lieutenantantichrist | [17] [Text/Action for Mahogany] - "Whenever You Get Involved, Someone Gets Hurt."

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[17] [Text/Action for Mahogany] - "Whenever You Get Involved, Someone Gets Hurt."

[ACTION]

[In a low-rent corner of Mahogany, there's a real gym. No mazes, no boss trying to fight you in exchange for something they call a badge, no lackeys, just weight machines and a floor covered with rubber mats, the way it should be. Open twenty-four hours, and this late there's no human in this room but Blake. He's in a sweatsuit, gray in contrast to the brown of the Hitmonlee holding pads for him in its upraised paws. The only sound is his harsh breaths and the thump of his fists on the canvas. His shoulders are hunched like a boxer's. His eyes look straight ahead. Judging from the sweat darkening the back of his shirt, he's been here a while.

On the other side of the room, a Snubbull is sitting on the floor, looking at a Gear that's resting on the mats. A Musharna floats beside her. Fifteen minutes of frustration proved that claws are no good for texting with, but she wants to talk to someone. She really wants to.

She snubs softly, so as not to make her trainer angry. The Musharna's eyes show no reaction, but the buttons on the Gear depress. The text that Steve watches appear seems to be accurate, more or less. The transcription might come strange through the dreaming creature. It's close enough for what she needs.]

[TEXT]

Hello lo low hello

Please talk to me.
I want to talk.
I will tell you my favorite story.
He told it to me when I couldn't sleep. His eyes were closed for some of it but I shook his knee and got to hear the end. Without the end it isn't a story.

Once
upon a time there was a girl. She was poor and alone because her parents were dead, and child services didn't exist then, so she had to go to live with her wicked stepmother and do work for her. Hard work, the kind that nearly killed her, but in time she got used to it.

Then one day she heard the prince was giving a big ball. She asked to go, but her stepmother wouldn't let her. So she tried to run off and get a ride to the castle from a knight, but her wicked stepmother had tailled her, and she found her and dragged her off the horse. While she was going, the wicked stepmother threw the knight a gold coin. He held onto it, and he kept looking at it all the time. He kept thinking about the girl.
He wanted to help her, but he couldn't.

The knight went to the ball, and he was going to kill the prince, but there were too many guards around watching him, so he ran away.

Then the knight went to find the girl and save her. The wicked stepmother grazed him in the neck with an evil spell, but he killed her and all the other guys too, even though he got hurt bad. At first the girl was scared, but then she was free and she was okay. She got to go back home to her real parents. The knight was a hero. All the papers said so.

And everyone lived happily ever after.

..........
..........
..........

Tell me your favorite story.
Voice or video if you can.
The words alone are lonely.

Tell me please.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

You don't wanna be here, kid.

[He swings his fist at the pad in the Hitmonlee's hand, hard enough to send it a step back.]

You don't wanna talk to me.

You're right.

I walked across town in the middle of the night to come not talk to you.

Actually, I was thinking I could join in. It's been awhile since I've trained with anybody but my Hitmonchan.

_{[She folds her arms.]}

How about it? Yay? Nay?

[He looks at her darkly over his raised hands.] Did my dog call you?

[He shakes his head like a bull. His shoulders are raised, hunched up.]

I'm not punching a little girl.

Get out of here.

Actually, she and I were having a real nice conversation about rabbits that had nothing to do with you, so yes but no.

_{[She pauses, vaguely insulted but mostly just exasperated by his refusal-- it's not like it comes as a surprise. Still, her eyes are hooded when she replies, matter-of-factly--]}

Funny, you didn't used to have a problem with punching little girls.

_{[That's right Blake. You're never living down that thing with Parker.]}

Edited 2014-07-11 18:45 (UTC)

[Right now Blake is beyond anything going on around him, nothing matters besides what's in his head--

That hits home hard.

Blake snarls and rams his fist hard into the pad.] Fuck you.

_{[If Heather's fazed by that, she doesn't show it. She's probably not. It's hardly the worst thing anyone's said to her before.]}

Okay, we can play it that way, too.

_{[She sinks into a crosslegged sitting position right there on the edge of the mat. In a way that suggests she's not gonna leave.]}

[Blake's used to being able to cow people pretty well. It's not working now when he needs it to, and that's one more twist to the knot in his gut.

His hands drop to his sides as Heather plonks down.

His voice is low, with a cold edge. There's something not entirely there in his eyes.]

I'm not in the mood to humor any teenage horseshit. I said get out.

[From the other side of the room, Steve makes her way over, the Musharna floating behind her as if on a chance breeze. When Blake's eyes fall on her, she hesitates and her steps falter. Then her mouth tightens stubbornly. She comes over, crosses her arms, and sits down beside Heather.

Blake looks down at the two of them.

He turns away, hunches his shoulders, and throws a punch at the pads still held up by the Hitmonlee. Then another. Soon he's back in a rhythm, though one slowed by his sore, heavy arms.]

Fine. Sit there all fucking night. I don't give a damn.

_{[Heather's been cowed by people far crueler than Blake, and his surly cop bluster pales in comparison. So she props her chin on her fist and stares up at him dully.]}

You know I'm not a teenager.

But thanks, yeah, I think I'll stick around.

_{[She reaches out an arm to lay a hand between Steve's ears, reassuringly. She's got you, girl.]}

[Steve leans against her, more relieved than she can say. It's good to have an ally. She can't be scared when Heather's here.

Blake turns away and ignores them both.

He tries to fall back into the mindless rhythm of rote violence. One hit, and then another, and another. But it's not the same. He can only keep it up for about five minutes before he stops to growl at Heather.]

Are you still here?

_{[If anyone knows how scary it is to be alone when someone a hell of a lot bigger than you is mad... it's probably Heather. Those memories from her first life aren't buried in her subconscious anymore, after all.]

[But she's bigger than she was back then, and it takes a lot more to scare her, too.]

[So she stays.]

[And looks up at Blake dryly when he addresses her again.]}

Nope, I'm just a figment of your imagination.

[Blake's look down at her is steady and cold.]

What do you want?

One of two things.

_{[She holds up two fingers to demonstrate her point. You know, just in case it isn't clear.]}

One, we can talk about your feelings and get all our kum-ba-yahs out in the open. Maybe go for a drink afterwards.

Or two, if you'd rather set yourself on fire than cry it out to a little girl, which I suspect is the case, we punch it out instead. And really, I don't blame you for the second one seeming like a better option.

_{[Lowering her hand again, she reaches for the bag next to her and digs around in it-- removing a literal pair of punching gloves. She holds them up and waggles them enticingly.]}

I don't have any feelings to talk about.

[But she doesn't sound like she's going to give up anytime soon.

And she brought her own damn boxing gloves.

Blake looks at them in disbelief, then back up to her face.] You gotta be kidding me.

Kid, even if you weren't a little girl, I got fifty pounds and half a foot on you, easy.

I'm not hitting you, no matter how much of a pain in my ass you are.

_{[She stares unblinkingly back for a moment before speaking.]}

In the four years I've been here, I've gotten combat training from a soldier who was a prisoner of war in Iraq, a Special Ops guy who could knock people out without them ever even knowing he was in the same room, and a weapons expert who'd been fighting wars for thousands of years. In space.

_{[... And then there was that one time she had a lesson with an assassin, but she doesn't really count that. :I]}

And that's just counting what I've had here.

_{[She props her chin on her fist. Her tone is completely dead serious.]}

I've fought bigger and meaner than you, Blake.

And I've won.

But sure.

Save me from your extra half-a-foot and fifty pounds.

[Blake hears her, but hardly listens. Then he stops in mid-swing. What trickles through is the fact that she's not going to go away and leave him to his brooding and self-loathing without a push.

He rounds on her. His voice is soft, and more dangerous than when he's yelling.]

Fine. You wanna go, kid?

[With a jerk of his hand, he gestures toward himself.]

Go ahead. Hit me.

_{[... Yeah, she can kinda tell everything she just said went in one ear and out the other. Oh well. His problem, not hers.]

[He'll never be able to say she hadn't warned him.]

[She doesn't say anything else-- just gets to her feet. Dusts off her knees and the back of her jeans. Takes her time doing it, too. Then she starts to unlace the gloves, seemingly in preparation to pull them on.]

[Halfway through loosening up the first of them, she whirls on her heel without warning. Her fist is already swinging, and it's heading for his jaw. Hard.]}

[If he were in his right mind, Blake would be growling at her to hurry up. But a strange patience has fallen over him. Time doesn't mean anything here.

This isn't the first time a girl's taken a swing at him. Blake's been attacked by representatives of every place on the socioeconomic spectrum. Teenage girls can be stronger than they look, especially when they're screaming and pissed off, but what they do is they scratch, bite, and kick.

He sees her move and jerks back by reflex. Instinct tells him the range; in the rare cause a girl like her tries a punch, they're always short and abortive, without any weight or follow-through behind them.

So when her fist cracks audibly across his face, what makes him yell out is surprise as much as pain.

He stumbles back, pressing his hand to what will soon be a hell of a bruise.] What the fuck?!

_{[The punch had fallen a little lower than she'd intended it to, and the smarting on her knuckles is pretty intense. Ouch. But otherwise, she'd done it properly. Thumb outside of the fingers, plenty of follow-through.]

[And she doesn't hesitate before throwing another-- this one at his stomach.]

[She doesn't say a word.]

[She's not fuckin' around anymore.]}

[Well this was a great idea, because Blake's forgotten all about his problems for a moment, since the primary one is now the angry little girl making a surprisingly focused effort to kick his ass. His Hitmonlee hops well out of the way.]

Holy shit!

[The throb in his jaw means his attention is kicked into gear. This one he sees coming and blocks.]

_{[Good, he was able to block. Now Heather doesn't feel... QUITE as bad about doing this.]

[Although there's a certain grim satisfaction in earning a blurted "Holy shit!" from the guy who'd been trying so hard to blow her off, she remains stonefaced as she sidesteps and-- instead of throwing another punch-- kicks out with one leg and stomps her foot down behind one of Blake's, before sweeping it back towards herself, aiming to entangle and knock him off of his feet. Or at least off-balance.]}

[You've got him taking you seriously now, that's for sure.]

Damn it, kid, you made your point! [She doesn't look like she's anywhere near done.] I'm not gonna fuckin' hit you!

[She kicks out and he twists away, and he is just feeling a flash of satisfaction at dodging it when he finds out there's a foot wedged behind him, and he is falling flat on his ass.

How long has he been in here, mindlessly pounding at the pads? When he tries to get up, his muscles do their best to let him know. He falls back with a thud.]

_{[When he hits the ground, she stands at the ready, waiting for him to rise again-- and when he fails to do so, she lowers her hands to her sides.]

[Stepping over to him (but keeping out of reach-- she's learned the hard way in the past that just because an enemy's down doesn't mean the fight's over), she bends over a little to look him in the eye.]}

Satisfied?

[Blake catches enough breath to growl at her.] Smug brat.

[He's not going to punch a little girl.

He will, however, reach up and try to shove over a little girl.]

_{[At long last, her mouth curls into a smirk. She steps neatly backwards out of shoving range, clasping her hands behind her back.]}

I know.

[Blake lets the useless action pull him up and flop him into a sitting position. He tosses his arms over his knees. From a few steps away, Steve watches with inscrutable animal eyes.

His jaw aches, his muscles ache, and he is very tired.

He says dully to the mats] Fine, you win, kid.

What do you want?

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