At roughly lunchtime, Jack's phone buzzed in his pocket whilst he was sat with Uni on the Basilicom patio, assessing his loot from the day before. Uni looked at it in confusion, and so did he. After a pause, he put down the RPD drum magazine, and then slowly withdrew it from his pocket. Naturally, it was bright pink. He didn't know why. Frankly, he didn't care. He had two big questions, however. Raising a brow, he looked at Uni. "First off, When did I get a phone," he began, "And second, how the hell did Lady Noire get my soddin' number?"
Uni just looked at it, then stuck her lower lip out and shook her head in confusion. "I don't know," she responded with a shrug. "Plot convenience?" Jack rubbed his forehead, looking at the rather miserable photo of Noire on the screen. Then, sighing at the fact he wouldn't ever understand what the hell everyone was going on about with 'plot', he clicked the button, and stuck it to his ear. The device was dwarfed by his considerably large head.
"Af'ernoon, London speakin'," he said calmly. The response was the angry, slightly high-pitched voice he'd come to get annoyed by.
"Where's my sister?" Noire demanded. Jack leaned back on his chair.
"With me," he said coolly. "Why, 's there summat wrong?"
"You kidnapped my sister, of course there's something wrong!"
Jack sat forward, and raised a finger, quite angry indeed. "Ah, AH! Not kidnappin', she got on the boat herself! Wouldn't have brought her along if I'd have known I couldn't find anywhere for her to stay. No good gettin' yourself all pissed over summat you don't need to worry abou-"
"That's right! You're the one looking after her! That's what I'm worried about!"
"Certainly doin' a better job than you," Jack whistled, eyeing his hands over. They were fucked, as usual. Same texture as industrial sandpaper. He wondered how he used the phone when his hands seemed like they'd grind it into fine powder upon using it. "Who's the one who's actually got Uni with 'em, might I ask?"
"You're the one who kidnapped her!"
"Didn't kidnap shit. She came along. Said you'd probably yell at her over the phone about it, or summat."
"Would you just let me speak to her, you gun-waving idiot?!" Jack raised a brow, and looked at Uni. His shorter companion looked back with a calm expression and the .44 revolver in her hands. It looked more like a rifle in her arms. She shook her head slowly.
"Uh, you...can't." Jack said finally. There was silence.
"...what do you mean, 'I can't', she's my sister! Let me talk to her!"
"You can't speak to her, she's...uh..." Quickly, he glanced around the area to find an excuse. Couldn't use Uni...couldn't use guns...couldn't say it was the good ol' days after 9/11 or that he was fuckin' invincible...
Just then, Vert walked onto the patio with a cup of tea and saucer, approaching Uni and Jack's table. Then, he had an idea. "Can't talk, need to go save Josh from being suffocated by Lady Vert's chest." Noire spat out incoherent, angry ramblings, mostly sounding like 'Who the fuck is Josh, and why are you taking Uni to fucking Leanbox?!', but Jack had hung up, and thrown the phone down the length of the garden by the time Lady Vert reached the table. "Af'ernoon, Lady Vert," he greeted calmly. Uni offered a small wave, too. Vert smiled, and gave an appreciative nod.
"Good afternoon, you two," she said warmly, glancing down at the array of firearms on the table. "I see you've got quite the display out. Is there somewhere for me to sit, or are you busy?" Jack immediately stood, and gestured to his chair.
"'ave that," he replied smoothly, before making his way over to another table to steal a chair from there. "Got one here, take mine." Vert hesitated, then smiled as she sat down.
"Thank you. The perfect gentleman, as always."
Uni stifled a laugh at the comment. Jack sat down beside her, so she stopped quite quickly, however the ghost of a smirk remained on her face. "Eh, it's nothin'," Jack whistled, sitting on the chair and prompting it to scream its protests. "Not exactly gonna let my employer stand, am I?" Vert raised a brow, sipping her tea.
"I wouldn't class myself as your 'employer', Mr. Glo..." She stopped herself. "...Lunndone." Jack rolled his eyes.
"I don't know how, but I'm getting the feeling you spelled the pronunciation wrong," he groaned. Vert offered a genuine smile.
"Sorry. It's a difficult word to say."
"No it isn't, discussion over. Anyway, how can we help you, Lady Vert?" The goddess placed her cup and saucer down delicately next to the Desert Eagle placed on the table, before looking Jack in the face.
"I...heard about your discussion with Chika." Jack groaned, before throwing his arms wide.
"Ohhh, Jesus, it's this shit again," he said quite loudly.
"No, Mr. Glovebox, I'm not here to lecture you," Vert said quickly, extending her arms. "I'm simply here to check that you're really...OK. OK?" After a moment where nobody at the table spoke, Jack rubbed his face, then sat forward, leaning on the table.
"Pretty much over it," he sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose. "Couldn't sleep at all last night, though. Still feel like I did summat bad."
"You did fine," Vert said in as reassuring a manner as she could muster. She was almost tempted to place her hands on his in an attempt to comfort him, but decided against it for fear of her own safety. "Cave is safe in hospital. I dread to think where she'd be if you hadn't stepped in."
"In a bag at the bottom of the river, I get it," Jack replied, "But I still don't think I should have killed 'em."
"As much as it pains me to condone it, it's a better solution than incarcerating them. They break out every other day, and it's always done the same way each time." Jack raised his head off the table.
"Armoured pick-up down a busy street at their court hearin's?" Vert hesitated, then slowly nodded.
"Yes, but that's not all-"
"Armed raid against the SMD headquarters to find out who ratted them out?" Vert looked slightly worried. Uni just looked between the two, but didn't know what they were discussing. She decided she was going to play with one of the two Mateba revolvers, because she liked the bit where the cylinder flicked all the way up above the frame. Nevertheless, Vert looked worried. That's important.
"That's oddly specific-"
"The guys breakin' them out are practically demi-gods that can shout each other up, dodge bullets, and wear dumb facemasks?"
"Now you're just being oddly specific."
"The guy being broken out always has an accent like mine in spite of being a Russian criminal?"
"Stop it, you're creeping me out with your psychic powers."
"Was the word 'wanker' used a lo-?"
"Now you're just remembering what you read in a magazine," another voice announced. The three people present at the table turned to see Chika approaching them. She she came near, she picked up a chair, and then casually placed it down right next to Jack, before leaning onto his shoulder and placing her arms around his left arm in a strange cuddle. Jack had no idea if he was supposed to particularly care. "Good afternoon, you two, and my dearest Vert."
"Af'ernoon," Jack and Uni said simultaneously, both looking at their guns and not looking towards Chika. Neither of them responded to the fact they had become rather in sync over the days before, and so Vert decided to just drop the thought. Chika simply opted to select a new topic of conversation.
"So, your new pilot...'friend'..." she began, withdrawing a glass of wine from nowhere and sipping it in a rather lady-like manner. "Was that his only plane that you shot down?" Jack shrugged his right shoulder so that Chika could lean on his left.
"Probably. You'd have to ask him about his toy collection." Nonchalantly, Jack picked up the other Mateba from the table, before aiming it dead ahead down the garden. "Me? I'm more partial to a bit of up close arsekickin'."
"Really?" Chika grinned. "Because when i interviewed that 'Falcom' girl that helped you with the club raid, you got into several drawn out fistfights with Mobsters that looked different than the others." She paused, then checked her nails, giggling lightly. "Sounds like you got your ass beeeeeeat...~" Jack sighed as Vert and Uni looked over at him.
"Yeah, jog on, Chika," he retorted sharply, spinning the cylinder of the Mateba. "Let's see you take out an armed gang member in a more dramatic way than beating him to half-death with a strip-club pole." Jack then leaned back as Chika smirked victoriously. "From what my browsin' the internet says, seems like you're more experienced in usin' the pole a different way..."
The air to Jack's immediate left seemed to heat up about a hundred degrees whilst Lady Vert and Uni attempted to conceal smirks. After a moment, Jack fistbumped Uni. "Do I give you any of those 'ban-terr points' for that?" Uni asked. Jack tilted his head side to side.
"Did I proper mug her off?" Uni frowned.
"Um...maybe?"
"Then yeah, do it anyway." Uni nodded in understanding as Jack turned to Chika. "Don't worry, I mean nothin' by it. Just a bit o' banter." The green haired woman huffed and folded her arms, pouting slightly as she thought back to that regrettable evening of drinking. Jack shrugged, and leaned forwards to the table with both hands to pick up the RPD so that he could fiddle with it. Vert sipped her tea, raising a brow at his actions.
"Mr. Glovebox, if you don't mind me asking, do you not feel there is such a thing as 'overkill'?" she asked. Jack shrugged his shoulders, flipping out the bipod of the Soviet machine gun and placing it on the table to point down the garden.
"Well, that's what a machine gun's for, right? Same with you goddesses and your Jesus modes," he replied, opening the top cover to load the weapon with the massive drum magazine beside it. "You could kill somethin' without havin' to transform, but I normally see you do it anyway. Sure, you could argue it's faster, but the extra damage is a bit unnecessary, ain't it?" Vert nodded.
"I suppose," she mused, "What's your point?"
"Then that'd be the same argument I could use for this old thing." He patted the side of the LMG's receiver, forcing a loud clunk from the weapon. "Massive rate of fire, massive ammo drum, massive barrel, massive bullets, massive weapon, massive weight. Where I'm from, and where this is made, nobody's ever gonna take more than a bullet or two to put in the ground, and this thing shits 'em out at a rate of knots. It's got a bipod. You know me: Would I ever use a bipod for anythin', ever?" Vert hesitated.
"I don't particularly follow. I'm not really a gun person."
"Bipods make things more usable when you're lyin' down in one place and firin'. Key word in that is 'lyin' down in one place'." Chika raised her head up slightly.
"That's five words."
"Oh, sod off."
"She's right, that was five words," Vert noted.
"Fuckin' hell, whatever. I don't stay in one place. I could see James usin' a bipod, but not-"
"Then why not give it to him?" Uni suggested. Jack rolled his eyes at the comment.
"Just because it has a bipod doesn't mean I need to use it. Just hold it at the hip and proper fuck some lads up whilst chewin' through lads and runnin' around: That's how I'll use it." Chika, Vert, and Uni cast cautious glances at him as he racked the bolt, instigating a loud crack from the huge weapon. He smiled. "Beautiful. Don't get that satisfaction from a close quarters weapon, I tell you that much." Shouldering the weapon from his seat, he looked down the garden through the iron sights. "See ladies, this is the kind of thing you take with you if you want to stop an advancin' army. Not just a squad: An army. Seven-'undred-and-fifty rounds a minute, and a hundred shots to do some serious damage to the poor twats you get set upon." Pausing, he glanced over to Uni. "Remember the first time we both fought a field of Dogoos, Uni?"
The young girl nodded eagerly, beaming. "You did a number on them, yeah! That was the first time we actually went out together!" Jack smiled.
"Indeed, it bloody well was! Just think how much faster it'd have been done if I'd've had one of these things on me at the time!" The girl let out a small 'oooh' of appreciation as she had the mental image of Dogoo-infested plain of land, rapidly clearing up under a hail of gunfire.
Her face flushed slightly. "W-We'd have crashed those plains..."
"With no survivors!" Chika added, picturing Jack marching through a field full of Ancient Dragons and mowing through them with a determined look on his face and lots of explosions. "I think it's more impressive that you'd be able to just carry the thing around..."
"What do you expect?" Vert smiled, reclining. "He's a big guy." Momentarily, she blushed at the thought of seeing him dressed as a shirtless butler.
"Yeah, Gamindustri's reckonin', an' all that shit," Jack sighed, lowering the RPD and storing it in his disk with a bright pink flash. He thought about how much he hated Bane for putting him in a world of memes. Just before he could get the AK to give it a once-over, the group heard rather uneven footsteps coming out of the basilicom behind them. Turning, they were greeted by the sight of Chaz, still wearing his helmet and armoured flight suit in spite of the fact that he had no plane. Slung across his back was the MP5K that he seemed rather attached to, and the Nighthawk sat neatly in its holster. As he walked towards them, Jack noticed the unevenness in his gait.
Specifically, one that pointed towards his left knee and left ankle being fucked.
Jack whistled through his teeth as he felt Vert's burning glare in the back of his head, but nevertheless raised a hand to greet the pilot. "Alright, Chaz?" he asked, once the masked man stood in front of him.
"Yeah, doing alright," Chaz nodded, voice still slightly broken by the filter. Not broken enough, though: Jack could still detect a British accent. Thank fuck, at least he wasn't a bloody Yank. "Just waiting for something to do."
"How's the knee?"
"Still a bit stiff."
"Fair enough."
"Apologize." Vert ordered. "Now."
"Oi, nah, mate," Jack groaned, turning around to face her. "He doesn't give a fuck!"
"It sort of hurts sometimes," Chaz noted, raising a hand.
"He's in extreme pain!" Vert cried, standing up and pulling Chaz down to her height so she could hold his head defensively to her chest. "How could you be so heartless as to shoot him, Mr. Glovebox?" Chaz seemed to be trying to dislodge his helmet from between her ample breasts, but to no avail.
"Jesus, your grip's ridiculous!" he grunted, trying to force himself away. Vert responded by gently caressing the top of his helmet. "Get the fuc-"
"Shhh...it's OK, I'm here for you," she whispered, gently stroking him like he was a frightened puppy. Chaz stopped struggling, but most likely not out of enjoyment. Jack was pretty sure he could read a look of abject terror on Chaz's face, even through the flight helmet. Nevertheless, he and Uni both had rather alarmed facial expressions on their faces, and Chika's face had turned the same shade of green as her hair due to excessive envy.
That evening...
Jack sat with Chaz on the patio of the basilicom yet again. Chika, Vert, and Uni had gone inside, most likely to bed, and the two men were left alone to look over the night city.
However, neither had said a word since earlier.
After an incredibly long silence, Chaz cleared his throat.
"Oi, Jack?" he asked.
"Aye?"
"I'm confused."
"Really? I'd bloody well hope so. Unless you're into the kind of thing Lady Vert did earlier. I'm not here to pass judgements. Personally I find that kind of thing sorta hot..."
"No, not that," Chaz said quickly, waving a hand. "I'm confused as to how someone like you did so much to help here."
"Why?" Jack asked, raising a brow and glancing over to him. "What of it? I'm a nice bloke...I, uh, think."
"You started bloody diplomatic relations between for countries that have been at war for centuries! How'd YOU, of all people, do that?"
"I threatened to hurt them both mentally and physically in ways they could not possibly begin to fathom." Jack said coldly, giving Chaz the most serious stare he had ever seen. After a moment of silence, Chaz raised a finger and inhaled.
"...right, fair enough, then..." he muttered, trailing off and looking back out over the city. Once again, silence reigned between the two. After a minute or two, Jack decided to give out his own question.
"So why a jet?" he asked. Chaz looked at him.
"Whaddya mean?"
"Why a jet? Out of everythin' you could have had, you picked a jet. What if you couldn't land it anywhere?"
"I'd just keep flying," Chaz replied casually. "The things just don't run out of fuel. Every single one has constantly been able to keep going for what I think is an infinite amount of time. I think it goes by the same principle as you not running out of bullets."
In response, Jack gave his best "Fair enough..." expression. Then he paused. "Wait...the things? You have more than one?"
"I seem to have as many as I want."
Immediately, Jack grinned, clapped, and pointed straight at Chaz.
"GUESS HOW WE'RE GOIN' TO LOWEE TOMORROW, FAGGOT?"
Chaz regretted his decisions in life.