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It was one thing after another. Of course, he was no stranger to consecutive, unfortunate events conveniently lining themselves up like dominoes only to be knocked down again, but at this point it had become exhausting. To consistently be faced with battle after gruesome battle even after separating himself from such an environment in the first place. However, as a child of war, that had just been Raiden's place.
It is said that once a soldier grows comfortable with the battlefield, he never wills to leave. As if that would shatter a man.
Albeit briefly, he reflected fondly on that thought. If he were to give up the battlefield in its entirety, where would he possibly go to experience this... new medium of normality he'd formed in his mind? Would he return to Rosemary? Perhaps use his remaining years on Earth to father his only son of which he'd neglected to adequately parent for so long? Perhaps this sense of normalcy would prove to be unnatural, unnerving. Perhaps it hadn't even been normalcy at all. War was the only thing he ever knew. War, violence. Death. Regardless of justification.
The only romance he had ever known was upon the battle front.
His thoughts were, and would remain, deafening, however he couldn't allow his shortcomings to distract him from his surroundings, which were arid and lackluster, not a living thing in sight. Not only that, he was currently driving several miles an hour on a motorcycle, so failing his current objecting via a crash would cause him a great deal of dishonor and embarrassment. Not to mention the fact that he was currently being surveilled, even if he couldn't dignify said surveyors as friend or foe. Either way, Doktor seemed fully willing to potentially put his own life in danger. As if the ends justify the means.
Blade Wolf had taken the liberty of scouting ahead, as he, too, perhaps saw the importance of Raiden seeing the promise he'd made himself through to the very end, even if the mutt... if it could even be called that, were only following orders. Directives. Then again, the man supposed he was doing the exact same, following orders in hopes that the outcome would best suit his ideologies, his ideals. Even so, Raiden remained indecisive as to what it truly was that he wanted, even after everything leading up to this point. It was frustrating, really.
However, that hadn't been what caused Raiden to falter his one-shot path to Solis.
In the following minutes, even with his level ground, yet invisible assertations, he hadn't known what came over himself in regards to Samuel's presence. He hadn't questioned Blade Wolf's affiliations with the man, as those were about as cut-and-dry as said machine's directives could be. However, in regards to the man at his opposing end, Raiden hadn't a clue as to what Sam's own assertations could possibly be. Be it mortal, human desires. Money, pleasure. Or man's shrouded proclivity for conflict. Perhaps the more difficult it became to read Samuel's intentions, the more invested Raiden would become in their potential little squabble.
Then, upon either swordsman delivering the first blow, however miniscule it may have been―that of which could not possibly be determined by the human eye―Raiden came to a new, thankfully painful realization.
Surprisingly, yet unsurprisingly, they both remained utterly unmatched, despite the obvious contrasts in training and pace they'd endured over a set course of time, both of which obviously differed from one another as well. However, even with that said, blood still shed, one fleeting wound after the other, slowly but gradually scattering the dirt in nearly every general direction. So close to being fatal, yet so far away at the same time. Had it been intentional? It seemed not even Blade Wolf knew the answer to that, even as he was waiting patiently at the sidelines, refusing to intervene.
However, he'd remembered what Sam said before they'd even considered ruthlessly swinging their swords at one another. Raiden remembered it well, as if the other's blustering demeanor hadn't further drilled aforementioned words into his head, who could only smirk and taunt him even in the event of entirely foreseeable death, "Just you and me, Jack."
Technically, he hadn't even been wrong, which caused Raiden's eyes to bat towards the LQ-84i stationed towards the sidelines of their area of battle, unmoving and idle. Even then, being wrong when it came to Samuel Rodrigues was enough to reignite his undying animosity. To be completely honest, it almost fooled Raiden into believing his current combat partner was also dying for some type of bloody conflict. Which would have sounded insane, if not for the fact that they were, at the moment, clashing in a battle to the death.
Raiden hadn't remembered when exactly it happened, but at some point during their altercation, a blade ended up snapping in two. He hadn't remembered whose in the midst of his blind paroxysm of rage, however he'd come to paint a clear picture of the scenario at hand as soon as he found himself being braced against something solid, sturdy, like the support pillar of a government building. However, logistically, being the exact opposite, upon the cyborg's realization that this pillar of support indeed hadn't been a building.
However, he only ever received the memo upon hearing said pillar speak; calm, but jeering, as if the man in front of him were continually trying to spur and halt his inner battle carnality at the same time, only having paused Raiden's potential onslaught by a fraction of an inch, "Woah, you might want to point that thing somewhere else." Referring to the blade currently nudging against his left deltoid, the voice yammering gingerly in Raiden's ear continued, and the cyborg could practically hear said voice smirking throughout the entire exchange, "I doubt you were planning to, anyway... but, just a little precautionary piece of advice from me to you."
"... How can you be so fucking calm?" Hazily glaring at the haphazard piece of charred tamahagane within his grip, Raiden could only sneer passively at the rips and tears proudly presenting and scattering themselves across his opponent's armor. He'd almost felt a sense of defeat simply by acknowledging how easily his own sword could be snapped in two, how easily he could be outwitted by a man like Samuel-fucking-Rodrigues. Who, he knew, was currently reserving his outspoken judgment with the stupidest smirk Raiden could possibly imagine. Damn him.
"My fate was sealed the moment I became a mercenary, blondie." Sam provided the tension with a wide, however carefully impetuous shrug, eventually moving a cautionary hand to push the damaged shard of the other's blade away from his shoulder. He then continued, "I either die by you, or by someone else."
Through the bloody veil of combat, he seemingly hadn't realized just how close Raiden had been to damaging his vitals until seeing and feeling the... minacious distance for himself, becoming so entrenched in thought that he hadn't noticed the loose strand of hair brush against the bridge of his nose in an irritating fashion, one of which usually caught his eye. However, after a moment of reflection, he returned his own sword to its sheath, for one reason or another trusting that his opponent wouldn't pull any questionable moves. Perhaps out of honor. Or pity.
Something else had broken Sam from his haze, however. In the fraction of a moment he hadn't been expecting any significant movement from the man in front of him, he witnessed one of Raiden's hands inching closer and closer to his face, half expecting more putrid rows fueled by the other's undying fighting passion.
Although, this hadn't been the case at all. Within the second that Raiden's hand had been fixated―and only fixated―on his face, the Brazilian man felt the strong edge of the other's resin acrylics collect and brush away the piece of loose hair―of which he'd sought to be a non-issue until this point, feeling as if all of his ambitions could change due to Raiden's sheer presence―only to retract, shy away, as soon as the Liberian man thought to brush it behind Samuel's ear, or where his oxygen supplier had conveniently created a likeliness to such.
For the amount of blood they'd both lost, Sam found it comical that Raiden was capable of something so tender. Considering... everything that had just transpired, even if Raiden remained unable to fully register the events from before their squabble to this point.
"Yeah... believe me, I know." Raiden sighed, or emulated a sigh, returning a reticent glance before using his social ineptitude as an excuse to peer away, only now fully assessing the state his own sword had been in. Even if there weren't much to assess in the first place, the sword was split in two, an uneven sixty-to-forty ratio. The bigger piece lying idly against the thin sand, only being able to bask in the gloaming heat of the Badlands. Moving his clawed foot to assess the damage for himself, only doing so much as nudging the shard a little farther away, brows knitted, he scowled, "It'll take more than a few hours for Dok to fix that..."
"Heh... still trying to kick over Armstrong's sand castle?"
"Yeah, not like you're helping, or anything."
"So cold..." Sam feigned offense to this, having lifted both of his hands in defeat before moving to bend over his own hip. And, as if he'd suffered heightened instincts for the longest time, Raiden somehow suspected that his opponent (?) would try and cumulate the halved edge of his sword from the ground, however he... hadn't stopped him, for one reason or another. Even as Sam hesitated while the blond observed him, only to continue his movements, until he was standing upright again; his flesh hand gingerly nudging the shard into Raiden's shoulder―an inside joke―as he quipped, "Then again, you don't seem like the type to ask for assistance..."
Over the course of their light banter, the more prominent cyborg came to ponder if Sam had truly been legitimate in regards to his mannerisms, perhaps in lieu to Blade Wolf's similar, shared confusion. However, Raiden couldn't help but feel as if this had been a bit different, due to Blade Wolf being... well, a machine. A pure machine, with no capacity to comprehend organic conflicts. No human parts attached. Even so, it seemed as if Blade Wolf were the most trustworthy thing―being―here, which led Raiden to bring his thoughts to fruition.
Noticing the LQ-84i's stance lax by a substantial amount, perhaps due to the steep decline in tension between himself and Samuel, Raiden turned in preparation to make a reference. Even if he had stayed silent for a moment or so, several thoughts made themselves known to Sam in that short, almost tranquil time period. Obviously his own sword hadn't been of any use for the time being, however he remained uncertain if Sam would even consider something as asinine as helping the enemy. But, Raiden supposed that the concept of Samuel joining up with Desperado was just as ludicrous.
But he refused to trust his own judgment, breaking the dubious eye contact he'd kept with Sam to refer to the machine standing a mere few feet beside him, as he carefully slotted the longer shard of his blade into a much shorter holster, perhaps concerned that it could possibly get stuck if he placed it anywhere else. He said, almost with a drop of hesitance, "Wolf, how much longer do we have?"
"If we were to depart immediately, we would reach your insisted destination within a time window of forty-five to sixty minutes." Without hesitance, the Blade Wolf replied accordingly, until pausing for a brief moment, only to correct itself afterwards, lifting its neck upwards, "If you were referring to Solis Space & Aeronautics, rather than your final destination, immediate departure would result in an early arrival by twenty-five additional minutes, excluding the time it would consume in traveling to Shabhazabad Air Base at Mach 23."
"We have time." Raiden firmly spoke after that, sparing as little details as he possibly could, as he turned to refer to Sam once again.
"Time?" However, Samuel could only quirk an eyebrow at the other's suggestion, shifting on his heels before bringing his inquisitions to light, in the least pretentious way possible, surprisingly. Perhaps he hadn't the time for cocky misdemeanors at the moment, only being able to stand and stare as Raiden made his way over towards what looked like an uneven layer of shale, erecting proudly from the sand, before calmly making a perch upon it. "For...?"
"Reflection."
Given the fact that Raiden's sword really hadn't been of any use anymore, the Brazilian man came to the conclusion that his rival hadn't been referring to the possibility of finalizing their duel. However, in regards to the man's remaining objective, Sam also concluded that Raiden might possibly convince him to aid him in his temporarily final conquest for justice by the end of this alleged... reflection session. Beforehand, however, he'd given an uncertain glance towards Blade Wolf, who seemed to trust Raiden's initiatives, despite both cyborgs having shared bad blood before.
So, with that uncertainty swept aside, Sam comfortably returned to his usual, predictable demeanor; flashing a gentle smirk before gingerly striding towards the other, eventually coming to a stopping point, one foot lodged in front of the other, as he stared down at Raiden, who seemed grateful for the temporary shade Samuel's figure provided for him.
This hadn't lasted long, however, because Sam had moved to perch next to him a moment later, chuckling and shaking his head tauntingly before doing so, "Well, since you requested it so nicely... it would be rude if I said no, would it not?"
"Mm." Was all the other could manage, perhaps feeling a little less provocative considering the fact that Samuel was within such close proximity. It wasn't like they hadn't been earlier, however it still hadn't wiped the unwarranted vulnerability he felt from his mind, especially when his rival was sitting right next to him, silent and motionless, with no ill intentions to continue their previous dissension. And, upon closer inspection, Raiden had sworn he'd never seen Samuel appear so... tranquil, before. Though, Raiden supposed the same could be said about himself.
Raiden had almost spaced out, almost, until he felt the shills of Blade Wolf's tail brush against his arm. To his avail, the UG had made the decision to station itself right next to where both cyborgs had been sitting, much like an organic, understandably obedient dog. And, as if it were a wingman, this silently prompted the Liberian man to proceed with what he'd suggested in the first place; falsely clearing his throat, as there was no need for him to, before referring to Samuel, who had been observing the settling sun before having his attention redirected. Preferably by Raiden's voice, "You have a reputation."
"Heh, so you've been paying attention." Sam smirked at this, resting his forearm against his armored knee, hand partially splayed. At least he was self aware. "I should feel honored, considering you have a reputation, too, yet for some reason make attempts to conceal it."
"Not everyone takes pride in their occupation, Sam. Besides, that isn't the point I'm trying to make here." Huffing gently, but with a vast amount of disdain for Sam's passiveness, Raiden intercepted the other's narcissistic thoughts entirely. It wasn't like he wasn't shocked that, even now, Samuel would uphold the very statutes which got him caught between a rock and a hard place in the first place. Literally, between a slate of shale, and Raiden. Who seemed about as stone cold as a rock could be, which made the metaphor amusing on two levels.
Tilting his jaw, the cyborg referred to the man to his side again, trying so desperately to ignore the shit-eating grin which now normalized itself on Sam's face, "You have a reputation, a proud one, yet you end up banding with scum-of-the-Earth like Desperado." Then, after a moment's silence, Raiden shook his head, somehow immediately catching Sam's attention. Perhaps due to the snarky, almost uncharacteristic words to leave his lips, "You're either mistaken, or you're stupid. And I'm willing to bet it's both."
"Firstly, no, I didn't 'band' with Desperado, I was just..." Defensively, the other faltered for a moment, perhaps trying to come up with the right words to say, "... an underling, of sorts. They did replace my arm, you know. It would have been rude to not show my gratitude."
"Yet you're offering to help me take down one of Desperado's biggest donors. Doesn't seem very noble of you, Sam." Raiden, having felt a little bit bold in spite of his current, albeit very time sensitive situation, gently prodded the other, half expecting a reaction. Which he got, only being able to bear witness to the sheer detachment taking place on Samuel's face, a kind of expression Raiden could only chuckle righteously about. Then, after the brief moment of which he felt comfortable basking in his rival's temporary humiliation, he continued, unable to contain his curiosity, "Besides, you could have gotten repairs from your usual provider. No need to suck World Marshall's dick like that."
"I said 'replace,' not 'repair,' Jack." Samuel offered a correction, scowling internally about the other cyborg's choice of wording. Then using his cybernetic arm to refer to himself, pressing the side of his fist against the opposite side of his chest, "Also, they were the ones that offered mea job. If anything, you could say that they're sucking my dick."
Wait. That didn't sound right in the slightest. In fact, it left Raiden in a much deeper whirlpool of thought than he had already been experiencing. It was clear that Samuel was a cyborg... right? The exoskeleton was enough to dismiss any doubts Raiden might have had of that claim in the slightest. Although, it would explain why the man seemed hesitant when it came to the topic of who his providers―presumably hypothetical, until now―were, and why Sam's posterior appeared a lot more... organic, than most. But, as for his brandish, almost gallant attitude...
Samuel really was a monster.
"Wait. So you're saying you went in with only an exoskeleton... right?" Raiden, utterly bewildered, further inquired, his cocky bravado from before having abruptly vanished. Only being able to watch the careful, however inarticulate movements of the cyborg's hands as he spoke, the Brazilian man could only smirk at how quickly the other's attitude shifted, knowing quite well that Raiden would have hit him if it weren't for how clearly his mind was being blown at the moment, "And the most you lost was your arm? And both Desperado and World Marshall still thought you would be a good candidate?"
"What, you think I don't make for a good gladiator, Raiden?" Almost teasingly, or most definitely so, Sam moved his left shoulder to gently nudge at his rival's side, then crossing his arms as his body tilted at will; the satisfying clink of his sword's sheath only spurring him further, even as Raiden made it quite obvious that his... acquaintance's attempts to mystify him were falling short. Or so Raiden told himself. Noticing this―holding a hefty capacity to recognize human emotions, even in this day and age―Sam taunted him, "I would say I do, if I can kick a sweet ass like yours..."
Raiden cringed visibly, lips curling against the brandished steel of his lower jaw, however said cringe quickly dissolved. Perhaps Sam's personality was just that infectious... or insufferable. Even still, he couldn't deny the small, almost unnoticeable grin to creep up on his upper lip, finally giving Samuel the undivided eye contact he oh-so deserved, finishing off his little ruse with a returning nudge, "Starting to think World Marshall never needed to stroke your ego, seeing that you suck your own dick, even now."
"Now, now, no need for crudities!" Sam waved his hands defensively, however ultimately remained equally pleased to see that Raiden was mirroring the same crooked grin he'd been fashioning for what seemed like record timing. "Your words are like knives! If you aren't too careful, you might incapacitate me, Jack-ass!"
Raiden paused for a moment, not fully taking in what Sam had just said until a few seconds later. Even within that very brief moment of reckoning, he could still envision the dumb, overzealous smirk that was on his face, anyway, as if it were just by nature that he would be this cocksure about something so... outlandish. However, that remained unsurprising, for both Raiden and Blade Wolf, which simply laid itself to rest as it felt the need to look the other way. "... Did you just..."
"I did."
"And you don't feel a tinge of regret?" Raiden pestered, all of his features deadpanning in the process.
To contrast, Sam could only provide the other's lack of amusement with a ribbing smirk, "Not a drop of guilt nor shame, pretty boy."
"Shithead..." Feeling a marginal, yet gratuitous sense of defeat, the smaller of the two cyborgs ultimately decided to throw in the towel. Not with an unkept sense of disdain, though. If anything, he'd felt a lightweight sense of... relief, in a way. He supposed it was pleasant to have a normal conversation, especially after everything to have transpired in what felt like the past few months alone. The past several years would have been a much more efficient comparison, however he hadn't known a man like Samuel in that time. Perhaps he did, but... Samuel was different. After all, the man hadn't been attacking him relentlessly right now.
Sam supposed he could feel the same way, knowing well that he would kindle better if he would ever admit to that. However, they both knew that the samurai's ego was much too vast for that, to admit such a weakness in audible, comprehensible words. Although, he then reasoned that he hadn't needed to breathe a word. And, upon further inspection, he'd discovered why. It was quite noticeable, really, as Sam had noticed as soon as it happened. Because, resting in exhaust against his unarmored shoulder, Raiden's face laid, or his cheek, rather. What was left of it.
Followed with few, tiresome words, passing his lips without resistance, as if he hadn't felt the need to censure his intentions anymore. And, upon feeling one of Sam's sinewy arms carefully corkscrew the unpredictable mess that was his body, Raiden rebutted his refusal to speak, however in partial exhaust, "You're a pain in the ass, you know..."
"I would sure hope so." Letting off a delicate chuckle, his voice having noticeably lowered a few tones, Sam made the decision to ultimately lay off of his relentless taunting, for now. He figured it was about time he laid some legitimacy down, surprisingly not being large enough of an asshole to refuse in doing so. Instead, he spent whatever remaining time they possibly could have had to come to terms with their alignment, regardless of their moral contrasts. Even still, Samuel concluded that they shared a lot more in common than they did not, so he indulged in that feeling.
Moving his remaining good arm to meet Raiden's waist in a cusp with his hand, Samuel coolly returned to his usual slick, yet cussed demeanor, smirking before leaning his head to the side to rest the latter half of his face against the haphazard mess of unnatural sleet that was Raiden's hair, earning a short disgruntled sound that Sam found rather easy to identify. In fact, it only further egged on his ego, if that alone wasn't already skyrocketing due to how calm and collected the infamous Jack the Ripper was behaving.
Sam buzzed, his voice resonating through Raiden's entire person, the resistance only further causing the smaller of the two to roll his eye in annoyance. "That just means I'm doing my job correctly."
"Yeah, a little too correctly..." Rasping gently, seemingly not phased by the featherlight contact Samuel's palm had made with his side―either that or fully embracing said contact―Raiden somehow found the reinforcement to make a small, but noticeable protest. He'd made it a point to move his right hand to slither upwards against the vertebrae of Samuel's exoskeleton, before stopping at a point, pausing abruptly. Then, as if he'd suddenly become bewildered, he began poking one of his nails into the point of contact, near the start of his spine, earning a very slight, almost unnoticeable shudder from the other.
Then, like clockwork, his thoughts retaliated, and he couldn't contain the lopsided smirk that appeared all too suddenly on his face as he carefully turned his head to look at Sam, "Actually, wait a second, that's your job? Being a pain in my ass, specifically?"
"Come on, Jack, I feel we were really sharing something, there!" The samurai tilted away with a casual amount of playful disdain, unable to keep himself from reflecting the same stupid, charming grin Raiden had been giving him up until this point. Then, upon using his opposite arm for further leverage, a minor necessity arose, only resulting in Raiden being caught in a headlock between Sam's chest and the inner part of his elbow. And, like usual, Samuel completely drowned out any kind of strangled sound the other could have possibly made, swooning dramatically, "Always so quick to shut me down, aren't you? It's maddening!"
"Agh, Sam! Let go, let go!" Rasping a plea, the smaller of the two found himself desperately attempting to pry himself away from the... emotional firecracker that was Samuel Rodrigues. And no, never would he admit to having enjoyed being so close to that man, ever, even if it were fairly obvious that Raiden hadn't detested his company in the first place. So Raiden supposed he shouldn't be surprised in the slightest that Sam only further tightened his grip on him, prompting said blond to use his own hands as leverage to push away from the man.
Predictably, this only amused him more. Raiden, however, was not, growling at the slumbering UG beside him for assistance, reaching one of his arms out with abandon, "Wolf! Could you lend me a hand here? I'm gonna end up dying before I can even get to―" All too suddenly, Sam smothered him, rather boyishly at that, which was... somewhat expected. They had been scrapping back and forth for God knows how long. Though it hadn't failed in causing Raiden to squawk helplessly, earning a genuine, human laugh from Sam. "Agggh! Sam, cut it out!"
"I... cannot go against established perimeters." The Blade Wolf, seemingly sharing a glance with Sam prior to this situation, only moved just enough to allow its head to peek up from where Raiden's leg had obscured its view. Perhaps due to its monotonous appearance, Raiden remained unable to identify this statement as either candor or sarcasm. But, considering that Blade Wolf was a UG with no capacity for mortal urges, the cyborg came to the conclusion that it was a mixture of both all at once, only being able to squint at said UG, which then returned to its resting position after a short lapse of silence. "To engage in unshared human conflicts is not among my directives."
"You're shitting me!" Raiden felt his arm begin to lose a bit of its sustenance, before it was eventually compromised, by what he thought was the most predictable thing possible. Stifling any further movement forward, the smaller cyborg found himself shackled, the most prominent part of his body experiencing such sudden weight being the middle of his torso, where he would make another irritating discovery; Samuel's cybernetic arm, keeping him in a featherlight grip. Upon closer inspection, Raiden could only huff dotingly, eventually finding the lack of energy to simply cross his arms, remaining completely still before muttering with mild irritation, "Y'know what? I'm not giving you what you want anymore."
"Oh?" Samuel paused his roughhousing for a moment―hopefully not one he would regret, like a moment of weakness―before using this juncture of inaction to tilt to the side, desperately wanting to see just how exasperated Raiden was due to his... advances. And to his satisfaction, he got what he wanted, thus struggling to choke back the grin that only further grew on his face, "And what would that be, pretty boy?"
Pouting, aforementioned 'pretty boy' grumbled a response, "A reaction."
"Oh, but Jack, you've already given me plenty of reactions! Enough to last me a lifetime!" The other simpered unregretfully, eventually finding the conscience to loosen the grip he had on the smaller cyborg, who had clearly grown tired of his rival's shenanigans by this point. Even still, that hadn't prevented Sam from continually busting Raiden's balls, per metaphor, who had found the means to annoy him in another sense; adjusting himself forward by a short sum in order to perch his scruffy chin against the hardened chrome of Raiden's armor, just between two shills which stuck up from his shoulder.
Only to sheepishly mutter his own amusements close to the other's ear, "I'm very easy to entertain, see."
"... I see you're easy to distract, too. Save it, Rodrigues." Rolling his eye, almost feeling the other roll in unison from underneath the eyepatch he'd worn for the past few months, Raiden moved one of his wrists to try and ward Sam's face away from his shoulder. He'd heard Sam chide mockingly at the usage of his last name, however Raiden simply refused to give him the satisfaction, removing himself up and away from the slate of shale, half expecting the Brazilian man to pull him back again. However, to his surprise―and utmost relief―he hadn't.
So, after moving one of his arms back to level himself with Samuel's shoulder, Raiden was rather swift to return to business. Blade Wolf had received the memo, as well; finally finding the willpower to remove itself from its... post, as it were, as if it acknowledged Samuel and Raiden's conflict as a thing of the past. Which was rather telling, considering the fact that Blade Wolf was usually required by its programming to tell the truth, regardless of whose orders it may have been following. As it made its way over towards Raiden's―Samuel's―motorcycle, as if it were gesturing the lingering samurai to follow, Raiden had remembered a very important call he needed to make.
Without a second thought, and without hesitation, he hadn't wasted any time in pulling up the codec, which seemed to appear in thin air. But this hadn't surprised Raiden, or Sam, shockingly enough. And, upon punching in a few commands, as if he were collectively gathering adequate speech patterns from the bean counters in his head, a holograph of Doktor's face abruptly appeared. And, before the poor man could even speak, a jumble of words spewed from between Raiden's lips, as if the bean counters from earlier hadn't helped in the slightest, "I have no time to explain, but I'm gonna need my sword repaired. I got into a little bust up, if that helps at all with the explanation. So if you could somehow have someone meet me outside of Solis, that would be―"
"What?" Doktor―poor, patient Doktor―could only raise an eyebrow to Raiden's hysterics, and the cyborg swore he felt his face begin to turn red from how quickly he broke into a sweat. So much for urgency.
Then, very abruptly, Raiden heard a voice intercept any thought he even considered breathing into reality; using his wrist to rotate the codec as he turned to see who had considered speaking―in reality, however, he knew exactly who had―only to be met with a view of Samuel perching casually at the front of his motorcycle. One arm slung over the handlebars, while the other made consistent, yet feeble movements to stroke the hard carbon of Blade Wolf's 'mane.' All the while keeping his cool, yet incredibly obnoxious demeanor, even in the face of almost certain doom. "Blondie here broke his sword, clumsy boy that he is."
Oh, Raiden could hear the scolding now, about how careless he was, how carried away he might have gotten. However, he seemed a little too irritated with Sam's statement to care about what criticisms Doktor might have wanted to give him. Even then, he wasn't even sure if Doktor was able to communicate those concerns to him in the first place, because a few moments later, Samuel began speaking again, as if to create an addition to his previous statement. One which... surprisingly... hadn't been as pestilent as the last.
"But he can wait to have it fixed." He said, moving his foot to disengage the kickstand before leaning back by a small sum, catching Raiden's eye for a short moment prior to returning his attention towards the road ahead, "He already has a substitute."
"Oh, well..." Moving one of his hands to adjust his glasses, Doktor had taken the liberty to clear his throat after the moment of... oddly peaceful silence which had taken hold only moments prior to his very response. Perhaps not wanting to bring attention to the fact that Raiden had kept his eyes locked on Samuel's figure for an unreasonable amount of time, however felt obligated to bring attention to their very time sensitive schedule, if it could even be called that. "If you are absolutely sure, then I trust you, Raiden. It would be best if you get going, now."
"Right..." Was all Raiden could respond with, moving his fingers to close out the codec as soon as he uttered his means of weary gratitude, "Thanks, see ya."
Not being faced with the LED of screens and visual display units surprisingly did wonders for his nerves, or what remained of such, as he finally had the time to take in his surroundings. Perhaps to get a sense of how long he and Sam had been distracted, and much to his surprise, they hadn't spoken for too long. Not long enough for the sun to further settle against the sandy, almost besmirched horizon, even if the sky threatened to turn a different shade altogether. Which it had, in comparison to how bright it was earlier in the day.
A pleasant, dim orange. Ochire, like Samuel's eyes.
Upon returning to the only available vehicle in a ten mile radius, Raiden was met with a quiet, yet oddly serene glance from Sam, who had propped both of his arms against the handlebars, now. Perhaps not feeling the need to occupy his unemployed hand with stroking Blade Wolf anymore, as it had already moved towards the other side of the vehicle, perhaps readying itself for abrupt movement any second now. Then, the Brazilian man spoke; a teasing timbre in his voice, like usual, as he moved one of his forearms to allow his jaw to prop against his knuckles, "I would hate it if you kept me waiting, blondie."
"Yeah, well... not everyone is as keyed up and raring to go as you, Jetstream Sam." The blond returned the same amount of smarmy rancor, placing an intimate amount of bite on the pen name, earning a feigned gasp from the other, once again succeeding in stealing another crooked grin from Raiden. Perhaps he would have snorted, if not for his fabricated airways. Nonetheless, Sam could read the amusement in his partner's face from a mile away, even from a side glance, so naturally he could only shake his head. Perhaps feeling his sense of mirth heighten as Raiden strode closer towards him, until he was standing right next to his motorcycle.
Then, he spoke passively, as if he hadn't felt the need to deflect any of his coy traits in the presence of someone like Sam, as he'd known how diffident and abrasive he was when he wasn't upholding such a brass exterior. Of course, motioning one of his armored knees to press against the leather of the passenger's seat―located just behind the Brazilian man's haughty backside―only to mirror the smug beam that said partner had been giving him, as if that were the only way the two knew how to communicate anything but violence, "I trust you know how to drive this thing better than I do?"
"Don't sell yourself short, now! At least you got her here safely..." Samuel paused for a moment, clearing his throat with an awkward decadence before glancing away, muttering the remainder of what he'd planned to say in a sportive tone, "... and in one piece..." Even if he were attempting to lessen the burn of his words, he knew Raiden had been boring into him with the most vacant expression he could possibly imagine, so he improvised, turning his head to smirk at the unamused cyborg to his side. Probably fearing Raiden would change his mind about making acquaintances with him if he continued his little act for too long.
So, he didn't. "But yes, of course I do. I'm beyond crashing bikes for the Hell of it, pretty boy."
"Somehow, I find that hard to believe." The other deadpanned, but with the same amount of decadence; feeling a sudden smirk grow on his lips as an idea mischievously skipped across his mind, resulting in the Liberian man lifting one of his hands to delicately trace the scar descending from Samuel's scalp to his lip with his nail, a blemish of past conquest. However, his words completely betrayed any sense of respect he'd secretly held of such, almost laughing at how red Sam's face became afterwards, "Knowing you, you probably got these from some shitty street accident."
"You're... a piece of shit, wow..." Sam pouted, his ego clearly bruised from Raiden's suggestion, but that only made the other start snickering due to Sam's sudden break in character. Obviously Raiden knew Sam was stronger than to allow himself to get battered in a car crash, but... something about how easily the samurai was flustered about something so obviously satire was... cute, in an odd kind of way. But like Hell would he admit to that, especially when they're so close to finishing things off once and for all.
However, Raiden still felt the need to make himself clear. Before carefully, and rather gracefully, finding his perch upon the leather seat just behind the other, he thought to move his palm to gingerly pat the side of Sam's face, even if it were covered by exoskeletal armor, and what Raiden could only make out as an oxidizer, which aided the man in heavy combat, which further led Raiden to believe that Sam was―mostly―still human.
Though, he kept those thoughts to himself, being too amused for his own welfare. "There, there, my dear beloved knight-in-shining-armor-who-can't-take-a-joke. No need to be ashamed, at least your sacrifices led to stricter traffic laws."
Feeling the bridge of his nose crinkle ever so slightly, brows knitted, Samuel let off a deep, lengthy sigh, feeling his head droop in light defeat. Either defeat, or acceptance. He had originally planned to continue their session of bickering for as long as it would take, however he strongly refrained. They hadn't much time either way. So, after taking a moment to stretch out his calves, only balancing the motorcycle with the muscles in his heels, the man moved one of his hands to the glove compartment―makeshift, mind you―to retrieve something. And before Raiden had known it, Sam had slapped a pair of goggles over his eyes.
Then, without a drop of hesitance, and surprisingly without ridicule, he turned his head over his own shoulder to refer to the man currently sticking to his back like gum. Raiden supposed he would have pretended to be surprised if Samuel's cocky demeanor hadn't returned, but alas, the truth usually comes to surface in the end. Sam smiled, something genuine, yet so incredibly stupid, "You might want to buckle up then, blondie."
"It's hardly 'buckling up' if I'm having to hold onto you like a scratching post, is it?" Raiden scoffed gently, seemingly not realizing just how quickly his arms wound around Samuel's taut torso, his arms being just long enough so his palms could arch against the hard, yet uneven plates covering the other's chest. Or just beneath, his nails just barely scratching the surface of Samuel's armor. Either way, Sam hadn't seemed to mind in the slightest, as if he were used to this kind of touch, and to be completely honest, Raiden readily assumed the guy regularly had women under his tab. That stupid, handsome face of his...
Raiden hadn't recalled exactly when he decided to nestle into the dorsal of Sam's left shoulder, or when he'd begun feeling a certain way in regards to Sam at all. One thing was for certain, though: it was imprudently obvious, even with all of Raiden's aggressive posturing and whatnot. Even if it wasn't, the very fact that the smaller man was currently clinging to him like a newborn koala was enough of a telltale sign for Sam, who could only give a brazen chuckle at the development in question. Sure, it was obvious that Samuel wasn't a stranger to this kind of contact.
But to have Jack the Ripper of all people feel inclined enough to confer said contact? It did unimaginable wonders for his ego.
Though he supposed the time to mentally pump his own fist into the air would be better off saved for later, as Sam was quick to return to a working state of mind as soon as he heard Raiden's facial gear switch into its augmenting drape, either that or feeling the cyborg's chin perch with weightless composure upon his shoulder. Upon closer inspection of his surroundings, the awaiting Blade Wolf's armor had done the same, and all that seemed to be left to do was to provide the aforementioned UG with orders.
Of which Sam felt more than happy to provide; tilting his head genially in reference to the machine lying in wait, before pressing one of his fingers into the front brake lever, simultaneously pressing his foot on the gas pedal to produce an energetic purr, as if he were trying to subconsciously send a message. And it worked, as he'd felt Raiden's arms coil tighter around his midsection. And only at that moment had he felt comfortable to speak, nodding his head towards the road ahead of him as he prepared to push off, "Lead the way, Wolfy."
Not even a second later, the Blade Wolf had taken off like a cougar in apprehension of its prey, leaving clouds of sand and dust in its wake. To Sam, it was easier to compare the machine to a hyperactive dog, either that or a rocket. Which he supposed made the most sense, as they were headed directly for a launch site. But he hadn't wanted to scar Blade Wolf's pride, if it in particular could feel such an emotion. It hadn't mattered either way to Samuel, as he'd learned to differentiate said UG from any other, and noticed several telltale distinctions. All mere parts of his own integration into a world of machines, he supposed.
Then, he laughed; taking off, like a cool Brazilian wind, leaving nothing but dust in his departure.
It was obvious. Sam hadn't looked forward to the potential―and inevitable―conflicts that lay in both he and Raiden's path, even if the pair were cordially experienced with their own wars. Their own battles. Raiden, on the other hand, supposed he would be lying to himself if he thought he hadn't expected to share this war with an enemy. Polar opposites, yet on two sides of the same coin. Then again, he supposed all wars were just the same, regardless of what politics are being used to justify or condemn them.
Raiden could only ponder. Once the dust clears, and the need for mortal contention finds a temporary point of vanity, just how long would it take for the cycle to repeat? Obviously, he knew it would never end. That there would always be some kind of conflict to simmer down or rectify, to censor or invalidate. But, only this once. For how long would he be able to find peace on the battle front? If only for a moment... just one, and that would be enough for him to subsist. After all, the only love he had ever known was upon the battle front.
As Solis lied in patience for their arrival, Sam pondered, too.