divinity says "destiny can't be earned"

[castitas]

Who: Kate Marsh + You!
What: Kate returns to Milton from her seaside getaway to Silverpoint. Beargate happens.
When: Early June.
Where: Milton Outskirts/Wilds; Milton, various.

Content Warnings: animal death; bear attacks; supernatural ailments; mental manipulation; altered physiological states.

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[castitas]

[ It's not that she doesn't believe him. It's that she can't. She can't listen to him, can't believe him. And she doesn't want to hear it. She doesn't want to hear about anything else other than the answer she wants out of him.

He grabs hold of one of her hands and she's instantly trying to wrench it free — there's no panic in her eyes when he does it. Her eyes widen, but there's only anger that leaks out. Outraged that he's done it, a new drive to

Whatever adrenaline's in her that keeps her going isn't letting up any time soon. No, he won't talk about it later. She doesn't want to talk about it later. She wants to talk about it now, and it's so enraging he won't.

A stumbling is an inch, and she'll take that mile.

Her hands burn. And the colours around her are thick and dark. ]

You said you didn't want to hurt me, that you— [ Not to let him hurt her. She didn't let anything. He just did. ] and you did. You're not supposed to hurt the people you love.

[ Her free hand curls, inexperienced. She's never hit anyone, before this. Never raised her hand to anyone. She doesn't know how to fight, other than the furious and almost desperate strikes she throws at him.

And she throws this hand too, smacking him in the face. ]

[ployboy]

I still don't! [He hears himself shout, the desperation of losing filling his lungs with the need to-- and then Tim hears his jaw snap shut. And he thinks it's the cold dunk of realization, of this new, fresh dawning dread of being forced to look in the mirror and see that he's a monster.

You don't hurt the people you love. Those are the words he had tried to get her to see the truth in- those are the words he had bellowed at Edward not too long ago. Those are the words that make Tim retreat into a tiny and cowering corner of himself, his hands to the fire, because if they're true then he's unloved on top of being unwanted. Bruce has proved it, time and again. And Tim had hoped Kate would do better than... do better than... him.

But that's not it.

Tim's jaw snaps shut painfully enough for him to feel the raw cold burn of his damn fucking skull rattling around all empty. He's on the ground, his hands flying up to cover his mouth because he swears his teeth are about to-- but when Tim spits, blind and burning, all he feels is the warm metallic rush of red from a bitten tongue and split lip.

Again.

You'd think he'd learn his lesson and-- and Tim blinks wildly, head dipped as he stares at blood drops on the white of snow.

Kate Marsh just decked the devil out of him.

His heart is-- Tim laughs. His shoulders ache and his body aches and his bones ache and he's going to die because he's going to end up with an infected tooth and he-- says-- breathes- quickly adds,] I deserved it. I deserved that. I know. I know.

[He scrambles-- woozy, queasy... but he can't stand. He's stunned.

Help? Him? Thinking he could help? Him??! Tim blinks, giddy despite it all. Says, boyish and impish and stunned,] Good hit.

[Would you believe it. He has the... darndest sense of deja vu...]

[castitas]

[ Liar, Kate thinks. Because how can she think anything else? How could she, with all of this. And there's no reason in her, no sense. Nothing but that blind anger as she swings and her fist collides with him and there's the sting and scrape of pain because her hand's so cold and tender.

And it still doesn't feel like it's enough.

She's breathing hard, shallow and hard and it feels like her heart's going to explode in her chest and it's an endless loop of things snapping within her. Tim falls back and she's relentless, moving forwards, after him—

It's not enough, not when she's so angry—

The snow is white, and red.

He's laughing, and she's dropping down to him and reaching for him. She grabs a fistful of coat, shakes him once — face a snarl because she's furious that he's laughing. Like it's a joke, like it's all a big joke and he doesn't care. He's just proving it again that he doesn't care.

It's blood, she realises.

Kate goes rigid, the colours do too. She freezes, staring at the blood at his mouth. Like he's grown another head, like she's looking at something and she has no idea what it is. That it's so foreign and unknown to her. She's staring at him and there's blood. She doesn't realise she's holding her breath.

Her eyes close and she shudders, her body shakes with it. The next breaths she takes are long, laboured — as if something's finally given up, a sharp drop in adrenaline. By the time she opens her eyes again, her pupils are no longer blown.

She releases her hold on him, confused and unsure. There's blood.

You don't hurt the people you—

Kate relents, rocking backwards to sit and scooting away from him.

A daze of faint purple and sickly yellow begin to bleed in at the edges of her, something sickly and stunned, chasing away the black and red. There's pink, too. Soft rosegold. Her hands are burning and she's staring at him as if in a stupor, weary. Her throat feels so dry. ]

[ployboy]

[Tim winces but she doesn't strike again. She just growls. He has half a mind to feel bad about it but can't because he feels so bad about everything else that it doesn't even matter.

She looks and sounds like a feral, ferocious, rabid little bunny.

Tim's breath hitches and even that hurts his jaw and he wonders if he's ever going to scrape together any semblance of lucidity again. Kate wants him dead. And that's fine.

She's on the ground, and Tim is dizzy but trying not to be. His mouth is a revolting warmth-- he only wants cold, he figures. He only wants something cold against his burning chin and cheek and tongue and skin and teeth. Tim lifts a hand, says,] Don't... don't curl your fingers over your thumb. [He'll show her how to make a fist.

Or else she'll hurt herself some more.] When you... you ball your fists, you tuck your thumb over your knuckles. Or else... or else you might break it.

[It seems to sober him up. The idea that she might have-- hurt herself-- Tim tries to scramble forward. Then when he can't, he tries to stand. He must have landed wrong somehow when he went down; it doesn't matter. Everything about him is supposed to hurt.

Tim is standing, wiping at his mouth or else he'll be drooling like some... dog.

(He can't go forward or reach for Kate. Tim, wiping at his mouth, knows this: he wants. Wants something dark. Something cold.)

His thoughts aren't with his body and this isn't funny, and Tim says, again and plain,] Nice aim. Good hit. You got the bear. You got me. But Merry is worried.

[Looking at Kate he sees pink and can't trust it. Looking at himself he sees pink, and can't trust himself.

He peels off his gloves. Offers them to her the way he would offer meat to Laelaps back when she had no name and hated him and everyone and-- just like everything else, it hurts.

And that's okay.]

Here, put those on.