[color=black][h2][b]The Last Thing You’d Expect[/b][/h2][/color] Motley Crue was fairly certain that that wasn’t how probability worked. Even so, if something like that did inexplicably work in the Kaptain’s favour, who was he to complain? Besides which, there were more important matters to consider - the Old Basilica, in what he could only assume was the section of the city he’d travelled to earlier, was apparently the location of the Wishing Machine itself. Fascinating. And it happened that a wall of cereal, even diamond-hard, was no match for Heavy Fuel’s corrosive nature, as proven earlier. If the machine needed using, then… or, say, destroying... Nonetheless, he had his reasons to protest when he was promptly ordered by Runch to snoop around and get more information on the tournament’s hosts, something that directly contradicted their earlier agreement to stick together for one another’s protection. It was a smart idea, one that had flashed into his mind at practically the same instant as Runch’s, but... [color=black]'Runch,'[/color] Motley explained as the pirate turned, [color=black]'did I not just join your- uh… “crew” on the grounds that leaving you to potentially die would be uncouth of me? Whilst leaving to learn more about the competition would be a good idea...'[/color] [color=bc8dbf]'No, he has a point,'[/color] Erina responded, head cocking to one side. [color=bc8dbf]'If he’s tough enough to survive you, I’m pretty sure there’s basically nobody Runch can’t outlast.'[/color] [color=black]'I also wasn’t trying to kill him. Somebody who has no compunctions about gathering allies might be more proactive about it, and loathe as I am to say it, they might also be [i]stronger[/i] than I am.'[/color] Motley’s ear caught the sound of an approaching drone, and he watched as Oren’s machine filmed them from above, before unsubtly angling itself in the direction of… now, hadn’t he come from there earlier? He’d certainly fought Erina in what he knew as Oldtown, but aside from starting near the unusually helpful smithy, he’d never gotten the name of the area he was in. Nonetheless, that was where he- where Runch was headed. He had other things- ...no he didn’t. That first blip of static could have been imagined, but the following blips certainly couldn’t. And what they left behind was no hallucination. [color=black]'You know what, it’s no longer negotiable. I think it’s best I stay with you for now, Runch,'[/color] Motley muttered, tacitly bringing Heavy Fuel out of his body to pool around his feet. At the same time, Erina rubbed her eyes, as if unsure what she was seeing, before glancing between her two allies with an increasingly concerned frown. More tellingly, Runch himself apparently couldn’t see them at all, whether or not he got the basic gist of what was happening... a Stand, then? [color=bc8dbf]'...yyyeah, Motley should stay with you, Captain. Just- just for a little while, right? Because of, uh… there’s tentacles with mouths running around, like disembodied tentacles? Those are. A thing.'[/color] As always, Erina’s blatant lying was rather obvious, but the fact of the matter was, discerning what she was actually lying about would be… probably a hindrance, actually. No, that wasn’t appropriate this time. [color=black]'Suffice to say, we may shortly be under attack.'[/color] In an almost anti-climactic turn of events, the shadowy figures left behind by those static blips - which by now surrounded the trio for what seemed to be dozens of meters, many of which had moved to surround them - did precisely nothing for at least a minute, aside from ensuring they were always out of arm’s reach. Motley highly suspected they’d do the same thing if attacked by Heavy Fuel... and alas, whilst it wasn’t despairingly slow, it also wasn’t the fastest of Stands. Speak of the devil, of course - no sooner had he had that thought than a pair of what seemed to be missiles flew toward and exploded near Runch’s group, showering them all with fortunately-harmless shrapnel. And after that, the perpetrators revealed themselves - two staff members, judging by their introductions and attitudes, and oh, wasn’t that aura around them most interesting, not to mention the shadowy bodyguards of theirs? For some reason, he doubted he’d need to keep them alive. [color=black]'Get behind me, both of you,'[/color] Motley uttered, frankly less concerned than he ought to be. [color=black]'And Runch, if you wouldn’t mind looking these two up in your booklet whilst I handle them?'[/color] Enemy Stands were one thing, but combined with his vampiric power, he had more than enough of an arsenal to outmatch them, especially since both of them appeared to be long-range in nature, ensuring they wouldn’t have an especially notable amount of strength. The shadowy one’s ability was another matter, but nonetheless, all Motley had to do was get up close, and the fight was as good as over. But first, he had to get up close, and Miss Rocket Launcher was proving to be an obstacle to that. He allowed Heavy Fuel to spill out as far as possible, crackling with the power of his breathing as it attempted to spear the members of the crowd surrounding them whilst keeping Erina and Runch in small, unaffected circles inside its mass; at the same time, he aimed a finger toward the fastest of the missiles, and with but a moment of compression, he fired off a fingernail tied to his body with a rope of blood vessels, and itself engulfed in the black, oily mass of Heavy Fuel’s form, the Stand’s mass expanding out in a widening cloud from the blood vessels themselves. With any luck, that fingernail would spear right through the missile and detonate it almost instantly, or at worst the enemy’s attack would likely be destroyed as it attempted to pass through Heavy Fuel’s form - a fingernail was easily regrown, after all, and was certainly a more acceptable loss than any part of his center of mass. After that, he’d need to handle the slower rockets - not to mention the faster missile if his initial plan somehow failed. His remaining fingernails blew out of their beds, trailing veins and arteries back to his hands, and he threw his hands over his head, the makeshift harpoons whipping around himself and his teammates to form a much wider field that Heavy Fuel could spew out of - and ultimately, a much wider “crumple zone” for the rockets to blow themselves up within, not to mention forcing away the shadowy Stand’s bodies even further than they might already have been. They didn’t seem to make any sound or emit any smell, which would be the senses he’d rely on when he couldn’t see through his own Stand, but perhaps he was wrong on that front... [@Lugubrious][@ProPro]