L I S A M A R I E W A L K E R
Los Paradiso | 02:31AM
Interacting with: Claire “Noctis” Quinn (@Superboy)
Lisa took an involuntary back step, a physical manifestation of her own confusing, conflicting emotions at the response. Rage. Surprise.
Fear. How could someone be so callous at taking a … no, don’t finish that thought.
She hated herself for not finishing that thought.
The woman holstered her guns, moving towards Lisa, who fought the urge to run off into the night, as fast and as far as she could get from this stranger. The only thing that stopped her was the fear that if she did, the newcomer would put one between her shoulder blades. If she was going to get shot, she was going to have the courage to face it, to see it coming. That had to count for something, right?
Lisa swallowed down her terror, and forced herself to remain still, a coldness in her belly that she wasn’t used to threatening to envelop her, her palms so sweaty that they felt
wet even compared to the rest of her in this storm.
What is that sound? That clattering? Hold on … is that my teeth? Is that my teeth chattering? I thought that only happened in Scooby-Doo cartoons! She clamped her jaw shut, hoping that the woman hadn’t seen that, hoping that the dark had concealed it. Animals attack when they sensed fear. She’d seen that on the animal planet.
"Those guys were going to kill you if I didn't do something. You're welcome, by the way. What are you even doing picking fights with these guys? What, do you think you're some kind of fuckin' superhero?" ‘Some kind of fuckin’ superhero? It was spat out, like an insult. Worse than an insult, even. Like a curse. Like trying to do good in this world was something to be ashamed of. What, trying to change it for the better was some kind of terrible affliction that you should keep quiet about, a fetish you shouldn’t reveal to the world?
Lisa’s fragile fears shattered, giving way to a purer, more stiffening feeling of anger. Fair, maybe tonight wasn’t her finest hour. Maybe her methods could have borne a bit more thinking about. Maybe things hadn’t gone to (admittedly mostly non-existent) plan. Did that really mean that the trigger-happy, gun-toting madwoman was standing on steadier ground? That she had any right to judge?
Fury’s fists tightened once more, her bloodied and bruised knuckles popping and cracking, strange, foreign sounds.
“I was trying to stop them!” She spat, her voice raw with barely constrained emotion.
“If they were hurting me, they weren’t hurting each other! I can take it!” She took a step forward and thrust a finger into the gunslingers chest.
“I certainly didn’t ask for your help! I didn’t need your help!” She paused for a second, her eyes widening. Was that why she was mad? Was she really just annoyed because she’d needed this woman to leap off rooftops and come to her rescue. Back to being the sick little girl who needed someone else to protect her from the big bad world? Was she really just angry at herself for being so apparently helpless again, and projecting that anger on to the newcomer.
Then she remembered the man behind her, the one who had fallen. The one with his eyes open to the open heavens. The one who had been left in the street. And in that moment she knew why she was angry, and it had nothing to do with her feeling helpless.
“I certainly didn’t ask you to kill a man!” She said it. It happened, she was right there and watched it happen. She couldn’t ignore the fact, and even is she did, that didn’t mean it would stop being a fact. No, it happened, and there was nothing she could do about it right now.
“You’re a monster!”
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