[SE] lickety-split

JACK

Slowly, Jack's telepathy is starting to adjust to the different flavours of chaos in the air. He can sample one sweat-soaked thought and touch on another half formed idea to swing at his head simultaneously, the captain settling into a savage dance that has most hits missing him and others barely leaving their mark. What he can't account for, of course, is the one wildcard in the mix, the one mind forever shrouded in a fog of war neither man is willing to lower - not on purpose.

So it is that as Vesper's misplaced punch comes sailing for his jaw, Jack absolutely doesn't see it coming, and it hits him hard. Staggering to the side, blood in his teeth and a cut from the imprint of one of Vesper's silver rings already starting to welt and ooze red, Jack isn't the only one who stops, surprised. All the thugs do, the captain straightening up and feeling his own mental walls warble and flicker, enough for a what the fuck? response to slip through.

"Huh," he says, voice hoarse and mind spinning, his crooked smile too red to be entirely genuine. Before their opponents can recover, Jack steps in, his fist already raised to neatly pop Vesper in the face in return. He doesn't insult him by pulling the punch either, rolling his shoulders and offering a quick nod, before swinging hard once more at one of the other gathered men as if to remind them all what they're meant to be doing.