( mixed. ) pasa mi corazón del frío al fuego

[ashaya]

Who: Spock, Jim, Gwen, Peter, and various.
Where: Various locations (see prompts for details).
What: Gnosia-related shenanigans.
Warnings: Uh. Probably more than a few? Most likely: references to genocide, references to starvation/famine, references/overt descriptions of being targeted by racially motivated crimes, general violence, and gore. Maybe some vaguely racy commentary here and there (linked).

Comments

[feintofhart]

Now now, gentlemen. You can hardly blame me for ensuring that I'm at least somewhat armed, considering the circumstances. You outnumber me, after all. It's hardly a fair fight. [ His voice remains pleasant, even-toned, his expression loose and easy, his limbs casual and limber as though they're truly having a sensible conversation and he's not just desperately searching for a way out. Ethlyn said that she has a way to cure people. He knows that. The problem is getting them into a position to be cured.

So trying to kill them is --

No. No, Claude's smarter than that. Trying to kill them is absolutely still on the table. At the end of the day, he treasures his own life over acts of dignity and selflessness, and cornered the way he is, he doesn't see an easy way out. Especially with threats of not just death, but of some tampering of his greatest asset: his mind. Some sort of alien ability to hurt him, perhaps, or a creative application of drugs, or just the ability to dash his head into the rocks below and to see where that gets him. ]

Let's say I come with you. Where will you be taking me? I deserve an informed decision, at the end of the day. It was my understanding that you lot were going around hunting poor innocent deer such as myself.

[ Imperceptibly, not even a rustle of clothing betraying his move, his thumb works at a hidden vial in one of his voluminous pockets: a poison, easily applied orally or through one's bloodstream, enough to fell a man, but not enough to kill one. If he could just take one of them out... ]

[finalfrontiersman]

You poor creature, suffering from delusion. [ Jim's laugh is manic, a harsh sound that's nothing like the bright, earnest laugh he usually employs. Claude is doing his best to appear unflappable, but the itch under Jim's skin demands a hunt. There's no way Claude will go down without a fight, from everything Jim knows of the man - which is exactly what they're counting on. ] There's no fair fight here.

That's where all the fun is, Claude. The hunt! [ The glee is catching, Jim revving up - twitchy and raving in comparison to Spock on the opposite end of the spectrum, lethal and stalwart. ] Killing you is no fun at all. Too easy, pff. Boring.

[ Certain death, to leave his back unprotected to you. You think he'll be so foolish?

Jim taps his chin in mock thought, icy gaze fixed on Claude. ] We've got a place for you, where all the others go. It's not much now, but don't worry; we've got enrichment planned.

[ AKA, they're building a house of horrors and populating it with those they capture. What plans lie beyond that - well, what little of them remained was holding onto the idea of trying to divert the urges into not killing anyone, so that meant they...got creative. ]

[ashaya]

I believe you will find it more comfortable than the alternative, [ Spock appends, voice smooth and unmodulated. His dark eyes flit briefly to Jim, return to Claude without much hesitation. For all that his stance still suggests he is at the ready, he looks quite... Relaxed. Almost as though a le-matya surveying a stray sehlat cub, but not particularly compelled to sup, it is a sort of lack of immediate bloodthirst that differentiates the pair of them.

A possibility, Captain. His knowledge is limited.

That much is true. He knows that Claude knows some part of Vulcan heritage, but has not yet been made privy to the full extent of it. To others, it may appear a bluff. He does not know how much others may have turned over to him, what he may be now working with. Either way, he will follow along. He will work with his Captain. The bond between thrums, carries with it the same assurance.

Where Jim goes, Spock goes. ]

[feintofhart]

[ Claude would have been willing to broker a deal, is the thing. He would have done it to his own advantage, of course, and would have compromised less than what he was letting on, but he would have done it. That's what he's good at -- words, twisting them to his favour, making the best of a bad situation. But the more Jim talks, the more it becomes clear that whatever the Gnosia has twisted them into has overcome their greater sensibilities and that not only would they not be agreeable to negotiation, but that they took their greater glee in seeing him squirm, like one of those dreadful butterfly displays some lords take to displaying in their office, pins neatly skewering them through the middle.

He runs his tongue over his front teeth, sucking in a breath. If he were back home, fighting in some battle, taking down two combatants, even ones that were professionally trained, wouldn't be a problem. But he's already worn down, injured from previous skirmishes, rusty in true battle, and fighting against friends -- friends that are trained not only better than some of his old combatants, but in ways that he knows nothing about. He can't predict them.

He doesn't bother to speak. Instead, he twists, hand flicking out from underneath his jacket quick as can be, a sharp dagger sailing towards Spock with deadly precision -- deadly precision that he doesn't expect to necessarily land, depending on the other man's reflexes. If it does, it's a bonus. But if it doesn't, he's counting on it giving him enough time to get a head start as he bolts with deceptive speed for a man they have only ever seen amble leisurely along the paths like any other spoiled noble brat, every inch his house's namesake: a deer, darting through the dark woods, its predators in hot pursuit. ]

[finalfrontiersman]

[ Where Jim is animated, barely-leashed energy buzzing under his skin, a giddy lunatic waving the metaphorical knife - Spock is silent, deadly; serrated and sharp, sure to cut anything that crosses his path. The Gnosia hums, a shark in the water sensing blood - and maybe that's something of an advantage, for Claude, how the cacophony can distract them, even if it does ultimately make them more dogged in their pursuit.

Claude takes less time with his decision than Jim might have anticipated, striking out with no sign of hesitation, turning on his heel to take his chance in the narrow opening between the buildings. Jim whoops in delight, following him just a beat out of step - he charges after Claude, boots stomping an even rhythm as they run.

The problem with fighting the pair of them, however, is not the physical altercation. Jim's no slouch, but Claude has enough of his own skills to at least evenly match, if not outright best Jim's combat training - Spock, it's less certain, especially with how gravity affects Spock's physiology, enhancing his already-formidable strength. No, the problem with fighting them - especially here, on the turf they've claimed as their own - is that they're smart.

The dead end they'd boxed Claude into had one way out by design, through the narrow crevice between the buildings. What lies at the end of it? Another alleyway, doused in water; if Claude's quick enough to catch the exposed wiring on the ground, hopefully he'll pivot to avoid getting electrocuted.

Lightly electrocuted - they're playing with their food, not barbecuing it. ]

[ashaya]

[ It is a fair bit closer than he would have liked it to be.

That is to say, the quick snap of Claude's wrist from beneath the lapels of his coat are not necessarily a surprise, but the speed with which he strikes is far more impressive than he might have originally credited him. He'd wonder over the approximate velocity and angle in other circumstances, but the dagger is for him. It is for him, and he might the scent the intent in the shift of his weight toward the back of his heel to run.

He's able to catch the offending projectile, twist it about in the ample sleeve of his robe - the blade catching at the fabric and tearing where it is first strikes. He looses it in the next moment with a resounding clatter, a shake of the arm and the instinctive tailing of the joyous whoop thrumming through him. It appears that Jim had gambled it right after all and it is the glimmer of some concession to the fact - it was hardly the first time he'd underestimated the focus of others upon him.

If it is Jim that follows in the even step, it is Spock that follows in the odd. It'll take him some time even with his physiological advantages to catch them now, but the traps are still Claude's to dodge.

And he ought to dodge quick, because Spock's already up by Jim's elbow by the time they might reach the potential point of egress. ]

[feintofhart]

[ Claude almost doesn't spot it. He's unused to the technology of Aldrip, even after a few months of living here, hasn't grown up around the same safety measures about wires and electricity as everyone else. But just a spark catches his attention before it's too late, and it's not familiarity with modernity that seizes him; it's the memory of magic on the battlefield, sloshing ankle-deep through the muck and watching in horror as an ill-placed thunder spell rippled through the water, electrocuting friend and foe alike and leaving bodies crumpled on the ground.

He holds his breath as he leaps over it, just missing freedom by a hair, heel thumping down into the water below. His thick soled shoes saves him from the worst of it, but he feels some of it, a zap frissoning up his leg and up his spine, as unpleasant as any zap on the battlefield.

A thought occurs to him and he whirls around, muttering an incantation under his breath and pushing forward, palm-out. His magical abilities are next to useless next to seasoned fighters. He knows that. But he can use his wind in different ways -- which is how he summons a mighty gust of wind to send the water flying at his aggressors, praying that it will at least stop them in their tracks.

(He's not sure if it will work with the electricity. At worst, it might make them soggy. But it is, he thinks, worth a shot.) ]

[finalfrontiersman]

[ The thrill of the hunt thrums through the bond, the two of them shifting to move as one organism, one heartbeat a steady thrum, the other a fluttering race - but in time, together, steady and sure. Whatever the Gnosia had done to them, drawing the predator instinct to the forefront - the harmony and synchronicity was purely them. Stronger together, always, than apart.

Claude manages a wheeling leap and Jim grins, pleased. It wouldn't be any fun if they had felled him so quickly! He's already adjusting his path, moving with practiced ease to jump up on the convenient, if not immediately obvious, alternate path - balanced debris, making for stepping stones across the trap. They're more for Jim than Spock, whose gait is more likely able to handle the wide gulf. Claude's gust of wind and water manages to splash him, slightly, but without contact with the frayed wires, it doesn't do much to slow him. ]

Come on, Claude, you don't like our company? [ Jim takes a one-two jump from a wooden crate, landing on Claude's side of the cleared area. Two more alleys lie - one to the left, one to the right - though what lays beyond is anyone's guess. Continue running, potentially into another trap - or turn and fight? ] And here I was, pleased to see you.