nysalogs | Iron Justice

Entry tags:

Iron Justice

Who: Victarion Greyyjoy (

ironchecked), Prompto Argentum (

punshots & Lance (

competing)
What: Daytime Robbery and the Arrest that follows
When: Afternoon
Where: Olympia Marketplace
Warning(s): May contain the sorts of things you see on Game of Thrones

It had been some days since Victarion returned from the ocean, now with a pocket full of silver from his time in the fighting pits. He carried much of his wounds buried beneath leather armor and a thick mane of hair and beard, but a cut ran across his cheek and he had a blackened left eye. It did not, on the whole, do much to make him look that much friendlier even with his blackened molten-like arm concealed. But he had coin now and he was keen to find himself a good solid shield since he had arrived without his. This had led him to the marketplace where he was being overwhelmed by frantic merchants shouting out prices, offering incredible products, and producing so much bustle that Victarion was already feeling his head begin to pound.

Worse yet, no one seemed to be able to give him decent directions to the shield maker's place of business. Whenever he would arrive where he thought he should be, it would end up being some different store. He walked into a dress shop at one point and was so annoyed at the burst of giggling at his expense that upon walking out, he slammed the door to the shop so hard that the glass shattered. That should have been enough to cause him trouble, but he was still trying to find his way around. And everywhere he went, they wanted his silver. Things did not much improve from there. Merchants would stand in his path unbidden and offer him, thrusting trinkets in his path until he would shoulder his way past them. At one point, some shabby looking man came offering him a free sample of his fruit which, at last, Victarion reluctantly took. He ate the fruit as a dirty looking boy ran by, but ultimately declared it tasted rotted and spat it back in the man's face.

Finally, he found the shield maker's place of business. He could afford the shield and walk away with it, but he would need to pay extra to have the emblem of House Greyjoy painted on. It was a deal he was prepared to make, until the moment came that he reached for his coin purse and found it no longer there. A quick and heated argument broke out with Victarion throwing accusations of theft before storming out of the building. Another half hour past before he spotted the same shabby man he had come across before, still peddling his rotted fruits. Victarion cornered him quickly, demanding his money back and when the man proclaimed to know nothing and insinuated that Victarion was not only mistaken but stupid as well, then there was really nothing for it. He had no choice.

There were screams and the smell of burning leather as Victarion lifted the man clear off the ground, holding him by the neck and squeezing with his burned hand. The fire within it seemed to burn, melting the glove he wore over it into the burned flesh. The man gurgled, struggled to pry away the Ironborn's fingers, but it did him no good. His fingers squeezed tighter and tighter until, at last, there was even a crunch. The man's leg stopped kicking and went limp. Justice had been dealt out, just as the Ironborn would have it. Now he needed only find the boy...

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[ You know, a lot of this trouble could have been avoided if he would have just asked his friendly, neighborhood royal guards for directions.

While it couldn't be said that Prompto was complacent, he'd gotten into the groove of things in the Market District, and while crime was certainly a problem there - was it ever - it's usually petty theft that ends with a proverbial slap on the wrist and the occasional jail-booking for repeat offenders. He has a bleeding heart, and even then, he has trouble putting people away. They should be trying to help them instead of locking them away, but there's only so much he can do under Ashti's rules and at the end of the day, if the streets of Olympia can be safer because of what he's doing, then that's all that matters.

Or, it's at least mostly what matters.

A slow morning is a good thing, really, and the time always passes when he's paired up with Lance for patrols, like he is today. In fact, it's not long until they're due to clock out for the day, and Prompto stretches his arms above his head as they walk and talk. Little does he know that his idyllic afternoon reverie is about to be interrupted by something so terrible as this.

But that's just what happens. It's the commotion that catches his attention first; people shouting and running, and he immediately forms into action, drawing one handgun and running until he can see the men at the center of the burgeoning crowd. Well - one man, at least, the other now a corpse, and for a moment, Prompto stands rooted to the spot in abject shock, his stomach lurching.

What...what the hell - ]

Don't - don't move! [ He finds his voice, despite his heart hammering against his throat. Every scenario starts to flood his mind. There are too many civilians around here. Would this man try to hurt - no, not just hurt - someone else?

In case he does, Prompto trains his weapon on the man, taking only fraction of a second to glance over to see if Lance has joined him at his side. ]

[ he was there, uncommonly silent, a look of similar horror etched into sharp lines across his face. gone is the normally sunny expression he wore, often mirroring prompto's own as they mill about the market district, exchanging stories between each other, and greetings among the various patrons and vendors of the district. they were both softies, at heart, perhaps known for their soft hands when it comes to enforcing the law, but for the most part their compassion had always won out in their favor... though looking upon the scene before them now, lance cannot help but wonder if this day would be an exception.

in his own hands is his rifle, already trained on the man — specifically the blackened arm that holds the corpse high up in the air. his breath catches in his throat, the area around them already beginning to smell of burning flesh, making him feel ill. ]

We're members of the Royal Guard, [ he finally speaks up, taking care to keep his voice even and clear. he spares a glance prompto's way, quick and sharp; slowly, carefully, he begins to move, parting from the other in an attempt to circle the large man. ] We keep the law around here. Just, uh... Put the guy down and let's talk about this, alright?

[They needed no introduction. The two men were clearly of the royal guard, as Victarion had seen these people before. He passed the two over with a withering look, idly wondering where they had been when the theft had first occurred. But so be it, if they wanted to keep the law, let them.

He tosses the corpse in front of them.]

This man was a thief and a liar, so I have given him justice. Do as you like with him.

[He turns, making ready continue on his way before Lance gets ahead of him.]

[ So, looks like talking is out, then.

Prompto's heart sinks into his stomach as the man so casually drops the corpse to the ground. It isn't the first time he's seen a body, and it won't be the last, but there's something about how unconcerned this man is with his own actions that has an icy chill running just under Prompto's skin. Death should never be so unremarkable, and that sure as hell isn't any brand of justice that he ascribes to, regardless of what the man's crimes may have been.

And that stings, too - that they weren't there sooner, that they didn't catch the man thieving before things could escalate to this point. This...they could have prevented this. They could have -

But he doesn't have time to get wrapped up in his own reflection, because the man is on the move before Lance can completely cut him off. Swiftly, Prompto draws his second handgun, this one trained at the man's feet.

He calls over his shoulder: ] We need everyone out of this area! Please! [ There's no denying the way his voice shakes, the desperation it bears, but fortunately, most of the remaining onlookers scatter. Good. They need civilians as far out of this man's range as possible until they can subdue him.

Which leaves no room for failure, now. He cocks both weapons, a hard, focused look in his eyes, as he edges closer. ]

Take one more step, and we fire. [ He swallows. ] We don't have to do it this way. Just surrender and we'll - we'll figure this out.

[ lance spares too much time looking at the body on the ground, a second more to shut his eyes to the sight. death, he isn't quite so accustomed to, especially not like this, so vivid and careless. renvolio, the man's name had been, a usually harmless street peddler that often dabbled in the very thievery they were meant to quell. lance himself had given the man and his accomplice (a younger boy that lance hopes is far, far away from the scene now) a couple of warnings here and there, and once even took them to the jail himself to spend overnight. their thefts had been small, petty things; never more than they could carry, never more than they needed for the week. lance's bleeding heart had led him to be soft, and in the end, it led to their deaths.

perhaps, he began to think, if i had been tougher, but like prompto, he's quite to realize there is no time to think. what's done is done, and now they've a mess to clean up, and if they're lucky, they won't be making the same mistakes again. ]

There are laws here. [ his rifle remains trained on the man's arm, too uncertain of its true capabilities that he's not willing to let it out of his sight. ] He broke one, but so did you.

Come with us peacefully, and it'll work in your favor.

[Victarion looks from one boy to the other and notes their weapons. There are no guns in Westeros, so they look at best like a crossbow, but without a bolt. He would ignore it outright, but they seemed to be taking their weapons seriously. Well, let them. They could get off one shot each, but then they would need to reload and would have no time to fire off a second.

So he turns back to them, drawing his great axe into his right hand. The ruby eye of the kraken catches the sunlight as he chooses Prompto to advance on. They are both bare faced boys, but he takes this one to be the more important of the two. Fell this one and the other would likely run. His left ashen hand curls into a fist and continues to smoke.]

This man stole from me and so his life was forfeit to me. If you fire on me, I will do the same to you. [He holds out his axe, pointing it at Prompto.] Turn around. Leave. I have no quarrel with you.

[ There's no denying the cold flash of fear that lances through him when the man draws his axe and starts advancing towards him. It's funny, how familiar this is, and yet how long it's actually been since an enemy advanced on him with a weapon in hand. The day-to-day grind on the market district wasn't exactly all sunshine and roses, but it rarely came to - to something like this.

A weapon trained on him by a man who will use it if he deems necessary.

There's no time to take chances, then, because just like Lance, he's too uncertain of what this man can even do, with his other hand ashen and smoking. For all they know, he has some other magic he hasn't revealed yet, and Prompto won't be the unsuspecting party who could have done something, but didn't, and put himself or anyone else at risk because of it. ]

Then I guess we have no choice.

[ He fires a steady, clean shot, from the gun aimed at the hand Victarion wields the axe with. ]

[Had Victarion any idea what these guns were, he might have behaved more cautiously. But the explosion of the weapon clearly catches him off guard. The axe is wrenched violently from his hand, leaving his hand bloodied from the tip of a finger that was splayed open, possibly even shortened. That might have been enough for most men to back down, but that only added a sense of urgency for Victarion. He still though of the weapon like a crossbow. It would take too long for another volley.

So he left the axe behind, because he did not need it. He bolts towards Prompto, closing the distance between them quickly. Being a big man didn't make him slow, instead it gave him long legs for longer and faster strides. His left hand was balled into fist, ready to swing forward with a blow heavy enough that it would knock a horse on its ass, much less what it might do to a man near half Victarion's size.]

[ prompto's shot was clean, precise, and the man barely slowed down. already panicked, though lance does not surge forward when victarion does. instead, he remains rooted where he stands, using the distance to his advantage. he tries one last time, a vain, strangled, ]

Stop!!

[ but the large man persists, and it is just as prompto said: they've got no choice.

knowing his partner's eyes and guns are still trained on he assailant's hands, and thus directed up, he leaves the swinging fist in prompto's capable hands and directs his own attention downwards. his own shot is quick, accurate, embedding itself deeply into victarion's left thigh. ]

[ Prompto hadn't been expecting one shot to the hand to slow a man of this size too much, though maybe he'd hoped it would have surprised him enough to make him back down. But after how he handled that merchant - Renvolio - it's no surprise that being disarmed doesn't stop him. Prompto had fended off much larger enemies than this, and knew well how one bullet doesn't do much in the face of enormous strength and power.

He expects it, but that doesn't stop the bottom of his stomach dropping out as Victarion lunges for him. Lance will act, focus on halting his movement, which gives Prompto the chance to focus on getting the hell out of range of that swinging fist, which will crack ribs and plenty more if it connects. He drops swiftly as Victarion barrels towards him, his size an advantage as he slides into the dusty road and rolls onto his back, using his shoulders to push himself up onto his knees behind Victarion's flank. He hears Lance's rifle fire, and with both his guns still in hand, he fires a pair of shots into Victarion's right foot and ankle. ]

[Gods damn them both. One metal slug embedded was in his left thigh, and now two more in his right foot. There were no marks where he'd been struck, only the bloody ruins of where he'd been impacted. These boys were not using true weapons, but some cowardly devices capable of delivering pain merely by pointing at him. He may have greater strength than he once had, but he was still human. He took one more step and his right foot failed him, sending him stumbling to his knees.

He could suffer through the pain, but he couldn't make his body work the way it was supposed to. Not when they kept burying their steel talons into him without even coming close to him.]

Cowards! Cravens! Are you too weak to fight as men!? Too pathetic to fight me unarmed!?

[His ashen hand was balled into a fist and he slammed it into the ground, cracking the cobbles with the impact. It accomplished nothing but to illustrate his rage. For now, he was making no effort to stand again.]

[ when the large man falls to his knees, lance lets out a small, barely audible sigh. the tension that pulled taut between his shoulderblades now relax, allowing his arms to loosen, his weapon to lower. ]

Listen, man, we didn't wanna fight you in the first place...

[ his words are quiet, a low rumble. here, his greenness shows; or is it more his naviete? perhaps his luck? but in seeing vicatrion felled, he assumes the battle is over, and approaches now with the slow and heavy steps of a young man who definitely would have rather been elsewhere than right here, on the other end of a weapon that hurt another. ]

Just let us take you in, get you seen, and we'll sort this whole mess out, okay—?

[It seems Victarion's fury is focused entirely on Prompto, but he did not survive as many battles as he did by being stupid. Guns were new to him, but fighting dirty was not. If they were too craven to fight him, then so be it. One thing they should have known was that a beast was most dangerous when it was cornered.

And Lance made one step too close. He sucked in a breath, then swept backwards. The pain in his thigh splintered sharply and cascaded into his entire body, but he only used it to fuel his anger. He did not aim, because he did not need to aim. His ashen hand was like a log and whether it caught one of Lance's legs or both, that would be more than enough to lay him out flat. If the boy was down, then he would be easy pickings to prove far more useful to Victarion but not as a target of his retribution.

The other guard was still out there. Lance would work far better as a meat shield. Victarion was down, but he wasn't finished.]

[ No sooner has Prompto allowed himself an inch of relief at the sight of the man on his knees than cold dread burns to life in his chest once more. He's only just staggered back onto his own two feet, nerves frayed and heart pounding but unharmed, when Victarion sweeps around and knocks Lance down violently. ]

Lance!

[ It's immediately familiar, watching a friend be so quickly laid out in a battle against a new enemy. But this isn't Eos - Prompto can't use the powers granted him by the Crownsguard to rescue Lance from peril. All he has now are his instincts - his instincts and his guns, which fortunately go hand in hand, and this time he fires on Victarion's forearm before stepping closer, pointing one weapon at Victarion's heart, the other at his temple. Prompto is close enough to fire at point blank range. If he shoots, he won't miss, and the man should know full well what these weapons can do now. ]

Move again, a-and I'll shoot!

[ The voice he speaks with is not his own, but something far colder, like the icy depths of Niflheim, and he hates hearing it from himself. But if this man tries to hurt Lance further - or worse - he'll do what he has to.

This is the end to which he was born, after all. ]

[As it happens, there's one part of Victarion that is bullet proof. The bullet strikes the ashen hand and ricochets off, embedding itself in the cobblestone street below. That would be something for Victarion to reflect upon at a later time, but for now it was a useful distraction for him. Lance was still within arm's reach and although he had a good understanding of these weapons, he was a man that would sooner fight to his death than accept surrender.]

I gave justice to that thief. If you kill me, will it be just? Will your honor abide it?

[He gives Prompto a moment to think on that, but his hand never left Lance. It was tangled around his leg, which ought to not possess much of a threat. But Victarion was stronger than he looked and he looked plenty strong. So, trusting in either the gods to reserve a place for him in the next world or to send these boys to hell, he pulls upon Lance's leg and whips him forward bodily directly into Prompto. A source of a few bruises perhaps, but nothing compared to the holes they have put inside of Victarion.]

[ it's not a voice he recalls ever hearing from the other boy before, and it's one lance is sure he won't soon forget. everything transpires in such a blur, certainly no more than just a handful of minutes, if at all, but lance can still very distinctly recall the moment... along with everything else that followed.

mostly, how hard he'd been played. down he'd gone, and it knocked the wind right out of him. more than enough time to prompto to act again, and apparently more than enough time to be flung around like he weighed nothing more than a rolled up newspaper.

though it should be noted that in the short interim between victarion's low words, and his body suddenly being pitched forward, he did manage to let out a curt, ]

Listen, buddy, I don't think someone who just murdered someone in cold blood and barely even blinked an eye about it can go around casting judgme—

[ but the rest quickly shifts into a strangled yelp as two soft sharpshooters collide, knocked back at least a good ten feet away. had there been any audience left to witness this, they might have been caught in the fray of it.

like bowling pins.

his rifle jabs awkwardly against his side, his grip thankfully still strong around it, and though his entire body screams at him over falling down again, his growing frustration is providing him with enough adrenaline to push past it. ]

Alright, that's it, I'm so over this guy.

[ the words are cut low, grit between ground teeth. he gets up onto a knee, turning back towards the man... ]

[ before suddenly doubling over, curling his free arm around his mid-section. ]

Owwwww, it hurts, it hurts!!

[ he whines, loud and keening, forehead to the ground so that when he twist towards prompto, his moving mouth is hidden, words quick and hissed. ]

Move in, knock him out, don't worry about his arms. I won't let them touch you.

[ He doesn't lower his weapons, but it's not as if Victarion's words don't worm their way under his skin, piercing his heart. Would it be just, to kill him? To send him to his grave? If it meant sparing anyone else from hurt, of course it would be a burden he'd shoulder. Honor had never been something he preoccupied himself with, a foreign concept that was never meant to be possessed by someone like him. Mercy, however, is, and it stills his hands when Victarion starts to move, when Prompto has that split second to act, or be acted upon.

His moment of hesitation soon gives way to abject surprise, however, when Lance is hurled bodily at him, and Prompto scarcely has a chance to try and catch his friend before they both go scattering onto the cobblestones. His shoulder and elbows collide painfully with the street below him, but on instinct alone he manages to keep a hold of his weapons. He's just staggering to his feet again when Lance puts up his act, and Prompto understands perfectly what it is he's to do. His nod is almost imperceptible as he turns back towards Victarion. ]

Now who's fighting dirty? [ And Prompto rushes towards him, flipping his guns in his hands so the butt of the weapons face outwards.

It's time to end this. ]

[Victarion had used the momentary confusion to move away. In his state, he was in no condition to finish these two boys. He hated to flee a fight, but better to lose a battle than to lose the war. Despite two bullets in his right foot and a bullet in his left thigh, he actually managed to stand through sheer force of will.

There might have been a crowd for him to wade through, but the gunshots had done more to drive people away than the actual corpse had. Which meant that when he began struggling towards the nearest ally, it was slow going and not nearly as quick as it took the boys to recover. He turns to Prompto to hear his taunt and sees that the guns have been turned into blunt instruments. Victarion was in a poor condition to fight, but he would not turn this down.]

You've found your courage at last. [It was late in its arrival, but Victarion would indulge him in a brawl. He winces as he steps on his right foot and turns to face Prompto.

And then winds up his ashen fist into a ball, ready to strike the moment Prompto was near.]

[ he won't get the chance.

true to his word, lance ensures that neither hand (volcanic or otherwise) touches prompto. he remains where he is, rooted in his spot on a stabilizing knee. rifle raised, scope aligned, biding his time. he neither breathes nor blinks when the timing is just right — when prompto's agility takes him right there in victarion's path, when victarion rears his arm back just enough to make his move.

and with a pull of his finger lance takes his shot; not for the arm that has already repelled their bullet before, but for collarbone that connects it to the rest of his body, right where the flap of a collar reveals human flesh. victarion will feel the force of the bullet pushing him back, using the momentum of his swing to throw his balance off. ]

Find that, you jerk.

[ It's a damn good thing that Prompto trusts Lance's shot implicitly, because when that ashen fist comes barreling at him, it takes all his cojones to not roll to dodge away. He comes in close, praying silently to the Six or the Natha or anyone out there that can hear him to not let that fist connect with him and shatter his bones - and it doesn't.

Lance's shot, impeccably timed, connects, and Victarion's arm misses him as his balance is thrown back. He has little time to decide his course of action, so he goes for the most direct, if not the most ludicrous one.

When Victarion staggers back, Prompto absolutely slams his shoulder into him. Victarion is a much larger man, and that's going to hurt like hell later, but Prompto is hoping that he'll lose his balance with the force of it since he's already off-balance. And with him off-balance, likely preoccupied with not losing it, Prompto strikes, quick and precise, slamming the butt of one of his handguns against Victarion's head. ]

[Victarion realizes his peril too late. He hears Lance, then the gunshot, and by then it's too late. The slug buries itself in his shoulder and he reels back and spins. He could survive that, given the opportunity. It's even his intention to do so as he tries to catch himself on his feet. But then there's the push, his balance falters, and then the sharpest pain in his head. It was not that which knocked him out, but the way his forehead hit the ground when he fell forward.

After that, he knew no more.]

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Iron Justice

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