Eexyin
Bookworm
He flinched when she her face changed and she spat out the accusations, spat out her woes and foes. The calm, composed agent she was was coming out to the light - a cold blooded killer. As scared as he was of her - and to admit it, he was honestly very scared of her - he couldn't stand still, couldn't keep the words from rushing from his mouth as he defended himself and those he knew from her words.
'things like you!' Jasper tried to stand straight, but her grip was too hard. He could probably break out of it (if he struggled a bit and kept trying) on a good day, but this was not a good day. To compensate for the fact that he had to swoop down, to be cornered by her like a predator cornering it's prey, his eyes narrowed and they went cold, hard, calculating. If that was what she thought of them, of him. . . He shook his head, to clear the thought and her onslaught.
His mouth opened as if to speak, but nothing came out. Weak, stupid, scared. He was always weak, stupid, and scared. Always. In an attempt to shed that skin, to shed what he really felt, he wrapped the barbed phrases around him like a child wrapped in a blanket of love, of safety.
Finally, the words and sentiments aligned themselves and he spat out, violently throwing the hurtful phrases back at her. "Things like me?" he growled, his eyes hurt and angry and stone cold at the same time. "It's you who are the things, the machines! You think I haven't lost friends? Haven't gripped their hand (his hands tightened around the seat of the airplane and his arms tensed as he wanted to throttle her, to do anything to stop her from talking) - as a little kid - when you ruthless monsters ripped the life out of my buddies?! You think I - we - don't hide away, don't cower, from you? It's a game of cat and mouse, and you, my dear, are the cat in all rights. We may be mice spun into dragons, but we're still mice! How many times do I have to change the place I live in during a month. Come on, take a guess. You seem to be so mighty and you think so much of your stupid deadly karate skills and knife wielding skills and whatever else you get taught at you little academy. But you don't think, not a moment, about us."
Jasper's furious breathing joined hers and there was a moment of silence before she started speaking more softly. Probably not wanting to keep yelling, to cause a scene. Probably wanting to play the good guy and he the bad guy. It was always the bad guy for those like him. And always the good guy for those like her. Always.
Cecile's eyes kept him in place and he stood up in his seat, pushing against the hold she held on him, trying to get some air as he took up a big amount during the time the ball was on his court and he hit it back, a part of him hoping, hoping, that she was also hurting.
Not revealing too much but still answering her last question , he said in a much more staid, but still very angry, tone, "Yes, I know where the supernatural went. Not like I have much of a choice with you babysitting my every move. As for your first question, aren't we all hiding something? We could make a deal. One of your secrets for mine. Maybe you could tell me about your training. Or the location of all the headquarters of those you work for. Perhaps you'd like to tell me about your family, or, wait, did a 'monster' kill them too?" Without giving her time to answer, Jasper continued. "Hm, I thought not. After all, you can't trust me to pry into your life, can you? So then I can't trust you to pry into mine."
Once again looking away, he met the eyes of the purple haired man, of Boss, and saw pity in the depths of them. Another wave of the anger and pain he felt at Cecile's little speech poured into him and he met her stern and determined eyes, wishing, that despite the argument, they could just get the hell off this metal bird and get out of here, out of Boss's range of vision.
'things like you!' Jasper tried to stand straight, but her grip was too hard. He could probably break out of it (if he struggled a bit and kept trying) on a good day, but this was not a good day. To compensate for the fact that he had to swoop down, to be cornered by her like a predator cornering it's prey, his eyes narrowed and they went cold, hard, calculating. If that was what she thought of them, of him. . . He shook his head, to clear the thought and her onslaught.
His mouth opened as if to speak, but nothing came out. Weak, stupid, scared. He was always weak, stupid, and scared. Always. In an attempt to shed that skin, to shed what he really felt, he wrapped the barbed phrases around him like a child wrapped in a blanket of love, of safety.
Finally, the words and sentiments aligned themselves and he spat out, violently throwing the hurtful phrases back at her. "Things like me?" he growled, his eyes hurt and angry and stone cold at the same time. "It's you who are the things, the machines! You think I haven't lost friends? Haven't gripped their hand (his hands tightened around the seat of the airplane and his arms tensed as he wanted to throttle her, to do anything to stop her from talking) - as a little kid - when you ruthless monsters ripped the life out of my buddies?! You think I - we - don't hide away, don't cower, from you? It's a game of cat and mouse, and you, my dear, are the cat in all rights. We may be mice spun into dragons, but we're still mice! How many times do I have to change the place I live in during a month. Come on, take a guess. You seem to be so mighty and you think so much of your stupid deadly karate skills and knife wielding skills and whatever else you get taught at you little academy. But you don't think, not a moment, about us."
Jasper's furious breathing joined hers and there was a moment of silence before she started speaking more softly. Probably not wanting to keep yelling, to cause a scene. Probably wanting to play the good guy and he the bad guy. It was always the bad guy for those like him. And always the good guy for those like her. Always.
Cecile's eyes kept him in place and he stood up in his seat, pushing against the hold she held on him, trying to get some air as he took up a big amount during the time the ball was on his court and he hit it back, a part of him hoping, hoping, that she was also hurting.
Not revealing too much but still answering her last question , he said in a much more staid, but still very angry, tone, "Yes, I know where the supernatural went. Not like I have much of a choice with you babysitting my every move. As for your first question, aren't we all hiding something? We could make a deal. One of your secrets for mine. Maybe you could tell me about your training. Or the location of all the headquarters of those you work for. Perhaps you'd like to tell me about your family, or, wait, did a 'monster' kill them too?" Without giving her time to answer, Jasper continued. "Hm, I thought not. After all, you can't trust me to pry into your life, can you? So then I can't trust you to pry into mine."
Once again looking away, he met the eyes of the purple haired man, of Boss, and saw pity in the depths of them. Another wave of the anger and pain he felt at Cecile's little speech poured into him and he met her stern and determined eyes, wishing, that despite the argument, they could just get the hell off this metal bird and get out of here, out of Boss's range of vision.
