[Training] Always Where I Need To Be

HENRY

I was waiting for something extraordinary
but as the years wasted on...

Henry's hit misses - and he expects it to. He's not quite throwing himself into the fight yet, though his blood is starting to pulse and his heart beats faster. It's a rush of motion as he settles himself and sizes himself up against her for a more direct confrontation.

Knives and daggers are very dangerous, especially in the right hands. It's far too easy to cut someone open, to unleash their blood or even their innards. It's a dangerous game they're playing. He'd expect nothing less from her. I think if she did end up killing me, she'd consider that better practice, though...

He can see her coming. After all, he's facing her. So as her lunge comes for his ribs, he blocks it with his arm. It comes close, dangerously close, to hitting its mark. He can feel it pressing. And he could retaliate, but the hand blocking hers is holding his knife. Instinctively, he squeezes her wrist with his free hand to keep her dagger at bay - potentially, even, to make her drop it from the pressure. Either way, she's caught; a checkmate.

He expects that she might fluster or panic at this, or maybe her instincts will be sharp enough to flay and fight with all she's got. But he presses his strong grip in against her hand to push her wrist down. It might've been painful, were she able to feel it. Still, victory is not what he wants out of this, so he gives her some advice as he bears down on her, "Move into the pressure, not away."

nothing ever did
unless I caused it

MABEL

Blocks and misses, crusades left unfinished. But she refused to drop her knife, to give into the pressure, and there was an imminent temptation to hiss and spit and kick and lunge with some other body part – like a feral, trapped animal. Perhaps that’d been what she’d become in a matter of moments, some intertwining, wild, untamed demon, fangs glistening in pockets and patches of lantern light, an infidel who’d yet to learn how to rise to the occasion. The fire, the want, the need was all there, but the execution off. Stumbling, bumbling steps.

She stilled for a moment, listening to the advice thronging and billowing into her ears, over the harsh diatribes she invoked upon herself. Into the pressure. Not away.

She blinked, rather stupidly, uncertain what that truly meant – until her other hand went to grab for the one holding her, intending to scratch, to claw, to rid herself of the snare. And the other began to move too, twisting and turning in his grasp, attempting to shift the knife back towards him, striving to catch where she could.

If you dig under my feet
You will find things that you don't want to see

HENRY

I was waiting for something extraordinary
but as the years wasted on...

Henry's gaze is calm against her fitful rage as his advice soothes her impulsive, bristling reaction to being caught. Even if just for a moment, he can see it on her features - the registration of his words. And for a moment, he stills, if only to let her figure out what she can do. After all, she is trying to get better, to learn, and he is keeping that in mind.

A lot of learning how to fight is teaching your body how to move in ways it's never had to before. The mind can be ever-present, ever-vigilant, but if you don't understand the ins and outs of maneuvers and escapes, you can become ensnared by none other than your own ambitions. Henry is no expert, like he's told her but, he knows a few things. Enough to keep himself out of life-threatening trouble in encounters with people of the bad, rough sort.

Her attempt is decent but, not exactly what he meant. So he's surprised by nails that dig and scratch and pinch into his wrist, brows raising. Before he gives in to the pain or before she can catch him with her blade, he spins her around - like one might spin a dancing partner - so that she faces the opposite direction. Using both arms, he pins her back against his chest and presses his own blade in against the clothes that cover her stomach.

Inadvertently, if she is still struggling against him (which she likely is), he'll more than likely feel the draw of her own knife against his arm. Someone with far less restraint might've plunged their knife into her guts, all for the name of drawing blood. Mabel might've done it to him, if given the chance. He doesn't doubt it but, he'd decided early on that he wouldn't try to actually hurt her.

He hesitates for a moment before releasing her, regardless of if she puts up a fight or not. It's over now.

So he turns his blade in towards his hand and extends the handle out toward her; a peace offering.

"Giving me both of your hands and trying to fight me off that way, it gave me more of an advantage," he explains, trying to formulate the sentence in a way that would make sense. "Sometimes the best offense is a good defense, right? So.. sometimes, you'll find yourself in a situation where the best course of action isn't to fight tooth and nail but... to use leverage, weight, balance," he pauses, catching winded breath, "You can use a lot more than an attack to turn a fight in your favor."

nothing ever did
unless I caused it

MABEL

Being caught was a blistering notion – and she sprung back within his hold immediately, thrashing, kicking, flailing, all instinctual derision and spite. His grip was like the tide, turning her over and over and over again until she was in its throes, and no matter how many times she meandered to the surface, there was naught left. His grip was like a noose, a painful, caustic reminder even when she couldn’t feel any of it; of the slow, unwinding starvation, of the sunburnt boils of her skin, of the seaweed trapped and wrapped around her frame. She must’ve looked like a wild, caged, unhinged animal, fighting for her life when it was only practice –

And then he released her.

She rampaged forward, lungs heaving when they didn’t need to, features covered in a visible snarl.

Mabel had no explanation for her reaction – she shuddered for a few moments, until the girl could find her grip again, staring at the handle he offered, trying to listen to all the words, but everything else was pounding too viciously, too erratically, for her to wrap around them. Something about leverage. Weight. Balance. “I don’t have any of those,” she choked out, shivering again, trying to fathom, understand, but losing it in the scope of that everlasting fear.

If you dig under my feet
You will find things that you don't want to see

HENRY

I was waiting for something extraordinary
but as the years wasted on...

He's upset her, he realizes. Obviously some frustration is expected when someone like Mabel is engaged with. She's so full of passion and anger that she needs an outlet for it, needs some way to channel it. She has every right to and her anger is expected but, this... this seems different. Like he's done something wrong but, he doesn't know what. Wasn't the point of the game to try to best the other? Why did it upset her so much?

Her declaration of not having any of those things is met with a grim expression and, for a moment, silence. Of course she has those things but, he doesn't suspect she'll appreciate him arguing with her right now. She certainly hadn't before.

"Are you afraid?" He finally asks, voice softer and quieter now.

nothing ever did
unless I caused it

MABEL

Her fingers tightened over the hilt of her knife, until the knuckles would’ve furnished white – had she any normal blood. Instead the ichor that ran through her was fluid and indistinct, and she didn’t need to breathe, but it didn’t stop the sharper inhales and exhales as she strived to gain some platitude.

And then that question. That damned question. It echoed and bounded, scratched and gnarled, and another snarl threatened to roar and hiss over her lips. That would be so much easier than admitting the truth. Than facing the deeper undulations sliding down her soul. Than remembering the choking garbles of currents. Of claws coming across wooden walls. Of demons threatening their existence. Of imminent disaster and ruin, and she wasn’t ready for it. She didn’t think any of them were, really.

“No,” she said at first, which was an obvious lie, no matter how off-putting she’d made her features, staring down at the cobblestones and dirt in the middle of the evening, brandishing a dagger she couldn’t even use properly. “I don’t want to die again,” came in a quieter tone, a shrugging of shoulders. Like it was all that simple.

If you dig under my feet
You will find things that you don't want to see

HENRY

I was waiting for something extraordinary
but as the years wasted on...

Henry levels Mabel's incensed, gnarled face with the calm of his own storm - a different kind of storm. One that's filled with compassion and empathy, a hand reaching through all of the chaos and torment to try to pull her out of it. Only, he can't. Figuratively or literally, and he'd never dare to try and touch her. At most, all he can do is offer his support, his presence. It not being enough doesn't matter so much in the moment, not this moment.

No. His head tilts ever so slightly, brows raising by a fraction of an inch; subtle contention. Whether it's his ability to see through her or her own conscience that convinces her to reveal the bitter heart of the matter, he's only relieved that something does.

He doesn't know what to say at first, his own, taut muscles visibly slumping. His eyes soar down, landing on her feet and the slushy ice beneath them. It must have been horrible to die. It must have been terrifying, those last minutes spent drowned at sea. He remembers her telling him, even if it was spoken so callously and so briefly - as if not to make much difference to her at all. He sees now that it did and it still does.

"So don't," he lifts his chin to meet her gaze, stepping toward her, "take my shift. Fly the hell out of there if things get too messed up and there's nothing else to do. Save yourself, or- or claw their fuckin' eyes out, Mabel," he knows she may not like the idea, at least he thinks she won't, so he adds with more conviction, "this is as much your battle as it is mine, but I.. can't be there. But nobody should have to die for this, not if it can be helped," he pulls back the sleeve on his arm and offers it out to her, "let me help you."

nothing ever did
unless I caused it

MABEL

Mabel didn’t deserve kindness or compassion – and couldn’t quite fathom why it was continually extended towards her. Her jaw became a clenched, knotted, gnarled thing, a sinister slip of fingers tightening around the hilt of her dagger; ready to flee, ready to pummel, ready to hit. The offer thereafter made her step back, confusion knotted across her brow – eyes narrowing suspiciously.

Why?

Why was he offering this to her? She’d been nothing but nasty and derisive towards him.

Maybe he was too nice for his own good. Maybe he was one of those individuals who just catered to anyone and everyone, with no forethought for his own soul. Which was stupid.

But she, eldritch and enigmatic and ethereal, wasn’t. She could understand the nuances, the reasons behind the assertions, of the eyes meeting hers, of the potential for her death incoming, of flight taking her far far far away. Or the talons, to grip and rip, to tear and maim. “I don’t understand why you would offer me this,” she uttered, very quiet, as she began stepping forward, hesitant. Even if his reasons were merely beneficence, so that none of them flickered out like miniscule lights and dying flames.

Or why she’d take it – the temptation, the greed, the avarice, combined with the will to survive would’ve made sense.

Her hands, cold, forgoing the handle of her dagger (tucked away somewhere), went towards his arm; lifting it to her mouth, lips parting to reveal the telltale fangs. A first time in a series of initials – first deaths, first battles, first tirades – but her teeth lightly grazed over his skin, a whisper placed upon the flesh, billowing outward before the plunge. “Tell me when to stop.” A look in her eyes that spelled too many things at once, and then she sunk in, and bit down.

If you dig under my feet
You will find things that you don't want to see

HENRY

I was waiting for something extraordinary
but as the years wasted on...

Henry's expression hardens, rather than softens, as she admits that she doesn't understand. But she's stepping forward anyway, and he can sense that she's letting down her walls - even if only to accept the offer.

"It's okay. You don't have to understand," Henry says, his own voice quiet but, he cracks a small smile anyway, "not many people do."

He can think of several that don't, not truly. Too nice for his own good is an understatement. It will probably be the death of him one day. He's fine with that. More than fine, actually. If that's how he goes out - staying true to himself - then he can die in peace. Not that he's ready to. But he doesn't imagine he'll ever be ready for that.

Seeing that reluctance in Mabel, seeing her so desperately try to cling to her scarred life, it made him want to reach out for her.

So he does, and she takes his arm in her chilled hands. His draws in a small, sharp breath in anticipation. He knows what the bites are like. Not personally but, he's heard enough about them. The pleasure aspect is not what he's here for, though.

Her mouth hovers over his skin, she flashes her fangs, and it raises hundreds of tiny goosebumps all across his arms, shoulders, up the back of his neck. His shoulders stiffen and he averts his gaze, nodding curtly at her warning.

His lips curl upwards in an instinctive response to the initial pain. He can feel his skin relenting to her bite, can feel the blood rushing up to her mouth. Within seconds, the pain is replaced with an undeniable flicker of pleasure. It's a feeling unlike anything else he's ever felt, and he finds that he likes it. But he focuses on why he's doing this rather than allowing his mind - or conviction - to wander.

He lets her drink until his head feels a little lighter and the muscles along his arm noticeably soften. Dark blue eyes swivel over the features of her face, partly wondering if she will have the self-control to stop.

"Hmm-mm. Okay, okay. Don't knock me out, May," his voice is startlingly low and husky - but infused with that humorous nature he always seems to have.

nothing ever did
unless I caused it

MABEL

Mabel couldn’t recall this feeling.

She’d once had her miniscule crushes, the little dreams girls often had – beguiled, enraptured, by the thought of leaving the family home one day and making their own. Quiet but hardworking. Simple, but fulfilling. Those opportunities had come and gone, and she could’ve made eyes all she wanted with no real weight behind them – the farm came first, and then when that began to dissipate, her parents, her siblings, came after –

And then any of those idle aspirations were vanquished, on a string of desperate pleas, on a course that had changed her, and Evelyn’s, souls entirely.

She didn’t regret it.

But now – just for those minute moments, the temptation hastened and intermingled in her veins; a pulsing, vibrant ache, started wanton in her soul, a craving, a release, a salacious plunge of fangs taking, taking, taking, and wanting something else too. And for a few maddening instances, she thought about giving into it – the flutters of lustful haze dissipating into her head, rampaging through her limbs, eyes half-feral and the other portion quite emphatically lost. Innocence gone and replaced, a wicked, wicked crawl in the back of her mind, a twisting, a turning, a thought of bodies intertwining, the notions of sinking into the enticement. Pulsing, maddening need, a rush to the head, her tongue, her fangs, tracing over flesh –

Henry’s voice crackling through, the memory of it being this ridiculous individual came crashing against her, and she ceased – backing away very, very slowly – as if her body had a mind of its own and was reluctant to cease the ride.

But she’d promised.

And then she was standing there, gaze widened and very stupefied, swallowing the last of his blood down the back of her throat, uncertain of what to say, what to do.

Should she knock him out?

If you dig under my feet
You will find things that you don't want to see

HENRY

I was waiting for something extraordinary
but as the years wasted on...

Henry braces as she pulls away, braces as it seems like she doesn't want to, braces against other feelings he's not too sure about. And as she lets go, the pleasure fades, and all he's left with is a throbbing wound on his arm. Fuck, that hurts.

He makes no move to nurse it, however, letting the pain take its hold over him and right his silly, feeling brain. Run it all cold, like the ice and snow that drifts and slicks around them in this moment. Mabel's conflicted gaze is met with his own.

"This is the part where you say," he swallows, smiling, "'thanks, I owe you one'." He clears his throat as whatever warmth had been created between them really dissipates. That, now, is left up to him to create - because she's too full of bitter resentment and fear and mistrust to be warm in this moment. "And I'd say, you don't owe me a thing." Except he moves forward again, placing a hand on one of her small shoulders. "Just come back, and we'll call it even."

nothing ever did
unless I caused it

MABEL

Numbed again, the feelings passed – receding, back into the doldrums and throngs and indifference, except for the thereafter. Half of her wanted to flee, and the other portion of her just stood there, baffled, perplexed, and rattled.

But then she lifted her head, swiftly, at his words, surprised once more. Her mouth opened, thinking to impart some cutting remark, however, they faded at the nuances, at the shame, curling over her skin, sinking into her gut.

If she nearly shuddered under his touch, she pretended it didn’t happen. “Thank you anyway,” shrugged and undulated. Then she didn’t know what else to say. That’d she try, but that she was terrified of dying once more?

That the prospect seemed grimmer and grimmer, as the days came closer?

“Okay,” and then she backed away, skirting along the edges of the darkness, uncertain what to do or mutter or feel.

{FIN <3}

If you dig under my feet
You will find things that you don't want to see