maskormenacelogs | {Got a war going on in my head [OPEN]

The light spilling into the foyer makes it hard to notice the soft, golden glow behind her brother's eyes, standing in front of her. If they were somewhere darker, she'd immediately see the wrongness, be instantly on the kind of guard she'd never truly had to be with Diego. But it's so bright, it isn't noticeable here. "Are you really asking that, like it's a real question?" He quips with a slight smirk on his lips. Diego Hargreeves is few things, but 'ready to fight' is always, always one of them, even if it's in a more controlled, training sort of sense.

The fact that he'd just taken a shower doesn't matter. He's got regular sessions with both Klaus-- to help their brother actually hone some of those long-inactive skills into something genuinely usable-- and Derek, but he hasn't gone in for a round with Allison in awhile. Not that it had mattered in any battle, here or back home, they found themselves in the middle of together. They still worked together like a well-oiled machine. Like there hadn't been over a decade of time between them. Some things are just so muscle, bone, and instinct-deep in this family, even time can't erase them.

He doesn't even say another word, only nods his head and leads the way away from the front hall and toward their in-home practice space, already so well-used in their short time in this house. Probably unsurprising, honestly. If anything was going to be regular and common in a house full of Hargreeves, wouldn't it be this?

He tugs the overshirt he'd changed into off, leaving him in a muscle shirt and a pair of track pants. "Come at me, sister," he dares her, as he leans into a ready stance.

Edited 2019-10-22 17:09 (UTC)

Even if she hadn't before, it's always been clear why she'd choose him.

(Why you didn't instantly go to picking Luther, who was a great Drill Sargeant and might find his way to being a leader again, but who could stop all of them by just standing there, watching them break against the bulwark of him unless weapons came into it. Could pick them all off the ground with a single hand, send them flying with the same without a second thought. Had to treat gently even when sparring. Especially then. Not lose control. Never lose control.)

She and Diego had always been a good choice, a good team. Reckless, ruthless, willing to throw themselves almost without restrain at each other, in a way no one else could handle. Liked. Being so much in control of themselves, it ran the barren, bleeding edge of having no control, no hesitation, no mercy at all sometimes, and knowing the other could take it, could bring the same.

There's a swell of satisfaction that isn't even touched by sparring all the time that comes up in it. Something viscerally triumphant, and hungry, and relieved, and only really touched for a second all those months ago. They'd always been a good team where it came to this. When they get to the room, Allison doesn't drop anything. She's not in togs, just her usual outfit, but she is in boots, so she doesn't care. It's not like they hadn't trained for all circumstances to only be excuses they disregarded or used to their advantage.

Allison needs little reason more than the invitation to lunge.
Fuck waiting. She was so god damn tired of ~~everything~~ waiting.

Diego is always so ready to fight, it's the easiest thing for him to slip into, better than a glove or an old, comfy t-shirt. 'Fighter' is like a second skin to him, and when Allison lunges, the steps are automatic to get out of her reach.

The rest is poetic choreography of two people too equally trained and matched, and neither wanting to give even an inch to the other. Every hit is thrown hard, every dodge nearly a perfect evasion. They know each other so well, even with years stretching gone between them even knowing each other, there are times when moves are nearly predicted.

It's a long and drawn out dance between the two of them, but somewhere along with way, Diego's moves shifted, just the tiniest bit. A little less precision-perfect. A little more wild and messy. Something wormed its way into his head, and into every move he made, that made it just a little wrong. A little too hasty. Until it's one wrong step and he's pinned, staring up at his sister with an impressed expression.

This angle, this close, it's impossible to not see the soft golden glow in his eyes. "Damn, Allison." He grins up at her. "You got me good with that last one."

There's something just a little too rubbed raw in Allison. All of her moves are a sheer coiled visceral attack, with defense only barely appearing, only when it's required for blocking a blow that comes to close to scoring or staying on her feet, everything else is direct offensive. Everything else is a pouring out of everything that's been trapped under her skin, in her head, behind the cool, calm, collected, congenial smile of Allison Hargreeves.

It's good, but it's almost not good enough, and while she knows Diego has absolutely none of the reasons she does -- and knows absolutely none of those reasons, too; wouldn't; won't -- the feeling that they are off, out of balance is like a discordant note. One that strings along the same one that's had her out of sorts for a day and a half since getting off that train with Harry, wanting nothing more than to get on and stay on, no matter what it meant.

(Hating herself even more for the fact, it isn't true.

That she chose Claire, and getting off the train, which meant not picking her, too.
That she chose Claire, and said no to the chalice, which meant not picking her, too.
That she chose Claire, but listened to Diego about Vanya, which mean not picking her, too.)

There's triumph in the slam of her brother's back into the floor, but no quite enough. Not nearly enough. Because it all still feels off. Everything does. Making her brow furrow as she looked down at him, eyebrows raising a little, half-interested and a half just odd, when she hits send. What's up your eyes?

He shakes his head, "Dunno-- they were just like that when I woke up." It isn't a lie, not really. Because when the fog rolled in and he appeared, this is just how he came to exist. It was a waking up of sorts, and that makes it not a lie by technicality.

"I don't feel any different." That, though, isn't quite the truth. Sure, he still feels, remembers, thinks, moves, acts, talks like Diego Hargreeves. But only a piece of him. A part, but not a whole, not the collective as an entire person.

It all reads wrong, tension hovering inside her middle like heavy clouds giving a grey grumble, but it's not entirely something Allison pays attention to. What exactly Diego is lying about. Holding out on. Holding back on. It's not like she and Diego have ever come anything like clean with each other where it came to talking. How long would she have to go back to even find the last time it was like that? Before they were teenagers even?

Still she frowned a little at it, tipping her head from side to side, looking at the golden glow of his eyes.

Try not to explode. Or go crazy. Or whatever it is this one is going to do.
You never know how long it might be to figure out what caused it this time.

It's annoying how regularly things show up to mess up with them.

He laughs a little, and it's just a little too hollow to even sound right. The shadow doesn't have any of the humor Diego has, just an echo of it that hits just a little off-key.

Still. She only seems to think it's some weird thing come to do something to them, the way it always seems to keep happening to them, and the rest of the displaced Porter City residents. He takes it for a kind of win, and nudges her off of him so he can get up.

"What's got you so tense anyway?" Not like there are a million things to pick from to call it the central issue, but it begs to be asked all the same. She was pure ferocity in that match.

Diego's never been funny, at least not to anyone who wasn't Diego, but even so, the sound of that laugh is strange. Stranger than the incredibly familiar arrogant half-laugh that he usually rolls with. Still, Allison rolls with easy grace, not lost in the last ten years in the slightest, to her feet, with a hand out to pivot and help him up. They are easy shoes to slip right back into. The give and take of one of these rooms, of these rounds.

There's a vague shrug of her shoulders, even if her skin is prickling a little too much at the spotlight.

This place. New day, same song.

"You sure that's it?" He arches a brow at her, letting his eyes sweep over her, as if assessing her mental state by looking at her unflappable outer self. Allison had always been good at covering any turmoil under the surface, but it's even easier now, with that Porter-given power of eternal perfection.

He takes a ready stance again, ready to go another round and makes a slight wave with his fingers. "Because that was definitely a level above on the ruthless scale, sis."

Allison backed up, weight shifting, even as something about having to put anything into words made it more grating. It wasn't something she wanted to talk about. It wasn't something she wanted to have words about. It was almost breathless clear enough to be zoned when she had to thnk of only her body. She hated that this place thought it was allowed to keep using all she had left in the deepest, dark boxes of herself.

She brought her arms up, weight and tension shifting as she watched his own posture and postion, for the faintest hint of pre-movement. It all has to go somewhere eventually, doesn't it.

"Guess so." Diego's okay with not having words-- this is a language they all learned to speak from as soon as they were steady enough on their feet and had enough sense of self to listen to directives. One might say that it was their first one.

He shifts his weight and circles slowly, watching her just as much as she is him, waiting for that micromovement to signal what she might do. Except Diego is impatient, he moves first, taking a jab toward her.

{Got a war going on in my head [OPEN]

no subject

no subject

lmk if this is too assume-y/godmod-y/too quick of a run through-summary?

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject