headed, maybe, to exitvoid

[pugilism]

Speak up, lady.

Send me or don't send me, but there's no chance I'm going to go down in that city, and even less of a chance I'm going to let those fuckers touch me.

Comments

[toppled]

Take some care,
or your story just might
end with your bark
being louder than your bite.

[pugilism]

[ Wrong rhyme, bucko. ]

'Cause I'm gonna listen to some cunt in a wheelchair?

[toppled]

Never said you would,
never said you will.
Just adding my two cents
to the metaphorical bill.

[pugilism]

[ Harshly: ]

Nobody asked.

[toppled]

If you weren't asking,
you wouldn't be here,
because nobody speaks
without someone to hear.

[pugilism]

[ She shifts her weight, momentarily torn in some impulse of flight or fight. Dryly: ]

So you're doing me a solid by listening. That's real swell of you.

[toppled]

[ A beat passes before Hugh's features shift into a small smile, one that seems dead given the flatness of his eyes. (He knows, of course, that she's being sarcastic, but it's not the worst sort of abuse he's ever suffered.)

With an abrupt nod: ] Sure.

[pugilism]

[ Tsch. ]

That mentally fucked up act actually work for you? The quirky little rhyming scheme.

[toppled]

There once was a man named Hugh
who didn't know what to do;
so he took up crime
and the moral of this rhyme—

[ and in an instant, his demeanor changes, flat and unamumsed as opposed to blithely unaffected ]

—is that nobody bothers a crazy, crippled ex-con.

[pugilism]

[ The line of her mouth shifts, a jagged line that thins more than it curves. And still, for all the hostility she carries, Reese just shrugs. ]

Why would they. You're useless.

[toppled]

[ His nonexistent eyebrows rise and fall once (not in any suggestive manner — just in a sort of echo of her shrug). ]

Not completely.

[pugilism]

[ A concession, if a doubtful one: ]

Half a brain is better than none.

[toppled]

I took a fall
off a very tall wall,
but luckily my brain
didn't shatter at all.

[pugilism]

And no cabal worth their salt would take advice from a cripple.

[toppled]

Or a dog.

[pugilism]

[ There's a snarl in her throat that never fully makes it out. She lunges, but only to crowd his space; her palms lay flat on his armrests, the side of her ankle resting against a wheel to lock it in place. ]

Say that again, you piece of shit.

[toppled]

[ He doesn't flinch, doesn't move, just meets her gaze with his own, impassive and — perhaps — just the faintest touch amused. ]

Or—

[ he measures his words, each delivered like its own line (he has had every bone in his body broken — he doesn't fear pain anymore) ]

—a dog.

[pugilism]

[ The sneer cuts across her mouth, the top of her lip curling upwards in some subconscious baring of teeth. She's almost nose to nose with him, close enough to share his exhales, and a muscle visibly jumps in her jaw. ]

Big words coming from a coward who can't even get his dick hard anymore.

[toppled]

Everyone says that if I want a fuck,
well, then, I'm gonna be shit out of luck.
But nobody's tried,
so maybe they lied;
if you want to know—

—I'll leave the rest of the rhyme to your imagination. Better a cripple than a dog, better a coward than a slave.

[pugilism]

[ There's a small creak — bone, and metal, with the way she leans a little more of her weight on her wrists. ]

Yeah? You wanna prove it? You couldn't do what I do even if you fucking tried, you're just trash. Worthless. People don't fucking take advice from me because I know to keep my mouth shut and still have two working legs.

[toppled]

[ Maybe it's just the way fables work, these days, but he's heard worse. Even as she leans in, even as she spits her words through her teeth, his demeanor doesn't change. ]

You are the tail at the end of the snake;
if you cut it off, what difference does it make?
I may be trash, but guess what, I'm free;
that means, unlike you, I've got autonomy.

[pugilism]

[ You're unnatural, she wants to spit. Just like me. And that means he's bound, too — she'd say by the fable, if she knew, but what Reese means is by the world, by magic, by the way cabals treat those with injuries (because magic can heal anything, and if you're injured that means somebody wants you to stay that way). ]

You think you're free? This chair, this is a crutch. You are just as bound as me.

[toppled]

[ His world doesn't work quite the same way when it comes to magic (the magic is in reincarnation, in the cycles of the stories, and maybe it had been omnipresent, once, but it's been filtered out through time — his only hope had been the hospital, not the healing hands of a witch); it's not an explanation he bothers with, looking about as unperturbed with her answer as he has this entire time so far. ]

Maybe I am, but let's take a look-see,
out of us both, who'd you rather be?
I have a girl who'll care if I die,
I doubt your cabal'd take the time to say bye.
If I want to run, it might take some doing,
but it won't be as bad as how much you'll be ruing
running from people who don't give a damn
except to use you as a battering ram.