[ 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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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. ]
no subject
no subject
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 subject
Instead she drops her elbow across Parker's shoulder.]
no subject
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. ]
no subject
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. ]
no subject
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.]
no subject
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.
no subject
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.]