lola lim ⟢ (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
clandestinity) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
veilbreak2026-02-08 07:51 am
clandestinity) wrote in veilbreak2026-02-08 07:51 am
Entry tags:
(no subject)
CHARACTERS: Irina & Lola.
WHAT: Lola's no good very bad sparring match turns into a discussion of feelings.
WHEN: Very early morning of Feb 8.
WHERE: The gym.
WARNINGS: Some suggestiveness, but it could not be tamer.
WHAT: Lola's no good very bad sparring match turns into a discussion of feelings.
WHEN: Very early morning of Feb 8.
WHERE: The gym.
WARNINGS: Some suggestiveness, but it could not be tamer.
Lola Lim is no Remy Hyun, but she still considers herself one of the better hand-to-hand fighters aboard the Mnemo — certainly outside the Battlest cell. On a good day, she can hold her own against any of the pilots or ground forces. On a very good day, she believes she can give Remy Hyun a run for her money. On those days, she doesn’t keep hitting the mat, staring up at the ceiling because an opponent neatly clocks every opening and vulnerability.
Today, however, is not a good day. In fact, it’s one of her worst, which is why she’s practically lost count of Irina’s small victories over her. Most recent: sweeping Lola’s legs out from under her and sending her crashing to the mat with a hiss of pain.
And though Lola is clearly off her game, she’s not one to back down from a challenge. If anything, the opposite takes hold, born from a need to overcorrect — to outpace Irina purely out of stubborn defiance. So: Lola refuses Irina’s outstretched hand as she rolls over, springing back to her feet and scrubbing her hands over her face before settling into a fighting stance. She bounces lightly on her heels, jaw set.
“Again,” she says coolly.
Irina's concern over the last hour has been growing, first in trickles and then in spurts. There's a realization that something is clearly off with her roommate, but the triumph of success silences it for a time.
That time comes to an end. She circles Lola like a predator, but her hands are down. "You are in bad mood. What happened?"
“What could I possibly be in a bad mood over?” Lola shoots back, the words coming out sharper than intended. She pauses to recalibrate, drawing in a steadying breath, rolling her shoulders. When her gaze lands back on Irina’s face, the smile she offers doesn’t even attempt to reach her eyes.
“I just had a wonderful three days in Luang Prabang,” she adds lightly. “Who wouldn’t be relaxed after that?”
The sarcasm is annoying because Irina can see right through it, and it's particularly annoying coming from Lola. She stares hard before darting in fast, feigning left with the intention of slamming her shoulder into Lola's middle and throwing her down to the mat. It works: Lola registers the feint too late, the breath knocked clean out of her as Irina’s shoulder drives into her midsection.
She slams hard into the mat again, pain blooming across her shoulders and ribs as the ceiling swims above her. Irina is on her immediately, knee, weight, hands all working in tandem to pin her flat. “Merde,” she snaps, the word becoming a refrain as she twists uselessly against the restraint like an angry cat. “You are not playing fair, princess.”
"I am royalty; I do what I want," Irina reminds her breezily, and secures her hold on Lola’s wrists and hips. A mat is as close to a corner as she'll find, she decides, and blows a loose lock of hair from her own eyes. "Did something happen with Casper again?"
“No.”
Part of Lola wants to refuse to elaborate out of pure spite. Another part — one that is calmer and far more irritating — knows that saying it out loud to someone might help her make sense of it. She lifts her chin as defiantly as one can while pinned to a mat as eventually explains, “I had a fight with Rio.” Beat. “She is a child.”
There it is. Trusting that Lola won't swipe at her, Irina releases her wrists and sits back on her hips, maintaining the straddle. "She is a grown woman and so are you. What did you fight about?"
Under normal circumstances, Lola wouldn’t let their physical proximity pass without at least one or three flirtatious remarks. For now, the impulse is completely drowned out by irritation, exemplified by the scowl that settles onto her face as she props herself up on one elbow.
“The trip to Luang Prabang — she’s hurt I didn’t invite her, but it was Casper’s birthday. I was trying to do something nice for her while she is having a difficult time, not organize some big trip that would take multiple agents out of commission at the same time.” An indignant scoff. “It was not personal, but she refused to hear reason.”
Not that Lola had helped matters by pouring gasoline on the situation, but that is beside the point.
Irina’s brows furrow slightly, her mind working at connecting pieces. "Did you speak to Rio about going with her before?"
Lola shrugs, sifting through her memory for whatever might have sparked Rio’s anger. Again, she can’t come up with anything definitive, which is what’s so disorienting. “She mentioned topless beaches recently, but if it was meant as an invitation, it couldn’t have been less direct. And I don’t know how we would’ve managed that there anyway — the river, possibly.”
The moods of others aren't always easy for Irina to dissect. Easy enough to sense a shift in them, but harder to understand. She tiptaps her hands on her thighs. "You dated, yes? Then you continue to sleep with her after, though she is also seeing other people for this." Herself included. "Rio talks about beaches with you because… she is wanting to get off the ship, with anyone maybe but she tells you because she hopes you will invite her. Then you tell her about Casper, and she feels like you are choosing Casper over her in some way. Something like this?"
“Yes! And this would be insane,” Lola insists, anger and frustration clearly bleeding into her voice. She shifts restlessly beneath the pin — she could flip their positions easily enough if she cared to try, but she’s resigned to her current fate for now. “What am I, a psychic? Some kind of fucking mind reader? If Rio wants something from me, she should say so. I refuse to feel bad for not predicting some want she never voiced.”
And yet… is this something Lola herself would be stupidly upset about? Possibly! And that is exactly why their relationship had flamed out so spectacularly and had yet to find its footing again. Good sex and deep affection for one another still didn’t balance out the spectacular ways they clashed with one another.
“This is why I should never date,” she continues, still on a furious tear. “Keep it simple. Fuck whoever. No feelings.”
It's not that Irina understands, really, but she does hear and see the agitation, knows that just like herself, Lola pretends not to feel as deeply as she actually does. Holding back a sigh, Irina reaches to tip Lola’s chip up with a finger so their eyes meet properly. "It is easier said than done, I'm sure you know. Yes, Rio should be clear. Yes, you can be angry about this. Do not be a child yourself and wait for her to explain first. Talk to her. Do not let your friendship fall into pieces because each of you is stubborn."
One perfectly manicured eyebrow is cocked as Lola listens, her lips pressed thin. Irina is right, but because she is right in a way that feels absolutely intolerable. This is good and mature advice, the kind Lola only wants to follow when she’s ready to be sensible. It’s filed away for later — for tomorrow, or the day after, or some future version of herself that isn’t vibrating with feeling.
Because right now, all Lola wants to do is sit with the intensity of something that’s sharp and immediate and all-consuming. The anger is one option. The other is far stupider and far more irresponsible, which is precisely why—
Her hand comes up, catching Irina’s wrist and drawing it in to press a brief kiss to the side of her knuckles. Then Lola shifts her weight and uses the momentum of surprise to suddenly flip them, reversing their positions, so Irina is pinned flat on the mat beneath her.
“I will think about it.” Her eyes are very bright as she stares down at Irina’s mouth. “Want to hit the showers, princess?”
Now this mood, Irina knows. Her face is mostly placid – save for that flicker of annoyance upon being on her back because she'd been winning – though her eyes flash back. "And are we just showering, milaya?"
The smile that spreads across Lola’s face is slow and unapologetic, and she keeps Irina pinned in place — knees bracketing her hips, weight settled just enough to make the point — as she pretends to consider the question. One thumb traces the inside of Irina’s wrist, feeling the pulse jump beneath her skin.
“Do not waste my time with questions you already know the answer to, Irina.” She draws out her roommate’s name, tasting the word.
The younger woman takes advantage of her upper body strength to lean up where she's pinned, and stops within mere millimeters of Lola’s lips. "Then get off," she whispers, but she's already moving to push Lola up and off with a smirk.
Today, however, is not a good day. In fact, it’s one of her worst, which is why she’s practically lost count of Irina’s small victories over her. Most recent: sweeping Lola’s legs out from under her and sending her crashing to the mat with a hiss of pain.
And though Lola is clearly off her game, she’s not one to back down from a challenge. If anything, the opposite takes hold, born from a need to overcorrect — to outpace Irina purely out of stubborn defiance. So: Lola refuses Irina’s outstretched hand as she rolls over, springing back to her feet and scrubbing her hands over her face before settling into a fighting stance. She bounces lightly on her heels, jaw set.
“Again,” she says coolly.
Irina's concern over the last hour has been growing, first in trickles and then in spurts. There's a realization that something is clearly off with her roommate, but the triumph of success silences it for a time.
That time comes to an end. She circles Lola like a predator, but her hands are down. "You are in bad mood. What happened?"
“What could I possibly be in a bad mood over?” Lola shoots back, the words coming out sharper than intended. She pauses to recalibrate, drawing in a steadying breath, rolling her shoulders. When her gaze lands back on Irina’s face, the smile she offers doesn’t even attempt to reach her eyes.
“I just had a wonderful three days in Luang Prabang,” she adds lightly. “Who wouldn’t be relaxed after that?”
The sarcasm is annoying because Irina can see right through it, and it's particularly annoying coming from Lola. She stares hard before darting in fast, feigning left with the intention of slamming her shoulder into Lola's middle and throwing her down to the mat. It works: Lola registers the feint too late, the breath knocked clean out of her as Irina’s shoulder drives into her midsection.
She slams hard into the mat again, pain blooming across her shoulders and ribs as the ceiling swims above her. Irina is on her immediately, knee, weight, hands all working in tandem to pin her flat. “Merde,” she snaps, the word becoming a refrain as she twists uselessly against the restraint like an angry cat. “You are not playing fair, princess.”
"I am royalty; I do what I want," Irina reminds her breezily, and secures her hold on Lola’s wrists and hips. A mat is as close to a corner as she'll find, she decides, and blows a loose lock of hair from her own eyes. "Did something happen with Casper again?"
“No.”
Part of Lola wants to refuse to elaborate out of pure spite. Another part — one that is calmer and far more irritating — knows that saying it out loud to someone might help her make sense of it. She lifts her chin as defiantly as one can while pinned to a mat as eventually explains, “I had a fight with Rio.” Beat. “She is a child.”
There it is. Trusting that Lola won't swipe at her, Irina releases her wrists and sits back on her hips, maintaining the straddle. "She is a grown woman and so are you. What did you fight about?"
Under normal circumstances, Lola wouldn’t let their physical proximity pass without at least one or three flirtatious remarks. For now, the impulse is completely drowned out by irritation, exemplified by the scowl that settles onto her face as she props herself up on one elbow.
“The trip to Luang Prabang — she’s hurt I didn’t invite her, but it was Casper’s birthday. I was trying to do something nice for her while she is having a difficult time, not organize some big trip that would take multiple agents out of commission at the same time.” An indignant scoff. “It was not personal, but she refused to hear reason.”
Not that Lola had helped matters by pouring gasoline on the situation, but that is beside the point.
Irina’s brows furrow slightly, her mind working at connecting pieces. "Did you speak to Rio about going with her before?"
Lola shrugs, sifting through her memory for whatever might have sparked Rio’s anger. Again, she can’t come up with anything definitive, which is what’s so disorienting. “She mentioned topless beaches recently, but if it was meant as an invitation, it couldn’t have been less direct. And I don’t know how we would’ve managed that there anyway — the river, possibly.”
The moods of others aren't always easy for Irina to dissect. Easy enough to sense a shift in them, but harder to understand. She tiptaps her hands on her thighs. "You dated, yes? Then you continue to sleep with her after, though she is also seeing other people for this." Herself included. "Rio talks about beaches with you because… she is wanting to get off the ship, with anyone maybe but she tells you because she hopes you will invite her. Then you tell her about Casper, and she feels like you are choosing Casper over her in some way. Something like this?"
“Yes! And this would be insane,” Lola insists, anger and frustration clearly bleeding into her voice. She shifts restlessly beneath the pin — she could flip their positions easily enough if she cared to try, but she’s resigned to her current fate for now. “What am I, a psychic? Some kind of fucking mind reader? If Rio wants something from me, she should say so. I refuse to feel bad for not predicting some want she never voiced.”
And yet… is this something Lola herself would be stupidly upset about? Possibly! And that is exactly why their relationship had flamed out so spectacularly and had yet to find its footing again. Good sex and deep affection for one another still didn’t balance out the spectacular ways they clashed with one another.
“This is why I should never date,” she continues, still on a furious tear. “Keep it simple. Fuck whoever. No feelings.”
It's not that Irina understands, really, but she does hear and see the agitation, knows that just like herself, Lola pretends not to feel as deeply as she actually does. Holding back a sigh, Irina reaches to tip Lola’s chip up with a finger so their eyes meet properly. "It is easier said than done, I'm sure you know. Yes, Rio should be clear. Yes, you can be angry about this. Do not be a child yourself and wait for her to explain first. Talk to her. Do not let your friendship fall into pieces because each of you is stubborn."
One perfectly manicured eyebrow is cocked as Lola listens, her lips pressed thin. Irina is right, but because she is right in a way that feels absolutely intolerable. This is good and mature advice, the kind Lola only wants to follow when she’s ready to be sensible. It’s filed away for later — for tomorrow, or the day after, or some future version of herself that isn’t vibrating with feeling.
Because right now, all Lola wants to do is sit with the intensity of something that’s sharp and immediate and all-consuming. The anger is one option. The other is far stupider and far more irresponsible, which is precisely why—
Her hand comes up, catching Irina’s wrist and drawing it in to press a brief kiss to the side of her knuckles. Then Lola shifts her weight and uses the momentum of surprise to suddenly flip them, reversing their positions, so Irina is pinned flat on the mat beneath her.
“I will think about it.” Her eyes are very bright as she stares down at Irina’s mouth. “Want to hit the showers, princess?”
Now this mood, Irina knows. Her face is mostly placid – save for that flicker of annoyance upon being on her back because she'd been winning – though her eyes flash back. "And are we just showering, milaya?"
The smile that spreads across Lola’s face is slow and unapologetic, and she keeps Irina pinned in place — knees bracketing her hips, weight settled just enough to make the point — as she pretends to consider the question. One thumb traces the inside of Irina’s wrist, feeling the pulse jump beneath her skin.
“Do not waste my time with questions you already know the answer to, Irina.” She draws out her roommate’s name, tasting the word.
The younger woman takes advantage of her upper body strength to lean up where she's pinned, and stops within mere millimeters of Lola’s lips. "Then get off," she whispers, but she's already moving to push Lola up and off with a smirk.