( it's an echoing drumbeat. fists against flesh. the distant tattoo of an old world, and frank lets it slip under his skin. keeps time with his heart. a thousand cacophonies build and swell and scream. they circle each other like sharks, and strike. it's been a long time since he fought somebody on equal footing. red, maybe.
and then his vision blacks out at the edges and pain crawls up his shoulder and the world falls away and he stops fighting like a fucking prize dog for an audience and instead he fights like he means to hurt this motherfucker until he stops fighting back —
and then it's over, and his head is ringing and he feels the sharp electric bite of a taser thrumming along his nerves. he coughs some, rolls over onto his side. up onto one elbow. up onto his knees.
but the fight's gone out of him, more or less. and this guy is just another poor bastard that got in his way. he huffs out something like a laugh and then, teeth red to the gums, he says, )
Anybody ever tell you you hit like a fuckin' girl?
( maybe it's framed like an insult, but it isn't one. he's been hit by lots of badass women. he gets up, holds out a hand. he's wearing gloves. no contact. )
[ Ephemera coughs. Pushes himself upright with his good arm and spits on the ground, baring his teeth. It doesn't feel like he's lost any this round. Small favors. But there's blood in the air still, and skin between his teeth. The scars pull the expression in unpleasant directions, a rictus he used to deploy with effect in prison. But he laughs, too, and the sound is warmer than before. None of the wild cackling of earlier. There's a moment of pure, easy joy in the expression. ]
Yeah. The woman who trained me.
[ Oh, she'd be proud to see the damage he'd wrought in her name. Ephemera takes the offered hand and hauls himself up. Gloves, smart. His own hands are carefully wrapped and unlike a lot of the other fights, he always fights in long sleeves, but one of these days he needs to take the plunge. Find a pair of gloves that doesn't offend him for their lack of armor. ]
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timeasmymeasure
no subject
Date: 2020-02-20 03:20 am (UTC)and then his vision blacks out at the edges and pain crawls up his shoulder and the world falls away and he stops fighting like a fucking prize dog for an audience and instead he fights like he means to hurt this motherfucker until he stops fighting back —
and then it's over, and his head is ringing and he feels the sharp electric bite of a taser thrumming along his nerves. he coughs some, rolls over onto his side. up onto one elbow. up onto his knees.
but the fight's gone out of him, more or less. and this guy is just another poor bastard that got in his way. he huffs out something like a laugh and then, teeth red to the gums, he says, )
Anybody ever tell you you hit like a fuckin' girl?
( maybe it's framed like an insult, but it isn't one. he's been hit by lots of badass women. he gets up, holds out a hand. he's wearing gloves. no contact. )
no subject
Date: 2020-02-20 04:36 am (UTC)Yeah. The woman who trained me.
[ Oh, she'd be proud to see the damage he'd wrought in her name. Ephemera takes the offered hand and hauls himself up. Gloves, smart. His own hands are carefully wrapped and unlike a lot of the other fights, he always fights in long sleeves, but one of these days he needs to take the plunge. Find a pair of gloves that doesn't offend him for their lack of armor. ]
You're not bad, motherfucker.
[ Ephemera bares his teeth. ]
You want a drink? I'm getting drunk.