Razgriz

IC:

"Wait a minute, that's my thing. Since when did she get to... kendo, kenjustu, sojutsu..." he said, which Redhot would doubtlessly recognize was "yeah sure" in simian tongues.

IC:

And off she went. 

Guess that's settled, then.

"Catch ya later, then, Loren." he said, turning to the older De-Toa with another salute, this time a little more mindful of keeping the motion crisp. Gotta give it all an earnest shot. "Enjoy the day off. I won't keep you."

He took a breath, making sure his bearing was reset. The reverie and reprieve were nice for sure, but if he walked off in the same chilled-out frame of mind he might have missed something. Wouldn't be able to do this job correctly. He could keep track of a lot even like that— a lot of hunting was practically instinct by now— but the projection of alertness was also paramount. He'd had that hammered in in the training courses— if eyes are on you, you're less likely to commit to something heinous. That was how they'd displayed it. A lax guard lead to more perception of being able to get away with stuff, no matter how wrong it may be.

Maybe that's why there were so many of them patrolling or standing around. Gotta look tough, overtly and everywhere, so nobody gets any ideas.

Alright, then.

IC: Cipher - The Rockwall

"Fell out of the sky," huh? I see. This guy must be very lost. Funny, I'd always figured Kualsis made it easier to get around, but I guess that's the merit of never thinking you know everything. Luckily, I've been almost everywhere at least once— and I've gotten pretty good at recognizing where that is, even if directions themselves are... well...

Anyways, Verak. Not a name I'd heard before. Given that I'm me, I'd long made a habit of double and triple-checking names as I hear them. The amount of people I've randomly ran into and at least exchanged pleasantries with has likely crested triple digits by now, and my memory's not the best in the world. But, genuinely, I'd come up with nothing. Didn't even know Toa of Sand were a thing, if I'll be honest, but Earth, Stone, and Crystal all have their own weird, blurry boundaries that I never felt like digging my nose into.

I'd rather just roll with it. Besides, what was far more pressing than that was the matter of location.

I quickly double-checked my surroundings. Jungle in the far background, Ga-Koroan architecture, Lighthouse dominating the landscape— that left only a few options.

"Well," I brushed some water from my Calix, "It looks to me like this is Nokama Port. South end of Le-Wahi, very tip of it. Ga-Koro staked a little claim here after the Kumu Islets got swallowed up, I hear. I went looking for the ruins earlier, but got a little disoriented myself— just found the closest patch of land I saw."

I just got home from work, I'll send you my profile in the next couple of days. I'm interested in either an executive position like Fight Promotion, or Stadium Coordinator— or commentary. As a lifelong martial artist, this strikes a unique chord— I actually was considering something extremely similar, based off of Lumpinee Stadium or Pride FC. Look forward to working with you.

4 hours ago, Smudge8 said:

I'm going to regret this...

Would anyone be insterested in a fort that's basicaly just an oficial Sarke tournament spot? It'd be like an over the top exercize Gym.

Hello.

IC: Cipher - The Rockwall

Now, the reason I chose to frequent the handful of ports scattered about Mata Nui was that they were, naturally, crossroads. Travel by sea being so quick compared to travel by land, the burgeoning navies of each koro not filled with people as blue as I am, the open waters being a safe place for ne'er do wells to rest their heads (in relative terms, naturally) without worrying about the long arm of the law— there were a lot of reasons people could take to ports. With people comes information. With information comes opportunity. This is vagabond 101 stuff, so I'll call it a day and contentedly gloss over the subject if you'll let me.

Let's be honest, if you're still here, you've heard it all before. And if you take some discomfort with me addressing you directly, don't worry— once I settle down we'll take things as more in media res, the way I used to. I just haven't talked in a while.

To anyone, actually.

Great Spirit rest Gabe's soul. He's flipping and tipping with the Turaga now.

Back to basics, then. Getting sick of myself here.

Having gone after my buddy's tendency to brood, and now his tendency to be on whatever pier I swim up to when I inevitably find myself waterlogged like this, I was pretty miffed to find out I'd come up dry. Nokama Port being what it was, I was certain I'd end up with a hole-in-one here. Ga-Koro, like the first time. Le-Wahi, like the second time. Close to the Islets— I don't often have good ideas, and even less often get to them on time, but this one had potential. But I guess three times would be old hat, even if it was a hat trick—

Wow, I must really miss that dude.

But circling back around, even if my assumptions regarding when troubled young man were off-kilter, a port was still a port, and a crossroads was still a crossroads. I could hardly call any time I trudged out of the surf a dull moment. Always bumped into people. In some cases, like right now, literally. The quick *pop* of void being filled by something directly in front of my nose was my only warning, and before I even thought about activating my Calix and slipping around him, my lizard brain had decided grinding to a halt was the best option. Luckily, I was going slow, so a small bump occurred instead of a real skull-to skull crash.

"Ah, Karz. My bad, man." I groaned, ingrained courtesies taking over while I sized up whomever I may have just antagonized.

A man, tall enough and armored enough that he had to have only been a Toa, built a lot like me (albeit skinnier), was standing in front of me where before had been empty pier. The Kualsi on his face answered the big questions before my mind could ask them, but something seemed off... Wait. The horns were missing. Weird! He cut them off himself? Tan and brown says Po-Toa to me, but then again, I'm blue as the waters behind us and I chuck plasma around. Never sure until you see someone at work.

The more I looked him over, the more I realized he looked rough. Not haggard, his body language was too self-assured for it, but weathered for certain. Certainly packed light. Lighter than me for certain— I carry my camp on my back like a chump. Knife on him looked more generalist than combative. Worst came to worst, I had options.

But we don't go around hoping for worst, just preparing for it. I offered a hand.

"Cipher. Mea culpa."

At this point, I'd realized I usually look pretty ridiculous when I swim up onto a pier, but the show must go on.

IC:

A single hand deftly plucked the yari from her grasp, its twin tossing in return a bamboo shinai. No edge to speak of, and relatively lightweight, it still provided enough ommph  through speed and leverage alone to contend well enough in most sparring contexts. Saeva and Torana, huh? Well, the latter was something of an unknown— he hadn't seen her get into too many scraps as of yet, but Saeva he knew very well— as the other half of one of his three two unsettled scores, he'd probably be trading wins and losses with her until they both dropped. She was an archetypal firespitter, all grit, spunk, and ferocity even when she lost out on technique.

When it came to street fights, only her experience was equal, maybe even exceeding his own. That seasoned veteran status was an intangible every bit as important as skill in his eyes— a brawl was a thing you needed to know inside and out, if you wanted a prayer of applying technique. Did Tor have it? He had no idea.

...

"COME ON, GET THOSE BETS IN"

Oh hey, that could be fun.

"10 widgets on Sparky. I'm feelin' a little wild."

A kakama and a cool head could get you places already, and that didn't even take into account that she knew Saeva. Definitely interesting, but on the other hand...

He offered the massive Onu-Toa a fist. Handshakes were too stiff for their types.

"You game?"

He knew he couldn't make him bet against his hero.

IC:

"Suits me fine. I've another four hours to go." he chuffed, "So long as you know your way around a hunt, I'll play ball."

He didn't see any reason she didn't deserve a paycheck, given that this all appeared (as far as he knew) above-board. The only potential sticking point was how she handled herself on the prowl. He knew how to conceal his own presence pretty well by now, and he knew how certain others moved— but given that he'd never remembered her trying to creep upon the Six on that fateful day, she was something of a mystery.

He would see how it shook out.

IC: {Khy;Barr, The Temple of Guns}

"Indeed, how unpleasant. So fortunate that my brother never saw far enough to learn his impending doom. Perhaps this servitude shall open his eyes." 

The skeleton of the leader that had enchained her waddles after the Rahi, stick raised high. Dinsmokk watches it go, as if observing dust blow across a mountain path. The witch is trying to get a rise of him, but so often does the heretic when faced with a god to be. She can thrash against her chains for the sake of small victories, but just as the burnt weed that fills her lungs, it is naught but a convenient distraction. 

"But fools often remain shortsighted fools, don't they? The fortress will run in working order as we depart, I have seen to such."

IC: {Khy;Barr, The Temple of Guns}

"Gerrack came up under Bonema." Dinsmokk notes, seemingly content to let the aforementioned day be left to the past, even with one of the blood of Seprilli recounting it to him. "The blind lead the blind in his day."

Behind him, the Blind stands, blankly staring at the scampering creature they had refused to acknowledge at their feet.

IC:

"If you can move through the thicket quietly, sure. Knock yourself out." he replied, less than committal but more the rejecting. He did hope she wasn't going to try and swipe one of his catches when he wasn't looking, though... not want for most material possessions as he may have been, he still bristled at the thought of food being taken from him rather than given by him— as one would assume most did, in fairness.

But, that at least wasn't something he'd lifted from somebody else, right? That feeling, however unnecessary (she could clearly pay for her own meals if she was working this long as a mercenary), came from his own head.

Don't get much outta that.

"I probably oughta get back to my route soon." he said dispassionately. "Was nice to catch up. Anything else I should hear about before I dip?"

IC: {Khy;Barr, The Temple of Guns}

"SHO'GAKK!" A booming voice calls, carrying clear over even the insistent hammering of machinery on pig iron and steel. Massive lungs and a trained diaphragm drive the sounds of thunder through the air as a grizzled Vo-Skakdi snaps to attention, pausing his grind of a long barrel. "YOU HAVE THE FLOOR FOR THE REST OF THE DAY! ALTERNATE SHIFTS WITH VICHENKO UNTIL WE RETURN! CURNOKK IS LEAVING AFTER LUNCH TODAY— HIS RUNT IS GREETING THE WORLD! AND IF GHOLAK SLACKS, CORRECT HIS POSTURE!"

Behind the towering source of the voice, a distinct bonk of wood hitting the stone flooring could be heard, air swooshing as a gaunt figure mimed the strike with a little too much further.

"Understood, Crew Chief!" the lightning-flavored brute barks back, handing his work off to a runty junior apprentice, and taking position near the head of the foundry, overlooking them all. As he draws close to the larger, younger Skakdi he is filling in the void of, he sees him off with a nod and a pat upon the shoulder. "Ancestors guide your conquest, Dinsmokk."

"And may they take pride in your forgeworks, Sho'Gakk." the gesture is mirrored, however instead of a hand filled with scars, the shoulder was struck by naught but metal.

Satisfied that he is leaving the floor in capable hands, the burly Skakdi of Ice, horned and dangerous as any ever was, ambles down from the rafters and rejoins the motley group of Lesterin and Arms, wearing his thoughts on his face, teeth showing in a smirk that made up for the patched eye cutting off a window to the soul. It is no pretty thing to behold, but far uglier is the collection of bones standing behind him, wearing the rictus grin of a polished skull.

These twin spectres, one of death and the other of life, loom over Verakastian and Vana even from afar, painted a dull, fiery orange by the glow of molten iron. The Skeleton looks curiously at the Rahi the witch has under her spell, nudging it with his stick, but the Skakdi pins the bundle of nerves before him with a prying eye.

"It seems the freedom you so coveted has still left you craven, gunsmith." his voice is as pleasant as rockfall. "You jump at every shadow from the flickers of the fire. Can you not see? We would descend upon the witch in a second and feed her to the forges if she tried to take housing from the workmen. This is the arrangement that keeps one of your people safe from our long memories. Perhaps an ovuk-taht is what you need, to quell your fear. Or the Distiller's brandy. Regardless,"

The tooth in his head seems to drink in the red of the forges. A throaty bellow floats through the air from the production floor, hammers pounding in time with the tempo of its subharmonic rumbling.

"You should rejoice. Under no Skathi would you three have this chance to see the sun. Take solace in Arms."

IC:

"Likewise here— no dice with them today." Jolek conferred, folding his arms with a grimace of dissatisfaction. They didn't ring a bell. Yellowed teeth, slight limp, missing digits on the right hand, spine modified... none of it. Hadn't heard of any "Ash Lads", either, so they clearly weren't they types that picked up notoriety easily— that, or nobody wanted to call them by their self-decided moniker.

Unfortunate, really— self-determination like that was... hrm. Huh. Kind of...

Enviable.

"Yeah, no weirder spines than the usual..." he murmured softly, having been in the same recruitment wave as more than a few. 

What would that compensate for, anyway?

A ...small spine? Does he get attacked from behind a lot? They might be easy to sneak up on, in that case... That reminds me, actually.

"I set up some snare traps in the Forest at first light before reporting in this morning, though. I can keep an eye out when I double back for them once I'm off-duty. Takes some experience to move through all the smoked out wood quietly, so I've a pretty good shot of hearing these guys before they do me."

Ashy soil was very fine, and thus quiet, but the vegetation was almost permanently desiccated. You needed to go lean, and with a light step. Very similar to Le-Wahi, but definitely also very different. Tough to explain, but after this much time, second nature.

To teach is to know. If you seek to follow the Way assiduously, become familiar with both. It is our Way to have a taste for both—

Sword and Pen.

"Maybe I'm wrong, but I doubt a big, burly fella nursing a limp is going to be able to keep a step light enough to avoid snapping some branch-fall. The Mangai's ash is soft, but it hides a lot of twigs since it's usually carried downwind."

He nodded now, more sure of the idea. It lined up almost perfectly— grab dinner and maybe catch a show. Suddenly, the afternoon was looking up.

IC:

"I don't remember anyone out of the ordinary so far, but I can keep an eye out." he replied, content that his words had been enough to have things settle on the issue for now. He owed Angel a fair shake, after all— even after eight months of drudgery, he'd signed up to lend a hand to a friend. He couldn't just take a half-measure.

He'd been trying, even when he should have scoffed at some of the stuff he'd made routine. A man's word only carried as much weight as he provided it, right? That was obvious even to him— trust doesn't come easily given. They both ran on similar ideas, even if Angelus had adjusted far better to the world they now called home than Jolek. That shared upbringing meant shared understandings. You needed to be a reliable person, and you needed to know when others weren't.

That could be life or death.

"What are we workin' with?"

IC: Cipher - The Rockwall

Off the placid blue horizon that overlooked the sturdy inlet of Nokama Port, a break in the water began to form. It was a small swell, easy to miss even though the water churned in its wake, leaving spiraling pools as the seas rippled around whatever was making it's steady approach. Eagle-eyed observers, should any have been present and interested in the Ga-Koroan toehold into Le-Wahi, may have caught the surface breaking with slow, yet steadily increasing regularity. The glint of metal as an axehead split the water from below, like the fins of so friggin' many sharks. A deep navy limb, forcing through the water as though pushing the sea back to push it's owner forward.

A dark shape, just beneath the waves, and closing hungrily on land. This was no Rahi. It couldn't be. Yet if this was an aquatic assault, it was supremely foolhardy— in broad daylight, against a colony of the island's foremost mariners and highest per capita population of Ga-Toa by a country mile? To so brazenly approach a strategic point as an enemy was boldness to the core. It would take balls that by all rights should carry anyone swimming to a watery grave, down deep in the Abyss, the Lighthouse stood constant vigil over.

And yet the shape forged on, heedless. It was now more than a swell, it became a steady churning of white foam pockmarked by dark blues and reflective silvers, racing towards the nearest pier with almost singleminded pursuit of one destination, one goal—

For the love of Mata Nui, I'm sick of swimming.

The churning stopped as it drew upon the rickety-looking, but shockingly sturdy wooden bridge into the waves, and with a single herculean effort, I pulled myself onto something dry.

So.

Yeah.

Hey. Yo. How ya been.

Don't look at me, I got to the Fau Swamp and took a turn for the ruins of Xa-Koro. I figured I was about a month late for Kini, which I know I'm gonna hear about for the rest of my life.

But if I was an ex-hitman, caught up in my own feelings after managing to dodge the death I'd quite clearly craved since the last three times I'd done so, where would I go?

Xa-Koro. Hundred Percent. All that Mark Bearer, Krillactum, Joske stuff running through my head would absolutely bring me here. I can read myself like a book. Forget Dasaka, I'm the psychic 'round these parts. 

Plus, going off this hypothetical situation where I am the heartthrob (somehow) of a nation or two (what's wrong with them) and need to have time to think about the things I hold dear (my stuff and sometimes my handsome and talented friends), then I'd likely be randomly on a dock somewhere nearby at the very least, ready to crow my victory at the sight of smudged ink on a napkin that housed my legal will and testament, a binding agreement forged in a Ko-Koroan inn (I hope that waitress has better taste by now) between my next of kin (actually Malik, but sssshhhhhh) and myself (Can you guess who?).

But, as luck would have it, no such man appeared before me. I furrowed my brow, having been ready to crow my victory upon revealing the sight of a painstakingly pristine and guarded line of ink on a napkin, held tight to my chest in a lockbox of crystal that I had coerced a gruff-looking Toa of the selfsame element into creating for me, long modified to be watertight since I'd last been in Ga-Koro.

No matter. I'd find him eventually.

Docks were always a good bet with him. It was like he was drawn to the water, or something.

Maybe he just got lost on his way out.

Sounds like him.

Throwing my long coat over my shoulder after spending a good five minutes wringing it dry, I began to saunter down the pier towards Nokama Port proper, humming a tune whose name I'd long forgotten.

OOC: Cipher Compassrose, open for interaction.

IC:

"Oh, don't put yourself out, man. I'd feel bad, you got a lot of other things do do."

It was tempting, he was willing to admit that much. Anything to relieve the monotony— but he understood that anybody labeled "Commander" of anything was probably drowning in papers, incident reports, audits, warrants to issue, all of that. He wasn't sure if it was the bare essentials of etiquette that Arianna Highwind, one disappeared mother of his, had hammered into him or his own sense of self-reliance. He wasn't sure it mattered which, either. The fact of the matter was, he didn't want to get anything by complaining. It didn't sit right, even when it made sense to take the help.

...So that was one thing then, huh?

A small, small start.

He couldn't, likewise, drop everything that had troubled him onto Loren. It'd be too much for the man to worry about, if he was already this concerned over one guard having a wistful day.

Well, probably not fair to represent it like that. He did say he was questioning his decision to join against a career guardsman, after all.

Regardless.

"I'll figure myself out sooner or later, sir. It's one of those things you can't have other people do for you, you feel?"

soulfire and my skakdi profiles coming out when mahoyo gets fully translated see you all in arcueid 4

IC:

Dial it back, you smoothbrain. Don't descend into dramatics. Clarity.

Clarity!

"Clarity." he spoke again, brow now furrowed as he held the bridge of his nose, plainly wearing his frustrations on his Pakari. "I'd say it's clarity. I feel like there's a path forward, but I can't see it. I don't know if where I'm at, all this Guard stuff—" he swept his hand in a brief line, its arc following the street in which they stood. "I dunno if it was the one to take, after it's been all quiet like this."

He stretched his back, pulling lats open wide as his arms crest skyward.

"Maybe I'm just bored, I dunno. Maybe if I get back on my beat something'll happen and I'll get my shot of adrenaline and it'll all fall to the wayside. Like I said, the Way is clouded."

IC:

"Me."

IC:

So was it names, or ranks?

Just go with his lead, I guess. He said it was fine.

"I dunno, Loren." he chuffed, offering a slight shrug and a wan smile. "I'm not altogether sure of it myself."

He turned fully to face the man, taking a quick, cursory glance around the street— still just regular people out and about. To be fair, you'd need to be pretty bold to attack the centerpiece of Ta-Koro with two guards present, and another dozen or so almost guaranteed to be waiting in the wings close by. Lavapool had fallen to an attack once. Nobody here would let it happen twice. The Chaotic Six hadn't had much in the way of copycats.

He met Loren's eyes again.

"If anything, it's that. I've started second-guessing a lot of things lately. Never used to before."

IC:

A hand fell on his back, and he felt it accompanied by a slight puff of wind as air was shoved free from the space a body now occupied. A moment later, a voice off to his right, opposite Zelvin, and similarly familiar. Only difference was, this one belonged less to an old, former comrade and more to someone who still very much counted as one.

"Well, I don't have many nostalgic things to work with, in any case. Even for a young guy."

In fact, the second voice, belonging to a tall Toa of Sonics with a shiny RRF badge somewhere on his person, counted as a superior. Part of that decorum and bureaucracy he had been getting on about earlier. Snapping his gaze free from the ruin, Jolek's eyes met Loren's, and the younger man snapped off a salute a practiced, yet lax salute— the type that spoke to simply taking in the broad strokes of the movement and matching them. 

"Loren— Sir."

Saved it.

He'd fought alongside him at the battle, too. He wasn't a bad guy, had a good heart set in the right place, but Jolek hadn't forgotten how casually he'd spoken with the older Toa on that day, either. It made the shift in tone he had to begin taking... strange to him. While he respected the man's character and actions as much as anyone, he still felt it odd... subordinating to someone he'd met as equals. , he'd fought to save the guy's life, and now he had to pay lip service to his rank?

He didn't begrudge the man, but the expectations his simple presence carried, those of the context of their positions, were just one of those things.

"Been another quiet day. Sometimes I think the amount of us that signed up after all that scared everyone off."

IC:

Old Cy-Toa, a little off to his left. Weathered, experienced, yet somewhat kindly in the voice. She was right, they had met before, come to think of things. Odd coincidence that she'd shown up during the one moment he'd believe in his ability to put her name to her face— maybe the spike in adrenaline had jogged all the dark parts in his brain enough to retain a little.

But yeah, speak of the devil... What was that nickname, again? Elysi, the smart-mouthed Vo-Toa, had said it a lot. Nearly supplanted her real one in his head. No sign of her around... Well, mercenaries had ways of meeting and parting, so he'd heard. Wouldn't pry into it unless he'd suddenly need to.

"...Mama Clench, right? Glad you didn't bite it out there."

He tilted his head forward, nodding up towards the locale of his reminiscence as though pointing with his chin. He was sure she'd recognize it if he could.

"Mind wanders when you let it. I guess I'm in a nostalgic mood."

IC:

By all accounts, urbanization had hit Jolek like a kick straight to the jaw. He'd spent the grand majority of his life— the one he remembered— in the jungle, where trees grew lawlessly and wherever their seeds fell into ground that saw light. Green carpets of foliage, dead or very much living, would break pathways in half and then clear into voids within the span of a single breath. The ground beneath one's feet could be soft and loamy, then hard as stone, then loose suspensions between upturned roots. Inclines were often dangerous, the terrain rising and falling with the flow of the many small streams that fed the emerald canopy. It was a chaotic mess of a landscape, untamed and unfiltered. It was a far cry from the... rigidity, maybe, of a city's regimented structure.

"Huh... Think I was standing right about there." he murmured, squinting golden eyes and pointing to a vantage point some 45 feet back from the alleyway's mouth.

For instance, the young Toa of Magnetism, fresh-faced save for a scar along one of his sharp cheekbones, had never seen an alleyway before Ta-Koro. While many had described the myriad avenues as labyrinthine (and not been entirely wrong to do so, there were a lot of them in the sprawl), he couldn't deny that they lacked that same spontaneity of the Le-Wahi thicket. The ground beneath your feet on one was always flat, often paved, and wide enough for at least two-three Toa to stand shoulder to shoulder within. Rarely did they have much of anything to hinder one's movement— objects like waste bins that took up space, perhaps, but never true obstacles like fallen branches, a sudden cliff, foliage so thick you needed a heavy blade to even see two bio ahead of you. He'd never seen corridors that had that much regularity.

The alleyway in question was anything but regular, however.

He was walking a similarly regimented, structured, and mind-numbing boring  carefully self-contained path down one of the Koro's main roads, a part of his patrol he'd come to know well in the eight months since he'd joined the Guard Force. Coming up not even three intersections to his right would be one of the city's most beloved ruins— those of the Lavapool Inn. One of Ta-Koro's most storied stops for food and drink, it had become the site of a pivotal siege when the Chaotic Six had struck the city he'd been half-heartedly calling home. More specifically, it had been bombed (another new thing he'd learned, people could reverse-engineer overripe madu fruit), and then been the site of the siege, with two of the Six holed up within the newly-smoking ruins. 

Jolek had been more or less spending time doing a thoughtless, aimless version of vigilante work back then, so when he'd heard thunder crack and saw no blankets of greyed storm overhead, he had come running into the fray. A small team of similarly-minded people, Samaritans sans Frontieres, had posted themselves up in that same side path. He knew without looking that it would hook to the left in another ten or so feet to look out upon the ruins firsthand— ones he'd watched crumble in real time, searching for a way to draw the two Skakdi out without sacrificing lives.

"Fat lot of good it did."

The two had proven too dug-in, even when more arrived to reinforce their glorified alleyway crew. Brown One and Blue One, as he'd taken to calling them, had gotten away with nary a scratch for all their careful measures and calculated risks in that alleyway. The fact alone stung— but what added injury to insult was their method. Green One had appeared out of nowhere just as Korero , he, Elysi, and Zelvin had crept up upon the first two, Korero forcing them out by feeding smoke from the explosion back into the building, and...

He didn't know how to explain it.

One moment, a Skakdi. The next... a swarm. Like Locusts, they— he had clouded the area, taking advantage of the confines of the alleyway to fill the air with himself and knocking Korero out before any of them could find their bearings, let alone react. Jolek had been trying to restrain or even fistfight Blue One, but after this...

Have you ever tried to punch a bunch of bugs?

Yeah. 

In the confusion, robbed of two of his strongest senses in sight and hearing, Jolek had fell prey to a similar fate as his Le-Toa compatriot— clocked in the brainstem by the very same Skakdi he'd been locking down. Forced by outside circumstance to lose a fight. It was one thing to have those three slip away from the long arm of justice... but to have been unceremoniously knocked out like that was another thing entirely. He prided himself on knowing his way around a fistfight, better than anyone he'd met— but he knew, deep in his heart, that that ugly, grinning, blue Brakas had counted it a win.

The frown in his mind had long reached his face. When he'd come to, immediately after reaffirming the safety of his comrades he had wanted to hunt that one down and thrash him like he deserved. No outside assistance, no interference, just man-to-man, strike for strike. He thought signing up for the Guard would sharpen him up. Get him into more fights, close the holes that let such a thing happen in his awareness, give him the experience he needed.

He walked on, reaching the foreground of the memorial site proper, and turned his gaze back into the opening to the south, the mouth of the corridor that had been his stakeout point. Those buildings were so tall... he'd needed his Pakari to jump high enough to crest their walls on more than one occasion. No chance of repositioning between them easily, they'd all been funneled.

Trapped on either side by high walls of stone. A thick cloud, taking away his sight of the foe in front of him. Only one path available, because there was only one path made. To tell the truth, the guard was beginning to feel similar to that day. He joined with what he figured to be good intentions, and he figured everyone like him had as well... But the process of it was sapping at that. Walking his same beat path, arrests leading to paperwork, memorizing routines and protocol and warrants and formalities and—

Angelus these days... He always feels like a caged Muaka. Bogged down, drowning in papers. Sitting in the office, wasting away. He isn't getting out there and busting heads— is that where this whole thing all ends? I write so many reports my job is just "reports forever"?

"Is any of this growth?"

He wondered aloud in a low, pondering voice to nobody. A long time ago now, he had made a promise to part ways with his only brother in the world, and experience something. Get out there. Have adventures. Get strong. Overcome limits. To know the deepest things, and know the shallowest things. Learn everything he could of the world he had not yet known.

Is this what I call that?

Sure doesn't feel like it.

Everything he could of the man he was, and the man he'd be. 

If the passing civilians had heard him, they made no mention, only continuing to mill and shuffle by as one of "Ta-Koro's Finest" continued to stare into the ruin.

OOC: Open for interaction

IC: 

"Brotherhood. What he said."

...

"For real, you good?"