With Malice

[Primrosette]

You know you're going to have to apologize to him.

"I know."

You shouldn't have took it out on him a little.

"I know...."

James isn't a bad guy really, Bacchia.

"Dammit, I know this."

Then do the right thing already.

"....I will. I promise."

((Bacchia Rubus continued from Hi Friend!/Bye Friend!))

Bacchia was lost with her irritating thoughts. She was sitting down on one of the benches and making sure that she wasn't near any of the railings. She honestly didn't know if it would be safe to lean against them and she wasn't going to try it out any time soon. She made sure to have the sword and her stuff close to her side and she let out a small huff.

She laughed softly. "I really did mess things up, huh?" She tapped on her collar and she then bit down on her lower lip slightly. "Kind of wish that you were here, Emmy. Well, not here as in here beside me. But just so that I can talk to you, you know. I just want to know if everything is okay for you out there and well, I can't by being here. It really kind of sucks right now. Calla. You. The Respects. Ivan. Everything is kind of crappy right now."

She paused and she was now listening to the waves in silence.

[The Honeless Beard]

Behind Bacchia, as the boat rocked, Ivan slowly appeared - at first out of focus, then sharply in frame, his body having been blocked by both her sitting frame and the sides of the ferry. His entire in-game had been a loop - houseboat to ferry, ferry to elsewhere, back to houseboat - and his feet tread this path with a sureness earned by the viewing audience.

Ivan's mouth opened - that much the camera caught, alongside his raised fist with Giselle's glass blade clenched tightly inside - but what he said in that moment to make Bacchia look around is lost to a sudden bought of ocean breeze, swept away.

He waited. The F in his forehead was freely bleeding again, the softly forming scabs ripped off, remnants trapped between the skin and nail of his thumb. When he had her attention, only then, did he move towards her.

[Primrosette]

Bacchia felt something was eerily wrong and she sharply turned her hair to look behind her, her eyes widen in shock. She had made a huge mistake of being up there alone. She should have been more careful of her surroundings. Why had he been so quiet? Sneaking up on her like that. She was staring right at the face of Giselle's killer.

"Ivan."

Was all she said before she pounced up to her feet and she ignoring her body screaming for mercy after the beating at Jasper's fight. She quickly grabbed her bag and jerked it up onto her shoulder. Then she reached out for her sword.

"We end this now."

[The Honeless Beard]

"Sure," Ivan responded, and then kicked her in the chest, sending her careening backwards over the bench and slamming into the wall of the ferry. Following, he stepped onto the bench, hopping down, a show of nimbleness, delicate movements.

Nevermind that sweat coated his white tank-top that was rapidly tinging yellow or the way he wobbled slightly from the eight inch hop.

"Just say when," he continued, crouched low, eyes roaming her.

[Primrosette]

Bacchia felt herself struggling to breathe as she collided with the wall and her chest felt like it was drowning and suffocated under a blood-like pool. She could taste a bit of blood in her mouth. The metallic taste. A bitten tongue. A vision that blurred. His voice was buzzing in her ears.

She needed to get away.

Her hand was gripping on the sword loosely. She should just stop him. But she wasn't strong to do that right now.

"Dam....Damn. You're really a stubborn one." She murmured softly as she was moving to the side of the wall as fast as she could and she noticed that she was getting closer to the railings.

Could she trick him into falling and drowning?

"Too bad that I couldn't break more of your bones, Ivan." She said bluntly, waiting for him to come closer so that she could slash at him at the right time.

Please make this work, Bacchia.

[The Honeless Beard]

A coiled snake springing.

The bruises and busted ribs along his left side sung as Ivan pressed forwards - ungraceful and hard steps slapping against the glorified linoleum. As he dashed towards her, the sword came across - a horizontal slash that he heard rip through the thin fabric of his tank as he squeezed his eyes shut-

dead, dead, dead

- but still collided with her, a heavy bodycheck that sent them both slamming against the railing of the ferry. Ivan scrambled, spun the glass dagger, and tried to ram it into her collarbone, the angle awkward, too close, his own blood dripping on the deck of the ship.

[Primrosette]

She felt the glass just barely scraping at her skin and she could feel her body breaking just from Ivan's blows. Even if he was in the most fucked-up situation, he still had the upper hand on her and she hated not being able to be in control of her own fate. She still had reasons to live but she wasn't sure if she could make Ivan understand. Not ever. They both wanted to kill each other. However....

I can't win this. Not now.

But she has made him bleed. It was enough for now.

She jerked herself backwards as he was still trying to strike her with the glass dagger and she jumped backwards onto the railing awkwardly, her weapon that was dripping Ivan's blood was at her side.

"Not yet, Ivan."

She giggled softly. Letting herself fall backwards.

She let out a loud-pitched scream.

That got cut off by a booming splash.

She hoped that The Respects would come to finish Ivan off.

Down, down, down she went. To a watery darkness.

[The Honeless Beard]

"No, you fucking-" he screamed, reaching a hand down, fingers dragging through fabric as she evaded his grasp.

The taunt rang in his ears, and he slapped the side of the boat, fury overtaking him.

So close. So, so close, and he missed his shot.

[ItzToxie]

The clank of metal on metal repeated until Fisk reached the top of the stairs, shiv drawn.

He turned and locked his eyes on Bacchia’s assailant.

Behind the mask were eyes of fury. Behind the eyes were the same type of grin a chimpanzee makes when it’s about to tear a threat’s face off of its skull.

“Gonna have to carve my whole name on your head at this rate, huh?”

[The Honeless Beard]

Ivan was leaning on the railing, one elbow resting on the cold metal while the other arm was bent low, resting against the hull of the ferry. At the sound of Fisk's voice, he straightened slowly, inhaling past busted ribs and exhaling through bruised lips. Absently, one hand curled around the new slash at his stomach, coming away wet.

A suffering sigh of both pain and annoyance huffed out of him, glass shiv still clutched in his right hand.

"Probably spell it wrong," Ivan said, as the glass dug into his palm.

Last time he'd rushed, Fisk had called his boys. In fact, they were probably below-decks, lurking.

With that in mind, Ivan walked along the deck with the railing on his right side, a little further from Fisk, eyes darting between the two staircases of the upper deck.

[ItzToxie]

Fisk's crocodile grin warped into an amused smile, not that Ivan could see it behind the T-shirt mask and all. Well, well well! Ivan CAN talk after that beating he'd taken. Still had his sense of humor too... Fisk didn't hit him hard enough it seemed. He paced to the left and right, a slow deliberate walk as he made his way towards Ivan, stepping closer, waving to the left and right, stepping closer again. A hummed chuckle through closed lips escaped Fisk.

"Hnn-hnn-hnnhehehe~ Everyone's a critic... That's fine. Gotta lot of canvas on you to practice with. You won't be dying for a long while before I'm done anyways. Maybe you can give me some tips on the way out."

Fisk stepped closer.

"Why'd you send Seth after us alone like that? Fucker didn't stand a chance. He was practically crying your name for help before we were through.

Guess you learned your lesson with Rhonda the second go around though, huh? We got something worse in store for her, because of that little stunt. Don't worry though, you still get it the worst."

Stepped to the left, then to the right.

"Hey."

Stepped closer.

"Tell Seth I said thanks for the coke."

Fisk spun, and did a backhanded swing with the shiv.

[The Honeless Beard]

Seth?

The name distracted him so much that when Fisk pulled out the breakdance fighter shit, Ivan was taken aback. But as the glass shiv reared its ugly head, Ivan pushed off with his lead foot and bent his torso backwards, the shiv whistling through the air in front of him.

Ivan danced backwards again, daypack dangling from his shoulder as he moved, his hips flipping so that he could rotate the other way, eyes roaming around Fisk, shiv spinning around and around in his hand.

His head cocked, listening for footfalls in the stairwells.

[Catche Jagger]

James stumbled up the stairwell, shiv held tightly in his grip and making no effort to be stealthy in his approach, metallic clanking accompanying each footfall.

“Fisk, did you-” Words caught in his throat as he saw the figure that Fisk was up against, body tense and trembling.

“Ivan?”

Giselle’s killer stood before them both, and all James wanted to do was run as far away as possible. Still, his feet remained planted at the top of the stairwell.

[ItzToxie]

Fisk backpedaled after he whiffed his first swing. Wasn't about to commit all the way on his own again. Looks like Ivan was thinking the same thing, getting distance as well. Couldn't blame him, all it took was one wrong step and one stab would be the end of it. Fisk kept his footwork moving, shiv shifting from hand to hand. Anyone else, he'd move in, go for the kill, make it quick.

He didn't want Ivan to go quick.

Footsteps came from behind Fisk. The voice of James spoke, then cut off.

"Yeah," Fisk spoke.

"Yeah, I did."

[Yonagoda]

Please just give me an excuse. I need one.