station72 | ( OPEN )

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( OPEN )

CHARACTERS: Seviilia and you
WHERE: The Station
WHEN: D049
SUMMARY: Downtiiiime
WARNINGS: We've entered "perpetually hungry" mode. Escalating Seviilia's negative emotions could incite violence. PM me if you want a choking thread! (Seviilia will coma before she can do any real damage)

( WARM )

Being at least half of a magical construct, the concept of 'conditioning' was more of a 'warming up' process for Seviilia. Her muscles fed on the magic that kept her walking among the living long after her expiration date. There was nothing to tone when the simple act of feeding was what kept her in fighting form. All of that said, there was nothing to stop the itch in the Station -- nothing but other hosts, which she had already learned twice over were a poor substitute.

Slowly but surely, she is starving.

She's taken a pair of practice swords, as her own runeblades would likely tarnish communal training equipment. Its not very helpful -- they're much lighter than what she is used to. But just hitting something might take her mind of the urge to hunt the heartbeats echoing in the honeycomb chambers of the Station. The succession of the clacks of contact can be heard echoing through the hall --she's not being particularly gentle.

Seviilia doesn't sweat, doesn't tire. Occasionally, ice on her blades cushions her blows to keep from shattering them with her brute force, leaving shards and small melted spatters around the floor. She appears focused, but she does pause after someone stops long enough to make it clear that they are watching her.

"You could make yourself useful and pick up another weapon."

( NEST )

There is no necropolis to watch over, no soldiers to guide, so she continues to find solstice in the silence of the Nesting Pods. The sides of it are frosted, much like everything she touches. In her hands is a journal of sorts, accompanied by an inkwell on the outside of the pod and the quill of a strange alien bird between black fingertips. A few droplets of red run down the side of the pod from where it has dripped on its way back to her.

On the pages is a series of scribbles, notes, and small sketches, all in the same red ink. Some of birds, some of bone constructs, some of faces she remembers -- all are in a hyper realistic style, easily recognizable even from a distance. Occasionally, she pauses to think, her fingers pinching her quill just a bit tighter than she ought to be until--

Snap.

Her sigh echoes off the walls, head lolling back until it hits the wall with a clunk.

[Feel free to wildcard!]

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Asuka understands the need to vent frustration or anger or other emotions when there's no other way to do it. She's been doing it herself, throwing herself into her owh conditioning and training regimen because she has nothing else to do and if she stops and thinks too long she'll start sliding back into the hole she only just managed to drag herself out of. So seeing Seviilia going at it isn't too much of a surprise, even if the emotions she can pick out aren't completely familiar. A gnawing need for something that she can't place as she pauses to watch. Weird. Unsettling.

And maybe Asuka feels a touch of guilt or sympathy or something. That gets shoved away the moment Seviilia speaks to her. It's a challenge and an invitation and so many other things and Asuka is willing to indulge in it if it lets her build up a sweat. Or vent the simmering, low-level resentment and anger that seems to follow her like a cloud.

"Sure-" There's something almost joyful in her tone, but it's not really happiness. More like enthusiasm. Seviilia has almost a foot on her, but that doesn't really seem to slow Asuka down or make her pause. Instead she grabs a weapon from the rack. And instead of a sword, it's more of a polearm or a battle-axe, light in her hands.

There's also a dagger. But she doesn't think trying to fight like she would've with the prog-knife would help. Instead she lowers the point until it's aimed at Seviilia, eyes glinting with a steely determination. There's anger and a tangled ball of emotions behind her eyes, but she's going to try and enjoy this.

"Ready or not-!" ASuka charges. She's not large, but she's quick and she has a certain recklessness to her, a disdain for any sort of counter. The fact that Seviilia is a creepy zombie elf doesn't seem to slow her down one wit.

There's a momentary pause when Asuka accepts her challenge, but she supposes she isn't surprised as she crosses over to collect her own weapon. Studiously, she observes as she reaches for the polearm -- a wise choice, given the height advantage she has. She has to admire some of her bravado.

But only some.

Seviilia stays where she is when Asuka charges, point forward. She shifts her stance, pulling one sword under her opposite arm and raising the other to parry her sideways. She closes the distance only enough to make it difficult to use the edge of her spear at its maximum range.

She is not gentle when she strikes, aiming for the arm of the polearm with the intent of forcing a disarm with sheer strength alone.

Bravado and anger. It's what Asuka has the most of. She's not unskilled, of course, but it's all a vague sort of half-remembered idea implanted into her muscles. She only started doing this herself when she arrived here. And even she can't learn quite that fast. She feels the blade slide against her thrust and turn it aside and she starts to dig her feet in for a leap that will take her past Seviilia and position her for another strike.

Then there's a jarring blow to the haft of the weapon and she feels the vibration run all the way into her hands where it rattles painfully into her bones. She grits her teeth through the pain and tries to disengage. She can't let her get close, right?

To this, Seviilia grins, spinning both swords to a more comfortable grip. She doesn't stop her approach, in spite of Asuka's attempted retreat. "You held fast -- impressive, for a human child."

She presses her attack, a series of strikes that wouldn't be particularly difficult to block. Hitting another weapon in the hands of another was more satisfying than striking a training dummy, particularly when the other's hands were not conditioned for the sort of beating she offers. Like gentle hands rubbing nursing a bruise, she can feel the way Asuka braces herself for each hit she offers.

Its tempting, to push past and really strike her. The rumble deep in her gut demands it -- but she resists, hard enough for the tips of her ears to twitch unnaturally.

"I'm not a child-" Asuka retorts between gritted teeth. The truth is, of course, that she is. Will be for a year or two yet. She tries to fight, though, even if Seviilia has her outclassed in strength and height and skill. She tries to make up for it through sheer bloody-minded aggression and determination, refusing to give in. Each strike sends another shock through her hands and it hurts, but she refuses to give up or give in.

Then she tries to go back on the offensive. She knocks aside one blow and she lungs, throwing everything into an attack. Either she hits or she loses this round. That's what she wants. It's served her in the past (and it's also gotten her badly hurt). But if she can beat the mass production units, she can beat her. Right?

For what Asuka lacks in strength, she makes up for in speed -- enough that her attack that should have been a miss instead becomes a hit. At least, that's how it appears: one aggressive hit is parried in favor of striking at her now vulnerable side. A kinder warrior might have allowed her the win.

Instead, Seviilia lets her sword fly free and uses her now empty hand to catch the hilt at the base of its blade. She follows Asuka's momentum to pull the weapon from her hands, and will fling her across the room if she doesn't choose to release it soon enough.

"You are."

Asuka holds on, grimly determined to wrench her weapon back, and instead she goes tumbling over the mat with a muted little 'oof' as the air is driven out of her. She sucks in a deep breath, a feeling of frustration and helplessness and anger welling in her. She's not going to let herself get beaten so easily. Not now, not ever again. She picks herself backup, hands extended in an unarmed fighting stance, chest rising and falling with her ragged breathing.

"I'm not!"

She refuses to be a child. She won't be; not anymore, not now. She's lost everything. Lost her mother for the third time, lost her sense of purpoe, her sense of self, and clawed herself back. She won't let someone else define her.

Seviilia tilts her head when Asuka stands, clearly intent on continuing to fight. With hunger clawing at her belly, she doesn't have it in her to refuse. Some amusement bounces across the link, alongside a bit of understanding. Then, she tosses both weapons to the side of her and stands tall, broad as a mountain, open to attack.

The sort of stance someone takes to prove a point, rather than one made to defend oneself.

"A grown warrior knows how to pick her battles," Seviilia says, licking her teeth in anticipation. "Strike true, Asuka. If this is your choice, you get one hit."

Edited 2017-06-22 05:12 (UTC)

There's a gnawing sense of hatred. It's cold and satisfying and Asuka feeds it for a moment, almost (almost) imagines that Seviilia could be Misato for a moment. Lets her mind indulge in the petty revenge fantasies she's stored up. But she's not Misato and she's being challenged. Being called a child and she detests Seviilia in that moment. Her expression twists before it settles into a look of control and she comes forward, moving quickly again. She's lithe and quick and some of her movements almost look more like an animal's than a human's.

Unit 02 rubbed off on her, after all. She springs forward, bringing her trail leg around in a vicious round-house kick, aiming for Seviilia's chin and cheek. If she gets a free shot, she's going to make it count. Knock a few teeth loose. Maybe break her nose if she gets lucky. Or even break a jaw. That's what she'd like to do, anyway.

Smart of her to choose her leg rather than her fist. Seviilia doesn't bother to block it -- instead, she uses the momentum to soften the blow, but allows the hit as promised. That doesn't stop the resounding crack that echoes through the training area, nor the immediate spatter of dark, stale blood that comes from her mouth. She stumbles just enough to catch her balance, and spits another glob of it (along with two teeth) to the side.

When she looks up, its with a horrible bloody grin full of stained teeth. The runes on her neck glow a bit brighter as her body tries to repair itself.

"Good," she replies, swallowing another mouthful of blood. There's something in the depths of her glowing eyes that amplifies. "But unwise."

Fueled by adrenaline and hunger, Seviilia meets Asuka's next rush with one of her own, feinting a punch to her jaw in favor of throwing one powerful fist straight into her ribcage.

There's something in that grin that reminds her too much of the mass-production units and there's a spike of fear that she forces back down. She's trying to turn into a follow-through, other leg coming up just as Seviilia launches her counter-attack. Unwise? Probably. But she's always gotten through on sheer guts and aggression and tactical instinct and she isn't about to stop yet. At least not until Seviilia connects. She feels something snap and a sharp pain in her chest and she goes tumbling back over the mat. She doesn't weight that much, after all, and Seviilia has height and weight and sheer strength on her.

At least she got her hit in.

She sits up with a hacking cough. Each breath sends more pain stabbing through her. She probably broke a rib. At least fractured it. She starts to get to her feet, teeth gritted, eye narrowed. Adrenaline is still pounding through her and the pain isn't that bad, isn't going to kill her yet.

"Fuck you."

She hates in that moment, but a part of her recognizes the pain and tries to hold onto it. She's alive and she can feel it with every breath.

The death knight licks her lips, her own chest rattling with a soft exhale of satisfaction. The tips of her fingers tingle, an urge to pierce damaged skin to find the break in her ribs to pull them free that she only just barely ignores. Instead, the hand she has subconsciously lifted is offered to Asuka to help her to her feet. The tremor in them has lessened -- an obvious, euphoric and calming effect looping back in between the pain the younger girl exhales outward.

"I am afraid you are not my type, Asuka," Seviilia admits calmly. Perhaps if she had gained a few more years under her belt. She does not expect her to take the offered hand, but it would be in poor taste to ignore her.

"Hilarious," Asuka grinds out, taking shallow little breaths. Each one sends a stab of pain or an ache into her side. That's definitely a fracture or a broken rib. She stares at the outstretched hand and then slowly, carefully reaches out to take the hand, teeth gritted against the pain that lances up her side, and she clambers to her feet with a wince and a glare. There's a strange sense of euphoria that slides in between the pain and the anger and she doesn't understand it, but it's better than just pain. Right?

"You're way too old, anyway. And a girl. And a zombie."

Really, just thinking about that has her face red.

"And it's not what I meant, anyway!"

"That does not stop as many as you might think, dear child," she replies as kindly as Seviilia can, given her nature. Whether or not Asuka wants to admit it, she is still young and lacking largely in experience of the world. Particularly, a world that involves undead.

"The last one is the most common deterrent, of course. But there are many still who trip over their own skirts for a chance to lay with an elf," she offers casually -- whether or not she is telling the truth about herself is up to interpretation. "Man or woman, dead or living."

But Asuka's displeasure is easy to feed off of.

Edited 2017-07-04 05:52 (UTC)

That's not something Asuka really wants to think about. On an abstract level she can appreciate that Seviilia is pretty in a weird sort of sense, but Asuka hasn't thought much about her own sexuality or relationships beyond her passes at Kaji. She's not about to start thinking about it now, especially not in Seviilia's case. She blanches slightly, color rising in her cheeks.

"Why do I care what other people do?"

She's really taking this a bit personally, but Sev's basically turned her comment on its head. Which makes her a bit uncomfortable.

"I don't care who lays with you!"

"You should not," she answers simply, releasing her hold on Asuka so as not to mistake for pity. "I simply sought to correct your...misinformed opinion." Seviilia gives her a long look, digesting the color rising in her cheeks.

"Shall I carry you to your Nesting Pod? Or do you find yourself capable of it on your own?"

Asuka sputters in response, although it's punctuated by a wince here and there. Breathing and talking hurt when you have a busted rib. She finally manages to get herself onto the right track with a rapid shake of her head.

"I - no! I don't need you to carry me! I can walk!" Her voice might be an octave higher than is strictly necessary.

"I'm not a helpless baby!"

"No, but you do have damage to your ribs," Seviilia replies easily, eyes dropping to her side as she observes her breathing pattern with a slowly spreading smirk. Every breath brings agony -- and in that moment, she decides she ought to break ribs more often.

"It will take you quite some time to get there on your own. And it is the least I can offer you, for your trouble." Being amicable to assisting her victims might be a new development, but considering the need for a sustainable resource, it made enough sense.

"I can do it on my own," Asuka insists, even if walking really, really sucks right now. Standing up straight is even a bit of a challenge, but she's managing it. Even if it hurts.

"It's fine."

It isn't, but she's going to keep insisting that it is unless someone twists her arm.

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