Anger Management (Closed RP)
Aug. 30th, 2007 03:20 am![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png)
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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.
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Date: 2007-08-30 10:20 pm (UTC)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.
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Date: 2007-08-30 10:32 pm (UTC)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."
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Date: 2007-08-30 10:53 pm (UTC)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.
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Date: 2007-08-30 11:10 pm (UTC)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.
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Date: 2007-08-30 11:21 pm (UTC)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.
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Date: 2007-08-30 11:35 pm (UTC)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.
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Date: 2007-08-30 11:48 pm (UTC)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.
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Date: 2007-08-31 12:05 am (UTC)...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.