Rolling in the 'Deep [Exemplary]

[Kenpachi Zaraki]

The delinquent duo stood shoulder to shoulder, each carving at separate sides of the blockade. Tal's torch sent a shower of sparks over him, singing his ragged prison uniform. Vincent raised his tool to the weld, focusing on the more oxidized portions of the seal. His saw jerked erratically in his hands as he went, resisting the tough material. This job was going to take a bit longer than he had thought.

"This shit's a lot tougher than it looks. Or, well it could be that these tools haven't been used in years," Tal called over the cacophony.

The gunslinger acknowledged the issue wordlessly, cutting the power to his tool momentarily to assess the duo's progress. They had each torn through a few feet of the rusted weld in the 10 minutes they had been working. This was not going to do; it would take them at least an hour at the rate they were going, all this assuming the disused tools would make it that long.

“Unless you've got another idea, keep cutting!” Tal snapped, turning up the flame on his torch. “See if you can find another torch over there,” he said, gesturing to a nearby junk pile. “I'm making a little more progress with this baby turned up to 11. This alloy must just have a higher melting point than I expected. ”

Heat! The ex-Turk rested a hand on his partner's shoulder. “I think I can speed this up. Stand ba-” He stopped short, turning his attention to the sound of approaching footsteps. By the sound of it, at least a dozen sets of feet clambering down the hall, just feet from where he and Tal stood.

“Vultures!” Tal exclaimed, racing to the doorway. “We've got to hurry this up. I'll barracade the door as much as I can,” he said, re-lighting his blowtorch. “Melting this lock should help us out some. Work your magic!”

“ATTENTION. INTRUDERS CONFIRMED IN BAY 8C.” The ship's intercom squawked, the sound of footsteps in the hall giving way to the calls of angry mercenaries.

The gunslinger turned to face the barricade, raising his left hand to eye level. “Let's hope I can still do this.” he muttered, channeling his magicka.

“Shit, any day now!” Tal snapped, bracing against the mound of machinery he had piled in front of the door. “They're ramming the door!”

The ex-Turk nodded. He closed his eyes, focusing the energy into his palm. He imagined a roaring fire; an intense, sorching blaze contained within his grip. Though he had not performed this spell in some time, it felt as natural to him as taking a breath. He curled his fingers inward, closing around a softball-sized orb. A familiar, gentle warmth crawling up his forearm told him he had succeeded.

“FIRA!”