Post by Terminally Chill on Jul 9, 2017 16:27:04 GMT -5
“Like it or not... you will help me save this young man, even if indirectly.”
Wyatt couldn't help but crack a smile at the kid's sudden shift in disposition. Sure he was making this job a real pain in the ass, but there was something universally moving about an unassuming bookworm stepping up to protect an owl man.
“Alright kid, you're the boss after– eh?!”
The kid was actually serious.
Before the mercenary could make any move to stop his foolhardy client, he was dashing headlong into a certain doom. The kid managed to survive his first encounter with the silver harpy, but a second brush with her fists was likely to ensure Wyatt dropping off a little corpse on this Madame Almonte's doorstep. A dead kid meant no deal.
'What is he DOIN'?!'
Wyatt was on the bookworm's heels as both doubt and Silvia closed in.
Flash!
The mercenary brought a sleeve up to shield his eyes once again, sorely wishing he'd held onto those sunglasses from earlier. Despite Bronic's gauntlets fitting like pair of giant dishwasher's gloves, the kid managed to make them work.
As Silvia cursed in the dirt and the kid charged gallantly forward to aid his avian acquaintance, Wyatt made his decision. The duster flourished as he pivoted, standing stalwart between the silver-haired beauty and the mess going on with the eldest of the terrorist triad. Gogol was man of few words, and Wyatt knew that made him dangerous. He'd have to trust the owl man to keep his payday alive for now.
“And what are you going to do?” came an unstable growl. Silvia was on her feet now, watering eyes coming into focus on Wyatt's smug face.
“I'm gonna stop you,” the mercenary responded casually, a starkly cool contrast to the silver sibling's red-hot temper.
Silvia was past the point of coming up with an insult to spit at the hired blade, patience thrashed beyond recovery from dealing with the ridiculous duo of the kid and owl man.“MOVE!!”
She exploded forward in a whirlwind, wild in the eyes. Wyatt left boot shifted into the stance he'd taken hundreds, maybe thousands of times before. His left hand hovered dangerously over the hilt of his katana. Who was the fastest in the South?
A great jet blasted from Silvia's left fist to wipe the mercenary from the face of the market.
Shiiiiiing!
By the time the metallic ring registered, not a soul could be certain if Wyatt actually drew his sword. A bright streak hung in the air as blade returned to sheath. The wind split like a wave, rushing past the duelists before settling back into the light southern breeze. Silvia stood with her fist still outstretched, a series of dumbfounded blinks the only movement on her foot-stamped face. The most damage the attack did was knock a few of the mercenary's sandy locks out of place.
Shink.
With the sheathing complete, the damage was done. Silvia quickly shifted her gaze downward as a single cut flashed into existence on her chest. There was no blood – the wound did not so much as graze her dark skin. The silver-haired beauty's face quickly reddened as she realized her leather top was parting up the middle, scrambling to cover her chest before it became entirely exposed the melee swirling around them.
“Wh-what the hell kind of attack was that?!” Silvia spat out in a crimson-faced fluster.
“One that stops you from usin' those crazy wind punches,” Wyatt responded with a painfully confident grin, posture relaxing as the the katana to his side.
“Y-you underhanded, perverted b-bastard!” she barked with an awkwardly tempered ferocity, but remained still with her arms tightly across her chest.
Wyatt couldn't help but burst out laughing now.
“I sure as shit never counted you as the modest type!” he said between chuckles, wiping the start of a tear from his eye. The snickering died out and the swordsman gave a condescending wave of farewell to his mortified opponent.
Silvia's crystalline glare burned a hole in Wyatt's back as he turned away in victory.
“You dumbass...” she whispered with the hostility of a primal scream, creeping behind Wyatt with a slow gait.
“I'll just kick your goddamn head off!”
With her arms still wrapped tightly around her chest, Silvia unleashed another blustery jet from her heel and aimed a devastating roundhouse kick to crush the cocky mercenary's skull.
“Bad idea.”
Wyatt's voice was surprosingly level despite the impending threat of a violent death. Not even a single step was needed to avoid the killer kick. Silvia's aim was true, yet her attack was laughably off-course.
“Without usin' your arms for balance...” The warrior of wind let out a shrill shriek, whirring like a silver tornado through the air after the clear miss. “... There's no way you can throw a kick like that.”
Silvia skipped across the dusty dock like a ragdoll, howling suddenly silenced as her head bounced from the unforgiving timber with a resounding smack.
A final splash into the southern sea punctuated her painful trip. The silver menace floated face-down in the salty water, defeated.
Wyatt Wesson Smith let out a relieved sigh.
“I did tell her brother I'd take her out, right?”
The cringe-worthy verse of victory did not hang in the air long, as the urgency of the joint-effort against Gogol the gold cut straight to the mercenary's ears.
“Now, Mr. Owlman! Give him everything you've got!”