Returning; Tag: ANZIE(Astra)

[*]

Training. Knives. Running. Sparring. Those specific words keep playing in my head of the things that I've been missing for quite some time since the pregames had started. Things that I've had to deal without in my daily routine since my wounds have kept me what I used to love doing day in and day out. Particularly, first thing in the mornings. For the last two weeks, my mornings have been nothing but sleeping in and resting. Though, this morning, I've hardly slept at all. My mind just reeling with all these different scenarios that can happen tomorrow morning when Matthew faces Mark. What ways he'll use his own tactics against Matthew. How he takes cheap shots and says they are basically just a way to get the person down.

Today, I've decided to ditch the gauze to cover the mark on my face. The scar that will mar my complexion for the rest of my life. I have been too vain as of late, making me think that people will always be looking at the mark on my face. The only way I can contemplate how to get rid of these feelings is to lose myself in something more physical. Something more along the lines of training based. I've been lazy enough and while the stitches are gone from my arm, I feel as though I'm as free as a bird. Throwing knives is just the thing to get me back to where I was. Something that has always been my comfort beforehand and now, it will serve me as my own comfort now.

Leaving the house later than usual seems weird considering I had to take extra time to dress due to the heavy and bulky cast that is going to linger for at least four more weeks on my arm. Four more long weeks of being held back. I sigh heavily in the cold wind and pull the coat up further to cover my neck to take the bite away from chill. A shiver racks my body as I reach the gym and quickly go in to see that several people are taking in their daily routines and one or two, I see, even take note to notice me as I enter. I give them each a smile and take to the lockerooms quickly and find a stall to change in. How many times I've missed this. Needing to get back to my routine, I deposite my items in a locker and pass by the mirror this time without checking out my current status. I enter the gym and take a good breath and the first order of business is to check out the knife table.

[анзие (Anz)]

ooc: eeee writing for the first time in ages <33 it's prolly gonna suck so fair warning

nʌθ.ɪŋ lɛft stæn.dɪŋ
district 2 | 17 | female | Anna Arendshorst

[presto]

She's not supposed to be here but she can't bring herself to care. It's been a long while since her freedom - the two weeks in the healing ward don't count - and Astra's planning on regaining control in her life. After all, this is her body. And that means I should be in control of me, too.

But she's not technically supposed to be out of the ward, per se, considering the bad breaks in her bones by the boy named Matthew. Not to mention the many smaller injuries they've found on her being. "How did you get these?"

"I... fell."

"Fell," the doctor echoed skeptically.

She met his gaze with steely resolve. "Yes."

(She knows how she got them, but she can't let anyone know. She won't be an asylum rat, thrown away to be forgotten - no, worse than forgotten. Whatever it is that's worse than forgotten, she won't be a part of that.)

If I could hurt them...

But then she'd be hurting herself, won't she? Astra shakes her head clear and, eyes finally focussing on her surroundings, recognizes that her feet have taken her to the training center. Astra would've expected the place to be empty at this time, but it's not. She supposes, this being a career district, that she shouldn't be surprised. (She is, though.) Well, I guess there's no better place than here to gain control.

Taking a deep breath, focussing on not giving away her limp, Astra makes for the section closed off for knife-throwing. There's already a girl there (Astra can see her out of the corner of her eye as she strides by). Ignore her, focus on what you have to do.

Except... the girl looks familiar. Like a foggy memory surfacing from a drunken night - not that Astra will know anything about those (or perhaps she does but under a different name, speaking in a different tone) - the girl's face floats to the forefront of her mind's eye. She's one of those who were meant to fight in that arena, Astra realizes.

And she can't help but stare.

[/presto]

[*]

[presto]

The moment I reach the knife table, my eyes go straight to the blade. Memories begin to flood throughout me the moment my fingers touch the hilt of the knives and I collect several long, yet thin, blades. That's when I walk over to the dummy area and just stand there staring at the dummies. Each one of them laughing at me cause I've been the one to cause them so much damage yet the minute I get into the area, it's simple cuts, bad aim, and a loss that is going to haunt me for the rest of my life. I may not have missed my target, but my skills were definately not spot on. Mark could have killed me and I'd barely even left a scratch or two on him and he's already healed up from that, while I"m left with constant reminders.

I flex the fingers of my right hand, feeling the skin tug around the line that is still healing. The place where the deep gash was shines red against my pale skin. It shows exactly where the spear tip met with my skin, but today I don't keep the bandage on. I'm not going to hide the mars that cover my skin. I place a hand to my stomach though and get ready for my first throw. With a deep breath, I ready the knife within my fingers and take aim. With fluid movements, I move my arm backwards just so, then let it fly through the air, imbedding the knife deep into the dummy but far off center and almost missing it completely.

"Damnit..." My voice comes out in a hiss both at the dummy and the twinge in my arm. Immediately, I put a hand to my arm and run my fingers over the tender area. "Still sore.. damnit Mark..." My words come out in a little more than a whisper as I curse his name. The spear had done more damage then I thought as my grip on that knife had left me the moment I tried to throw it. The doctors had told me that the gash had cut through some mucles and tendons, but I didn't fully understand what that meant until now. I have a lot of work ahead of me to get back to where I was.

It's then, that I look to my side and see that girl immediately. She's just standing there staring at me. WAtching me fail miserably at what used to be my trade. The one thing that I could dominate at when I was throwing at dummies before the pregames. WHere my aim was spot on when Matthew and I snuck out to play a game of moving targets against each other. I raise my eyebrow at the girl, something deep down in me wanting me to be angry at her for watching me fail once again like I did in the arena. "What the hell are you looking at?" My voice comes out right before I realize that this girl is the one that Matthew had beaten in his first round. This was the girl that I told him to beat. I don't take back my words, and instead bend down to get another knife from my collected amount. "You just going to stand there?"


[/presto]

[ table by anzie ]

[анзие (Anz)]

nʌθ.ɪŋ lɛft stæn.dɪŋ
district 2 | 17 | female | Anna Arendshorst

[presto]

"What do you want? Are you just going to stand there?"

Arrogance.

The girl with the knives reeks of arrogance. Astra lifts her chin just a little in what feels like an unspoken challenge and responds, "No." Straightening her spine she walks over to the table next to the other girl's and picks up one of the knives laid out in careful pattern; within easy reach and without potential cuts.

The knife in her hand feels heavy, strange; how long has it been since she's practiced this art? Too long, it feels like, particularly from the way her hands almost clumsily close around the handle as though she's forgotten how to hold it. Astra's jaw tightens and she focusses on fixing her grip. (Curses, curses on the tip of her tongue, fury piling up; What have you done to my body?)

It feels like hours and hours before she's satisfied (or less than, but it's acceptable for now - she'll work more on this, more on everything until she's good- no, not just good, she wants to be the best). Carefully, she pulls her arm back and lets the knife fly.

The hilt of the blade bounces off the wall, well away from the dummy she was aiming at.

Take two: the other wall, the knife grazing the paint before falling with a metallic clang to the ground. Astra's cheeks flush - from anger and embarrassment both - and it feels now like so many eyes are on her. Except the girl is the only one else in the room, and Astra's imagining the eyes on her dead audience of mannequins.

She closes her eyes and counts to ten. Opens them and turns to look, challengingly, at her companion by chance, daring the other girl to make a sneering comment on her aim, on her rusty style of throwing, on the way she can't even hold the goddamn knife in her hand.

"Got something to say?"

(Her voice is acid but it's defensive, she holds back any vulnerability because that means she can be taken advantage of, and Astra really can't.

She's killed a man, after all.)

[/presto]