♦ 001 ; open } { you're walking meadows in my mind, making waves across my time
Bela Talbot is sitting in a cafe in the municipal district of Chicago, sipping a cup of tea. Contrary to popular belief, she's actually work, even though she looks like she's doing absolutely nothing. Stealing something that's adjacent to a government building takes planning, so that is what she's doing. Planning. She's really good at that
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But tonight she decided that enough was enough. There is more than one asshat out there that she is sure deserves a good cementing, and out of nowhere, she is finally ready for it.
She is out patrolling the streets for anyone -- anyone -- who would deserve her gaze, when she sees a -- well, she doesn't know what it is. But it's big and it's throwing a girl and that is enough for Medusa.
It only takes her a moment to scale the thing's back -- after all, it's probably a little distracted, throwing the girl like that -- and try to wrap her legs around his neck.
And then she is pounding with all her might on the very top of the thing's head as if it were a bubble. Not in that she's strong; just that she isn't caring that she isn't.
She just needs to be sure to not bleed. Medusa knows she needs to be very careful about that.
She doesn't even think about turning it to stone yet. It just fees so damn good to beat the shit out of something.
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When she looks up and sees someone beating the troll from the top down? Well, she has to say she's a little impressed. But not too impressed to give her a hand. She bounces back onto feet, dodges around the flailing troll, and reaches for the troll's hammer that happened to have been placed to the side when it decided she was more fun to throw. She picks it up adjusts her grip for the weight, and then swings it right at his back.
Hard.
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And it's a good thing that Buffy's not too impressed to decide on the "not helping Medusa" side of things, because Medusa needs the help, even if she's -- sort of not acknowledging it yet.
She bellows loud and guttural, instinctive, when the troll reaches for her and and tries to pry her from its neck.
Okay, so it doesn't just try.
Soon Medusa is flying along pretty much the same trajectory that Buffy flew. But even as she's flying her fists are clenched, ready for more pummeling. A grin almost makes its way onto her face, and she's on her feet, crouching, as soon as she's able.
"Will it kill us?" She screams it at Buffy, who, she sees, has taken the beast's own weapon and is using it against it. Oh, Medusa likes this girl. Her face does break into a grin at the sight of that, and at the monster's sudden howl.
She could end this in a second -- and it's seeming like strength might not be enough to bring the thing down -- but she is Medusa, and she needs to be sure. She'll wait for Buffy's answer before attempting to add the newest statue to Chicago's streets.
... Huh. She hopes her gaze still actually works.
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She uses a plastic crate as a stepping stone to launch herself up, trying to aim for a shot to the head before she glances back at her co-pilot in this troll battle. "Why?"
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Damn.
Okay, so not straight for the kill, then. Medusa steps back for a moment, thinking, and for all the world probably looking like she's just enjoying the sights and ready to leave Buffy to her fate. But then she leans down, bringing down her head and launching herself at the thing's knee, doing her best to hit it mostly with her shoulder rather than her head. If she can at least bring it down, if even for a moment, maybe she can ... talk to it?
It's worth a shot.
Medusa's going in for her second hit at the thing's legs before she hollers her answer back to Buffy. It makes sense in her head, really.
"Because I don't want to kill it unless it will eat us!"
Eat, kill, whatever. Same difference, really. Besides, her head ... kind of hurts.
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The headshot hurt and makes the troll bellow more, and combined with the knee, it stumbles a bit, but it's still mostly on it's feet and not looking to go down easy.
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But won't stop, either.
Which means if they don't bring it down, it will continue in this fashion throughout the city. This is unacceptable.
However, also not being certain is unacceptable as well.
Medusa runs away from the thing, estimating the distance needed as best she can, then launches herself toward it, scaling up to its front this time. She tries desperately to hold onto its neck while trying to make eye contact. If she gets enough balance, she might try smacking it -- hard -- to get its attention.
She yells as clearly and slowly as she can. "If you calm down, we will let you live!"
Medusa really hopes this works.
But she's guessing she's more likely to have every bone in her body shattered than she is to get an answer.
Still. Somehow, she has hope. The knowledge of that is almost worth all the imminent bone-breaking.
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She takes the hammer, shuffles so that she's aiming for the back of the knees and swings.
Hard.
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Then the instant is over, she is grabbed, brought to the front of the troll's mouth -- not a very happy place, that -- and bellowed at.
And then she's flying again. When she hits the ground, she hears what seems like a crunch, but maybe it isn't, because she can feel no pain as she slowly stands. Then she unconsciously flexes her hands. Ouch. Okay, so maybe her hand might be broken. But just a little.
... It'll heal fine on its own. At least she's not bleeding, thank the gods. Dirty, a bit scraped up, bruised, but no actual bleeding.
She watches, almost detached, as the other girl bashes one of the thing's legs. There is a very loud crunch this time, and Medusa thinks, Good.
But then it howls in pain, and her heart clutches.
She closes her eyes, making sure that she is aiming at the thing's face, and not the girl trying to fight it. She opens her eyes, and focuses. It takes less than a second to call the fire up and through her gaze.
The troll freezes. Slowly turns dark gray. It is stone.
Medusa collapses to the ground, exhausted. She sits cross-legged, cradling her injured hand to her chest. She looks at the friend who was fighting with her.
Yes, friend. Anyone who fights at Medusa's side instantly becomes a friend. A sister.
"You did well," she calls to her. "Were you used to this kind of thing before coming here?"
Medusa assumes the girl is a wanderer. She still doesn't know much about the angels, but she can't really see them as being suited to these particular kinds of pursuits.
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"Yeah. It's sort of my calling back home."
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She actually laughs at Buffy's answer -- a short, wry bark. "Then you have an exceptional advantage over most of us. Even I -- well, I was used to fighting, but not --"
She looks up at the petrified troll, and sadness enters her expression. She does feel sorry for it. She doubts that it was its fault that it ... was how it was.
"Not anything quite like that," she finishes, her voice tired.
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