[PRP] No Peace to be Found (Shaheen and Shik)[FIN]

[Seussi]

Her head snapped back as a fist connected to her jaw, a cracking noise filling her ears even as her mouth filled with the salty metallic tang of blood. It was hard to think anything when your ears were ringing and voices whispered ever louder and more insistently in your head. The punch had her staggering back a little, one hand flying to her jaw to press against it to make sure it was not dislocated.

Think what she wanted, believe what she wanted. Is that really what he had just said to her? What did he expect her to think? That he was actually telling the truth for once???

This is what he did to her. Every single time. They aggravated each other, they fought, somebody would win, and he would manipulate her with sweet words that made her believe that maybe she had been wrong, maybe she didn't have to be alone anymore, maybe the weakness she had so feared was not actually weakness at all, as Lifen had told her.

And then the next day reality would come crashing back down.

Not again. She would break the cycle this time.

Words were no longer needed. She spat blood to the ground, and she launched herself at him again, a flurry of fists raining down on an overly muscled executioner of war.

HP: 8
Damage: 5  

[medigel]

There was a moment of clarity just before they crashed into each other, a small window of time in which Shik's red-misted mind realized something. For all their rituals they had enacted, and in spite of how easily they were drawn in to that endless cycle, Shaheen was serious about breaking it. And he realized he was resisting it.

Breaking it meant change. Change meant the unknown. The unknown meant having no control.

Shik liked having control. Thrived on it. As much as he preached about seeing the chieftain stand on her own two feet, on the inside there was always a dark little place in his heart that assumed freedom came with conditions: that she'd always be weak towards him, either through goading or seduction. Change meant removing that. Becoming equals.

He could try his very hardest to make himself believe that was what he had said before, but it wasn't - not at its core. It was just another shallow profession of a dominant male trying to keep his position.

A swell of bitterness and bile rose in his throat and, mixing with the anger roused form battle, made a vile cocktail of emotions. It was better that they stopped talking, for he didn't have the mind for it anymore. He just wanted this battle done one way or another so he could crawl away and think.

The horseman met her with a bellow, and they became what they always devolved into: a mess of limbs, blood-greased weapons, and flashing teeth, as bestial as their mounts. The sound of his own shield breaking sent Shik into renewed fury rather than make him consider backing down. He was more vulnerable to disfigurements and pain alike, but he welcomed it.

She wanted to break away? She wanted to change? She'd have to leave her mark first.

HP: -1
Damage: 5
 

[Seussi]

He always did seem to garner more strength towards the end, when she was sure he was down and out and defeated was always when he had seemed to hit his hardest. His blows struck against her hard, threatening to take down her own steadily weakening shield. Every hit was felt, the pain shearing through every accosted nerve, her body aching, her wounds burning, the sweat stinging her eyes.

It was hard not to love every moment of it, to remain focused on the final goal. Win this thing. End whatever this was. Make it clear that she meant it to be finished, that she didn't need nor want him anymore.

It was difficult to find an opening, to make it through his guarded defenses, to do something that she always wanted to do, just to feel it in her more humanoid form, to experience something that Shik often did to others. Her hands shot out, her nails, while not as sharp as his own could still pierce flesh but perhaps a bit more messily. She dug those into his skin, raking downwards, reveling in the sensation of feeling that flesh tear beneath her fingers, the warmth, the stickiness of blood. It wasn't perhaps the most effective of methods to take him down, but it sure was satisfying.


HP: 3
Damage: 2  

[medigel]

He realized vaguely he should have stuck it to his pride and healed himself - what a blow to her ego it would've been to lord over her in better health as she tried to pummel it all away again. In retrospect, a fight for control should have warranted it . . . Damn his pride.

Her nails elicited a sharp hiss, though even as he realized she was making small, purposeful scars instead of murdering him outright, the executioner couldn't help of how she had done similar in his tent that one night.

Too many blows to his head. Gods curse the woman.

But if she was going to take her sweet time, he wouldn't stop her. He instead rakes his own claws against her shield, the chance to try and leave his own mark too good to pass up.

HP: -3
Damage: 3
 

[Seussi]

Of course she would be too caught up in her own little guilty pleasures to pay attention to her opponent, momentarily forgetting that this was a battle and not other things best left buried somewhere deep in her past where she would hopefully not remember them. But it was difficult when this one small motion was so reminiscent of others done in times less savage and more passionate. Her breath hitched in her throat, her face heating up and not just from exertion. Something that felt like electricity tingled up from her fingers, across the backs of her hands, up her arms only to travel down her spine. She pulled abruptly away, only to feel his own claws rake against her skin, mirroring her own actions though perhaps the cuts were a little deeper, the pain a little sharper as her breath once caught now hissed out of her.

Her shield crumbled around her, and her eyes widened slightly, her head tilting to look away from the claws that were sunk into her skin to instead look at him. Aghast, ashamed, but mostly just angry.

That was going to leave a mark. She was going to have a reminder of him forever, etched into her skin.

With a screech of fury she threw a open hand towards his face, slapping him for what she hoped would be the last time, throwing what little strength she had left behind it as her blood dripped from open wounds and stained the ground below.


HP: 0
Damage: 2  

[medigel]

Her hand smashed against the bruise she'd left prior, something he hadn't noticed until the force of her attack brought it to painful light. He was sure something there was now broken with how bright his vision got from the slap, his first hint being the cracking sound that went behind it. A strangled cry escaped Shik as he suddenly found himself too dizzy to stop his fall, the ensuing crash landing jarring his head even further.

Oh . . . Huh. He was bleeding. Or was that hers? It was just red everywhere and it looked so beautiful mingling and staining the ground. And then everything swirled towards it, turned into a funny hue of his favorite color as he struggled and failed to lift himself, flopping on the ground with a sharp gasp as the lightheadedness increased. But just one more attack, one final dent so that she'd know there would alway she some piece of her that was his, no matter what she said or did . . . But his hand wouldn't obey. His weapon disappeared.

Shik groaned and laid his head back, his eyes falling to the back of his head as he passed out and became Shaheen's favorite thing: as quiet as a rock.  

[Seussi]

Had she actually meant to take it so far, to knock him out and leave him bleeding on an already blood soaked ground, broken, defeated, silent and still save for rasps of breath that she itched to be able to stifle completely?

No, she hadn't. Not to begin with, at least. He had forced this out of her, had brought it on himself by refusing to just leave her alone and understand that when she said it was over, she meant it.

She did mean it, right?

That one thought alone made her shoulders sag, made a lot of the anger leak out of her as she almost seemed to deflate. Her chest was tight, it burned and ached to breathe. Her vision was blurry again, and something hot and wet trailed down one red tinted cheek, leaving stark trail through the filth and grime that now coated her along with the blood.

But that only lasted a moment, a mere second before she reminded herself of how awful he had always been towards her, how awful they were towards each other. She would not be controlled by him. Stepping towards his fallen body, her face suddenly smoothing out into a blank and stoic mask, she lifted a foot and pushed against his side with a toe, gauging any reaction he might give.

There was none.

Tilting her head to the side, she pondered the possibilities of what she should do now. Common sense urged her to just leave him there, to go and nurse her own wounds and recover, as he would surely either be found or wake up eventually on his own once his Fear regenerated itself.

But no, something about that didn't seem right. It almost didn't seem quite final enough for her. She eased herself to the ground next to him to think, staring down at him, eyes tracing over his wounds.

Eventually a plan began to formulate itself within her head. Eventually her lips quirked up into a smirk.

She had come up with the best idea ever.