drained her energy. a little vague, but Laura quirks a brow as he calls in an assistant in the form of the barman, has a brief exchange, and—
she gasps as he does. she's no stranger to violence, usually violence much worse than this, but the shock factor... there's just something about a hand impaled with a fork that's always going to echo across into your own palm and leave you squirming. there's a twist, a release, and then she's watching as the wound disappears before her eyes.
the man slumps. Kovacs slams the counter and it splinters a little under his fist. Laura stares at the table, up at Kovacs, down at the bartender. ]
What the fuck? [ hissed and frantic. it's not at the display, not really. his power's - fucking weird, but also insanely useful.
but the delivery? here, of all places? sure, the joint isn't heaving, but you can't just stab and heal a person in the middle of a bar.
getting up, Laura reaches out across the table to clasp fingers in a vice around his wrist, paying no mind to the bond that blooms open and gives him all of her surprise, her satisfaction (he's going to be good to have around, that's for sure), her frustration, her haste, the border of fury. ] What the fuck!
[ but there's a loose end. the bartender, groggy but hardly an amnesiac. not releasing Kovacs' wrist, he can lean to accommodate her or not - she'll let go if she has to in order to get this done - she crouches next to the wounded n-wounded man, smile wide and unnerving. ]
Hi. Did he pay you well? I hope so. That was a fee for your silence. Because if I hear one fucking word about this from anyone, anyone, we'll be back. And you think he looks scary?
[ smile stretching wider, Laura reaches up to hook her finger into the neckline of her shirt, dragging it lower until the autopsy scars meeting at her sternum are on clear show. when she's sure that they've been seen, she releases her shirt and pats him square on the cheek. ]
Be good, okay?
[ and with that she's up, either re-grabbing or pulling hard on Kovacs' wrist as she makes a beeline for the door. ]
[ there's some morbid satisfaction that comes with surprising her in such a way. he's never cared about decorum or hiding especially after all this this time so hearing her gasp and then watching her try and cover up what he's just done is kind of funny.
he doesn't laugh because he doesn't want someone else to hit him in the head today but he's amused and that might come across the bond as well. if she feels it, she feels it. he, at least, doesn't try and shake himself loose, watching her pay off the bartender and then stumbling to his feet while she drags him out. ]
I can fucking walk, you know.
[ he has to say something, though. women have been dragging him here and there and everywhere for awhile now and while he doesn't mind in this instance, he has to put up some resistance. ]
I'm gonna remember that you flashed that idiot. [ in her own laura way, of course. ] Hot.
[ it's instinct that turns her around and throws the punch. once upon that punch could've thrown him back into the wall of the bar they've just left, maybe even through it...
now all it does as she connects with his torso (or his hand if he spots the swing and goes to stop her) is raise a loud crunch from the knuckles of her fist, her form never having been excellent and her body never really trained for strength. she swears, loud, and cradles her hand to her for the few seconds it takes before the glow of her chest shows through the fabric of her shirt and the pain starts to ebb.
they don't have time for more fuck ups. she's back to snarling at him before he has a chance to complain or to laugh at her. ]
Goddammit! [ he expects some reprisal, sure, but maybe not that. she fucking knocks the wind right out of him and he doubles over, holding his stomach and coughing a few times before glaring in her direction. she's cradling her hand like she hurt herself and fucking good. ]
Making friends.
[ was he not supposed to do that? oh well. it was done. ]
Would you have preferred I'd stabbed you with a fork to show you what I could do?
[ kovacs seriously doubts that. ] You wanted to know what I could do and I fucking showed you.
[ good. suffer. fuck you. Laura straightens up, shaking her hand out (that's almost definitely not good for it but the pain's a dull ache with the help of her power so whatever) and gritting her teeth in mild disgust. ]
Yeah, you showed me! Right in the middle of a bar with the hand of a guy who's going to start running his mouth. You ever want to get out of here, asshole?
He's not going to do jack shit. [ and if he did, kovacs knew how to shut him up too. not something he wants to do because that's noticeable but whatever. ]
Calm your tits. [ he coughs a few more times, rubbing at his stomach and glaring in direction once again. ] Did you break your fucking hand?
[ you wanna feel better, laura? he's got a power he could use on you. ]
[ probably, yes. but her hand is the least of her worries, and if Kovacs comes anywhere near her with his fucking power she'll break her other one on him too. ]
You don't know that. If he does talk and somebody actually listens, it's too fucking late to take it back.
[ it's done. that's all there is to it. ] If they want to fucking punish me, fine. Don't worry, I'll keep your name out of it.
[ see what a good guy he was? such a good guy. ] I'm not worrying about it. [ he blows out a breath when the pain in his stomach finally goes away and then straightens. ]
[ he doesn't get it. or if he does, he's a fucking idiot.
and the more he treats her like she's freaking out over nothing, the more she wishes she was still capable of lifting a man by the balls. ]
It's not about punishment. I don't give a shit what the rest of our merry band of refugees has to say - though if they hear it's you who's fucked up I'll bet you're going to need more than some goddamned ice.
Weird shit has been going on around here. You think people aren't watching? You think if they hear about some guy sucking a stab wound out out of somebody's hand they're not going to be interested? You want to end up on someone's lab table, that's your call.
But next time you're going to be a fucking idiot, do it somewhere I'm not.
[ he waves a hand at her, dismissing the concerns because he's not worried. that fucking bartender won't talk because he won't want another fork in his hand. and he'd get worse than that if he decided to run his fucking mouth. ]
Are we done with the lecture? I've had a long fucking day. [ his poor head. he just wants his headache to go away but now he's got the headache and a stomachache. thanks, laura. ]
[ dismissed again, just like that, out of hand. like it's no big deal, like there's nothing to be concerned about.
Laura Moon has a life - death - life to get back to. he might not give a shit but she does. one last curl of her lip. they're not going to see eye to eye on this.
still furious, nowhere for all that pent up sentiment to go and no strength with which to take it out on him or the surrounding area, she does the only non-violent but satisfyingly aggressive thing she can think of. turns her head and spits at the ground.
it's not aimed at him, he's an important ally even if she is livid at his dismissal and his sweethearts, but it's a solid sign of what she thinks about this whole exchange. about his attitude.
that done and with one final glower, she turns on her heel with every intention of fucking off. ]
[ he should just let her go. that would be the easy thing. she's mad, he's mad, and they're not responsible for each other's feelings.
and for a second, he sticks to that before he curses under his breath and uses his longer legs to try and catch her and grab her by the arm to at least stop her murder strut. ]
Come on, don't go.
[ that's sincere, at least. you wanna know how many friends he has in this shitty city? maybe one. maybe two. he has no fucking ideas but he knows he doesn't mind her. ]
I got hit in the fucking head, give me a break. Or punch me again.
[ that helped, didn't it? ]
Come on. [ that time, it's almost a dare. ] Get it out.
I asked you what you could do. I didn’t say show me your blatantly impossible parlour trick in the middle of this fucking bar where anybody can see. If you think I’m overreacting, one you’re an asshole and two there’s no point in me wasting my time repeating myself. But don’t fucking make out like you were doing as you were told.
And if you ever sweetheart me again today won’t be the last time somebody attacks you in your sleep, or the most fucking memorable.
[ clear? got it? can we all just get on with fucking off now? ]
[ it's something. not a fucking apology, but better than nothing. a puff of breath and she sure isn't as shy about the eye rolling. less at what he's said than at herself for hanging around long enough to wind up giving him a second chance. ]
I broke my fist on your gut, I'm going to skip a repeat performance. But thanks anyway for the heads up.
No, you do not need to get me some ice. [ she doesn't need your help!! your stupid body did this in the first place!! no that's not actually the issue and there's minimal venom left in her voice. ] Some of us give a shit and go to hospital when we're busted.
[ stomachs are supposed to be soft! put your abs away! ]
Yeah, well, congratulations. [ and no, she was being dramatic about your Bleeding Head. for her part, ] I'm going back to the safehouse first, see if any of the doctor types are around. If not, we'll see.
[ fucking kovacs. she glares at him, on the cusp of disbelieving... but she's not his literal boss. she doesn't pay him to behave a certain way and she couldn't ultimately stop him if she wanted to.
she doesn't particularly care to either. the incident was very specific, and not particularly the fault of drink. ]
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drained her energy. a little vague, but Laura quirks a brow as he calls in an assistant in the form of the barman, has a brief exchange, and—
she gasps as he does. she's no stranger to violence, usually violence much worse than this, but the shock factor... there's just something about a hand impaled with a fork that's always going to echo across into your own palm and leave you squirming. there's a twist, a release, and then she's watching as the wound disappears before her eyes.
the man slumps. Kovacs slams the counter and it splinters a little under his fist. Laura stares at the table, up at Kovacs, down at the bartender. ]
What the fuck? [ hissed and frantic. it's not at the display, not really. his power's - fucking weird, but also insanely useful.
but the delivery? here, of all places? sure, the joint isn't heaving, but you can't just stab and heal a person in the middle of a bar.
getting up, Laura reaches out across the table to clasp fingers in a vice around his wrist, paying no mind to the bond that blooms open and gives him all of her surprise, her satisfaction (he's going to be good to have around, that's for sure), her frustration, her haste, the border of fury. ] What the fuck!
[ but there's a loose end. the bartender, groggy but hardly an amnesiac. not releasing Kovacs' wrist, he can lean to accommodate her or not - she'll let go if she has to in order to get this done - she crouches next to the wounded n-wounded man, smile wide and unnerving. ]
Hi. Did he pay you well? I hope so. That was a fee for your silence. Because if I hear one fucking word about this from anyone, anyone, we'll be back. And you think he looks scary?
[ smile stretching wider, Laura reaches up to hook her finger into the neckline of her shirt, dragging it lower until the autopsy scars meeting at her sternum are on clear show. when she's sure that they've been seen, she releases her shirt and pats him square on the cheek. ]
Be good, okay?
[ and with that she's up, either re-grabbing or pulling hard on Kovacs' wrist as she makes a beeline for the door. ]
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he doesn't laugh because he doesn't want someone else to hit him in the head today but he's amused and that might come across the bond as well. if she feels it, she feels it. he, at least, doesn't try and shake himself loose, watching her pay off the bartender and then stumbling to his feet while she drags him out. ]
I can fucking walk, you know.
[ he has to say something, though. women have been dragging him here and there and everywhere for awhile now and while he doesn't mind in this instance, he has to put up some resistance. ]
I'm gonna remember that you flashed that idiot. [ in her own laura way, of course. ] Hot.
[ he doesn't know when to shut up. ]
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now all it does as she connects with his torso (or his hand if he spots the swing and goes to stop her) is raise a loud crunch from the knuckles of her fist, her form never having been excellent and her body never really trained for strength. she swears, loud, and cradles her hand to her for the few seconds it takes before the glow of her chest shows through the fabric of her shirt and the pain starts to ebb.
they don't have time for more fuck ups. she's back to snarling at him before he has a chance to complain or to laugh at her. ]
What the fuck do you think you were doing?
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Making friends.
[ was he not supposed to do that? oh well. it was done. ]
Would you have preferred I'd stabbed you with a fork to show you what I could do?
[ kovacs seriously doubts that. ] You wanted to know what I could do and I fucking showed you.
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Yeah, you showed me! Right in the middle of a bar with the hand of a guy who's going to start running his mouth. You ever want to get out of here, asshole?
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Calm your tits. [ he coughs a few more times, rubbing at his stomach and glaring in direction once again. ] Did you break your fucking hand?
[ you wanna feel better, laura? he's got a power he could use on you. ]
Fucking shit.
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[ probably, yes. but her hand is the least of her worries, and if Kovacs comes anywhere near her with his fucking power she'll break her other one on him too. ]
You don't know that. If he does talk and somebody actually listens, it's too fucking late to take it back.
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[ it's done. that's all there is to it. ] If they want to fucking punish me, fine. Don't worry, I'll keep your name out of it.
[ see what a good guy he was? such a good guy. ] I'm not worrying about it. [ he blows out a breath when the pain in his stomach finally goes away and then straightens. ]
Are you done throwing your tantrum now?
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and the more he treats her like she's freaking out over nothing, the more she wishes she was still capable of lifting a man by the balls. ]
It's not about punishment. I don't give a shit what the rest of our merry band of refugees has to say - though if they hear it's you who's fucked up I'll bet you're going to need more than some goddamned ice.
Weird shit has been going on around here. You think people aren't watching? You think if they hear about some guy sucking a stab wound out out of somebody's hand they're not going to be interested? You want to end up on someone's lab table, that's your call.
But next time you're going to be a fucking idiot, do it somewhere I'm not.
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[ he waves a hand at her, dismissing the concerns because he's not worried. that fucking bartender won't talk because he won't want another fork in his hand. and he'd get worse than that if he decided to run his fucking mouth. ]
Are we done with the lecture? I've had a long fucking day. [ his poor head. he just wants his headache to go away but now he's got the headache and a stomachache. thanks, laura. ]
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Laura Moon has a life - death - life to get back to. he might not give a shit but she does. one last curl of her lip. they're not going to see eye to eye on this.
still furious, nowhere for all that pent up sentiment to go and no strength with which to take it out on him or the surrounding area, she does the only non-violent but satisfyingly aggressive thing she can think of. turns her head and spits at the ground.
it's not aimed at him, he's an important ally even if she is livid at his dismissal and his sweethearts, but it's a solid sign of what she thinks about this whole exchange. about his attitude.
that done and with one final glower, she turns on her heel with every intention of fucking off. ]
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and for a second, he sticks to that before he curses under his breath and uses his longer legs to try and catch her and grab her by the arm to at least stop her murder strut. ]
Come on, don't go.
[ that's sincere, at least. you wanna know how many friends he has in this shitty city? maybe one. maybe two. he has no fucking ideas but he knows he doesn't mind her. ]
I got hit in the fucking head, give me a break. Or punch me again.
[ that helped, didn't it? ]
Come on. [ that time, it's almost a dare. ] Get it out.
[ because he knows she's pissed. he knows. ]
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Don't fucking touch me.
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[ who'd just dragged him out of the bar? it wasn't kovacs himself. so, he doesn't let go. he doesn't squeeze harder but he doesn't let go. ]
What's your problem? What'd I say?
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You want me to explain to you again? Slower? In shorter words?
[ ugh. ]
Fuck off and lay low. Get your head patched up.
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[ though that might have been part of the whole thing. she'd gotten pretty fucking mad for just wanting him to straighten up and fly right. ]
You acted like I just shot your fucking dog or something. Tell me. I'm asking nicely.
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And if you ever sweetheart me again today won’t be the last time somebody attacks you in your sleep, or the most fucking memorable.
[ clear? got it? can we all just get on with fucking off now? ]
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Fine.
[ that took a lot of effort not to snap back. ]
Laura. [ see? effort. ] The next time you hit me though, I am going to hit back. Just a warning.
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I broke my fist on your gut, I'm going to skip a repeat performance. But thanks anyway for the heads up.
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[ thanks elias ryker. you were good for some things. you were fucked up for so many others, though. ]
Do I need to go get you some ice now?
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Are you going to the hospital, then?
[ he sounds bemused. ]
I had no idea my stomach was that hard to the touch.
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Yeah, well, congratulations. [ and no, she was being dramatic about your Bleeding Head. for her part, ] I'm going back to the safehouse first, see if any of the doctor types are around. If not, we'll see.
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Thank you, your congratulations are appreciated. [ of course he's gonna take that literally. ] I'm gonna drink some more.
[ his head still fucking hurts. ]
But I'll be on my best behavior. Scout's honor.
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she doesn't particularly care to either. the incident was very specific, and not particularly the fault of drink. ]
Fine. But find another bar.
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