Due to how volatile Bartow and I would be in close proximity, it became difficult to have a proper conversation without either of us ticking each other off for the smallest of reasons. But for some reason, we would calm down much, much~ easier if we came into blows instead of our two superiors shouting us off.
But yeah, all those forearms wouldn't mean shit if he can't fucking connect because the reason he managed to connect earlier was that I wasn't aware of his shoulder tackle—partly because I just had come to after choking Mitch—and I decided to take on his fist with my forehead.
He had more fucking bruises each time we decided that our little round was over, but he was on par with Mikhail in regards to taking hits, though in all honesty, I felt that he had a tiny bit more power. It was obvious he had the same speed problem as Mikhail but it was a trade-off for his raw power.
In any case, I still had more questions to ask Mitch and George "Popeye" Bartow, so I did just that:
"Before I forget, which cities in Japan were hit?"
Mitch then answered solemnly as he realized I had family over there:
"Yeah... uhh... What was it— Ah... It's— We sent one each in Tokyo, Yokohama, Chiba, Nagoya, Hamamatsu, and Shizuoka..."
"...!" I lifted my head up to look at Mitch's expression for a moment, "How about Sapporo, Kyoto, Osaka, and everything else? I thought you sent one in each city that—"
Bartow cut in again, "If you put in a request—"
"Bitch— You would've been dead by now if we weren't just using our fists! You wouldn't even be able to come close—"
"Parry my .45 then, fucking eel! I fucking dare you!"
"No one has fucking seen me all-out, motherfucker! And guess what?! You haven't been able to hit my face!"
"I DID THE FIRST TIME, YOU FUCKER!"
"IT'S BECAUSE I LET YOU! WHAT ABOUT AFTER, HUH?!"
"IT'S BECAUSE YOU CAN'T FIGHT HEAD-ON!"
"IT'S BECAUSE YOU CAN'T HIT FOR SHIT!"
"OF COURSE I'D BE SLOWER, DIPSHIT! LOOK AT OUR SIZES!"
"I STILL PROBABLY HAVE A BIGGER COCK THAN YOU, NO-HOMO!"
[DON'T.]
Seeing that message which probably came from Ilana, a lot of things went through my head again before I was cut off mid-thought by Bartow:
"The fuck are you staring at your phone for?! You know that—"
Mitch looked me straight in the eyes, "You were saying?"
I quickly pocketed my phone and kept a straight face, mostly, "Yeah, I, uhh... I can hand over the files I collected before this shit happened but we gotta do something before that."
Bartow stood up once again, "Punk— You think we're playing games here?!"
I waved him off, "Bitch— I mean, dude... It's already 6:47 and we haven't even had lunch yet. Can we have at least that?"
The two were dumbfounded:
"Ah—/It's that late, huh?"
Oscar rolled his eyes as he nudged me with his elbow, "If you two fucks didn't start a fight every two seconds we would've been done here! It is time for dinner though—a little early—but I'm itching for something you'll make, kid."
Mitch's eyes suddenly lit up, "You can cook?"
"Yeah. But am I supposed to?"
"Please. I haven't had a proper meal ever since— Well, the colonel provided some when they arrived but I barely had a bite."
Oscar cackled, "Heh. Trust me, you fucks haven't 1% of this kid's power yet. Ah, shit— Do we even have an oven over here?"
Bartow chimed in, "We could just make a fire?"
"That's true," Mitch followed.
I waved them off, "No, I want to be able to regulate the fire. We brought a portable stove. If we could find a gas tank to hook it up on—"
Bartow volunteered, "I know where to find a few. I'll get on it as long as you promise me some good food."
"Bitch. You really don't know who you're talking to, huh?"