Recuperation and Reconstruction

[Kikori]

Kikori barely stifled the roar of pain that threatened to escape him as he brought the hot piece of metal to rest against the chest of his skin, the hot, sharp blade digging through him to remove one of the bullets lodged within him. Panting, he slowly manages to remove the slick ball of lead, dropping it down into the earth next to him. The campfire before him crackled, as if laughing, even as he chucked the knife blade back in to heat it up once more before grabbing the needles and string to sew himself back up. Around him the forest shifted and creaked with the gentle strength of the wind, and Kikori shuffled against the log he had felled in order to use as a seat. 

"Too damn cold." He murmurs, hissing as he set about his grisly business. Not for the first time did the man curse what he had had to do in order to quell the Thirst, as that often resulted in him getting shot up. Normally that wouldn't be an issue for the inhumanely tough and reinforced cyborg, but after a few mistakes and the fight with that Lyla woman... Kikori was feeling the pain. She had been strong, far stronger than anyone of her size had the right to be, and her treacle had done a number upon his saws. Said weapons were currently detached from him, disassembled and laying in pieces over on a small bench he had stolen when he first came to loguetown. 

Kikori knew he would eventually need to fix them up. That he would inveitably return to his grisly and bloody work, if only to hold back the red once more. But for now... he delighted in his temporary lack of the whispers, of the urge. It was just him. Just... him. Nothing else, and out here there would be no one else. It was regretful, but he couldn't risk the Thirst overwhelming him while he dealt with people. He was barely able to plan his attacks around factors. "God damn it..." He murmurs to himself, looking into the flames before him.

[SnowDog]

Anither successful venture out in the blue. The hammerhead fishman strolled back up onto the beach and shook himself dry, which didn’t do much for fishfolk, but it helped him feel less “drippy”. Slung over his left shoulder was a net filled to the brim with pieces of salvaged shipwrecks and other discarded articles of collected garbage. In his right hand he held on to a smaller net, though this one was filled with an assortment of fish he caught while under the waves. He began to walk his way back up the shore to find a place to camp out at for the night. He had to figure out a way to sell the salvage he had acquired in the morning, not exactly sure yet how he’d be able to get far without causing some kind of scene amongst the locals as most weren’t used to seeing a fishman around here. Eh, he figured that was a problem for Future-Oboro. Right now he needed to worry about frying up dinner or risk the his catch spoiling before the sun set.

As he walked up the path and into the woods, he could hear a faint crackling ahead, a faint light simmering between the trees. Looked like someone had built a fire just up ahead. Oboro began to wonder if he could offer a fish or two in exchange to camp there for the night. That is if they welcomed fishmen too... But why would they be outside the city in the first place?

Oboro shuffled through the brush and closer to the fire, raising a salutary hand wave towards the makeshift camp goers.

“Hello there! My name’s Oboro and I was wondering if-“ His voice immediately cut once he stepped closer to the fire, the warm dancing light fully illuminating the mess of flesh and metal that lie before him. There was blood and spent bullets strung about. He practically froze in place as he wondered who or what he had just stumbled upon. “You uh-... is everything okay?”

[Kikori]

Kikori glanced up towards where the voice came from with a snarl, metallic fingers flexing as he instinctively switched them back out for his saws. Saws that were... currently in pieces by his side, with his arms suddenly being stumps. For a moment a beat passes, before the red faced man realises something. Despite the closeness of this complete stranger, he... wasn't feeling the bloodlust. Well, not to an unmanageable extent. So, with a rasping sigh, his hands once more switch out as he looks up towards the... fishman. With an odd collection of things slung over his shoulder. 

Glancing around him, Kikori could see why the fishman would be curious. he supposed that to most it'd be pretty damn weird to come across him like this, although he wasn't sure how to explain that to them. Them? They had said their name. Before. They were... they were... Kikori shakes his head. Even when like this, everything was so... foggy. "Yeah. Got shot, and attacked by some... magic girl." He finally says, fingers flexing as he continues to patch himself up. "If you wanna stay... you can." He might be able to control himself that long. A hand gestures towards a clear space opposite of his own tent, the grass there flattened and a log already adjacent to it. "What are you doing out here?" It probably had something to do with... to do with that bag of random things he had. Salvage of some sort? Fishmen and their ability to... to breathe? Under water. 

[SnowDog]

Magic... girl? What was this guy talking about? Oboro eased up a bit as he was permitted to sit down near the semi-metal man. He set both of the nets he had down to try and examine further who or what exactly he was looking at. Looked fairly human but also... metallic? Was this guy some kind of cyborg? They actually exist? Then he rasped out a question for the hammerhead fishman.

“Oh me? I uh- I just came back from collecting some salvage...” He sheepishly replied, his eyes trying to look away from the mess of metal around the scary looking man. Was he broken? He mentioned getting shot earlier but... “Was gonna take it to town in the morning after it all dries out over night to make some Beli.”

Oboro took a seat adjacent from Kikori and began to open up the net of fish, prepping it to cook over the fire. “Are you hungry there, guy? Do you... Do you eat?”

[Kikori]

"Mm." Was the only reply from Kikori, even as the fish man made to sit adjacent to him. Shaking his head slowly in a futile attempt to clear some of the fog... of the... the mist within his mind, he glances towards him at the mention of salvage, only just noticing the bag of random parts. That made sense, he supposed. The fishmen could breathe underwater, after all. Everyone knew that. He watches silently as the man brings out some fish he had caught, propping them over a fire, the smell of roasting meat quickly beginning to fill the air around them even as a question was sent Kikori's way. Did he eat? Did he... did he eat? He... he... 

Another shake of the head, this time a hand being brought up to touch the side of the metal that encapsulated his head. Metal that trapped him, that would never let him go wouldn'tletgo wontletgo- Another shake, and then he nods. "Yeah." He responds vaguely, before reaching for a small flask to the side. Tilting his head back, the cyborg's maw opens as the flask is tilted toward him. The acrid scent of diesel fills the air as the oily black liquid disappears down his gullet. Shaking his head, a metallic arm comes up to scrape with the metal of his maw, unsuccessfully trying to remove the droplets that had escaped him. "Oil for steel. Blood for flesh." He whispers, half to himself. A reminder, to not forget, to make sure he would always remember... remember... remember what? 

Looking up from where he had been staring into the fire, eyes hidden stucktrapped behind reflective glass look towards him. "Do you... have a name?" He asks, focusing upon the conversation even as a hand reaches for some of the spare parts of his saws. Now that the gunk was gone from them, it was time to start putting them back together. The magic girl had managed to hurt them. Some form of treacle, or sap that clogged his machinery. 

SPOILER: Click to show

{Music}
Made listening to this

[SnowDog]

Oboro periodically glanced up from preparing the fish as the semi-metallic man responded to his inquires, albeit in a rather strange and cryptic matter. The guy looked like he was in rough shape. Well, more so than a half metallic man could look at least. It was like watching a shipwreck happen in real time, he didn’t wanna state but it was hard to look away. At least he could distract himself somewhat by worrying about descaling and cooking the collected fish. As he continued cooking, his nose tingled at the scent of diesel fuel wafting by and momentarily masking the scent of his cooking. Oboro looked on in bewilderment as he watched Kikoro guzzle down the fuel, his stomach churning slowly at the sight. ”Man and here I was thinking people thought *we* were weird!” he thought to himself because going back to gutting his dinner. He did was he could to preserve the entrails as he could also take these to sell these as well to the time, either as a delicacy to some or give to doctors for medicinal purposes.

“Oh, my apologies, thought I had introduced myself earlier.” The hammerhead fishman responded scratching at the back of his head almost in embarrassment. “My name’s Oboro; Shipwright by trade, Fishman by birth.” He paused for a moment and tried to reflect on how he just gave the cyborg that kind of answer. That felt... dumb. Still, conversation was at least being made. He took a quick bite into a piece of seared fish before switching back to his own inquiry for the metal man.

“I also forgot to thank you earlier for sharing your fire with me this evening, Mr... Oh I don’t think I got your name earlier either.”

[Kikori]

Kikori stared, almost blankly, as the fish... fishman gave his name. Oboro. That rung a bell. Had he met an Oboro before? Maybe. Things were just... what was he thinking about again? Ah. Oboro. He had known an Oboro, he remembered now. They... he... he had been a.. a fishman? "Hello. Oboro." He murmurs, before returning to his work. Now that the gunk, the treacle rather, had been cleared from his saws... It was time to put them back together. His arms worked in practised motions, checking each tooth, eyeing and feeling each chain. The saws were his lifeline, the only thing he could really depend upon. They were the tools, and him the one to use them. They couldn't afford to be damaged. 

He only looked up when the fishman, Oboro, oboro, oboro, asked him his own name. "It's..." Kikori starts, debating whether or not he could share it. He did bad things. He might be wanted. Or... he was wanted? Then again, the fishman didn't look scary. He looked scary. "Kikori. Kikori... Kikori suto?" The name was odd on his tongue, like something musty or unused. A hand reaches over to grab a small piece of iron, before jabbing itself and the iron into the fire in front of them. Heat was needed for some parts in order to get rid of the treacle. From where he was working, he glances towards the pile of junk next to the fishman. Salvage? "How much for a sheet of metal?" He questions. Teeth were needed for the saws. Teeth to rend. Teeth to tear. Teeth to kill. 

[SnowDog]

Kikori, so that was his name. Oboro felt himself sigh in relief that he at least had a name, a part deep within him fearing for the worse that he may have been some escaped lab experiment straight out of one of those horror novels he had tried to read when he was young. Still, the shark man couldn’t help but try to figure out how or why he looks like this. Was he even human to begin with? He began to chew into another bite of cooked fish as the metal man began his next inquiry.

“Sheet of metal?” He finally responded after clearly his throat of food. He looked over his shoulder to his pile of “loot” and reached for the nearest piece he could immediately see. He pulled out a sizable bit whose weight didn’t trouble him at all and pulled to closer to the fire to examined it in the light. “Well if it wasn’t for the small amounts of rust that has accumulated, I would normally offer a price of around 1500 to 2000 beri for something this sized. Given their current condition, I’ll sell it for 1000.” Oboro spun the metal piece around his fingers before reaching out as if to hand it to Kikori.

“Would you- would you like some help with that?” The fishman inquired, switching subjects taking note of the tattered and mangled chainsaw bits that laid out around Kikori. “I mean my forte is boats, but the mechanical work there shouldn’t be too hard if you need some help putting things back together.”