(Back dated to the beginning of September this year.)

It was dawn, and she was there. Tennis shoes and crop legged sweat pants, a white tank top and black head band. Her hair bound back, the entire length of it, by pony tail holders. Her only jewelry those rings she never went without, and not the pointy ones either. Thumbs tucked in the waist band of her pants, she waited with her head cocked to the right.
Then decided that knocking was a good idea. Up the steps, knuckles rap-rapping sharp and firm.


For weeks the cowboy had been tight-lipped about whatever had really been occurring in his world, locking his feelings in a vault so riddled with holes that the metaphorical mercury running through his veins made his moods shift constantly. After a night of little sleep, the day has dawned with to a thick mist that permeated the forest-ringed farm and cast a heavy pall of tension over everything. Thorn's knock came once and then twice, before beyond the deck the sound of the bay door on the workshop came rattling open. In the clinging penumbral shadows stood the cowboy, barefoot and clad in gray mesh athletic shorts. Without a shirt, it was easy to see that he'd lost weight, the faintest hint of his ribs showing without a perceived loss of muscle mass. Both hands were wrapped in athletic tape.


People around her kept wrapping their hands. You'd think she'd get the hint and start doing the same. Probably not though. Amethyst eyes snapped to the rising door curiously, but without verbal comment. And with a nod dipping her chin she headed that way. Violence on a thin leash, not many saw the redneck quite like that, at least not often enough to seem to remember it. Fluid in movement, as close to menacing as someone that looked like she did, wearing at least the start of a smile, actually could be, and needing only the slightest excuse to throw a punch. "Mornin'. Y' need feedin'." She'd slide out of the shoes, once she was certain there wasn't anything likely to give her tetanus of the floor of the shop. Patient in a manner she most often wasn't, arms folded lightly across her belly and she settled into perfect stillness.


"Ain't been hungry," he murmured in reply, hitching his large shoulders up in an indifferent shrug. Even to the unattuned, the cowboy stank of violent intent, sleepless nights, and a myriad of emotions that wanted desperately to tear free of mortal flesh. Cooper's inner demons were just waiting to be unleashed. "Food doesn't taste like it used to." He wandered slowly out from the shop, jutting his chin out towards the green grass of the yard.


Even her human nose could read the intent in him. And by the dead gods of a thousand worlds, she welcomed it. Out of physical reach she sauntered her happy a*s to the yard he'd indicated. "Mebbe y're goin' for the wrong sort'a food then." Her best offering at the moment. The redneck smelled of anticipation, the heart aching loneliness that'd dogged her for longer than she'd admit, and a flat out, wanton need for the coming clash. Because it'd damn well better be a knock down drag out brawl, or she'd turn it into one.




"Maybe." The multi-colored ink sleeving his massive arms was writhing slowly, moving of it's own accord in subtle ticks and tocks. The cowboy was glowering for some reason not of the redneck's making, his chest heaving in anticipation as his hackles went up and, suddenly, he was taking a wild swing at her.


Good man! She ducked it, barely. He had her in reach and weight and even as desperate as she was for this, she wasn't going to try matching him. Ducked under and came up with a knee she'd actually taken the time to aim for his stomach.


While the cowboy surpassed the little blonde in strength and size, she was by far the quicker of the pair. The wrecking ball of his fist sailed high and before he could redirect himself, Cooper felt the sudden impact of her shot against the taut surface of his abdomen. Unfocused and unsuspecting, the air left Cooper in a sharply exhaled grunt, hunching him over. It did, however, allow him to bring an elbow downwards at her at an awkward angle. It lacked the weight of a well-planned blow.


That was a good thing! If it'd been planned they'd probably be done already and she'd be needing a funeral. Or a hospital stay. As it was the point of his awkward elbow clipped her shoulder with enough force to send her to a knee and completely shatter her balance. Tucked her fingers tight on her right hand to try driving a knuckle punch into the inside stretch of his right thigh. Maybe a cramp would back him off enough for her to find her footing.


A visceral snarl ripped free of his mouth moments later, curling his lip and trying to get both large hands on her smaller frame. Overextended, the shot to the inside of his thigh had the desired effect and within a pair of heartbeats he was down on one knee. Both hands were driven instantly for her mid-section.


Her breath gagged out, knives in her chest when she tried to draw in another. Bone probably cracked under that. And still she tried a heel kick at the side of his head. On one knee still, she had the center for it, just not the air. Or strength.


It was enough. Cooper's head snapped to one side, his ears ringing but the blow lacked the drive to stagger him. With a growl, he lunged forward to throw the bulk of his weight into hers, unforgiving as he tried to drive her to the ground and pin her beneath his size. With one hand to brace him, the other fist was thrust at her angrily.


: Snarling she went down under him. Clawing and biting, hopefully the head-butt she aimed at the bridge of his nose connected. At least, before his fist connected with, whichever part of her he was thrusting it at.


The sickening crunch of cartilage was barely registered, nor the sudden, free flow of blood that flooded from his nostrils and coated his coarse beard. In that moment, the cowboy was seeing in red. The bellow that escaped then was both feral and choked by blood, as blows connected with Thorn's head, shoulders, and torso, raining down as Cooper threatened to lose control of himself.


Grounded and pounded, the redneck tucked her chin low and wrapped a hand and arm around the back of her head for as much added protection as she could find. And, in theory, snuck a lucky, short armed jab around his guard, and into his throat.


The more determined he became, the less the cowboy worried about keeping his body defended. More and more anger was released with each blow, until Thorn's fist slipped through his non-existent guard and caught him in the throat. Gagging suddenly, forced to acknowledge his sudden lack of air, Cooper rolled off to the side and away until he was on his hands and knees. He coughed. He hacked. And he continued to growl.


With him off her, she rolled to the side far enough to come u on her side. Amethyst eyes narrowed as she eyed him, coughing and hacking. And with a grimace she lashed out with another kick. Heel led once more, that one aimed for the space where short ribs were really damn short and the side most often tender-ish. Her own growling, torn out of her throat.


Hrk! Fire and fury, that little blonde spitfire was fast! A pained grunt exploded from him, stealing away his breath for a fraction of a few long moments. But before the redneck coudl haul her foot back, thick fingers snagged her by the ankle, pulling hard in an attempt to drag her body in a wide arc across the ground before drawing her in for another heavy, hammer-handed blow.


Her blood was up, no way in hell was she going to let him take her down this damn easily. Never mind the fact that he had her in weight, power, and reach, she wasn't going to give in until she had no choice. He could have her foot and drag her around all he wanted. That just meant her other foot could reach out and try connecting, repeatedly. Again she used the heel of the foot, against his arm and elbow. Mostly, elbow. Unfortunately, she couldn't do much about that hammer hand he was dropping.


One, twice, and thrice she kicked, the third attempt bearing fruit as something in his elbow buckled and thick fingers snapped open to release her. But her victory was short-lived, as Cooper lurched forward and attempted to ram a vicious elbow at her midsection.


Gods damnit he'd know she was there! Something akin to unholy joy flared in her eyes when his elbow buckled. She was already rolling away when he threw that elbow, and caught her on the arc of her ribs. There was a lot of buckling and breaking then. And a breathless shriek. Spitting blood, there wasn't much she could do at the moment other than try to crawl away and open distance between them.


The cowboy's flesh was crawling now, animalistic urges coming to the fore and pushing onward. The shriek awakened a predatory rush and he was clawing upwards with his three good limbs and scrambling after her. Throwing himself forward, he rammed head first into her hip in an attempt to put her back on the ground. Sadly, he was unbalanced and it could have gone either way.


No, his head rush connected, and put her down all right. Though it did give her impetus to turn onto her back and wrap her legs around his head, neck and a shoulder. This, was something she didn't think through. A desperate attempt to gain, just enough time to clear the blood from her lungs enough to catch a breath or ten. And even if she managed to lock in the choke, he still out weighed her by a f*cking lot.


Double hrk! Apparently neither of them were thinking things through. In his heated state, Cooper hadn't expected the Thorn's counter and when those lithe legs were suddenly wrapped around his neck, he was left scrabbling to loosen her rapidly tightening grip. Hrk, hrk, hrk. Even while choking, he was thrashing around and trying to beat the little blonde against the hard summer ground.


She didn't have the strength to hold on, couldn't keep the strangle hold she had on him for long. Just long enough, hopefully, to give something to the knee she tried to, awkwardly, drive into the side of his jaw. Before she went limp, somewhere around the fourth or fifth time she smacked her into the ground. The world went grey then white. Gods damn, he'd know she was there at least.




Blood still ran freely from the cowboy's broken nose, making his face an utter mess. Other scrapes, cuts, and bruises went undisguised, all products of their dirty, muddy fracas. With all of the rocky grit clinging to sweaty, bloody skin, Thorn's knee opened a deep cut along Cooper's cheek, laying flesh and muscle open in such an ugly manner before her body finally gave out. He rose up on his haunches then, the fingers of his good hand curled in gnarled like claws for a crushing blow... until he suddenly sat back on his a*s heavily and his dark gaze went devoid of all emotion. Staring at the ground seemed like the thing to do, all of a sudden.


They were both tore the f*ck apart. Bare slits, only the slightest shine of eyes through dark, thick lashes. Her breathing heavy, labored, and greatly pained. The splits and rips and tears he'd scattered across her skin and flesh slowly but surely sealing themselves once again. Relatively soon, there'd be no new scars adorning her sun kissed hide. Was sort of, for some, morbidly fascinating to watch the shape of her ribs return to normal though. Like watching the scene in Christine where the car heals the dents, only slower, and more fleshy. A time or two, everything about her went completely still, utterly lax. He had to know that if he hadn't caved in her ribs, she'd have kept fighting to the bitter end. Give it a minute or so, she'll swim close enough to the surface eventually.


He sat there in ominous silence, his heavy frame sagged over as his chest heaved with every gulp of air drawn in. Brown eyes lingered on the soil between them, thoughts collected and rattled around in his troubled mind as the animal within was caged away again fully, leaving Cooper a ball of raw, but still disguised emotion. Even then, his soul was laid bare in his expression: a man who was worn thin and didn't know what to do with himself anymore.


Air dragged in on the back of a coughing gasp. And pushed back out between clenched teeth to the tune of sobs and whimpers. "Talk." Laying on her back where he'd planted her, arms and legs akimbo in the torn up grass and bared earth. The warmed velvet and cream of her voice shattered for the time being. Her clothing was a total loss, and she couldn't drum up enough energy or urge to give even half the damn she normally would have.


"Th' f*ck is there t' say?" It wasn't defeat that lingered in his tone, not entirely, but the complete and utter loss of the knowledge of what to say for himself. Cooper was a man at another crossroads in his life, without the smallest shred of a clue which path to take, as they all appeared to be dead ends. "I made a choice three years 'go, with love'a a friend in m' heart and the best intentions. Since? I been payin' the price fo' m' arrogance... over and over and over. I ain't ever really alive or dead at any given time... and I always gotta stare down the barrel'a the things I want and ain't ever gonna get. And what I do have... s' always lost... So what the f*ck's the point?"


Three years ago she'd been bound away, locked away from Rhy'din on the whole behind misted walls, flower choked gardens, and forests and woods left wild. "Quit." Sorry about the monosyllabic thing, really. Unfortunately, that's about the only thing she can draw the breath for. And once she managed to get up and leave, there'd be no telling when they be able to talk this out again.




And at that, all Cooper could do was stare... The context of that single word could have so much meaning, and things being as they were, the cowboy didn't know how to take it. Instead, he continued to trade stares between the blond and the ground, until she finally wrestled herself upright and departed. Who knew how long he lingered where he was.


That, well that'd come out not quite right. "Quit. Blamin'. You." She was trying, and in no way trying to get him to commit suicide. "Sundance. Dumb. Ass." She really did love him, seriously. The Sundance, she'd finally managed to step through it, and found the process of the fourth level freeing even with the torment of it. He should try it. Grampa should remind him.

"Ain't that simple, sunshine." His voice was hoarse with emotion.


"Can be. Jus', let it." Don't get her started on what is, or isn't simple.