Dead Memories [Rabanastre] - Mina

[Flint Salvador]

Chk. Hssssss. "So you're a bounty hunter, then?" The barkeep slid over a coaster and brought the pint of lager down upon it, the white head at the top still fizzling. The man in the cowboy attire tipped his hat with his bare fingertips, the rest of his hands clad with tough, black leather.

"One way of puttin' it..." The man shrugged his mammoth shoulders slowly, and reached out with that same hand to grasp the cold, full pint glass, letting a gentle sigh escape from between his calloused lips, a long, white faded scar running down from below his nose just onto the top of his upper lip proper.

"Should look at the bounty boards," The barkeep explained with a smile, unfettered by the man's antisocial attitude. "Might end up finding yourself some work." The man in the cowboy hat raised the pint, shoulders hunched over, and pressed the ridge of the cold glass against his lips, opening his mouth barely an inch, and slowly tipped the end of the glass up. Gravity did the rest. The chilled lager slid down, into his mouth, and the bounty hunter eagerly gulped it down. Barely twenty seconds later, he slammed the pint glass down upon the table, and wiped his lips with the back of his hand.

Releasing another gentle sigh, he murmured again, his eyes obscured by the ridge of the desperado-style cowboy hat. His attire was simplistic; his black duster, a red buttoned shirt beneath, his gunbelt, a pair of ragged, torn, but definitively tough grey slacks, and last, but not least, spurred boots he wore solely to complete the look. Fingerless leather gloves, thick and tough, clad his calloused, dented hands, and a pair of pistols sat on a belt at his waist. Then, slung over his back as he leant forwards on the barstool was a great, six-foot hammer covered with a simple, thick black fabric "sheath", no more rigid than a sheet of felt. The Godhammer. It dragged along the floor as he swayed gently from side to side and the weight caused his shoulders the most terrible ache; even now, after carrying it for beyond a decade. It was his burden to carry: the representative weight on his shoulders, much like his l'Cie past. He could not forget it completely; it would always be part of him... but he could at least do his best to use what he'd been given. Every cloud has a silver lining.

"I don't want work." The cowboy murmured, gesturing to the empty glass as the barkeep turned around with a pleasant smile and moved to refill it. He held the pint beneath the tap once more and yanked on the lever; that beautiful, golden liquid swiftly swirled down into the glass and filled it up, chilled and perfect, only the smallest dribbling of beer flickering down over the ridges and bumps in the glass. The bartender turned back around and set the pint down with a smile, responding with a puzzled look on his face.

"Why are you in Rabanastre, then?" His bushy eyebrows furrowed and he glanced up at Flint, whose massive build and tremendous height ensured that, in spite of the fact he was sitting down, he was still a good head taller than the bartender, a squat, pot-bellied man, barely a few inches over five feet. "Just sight-seeing?"

The bounty hunter shook his head and rose one hand to it, grasping the folds of his desperado hat, nicked, weathered, worn and cut from years, now, of use. He looked down to the floor in front of the bar, and turned his wrist gently, settling the hat down evenly on the counter next to his pint glass. "No." He murmured. He ran a gloved hand through coarse, dirty blonde hair, shaking his fringe from side to side. For the first time since he'd entered the bar, he looked up, and his piercing, vibrant hazel eyes locked with the dull confusion in the bartender's slivers of a dim green, and a small smile stretched onto his pallor.

He extended a hand and grasped the pint glass, raising it up once more as the bartender tried desperately to piece things together. Who was this man? What did he want? Why was he making the bartender so nervous? Why was he smiling?!

He downed the rest of the pint and slammed the glass back down. The minuscule smile had since evolved into a cocky, toothy grin. Anger and violence were radiating out from the bounty hunter in waves; anyone with even a minor, subconscious skill for reading people would easily be able to tell that he wanted a good damn fight.

A voice flickered in the caverns of his mind, only bolstering his persistent self-confidence. "Now, Flint?" The bounty hunter rose his hand onto the counter and poised them, resting his wrist down on the smooth, varnished rosewood and resting his thumb on his index and middle fingers.

He snarled back a message of his own; the being in his head could hear his thoughts, especially those projected directly. His grin only curled further upwards upon his face, and a bead of sweat formed on the bartender's head. "Now."

"I'm here on a job." The stunned look of horrified revelation hit the bartender's face like a metal club. His eyes widened, his pupils shrunk, and all the colour drained from his face, giving him the visage of a portly ghost. The bounty hunter only continued with the smirks and the goading, jabbing and trying to make the target feel as uncomfortable as ever. "And you're the target."

SNAP.

"FIRA!"

Before the bartender could reach for his flintlock under the counter, the bounty hunter's fingers snapped, the growl was reverberating from wall to wall of the bar, and a spark flickered between the two of them. Not a moment later, the portly man erupted in a great wreath of flame, a pillar shooting up towards the ceiling of the bar and engulfing him completely. For a moment, the room was silent as the echoes of a brief burst of inferno, even one as intense as that, but it wasn't long until screams filled the bar and patrons couldn't be out of the door fast enough.

The bounty hunter had leapt back and had one hand on the hilt of the Godhammer, poised and ready as the flames began to fade. The core of the inferno was still a source of agonised howling, but the cowboy knew from experience - it was better to be safe than sorry. His other hand waited, ready to snap again if this guy was still standing, for a mercy kill.

He snarled, the adrenaline pumping through him like a cocktail of raw energy, surging through his blood and making every inch of him tingle. As the flames finally dissipated, and the charred remnants of the bartender collapsed into a smoky heap on the floor, the stench of scorched flesh filled the air. The bounty hunter took a long draw of that smell, and cocked his head in pseudo-confusion, slowly allowing his hand to slip away from the Godhammer.

He knew that smell. With a vexed look on his face, he leant in and picked the desperado hat and the pint glass back up, slipping the former onto his head and pulling it back down over his brow, before leaning over the counter, the stench only growing stronger, and pouring himself another pint.

As he leant back, a look of mock recognition crept onto his face and he sipped at the glass. Flint Salvador knew that smell all too well. That was the smell of victory. Best served scorching hot.

[Beebee]

Ugh, I hate the desert. It was hot and dry, and Mina's uniform was clinging to her like she had just come out of the pool. Ok, maybe not that damp, but her shirt was definitely damp. The Turk fanned herself with her hand as she made her way to the Royal City of Rabanastre. Lightning had been a lot of help, but she had her own things going on. Mina would have to find more information elsewhere, and she already had a lead. She preferred to work alone, anyway.

Taking a small break, she took a drink from the canteen at her hip and wiped sweat from her brow. It was times like these she wished she had lighter hair. Her head felt like it was going to burst into flame! Pulling her hair free, she shook it out and ran her fingers through it to try and smooth out some of the tangles. Once it was tangle-free again, she pulled it back into a higher ponytail, keeping her hair off her neck as much as possible. "Why does it have to be in a desert of all places?" she complained to herself, before she decided it would be best to simply press onward.

Taking longer than she cared to admit, Mina finally stumbled upon the south gate of Rabanastre. "Thank goodness!" she muttered as she stopped to catch her breath. Her canteen was dry, and she really needed a drink. Licking her lips to try and regain some moisture, she coughed lightly before readjusting her uniform. There was a bit of dirt on her pants, but there wasn't much she could do about that at the moment. Buttoning up her jacket, she attempted to wipe the sweat that had gathered back on her face. It didn't last long, however, as it was just as warm inside the city as it was out.

Dropping her hand to her waist, she felt the comforting presence of her dagger. She was prepared in case the rumours were true. "Excuse me." she said with a polite smile as she approached one of the local vendors. "Is there..." Mina had to pause to cough at the dryness in her throat. "Is there anywhere in the city I could go to get a drink?" Her voice was a little raspy from disuse through the desert, but it was still audible.

The young man (or boy, if she was going to guess at his age) gave her a sympathetic smile. "Well, there's the Sandsea over on the east side of the city. That's probably your best bet." Mina nodded and thanked him hoarsely, and gave him some money as payment for the information. If she needed something later, he would remember her act. At least that was the idea behind the action. The city was fairly straight-forward, though she was a little irritated that she had to go all the way around until she made it to the tavern in question. It's so hot out!

Mina reached forward to pull open the door, when it burst open in front of her. Leaping back to avoid the screaming patrons, her dagger found its way into her hand instantaneously. "What's happening?" Trying to catch anybody's attention, they all ignored her as they tried to get as far from the tavern as possible. Once the area had cleared, she poked her head into the building. Wincing at the smell of burnt flesh, she swallowed thickly before entering the Sandsea. There was only one man still present, and he was getting his own drink.

Moving silently around to get a better look at the lone man, she put a bit of distance between them before addressing him. Standing four seats to his right, she licked her lips again as she found them dried out once more. The smell was stronger over here, and she had to force herself not to react. "Hello." she said simply, her dagger still ready should he choose to attack. "That was quite the commotion." It couldn't hurt to find out what had happened. Plus, she needed to find her mark. Maybe this man could help with that.

[Flint Salvador]

"Hello." He'd heard the woman's footsteps, but the fact that she'd had the tenacity to walk in here and stand her ground in spite of the smell of burnt flesh instantly enlightened Flint to the fact that she wasn't exactly your regular customer. As she drew up into his periphery, he could see her uniform; a slim black suit that would definitely raise suspicion in a city like Rabanastre where such formal clothing was unheard of - at best. She was lucky if she hadn't already been robbed.

Then again, as hazel eyes flicked towards her, Flint chuckled in a total inability to understand and shook his head. She looked... perhaps a tad more capable than most. His eyes narrowed and he surveyed her up at down... hmm, perhaps she wasn't quite as pitiful as his first impression had made her seem. Regardless, she'd made a mistake. "That was quite the commotion."

"No shit," The bounty hunter murmured, a tiny sliver of his hazel irises emerging out from underneath the rim of his hat. He downed the last of his fourth pint, and, with a flick of his wrist, flung the glass against the back wall of the bar, shattering it almost immediately as he pulled himself from the stall and turned towards the woman in the suit. "Your mythical powers of observation stun me." Flint growled as if it were a reflex, an automatic response to any pests like her trying to interfere.

Slowly, he made an advance towards her; the floorboards of the bar creaked under his weighty steps, his hefty, nigh-on seven-foot frame slowly crossing the bar and moving towards her. He was a foot and a half taller, and his frame towered over hers; huge, meaty, veiny hands, arms the shape of hams, forged from sheer muscle, and legs like tree trunks. He was a mammoth compared to her petite frame, almost one hundred pounds - solid - heavier than her.

"But the bottom line here, miss," The right hand curled and balled into a fist, the veins bulging and the muscles in his arm straining as he tensed them. Octopi released clouds of murky ink. Lizards willingly gave up part of their anatomy so the rest could make an escape. Flint Salvador, to scare off a would-be predator, simply tensed every muscle in his body, and hoped his adversary was stupid enough to throw the first punch.

The left hand rose in front of his face in a slow arc, and moved above his head, grasping the ridge of his hat, and lowering it back down, allowing the woman to get a full view of his coarse, grime-specked blonde hair and vibrant hazel eyes as he locked the latter with hers, a cool grey that almost seemed to appear a light cerulean in this light. "Is that unless you want another one comin' in your direction real soon, you're gonna leave me to my business."

Flint Salvador would never hit a woman: but this was not any simple woman. She was battle-trained, she was ready. With an attire like that and the confidence in her strut, yet the subtlety she moved with, he knew this was no simple businesswoman who'd stumbled upon the wrong establishment. Either she was looking for him and being quiet about it, or looking for someone else. In short: he would have no moral qualm with fighting back against her. She was interfering. She was in his way. And she was trained. Her anatomy could, for the most part, be ignored. "Be careful, Flint. She may be more dangerous than you think."

"That's why I've got you, right?" He snarled mentally in response, his face only showing minor signs of contortion - replying to Michael without giving off facial expression was difficult, and whilst it was better than talking to himself, it still made him look a tad crazy. Not that anyone was going to say anything to the abomination of a man, walking down the street. "Guardian angel, or something like that...?"

"I can't protect you from everything." Michael made his statement matter-of-factly and Flint let a single eyebrow arch maybe a millimetre or two.

"The hammer I'm slinging around can." A smirk, and he looked down to the girl once more. Michael left the issue there. There was no changing Flint's mind once he was set in his ways. Stubborn as a mule.

"What's it gonna be? You gonna leave me here, or am I going to have to resort to the same methods that took care of that little rare beef fillet lying behind the counter?" Undertones of cannibalism. Never got better than that for intimidation habits.

[Beebee]

Mina stayed absolutely still as the man before her razed her form with his eyes. Putting a lid on any emotion she could possibly show, she didn't even waver as he sized her up. The thought that he could attack at any moment was at the forefront of her mind, and she was prepared if he were to make a move. She had faith that she would be quick enough to dodge anything he threw at her, but she hoped she could avoid a confrontation. It's too hot to fight. But she still kept her mouth silent and her eyes trained on the unnamed man. Even when his glass left his hand and shattered loudly against the wall, she didn't even blink. Though her lips twitched at his sarcastic response.

"Well thank you. I aim to please." she sniped back just as sarcastically. The stranger got to his feet, and Mina tightened her grip on her dagger. Her gun was within reach as well, which she would use if it were to come to that. It was hidden away, though, so she would still have the element of surprise. If it were to come to that. She took the time to study him, similar to the way he had done earlier. Something about him was familiar to her, but she knew for a fact she hadn't seen him before. She would have remembered someone like him. But there was something.

His muscles were something to be admired. Not in that she wanted them or they made him look more attractive, but certainly more menacing. She felt a tiny prick of fear go through her, but continued to stay impassive. His threat certainly had merit to it, and she shrugged nonchalantly. "I'm not here to interfere in your business. I'm not your mother. I don't care about him." Mina vaguely gestured towards the still smoking barman as she shifted her weight slightly on her feet. She was poised, ready to move in case he came at her, but she had a feeling he wasn't going to attack, at least not yet.

Her head tilted slightly in confusion as his face twitched. What is he doing? Her own eyebrows furrowed as his rose in what seemed like a silent question. That smirk...he definitely means business. Focus, Mina. "I've never been overly fond of beef, myself. I'm just looking for some...information." I'm looking for you. That was why he was so familiar, because the rumours had been about him. "I'm not looking for trouble, just information. Maybe you can help with that." Or maybe you'll attack me and I'll end up killing you in self-defense.

If she was being honest, she was exhausted. Her muscles were tensed, her weight lightly balanced on the balls of her feet so she could move quickly, she had been traveling for a long time in the hot desert. This man had at least knocked back a couple of drinks, and looked well-rested. He definitely had the advantage here. Raising her eyebrow in a silent question, she waited to see how he would react. Regardless of what happens, I WILL get out of this alive.

[Flint Salvador]

"Well thank you. I aim to please." Flint let an instinctive snarl rise from the pits of his throat and his grip tightened around the hat, which he was holding at his side. If he was going to have to use force to have his peace and quiet before he turned this mark in, then, by Anu, he would.

"Keep talking." He growled, his one free fist gently curling up, the leather giving off creaking, straining noises as he snarled again, animalistic in his frustration, like some primal cave-dweller. "If you're not out of my way soon, then my use of..." He jerked a thumb slowly towards the hammer at his back. "...alternative methods... will please me, even more." It was a deadly battle of sarcasm and intimidation - but for just how long could it be extended before Flint took to violence?

"I'm not here to interfere in your business. I'm not your mother. I don't care about him." Flint grunted, and the fist uncurled and went to his stubble, brushing over the thin layer of it slowly, letting the prickly hairs strum against his hand as he considered this. Maybe she'd just... leave, then. If she wasn't here to interfere, then she was just wasting time. If she was an assassin, she'd have already made her move.

"Good." He murmured, before turning on his heel, and propping the desperado hat back on his head, as his black duster flailed behind him. The woman in the suit was greeted with the sight of his titanic hammer. "Then leave me alone, before I kill you." That was blunt enough. Insinuations and violent undertones only got him so far. Death threats were the next tier of intimidation.

"I've never been overly fond of beef, myself. I'm just looking for some...information." He arched an eyebrow, and looked back over his shoulder with one eye. A great, lurching growl erupted from the very bottom of his throat like a tremor through the earth. It filled the air. She was become less of a pest and more of an annoyance. Pests could be ignored. Annoyances were best stamped out. "I'm not looking for trouble, just information. Maybe you can help with that."

Flint snorted, and turned back, shaking his head. Information? She'd interrupted, persistently refused to leave him alone, changed the subject, and interjected with sarcasm, and now wanted his assistance!? He shook his head, and turned back on his heel, having begun to make a return to his seat before stopping in his tracks. His voice a constant growl, he made one last statement, almost able to taste the tension. It was all kicking off, now. "You should have left me alone." One hand went to the clip at his back, just by his neck, and with a simple flick, thumb and forefinger, let it snap open with an echo.

The other moved round to the bottom, and unhinged the buckle tied around the sheath to keep the hammer in place. The leather of the would-be scabbard was creaking against the weight of the weapon, without the clip to hold it in place. Something mad danced in those hazel eyes, and Flint's sullen pallor stretched quickly into a competitive, violent grin. The sound of a strip of fabric being drawn through the buckle swiftly echoed throughout the cavernous, open room of the bar. The bounty hunter arched both eyebrows and looked up from beneath the ridge of his hat, cocking his head. "Don't say I didn't warn you."

In a flash, both hands wrapped around the hilt, about three quarters of the way to the head, and his jacket tightened around the shape of his tensed muscles. Heaving with unmatched strength, Flint gathered energy into his diaphragm, every inch of his body thrumming with adrenaline and that artificial energy instilled in him by the fal'Cie Anu all those years ago, and the presence of Michael within his heart, mind, and soul, and he felt all of his motives and wills rush together into one angry red ball. His fighting spirit, compiled from all of his experiences, all of his thoughts, all of his emotions and feelings.

He rose the hammer up above his head in a second, slicing through the air, the flat edge facing Mina, and unleashed all of that tension stored in a great, lion's roar. "GRAAAAAAAAAAAGH!" Then, he brought the hammer down, aiming to strike the Turk straight on the head, and crush her in one hit.

[Beebee]

Mina swallowed somewhat nervously as the man before her got steadily more angry. She watched his movements carefully, looking for any indication as to what his state of mind was. Maybe I shouldn't have ignored his threat. She thought that once he turned his back on her he would go back to his seat, but that clearly wasn't the case. Asking for information shouldn't get this reaction. It's not a difficult thing to give. Why is he getting so agitated? Is he insane? The man gave her one more warning before he reached for his weapon, and her eyes widened in surprise. Sure, she had been expecting it to an extent, but she had thought they could be adults about the situation. Clearly she had been overestimating her opponent.

As he turned back to her and gave her a manic looking grin, she bent her knees a little more in anticipation now that his weapon was in his hands. What is his problem?! Her other hand started to reach for her gun, in an attempt to keep the distance between them, but she didn't have time to draw it before he moved to strike. Things seemed to move in slow motion as she saw his muscles tense and the giant hammer (how can he lift something so huge?) start to descend on her position. His battle cry ringing in her ears, she did the only thing that came to mind. If she moved to the side, he could be able to compensate and just change the direction of the hammer. With his thought, she instead leapt towards him with a speed she hadn't used in quite some time. It would be much more difficult to shorten the strike as opposed to simply changing the direction.

Her dagger flashed as she moved and her jacket fluttered behind her. She felt the air rush past her as the hammer missed its intended mark, and that spurred her into even faster action. The hand holding her dagger whipped towards the massive man, slicing into his shirt and drawing blood from his side. It wasn't the impact she had intended, as she had wanted to drive the blade directly into his side and instead only managed to graze him with how quickly she was moving. But her eyes caught something as she passed by him. There was a strange mark on his stomach. It looked like a healed over scar of some sort. He is the one I'm looking for!

Mina continued moving so she ended up behind the man. Taking a few extra steps, she turned back towards him drawing her gun as she moved. His weapon won't reach me here. He'll have to move first. A guy that big? I'll be able to outrun him. "Don't move." she warned smoothly, though even that short burst had tired her out more than she cared to admit. Damn this desert. "You could have easily just said 'no', you know." A small smile touched her lips, though inside her heart was pounding. A section of her hair had pulled from from her ponytail since she hadn't had the opportunity to put it in its customary bun, and she tossed her head to try and get it out of her face.

The Turk knew she wouldn't last in a drawn out battle, especially against someone as tough as this guy. Her blade had barely made a dent...literally. Granted she hadn't connected as smoothly as she would have liked. Her eyes flickered to the smoking remains of the bartender, before returning to her current threat. If he used fire, maybe my ice spells would be useful. Rubbing her thumb along the green materia lodged in her gun, she raised her eyes back up. "How did you get that mark?" she asked, gesturing with her weapon to his stomach. If he was already pissed off, a direct question couldn't do any more harm. She would just need to run like the wind. Outside. In the scorching desert. Fantastic.

[Flint Salvador]

Crash. His hammer slammed straight into the ground she'd just been standing upon, creating a miniature crater of floorboards and cement, a great indentation inwards, sending tremors through the floor - but she was as quick as he should have presumed her to be. The tip of the dagger glanced his side, and he felt the rush of desert air inwards as his shirt was slashed open, and a piece of bloodied fabric floated down to the floor, followed by a slow dripping sound, blood spilling from the wound.

The sharp pain slowly overcame the shock and lanced into his body, the tendrils of soft sensation shaking through him. It was by no means the most grave wound he'd ever endured, but it was still less than comfortable. Bearable, perhaps, but far from comfortable. He hoisted the hammer once more, pulling it straight up above his head with a guttural growl, ready to spin around and cause it to slam straight into that bitch's mid-section-

CLICK.

Ah.

That wasn't good.

He snorted like a horse and let a grunt arise from his throat like a discontented bear, paws still grasping the weapon, and his muscles bulging beneath the coat. As strong as he was, the great hammer was a mammoth construct, and hoisting it for too long took its toll on even his figure. He couldn't hold it, suspended in air, for too long, lest he pull a muscle or strain himself. Whilst momentum was on his side, he was fine; but here, he was frozen as the woman in black aimed her pistol dead-on at his frame. "Don't move."

He lowered the hammer downwards, with the spear-like blade at the end jabbing in an arc through the air, before causing the ground to tremor once more as it jammed itself into the thick rosewood of the pub's floorboards. Flint held his hands up, looked back over his shoulder, and grunted once more. "You win this round, I guess," His eyes flicked over to the entrance of the bar on his left. One way in, one way out. "I'm turning around to face you. Keep your finger off the trigger." He growled. A facade of reluctant co-operation: hopefully, it would work.

"You could have easily just said 'no', you know." Flint cocked his head and shrugged, leaning on his hammer and letting out a sigh, giving himself the general image of comfort; but the adrenaline still fizzled and thrummed in his fingertips, and his head still pounded with curiosity about what colour this woman's innards were.

"Some people don't take no for an answer," He snarled. Her eyes flashed down to his midriff, and suddenly, it all made sense; the piece of fabric that had fallen to the ground was covering one thing upon his tensed, ridged stomach. His old Pulse l'Cie brand. The one scar Anu had left on him. The blood that was trickling down his side was drying and creating a rather irritating itch, but it was easy enough to resist it.

Then came the inevitable question. "How did you get that mark?" Flint nodded his head slowly, and let out a sigh, as if to prepare for the re-telling of a great and epic yarn. But, unfortunately, he never got that far. The warrior, the berserker, the murderer within got the better of him; in a series of fluid, darting movements, showing unnatural speed, he twisted the hammer in entirety, the blade at the bottom cracking the wood as it spun around and the bounty hunter aimed the cylinder-head of the Godhammer at the open doorway: or more specifically, the beams above it.

"That's another question for another time!" He growled, ducking to avoid any possible incoming projectiles, and slammed his finger against the small switch on the back of the pole twice, before the room erupted with a cacophony; a hiss, a momentary screech, then the crash of an explosion, the room flooding with orange-yellow light as Flint wasted no time in going for his own pistol - one, at least - Anarchy, on his left hip. The Visceroy Troubleshooter. An outdated PSICOM model. Manual hammer, semi-automatic loading.

Then the cylinder let out a resounding click as the explosion rang in Flint's ears, the first missile having collided with the beam barely a split-second earlier, the smoke surrounding the rubble still too thick for eyes as sharp as his to pierce through. The lurching movement of the frame came next, followed by another missile launch, another great explosion filling the caverns of the pub, and having knocked the Turk's concentration, but not his: Flint was very much used to explosives. He had to be, in this line of work.

He drew back the hammer as the last whine of the explosion in his ears faded, and he felt stability and feeling return to his legs, staring at the rubble as the smoke cleared. Barely a sliver of the pale, sharp Sandsea light was visible between the cracks of the smouldering rubble his Godhammer, still loaded with three of five missiles, had created. The room was dim and filling with smoke as he scrabbled to his feet, sighed, and aimed dead-on down at the shorter, black-haired woman. "Nothing personal," He snarled. "Just business."

With that, he eased back the hammer, let his finger slip around onto the trigger, grinned, and began to squeeze...

...but couldn't do it.

No matter what, no matter how much he knew it was the best thing to do, and the most beneficial for him and his conquest, plus, his reputation... there was something that had been shaking him ever since he'd laid eyes on her. That first hammer hit hadn't created nearly as much of an impact as it should have, and he knew that she was ready to dart around and avoid it, but struck anyway. He was pulling his punches, stopping his blows short of her body. Because one fact reverberated through the halls of his mind as that pistol hand's trembling increased to an almost vibrating shake, and, before long, he let it spin, fall, and clatter to the ground beneath, it, pulling up a stool and sitting upon it once more, burying his face in his hands.

She looked like Esmeria.

The anguish and the depression wrestled with his anger and his wrathful tendencies once more, even quashing his megalomaniacal pride beneath it all. Flint didn't care about anything, he didn't want to kill, wound, maim, or murder whilst this was at the forefront of his mind: he had put Anu behind him, all but that scar and a flash of memory he never dwelt upon, and he had put Pulse behind him... so why couldn't he bury Esmeria's spirit and leave her alone? For good?

This woman had been interfering since the moment she'd turned up, and her appearance had trigged a duality of rage and sympathy from within, but the latter had ultimately pinned the former down and taken the crown. Flint sighed, ran a hand down his stubble, and murmured to himself: "You... you look like her..."

With that, he threw his head back up, sighed, and let his brow furrow once more, a defeated, sorrowful look upon his face. "I was a Pulse l'Cie." He sighed. "I completed my task. Now, please, ask your questions. I'll answer them. Then... just leave me in peace."

[Beebee]

Mina watched cautiously as the man looked as though he was about to strike again, and her legs bent in a crouch. Thankfully at her warning, he dropped his weapon into the ground, though the shockwave that seemed to flow through the floor nearly knocked her off-balance. She quickly corrected her aim, and she paused in a half-crouch as she got ready to move in case he changed his mind. Her gun was unwavering as he faced her, though she slowly made her way back to a standing position at his relaxed stance.

At his snappy response to her sarcastic comment (although it was true), her lips quirked in a small smirk. She waited patiently for him to realize what she was talking about, and watched him curiously as he inspected the mark in question. Unfortunately, she had to admit she wasn't as prepared as she should have been for his next move. Guess the heat affected me more than I thought. Flinching back as splinters of wood flew from the ground, his movements startled her into pulling the trigger. The bullet flew harmlessly over his head and suddenly it was as if the room exploded.

Something Mina prided herself on was being ready for anything. That said, she was not expecting the room to collapse on itself and smoke overwhelmed her. A beam dropped above her and she attempted to move out of the way. It still struck her, although she had managed to avoid a head-on collision it caught her shoulder. Her arm went numb, and her gun slid from her grasp as she hit the floor. Coughing a few times to try and clear the smoke from her airway, she pushed herself up onto her knees. Where did it go? Searching the floor quickly, she decided it wasn't worth the effort. She had to move.

Looking up to see where the man had gotten to, she froze as she saw the wrong end of a gun pointed at her. "Dammit." she whispered, glaring at the giant in front of her. Mina tensed getting ready to move as he commented that it was 'just business', and the irony of the statement wasn't lost on her. How many times had she uttered those words to some of her...assignments...before ending their life. Staring up into the man's eyes, she saw something change. Something...softened in them, and the gun started to shake in his hand.

Mina's eyes darted back to the gun, worried that it might go off with the man's hand trembling the way it was, and then the most surprising thing happened - he dropped it. Purposefully dropped it. Blinking in surprise, she glanced back up and watched as the miserable-looking man dropped onto a stool and dropped his head into his hands. Another bout of coughing overtook her briefly, and he still didn't make a move against her. Is that it? It had certainly been more than enough, and her arm was still numb from the beam falling on her.

She reached forward to pick up the stranger's gun since she couldn't find her own. Standing a little shakily, she cocked the hammer back but didn't lift the weapon. Quiet words met her ears, and she still hadn't found anything to say. Who do I look like? Mina's eyebrows furrowed in silent confusion as she stared at the man, a few coughs erupting here and there as he gave her the go ahead to ask her questions. Then what was all that for if he was going to answer her anyway?

Forcing her irritation away, she stared at him for a few more moments. If he was giving up, then she may as well make use of her good fortune. Licking her lips, she shook her head in exasperation. "You...were a l'Cie? But then - cough - how are you here? I thought..." What was it that Lightning said? "I thought once you - cough - once you completed your...uh...Focus? Then you turned...to crystal?" A few more coughs escaped her and she took a couple of steps sideways so she was at the bar as well. Only...far enough away that she could react if he tried anything.

"I need to know about l'Cie." she said bluntly. If he was giving her the green light, she was going to take it. "I need - cough cough - to know how to fix it." Her eyes were tearing up with the smoke still circling in the air, and it was bothering her more than she cared to admit. She was hot, and tired, and sore, and hungry. She didn't want to deal with any more issues. But this was her job. She needed to find a way to help Rufus.