5481/Tourney/Black Sky: Old Friends

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Tourney/Black Sky: Old Friends
Date of Scene: 02 October 2018
Location: Kairos
Synopsis: Matt and Elektra end round one with a double concession of defeat; and begin their weekend together.
Cast of Characters: Elektra, Daredevil
Tinyplot: Tourney
Tinyplot2: Black Sky


Elektra has posed:
The fight between Matt and Zeitgeist had been interesting, if short. There hadn't been a clearcut winner, but then again, it wasn't an official bout that the two had entered into. Merely friendly sparring.

Elektra waits until the other is out of any possible hearing, and murmurs, "I wondered if you'd actually come, Matthew. Of all the people walking off of that boat yesterday, yours was the face I was looking for. I thought, perhaps, you'd stay away at the last minute."

She smiles somewhat gently, "I'm glad you came."

Daredevil has posed:
The fight with Zeitgiest had been a good warm up but more than that the talk, helped, it brightened things a little, gave him an appreciation for the long view. So even if he was in agony now, it wasn't forever.

He was both cheered and saddened by it.

Elektra's presense was a thing of less ambivelence. He smiles, like he did when only she was around.

"Thought about staying home, but, in the end, I think I needed to be here."

The smile fades a little at the edges and he lapses into silence, one that said he knew what would happen here and he felt he needed to be there for her if nothing else.

"And more than that I wanted to," he says.

Elektra has posed:
Elektra watches the emotions play over Matt's face. She, too, is saddened, but there isn't much help for it. There never would be a good time. It was only ever going to be 'a better time'.

"So you guessed." It isn't a question. It's clear Matthew knows. "I'd wanted to spare you. Knowing the details, I mean. The other can't be helped. The scenario was just too timely."

She gives him a weak smile. "We're not entirely safe here. But safer than we've been. And I must admit, there's a certain freedom to knowing. But come, we're getting dangerously close to being that sentimental that Stick spat at us." She moves from her perch, and approaches Matt. "There's irony, though. The matches have been made."

Daredevil has posed:
Matt's expression belies the pain of knowing, having it eating away at him and being unable to do anything to stop it. So he keeps smiling.

"I understand," he says, and it was true. He didn't like it but he understood.

As to the later, "Stick was right, and given what we know being sentimental now," his nose scrunches. "Seems like a waste." He smiles again more earnestly, able to capture something of the wildness he had when they first knew each other.

"They have," he says of the matches with an amused turn to his lips. "Who's idea was it that we should fight?"

Elektra has posed:
Even though Matt tries to hide it from her, she knows. She knows Matt better than any living human being, and there is very little he can hide from her. But hashing out the inevitable wouldn't solve anything.

It wasn't that she was happy about any of this, it was merely that she'd made her peace with it already. Now? Now she had nothing left to lose. This weekend was hers, and she intended to enjoy it.

Lithely, Elektra steps nearer, and around Matthew, forcing him to follow her with his body. To keep himself oriented to her. It was very clear that the warmup was beginning.

"I don't know," she admits. "For the sake of fairness, that was all out of my hands. I've no doubt someone may have found it amusing. Or it might merely have been chance."

Her footsteps pause, and she holds position, regarding him.

"It is fitting, don't you think?"

Daredevil has posed:
Matt, and even though he wears the suit, he's Matt right now. Grins as she steps near and around him forcing him to turn with her, keep himself oriented on her.

He chuckles, "So that's how it is huh?" he says of the sudden warmup.

And as for the fight. "Fitting sure, but hardly fair, I'd hate to knock you out of your own tournament," he says stepping into her path with a grin forcing her to turn around him.

Elektra has posed:
Elektra's lips curl over a grin. She's reminded of the first bout they ever had. A reluctant Matthew trying to pretend he had no skills, and was nothing more than the blind everyone saw him for.. and then the moment where he broke, and her world split wide open, allowing one single human to enter into the protective circle she'd carefully cultivated around herself. A circle that even Stick only brushed along the edges of, and he'd been both father and mother to her for more years than the one who had raised her in his home until his death.

"Very much how it is," she laughs softly. "Do you remember? The smell of the canvas?"

She begins to circle again, only this time, there's a feint. A strike never meant to hit, but to gauge his readiness. Easily stepping around him.

Daredevil has posed:
That moment had been a revalation for him as well. All those years since Stick left, pretending to be something he wasn't only to suddenly have someone who knew, who saw who he was, someone he didn't need to pretend around.

He chuckles, hands raising, "And of course I do, why do you think I keep going back there?" he asks. It was one reason anyhow.

Matt knows the feint for what it is and doesn't rise to the bait, his hands stay where they are. His feet on the other hand...

They swing a lazy sweep at her at her legs.

Elektra has posed:
The sweep of legs is also expected. They'd danced this dance too many times to not know each other's salvo's. In some ways this fight was nothing more than old memories revisited, mapped out on the sands of the beach.

"You're as bad as Stick says," Elektra laughs softly as she does a tumble out of the way of that sweep, coming up a small distance away from him, only to take a running line of tumbles towards him. Unlike Fogwell's, they had space here. Some of their moves could expand. This was one of them.

"I remember you denying it. I wondered what it would take to get you to hit me. You thought you were so clever."

Daredevil has posed:
Matt knew she'd dodge the sweep, but he didn't expect the tumbling.

"Guess so," he says adjusting his stance as she tumbles back in towards him. "But that showy bullshit will get you killed," he says in a fair aproximation of Stick's gravely don't give a fuck voice they both knew so well.

"And I was clever," he says shifting his stance.

"I'd been fooling people for more than decade," he throws a push kick at the spot he expects her to finish her tumble.

"Besides, you got me to go for it."

Elektra has posed:
"They were idiots," Elektra says with a grimace as the kick makes contact.

Only she'd been hoping for just such a reaction from the man, grabbing his foot and calf as she takes the blow, falling backwards and taking him with her, intending on rolling back up to her feet, and taking stepping strikes at him.

"Your Stick impression is improving," the woman notes. "You're a fool, boy. Let yourself get mushy over a girl."

Her own imitation isn't as good as Matt's. "True. I did get you."

Daredevil has posed:
Matt grins, "Clearly," he says as she takes the hit.

His grin doesn't last as he's yanked off his feet and suddenly defending himself from his back. He scissors his legs in a circle as he rolls backwards and onto his feet.

"Thanks," he says before flinching. "So's yours... well a little."

"And vice versa as I recall," Matt says his grin returning. "By the way, this count as our fight?" he asks sending a turning kick at her head, too slow to connect.

"Or are we just warming up?"

Elektra has posed:
"I lack the je ne sais quoi to do him justice," Elekra shrugs. "I think he was kinder with you."

Which may only be true. He'd certainly been a harsh taskmaster with Elektra. Leaving her to her own defenses more than once in a definite sink or swim approach to her training. She was certain that she'd surprised him more than once.

At least once.

Elektra's stomps make no contact, but they do force Matt into the defensive. By the time he's on his feet again, she's whipped her hair back into a ponytail, ready for business.

"We've only ever been warming up, Matthew. Our entire lives, leading to this moment." Her hands press together, and she bows to him, in a gesture of respect. "I believe we can begin?"

Daredevil has posed:
"Depends on if you call leaving me as a kid was a kindness," Matt says, but guessing what Elektra's life was like growing up under the guy's tutalage he guessed it might have been.

Matt's training and tests had been more preliminary, but the years that followed had seen Matt put himself into life or death situations he had to get himself out of. It proved instructive.

When they're facing each other, Elektra's hair tied back, Matt nods.

"Way to build this thing up," Matt says with a grin, though despite the joke, he shifts stances, getting ready, steeling himself for Elektra to come at him full on, he knew she didn't do half-measures.

"Alright then, let's begin," Matt says and leaps to close the distance between them kicking high, then landing and following up with a quick flurry of punches, none of them pulled.

Elektra has posed:
"A definite kindness," Elektra says. Even knowing Matt had grown up in orphanages - totally 'unadoptable' with his disability in an age where perfect children were all anyone wanted. "He learned from you, as much as you learned from him. Too soft, he thought you were. You broke him of that, though."

Which might not be entirely true. Stick hadn't killed her, despite her leadership of The Hand. And he'd worked, initially, to find a way to get her free of that. That he'd been unable to hadn't been his fault. It hadn't been anyone's fault.

Matt comes at her, and like him, and his assessment of her, she holds no punches back. His flurry of blows are blocked, each in turn, solid thounks of flesh on flesh, interspersed wtih her own strikes aimed at his vulnerable areas.

Daredevil has posed:
"I'm sorry," he says of 'breaking' Stick of his softness.

He couldn't imagine what that must have been like for her.

Focused on the attack, some of Elektra's blows get through, striking here and there and leaving stinging pain in their wake.

Then stepping back, he swings an uppercut at her to drive her back and follows it up witha spin kick at head level.

He's not holding back either.

Elektra has posed:
Matt's moves are smooth, but it's already been observed that they're a practiced smooth. A rote smooth. An itinerary of smooth. Like the motions of Tai Chi, there is an ebb and a flow to them that is predictable... If you know the man.

And Elektra knows the man.

Just as Matt can sense things about others by their scent, or the beat of their heart, or the faintest sigh or sound they might make, Elektra can read him.

So it is when he comes at her with the uppercut, she takes it, knowing what will follow. Hoping to take advantage of that opening.

What is a surprise is the force of Matt's blow. She knew he was not holding back, but he always has with her. She's never had to take the full brunt of a blow. And these blows are fueled with the anger and sorrow of the futility of their situation - if not a nod of respect to the woman herself.

Still, that blow rocks her, and she almost loses her chance to do a leg sweep of her own against his supporting leg when he takes a kick at her. She barely ducks low enough to avoid that strike, and her own kick at him carries less force than she might otherwise like.

She knows the lay of the land now: this fight isn't for movement into the second round. This fight is all the words he can't say to her over her choice. All the horrible, hurtful, pained things he would say if he could. If they wouldn't make what she has to do harder.

Elektra would have bowed twice as low to him at the start, if she'd known.

Daredevil has posed:
Matt goes to his back on the sand, growls and rolls to his feet.

He hadn't known how angry he was before that uppercut connected. The jarring of it startled him making him easy prey for that sweep.

Though now that he'd fallen he bounced back up in the grip of that anger.

He spits the sand from his mouth then stalks slowly towards her, his hands at his side.

He throws a left, for the time she left him in college.

A right for her killing people.

A right again for leading the Hand.

A left for putting his friends in danger.

Then a kick for all of it. Meant to drive her backwards.

Elektra has posed:
Matt might not have realized how angry he was, but Elektra had. Elektra had, because she'd been there already. It was the same anger that had fueled her first kills. It was the same anger that had her turning her back on her mentor. And the same anger that had driven her, in the end, to make these final decisions, the only things that were truly left to her to call her own.

Matthew's strikes come hard and fast, and while she is a match for him, she isn't a match for that anger. His blows are driven, much as the man himself is. This is the Matthew she's always known lived inside him, the one she'd once foolishly thought to cultivate to killing, and later realized would be a mistake to do so.

The first blow is blocked, but it uncenters her. It's like she can read each and every complaint that comes with the strikes.

She'd not wanted to leave him - there's a solid *thunk* of flesh on flesh that goes bone deep. She'll have a bruise there that will spread well up her forearm if it hasn't also cracked a bone.

The right snaps her head back. She'd have had sorrow for those people, but that had been beaten out of her long ago. If anything, he'd been responsible for changing that. For the actions she'd taken in these most recent months.

The second right she blocks ineffectually - hand coming up, only for his strike to glance off her reply to it, and graze her nose. Not enough to break it, but more than enough to bloody the thing. Her cheekbone bruised by his knuckles. She'd tried, truly she had, to do the right thing. She'd been wrong, and it was foolish of her to not see it at the time. But at the time there hadn't been a Matthew. Or a Stick. All there had been was a future of endless battles. She'd.. been wrong, but she had tried to change the future.

She'd failed.

The left she barely tries to block. She knows now. She can see it in him. He's past seeing this fight. He's mourning, and hurting himself as the only way he knows to move beyond this thing she has done to herself. She understands it, though. She's employed much the same technique. Only the wounds she'd given herself were much more private than this. It had never been Matthew's fault.

The kick drives her backwards, less as a drive, than a stumble before it even nears her. Knowing that it is coming, and knowing that for all intents and purposes, this is the end.

They've met, and it's clear what the outcome is.

Elektra stands there, and regards him, breathing heavily, and making no effort to wipe the smudges of blood from her upper lip. "I'm sorry," is all she says.

Daredevil has posed:
Matt would never admit how much he needed to 'let the devil out'. To just go away and be ruled by his anger, taking it out on the first deserving target until his conscience called a halt just short of that line he'd drawn for himself. The line that divided vigilante and killer, the Devil of Hell's Kitchen and the damned.

Today though on this beach, he feels none of that joy, none of that release. The anger, the frustration, the feel of his fists hitting flesh, but each blow hurts him as much as he imagines it hurts her.

He growls as his kick lands, a frustrated and hopeless noise.

Why didn't he feel better, why wasn't he happy...

He knew the answers, he knew them and had tried to block them out of his mind, but insidiously they crept back in.

In the moment after the kick, he can sense her there, knows he's one, feels her wounds on her, smells the blood he's drawn. Even as he clenches his fist, for a last, leaping, finishing blow, it all makes him sick.

They had what time they had together, and this was how he decided to spend it?

He hesitates. There's an opening for Elektra if she wants it, though a second later the opening in his defenses becomes a chasm and he drops his hand, his left fist unclenching.

"I can't do this," he breathes his voice a rasp of emotion. "I'm not going to end us like this, so, if you want it, take your shot. Ether way, the victory is yours, I concede."

Elektra has posed:
The strike doesn't come, though. She'd already delivered the most telling blow to this man that she could. It doesn't seem necessary to deliver another.

"I'm sorry," Elektra repeats. "I never wanted any of this, Matthew. I never believed there could be an us after all that had gone on. I never believed there was any true future for myself. I can't undo any of this. So, no. I won't take that shot. End this however you like, but I won't accept your defeat."

Daredevil has posed:
Matt was still too angry for forgiveness and understanding he only wanted the pain, his and Elektra's to stop.

What she says first is met with a non-comittal grunt. Then the rest, incredulous disbelief. "You won't-" he begins before anger gets the best of him. "I'm not going to hit you," he says. "So where the hell does that leave us?"

Elektra has posed:
There's a short laugh from Elektra, who now swipes the back of her wrist beneath her nose, catching up the bulk of the congealling blood there, and smearing the rest.

"Where? I don't know, Matthew. I would say you already won. I had thought the implication was clear when I stepped back and said I was sorry."

She had thought he'd understand. Maybe she should have used other words. Only, the apology was all that came to mind. He'd beaten her because of all the hurts she'd given him. I concede had seemed not only uncessary, but crass in the wake of things.

"Take your victory," she says softly. "I have all I need, Matthew. This weekend was never about personal glory."

Daredevil has posed:
Matt stands there hands at his sides. He doesn't laugh, anger has too strong of a grip on him, even if he does see the insanity of their situation.

As to her apology it made sense now, but at the time, full of rage, he didn't see it for what it was. He doesn't say as much but the realzation dawning on his face is plain to see, even with the mask.

Feeling unsure of what to do with his hands, Matt flexes the fingers, lifts then, then let's them fall again. "Fine," he says. "None of us win. That work for you?" he asks, frustration touching his voice.

Elektra has posed:
Elektra tenses momentarily, and prepares to protest. Only the protest dies on her lips as she regards this man she's learned to love, despite all she'd been taught by Stick. Another of those short, helpless laughs escapes her.

"Oh Matthew. Whatever were we thinking? Why couldn't we have been these people so long ago?"

She approaches him, and cups his familiar face, mask and all, within her hands. "None of us win," she agrees, a thumb brushing along his cheekbone, before releasing him. "I'm tried of fighting. I'm tired of too many things I can't change. I don't want to waste the rest of this weekend in arguing."

Daredevil has posed:
Still prickly with anger, Matt still doesn't laugh, but he does, make a slight "Heh."

"Too stubborn I guess," he reasons. "Too full of needing to be right, to win the argument. We were idiots."

All those years wasted battling each other, for what? Now it all seemed so simple, so trivial. It hadn't been, not really in this moment, facing what this weekend held, it seemed that way.

Briefly, he leans into the hand on his face, putting his own dusty and battered hand on hers. "Me too," he says. "Then let's not argue," he says leaning in to kiss her.

Elektra has posed:
"No arguments," Elektra agrees, returning the kiss, knowing she's not won, but neither has she lost. The weekend is theirs, now. And with that, there is freedom. "Come," she tells him, taking his hand, and leading him up the path back to the villa. "Let's get cleaned up. We've wasted enough time."