Chapter Text
The city was bustling around him: colorful lights illuminated the windows of the clubs, casting long shadows on the pavement, filled to the brim with people walking about, some less sober than others, and tables, sitting outside bars, obstructing the road. Jabber really liked the nightlife in Canvas Town, it was as if the whole city turned into a nightclub as the sun set, the graffiti crowding the walls staring right back at you in the vibrant light. There was also the noise: not a single corner was silent, the constant buzz of music coming from everywhere around you, so that you could never stop and think. Jabber really liked it.
As he followed the flow of people, he kept glancing around, trying to spot the perfect place for the night. The plan was easy: find someplace to get a drink or two, chat someone up for the sake of it, blow off some steam and crash somewhere, possibly back in his bed, but not necessarily. After all, it wasn’t like he had anything better to do on a free night, and he really really needed a break from the other Raiders. Not that he disliked them or anything, they were just too stuck up when it was time to have fun. The most fun he has ever had with one of them was when he had gone drinking with Bundus, but the old man was no fun when it came to getting drunk. There was also the time when he had shared a joint with Momoa, but she had seemed sober no matter how much smoke, and she had adamantly refused to test one of Mankira’s poisons, just to see how good her tolerance really was. A bummer.
He shook his head as he thought about it, trying to clear it from anything Raiders’ related. He just wanted to take his mind off things for a while. As he was about to walk into the closest club, he abruptly stopped in his tracks as he noticed something out of the corner of his eye. He turned his head, looking at a few buildings back, where two men were walking into a dimly lit bar, the taller one playfully pushing the other inside, much unwilling, inside. He squinted his eyes, trying to catch a glimpse of the smaller one as the door closed. He would recognize those earrings anywhere: that was Zanka. So he was alive, huh?
Without thinking too much about it, he turned around, closing the distance with said bar in a couple long strides and crossing the threshold. As one could see from outside, it wasn’t as brightly lit as the others in the street, warm lights creating shadows that concealed the faces of the other customers. It wasn’t packed as most would be that late in the night and the music wasn’t as deafening as it should be as only the bassline thrummed through his body. He spotted Zanka sitting at the far end of the counter, bickering with the other man who just laughed, a wide smile creasing his lips. He had seen him somewhere too, he was probably with the Cleaners.
He decided to sit down on the other end of the counter, ordering a drink. He didn’t really know why he had followed him inside. Probably out of curiosity. Nobody would have survived having their guts pierced by Mankira like he had, especially with that cocktail of poison in his bloodstream. It’s true, there was that Pew-Pew girl carrying the gun that had rescued him in the end, but even with a skilled healer on standby it would’ve been tough. Yet Zanka was there, alive and kicking.
Despite the bitter taste in his mouth, an almost manic grin crossed his lips. Zanka had proved himself to be stubborn, stubborn enough to not die so easily. Silly me, to think that he had already given everything that time. His judgement hadn’t been wrong that first time. Zanka was strong.
That realization soon washed away the displeasure of having failed to kill him, since that meant that now he could play again with that new Zanka. Has anything changed since then? Will he be more ruthless now? He could feel his body quiver with anticipation. He couldn't wait to fight him. Even though he craved to see if he had improved, he didn’t make a move, just watching him carefully from afar. Despite his longing to have Zanka's staff sink into his flesh, he didn’t want to do that there, right then. It had to be the perfect time and place. And he had to be in the mood, which he wasn't right now, at least not for a serious serious fight.
At some point he saw the blond man, who he now remembered being the umbrella guy who Fu was supposed to take on back in the trash beast, getting up, leaving his jinki behind, probably to go to the bathroom. That was his chance. Mankira clinked sharply against the glass as he downed his drink, which had been sitting untouched on the counter until then, before he got up, taking long strides towards his prey.
“A drink for this striking man right here.” He called out to the bartender, plopping down on a stool right next to Zanka.
“I don’t drink. And I'm not interested-” Zanka had already begun to say, turning his head to face the newcomer. As soon as he saw him though, his eyes widened and he took a hold of his staff, one of its sharp edges pointed at his throat.
“What are ya doin’ here?” He inquired, the cold metal of his Lovely Assisstaff drawing a droplet of blood from Jabber's neck. They were in the darkest corner of the bar, so no one had noticed what was happening. Jabber smiled, his eyes turning into crescent moons. He raised his hands in a placating manner, his eyes never leaving Zanka's.
“I didn’t come to fight, mr. Bad Attitude. Not now at least. I'm just pleasantly surprised to see you.”
Zanka tightened his grip around the staff, his glare sharpening. He could kill him right now, couldn’t he? He would need to just apply a little more pressure, right? But they were currently in a bar, with people around, and in the middle of Canvas Town. He would get the Hell Guards called on him for killing a man. And then what? Explain to his sister that the man he had killed was actually a menace for society? His knuckles turned white around the handle of the staff and in a warning tone he said, “Well? Now ya've seen me. Go away.”
“Now, now Zan-Zan, that’s not how you treat an old friend.” Jabber replied before getting up and placing his hand directly on the end of the blade that was pressing against his neck, pushing it away with little effort, rivulets of blood now running down his wrist as he closed the distance between them, their noses almost touching.
Zanka instinctively leaned away, but he was unable to move his staff and place it between them. Jabber grinned, seeming amused.
“Woah, your reflexes are always so quick! You know, the thought of your movements becoming duller after your recovery was already paining me.”
“And whose fault would it be if that were the case?” Zanka asked sarcastically.
“Touché.” Jabber replied with a chuckle. “But you weren’t meant to survive.”
Zanka's eyes narrowed, noticing the weird gleam in Jabber's eyes but before he could do anything, he felt a hand, the one which wasn't holding his staff still, touching his stomach, where Mankira had once pierced him.
“You're so stubborn. I can’t imagine how hard it was to heal from something like that. You're completely nuts for surviving that.” Jabber continued, his gaze never shying away from Zanka's.
Zanka, on his part, slapped his hand away with a hiss, as if his mere touch burned. “Don’t ya dare touchin’ me.”
Jabber silently observed his expression before stating, “I really can’t wait to fight you again. But this is not the time nor the place.”
With that, he took a step back. Zanka instinctively relaxed. Jabber thought he looked really cute like that, unable to fight back and clearly disturbed by their closeness. Suddenly, a thought crossed his mind and he grinned. Zanka raised an eyebrow but before he could do anything, he felt Mankira’s cold metal resting against his cheek, a pair of lips now on his. He pushed him away, his face pale.
“What the fuck was that!?”
Jabber licked his lips, a stupid grin on his face. “You looked so relieved when I took a step back, I couldn’t resist. That way you won’t forget me until our next encounter. ‘Sides, I meant it when I said you were striking.”
Before Zanka could even put what he was thinking into words, Jabber had already relieved his grip on the Lovely Assisstaff, catching a glimpse of blond hair approaching.
“Well, I guess my time is up. Don’t forget me, Zan-Zan!”
With that, Jabber walked away, becoming one with the shadows. When Enjin came back from the bathroom, no matter how much he prodded, he wasn't able to find out why there was an empty glass in front of Zanka, nor why he kept touching his lips with an absent expression.