Rhiannon Lee (rhiannon_lee) wrote in low_tide, @ 2009-11-22 21:51:00 |
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Entry tags: | connor reilly, rhiannon lee |
Back in the Saddle
The screen door snapped shut behind Rhiannon. She walked to the edge of their rental property, where crab grass met pavement, both cracked and abused by the sun. The sky was cloudless, the sliver of moon as thin as a fingernail. She pulled an elbow across her torso to stretch her muscles. At the late hour, many of the windows on Amelia Street were dark, neighbors having gone to sleep in preparation for an early start. It was a perfect time to go to the beach and get a workout. They were unlikely to be seen or interrupted.
Rhiannon appreciated the mild temperature. In Nevada, the nights got cold even in summer. In Chicago, she might see her breath on the air by now. She wore a tank top and loose pants, her hair in a braid. "Ready?" She looked back.
"Ready." Connor was wearing sweat pants and a thin T shirt, and he looked up at the tiny fragment of moon where it hung suspended in the blackness. The keys jingled as he locked the door behind them, the sound followed by the noise of his shoes on the sidewalk. He'd done his stretches before supper, and despite his half-full stomach his muscles felt loose and ready for action. This would technically be his first time fighting on this turf. He wondered if it would be different.
If the two of them would be different since their re-alignment. Only one way to find out.
She set off in the direction of the ocean. The wind carried a salty smell; she breathed it in, finding that she liked it. It beat pollution. Rhiannon wondered how long it would be until she no longer noticed it. Flecks of mica sparkled in the road as they walked, making quick work of it. "I'm glad we're doing this," she said, reaching overhead and extending each shoulder in turn. "I'm getting the daytime version of restless leg syndrome. I can't stop moving." She tested the tightness of the rubber band in her hair. "Plus, I think I'm out of places to look for life clues. Time to dive in."
Belatedly, she remembered a huge detail. "Shit, I meant to tell you this over dinner. I ran into Izzy Shaw on the beach. You know, the girl with the tech-magic?"
He tried to remember if the two of the had ever met face-to-face, then said, "Did she avoid Las Vegas too? Seems like it's less of a hub in this world than in the last one." He passed a fire hydrant on his right, locked his hands together on the back of his neck. "Getting back into the swing of things will be good for both of us," he continued. "I think I might have rusted if I'd put it off."
The wind in his hair felt good, and as his feet ate up the distance he let his mind clear. Worries no longer seemed to matter now that he was moving. Like Rhiannon had said, it was time to dive in head first.
Rhiannon shrugged, and as her shoulders climbed, she slipped her thumbs into her pockets. "I don't think she knows why she's here. She said this version of her was really different. Kind of an airhead. Maybe the worse the match, the less your brain can put the pieces together." She frowned. "Although, wait. Izzy never made it to Vegas. She came through the portal in Chicago... She was already a doppelganger. So who knows, maybe original Isabelle in our old world was an airhead, too." She rubbed her eyebrow. Later on, maybe she'd sort through that, when she had a piece of scratch paper and an aspirin.
"This is why they made me a hitter." Rhiannon stepped onto the area of grass and palm trees that separated road from ocean.
"Glad I'm not different," Connor muttered. He wasn't sure he'd have been able to handle his personality folding in on itself again. The dirt gritted under his shoes, and he stretched his arms out to either side as his fingers flexed. He tugged his shirt up over his head, then pulled it off and looked for a safe place to drop it.
"How close to the water do you want to get? At least we won't freeze if one of us goes in here."
She looked out at the surf. "About halfway down the beach?" she suggested. It had a narrow profile, only about thirty yards from water to grass. "So the streetlights won't shine on us." As he brought up before, they didn't want a city cop rolling by and questioning them about the scuffle. Although used to fighting in her shoes, Rhiannon began taking them off so they wouldn't fill with sand. She balanced on one foot and looked at Connor.
"I've been wondering something. Maybe you can help me with it." One shoe popped off and she unlaced the other. "Do you take your shirt off before you fight vampires, too?" A hint of a smile. They hadn't started sparring yet, and already she had the urge to pluck at him.
He regarded her, and his mouth twitched at the corners. "No," he replied, putting the smile away with an effort. "Just for you. As a distraction. I know how much you like to look."
He trotted past her, moving towards the darker area of sand where the light didn't reach. Kicked off his shoes once he got there, letting his sockless feet dig into the earth. Brushed the hair away from his forehead. He was definitely going to have to break down soon and get it cut.
He had a point.
Rhiannon smirked. "So we're resorting to that now, huh?" She peeled off her socks and joined him on the beach. The grains were cold and slightly damp underfoot from the last high tide. Each step left a footprint in her wake. "I should thank my lucky stars you're keeping your pants on." She bounced on her toes. It was odd. Her actual weight hadn't changed much in her later twenties. She stayed thin and toned, particularly in the stomach and legs. Still, her body felt narrower in the hips now that the clock had been reversed. Otherwise, all was the same.
She crooked her finger at him. "C'mon."
"I don't have to 'resort' to anything," the Destroyer rejoined. He'd always been a little underweight, and he felt the same as he ever had, if a little more likely to recover faster. "You can think of it as a present if you'd like."
He came on, his fists already up, his forearms ready to catch the Slayer's punches. His first left hook targeted her jaw, a fast train running.
It bounced off her blocking forearm. In the split second of connected flesh, Rhiannon met his eyes, and hers seemed to be saying, 'Nice try.' Hoping to take advantage, Rhiannon followed with a punch to his exposed belly. The sting in her arm felt good. Alive. Their matches always started off at half-power, both of them jockeying around, but she knew they'd likely get irritated with each other and hit like hell before it was over with.
He danced backwards in time to avoid the full brunt of the punch, smelling the tang of the ocean on the breeze and tasting it in the breath he drew in. "Gonna have to do better than that," he mocked gently, one arm crossed close to his midsection and the other up higher near his face. Starting to feel the adrenaline kick in, waiting for it to really take hold.
He aimed for her ribs next time, the other hand directed at her chin in quick succession.
Hollowing her body, Rhiannon avoided the shot to her midsection, but his knuckles clipped her chin. Her back teeth clacked together. Feeling the rush that always came after an opponent made contact, Rhiannon smiled, her feet carrying her a step back. "Atta girl." She sized up his stance, where his feet were in the sand, and circled left, so that Connor's back wasn't to the streetlamps anymore. Then she moved in and volleyed a set of jabs and a right cross.
The right skated off of Connor's chin, catching his lower lip, and he closed with Rhiannon to deliver quick, short jabs to her stomach and ribcage. He had a tendency to rely on power, not speed, although he had plenty of both. Sand kicked up between his toes, spraying upwards to pepper the cuffs of his jeans.
He was fast enough. Twice, his fists broke through the flurry of her blocks and met her stomach, the last punch knocking the air out of her. Rhiannon recovered and kept circling, using the crook of her arm to wipe sweat off her temple. Her heart had found that really good pace, just slightly above normal. All joking aside, she kept her loose fists up. Her cheeks and knuckles were flushed. The only things she heard were the waves slapping against the shore and the rhythm of their breathing.
The next time he came at her, Rhiannon reeled back instead of blocking. She grabbed his arm and twisted her body into him, putting her spine to his chest. She dropped into a crouch, trying to use momentum to flip him over her back.
He tried to pull out of the grasp, but force allowed what strength tried to prevent. Grains of sand prickled against his bare skin as he hit the dirt, and he rolled to the left to avoid any possibility of being kicked. In a crouch, he reached out with his left hand and snagged the loose hem of Rhiannon's shirt. Hauling her towards him, he drove his head into her stomach, powering forward with his knees.
He was starting to sweat now, his breathing just a little faster. Feeling good about life.
Taken by surprise, Rhiannon gulped in air and teetered on her heels. Her fingers scratched at his neck. Recovery, and maybe some counter-pushing, would've been easy on solid ground, but the beach was riddled with hills and holes, all of which shifted under her weight. She pitched backwards and landed on her ass, sending up a curtain of pale sand. Thankfully, Connor's momentum had him headed straight for her. She curled a knee to her chest and kicked hard when he was near, aiming for his nose.
The sand in his mouth had Connor spitting, and he caught the kick on his cheek, making his left eye water and knocking him back onto his butt. He crab-walked backwards, sharp grains digging into his palms as he put distance between himself and the Slayer. He spat more sand, pulled himself up. One bare foot shot out in a snap kick, caught the Slayer in the large muscle of her thigh. His fists came up, ready for another flurry of hard, short punches.
The leg buckled, more from the numbing blow than a proper angle for such. Rhiannon caught herself and swallowed, catching her breath as she faced off with him. It was too dark to tell if her kicks or punches had done any damage to his face. Because of the slope of the landscape, they were nearer the water than where they started, and the light was poor. They rocked on their feet for a minute, like two boxers just separated by a referee and looking for an in.
"Mad at me yet?" A bead of sweat ran along the bridge of Rhiannon's nose. She sniffed. "By now, you're usually grinding your teeth."
"Gimme another minute or two, I'll get there."
The words were a little slurred, and he touched his cheek to find it already swelling. There was sand behind his teeth. He advanced on her, punches glancing off of her forearms as they gradually gained power, and he started to aim lower for her stomach, working on slipping past her guard. His left fist hammered a spot near her elbow, and his right suddenly lifted to throw a punch at her eye, knuckles gleaming whitely in the brief flash of the streetlight.
Rhiannon's head snapped back and fireworks exploded in her eye. When she opened it again, the world was a watery blur as both eyes teared up from the sting. "Jesus... that was effective." It also rallied her to take things up a notch. The challenge with fighting Connor was that he came in close and powered with his fists. Rhiannon's danger was in her legs. The next series of punches and blocks was faster, meaner. The air was full of the staccato sound of fists striking flesh, of air heaving in and out of lungs. As soon as she had an opening, she grabbed his arms, forced them outward, and kicked at his sternum to create some space. She spun around and leveraged a foot at his windpipe.
The breath whuffed out of Connor's lungs as the kick shoved him backwards, and he managed to bring his arm up to block the second strike at his throat. His entire forearm went numb, and he tucked it against his body to give it a respite as he scuttled to his right, providing a fair offense for someone who had just been rendered one-handed. His right nostril was trickling blood, he could taste it on his upper lip. He punched hard at Rhiannon's face, working the fingers of his other hand to bring the feeling back into them. His heart was galloping in his chest, the adrenaline sharpening everything to a wonderful clarity. Not that much had changed after all, at least not this.
His punch was wild, but it hit her jaw and the corner of her mouth. By some miracle, it didn't bleed, but it puffed up like a bee sting. If she had been doing so, it would've slapped the smile off her face. A little damage had been done to her equilibrium, too, lessening her chances of landing a good punch until she recovered. "Okay," she said, testing her lip against the back of her hand. She circled him a bit. "So you're not mad. Maybe this is what it looks like when you're happy." Ducking down, she took off at a sprint and barrelled into him, hoping to knock him down.
"You would know. I always look like this when I'm fighting."
He rolled with her momentum when she rushed him, a punch landing clumsily in her solar plexus, then pulled her with him, tumbling the both of them to the sandy earth. Grains of it clung to his back and shoulders, the sweat causing it to adhere to his skin. He rolled her onto her back, trying to pin her. His arm was still a little uncooperative, but he put a good effort into it.
Her stomach hurt from all the pounding and it ached to breathe. Biting her lip, she made a frustrated growl and grappled with his hands, the Slayer's strength pitted against the Destroyer's. She didn't mind being on her back if she could disable him from hitting or locking her in place. Damp, cold sand worked its way into her shirt and waistband. Rhiannon had more success with one arm than the other. Slowly, she twisted it behind his back, up near his shoulderblade. "Hey... you're like a pretzel." Lower, she struggled to wedge a knee between his legs.
His groin protesting the pressure, Connor head-butted Rhiannon, their foreheads cracking together loudly over the sound of the water and their breathing. His shoulder hurt from the arm-twisting, and he backed off a couple of feet to catch his breath. Sand trickled down the back of his jeans, and he wiped sweat away from his brow to keep it out of his eyes. His feet were embedded in the soft dirt, leaving footprints. "What else you got?"
When she got up, sand sifted off her clothes. She found a firm place to stand on the slope. "You know, I was out here last night, too. I took a walk after you went to bed." The foamy edge of the water crept towards her foot. Ignoring it, Rhiannon touched the sore spot on her forehead. She thought, thank god she was hardheaded or he might've cracked her skull. She rubbed the heel of her hand across her watery eye. "I ran into someone powerful. I think I could've asked her to take this all back... at least for me."
She shook the tingles out her arms and lifted them into a pugilist's loose, ready fists. "I didn't want to." Rhiannon waited for him to get in a stance, too. The last complaint she wanted to hear was that he wasn't ready. "What else you want?"
Connor pulled himself to a standing position, wiped traces of blood away from his mouth. His nose was still bleeding. "I'm glad," he said, looking her over a little critically. "I wouldn't want you to go anywhere without me."
The Destroyer spat the last of the sand out of his mouth, having listening to it crunch between his teeth for the past few minutes. His cheek was puffed up like he had a jawbreaker in his mouth. "I want anything you've got." His bruised hands lifted, already in fists. "Anything at all."
"Good." Rhiannon breathed out. He looked so earnest standing there with his chin jutting out. She wanted to climb into his head and listen to what Connor thought about, but that was impossible. The best she could do was tell him about herself. When she shrank the distance between them, her palms faced outward, two surrendering gestures instead of rows of knuckles. She wrapped them over his fists, which felt swollen and hot, his circulation increased from all the times he hit her. "All I've got is yours. I just wanted to say it." Her thumbs applied a little pressure. "I've got my feet underneath me, and it's you, and I'm so spun up I can barely think straight, because..." She squeezed briefly. "Because I'm shit at practicing restraint and now I don't have to."
She let go, putting her fists up again. "Want to hit me some more? I could go for hours."
His knuckles hurt when she squeezed, but he barely noticed it. He'd been willing to wait for her, to wait as long as she wanted him to, and the part of him that was cautious about this new thing muttered something to the part that dreamed of touching her. Particles of sand sifted out of his hair as he stepped towards her, and his hands encircled her wrists lightly.
"You know that I...you know how I feel." He leaned his forehead against hers, making the space between them smaller and more intimate. "If you're sure, then I meant what I said before. Everything that's part of me is yours, for as long as you'll have me."
"Careful," she said. They were so close she smelled his soap and sweat. "I've got an unbelievable attention span. What I love, I keep." She wiped away the blood under his nose. It felt like she'd been waiting to do this with him forever, but part of her already had. It was only a matter of letting the rest catch up. Everything happened for a reason, she thought. Sometimes the big universal plans knocked smaller things into surprising alignment, too. Raising on her toes, she kissed him lightly. The corner of her mouth stung, but she didn't care. She leaned back and wet her lips. "I'm sure."
He smiled past the pain in his cheek, her love like a salve on the bruises. "Love you." Saying so quietly that he could barely hear it even over the little waves beyond them. He felt like he should do something to make an occasion of this, but he wasn't sure what that should be.
"You want to go a couple more rounds?" Backing off and bringing his hands up in a fighter's pose. "I'm hardly tired myself."
"Absolutely."
Rhiannon backed up a pace and brought up her fists. Under the guise of checking out his stance, she let her eyes roam his bare, sandy chest. Later on, she thought, she'd offer to race him to the shower, then intentionally orchestrate a tie. Yeah. The subsequent smile felt like it would split her lip. "Love you, too, Connor."
Punch.