[ 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. ]
[It's not a bad hold, not a bad approach. There's a small voice in her head that recognizes that even as her attempts to get Parker to let go of her slide free. Deserves a kind of reward - clever, sliding past her, catching her where she was slow. It's progress and more tactical than anything else Parker's managed so far. Learning. This is the part where she stills and taps Parker's arm and Parker stops and Shepard says good job. Where they square off, where they start again.
She gets as far as the tap when Parker starts to wail on her kidneys. Drives a sharp bolt of pain through her, hot metal, licking the end of a battery pain taste in her mouth. Shepard's hand snaps shut on her arm reflexively, vice grip. Crushing. One leg wobbling out under the weight and the surge of agony that comes with the second blow, the third.
If this wasn't practice, she's throw herself backward. Use all her bulk, hope she could knock Parker's head on the half pipe. Break her ribs. Dead drop, all her weight. But that's not an option. Instead Shepard leans forward, curling against the oppressive weight on her shoulders and the heat of pain in her side. Tries to do it fast enough to unseat Parker's grip, to send her sliding up - over her head, maybe. At least far enough to catch her breath.]
[ Squaring off, starting again-- it would break the flow. She doesn't really want that. She wants to keep going until adrenaline takes the best out of both of them, make them go too far. It's not conscious though, most of it is deep underneath a thick layer of competitiveness, or at least that's what she's going on of.
The arm around her neck getting gripped so tight hurts; her fingers curl in reaction to the way its held. Part of her is expecting Shepard to jump back (makes sense to her in her head, impulsive, not caring for consequences), so when she suddenly shifts and hurls her over her back, Parker yells out in surprise, hitting the smooth wood of the half pipe with her shoulder harshly, but doesn't care about that. Only to scamper on to her feet, one second to breathe in, and she's back to circle Shepard.
Doesn't have to say anything to taunt, press, push, entice her to go a step further. Doesn't want to talk, let's her body and her eyes tell it. Come on, Shepard. You're falling behind. ]
[The rush of air is immediate, as is how Shepard straightens once she's unceremoniously dumped Parker onto the ground. She takes a full step back, shock of pain snarling up the length of her side as she does - but she ignores it. Pushes it down. Sets her teeth hard until she can ignore it. There's no missing how she walks with a limp though - one, two, three and four strides before she shakes it off: circling opposite Parker, chin tipped high and expression dark.]
Not bad.
[Honest enough, though clearly not appreciative of the excessive punching. She breathes in, breathes out. Vicious little touch rising up, up, up - into her mouth and lodging behind her teeth.]
[ She hears it. The tone, silent between words, but there anyway. It's working and Parker wants it to work. Her lip curls a little, shoulders strain, hands curl tighter (hears a tendon pull around the bone pull, pull, muscles tense and taught). Jaw sets and hears through the taunt.
It's not something she cares for. To be teased and trying to push her over to irritation. Specific things can make her angry, make her all hard wired, but jabs like that, she can take.
Her head tilts slightly and Parker suddenly stops circling. Pushes a foot forward, good grounding, knees bent, light and ready. Standing ground. Words aren't necessary when the stance she takes speaks for itself, a dare for Shepard to move first for once, maybe challenging.
[She should rise to that. It's decent bait. The kind of bullshit that should rankle, that should get a smart-mouthed remark back. 'Maybe you're just getting slow, Shepard.' But nothing comes. Parker squares. Shepard draws up, a jerking twist of her shoulders as she brings herself to a dead stop across from the younger woman. Breathes in. Chest expanding. Air dragging through her nose. Studies Parker, how quiet and brittle she is - how off that is -, and breathes out small through a narrow gap between her top and bottom rows of teeth.
Come on.
She drives forward. Fast. Hard. Feints right and swings left, a raw pop of her fist - brutal knuckles aimed after Parker's face. Black eye might do her some good.]
[ When Shepard takes the first step, Parker sees it. The way the leg bends a fraction of a second before she drives in her direction. Puts her arms up, ready to defend-- wants to counter rather than use her strength, better that way.
She moves out of the way-- if the way had been hadn't been left. So instead of avoiding the hit, she walks right into it, takes the knuckle hard. The strike lands, nothing to hold back, and Parker feels her whole head shake with the impact, sees black spots all over.
Even like that, though, she tries to hit back, elbow aimed at her stomach, even if rushed and sort of wobbly. ]
[But this is Shepard's wheelhouse. Aggression - active forward momentum - striking first and striking hard and driving through whatever resistance rises up to meet it. She punches Parker in the face. Parker's elbow swings. Shepard slams her hand down, open palm, turning the trajectory of the attempted blow without a second thought. Brings her hand back in an arc, fingers closing into a fist. Strikes for Parker's gut.]
[ This definitely isn't Parker's wheelhouse. Especially not against Shepard. She can hold her own against someone of her skill, better against people without it, but against a heavily trained marine?
Clearly not.
She takes the punch to her gut, hard, nearly takes her air out of her lungs, but impacts are something she's used to. Where she lacks in strength and skill, she makes up for it in endurance (even if it doesn't look like). Head pounding, stomach hurting, blood from her mouth, split lip. Parker drives against Shepard with her shoulder, bent like that, pushing hard against the floor and jumping, trying to tip her off balance and smack her down on the floor, trying to pin her down. ]
[No, she's not getting dropped again. She takes the shoulder to her middle - a hard thud -, plants a foot behind her and reaches down across Parker's shoulder, snarling in the waist of her pants as Parker kicks off the floor. Wrenches her around, battling the momentum from the spring. Twisting in Parker's arms. Looking to throw her off - sliding on the soles of his boots across the slick wood of the half pipe but not unbalancing, not falling. Not yet.
Instead she drops her elbow across Parker's shoulder.]
It's about what she gets in her head before Shepard is slamming down on her shoulder, hitting all the sore spots at once and she can't help but to cry out as she goes down, hands losing grip. Falls on her face.
For a second, less than that, she stays there. Doesn't want to move an inch. Hard wood floor, slick and smooth. If she stays there, maybe she can stop for a second. A while longer. Stop doing things. Just stop-- even if she can't. Won't.
And her refusal is what gets her to roll on her back, kick up, try to push Shepard back to have space for getting up. ]
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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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She gets as far as the tap when Parker starts to wail on her kidneys. Drives a sharp bolt of pain through her, hot metal, licking the end of a battery pain taste in her mouth. Shepard's hand snaps shut on her arm reflexively, vice grip. Crushing. One leg wobbling out under the weight and the surge of agony that comes with the second blow, the third.
If this wasn't practice, she's throw herself backward. Use all her bulk, hope she could knock Parker's head on the half pipe. Break her ribs. Dead drop, all her weight. But that's not an option. Instead Shepard leans forward, curling against the oppressive weight on her shoulders and the heat of pain in her side. Tries to do it fast enough to unseat Parker's grip, to send her sliding up - over her head, maybe. At least far enough to catch her breath.]
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The arm around her neck getting gripped so tight hurts; her fingers curl in reaction to the way its held. Part of her is expecting Shepard to jump back (makes sense to her in her head, impulsive, not caring for consequences), so when she suddenly shifts and hurls her over her back, Parker yells out in surprise, hitting the smooth wood of the half pipe with her shoulder harshly, but doesn't care about that. Only to scamper on to her feet, one second to breathe in, and she's back to circle Shepard.
Doesn't have to say anything to taunt, press, push, entice her to go a step further. Doesn't want to talk, let's her body and her eyes tell it. Come on, Shepard. You're falling behind. ]
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Not bad.
[Honest enough, though clearly not appreciative of the excessive punching. She breathes in, breathes out. Vicious little touch rising up, up, up - into her mouth and lodging behind her teeth.]
You might almost be learning something.
[That one's meant to cut.]
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It's not something she cares for. To be teased and trying to push her over to irritation. Specific things can make her angry, make her all hard wired, but jabs like that, she can take.
Her head tilts slightly and Parker suddenly stops circling. Pushes a foot forward, good grounding, knees bent, light and ready. Standing ground. Words aren't necessary when the stance she takes speaks for itself, a dare for Shepard to move first for once, maybe challenging.
Come on. ]
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Come on.
She drives forward. Fast. Hard. Feints right and swings left, a raw pop of her fist - brutal knuckles aimed after Parker's face. Black eye might do her some good.]
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She moves out of the way-- if the way had been hadn't been left. So instead of avoiding the hit, she walks right into it, takes the knuckle hard. The strike lands, nothing to hold back, and Parker feels her whole head shake with the impact, sees black spots all over.
Even like that, though, she tries to hit back, elbow aimed at her stomach, even if rushed and sort of wobbly. ]
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Clearly not.
She takes the punch to her gut, hard, nearly takes her air out of her lungs, but impacts are something she's used to. Where she lacks in strength and skill, she makes up for it in endurance (even if it doesn't look like). Head pounding, stomach hurting, blood from her mouth, split lip. Parker drives against Shepard with her shoulder, bent like that, pushing hard against the floor and jumping, trying to tip her off balance and smack her down on the floor, trying to pin her down. ]
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Instead she drops her elbow across Parker's shoulder.]
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It's about what she gets in her head before Shepard is slamming down on her shoulder, hitting all the sore spots at once and she can't help but to cry out as she goes down, hands losing grip. Falls on her face.
For a second, less than that, she stays there. Doesn't want to move an inch. Hard wood floor, slick and smooth. If she stays there, maybe she can stop for a second. A while longer. Stop doing things. Just stop-- even if she can't. Won't.
And her refusal is what gets her to roll on her back, kick up, try to push Shepard back to have space for getting up. ]
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for reference this is now day 137 laughs awkwardly
time travel!!
magical world
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