A Wayward Savior

[theholywarrior]

Who: Patroklos & Whomever finds him
When: Midday
Where: Plaza (Or rather wandering away from the main plaza)
Style: Prose & action both welcomed
Status: Open


[ If it hadn't been for the unusual kindness of a local woman, Patroklos would have never stirred from consciousness. The blond had to have been out for a few minutes, fifteen at max. The one who solidly nailed him in the back of his head with that book was long forgotten by him. However, the dull headache he now sports won't allow him to forget that he was bested by a mere book. Wobbly rising to his feet as he clutched his head in dire distress, Patroklos eyes widened once caught glimpse of the blue-silver blade. Laying right before his feet was none other than the coveted Soul Calibur gleaming in all its brilliance. Staring at the sword with mild wonder, Patroklos hesitated to reach for it. ]

That sword...

[ His voice was laced with agony. ]

It's more than what it seems to be.

[ Unsure what to do now, Patroklos gingerly picked up the spirit sword by its hilt and sheathed it once more. ]

...nhhm...

[ Now holding his head with both hands once the headache intensified, Patroklos slowly began to walk down the avenue aimlessly. ]

Comments

[theholywarrior]

[ To say the least, the reporter looked a damn sight better with clothing on rather than off. Patroklos almost didn't recognize him if hadn't been for those iconic red and green glasses. ]

It's you!

[ A frown settled on the Athenian's face as he glowered at that uncouth reporter with scorn. However, once the man offered his flask to him, Patroklos' heated glare simmered down. ]

...I certainly hope it will.

[ He grumbled as he begrudgingly snatched the flask out of Spider's hand. ]

What is it?

[trust_the_fuckhead]

If I had to hazard a guess I'd say some form of rodent piss, but from the way it burns it's probably sanitary.

[Good ole' rotgut. Spider just got something strong and poorly made, he's not literally giving him rat urine. Any other character and I doubt I'd even have to explain that. Jerusalem waits for the man to have a drink before speaking again, a single unexplained word.]

Sixteen.

[theholywarrior]

[ A slight hiss came from the blond once he took a sip of the "rat's bane". The burning aftertaste certainly did catch Patroklos by surprise, causing him to cough wildly for a moment. He then eyed the flask a tad bit more warily before attempting to drink its contents for a second time. ]

Ye gods! This is just disgusting...

[ Whining to himself now, Patroklos almost missed the word that Spider suddenly uttered. ]

Huh? Sixteen what?

[trust_the_fuckhead]

[Spider took another long drag on his cigarette.]

I've killed sixteen people. Fifteen of those in self defense.

[He didn't push any further. Better to wait and see if this warrior anachronism would open up without further proding. Also, he wasn't sure if that guy with the book is still around.]

[theholywarrior]

W-What?

[ A look of raw shock lingered in Patroklos' eyes. ]

Sixteen people? For what reason?! Why would you---

[ The blond suddenly fell silent, almost as if something verbally reminded him of his crimes. Perhaps it's his guilty conscious or something but Patroklos couldn't force himself to condemn the man. ]

...Why are you sharing this with me?

[trust_the_fuckhead]

I pushed you right the fuck over the edge. Won't say that's the first time I've done that so someone, but I'm starting to get the idea that this place isn't exactly like home. I'm a bit used to assuming that everybody I meet is a fucking bastard until proven otherwise, and I haven't yet given you the chance to prove me wrong there. So. Sixteen.

[Spider pulls out a half empty bottle, evidently the one he used to fill the flask. He takes a swig and sits on the pavement next to Patroklos.]

[theholywarrior]

[ Desperately trying to make sense of this bald-headed jerk, Patroklos just sits back and eyes him warily. Spider definitely pushed him over the edge earlier, a fact that the Athenian wasn't proud about. However, Patroklos knew that not all the blame should fall on the reporter's shoulders.

Most of it fell on his. ]

I see. You think the worst of people.

[ He frowns. ]

...You swear too much.

[ That frown suddenly becomes a lopsided smirk. ]

You swear like a sailor sailing over the Aegean Sea, but you...I suppose you aren't as vile as a malfested.

[trust_the_fuckhead]

Its practicality. Everybody is a vile sonofa bitch at some point, in some way. Where I come from it's a lot worse.

[ Ahh, cigarettes. Most important tool in a journalist's kit. He takes another tactically planned pause for a long drag before changing topics.]

So, what's your deal then? Bronze Age mannerisms, dark ages weapons, armor from the renaissance? You've got a righteous fury, but only invoke the gods as your own form of swearing. And what sort of accent is that supposed to be?

[theholywarrior]

Tch. Such strange logic...

[ A frown settled on the youth lips once Spider started to ramble. Yes, he does realize he's a tad odd looking. However, does the journalist have to go out of his way to question him? ]

Are you making fun of me?! Yes, I'm not from whatever land you hail from. So, yes I do have an accent. I'm from Greece, if you must know.

[trust_the_fuckhead]

Huh.

[ Spider mutters someing to himself about hearing more authentic greek in detroit, but mostly just seems to be grumbling. He pulles out a typewriter... one with a lcd screen and and interface for the sfc network. He starts to type.]

No. I've had more than enough fun with you for the day. Now I'm more interested in business. What drives you? Why do you feel the need to fight evil the way you do?