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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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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?"

The pain in his leg, at least, is gone. Oliver had prayed for that, hadn't he?

Red paints his bright white coat, the vest underneath, his tie. He stares at Mel, for a moment without recognition as he takes the T-shirt and ties it onto his stump.

"There's a man out there. With swords and pistols," he manages, gaze going to the door, his bloody left hand out.

Nevermind that he's never been able to summon Godflame with his left hand. He has to do something.

"Anyone we know?"

Mel has a hand on his left shoulder, strong enough with just that to hold him back if she needs to.

Her other hand has a stake ready, and she's planning how to throw that and draw her axe before the guns are fired.

"What happened?"

Oliver shakes his head, but he gives a quick description of Jack in case she's met him before.

"He claimed himself a demon's friend. I'd tried to convince him--" Oliver doesn't feel like explaining the whole argument, "but I failed. He threatened. I threatened. I defended myself when he attacked."

His gaze goes to his stump as he considers how poorly he defended himself.

"Jack?"

Yeah, Mel's met him. But that doesn't fit. So she's frowning thoughtfully, still gripping the stake.

"He's friends with Sokka. Knows the girls."

He never struck her as the hand-chopping-off type.

"Mm, is he."

Oliver is too used to being around people who know him as trustworthy, and too much in pain, to bother to explain or justify further.

He jams his stump up against his chest - any little bit of pressure helps - breathing harshly.

Semi-consciously, Mel presses her hand over the stump, applying her own brand of pressure.

But she's biting her lip, thoughtfully.

"This is over a friend of his?"

"A demon," Oliver repeats, voice thin. Now accepting that Jack is not going to burst through the door, he asks in quiet desperation, "Can anyone here heal?"

A moment's thought, and Mel shakes her head.

"I don't know," she says, quiet and desperate herself. "No one's told me they can."

Oliver responds with a curt nod. Blood is soaking through the tourniquet.

Godsworn die blazing, not shivering. "If I can-- cauterize--" he murmurs, focusing on his left (only) hand. His fingers flex, crook into claws, nails biting into his palms.

Oliver likely explained Godflame to Mel before, but what should be obvious even to someone who doesn't know what to look for is that nothing's happening.

It actually takes a bit of concentration for Mel to focus on the man needing medical help rather that the rabid pirate outside, but when she sees him struggling, she realises there's an actual problem here.

And it's not like the girls can exactly cauterise.

"Sokka's tools," she says. "He'll have a blowtorch or something..."