innocence and all

⏾ * — DESPITE BEING the one to take her hand, David stares at Ollie from his place on the ground in seemingly no rush to pull himself to his feet. There's clear hesitation in his gaze, carefully flickering over her form, as if she were something he could decipher if only he were to look hard enough. If their roles had been reversed, he wouldn't have turned around. He doesn't understand why she did.

It's the acknowledgement that she's still angry that David seems to accept — a breath past his lips that could almost be a laugh ( and, fuck, pushing air through his lungs hurts a little ). He tugs against the offered hand in the same moment his gaze falls towards the beach, unable to look at her as he uses the support to pull himself to his feet with a wince.

There's no apology to be found, nothing David will offer despite knowing he was the one in the wrong. He lets go of her hand the moment he's steady on his feet, voice rough when he does speak.

He's far from the first person to be confused by her decision making. Hell, even she gets confused by it sometimes. But most of the night seems to have been driven by impulsive decisions, so what's one more? At least this one might actually be productive instead of destructive. As long as David doesn't try anything fucking stupid, at least, but frankly, even if he thought about it, he doesn't look like he could actually pull it off.

She helps get him up on his feet, and while she doesn't hover, she keeps an eye on him. Somehow both to make sure he's not going to topple over and making sure he's not going to try an escalate things again. The two possibilities seem at odds with each other, but both of them seemed like they could happen.

"Eh. It gives me a headache, and I think you broke my sunglasses in...that." To illustrate her point, she reaches into her pocket and pulls out a snapped pair of glasses. Bummer, she liked those ones, too—she'd taken them from the car of some wannabe model she killed back in Los Angeles.

⏾ * — IN THE aftermath of it all, David doesn't feel much better. He only feels tired.

He makes no attempt to move from where he's fallen and been pinned to place, his back now flat against the boardwalk as he rests a hand overtop his stomach. His head still hurts like a bitch, though the ringing in his ears is thankfully beginning to fade, and he suspects he'll be feeling the blow Ollie had dealt to his ribs for at least another night. It had been a stupid decision to continue to escalate, but David can't find the sense in him to feel regret.

Gaze stays trained on the deep black of the night sky — he takes note of the constellations. How long has it been since he looked at the stars? Mundanity that falls to the wayside in the constant, slow march of the decades. There was less light pollution here, once.

He doesn't notice Ollie turning around until she's only a few steps away, his eyes flickering towards the sound of footsteps with a hardly - there flinch. For a brief moment, he thinks she's come back to finish the job — but then she tosses the post, reaches out a hand, and David's eyes follow both motions with a confused furrow of his brow. He grabs hold of her hand hesitantly, not putting any weight into the hold just yet.

Technically, she could pull him up without him putting any effort in it. She's not that worried about it, and doing so would feel a bit like trying to undermine him. Or...maybe trying to undermine him more might be a more accurate way of putting it. Either way, she's not interested in trying. She might not be a particularly patient person, but she can give him the time to process, to get over his hesitation.

She shrugs a little at the question, as if it wasn't an incredibly understandable thing to ask. "Why not?" Because of course, it's totally normal to help someone up after making a very clear threat about killing them. In truth, it's a mix of reasons, mostly ones she doesn't want to actually say to him. She feels a bit bad, yes, it's a way of expressing some kind of respect, sure.

MICHAEL NODS in quiet understanding, though he isn't unaware enough to not catch the way that Ollie refers to her siblings. It snags on his thoughts, and he chews the inside of his cheek in contemplation— he wonders if it's the obvious, or if she simply doesn't see them anymore. But Michael knows what having baggage is like, being faced with outside questioning like pressing on a bruise. He moves on.

"Yeah, doubt I would've been able to tell. I figured that kinda thing might not matter as much, with punk stuff. I guess it's a know the rules to break 'em kinda thing, though." Really, her exaggerated jabs do nothing to deter him in, only affirming his thought that the people here are exactly what he's searching for.

He doesn't say anything about how she had phrased her comment about her siblings, but he doesn't need to. She notices the shift in his demeanor, and beyond that, she feels him dwell on it for longer than she would like him to. Fleetingly, she considers messing further with his mind, to make him drop it, forget that detail. But it feels like a step too far, and as long as he doesn't bring it up, she doesn't necessarily mind him knowing.

She chuckles, "Eh, it depends. I've been going to shows like that since I was, like, fourteen? fifteen? Doesn't matter. When you know that kinda stuff, you can tell what's a choice for artistic reasons and what's someone fucking up. I don't know, maybe I just have spent too much of my time in front of a drum set," she laughs, shrugging a little. She's not hinging too much on using her words to dissuade him against the vampire band, she has other ways to do that.

⏾ * — HE HEARS the splintering of wood faintly amid the overwhelming ringing in his ears, and it causes something close to fear to flashing as a pang beneath his ribs as he recognizes the situation he's found himself in. Fuck, she could really kill him right now, if she wanted to.

It's with no small amount of effort that he manages to open his eyes as Ollie moves to stand over him, uncurling from where'd pressed himself against the ground and turning his shoulder to be more solidly on his back. He stares up with an ever - present grimace, still angry and defiant, though making no moves to scramble away and shield himself. The wood goes through the boardwalk — and David hisses through the impact, bracing himself for the worst.

Contrary to what some maybe even David himself, after this whole ordeal, might believe, she doesn't find a lot of pleasure in other people's fear, in holding power over people. Well...with few exceptions. She might need to pay a nearby video store a visit at some point in the near future. She's comfortable in her power over others, but not absorbed in it.

From a few steps back, Ollie watches him for a moment. Initially planning on leaving him there, before glancing briefly out at the sky. It'll be dawn soon, and David doesn't seem to have any sort of rush. It's not her business, and she's still kinda pissed at him, but...

She groans quietly, more annoyed than anything else. "Fuck, I'm gonna regret this," she mutters before taking the steps back towards him—or, more accurately, towards the board she pierced through his jacket. She pulls it out, and, in a fluid motion, throws it out towards the ocean. Ollie looks down, and with a small grimace, she extends a hand with the intent of helping him up.

⏾ * — DAVID ISN'T stupid enough to think the fight is over, as he watches Ollie turn her back on him. He knows better than to think she'll allow him the last hit when they're so blatantly unevenly matched. A piece of him bristles, in anger, in indignation — how fucking condescending, how little she must think of him to even momentarily leave herself exposed when he has yet to back down. Max never viewed him as much of a threat, either.

His mind is too clouded to know he should walk away.

Still, he hesitates. Claws curled into fists at his side, lips curled into a snarl that shows his fangs, the angles of his face sharp and inhuman. She turns towards him once more, and he isn't quick enough to react.

David goes down, hard.

No, Ollie doesn't consider David a threat, though admittedly, turning to get the board is less a conscious disregard of him and more an oversight. Ollie's not really much of a planner in any situation, let alone right now. Attacking her from behind likely wouldn't get him very far, no, but that's not what she thinks about while her back is towards him. She's just actually not good at this part.

She lets out a heavy, frustrated exhale despite not needing to breathe. Ollie examines the board she just hit him with for a moment before breaking it in half, keeping the side with more of a point and tossing the other piece. She steps over David before bringing the board down again. Not on him, but to the right of him. Boards underneath them cracking slightly as she lodges it through his jacket and slightly into the pier. Not deep enough for the boards to break or for him to be stuck, but still there.

⏾ * — SOMETHING FLICKERS within David as Ollie staggers backwards underneath the force of his weight. Pride, almost. A heat burning within his chest, ill - placed fury mixing with excitement that continues to drive him forward into a pointless fight.

He groans as the punch collides with his stomach — it certainly would have taken the air out of his lungs, if he needed to breathe. Instead, he curls forward from the pressure, but is quick enough to life a forearm and brace against the raised knee slamming towards him. It hurts, but doesn't catch him off - balance the way it would have otherwise. Despite it all, a sinister grin sharpens the edges of his features. David laughs, almost delirious.

"And you? You think you can use your little party trick and suddenly see right through me? You don't know a goddamn thing about me. Stop talking like you do."

Her movement back with their collision has less to do with her being hurt and more just moving with the momentum. She could do this all night and day, it's just a shame he can't. Still, being able to maintain a drawn out fight and wanting to do so are two different things. Ollie's always been more a brief lashing out sort than something prolonged.

"No, David, I don't! I was making a point about how fucking shitty it is to act like it!" She certainly wouldn't be able to see through him with her own issues clouding the view. She hadn't even gone that far in, just gleamed names and general feelings, and yet it had brought up a swirl of her own. Admittedly, she can understand the betrayal of knowing someone was in your head: when she learned how much her maker had been fucking with Ollie's head, Ollie had been so repulsed she left town. It doesn't stop her from using the ability, though. "Do you feel shitty, David? I fucking do."

⏾ * — OF ALL things, it's the blatant dismissal that sends David lunging forward. A bubbling, boiling rage — a nineteen year old soldier sent off to a war he hardly understood as nothing more than knowing cannon fodder who now clung to violence and strength as if it were a suit of armor, and yet still bowed his head and tucked his tail between his legs like an abused dog, retreating at the sight of something stronger, appeasing it when necessary. He was fucking sick of it.

Eyes flash inhumanly yellow, and David lets out a furious growl that borders on animalistic as he swipes a clawed hand towards Ollie's throat. Just as quickly, he shifts sideways and braces himself, allowing the momentum to continue carrying him to slam a shoulder into her chest.

"You think you're better than me just because you have some fancy fuckin' tricks?"

She had a feeling he wouldn't take the out she had given him. It doesn't matter much to her, but in her defense, she did fucking warn him. Ollie's not actively trying to hurt him that much, but she's not going to hold back for the sake of his pride or whatever. Maybe later she'll reflect on it, realize he's projecting, but right now, she doesn't particularly care. She's not above using violence as a distraction from her own shit, after all.

She mostly leans out of reach of the claws, only ending up with a light scratch. The full-on collision with his shoulder is another story, and she grunts, staggers back. "You don't get to just fucking go around doing whatever the you want, taking whoever you want, saying whatever the fuck you want. Not with me." She doesn't think she's better than him, but she knows he's not better than her, and she's tired of feeling like he's acting like it.

Thanks? You're funny. Funny? Why? I don't know, you're just funny.