entrancelogs | (no subject)

Who: Diogenes (

fraterminor) and Stango (

playingbadcop)
Where: Hedge maze! Because I said so.
When: ...Right now? Probably after Stango gets some EVE from Sinclair.
Rating: Somewhere between PG-13 and R for violence.
Summary: Stango and Diogenes run into each other in the hedge maze; HEAVEN OR HELL, LET'S ROCK!
the Story:

Stango meant to save his first EVE hypo for later, but somewhere on the way back to his room, its blue glow started to draw his eye, and the itch got worse, and he started to sweat. He's been around long enough to know that the mansion's hall monitors like to catch people at their worst, so instead of heading back to his room, he's come outside and lost himself in the hedge maze.

There, he holds the needle up to the evening light and shudders. He's never seen one that big, and doesn't relish the thought of sticking it in himself. But he remembers feeling strong, he remembers walls blurring by, obstacles simply falling away, and that's stronger than his fear of the needle. He closes his eyes, punctures the skin, and depresses the plunger.

The muscles in his arm spasm, and the empty syringe falls from his hand. He opens his eyes and lifts his head, face sheened in sweat, but smiling.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Diogenes decided earlier to take a walk around the hedges. At present, he's smoking a thin clove cigarette and enjoying the evening.

He exhales a slow stream of smoke while rounding a corner and suddenly stops dead at the sight of Stango. He looks potentially worse for the wear, but the syringe on the ground and the smile on his face are clear signs of danger.

He wonders for a moment if he can escape unnoticed, but it doesn't look promising.

The grin widens, which is even less promising.

"Well, well, well. If it ain't Pendergast Number Two. What brings you out here?"

He carefully adjust his stance, preparing for fight and/or flight.

"Merely enjoying the night, Detective." He surveys the scene once more before taking another drag off of his cigarette. "And you?"

"Just takin' a walk."

He watches Diogenes for a moment, appraisingly.

"Hey, just outta curiosity, weren't you threatenin' me a couple days back?"

Diogenes watches him carefully for a moment before flashing an unrepentant smile.

"I never threaten, Detective Stango. I simply make promises that I have every intention of keeping."

"Let me rephrase that. Weren't you promisin' me somethin' a couple days back?"

"Indeed."

Diogenes slowly draws a slim case from his vest, speaking cordially while removing the scalpel from it.

"I had not planned on delivering on said promise this evening, but I am a great believer in providence."

"Me too."

He is not, but it sounded good at the time.

He doesn't wait for Diogenes to prepare--he's never claimed to be any kind of gentleman. He just snaps his fingers, flings out his hand, and rushes forward in a blur.

Diogenes throws himself sideways. That excessive speed again. He makes a mental note to investigate how Stango has gone about leveling the playing field, but for now, he barely moves out of the way in time, falling to the ground in his haste to get out of the way.

It will shortly become apparent that when he's using the plasmid, Stango's maneuverability suffers; he first has to skid to a stop, then turn.

But having turned, he makes another rush--this one not aided by the plasmid, though still much faster than he was the first time they met. He's drawing his gun, hoping to catch Diogenes while he's still on the ground.

Diogenes pushes himself off of the ground and lunges at Stango, keeping his stance low and aiming for the femoral artery with a calculated slash of the scalpel.

If Stango had used the plasmid, he'd be dead by now. As it is, he's willing to twist aside just enough, leaving him with a nasty--but not deadly--gash along his leg. The unexpected movement sends his shot wide, and he snarls more with rage than with pain.

At this distance, he won't be able to avoid a second sweep of the scalpel. Unless...

Staggering a little on his wounded leg and leaving bloody prints on the dirt floor of the maze, he runs at Diogenes again, at the last moment swerving and going past him, turning back to face him once he has a little distance, hoping that the change in direction will slow Diogenes down enough to save his life.

Diogenes twists and slashes again blindly, but the blade hits nothing but air and he turns furiously, eyes landing on Stango a short distance away. He exhales and it turns into a smile as he straightens.

"My my, it seems we've got a few more tricks up our sleeve than last time, eh, Detective?"

Stango is smiling too, though the expression is less calculated, grimmer. He's not at all sure of winning this fight, but he is enjoying it. He swings his gun around, pointing it right between Diogenes' eyes.

"Against my will. But hey, providence, right?"

There's that ugly, mocking laugh again.

Diogenes takes a measured, slow step sideways, almost as if he's about to begin circling Stango, eyes never leaving his.

"Is that so? You didn't seek out this little advantage of yours? I must say, I'm surprised. After our last meeting..." He smirks a little. "Well, I don't suppose it matters. At the end of the day, you're still just a relic."

Stango moves with him, his step made slightly clumsy by his leg wound.

"A relic, huh? That ain't too bad. I'd rather be dead than red on the head, y'know."

Diogenes clutches at his heart histrionically.

"You wound me with your words, Detective. Truly."

Speaking of wounding, Diogenes suddenly dives and rolls toward Stango, making another attempt at the already wounded leg as he rights himself.

Stango tries to dodge backward, stumbles. As he goes down, he braces his shooting arm with his other and fires. At this range, surely even Diogenes can't dodge, or at least he hopes so--else he's a dead man.

What he doesn't realize is that the pressure he felt against his pants leg was the scalpel striking home, the blade so sharp that he hardly feels it through the jolt of the gunfire and the adrenaline pulsing through his body.

But a moment later, his trouser leg is sodden, first deep, arterial red and then black as the blood saturates the fabric, and there can be no doubt.

Diogenes does manage to move, but not enough... the force of the shot knocks him backwards, and with a strange, detached thought, he realizes that the bullet must have punctured his lung. He writhes feebly in pain and finds that he can't breathe, and slowly, ever so slowly, the world begins to dim from gray to black around the edges of his vision...

At the edge of his hearing, Diogenes may hear a faint, breathy voice muttering "Oh, shit," and then the sound of a body collapsing to its knees, and from its knees to the ground. Stango's breath comes faster and harsher, fighting for oxygen as his limbs seem to turn to sand, and the ground against his body goes vague, and then there's nothing at all.