Pain Awaits [Mylee]

[Cato]

[atrb=border,0,true][atrb=cellSpacing,0,true][atrb=cellPadding,0,true][atrb=width,500,true][bg=000000] Ares Pine "Dialogue" "Hearing" Thoughts Narration I don't know what to expect today. Lately nothing exciting has happened. Maybe the training center will bring about excitement today. Or maybe today will be another day full of boredom and no pain. I need to see pain. Feel it even. Hopefully I find some of it at the center. I jog toward my destination. Not much goes by on my way there, just some people walking by heading off to their own desired places to go. My hands touch the cold handles of the door. Time to find out if boredom stays, or if it leaves. The first thing that crosses my mind would be to train a bit. I might witness some idiot not use their weapon right. I've witnessed a few accidents here which to be honest, had to have been some hilarious moments. I don't know which station to head to first though. Bows? Knives? I settle on moving to the sword station. If I witness an accident there, I'll have the satisfaction in watching a lot of blood spill. I grab the first sword that looks dangerous enough and start hacking away at dummies. Fake blood explodes from the wounds spraying the nearby ground. One stroke later, one dummy's head is decapitated with a lot of blood oozing its way out on the floor. If only that was a real person and not something fake. I notice a little kid watching the mayhem that I've caused. Perfect. This little boy will be the perfect tool for me. I wonder how loud he can scream before he passes out in pain. I motion with my hand for the boy to come closer. I don't want him to know right away that pain will find him. I'll pretend to show him some moves before I do something sinister to him. "Hey there. I noticed you watching me. Would you like to learn a few things? Decapitating the dummies here is a lot of fun."

[Deleted]

Tejas Richter

The morning sun is not a welcome site, and neither are the brothers stomping noisily into my room. They’re full of excitement, which considering the time, didn’t make sense to me. If the sun is not high in the sky, you should not be content. I am not one for morning walks or fresh air; I am content with the blankets that surround and encompass me with their warmth. If I could tell you why they were so insistent on watching the sun rise, I would tell you. However, that remains unrevealed to me, and it will most likely stay that way for the rest of my life.

As I pulled the covers away, the chills of winter hit, causing an annoyance to settle deep within my bones and stay for the rest of the day. His words were incoherent and blurred, a slang of mixed letters and choppy syllables. I squinted at him for a moment, the sunlight marring my vision and causing the annoyance to heighten. I blow off his questions and requests with a nod. Whatever it takes to shut them up.

The jacket I pull over my simple shirt blocks what seems to be little of the cold. Wherever we’re going better not be far. I follow a few paces behind my two brothers, as apparently they are not capable of leaving me space to squeeze in beside them. Standing on my tiptoes, I try to peer over their heads to see where we’re headed, but it was futile. They tower above me, which isn’t that strange considering they’re older and well-built. Even when the building does come into my line of sight, I still do not know where our final destination lies, and that should have been my first clue. My second should have been the tight shirts they were so proudly wearing, but of course, it’s early, and early in the morning is not the time to pick up on clues.

The linoleum floor beneath our feet is well polished, showing reflections of people and weapons that I do not know how to use. I follow my brothers aimlessly, my uninterested gaze shifting from people to object, not one thing catching my line of sight for more than just a few seconds. My brothers offer to teach me a beginner’s thing or two, but I blow them off with a wave of my hand. I’m more than content to just watch. It was nice of them to bring me with them, instead of leaving me at home to do the tasks I so despised, even though it was early. They begin to toss their weapons around, whirling flashes of metal creating a dance in the lingering air. There was little noise to be heard besides the clashes of metal and grunts of arrogant teenagers.

People were coming and going, picking up one thing only to set down another. Everyone seemed so disinterested in each other, with the ability to only focus on the item in front of their face. My brothers were still absorbed in their task, and so I figured I could easily walk off without catching much of their attention. It wasn’t like I was leaving the room or anything, and I planned on being back well before they noticed my absence. Walking the border of the room led me to a station that seemed to be filled with nothing but swords. Swords and one boy for that matter. His back was to me, and like every other person I had seen this morning, was absorbed on the task at hand. He was powerful with a sense of calm, the motions of his arm swiftly sending a knife into the dummy. It wasn’t until his sharp voice rang out and resounded off the floor that I realized I had been seen. “Hey there. I noticed you watching me. Would you like to learn a few things? Decapitating the dummies here is a lot of fun.” His words seemed simple enough, but when the outward appearance of things seems to be simple, the inner is more likely than not to be complex.

“Thanks for the offer, but I don’t know enough to even pick up a sword, much less swing one. I think I’ll just keep watching for now. If that’s okay with you of course.” The last thing I wanted to do was anger this boy, this storm of one part calm and two parts rage. Was this the calm before the storm, or the storm before the calm?

[Cato]

ARES PINE

"Dialogue"
"Hearing"
Thoughts
Narration

"Thanks for the offer, but I don’t know enough to even pick up a sword, much less swing one. I think I’ll just keep watching for now. If that’s okay with you of course." This kid is a disgrace. Why is he even here if he wont train. Its fucking ridiculous. My fist smacks into his jaw leaving a minor bruise. "Listen kid. Why are you even here if you wont practice." Yet again I throw a punch at his face. If this kid wont train with a weapon at least he can be my punching bag. Hell the kid could be the person I take out my frustrations out on next. The kid has a use being here after all. It'll be interesting to see how long the kid lasts before he runs away screaming. I doubt he expected that he would get the crap beat out of him.

"Had enough? Well suck up you big baby." I throw a punch at his ribs. Causing pain always brings about joy to me. Preferably, I'm the one dishing the pain out, but I don't mind getting some back. In this situation though, I doubt this kid will dish out any pain to me. The kid in my view looks way too scrawny to muster up the force needed to cause me grief. I debate using a sword or a spear to hurt the kid. I'd love to send him crying back to his home. If he wont bother training here, I will show him what happens when you're weak. It angers me that not everyone is taking the career ideals seriously.

"Tell me kid. Will you train here? Or will you just be a pathetic little bitch hiding." I move back a few steps from the kid in the attempt to evaluate what his reaction might be. So far the kid isn't moving at all, but he could be petrified at what I've done to him. I don't know for sure what he will do, but if he tries to escape well that wont happen. He is here now and will need to know how to defend himself from future attacks like this. Any decent defender would of known not to let their guard down. This is information the kid needs to learn in order to be a better career.

[Deleted]

Tejas Richter

He is spitting fire and words that do not meet my ears in a timely manner. Everything is a jumble of insults, and the terror that has not often crept its way inside my chest, now has. Bringing my trembling hands to my face does nothing to block the blows. I catch only bits and pieces of his words, but really, it’s nothing that I haven’t heard before. “You’re a disgrace! Why won’t you make something of yourself? Take the opportunity while you still have it!” I had become desensitized to the words, to the mental blows that were so often flung aimlessly in my direction. I would answer with the same things, shouting out whatever defenses that would come to my mind. “I’m only thirteen! I don’t want to follow the same path my brothers have taken! Why do you care?” That was the most important one. Why would anyone care about me? I’m a kid with no interest in one of the main points of my family, and that by itself sets me apart from my brothers.

His eyes are dead. They are void of all life and love and energy that I believe to still flow through my own. He was doing nothing more than trying to pull me to him, to suck the last bits of youth from me so that I would become one of the thoughtless, motionless, robotic kids that filled these halls day after wretched day. Couldn’t I be strong without being lifeless? But hadn’t I been shown time and time again that those who put their strength first have no place for their heart? They filled themselves with strength and vile ambitions, letting the anger and pain build and build and build until there is no longer any space for anything else. No purpose or individuality, no other point in existing but to swing the weapon one more time.

I refuse to be anything like that.

I look to him, the numb pain of my jaw causing my words to come out in a slurred fashion, they’re meaning not as definite as they would have been given the situation be different. He’s asking me a question now, trying to force the answer he wants to spill out of my mouth. I have never been brave, never been strong enough to stand up for myself, but that was because I was never face with the chance. But now, here I am, staring my chance in the face, with nothing to stand between or intercept the opportunity. “I am strong,” the words start out slow and steady, as I roll over my aching side to pick up the nearest weapon. It is heavy under my hands and shifts my center of gravity closer to the floor. I shift under its weight, the handle slick in my sweating hands, and as I attempt to compose myself, I try to bring my words under control again, “but I am not like you. I do not need this weapon to feel powerful.”

I am too scared to swing, too terrified to even consider striking out at this boy who stood so close. I am not weak-- are you sure? Am I doing nothing but lying to myself? The voices are getting louder and louder, their caliber rising and rising until I cannot hear my heaving breath. “I am not weak!” My voice is louder than I have ever heard it be before, but it is not strong. It is desperate.