AWD #072: Irrational And Stubborn
Irrational And Stubborn
Summary: How best to describe Ygraine and Holtz respectively after returning from the Acheron Belt recon.
Date: 19/03/2013
Related Logs: After Acheron Belt Recon
Holtz Ygraine 
Viper Berths
Berths. They've got beds.
AWD #72

Ygraine hasn't said a word to Holtz except for what's required of her once they make it back to the carrier and the group has jumped back to Piraeus. After everyone's collected themselves, had their debriefing, shit, showered, and shaved, that's when she has somehow managed to coordinate catching Holtz in the berths, with no, or at least few people. When she does, expression is closed off, not quite neutral, but close. She might be here to kiss him. She might be here to kill him. She might be here to rub soup in his hair. It's a toss up.

Holtz is laying in his bunk, curtain open. He's shed his flightsuit, now wearing only a t-shirt and a pair of boxers. His breathing is light but steady, his expression equally wooden as he lies there, ignoring the brief burst of commotion as the last pair of pilots in the room head off for their assigned CAP shift. Apparently lost in his thoughts, he doesn't seem to notice Ygraine's entrance.

So she steps up to his bunk. Arms start to cross, stop, drop to her sides as she peers down at him furtively, like he's a bug under a microscope or a unicorn that's unexpected risen up from a pile of shit. Remarkable and puzzling. She doesn't say anything, she just stares.

Holtz' head lolls over to the side as Ygraine steps up next to his rack. He's got the top bunk, so when he turns his head to face her, she's more or less at eye level. "Hi," is about the most he can muster up in greeting, but grey eyes meet blue and don't let go.

"I'm experiencin' some really irrational emotions right now, and you're just gonna have t'put up with it." she says, arms folding once more. "Because I am completely unused to it. So. You are an ass." she then pauses, ammending, "You are an ass sir." She then adds, "And I don't even know why I needed t'say that, but I did."

Holtz simply snorts as his eyes flick ceilingward. "Ain't exactly a new development, that," he replies, trying without much success to inject some humor into his tone. A throaty chuckled turns into a short cough, and he clears his throat before looking back at her with a crooked eyebrow. "Well, go ahead there, Ygraine, tell me how you really feel." Another of those raspy chuckles.

That is actually not the reaction she's expecting, and what he says, while probably entirely a joke, has things attached to it that she's really not ready to grasp onto yet, or y'know…ever. Maybe. But she sits down on the edge of his bed, balls up her fist, and punches him in the gut. Hard enough to oof, not hard enough to be an actual punch. "Why am I so mad at ya? It's not like ya were doin' anythin' ya weren't supposed to. But I'm so mad at ya right now I could spit and hiss like our barn cat."

Holtz grunts as her fist makes contact, wincing slightly. It's a surprise, even if it wasn't actually meant to hurt. Something flashes in his eyes for a moment when he looks at her, but he doesn't explode at her. Far from it, in fact. His hard-edged expression slowly softens into one of puzzlement. "Can't rightly answer that," he says slowly. "I was short with you on the Raptor, aye…" Storm looks at her with a dubious expression, his eyes searching hers. "But for some reason I don't see that bein' what's got ya riled."

She's the one who breaks gaze, hand moving to her lap. "I dunno." she says, brow furrowing. "I think you're maybe crazier than Janitor when you're in the cockpit." She looks back at him. "I thought ya were dead."

"Crazier than Janitor? Why…" Holtz looks like he's about to laugh, but seeing the expression on her face, the mirth dies from his face even before it gets there, his words trailing off into silence, and he only shrugs. "Thought I was gonna be, for a second," he continues after a beat, his voice a touch lower. "When they missed that Raider the first time, I figured… that was it. I…" He shuts his mouth mid-word with a tiny shake of the head.

"Yeah? Ya what?" she asks. See, she can avoid topics, but he's not allowed to.

"Nothing." Holtz directs a baleful stare in her direction, as if to discourage any prodding of the matter. "Ain't your worry." He jabs a finger in her direction. "Don't change the subject."

"Liar." she counters. She grabs at his jabbing finger, her freckled face suddenly scowling. "What, ya got a death wish? That it?"

"Ain't sayin' any-godsdamn-thing of the sort." That scowl deepens, and Holtz' lips twist angrily. "Some places I just ain't prepared to go. Not even with you, not yet." Her scowl is met full force with one of his own, his expression stubborn and unyielding.

A number of expressions cross her face; it's pretty much like she doesn't know how to process what she's feeling, or she's feeling so many conflicting things it's mucking her up. "What is it ya thinkin' I'm gonna do, run an' tell everyone? I nearly - " now it's her turn to stop, and she works her jaw. "Fine. Ya godsdamned frakkin' motherfrakker. Sir." Now it's her turn to set her jaw and look stubborn.

"Oh, for— " Holtz was propped on his elbow as he talked to her, but now he slumps flat on his back with a sigh, clearly frustrated by… her intransigence? His own mulishness? It's unclear. "No, I don't, but… godsdamnit!" He trails off again, the words apparently eluding him. "The hell do you want from me?" His stare once again fixes itself upon her.

"I freaked out when I thought you were dead!" she counters. "Didn't stop me from doin' what I had t'do, even if I did bite Maia and Kelz' heads off. "I want…I want that t'mean somethin'." She's groping at words, at feelings, the pair of them hobbling like emotional cripples as she starts to get up.

Holtz looks slightly taken aback as the words suddenly start pouring out of Ygraine, that sudden deer-in-headlights look following her as she stands up, her eyes twitching towards the hatch as if contemplating escape. "Wait." It looks like she's about to start for the door when the word tears loose of its throat almost of its own volition. "Don't leave." His last is quiet, barely above the level of a throaty hiss. But it's audible. Even if it wasn't, there's no mistaking the look he affixes upon her — wild, unsure, and hungry all at the same time.

Ygraine was going to leave. She was going to leave. She'll keep telling herself that. She makes the mistake of looking back at him, seeing his face, expression. "Godsdammit." she says in choked exasperation, and then she's in his lap, straddling him so she can kiss him.

And, this time at least, Holtz responds decorously; his tattooed arms wrap around her, and he returns the kiss full force, leaning back as she comes down on top of him. He'll stop kissing her just long enough to whisper a husky, "Right frakkin' here, and I don't care who knows," but the words are barely out of his mouth when his lips again meet hers with no small urgency, his questing hands tearing at whichever scraps of clothing they come into contact with, regardless of whose scraps they are.

This is right for a number of reasons; because it means they don't have to talk, because it means she can give all of her pent up frustration an outlet, and because the both of them are clearly better at expressing themselves this way. But presumably men who have a death wish don't usually end up wanting a frak when they survive, right? That's what Ygraine would think, if she were thinking at all right now. The lack of wrench to block the hatch wheel doesn't occur to her, though when they're going at it, the soft flesh of her hand and the harder of his shoulder get the brunt of her teeth to keep from screaming. Or at least, too loudly.

Unless otherwise stated, the content of this page is licensed under Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 3.0 License