The not so Afterlife [ OPEN ][ Swearing ]

[Pip]

The last sight he saw, could have made him shed a tear. The blonde draculina hovering over him, bloodied face no longer able to see that which she wished to protect. Her cries ripping through his head. “Mr. Bernadotte!” A vampire, crying. It was a depressing sight. “Mr. Bernadotte!!”

“Klutz.” His teeth gritted into a grin, blood trickling from his nose and past his lips. “You’re such a klutz.” His breathing was heavy, coming out in ragged gasps. A choked laugh managed to escape. “Weren’t you the one who came here intending to save m-me?” He brought his eyes to her now bloodied sockets. “So, tell me how it ended up with me s-saving you instead…?” Opening his mouth slightly, the still burning cigarette dropping from his mouth.

“Bernadotte … Mr. Bernadotte … Be-!” She was cut short as his lips pressed against hers, the world seeming to fall silent. Even as blood dripped down his chin he pulled away, grinning. Laughing like an idiot he closed his eye, the tang of blood on his tongue as he laughed. “I’ve managed to catch you off your guard at long last!” Chuckling again he smiled. “I finally did it, I finally got my kiss!”

Opening his eye again he returned to a faint semblance of seriousness. “Weep not Seras. You’re a tough fille.” Air slowly becoming more and more difficult to take in. “Why don’t you feed from me.” He felt no ill saying that, he would die anyways. “Drink of my blood and then … get up and lets go defeat them as one.” With that his breath stopped and his head hit the ground, but the brain, still struggled to stay alive. Empty eyes stared on as the battle continued, seeing none of fangs sinking deep into his neck, the blood flowing from his body to hers.

Clod … I thought I said for you to stop crying.

You … you were blinded… ma pauvre belle.

You hand an arm severed, your body’s nearly ruined … ma pauvre belle.

Ahh fuck. Son of a bitch.

She’s a sweet girl.

Dying to protect a sweet girl like her is fine with me.

Blackness, it swirled through everything. All became nothing, and nothing swallowed his being. But the black was pierced, a force higher than any normal power ripping it open. A light … well wasn’t that cliché. Oddly he felt it pulling, not only pulling his body towards it, but pulling life back into the blood drained body. “Pauvre fille…” The faint words passed his lips as his eyes slid shut and the grin faded slightly.

But instead of waking up in some sort of peaceful eternal bliss, he woke up to a throbbing pain in his forehead. Inhaling deeply he sputtered as water filtered through his lungs. Hacking he rolled over, feeling the water roll down his face. Blinking his eye open he felt something cold on it, not water, but heavier. Reaching a hand up he brushed it off, and to his dismay found his glove stained red. “Some after life this is …” Sitting up he coughed more, this time a metallic taste licking the inside of his throat. A stabbing pain ripped through his back, sending a serious doubt through his brain. “Am I really dead? Is this hell …” Yeah he had been shot in the back, and then had a scythe forced through his vital organs, but if he was still alive, the warm trickle would still be weeping down his back.

Was death for him to have the pain of the wounds, but have no wounds to give the pain? After managing to sit up he blinked and looked around. Why did the afterlife look like ancient Japan? He was dreaming … he had too be. There was no way this was really what awaited him. But … what happened to a soul that a vampire sucked dry? Wasn’t he suppose to inhabit her head or something, become a familiar or whatever? “Eugh, ma tette …” Rubbing his forehead he cringed as his glove passed over the new wound. How had he gotten this one again? Glancing to he side he noticed a rock that had a few reddish stains. Ah. Head met rock, rock didn’t like head. Wait … that would have mean he had to fall. This was making less and less sense. The only thing he was sure of was the pain in his back. “Damn Nazi scum.”

He felt like getting up, but his body protested. Any major movements of his arms and back resulted in coughing, blood threatening to join the party. Fine. He would stay sitting. Great. So instead of getting up he scanned his own belongings. First he saw his jacket, there was no way his head scrape produced that much blood, so apparently the afterlife wasn’t nice enough to clean your clothes. It was a mixture of his own and Seras’, well mostly hers. That’s what happens when you get your arm chopped off and stabbed through the stomach. And judging by the tickling sensation on the back of his neck, his braid was no more. Instead his lengthy hair blew freely behind him. From behind he would look like a female football player. At least the wall of brown hair covered the massive bloodstain on his back, and the lovely rip from the scythe. Damn that sale pute had a good arm. He didn’t have any weapons, well a few hunting knives but those were hardly weapons. Guess he didn’t need guns in the afterlife, or wherever the hell he was. Not like had had any ammunition anyways. Opening one of his large pockets he pulled out a box of cigarettes. Laughing a bit he opened the box. “Maybe this is heaven after all.” Clasping one between his teeth he took out his black lighter, clicking the flame into life. After lighting the end of the cigarette he clicked it shut, staring at it for a moment. Was this really heaven? He wasn’t even sure any more, but as he inhaled he closed his eyes.

“Mignonette, non, Seras, kill those Nazi bastards for me.” Taking the slender cylinder in his fingers he blew smoke out and opened his eyes, grinning. Dead or alive, his fight was over. He could leave the hellish battle to the real monsters. He hadn’t gotten his money, but he died for a sweet girl, that was alright by him. It was a good way to be remembered.

But right now, all he could think about was how gross his cigarette tasted mingling with his blood. C’est la vie.

[/font]

[Mugen]

are you even worth my effort ?
'cause you're starting to piss me off .

"Nngh."

Biting hard into the wrap, Mugen attempted to keep most of his grunts and whines of pain to himself. This wasn't a time to look weak, especially since the world around you seemed to look more modern than before.

It wasn't much of a change, he had to say that much, but it was still a bit of a shock. At first he thought he had just gotten drunk and some dumb ass broad decided it funny to pull him into an entirely different scenario. Now that he thought about it, what kind of chick (back at home, anyway) would be smart to think of such an elaborate scheme, anyway? When he had looked around when he first came here, none of the girls looked as ditsy as they did back where he was from. Here, they had a sort of strange elegant intelligence to them. Pretty weird.

"Dammit all, this friggin' hurts..."

The thing was, he stuck out like a sore thumb around here. He looked pretty casual while they all looked like a bunch of prancing soldiers - wearing the same damn thing. Mugen was so tempted to start a fight by shouting, at the top of his lungs, "All hail whatever-the-hell-ya-worship!" Honestly, it seemed funnier in his head than out, so it remained like that.

Trying to rip the wrap away, Mugen managed to do so and jerk his head away. His neck cracked loudly, but he didn't care. All he was concerned about was getting this wound on his arm wrapped. How did he get this? Simple. Today he thought he'd be the greatest man ever and start a fight with some random passerby on the street. This proved Mugen to be the luckiest man in the world, because he actually survived. Of course, their fight was interrupted when some higher-up took it as their right to break them up. That sucked some major ass. So he just walked away - something he did almost never.

Tying the wrap as tight as he could around his thin arm, he pushed himself off of the rock he was using as a seat. Turning his head, he attempted to look around with bored eyes before sighing and lifting a pinky finger to pick at the inside of his ear. "Well, this already sucks," he commented before removing his finger, flicking, and then scratching the back of his head briskly. What the hell was he supposed to do now - just wander and hope to find a map or something? Groaning loudly, he slumped his shoulders and dropped his arms to his sides.

Only thing he could do was just walk around and hope that he didn't get lost. So, that's what he did. With arms slumped and posture slouched, Mugen looked rather pissed; in all honesty, he was pretty pissed but was trying to hold it in to avoid a run-in with the authorities. Frown and a lift of the head.

A few minutes must have passed by before he finally saw someone up ahead. Snorting, the first thing he saw was long hair blowing freely in the wind. "Oh, this is going to be fun." Mugen wasn't exactly one to respect someone whom was sitting and bleeding. For his own rights, he had no idea they were bleeding and apparently unable to move until he got closer.

... This guy was a literal soldier. The eye patch threw him off just a bit. Squinting his eyes, Mugen pursed his lips thoughtfully and found that his head was tilting slightly to the left.

"Maybe this is heaven after all." Right after this guy laughed, too.

Damn, he was bleeding a lot. Mugen's dark eyes looked up and down on the man's body before deciding it was safe to move in closer. Previously he was still assuming the position of random passerby, but now he was going to earn the title of interrogator. It was so easy.

Yawning loudly, he stepped up to the man with surprising casualness. This man was smoking while he was bleeding.

"Mignonette, non, Seras, kill those Nazi bastards for me."

The hell was a Nazi?

"... What the hell is wrong with you?" he asked with a slowly raising brow. His expression was that of interest but, also, a bit of annoyance. He wasn't one to think. "You're bleedin', and yet you're smoking and talkin' 'bout some bastards..." Quickly, his eyes averted their questioning stare, and he continued, "Not that I care, 'cause I'm definitely not draggin' ya to some hospital. Just..."

At this point, Mugen stepped back half an inch and shook his head slowly.

"...why the hell are you bleedin' anyway?"

It was hard to make conversation when it came to Mugen.

let me hear your battlecry

[Pip]

This place, it was eerily peaceful … he didn’t like it. The Geese never strutted in the peaceful tall grass. They liked taking to the shooting range and ripping the grins right of the hunters faces. It’s what they were paid to do. And they did a damn fine job of it. But this, this was so, well boring. He craved a bit of action, maybe just a tussle. Anything. But then again with his innards complaining like this, he doubted even an arm wrestling match would be winnable.

He blinked slightly, had he heard something? He was tempted to turn his head, but his spine groaned and cracked all the while. “Merde!” His curse would likely seem odd due to the natural French tone to it, and if not odd no one would even knew what he had said. Heh, being foreign had its benefits.

Ok now he heard something, a yawn. And it was pretty close. Tilting his head slightly to the side he returned the cigarette to his mouth. One palm rested on the ground as if he was relaxing. Hah, right. Relaxing, what a joke. Even when he wasn’t injured, he rarely just sat back and watched the clouds roll by.

“... What the hell is wrong with you?” Ok, so it was a guy. Great, now, was he a threat? Well, he announced his arrival with a yawn that could have woken the dead, and now was speaking. Ok, not a threat. “You're bleedin', and yet you're smoking and talkin' 'bout some bastards...” He gave the man a sideways glance, jeesh he looked funny. Then again so did a mercenary sat in the middle of … wherever the hell he was. Through trickles of blood he grinned, smoke managing to filter through at some points. Good job Pip, smile, that makes everything better. “Not that I care, 'cause I'm definitely not draggin' ya to some hospital. Just...” He held back a laugh, if he didn’t care, he wouldn’t have said a word! Imbécile.

“...why the hell are you bleedin' anyway?” Ah, a direct question he could actually consider answering. But instead, his chest vibrated slightly, a laugh rippling out. Apparently it was a funny question. “You sure you want the answer to that eh?” But wait, he said … bleeding, as far as he could tell only his head was bleeding, well and the lovely red he had coughed up, but the other wounds weren’t still bleeding … were they? Sure his jacket was till damp, in fact its touch chilled his back. But he felt nothing other than the soaked fabric against his back, and the odd brush of hair against his neck.

With a content sigh he straightened up the best he could, his back grinding in protest. “I was doing what I was paid to do.” He paused a bit, still grinning. He gave his head a shake, his already messy hair just getting everywhere. “Fighting les monsters.” And saving one, but he would leave the Mignonette out of this for now. Though one tidbit he felt rather vital to share. Leaning his head back, taking the cigarette in his fingers once more. “I am mort~” He exhaled, blowing the smoke out in a fine stream. “Or at least, I was.” Using the hand not on the ground he rubbed the back of his neck. “Heh, followed the light at the end of the tunnel. And le voila, here I am.” Despite the massive amount of wet blood on him, and the fresh wound weeping over his face, he was perfectly fine. Well, if one could define a mercenary who died fighting vampires fine. “Feels like the bullets are still stuck in my back.” He muttered half to himself, half to the guy, and half to any one who would listen. Oh, bad math. 3 halves, well, he didn’t really care. He shifted himself, groaning again. Every movement seemed like he had to move an elephant.

“So, did you casser sa pipe aussi?” He hardly even noticed that what left his mouth was entirely English, in fact in his head, it all made perfect sense. That made one thing. “You don’t look as bad as I feel.” Amazingly he laughed and grinned at this. One might think Pip wasn’t all there, and at this point in time. They wouldn’t be far from correct. He also never directly answered the guys question, whoops.

[Mugen]

A glance off to the side and a grin. Not something Mugen was definitely expecting. Letting out a heavy annoyed sigh and rolling his eyes, he squinted one eye and scratched at the stubble that occupied his chin. What the hell was this guy grinning about now? He was bleeding, and he apparently didn't seem to NOTICE that painfully obvious fact. People bled. When people bled, it usually wasn't a good thing. When people bled, said person would panic and scream. When people bled, Mugen would laugh at them. Okay, he wasn't exactly the nicest man out there - but at least he was honest.

If this guy was grinning at his appearance, shit was going to go down. "..."

Now this dipshit was laughing. His facial expression drooped until it was met the qualities of confusion and annoyance mixed together. Quickly, though, this expression disappeared and he groaned out loud.

"You sure you want the answer to that eh?"

"Unless you want me to walk away, why the hell not?" he responded back with that same laid-back voice.

Reluctantly, Mugen let his eyes wander over and across the stranger's body quickly - he didn't want to give off the wrong message. He cringed only slightly when seeing that this guy's jacket - looked pretty damn weird, he might as well add - soaked in blood. Something told Mugen that some of that shit wasn't his blood, so he left it alone for now. Sitting down, Mugen crossed his legs Indian-style and then crossed his arms over his chest after now that the man was sighing and trying to straighten up. Dumbass. Mugen thought with a smile.

"I was doing what I was paid to do."

As the man was talking, Mugen, being the jerk he was, managed to sneak in a few low-voiced comments. It was something to pass time by and make this conversation more interesting.

"That doesn't give a lot of info, pal."

"Fighting les monsters."

... Les?

Mugen watched with distracted eyes, him take the cigarette away from his lips and within his fingers.

"I am mort~"

His head turned slightly to avoid the smoke hitting against his face, and he muttered, "...What the hell is a mort?" After, he fanned himself lazily and grumbled, "Damn your breath stinks."

"Or at least, I was."

Why the hell was this guy so animated in his movements? It was starting to bother Mugen with how he seemed to, with ease, scratch at the back of his neck.

"Heh, followed the light at the end of the tunnel. And le voila, here I am."

Another rude and loud yawn.

"So, did you casser sa pipe aussi?"

Was this guy finally directly talking to him now? Turning his head and attempting to direct his full attention towards him. "...What?" The look on his face was that of being dumbstruck and nothing else. Confusion, maybe, but those two were the same in Mugen's "sophisticated" brain. "You don't look as bad as I feel." At that, he couldn't help but grin a small grin. Despite the fact that this guy was now laughing and was grinning, Mugen responded, "I'm not the dumbass sitting and bleeding everywhere -" A hand scratched at the back of his head, and he snorted. "- I just pissed some dick off, and that's it. Didn't put up much of a fight."

let me hear your battlecry

[Pip]

“Unless you want me to walk away, why the hell not?" Walk away? He hadn’t paid the mercenary anything, or even done anything worth noting. He could walk away and the French man wouldn’t give a second glance. Though the company was pleasant. He had something else, but he disregarded it for the time being.

“...What the hell is a mort?” He blinked, oh right. Not every one knew even the basics of French. Mon Dieu, he couldn’t just stop slipping it into his speech. “Means I’m dead.” He said it as if it were a simple thing, like ‘I’m happy’ or something. He was dead, no longer living, not suppose to be moving, dead. And yet here he was.

“Damn your breath stinks.” He blinked a bit. “Excusez-moi, not my fault you’re downwind.” He wasn’t one to exactly stamp out a smoke because it bothered some one. He had been told he smoked too much, but did that stop him? Maybe for a day. To be honest, it wasn’t tasting that great right now either. The metallic ting mixed with the tobacco wasn’t exactly a great flavour. After another deep inhale he took it out once more, this time crushing the end into the ground.

The yawn again. He was either really tired, really bored, or just an ass. Though while he assumed it was loud, the sound of gun fire and screaming still rang fresh in his ears. “..What?” He really didn’t know any French. This was going to be fun.

“I'm not the dumbass sitting and bleeding everywhere –” He huffed slightly. “Touché.” He was already regretting stamping out his cigarette, but he managed to hold it off. “- I just pissed some dick off, and that's it. Didn't put up much of a fight.” That comment seemed to tense him up a bit. Fighting for the sake of fighting, no gain, no goal. “Why should that matter?” Amazingly he was taking on a more serious tone, the tone of the mercenary he would always be. He enjoyed goofing off, but sometimes a splash of serious was needed. “There was no cash on the line, nothing to loose.” No life to save. Sure he worked for money, but there were other reasons to fight. For family, for your loved ones, for your life. He wanted to comment further, but he knew that every one made their own choices. He chose to be a man of fortune, putting his life on the line for a few spare coins.

“So, if you aren’t dead, then why you here?” Place one palm in front of him he prepared to stand. One knee under, palm resting on that knee. With each motion he became dizzy, breathing becoming more of a wheeze. He wasn’t going to give up that easy. These wounds had hardly stopped him before, they sure as hell wouldn’t now. “Come on” He muttered to himself, managing to straighten out his legs. His back followed suit, but as the metallic taste grew in the back of his throat his vision blurred. “Merde!” His head now spinning, his brain not registering up from down. “Fils de pute!” His feet slipped from under him and he toppled over his own legs. On the way down he coughed, but due to a lovely thing called gravity it didn’t really come out. More like he gagged. “Me…rde…” He gasped slightly for breath, chest clearly moving even under the thick clothing.

Well this was turning out just great. Peaches and sunshine, for sure.

[Mugen]

"Means I'm dead."

"... Er." A grin of disbelief crossed his features before he found himself glancing nervously to the side with his eyes. This guy said it as if it were a simple thing to just find one's self "dead", though Mugen was pretty sure this guy wasn't dead. Because if that were it, he'd be dead, too, and he couldn't recall getting stabbed and/or shot in the heart any time recently. "Riiiight." Might as well just play along until the bastard uses his frigging head.

"Excusez-moi, not my fault you're downwind."

... Dear god.

"...What the fuck is downwind?" Did Mugen have even the smallest idea what this guy was going on about? Probably. Did that mean he had a good idea and great guessing skills? No, definitely not. Right now, he was more than just confused - he was hopelessly confused. Unless Mugen could piece together the...pieces, he'd continue to stare until someone bothered to explain. Thing was, no one actually understood that Mugen never pieces together a puzzle even if just one more piece is needed.

He watched, with bored eyes, the man remove his cigarette and then smash it into the ground.
... Finally.

After this jackass decided it'd be hilarious to yawn again, Mugen yawned and didn't even cover his mouth. His hands were down to his geta and drumming his fingers against the wooden surface. After he stopped, he glared at him with a bit of annoyance, but he wouldn't kill him. Yet.

"Why should that matter?"

Mugen shot him an expression that literally said, "Really? Did you just really ask me that?" But he did hear how his voice had changed from upbeat to a more serious tone, so he was actually being serious.

"There no was cash on the line, nothing to loose."

"Don't matter to me," Mugen began calmly. "As long as I get the thrill and victory, it's fine." In all honesty, if Mugen could kill for money - he would've started that a long time ago. Unfortunately, to him, it seemed more talk than action, and he hated talking. That, and it was way too strict. He wouldn't be allowed to kill anyone along the way and he would be pissed off about that.

"And if ya kill them, you get the money, too."

Okay, so maybe he was a little greedy.

"So, if you aren't dead, then why you here?"

"... You still believe you're dead?" He chuckled and pushed himself back up to his feet with hands to his sides. Easily, Mugen got up, but when he saw this guy's attempt... He saw that he wasn't having the greatest of luck. "You shouldn't really stand, jackass -"

"Fils de pute!"

With eyes now wide, Mugen quickly stepped back a space so he wouldn't fall on top of him. Sneering, he shouted, "Hey, watch it!!"

"Me...rde..."

... Really? Was he not expecting that?

With a wide grin on his face, he muttered, "You're such a dumbass." Reaching out his hand, Mugen kept that grin on his face and suggested, "Maybe you should ask me for help instead of killin' yourself?"

Haha, he wasn't intending for such a bad joke - but now that he made one, he couldn't take it back.

let me hear your battlecry

[Pip]

‘... Er.’ What? ‘Riiiight.’ He didn’t believe him! Sure he didn’t have to feel the same wounds, but he knew he had died, he had felt his heart stop beating, and the world faded to black. “What, don’t believe me? Glass in my gut, bullets in my back, and a scythe through the chest. What monster could survive that?” As if too mock him he coughed a bit, though it stayed dry for now.

‘...What the fuck is downwind?’ He rolled his eyes and sighed. Explaining everything was so bothersome, he just would let the guy work it out on his own, if he even bothered too. To be honest, the French man held little concern for what this oddly dressed guy did. They had just met, and he already knew that he didn’t have anything worth working for. The verdict? Worthless.

He almost grinned at the face he made, ah well, best to ignore the faces. ‘Don't matter to me,’ And that was what he didn’t want to hear. Didn’t. Matter. These two words, were not something a mercenary liked. Every little scrap of coin mattered. ‘As long as I get the thrill and victory, it's fine.’ The thri-what the hell was this guy?! Pip already wanted to punch him in the face. ‘And if ya kill them, you get the money, too.’ What if they didn’t have any money? Then you were left with a fist full of jack. Bah.

‘... You still believe you're dead?’ He mumbled something about, I ain’t believing, I am dead. But the rest was left for the dirt as his standing became more of an act of sorts. ‘You shouldn't really stand, jackass –’ Too late. Not only had he made it up, he had made it down. And fast. He couldn’t quite make out what else he had said, his ears ringing slightly as his back throbbed.

‘You're such a dumbass.’ Jee, thanks. Grumbling a bit he took the hand, gripping firmly. Right now he didn’t want to say hello to the ground again. His back ached and he felt like keeling over and puking. Another hit and he just might. ‘Maybe you should ask me for help instead of killin' yourself?’ Another crack at him being dead? Likely. Did he care? Unlikely. “Merci.” Just ignore the stupid comments, thank him, get this over with. His eye scanned the area, it literally all looked the same … even the friggin river seemed to be directed there. “Still looks like Japon …” He didn’t realize that when he left his lips parted he seemed to be drooling the blood he had coughed up during the fall.

Blinking he realized something. He didn’t even know the guys name. “Oi, whats your name?” Well, that solved that problem. Straight to the point, that may have been the easiest path, likely not the smartest, but what did it matter? Dead or alive, he was still Captain Bernadotte, and he was still a crusty French man, sour about his defeat at the hands of a Nazi vampire freak. Why did the French always lose at the hands of the Nazis? Merde. This really was something.

[[ OOC: K, I killed myself, ilu. ]]

[Mugen]

"What, don't believe me?"

Actually, yeah, he didn't.

"Would you bitch if I said I didn't?"

"Glass in my gut, bullets in my back, and a scythe through the chest."

"..."

"What monster could survive that?"

Maybe it would just be better to keep his mouth shut and let this guy live in his own little world. In all honesty, he was thinking of just walking away and letting this guy solve his own problems. But then there was that nagging little voice of Fuu's in his head, shrieking her head off and telling him to have a conscience. ... So annoying. Mugen, ignoring the man's sighing and roll of the eyes, kept his legs as straight as possible. This guy sure was a weirdo.

Now Mugen had taken a step back and remained there.

He looked down at him with an amused expression as he awaited an answer. Now feeling a hand grip his, he bent at the knees and began (more so attempting at) pulling up the guy to his feet. Mugen bared his teeth, not believing that a guy could be that goddamn heavy. Just how fucking tall was this guy, anyway? Finally, he seemed to be getting some progress.

"Merci."

That's when he glanced off to the side with his eyes again and muttered a, "Yeah, yeah..."

"Still looks like Japon ..."

Still not looking directly at him, Mugen scratched at the back of his head. "It might be..." Now he, too, looked around while this man looked about with his eyes. "...Reminds me of home." Truly, he hadn't realized what he said until just a moment after and sneered at himself for seeming so home-sick. Fuck "home" - he didn't have one, and that was just that.

When he turned to look back at him, he saw that this guy was drooling. Not only that, but he was drooling blood. "Hey... You gotta little..." Mugen stopped talking and began scratching at his chin to suggest where to wipe at. He wasn't sure if he knew the term for "You're drooling", but it was always a try. Now he frowned and stopped scratch at his chin.

"Oi, whats your name?"

Smile.

Mugen was actually smiling. He hadn't told his name, at all. Couldn't blame him, though since he was always used to say his name while in battle. It had gotten to become a habit to only tell his name when in battle, because when your opponents only ask you your name... Yeah, 'nuff said.

"Mugen."

With that, he squatted and attempted to draw the infinite symbol over the ground. After he was finished, he looked up to him and said with a bold grin, "Means infinite - without limits." Carefully, he stood back up but didn't bother dusting his finger off. The ground looked pretty clean anyway. He snorted then chuckled while scratching the back of his head yet again. Then he looked at him with a questioning expression and a raised eyebrow.

"I told you mine... What about your's?"

let me hear your battlecry

ooc;; <3 ilu.

[Pip]

‘Would you bitch if I said I didn't?’ He snorted a bit. “Non. I know I did, that’s enough for me.” And the pain was simply unbearable. Even if he didn’t know he did, the pain would make him wish he was dead.

The getting up process was… slow to say the least. The blood clogged jacket, and Pips overall size were not working in their favour. But eventually his boots were planted firmly on the ground, though his back wished they weren’t. He was hunched slightly, unable to fully straighten his back.

‘Yeah, yeah..’ Not much of a talker, ah well, he had given his thanks. That was enough. ‘It might be...’ Why the hell was he in Japan then. Whatever. ‘...Reminds me of home.’ He blinked a bit, sentimentalism? Seemed a bit odd coming from this fellow. What ever floats your boat.

‘Hey... You gotta little...’ Eh? The other guy was scratching his face, wait … oh okay. Taking an already red stained glove to his face he dragged it under his lip. “Merde…” More blood. Swallowing what he could down he really wished dead meant dead, this was just obnoxious. He craved to be alive, or dead. Not hanging in this clearly messed up limbo.

The guy smiled a bit, what? He just wanted his name. ‘Mugen.’ Was that it? No last name? Whatever. But then the guy crouched down, drawing in the dirt. A sideways eight, well ok not an eight per say, but the infinity symbol. ‘Means infinite - without limits.’ So that’s why he seemed so happy. Good meaning, fitting? Maybe. He couldn’t judge. ‘I told you mine... What about your's?’ Well, it would have gotten there sooner or latter. “Pip Bernadotte.” If the guy wanted a hand shake, which chances were slim, he wouldn’t be willing to offer it. Not only where his gloves filthy, he only took the hand, if there was money involved.

It felt odd to just say his name like that, he was use to being called Mr. Bernadotte, Captain, not just Pip. Whatever, a name was a name. Unlike Mugen here, his name meant nothing as far as he knew. Just plain old Pip. Or crusty old French man, that worked too. Except if you called him that he would sock you one square in the sniffer. And despite his obvious smoking habit, he had quite the arm. He wasn’t old, or crusty. Temperamental and sour, yeah sure, but not crusty. “Doesn’t mean anything fancy, I’m just another mercenary in the line.” His father, and his grandfather, they all were men of fortune, and they all died trying to get a spare coin. His father first, then his grandfather, and now even him. Funny how that worked, at least he thought it was. But unlike those before him, he had no children to continue on without him. He met the right girl just a tad too late.

“Ok, now we aren’t going to find anything just standing ‘ere.” He managed to walk a bit, the pain temporarily receded. He was able to move with out his throat burning. This would be fun.

[Mugen]

"Non. I know I did, that's enough for me."

Why was this guy so frigging hellbent on being dead?

Mugen almost stumbled back when he saw that the guy was back on his feet. Swallowing, he caught himself just before falling back. Before even letting this guy see what kind of position he was in, he quickly fixed himself. Damn that was the slowest and most boring time he had with this guy yet. Oh the wonders of what would happen next. He rolled his eyes.

"Merde..."

Chuckling, he turned his head so he couldn't do anything else that meant laughing at other's expense. "What the hell are ya speakin' anyway?" Curiosity was too much. It was, admittedly, getting kind of annoying hearing this guy say the weirdest stuff. It was equally annoying, as well, by not knowing what the fuck he was saying. So Mugen just knew it was his right to ask.

"Pip Bernadotte."

... Pip?

"..."

At first, Mugen just stared at him with a confused expression. Really? That was his name? REALLY? Smiling now, Mugen put a hand over his lips and glanced off to the side before beginning to snicker silently.

"Doesn't mean anything fancy, I'm just another mercenary."

Mugen didn't exactly know what a mercenary was, but he had ideas from when the guys who chased him and people always called them mercenaries. Was that even a word from his time, or was he just making that up? Either way, it seemed familiar, and Mugen had a good reason as to why he couldn't remember where he heard it from exactly. Because it didn't matter at the time.

... Well, would it matter now? He guessed it did.

"... Nice name," he managed to said through "cleverly" hidden snickers and chuckles.

"Ok, now we aren't going to find anything just standing 'ere."

Mugen blinked, shook his head, and then awed (he would never admit this) at how this guy actually could WALK now. Almost too quickly, though, he went to smiling smugly and chuckling. Nonetheless, he followed after him while picking at the inside of his ear. "This doesn't mean I'll carry ya when ya fall."

This was going to be boring.

let me hear your battlecry

[Pip]

‘What the hell are ya speakin' anyway?’ … Was he serious? Hah, no kidding. He started laughing but quickly stopped when his chest started burning. “Vraiment? Heh.” He grinned. “It’s French mon ami.” As funny as this was, it was a little bit weird. Most people at least recognizes the language, even if they didn’t understand it. Even when speaking English his accent was painfully obvious.

He lifted a brow a bit, oh no. He wasn’t getting amused by his name. Folding his arms together, gloved hands resting on the opposing arm, he frowned a bit. Wounded or not, Pip was a fighter. And every little thing got him remembering techniques, past fights, all the times he spent with the Geese.

‘... Nice name,’ Did he really just do that? Oh well, it was his choice if he wanted to be an idiot around a still battle capable mercenary. “I would say thanks, but with the face you’re making…” He laughed a bit and shook his head. Clicking open his lighter he watched the orange tipped blue flame flicker. "I can't 'help what my mother named me."

‘This doesn't mean I'll carry ya when ya fall.’ Like he could anyways. “I won’t fall then! I’m injured, not senile.” Having completely forgotten the earlier conversation he pulled out another cigarette, clamping it between his teeth once more. Addicted? Pip? Hell yes. Clicking the lighter open he held the flame to one end until a faint glow took to it. Blinking a bit he glanced to his left, checking his blind spot, not really wanting to be caught off guard. “Where did you say you were from?” His forward pace was gradual, but he slowly began to get use to the forward motion.

“I wonder how mon mignonette is doing.” He wondered out loud, a lovely habit he seemed to be getting into.If she did what he said, she would have drained his blood, become a true monster of the night. If she did, she was probably kicking Nazi ass. The thought made him grin a bit, at least he could be useful still. He dragged out of thoughts as he noticed some people skirting by, seemingly oblivious to the two. “Huh …” Did everyone here look as funny as this Mugen guy? Letting a puff of smoke exit his mouth he groaned a bit. "Where the bloody 'ell are we."

[Mugen]

Mugen stared at him after he got his answer.

"Vraiment? Heh."

Then the jackass grinned at him and then finally gave him a straight answer.

"It's French mon ami."

... What a fucking jackass.

"Well..." He glanced off to the side.

In truth, when you were from an old era of Japan, a French name wasn't that serious-sounding. It almost seemed as if someone were pulling a joke and saying that was their real name. That was what Mugen was thinking right now. That this guy couldn't be that serious. But when he looked up to him, he saw that he had crossed his arms and was staring down at him. Jeez, he can't take a joke, can he?

"I would say thanks, but with the face you're making..."

At the laugh, Mugen smirked and watched as a flame suddenly came to life on that...whatever the shit it was. His eyes widened out of wonder and shock.

"I can't help what my mother named me."

This was when Mugen stopped picking his ear and then looked at his finger. Without even making a hint of disgust, he flicked whatever remnant was on off of his finger.

"I won't fall then! I'm injured, not senile."

... Is that so? He snorted and gave him a funny look before looking off to the side with bored eyes. This guy was a fucking smoker and was also some kind of crazy frenchie. "...Eeeeghhh..." Why the hell did that creep him out so much? He had no idea. "Where did you say you were from?" Mugen turned his head and looked to him with an almost curious expression. Did he just seriously ask him that? Sighing, he turned his head and plainly said, "Somewhere in these parts - Ryukyu Islands." Now, as he looked around, he could tell this area wasn't at all similar to his period of life.

How in the world did he ever think it was anything like home was beyond him.

"I wonder how mon mignonette is doing."

Mugen blinked and turned to him with a rather suspicious face. Mignonette... What is that? He didn't bother to ask out loud due to figuring this guy already thinking of him stupid. "Huh ..." He puffed out a sigh and glanced off to the side with even more boredom than before.

"Where the bloody 'ell are we."

Did he always have to fuckin' puff on those things? Mugen turned to him, ready to complain. Suddenly, he just swallowed his complaints, turned around and gave a wave to him... Pip, right? "I don't know, but I'm gonna look around... Smoker."

And then he remembered the mignonette comment. Smirking, he looked over his shoulder and took a wild guess at what it meant.

"You can look for yer woman if that makes ya feel 'ny better!"

let me hear your battlecry

[Pip]

Still amused by the fact the guy didn’t even seem to recognize a Frenchman when he saw one, he shook his head a bit. This guy was strange, and considering what he had been through, that was saying a lot.

He blinked a bit, was the guy freaking out at the lighter? Jeesh he really wash old-fashioned. Oh well, he guessed things couldn’t get much weirder than they already where. And right now, they were pretty damn weird.

‘...Eeeeghhh...’ Tsk, he seemed less and less interested every second. Taking the cigarette from his teeth he blow out and yawned a bit. He felt like stretching, but he wasn’t sure his body was ready for a full on stretch. ‘Somewhere in these parts - Ryukyu Islands.’ Huh, didn’t ring any bells. He clamped the cig in his mouth again and stuffed his hands into his pockets.

‘I don't know, but I'm gonna look around... Smoker.’ He gave a sideways glance, grinning slightly. “Don’t be `arsh. It’s a … `abit ok?” More like if he didn’t he would go into serious denial. “Well, unless they got any money, I don’t care where I `ead.” Dead, wanting money, he wasn’t thinking much any more. Anything that came out was pure spur of the moment.

‘You can look for yer woman if that makes ya feel 'ny better!’ With that he tightened up his fist. “She’s not `ere.” He looked at his feet a bit and gritted his teeth, trying not to rip the cigarette. She wouldn’t go down that easily. She would keep on fighting, no matter what. She was just that kind of girl. He knew it.

‘Stab them through the heart with a wooden stake, burn the body, scatter the ashes at a crossroad, for further instructions consult Bram Stokers.’

He almost laughed, those bastards didn’t go down easy at all. And neither was Seras. “She’s a long way from `ere mon ami.” And hopefully she was in better shape then last he saw her. He still felt the chill of her blood on his jacket. He wouldn’t forget her, and she wouldn’t forget him. He felt a nagging connection that bound them together. Was that what it meant? After drinking his blood, they were connected? That was weird, and kind of cool.