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 Posted: Fri Aug 17, 2012 1:24 pm
Shalott, and Kyndall, appreciated a good fight. She just didn't allow herself many of them, lost as she was in her transition. There were a lot of things up the air, not the least of which was her moral dilemma about whether it was wrong or right to hurt those on the opposite side. She'd known Beni to be lost and confused once upon a time. He was hardened now and she felt no small amount of guilt. Could she have prevented it? Should she have tried harder to do so?
She was not, she told herself, a violent woman by nature. She would much prefer to avoid the fight if she could but if it came to letting him go to steal from more innocent people and stepping up she'd do what was right: the honorable thing. That was what this had come to and she was more than willing to step up and do what was needful.
She could not avoid every hit he threw at her. By practice she could pick which of his hits would do more damage but it was all wearing on her the longer it went on. At least he didn't try to pull her hair. That would have been embarrassing. Fight with honor. Her punches and kicks, however, were getting progressively more daring, ruthless, out of necessity and just being caught in the fight. Fighting was something easy to sink into, a warm blanket or a soft shirt. It wasn't complicated and the burning of her muscles felt good.
She was actually beginning to enjoy it.
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Posted: Fri Aug 17, 2012 2:19 pm
Remarque had not met someone who could keep up with him in a while. They had different fighting styles; he preferred brute force as opposed to making a battle more like a dance. He’d sunk a good number of blows on Shalott, but arrogance was a flow Remarque had yet to acknowledge.
Defense was never his strong suit, but she’d caught him entirely off guard with a blow that had him seeing stars for a split second. He didn’t know if it had been a fist, an elbow, a foot—all he knew was that it hurt, and he tasted blood.
He was certain he’d heard a crack—though that could have just been his brain smashing against his skull—and took a step back to stabilize himself as he assessed the damage. He reached hand up to wipe the blood from his face, though realized perhaps she’d gotten a much better hit in than he’d expected. His hand was coated with a dripping blood. Between the blood seeping from his nose, the busted lip seemed like overkill.
While it wasn’t enough to stop him, it was enough to slow him down and he watched Shalott warily as he reached his arm up to mop at his face again, trying to resist the urge to cringe at the contact. Except, he did.
It didn’t matter how many years he’d spent boxing, or taking blows to the face, it still hurt. Words eluded him, not because he couldn’t think of any (he had quite a few expletives in mind) but because he was trying to focus on not breathing through his nose.
He probably shouldn’t have sucked in such a large breath through his mouth, though—or should have spit out the blood, first. The result was an unpleasant tingly down his throat as it went down the wrong pipe—eliciting a violent, wet cough.
This was not something he could control, so he took another step back, at the very least intending to put distance between him and Shalott so she couldn’t’ surprise him with another well placed blow.
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Posted: Tue Aug 21, 2012 10:03 am
Shalott hadn't stopped moving even as he reeled back from her blow. She was completely lost in the fight and how good it felt to let go. But letting go was dangerous, too, and another blow was aimed somewhere else, more dangerous, and she was ready to make it before she noticed the look in his eyes. And then all the blood. She pulled the punch just in time, standing stock still.
When he coughed and the wet sound echoed, spitting blood on the pavement her instincts seemed to kick back in and her arm dropped to her side from hanging in the air. Her eyes flooded with tears. She hadn't intended to hurt him, to hurt anyone, like this. Maybe she got lucky. Maybe it was skill or maybe a little bit of both. She didn't know.
"God, what have I done?"
The voice had completely changed and she didn't sound like a cynical knight anymore. She sounded softer and moved to reach for him. Though this time she didn't plan on doing any harm. Instead she was trying to help him, grabbing something she could use to mop up the blood. Tears were streaming from her eyes. She was not cut out for this and never could be.
"Tilt your head back."
She helped him to a convenient surface for him to sit, the school's monument, and had him do so, coming to sit beside him. Tears flowed freely down her cheeks. She could not help but think he was a human being under there and someone's son, brother, uncle, friend.
"I'm so sorry."
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Posted: Wed Aug 22, 2012 11:22 am
Remarque was a prideful sort. He did not like help—especially when he did not need it. He had been hit before, hit with blows far harder than the one Shalott had and still managed to rise to the top. Sometimes. Sometimes someone just got a blow so good in that there wasn’t any recovering form it. Remarque liked to think that this would have been a blow he’d have recovered quickly from—with or without her interference.
It was unlike him to be taken by surprise; for as much as he’d always liked to swing his fists, he was calculating about it. But Shalott had certainly taken him by surprise, and her attitude about the whole incident was almost more surprising than the fact that she had actually landed a good blow.
Her manner of leading him was strange—teacherly, or motherly—in such a way that he wasn’t quite sure how to shove the woman away or tell her to back off. Half-choking on his blood was a good way to get him to keep quiet, though; blood drowning his lungs wasn’t going to be any better than swallowing the s**t—not with how upset it always made his stomach.
Tilting his head back as Shalott requested, he looked away from her only to spit out another mouthful of blood before he addressed, “—Why the hell are you apologizing? Was a good hit. You should be proud.” But that was just his own pride talking. “Seriously,” he added a minute later, tilting his head back as she had requested. A woman crying put him in an awkward position; he had never been good with such an obvious display of emotions, and despite his attempt to remain cool, there was the slightest bit of concern in his voice. It was easy to pick up if that’s what you were looking for. “…I got this. Why are you so upset?”
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Posted: Thu Aug 23, 2012 9:27 am
It wasn't that she wasn't strong, not fast, not skilled. She had years of karate under her belt to suggest otherwise. It wasn't that she didn't know how to hurt or where to strike to cause as much damage as she could. She knew all these things and practiced them over and over again in drills that sometimes made her want to scream from repetition. There were rules, a code of honor to follow but it wasn't that she couldn't.
It was that she didn't want to.
When Remarque was situated she tried to dry her eyes, feeling foolish that clearly he wasn't comfortable with her dismay. She shouldn't break down in front of an enemy. Shalott was abandoning her her honor and she knew that now, fighting him for sport, unprovoked, and this was the outcome. Her sensei was right, anger was a weapon only for her enemy to use. She needed to be the calm center of the universe.
When he spoke to her she started in surprise. It was rare she had words with an opponent after damaging them. She was laboring under the idea that his nose was broken and he didn't seem all that upset about it. He seemed more upset by the fact that she was taking it harder than he was. The knight sat down beside him and thought about her answer.
"Because you're a person. You may be young and cocky and you may be on the wrong side but you're still a person with a family, friends, a life. I might even know you when we're not in uniform. I...I'm not cut out for this, hurting people. I want to help but I can't...all that blood...there has to be another way."
Fresh tears flooded her eyes again and she blinked them back, trying not to let them fall. She forgot about the energy he may or may not have collected and why they were fighting in the first place. She felt more shaken, less removed. No matter how she tried Kyndall would always be at the heart of Shalott. The mother would always color the eyes of the knight.
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Posted: Thu Aug 23, 2012 4:22 pm
It was difficult both to look at Shalott and keep his head tilted back, particularly when still trying to make sure that he wasn’t drowning himself in his own blood. He concentrated on the injury, as if that would spur it to heal quicker and stop gushing all over the place. Now that the surprise was gone, there was only a sharp ache and an uncomfortable warmth radiating from the offended area.
He still wasn’t quite sure what to make of her not only halting the battle—but making an effort to help him, but now didn’t really seem the time to scold her for showing such weakness.
“Perhaps, then, the first thing you might like to do to help without bloodshed is reconsider your stance on who is on the ‘wrong’ side,” he noted. He had half a mind to start arguing with ‘young and cocky’—cocky only counted if you couldn’t back it up, and, oh, Remarque could back it up. “As long as you stand there thinking there has to be a bad guy, you’ll justify why it ought to be us. Take your own words. We’re people, too. And if you really want to help, start by not attacking us. At least not without knowing what we’re fighting for.”
He wanted to reach up to touch his nose—to test and asses the damage, but even now it was important to him to make Shalott understand that if she wanted to pick on a bad guy, it didn’t have to be the Dark Mirror Court. Right now she was emotional—and emotions were the gateway to weakness. If her guard was down now, maybe she would be more open to abandon the convictions she was blinded by.
“We’re not out to hurt or maim. But when you’re backed into a corner, you do what you have to. We’ve been backed into the corner for as long as we’ve been around, Shalott,” he said, not coldly. If she was so keen on empathy at the moment, let her understand their struggle. Let her understand the plight of the Court that was still fighting—despite all odds. That were still fighting for the right thing—for the right reasons.
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Posted: Sat Aug 25, 2012 2:07 pm
He couldn't sway her from believing her side was right so she didn't dignify that with a response. They were people who stole from others, innocents. She was older and not subject to the normal whims of hormone ridden adolescents. She couldn't blame him for trying, though. She'd have done it, too, if she believed much in conversion.
"You steal energy from those that are innocent in all this, civilians. You'd do better to steal from those on this other side, those you see as wrong, if you want my pity. Let's not pretend you're on the righteous path here."
Just because she had no wish to harm him further didn't mean she was going to fall subject to his dogma or his pity party. As someone mentioned once, perhaps him, this was war. There is always oppression and subjugation in war. If he felt downtrodden maybe it meant he was on the wrong side.
"If you feel that way maybe it's just proof you're on the wrong side of the tracks. Maybe if you keep facing this wall your kind should switch sides. Doesn't sound like you're too good at what it is you've been doing."
She sighed, looking at the school where she'd be teaching again in such a short time. She thought of Tony waiting for her to get home and Harmony possibly wondering where she was. As much as she wanted to help she couldn't do much more than what she was doing now, getting blood on her uniform.
"Are you going to be ok?" Call it a pass for the night due to injury. She needed to have a glass of wine and let this shaking inside settle.
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Posted: Sat Aug 25, 2012 2:53 pm
Remarque wasn't sure if he should be amused or insulted with Shalott's claim. He was a damn fine Dark Mirror Senshi, if he did say so himself—and he would continue to be. There were some people, as there always would be, too blinded by their own beliefs to see the merits of others. Remarque would certainly hold it against Shalott, despite the humanity she displayed after wanting to tend to his injury. She was not old, but neither was she as young as he. With age came stubbornness and an unwilling to change. He'd seen it in many people—his own mother, included. It wasn't necessarily a bad thing to be so convinced of one path—unless, of course, you were walking down the wrong path.
"Switching sides for me would be like switching sides for you, I imagine. You only see the bad in what we do. And I only see how badly ignorance has affected you. But I don't blame you," he said, finally standing. He wasn't sure if his nose was broken or if it had just taken a bad blow and bled a lot—but that was something to worry about back at home. "…Maybe one day we'll come to some understanding of each other. But in the mean time—yeah. I'm fine."
Once more he reached up to his face, carefully trying to clean himself up without incurring any pain. "But I figure I should go clean up." He paused, looking at her. "…You, too. I might not agree with you, but I suppose I'll stand by the fact that a pretty woman shouldn't be seen crying. We can pick this up some other time, if you want. We can brawl, exchange ideals. Maybe one of us will cave and we'll come to a compromise of beliefs, then."
…Except, he wasn't going to be the one caving, ever. He'd have loved to argue—to get back into a fight and prove himself, now, but he had been injured—and as shameful as that was, he wanted to get back and assess the damage. An injury on his face was going to be hard to hide, so he wanted to get some ice on his face before it had a chance to swell and bruise too badly.
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