A Quiet Plan to Die

April 05, 2015:

Hawkgirl and Green Lantern briefly spar; afterwards, she takes him to her ship.

The Watchtower


NPCs: None.


Mood Music: [*\# None.]

Fade In…

Training Room: (If that's what one could call it.)

The open space was lined with weaponry fitting for those who bear the Shield insignia. Their infultration into the station that was abandoned months ago by the true heads left their mark as various weaponry emblaizoned with the insignia littered the wall. The ground itself made of mahogany wood, shined to perfection yet marred with scuff marks of tennis shoes of those who came to train that day.

Even if you're a tech, you still had to learn to hold your own in the field.

The walls there weren't made of wide, but had a special padding to protect a body from being thrown, along with punching bags and speed bags, anything to make exercising and training complete was there. There was even a stereo system in place, adding music to the fire that the souls would let out even if they thrashed with a friend or a common work rival.

Shayera takes her place in the middle, wearing a pair of sweats and a tank top, Wing Chun dummy placed in the middle as she follows form to form with various twists of her wrists; there was nothing elaborate about it, just a going through the motions and restarting once she realizes she had her form wrong, or the twist that went awry, or a plant of her foot that slips.

She must have been in this state for hours, her back drenched with sweat, wings hung low at a slight droop which is their forgotten state, hair pressed to her cheek with a stop and straighten of her back to twist and turn to work out the kinks.
Hal Jordan had decided to get some work-out in while he was around HQ. After all, it was free and he was tired of paying money for a gym membership just so he could watch a bunch of housewives run on the treadmill. Okay, maybe that part wasn't so bad, but the music was friggin' horrendous. If he heard that Coldplay douchebag one more goddamn time…

He's clad in a pair of dark green track pants, a white wife-beater, sneakers. His wrists are taped, the green ring of power gleaming on his right hand as he makes his way in. He sees Shayera working and pauses at the doorway, watching.

She's impressive, of course, and better than him, undeniably. He learned to throw a punch pretty well, when he was young, between boxing and his Air Force training, but he was a flyer, not a grunt. "Ouch, that dummy must've really pissed you off."

Shayera was a real Pa-Rappa-the Rapper; she kicked, punched, ducked and twirled, only stopping once her ears catch the sound of the approach. Surely, whomever it was continued to watch, and she continued to move until he spoke up. There was a slight tilt to her head as she glances towards him, a slight smirk drawn upon her features as she gives him a shake of her head. "The dummy has done nothing but do as a dummy will." Stay still, get hit. Don't move.

She doesn't return to the little fight between her and the upright wood, but she does step away with a slight flap of her wings to bring cool air to the area as she wanders towards the towel wrack, snatching it from the spine to wrap around her neck, using the ends to lightly pat her face with a slight sigh. "You can use it if you wish. I am almost done here."

For all intents and purposes, Shayera was nice. But in her own way, few saw to that.
Hal Jordan smiles, "I don't imagine I'll put up much of a show, after that. But I did come here to work out," he says. He makes his way up to the dummy, rolling his neck for a moment, and starts to spar with it. He's all punching, not bothering with kicks. He never got into the chop-socky shit. Like his father before him, he boxed and he was all fists, throwing some pretty good haymakers then, the muscles in his back and shoulders rippling as he throws straight shots.

He works out pretty heavily, throwing a few bombs, but he might be showing off a little bit for the warrior woman. Kind of comes with the territory, to peacock a little bit. Hal always was a show-off. He even does one of those cartoony wind-ups before throwing one, "I always wanted to do a Three Stooges, poke a guy in the eyes once in a fight…I can probably do that…"

Shayera says nothing, only continuing to blot out the sweat upon her face until she turns to watch him work. There was a little light that had went on within her eyes, her head tilting just so, her bottom lip curling in as her head slowly.. slowly begins to shake. This… this would not do.

The man may be quick on his feet with a few punches to the dummy, but what if he was without the ring that made him all powerful?

Oh Shayera.. Shayera..

She had planned to carve this man out of stone.

With a slow pace towards the corner rack, she reaches for a large bo-staff, drawing it from its place to test the weight and mantra of the wood, bending it a little, giving it a twirl with her small fingers until…

..she sends it sailing right towards the Green Lantern's back. (Of course she knows he's shielded, else she wouldn't have done it.)

As the wood leaves her hand, she strikes out to grab the second staff, only giving a slight turn before she's launching from the ground, her wings threateningly arched, flying at a high swoop with the intent to bring her staff down.

The stave does, indeed, bounce off of his shield, clattering to the floor as he turns and looks over his shoulder, just in time to see her coming down at him. The ring tries to respond in its own kind, weapon and man one in many way, and, instead of the stave of wood that blocks her, a beam of green energy stretches from his hand as he barely catches it just short of his face, holding it steady, his ring-augmented strength likely the only reason she didn't split his nose wide open. That and she gave him the warning shot.

"Bad day?" he asks, with a raised eyebrow, perfectly calm. That was always the infuriating thing about Hal. He didn't sweat much of anything. Part of how he got under the skin of bad guys, too. That smug self-confidence. Of course, it was also the source of his power, so humbling wasn't in hte cards anytime soon. "If you wanted to get my attention, there are easier ways than trying to cave my head in, y'know."

His instincts were impeccable, she almost broke through the barrier and mold and came close enough to cracking him wide open. This, it only made her grin and press further against that beam, her wings flapping erratically until she finds herself landing upon the ground, the angle of the staff still raised as she adjusts her hands to the height of him.

"Of course not." She murmurs, drawing the staff back and away, yet keeping it at the ready.

"You enjoy it." Is all what was said, drawing the staff downward to give him a poke at the belly, nothing vicious, just light and prodding. "You came here for exercise, then let's go. I shall make a real man of you yet."
Hal Jordan laughs, "Oh, you will, will ya?" he says, tossing his staff back and forth a little bit. He'd practiced with these a little, back in the service, although they usually had big pads on the end for training purposes. Giant q-tips, really. This wasn't the same, this was some straight up Robin Hood shit. "And what exactly is a real man, by your definition, then?'

He bounces a bit on his feet, not sure exactly what she has in store for him and knowing he probably can't exactly keep up with some of it. He's a good fighter, for a regular guy, but he's seen enough of Shayera in action to know that she's way beyond his level in this kind of shit.

"I'll show you." Shayera mutters, even though she really couldn't give her definition of a man, she'll try her best to make out what she thinks Hal should be. But she starts, twirling the staff to land in various strikes, aiming high, thrusting low. The assault does not stop, all the while, her advances were strong and poised.

Even though she's aware of his fighting prowess, it doesn't stop her from letting up; taking advantage of that single weakness, even though his ego was hard to shatter.
Hal Jordan mostly just tries to defend, not even thinking about fighting back, and his face forms into concentration as he focuses on the task at hand. He can barely keep her off him, although he definitely takes a blow along the shoulder and one along his ribs, the ring shielding him from the impacts but nonetheless sort of keeping score, a flicker of green energy making it obvious when he takes a hit.

"YOu're definitely showing me what a real woman's like," he grins. "If by real woman you mean bad-ass chick who can probably rip my head off…"

There was a little frustration there, he didn't attack so that she would have a chance to defend, she was the aggressor. As much as she wanted a fight, and a fight right then and there, she couldn't pull it out of him, not like this. But she was winded, her chest heaving slightly, her eyes slightly lidded as she takes a few steps away from him, tossing the staff angrily towards the ground as she takes up the towel that slipped from her shoulders mid-flight.

"Your jokes, your snark, your ego. It is nothing like what anyone should be." She scolds. "You do not fight back, you just take and take and…" For a moment there, it almost seemed as if she were talking about herself.. and she didn't like it one bit. "Get out of my sight. Keep your jokes with the children of the league and step aside as they will in time." She keeps her back to him, pressing the towel into her face to breathe, to stave off that anger that radiates cleanly from her form. Even her wings show off the agitation through little jerks and ruffles of her feathers.
Hal Jordan disippates the staff from his hand, his head cocked at the winged warrior. "I don't fight back because fighting back would leave you an opening to take my head off. I have no illusions about being able to match you in a fight with staves, just as you, surely, would realize you were completely outmatched if I challenged you to a game of pinball," he says. "I take because that's what I can do. I can take the punishment dished out and wait for my opportunity. Weapons don't come in only one shape and size. I used the tools that I've been given and I use them well," he says.

He walks over and grabs a towel from the rack, wiping his face for a moment, "You come at me for a fight, you've got no right to complain about how I fight it. Hell, I could've unleashed on you with the ring, but I didn't, because I figured we're just having a workout. Which doesn't mean I'm eager to let you take my head off or to try a silly swing that would only leave my ribs or my legs open to getting swatted black and blue," he says. "Whatever's going on with you, it isn't about me. So, why don't you just tell me what's eating at you instead of trying to kick my ass?"

Shayera's hand lifts, for a moment, she was going to pluck a feather from her wing to dart it towards his face, but she knew that it wouldn't cut him, and that minor point in pain would have been for moot. She, at the end of the day, really didn't want to fight. But for her to say that outloud would have been a travesty among her people..

Her people…

Her shoulders slump, wings following suit, her gaze lifting back towards him as she begins to walk towards the exit. There was really nothing more for her to say then and there.. not in this room, not where he could see. "Follow me."
Hal Jordan is surprised that she doesn't come at him, frankly. He expected her to get in his face, to continue to challenge him, and probably call him a series of names revolving around the tiny size of his testicles. Instead, she slumps and walks away and he finds himself falling in step behind her. He drapes a towel over his shoulder as he walks, not trying to catch up, just letting her lead where she leads.

There were a series of twists and turns, winds and bends through cooridoors that takes them to the far reaches of the WatchTower.. through a door that opens up into a darkened room, which leaves them both in the vacancy of the area.. or so it seems. With a step aside, and a light brush of his shoulder, the light is tapped and turned on, filtering in the brightness with one row at a time to reveal the ship that he himself rescued them from only months ago.

It hurt for her to look at, proved to be a symbol of sorrow and untapped rage, gazing upon it draws her eyes to burn with that fury, her back soon turned towards it and her head hung slightly in failure. Does she need to say more to cement this? To revive his memory of that night? Her own?

She hopes not, but she figures he was smart enough to gain why she left herself in a modicum of perpetual anger.
Hal Jordan nods softly. He doesn't fully understand, of course. What he knows of Thanagarian culture is spotty, what is known to outsiders - the hawk warriors weren't exactly chatty and their rituals and cultural norms weren't that well known beyond their own. Even the few who had been part of the Corps over the years were tight-lipped about their homeworld.

He looks at the ship for a long moment and then looks over at Shayera, "They betrayed you. Tried to kill you. They deserve your anger, yes. But you cannot keep tormenting yourself about it. It won't make anything better. You did what you thought was right. You did your best. Can't ask for more of yourself."

Her wing lifts as soon as he speaks, curling around herself so much that her body remains hidden. Even from there, there was a slight sniffle heard, her hands pressing her face as she lets loose those few, quiet sobs, her shoulders bouncing briefly that allows her wings to shake, a deep breath taken as she draws herself back to a moment where everything was normal. Her hands, taking the tears with her, her back still remained, her arms crossing along her chest as she takes a slight step side again to press her hand against the wall, which was soon curled into a fist.

"No. I can't." She admits quietly, her head pressing against the wall as she draws in another breath, her eyes closing, her fist rearing back to unleash a punch, hard as she could muster, dead into the center of the wall that causes the metal to dent and cave. "But I can ask for their lives." That was certain. It was coming. And it would be coming soon.

"I can meet them upon their world and toe to toe them til their deaths. To /his/ death.." Her hand, uncurled from the fist, slides down the wall, hovering over the light, but she does not turn it off just yet. "I can kill them all. That is what I can do for myself."
Hal Jordan isn't so bold as to put a hand on her, although he does move to stand just behind her, as if he would reach out and touch her shoulders, just beyond the reach of her wings. He lets her say her piece and nods, "You could do that. It might make you feel better. Of course, there's also a good chance you could die trying. But it's your life. You can risk it as you please. God knows we all do here. And I won't give you some childish lecture about not killing people. I try not to do it, but we've both been soldiers and we both know that sometimes, you have to do what you have to do."

"But," he says, and now he leans against the wall himself, his back to it, "There's another opportunity - here, on Earth, with the League. And that's to take the life that you have and use it to do something good. Something for someone other than yourself. To save lives and make -this- world - the only world you have now - into a better place. I understand the urge for revenge, I really do. I'm not even saying you shouldn't take it, if the opportunity comes. But throwing yourself into the teeth of the enemy, just to prove you can…that doesn't sound like a very good strategy to me."

"So…why don't you wait for your chance? People like that get greedy, they screw up - he'll stick his neck out again and you can keep a watch and make sure you're there to chop it off. In the meantime, it's up to you to find out if anything else can make your life worth living. But don't go putting yourself to the slaughter before giving yourself the chance to find out, one way or another. If that's the only thing that will make it better…then it's still going to be there, in time."

As he stands behind her, her hackles raise, her wings fanning out almost threatening, chittering just enough for them to lower once he stands behind her. She keeps her head pressed to the wall, her head slowly shaking as she glances up towards the ceiling with pursed lips, as if what he said were truly, truly insufferable.

But he had a point, she could lay in wait, protect this world and if news reaches back towards them? So be it. They'll come for her and the Demon Bird, and she would make them p..

"No." She says faithfully, drawing a bit away from the wall as the hand she holds over the light lifts and presses it, so that one by one, the rows of them go dark.

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