bigapplesauce | a kiss with a fist is better than none [closed]

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a kiss with a fist is better than none [closed]

When the TARDIS receives a text from Zagreus, she barely has enough time to bristle at the harassment and worry if he's hurt anyone to find out the number for her communications system, before he mentions Gabriel and she's gripped by a sudden panic. Gabriel has thankfully been leaving her and the Doctor alone since their fight, but what if Zagreus has talked him into changing that, what if they combine their efforts to hurt her... The ways in which this could be terrible for her are many, and she needs a moment to overcome the instinctual yet painfully futile desire to see the future probabilities and consequences of their meeting. No, she's going to have to find out more the hard way, by dealing with Zagreus.

Then, surprisingly, he makes it easy for her. His taunts spark such familiar hatred in her, a hatred so deep-seated and constant that even the turmoil of her emotions concerning Gabriel pales in comparison. There are no conflicting emotions here, no betrayed affection and trust, no fear of a confrontation; all that is replaced by the simple need to lash out at Zagreus, warn him away from her and her friends, remind him of her wrath. He is one thing in this universe she knows exactly how to react to.

On some level, she realizes she's allowing herself to be ensnared by it, that she should be above trying to find refuge from her distress in hatred of all things. But this, for once, is familiar and uncomplicated, and Zagreus has never deserved her forbearance anyway. So, refusing to doubt herself, she challenges him and waits. When there is no answer, it's clear she has him - if he had anything to refute her with, he would have done so, but they both know she's right.

He takes his time, but eventually she feels his presence sting at the edge of her expectant senses. With the vague idea of luring him close to her shell to trap him once again, or at the very least find out exactly what he and Gabriel discussed, she summons the energy to make her exterior invisible for a short time and walks down to the appointed place on the path to wait.

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The incongruity of anyone actually requesting his presence anywhere is hilarious, but that doesn't mean he has to be punctual. Indeed, he had been further away than he would typically be--texts are probably not an untraceable form of communication, and the last thing he needs is the TARDIS getting any ideas about his various lair-ups for visiting the Dreaming.

His approach is wary, but wholly confident. It's strange to see her looking so acclimatised, dressed for the weather, like something that belongs here. But then he belongs here now too, unfortunately, unkempt and feral as continued linear existence is making him. She's certainly been unusually proactive and willing to engage, but that's the downside of getting emotionally compromised, isn't it? Clearly he's not the only one who's been altered by this limited existence.

"I don't know what you've summoned me for. I haven't killed any of your friends, that I know of."

She'd almost forgotten that his influence is somewhat less jarring to her senses here, the one good thing about this universe and its constant interference. Incongruously matching the dulled stench of antitime, he looks the worse for wear, more so than the last time they met outside of the telepathic current. She notes this and wonders if it's a sign of some weakness, but for now there are more important matters to address.

Trying not to bristle so easily at his attempt to rile her up, she raises her chin in defiance and asks, "Then why did you come, if not to gloat about your conversation with Gabriel?" She doubts he could resist giving at least vague hints about it, and she'll take any information she can get to determine if she's in more danger than usual from them.

Zagreus doesn't really have a good answer for her. That pretty much is why he'd accepted her invitation, that and boredom. And no small amount of curiosity; Gabriel is a consummate liar, and possibly deranged. Who's to say what actually happened in their dealings and subsequent fallings out? Was she also so emotionally invested, or is she just worried about potential hostilities? She's already suggested the former, but confirmation is only a knife-twist away.

"Well, there are two sides to every story, and I thought the side that explains how you came to consort with a murderer must be particularly fascinating. Try to focus on the elements of regret and betrayal, those are my favourites."

His words might as well be a literal knife-twist, for all the sharp pain and outrage they cause instantaneously. It's only the fact that she knew exactly what she was inviting when she called him here that keeps her from getting overwhelmed by her anger and misery. Right now her feelings regarding Gabriel matter so much less than not losing control to Zagreus, and at the moment that's freeing somehow, it's a far more effective way of ignoring them than she's managed in the past weeks.

For all that, she still visibly tenses and takes a step towards him, edges simmering with agitated positive time, though her hold on that here is weaker than it should be. "Don't act as though I owe you any explanations," she scoffs. "Was his side of the 'story' not satisfying enough?"

Her agitation is by no means lost on Zagreus, for whom this type of distress is all but a form of nourishment, and that's all the confirmation he was seeking.

"I didn't say that. But I'm not certain how much I can trust it to be accurate," he pauses, as if the thought had just occurred, "Though, you'd know all about that, too, wouldn't you?" He shakes his head, all mocking regret and commiseration. "What a shame."

Yes yes, Gabriel is a liar. She'd never liked it, but it wasn't any harder to accept than in the Doctor, especially once they were so mentally close that it would have been exceedingly difficult for him to lie outright. He certainly didn't try to lie about what he'd done to Topher, though likely because he was expecting her to approve, and it later turned out his motives were far less self-less than he was trying to pretend. Given their natures, she has to wonder if he and Zagreus even managed to exchange more than a single true word.

This time, only a sharp glare betrays how much it galls her that Zagreus is sticking his fingers in all her wounds. "What did he say?" It's time he got on with it, she's not going to be tolerating his presence all day.

"A lot more than I wanted to hear, to tell you the truth," he says, and nothing about that particular sentiment is feigned. "And so I thought it only fair to give my perspective, as one of your oldest friends. He seemed appreciative." It's still bothering him, that she's settled in to this universe and the way of life it enforces. He can't quite figure out why, but then it's hardly unusual for him to be aggressively dissatisfied by her accord with reality. It's just so typical.

"For what it's worth, I think he was in the right to take action. But of course I understand that you don't make those sorts of choices. Usually."

It's surprisingly hurtful to hear that Gabriel apparently shared details of their relationship with Zagreus, either not realizing or simply not caring that he would use them against her. But even that is quickly overshadowed by Zagreus' infuriating presumptuousness and refusal to give up any sort of actual information.

"You understand nothing," she seethes, "and you are mistaken to think I care about your opinion." But then she forces herself to stop and think of a way to get what she wants out of this. After a moment, she settles into a disdainful expression and says, "I was wrong. You don't actually have anything of interest to say." Then she turns around and starts to walk back to where she's parked. If past experience is any indication, he isn't going to be smart enough to leave her alone.

Of course he follows, as sure as the edge of the lamplight follows the lamp, though with gains in distance that would be disconcerting in such a natural phenomenon.

"He said, funnily enough, that you believe people can change. I took great pains to assure him that would never apply to yourself. Or to him, for that matter. Strange how flexibly you apply that belief."

At least the years of harassment finally pay off in that it seems laughably easy to manipulate Zagreus by ignoring him, and she soon steps off the path to climb the modest hill usually hiding her true form. Even his remark isn't upsetting enough to elicit more than a roll of her eyes.

"Only because you know nothing of change," she replies contemptuously. "Or of what I believe." What even is his point? She knows for a fact that humans are capable of improving, and there is no reason why she should feel the need to change in any way. As for Gabriel, well. She tries not to consider why he would care whether or not she thinks he could change.

"He doesn't want to change," she adds quiet and bitter, at least partly to keep Zagreus' interest, though it's less controlled than she'd like to admit. "He thinks himself righteous."

Zagreus settles comfortably into her blind spot, unconcerned with the fact that she is still seemingly attempting to escape his presence.

"I know all about change. I'm an agent of change," he says, and how dare she make such accusations, since when is this about him? It isn't, that's since when. "Everyone believes in their own righteousness." He waves that away. That's not important either. "You can't change. Dally with demigods, dote over a pretend Doctor, maybe there's a soap opera you can really invest in if you look. But you will never belong to this life. So why waste your energy on anything that isn't finding the way out? Isn't that a better use for you than these clumsy stopgap measures?"

An agent of unnatural corruption, more like, not at all the kind of change she is talking about, and her lips curl in disgust. They're almost there now, but when he mentions the Doctor her anger surges again and then she has to stop and turn around to face him, because how dare he question how she chooses to deal with this universe, how dare he act as though he has a say in her uses.

"You are and never will be in a position to criticize me," she sneers. "Have you been spending your time on finding a way out? You don't look it. You look like you have been nesting in a hole somewhere, lashing out jealously at anyone capable of adapting to existence here."

That's hardly fair; most of his lashing out has been regardless of any degree of adaptability. Look at what he's doing right now, after all. She's not capable of that in the slightest, and yet here he is.

"No, why would I? I've really been very busy, and I'm not suited for it anyway. You're the one who would be, if you could be bothered. And you'd have my full support, of course." He has just about a cat's understanding of a can opener as to how that would work, but surely it can't hurt.

This is ridiculous. He's acting as though she is incapable of having relationships while also working on escaping this universe, as though that wasn't her first priority always. She's so riled up that she's almost justifying herself to him, how disgusting. It's the Doctor who takes days off from their efforts to find something else to do, but that's neither here nor there.

She seethes quietly for a moment before she says, "You can't possibly believe I would let you back into my universe. So what is your stake in this at all?" Not that she expects him to make much sense, and she turns around to resume her walk back to her true form. She'd already be visible among the trees if she wasn't cloaked, which is a rather tiring expenditure of energy, but worth it.

"Well, I won't lie and say I'm not here to witness your suffering, very thoroughly, so that I can call it clearly to mind for a long time afterwards." It's important to have hobbies, afterall. "But I'm also making valid points, on a larger scale. This betrayal is a blessing in disguise; you were acclimating," as though the word tastes foul to even say.

He should probably be more wary, but following her closely is an easy habit to resume, even without caves full of monsters. "I do understand the inclination, humiliating as it's turned out for you."

As expected, he doesn't manage to explain himself at all, and his pretense of sympathy makes her skin crawl. "Oh do you," she says disdainfully, not making it a question because there's no way he could understand. Grimly, she adds, "I would have taken him with me to my universe." So no, she wasn't going to get accustomed to this place for Gabriel's sake, and humiliating is hardly the right word for his betrayal.

The TARDIS is natively completely unconcerned with what ifs, since all possible outcomes exist equally to her and once a decision is made against one course of action, it ceases to be part of reality. But in this case, she would have been the one to decide, and her actions would have introduced something destructive and unpredictable to her universe. Not on par with Zagreus' catastrophic potential, of course, but Gabriel would have murdered and disrupted the order of her universe according to his whims, and it would have been her fault. It's a horrifying thought.

Which is why she doesn't think it for long. This isn't about Gabriel, it's about getting back at Zagreus. "And why are you protesting this universe so vehemently?" she asks with renewed force. "It can hardly be more antithetical to you than mine, and you of all people had better get used to existing here, since you won't be leaving it with the rest of us."

"Ah, yes, the 'rest of us.' What a day trip that would be," Zagreus jeers, hiding from her attempts at turning this around on him behind a wall of unseemly glee. Unsuccessfully, as he quickly finds himself mentally defending his stance, which naturally spills over into verbal petulance.

"It isn't a question of, of antitheticalness. It's just a question of freedom. I'm the fish in a bowl too small to get up the momentum to fling itself out," there to probably suffocate slowly and angrily on a rug, but who's counting. "I resent being made to exist like this anywhere. And I don't really care what you will or won't allow." That's a bridge to burn after it's been built. There's that insistence on linearity again, just getting into everything.

He's talking as though he's the only one affected by being trapped here, how infuriating, how typical. If 'resenting' it was her only problem, she'd count herself lucky. "You will care when you are the only one left in the 'fish bowl'", she snaps, taking solace in the fact that once she's returned home, she'll finally be free of him for good.

But until then, she has other plans for him. She stops suddenly, close enough to her doors to touch them if she reached out, and tenses with anticipation and anxiousness. Even now, she bristles at the thought of letting him inside, of willingly exposing herself to him. But once he's inside, it will be easy to get him to the Zero Room, just like last time, and then... well, she's too vexed to think that far.

He's still behind her though, and for just a moment she hesitates at how to achieve her goal. Then she turns and walks a half circle around him, trying to put him between herself and her doors, holding his gaze as though considering him. "Perhaps you will find a way to ruin this universe, and perhaps I should care," she says to keep his attention, grimly honest for lack of a better snare. "But if it keeps my home safe, you can have this cage and break it." But only after she's left, and in the meantime she'll make sure he doesn't hurt anyone else. While she speaks, her doors unlock with an almost inaudible click, and the faintest line of light from her interior appears behind him.

Almost inaudible, but only almost, and that's what finally helps him put a finger on what had seemed so subtly unnerving about her manner, all contained stress and unusual willingness to engage. He hadn't realised--but why wouldn't she cloak herself. He hasn't had to account for something like that in too long, this is just another example of what's wrong with a linear, consistent existence, it dulls the senses. It's only the smallest amount of fear he feels--being trapped isn't real, but being changed always is--but it's refreshing nonetheless. His response is joyously, gratefully violent, a punitive gouge of virulence at her senses. He sidesteps the threat of the door, as well as he can without bothering to try and uncloak it, a little regretfully.

"Why would I wait for you to leave, to break this universe?" Stupid ship. "Anything I do will affect you." More than that, it would probably involve her directly. When isn't she destroying universes or being used at crosspurposes to reality to traverse between them? Misuse is the only use she has.

Despite her keen tenseness, she is blindsided by his attack and flinches visibly before striking back with her own sharp increase of positive time between her two shapes. She glares balefully at him, both for the unexpected hateful shock and because he's stepped away from the immediate reach of her doors. Wretched creature. She's not even sure if he spotted her or just lashed out for no reason, but either way staying cloaked can only be an advantage.

And that's as far as she can think, when his words are so infuriating. "Why?" she demands, clenching her fists and taking a step forward. "Why must it affect me? Of all your potential targets here, is something only worth doing if you can be assured that I will notice?" There's both incredulity and contempt in her voice; she can't begin to fathom his sickening, mad, distorted motivations, and doesn't want to, but he's proven time and time again how relentlessly obsessed he is with her. He's proving it now, by being here, following an invitation which she hadn't even pretended was not a trap. It's repulsive and frustrating and incomprehensible and she's itching to wring an answer from him.

"And what will you do when I have gone home and there is no one left to see you throw a fit? Will your tantrums even be worth the effort, then?" Incensed, she marches towards him with each question, circling to put his back to her again, put him where he belongs; in her grasp.

Edited 2014-08-22 20:05 (UTC)

What an extraordinarily unreasonable response to a perfectly reasonable question. He'd only meant to caution her against giving up caring about this universe prematurely, as she still currently resides in it. She had seemed in need of reminding. Anything he can do afterwards he can just as easily do now. And does she think he ceases to exist when she's not looking? Does she think he'd allow anyone to think that. Where's a pond when you urgently require one. He lets her circle and advance, too confused and pre-outraged to be wary, gaping like a fish before the full extent of what she's said can land.

"Shut up." She's making it impossible for him to talk sense, how dare she go off on these accusatory, belittling tangents. For a moment he's at a profound loss for how to respond beyond that. He wants to slap her, lash at her, but experience doesn't bear that out as any aid to understanding him, unfortunately. "You may very well need my 'tantrums,' if going home is what you want," he says, quite sourly. "Aren't you the obvious choice, for breaking out of an imprisoning universe? The most destructive potential here, besides me. You could be so much more use than you are. Isn't that what you want? One Time Lord machine to another."

His shock and uselessly defensive retort are deeply vindicating and she advances further, her fury coiled like a spring. But instead of being sufficiently shaken to give her an answer, now it's his turn to leave her staring in disbelieving outrage at his words.

She still doesn't understand how he can think that she's not making any efforts to leave this universe, how he can think that he has a say in it, but that is so very secondary to the sheer audacity and repulsiveness of his arguments. She's heard this before, all Cast off your chains with my help, friend TARDIS, and the memory sets her nerves thrumming with hate. His final insult, then, is the last straw; she absolutely abhors when he does this, pretending as though there was some sort of kinship between them.

So her fury uncoils in one swift slap, hard enough to leave her hand stinging. In the same moment the flow of Time between her two shapes spikes drastically; an effect of her physical form's proximity to her true form that she hadn't even been aware of, forceful like currents between magnets. "We are not the same," she hisses, "not since the Foundry's fires scorched every last atom of yours out of me! And how dare you think I would need you to escape? I am the only force here capable of breaking out, and I will do what you never can, and you will be left behind as always, because I will not be of use to you." Before she's even done giving voice to her outrage, she grabs the front of his shirt and pushes him back with all her strength.

It's gratifying as ever to drive her to physical and temporal violence, even as he's reeling from it, but being between her forms is starting to seem less than ideal. The Time arcing behaviour in particular, that's unsettling and disruptive, and he brings every ounce of willpower into strangling it corrosively. Now would be a great time to circle around her, get out of this nasty transfixing Time current, but she can generate a surprising amount of momentum when infuriated, and it's all he can do to keep his feet and grab for the doorjambs, staggering a little to one side. The prospect of being trapped is legitimately frightening, and not a little thrilling therefore, the moreso for how close he's let her get to managing it. So much the better to make her grit her teeth when he walks free.

"What nonsense. If you have so much capability to spare that you can refuse my help, why are you even still here? I ought to let you capture me, maybe the resulting infection would push you into action." Since she had decided to dredge that up again.

Stubborn, disgusting creature, getting caught on her door frame like some ungainly Vortex polyp, keeping her from her deserved triumph. Almost worse than that is the burning flare of his influence and she grimaces as she's starting to feel the warping effect on her taut compelling beams of Time designed to nail him to her threshold. In response, she bares her teeth and redoubles her efforts to push him through, the doors behind him flinging open wide and hungry.

"You couldn't," she retorts with just a little more bite than she's actually feeling, in the face of his sickness corroding the flow of Time around her. This more than any other aspect of him will always make her feel viscerally, infuriatingly frightened, though she's gotten better at hiding it. "You couldn't last time and you could not now. Nor have you got any usefulness to offer, this isn't a problem you can stab and be done with!"

It's almost like he's desperate to claim some relevance; it would be laughable if this wasn't so vexing. An angry groan rings out from the console as the wood beneath his hands starts to heat up, determined to finish this. "Let me capture you and it will be the only useful thing you'll have done in this universe."

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a kiss with a fist is better than none [closed]

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