xenamorph | Morph #3: The Struggle. [Action/Video]

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Morph #3: The Struggle. [Action/Video]

[As weird as it was staying in Spock's guest bedroom, they were polite enough. Still, she really didn't spend much time there.

At first, she'd spent a lot of time just flying around, but it didn't really ease the tension. Something was missing. She was having trouble sleeping. She had so many nightmares, she lost track of which ones were which, and she'd wake up in the middle of the night, screaming into her pillow.

And then she'd fly again.

It wasn't enough.

Something is missing.]

[Video]

"So, um. Can anybody show me how to program that... battledome thing? And what else do you people do to entertain yourself around here."

[She stops for a moment, staring blankly at the camera as visions of violence and blood fill her head, before she blinks and snaps out of it.]

"Uh. So, if anybody could help me out on either end, I'd appreciate it."

[Action]

[She's going to be at the battledome today, trying to figure out how to make it work. She needs to...

Something. She's looking for something. She's not sure what.]

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[The room has the exact opposite of the effect she had hoped for. It doesn't make her feel better, the tension just gets worse.

That wasn't fair. What was she supposed to do? What did she want? It was so infuriating she wanted to scream. To yell, to punch things, hit things, kick things, fight things-

She smiles and turns back toward him.]

"First try? Please, I rocked the house."

[He gives a lazy smile, something challenging entering his gaze expression because this has obviously done nothing for her, way she's standing, tension in the line of her spine.]

Oh yeah? You think you're stuff with this? Prove it.

"Is that a challenge?"

['Challenge.' The word sends another dizzying swirl of images through her mind, but she ignores it.]

"You want a challenge, name the terms. Let's do it."

It can be if you want.

[He grins, his posture still lazy and unconcerned.]

It's just a room. Four walls, door, some furniture. Let's see something alive in here. And I don't mean a pot plant.

"Alive?"

[The grin comes back.]

"Done."

[And she turns and heads back toward the door and the console, grateful to be out of that room.]

[That is much better. Clint follows her out again, taking a moment to check his arrows for wear. He's been using the Battle Dome sims mainly, but he likes to make sure he doesn't forget the feel of the real thing.]

I warn you, I'm hard to impress.

"That's okay. I'm pretty impressive."

[The cocky smile doesn't leave her face as she starts to work. He wanted an animal, but not just any animal would do. She needed one that was impressive. One that looked and acted with subtlety. Nuance.

Luckily, she had an animal in mind. One she'd spent a lot of time being. One she'd spent a lot of time around. Spent a lot of time watching.

One that, through a cruel trick of circumstance, she'd even spent a lot of time sort-of-dating. She knew how they moved, how they flew, how they hunted. How they perched. How they cast around them, constantly scanning for predators and for prey. Hawks saw everything. She knew it first-hand, even if the exact variety was a different.

Putting the body together was the easy part. It was the movements, it turned out, that were difficult, even once she got the hang of working with moving objects. Every flap of the wings, every jerk of the head, every grasp and release of the talons, had to work just right together.

But finally, she turns around and opens the door. And there, in the empty space she'd cleared, perched on what looked like a hat rack, was a red-tailed hawk, preening itself.]

Glad to hear it.

[She spends a lot of time working on it, focused entirely on whatever she was doing. So she likes a challenge. That's something to remember.

He keeps an eye on her, but takes the time to check his equipment for wear and tear before pulling on the arm and finger guards. Sure, the simulation won't hurt him necessarily, but he doesn't like to get sloppy.

When she's done, he follows her into the room.

And laughs at what he sees. It isn't mocking, just highly amused.]

Oh, now I'm impressed. You sure you're not reading my mind or something?

"Not that I know of. I just like red-tails."

[The bird takes off in a flurry of feathers and flies up, as if trying to find a sky. There isn't one, of course, but it's not like the simulation knows the difference.

The grin fades from her face.]

Hawks are pretty cool. I'm kinda fond of what they stand for.

[He watches as it flies upwards. His own version fo what they stand for. His own namesake.]

I'm Clint, by the way. Or Hawkeye, if you prefer.

"Uh. Rachel. I don't really have a nickname. Well, I mean, I had a friend who used to call me Xena, but he was being a smart-ass, so."

Is it an accurate nickname at least?

"I guess. Apparently I'm the brave one. Or the crazy one, depending on when you ask."

Crazy and brave are not mutually exclusive. Sometimes they look very much the same.

"That's what I keep telling myself."

[She grins, and already the tension eases from her figure a bit.]

"So what about you, 'Hawkeye?' You brave, crazy, or none of the above?"

[Clint grins back and nods.]

Oh, both. Definitely both. Why stick with just one?

"See? Somebody gets it."

[In this place, she shouldn't be surprised. It seemed like it was a magnet for people as crazy as her. She forced herself not to imagine the possibilities, and instead focused on the conversation at hand.]

"So you said something about training before. What kind of training could you do here?"

[He laughed softly, shaking his head.]

Probably more people than you'd think here.

Probably any kind of training you could think up. Combat sims are what I do mainly. Shooting, hand to hand. I have a circus one too though, acrobatics, tightrope, trapeze...

"Combat training?"

[Easy. Relax.]

"Can they simulate those Third Party guys I've heard about?"

Yeah. Lots of combat training.

I'm pretty sure we can get something like that up if you're wanting to try. What training do you have? [She looks about seventeen. That means nothing.]

"Uh... three years of front-line experience repelling an alien invasion, give or take?"

[Huh, young for that but Clint wasn't going to gripe about it. He continued as though it was the most normal thing in the world.]

Fair enough. You have experience. How do you fight? Distance? Closeup? Weapons?

"... Guerilla tactics. I... guess you'd call it unarmed combat...?"

You guess? [Clint gave her a curious look at that.]

I can pull up a guerrilla program but it might not be suited to your style. You can probably make the changes you want though.

[Sigh. Okay, yeah, there was really no way of doing this that wasn't awkward.]

"Okay, that, uh, combat style I mentioned? Mostly I turn into a bear. Got any changes to go with that?"

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[Action] Sorry for the delay, this weekend kicked my ass.