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baccano! (d1) firo porchainezo

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[And it's Firo again! Tripping backwards onto the plane in a massive clangor of falling plate armor (Italian circa the 1500s), with a fauchard buried in his gut. He's got a good grip on the haft to keep it from falling over and doing even more damage. =_= ]

Collectors. I hate collectors. [He coughs and stares up at the 'sky' with a long-suffering look on his face.]

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[Jack winces, looking down at Firo; he's been stabbed in the gut plenty of times, and with more thing than he'd like to admit] Need any help?

Nah... just don't look forward to the pulling-it-out bit. S' always the worst.

[Takes a hold of the handle, not to move it, but to keep it as steady as possible] Who'd you piss off?

One, two-- [He wrenches it out, hissing a little bit.] Nnn. A collector.

[Once it's out, Jack lift's it up, holding it in his hand. He can't help but watch the blood curiously] It's always the one's with dangerous weapons that get pissed off.

[Firo's blood is a good thing to be curious about. It shivers, wriggles, and then trembles into the air, shooting back and vanishing into the wound, which closes up itself a moment later.] Always seems that way, at least. [He sits up.] One of these days Maiza's just gonna refuse to buy me new duds.

[As weird as it is watching the blood, Jack has to admit it's cool] It's the same issue I tend to have with my clothes; Ianto just needs to get the greatcoat dry cleaned, at least.

[Wah ha ha, Firo's returning-to-lifeyness is cooler than Jack's.] I never asked what time you came from. [Standing up and dusting himself off.]

[Jack's is more convenient :X] 21st century, 2008 to be exact.

[Firo is 18, and thus cool > convenient. 8[ ] Don't dress like the rest of the people who say they're from then.

F-Firo? [ Angela's in her pajamas, and still looking a bit worse for wear, but she still manages to rush over to him. ] What happened to you?!

[Ohsh--] Nothing, I'm keen. [Realizes how stupid that sounds with a MASSIVE WEAPON IN HIS STOMACH. He clears his throat and pulls it out, wincing.]

[ Angela frowns and disappears, returning with a jar filled with an orangy liquid. She hands it over. ] Here, this will at least make it stop hurting while you heal.

[He holds the jar awkward. The stab wound is already sealing itself.] ...unless I'm real bad or got the kiss off or something, I usually get better pretty quick.

[ Angela averts her eyes. She's already feeling queasy, and watching Firo heal doesn't really help. ] So it doesn't hurt that much?

[shrugs] The outfit's from the 1940's, actually, World War II.

World War... World War Two? Like, after the Great War, like after The War to End All Wars, like... I mean yeah, the japs and the chinamen are going after each other, but it's not like it's gonna spread!

[He notices that and feels a twinge of... well, something. Irritation isn't the right word--maybe loneliness is closer. And oh hell yes it hurts. =_=] Nah, 's not bad.

[...oops. Jack really needs to ask what time period Firo is from one of these days] It didn't have anything to do with them, not at the beginning.

Then what did it have to do with? Who? [Yeah, he was only five when WWI ended, but something like that leaves an impression. -_- ] What twit wants something like that to happen again?

It'll be over soon enough, just like the first one. Don't worry about it, Firo.

[Grabs him by the shirt and yanks him close, surprisingly strong for such a skinny kid.] Don't worry about it? It'll be over soon enough? Do you know how many died the first time 'round?

[ Angela glances back to make sure he's healed then... Surprise huuuuuug! ] I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, Firo.

Angie?! For--I mean, you didn't--it wasn't your fault!

I'm still sorry! Just let me say it, okay? Let me say it...

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