give him one hell of a headache, too.
“…Is that it?” Motochika asked with a haughty tone, clearly out of breath, all the while trying to crack his nose back into place.
“I was expecting more from the Mighty One-Eyed Dragon.” Stop it, Motochika. Provoking him isn’t going to help this situation at all.
Being tossed around in the air wasn’t a damn fuckin’ problem. Granted the others grip had been damn tight. One that Masamune wouldn’t be able to slip himself out of, which was why he prep’d for the throw. Slightly peeved by being treated like a rag doll, he flips mid air landing in a pile of rubble nearby.
By this time people were running about, several screaming and getting angry at the two rowdy males who couldn’t be minded to take their fight outside, “Che, You aint too bad Chousokabe. But YOU’LL HAVE TO DO BETTER THEN THAT, YOU SEE?”
The whole point of this fight had been lost and now the battle was merely who was stronger, him or the pirate?
They’d soon find out as their fighting would continue, this time Masamune charged forward. Throwing several punches, aiming to find the big guy’s weakness. In his position, the only good points where how fast Masamune knew he could be. Meanwhile, Motochika had the strength of several men on his side, but also seemed to throw all his energy into single attacks. Much like the way Motochika fought with his anchor, it all had been dependent on how hard his anchor would hit. If he could hit at all—mind you. The bastard might have had a horrible sense of direction, but he damn sure would know where to lug that heavy weapon of his.
It completely slipped Motochika’s mind that they were having this little quarrel of theirs where others could easily get involved. It didn’t matter though, not now–not when Masamune was trying his damn well best to hit him. Motochika was strong, but he wasn’t equally agile, which the Dragon had the upper hand and made it more difficult for him. He tried, though–Motochika tried to defend himself against those incoming punches.
But he only had so much patience for this guy and it was wearing thin. Just defending himself wasn’t getting them anywhere and he needed to get the bastard away from him and fast.
He saw–or at least he thought he saw–Masamune going into punch his gut and figured he’d take the chance and aim his own fist at the other’s face.
“GOTCHA–”
Unfortunately, the poor guy misinterpreted where he was aiming for, and as soon as he took that opening to punch the fucker in the face, he felt the Dragon’s own fist meeting his.
The punch to his chest had been direct despite the dragons quick movements to back away. Still, he managed to move a bit away finding himself gasping for air all too suddenly. But this was just the beginning and even knowing that he’d be bruised badly on his chest, there was no way in hell he’d give up now.
Several steps were taken back, and the samurai quickly regained his posture. Dashing to the others left, Masamune aimed to launch another punch square at the others jaw. Grinning all the while.
“iS THAT ALL YOU GOT PiRATE? EH?”
Of course Masamune would attempt an attack on his blind side–he saw it coming. It was an advantage anyone would use, in fact. Still, he kept his ground and once that fist was about to make contact for a second time, his forearm was swift to block yet another collision with his jaw. What was with the Dragon and trying to break his jaw today? Sheesh, man.
It was his turn now.
“WE’RE JUST GETTIN’ STARTED, DRAGON. DON’T GET SO COCKY.” As if Motochika wasn’t guilty of that himself.
With Masamune’s wrist fortunately close, Motochika was quick to grab it and grip it immensely. Seriously, for a guy who lugs around a 40,000 ton anchor, you’d think his grip would be killer. But now came the fun part for Oushuu’s Dokuganryu. Jerking his arm back, his feet still stationed firmly on the ground and Masamune’s wrist still in his grasp, he whipped his arm forward and threw that motherfucker, his trademark shark-bite grin plastered on his face.
“I SAW A DAMN PiECE OF YOUR CLOTH RiGHT BY WHERE—”
Suddenly Masamune could swear he saw stars because shit that fucking hurt. Unfortunately, that only drew the line between their little fight they were both having. Backing away to regain a sense of balance, the one-eyed dragon pulled his arm back throwing both himself and his elbow forward to come in contact with the others face.
This mean’t war now.
“TCH!!”
You would think after headbutting him, Motochika would have the right mind to keep his guard up, right? But to his surprise, an elbow was making a hard collision with his face. Way to fucking go. Now if the Demon of the Western Seas wasn’t quick to retort though, his jaw might have been broken, but he was quick. He kept his ground, feet planted, and with a clenched fist, he launched it right into that dragon bastard’s gut.
This meant war alright.
“IT WAS A DUMB MISTAKE TO PICK A FIGHT WITH ME, DRAGON.”
In a situation like this, Luke was at a lost. He didn’t know any healing artes, and while he had ran into Tear earlier in the week.. he doubted she was nearby. Guy did mention Natalia was here too.. but if they weren’t RIGHT here, then there healing artes would do him no good. He cursed under his breath, searching with his eyes for something to at least cover the wound so he could continue working. The last thing he needed was to get something stuck in there and infected.. Mother may not like if her son returned without a limb.
If he ever found out how to leave this place.. dammit all..
A voice startled him, mainly because when he had entered earlier he thought he had looked closely enough to make sure it was vacant. Guess not. Still seated on the garbage throne, Luke looked up at the massive man and frowned. He stank of alcohol- cheap alcohol. Didn’t this guy have any class either, where was his god damn shirt? What was on his face too. “S-shut up, like I needed some stupid pirate wannabe to tell me how it looks.” That’s what this guy was, right? He had read stories of them with Guy- about pirates with ships and eye-patches. Where was the wooden leg and the parrot though? Almost as if he was embarrassed about his damaged hand, he hid it behind his back. “You’re blocking my sunlight- move or make yourself useful and get me a cloth or something. Do you know any healing artes? N-not like it hurts or anything, I just don’t have time to sit here and let it heal on itself!”
It hadn’t been five minutes and he was already getting some kind of attitude; typical for a kid, no doubt. The insults–or attempted insults were dull and overlooked, something he’d have a hard time doing if it’d been someone else. Usually brats had a knack at getting under his skin (really, he was terrible with kids), but this one was in need of some aid and he wasn’t one to turn someone down when they were clearly helpless.
What the kid had asked for though, brought one hell of a confused look to Motochika’s face.
“Healin’ artseys..?” He mispronounced.
“I got no idea what you’re talkin’ about, kid. But I might have somethin’ to cover that up.” As he didn’t have a piece of cloth to spare and most of his apparel was battered with dirt from digging in the junkyard, he saw no harm in tearing off some from the material hugging his waist. It was quick to remove and would be easy to replace, yet what was left remained where it’d been initially. Wouldn’t want something falling down, now would we?
“Now, lemme see that hand of yers.” His own–larger in comparison–had extended, in hopes that this strange kid would cooperate.
Was this what had become of the heir to the esteemed Fabre name? Digging around in a dumpster? Admittedly- this was far from a dumpster. Rather an entire collection of junk, technology, cogs, metal- you name it and it was visible in one of these monstrous heaps! There were mountains upon mountains of this stuff, and it looked.. untouched. Had nobody thought to look around in these heaps for something of worth.. Didn’t anyone want to get home? Was this truly what people were beginning to call.. home?
Idiots, the whole lot of them!
After overhearing a civilian speak of the junkyard Luke Fon Fabre had made his way towards the place even though his pride urged him to stay away from a place so dirty. Was he desperate? Going insane at the idea of a life without servants and without class? Likely a terrible combination of both.
Upon entering the area (and scanning worriedly about for any familiar faces. Lorelei knows they wouldn’t let him live it down..) Luke settled at the base of a random pile of junk. With disgust visible in his eyes, he reached a pair of elegant hands into the pile and.. felt around. What did a teleporter even feel like? Did those exist? Was this.. new world set in the future, past, his own time? Maybe if he could find something of worth, or a couple of things.. he could bring them to Guy and he could…-
Luke yelped, yanking his hand out and staring with disinterest at a gash that ran the length of his palm. Blood as red as his hair, it was almost.. fascinating if not for the dull throb initially felt. “G-god damn it..” What did he even cut his hand on, anyways? Like hell he was going to reach back in and find out…
The Junkyard: a perfect place to scavenge for materials for building and if you were lucky enough, valuables for keeping. Motochika had over heard about such a place and figured if he was going to spending his time here, why not do something productive? Not only did he want to make something like good ole’ times, but maybe whatever he managed to create would be of use to getting back home.
It didn’t take the pirate long to start digging in those piles of junk when he arrived. He couldn’t believe it–you could say he was overwhelmed by the fact that all this stuff seemed to have some worth and yet it went untouched; he was in pirate paradise. It didn’t matter though, because he was here and he’d be damned if he was going to let anything go, especially if it’d be useful to his cause.
He was there for hours maybe, picking out what he deemed usable, placing what he found in certain piles he had made of his own. There was even a little pile of things he thought he could make a profit from. But while he was looting this place from top to bottom, a yelp caught his ear–it seemed to be close. So he wasn’t alone here, eh? Might as well check it out.
Motochika’s assumption was correct–it was close. After he peeked out from behind one of the piles of junk, he saw a head of red squirming around.
“Oi.” he called out. “You alright there?” The Demon of the Western Seas was already up in this stranger’s personal space, peering to see the source of the squirming.
That was some gash. “Aaah, that doesn’t look so good.”
“Borrow things that ain’t yours—” Oh now you done it,”MiGHT AS WELL HAVE FUCKiNG SAiD ,’Oi OVER HERE i DONE iT!’ IF YOU DONT DAMN COUGH OVER THE HELMET, I SWEAR I’LL MAKE YOU FUCKiN’ REGRET iT, NO SWEAT!”
“EH? THAT’S CHEEKY COMiNG FROM A GUY WHO CAN’T EVEN TELL HiS WAY FROM NORTH TA DAMN SOUTH!” Masamune kept that finger there and if anything pressed harder against the others chest.
“REGRET IT? REGRET WHAT? DO YOU EVEN HAVE ANY PROOF THAT I TOOK YER’ STUPID HELMET?” He retorted–but before he could continue spouting off that mouth of his, there was that low blow. Why, man? Why?
First he’s accused, then insulted? Motochika wasn’t going to stand for that and neither was his temper. Seriously, Masamune was in for it.
Since the bastard was close enough and already invading his personal space with that damn finger of his, why not take this opportunity to headbutt the fucker? And that’s exactly what he did.
In speaking of being a damn dragon their was that one time—
“Oi!” Masamune walked up to the other. Shoving his pointer finger at the others chest, eye averting looking angrily up at his taller counter part. As if height was going to make a damn difference, “M’ACCUSinG YA BECAUSE iT DAMN MAKES SENSE.”
“How the hell does it make sense?! Just ‘cause I happen ta’ borrow things that ain’t mine doesn’t mean squat!” He openly admitted.
Oh yeah, the difference in height was obvious. Motochika had his own eye lower to meet the other’s as he happened to be closer to him now; it narrowed, too. That finger, though–if the dragon didn’t remove it from his person soon, he’d break it off.
“AND BESIDES, IS THIS HOW YOU TREAT PEOPLE WHO TRY TA’ HELP YA’?”
