Vichar vs Rigo: Psycho Battle on the Beach!

Rigo sighed, gritting his teeth and snarling at himself, his bloody, torn hand clenched into a fist while his other clutched at the ribs Reed had broken the night before. He could hear the ocean as he came out of the trees and wished it could cheer him, just a little, like it had once before, but knew better than to think it would. He doubted Will would ever speak to him again, and he wasn't sure he could stand to have the boy see him.
Not after what he'd done...

Vichar had chosen a secluded spot within a crop of rocks to sit in and watch the horizon. He was pondering over his earlier encounter with the boy, and what it could mean for him later. He almost laughed out loud when he realized he'd tricked the boy into giving him a sort of immunity on the ship...though these were pirates, after all, and you can never be sure of anything with the likes of them. His trunk was beside him, stained with Will's blood...the handkerchief was still in his pocket. In fact, the only difference was that he'd chosen to don his scarlet gloves to symbolize the cutting of the boy, and placed a crimson plume in his regal hat to match.
Rigo trudged over the sand, growling at himself. "Stupid... Thinkin'..." He just growled, beastlike, and tightened his grip on his bandaged ribs, grinding the bones back out of place, reversing all the good Will had done. He clenched his eyes shut against tears for a moment, lip curled in a scowl, and opened them again to see a man sitting with his trunk, looking slightly over decorated in Rigo's opinion. He stopped on the sand slope and frowned, staring at the stranger.
Vichar was well aware of the man so close to him, but he didn't want to give any sign that he did, in case this was supposed to be some clever ambush. Instead, he picked his longer, fancier dagger up from the lid of the trunk, fiddling with it nonchalantly as he waited for the other man to make a move.
Letting the sea breeze roll over him, Rigo sighed and warily continued towards the man, staying well out of his weapon's reach. "Who're ye?" he snorted, eyes darting down to note the blood on the trunk with a frown.
Not looking up, Vichar continued to play with his dagger, running his gloved finger down the blade again and again. "Vichar." he said at length, deciding this time to stay more or less quiet instead of being so openly insulting. He could smell the blood on the other man, and he wanted to know the reason.
"Vichar?" Rigo snorted. "As in a 'oly man?" He glared. "Or y'fakin' 'at?" He glanced down at the trunk again, then back at the man, eyeing the blade and moving his hand to his arm guard to make sure he still had his own. Continuing to glare, Rigo slowly began to circle the man at a distance, judging like an animal would a trespasser, and waited for an answer.
Vichar bowed his head, using his hat to hide his face from the man that was circling him. He was trying not to laugh, as the other man's actions and appearance combined gave Vichar the mental image of a mongrel dog. "Which would be more difficult for you to believe; that I am a holy man, or that it is in fact my real name?
"From th'looks o'ye, it b'arder t'believe you's 'oly." He stopped, standing in front of the man, sizing him up. "Where'd y'come from, 'en?" A sudden pain shot through Rigo's ribs, and is face twitched in a slight wince in spite of him, though he didn't seem to notice or feel it. "Wha're y'doin' out 'ere?"
"I'm enjoying the view." He said simply. "Enjoying the view of the ocean before I set off upon it. I think it quite possible that I shall never see it from the shore again." He ignored the inquiry about his past, and kept his head bowed.
The remark on setting sail struck Rigo, and he frowned, a slight rage coming into his eyes. "Settin' sail, y'said? On wha' ship?" He narrowed his eyes at the man, a hand resting casually on the hilt of his dagger. Whatever had happened today, there were still things he had sworn, and something about this man made him familiar. Something about the blood on the trunk seemed familiar. And Rigo didn't like it.
"The Invader." Vichar looked up at the man, finally, and began to take in more of him. A simple, bloody pirate, he assumed. Who didn't speak properly, and who was probably plotting to gut him and steal his things at this very moment. But he'd have to get used to seeing these types, being near them, breathing in their stench every day with nowhere to go. His lip curled unconsciously at that last though. Trapped. Trapped in a seething, reeking mass of depravity.
Rigo snarled, drawing his dagger. "Yer th'one, 'en, aren't ye?" His eyes narrowed further and his knuckles were white around the hilt. "Yer th'one who marked Will...made 'im ge' ye on crew." What little pain he felt was flooded out by the pure rage inside of him. "Yer 'im."
"Will." Vichar snorted. "Was that the boy's name, then? He is quite fortunate; he is alive." A sadistic smile crept behind his eyes as he saw the man standing there, fuming. "At least, I assume he lived. I didn't personally kill him, of course...but those were some nasty wounds." He smirked at that word, nasty, gave an obviously fake look of pity, and cocked his head slightly to one side.
Rigo practically howled, "Y'bloody mad wank! Y'did tha' shit t'an innocent kid!" His body shook, his bloody fist clenched so that his nails dug into the already open wounds he'd inflicted upon himself there. "Y'takin' sick pleasure in doin' somethin' like tha'? 'e almos' WAS dead!"
Vichar grinned, flat out grinned, in the face of this furious man. "I'm sorry...was he yours?"
Rigo's face went scarlet to his ears, and the rage flooded up behind his eyes. "Y'lil shit!" Ever muscle in his body clenched like a wolf ready to attack.
Vichar licked his lips, left hand taking hold of his dagger's hilt, right hand tucking inside his coat. "You haven't answered me, sailor..." His eyes stayed fixed on Rigo's face, no fear, no flinching. "Was he yours?"
A low growl sounded from deep in Rigo's throat, sounding as if he might very well snap like a dog, but it finally rose to a snarled "No! Will dun b'long t'no'n! I dun deserve 'im, an' tha' means ye dun deserve s'much as 'is shit!"
"So. You think yourself better than me." Vichar spoke slowly, almost patronizingly. "Do you know what he said to me, as I slammed him down on this trunk?" Vichar still held his even stare, cold as a serpent's gaze. "He said I could hurt him. He granted me permission." Vichar wasn't even sure why he'd chosen those words...he wasn't really thinking, just watching the dog, the snake watching the dog before its unfeeling eyes.
Rigo trembled, fists clenched, ready to attack but holding back. Something about the man's words held him there, no matter how hot the rage burned. He felt baited. As true as he knew those words could be, most likely were, he felt as if it were a trap. "Permission only goes s'far. No' t'th'length's o'death...no's far as y'took't..."
"Do you know what else he said...?" A tiny light was gathering in Vichar's eyes; he'd found the bone. The bone to bring in the dog. "When he was begging for his life, he said he would be mine..." he put an extra accentuation on that last word, drawing it out so that the full implications were clear. "And he said that I could do whatever I wanted to him. It justified my mark on him. He belongs to me now, mongrel, he's mine."
Rigo snarled and lunged at him, the animal taking over, though his mind screamed no. He lost control to the pure rage, bringing his dagger for the man's throat, knowing inside that it would never strike but not caring enough to stop himself. He had wanted to die. He had wanted to kill. One or the other might come of such a mad act.
Vichar smiled in the split second before Rigo's lunge. He leaned back and brought his feet up, stopping the furious man from getting too close. Using both the man's momentum and his own, he flipped Rigo over his head, rolling backwards to land on top of him and straddle him. His left hand, still clutching the dagger, held down Rigo's attacking hand, while his right swiftly brought itself out of Vichar's coat and alongside the aggressor's head. It didn't come out alone; Rigo could feel the muzzle of a pistol at his temple. Vichar leaned down close to the man's face. "Proud of yourself?"
Rigo glanced sidelong at the pistol, snarling, part of his mind kicking him for the fool move and part of it hoping the man would pull the trigger. His lip remained curled in a scowl as he lay prone there, survival instinct unable to free him, and just growled in response.
"Nothing to say, then...?" Vichar whispered, the look in his eyes getting progressively less sane. Leaning forward as he spoke, his voice lowered until he was just barely breathing the words. "Anger is weakness...it leaves your mind in an altered state...you make mistakes, idiotic decisions..." By the end of his little speech, his lips were a fraction of an inch away from Rigo's, and after giving his captive an almost wistful look, he closed the distance; planting a soft kiss.
Rigo snarled at that, and spit in the man's face. "Keep yer reasons an' fancy talk, wank! Y'think I don' know 'ow stupid I c'n ge'?"
Licking the spit from his face, Vichar regarded the other man with curiosity, and something else. "So tell me then...why attempt to take me on like that when you are well aware of your own stupidity?"
Rigo glared up at him for a moment, then turned his head away, wishing the man would just kill him. "Ge' it fr'm m'da... Lose c'ntrol..." He snorted. "Cou'd say 'at makes me's bad low as you."
Vichar sneered slightly at that comment. "What exactly makes me so low?" He tilted his head slightly to the side. "Most of the things I think you may answer with could be considered desirable attributes by some."
"Wha' makes y'low?" Turning his head to face the man again, eyes glinting, he laughed on word. "Pain."
Vichar's brow furrowed at the man's answer. "I don't understand what you mean by that..." His left hand started to loose its grip on Rigo's dagger hand, and seemingly unconsciously began to stroke Rigo's arm, letting his own dagger fall in the process. The right hand, clutching the pistol, stayed unwavering at Rigo's temple.
Rigo's grin turned into a smirk. "Pain's wha' makes every'n low." His eyes flashed, something bright and red prowling behind them, and what little blue there was to them began to seep white. "Feelin' it leaves y't'die from it. Causin' it...leaves y't'live in't."
Vichar was quiet for a moment. His hand continued downwards, resting on Rigo's chest. His own dagger lay forgotten in the sand, though the pistol stayed steady as ever. "Perhaps you are more intelligent than appearances would have one think." He looked Rigo in the eyes as his hand continued to go lower.
The animal inside wouldn't let Rigo flinch or look away even if he had wanted to. "Hnn..." He held the smirk, unmoving.
Vichar had a somewhat lost look in his eyes as he gazed at the man for another few seconds or so, before leaning down to kiss him again. His left hand made its way into Rigo's pants, though as always the pistol stayed where it was.
Nostrils flaring, Rigo clenched his fists tighter, the dagger still in his white-knuckled hand, but he remained still. He wouldn't fight yet, but he wouldn't make it easy, lips still curved into a closed smirk as the man kissed him.
Vichar pulled away from the kiss, left hand pulling Rigo's trousers down just enough. He began to stroke as his tongue traced Rigo's neck, the pistol still in place. "I don't understand you." He whispered in Rigo's ear before nibbling on the lobe.
"Hmph..." Face unchanged save for the blue all but gone from his eyes, Rigo laughed. "Dun much un'erstan' m'self." A slight shiver ran through him, though from what it was hard to tell.
Vichar changed position, seeming to just notice what he was doing as he looked towards all the activity, resting his head on Rigo's chest. "I don't think most people understand themselves," he said quietly, his head sliding forwards to rest on Rigo's stomach. The pistol kept its watch, still unwavering.
"Hnn..." Rigo's upper lip twitched slightly, but it was barely noticeable, his body remaining rigid. "Dun think any'n un'erstan's any'n."
Vichar seemed too far gone to hear, his lips closing on the other man's 'pride.' His tongue massaged the tip of it with varying degrees of force as he continued to stroke softly with his left hand. Despite the somewhat awkward position, the pistol remained pressed against Rigo's temple.
Staring up at the sky, Rigo's teeth ground, but he held the smirk, still not moving. He could feel his control slipping, but he struggled to keep it as long as he could. His fist clenched so tightly around the hilt of his dagger that his nails dug into his palm, his other fist grinding sand into his other hand, still bleeding from his self-inflicted wounds, irritating them further and stinging like hell, but his mind told him he didn't feel it, any of it, not even the man settled between his legs, so he believed it and felt nothing.
Vichar took more of the man into his mouth, increasing the speed of his strokes and moaning almost inaudibly. His right hand, still clutching the pistol, finally left its post to sweep slightly against Rigo's cheek.
Barely managing not to laugh out loud, Rigo eyed the pistol, control slipping further. But he struggled to remain still, to wait. A very thin line of blue was all that showed the color of his eyes, a ring of white between that and the pupil. He ground his teeth against the beast slamming around in side him and another shiver ran through him.
Vichar became even more lost in his work, all of his motions increasing in speed and ferocity. His right hand continued to trail across Rigo's cheek, then down to his chest, his side, until finally it and the pistol were tucked somewhere under Vichar's body.
And Rigo let go, disappearing inside himself to watch the beast at work. He laughed, almost a bark, and his bloody hand flew forward to slam into Vichar's forehead and tangle in his hair, throwing him back and off of him, his other hand coming up to hold his dagger to the man's throat. He snarled, eyes no more than black voids in the center of the white, "'m no'th'only one goes stupid, mate."
Despite being still a bit under the influence of his previous state, Vichar's eyes glittered slightly at this new development. Taking in the scene, he snorted at Rigo. "There's something you may have neglected to notice, friend..." he said, looking at the fresh bullet wound in the other man. His hand must have acted without him again, reactions kicking before the situation was truly known. He still clutched the pistol, though unless he could find time to reload it would be no more than a blunt instrument. Which was still rather useful.
Rigo snorted, a wicked, feral grin crossing his face. And the look in his eye was enough to say he didn't care. "Y'think I care 'bout somethin' lil as 'at?" His voice was low and thick, more a growl than actual words. He stepped forward, pulling the man close so they were nose to nose. "'m on'y one step lower'an y'mate...an' wuz 'at say when yer a demon o'ell y'self?"
Quite honestly, Vichar was more aroused than anything else at the moment. He didn't experience fear, how could you when nothing mattered? But he felt a need to respond to what the man had said. It was hard to think in the heavy smell from the other man; blood and sweat and gunpowder...but especially the blood. Vichar swallowed in a gesture that could easily be mistaken for nervousness as his left hand started to slide a little closer to his body. "What is it you want?" he said at length, not so much as a symbol of defeat, but more of an honest question.
"You." He growled, words barely processing through the animal haze. "Dead." Something in the back of his mind started to panic. What was he doing? But the part in control didn't care what he was doing. A pure, rage driven creature had him now, and it was holding on tight from the inside.
"May I ask why?" Vichar said, left hand creeping ever so unnoticeably towards his waist. He was studying the crazed man before him, wondering what motivated him so. Wondering how he could be so strongly moved.
Rigo struggled to force words. Screaming from inside his own mind, he knew the answer, but all he could force out was a very low, snarled, "Will."
"Will." Vichar thought for a moment, though his hand kept its traveling. "You want to kill me simply because I hurt this boy?" His hand had made it to its destination, resting slightly behind him on the sand. His grip on the pistol tightened slightly as he waited for his answer.
He wanted to scream "yes," give this man all of his reasons for caring so much for the boy, but all that came out was a deep growl, his fingers clenching in the man's hair and his blade cutting into the throat just enough to draw blood.
Vichar winced ever so slightly at the pain from the blade. More outwardly he smiled, as his mind raced for a plan. Any plan. Any plan that would keep that blade from going too much farther. "What exactly is he to you? Friend...lover...brother...son?"
Rigo froze, fingers clenched and blood running slowly down the steel. The question couldn't process in an animal's mind. Even the human part of him, curled up in the back of his mind to watch helplessly, couldn't form a response. Shouldn't it be simple enough? But he was shaking now, and he couldn't even find another growl to answer, just glaring at the man in his grasp.
Taking the moment of seeming confusion his question had caused as his only opportunity, Vichar swung his right hand at Rigo's head as he pushed off with his left, twisting his torso around so that his chest was to the sand. His movement had given the dagger the chance to cut along his throat farther than it already had, causing the white ruffle at his neck to begin tainting with his own blood. Almost immediately after landing, he kicked out with both legs, giving himself enough momentum to roll forwards and onto his feet. Whipping around to face Rigo, he drew his rapier and held the point accusingly at the man. "How about we try this like gentlemen?" He laughed slightly at the notion, a small twinkle in his eye at the thought of a duel.
All forgotten but the sight of the blade extended towards him, Rigo growled again, crouched in the sand. His dagger, and only weapon, remained clenched in his hand, Vichar's blood trickling down it. The beast could smell the blood now. Rigo knew he would most likely end up dead if he took such a challenge, and he tried to take back control, focusing on the pain where the bullet had entered his thigh, the pain of his broken ribs, the sting of his hand, anything to pull himself back to Earth. Nothing worked. He just remained there, crouched as if ready to attack, eyes shining, and growled.
"Come on, then." Vichar taunted, waving the point of his blade at Rigo for emphasis. A smile that surely had something evil behind it crept across his face. "I'll even put one hand behind my back." He tucked his right hand firmly behind him, and took up a sort of fencing stance.
Watching his enemy for any sign of attack, he began to rise, stopping for a moment as if to process something, then a grin spread across his face and he rose to his feet, muscles bunched and ready to lunge, at Vichar or out of the way of his blow. He took a heavy step back to distance himself more from the blade, dagger raised before him with a wolfish grin.
Vichar just couldn't stand waiting anymore. He ran at his opponent, seemingly to attempt to pierce his heart...but at the last minute he ducked and swung downwards as he ran off to the side, trying to knock the man off his feet. As he passed, however, his right hand swept back into play, another dagger in its grasp. This he struck out with, trying to slice through some important ligament or another on the leg without the bullet hole in it. If he could just incapacitate Rigo...the thought didn't have an ending.
Rigo gave another barking laugh and the hilt of his dagger slammed numbingly into the hand holding the rapier. His right hand, meanwhile, coming from behind him to use the armguard as a shield for his leg, with Vichar's first dagger held tight. Snarling, he shoved the man away again, leaping backwards and then diving forward at him again in attempt to catch Vichar with one of the blades while he was off guard.
'Shit.' Vichar thought at the man's ferocity. He wasn't used to fights like this; fights that lasted more than a few minutes. He parried both of the blades coming at him, leaping back slightly at the force of the blows. "My own dagger," he sneered. "You might not want to be using that...I'm sure it still has a bit of Will's blood on it..."
The feral grin stretched again, eyes glinting, "Wha' be'er vengance 'an this?" And he was surprised himself that such words might come from his mouth while in such a state as his own. "It bled him. It'll bleed you." Then he lunged again, diving under the man's weapons to slam his shoulder into Vichar's stomach with more power than he thought he owned.
Vichar was taken completely off guard by the blow, his hand still slightly tingling from the earlier one. As the crazed Rigo crashed into him, however, it seemed as though he'd managed to stick his dagger in his back. As he started to fall backwards, he tried to stab upwards with his rapier; hoping to gut Rigo like a fish.
Taking no heed of the dagger, but dodging the rapier, Rigo jumped back, playing in-and-out like a wolf, and kicked his foot out to strike Vichar's side and flip him onto his stomach, diving at the other's back to shove him face-first into the sand.
Vichar was a bit breathless by now, not only from all of the effort; especially in this heat, with so much clothing, but from all of the blows. As he landed facedown in the sand and felt the weight of the other on top of him, he resigned himself to just not bother anymore. It wasn't proving to be as fun as he'd hoped, and what difference did it make if this dog had his revenge? By resigning himself to piracy he'd been trying to dance closer to death anyway, might as well let it come without having to deal with more than one of the filthy searats.
Rigo landed and resheathed his own dagger, using the now empty hand to shove down on the other man's head. The blue slowly began to seep back into his eyes, the beast turning over control now that its fun was had, and he leaned down to hiss in the other's ear. "Y'wan' me t'kill ye, wank?"
Vichar would have had difficulty answering that question, had he known how in the first place. His mouth was far enough into the sand to be filled should he open it. He didn't like the thought of eating dirty sand. So he didn't answer. It wouldn't really matter, anyway; he wasn't about to plead for his life, to strike a deal or anything, so whatever he said, if the other man wanted him dead, he'd be dead.
Rigo snorted and let up the pressure on the man's head. "Yer no' worth leavin' alive. It's no' worth le'in' y'live t'urt some'n else th'way y'did Will, th'way 'm sure y'done plen'y o'people jus' like 'im." Then he grinned, a bit of the beast flashing behind his eyes. "Bu' remem'er wha' y'said b'fore? 'bout y'markin' 'im? 'e b'longs t'ye?"
Vichar nodded slightly, thinking he could see where this was going. Might as well bear his own cross, and he certainly wouldn't mind the pain. He just hoped the other man removed his clothes first; they were expensive, and he didn't want them to end up torn or bloody. It was bad enough that his neck ruffle was ruined already...Vichar's mind completely left the dire matter at hand to ponder about a way to get bloodstains out of lace.
Rigo snorted and stabbed he blade through into Vichar's shoulder, dragging it to leave a long, deep gash before driving it full to the hilt through the man's shoulder with all of his weight behind it. Then his lips brushed the man's ear. "Well...now y'b'long t'me, mate." He gave the blade a small twist as he shoved off, standing over him. "An' tha' means...wha's yers...is mine." With that, Rigo turned his back, his own wounds forgotten as he disappeared towards the trees, and towards home.
Vichar laid there a moment, slightly disappointed at the abrupt end. He was also rather tiffed that Rigo had torn his coat, and he wondered if he'd taken his dagger too. He stood, replacing all of his weapons and looking around for the dagger.
Entering the trees, Rigo noticed something still held in his hand and looked down at the weapon. Until that moment, the full weight of the blood that stained it had remained a numb fact to him, but now... He curled his lip in a scowl, slamming the blade into a tree, and set out at a run despite the sudden realization of pain in his thigh. He had to get home...now...

Learn more about Vichar?
Go home?
Perhaps to the Archives?
Or revisit the White Room?

Let us know if this page contains pornographic, copyrighted, or hate content. 250Free proudly supports TheFreeSite.com