You think you're scary? (Hyran)

[Nascha]

Nascha regretted her question rather quickly. It seemed to have angered Hyran far more than she could have anticipated. Given her level of people-reading skills, she usually wasn’t surprised when someone reacted differently to what she expected, but this was something else. This was, she was sure, unusual. Concerned now, she put more effort in to blocking than before, noting how much more strength she had to use to keep his hits at bay, and how much more it hurt when she couldn’t. Despite the small break she’d earned to rest, this was quickly taking its toll.

At first, Nascha thought that this was a mere training exercise, like wading in to the midst of a river before fully learning how to swim. Then she saw Hyran’s expression. His whole face had changed and, with the tattoos, his anger looked particularly frightening. What could she do? What could she say? What would calm him down enough to stop this attack on her? Nascha knew she was getting weaker, and that it now showed in her movements. The fact that every time she faltered he managed to land a hit somewhere certainly wasn’t helping.

“What are you doing?” she panted finally, out of breath, trying to keep up but making no real impact.

[Hyran]

Nascha´s words struck him like lightning and Hyran stood dead frozen when, for a moment, they transported him back into another time, another place. Another woman. His woman.

Dark, wavy hair fell over a pale shoulder, a shadow appearing as she leaned over him. Curiousity, and a chuckle. “Kahn, what are you doing?”

The Cerulean shook his head lightly, unable to comprehend and confused by the memory that stalked his vision. Reality kicked back in soon enough though, and he was left to face a young Chaktawe instead, who was panting, chest heaving, slight insecurity displaying itself across her features.

Something inside snapped. Hyran´s face contorted from bewilderment to bitter rage within a split second, and he lunged himself forward with surprising speed. “You!” He screamed, feeling his anger flood through every muscle in his body, fueling the strength of his attack. The struggle that followed was short, since most of the Chaktawe’s energy had already left her. Hyran ended up pinning her face down on the ground, his knee pressing into her spine, his left hand holding her arm twisted painfully at her back.
“Curse you.” His voice had lowered now, and as he leaned over he grabbed a handfull of the girl’s hair, giving it a rough jerk. “Curse your hair, and that digustingly naive look upon your face. And your smell... by the Gods, your smell.” His last words grew weak, ending up to be barely a whisper against the side of Nascha’s face, but it did not diminish the malice in his voice the least.

Why. Why did every little thing about her have to be so female? So reminding of what he did not wish to remember, of what he’d lost. Her whole presence was tearing at him like at an old wound. And he hated her for it. By the Gods, he hated her for it.
The Ceruleans fingers released their grip on the girl’s hair, sneaking forward along her neck to encircle her throat. He could feel her skin tremble beneath his light touch, felt her pulse going mad. So frail. Without warning Hyran’s upperlip raised in a silent snarl, his fingers clenching shut, giving in to the rage that consumed him.

[Nascha]

Nascha should have reacted to the rage on his features. She should have noted the malice in his eyes. She should have run away, but she didn’t. This decision was evidently her downfall, as he lunged at her seconds after she made it. Nascha tried her best to fight back such an aggressive attack, but her limbs were almost as heavy as her head felt, and her defense quickly shattered.

On the ground, unable to move, her mind was chaos. Her vision was of ground and red and hazy with tears. Nothing but the blood pumping through her ears and the sound of her crow screaming could be heard above Hyran’s words, which echoed in her head. She had disgusted him with her looks and the way she smelt, she had annoyed someone without knowing it in ways which she had no control of. Now there was only pain, the thundering of her heart, Hyran’s breath against her cheek, and a hand curling around her neck. Nascha couldn’t fight, couldn’t do anything except wonder where she went wrong, and whether this was, after so much time alone, really the end.

She could still appeal to him, though, couldn’t she? That was all she could do. Her free hand wasn’t even strong enough to pull at the hand around her neck, and she had to speak while she still could. “Please,” she whispered, aware of how much higher her voice sounded due to sheer panic as well as strangulation. “Stop… Hyran…”

[Hyran]

Hyran took vague notice of his name being called, but the shrill pleas the Chaktawe sacrificed her last breath for did not reach him. His ears were filled with the rushing of his own blood instead, and his vision was a rage-coloured blur.
Had they been alone, this might have really been the end for Nascha, but Hyran was soon reminded of the fact that they were not. There was a light shift in his vision, and his muscles tingled with the familiar feeling of disconnecting and reconnecting. Kahn was pulling at his concious with all his might and Hyran was left weakened for a moment.
The Cerulean squeezed his eyes shut, clenched his teeth together, strained every muscle in his body. His rage was subdued and Nascha forgotten as he was forced to shift his attention, fully engaging in the mental struggle with his twin soul. Hyran would rather lose one of his limbs than let Kahn interfere with anything, ever again.

It was decided in a few heartbeats, though for the ones involved it might have seemed much longer. The Ceruleans body slumped slightly as the build up tension was released, and his eyes fluttered back open as he threw his head back. It was still Hyran in there, steel grey pupils directed at the sky, filled with dark delight at his victory. A short, breathy laugh escaped the Cerulean´s throat, and his voice was mocking when he verbally huffed out the thoughts aimed at his twin soul. “Still can’t do a damned thing, can you?”

There came no response from inside, but something beneath him stirred.
Ah. With most of his anger gone, it was almost surreal for Hyran to look down and find his hand around Nascha’s neck. The satisfied smirk dropped from his face and he released the girl, lifting his knee from her frame and repositioning himself next to her.
Beneath a veil of dark, messy hair he could make out her profile and Hyran reached out, hand still trembling with the adrenaline left rushing through his veins, to check her breathing.
He did not even know whether she was concious enough to hear him when he growled sofly, irritated. “Are you stupid or what? I told you to run, not to ask questions.”

[Nascha]

Nascha regained consciousness slowly after the pressure on her neck was relieved. Her head was so light it felt as if only her hair was keeping it to the ground. She felt the incredibly heaviness on her body disappear, taking several moments to realize that this sudden release was Hyran climbing off of her. Two fingers probed her neck and she let out an involuntary, raspy wimper, unable to pull away as she wanted to. A voice was speaking to her, sounding less than apologetic, but she couldn’t make out the words over the screams of the crow in its tree.

With more effort than she would have liked to admit, Nascha moved up on to her elbows and coughed in to the ground beneath her face, quickly refilling her lungs and body with dusty air. Her heart was pounding too fast for her to register what would later become obvious: her wrist really hurt and she had a couple of scrapes and bruises along her body. They wouldn’t hurt as much as the thought of this incident would.

When it finally occurred to her that Hyran was still there, she scrabbled away from him as fast as she could, using herself away from him, and noting the weakness in her left wrist. “Get away from me,” she breathed, coughing a little. The anger in her voice was more evident than her pain, her throat complaining at the activity, but she drew a deep breath and spoke again. “Get away from me now.” And, in a whisper almost to herself, she added, “please.”

[Hyran]

Hyran’s eyes remained set on Nascha’s form, his expression unchanging as he rose to his feet. The girl was moving more frantic than he would´ve thought possible, considering the state she was in.

A light flicker of irritation crossed his features when she spoke. Although the Chaktawe’s voice was weak, her tone was still as demanding as ever. And despite the situation she was in, she was still giving orders. He was about to make a stingy remark about it, when her soft ‘please’ caught him off guard. It was the first time he heard her plead, and Hyran shook his head with a wry smile.

His first move was not to step away from Nascha, but closer in her direction. His steps were calm though, measured, and when he reached out it was not to her, but to his bag and waterskin.
Nascha wanted him gone, for obvious reasons, and the cerulean knew better than to try and apologise. First of all, he didn´t feel all that guilty. He had given her a clear warning she had choosen to ignore. And secondly, there was no way his words would reach her after what happened.

So Hyran did nothing, said nothing, simply swung his belongings over his shoulder instead. And without saying a word or giving the Chaktawe a final glance, he walked away.