snowblindrpg | [log] Escalation of aggression [closed]

[As soon as he'd taken one look outside and realised what was happening, Beckett had retreated back into the firestation. He has had quite enough of that, thank you very much.

Norfinbury throws illusions and delusions at them on a depressingly regular basis, and he remembers every instance in detail. They unnerve him much more than he'd like to think they should, but of course he's had to learn to adjust his own expectations of himself. Every time reality breaks around him, there's the fear - the hope - the open, gaping question. Was any of it real? Or is he still slumbering somewhere in the world he knows, dreaming that he's cheated the end?

No matter how much better his balance is, his newly, carefully reassembled self-control, he can't go wandering out there when both inside and outside are in such precarious state. He stays in, spends the day organising notes, which is a profoundly soothing activity no matter the contents of those notes. It's only once in a while that he gets up and goes to the door to look into the white distance; the distance spells a kind of seduction.

At evening time, only a little before lockdown, his curiosity overwhelmed him and he ventures out. A walk around the building, nothing more, hand to the wall to guide his steps. He is in control. Even when the wall he's following sprouts a hand that reaches for him - like in the dream, like in the sea - he is in control.

He finishes the round and stands in the doorway, still compelled by the emptiness outside. Iron gray sky, hazy snow, falling darkness. Somewhere in the distance, a figure, growing closer; but he doesn't register it as real. He closes his eyes to it and breathes the cold in, speaking mostly to himself when he does.]

Whatever you are, go away.

[ It had started out like any other morning. Shadows of people certainly hadn't been any stranger to him. If anything, it was just the normalcy of Norfinbury by now. For... as normal as one could call it anyway. The cold's worse. It bites into him unlike the previous day and that's saying something. Enough to make it a fight to keep even minute shivers under his control. While he's gathered a more reasonable amount of layers since waking up there over four months ago, it barely seems enough.

But there's something more that day. Something even more off and worse. And a part of him gets this sinking feeling that maybe that ought to have waited it out. Maybe they ought to have stayed where they were, but group consensus had decided to push forward, so forward it was. It's not the first time they had dealt with that odd creeping feeling before. The screaming had been far worse, he tells himself. The screaming and the ice berg. It doesn't change the way he holds the grip of his knife tight at any sign of a clawed hand outstretched to him out of the corner of his eye. Of any blink of flaring black wings unfurling or a lonely feather dancing in the wind. But every time he looks, it's nothing but a shimmer of what almost appears to be the sun against the snow. Another trick.

So, he keeps himself busy. Or tries to. He has their backs. He won't let anything happen to them. Not on his watch. He tells himself that again and again. He strikes up conversation when he can, lost in the blur of voices talking about everything and nothing. Repeated conversations for the sake of conversations. The same old concerns and jokes and discussion just to make the underlying unease a bit more bearable- and it is at first. Everything feels relatively calm. They're making progress as far as he's concerned. They ought to make it there fine-

-until he actually allows himself to really think and realizes that the current conversation he's having is a conversation he had months ago and he's having it with someone who shouldn't even be. Because Tadashi died three months ago. And his brother, nearly a month after that. Lancer was gone shortly after he started traveling with Kunsel and the Cloud who had finally awoken from his coma stupor vanished in the snow and not long after Hiro... He shakes his head fiercely, his vision seeming to finally clear and-

Gone.

They're all gone. Zack glances around fervently, shouting out their names loud and clear but to no avail. He curses under his breath. How could he be so stupid? But it's Norfinbury, after all. And it's getting late. If he doesn't manage to get to shelter, he's going to have a lot more to worry about than where those three are. Find a safe space. Contact them immediately. That's the plan.

And it's one he's set to follow through with as he hurriedly picks up the pace. He rushes through the haze of shimmering snow as swiftly as he possibly can, keeping an eye both out for anomalies and the time. His tablet's already flashing in warning. He's really tempting fate and he knows it. He might be stuck out in the-

No, don't even think about it, Fair. Move.

It's by luck that he sees the looming structure before him, big enough for him to easily recognize as the fire station. But by the tablet's light, he can see something lingering in front of its door, too. An anomaly? No, it would already be rushing for him. He's pretty sure he heard it say something, too. Anomalies rarely speak. And when they do, well. He shudders at the thought.

So, he approaches cautiously, hand back on the grip of his knife and... coming no where close to releasing it as the light finally glances off the features of one of his least favorite people in this world. ]

Great. It's you.

Edited (edited on the grounds of HOLY SHIT I'M SORRY FOR HOW LONG THIS GOT;;;) 2016-08-25 04:48 (UTC)

Bloody hell. [Beckett says it practically in tandem with Zack.] It's you.

[Even as he says it, he's drawing back, registering too late that the other man is real and no illusion. This is remarkably bad. His instinct is to go right back in and slam the door shut; he doesn't so the latter, but he's retreating into the building before he can think about it. Before he can do something else. There is another instinct bursting up in him, like a tidal wave crashing against the defences that reason and restraint place in its path. He has to outpace it.

Under other circumstances, he might have resented the idea that Zack might think he's running from him, rather than from his own reaction. He's not frightened of the man and Zack had better not imagine otherwise. But it doesn't matter. It doesn't matter what he thinks about Zack or what their dispute is. This is for his own sake, his own demands of himself, and for that he will do whatever he needs to. Retreat as far as he needs to. If there is such a thing as far enough. He can't smell anything now, so perhaps out of sight of his potential prey would suffice to keep the urge at bay. As long as Zack cooperates, that stubborn senseless fool...]

Stay back. [He'd left the door open, and he keeps his eyes on it as he retreats further in, to see what Zack would do before he turns around and tries for one of the rooms, perhaps. Perhaps Zack won't do anything stupid. What are the odds...] You know I'm dangerous.

[ Oh, he's heard the stories. He's seen the warning and if that wasn't enough, the aftermath of Charles and Charlie told him as much the story. He doesn't raise his hand from his knife though he doesn't draw it either. But nor does he seem to heed that warning either as Beckett draws into the fire station. If anything, something about it makes him boil. ]

To some, yeah. You made that pretty damn clear after what you did to those two. How many more people are you gonna hurt, huh?

[ The rational part of him would be arguing that it's not like he has a choice in this. His tablet's already begun to flash. He's been following what he thought were his friends in a wild goose chase. There's no other building he knows close enough nearby. He'd freeze to death before he'd ever find shelter elsewhere.

But somehow that argument's lost in the sheer heat of his detesting words. It has him clutching the grip of his butcher knife tighter as he slips into the fire station. He closes the door behind him, keeping his tablet held up so he can see. ] Well, Beckett?

[It's like Zack insists on being the voice of temptation. Not of his conscience - he already has that, loud and clear, otherwise the man would be slammed against a wall with fangs at his throat already. Who gave him the bright idea that throwing a hungry, struggling Cainite's failures in his face like a red rag would somehow make ihm less likely to attack?

If Zack is baiting him then he only has himself to blame... no, no.]

I'd say that's up to you. [It's half a plea and half a snarl. He keeps moving back, but there is only so far back to move. He's very aware of Zack's knife, the hunter in him aware of everything about the other man. Assessing. A red shadow behind his eyes that makes them dart up and down, looking Zack over for weakness, lingering on the line of his throat.] Not that I don't enjoy the thought of hurting you specifically, but it'd be terribly awkward explaining it to Kunsel. Stay back. You can obey monosyllabic instructions, can't you?

[Or is he baiting Zack, himself? By the time he considers it might be so, it's already too late to take the words back.]

If you think just because I'm some SOLDIER I just fell in line and never thought a second for myself, you're wrong! Don't pretend like you know me! You don't know anything about me!

[ Always dismissive. Always looking down the brow of his nose or upturning it at every chance whenever they talk. Always so fast to assume he's an idiot, that he does nothing more than pity and hold onto useless things. Where Beckett finds the respect for Zell and Kunsel is the only place where their opinions seem to intersect, otherwise, it's always like this with them. Always like this only now it's worse because it's just the two of them and if there's anything Zack did know, it was that had they ever met under these kind of circumstances, he wasn't sure how well he would be able to keep his composure.

And Beckett sure as hell's pushing that envelope to something he more or less expecting only worse. Worse because now he's a danger. It's that alone that makes him take one more solid step. A point to make. He's far from afraid of him. He's far from backing down and just taking whatever Beckett has to say. And he's tired of it. So damn tired of him and his air of superiority that could only be thwarted by Genesis, himself, but this is much more. This is a direct shot at him- has always been. And now it's just hypocritical, enough for Zack to growl out suddenly: ]

And especially don't talk to me like you're better than me when I'm not the one going around attacking people like some-!

[ He cuts himself off, cursing under his breath. ]

I know you're an idiot - [Beckett doesn't so much stop himself talking, as pulls back when the words vanish into a predatory snarl. It's like Zack has a particular talent for pushing his buttons, with his cocky self-righteousness. He's been spoiling for a fight all along. And Beckett doesn't like fighting, not really, but more than one posturing young fool has learned the hard and bloody way that he can give as good as he gets and much more.

If it weren't for Kunsel, if it weren't for Zell... but what would they say they expected to happen, when Zack continues to push him like that, physically push him? There's only so much space for him to step back. He's already feeling the room end behind him. The simmering red hunger is joined by the stabbing angry fear of a cornered animal.]

Like some what? [His foot touches the wall on the step back. He stops before his back can join it. His muscles are tense and almost shivering with coiled energy, eyes narrowed to burning slits behind his tinted glasses, fangs showing with every word he hisses out.] A monster? Are you sure this is the position you want to push a dangerous monster into? Do you really think you know what you're doing?

THEN SUDDENLY

THE RADIO PLAYED IN THE DISTANCE OF THE CORNER OF THE ROOM

BUT INSTEAD OF FIREFIGHTERS RADIOING THE RADIO IT WAS SOMETHING WAY MORE KILLER

ZACK STARED AT THE RADIO FIRST. THEN BACK AT BECKETT

BECKETT WITH HIS LUCIOUS BLOOD STAINED FANGS AND HIS BRITTLE BIRD SHOULDERS AND HIS OILY MOPPY HAIR

AND ZACK SAID WITH A WINK

"OH. I DEFINITELY KNOW WHAT I'M DOING. LET'S TAKE THIS INSIDE... I HOPE YOU LIKE IT KINKY."

IN A FLASH, HE WAS IN FRONT OF HIM ENGULFING HIM IN AN EMBRACE THAT WAS BEYOND AN EMBRACE AND MIGHT HAVE LED TO A BACKTREAD TO SOME BED AND THEN HANDCUFFS MIGHT'A BEEN A THING WHO KNOWS USE YOUR IMAGINATION HERE

BUT THAT NIGHT THE IMPENETRABLE BECAME VERY PENETRABLE

YOU KNOW JUST SAYIN

[ Monster. A monster. The word drips like venom. Like a curse. But it's out now on the field. And in reality, isn't what he is acting like? Isn't it just the truth? Using it this way isn't implying otherwise.

That's his argument. That's what he'll stick to.

That argument's soon forgotten anyway, eyes glaring and teeth grit suddenly. ]

I know what I'm not doing and that's putting up with your shit anymore!

[ He's done. He's so done.

To be honest, he's probably been done for a while, but this is that last straw. This is the end of his self-restraint. ]

You wouldn't be the first to doubt me and you won't be the last! But I'm pretty damn sure your opinion stopped mattering the moment you lost it!

[ He finally stops in his pursuit, but his hand's shaking now in rage as he holds to that kitchen knife at his side. His eyes take on an uncharacteristic ferocity as he yells at the top of his lungs. ] We all have a choice, damn it!

[ He had. Angeal had. So had Genesis and Sephiroth.

Funny how it always came down to this. ]

[Don't talk to me about choices!

He means to say it, snarl it, whatever comes out, but what comes out isn't words. It's an beastly sound, a roar, and he's moving in. The threat is real, right there in his face, Zack's raised voice and Zack's knife and Zack's eyes, and the Beast answers it the way it knows. He's been putting so much into maintaining his equilibrium, not just because of the hunger, but this, too - loose the chains as much as an inch and the Beast will slip. That's what it boils down to. The ability to choose. His sanity. His humanity.

And now it snaps, and if he were furious at Zack before for pushing him, it's nothing to the rage that the snapping itself induces. The man made him lose the one, single, precious sliver of controlled, rational self that he has been painstakingly able to maintain in Norfinbury's hell until now. Made him not just lose his temper the way he has with Jack, House, Stein, but lose it for no reason, for no other end, nothing justifiable in his inability to rein himself in. And he'll pay for it, the Beast says, a creature of no logic that it is. He'll pay

He surges forward with berserk speed. One moment he's still on the back step, touching the wall, and the next he throws himself off it and at Zack. With fighting instinct he goes, with one hand for the knife, with the other for Zack's eyes. But the real attack is to the neck. He has very little space left to close for his fangs to be at the other man's jugular. Half a chance, and they'll be sinking in.]

AND THEN ZACK KICKED HIM WHERE THE SUN DON'T SHINE

[ He can feel the shift in the air, the change in the atmosphere so thick it feels like if it could be cut through like a hot knife through butter. But he's already ready- and maybe he's been ready for this. Maybe he even wanted this. Maybe there's been just too much damn waiting and nothing but waiting and feeling like over and over again he feels stuck without any kind of outlet.

Well, that outlet is here. And it's fast.

Too fast.

Things would be different if old reflexes were still reflexes maybe. Though perhaps even with that, maybe not. It's hard to say. It's not like it matters anyway. What matters right then is that Beckett's upon him in what feels like a blink of an eye and if it weren't for his experience, he would have probably had him exactly where he wanted him. But Zack's already been on the move, reacting without even really thinking about it. Beckett's hand that goes for the one with his knife does manage to catch it at the wrist- but there's a pointed twist to break the hold at his thumb roughly as Zack ducks deep and sideways, aiming to headbutt him in the chest.

There's just one thing Zack didn't account for and those are the fangs he suddenly feels sinking into his shoulder instead, the bite vicious and nasty. He lets out a ragged gasp of pain, temporarily stunned in place. ]

[Zack wants this. Beckett's instincts, well apart from his mind, tell him as much. A kind of caution; always more dangerous to fight someone who's been waiting for it, who's been wound up tighter and tighter and has just been ready for something to set him off, anything to unleash the full force - but he's like that himself. He's like that before he can hold back from it. Restraint doesn't come in degrees.

Zack is taller than him, healthier and thus faster, and he moves like a professional. Breaks the grip on his wrist, gets closer in than Beckett would have liked to permit, had he been fighting with all his wits about him. But not faster than the beast and its favoured weapon. No, not that.

His fangs catch, not the throat, but the meat over the shoulder blade. It's not the deadly bite he was aiming for, but it's an excellent grip, and he tightens his jaw into it. Leans his weight against Zack's. Forces him back, back from the corner, and around. Turn him, pin him, see how he likes being against the wall. Even without opening an artery, he's tasting plenty of blood already. His eyes flare into a hideous light with it as he swallows with relish and goes for more.]

[ Zack curses sharply at the feeling of teeth digging deeper, tearing through his skin. And then there's a brief moment of disgust when he feels the suction, the way Beckett devours the blood that starts to seep from the wound, and that's more than enough of a reminder to act. To push back.

This world has made him weaker, but it hasn't taken away all that he's learned and he puts it to use. Rather than letting Beckett cage him in back against the wall like he wants, Zack allows a shuffle back but rather than being turned fully as Beckett seems to want, Zack's planting his feet with bent knees while he tries to grab roughly at whatever he can get a hold of, ducking more and then turning. Turning with him suddenly. Forcefully as he yanks and tries to flip him over. ]

Get off!

[The shout goes over, doesn't even register. Very little registers when his sensory world narrows down, becomes nothing but heat and heartbeat and the rich pumping life-blood in his mouth, down his throat, into his weary mortal body that still thinks, that is still able to convince itself that this means power. It's entirely psychosomatic, and it works.

Zack manages a grab, catches the bunched neck of his shirt and coat, and he feels the flip coming as he loses the thrust of his own steps, loses ground. But not letting go. He lets Zack pull him, sending them both fumbling as they turn, moving with the other man's momentum. Couldn't do it before feeding, but now, now he can do anything. He lets Zack shove him away, and the price is coming away with a mouthful of Zack's flesh.

He spits it out and snarl-grins, freed from the wall now and still steady on his feet. Launches himself in again, mad and eager. This time he'll get the throat. He's sure.]

[ Pain. Pain registers in a nasty way and Zack hisses as he feels his shoulder torn, shuffling back and away. But through the pain boils up a resilience. Just like back when he fought Sephiroth. Just like back in the labs. Just like back in the wastelands. This is nothing. This is nothing-

His height might be working against him, making his throat an easier target. But Zack's also not lost to it- that's where he'd go for and he pauses just an extra second. Just enough to try and make Beckett think he's got him on the ropes before he ducks, one hand coming up to try and press against his face while his other forms a fist and jabs hard somewhere towards Beckett's gut. Quick and harsh. Maybe he can knock the wind out of him. ]

[Anything at all that's aimed at Beckett's face at the moment is bound to end up exactly the same - bitten, however deeply he can manage. He doesn't have the grip or leverage now as he did when he tore Charles's finger off, but that won't stop him trying. The beast is oblivious to the danger to his eyes, and the white-hot pain as Zack hits his broken nose only makes it angrier. Oblivious to everything -

- except to the blow right under his ribcage, hard and deep, because inside the beast is still human, locked in this fragile body that aches when it breathes. His lungs convulse and he chokes, the blood suddenly thick in his throat. He stumbles back again, back, coughing and retching. The blood-rage keeps him up, but he's lost the momentum. He makes a hideous wounded animal noise, of pain and of warning.

Not out of the frenzy yet. Just stepping back, scrabbling to get a lungful of air in, glaring murderous red at Zack. Just try to come near again.]

[ He sees that glare all too well. He sees it and debates half a second on the knife he just dropped earlier when he'd thrown him before he decides screw it.

He's gonna try, alright. Right there and then, as soon as Beckett's stumbling back, he's not wasting time following up. The distance now granted between them gives him the room to step-kick out. As hard and fast as he can. Aiming for his chest to try and further kill off that momentum. Weaken him. Maybe get him to the floor. The handcuffs on his pack jingle in reminder and a thought fixates in his head, but whether he can execute the idea of not is another question entirely. ]

[The wise thing would be to dodge. A part of Beckett tries, or shouts at him - at the beast - to try, at least. But the beast would not be cornered back again. It moves him to try to leap instead, to sidestep the kick and close the distance again - get up and close, teeth and claws where he cannot be escaped - but it demands things the mortal body can't give it.

He manages to avoid taking the full force of the kick centre on. It cracks against his left side instead, with the inimitable sound of bones snapping clean through. He's knocked back and down, he reels, he crumples. Suddenly he can't breath. Can't even cough. Can't haul himself up, though he tries, coming to hands and knees and dropping again. He's suffocating, choking on the pain. Can't - can't -

The beast retreats. He's himself again, half curled up and wheezing on the cold floor, mind clearing to the consequences of his own rage.]

[ He hears the snap more than feels the give, itself, when steel toed boots land their hit like they do. But he's no less ready to follow up as necessary, ready for some sort of retaliation because it'd been so immediate the past couple of times. But that retaliation never comes. No, Beckett crumbles to the floor and Zack's left standing where he is taking in heavy breaths, a stark contrast to the breaths that fail to come to the other.

At least up until he starts wheezing like that and that only sounds barely better. Zack keeps his distance for now, brows narrowed and grip on his other weapon should Beckett decide he hasn't had enough. He can feel blood running down naked skin where Beckett managed to get to his shoulder from around his pauldron. Feel the burn of the wound, itself, festering in an ugly way. But he ignores it. Take care of it later. This fight may not be over just yet. ]

You done now? Or I do I need to knock some more sense into you? Take your pick, Beckett.

[ He sounds tired more than angry now. ]

[It's an ugly awakening. Most of all because he doesn't want it. This isn't like any of the last times, when it was a relief to come to himself, because in truth he wants control and the certainty that comes with control, of his own humanity. But now he just wants to breathe. To be able to get up and stand by his own power, and teach the bastard a lesson or five. Damn humanity - he wants strength. And he doesn't even have the strength to force air down his own throat.

He coughs again, retches, which seems to loosen something. No longer choking at least. Vaguely he remembers tipping off Kunsel, telling him to advise the others that a blow to the chest would be the best way to incapacitate him even in a rage. Well, there you have it, Beckett: works like a charm. Could Zack have taken him down otherwise?

Probably. Yes.

He groans.]

You - done? I'm - [coughing again, brief but hard, god damn don't let him be sick over Zack's shoes - ] right here'f - y'want to - kick a man down.

[It's pretty amazing, how much venom he can force into a croak.]

[ No matter the venom, it's hard to even take it with an ounce of seriousness with the way Beckett chokes around the words. But there's no vindicated feelings in the end. This does nothing in the end, does it. It changes absolutely nothing about their situation, does it.

Zack finally relaxes his hand off his weapon, placing his hands on his hips out of habit or starting to. He ends up with only one there, the other aborted with a wince as his shoulder screams out a protest. ]

Not that kind'a guy. [ No matter how much he doesn't like him. No matter how much he expects a snide comment for that remark. ]

And besides, I wasn't here for that in the first place. You started this shit. I just ended it.

[ He glares at Beckett for a moment longer before he reaches for the handcuffs hanging from the side of his pack. ] In the meantime, I think I'm gonna cuff you to the firepole here. You can either work with me on this one or we can fight about it, too. Your move.

[ Because otherwise, he has a feeling they will fight again and after round one burned off most of that anger, he just would.. rather not. ]

[How nice for Zack to have burned it off. Beckett hasn't. He's still furious, crumpled as he is on the floor. The lost control. The aborted feeding. The blasted ease with which he was eventually forced down... if he could physically get up, he'd be at Zack's throat again. His face says as much, unmistakable.]

"You started it" - bloody child - [He twists himself into a tighter ball as the coughing flares again, fights it and fights to raise himself on one hand, at least sit up and spit out the remnants of blood in his mouth. ]

This is what I get for trying to warn you... stay away. I'm not your bloody prisoner.

[But he's not going to offer much resistance, either. At least he knows about preserving his strength, even if it's just for the next go he's still hoping to have.]

[ The 'child' remark earns an eye roll at this point. Wounded but still trying to get under his skin, regardless. Zack huffs as he gives him a sideways glance, unimpressed. ]

No- you aren't my prisoner. But I sure as hell don't trust you to be civil right now. Especially after you just went after me.

[ He gestures widely with a hand as if waving away the whole thing. ]

But go ahead. Get on my case. The only child I see right here though? Is you because you're pissed you got floored in the end. Just as you're gonna be pissed when I do this.

[ Zack doesn't hesitate at this point as he catches him by the arm with the intent to lead him over to said firepole. Whatever resistance he fights back against, patience still utterly gone at this point. ]

Edited (wording change 8|) 2016-11-26 00:19 (UTC)

[You damn well bet he is going to be pissed. He tries to growl, but just ends up scraping his own throat with the sound, squeezing out more air than he can spare. He tries to snap at the hand grabbing him, but his head swims with the quick hard gesture and it's over before he knows it. Cuffed to the bloody pole. It's not the most humiliating position he'd been in by far, and Zack is not the most humiliating foe to ever put him through it, but that doesn't mean his pride doesn't smart. He's gotten so bloody weak.

The smart thing would be to sit down, get some strength back. So of course he doesn't. He crouches, still blazing the readiness of a threatened, cornered animal, all despite his labouring breath. The one thing Zack isn't going to get is concession.]

I'm sure you've very proud of yourself. What a stunning achievement. It's not every day a soldier backs a man into a corner and uses an existing condition against him. Or is this how you usually win your fights?

[That's right. Can't punch him in the face? Punch him in the honour.]

[log] Escalation of aggression [closed]

Day 148/evening/FAITO

LET'S GET READY TO RUMBLE. https://youtu.be/nendMLrpI-s

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... this tag came out strangely dirty

...jesus christ, it really did. Somehow, I think that makes it worse than my gag tags.

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