[ david's relentless, and this time it's making evan's life an actual hell. the constant attempts to make the neck wounds worse are succeeding; there's blood, too much blood, and it's getting everywhere. it's even sapping the rage as the loss sets in, making his already pain-addled brain even less focused.
but the instinct to win is as strong for him as it is for david - more they have in common that neither one probably wants to acknowledge. he makes an effort to hurl his entire body weight on david, crush him down and choke him out with an arm across the throat while he tries and fails to stem the blood from his neck. no chance of doing it with the agonizing tear in his shoulder, which isn't helping.
his other arm almost has feeling back, but it still won't obey him well enough. too sluggish. too much pain when he moves the shoulder at all. so he just lets that one go for now and tries to bear the brunt of all of david's attacks as he tries with everything he has to crush david's throat, which probably isn't going to be as successful as he'd like. ]
[ evan is a heavy guy, it means that once he's bearing down on him, david has no hope of throwing him off. at least not without changing his focus from trying to kill this fucking man, which isn't likely to happen. at the very least he needs evan to pass out to have a hope of leaving here alive. to say nothing of the need to win this that feels like fire in his veins, blood roaring in his ears that sounds like the cheers and yells of a drunken crowd or an angry wind whipping down an alley. ]
[ david wheezes under the weight of the arm across his neck, tries to get one of his hands under it to push back, take at least a little of the pressure off. he coughs, eyes blurred and watery, sputtering out a laboured curse between gritted teeth. ]
[ he reaches out with his other hand, grabs at trapper's throat. at first like he plans to simply try and choke him in return, but he quickly changes tack to try for something more effective, dragging his fingers over blood-slick skin to find those stab wounds and, well. jam his fingers into them. ]
[ one of the things evan's always been good at is not showing when he's losing. it's won him a lot of fights in his life. if he just keeps throwing himself at the problem, keeps swinging, keeps killing, nobody will suspect how close he is to having no choice but to give up.
but david's good at that, too, or so he's found. and so he has no idea if he's a dead man here, or if david is.
he bears down on david only for david's fingers to find the bloody wounds at his throat and digging in and wrenching and the noise he makes isn't angry because it isn't human. or maybe it's exclusively human - the sound of pain in a throat that's being mutilated by force. his other arm still isn't working right, so he can't stop him, can't yank him away.
his only other option is to push away, freeing david but also freeing himself. he hits the far wall and sits against it, grabbing at his bleeding throat, breathing in an unhealthy bubbling way. and watching david with a look somewhere between sheer murderous rage and seriously pissed-off disbelief. ]
[ david might not be bleeding nearly as much, but he's taken a hell of a beating. when evan pushes off him, he just lays there for a minute without any imminent threat to spur him on, sucking in heaving breaths. something in his chest rattles and david winces, grosns as he resists the urge to just curl in on himself and pass out. ]
[ he staggers to his feet, fighting posture but it's sluggish, hunched in that way that suggests there's some real damage hiding under the surface. ]
[ and then his eyes find evan sitting against the wall and something in him kind of - deflates. without the immediacy of the fight, he's suddenly aware of just how badly he wanted to kill him in the moment. of blood all over him that isn't his and david doesn't know how to process that. not that he ever thought he was a good man, but at least he never-- ]
C'mon-- You're not dyin' are you?
[ kind of a dick thing to say if not for the edge of disbelief in his tone. part of him honestly wants trapper to just get up like this is just some temporary problem and that's. weird. it's weird. ]
[ if he was clearer-headed, he'd see the way david almost gives up, or at least loses the fury, just by seeing him down. it might make him think, make him wonder just how much hatred is really there ... but he's blinded by fury and blood and a darkness seeping in from the edges.
is he dying? it wouldn't be the first time, here, and not even the first time at the hands of a survivor, but it would be the first time at david's hands. it's infuriating every time. he's not supposed to be able to die to anyone else. he's better than them. all of them. and yet, here is, on the floor, with david above him and his throat almost cut.
he snarls, a wheezing noise at this point, and curls the fingers of his recovering hand into a fist. ]
No one - dies - here.
[ strictly speaking. he can feel himself regenerating, just a little, but it won't keep up with what david's been doing. evan braces himself for another attack, ready to let himself bleed out if it means taking david with him. it's not a win, but at least it's not a win for david, either. ]
[ amazing how, in the cocktail of weird and uncomfortable emotions david is feeling, he still manages to sound impatient and annoyed. ]
[ but still, david gets down on a knee — out of immediate arms' length, but close enough he can look properly at evan. a frown on his face, but still... not exactly concern or anything like it, but an expression that suggests he's not exactly happy with this situation. ]
You want me-- [ he looks around, eyes fall on the cleaver where it fell near the door, and frowns thoughtfully. ] I could finish it.
[ it's an offer, one he feels uncertain about and fully expects to be turned down, but still. he's not just gonna pick it up and start hacking the guy to pieces, even if it would be extremely justified in his opinion. ]
[ he wasn't expecting david to stay back. he was expecting the same thing he would give: a beatdown, an execution, a deathblow or five to make sure david didn't get back up. he was fully expecting david to at least try to cave his skull in, but here they are, practically at eye level.
he might respect that kind of death. might. and yet when david outright offers to kill him, it spurs the fury and he manages to find the strength in him to lunge again, but it's got half the strength of before even if he is aiming to lock his blood-covered hand over david's throat and bear him down to the ground.
it'd take more effort than he might be willing to expend to break david's neck here and now, but he glowers, teeth grit, eyes blazing, throat bleeding, as he tries to get david down.
it's about as close as a fuck you as he's going to get in this state. ]
[ that's more or less the response he expected, yeah. ]
[ it's not exactly hard to catch david, not in the state he's in, but that doesn't mean he's got no fight left in him. his back hits the ground, knocks something else loose that he can't afford to waste time thinking about. it propels him right back where he was before, kill or be killed. this time he reaches for the hand at his throat, grabs for evan's thumb to pull it back, break it so he can't keep a grip. ]
[ tries to push him off at the same time, bucks and shoves to try and get evan away from him, so he can roll out from under him and get away. if he wants to bleed out like a stuck pig then so fucking be it. ]
[ a broken thumb is something he can deal with. it hurts like hell, but it isn't new. he shoves down, forces his hand against david's own hand and his throat, and makes a another terrible noise as his thumb strains and just about breaks as david tries to wrench himself free.
given the circumstances, evan's not in any position to actually hold him down. not with his strength rapidly bleeding out through the gouged holes in his throat. david forces him off and evan hits the floor again heavily, and this time it's not as easy to get up. he manages to push himself up halfway at least, watching david, not helpless by any means but in no place to defend himself against a few well-placed kicks.
but he also can't stop david from running. at this point, he'll never catch up. the only risk left is the traps. ]
[ david staggers to his feet a second time, it's harder this time, and he halfway considers just taking trapper's head and bashing it against the floor until it caves. stomping it instead maybe. but he remembers trapper's cleaver, where he'd dropped it, how he'd thought moments ago it would be a mercy to take it and kill him quick. ]
[ it's slow moving, david dragging himself toward the doorway of the workshop to pick it up. it feels both wrong and yet very right in the moment as he curls his fingers around the cleaver's handle, grip tight. secure. he turns, walks back with careful, deliberate steps to offset the way his body lists to the side, the slight limp. expression set in a hard line, not much anger but more... resolution. should've just done this to begin with instead of being a pussy about it. offering because he didn't want to make the choice himself, what a crock of shit. his father-- ]
You're right. Shoulda just done this without makin' a thing of it.
[ maybe he's stalling a little, but it's not real. not in any way that matters. and like fuck should he feel off about killing some bastard who's killer him how many hundreds of times. he sucks in a breath, and unless evan stops him somehow, david intends to make it quick but by no means painless. swinging down at him-- at his neck, his head. however many blows it takes for him to die finally. ]
[ he watches david pick up his cleaver. his weapon. and then david turns to him, his expression locked into something dark. not gloating, not furious, just ... dead certain, because one of them's about to be dead. and evan knows who it's going to be.
it should make him angrier, but the blood loss means the rage is draining. what's left in its place isn't much. just emptiness. just the realization that he got bested, again, by a fucking survivor, in his own place. and now with his own weapon.
he doesn't say anything. just glares, all the fury left in him clear on his face. there's no way to really stop david, but -
evan tries to block the blade with his good hand, which just means it gets split before the cleaver makes its way to his neck. grabbing the blade doesn't do much good because it's a powerful weapon, designed to kill, and that means even his burned and broken skin isn't immune to it. eventually, there's enough of a slash to bleed him out, and he slowly sinks the rest of the way to the floor to die. or at least come close.
and the anger's still there, clinging to his features, the whole time he goes. ]
[ david doesn't stop hacking until he's sure there's no life left in the man below him. until the spray of blood and crunch of bone and flesh stops even registering to his conscious mind, all just background to this. and when he's sure it's done, david just... stands there for a minute. through the mess, the rage on evan's face is still clear, and something about that makes david huff out a grim, tired breath of a laugh. how many times has he died with a similar look on his own face? especially out here, outside the trials where the fear of death isn't quite so pervasive. ]
[ weird, that. dying doesn't feel so real outside the trials, but apparently killing does. or maybe it's just because he's never done it before. david wonders if it's like this for everyone, the way he feels nauseous and electric at the same time. his hands are shaking, something he only notices when he drops the cleaver in the dirt next to evan's body, and that too makes him want to laugh. ]
[ he sits — falls, almost —against the wall, next to the body. heavy breaths that rattle and wheeze in his chest as he pulls his knees up, rests his elbows on them and puts his head in his hands while he tries to get his shit together before he drags his way back to camp. or maybe he'll just sit here and dissociate for a year. ]
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no subject
but the instinct to win is as strong for him as it is for david - more they have in common that neither one probably wants to acknowledge. he makes an effort to hurl his entire body weight on david, crush him down and choke him out with an arm across the throat while he tries and fails to stem the blood from his neck. no chance of doing it with the agonizing tear in his shoulder, which isn't helping.
his other arm almost has feeling back, but it still won't obey him well enough. too sluggish. too much pain when he moves the shoulder at all. so he just lets that one go for now and tries to bear the brunt of all of david's attacks as he tries with everything he has to crush david's throat, which probably isn't going to be as successful as he'd like. ]
no subject
[ david wheezes under the weight of the arm across his neck, tries to get one of his hands under it to push back, take at least a little of the pressure off. he coughs, eyes blurred and watery, sputtering out a laboured curse between gritted teeth. ]
[ he reaches out with his other hand, grabs at trapper's throat. at first like he plans to simply try and choke him in return, but he quickly changes tack to try for something more effective, dragging his fingers over blood-slick skin to find those stab wounds and, well. jam his fingers into them. ]
no subject
but david's good at that, too, or so he's found. and so he has no idea if he's a dead man here, or if david is.
he bears down on david only for david's fingers to find the bloody wounds at his throat and digging in and wrenching and the noise he makes isn't angry because it isn't human. or maybe it's exclusively human - the sound of pain in a throat that's being mutilated by force. his other arm still isn't working right, so he can't stop him, can't yank him away.
his only other option is to push away, freeing david but also freeing himself. he hits the far wall and sits against it, grabbing at his bleeding throat, breathing in an unhealthy bubbling way. and watching david with a look somewhere between sheer murderous rage and seriously pissed-off disbelief. ]
no subject
[ he staggers to his feet, fighting posture but it's sluggish, hunched in that way that suggests there's some real damage hiding under the surface. ]
[ and then his eyes find evan sitting against the wall and something in him kind of - deflates. without the immediacy of the fight, he's suddenly aware of just how badly he wanted to kill him in the moment. of blood all over him that isn't his and david doesn't know how to process that. not that he ever thought he was a good man, but at least he never-- ]
C'mon-- You're not dyin' are you?
[ kind of a dick thing to say if not for the edge of disbelief in his tone. part of him honestly wants trapper to just get up like this is just some temporary problem and that's. weird. it's weird. ]
no subject
is he dying? it wouldn't be the first time, here, and not even the first time at the hands of a survivor, but it would be the first time at david's hands. it's infuriating every time. he's not supposed to be able to die to anyone else. he's better than them. all of them. and yet, here is, on the floor, with david above him and his throat almost cut.
he snarls, a wheezing noise at this point, and curls the fingers of his recovering hand into a fist. ]
No one - dies - here.
[ strictly speaking. he can feel himself regenerating, just a little, but it won't keep up with what david's been doing. evan braces himself for another attack, ready to let himself bleed out if it means taking david with him. it's not a win, but at least it's not a win for david, either. ]
no subject
[ amazing how, in the cocktail of weird and uncomfortable emotions david is feeling, he still manages to sound impatient and annoyed. ]
[ but still, david gets down on a knee — out of immediate arms' length, but close enough he can look properly at evan. a frown on his face, but still... not exactly concern or anything like it, but an expression that suggests he's not exactly happy with this situation. ]
You want me-- [ he looks around, eyes fall on the cleaver where it fell near the door, and frowns thoughtfully. ] I could finish it.
[ it's an offer, one he feels uncertain about and fully expects to be turned down, but still. he's not just gonna pick it up and start hacking the guy to pieces, even if it would be extremely justified in his opinion. ]
no subject
he might respect that kind of death. might. and yet when david outright offers to kill him, it spurs the fury and he manages to find the strength in him to lunge again, but it's got half the strength of before even if he is aiming to lock his blood-covered hand over david's throat and bear him down to the ground.
it'd take more effort than he might be willing to expend to break david's neck here and now, but he glowers, teeth grit, eyes blazing, throat bleeding, as he tries to get david down.
it's about as close as a fuck you as he's going to get in this state. ]
no subject
[ it's not exactly hard to catch david, not in the state he's in, but that doesn't mean he's got no fight left in him. his back hits the ground, knocks something else loose that he can't afford to waste time thinking about. it propels him right back where he was before, kill or be killed. this time he reaches for the hand at his throat, grabs for evan's thumb to pull it back, break it so he can't keep a grip. ]
[ tries to push him off at the same time, bucks and shoves to try and get evan away from him, so he can roll out from under him and get away. if he wants to bleed out like a stuck pig then so fucking be it. ]
no subject
given the circumstances, evan's not in any position to actually hold him down. not with his strength rapidly bleeding out through the gouged holes in his throat. david forces him off and evan hits the floor again heavily, and this time it's not as easy to get up. he manages to push himself up halfway at least, watching david, not helpless by any means but in no place to defend himself against a few well-placed kicks.
but he also can't stop david from running. at this point, he'll never catch up. the only risk left is the traps. ]
no subject
[ it's slow moving, david dragging himself toward the doorway of the workshop to pick it up. it feels both wrong and yet very right in the moment as he curls his fingers around the cleaver's handle, grip tight. secure. he turns, walks back with careful, deliberate steps to offset the way his body lists to the side, the slight limp. expression set in a hard line, not much anger but more... resolution. should've just done this to begin with instead of being a pussy about it. offering because he didn't want to make the choice himself, what a crock of shit. his father-- ]
You're right. Shoulda just done this without makin' a thing of it.
[ maybe he's stalling a little, but it's not real. not in any way that matters. and like fuck should he feel off about killing some bastard who's killer him how many hundreds of times. he sucks in a breath, and unless evan stops him somehow, david intends to make it quick but by no means painless. swinging down at him-- at his neck, his head. however many blows it takes for him to die finally. ]
no subject
it should make him angrier, but the blood loss means the rage is draining. what's left in its place isn't much. just emptiness. just the realization that he got bested, again, by a fucking survivor, in his own place. and now with his own weapon.
he doesn't say anything. just glares, all the fury left in him clear on his face. there's no way to really stop david, but -
evan tries to block the blade with his good hand, which just means it gets split before the cleaver makes its way to his neck. grabbing the blade doesn't do much good because it's a powerful weapon, designed to kill, and that means even his burned and broken skin isn't immune to it. eventually, there's enough of a slash to bleed him out, and he slowly sinks the rest of the way to the floor to die. or at least come close.
and the anger's still there, clinging to his features, the whole time he goes. ]
no subject
[ weird, that. dying doesn't feel so real outside the trials, but apparently killing does. or maybe it's just because he's never done it before. david wonders if it's like this for everyone, the way he feels nauseous and electric at the same time. his hands are shaking, something he only notices when he drops the cleaver in the dirt next to evan's body, and that too makes him want to laugh. ]
[ he sits — falls, almost —against the wall, next to the body. heavy breaths that rattle and wheeze in his chest as he pulls his knees up, rests his elbows on them and puts his head in his hands while he tries to get his shit together before he drags his way back to camp. or maybe he'll just sit here and dissociate for a year. ]