Time taken: 10.20pm t o 10.40 pm
I am aware it's not Friday. Sue me.
Prompt: Sober, northern, blade
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"Stay down." Redgrave's voice was flat as he got to his feet.
"I don't need your protection." Goddamn men.
He stepped forward into Corzo's strike, a brief swirl of affinity flaring into existence and into his walking stick as it clashed with the grosse messer, meeting the four-pound blade and stopping it dead.
He stepped forwards , and Corzo leapt back.
"No, Shiratori, I know you don't" he said mildly, "But I do need the space."
Nico flinched back into her seat involuntarily as Redgrave advanced and Corzo backed off, raising a hand, as the giant's affinity sphere expanded with a ripple of killing intent--
Redgrave raised his own hand, and the bow front splashed and dissipated.
"Back door's open, Corzo. Smart money's on you walking away."
"You think I'm afraid of you, you little Northern punk? Soft winters, mountain barriers-- you don't know what it means to be a man."
Nico reached under the table. Slowly, carefully.
Just keep him talking, Redgrave. Just keep him talking.
"Don't move, woman." Corzo's voice cracked out. "If you reach for the gun in your bag, I'll carve your guts out from where I stand."
She froze.
You saw the bodies, girl. You know what he's capable of.
A sobering thought.
"I think you've pretty much shown us who's responsible for the murders now, Corzo. But I don't think you have the brainpower to conduct everything that's been going on. I just need a name, and we do this the easy way, and you get to live another day."
"Big talk from a little man who can't even stand straight without a stick. Big talk from a man who's never had to hold the line and be a soldier."
"A name, Corzo. This is not your story. I'm not interested in your posturing, I'm not interested in your pissing contest, and I am certainly not interested in whether you leave here on your feet or in a bucket. Give me a name and walk, or--"
Corzo struck; a swing of his singlesword sent a shimmering arc of hardened air towards Redgrave--
He ducked out of the way, his movement suddenly smooth, unhurried, the stick flicking out to his side.
Corzo swung, a backslash carving a second swathe of air as Redgrave closed the distance, leaning so that the aerodagger sliced past his right cheek, his stick coming up and across his body as he stepped inwards, pushing Corzo's hurried thrust off to his left, stepping in deep to drive his right elbow and shoulder and hip into Corzo--
Whoa.
Corzo flew through the air and hit the bar counter with a sickening crunch.
But he didn't let go of his grosse messer; tumbling over, pointing the weapon at Nico, the air hardening around the weapon's tip again.
Shit.
She grabbed for the pistol, her fingers closing around the grip and jerking, the weapon coming out with a ripping of Velcro in the slow time of adrenalized combat, knowing that it would be too slow.
Felt, again, the cool rippling of Redgrave's affinity against the edge of her rudimentary senses, so unlike the explosive violence of Corzo's.
Saw, in the same slow time, the ripple along his walking stick, the matte-black surface shimmering into glowing life, extending into a singlesword of its own as he launched himself into a ballistra, left hand on the pommel on the stick, driving the weapon forwards with a sibilant hiss towards Corzo's throat.
Oh. Officer's Blade. That made sense; after all, every member of the Iron Angels would have been commissioned by the Governor from the day they started work, and the Blade would be useless to anyone else--
Time returned to normal.
Nico's gun came free.
Corzo's aerodagger coalesced.
And the tip of Redgrave's sword sliced through the giant's spinal cord, slick as cutting butter on a hot summer day.
"Dumb," Redgrave snarled, yanking the weapon free in a sudden gout of arterial blood, "bastard."
Future prompt: Tequila, vodka, oak
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