snowblindrpg | [log] Escalation of aggression [closed]

[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.]

[ Now cuffed to the pole and out of his hands, Zack deflates somewhat as he steps back. The right thing to do would be to check those ribs of his, but with how on edge Beckett is at the moment, he's probably better off waiting. It's not as if he can do much about broken ribs anyway. Most of it's just a matter of sit and wait, especially with Eve out of the picture.

That leaves dealing with his shoulder which is about as pleasant of an idea as sticking his hand in one of those holes back during those "repairs". He doesn't bother looking back at Beckett as he removes his back and other things, dropping them against the wall a ways from the other man. ]

And last time I checked, you were telling people to use it.

[ He leaves it at that for now while he continues to peel out of his clothing. His coat drops first, revealing the bloody mess that's now his shoulder. It coats the white shirt underneath which is also now ripped and torn where the thin fabric used to cover the skin there. With a sigh, he peels that off, too, muffling the protesting grunt of pain as he does so. Better not to give Beckett the pleasure of hearing that.

Doesn't really stop the short hiss that comes from him, regardless, as he inspects the area with fingertips. Looks like his uniform top was wrecked in the process, too, though not as badly with how it had bunched. Not that that's saying much when most of the sleeveless turtleneck has far too many holes in it to go with the parts that are oddly sewn over.

He's definitely going to have to clean and treat this wound before it gets worse. Even if it means leaving Beckett for a time to deal with it in the bathroom. Picking up his pack, he comments maybe a bit too casually: ]

Stay here and don't try anything stupid.

[ Like trying to pull out of those cuffs because he's sure that'll really help Beckett, what with the state he's in already. ]

Use it in case I could not be reasoned with. Somehow you seemed to have skipped the reasoning.

[No, he did the exact opposite. Pushed and pushed and asked for this, and Beckett would never tell it otherwise. He has so little pride left, he curls up around the last of it like a wolf about a wound, and even the slightest jarring gets a flash of red teeth. And very much the same for his sanity.

He doesn't try the cuffs. As it happens, the moment Zack starts examining the bite wound, Beckett is transfixed to the view. The torn flesh and the blood that still oozes from it. Part of it is enjoying the sight of the damage he'd dealt; he doesn't even try to deny that to himself. Another is the blood. Still the blood.]

You realise, [he growls in a low voice,] that if you continue to give me this show, I may not be able to help what I try. I could get free of those if if my control slips again.

And that's more than one reason why I'm off to clean it up in the bathroom. Shiva.

[ He's not as dense as Beckett might think. He'd seen that look. That odd fixation. Nothing good could come of that. That he's well aware of. Doesn't change the way he tiredly huffs as he walks by him and off into the other room to deal with it. Over his shoulder, he huffs. ]

And like I could ever get any reason out of you. You wouldn't have listened to me anyway. [ He pauses maybe a bit suddenly in step. ]

You know what though? You might think you've got all the reason to look down on me, but I'm not the one losing my temper and eating people's fingers. But I guess I should'a expected that, huh?

[ He doesn't stay for an answer though, already starting off again to disappear into the bathroom for a time. Maybe not just to clean himself up and bandage things so much as not deal with Beckett for a while. ]

[log] Escalation of aggression [closed]

... 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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