[ maybe ash could have predicted this turn of events, but she's got no less of a sour expression on her face just because once again, saber chose to be a dick for no good reason. the thing is, the reason she even debased herself with a please is evident the minute she stomps in after him and punts one of the empty milk cartons directly at his head. her other wrist is shattered, nasty breaks that make the whole hand largely useless. she's stuck cradling it protectively near her chest, not even wrapped up yet.
it also makes retaliation difficult, but she's damn sure going to try. ]
[thunk goes the carton on his head. three seconds: one to look at with a vacant stare and assessing the damages, two to get up and walk over to her (too close for comfort), three to smack her upside the head.]
You didn't mention you were injured, Ash. [he looks down at her injured wrist.] Who fucked up?
[in a tone that suggests if it was her, he's going to mad. if it wasn't her, he's going to be violent.]
Maybe you should have just been fucking nice for once!
[ on the list of inconveniences to her day, the lack of food waiting for her actually ranks higher than the injury at this point. never let it be said that she has her priorities out of order. the smack lands and ash just scowls deeper, quick as a flash with a curled fist jab to his chest in retaliation. it's not really meant to hurt, just voice her irritation, and she doesn't bother to step back and create space between them.
if anything she draws in closer, scowl tight on her face as she squares up to him, goading. ash isn't actually going to fight him, probably, but she looks like she's considering it. ]
No one fucked up, I got the job done. [ sloppier than she'd like, clearly, but still done all the same. ] There was just more of them there than we'd last seen, that's all.
[they're basically eye to eye, and he's quiet for the most uncomfortable few seconds in the world. until he's not, and he's headbutting her in the face, right between the eyes into the soft cartilage of her nose. she started it, asked for it, is what he thinks.]
That was your first mistake. [he shoves her into the door, holds her at arm's length by the throat with one strong hand. with his free one, he reaches into the dresser, pulls out a shirt he doesn't care about and holds it up to her.] You're gonna need this in 3.
[that answer doesn't sound right, but he accepts it. there are more important things at stake here.]
[ it's over embarrassingly fast, but then it was probably always going to be. she's too banged up to do any serious damage, and ash needs to be at the top of her game to pose any serious threat to saber. she knows this — they both know this, actually, so maybe it was a kindness of a kind that he'd shut a more savage fight down before it even began.
that doesn't stop her from fighting his grip like a caged animal, swinging viciously with both fists at the soft tender parts of his body that might be more vulnerable. she only stops when she really can't fight it any more, her face goes grey and pale, and she pulls her broken wrist back up into a guarding position again. ]
You're a cunt. [ spat right into his face with the blood alongside it, just because she can. she has to stop trying to claw his wrist at her throat open in order to take the shirt, stem the bleeding, and it feels like admitting defeat, but she does it anyway. ] Back pocket.
[she's a cat under his thumb, claws tearing into his skin and leaving lines of red along his arm. he doesn't blink when she spits at him, but he does flash a toothy grin. blood splatters and speckles his face, but he keeps her trapped against the door, fingers digging into the soft flesh of her neck.
when she takes his shirt, he shoulders up beside her so she can't get a kick in while he reaches into her back pocket to pull out his gift. it is a gift to him, one she should always be bringing back.]
Milk's under my bed.
[sweet release! not without one last shove against the door, though. then he's seemingly waving her off, giving her back a hefty pat.]
I didn't take your bag, by the way. [lighting up, cigarette held between two fingers when he inhales.] Some guy did.
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or something like that right?
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you don't want me to start calling you babygirl now do you
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hey maybe im into that now you don't know
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i'm not
spare us both the displeasure
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what are you doing
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what are you doing?
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i'm not making you cereal it's 2 ingredients
step 1 and step 2. you can't follow 2 steps?
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can you do it anyway?
ETA 15
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i can't read
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please
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i'll make you your cereal
[when she gets home she'll find a bowl next to a box of cereal. 3 empty cartons sit next to the sink.
there is no more milk or milk variant left in the house.]
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it also makes retaliation difficult, but she's damn sure going to try. ]
You're a little fucking prick, you know that?
cw mild .... abuse ???
You didn't mention you were injured, Ash. [he looks down at her injured wrist.] Who fucked up?
[in a tone that suggests if it was her, he's going to mad. if it wasn't her, he's going to be violent.]
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[ on the list of inconveniences to her day, the lack of food waiting for her actually ranks higher than the injury at this point. never let it be said that she has her priorities out of order. the smack lands and ash just scowls deeper, quick as a flash with a curled fist jab to his chest in retaliation. it's not really meant to hurt, just voice her irritation, and she doesn't bother to step back and create space between them.
if anything she draws in closer, scowl tight on her face as she squares up to him, goading. ash isn't actually going to fight him, probably, but she looks like she's considering it. ]
No one fucked up, I got the job done. [ sloppier than she'd like, clearly, but still done all the same. ] There was just more of them there than we'd last seen, that's all.
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That was your first mistake. [he shoves her into the door, holds her at arm's length by the throat with one strong hand. with his free one, he reaches into the dresser, pulls out a shirt he doesn't care about and holds it up to her.] You're gonna need this in 3.
[that answer doesn't sound right, but he accepts it. there are more important things at stake here.]
Where are my cigarettes?
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that doesn't stop her from fighting his grip like a caged animal, swinging viciously with both fists at the soft tender parts of his body that might be more vulnerable. she only stops when she really can't fight it any more, her face goes grey and pale, and she pulls her broken wrist back up into a guarding position again. ]
You're a cunt. [ spat right into his face with the blood alongside it, just because she can. she has to stop trying to claw his wrist at her throat open in order to take the shirt, stem the bleeding, and it feels like admitting defeat, but she does it anyway. ] Back pocket.
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when she takes his shirt, he shoulders up beside her so she can't get a kick in while he reaches into her back pocket to pull out his gift. it is a gift to him, one she should always be bringing back.]
Milk's under my bed.
[sweet release! not without one last shove against the door, though. then he's seemingly waving her off, giving her back a hefty pat.]
I didn't take your bag, by the way. [lighting up, cigarette held between two fingers when he inhales.] Some guy did.
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