intoningly | ❀ IC INBOX

[ Zero frowns at his words for some time, a prickle of annoyance that doesn't feel like it can be rubbed away just by yelling at him,

Still, she fiddles with her stupid watch until it finally calls him ]

Where the fuck are you right now?

[a call's unexpected, and he sits up a little from his perch outside. it's cold, but not so much that he wants to go back in.]

Outside. Why?

Outside where?

[ Muffled rustling and grumbling can be heard through her communicator. ]

Actually- forget it! Meet me near the stupid training grounds or whatever. Bring something sharp in case you make me want to kill you.

[ And then she hangs up.

Zero is barefoot, disheveled in that way people are when they've been awoken mid-slumber. Her hair is tangled and her eyes are tired but a clear spark of annoyance burns in them. ]

What the hell is your problem, anyway?

[ No explanation, just that question. ]

[he shows up, relatively put together - he's not been sleeping, that much is clear. his staff's in his hand, heeding her warning. it'll be enough, if she wants to take this further.]

That's a rather vague question.

[one he'd rather avoid.]

[ She grumbles something angry and unintelligible before fiddling her watch and
pulling up the messages they'd exchanged.

She shoves her wrist in his face, his words staring back at him on the backlit screen.]

Don't start with me, not when any of the shit you say makes sense. You get snippy when I make a joke, then you get moody when I ask about it and then you go from not shutting up to saying like two words!

[ She shoves him ]

You know how fucking annoying it was? Hearing this thing parrot your bullshit to me?

[shoving him, it's a reminder that he's more sturdy than he gives the impression of. still, it makes him step back, and he looks down at her with an unreadable expression-

before it smooths itself into a smile. charming, lighthearted. fake, given their discussion, given his attitude before. fake, if one saw the cracks in it. but he knows how to smile.]

Oh, you thought I was being moody? Zero, you know me better than that. I'm not that sort of person! Text's pretty bad at communicating how you feel without something to help it along. It was just a joke, really.

[it was not a joke. but he knows how to lie, how to tilt his head and be winning, how to infuse his voice with the right measure to make it more believable. what people wanted to hear, to hold to.]

Edited 2018-12-01 08:46 (UTC)

Bullshit.

[ Zero steps forward and shoves him again, challenges him to stay unmoving.

She has no reason to care, it is not in her nature– least of all not with a stranger who may be ghosted away without a moment's notice. That was how this place worked, after all.

But he's lying, and he's doing it right to her face.

Lying and having the audacity to be quietly moody because she's forced him to lie.

The nerve– it's bullshit. ]

This isn't the first time you've done this. Yeah, that's right you dick– even someone like me can figure that much out. Guess you're not as smart as you thought.

[ And she pushes him again. ]

[he's a liar, a trickster. a deceiver, someone who did smile and then lie blatantly, outrageously, all the while making someone believe. it was who he was without a doubt. and here she is, shoving him, telling him it's bullshit.

what could he say, that he hadn't already? he had confessed the truth, said it simply. he was any number of names that she'd throw at him, they were the truth, and he knows it. Merlin has had too long to come to terms with the sort of man he is.

so he lets himself be shoved again, but the third time, he reaches out to catch one of her hands.]

What do you want me to say?

[what does he need to transform into, what does he need to become? he can wear a thousand faces to suit someone - but every now and then, he is at something of a loss. even he needs the answer, when behind his eyes is silence - he doesn't have all the information now. he can only guess.]

So, now you're suddenly out of shit to say?

[ Zero wrinkles her nose, like she's smelled something foul. ]

How does a guy who just does whatever the fuck he wants somehow this tightly wound up? You're like a jack-in-the-box that someone sprung up right to the very edge of popping out– just one little push, and the lid'll–

[ Suddenly, Zero's hand moves. She unsheathes her sword with practiced speed, striking– hand coming to a stop with her blade just a whisper's distance from his chest.

Pointed right where his heart should be beating.

She puckers her lips, mouth making a quiet 'pop' noise. ]

You don't get to do the shit that you do and then act like you're a victim of people's judgements.

[the smile remains on his lips, but there's something in his eyes that seems heavier, older. instead of sparkling with mirth or mischief, a reflection like violet glass.

she had no idea what he's done. what he could do. if he reached out, used blood and patience and time and delved deep into the heart of things. the mess he's made of lives, the unspeakable acts he's committed in the name of goodness and the future. she had no idea what he'd seen, and what it meant to have quiet inside his own head.]

I've never hidden from you who I am. I'm not sure why the truth now is so offensive.

[or for that matter, why he cares about making sure she understands. he steps forward, so that the tip of the blade is touching him, pressing on his robe. she could do it - he'd let her, in the end, if it made her feel better, and he'd just wake up back in Avalon. enclosed in the heart of the world, not even allowed to rot.

(how many times had he thought about doing this, running to the Throne of Heroes, as if that solved any problem? running, that's all he ended up doing. away from a town, a life, a realm, a true smile. Merlin can't even understand his own reasoning half the time. why does he run? why is he standing here, instead of running away? why did he come here?

why does she care, when he proclaims he doesn't care? why can't he justify himself how he pleases?)

drawing the blade from his staff, he uses it to gently push hers down, smile now absent.]

You can't be hoping I'll lie and say I'm a better person than all of that.

[but he will honor her weapon with the same.]

Edited 2018-12-04 07:34 (UTC)

[ She doesn't know how to respond.

It would be easier, less infuriating if she misunderstood him wholly. But instead there are parts– bits, pieces and hints that draw out feelings of empathy she'd tried in vain to squash long ago when the world had taught her how dangerous identifying with others was.

And then there are other parts of him that jump out from behind dark corners that she cannot make heads or tails of. And they always appear when she draws to closer to the pieces that are familiar, that she feels reflect the parts of her that the rest of the world had convinced her were unique in the most alienating way

She feels like they're always playing hide-and-seek and she hates games like this more than anything else. ]

I don't hope for anything out of you. Learned not to do that with anyone a long time ago– but least of all with your type.

[ Merlin confesses honesty and Zero lies to his face.

She presses her weight against her sword, and in turn his blade. ]

Guess you really can make other faces–

[ She presses harder against his blade. ]

Wonder what other faces I can force you to make!

[the slight amount of his weight that he placed on her blade is not enough to keep him from being pushed back - from having to leap back so he doesn't lose his blade, and the look in his eyes says that he reads directly through that lie, bitten off as it is.

no matter. deliberately, he raises his hand to pull off the robe he'd been wearing on his shoulders, tossing it aside along with his staff. no advantages with two weapons, no matter how he knows how to fight. no distractions. it is at once gracious and deliberately provocative. as if he doesn't think he needs those to win.

but he doesn't look upset. only thoughtful, considering. evaluating her where she stands. and waiting, like the asshole he is, for her anger to carry her through.]

...This isn't really my way of doing things, you know. Usually, I'd say something to demoralize my enemy, trick them, bring them down until they just give in without me having to lift a finger. But that's not enough for you, is it? Even if I used my power, played on the strength of your commands, told you to yield - that wouldn't satisfy you, no. Because it would be something you understand, if it ended in blood and pain. More true than the truth.

[ He makes her feel small, like she's see-through, even when he's the one who has momentarily laid himself bare in even the most literal sense.

Is he trying to level the playing feel? Is he trying to make her feel smaller still? Is it both with the intention of both or one or neither of these things? She hates thinking, and she hates thinking about the things other people do, especially.

Everything about him is difficult because she wants him to see her and she wants to understand, but trying to understand means sacrificing things she is not yet willing to give up–even now when she is dead twice over.

There are still things she feels like she can lose, and for that reason nothing he does ever makes her feel safe enough to figure him out. ]

Yeah, still got no fucking clue what any of the shit you say means!

[ Zero smiles with all of her teeth, like a carnivore that thinks its got the upperhand.

Merlin wasn't playing fair, not even now. ]

You're making this whole thing too complicated. I'm a simple gal, you know that. I get mad–

[ Her blade moves and so does she. Zero rushes him and she strikes with the intent to kill and the knowledge that he will not let her do so. ]

– and then I stab shit until it stops moving! Girls like me can't do much with the things guys like you say!

[ She strikes again, throwing the weight of her prosthetic arm against him as well. ]

Dumb it down for me, alright?

[this time, he's ready for her. this time he parries and steps to the side, metal clanging against metal, and a twist of his wrist that strikes back. but he lacks the same intent to kill - lacks the bloodlust that would truly equal this fight. he fights aggressively, but not to draw so much blood. still, the fact that he knows how to move in tricky, swift ways, means that he's got no intention of making this easy. in fact, it's not even until they've exchanged a few blows that he decides to respond.]

All of this is because you want it.

[it's clear that his claim of knowing the sword "a little" for self defense was a lie, at this point.]

[ He flips a switch in her– and she has the audacity to be surprised even though she'd dared him to try it.

Merlin doesn't play fair. ]

FUCK YOU–!

[ The smile is gone, but she is still all teeth. They gnash together in a way that implies she might bite him if he gets close enough.

Her movements are heavier, weighed down by her untamed anger. They carry more force in exchange for the speed she's lost.

Her sword swings down and her prosthetic arm swings up, none of her is spared in an effort to land a hit- to touch him, hurt him, make him feel what she feels by force. ]

Even when you act like you're showing yourself you're still hiding! And then you wanna' pretend like you're bigger than everyone else when they call you on that shit– fuck you!

[ She lets out a guttural yell, like she's been maimed herself. She throws all of her weight, all of the metal on her person against him in one major push. She wants him to fall and she wants to reach him.

She wants to touch him, but he doesn't want him to be able to do the same. ]

[he's forced to play more defensive in her next hits, darting around like a fairy, preserving himself above striking her. the force is enough to shake him, rendering the blows he gives in exchange less sure, less secure. if he had his power, he'd weave her a dream, escape while she didn't know, send her somewhere else. he'd free himself, and be away, ensuring his survival. running, hiding, his instincts keeping him moving. a trait that could be said to rival his skills in magic. but he'll always wake up in Avalon, so-

thinking costs him, the fraction of a second of hesitation that means he can't effectively block her, that trying to step away means that his balance is shifted - maybe he could have taken it if he planted his feet, but he didn't, and she hits him to send him down, his head cracking against the stone and sending him reeling, flat on his back.

everything in him screams to get up, get up, hold onto the sword, never stay still or your opponent will kill you. get up, he has to get up, and though he doesn't fear death, he knows that the pain is less than desirable.]

[ Merlin falls, and even though her vision is sharpened by the adrenaline she can't really see anything well enough to decipher much past felled prey.

She holds her sword with both hands now, and with another cry– angry and loud for no reason other than to be heard, she brings her sword down with all of her remaining strength.

The sword pierces the earth, skewers the ground right beside his face. Her blade just barely touches him, leaving a razor thin cut along his cheek.

Her hands remain on the hilt of her sword, but she lowers herself to loom over him, hair falling like a shroud over them both; unsmiling, out of breath, chest heaving, eyes searching. Her voice is more small that quiet, a shaky sort of anger punctuating her words. ]

Don't act like this was for me– not when you don't play fair.

[ She feels worse than before. ]

[the sting of the cut is nothing when he's also breathing hard, hand clenched around his sword, silent. his eyes are wide, looking back at her, and they betray him in this moment. it's the look of a man who's been caught when he desperately didn't want to be, who knows that he's been beaten. but there's also something uncertain, confused, distant and alive. that half formed self that lingers in him, flooding him with things he doesn't understand.

part of him will always be in Avalon. cloistered and comfortable. safe, until the end of things. so why does he dare to reach out - just his fingertips - as if he does not know that they will get burned? why does a man reach to touch the rain, knowing it is cold? why is he still trying, so many years later, when he knows the outcome, knows what will happen no matter how many seasons pass?

the stars and the world tell him nothing, in this place.]

It wasn't for me.

[not him. not the man who takes the way out that's most advantageous. it's ingrained in his legend that he's someone who escapes.]

...but you're right. And for that, how about you ask me one question? Anything at all.

[she's right that he pretends. that he doesn't play fair. if she wouldn't take his head, it's another sort of trophy. wrestling out the truth from his liar's tongue.]

Edited 2018-12-11 06:20 (UTC)

[ She doesn't trust him.

And that's why even when he concedes and offers honesty, it doesn't satisfy her. She doesn't trust him so it feels like bait, like he's throwing a bone in the opposite direction so she won't come any closer.

Even if that is not what he intends, it's how she feels.

She wishes she could go back to being a thing, a number, nothing– because she wouldn't be bothered by this, wouldn't think so deeply about this.

One hand remains on the sword still, but the other hovers near his face as she crouches lower. She lifts his chin with her fingers, wipes the cut with her thumb. Red paints his skin in a watercolor smudge; she has been this close to him before, but never has she seen him this closely, splayed out and offering himself up in the name of survival. ]

Don't bother, not when you look so scared.

[ Her gaze lingers for a moment longer before she draws her hand back and examines her stained thumb.

Zero stands, and pulls her sword from the earth. ]

I don't want your pity.

[ Because even if that's not what it is, it's what she thinks it is. ]

[he'll watch her walk away, barely moving, lying there where he's fallen. nothing he could say would make this better. nothing he could do would change things.

it wasn't a physical fear that gripped him, for he knows her well enough to know that she would strike knowing he would block it. she's not the sort of person to kill him in this fashion - she'd want something much more intense. less pathetic than a man holding his breath, waiting for his fate to be decided.

the blood is long dried on his face, gone dark, by the time he puts a name to whatever she had seen. but by then, it's probably already broken into pieces, too many to be put back together. just another thing sacrificed along the way. blood wasn't enough, honesty wasn't enough. such was life, and he breathes a little easier when he's sinking into old patterns of thought as he does.

it could be fifteen minutes, it could be hours that he lays there, thinking, but when he drags himself up and goes to his room to sleep, he finds he dreams of nothing at all.]

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