Call It What It Is [Open]

[earthborn]

Who| Shepard and Anyone who crosses her path
What| Various things in and around the Capitol
Where| See the following options
When| Both before the reveal re: the "Gas Leak" and before the actual event portion of the event gets underway
Warnings/Notes| Probably cussing, violence, and reference to violence

♦ The Training Center:

Shepard has made a terrible habit of confrontation throughout her life, and it's earned her more than one broken bone. As it stands, she does tend to lie around insulting people a lot, and while ordinarily she exhibited that hobby by lounging at the edge of the sparring ring and mocking her fellow tributes, she wasn't feeling that playful today. No, today finds her with the punching bag, sweating and thinking, remembering another time, older days, with a friend now far beyond her.

…Also this is the second bag, she's already destroyed the first. Look, there it is, bust seams and leaking sand, just to the side. You feelin' lucky, punk?

♦ Out And About:

The nicest thing about being a bloodthirsty bitch was that when they paid you afterward, they paid you well. And that meant that when you wanted to sit on a public park bench and pull directly from the bottle, no one could stop you. No one.

But it was a nice evening, and a pleasant vintage, and anyways if these Capitol idiots had a problem, they could cross the street to avoid it, like good little patricians. She didn't have time for it. Besides, thanks to Cerberus, it'd take more than this to put her over the limit, however loose her personal standards for such a limit might be.

♦ The Gas Leak:

If anything had prepared her for the utter two-facedness of every living creature in the galaxy, known or unknown, it had been her work as a Spectre. And here, she was both pleased and chagrined to discover, was no different. But of course it was no surprise that the kind of people who achieved prominence in a society that felt blood sport was an acceptable substitute for war-debt reparations were less than honest to those over whom they held power. It was just so damn tiring, after all this time.

"Just once, I'd like to have someone screw up, and then just fix their own damn problem," she muttered, watching the grainy security footage for the third time. It was the same as the rest; a loose formation of peacekeepers, a black shadow, and then it was over almost before it had begun, and all that was left was blood and corpses. Given the circumstances, they should probably consider themselves lucky the damn things hadn't taken them alive, not that she would call that 'luck'.

If anyone wants to approach her about this, she is the picture of an open-door policy, spread out in one corner of the tribute center's main commons room.

Comments

[carnagecarnival]

Her elbow hits and in that split second lurch between wincing, teeth grinding, and rebalancing himself, he feels his horn fall to her hand. A flash though his mind; the shellbeast-man wrenching his horn, the sharp snap in his ears, all his nerves on fire as pain he'd never even known lit him up from inside starting from the stem to his skull, broken right at the base where every single nerve was. The thing with fighting like a creature, being one, was that he reacted like one too.

His eyes go wide and red, his pupils constrict, and from his throat comes a terrible shriek of rage.

One hand shoots out like lightening to try and wrap around her neck as the other raises high, formed to claw, formed to tear with each wicked sharpened yellow nail.

[earthborn]

This, she'd been expecting: bloodrage— ha! He really was fighting like a Vorcha. Free hand up as if to block the strike and she had his wrist. The lateral twist was a deflection, and she had the proverbial bull by very real horns now. But that was the advantage; pull your hands apart, apply weight and counter with your own momentum. It was a neat little twist that she'd practiced often with Garrus or Wrex or even Thane. You could use it to get a gun out of someone's hands, with a little modification, but she wasn't looking to break a grip.

It was simple; either he would bend his weight to her will, or he'd lose his damned horns, and she could bet that he'd bend before breaking. Her weight bore him to the mat with her on top and she exchanged hand for boot so that she could keep him pinned and grasp after the flailing claws. It was in grim silence that she managed that, and for her trouble red blood bloomed on her knuckles and forearm where he scrabbled. Brat.

Tall and heavy, fast and strong, but if she'd learned anything fromt his little dance, it was that Alternians carried their weight high, and so she had wagered the fight on that she could pin him by the horns and thus make him helpless.

If nothing else, he was helpless for the moment, and that bought her room to breathe, even if it meant she was all but standing on him.

[carnagecarnival]

His mind is still reeling, trying to catch up to where his anger left him lost. She has him pinned, back exposed, neck exposed-- a blade to the neck? A slice to the nerves of the spine, a stab in between the joined bone, decapitation; no wraith raised, no daywalker, guaranteed death. She's not done it yet, she's slow-- or gloating? Rubbing it in, his moment of being downed. Maybe she intends to raise that boot of hers and stomp it down, break his bones first, maybe his wrist or his arm, then go for the neck. He's got no voodoo, he can't crush her that way. He can break his own arms or--

He can save that. He sucks a breath. He's got this and then he'll have to brace for pain if it fails. That's fine. He's broken bones before, it's fine. And this? This is what he practised for. As fast as he can feasibly manage he brings his foot up, bending it back like a contortionist to kick her forward. Off balance, off of him. All he needs.

[earthborn]

But she wasn't stupid, and with her hand pinning his wrist back, she felt the flex of his muscles and shoved mightily, wrenching his head back like a scruffed kitten to counteract the damned circus-act.

"Settle, you little psychopath," She grit out and threw her weight into it for good measure, pinning him more bodily to the ground.

It was an odd little wrestling match, but she was on top and he could wriggle, but he sure as hell wasn't winning free. It put her face down by his ear, which was convenient to Shepard's needs because this was getting old.

"You want to know my title, Makara? I'm Commander Shepard. I'm the Butcher of Torfan, the Hero of the Citadel, Champion to the Krogan people, so let me make myself clear," she punctuated it with a little jerk on his horn, as if to assure an attention that couldn't have possibly been anywhere else, "You can get behind me or be ground under my heel, but you will respect me, and no one stands in my way."

It wasn't graceful, the retreat, but it was fast. A heave, two steps, and out the ring, dusting off her hands with a glance for the nervous peacekeepers. You see? No trouble here. None at all.

"We're done here."

hope this is okay :x

[carnagecarnival]

That bitch. That bitch. She had the gall to call him by his name, insult him, and then she wanted to get him to settle? If she papped him, he was going to fucking rend her a new goddamn waste chute, rule or not.

He's just about to wrench free-- let his hand break, let his whole goddamn arm break, so the fuck what? He can kill her-- when she steps off him.

He's up in a second and then his leg is shooting out to trip her down. Fuck the ring, fuck the peacekeepers.

"Fuck you!" He shouts as the peacekeepers startle. "I STAND BEHIND NO ONE! And least of all will I stand at behind hypocritical, ignorant, contumelious, over-fucking-familiar, godless fuckers like you! I AIN'T GIVE A FUCK ABOUT WHO ALL YOU ARE, SHEPARD, BUT IF YOU WANT AT TO USE MY NAME, IT'S YOU WHAT NEEDS AT TO EARN MY DAMN RESPECT! Now we're motherfucking done."

He glares down, waiting for her to rise, and all but spits.