Adventures in the Afterlife

Following those who guard the members of the PPDC; in particular those that guard the man behind the Jaegers. Related to Athene Noctua verse.
==Guardianship 101==
(Originally posted here.)
A look down Yancy's rabbit hole.
Part of the Athene Noctua 'verse!
===Meta===
Notes:
For knightphoenix2, pickleplum.
Okay, so a lot of you asked for more of Yancy's and Edan's adventures in the afterlife. Tada! Here it is. Much love to pickle for helping me out with this beast.
Enjoy!
Endnotes: Yancy was dragging his feathery butt on this but he decided to cooperate at the last second. MUSES. Love, hate, range of a teaspoon?
===Text===
"Welcome to Orientation. I'm sure your greeters have answered a lot of your questions and I'm definitely sure you have a hell of a lot more. That's what we're here for. Name's Captain Adam Casey and you're all here because you're needed by someone you love."
The roguish grin isn't what Yancy expects but he's not surprised the man's here instead of elsewhere; like recognized like after all.
"How long do we do this?" one of the many winged folk asks.
"No one knows, kiddo. The Powers That Be aren't clear on that part. Sorry."
"Captain, don't mean ta interrupt, but extra newbie here." Yancy feels self-conscious in his Drivesuit, still bloody from his one-way trip to Limbo, and wings.
"Have a seat ..."
Yancy sits down damn near instantly.
"Fast learner. Interesting outfit."
"Death by Kaiju; ugly bastard. I hope my brother got it good in the face."
"Huh. Definitely an upgrade from my time. Captain--"
"--Adam Casey. Kind of big deal down there." Yancy grins as he shakes the man's hand, eying his impressive Ferruginous Hawk wings. "Cat talked about you. So did Serg."
"Cat and Serg ... I have a class but I'm definitely catching up with you later, newbie. Listen, stick close to Edan until you've got your sea legs. He'll teach you how to change that," Captain Casey adds with a curious look at Yancy's Drivesuit.
"I'll stay and listen," he murmurs with a fluff of his wings and a shift that makes him comfortable.
"Alright. Listen up, newbies! Orientation is split into three classes; Initial Contact, Flight Regulations, and Dreamwalking. Sub-classes are taught inside of those three. For now stick with your greeter and they'll show you to your living quarters, as strange as that sounds." Casey grins at the decent amount of winged folk as they shift in their spots. "You'll be provided a map and you can ask any of the folks with blue armbands how to get somewhere. If you get lost, think of your quarters and you'll pop right into 'em. Class dismissed!"
Talk is fairly quiet as the new Guardians file after their greeters, most of them apparently at ease with this place.
Yancy pokes at the Limbo mist and pulls in a surprised breath when it spits out a knife and a block of Alaskan diamond willow.
"Now tha' is somethin' that took me a while,” Edan murmurs as he sits backwards on a chair.
Yancy picks it up and tests the heft of the block as well as the knife. Carving’s not comfortable in the Drivesuit, but he's managed before ...
He sucks in a sharp breath when he realizes he's stuck here for the time being.
Yancy carves a deep swath off the wood and nicks in some basic shaping with the knife. Hermann's wings take shape and Yancy concentrates so hard on the details of the softened edges of the owl feathers he fails to hear the first cough or the second. The third one has him whirling with the knife in hand, the razor-sharp edge stopping barely an inch from cutting Casey's throat.
He drops it quickly, a distressed noise escaping him. Before he knows it he's enveloped in dark wings and a very welcome scent.
"Maman …" he breathes quietly, the familiar hum of his favorite song calming his nerves.
"Yancy, my sweet boy." She brushes back his hair (he was supposed to have gotten it cut after deployment) and presses her lips to his cheek. "So tall. You grew on me, oui?"
"Oui, Maman. I'm sor—Mmm?"
She places a finger against his lips and tsks lightly.
"Always my responsible child, hmm? Apologizing for things out of your control, petite, is something you picked up after I left. Raleigh will survive and perhaps even thrive eventually. However ... you are allowed to grieve a life cut short; especially yours," she soothes as she cradles him close.
He grips the familiar dress and just breathes as tears start to fall.
"I think we should leave them be." Casey's quiet but Yancy hears the wings flaps as he and Edan leave him alone with Maman. He cries until his eyes are dry, the shoulder of Maman's floral-print dress not even damp.
"Guess it woulda hit me sooner or later. Have you been watchin' out for us?" Yancy asks as Maman eases them both to sit on the misty ground.
"Oui. You were very brave after your Papa left you adrift and Charlie could not help you. I am sorry that my death lead to such anguish for all of my children," she says softly as he pillows his head in her lap, gently folding his wings so he doesn't crush the feathers when he lays on them.
"Rals was a hell of a lot more distraught than we were. He needed you and I tried my damnedest to be his anchor in a world that was more callous than when you left," he mumbles as she traces the PPDC eagle in relief on his shoulder. "The Jaeger Program turned on this ... I don't know ... ferocious side that I didn't think he had. That and the Drift; what an eye-opener to feel those thoughts goin' a million kilometers an hour."
"Raleigh is a special one, but you are extraordinary for keeping the three of you together in hard times. Don't think I didn't see you empty half your plate to feed your siblings," she chides lightly, massaging his scalp softly with one hand and sliding her fingers through his white feathers with the other.
"Wasn't gonna eat it anyway." He blushes under his Maman's stare but holds his ground. "So, uh, what's it like here?"
"I see what you are doing but I will let it slide for now, Yancy." Maman sighs. "It is ... different. Ah. Let us see to your clothes. That can't be very comfortable, hmm?"
"Not really, but I like it. Keeps me grounded, I think, on the fact that I'm dead-ish," Yancy snorts dryly.
Maman makes a face at the bloody, torn side of the Drivesuit where Knifehead's claws ripped through.
"Change it. Think of an outfit. Limbo will do the rest." She pokes his cheek (like Jazmine used to do when she thought Yancy was being particularly stupid) and then flares her wings wide to cover them again.
He concentrates and yelps when the outfit appears on him, breaking the cocoon of Maman's blackbird wings.
Yancy looks down to see his favorite grey sweater, the deep red pants that made him feel vaguely game character-styled, and his old, faded grey suede boots. What surprises him most is Raleigh's scarf around his neck, the dark crimson a shock of color against the grey of the sweater and the white feathers of his wings. Memory flashes at another feather he wore once and the cord-wrapped feather appears under the scarf, the copper a reminder of Hermann.
A loud flapping noise alerts Yancy to the fact that Captain Casey and Edan have returned.
"Looks like you got the hang of it," Casey remarks as he takes in Yancy's outfit. "You said you knew Cat and Serg?"
"Yeah. Cat was working on something the last time I saw her in person but she's good an' so's Sergio. They're busy helpin' out the new pilots sync up to their Jaegers and each other. Might've even found a universally Compatible guy."
"Whoa, whoa. Slow down. So it's two pilots instead of one?" Casey holds up his hands as Yancy explains.
"Yeah. Pentecost and you barely lifted a finger on Brawler Yukon, but Cat Drifted with Serg and it worked."
"What the hell is a Drift?" Casey asks with a wide, expansive gesture of his wings.
"Huh. The Drift is hard to explain. It's ... It's like coming home after a long day. It's your birthday and your best memory all rolled into one. There's nothin' else like it." Yancy misses his link with his brother something fierce.
"So what happened next?" Edan asked.
"They killed a Kaiju with Brawler an' the rest is history down there. They released Mark I Jaegers in 2015." Yancy's not aware that he's teaching a history lesson until at least three of the Guardians wearing the blue armbands are listening in. "Well, come on. Least I can do is give you guys an update. It's 2020 down there and the date's February 29th ..."
.
It's late when Yancy finds his quarters and falls face-first into his bed, conked out before his head even touches the pillow.
Yancy mushes his face into the pillow, unwilling to get up after a really nice rest, groaning at the thought of getting up for patrol with a sleepy Raleigh. No one got enough sleep these days at the Icebox ... He yawns, stretching on the bed, and tumbles out of it with a pained grunt as his center of gravity is off. Yancy stands up and turns to see wings.
Everything comes rushing back to him; yesterday he died, ending up in Limbo.
Orientation classes start early so he looks down at his clothes and decides they should be wrinkle-free because damn if he's thinking up an outfit every day of however long he’s gonna be here. Yancy laughs when they do just that, straightening before his eyes with little tugs here and there.
He glances in the bathroom he hadn't even noticed and finger-combs his hair as he looks in the mirror. Yancy walks out of his quarters, turns around, and contemplates the plain Shatterdome-esque door. A few pokes at the Limbo mist later and Yancy's door is different than everyone else's in the corridor.
"How did you do that?"
Yancy turns around with a flare of his wings to keep him balanced.
The question comes from a tiny Japanese woman with swallow wings. "My apologies, I am Sumako Mori." She bows formally with a flick of her wings as Yancy returns it.
"Mori, Mori ... Are you the Marshal's kid's mom?" Yancy asks with wide eyes, dimly noticing the similar features.
"Hai. My Mako is happy with that man," she murmurs softly. Her wings flutter and settle along her back, the tips nearly touching the ground due to their shape. "I did not mean to startle you."
"It's fine. Umm, I just sort of poked at the Limbo mist. I spread my fingers wide and then sort of push, like this," Yancy explains with a warm smile, gesturing just so and the mist obligingly gives him what he wants; a Polaroid of an unsuspecting Hermann laughing with Raleigh at their rickety kitchen table. "Just think of what you need or want, Mrs. Mori."
She chuckles with a hand over her mouth, a smile peeking out from behind her fingers. "You may use my name, Becket-san."
"I ... guess rumors travel even faster here than they do down there," he says with a helpless shrug.
"It does. Are you hungry?"
Yancy's surprised to find he is, much to his confusion.
"It means your charges are hungry as well. Come, I will show you the Mess. Captain Casey has organized much of Limbo into something resembling order."
"How so?" he asks as they stroll down the green path which blooms up around them. There's something strangely familiar about the gold and white flowers.
"He was one of the first here and all of the Rangers who have Jaegers appear to be among his charges. You can imagine his surprise when you showed up; you are not the only one but you stayed where the others passed after only a few weeks. Mind you, this is Limbo gossip at its finest." Sumako's snort means she knows there's a grain of truth behind it.
"So what was it like before?"
"I wouldn't know. You'll have to ask him and your greeter. They were here when I came and they have yet to leave. I am under the impression that they will not leave for a long time," Sumako confides quietly as they reach the Mess.
"Wow." Yancy cranes his neck and hears it crack as he takes in the vaulted ceiling.
"There ya are. Casey said tha' ya might sleep pretty hard." Edan's familiar brogue has Yancy looking away from the arched roof to smile at his guide.
"It feels pretty early." Yancy cocks his head in confusion.
"Casey an' I are testin' th' connection between you an' Limbo. Stronger than we figured," Edan admits with a shrug as he hands over a tray full of Yancy's favorites. "Your Mum made that."
"Maman always did know my moods. Ooo, tea." Yancy snags the cup and practically inhales the Earl Grey, nearly spraying it when the memory of sharing his first cup with Hermann flashes through his mind.
The colors are vibrant and the wash of light that follows it makes Yancy a bit woozy.
"Memory?" asks Edan.
Yancy nods as he chokes down the hot liquid.
"Ev'rythin's a wee bit more vivid here. 'N ev'rythin's a little foggy there. You'll get used ta it." Edan shrugs. "You're a natural, so it prob'ly won't take you too long."
"Jeez. I hope so," Yancy says as he shakes the last of the memory from his mind. "That's rough."
"Th' Cap thinks you should start with Dreamwalkin'. Will be the handiest with your brother 'n all." Edan traces the grain of the wooden tabletop, determinedly not meeting Yancy's eyes.
Beside him, Sumako nods.
Yancy straightens in a hurry. "... I can see him? My brother, I mean. How do I do that?"
Sumako places her hand on his arm, but now that Yancy's thinking of his baby brother, he worries that Raleigh might do something like last time. "'E is sensitive an' I need to see if-if 'e is alright." Yancy's French accent, normally hidden with careful pronunciation, bleeds through. He closes his eyes for a moment and just breathes in and out slowly like he taught Raleigh during one of his bad nights. "I'm just scared for him. I've always ... I've always been the shield for him. Rals isn't some fragile flower but he's different an' people like ta point it out ta him."
"Come with me." Sumako tugs him along the corridors, tray still in hand, until they stand before a wide pool filled with a mirror-like substance. "Here is where we normally start Dreamwalking. Visualize him and leave your tray; the food doesn't seem to like astral projection. It'll still be warm when we get back as time flows differently here."
He sets the tray down and nervously flexes his wings.
"Step into the basin."
"Why?" Yancy eyes the substance warily and nibbles on his lip as he pokes at it with the end of his fork.
"It assists with the first Dreamwalk. With practice, you can do it on your own and from any place in Limbo." Sumako favors him with an approving smile. "Not many ask why they have to dip first."
"But what is it?" he asks.
"A good question, but I cannot answer it. It was made by the Powers That Be and it manifests here."
"Oh." Yancy quits poking it, wondering faintly if he's offended the PTBs.
"Don't worry. Many others are wary of it. You are not the first and not the last. I admit I did much the same when the Captain brought me here for my first Dreamwalk." She laughs as he finally steps into the thick liquid.
It's like walking in mud and he's in up to his thighs before Sumako dunks him under the rest of the way. He gasps and stumbles.
Sumako's right behind him, catching him before he face-plants.
"Whoa. Edan's right. Everything's so ... dull." Yancy swallows, realizing he's no longer allowed to really touch this world.
"Do you know where your charge is?" Sumako redirects him patiently.
"Yeah." The broken link aches something fierce as Yancy spots his brother curled up in a miserable ball. "Oh, Raleigh." Dried tear tracks on his baby brother's face made him slip through the bed and sit next to him, gently stroking his fingertips down his face.
Raleigh turns into the touch and Yancy squeezes his eyes shut against the grief spilling through their link. "I'm so sorry, petite. I ..." His throat closes up with the emotions which rattle through from his end. It isn't right for Raleigh to be in so much pain. "I'm here now, Rals."
Yancy waits for Sumako to say something but she merely looks at him. "How do I help him?" he asks.
"Touch his temples and visualize a place in which you are both comfortable. Do it quickly because his resistance will rise the longer you stay without his permission," she orders quietly.
Yancy gently cradles his brother's head in his hands and pushes like he does in Limbo. A poppy field near Mémé's house in the countryside blooms up around him.
"Rals?"
"Y-Yancy?! I thought--"
Yancy hugs his brother tight, pressing his face against Raleigh's chest and breathing in. "I can't stay for long," he says reluctantly.
"Why?"
"I, uh, I'm not very good at this yet, kiddo," Yancy points out the truth.
"Oh. But you're here now," Raleigh says with his normal easy acceptance. "How long can you stay?"
"For as long as I can, but I can't make promises, Rals," Yancy admits.
Raleigh sighs.
"You wanna make flower crowns?"
"Stupid question, Yan. Of course I do."
They sit for a time and weave long stems of flowers together, trading wreaths when they're done.
"Hey, Yan?"
"Yeah, kiddo."
"Can you try this again?"
"As often as I can, Rals. Maman says to eat your food 'cause she knows you're not doin' well." Yancy shrugs as he flares out his wings.
"Wow. When'd you get those?"
"Second I got there. Here, lemme spread 'em out." Yancy unfurls all eight feet of them with a whoosh that ruffles Raleigh's hair.
"Snowy owl. Kinda close ta Hermann." Raleigh runs his fingers through Yancy's feathers and Yancy sighs at the warmth that spreads in his heart.
"Yeah. Hey, I think I gotta go, kiddo. You're waking up soon."
"But ..."
"I'll come back. I always will. You can find me in the Drift," Yancy says after pressing a kiss to his brother's forehead. "I'm keepin' this flower crown."
"Okay. Love you, Yan."
"Love you, too, Rals."
Yancy shakes hard as Sumako pulls him back to Limbo, leaving Raleigh to wake up alone, hugging his pillow. Yancy glances down, sees the flower crown woven with poppies, and the tears flow unchecked. "Fuck." He swipes at his eyes and snuffles as he sets the crown on top of his head. "I'm good ... Jus' gimme a sec." He pulls a hanky from the mist and blows his nose before tucking it away. "Is it always like that?"
"All Dreamwalks are different, but the first is the hardest. I know I did much the same when I left my daughter the first time," Sumako says with an understanding look.
"Crying's normal?" he asks, voice wavering.
"Yes, it is. Come, finish your food and I'll escort you to the Contact class. It's where you mingle with your 'class' year. You will be with them when you aren't sleeping, eating, or doing assignments from the other classes." Sumako informs him as he bites into the crescent roll smeared with butter and swallows a bite.
"So it's like the high school I skipped to join the PPDC." Yancy rolls his eyes. "Great."
Sumako chuckles softly as he digs into his food. "I can see that you will be a handful if we do not keep you busy."
"Maybe," he smiles at her as he dips his crescent roll into warm chocolate. "but I'm pretty easy ta please."
"Good to know." Sumako brushes her feathers over Yancy's, the black and blue standing out starkly against the white. It's comforting after the roller coaster that's been his day so far.
He finishes his food and sets the tray in the proper place, following Sumako as the gold and white flowers bloom around them again.
Yancy remembers the meaning behind the asphodel flowers, grinning as he starts humming 'Walking in the Air' as they head into what is now his future.
==Incendier==
(Originally posted here by Gothams_Only_Wolf and Pickleplum.) 
Yancy's just trying to relax at a bar when an old nemesis steps in looking for a fight.
===Meta===
Notes:
For artificiallifecreator, RoryKurago.
Inspired by Braids, Lorikeets and Baby Girls by artificiallifecreator, RoryKurago.
AHAHAHA. I thought I was done giving Logan Jones a beat-down but Yancy wasn't listening.
This was heavily inspired by Chapter 9 of Braids, Lorikeets and Baby Girls. Shmoo and Rory are enablers, I tell you, enablers!
Much thanks to pickleplum for getting Logan to play.
Endnotes: Whew. Yancy's been kinda quiet but this proves he's still kicking (metaphorically). Comment, complain, ect.
Related work: "Like A Fox That Needs Shooting"
===Text===
-August 8, 2023; Anchorage Wall Bar-
Yancy's just trying to relax after one of his crew nearly fell to his death. He's damn lucky Yancy was there to catch his line and Yancy's lucky the thick material of his gloves prevented rope burn. He doesn't want any attention, any trouble, or any congratulations.
The words are trite, meaningless, when one fall he couldn't prevent was his own brother's.
Bar's cheerful, but it's quieter than most other places; mostly Wall workers and the families they have to take care of.
Yancy keeps his distance from them. He has to, given that this isn't ... Well, he's figured out a few things.
He's just about to take a sip of the scotch his crew got him (in thanks, no words necessary) when the air in the bar changes. It's tense and sharp and—
Only thing that could do that is the presence of PPDC.
The people who build the Walls and the PPDC are constantly clashing. Brawls are common, but most people—not all, not by a long shot—do appreciate being saved from a giant monster.
Yancy knocks back his drink and uses the motion to check exactly who's ruining a peaceful evening. He nearly chokes when he recognizes the face.
Logan Jones.
Yancy thought he'd never see the Vulcan Specter pilot again.
Yancy wishes he'd never seen the Aussie again.
Jones saunters towards the bar, head high and looking for something. Yancy knows exactly what it is, too; a fight. The idiot always wants a fight and now he's in Yancy's bar sniffing for blood in the water.
Part of Yancy wants to oblige him, but he's tired. So he keeps his head down like the rest of the crowd.
And then Jones spots his lucky crewman. Yancy's stomach sinks.
The kid's been smiling for the last few hours because, well, he's alive. Of course, he'll probably be sick tomorrow because it'll hit him.
Jones rolls right up to the kid, plucks the drink out of his hand, downs it in a gulp, slams the glass onto the bartop.
The crewman gapes like a fish.
Jones smirks, projects 'wanna make something of it?' clear as an arctic day.
"What the fuck, man? Just who d'you think you are?"
"'m the guy who's gonna kick yer ass," drawls Jones.
The kid puffs up. "I'd like to see you try, you useless Corps fucker."
Yancy cringes. Nothing like near-death to make someone feel invincible, but, oh man, is this guy biting off more than he can chew.
Jones' grin turns feral and his eyes gleam. "Wanna do this right here, now, 'r do ye need t' get yer mum's permission first?"
Fuck. Fuck. FUCK.
Yancy didn't want to see a fight or to be in one, but Jones isn't leaving him much choice.
He cracks his neck, saunters over to Packert and yanks the kid off his seat before his punch makes it even halfway to Jones' face. Guess all that weightlifting in the dead of night has some use after all.
"Packert," Yancy says with a tone that would do Maman proud, "you can't take this guy. Stand down."
"But—" Damn pride; Yancy'll cure his crew of it eventually.
"I said, stand down," he snarls this time, not in the mood to pander to stupidity. "This is one fight you don't need, kid."
Packert hangs his head. "Yessir." Yancy sets him down in his own seat, knowing he'll follow them out. Everyone always does.
"Are ye offerin' t' take his place, Becket?" Jones' leer sizes him up. "'r are ye too far gone t' put up a decent fight?"
"Your Mama ever tell you that you need to pick on people your own size?" he fires back as he rolls up the sleeves of his sweater.
"My mum sent me away t' pick on people bigger'n me."
Yancy grinds his teeth and makes a come-here motion. "We do this outside. Bar's fucked up enough as is."
Jones inclines his head toward the door. "After ye, Rain Man."
Yancy holds his tongue, coldly staring at the Ranger until his own lip curls into a sneer. He sweeps out of the bar and onto the flat patch of grass out out front that folks use for parking.
Jones, grinning wide enough to split his cheeks, comes out a moment later with a pair of pool cues, negligently tosses one to Yancy.
He catches it and stabs it into the ground.
"Figure ye could use a handicap, all the time off ye've had," taunts Jones.
Yancy carefully stretches his muscles, watches Jones with a sharp gaze.
Jones loosens up, watches Yancy. "'course, some 'a us've kept doing real work the last, what, three years now?"
A muscle in Yancy's jaw twitches.
Jones' expression sharpens.
Fuck.
Here it comes; he's glad Raleigh's not here for this.
"Think yer dear, departed brother would approve 'a yer new career?"
Yancy throws all restraint aside; Logan Jones will not walk away from this fight.
He pulls up the cue, tilts his head to the side and smirks as he drops into one of the illegal la canne stances.
Jones takes a starting position. Yancy doesn't recognize it for a moment. Then it registers: Shaolin. Jones must've learned some new tricks from his friends, the Lin brothers.
Oh, Yancy's gonna have fun.
Jones strikes first, cues cracking loudly like 'Dome bō staffs in the tense silence.Yancy ducks under the second strike and snaps his cue across the back of Jones' knee. Jones snarls, curses something colorful and Australian, connects with the small of Yancy's back, sending him staggering.
They trade blows back and forth, each strike more vicious than the last.
Dodge, parry, lash out with shtyk moves that aren't meant to bruise but have one hell of an impact. Impact from Jones, dodge under the second swipe, cut across Jones' ribs with a hefty —THWAP— before drumming the opposite thigh and finishing with the tip of the cue acting like a whip.
Several strikes from Jones, quick and efficient as Yancy spins on the ball of his left foot to avoid the last one. He lands and swings the cue in a low arc, getting Logan to jump into the thick edge of the wood headed straight for his gut. That one earns Yancy a muffled curse in Canto. Good.
They're both going to be seriously black and blue.
Jones's better than he used to be.
Yancy grins and opts for more (and more) illegal moves, steadily forcing Jones onto the defensive.
Yancy loves every second until his cue splinters. He throws aside the pieces, brings his hands up to guard.
"Oopsie!" Jones singsongs, tapping his intact (though scuffed) cue against his shoulder. After a beat, he flashes a smile full of knives and tosses it to someone in the front rank of the gathered crowd. "This's more my style, anyway," he purrs, dropping into an MMA stance.
Yancy pushes into an escape roll, twisting to the side to avoid the chop directed at his shoulder. He finds his opening and seizes Jones' arm, somersaulting forward to avoid the counterstrike he knows is coming, wrenching against Jones' elbow.
Jones finally takes a deep breath as they step apart.
Yancy's panting.
Logan forces his forearm back into joint with a disgusting, loud POP.
The crowd hisses and cringes in sympathy.
"Ye've gotten meaner, Rain Man. It's actually a fight this time."
"I forgot to mention, Jonesy boy, I held back before. There were rules then, ya sorry sack 'o shit, but there aren't anymore," Yancy mutters as he straightens the broken fingers on his non-dominant hand, wrapping them in the strip he tears from his sweater. "I get to have my way with you."
Jones raises his eyebrows, flexes the fingers on his injured arm. "Yer way? Sorry t' break it to ye, but—"
Yancy backs up a few steps, charges.
Jones turns too slowly; Yancy lands a heavy kick directly to his chest, follows it with a spinning kick to the no-longer smug face.
They both hit the ground, Jones with a pained grunt. Yancy scrambles upright, crouches—Jones grabs his left leg and yanks.
Down Yancy goes and it's a brawl now, no finesse at all.
Yancy gets hit twice before he manages to block the third with his elbow. He slams his other elbow into Jones' head, hoping to disorient him. It works well enough for Yancy to reverse their positions, kneel on Jones' chest. Striking with his fists, he snarls when Jones tries to buck him off, slams his head against the ground.
Jones shouldn't be moving after that, but he squirms loose, rolls away, and grins as he scrambles to his feet.
Why won't this guy go down and stay down?
There's a fierce, brief scrabble and Yancy winds up in a headlock he can't shake. He's starting to see stars when he finds Jones' forearm and shoves it up just far enough—He sinks his teeth into muscle and shakes his head like a rabid dog, the warm copper taste flooding his mouth.
Jones howls and lets go.
Blood dribbles down Yancy's chin and spatters as he spits out a chunk of Jones. He sucks in lungfuls of warm summer air, climbs to his feet.
"Ye bit me! I ain't been bit since Year 6!"
"Choked me, asshole. What'd ... ya expect?" Yancy rasps before using Raleigh's gymnastics training to stretch his leg up and strike downward with a hapkido heel kick to Logan's jaw.
There's a horrible —CRACK— and Jones' jaw moves like no jaw should.
Logan drops like a rag-doll.
Yancy barely catches him before his head hits the ground.
The legendary Jones endurance is apparently no match for the amount of pain Yancy's inflicted—a dislocated elbow, a deep bite, a few cracked ribs, a dislocated jaw.
But Yancy's not entirely heartless, so he pays for Jones' cab back to the 'Dome.
.
The intercom in Jackson's Icebox room chimes.
He sighs, gathers up his mountain of blankets and shuffles over, pokes 'receive'. "Yea. Jones."
""Ranger Jones, please report to Medical to collect your brother,"" announces a very annoyed British person who's almost certainly the Marshal.
Jackson doesn't sigh. "Yes, sir. Be there as soon as I kin." Stabs 'disconnect'. Grabs his coat and sets out across the Shatterdome.
Halfway there, he's had it with the hairy eyeballs he's getting from the locals.
Yea, yea, yea, this's what passes for summer in this godforsaken place and he's wearing a parka, so fucking what?
He growls at the next person to look at him funny.
The tech squeaks, scuttles straight into a wall—Jackson snorts.—darts around a corner.
No one so much as glances at Jackson the rest of the walk.
Until he hits Medical's receiving area.
Then, he's getting the once-over from a coldly disappointed Marshal Pentecost.
Jackson straightens, bobs his head, greets, "Marshal."
"You are not to let your brother out of your sight the remainder of your stay on this base. Do I make myself clear, Ranger?" The man's not in the mood for anything but respect.
"Crystal, sir."
Pentecost studies him a beat, marches out.
Jackson relaxes, rubs the back of his neck, peeks into the exam room.
Logan, wrapped in enough bandages to make a decent mummy costume, greets with a cheery thumbs up and bright eyes.
"Jesus." Jackson steps over to bedside. "Ye take a dive 'r something?"
A frown.
Plunks down in the chair. "Play in traffic?"
Still frowning.
Leans closer, whispers, "There're easier ways t' get outta a neural test, ye know."
Logan shrugs—winces.
Jackson sighs.
.
Neither Raleigh's crew nor the crews around him misbehave for a solid four months after his broken fingers heal.
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