running with wolves (III)
talk
There's that strange sensation taking over again; she knows it's there, like a lucid dream. But she doesn't exactly process the information. It's raw and unnerving, but Argent doesn't question the circumstances; she just wants the results. So when sheer instinct to hunt overtakes her, she doesn't question it; her hands clench and are wrung like fruit rinds in her excitement, in the adrenaline. There's sweat glazing her brow and it's like everything around her blurs along the edges. Argent's feet take the brunt of her brutal landing, ground vibrating with the force she used to keep her position locked and on the defense. She doesn't know how, but she knows that he's been here; eyes are peeled back, vividly taking in every inch of her surroundings, and she's suddenly aware just how humid it is, or how the cold seems to penetrate her skin like icy daggers. Not too far off from the facility; she hadn't been flying too long, less than a minute. He couldn't have gone far. She's no tech-genius at all, but Argent isn't at all stupid. She notices things, little things. Surely that darn suit operates on something. Teleporting a few meters away didn't equate to teleporting to a whole new location; he couldn't have gone far.
—so then where could he have gone?!
Her frustration seeps through the cracks of her teeth, grinding themselves together as her jaw clenches. The air is utterly cold and, perhaps it's her spontaneous hypersensitivity to everything right now, it's also starting to get wet. It smells like mud and grime and bloody despair. More out of habit than outright emotion, she rubs her arms thoroughly, to the point where she's close to scratching her chipped nails onto her skin just from the irritation alone. Gravel crunches under her platforms, and she looks behind her to measure the distance she's flown from the warehouse to here: around 220 meters. Two American football fields. "—tch! You've got to be bloody kidding me, right now..." She looks towards the horizon, darkened by the midnight hue of the skies above. Perhaps she underestimated the teleportation bit. There's nothing but trees here; the forest. Though not dense by any means, it's still too much for a small-town girl like her. Fingers are twitching, and her nerves are going haywire. This feeling, this blinding instinct refuses to go away, making the hair on her back stand upright and her teeth baring themselves. She tries to ignore that she wants to cover her ears.
She hears them, in her head! Voices… too many voices!
Hunt… seek… destroy...
She tries to hum out the noise, tries to ignore them, just like she's always done. It doesn't even work marginally. "I can —nngh!— find him myself! I don't need help from them, I don't need help from the police, and I don't need help from you!" Ah, if only her father could see her now.
How happy he would be, wouldn't he?
Argent grits her teeth, and she stomps a heavy boot. "For bloody's sake! Where are you, eh?!" And then like a snap of the fingers, the air freezes and everything goes deadly silent. Only the sound of her battering heart ramming into the small confines of her chest ripples through her ear drums; nevermind the sprinkling, or the tree branch cracking, or the hum of a xenothium tube working through the belt of a suit. A lone voice echoes through her mind, and her pupils constrict, almost vanishing into the pure red of her irises, and her body stiffens.
Turn around!
Argent heeds that very command, head nearly crackling from her self induced whiplash.
He's crouching on branch, blending in with the leaves; a sight that would have been hilarious. Maybe. If she hadn't been so angry. And if he wasn't watching her like some insect.
Argent blinks; a few moments later, her mouth sets into a very grim line. Her fists clench, but she doesn't move quite yet. She can't see too well, the rush of adrenaline and instinct and possibly power having waned considerably after her little outburst. She wonders if he's laughing at her behind that stupid mask, if that narrow of his slits-for-eyes means he's cackling or something. It can't possibly be focus or determination or studying. She's fully convinced he sees her as nothing more than a pesky fly.
She has him pegged.
"Lighten up there, Sterling," he holds his hands in mock surrender; Argent hunches forward ever so slightly; she seriously doesn't want this guy to move despite appearances. "All you Titans sure do have a stick up your—"
"It's Argent, and I'm not—" she grinds out, inducing pain to her jaw, but she cuts herself off as soon as she realizes that he's avoided calling her name appropriately rather purposefully. "Whatever. What's your bloody problem, anyway?"
He has the (pseudo?) decency to look somewhat taken aback. Not that the girl believes him for even a second. Slowly, he lowers his hands. And yet, for someone who's donned in nothing but obscurity head to toe, he somehow exudes a lot of emotion. It's unnerving. "I think that should be my line. Didn't know the little band of merry heroes were recruiting lunatics." The word is emphasized, mocking. Like he's about to chuckle. Like it's bloody funny…
She sucks in a sharp breath at that. He heard her little outburst. She clicks her tongue and narrows her eyes, gathering plasma.
"Woah there, girl. Ease it. Just poking some fun, no need to get so serious."
"Don't bloody patronize me!"
He doesn't even look remotely bothered by her thinly veiled threat. Amused, if anything. "Just making conversation. Chill already."
That has her almost sputtering; it's enough for her to turn off the plasma and widen her eyes, incredulous at his shameless prodding. She knows he doesn't take her seriously, there's no need to rub it all over her darn face. She shakes her head after a moment, resuming her defensive position. If he's not commencing any sort of attack, then she would do the same and at the very least defend herself; no need to throw a fit where it isn't needed. "Why exactly should I listen to you?" She has to keep a level head.
"You don't have to do anything."
Well, he's right in that respect. "Had a change of heart?" she spits out venomously, sarcastic. "Going to return what you stole?"
"You're going to have to be more specific there. I've stolen a plethora of things." He says this like he's bragging; like he's utterly proud and wants a golden star or something. Argent voices this thought to him. "What? From you? Not exactly sure if I'm into goth chicks, but I'm sure we can work something—"
She wants to punch him right in his stupid mug; she's still on the defensive though, and she's much too cautious to fully trust him to move forward. Actually, now come to think of it… "Well?"
Red X seems quite confused; as much as a costumed hyper-thief can look anyway. "… Well what? You want to do it now?"
She ignores the heat of her cheeks and the sheer gross indignation that wells up in her throat. Argent summons a very deep growl. "Don't… don't 'well what' me!" she ignores his light scoff and his rude commentary —wow. Okay mother— "Why are you just standing there?! Why aren't you attacking or running away, eh?!" She expects him to falter, to pause, to do… something.
Not respond with: "Why aren't you attacking me is the real question here, sterling."
It's her that is left like the bumbling fool, blinking and mouth slightly agape as she glances down to her fists, as if questioning why there isn't any plasma bleeding through. She looks to thief, like student who doesn't know the answer to the mathematics question. Waiting for a —aha! I'm joking!— or a —PSYCH!— or just something from him that's never coming, Argent sheepishly rubs her fingers, offering nothing more than a terse, jerky shrug. "I… ah…. I was going to… but you just— you just wouldn't stop talking and—"
"Ahh," he says, fingers tapping to his chin as he looks almost wistfully to the side, "… putting the blame on the thief for not doing your job. I understand."
"That's not what I—! I just… I just— I have standards you know!" She's not going to go on a bloody rampage for a thief of all things! What nonsense is he dribbling?
"Mm. Right. Standards you and your lot—" he does a gesture with his hand as if waving off a pesky insect, "will gladly chuck away when it's convenient. Just like what you were about to do a couple of minutes ago."
Where the bloody heck did that come from? "Is there a point to this?" she grits through her teeth, jaw clenched again.
"I don't know; why don't you tell me?" He's just making fruitless conversation as it seems. "I'm just pointing out what you did no less than a few moments ago. Doesn't exactly look good on your end to preach on that ungodly high soapbox of yours."
All I said was bloody 'standards'! One word, and now he's on some… some… self appointed lecture? She doesn't know what this guy is on, where he's coming from, where he's going, or where he even wants to end up. She's at a total loss, and frankly, she doesn't know how to begin. But her anger and irritation, unlike the voices, do not subside. If anything, she's more defensive, and her stance reflects that; hunched shoulders, planted feet, grit teeth, a shadow looming over her eyes like death. "So it that what this is? Are we really discussing morale here?! Are you that much of a sore loser that you can't even face up to what you've done? Just because you've been caught?!" Is this guy for real? "You really shouldn't preach to me about preaching; don't dish out what you can't even begin to understand, X."
"Oooh; getting personal are we? Did my words rub you the wrong way? Are you easily that triggered, sterling? Relax," —and wait, what? "You take life way too seriously; I swear, if it isn't one hero, it's the whole bunch of them," he shakes his head; none of that hostility reflecting onto his gestures or tone. It's baffling. Is he really just… tooling with her? "Robin's uptight moral compass is barely something I can stand to hear, but now this—"
At the mention of Robin, her eyes narrow. "What about Robin? What? Your little magic tricks aren't enough to impress the best?"
And, at this, Red X begins to laugh.