FROM: parker@cdc.org hilarious. hurry up. on the halfpipe.
[ Where she will be sitting on, waiting, turning the Blackglass around in her hands back and forth. Hunched up, hood on, laying her chin on her knees. Everything is really quiet. Too quiet.
[It takes her a while; she's a few kilks out and the last vehicle she'd stolen borrowed is even farther, doesn't warrant making a side trip to pick it up just so she can get around to punching Parker a few minutes faster. Once she does get there, it's clear enough that Shepard's not in any hurry. She's got most of hear gear on her, an electric green soda in a glass bottle in the other - raises her free hand in a silent greeting as she crosses the concrete and eventually steps up onto the halfpipe, making her way to the center.
She shades her eyes, takes a swig from the bottle, studies the girl perched up on the wall.]
[ It's not hard to miss her footsteps - it's so quiet you could hear your blood flow - and she stops turning the cellphone around in her hands when they echo through the empty skatepark. She looks up, sitting straighter, and when she stops, Parker slides down the half pipe, springing to her feet quickly. Keeps her hood on, half covering her face so it sort of not really hides her tiredness. ]
Hey.
[ She looks around distractedly, not looking at Shepard once, and slides her hands in her sweater's pockets. ]
[That second one, mostly. The previous station had been claustrophobic for the dust storms, prickled small hairs at the back of her neck for the emptiness and the corpse laded underground. In comparison, 19 is-- simple. Clearly there's some kind of hive mind present, but she's officially playing that angle hands off. None of her goddamn business and they're not staying here long enough for her to decide to go digging.
Right?
Right.
So it's all eating snacks and drinking vending machine beers and trying to keep the cadets focused long enough to run PT a few times a day under the static crackle of the sky. Busy enough.]
[ More or less. Sounds about right when it comes to pitstops, even if her experience isn't that extended. But it's the general feeling. Mini vacations from all the death and planet destroying, or it should. Although this place is nothing like Selena VII, even if this particular station is better than the previous one - creepy children and Russian numbers excluded.
For her, this hasn't been anything like a holiday. Far from it.
But that's beside the point (or maybe that's exactly it) and Shepard is pushing the button easily. Parker gives her a casual shrug, and that's the only signal she gives before kicking the bottle out of her hand unceremoniously, throwing a right hook. Trying to get her by surprise. Provoking her a little, maybe.
[The hook she'd take, but she paid for that shitty carbonated beverage and-- no she hadn't, but that's beside the point. It's still rude as hell, knocks the glass from her hand (pinches her fingers) and sprays soda all over her jacket. Twitches back, wrenching out of the range of that hook - though she can feel the way the air in front of her face changes from the swing, knows how close it was.
Shepard takes a fraction of a second to be offended, to take stock of her damp clothes and the spreading wet mark on the leg of her pants-- and then she strikes the bottle out of the way with her heel, sending it skittering and shrieking across the half pipe, rolling off the edge and away across the concrete.
And she launches herself at Parker: drives with her shoulder.]
[ The truth is, she doesn't care if she is practising properly or if she's winning or losing or even learning (which is usually her main intent, to learn). In this occasion, she just wants to be immersed in the moment and stop thinking about-- everything. Wants to have her mind blank and empty and not buzzing or feeling a constant jab of guilt.
Parker isn't expecting the hook to even land, so it doesn't come as a complete surprise Shepard dodges it. Instead, she doesn't lose balance, tries to use the balance to spin a kick, but she's too far to hit. When she lands back on her feet, the space marine is right in her path stomping towards her. Parker is smaller, but her reflexes are quick enough. She could avoid it.
She doesn't want to.
Parker takes the brunt of the impact with a grunt, feels the whole weight of her falling on her, but she doesn't stay there. Instead, she clings to her, fingers curling in the front of her shirt and tugging near, pinching Shepard's hips between her knees, hard enough to bruise. Uses the momentum to push all of her weight back, trying to invert their position and end up on top. Risky, but once more, she doesn't care to think. Just do. ]
[Drives her to the ground, hollow raw smack! of impact. Her arm moving to pin Parker down across the shoulders-- only then those knobby goddamn knees find her hips, clamp hard and Shepard twists, wrenching back with her shoulders by instinct.
--Either she lets Parker get the upper hand or she gives it up (because this is sparring, right? Can't just beat the girl into submission and hope she learns something); either way, she ends up on her back. Doesn't stay there for long: roaring up before Parker can get a handhold to pin her, making to headbutt Parker square in the face. Because they're playing dirty, right?]
[ It hurts, but it's distracting and it's better like this because she doesn't have time to think and she needs that. When she stops, she thinks. When she's laying down, she's thinking. When she's falling asleep, she's thinking - and then she can't sleep.
So, it's better like this.
She doesn't have time to pin Shepard down; there's an explosion of white pain up her nose and rattles her teeth to the back of her skull. She feels all the hot blood running down her mouth when she bites her cheek with the impact. But she doesn't think about it, because she doesn't want to think, and her hands fly out quickly in that close range, pulling a fist down on her jaw, the other hand gripping her shoulder to pull her closer so she can try to keep her in place, all anger and dirty fighting. There's no learning here at all. ]
[Crack of knuckles on her jaw, white hot brittle pain - but it's easy to shake, to suppress, to throw behind her as she leans up into the hand at her shoulder - swings her free arm, her fist, and claps Parker across the side of the face. Not the sharpest hit, not a cruel blow, but certain and sure and then her fingers are snarling in Parker's hair and making to wrench her off to the side. Lifts her hip in the same beat.
[ In the back of her head, she remembers the lessons to keep her face protect and act fast. Use her weight and size against her opponent as an advantage, not a hinger to herself. And if she cared to defend, maybe she could. But she isn't interested in it, and instead takes the full blow to her face, the sting of the hair pulling and falls over to her side.
She doesn't even hold her arms over her face to defend herself or tries to snake a leg between the two of them to throw Shepard off balance. Instead she swings her arm to sock her face again, unfocused, too busy feeding off the moment, and the hot blood down her mouth and nose and the pulsing pain. ]
[Drags her down the moment she feels any give, grip on her hair a solid, harsh pull-- and comes up, twisting upright straight into the crack of Parker's knuckles. Hot pain riding up from her cheek to her temple, radiating in behind her eye.
She throws herself up, her leg over - this time she gets her arm in, setting it hard across Parker's throat. Uses the weight of her hip and shoulder and arm to keep her there.]
[ The position leave a chill on her spine, the arm pressing down on her throat leaving an eerie familiar feeling that's not really familiar, at least not in reality, but the feeling is there, like haunting the back of her head. Parker makes a noise, barely there from the chokehold. Shepard is much taller than her, bigger, better, and it leaves a cold in her stomach to think she couldn't take her down.
Colder that she's thinking about it, and there's a slight sickness from it.
Parker grunts in effort, trying to push her off of her. She pushes her hips up, trying to sneak a leg between them to kick at Shepard's groin as she arches upwards, in an attempt to throw her off balance and roll over on top of her again. ]
[No dice, Parker. She bears down harder with the line of her arm, wrist flush and taut against Parker's throat. Pressing that small noise flat as she squirms on top of her, kicking with her foot to catch Parker's struggling ankle, to keep her from getting that leg up. Desperate.
She holds her, her other elbow coming down: a hard line against Parker's side. Not a blow, just a restraint.]
Clean slate. [Meaning roll back to square one and start over - there's no way Parker's fighting loose.] On three.
[Counts the beats out in her head. Three. Two. One-- and eases the line of her arm, shifts up, pushes herself upright and off Parker--]
[ Teeth gritted, jaw clenched, Parker groans, deep sound from the back of her throat as she twitches her shoulder violently to try to get Shepard off of her, even if she knows she can't move from where she's pinned. One more try, attempt to push her off with her leg pressed against the outside of her waist, but it's hardly worth it. Doesn't flinch when the other elbow forces her to stay still and she looks at Shepard with angry eyes, eyebrows furrowed.
Wonders just how far off the non-reality of the Black Box was, for a second, thought broken by her words.
As soon as she feels the pressure off of her neck, Parker places her hands near her head and rolls her knees up to jump up to her feet seamlessly. Waits, this time, for Shepard to get into position, and then moves again, instead of waiting for a counter, where her strength lays. Doesn't matter. She doesn't want to win, not really. Fakes a right, but pushes to the left in the last minute, ducking suddenly to strike a blow to her kidneys. ]
[Shepard's comparatively slower to her feet - more bulk, more height, built for strength over agility - but she's quick about settling some comfortable measure of distance between them, chin high and nostrils flaring as she pulls breath into her lungs - as she settles into her heels and the curl of her shoulder comes down. A beat. And then they go again:
Parker's gotten better at not telegraphing where she's going, but this is all elbows and swinging knuckles. Not bad form, not sloppy footwork, just-- obvious. No strategy, just coming for her. She's quick to correct, to compensate for the feint - twists back with her hip and forward with her shoulders, surging into the open space of Parker's dropped shoulder. Catches it instead of Parker's fist, an easier kind of blow - comes down hard with the heel of her hand to pin her there, knee popping up toward Parker's gut.]
[ There's little time and space between them for Parker to protect herself from the knee, but she manages to at least soften the impact, a hand clasping around the other, cupped so to catch Shepard's knee. Not enough strength to push it back, but enough to make it slower as it's pushed against her stomach. Jumps slightly too for a greater distance, even if the hit connects in the end. Makes her croak a broken gasp, but doesn't deter her.
Curved like that, she pushes forward, headbutts Shepard against her solar plexus while pushing her away, hands on her hips to give the shove. Create distance to the next attack, one kick aimed to her chest, the other using the spinning motion of her twisting torso to jump slightly, light on her feet, aiming to strike her face with the heel. ]
[Her head catches, low thud of bone on bone and pinch of skin. Shepard gives with the shove - can't really do much more from this angle anyway except maybe catch Parker, throw her over. And she's done that once already. So she goes, gives, cedes ground - spots her mistake almost immediately as Parker launches up, the heel of her shoe flashing out. Takes the hit to the chest - air slamming out of her. Hand snapping up. Closing on her ankle. Wrenches her face back and away, but feels the faint graze of impact across her temple
But her hand is sure on her foot (even if it means grinding her chest into the shoe), cutting off Parker's spin like hitting a concrete wall. Aiming to drop her.]
[ Parker is good with balance, no need for modesty about it, but she isn't capable of defying the laws of physics and gravity, so when her feet are locked in, she has no other way but down. She yells out between clenched teeth and tries to pull with all of her strength out of her grasp, or the very least pull back her knees so she can lash out forward again and try to get her off of her.
This isn't what she wants at all. She doesn't want this - not just this. Not just fighting and not thinking, and losing. She wants to piss off Shepard. Get her angry enough to make her hit her for real. Not just block and parry and hold her. In the back of her mind, something tells her she needs to know there's a difference between the hits from the Black Box and those from real life. Some sort of string of reality she can hold on to the next time.
Maybe it's just wishful thinking. Destructive wishful thinking, but hopeful nonetheless. ]
[The drop of weight, the smack of Parker's weight onto the half pipe. Almost lets go then, lets her wallow in the failure of it, but then Parker is wrenching, twisting, trying to break free of her grip and Shepard-- tightens her hands, catching her boot on Parker's hip. Steering her around on the smooth concrete and letting go only when she has a purchase with her foot. Kicks her away. Sends her sliding back a few inches so she can step back - one, two, three.
Wishful thinking. Not that it's hard to get Shepard angry, not that it's hard to make her bristle and spit and swing for real. But not like this. Not with fists or heels or knees to the gut. This she knows like the back of her hand, literal muscle memory. Nothing offensive about a punch, not even about the crack of knuckles or the thud of Parker's forehead against her middle.
If Parker's looking for a fight - a real one -, this isn't how to get it. There's no line of tension in her as she sets to pacing, prowling around Parker at an angle.]
[ Probably the best thing she could do would be to taunt her with words and Parker knows how to do that. Push a button, hard enough until the person boils. Prod at the gaping wound. But she doesn't want to talk, tight jawed, teeth locked. Doesn't care about the bruises or the way she's being swung around the half pipe, squeaking against the polished wood.
Again, she's fast on her feet, and she stands, shoulders tense, fingers slightly curled, chest heaving up and down with the adrenaline and the anger. Trying to get the images off her head but they won't leave, like taffy gluing against the back of your teeth.
Shoot them and end this. Your world for my own. ( Bang. ) I'm not leaving you. You would do the same. Shoot them. ( Bang. ) I'm sorry. ( Bang. ) The right thing only gets you so far. ( Bang. )
Parker runs to Shepard, fast, shoulder ready to drive into her, but the last moment she drops, slides right between her legs and flips back up, quick enough to jump on her back and wrap her arm around her neck, pulling, letting her weight pull her down and apply pressure on her throat. ]
[She's ready to catch the blow from her shoulder; she's not ready for Parker to drop of her own volition, to slide out between her feet, to-- she's twisting, but not fast enough. Parker's on her back before she can get around, the line of her arm catching around her throat--
She lurches against the pressure, one hand flying to Parker's wrist. Other hand reaching up, back, over her shoulder: grasping after any hand hold she can find (there isn't one, can't get her fingers closed on Parker's shoulder or the collar of her jacket or--
Slides her grip. Finds Parker's wrist. Gets a hold. A vice grip. Pressing, pressing, small bones and sinew and twisting, trying to get her to recoil - to draw back the line of her arm--]
[ The mocking voice in the back of her mind whispers things to her; like how ironic this is, the way the position are inverted. Maybe how she should put a gun to her back and shoot, like in the simulation (not just a simulation, the pain felt real, the touches, sounds, smells-- everything felt real and made her doubt and wore her down. She could withstand pain, but she was only human. And after the shock it was, from the cuff being turned off, sometimes she finds herself flickering her eyes to it, to see if the light is still there, like an anxious weight in her chest, like they could do it again and she hates that she reminds it so well and how much it had hurt, how much it had shown the power the CDC has over them, their property).
There's a fraction of a second where her strength falters and the grip loosens, but it's only in the blink of an eye. Parker grits her teeth and takes the free hand to punch her in the kidney, hard to leave that soaring pain ringing to her body. Once, twice, and again. Almost to the point where the grip around her throat doesn't matter. She doesn't care. Like Shepard is some kind of punching bag for her to let go of her anger.
Each hit makes her want to shout, "Hit me. Hit me. Stop defending and hit me." But she doesn't. She can't. Can't justify it. Doesn't want to. ]
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i'm not bored.
[ Just restless and fidgety. ]
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Just want a better relationship with the ground. Got it
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hilarious. hurry up. on the halfpipe.
[ Where she will be sitting on, waiting, turning the Blackglass around in her hands back and forth. Hunched up, hood on, laying her chin on her knees. Everything is really quiet. Too quiet.
It gives her the creeps. ]
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:)
[It takes her a while; she's a few kilks out and the last vehicle she'd
stolenborrowed is even farther, doesn't warrant making a side trip to pick it up just so she can get around to punching Parker a few minutes faster. Once she does get there, it's clear enough that Shepard's not in any hurry. She's got most of hear gear on her, an electric green soda in a glass bottle in the other - raises her free hand in a silent greeting as she crosses the concrete and eventually steps up onto the halfpipe, making her way to the center.She shades her eyes, takes a swig from the bottle, studies the girl perched up on the wall.]
Hey.
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Hey.
[ She looks around distractedly, not looking at Shepard once, and slides her hands in her sweater's pockets. ]
Keeping busy?
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[That second one, mostly. The previous station had been claustrophobic for the dust storms, prickled small hairs at the back of her neck for the emptiness and the corpse laded underground. In comparison, 19 is-- simple. Clearly there's some kind of hive mind present, but she's officially playing that angle hands off. None of her goddamn business and they're not staying here long enough for her to decide to go digging.
Right?
Right.
So it's all eating snacks and drinking vending machine beers and trying to keep the cadets focused long enough to run PT a few times a day under the static crackle of the sky. Busy enough.]
Didn't think we were here to chit chat though.
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For her, this hasn't been anything like a holiday. Far from it.
But that's beside the point (or maybe that's exactly it) and Shepard is pushing the button easily. Parker gives her a casual shrug, and that's the only signal she gives before kicking the bottle out of her hand unceremoniously, throwing a right hook. Trying to get her by surprise. Provoking her a little, maybe.
What a cheater. ]
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Shepard takes a fraction of a second to be offended, to take stock of her damp clothes and the spreading wet mark on the leg of her pants-- and then she strikes the bottle out of the way with her heel, sending it skittering and shrieking across the half pipe, rolling off the edge and away across the concrete.
And she launches herself at Parker: drives with her shoulder.]
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Parker isn't expecting the hook to even land, so it doesn't come as a complete surprise Shepard dodges it. Instead, she doesn't lose balance, tries to use the balance to spin a kick, but she's too far to hit. When she lands back on her feet, the space marine is right in her path stomping towards her. Parker is smaller, but her reflexes are quick enough. She could avoid it.
She doesn't want to.
Parker takes the brunt of the impact with a grunt, feels the whole weight of her falling on her, but she doesn't stay there. Instead, she clings to her, fingers curling in the front of her shirt and tugging near, pinching Shepard's hips between her knees, hard enough to bruise. Uses the momentum to push all of her weight back, trying to invert their position and end up on top. Risky, but once more, she doesn't care to think. Just do. ]
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--Either she lets Parker get the upper hand or she gives it up (because this is sparring, right? Can't just beat the girl into submission and hope she learns something); either way, she ends up on her back. Doesn't stay there for long: roaring up before Parker can get a handhold to pin her, making to headbutt Parker square in the face. Because they're playing dirty, right?]
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So, it's better like this.
She doesn't have time to pin Shepard down; there's an explosion of white pain up her nose and rattles her teeth to the back of her skull. She feels all the hot blood running down her mouth when she bites her cheek with the impact. But she doesn't think about it, because she doesn't want to think, and her hands fly out quickly in that close range, pulling a fist down on her jaw, the other hand gripping her shoulder to pull her closer so she can try to keep her in place, all anger and dirty fighting. There's no learning here at all. ]
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Tough love, kid.]
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She doesn't even hold her arms over her face to defend herself or tries to snake a leg between the two of them to throw Shepard off balance. Instead she swings her arm to sock her face again, unfocused, too busy feeding off the moment, and the hot blood down her mouth and nose and the pulsing pain. ]
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She throws herself up, her leg over - this time she gets her arm in, setting it hard across Parker's throat. Uses the weight of her hip and shoulder and arm to keep her there.]
Come on, Addison. Don't get sloppy.
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Colder that she's thinking about it, and there's a slight sickness from it.
Parker grunts in effort, trying to push her off of her. She pushes her hips up, trying to sneak a leg between them to kick at Shepard's groin as she arches upwards, in an attempt to throw her off balance and roll over on top of her again. ]
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She holds her, her other elbow coming down: a hard line against Parker's side. Not a blow, just a restraint.]
Clean slate. [Meaning roll back to square one and start over - there's no way Parker's fighting loose.] On three.
[Counts the beats out in her head. Three. Two. One-- and eases the line of her arm, shifts up, pushes herself upright and off Parker--]
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Wonders just how far off the non-reality of the Black Box was, for a second, thought broken by her words.
As soon as she feels the pressure off of her neck, Parker places her hands near her head and rolls her knees up to jump up to her feet seamlessly. Waits, this time, for Shepard to get into position, and then moves again, instead of waiting for a counter, where her strength lays. Doesn't matter. She doesn't want to win, not really. Fakes a right, but pushes to the left in the last minute, ducking suddenly to strike a blow to her kidneys. ]
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Parker's gotten better at not telegraphing where she's going, but this is all elbows and swinging knuckles. Not bad form, not sloppy footwork, just-- obvious. No strategy, just coming for her. She's quick to correct, to compensate for the feint - twists back with her hip and forward with her shoulders, surging into the open space of Parker's dropped shoulder. Catches it instead of Parker's fist, an easier kind of blow - comes down hard with the heel of her hand to pin her there, knee popping up toward Parker's gut.]
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Curved like that, she pushes forward, headbutts Shepard against her solar plexus while pushing her away, hands on her hips to give the shove. Create distance to the next attack, one kick aimed to her chest, the other using the spinning motion of her twisting torso to jump slightly, light on her feet, aiming to strike her face with the heel. ]
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But her hand is sure on her foot (even if it means grinding her chest into the shoe), cutting off Parker's spin like hitting a concrete wall. Aiming to drop her.]
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This isn't what she wants at all. She doesn't want this - not just this. Not just fighting and not thinking, and losing. She wants to piss off Shepard. Get her angry enough to make her hit her for real. Not just block and parry and hold her. In the back of her mind, something tells her she needs to know there's a difference between the hits from the Black Box and those from real life. Some sort of string of reality she can hold on to the next time.
Maybe it's just wishful thinking. Destructive wishful thinking, but hopeful nonetheless. ]
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Wishful thinking. Not that it's hard to get Shepard angry, not that it's hard to make her bristle and spit and swing for real. But not like this. Not with fists or heels or knees to the gut. This she knows like the back of her hand, literal muscle memory. Nothing offensive about a punch, not even about the crack of knuckles or the thud of Parker's forehead against her middle.
If Parker's looking for a fight - a real one -, this isn't how to get it. There's no line of tension in her as she sets to pacing, prowling around Parker at an angle.]
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Again, she's fast on her feet, and she stands, shoulders tense, fingers slightly curled, chest heaving up and down with the adrenaline and the anger. Trying to get the images off her head but they won't leave, like taffy gluing against the back of your teeth.
Shoot them and end this. Your world for my own. ( Bang. ) I'm not leaving you. You would do the same. Shoot them. ( Bang. ) I'm sorry. ( Bang. ) The right thing only gets you so far. ( Bang. )
Parker runs to Shepard, fast, shoulder ready to drive into her, but the last moment she drops, slides right between her legs and flips back up, quick enough to jump on her back and wrap her arm around her neck, pulling, letting her weight pull her down and apply pressure on her throat. ]
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She lurches against the pressure, one hand flying to Parker's wrist. Other hand reaching up, back, over her shoulder: grasping after any hand hold she can find (there isn't one, can't get her fingers closed on Parker's shoulder or the collar of her jacket or--
Slides her grip. Finds Parker's wrist. Gets a hold. A vice grip. Pressing, pressing, small bones and sinew and twisting, trying to get her to recoil - to draw back the line of her arm--]
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There's a fraction of a second where her strength falters and the grip loosens, but it's only in the blink of an eye. Parker grits her teeth and takes the free hand to punch her in the kidney, hard to leave that soaring pain ringing to her body. Once, twice, and again. Almost to the point where the grip around her throat doesn't matter. She doesn't care. Like Shepard is some kind of punching bag for her to let go of her anger.
Each hit makes her want to shout, "Hit me. Hit me. Stop defending and hit me." But she doesn't. She can't. Can't justify it. Doesn't want to. ]
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for reference this is now day 137 laughs awkwardly
time travel!!
magical world
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