incorrigible (adj): maggie macdougal (![[info]](https://www.insanejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif){kind=small} wrecktify) wrote in ![[info]](https://www.insanejournal.com/img/community.gif){kind=small} neeps,@ 2017-12-05 00:47:00 |
 |
|||
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
| Entry tags: | ! log, elspeth macfusty, maggie macdougal |
FIGHTALITYYYYY
Who: Elspeth MacFusty & Maggie MacDougal
What: PoP Fight club part 3 — Ellie is making a collection, but this is how she connects with people. (AKA: Fights don't solve problems, kids. Or, not always.)
When: Tuesday, November 28. Evening.
Where: JUST OUTSIDE of the Pride property.
Warnings: Violence of a fisticuffs variety, swearing, blood.
Ellie was angry. This was neither new or unexpected. The unfortunate part was that up until this point she had been doing well following the ask of her to not punch Pride players (and staff). This was very much supported by her strong game of ignoring Lorna and pretending everything was fine...in between other bad decisions, but there came a breaking point.
Tonight Maggie was that breaking point.
From her office she didn't quite have line of sight on Maggie's office, but it was a good enough place to stand guard and wait. She would be professional about her unprofessional behavior and hold off until Maggie was done for the day. Except time just ticked on. What the hell did the medic have to do?
Bored as she was now, the waiting had turned into twirling in her chair, nursing a finger or two or whiskey, and letting the anger simmer. She couldn't punch Lorna. Or Gwen. But Maggie -- oh, she was pretty sure that was fair game now.
Maggie was, meanwhile, more or less oblivious to the coach's plan. She'd spent the evening puttering around in the club, alternating between fucking around in her journal and continuing the monumental (and some may argue unnecessary) task of re-organizing the last medic's records. Decades of illegible handwriting and a chaotic filing system that could barely even be called a 'filing system'? Why, that sounded like an ideal Tuesday night for a certain mega-nerd.
It was late by the time she left—already dark—so didn't think to check in on any of the other rooms — she just grabbed her gym bag and headed for the front door, intent on getting a swim in before she apparated home for the rest of the night.
Hearing Maggie finally leave her office, Ellie nearly fell off her chair. It was about time. She threw back the last bit of whiskey, gave a small salute to the Gwen-inspired hole in her wall, and made short work of following Maggie out.
"Oi! MacDougal, got something for ya!" It probably would have been better to wait until they were technically off team grounds, but Ellie had already used up the lot of her patience. She had readied the punch, aiming for a quick jab to her flank.
To say Maggie wasn't ready for some kind of altercation wouldn't be entirely true: she grew up somewhere rough, she moved somewhere rough after, and when she struck out on her own, it was… still not in an ideal neighbourhood (and it was during a war, to boot). Basically, the girl was ready to throw down at most times. But leaving work in a relatively secluded area? Not exactly the kind of time she's thinking about it, especially when it's a colleague's voice that precedes the hit.
At first she just looks at Ellie because what the hell are you supposed to do when someone you know punches you out of the blue? An eloquent "Fuck you!" is how she starts, jumping out of Ellie's way to favour her side. At least none of her ribs were hit? But seriously, "What the fuck?"
"You know exactly what you did." Scottish Gaelic was the language of her anger. Really it's the language of most everything down to her root because English still takes a second longer. The accusation wasn't fair, because Ellie doubted that Maggie knew how those stupid little words just poked at barely starting to heal wounds. "And if you need reminding we can keep going."
As Maggie added one thing and another together, it dawned on her that this had something to do with their journal interactions. Did she seriously just get punched for telling Ellie not to fight one of her own players? She'd figured the coach was off somehow but this was beyond what she'd expected.
She understood the Gaelic but didn't reply. Instead, her mouth set in a thin lineand side throbbing a little, she ignored Ellie, turned away, and stalked off in the direction she'd been walking: toward the gate that marked the edge of club property. No one gets away with thinking about fighting her friends, and if this was MacFusty's twisted way of dealing with the word No, then maybe she'd give it a rest if Maggie played along.
She already knew exactly where she would throw her bag—and her first punch—but she'd be damned if she was reduced to fighting on the premises.
"All talk and no bite?" Ellie shouted after Maggie. She wouldn't exactly say she was spoiling for a fight (she was maybe, sort of, kind of, trying to be better than that), but Ellie certainly never walked away from a fight.
Still silent, Maggie chucked the bag over the edge of the property line and turned to face Ellie once she was beside it. "Never said that, MacFusty." She called back, pushing her sleeves up. "But I hold myself up to a particular standard," the implication was clear and the irony completely ignored, "and it doesn't include getting into fights at work." Her voice was level but had an edge to it. Honestly, she was still kind of confused about what was going on? ... But she wasn't about to admit it. "So if you want to fuck me up for some bullshit reason, you can come over here and fucking try."
Oh it was on.
"Ain't no bullshit reason," said Ellie entirely ignoring all the ways it was. "You got a mouth on you and that's gotta stop." Truly she wasn't mad at Maggie, but rather mad that Maggie made her stop to consider feelings that she didn't want to work through. It was bad enough they were still raw from Lorna.
Ellie just needed to stop thinking. Fighting was a great way to do that. Plus she did kind of want to see exactly what Maggie was made of. Once the challenge was clearly accepted Ellie ran toward Maggie with the aim of grappling her to the ground.
There was a long list of things Maggie should never do and fighting a colleague was certainly near the top, but unfortunately, her anger was also nearly always simmering, half-concealed and easy to provoke. The fastest way to do so was to try and start some shit, and start some shit Ellie had.
She planted her feet in the ground. She had the advantage—for now—and as soon as Ellie was at her, she grabbed the other woman by the shirt and pushed her to the ground, readying a punch for her face.
Ellie misjudged Maggie and was knocked off her feet. However, she at least had a good enough grasp on the other woman to bring her down with her. Mission partially successful, except for the part where her head hit the ground, hard. So much for not playing quidditch being less a risk of concussion.
"What the fuck–" With one hand clutching Ellie's jacket and the other raised, Maggie felt it was sportsmanlike (ha!) to give Ellie one more chance before she gave in. "–are you on about?" (It was the only sportsmanlike thing Maggie had ever done in her life.)
"Technically you're on me." The words bit through the tinnitus. If this was anyone else there would have been two equally appealing options here. Ellie was quite sure that Maggie might just let her down on both accounts. "But I thought we were going to have at it."
The smart-ass remark was enough to make Maggie let loose.
Knuckles to the face brought her fight back into it. And it was on. It was a scuffle, limbs flailing without grace or purpose. Ellie gave as good as she got. The pair were well matched, hard hitting, and willing to play dirty.
Ellie took a slam to her sternum, knocking the wind from her. Still trying to catch her breath and ignore her heart probably skipping a beat, she threw her whole weight at Maggie pinning her to the ground. It gave her a moment to catch her breath and spit out the blood pooling in her mouth.
Maggie could already tell her eye was going to be in a bad way in the morning, but that was a problem for the morning — because right now, with the tell-tale taste of copper in her own mouth and her knuckles raw, things were just. not. adding. up., and that didn't look like it was about to change.
"How the fuck can you wanna fight Galbraith this much?" She demanded, each word stinging through a split lip as she tried to pry Ellie's arms away from her.
She laughed. The action was more painful than it had any right to be, but wasn't that her life? "This doesn't have a damn thing to do with Ainsley."
That left the medic dumbfounded. Her pushing stopped, just for a moment, and her brow (as messy as it was) furrowed. Instead, though, her voice took on a tone more stern than it had been yet: the tone of someone who is not pleased, not one bit. "Then WHY are you WASTING MY TIME with this BULLSHIT?" And... shove.
Ellie stumbled back, losing the careful perch above Maggie so now she was sitting on Maggie's stomach. "Your time ain't shit. You're just some medic playing at healer." And that comment wasn't fair, but then again fair had nothing to do with this.
Maggie's mouth worked and she bit her lip (wow, ow, alright, not her smartest move). She flexed her left hand, readying a fist, but thought better of it — mostly because, if she was about to go on a one-woman shame parade, she wanted Ellie right the fucking hell off of her. She bucked her legs, trying to knock the other woman off of her, and swung her fist for good measure. It was probably all futile but it was worth a try.
She was already more off balance than she was going to admit. It didn't take much to tip her over the edge. The punch, grazing her jaw and the buck sent her face first in the ground along side Maggie with an impressive groan. Ellie tapped the ground twice, calling it. Her whole body ached, and decidedly not in the good way.
Halfway to sitting up and a quarter of the way to finding out how unwise of an idea that was, the tap-out was more welcome than Maggie was willing to admit. She flopped back onto her back and took a few breaths to try and work through the puzzle, with no success. Finally, holding her hand in front of her face and flexing it to test that, yes, it would be fine, she demanded, "All that to remind me I'm a fuck-up?" She still sounded indignant.
She couldn't see her face, but it certainly felt all scrapped to shit at this point. Plus a couple of good bruises. "Fuck." Ellie was also very tempted to just give into the desire to sleep, except that probably wasn't her best idea. Not that there were any winners tonight. "Just returning the favor."
"I have literally–" Maggie repeated as she started to brush the dirt and bits of plant off her pants, "–no idea–" she pulled her braid further, except it was all mess and no braid in sight, "–what the hell–" everything was a mess, which was braw, "you're on about. Fuck, MacFusty, I know you're a loose bludger or whatever, but hurlin' punches an' insults out of nowhere's going to get you hexed to France an' back."
Ellie rolled over onto her back, rather unwilling to do much else fearing she might vomit if she sat up and she would like to spare that indignity just then. "I've taken worse," she said in between steady breaths.
Now, that Ellie took a moment to look at it, the stars were pretty tonight. She was a mess, but that was nothing new.
Maggie shot Ellie a look. Not one to subject herself to evasive conversation, nor to stargaze (unless she was high — which was unfortunately not the case), she started the arduous project of getting back on her feet. "I won't be let within a mile of the gym like this." She muttered, mostly to herself, until her speech turned into a groan because woooow was getting up not working well for her. She could stand, but nothing about her posture was good; doubled over, hands on her knees, she winced. "Real grateful we could bond over your self-important bullshit."
"Always a pleasure, MacDougal." Ellie had no intention of getting up anytime soon. She wasn't sure she could get up, not yet. And far be it for her to ask for help or mending, especially she she doubted she would receive any. Besides the thrumming pain was an old friend, and far better than any self-actualization feelings and thoughts she might otherwise have.
After a quick search for her bag (how did they move so far so quick?), Maggie turned away and back toward the club. She could apparate home and sort herself out, but what's the point of working in a clinic when you can't misuse the merchandise? Her gait was stilted despite her attempt to make it as natural as possible — which was pretty much impossible.
"Clinic before you leave, dumbass. I'll patch you up if you let me admire my handiwork," she called back, voice raspy, and fairly sure the stubborn coach wouldn't take her up on the offer. "An' get your head checked before you go to bed. Medic's orders." There was venom in the word but Maggie was halfway to the club and fairly certain Ellie didn't have the energy to catch up and tackle her.
Tonight Maggie was that breaking point.
From her office she didn't quite have line of sight on Maggie's office, but it was a good enough place to stand guard and wait. She would be professional about her unprofessional behavior and hold off until Maggie was done for the day. Except time just ticked on. What the hell did the medic have to do?
Bored as she was now, the waiting had turned into twirling in her chair, nursing a finger or two or whiskey, and letting the anger simmer. She couldn't punch Lorna. Or Gwen. But Maggie -- oh, she was pretty sure that was fair game now.
Maggie was, meanwhile, more or less oblivious to the coach's plan. She'd spent the evening puttering around in the club, alternating between fucking around in her journal and continuing the monumental (and some may argue unnecessary) task of re-organizing the last medic's records. Decades of illegible handwriting and a chaotic filing system that could barely even be called a 'filing system'? Why, that sounded like an ideal Tuesday night for a certain mega-nerd.
It was late by the time she left—already dark—so didn't think to check in on any of the other rooms — she just grabbed her gym bag and headed for the front door, intent on getting a swim in before she apparated home for the rest of the night.
Hearing Maggie finally leave her office, Ellie nearly fell off her chair. It was about time. She threw back the last bit of whiskey, gave a small salute to the Gwen-inspired hole in her wall, and made short work of following Maggie out.
"Oi! MacDougal, got something for ya!" It probably would have been better to wait until they were technically off team grounds, but Ellie had already used up the lot of her patience. She had readied the punch, aiming for a quick jab to her flank.
To say Maggie wasn't ready for some kind of altercation wouldn't be entirely true: she grew up somewhere rough, she moved somewhere rough after, and when she struck out on her own, it was… still not in an ideal neighbourhood (and it was during a war, to boot). Basically, the girl was ready to throw down at most times. But leaving work in a relatively secluded area? Not exactly the kind of time she's thinking about it, especially when it's a colleague's voice that precedes the hit.
At first she just looks at Ellie because what the hell are you supposed to do when someone you know punches you out of the blue? An eloquent "Fuck you!" is how she starts, jumping out of Ellie's way to favour her side. At least none of her ribs were hit? But seriously, "What the fuck?"
"You know exactly what you did." Scottish Gaelic was the language of her anger. Really it's the language of most everything down to her root because English still takes a second longer. The accusation wasn't fair, because Ellie doubted that Maggie knew how those stupid little words just poked at barely starting to heal wounds. "And if you need reminding we can keep going."
As Maggie added one thing and another together, it dawned on her that this had something to do with their journal interactions. Did she seriously just get punched for telling Ellie not to fight one of her own players? She'd figured the coach was off somehow but this was beyond what she'd expected.
She understood the Gaelic but didn't reply. Instead, her mouth set in a thin line
She already knew exactly where she would throw her bag—and her first punch—but she'd be damned if she was reduced to fighting on the premises.
"All talk and no bite?" Ellie shouted after Maggie. She wouldn't exactly say she was spoiling for a fight (she was maybe, sort of, kind of, trying to be better than that), but Ellie certainly never walked away from a fight.
Still silent, Maggie chucked the bag over the edge of the property line and turned to face Ellie once she was beside it. "Never said that, MacFusty." She called back, pushing her sleeves up. "But I hold myself up to a particular standard," the implication was clear and the irony completely ignored, "and it doesn't include getting into fights at work." Her voice was level but had an edge to it. Honestly, she was still kind of confused about what was going on? ... But she wasn't about to admit it. "So if you want to fuck me up for some bullshit reason, you can come over here and fucking try."
Oh it was on.
"Ain't no bullshit reason," said Ellie entirely ignoring all the ways it was. "You got a mouth on you and that's gotta stop." Truly she wasn't mad at Maggie, but rather mad that Maggie made her stop to consider feelings that she didn't want to work through. It was bad enough they were still raw from Lorna.
Ellie just needed to stop thinking. Fighting was a great way to do that. Plus she did kind of want to see exactly what Maggie was made of. Once the challenge was clearly accepted Ellie ran toward Maggie with the aim of grappling her to the ground.
There was a long list of things Maggie should never do and fighting a colleague was certainly near the top, but unfortunately, her anger was also nearly always simmering, half-concealed and easy to provoke. The fastest way to do so was to try and start some shit, and start some shit Ellie had.
She planted her feet in the ground. She had the advantage—for now—and as soon as Ellie was at her, she grabbed the other woman by the shirt and pushed her to the ground, readying a punch for her face.
Ellie misjudged Maggie and was knocked off her feet. However, she at least had a good enough grasp on the other woman to bring her down with her. Mission partially successful, except for the part where her head hit the ground, hard. So much for not playing quidditch being less a risk of concussion.
"What the fuck–" With one hand clutching Ellie's jacket and the other raised, Maggie felt it was sportsmanlike (ha!) to give Ellie one more chance before she gave in. "–are you on about?" (It was the only sportsmanlike thing Maggie had ever done in her life.)
"Technically you're on me." The words bit through the tinnitus. If this was anyone else there would have been two equally appealing options here. Ellie was quite sure that Maggie might just let her down on both accounts. "But I thought we were going to have at it."
The smart-ass remark was enough to make Maggie let loose.
Knuckles to the face brought her fight back into it. And it was on. It was a scuffle, limbs flailing without grace or purpose. Ellie gave as good as she got. The pair were well matched, hard hitting, and willing to play dirty.
Ellie took a slam to her sternum, knocking the wind from her. Still trying to catch her breath and ignore her heart probably skipping a beat, she threw her whole weight at Maggie pinning her to the ground. It gave her a moment to catch her breath and spit out the blood pooling in her mouth.
Maggie could already tell her eye was going to be in a bad way in the morning, but that was a problem for the morning — because right now, with the tell-tale taste of copper in her own mouth and her knuckles raw, things were just. not. adding. up., and that didn't look like it was about to change.
"How the fuck can you wanna fight Galbraith this much?" She demanded, each word stinging through a split lip as she tried to pry Ellie's arms away from her.
She laughed. The action was more painful than it had any right to be, but wasn't that her life? "This doesn't have a damn thing to do with Ainsley."
That left the medic dumbfounded. Her pushing stopped, just for a moment, and her brow (as messy as it was) furrowed. Instead, though, her voice took on a tone more stern than it had been yet: the tone of someone who is not pleased, not one bit. "Then WHY are you WASTING MY TIME with this BULLSHIT?" And... shove.
Ellie stumbled back, losing the careful perch above Maggie so now she was sitting on Maggie's stomach. "Your time ain't shit. You're just some medic playing at healer." And that comment wasn't fair, but then again fair had nothing to do with this.
Maggie's mouth worked and she bit her lip (wow, ow, alright, not her smartest move). She flexed her left hand, readying a fist, but thought better of it — mostly because, if she was about to go on a one-woman shame parade, she wanted Ellie right the fucking hell off of her. She bucked her legs, trying to knock the other woman off of her, and swung her fist for good measure. It was probably all futile but it was worth a try.
She was already more off balance than she was going to admit. It didn't take much to tip her over the edge. The punch, grazing her jaw and the buck sent her face first in the ground along side Maggie with an impressive groan. Ellie tapped the ground twice, calling it. Her whole body ached, and decidedly not in the good way.
Halfway to sitting up and a quarter of the way to finding out how unwise of an idea that was, the tap-out was more welcome than Maggie was willing to admit. She flopped back onto her back and took a few breaths to try and work through the puzzle, with no success. Finally, holding her hand in front of her face and flexing it to test that, yes, it would be fine, she demanded, "All that to remind me I'm a fuck-up?" She still sounded indignant.
She couldn't see her face, but it certainly felt all scrapped to shit at this point. Plus a couple of good bruises. "Fuck." Ellie was also very tempted to just give into the desire to sleep, except that probably wasn't her best idea. Not that there were any winners tonight. "Just returning the favor."
"I have literally–" Maggie repeated as she started to brush the dirt and bits of plant off her pants, "–no idea–" she pulled her braid further, except it was all mess and no braid in sight, "–what the hell–" everything was a mess, which was braw, "you're on about. Fuck, MacFusty, I know you're a loose bludger or whatever, but hurlin' punches an' insults out of nowhere's going to get you hexed to France an' back."
Ellie rolled over onto her back, rather unwilling to do much else fearing she might vomit if she sat up and she would like to spare that indignity just then. "I've taken worse," she said in between steady breaths.
Now, that Ellie took a moment to look at it, the stars were pretty tonight. She was a mess, but that was nothing new.
Maggie shot Ellie a look. Not one to subject herself to evasive conversation, nor to stargaze (unless she was high — which was unfortunately not the case), she started the arduous project of getting back on her feet. "I won't be let within a mile of the gym like this." She muttered, mostly to herself, until her speech turned into a groan because woooow was getting up not working well for her. She could stand, but nothing about her posture was good; doubled over, hands on her knees, she winced. "Real grateful we could bond over your self-important bullshit."
"Always a pleasure, MacDougal." Ellie had no intention of getting up anytime soon. She wasn't sure she could get up, not yet. And far be it for her to ask for help or mending, especially she she doubted she would receive any. Besides the thrumming pain was an old friend, and far better than any self-actualization feelings and thoughts she might otherwise have.
After a quick search for her bag (how did they move so far so quick?), Maggie turned away and back toward the club. She could apparate home and sort herself out, but what's the point of working in a clinic when you can't misuse the merchandise? Her gait was stilted despite her attempt to make it as natural as possible — which was pretty much impossible.
"Clinic before you leave, dumbass. I'll patch you up if you let me admire my handiwork," she called back, voice raspy, and fairly sure the stubborn coach wouldn't take her up on the offer. "An' get your head checked before you go to bed. Medic's orders." There was venom in the word but Maggie was halfway to the club and fairly certain Ellie didn't have the energy to catch up and tackle her.