Anger Management (Closed RP)

[racheltherunner.livejournal.com]

It had been a bad week. That was a pretty good way to put it. What made it all ten times worse, though, was that I'd been denied my usual ways of coping. I couldn't leave, couldn't ignore everyone and bang around in my kitchen, I couldn't even go on runs for fear of leaving the camp and the demon coming after Peter while I was gone. I was frustrated - by way more than just the demon - and I had energy to burn like you would not believe.

Oh, yeah. And I was pissed. But even I wasn't stupid enough to try to take down a demon. Which left me with way too much aggression and nowhere to put it. Peter needed me, so I shoved everything I was feeling deep down until, eventually, it had to explode. Peter had gone out earlier that day, Claude trailing (invisibly and unknown to Peter) behind him. Excellent.

I left a note saying I'd gone for a walk. Then, grabbing my splat gun and a bag containing several amulets and the machete I'd gotten from Dean, I headed out the door. What? It was a run. Recovering stolen merchandise. I'd even planned for it. Had steps and everything.

Arriving at my destination, I kicked open the door, my eyes scanning the room. Step one - check.

Sylar was sitting in a chair, headphones in, unaware. Two steps from the door, my fist connected with his jaw. Step two - check.

See? Going great.

Grinning ferociously, I aimed my splat gun at his head. "Hey, fuckface. You have something I need back."

Oh, this was going to work out swell.

Comments

[racheltherunner.livejournal.com]

The yank backwards I hadn't been expecting, and I saw stars as my head hit the floor. My breath left me in a gasp of pain; as I was pulled I twisted frantically, trying to get free.

For the first time, I was afraid. The mantra of 'can't die, can't die' kept me from panicking, and I most decidedly needed to not panic right then. I actually let out a hoarse shout of agony as my skin burned from his touch before I bit it back, eyes flaring. Well, that was one pain amulet down. I didn't dare look to see the damage - the lingering ache alone was enough to tell me it was bad. The adrenaline rushed through me and I jerked my elbow back to connect with the wound in his leg, wrenching my head out of his grasp. "Oh, you're done, cookie," I snarled, ignoring the sharp tug as I left some hair in his grasp, ducking into a roll and coming up onto my feet in a crouch.

Heaving out a short laugh, I grinned, my hair starting to blow in the ever after as I pulled even more of it in. "You would, huh? That can be arranged." With a gesture, I shoved him into the wall, flinging the machete at him, straight for his heart.

Hey, he couldn't die here. Totally justified.

[mmm-brainz.livejournal.com]

That one yell, the sound of her heart hammering around in her chest about a million miles a minute, fear pumping through her veins, if only for a split second... Oh, damn, it was enough. A sight like that probably shouldn't have been exhilarating for Sylar, probably definitely shouldn't have been received with some sick kind of sadistic pleasure in his mind. But then he wasn't exactly the same Gabriel Gray he'd been six months ago, gawky and awkward and hiding behind the sweater vests. Gabriel Gray had... kind of gone over the deep end.

Barely time to cherish it. The elbow slammed into his thigh and he automatically gasped in pain, the radiation shrinking back into his fingers with a flash, as though it had never been there in the first place. God, she was barely even doing anything - landing a couple of cheap, easy shots, and what was infuriating was that they were taking him down.

All that was needed was a flick of his fingers, and the machete javelined straight into the wall, about a foot away from Sylar's head, and his eyes narrowed back onto Rachel. Oh no. Done? Not near it. Machete jerking out of the wall, one with normal hearing might have just been able to recognize the skritching of steel against the floor, as the knives from before lifted, all aiming towards Rachel.

God, he would just like her so much better with the light out of her eyes.

"Tell me, Rachel, this... thing you can do. The force fields, the telekinesis. Minute, but... powerful." His eyes glanced from the machete to each of the knives, something excited flaring within them for a moment as a few more sharpened objects followed suit. "Care to test just what that can block?"

[racheltherunner.livejournal.com]

Force fields? Telekinesis? "I'm a witch, you ignorant snack," I snarled, offended. "And it can block anything you throw at it. Rhombus." I was in a circle, it flaring to life around me, and I gave him a haughty grin. "Damn straight I'm powerful."

Except now I was in a circle and trapped. This guy was more than just evil, he was insane. He was Piscary on a blood lust, and for a second I felt the growing edges of panic. I remembered Piscary's weight on me, his nails gouging into my skin, the sick pant of his breath across my face...

No. Stop it, Rachel. This was not the same. Sylar had nothing over me, he couldn't manipulate my scar, and he sure as hell wasn't smarter. He'd thought I had powers like him and Peter, for God's sake. He was a human, and I could beat him.

My grin grew more feral and I snarled, "Bring it on, sweetcheeks, let's see what you got."

I got kind of stupid when I was afraid.

[mmm-brainz.livejournal.com]

Oh, damn. He knew... the basic gist of what that was, at least. She said 'Rhombus', this... circle went up. Nothing could go in or out, it seemed. Which kind of took the embodied form of fun and hacked it off at the knees. And they had been having so much fun.

"What's the matter, Rache?" he replied in a harsh sort of whisper, a single eyebrow slowly arching, in question, as the machete twinged, pointed more towards Rachel's skull than her chest. "Can't take the big bad man pointing a few knives at you?" The machete lunged forward, testing the circle, and, no - it just skittered off the edge of it. Damn, damn, damn. No matter. All he could do was try.

So, of course, all of the other five knives followed suit.

[racheltherunner.livejournal.com]

Four of them were stopped. I was standing there, arms folded, so damn cocky. But one knife had my blood on it. And, while said blood was fresh, that meant my aura.

Which meant my circle went down.

The knife plunged into my stomach and I let out a surprised 'oh', curling over onto myself. Damn it. Damn it. There wasn't any pain, not at first. Too much shock. Just the warmth of my blood spilling over my hands. Oh, not good. Grimacing, I pulled out the knife, letting out a choked, anguished sound. "Son of a bitch." My eyes cut to him and something lept in them, furious and cold.

"What's the matter, Sy?" I mocked back, grabbing with shaking hands for another pain amulet and slapping it over my chest, the blood on my hands doing fine for invoking it. "Can't fight without using your special powers? You're a sad little fake, relying on tossing things around the room like a child." I straightened up, blood still staining my side but the pain muted for now.

Plunging myself into the line, I raised one hand and shot a ball of ever after energy at Sylar. "Fine. Let's play."

[mmm-brainz.livejournal.com]

It was like she didn't even get hurt - she just kept on going. Sylar was wincing, clutching at the gouge in his thigh, blood bubbling up between his fingers, and she was just... completely without falter. It to be something to do with those amulets. Had to. Just what other tricks did she have up her sleeves, here?

Oh, jeez, not that again.

Both of Sylar's hands braced upwards, radiation flaring from his palms in two giant bursts of energy, to rival Rachel's... whatever it is that she could do. He didn't even know yet. The two forces met in the middle, in some huge kind of explosion, as Sylar advanced on the girl, heavy limp to his step. Goddamn, that hurt. "I can't fight without my powers? What's this, then? What's Rachel Morgan without her little... witch moves?"

The machete lifted from the floor, straight to his fingers, eyes narrowing onto the girl with the kind of hatred that took months to grow. "Play. Is that what they're calling it nowadays?" Last he knew, it was called 'skinning alive'. But to each their own.

[racheltherunner.livejournal.com]

"Hey, you want me to just go at you bare handed, I'm all for it." I was starting to breathe hard, the blood loss getting to me. Damn it, this needed to end soon. My eyes flicked to the machete and I glared. "Just can't keep your sticky fingers off of other people's stuff, can you?"

Another burst of ever after was hurled at him with a snarl, and I stalked forward. That the pain was gone was good, but that didn't mean my body wasn't shutting down. My shirt was heavy and cold with my blood, my arm going numb from the stab wound.

"Admit it, Sylar." Taunting him probably wasn't the best move, considering, but I couldn't help myself. "You're getting your ass handed to you." That machete was worrisome, but my brain wasn't working fast enough to deal. Another knife I picked up with a flick of my fingers and sent hurling towards Sylar after the ball of energy. Ha. Double teaming him.

[mmm-brainz.livejournal.com]

The knife missed, but the ever after definitely slammed into his chest, sending him reeling all over again. Dangerous, when he could barely keep his footing in the first place. He stumbled backwards into the nearest chair, fingers scrabbling for purchase. Damn. This little brat couldn't be winning. She just couldn't. But blood was gushing down his leg, his jeans stained a dark shade of purple in the light of the tent.

Wasn't winning. She wasn't winning.

"Getting my..." he started to repeat, and just let out a dry laugh, tilting his head back and taking a few shaky steps back towards Rachel, with a wince with each step. "Right. Delude yourself if you must. But you." He could've swung with the machete, but he raised a finger instead, and a sharp pinprick of pain stabbed into Rachel's throat, just by the hollow of it, drawing in a miniscule bit of a line across. "Are not winning." How easy it would be, just to slit her throat, just to see some color.

[racheltherunner.livejournal.com]

The pain stabbed through my throat and I let out a groan, my hand instinctively going up to cover the thin line. Okay, one - ow. And two - what the hell was that? Getting weaker by the second, I nonetheless pushed up a shield, cutting off his access to me, however he was doing that creepy cutting thing.

I ached, all over, from how much ley line magic I'd been using. I could not keep this up; even without the massive blood loss, keeping a hold of a line this long was not something I was trained to do. But for now I pressed forward, one foot in front of the other, shield held up shakily in front of me.

For the first time it occurred to me that I might actually lose. Not just get my ass handed to me, but lose in the permanent sense. Sure, there was that no kill rule. But I started to wonder if 'no death' also meant 'can't get dismembered into lots of little pieces'. That probably would have been good to check before this. Then I thought about Peter - oh, God, I really wanted to see him again. Preferably with all my pieces in the correct places.

Fine. I'd just take this bastard down so I could go home. Simple.

"Oh, I think I am, cookie." Summoning up the reserves from somewhere, I pointed the five knives up at him and let them fly. "Don't worry, you wouldn't be the first one."

God, please just be over so I could collapse.

[mmm-brainz.livejournal.com]

Her and her damned shields. Why couldn't she just fight? He was taking in the efforts with some kind of emotion between annoyance and jealousy - half because she did keep doing that, kept backing off and playing defensive rather than actually presenting a challenge, and then there was just, Christ, her having something that he didn't. That kind of childish mentality.

Cookie, why did she keep saying that? What did that even mean? Sylar sent the knives ricocheting downward, skittering across the floor, with a sweep of his hand. Another twist of his fingers and she was lifting off the ground again, an unseen force slamming her backwards into the nearest wall. No. She wasn't doing this. This was going to end. Now. He shouldn't have let it go so far, not when he could snap this girl's neck without a second thought. He was going easy on her, and consequentially getting his ass handed to him.

Except not. Because this was Sylar, apparently only ended by drugged chai tea, wheeled maps and Takezo Kensei swords. ...Powers of pursuasion were definitely making their way up that list, though.

"What, because you're just 'reverting to your powers' and 'throwing things around'? You think you've won?" he shot back, head tilting as he took a few steps forward, one hand still grasping on midair and holding her in place as the other braced against his thigh. This had to end. Soon. He was losing too much blood.

He was barely a foot away, head tilted, eyes flashing with ire as he released the air. The hold on Rachel didn't budge, it wasn't as if he actually needed the hand gestures to manipulate air. More of a concentration thing. "Show me, then. Show me this... winning of yours. Can you?" He raised both eyebrows, in question. "Kill me. Let's see it."

[racheltherunner.livejournal.com]

The world swam before my eyes as my back hit the wall and I nearly blacked out. Struggling to remain conscious, I glared at him, thinking frantically.

Which was hard to do when he was right in front of me and damn he had gorgeous eyes. There was this dangerous intensity in his face that made my stomach lurch in something other than fear.

...Dear God, I was sick. Focus Rachel.

Blaming it on the blood loss, I shook my head, trying to clear it. "You asked for it, there, brown eyes." With a savage twist of my body that sent a wave of agony through me, I kicked out my leg and felt my foot connect, hard, with the wound on his thigh. I dropped the same time he did, and in a second I was straddling him, leaning over him with his arms pinned above his head. "Better?" I hissed, breath heaving through my chest, blood mingling with his.

"And I told you. I don't kill people." My face hovered a few inches above his, so close I could feel his breath on my skin. "I'm not like you."

[mmm-brainz.livejournal.com]

Oh, Jesus, that didn't feel so pretty.

Rachel's foot slammed hard against the gaping hole in his thigh and Sylar automatically went down, hiss of breath sucked in between clenched teeth as he went stumbling back and sprawling across the floor, nothing behind him to catch his fall this time. She hadn't used powers, and yet he was down for the count. It was the weakness that came with getting a damned machete straight through the thigh, probably nicking the ephemeral artery on the way. Little bitch.

What was she even doing? Sitting on him?

His wrists twisted harshly in her grasp, and he wasn't exactly the scrawniest of things - it wasn't hard to gain his own grip, fingers wrapping entirely around her own wrists and jerking her in, hard and close. "I'm a natural progression of the species," he whispered in a harsh sort of voice under his breath, eyes flashing towards her own in something between intrigue and pride. "There's a difference."

[racheltherunner.livejournal.com]

Dizzy from the blood that was still making a steady progression from my two stab wounds, I was jerked forward easily, a tiny whimper escaping me as my pain amulets fell forward, leaving me exposed to the harsh waves of agony that throbbed in time with my pulse. "Yeah," I breathed. "You're not just a jackass, you're psycho as well."

Someone had once told me that I only got turned on if there was an adrenaline rush in it. While that was totally not valid, at all, I had to admit that going up against someone who could easily end me if I slipped up even a little was a high all its own. My heart started pounding faster, my breath a ragged exhale. My body had been pulled down against Sylar's mingling our blood and our heat together. My righteous hatred of him twisted around the obvious physical attraction and that lure of danger - combined with a healthy dose of blood loss, making my judgment weak as well as my head - to make my teeth flash as I grinned down at him, so close that we were almost touching.

"If you're natural progression, how come I'm on top, cookie?"

I was going to move in a minute. Just as soon as the room stopped spinning. My fingers scrambled against him, trying to jerk myself free. I was going to kick him again in the thigh and run. I had the watch. Getting out of here without fainting would definitely be counted as a win.

[mmm-brainz.livejournal.com]

There was probably something unhealthy in how much pride he took, hearing that strange sort of sound bubbling up from her throat. Fear. Pain. Something. Whatever it was, it was something most decidedly Not Happy, and paired with the pounding, staccato rhythm her heart was beating out against her ribcage, this was the closest thing to a kid in a candy store that he got. "And you're the, what, witch who fights out her problems with a practical stranger while, where's the husband? Away?" he murmured, eyebrows raising. As if he had to ask - he could pick out Peter's heartbeat anywhere, illuminated amongst the others. Up on that statue again. "What a pair we make."

Almost as if prompted by that, his own words, his hand flashed forward, at a near impossible speed, long fingers spindling forward and wrapping almost entirely around her throat. A nice squeeze and a push forward and she was lifted off of him, easily. He braced a hand against the floor, sitting upright and staring Rachel's eyes down, with a pair of needling ones of his own.

"Just because you're on top... doesn't mean you're in control," he whispered in a hush, leaning in so close that his breath was ghosting against her face. "How easy it would be to snap you like a twig."

[racheltherunner.livejournal.com]

His taunt made me angry - or, rather, it hurt, and I was angry because it hurt. "Don't talk about Peter," I snapped back automatically. Of course he was away. And he didn't have the first clue where I was. Wasn't going to find out, either.

I choked as Sylar grabbed me, my own hands wrapping around his wrist, my eyes narrowing on his. "I'm always in control," I snarled. A lie. Control had escaped me about the time my dad died and remained elusive ever since.

There was one thing for certain - I needed to get out of there. His fingers were tight around my throat, his face inches from mine. My eyes were captured by his, green lost in liquid brown, and I could feel my body starting to shut down. I was going into shock.

Desperate, I murmured, "Why don't you do it then?" before I surged forward, one hand going to push through Sylar's hair, pulling him roughly to me. Our lips met in an explosion of teeth and tongue and the taste of him filled my mouth. Pulling myself roughly away, I managed to roll from him, the shock of my move rendering him, for the moment, ineffective. That wouldn't last long, I knew; my distraction did buy me the precious time I needed to haul myself to my feet and begin limping towards the door, trailing bloody footsteps behind me.

[mmm-brainz.livejournal.com]

Ooh, touchy. A smirk was automatically drawing up Sylar's lips when she shot back at him. The little witch was sensitive around the Peter topic, then, huh? Maybe a bit ginger around Sylar? Considering, well, last time, Peter had ended up dead. Probably wouldn't be the last time it happened either. She loved that stupid man, didn't she? God, of all people... It was almost disgusting. Not that he had much time to dwell on the topic, because of... Because...

What was... What was that?

Yes, he was rendered virtually immobile. Who wouldn't be? It was so random. One minute, they'd been fighting. A lull, in which the banter had taken over, but... fighting. And then... She'd kissed him. She'd kissed him. Nobody did that. 'Nobody' meaning not since middle school. Not since that damned girl, kissing the nerdy little kid with the tuna sandwiches, the one who wore the sweater vests every day. On a dare. And now...

She was heading towards the door. Sylar was back on his feet, almost as seamlessly as if the air had lifted him back up, senses finally returning to him. No. She couldn't do that. His own fingers grasped at her hair again, jerking back hard, not even bothering with telekinesis this time. Head bent back against his shoulder, throat bared and in the perfect position to just slit, so pretty, right there, he bared his teeth, eyes flashing with ire.

"Why would you do that?" he managed to grate out in a snarl, knuckles whitening against the fire red of her hair, he was gripping so hard. Volume quickly rising, his eyes widened to her, dangerous widths. "Why," another tug, "would you EVER," he was gritting his teeth, almost loud enough to hear, even to normal ears, "DO THAT?"

She shouldn't have done that. She shouldn't have done that. "Some false illusion of grandeur, creating the caricature of intimacy," he was murmuring wildly to himself, as his other hand grasped at the side of her head, nails digging into her scalp. "SHOULDN'T HAVE."

It was only a sharp twist of his hands to hear that sickening 'pop' of her vertebrae disconnecting.

[racheltherunner.livejournal.com]

It hurt.

That was the one thought that went through my brain. Funny, I'd always thought that dying would mean it stopped hurting. All I'd known was my gamble hadn't paid off, I hadn't shocked him long enough to get out the door, and he'd grasped a hold of me. That I'd felt his fingers against my scalp, felt the bones pop, and then there should have been nothingness.

Instead there was a dull roar of black, of pain over every inch of me. The cool of the floor pressed against my cheek, the sticky way my shirt, slick with sweat and blood an grime, was clinging to me. For a second I just lay there, waiting for everything to fade away. But then there was a grinding pop and my neck flared into agony that made me shudder out a sob, choking as I pushed myself up. Oh, God, I almost wished I was dead. It would probably hurt less.

Slowly, shaking, I managed to stumble to my feet. My eyes were blazing, fury and hatred in them. Son of a bitch had killed me! I should have left, then. But instead I staggered over to him, throwing a punch that was blocked. "That's probably why you've never been laid," I spat. Another punch was thrown, as well as a quick kick to his kneecap. "You freaking crazy ass human!"

My anger was overwhelming, washing out everything else. "What the hell was that?" Another punch, another fist to the stomach, and I was tossing out kicks and jabs like they were candy at a parade. I just wanted to hurt him, to drive him back, to make him relent. He'd snapped my neck. Any control I might have had, any illusion of that, had been taken from me. And oh baby, did I want it back.

[mmm-brainz.livejournal.com]

He'd heard her first. Freakish, sensitive hearing automatically snagging onto the sound of vertebrae popping back into the place, the cry from Rachel's throat as bone ground against bone. The no-kill rule. Of course it would do that, to automatically correct whatever error had occurred in Rachel's biology, to keep her from death. He'd done the same thing, after Susan had thrown him in the lake. Ten minutes of coughing up water after spending half the afternoon underwater. No death. It was miraculous.

It also meant that she couldn't die, however. The thought honestly hadn't occurred to him until it had actually taken place.

One of his hands grasped at her fist, twisting hard, almost enough to dislocate her shoulder. "What was that? What was that?" he automatically barked out, through gritted teeth, and, God, he would have loved for her to just stay dead. "What about you? Why would you do that? Kiss me. Do that to somebody you obvious weren't interested in! You didn't care. Why would you do that?" Telekinetic fingers snagged into the back of her shirt, jerking her backwards, hard, into the counter. "Is this some kind of sick game?" They called him twisted.

[racheltherunner.livejournal.com]

Crying out again as my back slammed against the counter, I definitely felt something give way. "Oh my God, it was a kiss," I shouted back. And it had that or a headbutt, and I had been afraid I would have knocked myself out with that.

Pushing myself off of the counter, I nearly dropped to my knees. I was hurt, bad, and if I didn't do something about these stab wounds I was going to run out of blood to spread around his tent. I started to laugh, a wheezing, choked sound. "Besides, it seemed like a good idea at the time." Straightening up, arm wrapped around my torso, I lunged at him, past him, grabbing the machete and pointing at him. "You have nice eyes. Crazy, but nice." God, I was just babbling, my vision going dark around the edges.

Pulling up the last of my strength, I added, "Go to hell," to my little rant and chucked the machete at him as hard as I could. Letting that be my rear guard, leaving my bag and my splat gun on his kitchen floor (oh, I was so coming back for those later!), I moved as quickly as I could out the door. Not so much a run as a really fast hobble.

But I had the watch. I so won.

[mmm-brainz.livejournal.com]

It was a kiss, and weren't things like that supposed to... mean something? Anything? Or were they just that? No, it wasn't like they'd fucked and she'd left him for somebody else or something, but for someone who had shared his most intimate moments with his mother - other than those days on the road with Mohinder, but... well, the whole 'Mohinder finding out that Sylar killed his parents' thing was probably a bit of a damper on any bond they might have created - it was most certainly a lot. For someone capable of so much, naivety was rampant on the subject of anything broaching upon intimacy, with Sylar.

...Nice eyes? She was delirious. Blood loss had sent her into shock, and he was probably well on his way to following suit. He could have been imagining this whole thing, right now. All of this could be entirely fantastical means, layers of psychosis created by an oxygen-starved mind. None of this meant anything.

Except for the machete. Maybe. ...Ow.

Sylar had barely gotten time to grit out any manner of response. One minute, he was standing. The next, two feet of steel were jammed straight into that notch in his shoulder. Near fatal, on most people. A few inches to the right... Damn. The force of the machete jarring into his shoulder sent him reeling, sprawling against a nearby chair, nails snagging onto the fabric as a sharp gasp was jerked free from his throat.

Goddamn, this was going to smart in the morning.