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2012-04-30 09:18 am (UTC)
Fighting Fire With Fire (Vriska/Kanaya/Eridan, M for ashen makeouts.)
Vriska never looks as pretty as she does when she's angry.
You should be doing something right now; your auspistices are exceptionally volatile people, and this situation could go very out of control very quickly. But it's hard to look away, hard to calm her down when her cheeks are flushed cerulean with rage and her hair is bristling around her, as if her rage had given it a life of its own.
"You lying, backstabbing little cheat!" she spits, another in a long line of endearments, directed solely at the cold, calculating face of the seadweller standing barely out of arm's reach. At least, you're pretty sure that cold and calculating is what he's trying for; more often than not the best that Eridan can manage is a sort of half-hearted sneer. Honestly, you think that the fact that he can't quite manage it makes Vriska angrier than anything else he does. "How dare you meddle with my plans?"
You're not sure what happened this time, and usually that would bother you; you like to know what's made your partners unhappy, in order to understand how best to handle the situation. But Vriska and Eridan have clearly passed that point already. You're lucky that you happened to see what was going on; the two of you had probably snuck off to collude with each other behind your back before, if the mysterious scratches you've found on Vriska at times were any indication. You were lucky this time; one of your many sources alerted you to their plans, and you were able to catch up to them before the inevitable happened.
Neither of them have seen you yet; both of them are too focused on each other. You suppose that if anyone is watching, and if you should ever be asked, you could say that your hesitation was only an attempt to ascertain the nature of their argument. It might fool them, if they aren't watching too closely.
"Please," Eridan says. Back to the issue at hand. "Nobody
about your plans. Not like any of them ever actually work."
work! You've seen my plans in action, you of all people should know that!" For a second she starts to look triumphant again. "Just because you're jealous of my genius doesn't mean you have to tell lies -"
"I'm not lyin and you know it," Eridan shoots back. "You haven't gotten anyfin right lately, have you? Ever since you messed up with that dirtblood loser you've been off a your game -"
been off my game!" Vriska protests, with a toss of her head. She's lovely now, and furious - you really should make your presence known soon.
"Oh, please. You're a joke, Vris, an everyone knows it. You're a walkin punchline, a blueblood who can't handle her lessers." He takes a tiny, mincing step forward - not enough to put either of them in range of the other, but a clear message of intent. "And here I used to think you were worth somefin."
more than you are! You couldn't even manage to convince your old moirail that you weren't a total creeper, which is probably why she -"
was too far. "Enough," you say, as loudly and as angrily as you can manage, and both of them turn to stare at you. You get a direct look at Vriska's darkened face, at the passion there, and for a second it's easy to imagine that passion in a different context, and - and you're getting distracted
Bad idea. "You two are not supposed to be here alone."
"Kanaya!" Vriska says, rolling her eyes. "You were asleep! I didn't wanna bother you, okay? Geez, I was being
for once -"
You'd like to believe that. "I appreciate your
" you say dryly, "but I would have preferred that you wait."
"Yeah, because I
waitin for you to finish doin your makeup," Eridan snaps, but the venom isn't in it. You're not sure you can settle this with words. You'll see.
"Well," you say, trying your best to sound angry, "I suppose that there is no reason why the three of us cannot settle this."
Vriska glares back at you, if only for a moment. "Kanaya, please, I keep
you I've got this!"
"Vris, c'mon. You might as well let her tell you what to do again." Eridan's fingers were twitching in the general direction of his syllabus, but other than that he was making no move. So smug, so confident that he was going to be able to goad her... it wasn't what Kanaya had expected, really. Usually, from everything Kanaya had heard, he was generally the first person to dive across the line. "Just like usual, right?"
That did it - you see it in her stance before she charges, the sudden wildness in her eyes, the gritting of her teeth. Nothing irritates her more than even the implication that she wasn't in control, even when she knows that she isn't.
You hate having to resort to this - half the time it backfires, and occasionally you end up with one of the two trying to talk you into a black fling that you're not interested in. You haven't gone this far with these two, not yet, but you're hoping that you know them well enough that you can keep things from going that far. You've said that before, though. You're not always right.
Well, there's only one way to find out. You reach out as quickly as you can and shove Eridan away, pushing as hard as you can as he's gloating - he's not prepared for it, and he goes sprawling on the dirt. It gets him out of the way of Vriska's charge, at any rate; she's a step or two beyond where he'd been lying before she can skid to a stop and turn to face you - just in time to feel the back of your hand strike her in the face. "I said," you say evenly, "
going to deal with this."
"I... I...." Vriska's speechless, backing away from you, and you can't claim to be surprised. You've never struck her before, not like that.
"What the fuck, Kan!" Eridan wheezes, and you glance over to see him dragging himself back up, one hand over his stomach. "What do you think you're doin??"
Really, it was as if he'd never been in an proper ashen relationship before. "I am encouraging you to settle this like civilized trolls," you answer smoothly, looking from his enraged glare to her shocked, wide eyes, and vice versa. "I am also making it clear that if you do not, I have no intention of allowing you two to handle this without my interference. I hope that I am making myself clear."
The three of you stand in a tableau, Vriska and Eridan standing on either side of you, glaring at each other still, and at the same time shooting tiny, charged side glares at you - at the person standing between them, the one who's standing and waiting for their next move. It's up to them, you think - if they want to stop this foolishness, you'll stop and stand down. You'll let them talk about this - whatever
is, this time, and you're quite honestly embarrassed that you don't know - and you'll offer advice as best you can. If they'll listen. If they'll both stand down -
Vriska makes the next move too - she practically has to, after what Eridan's said, doesn't she? Or maybe she's just not taking you seriously, and she thinks that you can be brushed aside. Maybe she thinks that being her moirail for as long as you have has clouded your judgement. Maybe she's right, sometimes. This time, though, you push her back - just enough that the fierce slap she was aiming at your cheek is only a glancing swipe. It stings, the feel of her claws against your skin; you aren't going to be surprised if you find out that you'd bleeding, and you're tempted to brush your fingers against your cheek and find out.
You don't have the chance, quite frankly. You've barely managed to push Vriska back when you feel something wrap around your neck and tug hard - you can see the stripes from the corner of your eye, if just barely. Eridan's making a valiant effort to garrote you with his scarf, but the thing's too soft and stretchy to actually make an effective weapon, and the poor bastard doesn't seem to understand the concept of leverage; it's ridiculously easy to plant yourself and pull
around, at least until he gets the idea and lets go.
"Damn it, Kanaya," you hear Vriska gasp from behind you, and duck just in time to avoid another wild swing. "Why are you so
" She pushes at you, and that time you feel her claws break the skin on your arm. It's not a deep cut, but it's enough; the pain is sharp and clear and rushes through you, and you feel it, the sudden
that you feel when you get into these sorts of fights. The last bit of pity flips over, turns in on itself, and the urge to
her is gone - now you only feel the flat, grey sort of hate that you've felt so many times before, the feeling that you're standing between her and Eridan because you're sick of it, sick of
sick of her trying to do these things even after you specifically ask her not to meet him behind her back, and by gog you're not going to let them do it.
You wrestle Vriska out of her shirt with very little resistance, while Eridan's the one who rips your skirt away - not literally, thankfully, or you would have had to demand repayment and he's notoriously bad about paying debts. But you and Vriska team up at least to the extent that you manage to get him out of those ridiculous pants (and you indulge Vriska a bit and let her rip a hole in one of the legs before you snatch them away, because really, those things are an offense against good fashion sense.) You're still between them, always between them, always ready to push a swipe aside that happened to be aimed a bit too well, but you've stopped trying to push them
You don't have to separate them anymore; they haven't quite stopped attacking each other, but now they're attacking you just as much, and you're in the middle of a tangle of flailing arms and kicking legs and cool grey skin. Your bodies - now considerably less clothed than before - are all pressing tightly together now, and you're squeezed between them, locked into this ball of mutual hate and feeling something start to build up inside of you as you kiss them in turn, firm nips against their exposed skin. It's not tension, not need - kismesissitude is that need, the mutual rage and concupiscent desire. This is cool and heavy, like a wet blanket over your feelings.
You're all tightly wrapped around each other as the feeling overtakes you completely and the moment begins to fade. You tense slightly as the hatred peaks, then relax as it slowly starts to subside, until your mind is left as cool and barren as a burned-out forest. The others are feeling much the same, if Eridan's muttered curses and Vriska's exasperated sighs are any indication - you know that it has something to do with biofeedback and pheromones and other large scientific words, things you don't quite understand.
You're the first to catch your breath, because you have to be. "Now," you say, "we can... we can settle this."
"Fine," Vriska says, her eyes closing. She looks serene under the moonlight - not sated, but at least stilled. "I get it. I know I stole from you, Eridan. But you had it coming after you stole from
"It's not theft if it's mine to begin with," he answers, his voice considerably more irritated than vriska's, and a good deal more exhausted. "I gave it to you in... the first place because you... you said you'd help me."
"Yeah. Whatever." She shakes her head. "I don't feel like dealing with this anymore. I'm just going to give your stupid stuff back."
"Good. You'll get yours when I get mine." He struggles his way out of the jumbled pile of limbs and goes for his pants, and gives Vriska a half-hearted glare for the hole you allowed her to tear in them, but does little else. His legs are wobbly, and he stumbles about when he tries to bend down for his shirt, but after a few tries he manages. "I'll set something up with Kan soon, if that's good enough for you."
He's looking at you as he says it, and you nod. "Soon," you say.
"Yeah. Whatever." He shoulders the shirt and stumbles off, in the general direction of the sea. You hope he'll be all right - you're sure he's armed, because he's always armed, but he's much too proud to stop and rest even though you're equally sure that he needs it. Still, the lingering hate is just enough that you let him go without trying to intervene.
Vriska groans. "Geez," she says, pushing herself up. "I can't believe you
You look at her, at the flat calm in her eyes, as you sit up and scrabble for your clothes. You're well out of range of the wardrobifier, and it'll be a relief once you get back to your hive. "What else was I to do?" you answer, looking away. "The fight would have ended much worse for both of you if I had not meddled."
Vriska snorts - it's not the most attractive laugh, but you always find it obnoxiously adorable, all the same. "As if he'd actually hurt me," she says.
You don't answer. Vriska underestimates Eridan on a nightly basis, you think; she refuses to take him seriously, even though their rivalry has progressed far beyond childish games. But there's no convincing her of that. "I'm going home," you say, testing your legs - no serious damage, you're relieved to note. Only a bit of soreness that you're sure will fade soon.
"Gog," Vriska says, "PLEASE tell me you have a transportalizer -"
"Do I look like a fool?" you say, holding the item up. "I do hope you weren't so addled that you forgot yours."
"Addled? Don't be silly!" she snaps, a bit too quickly. "I don't need stupid things like that."
you think, sighing in resignation.
You never remember such things. Why did I expect this to be different?
It's frustrating, how overconfident she can be at times. "I am not allowing you to walk home alone," you say. "Come here."
"Aw, Kanaya," she says with a too-wide grin, "you're the nicest meddlefriend a girl could ask for."
"Yes," you say, shaking your head and setting the transportalizer to her hive. You shouldn't be doing this - she deserves to pay for her decision to leave without a reliable way to get back home, and you have no doubt she can handle the predators on the way - but you can't help yourself. Leaving her behind would be... cruel.
You simply must stop flipping like this, you think as you activate the device. You're really not sure how much longer you can keep track of all of these feelings.
Later, when you arrive home, you examine the scratches. You have more wounds than you thought, and so did the others; your skin is slightly smeared with traces of blue and violet, along with splotches of jade green. The clothes stick to your skin in places, and you wince as you pull them free.
You rub the scratches on your face absently - the ones from that first wild swing that you think was aimed at you - and feel... something. It's strange, this feeling - you find yourself remembering how beautiful she was again, when she was so angry. For a strange, discombobulating moment, you find yourself jealous of Eridan, for having ever seen that sort of passion on her face, even if it was a black passion.
Then you shake your head and reach for a bottle of disinfectant, because someone has to be the responsible one, and you suppose it might as well be you. You are, after all, so very good at it.
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