|
|
|
|
|
Rejam rolled 2 8-sided dice:
5, 4
Total: 9 (2-16)
|
|
|
 Posted: Tue Sep 17, 2013 8:09 pm
He didn't even notice. What he did notice was that her swing went wide, and when he nipped back in he had a skeptical look on his face despite the fact that he didn't hesitate to take advantage of the opening her missed shot had left him. "You all right?" he asked her warily, and then he barked a hard, sick, unamused little laugh at asking someone if she was all right while he was shoving a knife into her side. HP: 27 DMG: 3 CHG: 2/3 | 1/2
|
 |
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Beejoux rolled 2 8-sided dice:
8, 5
Total: 13 (2-16)
|
Posted: Tue Sep 17, 2013 8:15 pm
"Fine." It was too fast, croaked, and not entirely convincing, but she wasn't about ti give him time to prod too deeply at it. Specially since she didn't actually know what was wrong with her today. oh sure, she could of blamed it on her epic fail of a charge, but.. She winced as his blade sank into her side. It didn't hurt, not really. Not even with her shield beginning to crack again. It was how unnatural it felt for the blade to sink in, then to tear out without so much as a pinch or a warm wash of blood soaking over her skin. When Fiona was free Peyton pivoted, spinning on her heel so she could bring the back of her right hand around to dig the small, curved tip of her blade into the side of his chest, tearing through flesh that didn't split or bleed, and coming free just before she hit the sternum. HP: 9 DMG: 7 CHG: wat
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Rejam rolled 2 8-sided dice:
8, 5
Total: 13 (2-16)
|
|
|
Posted: Tue Sep 17, 2013 8:23 pm
It still felt like the wind knocked out of him, still felt--not great. It was an uncomfortable feeling to think too hard about (weren't they all?) and the easier route, after spitting a stunned Jesus Christ under his breath, was to retaliate. He felt it connect. He felt the sudden jolt of Fiona's pleasure when the blade bit into Peyton's skinny stomach, just above the hipbone, and tore in a way that a pointed blade ought not to tear. It was satisfying in a way that made him sick, like it always did, but worse because it felt so much better: the well-timed combination of a strike that did was it supposed to and a charge filling up. The emotions he got through the bond when Fiona tasted FEAR were familiar in ways that made Taym deeply uncomfortable. Before a fight she always prowled around on the periphery of his consciousness like a hungry animal. He understood that, too. HP: 20, ouch peyton DMG: 7 CHG: 3/3 | 1/2
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Beejoux rolled 2 8-sided dice:
7, 1
Total: 8 (2-16)
|
Posted: Tue Sep 17, 2013 8:34 pm
The dirk puctured her stomach, digging and tearing in ways that made her stomach churn threateningly, and she gave a rather strained yelp before bringing a foot up to forcibly shove him, and Fiona, away from her. Warrick vanished, returning to the warm presences of the twin thumb rings, and tiny hands snapped against the point on her abdomen he'd been digging at before she folded over and bit back a gag. That time it had hurt. Her shield was cracked and crumbling, and she could feel the lingering sting of the last attack throbbing beneath her hands. If the lack of weapon and the pained behavior wasn't indicative enough that their spar was over, Peyton's snapped and somewhat breathy "Stop!" would do just fine. She straightened, just a little bit, and slowly peeled her hands away from her stomach. Sure enough, there was a smear of bright crimson along the insides of her fingers as well as on her shirt. Circling a small, Fiona sized hole. "You're getting better," she offered quietly, voice hitching in a pseudo laugh at the end. HP: 2 DMG: CHG: f** u
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Rejam rolled 8 4-sided dice:
3, 2, 2, 1, 4, 2, 3, 2
Total: 19 (8-32)
|
|
|
Posted: Tue Sep 17, 2013 8:47 pm
Reality caught back up: the sun was pounding down on them both and he was hot and sweating and more shaken than he wanted to admit, and it was tempered by the fact that he realized he'd bested her even if she'd done more to hurt himself than he had to attack effectively. He hesitated, breathing hard. Fiona dangled from his now-slack grip.
He'd said he wouldn't do it again. Hell, he had yet to experience it himself. But when he slipped past her for where he'd left his coat he ran the knife across her arm, mutely bidding Fionnghal to give up the FEAR despite the ghost's desperate desire to hang onto it. She did, and then she was gone, the ring back around his finger, and he was stooping to gather up his jacket.
"Don't maul yourself next time," he said without looking at her.
HEALED for 16 but fight is over yay flavor
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Tue Sep 17, 2013 9:01 pm
The cool brush of the blade along her arm was accompanied by the cold rush of relief she'd felt twice now, and she blinked at him over her shoulder as the pain in her stomach faded to nothing. "You didn't have to do that." She was frowning at him, small fingers poking through the hole in her shirt as she turned to retrieve her own coat. "It was just a cut, it would have healed on it's own." He's told her he wasn't doing it again. Gingerly she manages to nudge her coat off the dummy and on to her clean arm. Some how she managed to do it without getting a single smudge of blood on it. Small miracles. "I didn't mean to maul myself," she finally tossed back at him defensively. Warrick was still a nervous silence in her head, but she felt him there all the same. "It's a volatile attack, and I can't always control it." Was that a thread of disappointment in her voice?
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Tue Sep 17, 2013 9:12 pm
He'd thrown the coat over his shoulder and was shoving his sleeves up to his elbows--no further though--because she'd already seen the stupid ******** tattoo and there was no sense in hiding it now. "Then don't use it around me any more," he snapped suddenly, voice strained. "First your ******** emotional baggage, then your self-destructive tendencies or else your homicidal ******** 'partner,' as you call him. It shouldn't be my ******** job to clear up after you every time. I'm not in Moon." He closed his eyes, took a deep and steadying breath, and immediately, before she could answer, snapped again: "Sorry. It's ******** sorry."
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Tue Sep 17, 2013 9:28 pm
The dainty hunter stopped in her tracks at the tone, but it was his words that made her jaw sag. Stunned. "You-" Her molars clacked as she snapped her teeth closed around the defensive retort, not even entirely sure what she would have said had she allowed herself to finish. Something angry, something hurt, nothing helpful. Instead she drew in a deep and let it out fast and harsh as she stared walking again, not to catch up to him, but past him, heading back to the dorm. He'd asked her to spar, not the other way around... But, despite her anger, it was hard not to realize the truth in his words. Every time they went head to head it was her that went to pieces. Her that needed help. And it was that, as well as the apology, that made her slow down, finally coming to a stop some few yards away from him. Jaw set, hands balled tightly at her sides. She glanced back at him, at his hands, then up to his face. "No one asked you to clean up after me. Her gaze dropped, head turning back to face the dorms, and her shoulders drooped. Last time she'd let it go. They'd been through a lot, tempers were high, he'd apologized and it was over. This time.. "Warrick thinks you're using me," it was said carefully neutral. "That I'm a convenience."
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Tue Sep 17, 2013 9:32 pm
He ran the back of his hand over his mouth and didn't look at her, a couple of seconds trickling by in silence. "Fiona's smarter than I am, too."
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Tue Sep 17, 2013 9:38 pm
Her fingers twitched, but hat was the only real indication that his words had any effect on her. He couldn't see her face though. The way her lips tightened, or the dip of her brows. He couldn't see the truth of his words flickering across her tanned features, pulling at emotions that she didn't have the first idea how to understand, let alone coop with. What he would see was a nod, and then she was moving forward again, back towards the dorms. She needed a shower, a change of clothes. She needed to forget the last hour.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Tue Sep 17, 2013 9:52 pm
He watched her go. God knows he needed a shower too, even one of the disgusting short, lukewarm ones that were all the Island had to offer at the moment, but he'd wait it out. He needed to forget the last hour, too, but tagging along after her like a dog wasn't going to do it. A walk and a cigarette would. Hours later when the sun had gone down and he'd crawled into his stinking bed--because he was trying to sleep in it now, even if he found it hard--he pulled out his cellphone, and he stared at the blank screen for a long time, fighting with himself and wondering if she was pissed and fuming across the hall, or just sleeping. They were making noises about conserving the battery, so he'd powered his phone up for about a minute each night, just enough to make sure he wasn't missing any vital memos. He was banking on Peyton doing the same. Some people were even finding time for Twitter, he suspected by sneaking chargers into the labs. If she didn't see it, it'd be waiting for her later, after everything settled down--and maybe that was better. A long, long hesitation, and he turned his phone on. The battery bar was perilously low, but his fingers cooperated, for once. Just long enough to send the text, turn it off, and try and find comfort in the sweat-smelling sheets. Text to Peyton I'm not good at having friends, or being one. Seeing people I like getting hurt ******** me up.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Tue Sep 17, 2013 10:12 pm
Hours later would find Peyton in her own bed, clean and changed, with her back against the wall and a pillow held in her lap. She was tired, but sleep was eluding her, and the MRE she'd forced down for dinner was sitting like a brick in her gut. At some point in the last two hours Warrick had chanced to talk to her again, and when she didn't immediately snap at him a somewhat strained calm had returned to their relationship. Wisely he hadn't said anything about what had happened at the tail of the spar, and Peyton seemed in no hurry to bring it up. Instead he merely hoovered about her consciousness like an over protective shadow. Her phone was in her hands, and she was pushing the button on the top to turn it on as she did every night. To check for messages that weren't there, or news about the power situation that never came. It was automatic. Power on, assure herself that nothing had changed, power off. However this time when the phone loaded up it gave an eager little buzz to let her know she had a text. It made her blink, and she was slow to roll her eyes down to the screen. Taym's name stared back at her, and for a moment she considered just closing the phone and ignoring it. She wasn't sure she wanted to know what he had to say, wasn't sure she cared. Her fingers moved of their own accord, and the a message popped up. Two messages, actually. An explanation, and a second apology. She read over them, lips pursed, then narrowed her attention down to one singular, innocent, harmless little word. She stared at it,, frowning, then turned her phone off. Like. People he liked.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Reply
