Kate has always preferred fighting from her feet to wrestling. It's more detached, more clinical, and frankly more satisfying. Taking someone down with a few quick punches or a well-placed kick, fighting a whole crowd, ducking and jabbing. It's graceful and brutal and impressive to watch. (Not that she gets to watch herself, but it feels like it is. It is when other people do it and she's as good as they are, so. Safe to assume she too looks like a badass.)
Wrestling is none of those things. It's messy and confusing and sweaty and instinctual. It's not at all what she prefers but somehow right now it feels right. It gets her out of her own head in a way nothing else has lately, too demanding to let her brain get away with its usual constant noise. It's too visceral, a thousand pieces of sensory input from the mat sticking between her shoulder blades to Johanna's pulse against her knee, her breath on her chest, sweat collecting at her sternum, the fingers digging into her legs, the pounding of blood through the new scar tissue at her throat and arm.
What now? "Now I choke you out and win," she replies through her teeth. Her voice is thickened by the fact that it's not actually very easy to breathe from her position either, but it's missing the raw-nerved fury she came in with, which has faded as they've gone on, as she's gotten more invested, more distracted. She locks her ankles and pulls until they're basically both nose to navel, which is absurd and far from comfortable, but if she can just keep that hold on Johanna's throat, she can win. She could use a win.
WELL GOOD
Wrestling is none of those things. It's messy and confusing and sweaty and instinctual. It's not at all what she prefers but somehow right now it feels right. It gets her out of her own head in a way nothing else has lately, too demanding to let her brain get away with its usual constant noise. It's too visceral, a thousand pieces of sensory input from the mat sticking between her shoulder blades to Johanna's pulse against her knee, her breath on her chest, sweat collecting at her sternum, the fingers digging into her legs, the pounding of blood through the new scar tissue at her throat and arm.
What now? "Now I choke you out and win," she replies through her teeth. Her voice is thickened by the fact that it's not actually very easy to breathe from her position either, but it's missing the raw-nerved fury she came in with, which has faded as they've gone on, as she's gotten more invested, more distracted. She locks her ankles and pulls until they're basically both nose to navel, which is absurd and far from comfortable, but if she can just keep that hold on Johanna's throat, she can win. She could use a win.