[open]

[redheadcarrier]

CHARACTERS: Asuka Langley Soryu and you.
WHERE: The Station
WHEN: Day: 048
SUMMARY: Asuka hasn't had a good time emotionally; she tries to distract herself by overworking.
WARNINGS: Potential mention of suicide, suicidal ideation, death.

[ Her conversations with Misato didn't go anywhere. Or at least they didn't go anywhere that would help Asuka resolve the teeming mass of uncomfortable hollowness that permeates her. Every last bit of her old self-worth feels as if it's been ground out of her, squeezed by her death, by Third Impact, and now by Misato, until she's been left flailing and trying to grasp onto something - anything - that will let her keep her head above water. She has a new purpose now, so at least there's that. There are new people around her. Some of them are even decent, but she tries not to let on that she likes some of them.

Of course, with Adra and Lavellan, it's almost impossible for her to keep that way. They're a constant presence at the back of her mind. Warm light and a familiar feeling of frustration and loss, respectively. The feelings she associates with them now and the emotions that creep in when she tries to pay attention to their buzzing, humming presence. She's adapted, too. She's found that she can tune out the voices if she wants, but that simply letting them fade into the background of her head is almost easier.

Asuka's not sure how she feels about that.

There's nothing for her to do yet and she feels antsy and on edge and if she sits too long, her mind is going to start crawling down into dark places and it'll take her with it. So she moves. She decides to train, because she's here to fight a war and if she has to fight, she's going to be ready. They have a gym and she's using it now, going through a routine. Running, acrobatics, exercises, and a barrage of punches and kicks that are aimed at the punching bag there. Her form is a bit sloppy, but there's real muscle memory to it - like a fighter who coming back after an injury. It's also a bit strange to see a five-foot nothing teenager going after said punching bag with the viciousness of a cornered animal, teeth gritted, breath hissing between her teeth, anger and frustration rolling out of her with every blow until she leaves herself panting and out of breath, still glaring at the punching bag as if it somehow personally offended her.

She spits out a few choice curse-words in German, but she welcomes the feeling of physical exhaustion that washes over her and radiates out through the hive link. Better than the alternative. ]

[OOC: Will potentially ad more prompts later; if you'd like to hit her somewhere else, just wildcard it. ]

Comments

[premorse]

[ He recognizes that anger. He wishes he could say that he didn't, but having lived out on the streets with all the boys and girls escaping their own lives, consuming a potentially fatal drug just so they could gain a sense of power - it often had poor results. So many friendships were lost. Siblings who had promised to never let go of each other. That caused sorrow, and sorrow caused anger, and those who lashed out either caused harm to others or themselves. Hyperion can't say it was ever directed at a punching bag, but the cursing, the teeth, the hoarse exhales - it's all there, in the small girl with an animal's resolve.

It'd be better to turn away than to find a shape that would take him back to those days, when he was a scrawny teenager with half a brain and too much heart, just getting to know how powerful his blood was in causing harm. Too ignorant to realize how much it would cause him harm years to come.

He drifts around, just enough to be a presence, but not enough to impose. The last girl reminiscent of her attitude had no friendship to offer, yet she ended up being more trustworthy than the woman with a soft smile and softer words. There's a fucked up place in your world when you feel safer around the former than the latter. ]

You got all that strength in you?

[ He has to wonder, the suggestion of any intonation present only in his link with her. ]

[redheadcarrier]

[ She ignores him at first, even if she's aware of him. The presence at the edge of the room, watching and waiting. It's a little creepy, but she doesn't want to let him know he's under her skin. Then again, they all know each other now, don't they? Thoughts and emotions broadcast at each other faster than they even form. Her lips twitch into a frown, shoulders tightening as he finally speaks up. She feels tired, still. Drained. But it's physical exhaustion and not mental, which is better than she'd hoped.

She turns to look at him, expression radiating a sort of contempt. She can't let this place lull her into a false of security. Right? People can't get too close.

Too late for that, though. She's already let Adra and Lavellan in and everything is going to start cascading from there. ]

Of course. Why wouldn't I?

[ She spits the words as if she's daring him to make a comment about her height or her age or her gender. ]

[premorse]

[ Those could very well be the same reasons she'd be so determined to exhaust herself, to keep going until she was broken into pieces and seeing the world in a blur, smudged by whatever despair she felt to make it change. To make herself change. Hyperion can only assume that's what this is; he's seen it too many times before to pretend he doesn't recognize it.

So there's that strange, surreal kind of concern. The sense that, if he was so determined to never intervene when he lived in those dark alleys, he needs to do something about it here. It actually affects him this time around: they're real people because they're in his head as much as they're standing before him. ]

Because it's easier to fall for your own bullshit than others'.

[ To believe any of this redundant explosiveness will make a difference. ]

[redheadcarrier]

[ There's concern tugging at the edges of her mind and she's not sure how she feels about it. She's never wanted pity or handouts (and paradoxically, all she's ever wanted was for people to care, to validate her). So his attention leaves her feeling mixed and on edge and unsure of how she should respond. ]

Who decided it was your business?

[ And now she rounds on him, hands on her hips, sweat still staining her brow. She's missing an eye - her left - covered by a simple patch. ]

I don't even know who you are!

[ But she will and she can know with a few thoughts. If both of them are willing. ]

[premorse]

[ It's such a juvenile attitude. The bravado trying to prove there's nothing that can warrant fear from a kid convinced that she's seen it all. (Maybe she has. Is fear what made her lose her eye, or the opposite?)

I don't know who you are, either.

[ But they do: he's Hyperion, the name is dragging across his thoughts. It's always there and will be for as long as he remains untrained, without a shield. ]

Hyperion. That's my name.

[ As for the rest... he's about as willing to share as she is. ]

[wille]

[ Watching Asuka beat her imaginary opponent within an inch of its life is like watching her inner self brought out. The unrestrained wrath brought to bear for anyone to see, the sheer desperation in a dying creature's last blow, the sheer exhaustion and the relief that comes from that, it's all there. The girl is her too, given different choices, different paths taken, because Misato won't allow herself to get so angry, not for long, or to become so unbridled.

Even now she maintains a firm grip on her mind, hoping to remain unnoticed for a few minutes longer to evaluate the girl's performance. Restraint is the only thing missing. ]

Asuka. Come over here for a moment.

[ She digs through the pile of equipment to come up with two cylindrical objects made of something resembling foam. The material has a bit of give, which should do. ]

[redheadcarrier]

[ Asuka notices Misato just before she finishes her routine. It's easier; she knows Misato and now she can just barely pick up on the the edges of her mind and the way she thinks. It's strange and unsettling and she still doesn't know how she really feels about her. She rolls her shoulders with a low exhale of breath and straightens. For a long moment, she pretends not to hear and then she finally turns her head, drawn by curiosity. ]

Why?

[ That doesn't stop her from trailing over, arms folded over her chest as it rises and falls with her breath. ]

What do you want?

[wille]

[ Isn't this a marked improvement from their first meeting? The smile she offers is casual, as if this is another day at NERV, weeks after Asuka's arrival in Tokyo-3. As if nothing at all has happened between then and now. It's the purview of adults to set the tone in the room, and to conveniently believe in the impermanence of a child's emotions.

She holds up the two tubes to show her, sidestepping to the edge of the room to take her seat on the floor, crossing her legs and tapping the space in front of her. ]

Lie down. I'll help you loosen your muscles so you can go even harder later.

[redheadcarrier]

[ No. No. No. Asuka doesn't want this. She doesn't want normal. She doesn't want Misato to stroll in here like everything is fine between them, like this is just another NERV excursion. She doesn't have the right to do that. Asuka is all simmering tension and anger for a moment. She breathes out, nostrils flaring as she follows Misato. She's stalking, hands clenched into fists at her sides.

Why is she following? ]

You don't have to smile, you know. I know you're pretending.

[ Cut the crap, Misato.

She still sits down and then, after a moment, stretches herself out, chin resting on her forearms. ]

If you don't care, don't pretend that you do. What do you want this time?

[hymnals]

[ It took Adra years to master his anger, and even now the leash is not always as tight as it should be. Asuka's rage prickles at him, stokes a fire that Adra works hard to keep burning low. It tries his patience, but Adra won't feed these flames. Asuka needs a different kind of warmth.

He floats in, drawn by the beacon of her limb-dragging fatigue. This weakness is familiar to him; he feels it keenly and easily, and after much less exertion than the flurry of violence she just unleashed. ]

Feel any better?

[redheadcarrier]

[ She senses Adra before he speaks. She's gotten way too used to that far too quickly. Some part of her wants to scream and cry and shut it all down. Reminds her too much of Third Impact, of walls coming down and leaving nothing identifiable as her. But there's acceptance there. A warmth that she has a hard time shutting away entirely. She sucks in a deep breath and straightens, turning toward him as she tries to flick sweat-sticky hair out of her face. ]

Yes.

[ No. But she's not sure what would make her feel better anymore. She has a new purpose and a new mission, but she doesn't find satisfaction in any of it. ]

[hymnals]

[ Adra's pretty good at spotting lies, but their nest-bound connection makes the point moot. He shakes his head as he drifts over, his eyes scanning her carefully. Checking for bruises, scrapes--any sign of overdoing it, anything that might need healing. ]

Are you in any pain?

[redheadcarrier]

Just a little sore. That's all.

[ She folds her arms and glances away. He's looking at her with... warmth. Concern. She can feel it and she doesn't know how to cope. A part of her wants that. The caring acceptance, the concern for her well-being. Another wants to push him away, because she shouldn't need him, shouldn't need any of this. ]

It's just training. You don't have to worry about me!

[sizeofyourbaggage]

[ Sam's a frequent visitor to the training wing. It's not like the facilities back at the Avengers compound, but they're still pretty damn good, and he's got a regiment to keep up. Normally he's there way too damn early in the "morning" - or what passes for morning on a space station - but today he's running a little bit late.

He heads into the training hall after a run, body loose and warm from the exertion and ready to get into the more practical aspects of his training.

Of course, he reconsiders when he spots a very familiar punching bag death look, even if the one giving it is only vaguely familiar. It's always the punching bags that get the short end of the stick when people feel the need to work out some unpleasant emotions through physical exertion, it seems.

His mind is closed off, like he always does with new people, but it doesn't take a mental connection to realize she's not doing all that great. ]

That's a hell of a lot of dedication.

[redheadcarrier]

What-?

[ Asuka tears her gaze away from the bag to glance at the newcomer. Someone she hasn't met before, which is sort of a surprise. The crew isn't that large. Right? She shakes her limbs out and tries to dismiss the muscle ache, the rubber-limbed feeling of fatigue that keeps creeping up on her. ]

It's called 'training'.

[ Although he looks vaguely military. Like some of the people from NERV. He's also closed down, where she... isn't. Not to the same extent. She's loud, broadcasting so the whole room can feel the frustration and slow burning anger that radiates off of her. ]

[sizeofyourbaggage]

[ One of the good things about being so closed off is that he can only pick up the faintest hint of that, and definitely not enough to experience any of it effects.

He quirks a little grin at her response, though, raising an eyebrow. ]

That what they're calling it these days? Here I always called it beating the shit out of something cause I couldn't do it to what I was really pissed at.

[redheadcarrier]

[ Asuka hates his grin. It's one of those smiles that adults use when they want you to trust them. The sort that says "hey look, I'm cool, just like you!"

She wants to reach out and wipe it off of his face. Maybe she should hit him. ]

Maybe your training just wasn't any good. Or you weren't any good at it. Probably both, since you're down here trying to chat up a fourteen-year old.

[ See what needles. See what gets under his skin. ]

[earthborn]

[Shepard watches this for a while, in between her own work. That's not training, that's aggression. That's trying to fight something that can't be fought. And here Misato wants her to-- what, fix this? Shit, the kid doesn't need strength, she's got enough of that to choke on.]

Hackfresse ist besser, nach dem, was du damit machst.

[She indicates the bag with one hand, still wrapped from her own exertions. It's not like she's torn it or anything, but it's visibly dented, in a few places.]

You look like you're ready to take a minute. Can I talk?

[redheadcarrier]

[ Asuka's still giving the punching bag the stink-eye when she hears someone speaking German at her. She glances over at Shepard and eyeballs her. She sort of remembers the woman - they'd had a brief encounter when Asuka had first arrived. She draws her shoulders up, trying to look a bit bigger then she actually is, and her lips purse into a thin line. ]

Sure. Talk.

[ No guarantee she'll listen. ]

[earthborn]

[No point in beating around the bush, then.]

Misato seems to think you need some kind of training. I told her you seemed fine to me, but seeing as she's...

[Shepard indicates a vague area of air around her head, because, more than just being in each other's heads, Misato might just be crazy. Shepard's certainly implying that she thinks so, in the roll of her eyes.]

Look, I'm tired of hearing about it, and she's not going to shut up. So, how about we cut a deal: you cover for me about her bullshit strength training, and I'll make sure you learn something useful for the purpose of making her real damn sorry she asked.

[Her tone is clear, intention unasked for but just as obvious: Misato is a busybody, and Shepard's pleased to make sure she suffers for it.]

... Or, maybe you'd rather finish off this bag. If that's what you really want to do with your time.

[redheadcarrier]

[ That name draws a reaction. It's a bristle, a sort of shudder and a tightening of her shoulders. Resentment and anger and frustration. She never even tried and now she's trying to foist me off on someone else.

Typical.

But at least Shepard doesn't seem all that friendly with her. So why is she doing this? Asuka's suspicious and her eyes narrow. What does she do with this? Does she even want to reach out again, only to be dropped by another adult who has what they want? ]

...that depends on what you have to actually teach. What do you think I actually need?

[ She sounds a touch contemptuous, but she knows she needs to adapt. No Eva units here. ]

Why'd she ask you, anyway?

wildcardin' it.

[deployed]

[ Some emotions rippling through the fabric of the nest are easier to ignore than others. Asuka's frustration and anger are too familiar. They hook into Bellamy's chest, and prove difficult to shake. His attention centers on Asuka in a slow sweep, narrowing by degrees until his presence is like fingers on her wrist, easy to shake off.

There's no immediate, verbal question, just the impression of curiosity and an unspoken: are you alright?</i? It rises like fog between them. If she wants to pull away from him, he's making it easier for her. ]

[redheadcarrier]

[ She's not quite used to this yet, the narrowing of attention, the way that minds interact here. It reminds her too much of the Angel sometimes, but she tries not to let that bleed through. There's a sense of irritation and brash, open curiosity that turns on Bellamy like a spotlight.

Why are you asking?

She's immediately suspicious. She's been burned too many times. ]

[deployed]

( Does it matter? )

[ At times, the Nest feels like a spider's web. A tug on one end vibrates through the entire collective, disturbs everyone. Bellamy isn't all that good at ignoring it, but he usually makes a better effort at trying. ]

[redheadcarrier]

( Of course it matters. )

[ She's been burned before. Adults have promised her things and then failed her. Her peers have failed her. She's had to face so much of the world alone that she's almost instantly suspicious of anyone offering her any sort of help. ]