[ He doesn't expect her to go down that easy, but that vicious anger, the recklessness with which she swings at him—it isn't her. It's more something he would do. The terrible, unguarded pain in her is so unfamiliar it strikes him harder than her fist.
His arm crumples under the blow, and for a moment, he thinks he's going to fall. And if he does, she'll smash his head in. The water laps peacefully against the pier they're fighting on, as though mocking them, but he cannot hear it. All his focus is on keeping his balance, forcing himself to ignore the pins and needles pain in his hands as he staggers, bleeding.
But he is just—so tired. This has played out so many times, and it always hurts like a freshly sheared wound, and part of him thinks it would be easier just to let this happen. If it weren't her, maybe he would. Instead... ]
Professor, please— [ His voice wavers, and it doesn't matter if this is a spectre, an illusion, he's never had so much pride that he wouldn't beg. ] Please. I cannot lose you too.
[ The fact that she's lunged at him means he can, at least, retaliate if he's quick enough. So he kicks her foot out from under her at the height of her swing, shoulder screaming in pain as he gets her in a lock, and—with what's left in him—throws her into the wooden slats of the pier, crates crashing in around them. If he can just knock her out, maybe— ]
[ well! lucky for dimitri (?) the throw was pretty fucking brutal, and byleth manages to crack her head. she is knocked the fuck out - and she will wake up somewhere else.
for dimitri, there's silence - it's a long silence, an aching, painful silence, one heavy with the weight of the ghosts of his pasts, and with byleth unmoving in the slats and the crates.
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His arm crumples under the blow, and for a moment, he thinks he's going to fall. And if he does, she'll smash his head in. The water laps peacefully against the pier they're fighting on, as though mocking them, but he cannot hear it. All his focus is on keeping his balance, forcing himself to ignore the pins and needles pain in his hands as he staggers, bleeding.
But he is just—so tired. This has played out so many times, and it always hurts like a freshly sheared wound, and part of him thinks it would be easier just to let this happen. If it weren't her, maybe he would. Instead... ]
Professor, please— [ His voice wavers, and it doesn't matter if this is a spectre, an illusion, he's never had so much pride that he wouldn't beg. ] Please. I cannot lose you too.
[ The fact that she's lunged at him means he can, at least, retaliate if he's quick enough. So he kicks her foot out from under her at the height of her swing, shoulder screaming in pain as he gets her in a lock, and—with what's left in him—throws her into the wooden slats of the pier, crates crashing in around them. If he can just knock her out, maybe— ]
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for dimitri, there's silence - it's a long silence, an aching, painful silence, one heavy with the weight of the ghosts of his pasts, and with byleth unmoving in the slats and the crates.
when dimitri even moves an inch, he'll find himself standing somewhere else entirely! ]