[ He hasn't been sleeping, and it's little wonder why. The dreams the Gnosia induced were clearly meant to drive the host a little batshit, dredging up the worst memories available to torment the addled mind. Having Spock gave Jim something to focus on, but without him, Jim was left to drift, Gnosia-madness taking hold. There was certainly enough in there for it to feed on.
Jim laughs, the sound unsteady, fists still raised to entice her forward. No, this was not the Jim that brought Gwen coffee in the morning at STEM with a wink and a smile; not the Jim that told stupid jokes when she was down, just to get her to roll her eyes and smile at him. He was not the Jim that made up one half of the two-man comedy routine he and Spock had down pat, or the Jim that rigged an airhorn under Peter's chair, sending the teen to the ceiling in surprise - a reaction that made Jim laugh so hard he cried for the next half-hour.
Gone is all that, and in his place, something feral and vicious remains. Not a friend and a confidant, but a rabid dog in need of an end to the suffering. The cruelty the Gnosia exhibited, taking Jim's knowledge and using it ruthlessly in defense of it's own existence - the efforts of a cornered animal, designed to get her to give up, to give in.
It seems he'll take the advantage though, because Jim presses it hard, swiping at her with the gloves, letting loose a volt of supercharged electricity; it disables the webshooters with a spark as the conduit gives out, frying them, and Jim grins, clearly pleased with himself. ]
Come on, Gwen! Hit me, I'm waiting for it! [ He advances, another swipe of the gloves that doesn't manage to land - clearly, Jim had no compunctions about fighting her. ] You're the worst friend in the entire world, alright. Poor little Jimmy is in here, screaming for you to put him out of his misery, and what do you do? Nail puns?
Another soul you couldn't save. And you think I'm racking up the body count! [ Jim tuts, bearing down on her with more swipes of his electrified fists, fast as anything. Where Jim can't beat Gwen in reflexes or brute strength, it's clear he's relying on training, well-practiced forms. He's lying about the presence of his normal personality, the person he is underneath - sufficiently smothered, but Gwen has no way of knowing. It seems determined to lie however it needs to in order to survive. ] You never save them! They all die, because you're weak.
I'm going to haunt you, Gwen. Every time you close your eyes - [ He manages to get up close with that one, attacking with a flurry of strikes, forcing Gwen on the defensive. Jim snarls at her, something bestial and angry coloring his tone. ] Come on and hit me!
no subject
Jim laughs, the sound unsteady, fists still raised to entice her forward. No, this was not the Jim that brought Gwen coffee in the morning at STEM with a wink and a smile; not the Jim that told stupid jokes when she was down, just to get her to roll her eyes and smile at him. He was not the Jim that made up one half of the two-man comedy routine he and Spock had down pat, or the Jim that rigged an airhorn under Peter's chair, sending the teen to the ceiling in surprise - a reaction that made Jim laugh so hard he cried for the next half-hour.
Gone is all that, and in his place, something feral and vicious remains. Not a friend and a confidant, but a rabid dog in need of an end to the suffering. The cruelty the Gnosia exhibited, taking Jim's knowledge and using it ruthlessly in defense of it's own existence - the efforts of a cornered animal, designed to get her to give up, to give in.
It seems he'll take the advantage though, because Jim presses it hard, swiping at her with the gloves, letting loose a volt of supercharged electricity; it disables the webshooters with a spark as the conduit gives out, frying them, and Jim grins, clearly pleased with himself. ]
Come on, Gwen! Hit me, I'm waiting for it! [ He advances, another swipe of the gloves that doesn't manage to land - clearly, Jim had no compunctions about fighting her. ] You're the worst friend in the entire world, alright. Poor little Jimmy is in here, screaming for you to put him out of his misery, and what do you do? Nail puns?
Another soul you couldn't save. And you think I'm racking up the body count! [ Jim tuts, bearing down on her with more swipes of his electrified fists, fast as anything. Where Jim can't beat Gwen in reflexes or brute strength, it's clear he's relying on training, well-practiced forms. He's lying about the presence of his normal personality, the person he is underneath - sufficiently smothered, but Gwen has no way of knowing. It seems determined to lie however it needs to in order to survive. ] You never save them! They all die, because you're weak.
I'm going to haunt you, Gwen. Every time you close your eyes - [ He manages to get up close with that one, attacking with a flurry of strikes, forcing Gwen on the defensive. Jim snarls at her, something bestial and angry coloring his tone. ] Come on and hit me!