Just One Yesterday (Puppy, Nyte)

[Tom]

Actions/Descriptions Speaking Other's Speaking Thoughts

The training center has been the place Remo has been going for a long time now. The Moreno's training at the house is annoying from all the Morenos. They are all a challenge to beat, Including the younger ones. Remo wanted to show off the Moreno's strength in the actual Training center. The Morenos do it occasionally. Most people know of who the Moreno's are, after all they have been in three games and made it quite far. The Moreno's need a win though. They haven't won yet, but one day they will. They will be the best group of careers in District 1. No one is better than the Morenos.

The training center was loud as always. Remo stared at the swords. The gut feeling in him wanting to take over and use it. The feeling of the last time he held a sword. He missed using it. It was his best weapon, but he was a weapon of destruction with it. His emotions do not show when he holds it. They disappear and he has no mercy when he holds one. The memory of his brother's death flashing right in front of him. The memories of the whipping. He can still remember the pain and the feeling of it. The humility of it all. The humility of being whipped in front of people. Remo didn't care though. He had brought honor to the Morenos. He had killed someone for the greater good of himself. His brother was too weak at the time. His brother wouldn't have survived if he went up against anyone. Remo was the one to end it though. Remo was the one to kill him. The feeling of betrayal getting stuck in his head again. Remo was a wreck, but, still a strong guy who could take anyone down.


Remo's body made it's way to the area where Remo can use his second favorite weapon, his fists. Hand to hand combat was his favorite. The rush of hitting someone with your strength. The feeling of dodging a hit with your agility. The feeling of using your endurance to stay upright. The adrenaline rushing through your body. Remo loved to fight. He learned to before the Morenos. When he was at the Orphanage, he had to learn to protect to brother and rise higher in the social ladder there. Two big guys were currently duking it out. The hits were hard and slow, but the damage was quite real. Finally, one of the big guys is knocked out. The one that is left is asking for challengers and Remo just chuckles as he steps into the ring.

The fight begins with the bigger guy throwing a few hits and Remo dodging them easily. Remo smirks as he throws a playful punch to the face. The bigger guy gets even more pissed off and misses completely. Remo chuckles and is caught off guard. A fist smashes into his face. The pain spreads throughout his head, but Remo pulls through the pain and takes a step back. He smirks at the bigger guy and begins swinging punch after punch, until finally the other guy is knocked out cold. Remo laughs at this. No one is stronger than him the Morenos always are the best. Remo looked to the small crowd that was forming. He spoke loudly, "Whose next?" Remo smirked and wanted to knock more people out. Remo knew he was the best. He was the best in the building. He would be able to knock out anyone. Remo Moreno would show everyone, just how powerful the Morenos were. There was no stopping him now. He had his mind set on one thing and only one thing. Victory.

[Deleted]

Dren Mixel District 1

I am in the career center currently. As simple as that I don't need to explain myself I believe. I walk to the center wondering what to do next. I can barely hear myself think over all the clamor. I eye the spears greedily. I really need to practice bad.

Instead after walking around for a bit I chose to throw some axes. I throw one into a dummy's heart. The next into it's forehead, and the last one into it's neck chopping it off. I walked over preoccupied with my thoughts.

I walk back and put the axes back where I got them. I suddenly hear a commotion behind me in the fighting arena. I saw one person get pummeled then deliver a winning blow. "Whose next?" He said in a fashion which sounded a lot liked me. He was wearing almost the exact same smirk as me!

I'm about to raise my hand when I realize. This guy is about 2 heads taller than me. I'm going to sit this round out. I walk closer to the stage to see if anyone else is going to step up.

[[nyte]]

Jag Lyre
Pain, without love

The sun has beckoned me forwards today. It's rays fell through the window ringed with dirt and grime, casting a dull, golden light upon my bare chest. My back lifts from the mattress, my eyes open, stinging slightly from the smoke that always drifted aimlessly about the house. I crave it already, the sharp ache. I trace one of the bruises down my flank. My fingers press into it gently, my heart racing as little pin pricks run up my sides. 

But it wasn't enough, it's never enough. I needed more. Just like my father, just like my mother, I needed so much more than I could give. My feet touch the floor, kicking aside the dirt and the bags lining the floor like a sick sort of carpet. The fog that always clouds my brain from the poisoned air dulls my senses. My mind races far in front of my body. I've pulled on a tight tea-shirt, and loose black pants. I've passed the aunts and uncles who lay slumped against a peeling wall. Some with smoldering paper hanging out of their mouth, others with needles still shoved into their veins. 

I try to avoid looking at them. Their smell alone is enough to make me ill, their gaunt faces only pull at my heart strings, as I wonder if that may be my parents one day. Near death, still desperate for their next fix. Perhaps it could even be me, one day. 

My father sits in the living room as I make my way down the oaken stairs. His eyes follow me lazily, and I can't help but hope he will rise, to lay a hand upon my skin once more. But he doesn't. He sits passively, watching me as I make my way out of the door. 

Where to? As if that was even a question. Father wasn't going to give me my fix, I had to find it someone. I needed  the pain. I needed to feel. 

By the time the poison has left my brain, my feet have traced the familiar path to the training center. I enter, my eyes drinking in the familiar scene. My now aware brain drinks in the violence around me. I feel my heart begin to pound in anticipation. The red faced man is not here today, no harsh words would be shouted in my face, by him anyway. How disappointing.

I would just have to spar then. My fist clenches as I scan my potential fixes. I'm not too picky, as long as they are big and can leave some good marks.

That's when my eyes find him. He's so skillful, agile yet so strong, a rare, delicious combination. Confidence seeps from his movements, he knows what he's doing without a doubt. He dances around his opponent, almost playfully.  Teasing them as they desperately attempt to get a hit in.

As the match escalates, I watch, awestruck. My eyes cannot leave the boy. I must spar with him. I must feel the sharp blows I watched him afflict on others.

Almost by demand, he finished his opponent. A smirk plays across his lips as he lets a question play in the air. Who's next. 

I practically push others out of the way, making sure I am in his line of sight. I can hardly wait as I clear my throat, trying to make my voice as deep and as impressive as possible. "I am."

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