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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. ]

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[ 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. ]

[ 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. ]

[ 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. ]

[ 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. ]

[ 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. ]

[ She's seen a lot. Not all of it, of course, but enough to know that the universe is a hard, uncaring place. She doesn't like it and almost wishes she could crawl back to something safer and more innocent, but that moment is long, long past. ]

I'm Asuka Langley Soryu.

[ Her response is quiet and level, but still tinged with that touch of hostility and suspicion. It's how she reacts to almost everyone new around here. It's better to be on the offensive at first. Less chance of being wounded. ]

What kind of name is Hyperion?

It's like any other name.

[ He knows what she means - what she's trying to go for. Something to fill in the blanks, lest Hyperion take the first step and threaten her ground, because she's small and a girl and young and can't afford to let anyone think it's a weakness. All of this comes from the assumptions he's gathered in grain upon grain that were the kids around him, of course - they were just pretending to be super heroes, pretending to have a way out of their regular or problematic lives, sometimes to a catastrophic extent. ]

Something to do with mythology. [ His brothers, to follow the rule, were Helios and Apollo. Triplets, their last names Crius. Their parents weren't messing around. ] Didn't choose it.

[ It should be obvious, but there are all kinds of universes, all kinds of rules, walking around in humanoid shapes. In direct contradiction to all of his assumptions just seconds ago, Hyperion doesn't take objective rules for granted. ]

Greek, right?

[ She sort of knows that. It was a part of her education, in a tangential way. Nothing she really focused on. She shakes her arms out, feeling the burn of muscle and the slickness of sweat on her skin. He's right, in a way. She's pretended to be a hero most of her life, although unlike most children she had a chance to see the reality of her fantasies and fight - fight hard. She bled for it. ]

Your parents had weird taste.

[ She's blunt, but the bluntness and bitterness aren't aimed at him specifically. He's just an incidental target. ]

[ 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. ]

[ 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?

[ 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?

[ 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.

[ 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. ]

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. ]

Mm.

[ By now it's been established by the universe (and beyond) that Hyperion's economic use of words makes up for any chatty host in the premises. Who knew there could be a balance in this world!

But its goes for more than one positive answer: yes, it's probably Greek; yes, his parents had weird taste. Good people, nice enough to their kids but ultimately incapable of staying in their lives. All of this can be plucked from Hyperion's thoughts, along with the sharp and guilty realization that they, along with everyone else, are gone forever. Hyperion wasn't a full-grown man the last time they spoke, and they had already lost Helios to his own ambition before that. (Literally, the world's unluckiest parents.) ]

Where are you from?

[ Asuka gets a sense for it; the bitter taste of abandonment, of being left to cope on your own. Not quite the same as hers, but it's familiar enough. She's not sure if she ought to feel sympathy or pity. Her sense of her parents is one of bitterness and regret a muted, desperate need for attention from absent parental figures. Especially her mother. An amorphous shadow that casts itself wide and deep over her life. ]

Germany.

[ She shrugs with a frown. ]

Technically I'm an American, but I lived in Germany most of my life.

[ And she has a Japanese name. Funny how that works. ]

[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?

Edited 2017-06-15 17:33 (UTC)

[ 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. ]

[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.

Edited 2017-06-15 18:55 (UTC)

[ 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?

Because I am the very best there is at what I do.

[This is said, not completely without pride, but with a certain lack of swagger that indicates this as Shepard's best knowledge of the truth.]

What do you wanna learn? I can teach you to shoot like a sniper, if you want. You got EVA training? You wanna learn to cook? I'll even teach you how to hotwire a car, or jury-rig napalm, if you ask nicely. C'mon, Asuka, give me a challenge.

[Famous last words.]

So long as she sees us working together on something, she'll piss off. And you get something out of it, don't you?

And I'm the best at what I do.

[ Asuka retorts quickly, wiping sweat from her forehead. It rings a bit hollow - she lost, after all - but bravado is what she's used to. Easy to fall back on.

She settles a hand on her hip, as if she's judging Shepard and then makes a little scoffing noise. Maybe she can piss off Misato. Or show her that she doesn't need her anymore (never did). ]

Sharpshooting. I need to re-learn that.

[ Asuka reluctantly gestures at her eyepatch. And the last time she learned she was in a cockpit. World of difference. ]

[Needing Misato is a fool's game, honestly.]

We'll start tomorrow morning, then. Oh-five-hundred.

[She'll want to be fresh, for the lesson; today's out of the question. Shepard holds a hand out, offering Asuka the shake. ]

We got a deal?

[ Oh-five-hundred. Military terminology. She remembers that, slots it back into place. She's not sure she's going to appreciate being yelled at, but maybe she can use this. Her expression flickers and she finally reaches out to accept the hand.

A handshake. That's a first. ]

Fine. Deal.

[ She shakes and then leans back. ]

What's your deal anyway? Besides being military.

I'm a Spectre.

[Shepard's smile is genuine, and she has to take a minute to inhale on the tide of memory. Asuka can't possibly know how closely she echoed the exact words she herself had spoken, almost sixteen years ago, to one David Anderson.]

The people in charge give me a goal, and I'm allowed to do whatever I have to to get it done, no questions asked, no answers given. So, basically, I'm above the law; it's all black ops. [She shrugs, as if that explains it. There's a reason people are frightened of her.] A few years ago, I discovered this impending invasion. Reapers, they were called. Long story short, now I kill Reapers.

[Killing giant cyborg aliens is a cool job, okay?]

What about you?

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