savetheearth | back when it was a c, not an e

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back when it was a c, not an e

Who: Arthur York, George Wolfe
When: May 1st, Evening
Where: Arthur's apartment building rooftop.
What: An epic tale begins as two young men put on magic armor, get really hammered and wail on each other with pipe wrenches and folding chairs.
Warnings: S for Stupid as Hell.

A decision had been made on Arthur's part to get used to his few Echoes as much as he could. This decision came with the drive to get on top of things as soon as possible, but fortunately, for once, he thought ahead and considered the pros and cons of doing such a thing somewhere in which he couldn't control 'who was around' and 'if there were cameras'. With those two factors in mind, Arthur figured his rooftop was a pretty good place to get some practice in.

Arthur waited on the rooftop, the door to it remaining unlocked. He sat down on a busted clothes bin and crossed his arms and legs. Though he was already wearing his armor, Arthur had thrown a bit of a shambled duster over it--so, he looked even thicker than he already was. At least nobody could see all of the armor he was wearing. At his side, Arthur had a bit of a gathering of wooden planks, folding chairs, rusty pipes and pipe wrenches. He pulled out his cell phone, dialed in 'THE NUMBERS' and sent a message to George, 'hey let's try something stupid ill front you for beer if you bring it'.

"Goddamn it, I bet I look like a fool."

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Ha, this guy was trippin', right? He wants him to help test out with some magic armor? If this were anyone else, he probably would have bailed out right away, but hell... maybe he does need a stress reliever. Why the hell didn't he bring pot with him? Right, because he has alcohol. Still, he always has cigarettes on him, so lighting one that he took out he immediately takes a puff of smoke.

"So, you want me to play children's game with you to see if that armor's all that it's cracked up to be?"

Thinking on it, maybe this would be pretty cool.

"Sure, whatever. Give me one of those pipes and I'll smack you with it. We'll see if that armor does what it needs to. First, go and make a friend. I brought both Cuervo and Morgan so pick one. I'll take the other."

Arthur let out a bit of a tense breath. It was fine in his head for awhile, but when George actually said it out loud, he felt the tension suddenly skyrocket. He was actually going through with it. He was asking someone to pummel him with a pipe. And a folding chair. And bricks, maybe.

He shook his head and slapped his cheeks, huffing. George's question didn't offer him any quarter, either. Before he started suspecting he was King Arthur, Captain Morgan was his ally. 'Morgan Le Fay' made Captain Morgan his arch enemy, since the mention of it made him wonder if Arthur really did bang his magic sister.

He couldn't have sounded any more nervous. Arthur reached into the duster he had tossed aside, fishing out a bunch of 20s. He was over-paying, but Arthur figured an advance would put George at ease. Seriously, he had to get that out of his head, "Cuervo. Cuervo, yeah, I'll go with the Cuervo."

Yeah, George was overpaid, but he'll consider it an advance payment for when he needs to come over with beer or alcohol again. Sounds good to him, yeah. And with Arthur's choice, George picked up his friend, the Captain and screwed off the top. Drinking a few chugs down, he closed the rum off again and put it to the side.

"Once you and Cuervo get acquainted, let me know when you're ready." As George goes to pick up a metal pipe. Well, this is stupid as fuck, especially since they're both about to get smashed (Arthur may be quite literally), but hey. What's a little fun without a potential trip to the hospital?

Arthur took the bottle, nodded to George and took a few hasty breaths before he began drinking. And drinking. He would have chugged more, but he wasn't a beast, yet. He got a fifth through the bottle before he lowered his hand and put the cap back on it. He wouldn't take it off until he needed to get that incoming buzz going even longer.

"I don't think it'll hurt," He began slowly--nervously. "At least if you stay away from my face."

"But, y'know--just to play it safe, go for my shoulder. Y'know, my upper arm. I don't wanna chance it and have broken hands or fingers or legs or organs or anything I might need tomorrow."

He added, hastily, "Oh, yeah, and don't hit yet! Wait for the buzz, man. Ease up on that grip, alright?"

With his cigarette in his right hand and the pipe in the left, he doesn't really heed Arthur's words at all about waiting for a buzz and strikes his upper right shoulder. It's nothing like swordplay at all, but George tries to attack him like he were. Like he were a knight or something. Still, he's pretty sure a knight wouldn't be holding a cigarette in his other hand, but a shield... still, eh, whatever.

"Hey, all's fair in love and war!"

And then he'll turn to attempt to strike the other shoulder.

Arthur you might have bad taste in friends...

He wanted it to be a little more cool, but it was a grand failure. At the very least, Arthur imagined he would get something practical out of the whole mess. If the armor didn't work and it dented or he got really hurt, well, then he would learn to ditch giving a shit about his powers and move on with his life. If the armor did work and it was totally impervious, then--well, he could go escalate things and be an idiot who threw himself in the line of fires for others.

Both thoughts terrified him and he was still totally ignorant of the fact that his blood was ushering him towards either option at such a high velocity that the possibility changing directions wasn't even involved, anymore.

"Wait, wha--" Arthur lurched a bit to the side, feeling wind pass his ear before there was a loud 'clang' and sparks went up from his shoulder. The pipe that smashed into the plate armor would have had thick scratches on it, as if it suffered just for hitting it.

"Woah, you gotta warn me!" Even though he didn't feel a thing. George's absolutely casual approach to swinging pipes at friends didn't unnerve him nearly as much as he thought it would.

"Warning people isn't exactly my forte..."

Neither are echoes apparently, as almost at that moment he got his usual headache. Given his track record of just memories, he expected a sparring visual to come to his head, but nothing did. Almost as if in response to actually not getting a damn memory, he goes to swing at Arthur again, though once his swing is through, he found himself flipping the pipe to his right hand as if it were a natural thing, then swinging through with that hand as well... and to save time, rinse and repeat.

Holy fucking shit, his past self was ambidextrous.

That's so awesome...

Excuse him as he stops to realize exactly how awesome that is.

Now how did he do that?

"Well then, wasn't expecting that..."

Woah. Arthur's jaw dropped. The first couple swings were nothing special, but as George hit four and five? He felt a twitch of the hairs on the back of his neck and his hands came up on instinct alone. With little pops of his fingertips and the backs of his hands, Arthur repelled a number of the flourishes with the armor coating his forearms.

He was even more surprised than George.

"Did we-- Woah, that was pretty sick!"

Casually, he flips the pipe in his hand, like it were a normal thing. It felt natural, at least. And then on the ground there lay a casualty. He had a cigarette in his right hand and it fell on the ground. Still, it looked like it was still pretty in tact, so he simply picked it up, grabbed a lighter out of his pocket and relighted it.

"Nice to know I got something useful, finally."

And for now, he's going to go back to Captain Morgan and take a few celebratory gulps. This calls for celebration, yeah?

Arthur blinked rapidly in George's direction, eying the bottle. The exercise he just put himself through just did wonders to help the alcohol in his own system start coursing even faster through him. Exercise did lovely things to stimulate digestion. So, Arthur began taking off the armor, giving George a little warning of caution.

"I'm not naked under this, but I'm not wearin' a shirt. Sorry if I got that ridiculous friggin' farmer's tan."

"What, still not passionate night on the rooftop? You're killin' me, man."

He smiles a bit lopsided, getting a decent buzz going now that he could make a few somewhat derogatory remarks, but hey... that's all the fun of getting smashed, right?

"So, what now? I don't think you want me to beat you with a stick without your armor, or whatever."

Though if he were a tad bit more drunk, he probably wouldn't have cared too much and just have started to beat him with something anyway. But he still has some sort of self-control in him.

"Hell no. You're puttin' the armor on and then I'm hittin' you with the pipe," Arthur replied as quickly as he could, trying not to undo every single strap on the armor. It would be a pain for George to get it on at that point, especially since it was already complex enough with beer added to the equation. Nobody needed to spend 20 minutes figuring out all the little straps and bells and whistles.

"Trust me, you won't feel a thing. It's like a goddamn tank."

"Alright, alright."

He really didn't want to put on the armor of a man sweating in it, especially shirtless, but hmm... it did look kind of hot under there. If he were sober, he would have probably passed it up, but hey, whatever. No harm in this.

Before George puts the armor on, he takes off his own shirt. Not exactly the most healthy looking himself with all the pot, booze, and stress he endures on a daily basis, but eh...

So he tries his best to weasel his way into the armor, wondering if he wore something like this when he was a knight in his past life. Well, he's not feeling anything, so maybe not?

Arthur waited as George fixed on the armor, unscrewing the top to his own bottle and taking another long drink. He made a face as he brought it to the eighty or so percent mark before screwing the top back on and putting it down.

Then, he stood up and got a feel for the pipe. He was going to have to focus and keep himself from swinging hard, but not so gently that it would waste George's time.

"Phew, jeez. Alright, I'm definitely gettin' there."

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