theresnodoor | (no subject)

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When you fight for three years, you get used to the aspects of it. The secret keeping. The sudden pounding rush of adrenaline. The constant thrum of fear under your skin. The exhaustion. The rage. The helplessness and the power.

There are different kinds of 'get used to,' though.

There's the kind where, free of those constraints, you can relax. It never leaves entirely, but it ebbs. You don't miss it exactly but you recognize that you could go back to it in a heartbeat, if you needed to - and you tell yourself you don't want to.

There's another kind. Less readily admitted to.

The kind where you relax immediately. And slowly, surely, the thrum under your skin comes back. But the fear has a different flavor this time around, more restless than anything else.

The nice thing is, the solution is obvious.

The bad thing is, it's a solution you can't admit to.

Rachel does a lot of things to channel that thrum. Waking at dawn. Gymnastics routines. Runs around the lake. Training with the punching bag. Reading with Tobias. Talking, talking, talking to people. Morphing for fun.

But they're only channels, and none of them for much purpose.

There's only one thing that's given her true relaxation, release, since Milliways.

An afternoon walk in Milliways' forest and Rachel finds herself standing before a tall rock face, more than a hill but not quite a mountain. An opening several feet taller than she is - a rock cave.

Carved into the stone, a symbol she won't readily forget.

"...Daedalus."

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"Decapitation," Rachel agrees, her voice rough as vocal chords change.

Behind Mel, bones are cracking, organs sloshing into place. Which reminds her to add, her voice clear in Mel's head, <By the way, I can change shape.>

I'm a shapeshifter.

I'm a morpher.

I turn into animals.

I'm an Animorph.

There's really no cool way to say it.

The dogs are large, standard for their breed, but with the defined muscle of dogs trained for a purpose. They, too, open their mouths in trifold, teeth gleaming.

And they lunge, one for each woman.

"Oh!" says Mel, even as she steps forward, jamming the wooden end of her weapon into the heart of the dog that's bigger than her, on its hind legs.

"You're the bear!"

She remembers that. And she's glad to figure that one out.

The matter-of-fact way Mel finishes her dog is something to be admired, respected.

Rachel's brief moment of both allows the dog lunging at her to knock her off her half-formed feet. But a bear, even not fully morphed yet, is faster than most people think.

The massive bulk of her twists sharp and a bar the size of a frying pan swings hard to smash into the creature's head, knocking it into the nearest wall. When it tries to regain its feet, dazed, she slams her entire weight down on top of it, one paw and all her claws focused on the back of its neck.

It's not decapitation, exactly, but the sharp crack of a broken neck gives her time to close her teeth on it and wrench.

<Yes.>

Edited 2012-01-03 00:32 (UTC)

Mel gives the bear the space it needs to do this work, watching the fight with quiet respect. It's helpful to see what the bear can do.

"Spled."

(Tone implies it means cool)

"Though now you've got a mouthful of dust."

<Yup.>

And a bear really does not have the mouth or tongue to spit, much to her annoyance. There's a long moment of hesitation, staring at the dust and snapping her jaws, where Rachel actually considers how wise it would be to demorph already. How often she might have to do it.

<You don't have a watch, do you?>

Mel glances down at her wrists, and spread them, shaking her head.

"Nah. Gets caught on things."

Which doesn't stop her wearing jewelry, come to think of it.

"You need the time?"

Rachel doesn't - really, can't - wear either. Which is why the bear sighs softly before backing away from the dust and closing her eyes.

As frequently described, the process of morphing - or demorphing - is unpleasant. Rachel is far more concerned with the difference between exhaustion and trapping herself in a single body.

"I'll get tired if I do that too often," she says, once her voice works again. Still rough, dry.

Then makes a face and spits dust at the floor, at least with the decency to turn away from Mel as she does it.

Edited 2012-01-03 01:11 (UTC)

"There a reason not to stay in shape?" Mel asks, having watched the process with only the smallest twinge of what the hell?

"I mean, I'll watch your back, but sounds like bear'd stay useful."

There's not much she's managed to keep secret so far, but this is one of them. Rachel keeps her face turned away, spits again, then shakes her hair out as she faces Mel again. "I'll go back to it if I need to. Are you ready?"

Mel shrugs, easily indifferent.

"I'm always ready, me," she says, flexing one shoulder to keep it supple.

She doesn't need to transition to fighting mode, after all.

"I'll let you know if it's needed."

And she doesn't mean she never will. She's already factoring a grizzly bear into her mental inventory of potential weapons.

With a grin, and pushing her bangs out of her face, she heads on in the direction they'd been going.

What annoys Rachel most about the statement is the assumption that she'd need telling to know if a morph is necessary. Mel is given a glare.

Even if it's as ineffective as those past had been.

Kicking her feet to free them of more dust, Rachel follows - then hurries a couple of steps to walk beside Mel, not behind. "Are they always that messy?"

Edited 2012-01-03 01:31 (UTC)

Well, Mel doesn't know how much Rachel knows about what she, Mel, can do. Mel is also the one here with the Special Destiny, and thus has a tendency to assume she's in charge.

Which is almost certainly annoying

"With the dust?" she asks. "Yeah, usually. Still call that less messy than demons. Less gore to wash out."

As annoying as it is comforting. Though Rachel would only admit to one aloud.

Or at all. Even to herself.

"Blood is easier to get rid of," Rachel points out, wrinkling her nose - before glancing, sharply, at Mel. It's a comment that wouldn't be taken well by most people she knows.

Especially her teammates, who knew equally well the taste and texture of blood.

Edited 2012-01-03 01:39 (UTC)

"You think?" Mel asks. "Dust'll rinse off with first shower. Blood needs to be scrubbed.

"'Specially demon blood. That comes in all colors and consistencies. Sometimes it goops."

Matter-of-fact. If Mel keeps up that attitude, she runs the risk of Rachel actually liking her.

"...alien blood is like that. I don't usually have to worry about showering it off, but if it gets in my mouth, it's a problem."

Edited 2012-01-03 01:48 (UTC)

Mel tends to run that risk, long with every risk in her life, with a smirk and a shrug and a boldfaced confidence.

She doesn't expect to be disliked, but she usually figured that if it ends up that way, then it wouldn't have been worth her while anyway.

"Comes of using your teeth as weapons. After my first couple dustings, I learned to do the Slaying with my mouth shut."

To this, Rachel can only snort. "If you had teeth like a bear, you'd never see that as an option."

Claws are great and all, but the sharpness of those teeth coupled with the power in the jaw is nothing to underestimate.

She glances at the woman by her side again, curious but reluctant to ask. It might invite questions back.

Then again, they're walking alone in a dark stone hallway and she can always refuse to answer.

"Slaying?"

Edited 2012-01-03 02:01 (UTC)

With a wry grin, "Yeah, that's kinda the official name if it's even got one. Vamps, demons, things that go 'Argh' in the night."

Because it's been ten whole feet with nothing to do but walk, Mel's next few steps are done in a handflip. Casual as anything.

"Kind of a 'protecting humanity' deal."

"You have an official name?"

Which-- well, technically, so does her team. Did. For the same sort of deal. But the way Mel talks about it, even upside-down, sounds far different.

Rachel frowns, watching her form as much as her face. Judging the athleticism - which is annoyingly great.

Edited 2012-01-03 03:37 (UTC)

The atheleticism may be great, but the technique is amateur at best. No one's ever tried to teach Mel gymnastics.

"Vampire Slayer, originally enough," Mel says. "I don't bother with it myself, but lurks get all excited about tradition."

The lack of technique gives Rachel mixed feelings. On one hand, she's obviously better trained than Mel. But on the other, Mel's flips and handstands don't seem to suffer for it.

Plus, she has to stop herself from adding a flip to her own stride. She has nothing to prove.

Surely.

"Lurks and vampires are the same thing?" she guesses, curious. "That's what you do, you go after them? Stop them from... what? Eating people?"

That's what vampires do, right?

Edited 2012-01-04 01:34 (UTC)

"Yep."

To all of the above.

Mel turns her head and grins cheerfully. "That's about the whole of it."

Easy answers are so much better than drawn-out details. Even Rachel can't stop herself from answering that grin with a small smile.

"TV got it right, for once. I'm surprised."

Edited 2012-01-08 16:11 (UTC)

"Yeah, sometimes the scopes are right," Mel confirms, supplying her own word.

"Spun the Hell out of me when I realised that."

Rachel doesn't have much to say to that. Television has yet to get aliens right, so far as she knows.

The hall they're walking down remains dark, lit only by the light Mel is holding. Rachel notices the change in texture beneath her feet several paces before the space changes visually.

Large stone blocks into smaller red brick. More like wandering the halls of an old, abandoned building than a drafty castle.

"A scenery change means something new is coming for us."

Edited 2012-01-08 18:08 (UTC)