Post by Eira on Aug 11, 2014 21:33:10 GMT -5
Murdoc’s hand reaches up and catches the door before it separates them again. His eyes never leaving her frame, she smiles as he enters but ... she seems to notice the rigidity in his movements, the force generated by his muscles for such a mundane action. She keeps silent no longer.
"What is it, Beloved?"
He removes the mask once the door is fully closed and locked behind them.
"What happened the night you were taken from me?"
She sighs in an understanding sort of disappointment, a frown of remembered irritation marring her otherwise lovely face. Though he had taken the mask off - which was either really good, or really bad.
Eira had been dropped off (fully dressed, thank the Lord) less than half an hour before her scheduled match time at Trauma 158. Murdoc's interjection between herself and a certain ass beating at the hands of... well, THE Hands, was the first time she'd actually laid eyes on him all night. Placing a hand on his chest she feels the heat radiating from the core of pure, restrained rage deep within the belly of the beast.
"For starters, it wasn't what it looked like."
"I've told you once, and I'll tell you again, that is the least comforting thing to say."
Eira chuckles, the smile fading far too quickly. "My dress. I'd torn the lace sleeve, and was going to change, so I'd unzipped it and... well, I was caught rather unawares amidst my wardrobe malfunction. Jackson might have taken advantage of it, but he didn't take advantage of ME."
"That's good. I hadn't thought anything had - well, I would have returned to downed bodies rather than the situation I'd found."
"Fuckin'-A-Right you would have." Another sigh lifting from her, she leans against the wall, stripping off her arm length gloves. "It was a power play. I was taken in and questioned by Veronica, who tried to use Jackson's testimony of his time living with us as leverage. He was telling the truth though, he doesn't like her. Or me. Or maybe anyone, dude's a dick."
A brief, rumbling assent is his only response, his clear eyes watching her intently for any sign of glossing over uncomfortable parts of her story.
"I was lucky Veronica had pulled in a Justicar to keep me from bailing."
"Lucky? That enabled her to hold you there."
"It also kept her from torturing me." Eira's voice is clear and matter-of-fact as she delivers the information, as if commenting on nothing more significant than the weather.
"From WHAT?!" The explosive anger in the barked question makes Eira flinch, Murdoc taking an instinctive step forward and wrapping his arms around her in unspoken apology.
"It's in the Order's protocol for outing defectors. A literal sort of Witch Hunt, I suppose you could call it. But it didn't happen, and I'm fine. Veronica cited every Order law and loophole she could to keep me there longer, until the Justicar lost his patience with being party to the fracas for over 48 hours."
"Then you had to compete."
"Yeah, and I won... barely. What - Murdoc, what the fuck WAS all that?" Swinging one arm out in broad gesture towards the rest of the arena, it's clear what she's referring to.
"I don't know. I do know that we'll need to keep an eye on things."
Holding his gaze, Eira begins to unhook the metal closures of her black leather corset. "Forget about all that. I have something else for you to keep your eye on tonight."
"What is it, Beloved?"
He removes the mask once the door is fully closed and locked behind them.
"What happened the night you were taken from me?"
She sighs in an understanding sort of disappointment, a frown of remembered irritation marring her otherwise lovely face. Though he had taken the mask off - which was either really good, or really bad.
-Business before pleasure, and all that.-
Eira had been dropped off (fully dressed, thank the Lord) less than half an hour before her scheduled match time at Trauma 158. Murdoc's interjection between herself and a certain ass beating at the hands of... well, THE Hands, was the first time she'd actually laid eyes on him all night. Placing a hand on his chest she feels the heat radiating from the core of pure, restrained rage deep within the belly of the beast.
"For starters, it wasn't what it looked like."
"I've told you once, and I'll tell you again, that is the least comforting thing to say."
Eira chuckles, the smile fading far too quickly. "My dress. I'd torn the lace sleeve, and was going to change, so I'd unzipped it and... well, I was caught rather unawares amidst my wardrobe malfunction. Jackson might have taken advantage of it, but he didn't take advantage of ME."
"That's good. I hadn't thought anything had - well, I would have returned to downed bodies rather than the situation I'd found."
"Fuckin'-A-Right you would have." Another sigh lifting from her, she leans against the wall, stripping off her arm length gloves. "It was a power play. I was taken in and questioned by Veronica, who tried to use Jackson's testimony of his time living with us as leverage. He was telling the truth though, he doesn't like her. Or me. Or maybe anyone, dude's a dick."
A brief, rumbling assent is his only response, his clear eyes watching her intently for any sign of glossing over uncomfortable parts of her story.
"I was lucky Veronica had pulled in a Justicar to keep me from bailing."
"Lucky? That enabled her to hold you there."
"It also kept her from torturing me." Eira's voice is clear and matter-of-fact as she delivers the information, as if commenting on nothing more significant than the weather.
"From WHAT?!" The explosive anger in the barked question makes Eira flinch, Murdoc taking an instinctive step forward and wrapping his arms around her in unspoken apology.
"It's in the Order's protocol for outing defectors. A literal sort of Witch Hunt, I suppose you could call it. But it didn't happen, and I'm fine. Veronica cited every Order law and loophole she could to keep me there longer, until the Justicar lost his patience with being party to the fracas for over 48 hours."
"Then you had to compete."
"Yeah, and I won... barely. What - Murdoc, what the fuck WAS all that?" Swinging one arm out in broad gesture towards the rest of the arena, it's clear what she's referring to.
"I don't know. I do know that we'll need to keep an eye on things."
Holding his gaze, Eira begins to unhook the metal closures of her black leather corset. "Forget about all that. I have something else for you to keep your eye on tonight."
*~*~*~*~*~*~*
Grimm.
Again.
He'll win this time, I'm sure of it. It was a point of pride, you know, never having lost to Grimm. The jokes for the new recruits, about being "fed to Grimm", a match with Grimm being certain death. But I hadn't lost a singles match against him.
Not yet.
This will be the night, I think. I don't know how it will happen, but I'm sure it will. Maybe it will help how the fans and roster see me, to watch me take a savage beating. Again. I don't exactly have a flawless fuckin' record around here, "FORMER" World Champion and all that. Hell, so's he. He's held more belts than I have, in fact. Most of the time I win purely on my own merit, Murdoc's interference being nothing more than a barrier between me and some kind of shenanigans (You wanna talk unfair? Showtime, Grimm, and Sadistic ready to beat my ass. THAT'S unfair. Fuck you.)
So congratulations, Grimm. Take your victory that you'll profess not to care about, that tick in the win column that you'll decry the significance of.
If it's that insignificant, though... why care how or when I win at all? Or even if I do? I don't know what you and your sandbox pals are playing at, but I think it would behoove you to remember that groups around here have terrible precedent. Maybe you'll do better than the others.
Better than we did. The Untouchables, remember that? It was kind of a thing, not as much of a thing as it should have been, but it was there. Everyone railed and complained, made their assumptions and accusations (all of which added up to exactly fuck-nothing of the truth), and it lapsed out in a drizzle of underwhelming machinations. PLOT TWIST!
So.. yeah, that's about all I've got. You and your buddies have your scheme, your plan for total domination or whatever it is you're working towards. I've run afoul of it because I exist in your way, and I'm pretty okay with that. Walk through me, walk around me, whatever it is you need to do. Take your win, be on your merry way, secure in the knowledge that you've proven yourself superior.
Sleep with one eye open, Farmer.
Again.
He'll win this time, I'm sure of it. It was a point of pride, you know, never having lost to Grimm. The jokes for the new recruits, about being "fed to Grimm", a match with Grimm being certain death. But I hadn't lost a singles match against him.
Not yet.
This will be the night, I think. I don't know how it will happen, but I'm sure it will. Maybe it will help how the fans and roster see me, to watch me take a savage beating. Again. I don't exactly have a flawless fuckin' record around here, "FORMER" World Champion and all that. Hell, so's he. He's held more belts than I have, in fact. Most of the time I win purely on my own merit, Murdoc's interference being nothing more than a barrier between me and some kind of shenanigans (You wanna talk unfair? Showtime, Grimm, and Sadistic ready to beat my ass. THAT'S unfair. Fuck you.)
So congratulations, Grimm. Take your victory that you'll profess not to care about, that tick in the win column that you'll decry the significance of.
If it's that insignificant, though... why care how or when I win at all? Or even if I do? I don't know what you and your sandbox pals are playing at, but I think it would behoove you to remember that groups around here have terrible precedent. Maybe you'll do better than the others.
Better than we did. The Untouchables, remember that? It was kind of a thing, not as much of a thing as it should have been, but it was there. Everyone railed and complained, made their assumptions and accusations (all of which added up to exactly fuck-nothing of the truth), and it lapsed out in a drizzle of underwhelming machinations. PLOT TWIST!
So.. yeah, that's about all I've got. You and your buddies have your scheme, your plan for total domination or whatever it is you're working towards. I've run afoul of it because I exist in your way, and I'm pretty okay with that. Walk through me, walk around me, whatever it is you need to do. Take your win, be on your merry way, secure in the knowledge that you've proven yourself superior.
Sleep with one eye open, Farmer.
