un: sieglindesullivan / video

[grunehexe]

[If you've ever seen an illegal cam recording from the back row of a theater, you are familiar with the style of this broadcast.

Observe, (as best you can), the players upon the stage. The stage being the cave in which many of them have taken shelter from the storm outside, specifically a large, flat rock, at which two fine male specimens you may recognize as Achilles, son of Peleus, and a certain McCree, locked in the midst of a fierce... arm wrestling battle.

Bare arm muscles flexing, beads of sweat dripping, jaws gritting, knuckles white and shaking, eyes narrowed in concentration and competition, testosterone veritably sparking in the air... as two very fit grown men have it out in a no holds barred thirst-fanning battle of the bulges. Arm muscle bulges.

You might catch glimpse of the lovely referee, (blond, very appropriately serious about judging this contest, thanks, Riza), and hear snatches of people rooting for a particular candidate, (the broadcaster herself seems to favor Achilles, if "steel yourself for victory, Achilles!" is any indication), but mostly this is about enjoying a good man on man test of strength.

Until, that is, a voice can be heard.]

- Are you recording that?

[The video sadly? and promptly goes black as the magitek jewelry is clutched to a bosom in scandalous retort.]

Is it not a sight worth sharing? For posterity, you see-

[And apparently she thought it best to post... for posterty. What? Any lady or inclined fella unfortunate enough to not see it go down surely wouldn't want to miss the show... ?]

Comments

[flashbanging]

[ The metal is indeed unyielding, and as Achilles meets him full-on, McCree finally just goes ahead and throws his weight into the thing. Obviously this guy can take it, and more, besides. He grits his teeth as he surges back, his metal fingers digging hard into Achilles's own, hard enough to break the bones of a lesser man. With this freshly applied zeal, he pushes, aiming as best he can to pin Achilles's arm to the rock.

Perspiration slicks his throat and chest anew from the effort his exertion, and he can feel his heart beating rapid in his chest, his pulse rushing like a waterfall. It's this kind of feeling that he's always lived for, that reckless space between danger and triumph, between crushing loss and, if not victory, then at least survival. He stares Achilles in the eye as he presses forward, and his own eyes glint--his right one, in particular, takes on a sheen of eerie blood red. ]

[heelies]

[Now does Achilles begin to feel the strain pulling tight his muscles, and his arm begins to yield to McCree's unbidden, as would the stone face of a sea cliff yield to the unrelenting waves degree by degree and thus its sharp edges erode. His broad chest expands with a deep breath and his bicep bulges as he counters with greater force. The hair at his temples slicks with sweat and sticks to his skin there.

(It ought to be noted to that his golden locks are arranged in a very manly array of braids, courtesy of Olivia. At least the flowers, having since wilted, were removed before this spirited contest began.)

His gaze lifts from where grapple their arms, and he is arrested by the glinting red of McCree's eye. It is this detail more so than the iron arm that strikes in him the thought that perhaps this man he faces is not fully human.]

[flashbanging]

[ The metal creaks from the strain, but McCree's actual muscles are faring much worse. He feels a painful throb in what remains of his shoulder, and his other arm is in outright screaming agony. But these circumstances are not alien to him. He has felt pain like this before; he has had to fight hard like this before. Rather than deter him, it just spurs him on; his blood howls and sparks with adrenaline.

In the back of his mind, he catches snatches of shouts and talk. Olivia, cheering for Achilles. And--Hanzo, surprisingly. Calling his name.

His grip, crushing now, tightens to a devastating vice. A final push, then. Either Achilles goes down now, or he doesn't go down at all.

He pours his strength into it, testing both the limit of his body and of his bionics. His right eye is almost fully red. ]

sorry for the delay!

[heelies]

[For a moment it seems as if Achilles will not budge: his arm trembles from the strain placed upon his muscles, and his scar throbs as if threatening to split open, but he descends no closer to the stone. Their arms are as a set of bronze scales that has found a tentative balance and each side stays suspended in the air.

Then just as one side of the scales must eventually tip beneath the weight of its burden, so too does Achilles' arm falter. The descent is at first slow, and his teeth scrape one against another, but at last his arm flattens against the rock, collapsed of strength.

Achilles looks surprised for what has happened, but then although he has lost he cannot help but grin.]

It seems to me you were right to have called this the impossible challenge - for even I who have no equal among the war-loving Achaeans could not defeat the strength of your iron grey arm.

np!

[flashbanging]

[ Jesse breathes hard, leaning forward like he's fit to collapse. He's aching all over now, feels like he's just been fed through a wheat thresher and then left in the field to rot. Lord almighty. It takes him a second to steady up and meet Achilles's eye; his own have returned to normal--dark and warm, as always. ]

You damn near popped the thing out of its socket, so I'd say you still did pretty good, partner.

[ He runs his good hand through his sweat-damp hair, wincing. ]

You wanna call it a draw?

[heelies]

[To McCree's credit, Achilles is not so even of breath or unruffled of features as he was upon the conclusion of their first bout. It is rare that he must strain at the limits of strength, and this shows plainly as the sheen of sweat across his chest. When he stretches his arm and rubs at it, he seems surprised that it could feel so sore.]

I do not think my arm can withstand another round against yours, nor does it seem that yours can withstand another round against mine, mere flesh though it may be. Thus a draw is agreeable to me, McCree of the iron arm.

[Look, he even won a sweet nickname out of this.]

[flashbanging]

[ McCree exhales slowly. Thank Jesus. ]

Real glad to hear you say that.

[ He's got his shirt back on, though he's buttoning it up with some difficulty--his good hand trembles like it's about to crumble. He laughs weakly, mostly at himself. ]

Guess now I can cross 'tussled with a livin' legend' offa the bucket list. Thanks for the the indulgence, Achilles.

[ He pauses, and adds, because he tries to be respectful -- ]

--son'a Peleus.

[ And then, haltingly and by degrees, he staggers to his feet. Time to go die in a corner. ]