[closed] but nobody wants to know him

[batmotif]

CHARACTERS: Bruce and Parker
WHEN: Day mumblemumble
WHERE: Training area
SUMMARY: Two people punch each other in the face a lot. (Sparring match.)
WARNINGS: Other than the expected violence from sparring/fighting, nothing! Will change if necessary.

[Bruce’s routine on the station has become predictable at this point. If one said that fifty to sixty percent of his time was spent training in some form or fashion, it wouldn’t be far from the truth. It keeps his mind focused, and his body from becoming lazy; it is, honestly, probably not that much different a routine than what it might have been on Gotham, just interrupted less by board meetings and charity auctions.

He’d call it a blessing, but even Bruce isn’t so thoughtless as to take such things for granted, these days.

But even the strictest regimen needs variety, else it becomes stale. Punching bags don’t hit back, and there were only so many times he could traipse through an obstacle course before it become mindless, near repetitive — the opposite of what he wants out of his daily training. And so he casts his gaze around the area, settling on someone he knows in passing. Someone who, honestly, might just tell him to take a long walk off a short pier, given their previous run-in with each other. (Never let it be said that such a thing has stopped Bruce before.)

And so, he walks over to Parker, his expression the same as what she might remember: serious and unwavering, as if forever on the edge of falling into a full-fledged frown.]

I need a sparring partner. [-he says, as if expecting the implication to be clear.]

Comments

[unfavoured]

[ The only space Parker seems to inhabit as of late is the training wing. Or rather, the only space with other people. She will be seen, on and off, grabbing supplies from the kitchen, but it's becoming rarer - like she has taken to eat less each day. Honestly, it looks like it. If she was to let others know how unwell she is, it would be probably clearer, but she doesn't. Instead, she just gets worse each day in quiet halls. It's obviously starting to affect her a lot more, even doing the things that she likes in here. There's less strength in her body.

Other than that, it's fine.

Parker is taking a break from falling on her face on the floor for a second, head against her knees, sweat dripping down her nose and dampening her hair. She hears the footsteps approaching and she sighs because she can tell it's going over to her. She tilts her head to the shoes then up to Bruce. She vaguely recognises him.

She, however, looks like shit. ]

Go find one.

[ The implication is hopefully clear as well. ]

[batmotif]

[The difference between what he had seen before and what he sees now is clear. There's a lack of vigor there, and she looks like she hasn't been eating properly. Bruce doesn't really see that until he draws closer, but now that he does, it's impossible for his attention to not linger on it.

Bruce is more than able to feel sympathy, it merely isn't the emotion that he defaults to (or even bothers to show) at first. There is the telltale furrowing of his brow, the same that he gave her when she had hurt her shoulder after a nasty fall, but beyond that his expression is unchanging.

He crosses his arms, looking down at her. He doesn't hide the criticism very well, probably because he isn't really trying.]

Don't think you could handle it right now? You look terrible.

[unfavoured]

[ Parker lets her head hang in a tired fashion, rubbing her forehead in an annoyed fashion, drawing her fingers to a close on her nose and pinching the bridge between her thumb and curled forefinger. She stays there for a while, wondering what is up everyone's asses lately.

She doesn't know how much more of a blaring red sign she needs to shove in people's face to leave her the hell alone. ]

You know what, screw it. [ She says suddenly, dropping her hand, slapping it on the side of her leg as she pulls herself up. She talks fast, like she never does, and it's clear there's something not right there. ] Sure, okay, let's do it, why not? Fuck it, right? What does it matter? Who cares about personal values here? Let's invade each other's personal spaces, it's fine. There's no such thing here, anyway. Who wants doors?

[ And just as she says that, she throws a left hook. Because what's this about being prepared. ]

[batmotif]

[Bruce hadn't meant to flip a figurative switch with her — he had, honestly, merely been pointing out what was a clear observation, laced beneath the surface with lingering concern. You look terrible. It wasn’t a challenge, not really, though it would have been laughably easy to take it as condescension; only those that knew him, really knew him, would be able to see through that. And the number of people on the station who qualified totaled the very impressive number of zero.

The speed of her words coming at him is enough to set off an instinctual flag, and it’s only because of his trained eye does he notice that she’s about to swing at him, directly for the jaw. He raises his arm to block it, but Bruce isn’t in proper stance, he had been standing like he was entertaining a conversation, not ready to fly right into sparring just yet. Her swing merely glances his forearm and collides directly into his jawline.

A foot swings backwards and catches his balance before he staggers back like a fool, and instead Bruce uses the momentum to slide right into proper stance, just like he’s used to. Arms up, in defense. His jaw aches, throbbing with pain. He ignores it.

(He wonders just how volatile this is going to be, with a hit like that. He wonders just what’s wrong.)]

Cheap shot. Just try to do that again.

[unfavoured]

[ It wasn't his comment, though considering the setting, it might look like so. It wasn't even him. But drop by drop, a bottle will overflow over the time. Even if it is just one drop more. It wasn't his comment. It was his presence and how unbearable everything and everyone still are as of lately.

Some people will prosper in any environment. Some people will only prosper in this kind of place, of complete trust. Parker is neither. There are many things she can withstand, but losing her identity to mold it around others has never been one. And it's not good nor bad, it is just the way she is.

All of this is deteriorating her. That, and the survivor's guilt she carries with her, all very real things that only go away in stories with good endings. It will never go away for her, there are things you can't get over when you're a human and she will firmly plant her feet on the ground and stand by that, that she is human. Flawed and not that great of a human being, but one nevertheless. Holding on to her self-identity is one of the few things she has left. This place keeps trying to take it away from her, to tell her she's wrong to do so.

Parker doesn't talk when he challenges her. She isn't that good on hand to hand, but who cares when all you have inside is anger to distract you from everything else? She moves in, tilting her body to aim for his kidneys, wanting to bring his guard over that side-- and at the last minute she brings her elbow up, trying to get past his arms. ]

[batmotif]

[In that way, they’re similar. Bruce refuses to let his own identity slip into the bottomless pool of the Nest, he doesn’t understand why others can’t see the dangers behind losing a sense of self so readily, so unwittingly. Perhaps he’s just an overly cautious, overly paranoid man. Maybe, as some have been more than willing to point out, he just needs to lighten up.

These people obviously don’t know him very well at all.

Too many times has he fought an opponent whose motivation was fear, or frustration, or anger. It's clear the latter applies in this circumstance, even without having to assess the emotional bleed spilling over, courtesy of the symbiote. It’s obvious, the way she swings at him with such fervor, too much vexation behind the force of those knuckles. He feels it even as he blocks the hit, shifting his body weight to a different foot to avoid the swing of the elbow that follows.

Bruce can run on anger, too. But he keeps it simmering under the surface, condensed so tightly to the point it may as well be crystallized in the pit of his chest. It almost never overflows — his own sense of control, of pure bull-headedness, utterly forbids it. This at least gives him an advantage where focus is concerned, and making his next move is nearly automatic. An attempted knee to the stomach, to discourage the closed space between them.]

[unfavoured]

[ There is no doubt that paranoia plays slightly into the role of overt caution. But it is not just that. The self-identity, the individuality of the one, it is part of Parker. It ought to be when most of her youth had someone tell her she was not good enough for the way she is, she was, for the way she would never become what they wanted her to. This place is very much the same in that oppression. It is why she rebels so violently to it, among other things.

And telling her she just needs to get over it, much like him, these people don't know her very well.

The walls she puts up tend to make it hard to get to know her and she tries her damned best to keep any telegraphed emotion or thought to slip through the cracks. But they are at best built in sand and the waves keep pushing them down. But she is too stubborn to let go.

Close-ranged combat is not Parker's best. She relies on counter and relies on keeping her distance and using the environment against her opponents, using their own strength. But Bruce is far beyond her level and she can't avoid the hit, the air sucked out of her lungs as she bends over herself, but doesn't exactly falter. The position she's in gets her head aligned just under his chin, and she grabs his arm, tugs it down hard to throw him off balance, before letting go and rising up quickly, aiming to slam her head against the underside of his chin, but keeping the left side open to lean away from a direct hit. ]

[batmotif]

((ooc; i will backtag this forever, but don’t feel obligated to cont. if you don’t want to!!))

[He hadn’t expected her to falter so easily, even with the air knocked out of her. Bruce barely knows Parker, but their previous interaction was enough to tell him that she was stubborn, that she’d bounce right back, motivated tenfold by frustration. He’s right, though he doesn’t have time (nor want) to feel self-congratulatory; his arm is pulled down, and he lurches his foot forward to keep balance. He accepts her skull making contact with his chin, the force enough to rattle his teeth that he keeps grit, and while it’s more shocking than painful (it’s a bit painful, at least), Bruce hisses a little under his breath in response.

He’s still aiming for distance between them, a range in which he’s more comfortable sparring (fighting), because all Parker did was manage to close the space again. He straightens, chin throbbing, and goes for the more uncomplicated tactic this time: A left hook straight for the jaw, hard. More discouragement for drawing too close, this time brought on by pure force.

Bruce actually speaks.]

What's your problem?

[It's Bruce's version of what's wrong, really.]