lucetilogs | We're more than carbon and chemicals

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We're more than carbon and chemicals

Who: All Draftees
What: Fighting Third Party
When: 26th, 27th, 28th, 1st, and 2nd
Where: The Southern Farmlands
Summary: See here for overall details.
Rating: Probably gonna be gorey in places :|a

DOESN'T NEED A CUT. People should know how this works, if not, just follow other people's lead. I'm gonna set up some strategist threads at the top, for the four strategists to use if they want to, otherwise people should start their own threads.

((Mod Note: Since this has been asked a few times, just fyi, the livestock do not talk. Happy hunting!))

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Where's the rest of the medical unit, then?

McCoy shrugs. "Who knows?"

Jack nodded toward the doctor's phaser. "Those guns, now---where do you store the ammunition?"

Talking about guns might break what suddenly felt very much like ice between them.

"It's not what you think." He murmured, distracted as he continued to scan the field and spotted a barn across the field. Fortunately not the one where the tractor gate happened on the first day, but one nonetheless and he inclined his head towards it.

The pirate took in the barn and McCoy's tacit instruction. Yes, they could investigate the structure. He drew his pistol and nodded back.

McCoy took off towards it, determined to make a point after the pirate had rebuffed his help earlier and reached for his kit as the dried hay, possibly scattered during a previous skirmish, crunched beneath his boot.

"Bugger, what's he...wait, McCoy!" the pirate hissed, hurrying to catch up with him. He didn't intend them to RUN INTO DANGER.

"Good old healers, putting me out of a job." McCoy ranted and seemed to forget the necessity of stealth when it came to a mission like this. "I thought you were fine with it."

Jack limped along as best he could; maybe he shouldn't have returned to the field so soon. Being alone in his room, though, was just a reminder of a painful ongoing social failure with Buffy. Fighting seemed preferable.

"Right. Fine with it." Resigned, he followed the doctor, hoping that this would only lead to more chickens and possibly another rusting tractor. He was tired, now. He wanted to go home to Cullen House and what was probably a very worried monkey.

Edited 2011-03-01 01:36 (UTC)

And as usual, McCoy had no idea what may have transpired over the past few days between the pirate and their fellow draftees, let alone Buffy. Things with the Slayer had ended less than amicably on that fateful first day and he had been keeping his distance from her, concerning himself only with the draft and scanning the battlefield he frequented for a glimpse of blonde or silver hair.

It was a foolhardy errand even to him; there didn't seem to be any end in sight to this battle and it was exhausting, but he kept going and fully expected the pirate haunting him to become bored or possibly be dragged away because of that injury. He could hope.

But Sparrow would not abandon a lone McCoy on a battlefield. He's not a fighter. He's not like Vash, or you. Her words seemed to hang in the air even now, and the pirate---the one who hated responsibility, who abhorred ever paying back a debt---found himself still directed by them: his heart telling him one thing, his head another.

Teague would tell him he had to live with himself, and the thought of his father more than anything else kept the pirate trailing along behind the doctor, determined at least to see him safely sheltered inside the outbuilding.

Making it to the outbuilding was not strenuous, at least for the uninjured McCoy, who had been on the battlefield for... oh, God knows how long now. It was hard to keep track of time when he was gripped by tension one second and then experiencing a wave of nostalgia as he passed through the farmlands with little to no incident the other.

Just like grandpa's farm, he thought with a painful pang as he rested his hand on the wooden door, slowing applying pressure and pushing it open to a crack in order to see if there were any soldiers skulking around inside.

"... It's clear."

"For now, doc." Sparrow followed him in, uncertain. He didn't like the boxed-in, dank feeling of the barn. The pirate cleared his throat--even that was still not working properly since the Elite's attack.

"No majestic war vehicles this time, neither. No main chance in here. Let's go."

The doctor was comfortable despite the threat looming over this entire week and ignored him. He had felt comfortable while they were trapped underwater, why couldn't McCoy relax in the enviroment he grew up in?

"I need to see that leg of yours first."

Jack tried to stand up a little straighter. When the Elite soldier had brought a heavy boot down on the side of the pirate's knee, there had been an explosion of pain and a great deal of tissue, ligament, and joint damage. The healers had done the best they could to get it back to normal, but they had warned him it might take a couple of weeks to feel fully restored. The last thing he wanted was another round of being stabbed in the neck.

Injury? What injury?

"Don't want one of your hypowhatsits right now, McCoy!"

"You're a walking liability right now and you're not even doing that right." McCoy responded evenly, not letting the other man rile his temper any more than he had done so far. "You shouldn't even be out here, damn it. Just go back to the hotel room and let those droids take care of you."

"Not while you're out here by your lonesome, Bonesy. 'Lonesome Bones,' now that there would be your pirate name if you were a man of the sea."

But now Jack was backing away, trying to illustrate that yes, his leg was fine, and no, he still did not want a hypospray stuck in his neck. He wasn't paying attention at first to the very furtive sounds coming from just outside the barn.

"Well, it's a good thing for me that I'm not a man of the sea and never will be." The self-confessed farm boy replied gleefully and fitted the phaser back into the holster around his waist as he approached the opposite end of the barn. He felt uncomfortable wearing it, but it was regulation for away teams back home and Scotty would probably have his head if he didn't at least pander to it.

"It can't be that long now."

"And that's----

...

Did you hear that, doc?"

"Hear what? The annoying sound of you jabbering away at me? Because yeah, I can hear you loud and clear, Sparrow." He turned on his foot mid-strut and offered the pirate a mock salute.

The pirate was just about to tell McCoy what he thought of that salute and how maybe he should start calling him "Captain" now when the door beyond the doctor suddenly burst open, and soldiers---angry, armed, Third Party soldiers--burst in.

Jack recoiled, eyes wide in shock. Then he snapped back to reality. "MCCOY! RUN!"

Even if he heard the pirate shouting orders, he wouldn't comply with them. He couldn't run away anymore and he whirled round to meet the Third Party members who had done such a good job of surprising him and winced as he was showered with wooden shards from the sheer force they had used in order to break in.

"Shit--" Was McCoy's choked and somewhat fearful exclamation as the nearest soldier wasted no time in lunging for the doctor wordlessly, his sword raised and McCoy fired off a shot that did little to slow the winged man down as it whizzed across his soldier and struck a support beam in the rafters and sprayed the inhabitants of the barn with dust.

It was not second nature for Jack to charge to his friend's side. It took at least five seconds of conscious self-convincing before the pirate plunged into the fray. His swordsmanship was a bit off; it was difficult to pivot on the knee and perform the proper footwork, which affected his ability to strike true. Still, even with the knee compromised, Jack Sparrow was fast. It had always been one of his primary talents, even as a young boy. He slashed down a soldier who had gotten dust in his eyes and cut the legs out from under another that was trying to get to the doctor.

Sparrow tried not to think about the fact that there were many, many more swords visible through the broken-down door. You could only fight one man at a time, in the end. Even if you fought fast.

With the pirate handling close-combat, the doctor manoeuvred himself away and aimed for one of the soldiers, swallowing his reservations as the barrel switched from blue to red; stun to kill. As his finger squeezed the trigger, the soldier's eyes began to glow and, once again, the doctor was left ineffectual as his weapon -- the only means of defending himself -- stalled on him.

Glowing. Glowing eyes. Jack shut his own eyes tight as he stabbed his sword through the throat of a Third Party soldier, then pushed forward to shishkebab another on the bit of the blade sticking through the back of the dead man's neck.

He tried to picture in his mind her beautiful green eyes, but they were angry. Jilly's bewitching blue ones helped, though.

"Aaaarr!" Shoving both bodies off his sword, Jack climbed up on the bed of a broken-down hay wagon, trying to take advantage of higher ground.

"DOC! WHAT THE DEVIL IS WRONG? SHOOT THEM! MAKE 'EM VANISH! LIKE THE CHICKEN!"

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