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[OOS: Oliver gets cranky when he’s tired.]

Oliver has been doing a lot of walking. He's been talking to a lot of neighbours, and during those conversations he mentioned his abilities. Not everybody believed him, and not everybody wanted to take him up on his offer...but a few did. He's been patrolling their fields to increase their fertility. The land here is good - like a warm cup of tea on a cold day, like fine wine after a heavy meal.

He's patrolling around the Cooper house right now, for a much different reason. One step methodically in front of the other. He whispers words underneath his breath, gaze distant.

Once he finishes, he goes over to the earth bunker to set up some more Wards. Judging from his leisurely pace (which is not entirely due to the limp in his right leg), he could be interrupted.

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Oliver nods, looking mildly impressed.

He doesn't quite get the need for the question. "To protect the residents within and to be alerted to any demons that might cross the Wards." Because it's a way I can actually be useful, he doesn't say.

He doesn't need to, really.

"Aye, and what of those demons already living within?"

Jack doesn't know the word, not really. He just doesn't think it implies a bad thing.

Solemnly, "They will be found out and dealt with, though I hope there are none here. Demons are creatures from hell that that destroy the souls of innocents, corrupt their forms and spawn sickness, madness, death and despair."

Just a little bit on the evil side.

"Have you anything like them in your land?"

"Are they now?"

Funny, Jack knows Oliver believes every word he says. It's just - Jack doesn't believe that of Tom. And that's what counts.

"There have been many things in the lands I've visited. None as dangerous as those that speak of them."

Oliver frowns.

"I am dangerous only to those that I know will harm innocents. My order is one that protects, sir."

Jack scoffs.

And ceases to dance around the issue.

"Tom Therin harms no innocents, sir."

Oliver's expression sharpens and for a moment he goes still. His honor, his duty, his purpose - and now he has a name to direct his energies towards.

"Demons can only set aside their hellish urges for so long. He will. If he is from Fremmanland."

A chance to call it off, for Oliver is not a violent man, and he's learned that there are many ways to misunderstand people from other worlds.

Jack keeps a steady stare on Oliver's face: threatening simply because he's not actually smiling for once.

"The man is a friend of mine. You leave your war at home, or you come through me."

Oliver is not too far away from the bunker. If he runs quickly, there's at least a good possibility that he could make it. Coming close enough to use Godflame would be difficult, with those cutlasses.

"His friendship is a lie. The man has sin and darkness living within his flesh." His voice gentles for a moment, "They seem very human, I know. I've spoken to them before. They can be so good at hiding what they are."

Smirking, Jack makes a humming noise that's mocking and slightly derisive.

"I'm good at seeing through lies, law-man. I read the Truth."

Discerning lies is one of the Eight Holy Disciplines - one that Oliver, former wizard and sinner and liar, never liked. He pauses a moment to absorb that before continuing on.

"Their infernal magic can confound even the strongest abilities."

As far as Oliver knows, he's speaking the truth.

Of course he is, but then:

"Aye, and who told you that?"

"My fathers, my brothers - the Godsworn have long known it. A demon's magics can also spread disease, madness, death, and to warp the landscape in unnatural ways; each species has its own perverted abilities. I don't suppose your friend mentioned that?"

"Aye, and your horrors are less so?"

Jack narrows his eyes, keeping his blades down.

"You bring the war here for what could be wrought?"

"Any 'horrors' done by 'Sworn are done to protect the very innocents demons prey on." He will not dispute the war in general as a horror, though.

If he feels regret or weariness at a fight renewed, he certainly doesn't show it as he shakes his head. "What will be.

"You have known a demon for some months, at most. I've known them fifteen years and known of them my whole life."

"You doubt my ability to know."

It's OK - there's no reason to trust Jack. But -

"You shall not persuade me so."

"I know demons nurture falseness and lies," Oliver contends. "You are not the first to have been taken in by them, with abilities or no."

He's met people like this before - the ones who insist that their Johnny or their Annie simply can't be an abomination, that for them it's different. You don't convert these people in one conversation. (In fact, they're usually not converted at all, just jailed.)

Left unsaid is that the advice of someone who claims a demon as a friend will not be heeded.

Jack smirks again.

"Take it not as advice. Take it as a threat."

"My quarrel is not with you. I do not want to see you hurt."

And Oliver does not particularly want to see himself hurt, either, which seems the more likely outcome. The fingers on Oliver's right hand make no movement, but he's already directing power their way.

"Aye," Jack says, "it is."

And he's tense, now. Gripping the cutlasses in each hand, ready to move as soon as - well, as soon as Oliver decides to do something with that power.

Oliver angles his body sideways to Jack, right hand out, as he bolts to the earth bunker. The first blast of Godflame he aims at the ground - mostly because his range is too short to reach Jack. Let the man think it's a warning shot.

The second and third will follow suit, unless Jack gets within Oliver's pathetic four foot range; then he'll aim for the shoulder.

Not a shot to the hand or the head. Oliver is trying not to maim too badly. He never had the stomach for combat.

Jack just leaps down from the truck and races forward, focusing now on the fight. His eyes stay fixed on Oliver as he charges, cutlasses swinging up and around, and there's a gleam in his eyes never before seen on the farm.

Jack Hollins has more than the stomach for combat; he has a lust for it.

He does enter Oliver's range, but he still dodges expertly, bearing singing the edge of his shoulder.

But blade is up and swinging - even barehanded fighters can be disarmed.

And Oliver certainly tries to dodge. But there's a burst of pain from his ribs, and while he certainly believed he'd been keeping up with his combat training - he hadn't, not in the ways that counted. Always kept putting off asking about those martial arts lessons on the notice board. Never bothered to find a sparring partner.

Oliver manages to get most of himself out of the way--

-- except his right hand.

He gasps sharply, but has enough presence of mind to ignore the pain and jerk open the door of the earth bunker behind him - with his left hand, of course - hoping to duck in and slam it closed in time.

Jack could force the door open, but he's not really a fan of fire in enclose areas.

Instead he retires away and crouches to rest and wait, watching the door.

Perhaps that warning will be taken

A man in a lot of pain just entered the bunker.

A man in a lot of pain who's... oh shit.

Hey, Oliver, have a T-shirt to use as a tourniquet. Mel's wearing a chest wrap underneath, it's OK.

"What the hell?"