meadowlarklogs | intervention (closed)

Entry tags:

intervention (closed)

WHO: carolina, drake holloway, ephemera, and maine. later, wash.
WHERE: ye ol' abandoned warehouse
WHEN: 26 may 2512
WHAT: an intervention
NOTES OR WARNINGS: violence, emotional trauma, emeto (labeled)

The Gathering
The Reveal
The New Target
The Aftermath
The Healing Hands

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[ maine takes a moment to catch on and carolina waits, watches him take in the room, watches him tense, curl his gloved hands into fists. waits to see if he'll just turn around and leave and when he doesn't, carolina releases the breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding. ]

I'm not accepting that as an answer anymore. You've had your week to be stubborn and now you're going to let me help you.

[ she did give him time, let the argument drop over the last few days, only offering reminders that she was nearby, when he changed his mind. but he hasn't changed his mind and carolina's never been a very patient person. the first few days after their spar, she'd been anxious to see him, constantly putting away feelings that weren't about maine, just what maine was capable of. now, she's been getting increasingly antsy about needing to see him. it's been long enough. ]

[ A week to be stubborn. As if a week is enough. As if Maine is acting irrational, like a child throwing a tantrum who needs to get over it. As if he doesn't have a perfectly fucking valid reason for refusing to do this.

The mixture of anger and hurt boils higher. Maine sets his jaw. Feels the tension winding tighter in his shoulders but can't will himself to relax. He needs to get out of here. Needs to get away from Carolina. But there's no point in turning his back and fleeing. She'll catch up with him: she always does. The fact that she's standing in front of him now proves it.

How the hell did she find him? Why did Drake help her?

Maine pushes those thoughts aside. They don't matter. They're distractions from the reality that Carolina is near him again. And this time, they're in an enclosed space.

Fuck. ]

Helping is staying away.

[ The words are clipped, and his voice sounds oddly strained. He doesn't know why. Figures it could be any number of the bullshit feelings he can't entirely suppress. ]

No. It's not. We know I can get through to you, so until you figure out how to snap yourself out of it, how to use this power, wouldn't you rather have someone on your side?

[ there's been a fair bit of distance between them, but carolina moves to close some of it now. she plans on stopping outside of his personal space, a little shy of how close she usually stands to him, but she's well aware of the fact that maine is likely to see it as a threat. she would, after all. ]

I lost you before because I gave you too much space, because I didn't help you. [ there's a waver to her voice, more hurt than angry. carolina ignores it. ] I'm not doing that again.

[ There are so many things wrong with Carolina's question that Maine can't immediately respond. He shakes his head, unable to form words. Then she starts walking closer, and he hears his boot scrape the floor at the same time he feels his leg move. Only once it's done does he realize he's taken an automatic step backward — not to retreat, but to brace himself for an attack. For a fight.

Something cold shoots through him. He doesn't want to do this. He doesn't want this at all.

Carolina's words are laced with pain, but Maine doesn't understand what she's talking about. Part of him wants to ask. It must be important if it's causing Carolina to sound like that. But a greater part of him knows that he needs to focus on getting away from her. Even if it's impossible, he has to try.

Too bad he can't get any words out. Too bad they stick in his throat, trapped there by a knot of emotion he can't begin to untangle. He breathes out. Breathes in. Tries again. ]

Can't do this.

[ A confession or an accusation? He doesn't know. Thinks it's both. ]

Edited (phrasing) 2020-07-17 08:07 (UTC)

[ it's the first time in a long time that carolina's needed a moment to find the meaning to what maine says, his intention not entirely clear, and that alone catches her off guard, nearly makes her balk. there's usually no hesitation, no question of what he meant, or if there is it's easy to clarify. feeling like she doesn't understand him makes her worry for a long few seconds that she can't actually do this.

but she didn't go through the effort of bringing him here for nothing. she's going to help him, somehow. carolina swallows hard, sets her expression a little more stubborn. ]

I don't consider this something either of us have a choice in. We can't protect one another if you won't come near me and if you won't come near me until you feel like you have control over this, then we need to figure it the hell out.

[ But he is protecting her. He's protecting her by staying away. He's protecting her from himself. He can't do that if she keeps moving closer. Can't do that if she refuses to listen to him.

Something new wells up inside of Maine. Something that weighs him down, pressing in on all sides like a vise. Something he fucking loathes, but that he's felt more and more in this place: helplessness. Helplessness and a sense of inevitability, like he's plummeting from orbit and knows the impact will hurt. Like he's on the wrong end of a gun and can do nothing but brace for the bullet.

It's only then that Maine identifies the cold sensation as fear.

He's angry. He's hurt. He's helpless. He's afraid.

Fuck. Fuck, he needs to get out of here. He needs to get away. Even if it doesn't last — even if Carolina tracks him down again — he has to try.

Maine doesn't speak again. Doesn't try to force out more words or convince Carolina that he's right. Instead, he takes action: he turns around and starts toward the exit. ]

[ carolina had been comforted that maine hadn't immediately turned to leave when he saw her, even if the benefit was tiny. it felt like maybe, some part of him wanted to cooperate, to trust that she knew what she was doing.

when he didn't leave immediately, she thought she'd have more time than this. ]

Maine!

[ it's that hurt tone again, one carolina swallows down as she follows him, quick strides closing the distance between them. she can't just let him leave. she owes him that much, for all the loyalty he's given her. how is it okay for maine to take bullets for her but not for her to do this for him? ]

Don't walk away from me.

[ even as she reaches out, she knows that contact is a bad idea, but her approach to anything is like his, physical, action based. she doesn't expect the words to be enough, but hand she wraps firm around his arm, just above his elbow, is something she trusts to stop him. ]

[ The hurt in Carolina's tone cuts, but Maine keeps moving. He can't turn around. He can't look at her. If he does, he might break down and obey, and he won't risk that. He can't.

But Carolina follows him, and Maine doesn't realize how quickly she closes in until he hears her voice. By then, it's too late. Her gloved hand touches his skin, gripping him firmly just above the elbow. As though there's no risk in getting close to him. As though he didn't use that same arm to haul her into the air and—

Blue light glows from his chest.

Maine sucks in a breath as his pupils blow wide. He feels the hand on his arm and lashes out with a snarl, jerking his elbow back to try and strike whatever is holding him. ]

Edited 2020-07-20 06:01 (UTC)

[ well, fuck.

carolina had planned for maine to use his power here, against her, but she'd hoped it would be intentional, that he would have been willing to trust her with it. but no, it's this.

there's the faintest hint of a glow reflecting off the wall in front of him, her only real warning before maine's elbow comes back at her hard, a move that would have started this fight off bad, if it had landed. but it doesn't, barely, and carolina only lets go of his arm when she can use the momentum from it to push herself back as she pivots, putting another large step between her and maine before he can turn around.

another step back before he moves and carolina has her fists up, in a defensive stance, undoubtedly an enticing enemy. she's ready to block however he comes at her, but watching for the telegraphing of hits that she'd be better off dodging. she knows maine. those strikes will come. ]

You don't want to do this.

[ it may sound like arrogance, but she's trying to get through to maine without having to resort to sharing memories again. he doesn't want to fight her — she knows that and has to remind him that he knows it, too. ]

[ Maine didn't want to do this. He didn't want any of this. He wanted to stay far away from Carolina. To protect her from himself, even if that meant being alone. He wanted to retreat — to flee — even if it meant swallowing his pride and feeling like a coward.

There is no want anymore. There is no conscious desire at all. There is only instinct.

Carolina is a threat. Maine will eliminate her. It's simple. Black and white with no shades of gray, no room for personal feelings, no capacity for logical reasoning. She is a threat. And if Maine can't flee, he'll fight.

Maine snarls again as he twists around, his eyes wide and dark and locked on Carolina. Without stopping to take in her defensive stance, let alone figure out a strategy, Maine swings at her. There's no subtlety behind it: he's aiming for maximum power and damage. ]

[ carolina may not be surprised when maine doesn't seem to register her words (or her as anything but a threat) but it still stings. she still wishes he had.

she blocks the first few blows easily enough, even when she can feel the places where her forearms are going to bruise. despite the fact that she's backing up slowly as he swings at her, already preparing to use the space against him if she has to, carolina looks calmer now than she did before his power activated, more focused. their spectators don't have anything to worry about yet.

maine still moves quicker than he should, though, still advances just aggressively enough that she can't block him perfectly forever. a missed block during a round of sparring might lead to her losing her balance for a moment, a sore spot she didn't expect to have. a missed block here means maine's fist impacts her shoulder with enough force to knock her off balance, catching herself in a crouch, the fingers of one hand touching the ground briefly before she has her legs under her enough to dive out of the way.

a roll has her landing on her feet behind him, stretching one hand before she quickly curls it into a fist, checking to make sure that that blow hasn't impacted her ability to throw a punch— or to take one. it doesn't feel good by any stretch of the imagination, but it's no reason to tap out.

when maine lunges at her again, carolina's tactics change. no longer purely defending, she's countering his blows with ones of her own, well timed punches and kicks aimed to disable him without any lasting damage. if maine had a weapon, she'd be focused on disarming him, but the same tactics don't work when he's using his fists. especially when it becomes apparent that her strikes don't slow her teammate down as much as they should, that they're wearing one another down unevenly. she needs a few seconds to catch her breath, to try getting through to him again.

she dodges one of his punches, turns on one leg as the other aims a kick at the centre of his chest. it's harder than any of her blows have been so far, but she still doubts it'll knock him back as far as it would anyone else.

that's alright, though. carolina only needs a few extra inches between them to comfortably call up her shield, one arm held level with the ground in front of her as if to carry the semi-shimmering wall. the stance isn't necessary, she's learned, but she has better control when she gestures, doesn't leave it all to her imagination. ]

You know who I am, Maine. Just focus.

[ she's breathing heavily, probably should take better advantage of the break her shield gives her, but carolina's doing this to help her friend and she's nothing if not stubborn. ]

[ While Carolina's expression is calm and focused, Maine's is anything but. It's not a mask of rage or hatred: it's pure animal aggression. There's something distinctly off about it. Something lacking. Something inhuman. Whatever makes him Maine is missing, swallowed up by the power driving him to relentlessly attack one of his best friends.

What isn't missing is Maine's brutality. His blows are clearly not meant to incapacitate: they're meant to kill. He aims full-force punches at Carolina's head; he tries to slam his boot down on her chest when she falls; he grabs for her neck as though hoping to strangle her. The blows Carolina lands cause him to stumble, but he never backs off. He never retreats. He never switches from offense to defense.

Finally, Carolina kicks Maine in the chest so hard that he staggers backward, gasping for air. Her shield appears an instant later — but unlike before, Maine doesn't freeze. The shield is no longer an unknown element; his mind doesn't have to decide between fight or flight. His shoulders curl in almost like he's trying to protect himself. However, the moment Carolina finishes speaking, Maine's intention becomes clear: he braces his feet and rams the shield with his shoulder.

One blow. Two. The shield drops, and Carolina hits him again. Sends him stumbling past her as she slips out of the way. Maine growls with something not quite fury and spins to pursue. Another shield stands in his path: he lowers his shoulder and rams it again and again. The shield drops just as Maine starts forward, and his momentum carries him past as Carolina darts out of the way.

He can't get his hands on her. Can't land a killing blow.

If he were in his right mind, Maine would analyze the situation and figure out a new tactic. But Maine isn't in his right mind. Far from it. So he rounds on Carolina again, breathing hard but not slowing down in the slightest, and he lunges once more. ]

[ it doesn't work, but she keeps trying. every time she pauses with the shield between them, carolina looks her opponent in the eyes, looks to see if she can see maine there again. every time, she doesn't, so she keeps fighting.

for a few short, seconds-long rounds of this, she manages to keep maine from getting another solid hit on her, keeping it to glancing blows as she works around him, using the full floor space to her advantage. she fights better when she can move and from the blows she manages to get on him, carolina almost has the upper hand.

but keeping him at bay can't last and carolina knows full well it's her own fatigue that causes her next mistake: a stumble as he runs at her shield and she deactivates it with a sidestep. her leading foot catches on the ground at an odd angle and she has to use the other to compensate, resulting in a move that doesn't take her far enough away from him. maine's forearm hits her full force in the chest, wrist near her shoulder and elbow impacting her sternum with enough force that it winds her as she's knocked down, hitting the ground hard.

she probably needs to take a minute, but the ground is not a safe place to be right now.

carolina uses what momentum she can to roll back on her shoulders, hands meeting the floor briefly before she jumps back up to her feet. she tries to take a breath and is rewarded with a sharp pain for her efforts and remembers, all at once, just how mad wash is going to be about her getting hurt like this, without him.

this is the first hit she's taken that looks like it might have done damage enough to worry about but, stubbornly, she isn't signalling for help. she can take a few more.

she raises both hands in a defensive stance as she activates her shield again. it flickers in an odd way and the nagging voice in the back of her head that only ever sounds like epsilon anymore points out that that's very bad. carolina has to agree with it.

the next time maine throws himself at the shield, there's only resistance when he first makes contact, enough to absorb some of his momentum. then it flickers again, dissipates, and lets him hit carolina hard enough to knock her back to the floor. ]

[ The flickering of Carolina's shield doesn't alert Maine the way that it ought to. He's not thinking about the shield itself. It's nothing but an obstacle in his way, something to batter down no matter how much the impact makes his shoulders ache. The pain barely registers: it's unimportant. All that matters is getting to his enemy. All that matters is taking out the threat.

He rams the shield one last time — and this time, it falls. Carolina falls. Maine's momentum carries him forward, and he falls, too. Accelerated reflexes kick in: he turns what should be a face plant into a roll, and he comes up crouched beside Carolina's head.

It's a good thing that he's crouched. If he weren't, he would bring his boot up and try to stomp on her face. But he is crouched, and so he doesn't aim what could be a killing blow. Instead, Maine starts getting back to his feet — can't be down; can't be vulnerable — and he brings Carolina with him. Grabs her by the front of her shirt, drags her upright, and lifts her up into the air.

He's done this before. He knows that. He doesn't remember how it's haunted him. Doesn't remember how sick he felt, or how much self-loathing has been churning inside of him ever since. All he remembers is that he's done this before and that Carolina knocked him away with her shield.

He doesn't give her a chance to knock him away. Not this time. He brings his arm back, and then he throws her full-force against a wall. ]

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