WIP Wednesday (24/07, part 2)
Catching up with last week's asks!
All snippets from Shadows, a Borderlands/Don't Starve crossover, heavily Rhack-centric, but also featuring Angel!
CW: non-graphic, but violent fistfight
“Uh. ‘evening, kiddo.” Jack raises a hand in a tentative greeting.
The next thing he knows, there is a fist flying into his face.
“Whoa!” Jack ducks out of the way of the punch, just in time for Rhys’s attack to land a glancing blow on his shoulder instead of crashing straight into his jaw. “Hey, hey, we don’t need to—UGH!”
Before he can finish the sentence, Rhys spins around and slams a fist into his stomach. This one lands dead on, causing Jack to drop his bag and double over. He coughs, or tries to, to get his breath back.
“Okay… okay!” he manages, one hand thrust in front of him, palm open and, hopefully, placating. “I deserved—kheh—that one. But can we—ow—talk now? Maybe?”
Rhys closes the distance between them, grabs the lapels of Jack’s coat and drags him upright so their faces are level, and only a few inches apart.
“I’ve heard enough of your goddamned talking,” he hisses, teeth baring into a snarl, “for a goddamned lifetime!”
There’s nothing Jack can do to evade the next hit. Except squeeze his eyes shut and then, a second later, try not to bite his own tongue off as he hits the ground.
His teeth haven’t even stopped rattling from the impact yet when Rhys is upon him, landing punches without rhyme or reason. Twenty years ago, Jack would’ve been able to give as good as he was getting; the way things are, his best bet is dodging what hits he can, blocking the ones he can’t, and hoping that Rhys will tire himself out before any teeth get knocked out, or bones broken.
A few poorly-timed blocks later, Jack is reconsidering his strategy, as Rhys appears to have all the energy and ferocity of a rabid squirrel. Not to mention that he—rather unsportingly!—definitely does not shy away from using his still-animated prosthetic arm just as much as the real one.
“Hey!” Jack snarls, barely managing to catch a blow from the wooden knuckles on his arm instead of chin. “I was the one who put magic into that blasted arm of yours, you little shit!” He uses a momentary pause in Rhys’s attack to grab the arm in question. “How about some goddamned professional courtesy, huh?”
“Oh, where are my fucking manners?” Rhys spits. He yanks his arm free and grabs Jack by his front again. “You want my thanks, Carter? Here it comes! This”—he slams Jack’s shoulders into the ground—“is for teaching me how to make infernal machinery that almost killed me! This”—a short lift, another slam—“is for giving me the unique opportunity to go on an expedition that has actually killed me, at least three times! This—”
“Fine!” Jack tries to pry Rhys’s hands off of him. “You’ve made your point! Enough is enough.”
“Oh, you don’t get to tell me when enough is enough, Carter.” Rhys shakes his head, nostrils flared. “You don’t get to tell me anything anymore. We’ll be done when I say we’re done! And I still haven’t decided if you’ll even still be alive by that point!”
”Okay.” Jack holds out his hands, palms out. “You want to keep yelling at me, fine. You want to keep whaling on me, even though by this point you’re just beating on an old man? Fine. But may I suggest we take this closer to the fire? Because the light is going, fast, and at this rate, even if you kill me, you won’t live long enough to enjoy it.”
“Oh, don’t give me this crock!” Rhys scowls. “‘You’ve got to stay out of the darkness, kiddo’, ‘there are powerful beings in this realm, kiddo’,” he sing-songs, in a terrible imitation of Jack. “That only worked when I didn’t know that the powers, and the monsters, and the darkness, and everything I was supposed to be afraid of in this nightmare land is all just your DAUGHTER!”
“You… you’ve met Angel?” Jack raises himself on an elbow. “When did you see her? Is she alright?”
Rhys stares down at him with an expression that suggests Jack has grown at least three extra heads, but lacks the brain to fill even the original one.
“Yes, I’ve met her. But judging from your questions, I’m not sure you have. How could she not be alright? She is some kind of shadow… goddess!”
Jack winces. Then winces again, because it hurts to wince. “It’s… more complicated than that, kid. Believe it or not, there are still things here that you don’t under—”
A fist smacks into Jack’s jaw without a warning.
“What the hell?”
“No, go on.” Rhys gives him a poison-tipped smile. “Tell me more about all the mysteries of this realm that I still don’t understand. Starting with your darling Angel. Incredible name, by the way. Just perfect to fool saps like me into believing she’s a poor little girl who needs help. Was it your idea, or did she choose it herself?”
A cold pit opens in Jack’s stomach, and is filled with lava immediately after. His hand moves so fast, he only registers it when his fist is buried in Rhys’s side. Caught entirely off-guard, Rhys coughs out a muffled ‘urk’ and topples sideways. Jack shoves him off the rest of the way and pulls himself to his feet.
Once he’s up, he looks down on Rhys. The young man, still a bit stunned, gawks up at him.
“Her mother picked the name,” Jack says.
Then he turns around and walks towards the dying fire.
