ArchivedLogs:Blowing Off Steam

Blowing Off Steam
Dramatis Personae B, Isra, Jack, Joshua
In Absentia	2015-08-07 "Not getting bitten is very good motivation to get better." (Fight Club. Warning, some violence.)
Location <NYC> BoM Safehouse - 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. It's a familiar scene, by now. There's been many fights in here already -- evidenced by the splattered blood on the floors, the musk of sweat in the air. The crowd is a constantly shifting thing; the people making up the closest observers mostly stay the same, eager and attentive, though at the periphery mutants drift in and out, leaving to get snacks or drinks or air, wandering off after their fights, wandering back out of curiosity. /This/ particular fight has been ongoing for a good while, now. Some of the blood on the floor is fresh, bright and slick. It doesn't seem to be bothering B as much as perhaps it /should/, where hir skin has been scraped off from being thrown against the concrete. Hir lips are peeled back -- probably a grimace, but the disconcerting amount of teeth makes it look just as much like a sharp sharky grin. It's hard to tell, too, if ze is overly bothered by the fact that -- as of yet -- ze has not, actually, /landed/ a hit on hir invisible opponent, taking a fair amount more than ze is dealing out. Hir palms press to the floor, gills slowly shifting along hir sides. Hir shins and back are scraped raw; there's developing bruises on hir shoulders, easy to see in hir minimalistic outfit of plain black lycra shorts, no shirt, no shoes. At the moment hir eyes are closed. Nostrils flaring. Sniff. Sniff-sniff-/sniff/. Head cocking /just/ so to listen to the room around hir. Jack is doing his best to stay as quiet and still as possible right now. He knew that when he was fighting B, he'd have to go full invisible so his clothes are folded up outside the ring. His expression is unseen but he's grimacing as well. He may have escaped B's clutches so far but he's had too many close calls for his liking. Not that the wounds would show to anyone but him. He's sporting some scrapes and bruises from his escapes, falls, and rolls but nothing too bad. Off to B's left. Jack concentrates. As the fight wears on, he knows he'll have to be more careful with his TK to avoid wearing himself out but its all that's kept him un-chomped. The invisible teen focuses on one of B's wrists and he tries to use his TK to knock it out from under hir and hopefully cause a fall. Sniff-sniff-sniff. The small twitch of B's lips is hard to pin any definite emotion onto -- at any rate it doesn't last but a heartbeat before hir hand slides out abruptly from under hir. A soft snarl burbles up; hir arm comes down sharp against the concrete, hitting the floor hard. Just as swiftly, though, her shoulder is tucking, turning a fall into a roll. Ze may not be able to /see/ Jack but ze can still smell him, twisting to tuck hirself to hir left in his direction. The lack of sight means that hir kick is more guesswork than targeted, both sharply clawed feet lashing out at what would be approximately knee-height as ze comes out of hir roll. Hir hands and chest stay braced against the ground -- both for leverage in the kick and so that any further falling has less far to /go/. Tensing, Jack curses silently when B rolls. It's not what he was hoping would happen but there's no time to linger on it. The kick coming his way prompts him to try to get out of the way but he's not fast enough coming right off the TK attack. There's impact and a muffled curse before Jack goes down with the dull sound of flesh hitting concrete. A few cuts are opened on his leg as well where claws find invisible skin. And while the blood is invisible, there is wetness to touch. "Dammit," Jack curses again, quickly clamping his mouth shut and scrambling to get himself away from the spot. The baring of B's teeth with that curse is /definitely/ a grin, this time. Hir claws scrape against the floor as ze rights hirself -- admittedly nowhere near as fast as ze might have at the /beginning/ of this fight, stiffer, definitely favoring one side (likely where ze's been thrown against the concrete earlier /on/ in the round.) There's another flare of nostrils at the scent of invisible blood in the air. With a bit more effort than hir usual ze pushes off the floor, launching in the direction of that scent and the sound of that scrambling. Mouth open, now. Poised to /chomp/. Jack's not moving as fast or easily as he was at the start of the fight either, a bit slower after the blow to his knee. Any telepaths looking in at his thoughts will hear a nice bit of profanity as Jack pushes himself up. Unseen eyes go wide at the sight of incoming chomp and Jack's jaw sets. He puts his TK to use again, trying to throw B back or at least just push hir back enough to avoid being chomped. Chomping is something he definitely wants to avoid. The TK shove meets with a sharp hiss from B. The tiny sharkpup skids back, eyes wider and hir grin returning to grimace as hir already raw back and gills scrape back against the concrete. Ze rolls onto hir side with a sharper snarl, one arm this time curled around the side where ze just fell. This time the sound in hir throat is a low keen; there is blood on hir palm when it comes away from the bottom of hir gills. This time there's a /definite/ unsteadiness as ze rolls back into a crouch; on hir left side where hir gills are torn, hir arm does not touch the floor. Ze rolls in again, less rapid than before, hir good arm sweeping claws out as best ze can discern towards where Jack stands. A faint-smeared trail of blood is left against the concrete in hir wake, marking hir kind of wobbly path. Jack has to take a step back after the attack, the straing of using his TK so 'big' so much getting to him on top of the physical strain of the fight. He draws in a hiss of a breath through his teeth as he tries to put weight on his hurt leg, the kick having hit a little harder than he thought. His eyes focus on B's gills for a moment and when he sees the damage he's done, the invisible teen frowns. Even in a fight he feels bad about doing that to hir. When B starts moving again, Jack strikes out with his TK again but the roll makes it a miss. The concrete takes the brunt of the attack and Jack wobbles. There's another curse when claws find their mark, invisible gashes opening across his chest. Jack falls back again, hitting the concrete hard. Even with his own blood unseen, some of the blood on B ends up painting Jack and giving away his position. B's breathing is coming unevenly; one set of hir gills is fluttering rapidly, hir other set -- /trying/ to flutter, though the tears and blood makes the motion less even. Even so it cuts into the breaths that hir /lungs/ are taking, unsteady and erratic. Ze has little time or energy for triumph when hir claws find their mark, half pushing forward and half /falling/ forward along with Jack when the other teen falls. Hir voice is low, half a whine and half a growl, ragged and unsteady as well. Hir claws lash out again -- one-handed, fairly erratic, not quite as much /force/ as hir usual blows, aiming for the spot already marked with blood. The match draws a few more spectators as it intensifies, and Isra threads her way through the gathering crowd to stand at the ringside. Her pale blue skin has a silvery sheen in places, an effect amplified by sweat, and deep purple bruises as well. She walks slightly off-balance, one of her water-patterned wings pulled in close to her body--held /beneath/ her arm, a position she does not usually favor--and the other folded at her back, neutral. Her expression remains blank as she watches the teens grapple, but her tail sways sinuous and slow beneath the hem of the black sarong tied around her waist. Jack makes a strangled sound, trying to cut himself off as claws bite into invisible flesh again. His mind races as he tries to come up with a plan and then he notices just how bad B's gills are damaged. He feels bad about it but he knows those gills are sensitive and if one set is injured, its a weak point. Focusing his TK again, Jack tries to throw B so that hir injured side will hit the concrete. Regardless of result, he falls back once more. Head throbbing, heart racing, and chest rising and falling heavily. He's pretty much down for the count at this point. If B isn't done, Jack's wide open. "Damn..." Jack finally speaks, eyes squeezing closed. The telekinetic shove hurls B back across the ring. There's another smear of blood on the concrete where hir gills thud to the floor; it comes in time with a raw snarl from the sharkpup at the impact. Hir gills are fluttering rapidly, hir mouth open though no /breath/ is currently drawn in. One palm presses down to the floor to push hirself back up -- ineffectually; ze only gets up as far as an elbow before faltering. The other hand moves -- hovers -- -- then comes back down to hir side, hitting down three times in quick succession against the concrete. Despite this concession, there's a smile -- small, yes, very brief -- spreading across hir face. Then gone, replaced by a deep grimace of pain as ze slumps back against the concrete. From around the room there are scattered cheers (a few, perhaps, more /surprised/ than is usually polite); Joshua (or maybe it's Mirror in Joshua-form; some nights it can be hard to tell) is making his way forward to see if anyone needs healer-help but B, at least, waves him away. It does take hir a /while/ to struggle slowly back up, though. "Ffff," is the first thing ze manages to say. And then after that, just more wheezing. Hir lungs are -- still finding their stride. Isra claps along with the crowd, her approval evidenced by a barely noticeable nod. After B waves Joshua off, the latter moving on to check on Jack--the boy still visible primarily by dint of his opponent's blood--she stretches out her (comparatively) uninjured wing to the sharkpup. She does not gather B in as wonted, given ze has lost a significant area of /skin/ in the course of the tossing around, but she does offer a water bottle and a damp towel in one silver-clawed hand. "I...could use...some healing," Jack speaks up for where he's laying. "Might have hit my head...sounds like I actually won," he laughs, wincing a moment later. As the healer comes up to him, Jack smiles even if it can't be seen. "Left leg...chest and stomach on the side..." he lists his injured areas to try to help, voice strained. He blinks a little when he notices Isra passing by, pushing himself up a bit. "You okay over there, B?" When B does manage to start breathing again, it stays uneven, raspy and audible for a time. Ze drags hirself over to the side of the ring, taking the towel from Isra gratefully and hissing as ze presses the cool damp cloth straight against hir fluttering (bloody) gills. It isn't until after ze's gotten a large few swallows of water into hir that ze manages /words/, though. "You --" Despite the edge of pain still in hir voice, ze sounds pretty /pleased/: "-- have come a /long/ way since you started showing up here." The quiet grunt from Joshua seems to be agreement with this. He's moving over, crouching beside where the floating streaks of blood mark Jack's position against the floor. One hand moves carefully to rest the backs of his knuckles just over the blood-streaks on Jack's chest; the healer is quiet as he focuses on easing the wounds. Several more fights coming up means he does not expend energy on healing them /entirely/ -- stopping blood flow, closing up the worst of the damage, easing the beginnings of swelling on bruises; bandages can take care of the rest. Isra nods in agreement to B's sentiment, pointed ears perking forward. "It takes quite a good deal of skill and discipline to evade this one for so long." Her wing mantles out around the sharkpup, gently, exposing more bruises along her side where the black sports bra does not conceal them. "Very well done." Letting out a breath as he feels Joshua's power again, Jack nods. "Thanks," he murmurs. He's already thinking of bandages and headache meds, used to the Fight Club healing. He ends up blushing a bit at B's praise. "I have? Oh man...thanks...and sorry about...your gills," he says. He just blushes worse when Isra joins in. Once the healer is done, Jack starts to get up. "B's kicked my butt plenty of times before...figured I'd better learn from those losses. Still surprised...I actually won." "Learning's what this place is for, yeah?" Though kind of tired, as ever, from an evening's worth of healing fights, Joshua's smile is genuine. He leaves a bottle of water, a pair of clementines, and a protein bar beside Jack once he is done, getting up to retreat back to the corner from which /he/ is watching the fights beside Scramble and Rachel. "I'm not." B's words come out short and a little clipped -- still kind of catching hir breath! Ze takes another gulp of water -- then speaks a little more steadily. "Surprised, I mean. You're getting /so/ much better. With your TK. You get better with your stamina -- honestly, for real, you get better at -- not hesitating to /take/ the openings you have. You'll beat me way more often." Hir smile comes quicker this time. "When you worry less about hurting me." Ze leans -- caaaarefully -- against Isra, frowning a little and /trying/ to settle against less-bruised portions of Isra's side. "Someone wasn't too worried about hurting /you/." Ze sounds amused, more than concerned. "Worrying less about hurting you opponent will also come with practice." Isra smiles, exposing the barest flash of fangs. "There's no more shame in needing to learn that than anything else." She actually flinches when B leans against her, injured wing shifting uncomfortably against her body, but does not shrink away. "Flicker," is all she offers by way of explanation for her wounds. "Thanks again. I'll try to have less for you to heal next time," Jack offers to Joshua as he goes. The food and water get a blink and Jack picks them up carefully. They and the stripes of blood float in the air, Jack opening the water. He takes a few gulps, the liquid pouring into nothingness. "Ah...between here and stuff I've been doing back...y'know...I'm making way more progress with my TK than I thought. I mean my head still feels like it was slammed into the floor a few times but I don't feel like I'm about to black out," he says. He just shifts sheepishly. "I just...I have to get used to the idea of hurting friends," he says. "At least ones not wearing a bunch of pads and a helmet," he chuckles. "Oooh." B's expression dawns into understanding at Isra's answer. "He leaves me /and/ Shane both black and -- well. Blue... er." Ze offers the water back up to Isra. "It /is/ hard to get used to the idea. S'why we do it in practice so much. Not really a natural feeling for most people -- just. Hurting each other. But out in the world if someone's trying to kill you --" A small shiver passes through hir. There's a faint curl to hir lips, though this time there's not a /lot/ of actual /pleased/ to it. "Anyway, sometimes it's cathartic." Isra's smile widens into a grin as she drop a hand to B's head, less cavalier with her talons than usual. "I imagine that keeping this whirling engine of tooth and claw at bay probably provides some significant subconscious motivation for your telekinesis." She sips from her water bottle. "Will you stay and watch the next bout?" Jack's unseen expression turns a little grim. "Yeah...out there when things go bad...it's...easier," he mutters. Jack doesn't like it but he understands it. Shaking his head, he takes another swig of water and then starts peeling one of the oranges. "It is nice to blow off some steam on some of these matches," he admits. He laughs at the comment from Isra. "Yeah, not getting bitten is very good motivation to get better," he says. "I'll stick around, I just need to bandage up," he says. "And get some pants..." "Pants, overrated." B's eyes close; ze presses up into Isra's hand with a small rumble. Kind of a purr, though there's a quiet undertone of whine in it, too, softer. "Maybe. Shane's done already and Pa's --" A beat of hesitation. "... not here tonight. Probably watch Dai, though." Hir gills flap slowly open and closed. "I had a lot of steam to blow, tonight." This is quiet, too, as is: "Thanks."