ArchivedLogs:Try Harder

Try Harder
Dramatis Personae Peter, Sebastian, Shane, Joshua
In Absentia	2013-07-05 Post-Dusk vs Isra. (part of fight club.)
Location <NYC> BoM House - Lower East Side
Tucked away off a little-used side street in the Lower East Side, sandwiched between a youth drop-in center and a taqueria, this narrow three-story townhouse has very little to catch the eye. Boarded-up windows, a door peeling its paint, shabby grubby brickface; from the outside it does not look like much. Inside someone has gone to great lengths to renovate the building into something more habitable. It isn't glamorous but it is comfortable, old furniture dragged in, the place generally swept clean. The first floor holds a large living room, a smaller dining room, a spacious kitchen, a half-bathroom. There are three bedrooms and a full bathroom on the second floor; the attic is just a large empty space crammed full of boxes with a window out to the large flat roof. The basement, much like the attic, consists of a lot of empty space. A bare concrete floor, no windows, occasional poles running up to the ceiling. A tiny half-bathroom down here, too. Not a whole lot else. The nasty tapestry of scars Peter acrued from his previous cage-match with Sebastian have all vanished; in that time, he's (maybe quite surprisingly) managed to collect very few injuries to /replace/ them with -- leaving the dark, metallic-blue carapace he's covered with surprisingly smooth and uninterrupted. It /gleams/ under the dim light of the basement, subtle prismatic patterns flashing across his narrow chest and shoulders -- Peter's not among the more physically imposing mutants, but he has the look of a vicious little scrapper. Clad in only blue jeans and two-toed socks, he hops from one foot to the other, shaking the weight out of his arms -- and then goes through a few quick stretches. He's /trying/ not to look nervous, but it's clear from the rapidness of his movements he's a little edgy -- and though he says he trusts Sebastian, there /is/ a subtle tang of fear underlying his smell. Once he thinks he's ready, though, he crouches -- mouth tensed into a thin little line -- and wiggles his fingers: "...okay," he says. "Good to go." Shane has been listening to Peter's words, and carefully folding Sebastian's shirt to drape it on his lap. He shifts, when Peter starts preparing, kneeling and sitting back on his heels. His jaw tenses slightly, his brother's claws digging into his shoulder, but oddly he presses up /into/ the grip rather than trying to pull away. "You'll be alright," he says this quietly, head turning to the side to nuzzle his face against the hand that Sebastian squeezes down on him; its clear enough from the touch that he's directing this more towards /Sebastian/ than towards Peter. Sebastian exhales slow. Along his sides, his gills ripple. Slowly his hand releases its grip on Shane's shoulder, sliding to the side to just gently rub at the back of his neck instead before dropping away altogether. "Right. OK." He is watching the /blood/ in the center of the ring, though, as he steps inside. Not nearly so impressive under the light as Peter, skinny-tiny frame shivering a little as he moves opposite Peter. His hands fall to his sides, claws lengthening, but then he just /watches/, not moving. Peter's breathing slows to a steady, deep rhythm; his hands clench and unclench, his brows knitted together. It probably looks kind of ridiculous; Peter's a tiny five foot six -- and Sebastian's even tinier. If you don't look at anyone else in the room, Peter /probably/ looks like some sort of giant. "Okay," Peter repeats what he just said -- and Sebastian just echoed. As if he's just triple-checking. And then-- --there's really nothing /skilled/ about Peter's fighting style; beyond some interesting bouts in the DR against Luchadors -- and some ad hoc lessons from Rasa, Sloan, Shane, and Sebastian re: the basics -- he's never actually had any combat training. Rather, he gets by on raw speed plus power multiplied by absolutely /ridiculous/ reflexes. There's nothing polished about Peter's charge toward Sebastian -- it's mostly just Peter HURLING himself at him with breakneck speed, fist hooking in from the side -- with enough force to /break/ the jaw of an ordinary man. Lucky for the sharktwins, NO BONES TO BREAK. Sebastian's reflexes are sharp, if not quite as much so! There's certainly, though, with a /charge/ like that, time enough for him to at least account for the hook coming towards him -- so it's perhaps slightly unusual that he does very /little/ to avoid it. He turns, though, rolling /with/ the punch to lessen the force of impact; there's no doubt that it'll still hurt like hell, though. It's soon evident why he isn't trying much to retreat; even as Peter is coming in towards him for that blow, his hands are coming /up/, long claws aimed to dig hard against Peter's sides around the same time the punch lands. If they connect, he's dragging Peter back /with/ him -- by the kind of unpleasant handle of claws dug into chitin -- in the inadvertent stumble that happens when fist slams into jaw. "Ohcrap--" Peter manages to /squeak/ a moment before those claws drive into his sides; apparently, DANGER SENSE gave a big loud YALP just pre-impact. Fat good it did Peter -- once he's committed to the charge-punch, there's really not much he can do to stop. One hand /does/ descend to snatch at one wrist as the claws sink into chitin, though; his knee immediately snaps up to fill the space between their chests, applying a rough pressure back and /down/, trying to shove Sebastian -- the hand that delivered the punch lagging behind its sibling as Peter twists and hops, the scent of blood already in the air -- trying to grab Sebastian's other wrist and pull /that/ out of him, too. "Nnngfffhh..." Teeth grinding. Eyes narrowing. "Mnngh," Sebastian hisses, though the hiss is cut short as his gills flare open, He's silent, then, as he is shoved, fingers /curling/ in an effort to stay where they are -- or possibly just to make extrication that much /messier/. One hand is jerked free when Peter's knee snaps up into him. His slight inward /crumple/ against Peter's knee is perhaps all the more accentuated for the fact that, gills still fluttering, he is not /breathing/; there's a moment of panicked disorientation as he wrestles with both finding /oxygen/ and dealing with incoming spider. He twists around when Peter grabs at his other wrist, head slamming downward to BITE towards the bicep of the arm that is holding him. /His/ knee jerks upwards from this close quarters, straight towards Peter's groin, fast but not quite as strong as it /would/ be if he could perhaps get his lungs working again. "Tssst--" Rrrrrip; when those curled claws are yanked from chitin, they tear long, meaty Peterchunks out of his sides. There's a muffled cry of pain, stifled in Peter's throat; next comes the teeth -- sinking into that hard, thick bicep -- finding the muscle tough, /hard/ in a way most muscle isn't -- but not impenetrable if the sudden flush of blood and tear of sinew is to be any judge. "Fffnn--" The knee just misses its target -- Peter steps /into/ it, a flare of intuitive pain warning him -- the blow slamming into the thickness of his inner thigh, instead. Peter's arm releases Sebastian's wrist, then -- and latches around the head that's biting it. Fingers sink into his hair, curling into a fist, pulling with a powerful /yank/; the other hand /squeezes/ at Sebastian's other hand; if he had wrist bones, they'd /probably/ be fracturing under the surge of pressure. But the real meat of Peter's attack comes from his head -- as he pulls on Sebastian's hair for leverage, Peter's leaning his torso back before /hurling/ his forehead toward Sebastian's own -- using his /skull/ against the maybe-softer cartilage to just /hammer/ him. Again, and again, and maybe even again, if he can manage it. On the sidelines, Shane is /hissing/ where his brother cannot, sharp and -- it sounds almost pained himself, though he's just. Sitting there. Clenching at his knees, muscles taut. Black eyes fixed on the other two and his mouth pressed into a thin unhappy line. Sebastian finally manages a ragged sharp gulp of breath, gills closing against his sides. "Mmh --" This time it sounds smaller, /pained/, with that slam of head into his. His weight pulls in a heavy slumping sink against Peter's hand gripping his head, and it takes a moment for him to find his feet again. When he does, his hand /slams/ upward, fist slamming right for the bloody gouges torn into Peter's side. And slamming again. And -- there's another /stumble/-shift of weight but then Peter's next headslam he's jerking forward to /meet/, his mouth -- going straight for Peter's. It could be a kiss if not for the fact that he's actually trying to intercept headbutt with /teeth/ clamping down to Peter's mouth. Another gurgled, stifled cry comes when Sebastian's fist hits the bloody gouges on his sides; the twin bloody streaks resemble some bizarre parody of Sebastian's own flank-gills, rimmed with blood. When Sebastian meets Peter's third headbutt -- with his mouth -- there's a brief flicker of horror in Peter's eyes, as warning signals BLARE -- but it's far too late, far too little space to /manuever/, and -- for a second it /does/ look like a kiss -- Peter's fist in Sebastian's hair, Sebastian's mouth against Peter's -- except for the teeth that are gouging through the much-softer flesh of Peter's lips, tearing bloody holes and sinking in -- even as Peter falls backward, beginning to crumple with a whine of pain -- now his left knee trying to /hammer/ at Sebastian's stomach, even as he pulls the other arm taut -- sinking toward the floor. Sinking towards the floor -- possibly not the /best/ of things with Sebastian's teeth still lodged in Peter's lip. His soft unhappy noise of pain comes grunted in a burble of Peter's own blood, mouth still pressed against -- into -- the other boy's. Sebastian shifts down along /with/ him, sinking towards the floor half over top of Peter. His gills are flaring again, stomach tensed up against Peter's kneeing. His next punch towards Peter's side is definitively weaker, though, and the soft growls he makes are harsh and pained. His body curls in a half slump, in against Peter -- mouth still clenched into the maaaybe a bit /wider/ holes in Peter's lip as he /twitches/ with that hammering. One hand drops to the floor mid-attempt to make another (weaker) punch but then his hand lifts, reaching straight, this time, for Peter's throat, -- the clench of his fingers might just be aiming to choke if not for the very long claws turned in towards his flesh. Ah -- that would be the point where Peter's more or less just collapsing, curling, the hand fisting in Sebastian's hair suddenly releasing -- a wet, weak, trembling gurgle as he just starts /smacking/ -- the other hand releasing Sebastian's wrist, flailing as the teeth grit in, /slapping/ in some desperate attempt to end the match. Said desperation has a little to do with the holes in Peter's mouth and lip -- but it has a lot /more/ to do with the sudden presence of those claws digging into his chitin clad throat, /sinking/ past muscle and sinew; a rich, gurgling wet choke builds up in Peter's neck. "Ssshhh," he manages, teeth clomped down to protect his tongue in a cage of pearly whites. "Shhhtahp--" It's whisper-soft, a whimpering choke. That whimper is /echoed/ by Shane when it comes, a quiet, "{-- stop,}" offered in quick translation. Sebastian has been slumping but at this -- at Peter's or at Shane's words, it's hard to tell -- he just goes /limp/. Body trembling (pained? Exhausted?) half against Peter's, his hand dropping to the floor beside Peter's neck. He opens his mouth, carefully /extricating/ teeth from Peter's lip with a small flick of tongue to briefly /lap/ at blood before his head just drops against Peter's shoulder. "-- Josh," Shane is already calling, from the sidelines. Sebastian doesn't say anything. He's still kind of shaking. Gills flapping rapidly. It takes a moment for him to -- not so much prop himself up as /shove/ himself off of Peter with his hand pushed against the ground, black eyes scanning the other boy in worry. "Shhhnnh..." Peter wheezes, wet and whimpering. When Sebastian's teeth extract, he slumps beneath him; when his claws withdraw from his neck -- a steady ebb and flow of blood follows, dribbling in time with the rapid staccato of Peter's heartbeat. When Sebastian slumps against his shoulder -- Peter's hand descends, a little weak, a little slow, landing with a thwump against the back of Sebastian's neck -- giving a tiny, trembling squeeze. When Sebastian pushes off -- well, Peter doesn't get up. He just lays there, continuing to wheeze and bleed, eyes staring up at the ceiling as his narrow chest heaves. Afraid, exhausted, mouth split open from the ragged tears of Sebastian's bite, exposing blood-dribbled teeth. "Nghgh," he mutters, torn lips not moving, tongue flicking off the back of his teeth. "Sahashchun..." Joshua is there in short order, stooping to rest a hand against Peter's shoulder. Feeling out injuries and starting to knit then back together; the paramedic looks kind of tired, kind of pale, a little shaky himself as he starts to heal the teenager's injuries. It's likely that for everyone's safety this will be the /last/ fight of the night. Sebastian watches Joshua work with large eyes. Still shaking, along side Peter. Only once the gouges in Peter's side are closing back up does he drag himself sort of limply closer, against Peter's side. "-- You could've had me," he whispers, with a slow frown. "Peter, why --" He hesitates, uncertainly: "-- You go. For my /stomach/. Instead of my -- throat." "Snrrkkh," Peter says, in response to Joshua's hand against his shoulder; he settles in a little more comfortably, even though he's still -- wheezing, quite a bit. The mouth injuries start to knit a /little/ but -- well, let's face it. Those ones aren't exactly fatal. It's the clawmarks at his sides and throat that are probably getting priority one. Peter blinks, almost lazily -- owlishly -- up at Sebastian. A hand crawls out, as if searching for some random part of Sebastian to squeeze. "Dun--" He cuts himself off, grimacing; he swallows, then tries again: "Dun-noh," he admits, before: "Shcared it uud -- hurt." As the pain recedes, a sudden grimace racks Peter, intermingled with -- he sounds like he's almost /giggling/. It's choked with wheezy pain. "Shahashun." Tiny wiggle of slowly-healing lip-shreds, as Peter's other hand gestures weakly at his mouth. "Gihheee kiiiiiish." "Shh --" Sebastian rests a hand against Peter's chest when he starts to giggle. "Just -- be still he's -- he'll fix." He quiets again; his breathing is kind of labored, his words kind of strained. "It'd hurt," he says eventually, "that's. The point. /You/ could -- crush." His other hand lifts, fingers pressing gently against the blue skin of his throat. "-- with one hand probably. But you -- don't." He /does/ give Peter a kiss, turning slightly to press his lips to Peter's -- shoulder, admittedly. Then his cheek. But his whisper is fierce when he says: "You /should/. Because I will." The pressure on Peter's chest helps quiet the wheezy, excruciating giggling; it also helps that Peter's clearly exhausted. When Sebastian gestures at his throat, Peter's eyes widen -- for just a moment -- before settling back to half-mast. When Sebastian moves in to kiss -- "Nn -- kiddink--!" But then there's a kiss on his shoulder, and -- a little, tiny, wheezy giggle. A slow, throaty sigh; another swallow. When Sebastian moves in to deliver that kiss to Peter's cheek, though -- for a moment, he holds his breath. The fierce whisper that follows is responded to -- on pure, brutally painful impulse -- by Peter's mouth, ragged and torn, darting up to defiantly /kiss/ Sebastian. It is not a particularly good kiss; more just a mashing of bloody tatters against one side of Sebastian's mouth. And it's clear by the way Peter's body tenses when he does it that it is not a /painless/ experience. But when his head slowly drops back to the floor, he's (very weakly, very painfully) smiling, having left a bloody lipprint on Sebastian's face. "Know. Ishokay." Eyes close; he draws in another ragged breath. "Lush you." Something in Sebastian should /probably/ be kind of horrified by the bloody ruin of mouth coming for his face. But he kisses Peter /back/, admittedly briefly; it's none too pleasant for him either with nose out of joint and mouth puffing and bloody, a few teeth /missing/ in all the headbutting. He nestles back against Peter's side as Joshua continues his silent work. His hand stays pressed down against Peter's chest, gills flapping open and closed again. "... Love you," he agrees, in a very tiny voice that stutter-hitches over not-quite-drawn breaths. Only now that Joshua is working does Shane creep over to the others' sides. He reaches -- not for either of the teenagers but to rest a hand at Joshua's back, supportive. His other has a water bottle and protein bar he has /commandeered/ from the refreshments. He sets these down at Joshua's hand; the water is snatched up quickly for a long drink. "He's right," Shane says eventually, and he sounds incredibly /uncomfortable/ saying it, a tense agitation still gripping his muscles even now that the fight is over. "You could've ended that really quickly. Don't --" He looks at his brother's face -- /bruised/ and bloody from the headbutting, an eye swelling shut, blood on his puffing lips, nose nooot really aligned -- winces, and finishes, "-- don't. Hold back." Peter wraps his arm around Sebastian as he nestles up close and /squeezes/ him tight, eyes still not opening; his breathing is getting stronger, now -- less hitched, less ragged -- more firm and solid -- the wounds at his throat are no longer ebbing blood, though they're still /there/ -- the injuries at his sides are no longer strips of meat dangling -- and the ruin of his mouth looks -- well, a bit less ruinous. It still hurts to talk, though, and he's /probably/ going to need some stitches. "Nnngh," Peter responds, popping an eye open as he hears Shane. Rather than contradict him, he just -- reaches an arm forward for him. One arm around Sebastian, the other making grabby motions at Shane. As if Peter has suddenly gotten /greedy/. One shark -- not nearly enough! "--come-ere," he says, demandingly. A brief one-eyed glance at Sebastian, followed by a wince: "I dink I hurt your nose." A bloody-toothed grin, before he looks to Joshua, /maybe/ a little reverently, as he does the healy-thing. "Dank you." Back to Shane: "Is hard," he says, "/not/ to hold -ack." Sebastian /whimpers/ at that squeezing -- he's taken quite a beating! And not had the benefit of Joshua's ministrations to start putting them right, yet. He turns his head to rest his cheek on Peter's shoulder, though his eyes fix on Shane when he approaches. "-- come," he echoes Peter, just as firm-demanding even if his voice is quieter. He /snorts/, then, which -- causes another tension because ow. "Little bit," he agrees. Shane starts to inch closer, though when /both/ of them say 'come' he frowns, uncertain, and then ends up wiggling himself on his belly in /between/ both of them right on the bloody concrete floor. One hand resting on Sebastian's gills, the other on Peter's chest just under Sebastian's hand. "But out there people won't. In /here/ he won't --" He turns his head to glance towards Bastian. "-- In here we won't let you die. Out there." "Out there," Joshua speaks up, mild and quiet, "you won't have me." "Nnnghshorry," Peter comments, just after Sebastian's whimper -- having apparently not /considered/ just how much a squeeze might hurt right now. But there's something lazy about his expression; like he's just lounging after a long, pleasant round of exercise. When Shane descends between them, Peter gigglesnorts again, which is -- painful! But not nearly as painful as it was just a /minute/ ago. A hand reaches to grip Shane by the back of his collar, wheezing just a bit -- and then, his still-bloody-mouth bobs forward to kiss at his jaw. Just a tiny little peck, because. Also, ow. Another bloody lip-print. "--out /there/," Peter responds, maybe just a little arrogantly, "/I/ won't let anyone--" He pauses, head craning back to look at Joshua; his still-split lips crease into a frown, before he looks back to Shane. Something worried passing over his face. "--will try harder. For you," he says. Shane huffs out a quiet breath at this first arrogant response, soft and almost-laughter. His smile is warm when tips his head foread, pressing a soft kiss to Peter's side. Then turning his head to to the same to Sebastian. "-- And for /you/ is all he says in answer to this, lapsing back into quiet while Joshua works.