( semi-closed )

[heelies]

CHARACTERS: Achilles and pals
DATE: Shorty after arriving in Perdition's Rest
WARNINGS: Homeric levels of violence and gratuitous man muscles
SUMMARY: Miscellaneous adventures in the days following the crew's arrival. Subjects range from shopping for pants to flaunting gently used sexy clothing to slaughtering bandits.


[Assorted closed threads shall follow. PM me if you wish to plot together!]

Comments

[heelies]

[With the enemy's focus fractured, each bandit becomes all the easier to cut down. Godlike Achilles splits a man's cheek upon his spear head and the pitiless bronze pierces his brains, casting him presently through death's gate. As he wrenches the haft that he may free his spear from the ruined skull, he hurls the body into another of the bandits. Flattened there upon the ground, this ill-fated man soon falls victim to Achilles' blood-burnished blade: across his belly the sword slashes, loosing the dark viscera that lie coiled within.

A bullet grazes his shoulder, at last winning blood for the bandit's side. Yet this slows the son of Peleus not in the least. His teeth grind together as he lets fly his long-shadowed spear, aiming for the chest of he who pulled the trigger, and there it plunges with force enough to emerge on the other side.

So flows the blood, until at last he and Lancer have emptied the camp of life. All that remains in the shadow of the bluffs is the pile of bodies bloodied and broken, and a pall of silence that descends in the wake of the battle. The shacks too are empty but for the stolen treasures.

Upon emerging from the curtain-draped doorway of one of these shacks, Achilles calls to Lancer.]

No more scoundrels crouch here in cowardice - it seems that we have routed the whole of this encampment. What are we to do with the treasure that here lies ripe for the taking, when we have no men to hoist it back to town?

[Gingerly he touches at his shoulder, but the wound is shallow enough that it bleeds little. His medicines and bandages wait for him in his room at the inn, and there shall he tend to himself.]

[riastraid]

[ It doesn't take long. Achilles fells another man even as bullets spray his way, and the corpses start to scare the remaining men. One takes a frantic potshot at Lancer, and he kills him after the gunfire misses him by a mile, pillowing harmlessly into the dirt.

The ones that disperse, attempting to scatter out of the dust bowl, are picked off by stinging spear blows through the back and heart, precise and mercilessly quick. One man bursts into flame. But in the end, he allows for no deserters, and there are no reinforcements incoming; Lancer returns to the huts with his spear already fading from his hands.

For two guys standing in the middle of camp of dead, baking corpses, he answers conversationally. ]

Hmm? [ A quick glance to his wound—nothing dangerous. Maybe it'd hurt to try and play packmule with a busted shoulder. ] I don't need any of this crap.

[ At best he'd take some heads back to prove they got the job done, but the sheriff didn't read as the type of guy who needed trophies. Nothing else'd really crossed his mind. ]

I can grab a to-go box for you, if there's somethin' you're really wanting.

[heelies]

[Among the war-loving Argives, treasure is the standard by which a man's worth is measured, for it is won by dint of spear: honor and value are thus synonymous, as is the glinting of gold inextricable from the precious metal itself. His brow then folds in bemusement for Lancer's indifference.]

Come now - what man would not wish to claim a trophy that boasts his victory in the bloody jaws of battle? These scoundrels have not any splendid armor which we may pry from their bodies, yet there remains an abundance of prizes more to claim for our own. To leave these here would be no better than leaving ripened figs to rot upon the branch, thus wasting their sweet juices. Although we two alone cannot carry all that there is to reap from these huts, surely there is some prize suitable for each of us.

[So speaking, he motions with his spear to indicate that Lancer ought to follow him inside to gaze over the cache of pilfered goods. What remains haphazardly stowed in sacks seems to be mostly jewelry - necklaces, brooches, and watches on fine gold chains - alongside metal odds and ends for which there might be a market. Assorted firearms lie across pegs hammered into the crooked walls, but such weapons are of little interest to Achilles.]

[riastraid]

[ Kings and queens of his time measured their weights in gold, and he'd been wealthy once upon a time, but he's got no use for frills and riches. Even when victory comes with spoils, he only really cares for the former. Anything more is clutter.

Still, he doesn't care enough to fuss about souvenirs. So be it! ]

Fine, fine...

[ He flicks out a watch, peruses between a few brooches, then summarily gives up. Better plan: ]

Say, why don't you pick something for me?

[ something that really brings out his eyes!! He would do the same for Achilles, theoretically. ]

[heelies]

If such is your wish, then so be it.

[Over the disarray of trinkets and treasures his gaze wanders and his fingers hover too, until after a moment of consideration he selects a bracelet of silver and diamond, each gem linked together as if woven there. This he plucks from the sack and offers to Lancer. Small though it may be, the gleam of the diamonds and the shine of the silver boast its fineness.]

Look - here is but a meager reward for so worthy a warrior, yet I hope it shall be to your liking. Perhaps you shall find a well-girdled woman whom to decorate thus, whose beauty matches the silver's rich gleam.

[Another keen glance reveals to him a pair of earrings, which too he plucks, extracting each one from the surrounding tangle of gold chains and pins. ]

Why not these too? For you seem to me quite fond of such jewelry, and these are small besides.

[They are small gold hoops, thus clashing somewhat with Lancer's blue motif, but perhaps he can coordinate them with his Hawaiian shirt...]

[riastraid]

[ Worldly possessions are overrated, but it's been a while since anyone appealed to his pride so blatantly. Nevermind that Riza probably wouldn't be thrilled with blood diamonds... He takes both and takes them for now, answering first with a low puff of laughter. He's honored, clearly. ]

You know what—why not. Thanks.

[ Without missing a beat, he picks out an ornate brooch, inlaid with fine, gold detail. Broad and heavy, it'd rip clear down a silk shirt, but it's sturdy enough to fasten a tunic or cloak. ]

Here— [ At the last second, he picks up a second, matching in silver, gently tossing them both his way. ] Don't hog both.

[ There's gotta be at least a few people he'd enjoy matching. ]