maskormenacelogs | ( closed ) I fear that the bump in the night could be myself if I lose hope

( Go, fight, win — right? Something like that.

Sarissa is restless, but not unhappily so. Maybe wired is a better word for it, hyped up from the training she's done so far today, hopping a little from foot to foot as she waits on the sparring mats. In theory, life is good: Mendel is progressing in learning the periodic table, Sarah's back, her nearest and dearest are alive and well even if they aren't on top of the world (emotionally speaking), and she's back to being a cop-cop, instead of trapped on traffic duty indefinitely.

So it's all good, right? Nothing to stress about? Or, at least, nothing to stress about in the shape of serial-killer ex-boyfriends or comparatively dramatic stuff.

So why does she feel so bloody weird? Sarissa shakes her shoulders out, pulls out her hair tie, and starts to pull her hair back again into a still-messy but significantly less likely to fall out. ) You ready to go, big guy? If you're dragging your feet, I promise I ain't gonna go all-out, just for your sake. Okay?

['The Kitchen'-- right now, in progress-- but is otherwise a sprawling room with a ceiling that seems to extend forever. Batman stands darkly against the stark whiteness of the room, clad statuesque in black, cape draped an impossible length along the ground.

Hh. I appreciate it. I'll try to keep up.

[The sound of his knuckles cracking echoes throughout the room and he offers her a light smirk.]

No wakkas. Gotta look out for elderly.

( She snaps her fingers, fires fingerguns Batman's way, and hops back a bit. It's somewhere between just being energetic and maybe being a little ridiculous. It's fine, this is fine, she's got this. She's happy. )

You gotta warm up or are you good to go?

Heh. I'm good. We'll continue where we left off.

[Batman, in contrast, falls into a martial stance and stays exactly where he was. Recently, they've been working on various form of grappling-- Brazilian Jiu Jitsu, Sambo, and Western Wrestling. As he's explained, it allows her to handle larger opponents more confidently in close range as she'll be able to keep them from striking.

Standing at 6'2" and nearly 210 lbs, he's quite a bit larger than her, but he doesn't hold back when he darts forward with atypical speed for someone his size and moves to attack.]

( He's just a little shy of standing a full foot taller than her, and though she's more muscular than, say, her sisters, she's not near two hundred and ten.

Perhaps from the beginning it's evident her head isn't totally in the zone. She worrying about more things than she cares to put names to, more threads being unravelled than should really be considered, unless she wants to find herself coming apart. She's not at her best, and she sure as hell isn't Eureka, who needed to be better than Sarissa on a good day.

She tries to go with some of the lessons; move inward rather than trying to pull away, and use momentum against her opponent, but she stuffs it up, and sort of ineffectively tries to grab Batman's arm and use it as leverage to drive him to the ground.

Bummer. )

[Though their initial conversation was friendly enough, that doesn't keep Batman from maintaining strict standards, and he punishes her for not having her head in the game with little punches pulled. After all, if this were real life, her opponent wouldn't care much for her personal problems.

He, almost too easily, redirects her right into the ground with a simple hip throw; essentially the same thing she was trying to accomplish. Circling around her slowly, his displeasure seems palpable, and he rebukes her with his tone more than the response itself.]

Pass behind the back, minimize the space between your back and my chest. Get up and do it again.

Yep. I got it.

( Tight and irritated, moreso than she normally is in training.

Logically, this is training, and she knows that going easy will do her nothing, but right now approximately 60% of her natural inclination is to sulk intensely. Sarissa lies on her back for a half second, huffs out a resentful-but-I-know-better-but-I'm-still-kinda-resentful breath, and and kicks up from the ground to land on her feet.

She drives an angled punch up towards Batman side, then a hook to his ribs, turninging into both and driving in close so she can follow his directions, twisting in to try and sling him over onto the floor. )

[He essentially lets her blows connect, not only because he's training her, but also because he's padded in a thick layer of armor. She's light and fast, an advantage for her in some cases, and he hits the ground with a thud, acknowledging her return to attention.]

Good. Now transition into the armbar. [A pause.] You smell like onion rings.

( Her move into the arm bar would have gone significantly more smoothly, if she hadn't been tempted to give him a look. She resists, (because she's an ADULT) but still.

Point is: armbar, accomplished. )

That your new method, big guy? Get assailants to be self-conscious so you can get their defence down?

[He taps on her forearm to submit when she applies what he judges as the correct amount of pressure, and rolls away, recovering to a knee.]

I'm just saying. Not exactly the kind of pre-workout I'd typically recommend.

[He steps back to full height and into a neutral stance.]

We'll work on grappling into the clinch. If you can't parry or counter my strikes, the goal is to keep me from striking. No reason to ruin that pretty nose of yours again, hm. [He goads with a raised eyebrow.]

( Of course, he says that, but Sarissa steps forward to kick to his chest, rather than waiting for him to strike first. After all, training, right? Real life isn't prepared and set scenarios. )

How's about we go over how anything that goes into my body is any of your business?

( Oh, there we go, back to pricklytown. )

[Unamused, he grabs at her sloppy kick, and ankle in hand, throws her a few feet across the room for good measure.]

Hh. Suit yourself.

( She slides, rolls and twists up from the ground, bounding forward. She's good at bouncing back, if nothing else. )

What? You're being a pissbaby because I drew a line?

[He'll block her strikes, almost casually, stepping back as he parries and deflects so he can let her get it out of her system.]

I'm being a 'pissbaby' because you're being sloppy. Get your act together.

For God's—

( Sarissa grits her teeth, and tries to course correct; this isn't the time to be a messy bar brawler. Improvisation was valuable, but blah blah preparation blah. (She loves preparation, it just goes against frustration.)

She exhales, harsh, inhales and exhales again, trying to calm it out, before she corrects her posture and moves in again. Still scrappy, still bending rules rather than going strictly to perfection, but it's effective despite that. It's just a Sarissa brand of effectiveness, and still a little too raw.

This time, when there's a chance she doesn't need prompting to try and go for a clinch, and attempt to sweep Batman's feet from under him. Who knows how that'll go, though. )

Break the balance before a sweep!

[And he does, essentially, what she was trying to do, and pushes back against her before performing a simple O Soto Gari that sends her tumbling right back into the ground. Batman is the definition of preparation, and he's had decades of it.]

Again!

( Again he says, and again she goes, pushing back up near instantly. She moves back into the fight, feinting before following up with a couple hard jabs and a knee to the gut before trying a clinch again.

Yeah, breaking the balance on a brick wall, that's less easy without enhanced strength. Oh, she misses that sometimes. As she tries to drive forward, she does a whole lot better than last time. )

[She keeps him moving and doesn't let him settle, which works perfectly to utilize his own momentum against him. And though he expects it, her form is good and he's on his back.]

Better. [He rolls onto his stomach to push himself up.]

Time to show me if you can put it all together. No holding back this time. [He was holding back?]

Yeah, okay.

( Sarissa shakes out a little more, her neck crackling loudly, and she moves into stance. )

After this you owe me deep fried macaroni and bacon balls after this, and a double cheeseburger. No pickles.

( She's having a day. A DAY. But she can do this, she can step her game up. Sarissa dives back in, throwing as much strength as she can behind the punches. )

We'll see about that.

[He immediately falls into stance and meets her strikes with his own counters. He doesn't hold back this time, the intention this time to make her feel overwhelmed. Overpowered. The goal is to see controlled improvisation from her-- not the sloppy, emotional strikes from before. She needs to find her way out of a one-sided situation, and she needs to be smart about it.

The momentum changes drastically as it takes him moments to read her patterns, and he begins to aggressively push back with his own strikes.]

( Well, this is bracing.

Sarissa heads in wholeheartedly, and there's a couple times where she blocks one strike, and in the process of countering sacrifices the quality of her own blocking, letting some solid hits land. The thing is, though, that she just doesn't seem to drop. She keeps going, which might be impressive, if there weren't some worrying implications for how used she is to taking hits, and just how much she's going to be putting her body through.

Her teeth are bloody, and her heart is starting to beat off pattern - it's been doing that, though, when she pushes herself. Ever since she died that second time, and to this point, it's really been more of an occasional inconvenience than anything to worry about. Right now her mood is much in the vein of fuck this, though, so rather than easing off, she throws herself in with another hook punch, leading into what she hopes will be a bloody great volley of 'em, before slipping her arms up to try and grip the back of Batman's neck and lead him down to the ground.

Hopes, key word. Hopes. )

[But it doesn't quite work out that way. Batman slips under her hook and takes her back, hooking his arms around her neck. He has to admit, the stubbornness and perseverance in the face of being clearly outmatched has him impressed, as the entire point of this was to push her far past her limits. The rear naked choke is effective enough to put her out in seconds at full pressure, but he releases it slightly as she struggles so that she can try to concentrate. He talks steadily into her ear, trying to ease her back into control.]

There's going to be a point when you're overwhelmed. By yourself. Don't panic. Don't give me your neck. There are ways out of this. You're in control.

( You’re in control.

Her heartbeat is like a stumbling run, starting to thud irregular and uncomfortable, not quite tilting into desperate. Carissa’s hands scrabble at the arms locked around her neck in the choke, and though this isn’t the first time this has happened to her in a fight, her lungs feel ragged and her mind is frayed in ways it isn’t usually. Be calm and be steady might be the usual tactic to recommend, stay calm and rely on muscle memory to get out of this.

Thing is, memory is taking her to a worse place. It’s quick flashes, as her lungs protest, and it feels like her mind is unravelling. This isn’t in control. She can’t fix this, it isn’t in control, she can’t—

She’s ten, and there’s a man with sandy blond hair and a strong grip holding her by her throat. Her head stings from slapping back against the wall, the air is knocked out of her, and her father’s fingers are crushing her throat. He’s so overwhelmingly angry, and the smell of beer and whiskey sit on his skin. She’s trying to apologise and tell him that she needs to breathe, but her vision is swimming and she can’t fix this

She can’t let him win anymore, and she isn’t thinking straight.

Sarissa gasps to breathe, and desperately jumps up and kicks backward, hard as she can to drive in with her heels. )

No!

[She does the opposite, out of panic. Gives him her neck almost completely. Gives him leverage as she arches her back to kick at him. She could go for his eyes, twist her hips and wraps her arms around his waist to take him off balance, but she's panicking. He can feel the pounding of her carotid artery and he's still trying to talk to her, but he's not sure she can hear him anymore.]

Tuck your neck. It's okay. Control your breathing. Take my side and fall back.

[He's got to release soon. He won't-- can't-- push her any further.]

( She's aware, distantly, that he's talking to her. It's that old cliche, the feeling of being underwater, though it fits pretty well when you can't seem to get a breath. One thing rings loud in her mind, an it comes with an accent and tone that doesn't belong to the man she's training with, who she respects, who has had her back: Toughen up, Sarissa. The words feel like something sickening crawling over her skin.

It's enough to push her.

Her right hand is twisted, fingers spread apart as she lashes at Batman's eyes, almost clawlike, and then jerks forward to pull his arm from her neck. It's not a controlled movement - almost instinctive and feral, lashing out. Again to the eyes, and she fights to twist and use the momentum and Batman's angle at her back to twist away and rotate his arm to drive him down to the ground, and launching at Batman to belt him as many times across the jaw as she can manage.

But even if that doesn't work, though, even she her bid to send him down after twisting low doesn't work, she just keeps lashing out, elbows to ribs, fingers scratching at eyes.

All in all, it's a totally fun great day for both of them. )

Edited 2017-09-13 11:17 (UTC)

[The lenses of his cowl protect his eyes, but still distract him momentarily enough for her to toss him. He goes to the ground, a certain amount of satisfaction in the throw, and he begins to acknowledge that before...]

Good. No--nngh!

[He's not stupid. This isn't training anymore. The lock on his arm keeps him from disarming her, and he can taste the blood in his mouth, the ringing in his ears. With his free arm he only tries to wrap his arms around her, with two purposes: one, to lock her arms and keep her from continuing to knock the daylights out of him, and two... to try and comfort her out of her panic.]

Stop. [He says calmly, controlled.] It's over. [The squeeze isn't tight.] Sarissa.

( At first she fights against it, twisting to get out of the hold, lashing forward to head butt him if it's in some way possible, as her breathing comes in ragged, messy bursts.

It doesn't take all that long for her to come back to herself, for the panic that set in when she couldn't breath, to ease enough that she's not fighting someone who isn't there, surviving something that isn't a current threat.

Though she calms, it's not like she's ready to speak immediately and when she does— )

What—

Oh, fuck. Shit. Are you okay?

[He eases up on the hug, though doesn't release completely, but speaks in a measured tone despite having just been used as a punching bag. At a glance, his mouth is bruised, mouth and nose bloodied. A lense of his cowl has shattered and broken off, revealing one of his blue eyes.]

I'm fine. [He glances over; she's still got his arm locked.] You wanna let go of my arm now?

( Hey, Sinatra. She'd use that as a shiny new nickname, but it doesn't seem like the time. She releases Batman's arm immediately, or rather, gently eases it down, and sheepishly lurks to the side.

It seems like she should say something, and her jaw works silently for a second, because none of it is easy to say, and all of it will sound like excuses or a bid for pity rather than an explanation, a fact laid out. )

Uh— ( She opens her mouth, makes a slightly awkward gesture, and then just rubs the back of her neck and shuts her mouth. Nailed it. ) Sorry. About that.

[Batman slowly rolls to his stomach and spits out some blood before taking to his feet.]

And if that was someone else? Someone who couldn't defend themselves. Someone who couldn't stop you.

[He turns his head to her, the full aftermath of her reaction on display.]

Sorry doesn't cut it.

Uh, mate, you were about a second off me blacking out, so choke on ten dicks. Someone who got me in that situation is clearly someone who can defend themselves, so don't be cunty about it.

( She's not pleased with herself, or her reaction, mind. ) I know that wasn't alright, but don't try to shame me with that steaming teacup of bullshit. That's outta line, and it doesn't make sense.

[Okay, no more gentle hand holding-- her response makes him angry. Angrier than getting his face beat in. He very purposefully gets in her face now.]

Wrong answer. If I wanted you out, you would have been out. Anyone who can use a computer can figure out how a rear naked choke works. But you're supposed to be better, and that's going to get someone killed one day.

[He leans in.]

I want an explanation. Not this poor excuse at deflection you're trying to pass off as indignation.

You don't want an explanation, you want me crawling' about saying I'm sorry. And I am, but no man is gonna make me plead or beg for forgiveness again, you understand me?

( Even though Gabriel is gone, has been for over a month, that still clings to her. Begging for her sisters lives and saying she was sorry, when he'd killed her and when she protected his identity, and when he took her sisters to hurt them. He wasn't as much bigger than her than Batman is, and she didn't lash out with lightning because she wouldn't be like him, wouldn't do that, knock someone out with electricity because in her head it was linked inextricably with what came after. ) I don't have to parade around showing how bad I feel about something or make a display of being hard on myself for your satisfaction, or anybody's.

( She pushes herself up from the ground, and tugs up the front of her shirt, just enough to show her abdomen. There's a couple bullet scars on one side of her abdomen, but that's not the focus of her attention. She taps on another, a stabmark just shy of her ribs. Her voice is quiet, but "calm" woudlnt be the right word for it, unless it were the sort of false calm on the surface of a river whose current would drag you under. )

That came from a man wanting to shame me. These, ( and she turns to display her lower back, bars of pale, pearled flesh and Nessy scary across it. Thin lashes and what looks like torn up patches, before her shirt drops again and she turns back around, ) where to make me think about the shit I've done wrong. Your explanation ( with jazz hands ) is that my old man is a shit that near throttled me more than once, and then told me it was for my benefit, to make me better.

( You need to be better and toughen up rang awful similar, felt like. )

[He listens closely. It's not a ridiculous notion that she's burdened with traumas of her past-- the majority of them who lead this sort of lifestyle are. There's a sympathy there as she speaks, but he doesn't step back from his position because it's important that he's very clear; his words, at least, are softer.]

I'm not looking for an apology. And I'm not your father. [He puts a hand on her shoulder.] I'm not blaming you for your past.

You wouldn't be here if I didn't think you were capable of it. But when you go out there, you have a responsibility to yourself, to your team, and to the people you're helping to be able to control yourself.

( closed ) I fear that the bump in the night could be myself if I lose hope

FOR BATMAN | mid-monthish? CW: PTSD, ref to past domestic violence/child abuse

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cw: flashback to childhood abuse

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cw: specific ref to murder & abuse

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