[ 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. ]
[The flat smack! of Parker dropping has a low level, satisfying ring to it. But it's not the same as dropping someone because she has to, not even the same as dropping someone for fun. Just a small vicious little surge of pleasure - fair for the blow to her kidneys - and then she's clamping down on it hard. This isn't a spar. Gets that. It's something else. Parker bumping up against some kind of wall. They'd been on Aqada a long time, hadn't they?
Doesn't mean Shepard has to stoop so low. So she cedes the space - one, two strides back - so Parker can get to her feet. And then farther. Another step. Moves well out of range, line of her back straightening. Shoulders rolling back out of that forward, driving curve. It's not really a fighting stance.]
for reference this is now day 137 laughs awkwardly
[ She gets up in one move, hands planted behind her, hips pushing up and prompting herself up. Shoulders heaving up and down, sweat and blood. Sore muscles, knuckles bruised. Teeth clenched, each breath a hiss. She's backing up but Parker can't turn off the anger inside her chest.
The fight was a good excuse for it. A good cover. Hiding anger with adrenaline, spur of the moment. But it isn't from the moment at all and she doesn't want to stop being angry. Because if she stops, she has to think about everything. Hear it, see it in her head. Feel it again in a memory that doesn't want to fade. Would she really do it? In a different universe, a parallel future-- an alternative timeline. Maybe there's one happening right now. ]
Don't-- [ She finally opens her mouth, to say something. Anything. Don't turn away. She doesn't want this to end. Please.
Parker bends over herself, hands on knees, gripping jeans tight enough to turn red knuckles white. Not because she's tired or needs her pause, but because it's the only way to hide her face without being too evident. Clenches her jaw so hard it hurts, frown so deep it wrinkles all her lines. Put yourself back together, Andy.
She straightens up again, fists curled by her sides. ]
Why did you stop? [ Not said as a question but as a demand. ]
[Because she's got blood all over her face from that split lip, for one. Because she's going to have one hell of a shiner. Because--]
I'm not interested in kicking the shit out of you.
[--Because that's what this is, right? Asking for a beating. Doesn't know why, but knows that look. Knows what it's like to drive headlong into something she knows it going to chew her up and spit her out again. She's not here to do that. Not when it's clear enough that a good smack isn't rattling anything loose except for maybe Parker's teeth.
Shepard squares to her, razor straight line of her shoulders. Chin up. Looks down her nose at the girl.]
[ There's a moment, a tiny, barely imperceptible moment, where Parker eyebrows knit, eyes glance away from the sharp stare, shoulder drop. But it's gone in the blink of an eye, faster, because she can't let that out.
Parker brings a palm to her mouth, wipes the blood from her lip and then her nose against the back of her hand. Holds it there for a second longer. Can hear it, in the darker side of her brain. Feel it in the back of her throat. ]
Whatever.
[ Tired. Whiny like a kid that's been denied their toy. Looks at Shepard one last time before she turns away, hands shoved into her pockets and curled into angry fists. Like trying to hold on to it. ]
It doesn't change anything in her stance - feet shoulder width apart, hands open at her sides, undeniably military in every bone. It doesn't change anything in the internal tick, tick, tick of her thought process either - no forethought to what comes to her mouth when words rise there, no second guessing what she says when she does:]
[ It's brief, the thought she entertains, to tell her. That she's tired. She's so tired of trying and coming up empty handed. She's so tired of feeling useless when she tries so hard in finding a place for herself. Tired of not being needed, of wanting to give up, of not giving up, of holding back, of biting her tongue, of not-- not being able to fight against it. Having to curb with every fiber of her being the need to speak, to do the right thing. To bury it and to pick it back up in the hardest of times.
Wants to tell her for a second, that she's so tired because the Black Box is so suffocating that she can't shake the feeling that what happens there might just happen one day and she won't know what to do then. And that she doesn't want to feel her friends not needing her all the time. It's selfish, maybe, that sense of acknowledgement she craves. Misses it. She was good at what she did, once. Little rebel. Right arm of the resistance.
Reduced to this. Better people around her. Smarter, faster, braver. More than she will ever amount to.
All that, and all that Parker does is to keep walking. Tight voice. ]
I was just bored. [ She raises a hand, all casual. Tone soft and light. ] I'll see you later.
[Distance spinning out: her standing at the center of the half pipe, Parker ranging out farther and farther - off the wood and on to the concrete of the skate park. She could call out to her, insist on some version of honesty (because 'just bored' is, she's sure, not the truth or not all of it).
Instead the line between them spools out and out and out like a life support cable. Like going for a space walk on the hull of a ship and getting bounced off, but sure the line will catch. There are systems in place for that kind of thing. Safety nets.
Not here though. Here Shepard watches her go, the itch to say something trapped in her mouth. Here she keeps her jaw clamped shut around that urge. Here she lets Parker walk away from her.]
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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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Doesn't mean Shepard has to stoop so low. So she cedes the space - one, two strides back - so Parker can get to her feet. And then farther. Another step. Moves well out of range, line of her back straightening. Shoulders rolling back out of that forward, driving curve. It's not really a fighting stance.]
for reference this is now day 137 laughs awkwardly
The fight was a good excuse for it. A good cover. Hiding anger with adrenaline, spur of the moment. But it isn't from the moment at all and she doesn't want to stop being angry. Because if she stops, she has to think about everything. Hear it, see it in her head. Feel it again in a memory that doesn't want to fade. Would she really do it? In a different universe, a parallel future-- an alternative timeline. Maybe there's one happening right now. ]
Don't-- [ She finally opens her mouth, to say something. Anything. Don't turn away. She doesn't want this to end. Please.
Parker bends over herself, hands on knees, gripping jeans tight enough to turn red knuckles white. Not because she's tired or needs her pause, but because it's the only way to hide her face without being too evident. Clenches her jaw so hard it hurts, frown so deep it wrinkles all her lines. Put yourself back together, Andy.
She straightens up again, fists curled by her sides. ]
Why did you stop? [ Not said as a question but as a demand. ]
time travel!!
I'm not interested in kicking the shit out of you.
[--Because that's what this is, right? Asking for a beating. Doesn't know why, but knows that look. Knows what it's like to drive headlong into something she knows it going to chew her up and spit her out again. She's not here to do that. Not when it's clear enough that a good smack isn't rattling anything loose except for maybe Parker's teeth.
Shepard squares to her, razor straight line of her shoulders. Chin up. Looks down her nose at the girl.]
magical world
Parker brings a palm to her mouth, wipes the blood from her lip and then her nose against the back of her hand. Holds it there for a second longer. Can hear it, in the darker side of her brain. Feel it in the back of her throat. ]
Whatever.
[ Tired. Whiny like a kid that's been denied their toy. Looks at Shepard one last time before she turns away, hands shoved into her pockets and curled into angry fists. Like trying to hold on to it. ]
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It doesn't change anything in her stance - feet shoulder width apart, hands open at her sides, undeniably military in every bone. It doesn't change anything in the internal tick, tick, tick of her thought process either - no forethought to what comes to her mouth when words rise there, no second guessing what she says when she does:]
Did something happen?
[Addresses the question to Parker's back.]
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Wants to tell her for a second, that she's so tired because the Black Box is so suffocating that she can't shake the feeling that what happens there might just happen one day and she won't know what to do then. And that she doesn't want to feel her friends not needing her all the time. It's selfish, maybe, that sense of acknowledgement she craves. Misses it. She was good at what she did, once. Little rebel. Right arm of the resistance.
Reduced to this. Better people around her. Smarter, faster, braver. More than she will ever amount to.
All that, and all that Parker does is to keep walking. Tight voice. ]
I was just bored. [ She raises a hand, all casual. Tone soft and light. ] I'll see you later.
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Instead the line between them spools out and out and out like a life support cable. Like going for a space walk on the hull of a ship and getting bounced off, but sure the line will catch. There are systems in place for that kind of thing. Safety nets.
Not here though. Here Shepard watches her go, the itch to say something trapped in her mouth. Here she keeps her jaw clamped shut around that urge. Here she lets Parker walk away from her.]