Whitzz/544K-RP-Datasets huggingface dataset:
Thread: Into the Black [missedstations & Bathos]

Vince was willing to admit, what with hindsight being 2020 and everything, that he may have made an error in judgment waltzing naked into Remarque's quarters. His pistol burned accusingly at his low back, reminding him that this was just another instance in which just a little more precaution may have saved him a big headache. Or, in this case, a big hole in his torso. His eyebrows shot up high on his forehead and Vince unfolded his arms, presenting his palms to Remarque in the universal sign language for, 'Don't shoot.' He stood a little straighter, too, face going alert and surprised and, he hoped, utterly innocent. Just came to talk is all, Vince said, cracking a smile that would be considered nervous by anyone who didn't know just how much the bounty hunter loved his brushes with death and his impossible situations. Vince, as his tight little crew knew all too well, was an adrenaline junkie. You talked a big game there in the engine room, Jack. You were also an ass in the engine room, but hey. Who isn't after being cooped up with a bunch of poorly washed men for hours on end, yeah? Vince took a slow breath, eyes narrowing on Remarque and sliding from his oddly colored eyes, down his pale neck, to his flat torso and up again, a different kind of smile, suggestive and dark and not altogether disingenuous, forming around his next words. Thought maybe you could give me a few ... pointers.
Thread: Into the Black [missedstations & Bathos]

Remarque's instinct was to tell the man to fuck off. 'Pointers,' he repeated flatly. He put the gun back down onto the bed, but with fingertips still resting barely an inch away from it. He knew that look, and he supposed that he could put the gun down. He felt the sudden urge to button up his shirt to the top, but did not act on it. It would not show that now he was nervous. Remarque rarely had sex because he wanted to since the war, he had come to consider it as simply another way of paying for favours. There was no smile from Remarque in response. He slid his feet back into his boots without looking away from Vince. 'I do my job, and I do it better than anyone else here. That's it.' Which really made one wonder why he was on this shitpile, with an apparently complete lack of any personal possessions. Most would think that someone with his skill would be better suited to something state of the art, with ridiculous pay. But hey, a fugitive didn't exactly have the right to negotiate wages. If Vince was here just to talk, as he said, then hopefully this would be over soon enough and painlessly enough. After all, his natural reticence usually bored people soon enough. He liked it when they concluded that it was best to have nothing to do with him. Hopefully the new tech would decide that soon enough.
Thread: Into the Black [missedstations & Bathos]

May I? Vince asked and, without waiting for a response, took a couple of steps into the room, careful to keep his back--and, subsequently, the gun--out of sight. I'm curious, Vince said, and here he was slipping out of character, but only to a degree that he considered acceptable. Your allegedly unparalleled skill with engines--does that extend to newer ships or do you deal strictly in antiques? Vince watched Remarque closely, his own face deliberately casual as he waited for the criminal's hand to inch just a little further away from the gun. There it was. That moment when Remarque considered, however briefly, that perhaps Vince really was there to talk about engines. Vince could have blinked and missed it but, luckily for him, he was not blinking, but watching Remarque like he was some kind of unstable, explosive device. In that moment, slick as the engine oil now stained into his worn old trousers, Vince had his pistol out, pad of his finger already resting snugly against the trigger, and trained on Remarque's head. Mr. Remarque, under the authority of the Intergalactic Peacekeeping Agency, I'm placing you under arrest for crimes against humanity during wartime. And here, Vince actually flashed Remarque a winsome smile, full of gleaming white teeth and even punctuated by a dimple in his right cheek. Between you and me, I'm the best at my job, too, so I wouldn't be reaching for that side arm, if I were you, Commander. He spoke the man's formal title as if it were the foulest of insults.
Thread: Into the Black [missedstations & Bathos]

Ice slid down his spine. He hadn't heard his own name spoken out loud since he deserted, so then maybe he would have tried to lie his way out of this, which would be far more sensible. If he could have maybe convinced Vince that he was mistaken, he might have been able to get out of this. Instead, he was lost, so he just laughed bitterly. He'd got away with it for five years. Five years. How damn short was that? He leant back away from Vince's gun. 'I did nothing worse than anyone else, bastard.' Insults were just low, but there was little else he could do. Even the small distance between him and his gun was too short. At this distance, Vince had no way of missing, and Remarque had never wanted to die. He had spent his entire life avoiding it, so why stop now. 'So tell me, if you're the best, why go for someone like me? Last time I checked, my bounty was still pocket money,' he was trying to be casual, but really, he was starting to wonder whether he should do something stupid just to get shot. It would be a faster death than prison, then trial, then the inevitable death sentence. Or maybe he could try to convince the man that that he was better alive. 'Look, I'll do anything if you let me go...'
Thread: Into the Black [missedstations & Bathos]

I was in the neighborhood, Vince explained, though that really wasn't a sufficient explanation, considering he'd had to route all power to his primary thrusters to make it to Quien before the freighter was space ready again. He had not, in fact, been anywhere near the neighborhood, but there was no way for Remarque to have known that, so he didn't trouble him with the truth. The truth was that Vince hadn't always been this man. There was a time, in his youth, when he had been happy and family-oriented and filled with a general sense of mental and emotional stability. That had ended very quickly, around the age of twenty-two, when he had his own run-in with some particularly cold-hearted war criminals. Remarque, in that regard, was sort of like Vince's pet project. The money was shit, but when Remarque was safely in the custody of the IPA, Vince would sleep like a baby for a week. It was more than worth it. With his free hand, Vince pulled the binders from his waistband, gesturing with the barrel of his pistol as he said, I'll think it over when we're back on my ship. In the meantime, on your feet. Face the wall and give me your hands.
Thread: Into the Black [missedstations & Bathos]

There was nothing to argue with there. Remarque bent down briefly to lace his boots but then did what he was told. This was not a good time to fight. He thought his chances in winning this fight, should he start it, were zero. He hoped that Vince either slipped up at some point or really thought about it. The ex-commander really did not want to be handed over to the IPA. He gave Vince a coldly assessing look, as if wondering what the best thing to offer would be, and then faced the wall, his hands behind his back. If the time came, he would not be above begging. But if worst came to worst, he would rather have the bounty hunter kill him than be handed over. He hoped that Vince decided getting the tools out of his hair was too much effort, because he really wanted to keep them. And the gun, he supposed, but he really had no choice about leaving it on the bed. Nothing else in the room was actually his, apart from a shabby jacket he'd found second hand. He had neither keepsakes nor memorabilia of his friends and lovers his perfect memory served him well enough. 'So what do you get out of this?' He asked Vince.
Thread: Into the Black [missedstations & Bathos]

Vince palmed the holding cell open about the same time Remarque tacked the 'please' onto the end of his- Well, to call it a request wouldn't really do the thing justice. It was more like pleading, wrapped up in the flimsy disguise of negotiation. Vince had seen it before it wasn't in a man's nature to go quietly to his execution. Some men, lesser men than Remarque, got to the point of outright begging before he ever slapped the binders on their wrists. Some had money, a lot of money, and appealed to Vince like businessmen hashing out a corporate merger. Women, especially ones of the beautiful variety, went straight for the proposition of sex, all suggestive smiles and dark promises. Remarque, on the other hand, had covered all his bases--pragmatic and pleasurable--in one fell swoop. Vince concluded that he was either smarter than the average mark or just that much more desperate to live. Perhaps time would tell. He couldn't say, in perfect honesty, that the offer didn't appeal to him. Remarque wasn't hard on the eyes, a winning combination of masculine angles and exotic prettiness. It didn't hurt that he was a heartless son of a bitch, either. Whereas another man in Vince's position might recoil in a fit of self-righteous disgust at the idea of sharing a bed with a cold killer, Vince found the image almost poetic. There were certain things--things Vince craved, in particular--that you just couldn't stomach with someone you actually liked . With a sharp yank, he pulled Remarque around to face him directly, all the better to tower over him. Still guiding him by the arm, Vince backed him into the cell in three long strides, until they were standing in the center of the room. Inside there was a steel bunk, bolted to the floor, and a steel chair, also bolted to the floor. Neither was within arm's reach of the other and there were no view portals. Vince didn't release Remarque right away. Instead, he held him there in that crushing grip of his, and took a long look into the face of his captive, attention crawling slowly over Remarque's eyes, the bridge of his nose, the shape of his mouth, the point of his chin. He appeared to be considering Remarque's offer. Vince brought his free hand up, curled his fingers against the underside of Remarque's chin and brushed the pad of his thumb against the seam of his mouth. The expression on Vince's face was thoughtful, measuring. Any way I like? he asked, and somewhere in the course of all that staring he'd shifted closer, because he was speaking almost directly into Remarque's temple, his breath enough to shift the fine hairs there.
Thread: Into the Black [missedstations & Bathos]

His motivation had always been self preservation. He didn't give a damn what happened to his body so long as he was still alive in the end, and so long as his 'partners' held up their part of the deal. He wasn't sure the bounty hunter would, but at this point, anything was worth a try. Of course Vince would be completely insane to let him near any important part of his ship. Remarque's military record clearly showed he was very capable of both sabotage and sheer destruction, and that he was rather good at twisting ships to his will. His thorough engineering education was useful for something at least. Maybe in a better time, Vince would be the sort of man he desired, but at the moment, the best he could do was not to try to twist away from the touch. This scenario had happened often enough in the last five years. It wasn't hard to know what to expect. 'Any,' Remarque repeated quietly, almost entirely without expression. He had known some twisted men and women in his time and whenever he offered himself like this he wondered whether he was really just risking his life. He did, once, have a set of morals which included only sleeping with people he loved, but it was hard to keep those as a fugitive. And anyway, sex lost its appeal when his life became too grim, once he'd killed one too many and got to know too much. And Jack, of course, not the Jack he pretended to be, but the real one, the one whose mind snapped after he was tortured by the enemy, who towards the end of the war did not even know who Remarque was, despite all the nights they had spent together in the engine rooms where no one went. Whenever he tried to let it go, enjoy himself, he remembered that broken man. When he read, a year after the war, that his lover had been executed for his part in a fabricated massacre, he was relieved. Remarque knew how to play this particular game though. It didn't need any desire on his part, he could act that out. He parted his lips and touched his tongue against Vince's thumb as if to confirm his words, as if to say yes, really, I'll even pretend I enjoy it if you like . He leant into Vince a little if the man was interested in Remarque's body, let him feel it better. He guessed that in front of his man justifications would be pointless. With a ship like this, he doubted that Vince knew the real depths a man could descend to. There would be no point trying to explain himself or speak of the war. His current course of action seemed the best.
Thread: Into the Black [missedstations & Bathos]

Vince's eyelids slammed shut momentarily. The effect was lost on Remarque as his face was just out of view, so he allowed himself this brief indulgence. For all that Remarque looked and behaved as if he had ice running through his veins where there ought to have been blood--milky white flesh and jet black hair, silver eyes and nothing at all to suggest an ounce of warmth in his thin frame--the tongue that slid across his thumb was hot and wet and being offered so willingly that an answering hunger gnawed in his gut. He drew his thumb down Remarque's chin, the recent moisture smearing across his skin and leaving a rapidly coolnig trail. He didn't stop there, not until his thumb was pressed up snugly against the side of his neck, fingers following suit until Vince had a loose grip around Remarque's throat. Abruptly, that grip tightened threateningly, and while he didn't cut off his air supply altogether, Remarque would have to struggle for breath. With his other hand, Vince still gripped Remarque's arm. Vince drew back just a touch, their bodies still pressed awkwardly together at the chest, so he could look into Remarque's face again, his own expression still thoughtful, still measuring. Murderer, Vince murmured, soft and intimate like a lover, breath now hot over Remarque's face. Deserter, he said next, and punctuated it with a scrape of his lips across the corner of Remarque's mouth, not quite a kiss. And now whore? He leaned back again, so he could look into Remarque's eyes. What won't you do in the name of saving that pretty little neck of yours, so you can continue floating aimlessly through a meaningless existence, hm? Although he appeared to genuinely want an answer, Vince didn't loosen his hold on his captive's throat.
Thread: Into the Black [missedstations & Bathos]

When Vince's grip tightened, his hands shifted reflexively against his restraints now that would certainly leave a bruise or two against his wrists. He gasped for breath. Fuck, the man was strong, while Remarque was so unpractised at all this. While he didn't flinch at murderer, he did at deserter killing was a necessity in this war, but until he had no other choice, he had always been faithful to his ships and his captains. Funny that should bother him after so long. Whore, well, that didn't hurt him either. He knew what he was. The kiss, if it could be called that, he didn't respond to at all. 'Nothing is meaningless,' Remarque hissed out and attempted to knee Vince's crotch. Remarque believed that things were only meaningless once they were forgotten, and he forgot nothing. The collection of actions over his life, the marks he had left on so many ships, were an affirmation of his existence. Aimlessly? That didn't insult him so much either. He really did travel pointlessly, because he could never rest in the same place for long. Even if there was no one hunting him, his own demons would drive him on. If he could have settled down on some remote outpost he wouldn't be in this situation, but to him that would have been the same as death. He didn't want to die with dust under his feet.
Thread: Into the Black [missedstations & Bathos]

Remarque's knee connected, but Vince was at a special advantage, gripping his arm and throat the way he was, so he felt the minute bunching of muscles under his fingertips a scant moment before the attack and he twisted. The knee caught him in the thigh, hard and admittedly painful, just a few inches to the side of its intended mark. Vince let out a huff of breath, equal parts pain and laughter, and put a little distance between them with a single step backward, hand falling away from Remarque's throat. His expression was transformed before Remarque's eyes. A low, hungry heat still simmered in his eyes, but where previously his mouth had been set into a tight, grim line, he was grinning, wide and amused. There's that fighting spirit, he praised, like a coach to his athlete. I knew you had it in you. Vince cocked his head to the side, eyes still narrow with mirth. Am I to understand the offer has been rescinded, then?
Thread: Into the Black [missedstations & Bathos]

Remarque gritted his teeth again. His only aim had been achieved he could breathe again. Having asphyxiated so many people, he had found that it really was not the way he wanted to go. Vince had never known Remarque at the height of the war. That man had been colder than ice, expressionless and emotionless, utterly fascinated by technical detail and perfectly capable of anything to protect his ship. The latter two were still the same, but he had regained some semblance of normality during his years of freedom. These days, Remarque found that the man he once was, the one in the black uniform of the elite troops, scared even him. When threatened, he found that man was still very much alive, and something utterly bleak and ruthless flashed in his eyes for a moment. 'Of course not. I don't want to go to an IPA court.' He looked sideways, not wanting to meet Vince's eyes. Attempting to convince the man that he was a sociopath, perhaps?
Thread: Into the Black [missedstations & Bathos]

Vince nodded, grin fading into something a little more subtle, but still clearly content with life. He directed Remarque backward a little further, until the backs of his legs met with the steel chair. He forced him down into a sitting position with the pressure of his hands on Remarque's shoulders. I'll take that under advisement, Vince offered, putting a hand in the center of Remarque's chest so he could make sure he didn't try anything tricky while he fastened the binders to the back of the chair, narrowing his range of movement to leaning slightly forward. Vince knew it would be kinder to turn Remarque down flat, not to give him false hope that he might make it out of this situation alive, but he couldn't bring himself to bestow such mercy on an unworthy subject. He wanted Remarque to suffer. The IPA, with its regulations, would put him up in a military prison, feed him three square meals, and when the time came, he would go quietly to death, like falling asleep. Remarque was undeserving of that kindness. Vince made sure Remarque was properly locked in, took a step back, and flashed him a tight, mirthless smile. Until then, you sit and think about what you've done, he said, mimicking the tone of a scolding mother. With that, he pivoted on his heel and left the room, the door sliding silently shut behind him.
Thread: On the Open Ocean

At the bow of the Horizon Runner, Valentine Sarcetio sat with a bit of a grin on his face. He was a well-known face among the waters a bounty hunter, who, in turn, employed a number of other bounty hunters, though they were rather small-time by comparison. They were merely scrubs who took on the scrubs of other pirate crews. A paper flapped in the wind, held tight in Valentine's fingers. It read Micheal J. Morosto, with a bounty of a cool 150,000,000 beri. And their ship, the Red Cross, loomed before them.. it was pockmarked with cannonballs, fired by the Horizon Runner. They'd barely stood a chance when they'd come out of the morning fog, spitting fire and steel upon the ship. The Horizon Runner pulled alongside the Red Cross, Valentine's bounty hunting crew bristling with anticipation and steel...
Thread: On the Open Ocean

Exclude the mask His crew had not expected the attack. The first cannonball had flown through Micheal's torso, leaving a perfectly circular hole in him. He was dressed in what could be called doctor's garments, though there was a red cross on the should of it. Slowly, the hole sealed up as a silver liquid dripped over the cannon wound. Petty fucking amateurs, think they can attack my ship and get away with it! He was practically shouting as his crew mates were dying around him. Quickly, he slipped a glove off before holding his bare palm out at the approaching ship as small silver pricks began forming on the skin. Though, what happened next caught him by surprise. While he had been focusing, a cannonball tore through the mast of the ship causing the massive piece of wood to fall... Right onto Micheal. While Logia fruit users are much more resilient than normal humans, the mast struck him in the head, rendering him unconscious as the rest of the crew abandoned the ship.
Thread: On the Open Ocean

To call it a massacre would be generous. Those that surrendered peacefully were subjected to Valentine himself, and passed along the crewmembers for fun, before they were inevitably sentenced to the brig to await the long trek back to one of the many Marine offices that dotted the Grand Line. Eventually, as the Red Cross was unceremoniously scuttled after what treasure and food they did have was taken aboard the Horizon Runner, Michael would find himself not dead, as one might expect of a pirate captain, but fully, woefully alive. He was tight to the mast, and there would be a stinging pain in his ear, whenever her worked his way to consciousness. A seastone earring had pierced the lobe, and despite this, some amount of strength lingered in his body, brought on by the well-dressed bounty hunter that sat cross-legged before the mast, and Michael himself.
Thread: On the Open Ocean

When Micheal began to awaken, he winced a little, pulling at the bindings that were holding him to the mast. It was obvious at first glace that the man was in phenomenal physical condition, something a person would not expect of a expert surgeon and doctor. Almost instantly, he assessed the situation before glaring down at the man in front of him. He was by no means small either, standing at 6'5, his brown hair hanging messily around his face. And you're you supposed to be you little shit? Another Marine lapdog? He managed to hiss, even in his captured state the man was able to present himself as extremely intimidating. It was a well known fact that most pirate or marine vessels that had been caught in the wake of the Red Cross had been devoid of life when found. All the crew members stripped of vital organs and drained of their blood.
Thread: On the Open Ocean

Valentine snorted as his prisoner came to bear, insulting his captor not the brightest move, Valentine thought with a quirk of his lips. Pretty big words from a man who just lost his crew, his ship, and his head if he doesn't learn to mind his tongue, Valentine said simply, kneeling down next to his captive. He was shorter than Michael by a few inches, and thinner as well, though he was immaculately sculpted. A man who could change appearances tended to look something like this. And don't even think about escaping. I don't think your new piece of jewelry feels like letting you move, he said, flicking it carefully with a knife that seemed to materialize in his hand, before it was once more up his sleeve. Tell me, Mikey. You know who I am?