tampered | Log; On-going

Log; On-going

When; February 18th, Wrath Day
Rating; (Changed to)R for violence, Nat's magic of doom, and Faye's foul mouth.
Characters; Nathaniel (

natty_boy) and Faye (

glock30) and, later, Kitty (

kittyjones
Summary; Nathaniel just doesn't know when to shut up and Faye just doesn't know when to hold back.
Log;

When she was looking for something or someone, Faye didn't so much run as she did stomp. Her boots clacked loudly against the flooring of the stairs, her gun clicking and tapping against the inside of her thigh, the hidden pocket of her sweater. She'd have to lose the damn red thing if she wanted to aim right while moving, but she didn't think it would come to aiming. Another punch or two in Nathaniel's stupid, sniveling face and that would probably be that.

She didn't know what it was, why she was feeling like she just needed to anticipate the explosion of a gunshot in her fingers, why it had to be Nathaniel getting the brunt of it. Well... that was a bit of an understatement. Faye knew perfectly well why Nathaniel was getting the brunt of it, but she liked to think that it was an entirely personal reason and that she was doing it to make herself feel better. And she was. So, really it all worked out in the end.

Climbing the last flight of stairs--hardly winded--Faye shoved open the door to the roof with a hard push from her shoulder, barely wincing as the pressure jarred her shoulder. She came out with her Glock cocked and her finger poised on the trigger, tense and waiting.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

John smirked triumphantly as he sealed the apartment door with a wave of his hand, the minor imp cackling silently where it hovered at his shoulder. Within, he could simply imagine the fury on the commoner's face, and it gave him another cold thrill of satisfaction as he tested the knob, finding the door locked in place.

The magician cocked his head as he heard the heavy footfalls that could only mean company was on the way, and he chuckled, turning for the staircase. Of course she came. The girl could hardly resist a challenge, and he knew that. But no matter; the boy would not have thrown himself into danger, and typically, Mandrake was not wont to do the same. But he had magic, now. There were djinn trapped in the City, and he fed off them. It all played out perfectly.

Cool wind washed over his face as he stepped onto the roof, and he spotted the lovely Miss Valentine easily enough. Pausing a respectable distance away, John Mandrake folded his hands behind his back, cleared his throat, then spoke. "Miss Valentine," he greeted coolly. "A pleasure to see you again."

Faye, while waiting for him, had lit up a cigarette, and she was just putting away her lighter and sucking in her first hit when she heard his voice. Of course, she had heard the door open before he had said anything, and the back of her spine was ramrod straight from anticipation and the almost-sixth sense that she had seemingly inherited from certain members of the Bebop team. She could feel him before he even moved.

The breeze up here was cool, but Faye could still feel sweat on her back of her neck where her hair gathered thick and full. She wasn't afraid or nervous, though, and her voice was firm and controlled when she said, "Can't say I'm thinking the same thing." She took another drag and exhaled sharply through her nose.

With a smirk and a few steps in his direction, hips swaying with more threat than sex appeal, she asked sweetly, "So how's your face? Swollen yet?"

Mandrake's expression tightened at the question, his hand automatically coming up to brush over the dark bruise that had blossomed across his jaw. Of course it hurt. But as if he would admit it to her. Straightening in his stance, the magician merely quirked an eyebrow.

The eighteen-year-old was not a man of actions, but more so words. That was the world he was brought up in, and the way he had learned to fight. He left the fighting to djinn, to the lower magicians and commoners; but he felt empowered in the City, and there was no other magician to bring him down. Ptolemy? Ha. The child was too weak to conquer much of anything. The magic buzzed under his skin; he was ready.

"I had assumed," he replied smoothly, "that you were observant enough to answer that for yourself." He lifted his chin slightly, as if to prove a point, and waited a beat before continuing. "Do tell, what is it that you want?"

Faye snorted, watching his hand pass over the darkening blotch. Her knuckles ached, were probably going to bruise, but it was the sort of ache that made her happy to have it. She hadn't had a good bone-on-bone punch in so long that it hit her like a drug: right behind the eyes with a numbing sweetness, endorphins, adrenaline.

Tired of standing around and more or less chit-chatting, Faye wasted a perfectly good cigarette and spit it out on the ground. She twisted the cherry end underneath her boot, checking to make sure that her clip was full and settled correctly into the chamber. As if she'd ever done it wrong in the four years she'd had the thing.

"Just thought I'd make sure it wasn't starting to feel better," she practically growled. Faye started moving. It was impossible for her to stay still, always had been in situations like this. She needed to move or she might do something stupid like let him get a hit on her. Pausing off to his left, she commented dryly, "Seriously? I didn't think you were that much of a moron."

Mandrake laughed, then, the sound cold and foreign to be coming from his lips. There was a tiny fluttering of fear curling through his stomach, but a wave of recklessness, only spurred on by the day's curse, easily quashed that. How uncivilized. A gun.

Dark eyes followed her easily as he took a step to keep facing her, the heel of his immaculate loafers making a soft grinding sound against the concrete. The chuckles died away, and he smiled without feeling.

"I believe you are confusing me for the boy, Miss Valentine, because I do agree with you; he is a fool. And I am not likely to insult myself, so any problems you have with wee little Natty should be taken up with the girl."

Faye scowled. And when Faye Valentine scowled in that special Faye Valentine way, you weren't likely to forget. She imagined that she could see the skin on Nathaniel's face dissolving under the weight and heat she tried to get across to him. If she could have physically done such a thing, she would have.

"You mean Kitty?" she hissed through her teeth, drawing her gun and pointing it at what she judged to be right between his eyes. She'd never shot a human being before, not really anyway, not to kill, but she couldn't think of a better opportunity to break her death toll virginity than this one. "If you know what's good for her, you'll leave her out of this," Faye went on, taking a step closer, minimizing the distance between them. She smirked. She could have said something about certain--sick, gross, yuck--events that had transpired, but Faye only continued smirking, tilting her head.

"So come on," she said. "If this thing's between you and me then why are you just standing there. You're not afraid are you?"

Mandrake stiffened as the weapon was drawn, aimed at him; from this angle, the young man could see the barrel, cold and dark and uninviting - of course, it made him nervous. But a politician never lets on what he's feeling, not to the public, and so he raised his chin just slightly and stared back with forced calm.

"I am not afraid," he replied evenly, though perhaps feeling a bit more of that emotion than he would have liked. The imp at his shoulder, invisible to Valentine, uttered a soft chitter as it sensed Mandrake's growing unease as the conversation wore on. The magician barely spared his slave a glance, lenses flickering on what planes he could see in this world. What should he fire with? What should he charge the imp?

A weapon. Will the Master charge me to be rid of it? Let me be rid of it. Iron, steel, fire, pain. It is death, to me, to the Master, oh but how my essence aches from it!

The magician grit his teeth as the commoner girl's name was uttered, and he raised a hand, palm facing out, and cast a Shield, wary of the gun. "Indeed," he said softly. "It is between you and me. Will you fire, Miss Valentine? Have you ever truly harmed a human before?" He chuckled, then. "I have tortured people like Jones. I will have no problems doing the same to you."

Faye narrowed her eyes, feeling the wind on her back. She felt hypersensitive to everything: slick metal, pounding circulation, a shift of something she couldn't understand or grasp. Her throat was dry, her skin papery and thin over bones and muscle that felt too big for her body. Was she going to do this? Was she going to shoot him?

Fuck yes she was.

"Goody," she answered him, tensed her finger, her arm, her pulse.

The trigger depressed and the grip of her hand trembled. The buildup in the gun, the minimal recoil from the make and model, the way she suddenly couldn't swallow and couldn't look and couldn't look away at the same time. Click, boom, bang. There was always a breath of hesitation in between the actual firing of a bullet and the sound that followed it out of the barrel, and through the silence and into the moment and tension following, Faye felt her face pull into a mean frown.

She missed.

Fucking damn it! she thought, but didn't get much of a chance to explain her poor aim.

Despite himself, Mandrake startled, took a quick step back as the weapon went off. He saw the flash, heard the sharp crack that accompanied the fired shot and the bullet was nowhere to be seen, but he had a Shield, why should he worry about --

Jesus Christ!

Mandrake took another step away as the bullet grazed his pantleg, he felt the heat but not the flash of pain, and then the spray of concrete, another crack as it embedded in the ground by his foot. The magician allowed a flash of both surprise and relief cross his features before it was reined into apathy again. She missed. Of course she did. But nevertheless, it went through the Shield. Damn it, of course; metal. It went through every type of magic.

"I must commend you on your aim, Miss Valentine," Mandrake murmured. "But shall we play fire..." He raised his hand, fingers poised to snap, and he cocked his head slightly with a tiny smirk. "With fire?"

Snap. Silence. Boom.

Detonation. Minor, right by her arm, enough to let the blue flames lick at her skin before they vanished. Oh, he was just beginning.

Faye felt her skin curl and singe at the contact, and she hissed at the sensation before pulling her sweater up over her arms and lunging out of the way. She tightened the knot just under her breasts, hoping to keep the tie tight and secure and out of her way. She checked her position and fired two more rounds. One of them missed. One of them didn't, but it wasn't where she had intended.

The one that missed went wide over his head. The one that missed nicked the back of his hand, and even Faye was surprised at her accuracy: she had been aiming for his wrist. She could feel her heart thudding in her throat, her ears, as she turned and tried to dodge whatever it was that he kept throwing at her. He had said something to her, but she had already forgotten it, feeling flame and debris from explosion reach up her legs, the bare flesh of her stomach, her face.

She turned again and got a stance, saw the blood on the back of his hand, blanched, and found the door on the opposite side of the roof. No way out, Faye, she told herself. Finish the job.

Mandrake hissed in pain as searing heat and sharp pain tore across the back of his hand, and he jerked it away, as if trying to be rid of the sensation. Careless. Careless! What good was magic if it didn't protect the weilder? She was firing at him, and he had underestimated that: he had assumed she would be much to cravenly to even fire the first shot! Oh, but no, John, there's intent behind the misfire. No doubt.

He grinned a touch nastily as he saw her move, watched the change in her expression, and he took another step to make it all the more obvious that her exit was blocked. He curled his hand, a thin stream of blood dripping between his fingers as he barked out, "Demon, I charge you!"

And so it went. Detonation after Detonation, purposely missing, sometimes aim dead on, and he was toying with her. He was never like this in his home world, but there was a raw power here that coursed through him, Wrath burned through his veins and the girl had provoked him. Naughty, naughty.

Suddenly, he held up a hand, and the attacks stopped. He cocked his head slightly, finding it difficult to be merciful at all on this day, bloodlust tore through him, but he forced out a calm, though mocking inquiry; "Had enough?"

She was on the ground. Her skin was sizzling, head to toe, up and down, all frazzled nerves and straining skin. There were burns on her neck, her arms, her spine. Her sweater was frayed and destroyed--another one down--and she discarded it, peeling it off without even a wince. Blood ran into her eye, some cut from cracked concrete having sliced open her eyebrow. Her hand throbbed--broken?--from pulling it out from underneath a bigger piece of stone.

Faye couldn't breathe when she stood up, but she didn't let it show. Her eyes were hot as a his stupid fucking magic. "Oh, fuck you," she spit, literally, mixture of blood and saliva, ash and dirt. She felt the ground leave her feet as she moved again, and she hated running.

When he pulled a cease and desist, Faye looked up hotly, her broken hand cradled against her stomach. He looked like a little boy having fun, playing games. She could feel the curse still in her head, telling her what to say, telling her how to feel, but now most of Faye's rage, wrath, was her own. "No way," she growled, lifted her left hand--not her dominant one in the slightest--and fired.

This time she didn't miss.

There was a beat of breathless silence, disbelief. The magician, for a brief moment, saw the world in slow motion as the final shot was fired. Then, abruptly, everything dropped back into it's regular fast-paced speed, and his shoulder jerked back at the burning force. It tore through clothing, skin, searing fire embedded in muscle and involuntarily, he cried out in pain.

The imp at his shoulder leapt up to avoid the metallic blow, and Mandrake gripped the wound as blood ran in rivulets between his fingers and down his arm, which now hung useless. He sucked in a ragged breath, felt the cold sweat beading his brow even as the pain began to reside, replaced with that numbness. He closed his eyes tightly, hissed out, "You bitch."

With an effort, Mandrake straightened, barked out another command in some foreign and long-dead tongue, and the imp fired a jet of its power. It flashed an icy blue in the air, wound around Valentine, searing cold sinking into her skin and through the burns.

"Figured a woman as cold as yourself," he panted, eyes glinting madly, "deserved a present to that degree. Do those burns feel better now?"

The shock of cold hit Faye like a bullet to the gut. It dug inside the burns, little icicle fingers itching underneath her skin, into her eyes and ears and nose and down her throat. It was cold cold COLD. Frost in her blood and ice filling up her brain. It was heavy, made her sluggish, made her want to throw up and scream and cry all at the same time.

She was back in the tank, back in liquid nitrogen, floating in suspended animation, forced amnesia. She could hear Nathaniel breathing, laughing, but she was down underneath the weight of the freeze. When she looked up there was ice everywhere, and she was cold. It slowed her blood, she couldn't see. For one time-screeching moment, she wondered if she was going to die, if she wasn't already dead.

And then she was on her feet, shaking, and looking at Nathaniel like she was going to tear his face off and eat it. She'd never know how she managed it, but she got within lunging distance and got her knee into his pelvis, knocking him back. Not even thinking, running on ice and rage and hatred, she buried the fingers of her good hand in his shoulder wound, twisting and digging.

"Do you feel better, you son of a bitch?" she purred, still shivering, her lips trembling, blue.

In the past half hour, Kitty Jones had been insulted, thrown across a roof, thrown into Nathaniel's flat, and locked inside said flat. Suffice to say that in the last half hour, her mood had gone bad to distinctly pissed off.

The magician - Mandrake, not Nathaniel - had placed an incantation on the door, but he had forgotten once again her natural resistance to magic. Each time she threw herself against it, the wood was not the only thing that began to weaken - the spell wore away too, the essence wavering whenever her body made contact. When she felt the hum of distant magic beneath her skin and began to slam harder out of sheer dread... well, it didn't stand a chance.

Door crashing open, she didn't need to think about where to run. The magic and the noises would have lead her there anyway, but instinct also played its part, and she knew where he would be. The magician was always on the roof, but more than that, she could feel him. She knew.

As she frantically climbed the stairs she felt another blast of magic pulse through her, and she increased her pace to keep in time with her now-quickened breath, which was coming in short gasps, her chest tight with adrenaline and fear. Then she heard the first gunshot, and everything froze - breath, heart, the world, everything. Froze, and then began to move even faster. She didn't run up to the roof, she practically flew, ignoring anything else she heard or felt - magic, another gunshot, shouting...

Bursting out onto the rooftop it took a moment to quell the panic surging through her and take in her surroundings. And a second later she was moving again, rushing between the two of them. With a swift and not particularly gentle movement she shoved Mandrake backwards, away from Faye's grip. Her other hand reached out to grab the woman by the shoulder, steadying her and holding her back for a moment before moving it away. "Stop it!"

A gun on one side, magic on the other. Metal and spirit. Manmade and natural. Both equally dangerous, and each combatant equally angry. A single look and she knew certainly, beyond doubt, once and for all, that it was a curse. Her friends... these were not her friends. Not the people she had cared about, people she... loved. Had loved quite literally in both cases (thanks again to another curse or two).

Raising an open palm to each of them she stood her ground between Faye and Nathaniel - or whoever it was the curse had moulded them into - unmoving except for the fast rise and fall of her chest. "Both of you, just stop it!"

Part of her wanted to close her eyes and pray this was all a dream, but she knew now, of all times, she could not act afraid.

Mandrake cried out again, ragged and almost tormenting as the numbness in his shoulder was swiftly replaced by harsh fingers, digging twisting tearing at the wound. With his one good arm, he gripped his attacker, short nails digging into her own shoulder as he tried to force her back. His eyes blurred with unbidden tears from the pain, pale face flushed with anger and exertion, and then suddenly --

Gone.

She was gone. Mandrake let out a groan as he dropped to one knee, hand now pressed over the wound as dark blood leaked through his clothing, flowing unchecked now as he tried to stop it with his palm. He closed his eyes tightly against the pain, willed it to stop, chest heaving and gasps echoing in his ears. Weakness. Useless. Magic would not fix this, not his magic. Mandrake swallowed roughly against the dyness in his throat, squeezed his eyes tightly to force back the tears. Then he registered a new sound, a new voice, and he forced his eyes open and his head up to see.

"Jones," he ground out with pure malice. "What the fuck are you doing here?"

Faye could already feel the bruises. Nathaniel dug his stubby nails so deep and harsh that she wouldn't be surprised to see blood there now, scabs tomorrow. Disgusting. She watched his eyes glaze with a film of saline, felt empowered from it, understood, now, how Spike and Jet had made shooting and hurting look so effortless, so clean. It didn't matter: she was running on cold, freezing adrenaline and she--

Kitty's voice cut the tension hard and solid and she felt her fingers slip with a sickening slurp from Nathaniel's shoulder and Kitty yanked her back. Faye almost lost her balance, the heels of her boots rocking. She grabbed for Kitty's sleeve with her bad hand--natural instinct--and shrieked as the broken bones grate together. She felt close to passing out, burns throbbing, cold throbbing, hand aching so bad.

"Kitty," she growled, and shoved herself away from Jones with a hard push, which knocked her off balance, knees skinning on the ground. Her stockings pulled and tore. She spit blood onto the floor again. "Don't you even fucking say a word to her," she screamed at Nathaniel, getting to her feet again.

This is so messed up, she thought.

Kitty didn't connect the slight rough sound to bones until she heard Faye cry out, and saw her body crumple. She turned frantically, eyes wide, too late to stop her friend from sinking to the ground. "Faye!"

At the sight of the torn clothing and the blood as she rose again - oh God, the blood - Kitty reached out with a gasp, hand resting gently on the other woman's shoulder. "Are you... don't... please, stop fighting, you're hurt," she asked, pleaded, voice trembling slightly.

Spinning her head to face Mandrake her face was instantly harsh, all traces of concern gone from her expression, when she noticed the bloody mess that was his shoulder. Instantly her face flickered into heartfelt distress, concern, love, and for a moment she forgot the situation and was only able to comprehend that there was blood all over her lover.

No.

Taking a deep breath, she shook her head. No. Not Nathaniel. "I'm here to stop you doing something you'll regret, you prat," she didn't shout, but she didn't need to, her voice practically crackled with anger. "Just what do you think you're doing? Both of you?"

Mandrake struggled to stand, stopped when the movement suddenly felt much too heavy and beyond his control; and so, he contented himself with staying there, in that position, wondering when the blood would stop, the pain would stop, but it kept on going and he could do nothing. Breathing was difficult, but he knew he wasn't as injured as the Valentine girl, and for that, he allowed a quietly triumphant smirk.

Then the commoner spoke, and he barked out a harsh laugh, eyes bright and almost wild. "Having a little conversation, Miss Jones," he answered. "None of which concerns you. So go along on your way, unless you want to get hurt. I am beyond regret now." Mandrake paused, drawing in a shaky breath as the throbbing in his shoulder escalated. The bullet was still in there. He could feel it, dull and hot and the blood -- he blinked quickly to be rid of the lingering tears and the threat of unconsciousness.

Not in front of the commoners. Not yet. He had enough strength for a spell, to charge the demon with another attack. Should he finish off Valentine, or be rid of that pestering commoner girl for good?

Faye pushed her hair out of her face, smearing blood into her hair. She wanted a shower more than anything else, a shower and a sling and maybe a really big bag of--no. Not ice. She'd put her hand through a meat grinder before she'd willingly use ice on herself. She was still cold. Without having to even look at herself, she knew her lips were blue, skin paler than normal, thin and faded like a ghost. "I'm fine," Faye said to Kitty, shoving even further away from her.

"What does it look like we're doing?" Faye asked. She tried to hunch over, but the burnt, raw skin on her back protested and she straightened up. "I hate to agree with him," she said, not looking at Kitty, "but I do. Like I'd ever regret putting that hole in you, you moron." She noticed the tears in his eyes with a sickeningly sweet smile. "What, are you gonna cry?"

Faye could see the telltale signs of another fight brewing underneath Nathaniel's skin, along the tensing of his shoulders and back. She gripped her Glock tighter in her left hand, stepping a little closer to Kitty. She wasn't sure if she could manage to hit him with her left hand again, but she'd throw the damn thing at him if she thought it would help.

Kitty willed herself to stay calm. She was safe, and the others were seriously hurt, but not fatally. Faye had an eerie look about her, stained by the spell, and the magician who had cast it was slumped on the floor, trying to stand and failing, his face contorted in pain. Bad, but not fatal. Not fatal yet, at any rate. "It looks like you're both making idiots of yourselves, and that concerns me rather a lot, actually."

She was perfectly aware of Mandrake trying to steady himself, and like as not prepare himself for another move - she had been around him too long, fought with him for too long to not notice it. She also noticed Faye trying move closer to her, but she wasn't having that. Neither of them was going to hurt the other again. Quickly she stepped forward, repositioning herself between the pair.

"This is a curse," she stated, trying to keep her voice steady, "and you know it. You must know it. This isn't you." Her eyes flickered to Natha-- Mandrake, and she spoke again, softly, barely a whisper. "This isn't you." After a pause she moved once more, and she knelt down in front of him, eyes insistent as one hand hovered inches from his wounded shoulder.

Mandrake's eyes merely flickered to the approaching hand before another Detonation went off, between him and the commoner. His shout of pain was swallowed by the minor explosion as it forced back Jones as well as singed his open shoulder, but at least it got her away from him. The initial pain of the blast faded on his shoulder, and absently, he realised that he had indirectly managed to cauterize the wound, though for how long it would stay that way, he didn't know.

"Do not," he spat out, "touch me, filth." He jerked his head around towards Valentine, eyes narrowing. "And I could ask you the same question." He let his eyes roam over her, insultingly, and back to her face, to which he directed a slow smile. "Surely you do not think this is over." His gaze moved back to Jones. "Either of you."

Faye felt the explosion before it actually happened, the tension and buildup shaking her feet in her boots. It blew up in what looked like, from her angle, Kitty's face, and Faye was moving with unchecked rage and determination before she could comprehend what was happening. She fired two more shots at Nathaniel, but because she was tired or using her left hand or because she didn't have it in her anymore, she missed.

Realizing that she could have hit Kitty without meaning to, Faye moved forward again, thinking that she would wrap both her hands around Nathaniel's neck and squeeze until his eyes rolled out of his head, broken bones or not. But then Kitty flew past her, and Faye breathed a heavy, "Fuck," and turned to make sure she didn't do something stupid like fall off the roof.

She had no time to make sure that Kitty was anything other than a smear on the ground--which she wasn't--because she could hear the magician behind her, getting to his feet. "Put your money where your mouth is, kid," she said, low and furious.

As she was thrown back, Kitty could feel the heat of the spell on her jacket, pressing, insisting against her flesh, demanding to burn clean through it. She hit the ground with a dull thud and still it pushed against her, sending her skimming backwards across the concrete, until she hit the small wall diving roof from ground and could go no further. Then her resistance began to kick in, searching out the magic, absorbing it, turning the heat to cold... and it was gone. Pain from the throw and the subsequent collision rattled through her, but no burning. She sat there heavily for a moment, trying in vain to regain her breath.

The sound of gunshots snapped her back to attention, and she staggered to her feet, wobbling slightly with the effort of even standing. "No!" Her vision was swimming, eyesight more than a little dizzy from Mandrake's attack, and she couldn't make out if he was... She gave a shudder of relief as she realised he hadn't cried out. Against all the odds, Faye had missed.

She walked, feet rapidly steadying, and dusted off her jacket in an attempt to make light of the attack which... well, had it been cast on someone without resilience against magic, it would have been fatal. "Magic isn't going to cut it with me, Mandrake. Idiot. Don't you learn anything?"

Soon she was by the two of them again, her legs weak under her but her voice still strong, and showing no signs of backing down. "Stop fighting. Both of you. Now."

Mandrake all but snarled when Faye approached, automatically twisting to the side when she aimed her gun, flinched when it fired, inaudible sigh of relief when she missed. Twice. She was getting rusty already? And he had been worried for a moment there, but no, he was fairly certain that victory was his.

The magician rolled his eyes when Jones stepped in again. Always trying to play the hero, to be noble and self-sacrificing. According to the boy, it was him that did the sacrifice. How silly of her to try something he - we - had already done. First come, first serve. He bared his teeth in a half-smile, half-grimace.

"I learn plenty, Jones. And I shall desist if the lovely Miss Valentine does, and only then. Else, I am wholly prepared to fire back once more." His eyes narrowed. "I do not take kindly to being attacked, after all. And I see no reason for those additional shots fired, seeing as Miss Jones is unhurt, for the most part."

Faye swiped at the blood from a busted lip. She must have bit down on it without realizing. And Kitty was talking, but she wasn't listening. It didn't concern her, and it suddenly hit her like a truck that whatever was going on here, with them, between them, didn't concern her either. That didn't bother Faye. She had lived her life as an observer, really. This was no different. "Have it your way," Faye snarled, spinning on a boot heel to stalk off toward the door.

It hurt. Stalking off after getting your ass a little kicked always hurt. She had goosebumps on her arms, the cold spell still under her skin, and the burns up and down her body were the color of fresh meat. She was tired and cold and wanted to sleep and fix her hand. It hurt, too. A lot.

So she turned to go, tucking her gun back into her destroyed sweater with an upward tilt of her chin. Not meaning to, Faye caught Kitty's eye, tried to communicate something she wasn't sure how to communicate, and quickly looked away. "Don't consider this a victory, kid," she said to Nathaniel, looking over a burnt shoulder. "As far as I'm concerned this isn't finished yet."

She reached into her pocket for her cigarettes and lighter and only managed to pull out the Zippo--once someone else's, now hers. "Figures," she said, flicking the cap open with a snick and sliding through the open door as the lighter cap clamped back down.

As their eyes met Kitty instinctively took a step towards Faye, wincing at the blood on her hand where she'd wiped her lip, and hating the City, and completely unsure as to what to do. Let Faye leave for safety? Or let Faye leave and then... have her collapse from her wounds? Other people might be more concerned about whether they were left alone with a psychotic magician or not , but it didn't bother Kitty in the slightest.

"Faye, don't..." She didn't know what to say. It didn't matter anyway. With a murmured threat and a click of a lighter, Faye was gone. Kitty stood quite still for a minute, still reeling. The sudden silence felt strange, and the cool wind stung against her hot eyes, as she hurriedly blinked back what might have been... no, it couldn't have been.

She turned sharply to face Mandrake, mouth opening and closing noiselessly as she took a few more moments to find the words to speak. "You're hurt," she said, the revelation sounding blunt and pointless as it spilled from her lips. What else could she say? "You need help."

As Faye turned away and exited the scene, Mandrake didn't try to hold back a triumphant bark of laughter, watching her retreating form with a cold smile. She didn't think it was over, did she? Ha. Well, neither did he. He looked forward to a rematch, should there be one, and oh, he would be prepared if there was.

With that matter taken care of, Mandrake turned his eyes on Jones, and he revelled in her gaping, speechless expression. Speechless. Just the way he liked her. Much too loud, hissing, angry, annoying. Ah, but that was short-lived; she spoke again, and his face contorted into a sneer.

"I need nothing whatsoever from you," he said, voice soft and icy. The magician pulled himself up with more of an effort than he expected, left arm hanging limply at his side as the blood still trickled down, dripped off his fingertips and into a small puddle on the ground. "It is a small victory," he continued, "saving us from total bloodshed. But do take note, Miss Jones, that even Valentine stated that this was not over yet." He quirked an eyebrow. "My sentiments exactly."

When he sneered at her Kitty had to check herself from doing something drastic, containing herself to tightening her hands into sharp fists and narrowing her eyes. Even after all this time her instinct was still to fight the magicians, to hurt them if she could. They hurt her, hurt her friends, tried to kill her, treated her like she was nothing... this was just like back home. Everything that had happened here was just like London - with the exception that here her friend, Faye, was still alive. And then there was one other terrible difference; she was in love with the magician in question, and she had no choice but to refuse to give in to her anger, refuse to hurt him.

And because of that he was able to stand there, turning his nose up at her, without a care in the world.

"You'd think as a politician you'd be good at lying," she said coolly. One eyebrow raised, her gaze flickered from his face to the growing pool of red blood on the ground, and then back again. "But there's no point trying to spin the truth when it's obvious. You're bleeding. You need help."

She was positively shaking with rage as he continued to speak. Did he never give up? She hated him. Hated him. He was so callous, like a petulant child, not even dignifying her with proper talk. Merely a dismissal and a threat, and a look of utter contempt. "I hate you," the whispered words slipped out without her even realising it.

Enough. She turned away from him, turned to leave, his voice still ringing in her ears.

But it was too hard to take even one step. This wasn't her. This wasn't what she did. She didn't run away from magicians, she fought and she won. This wasn't Nathaniel, this was Mandrake, the man who had been ruining her life so utterly since she was barely out of childhood. Could she just walk away? Retreat? Let the matter rest?

No. Expression hardening, she spun round again, and an equally hard first shot out directly at his smug face, colliding with a sharp crack.

"Well, love, I hate you too."

Mandrake merely smiled, distant and cool, as she turned away from him. He didn't allow his injury to ruin the fact that he had actually won over the commoner girl. She never walked away, and he knew that this was an achievement; it did not matter who saw it, or who didn't, as no one would understand in this world. Their rivalry was a secret one here, and yet he revelled in that quiet glory. Mandrake waited for her to take a step, waited for her to leave him be. It should have bene so easy, so quick - but then she turned around again.

What in the --

"Fuck!" For the second time that day, the magician felt the blunt force of a punch connect with his jaw; there was venom behind this one, and, already weakened from the gradual bloodloss, he reeled back. Mandrake caught himself on the ledge, staring at the ground, dazed, as pain blossomed over his already bruised jaw. Twice bruised now. He shook his head, pulled himself upright, closed his eyes then opened them to glare at the girl. Then he smiled a little, softened his voice to that ever-so (disgusting, sickly) gentle keen of the boy.

"I suppose I deserved that," he mocked in Nathaniel's tone. Then his voice shifted, expression hardening. "But if you are through, Miss Jones, I'll be on my way now. We have important matters to attend to in the form of research and knowledge. None of which you would understand, certainly."

Kitty tried to pretend what he said didn't hurt. She repeated it over and over to herself like a mantra. I don't care what he says, I don't care what he says. But it did hurt. She didn't want to hear him say he hated her. More than anything, she didn't want that. And the hurt and the anger made her feel a little bit better as she knocked him to the ground.

But a little bit better than terrible was still... pretty terrible.

The anger surged once more as he imitated Nathaniel. "How dare you," she spat out, fury etched on her face. She swallowed audibly, struggling to keep her emotions under control, opening and closing her fists as she willed her muscles to stop being so bloody tense. It didn't work. "You did deserve it. And you deserve a whole lot more."

She wanted him to hurt for what he said to her. What he'd done to her. Kitty was never one to let something go, to back out of a fight, to lose when she knew how to win. And she knew one thing that would truly anger him. "Research? Knowledge? Like what, Mandrake? The Gate?"

Her voice taking on a mocking tone, she smiled coldly, "Funny that one of the most complex spells in the history of mankind should be carried out by a commoner. Funny that you should fail. Not so clever after all, are you?"

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