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

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

WHO: SARISSA & friends.
WHERE: various.
WHEN: various.
WHAT: A CATCH-ALL.
WARNINGS: Some threads will include PTSD & reference to past domestic violence/child abuse. I'll update as necessary.
NOTE: I've been a bit slack and not done an open log in a while, but I am super keen to plot with old & new CR! Feel free to shoot me a private plurk @karmacharging or PM me and I'll whip up a custom starter for you! (The same goes for MK, Lara & Shadow.)

Starters in the comments.

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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.

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

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cw: flashback to childhood abuse

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cw: specific ref to murder & abuse

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