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Haggling Over Something in the Marketplace! Maybe someone else saw the exact same shiny thing you did at the exact same moment! However shall this be resolved? Remember: blood is extremely hard to scrub off of turtle shell!
Dramatic Chase Sequence! You're running away from something! It could be anything, from a rampaging kirin to a gaggle of overly enthusiastic children! One way or another, you can't stop, and much like a katamari ball, you feel obligated to grab everyone in your path along the way to keep them out of danger! Or perhaps you're more the sort to try and knock them into it as a distraction...?
Where There's A Will, There's A...? The Life and Dreaming Planes have been merged, and sometimes what start out as wishful thinking becomes lured into reality. That slick new motorcycle or pile of kingly treasure you were just daydreaming about? Surprise! Though it may only stay for a short while before it disappears again, so make it count. Hopefully you're not the type to daydream about terrible things befalling people you don't like...
SECRET UNDERCOVER MODE ACTIVATE! The three major kedan families all have their own agendas, and you've chosen to entangle yourselves with one (or more!) of them. Are you hoping to shift the balance of power? Gain some favours? Perhaps you're on a mission to bring a criminal to justice, or maybe you just want to get the cream of the crop from the black market.
WILDCARD! Go nuts. Suddenly your character is fighting dragons! Good God, they've found the Millennium Falcon drifting in the ocean! Do you really feel the need to polish every paving stone in the Earth Sector? Please note, Wildcard options can also be what you can choose to do if you aren't yet comfortable in the Tu Shanshu setting, and would prefer a more 'dear-mun'-esque experience. Please specify in your post!
The turtle's new arrival is sitting half-slumped on the ground, and is not in a good way.
Daniel is liberally coated in what appears to be his own blood, his right sleeve is pushed up to reveal a new, angry brand mark on his wrist that looks like a sideways E, and his head is bobbing wearily as he mumbles to himself. It's the same two phrases, over and over, and the translation magic wavers in and out. "Ya amerikanets. Ya khochu advokata. I'm an American. I want a lawyer."
It was the second time she had smelled this amount of blood on the air and it was obvious that whoever she found might not be alive, but she looked anyway. Hope it seemed, was not a dead thing. The man was covered in blood and Valdis knew that she really wasn't the right person for this. She knelt down next to him, almost afraid to touch him.
"I'm afraid that we don't really have lawyers here."
sorry Valdis I just bring in all the blood-soaked idiots. It's kinda my thing.
With some effort, Daniel raised his head. Hm, pretty woman staring at him, telling him there aren't any lawyers. Clearly his captors have opted to catch this fly with honey now that vinegar hasn't worked.
Too late for that, he thought bitterly, but nothing like shutting the stable door and tarting up the horse after it's bolted.
He's still too out of it to tell she's not speaking Russian at him. "There's not a lot of good a lawyer would do me at this point," he says weakly, smirking at her with bloodied lips. "Not unless I feel like suing the entire country...which I might, actually." Lie. Bluff. He's an American businessman. Not a spy. Not a spy. Valdis ought to be able to sense the bravado in his words, but beneath it, a small wellspring of despair and fear that he's not letting past the cocky mask.
"Sorry to tell you this," She replied, "but you aren't in Kansas anymore, Dorothy."
The poor man must be delusional in his pain, but hopefully the little joke would help lighten his mood. Just as before, she wasn't certain what to do. He was obviously in pain, needed a healer, but she wasn't sure if she could safely move him and his life wasn't in immediate danger.
He laughed a little, defiantly - bad choice. One of his ribs decided to make its state known, and his laugh turned into a groan. He paused to take a mental inventory of his aches and pains before answering.
"Ribs. Two, maybe. Left ankle. Bleeding in a dozen places, but of course this all has to look like an accident," he muttered. "Just another foolish American going somewhere he shouldn't."
Something was broken and from his reaction, it was probably a rib and then she noticed the brand mark. But his reply gave her a better idea of how to help. There was quite a bit of damage, whoever had beaten him had been thorough, but she was uncertain if killing him had been their goal.
"You think I'm kidding, but you aren't in your world anymore," she said softly, slowly reaching out a hand to lay it on his shoulder. "You're safer now, I promise."
Edited (Alex is too fast for me :P) 2015-10-17 16:49 (UTC)
"No kidding. There's enough sodium amytal in my system to send me to the fuckin' moon." Because of course they'd dosed him up with enough truth serum to down a horse. He hadn't talked, though. He hadn't talked, he was sure of that. He hadn't said a damn thing. Because the alternative would be putting Jake in danger. Damn the patriotism, damn the mission, damn all of it directly to the deepest circle of European hell, because he'd burn all of it to the ground before he let Jake take the fall for his mistakes.
"Safer?" He laughed again, and grimaced because of his ribs. "I doubt that."
Truth serum, probably quite a bit if he was this out of it. She moved a bit closer, looking into his eyes to gauge whether or not he had a concussion and wishing she had a light in order to check the constriction of his pupils. She sighed at his refusal to believe her, but she didn't blame him, he had probably been tortured, not just beaten.
"Trust me," she replied, "No one is going to hurt you now. Let me get you to a healer."
"This is a trick," he said, closing his eyes. "It's a trick. I know what you're going to do, put me in a building on the outskirts of Grozny and call in an airstrike. Just another casualty of war."
Or, worse, use him as bait for Jake and take them both out with one fell swoop.
"Did you tell Jack I was okay?" The distinction was important. Jack, not Jake. 'Jack' should have been enough of a warning to Jake to get him to know something was very wrong. If she corrects him and says 'Jake', he'll know he broke under torture and talked. And that would have killed them both.
"I have no idea who Jack is...and we don't have airplanes in Keeliai."
He wasn't going to trust her, so now the question became 'how hard would he fight her if she tried to move him'. She could handle whatever he threw at her, but panicking and fighting would only aggravate his injuries.
Daniel raises his head. Now he's really hallucinating, because there's no way he just got called 'gringo' in the middle of some drafty-ass black site somewhere in Chechnya.
Though it looks like he's not exactly in Kansas anymore.
All he knows about the brand is that his wrist burns like hell; later he'll see it and know it's a Cyrillic letter sha, the first letter in the word shpion. Spy.
He shakes his head at the question, unsure, and immediately realizes that was a bad choice when the world spins around him. Dehydration and drugs will do that to you.
"Dunno. Prob'ly," he mutters, trying to keep from throwing up. His luck's never been good enough that his captors would have just buggered off somewhere. They're probably lying in wait.
His stomach lurches again when he realizes it's probably a trap and he's the bait.
"Don't let Jake come for me," he says, looking back up with effort. "'s a trap. Make him leave me here. Not worth it."
"I don't know any Jake, but I'll keep an eye out for you. You know where we are?"
This sure didn't look like Johannesburg, or Los Angeles. Or anywhere in South Africa or America for that matter. He bends over and scoops up Daniel under the arm and tries to help him up.
"Absolutely no fucking idea," Daniel says, letting this guy pick him up. "I was in Russia, but I guess we aren't there, or in Kansas anymore. The hell are you from, anyway?"
"No kidding? You don't sound South African." He slipped into a mimic of a South African accent for the last two words, so 'African' came out more like 'Efrican'. "I'd have thought you were from LA or something."
Daniel isn't alone on this turtle, but fortunately his partner is decidedly less maimed. That's because Metcalfe wasn't the one who got his idiot self captured and dragged into a Russian prison, which explains why he's stalking around Keeliai like an irritated lion with a gun. Jake should be trying to get Daniel out but instead he's god knows where-
And then he spots a familiar shape, and takes off running.
"Jesus, Kinney," he mutters, skidding to a halt and kneeling next to his bloodied partner. "No wonder you didn't get a lawyer, your Russian is terrible."
His tone is terse, clipped, as he gives Kinney a working over, searching for wounds.
"Yob tvoyu mat'," Daniel says, grinning at his partner with bloodied teeth as an illustration of just how terrible his Russian really is.
"By the way, I'm fine, thank you very much."
Lie. His left ankle is broken, there's the brand on his right wrist, and he's bleeding from a dozen places...not to mention at least two cracked ribs to contend with.
"Manners," he replies, pulling off his outer shirt and ripping it into strips. "I'm going to pretend that was the torture talking and not add to your injuries."
Jake wraps some of the former shirt around a few of the larger cuts, before searching around for some sticks long enough to brace that rather ugly looking ankle with. He finds three or four that are serviceable, and binds two of them to Kinney's leg just tight enough to hold them there.
"You let them brand you? I thought you had higher standards. Bite this," Jake adds, handing his partner a shorter stick. Then he quickly sets up a traction bind, wrapping another length of cloth around Daniel's upper ankle.
"This is going to hurt," is all Jake says before he starts twisting to extend Daniel's ankle and reset the bones.
Daniel just grins cheekily at him. "You know I've never been one for manners, old sport, and I barely felt it anyway." Thaaaat's about a second before there's a stick practically shoved into his mouth. He's about to make a joke about how that's pretty kinky (around the stick), before--
"Aaaakgh!"
He fixes his partner with a wounded look of deep and utter betrayal, sweating bullets.
"Old," he says when he can finally speak again. Jake is five years his senior, and he's never going to let that rest. (Except when it doesn't benefit him to bring it up.) "Yeah, I can walk." And now that he's said that, he's going to walk on that ankle if it kills him.
"And incorrect. I ended up a guest of our gracious hosts for reasons unrelated. Speaking of which..." He glances around. "Do you have the faintest clue where in fuck-all we are? Because this, this does not look like Chechnya."
"Good, because if I had to carry you I'd make them change your codename to 'princess'." Metcalfe wraps an arm underneath Kinney's shoulders and hauls him upright as gently as possible - from the way Daniel is breathing he's probably got a few broken ribs - with his gun in the other hand.
And then he pauses, because Daniel is right. This doesn't look like Chechnya, or anywhere else Jake is familiar with, and he doesn't know where to go next.
"I was wondering that myself. It was night about half an hour ago, and I definitely wasn't close enough to get to you on foot." Regardless, they're in some kind of city, so more than likely there's a doctor he can shove currency at. Jake starts moving towards what's probably the city's center. "Do you remember how you got here?"
Kinney shakes his head, ignoring the wave of dizziness that sweeps through him. "No idea. Thought I was delirious at the time. Matter of fact, still do. 'Cause there's no way this can be real. I am probably high off my ass on Amytals and dreaming all of this. Though usually my dreams don't do such horrible things to my ankles."
At least his captors hadn't cut out his tongue. Thank God for small favors, right? Ha ha ha...
"How did you get here? Wait, doesn't matter, I'm high as dicks and hallucinating. You could tell me you used Mary Poppins' magic umbrella and I'd accept it."
"I used Mary Poppins' magic umbrella," Jake grunts as he keeps Daniel upright. "But you're not dreaming. Unless we're both dreaming the same dream, and I'm pretty sure that's against company policy."
The architecture around here is really strange - very thematic and unlike anything Jake has seen before. The air smells vaguely salty, as if they're close to the ocean.
"You don't think there was another op...?" It sounds ridiculous as he's saying it. "I can usually tell when I've been drugged. It's a lot more fun that dragging your sorry ass around."
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tushanshu_ooc2015-09-22 11:30 pm
Daniel Kinney | OC | alex no
Daniel is liberally coated in what appears to be his own blood, his right sleeve is pushed up to reveal a new, angry brand mark on his wrist that looks like a sideways E, and his head is bobbing wearily as he mumbles to himself. It's the same two phrases, over and over, and the translation magic wavers in and out. "Ya amerikanets. Ya khochu advokata. I'm an American. I want a lawyer."
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"I'm afraid that we don't really have lawyers here."
sorry Valdis I just bring in all the blood-soaked idiots. It's kinda my thing.
Too late for that, he thought bitterly, but nothing like shutting the stable door and tarting up the horse after it's bolted.
He's still too out of it to tell she's not speaking Russian at him. "There's not a lot of good a lawyer would do me at this point," he says weakly, smirking at her with bloodied lips. "Not unless I feel like suing the entire country...which I might, actually." Lie. Bluff. He's an American businessman. Not a spy. Not a spy. Valdis ought to be able to sense the bravado in his words, but beneath it, a small wellspring of despair and fear that he's not letting past the cocky mask.
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The poor man must be delusional in his pain, but hopefully the little joke would help lighten his mood. Just as before, she wasn't certain what to do. He was obviously in pain, needed a healer, but she wasn't sure if she could safely move him and his life wasn't in immediate danger.
"Is anything broken?"
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"Ribs. Two, maybe. Left ankle. Bleeding in a dozen places, but of course this all has to look like an accident," he muttered. "Just another foolish American going somewhere he shouldn't."
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"You think I'm kidding, but you aren't in your world anymore," she said softly, slowly reaching out a hand to lay it on his shoulder. "You're safer now, I promise."
THUMBS OF FURY
"Safer?" He laughed again, and grimaced because of his ribs. "I doubt that."
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"Trust me," she replied, "No one is going to hurt you now. Let me get you to a healer."
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Or, worse, use him as bait for Jake and take them both out with one fell swoop.
"Did you tell Jack I was okay?" The distinction was important. Jack, not Jake. 'Jack' should have been enough of a warning to Jake to get him to know something was very wrong. If she corrects him and says 'Jake', he'll know he broke under torture and talked. And that would have killed them both.
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He wasn't going to trust her, so now the question became 'how hard would he fight her if she tried to move him'. She could handle whatever he threw at her, but panicking and fighting would only aggravate his injuries.
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"I don't see any lawyers around, gringo. Looks like someone fucked you up, they still around?"
I'LL HAVE YOU KNOW I NEARLY SHOUTED WHEN I SAW THIS TAG
Though it looks like he's not exactly in Kansas anymore.
All he knows about the brand is that his wrist burns like hell; later he'll see it and know it's a Cyrillic letter sha, the first letter in the word shpion. Spy.
He shakes his head at the question, unsure, and immediately realizes that was a bad choice when the world spins around him. Dehydration and drugs will do that to you.
"Dunno. Prob'ly," he mutters, trying to keep from throwing up. His luck's never been good enough that his captors would have just buggered off somewhere. They're probably lying in wait.
His stomach lurches again when he realizes it's probably a trap and he's the bait.
"Don't let Jake come for me," he says, looking back up with effort. "'s a trap. Make him leave me here. Not worth it."
GOOD :)
This sure didn't look like Johannesburg, or Los Angeles. Or anywhere in South Africa or America for that matter. He bends over and scoops up Daniel under the arm and tries to help him up.
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"Uh, most recently, Johannesburg."
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why hallo thar
And then he spots a familiar shape, and takes off running.
"Jesus, Kinney," he mutters, skidding to a halt and kneeling next to his bloodied partner. "No wonder you didn't get a lawyer, your Russian is terrible."
His tone is terse, clipped, as he gives Kinney a working over, searching for wounds.
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"By the way, I'm fine, thank you very much."
Lie. His left ankle is broken, there's the brand on his right wrist, and he's bleeding from a dozen places...not to mention at least two cracked ribs to contend with.
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Jake wraps some of the former shirt around a few of the larger cuts, before searching around for some sticks long enough to brace that rather ugly looking ankle with. He finds three or four that are serviceable, and binds two of them to Kinney's leg just tight enough to hold them there.
"You let them brand you? I thought you had higher standards. Bite this," Jake adds, handing his partner a shorter stick. Then he quickly sets up a traction bind, wrapping another length of cloth around Daniel's upper ankle.
"This is going to hurt," is all Jake says before he starts twisting to extend Daniel's ankle and reset the bones.
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"Aaaakgh!"
He fixes his partner with a wounded look of deep and utter betrayal, sweating bullets.
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"That might be why you ended up in a Russian prison," Jake observes, tying off the splint. "And don't call me old."
Most of the rest of Daniel appears to be intact, perhaps with the exception of his brain-mouth filter.
"Think you can walk or am I going to have to carry you?"
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"Old," he says when he can finally speak again. Jake is five years his senior, and he's never going to let that rest. (Except when it doesn't benefit him to bring it up.) "Yeah, I can walk." And now that he's said that, he's going to walk on that ankle if it kills him.
"And incorrect. I ended up a guest of our gracious hosts for reasons unrelated. Speaking of which..." He glances around. "Do you have the faintest clue where in fuck-all we are? Because this, this does not look like Chechnya."
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And then he pauses, because Daniel is right. This doesn't look like Chechnya, or anywhere else Jake is familiar with, and he doesn't know where to go next.
"I was wondering that myself. It was night about half an hour ago, and I definitely wasn't close enough to get to you on foot." Regardless, they're in some kind of city, so more than likely there's a doctor he can shove currency at. Jake starts moving towards what's probably the city's center. "Do you remember how you got here?"
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At least his captors hadn't cut out his tongue. Thank God for small favors, right? Ha ha ha...
"How did you get here? Wait, doesn't matter, I'm high as dicks and hallucinating. You could tell me you used Mary Poppins' magic umbrella and I'd accept it."
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The architecture around here is really strange - very thematic and unlike anything Jake has seen before. The air smells vaguely salty, as if they're close to the ocean.
"You don't think there was another op...?" It sounds ridiculous as he's saying it. "I can usually tell when I've been drugged. It's a lot more fun that dragging your sorry ass around."
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