tushanshu_logs | [Closed] Unto the Living Ones

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[Closed] Unto the Living Ones

Characters: Bakura & Costigan
Date: May 1st
Location: Fire Sector → FI-3A
Situation: Reviving from being killed by the Mandarin, Costigan checks in on Bakura after the thief didn't get the answers he wanted about a Foreigner wearing black armor.
Warnings/Rating: Likely a warning for language.

The last thing that Bakura had remembered was the awful sensation of icy cold water rushing into his lungs, paralyzing him. It had even made the sharp pain of having his torso ripped open seem tame. He'd opened his eyes in an unfamiliar room with the kedanese healer Milyn tutting over him, wads of bloody bandages in her hands.

"Well, well!" she had scolded him primly. "What a mess YOU were! Don't do that again!"

The thief had divested himself from her care as soon as possible, blatantly ignoring her insistence that he should be at rest, that she wasn't done healing him (and given the deep gashes still marring his chest, he'd snapped waspishly at her that he had noticed) and let himself out of the small clinic. The walk from the Water Sector to his suite in Fire had been painful and felt as if it had taken twice as long as normal; his vision was swimming by the time he'd let himself inside. A part of him reasoned that being in his assigned suite, where he was most easily located, was possibly not the wisest idea but he was in no shape to reconsider. He'd set the Trap Barrel Behind The Door and fell into a feverish sleep.

Ha Unas an sem-nek as met-th sem-nek anxet...

Waking had let him get some proper perspective on what had happened. He'd been caught off-guard by his attacker yes, but his traps and spells had been woefully ineffectual on the black-armored figure. That in itself was worrisome and he'd turned to the consoles, only to discover that first, more days had passed then he'd initially realized and second, that there were much larger things at work. So Malicant makes his move. Could the person who'd attacked him been one of Malicant's lackey? But no, the attack was very focused, enraged, and felt very directed at him.

Bakura didn't know who'd killed him and he didn't know why. Given his past experience, that was less traumatizing but still aggravating. When his initial inquiry to Costigan had yielded no information, he resigned himself to doing some more in-depth research which probably wasn't a bad idea while he recovered and planned. If that black figure thought they were going to get away with this, they truly had no idea who they were dealing with.

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Costigan knew little of Zatanna. What he knew he wasn't particularly fond of, knowing that she was source of the power mix up some time ago, but he was also conscious of the fact that she had fixed that. Some part of him said that he thought she and Jack might be friends as well, but the guy hadn't told him anything of it. He knew nothing of Terry. Asking questions hardly seemed provocation, however.

"From the sounds of it, it wasn't them," he replied evenly. His hand returned to his pocket as he thought on the subject. Without anything solid to give, he could only offer a simple, "I can ask around."

Bakura shrugged, part in agreement of Costigan's assessment and part in unspoken statement that it was his decision to make. "You should be careful if you do that," he said. "That armor shrugged off both Spell and Trap like there were nothing. They might not have been the most intricate plays but they should still have done more."

And the thief had been turning over possibilities of what strategy might have better luck against the armored one when this rematch did come. But then Bakura glanced at the Bostonian as though registering him properly for the first time.

"Don't you think there are bigger issues at hand right now?"

Bakura's tone implied he didn't share that pressing concern of what was now lurking in the Palace but he didn't figure Costigan shared that same disinterest.

"That's why I carry a gun," he replied with the smallest smile and raised eyebrows. Magic and powers were good, but not too many of them could take a bullet without some difficulty and at least one that could wasn't the type to do the things Bakura was suggesting.

To the latter, he gave a single nod. "Sure, yeah. The war. I'm sure some fuckin' heroes are working with the police to figure something out. Don't get me wrong, I don't want the asshole in the palace, but it's not exactly my place. In the meantime, I'd rather make sure the guy thinks twice about killing other foreigners here."

The dismissive remarks about "some fuckin' heroes" elicits a smirk from Bakura who frankly had about the same opinion of them. "Someone needs to be flashy distraction for that one," he answers, meaning Malicant.

"Hm, well... that will be made abundantly clear once I find them."

Costigan gives another nod in reference to the distraction. It will take more than that, but he's not going to defend them. Now is not the time, even if he felt the inclination, which he's not sure he does.

"Once we find them," he corrects. The undercover gives a half-shrug before Bakura can even give him a look. "Look, I'm not saying we don't retaliate, but you don't want to be the villain they make you out to be. When it comes time, we'll figure it out and I won't stand in your way if you can convince me it's the right thing for you."

Again, it's not exactly a threat or command. Costigan has little to no power over the other guy and is well aware of that. Instead, his comments are amicable, the kind he would offer Kyle or Jack. He's looking out for the guy, not trying to stop him.

Anticipated or not, Costigan still gets the look. "You think I care whether I match their opinions of me?" he scoffed, though mostly rhetorical because he knew the undercover was certainly not so naive-- and someone, in Bakura's estimation, that he'd venture knew very well how far a reputation could carry someone.

He waved a dismissive hand at the last part. "I leave the persuasive speech giving to the damned Pharaoh's groupies," he said breezily. "Not my area of interest."

Which didn't mean that he didn't have some aptitude in it; indeed, Bakura could be extremely verbally manipulative when it suited him. He understood people and how to lead them to whatever he wanted from them.

But it wasn't a refusal of Costigan's proposal either.

Costigan was pretty convinced that Bakura did care about his reputation. His concern was that the other man was more interested in meeting and exceeding expectations than in trying to change anyone's mind. To the latter, the undercover's expression tightened and he frowned. He didn't entirely understand. It was neither agreement or rejection.

"What is your area of interest?" He asked instead, trying to get a better feel for the man's priorities and worried he already knew the answer.

"While here?" One of Bakura's hands raised to brush the outer rim of the Ring beneath his shirt thoughtfully. "Getting back to where I am supposed to be. I was interrupted from something rather important, being brought here. But if there's something useful here, magic or otherwise that will help me with that task, then I see every reason to take advantage of it."

Collateral damage or not.

Costigan noticed the gesture while failing to recognize its significance. He was oblivious to the ring beneath and, instead, it only reminded him of the religious medallion he always wore on a chain around his own neck. Saint Jude, patron saint of desperate cases. His father had understood his future better than he ever would.

"Most of us want to go home," he replied without much concern. The implications of Bakura's words did not go unnoticed. They didn't deserve acknowledgment. "What do you want to do with the armored guy?"

"Don't mistake my desire as homesickness," Bakura said dryly, though he was glad that Costigan had caught the implied.

"What do you think I should do to him?"

"Wouldn't dream of it." It was certainly an interesting and somewhat unexpected clarification. Costigan filed it away under more facts about the guy, the same as, he expected, Bakura often did with his offhand remarks. The undercover slid his hands from his pockets only to cross his arms.

"I think it depends on who it is and how they learn." He didn't mean to sit them down for a lecture. The violence was insinuated in his tone. Rough 'em up a bit versus shooting them through the head, torch their suite versus make sure they find themselves in a bad situation. As long as no one innocent got hurt, they could figure out the rest.

Costigan's assurance was refreshing and also less of a hassle for Bakura, who was already short tempered that having to deal with someone he vaguely counted as an ally because they'd developed a sudden moral quandary would have compounded an already very bad week.

"And if it's someone you know?"

"Doesn't matter if I know them unless I like them and the people I like wouldn't have murdered you." A beat. "Unless you started it, in which case maybe I'll shoot you myself."

It was all said with a surprising level of nonchalance. It was refreshing, getting back into old roles. Costigan tried not to think too much on how comfortable it felt, how it was just as easy to talk about murder as about saving a kitten in a tree. Carrying it out would be something else, but he didn't care much for scumbags. As long as they stayed away from extensive torture, he could look the other way for a lot of things.

Bakura uttered a sharp laugh at the statement, not in dismissal of the threat but in agreement of it. Yet underneath the gallows humour was pensiveness as he thought back to the attack, searching his memory once again in case he'd missed something from his wordless attacker that might hold a clue. It wasn't that he felt he wasn't guilty of enough to warrant it but... in the midst of everything that had been going on? It seemed so out of place.

"Perhaps they didn't like my keeping that building from falling in. Miracle Dig turned it into a rather ugly stone mushroom."

The laugh was appreciated. Costigan missed his candor at times, caught behind layers of trying to play nice and comfort people. The truth was that he didn't like doing it, even though it often needed to be done and he was there to do it. He preferred not talking about things, preferred threats and violence. They were easier to deal with.

"What do you mean?" His chin lifted a hint with sudden and sincere curiosity, his arms falling away to slide into his pockets again.

The inquiry struck Bakura as unusual, if only because Costigan seemed so incurious most of the time. Hell, the thief had to literally drag the question of his stealing others' memories out of him word by word. So it was partly based on that to which Bakura assumed that the undercover meant the state of the building, rather than the method he'd used.

"In the Water Sector, a marketplace. One of those bombs must have taken out a support pillar inside, because the whole of it began sliding inward." He used his hands to demonstrate the walls folding inward on a center point, then reversed the angle as if something beneath had pushed it upward and outward. "Kept it from collapsing."

Costigan pulled both eyebrows together in an exaggerated expression of confusion and suspicion. It was certainly unexpected to hear the guy was helping people, that much was true. The full effect of his features was heightened for effect, however, and to ensure that Bakura knew just how much the undercover doubted his words. Costigan remained otherwise still, watching and looking for signs of deception, wondering if he could spot them even if they were there.

"You. How? More importantly, why?"

Oddly enough there's no sign of deception or, for that matter, anything else in the thief's posture and expression; zero reaction to Costigan's overt surprise and skepticism other than to throw a sidelong look at him. Either he had been expecting such a response or he simply didn't care what the reaction was going to be, for good or ill.

"Miracle Dig is a Spell," he answered the first portion with something almost like boredom, though the inflection on Spell and not spell could be discerned. "As for why?" Bakura shrugged. "There was no reason to let them be crushed."

Costigan couldn't distinguish a spell from a Spell if it was spelled out in front of him and he was quite pleased with that fact. Accepting magic was hard enough. Trying to cater to or learn about it was something else entirely. Too much, maybe. Whatever the case, he ignored the bit about the spell's name.

"And no reason to save them," he countered. "Unless you have a conscience after all."

A thoughtful moment's pause while Bakura decided how to answer that, and then he replied, "We both know there are many types of monsters in the world, Costigan. Some people can be more than one kind; in my case, a variety. But I'm not all of them... not today, at least."

"Hopefully not any day," he answered evenly. He liked that Bakura kept him on his toes. The guy gave him a challenge no one else here had and he appreciated that refreshing view, even if it was a pain in the ass at times. But really, Costigan hoped he could help ease Bakura to the better side of the line, even if he crossed it occasionally, much like the undercover himself was.

"So you saved the people and then he attacked you, is that it?"

Sedjart, you wear optimism like it ill fits you, Bakura thought privately to himself.

"Yes," the thief answered, tone turning brisk and efficient, getting back to the purpose of the original conversation before they'd strayed into philosophical tangents. "Though I doubt, in all truth, the two actually had anything to do with each other. He appeared and attacked, used water to trap me then turned it to ice."

One hand raises again to the edge of the bandage and with a faint wince, realizes that when he'd said he'd change them soon, the 'soon' appeared to be upon them already. The sly tête-à-tête with Costigan had been a fine distraction from the pain but ignoring it further would be unwise. So he motioned for the man to follow, moving through the kitchen door to a smaller room that, given the suite's layout, probably could have been an office. There were clean rolls of bandages on the desk and he began unspooling them with deftness suggesting he'd done it many times before this injury, and apparently fine with patching himself up while continuing the conversation uninterrupted.

"You've been here longer. There's no record of anyone having armor like that?"

Costigan mentally took note of the method that the attacker used. Partially it might be useful in finding the perpetrator, but he was also interested in knowing how Bakura could be stopped when push inevitably came to shove and they found themselves on opposite sides. It was something the Bostonian really didn't want. They would both be foolish to think it never would though.

The undercover followed Bakura down the hall and into the other room without comment, watching and taking everything in like he usually did. It was interesting to see a man who could bandage his own wounds. Costigan might have thought military if Bakura wasn't.. well, how he was.

"There are no records. You know that as well as I do. Have people seen him? Maybe. You want to make a public post asking about it?" It was a genuine question. He got the impression Bakura would want to leave his murder on the down low. If not, that made both their jobs easier. "Otherwise, we look the old fashioned way and ask around in quiet circles."

"No Foreigner records," Bakura amended, partly in clarification and partly in thoughtful musing. What he wanted to know was if Evandau, who oversaw all those brought to the turtle, had any viable information.

"As for an announcement like that..." He didn't outright dismiss it, for it was something he'd considered. Most waking hours had been spent turning the battle over in his mind, the way he did with every duel, every right; it was just the way Bakura was. He never failed the same way more than once. And while certainly there was a part of it that was pride, there was also a careful consideration of the potential benefits verses costs.

"Not just yet, I think. Eager as I might be for a rematch," said with a razor smile and no trace of sarcasm, "I think with everything that's going on right now, there's still a chance they may make a reappearance on his own."

Even as he spoke he was removing the layer of linens, stained on their undersides with blood, to reveal the five deep furrows that marred his torso. The claws on the armor had been sharp -- too sharp, he thought darkly, to have been any normal metal -- and they'd bitten deep. Even if he hadn't drowned, he'd have lost so much blood that he would have succumbed within minutes anyway. The gashes had been stitched though, neatly and evenly and not in a way that suggested he'd done it himself; the thread was an almost silvery colour, glinting in the light.

"I woke up in the clinic of that chatty healer woman, the kedan one," the thief said offhandedly as he worked, explaining the strange stitches. "Who, by the way, had the gall to rebuke me for dying."

"No foreigner records," Costigan agreed. He wasn't about to offer his connections to help them though. Even if he wasn't exactly playing the role of a criminal as of late, the undercover was never particularly keen on the idea of revealing his affiliations. If Evandau's plan of his being on a council came to fruition, he could deal with it then. For now, he was another random foreigner.

He nodded with the man's decision not to announce the event publicly. Although easier, he worried about the mistrust it might breed. Hannibal was bad enough. Costigan would warn Evandau and leave it at that. People didn't need to start turning on each other because a few assholes couldn't keep their grudges - or whatever the hell it was - to themselves.

Costigan's brow furrowed with the reveal of the wound. He seemed to recall Bakura mentioning drowning. The wound he hadn't even connected as exactly relevant, or the fact that it had remained even after the man's return, until he saw the wound before him. "What the hell happened to you?"

He knew it was the same attack. That much was obvious. The question was what had caused the injuries and, to a lesser extent, remained a question of why Bakura had provoked the attack. But that was something only the man in black armor could answer.

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