prepare as we will \\ JackFrost

[анзие (Anz)]

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

[presto]

This would be a record for her, except Astra is concerned about what Loptr might be planning (and worries if it's planning to kill someone she cares for).

She spends her time in the training center pounding on the punching bag, getting up early and going home late to avoid meeting her brother's dubious gaze, ducking past mum's concerned and worried expression, avoiding contact at all costs. The punching bag is her outlet for all the worry and fear gnawing at her stomach (and reducing the space she has for food; she's lost weight, she checked and that makes her worry even more).

The bag is patient. It lets her channel her emotions into her strikes, takes all the hits with gentle swings from left to right, front to back, giving her an almost soothing rhythm to follow. So follow she does.

The sound of her fists striking the bag is a caricature of flesh meeting flesh in a game of pure, calculated fury. There's no need for knives; a well-placed fist can make her fight, and she needs to find the rhythm, the ease with which she used to win back when she wasn't fighting for the sake of survival.

The desire to win. That's what makes a career great, her coach used to tell her. Back when she had one. Astra was a career once, and she'll be one again.

If someone could help me again- Except no one will. With a frustrated yell Astra delivers a kick to the bag and it jerks away, flying up but trapped by the chain to try getting her back.

But she's already gone, stalking to where she left her bottle and towel. The bag is left to swing desolately on its own.

Her unhealed injuries flare as she sits. Slinging the towel around her neck, Astra takes a swig of water before placing it back down and peeling her sweat-soaked shirt up to check on her bandages. Still looks good to go.

[/presto]

[Jack Lexington]

Almost two weeks. That's how long it took me to actually set foot back on the training center premises after I lost the fight. People have been calling my dad wondering how badly I was injured because I didn't show my face in public, not even for the request interview. I simply couldn't face the fact that I didn't win. I still can't.
So I picked a time when only very few people are at the training center because most careers would be in school or doing their apprenticeships.
One older boy spots me and wants to have a chat but I tell him I'm busy which is a blunt lie. He still calls after me. "Good fight, Matthew."
I turn my back on him and mutter angrily. "Yeah."

I'm not even sure what I'm doing here. My intital plan was to try and train a bit. Just easy things but my feet don't even walk to the changing rooms. Maybe I'll just watch some of the others. My own drive seems completely gone.

With my 'good' hand I push the door open while the other one's still in a sling around my neck to support the broken humerus that's slowly healing.
On top of that I still can't walk without a very obvious hobble because of all the stabbing Mark has done to my leg. The last fight really put me through he meat grinder. All the more reason to train. Not today.

As I limp along the side of the gym I spot a girl, who's working out by herself. From a distance I watch her with my back against the wall. Of course I know who she is. We fought. I beat her. Yet she is here...back in the saddle. I'm not sure how she does it because she didn't look good at all against me.
Slowly I approach her to ask her whether she's okay.
Just then she stop hammering the heavy bag and goes to take a drink and check on some wound. Did I do that to her.
I clear my throat.
"Astra...just wondering. Are you okay?" Who am I now? Mr. Nice guy?

[ table by anzie ]

[анзие (Anz)]

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

She doesn't expect to see anyone here. At least, she doesn't expect to see anyone coming close to her - not the crazy Vincent chick, anyway. (It's not like she hasn't ever found out what they call her behind her back; Astra can deal with it as long as they think it's just her temperament. Once they get a bit more psychological she's pretty sure she has to leg it.)

But it's Matthew, the boy she fought, walking to her. (Is it her or does he seem a bit cautious? Her metaphorical hackles rise just a little bit; Astra watches him out of the corner of her eye as she readjusts her shirt to cover the bandages again, in case he's planning something that Astra will consider utterly stupid. Like trying to hurt her again.)

"Astra... just wondering. Are you okay?"

His voice is brusque and... what, reluctant? Nervous? Astra can't place it, anyway. Who's he trying to be now, the benevolent winner of their fight? She could laugh, really. She saw him lose his fight, saw the way he seemed completely crushed. He took it way too personally.

"Yeah," she answers belatedly."Why wouldn't I be?" If her voice is cold it's got less to do with hostility and more to do with not wanting to let anyone too close. She's got her guard up now, and no one is going to take her life from her.

She runs her gaze over him and quirks an eyebrow. "You don't look so good."

ooc\\Well. She wasn't supposed to be this hostile but I guess I'll take what I can get...
edit: better?

[Jack Lexington]

As I approach the girl I can see her tense up briefly, her face becomes cold and reserved as she lets her eyes roam the length of my body. Who can blame her after what I did to her. I beat her without looking back.
Her look makes me uncomfortable because I'm so beat up, limping and not at all proud. Not like I was before.
She asks why she wouldn"t be okay. It's either a facade she's put up or she really feels this way on the contrary to me.
"Just wondering." I explain. "Good to see you back in training."
I"m trying to be nice for a change even if it's not really in my nature.
So does she as she asks about my well being.
"You don't look so good." or is she actually happy to see me beat down?
"You think?" I ask the obvious with the slightest shrug of my right shoulder that's covered by the brace and sling.
"Not in the best of shapes, I guess." I admit.
Then I sit down on a crate because I find standing for a long time hard.
There's an uncomfortable silence between us, which I don't know how to break. I'm no good at small talk.

[анзие (Anz)]

[attr="class","atemplate"]

shatter every window

"

Just wondering. Good to see you back in training. ...You think?" he adds when she speaks again, "Not in the best of shapes, I admit."

It's like he's forcing himself to be nice and if Astra wasn't worn down by her own rigorous training it'll probably be funny. Okay, it's a little bit funny.

Astra's lips twitch faintly but her eyes don't betray a thing - so she hopes anyway. "Good to see you up and about," she responds in what she thinks is a mild tone. "You took a pretty harsh beating there." Not just physically, either.

Tilting her head to the side she gives him a brief once-over. Arm in a sling, keeping his weight off his battered leg (How he's still standing is a mystery to a lot of people; but I suppose he and I are kind of in the same boat, she thinks wryly, mind turning over the determined events of her day), he certainly looks the part of a fallen career. I don't think he actually is, though, is he? The boy she fought was too stubborn, too strong to be anything less than a career.

It's then she realizes that the silence has been dragged on for so long it's turning uncomfortable. The boy's seated on the crate, looking bone-tired and on the verge of collapsing (or maybe it's just wishful thinking; either way Astra's had more time to recuperate, even if she spent seventy per cent of that in the center).

Topics, topics, topics.

"I don't think I ever caught your name, by the way," Astra adds, lifting her gaze to study the boy again. She sticks out her hand. "I'm Astra."

Not a very long-winded topic, but it'll have to do for a little while.

(Woozy.)

"Have you thought about it?" she says abruptly, and maybe bringing up his loss isn't the best topic ever. "What you could have done to win? What you think you might have changed on the day?"

She has.

If it hadn't been just a game, Astra would be dead.

She thinks about it every damned night.

(It may not entirely be her idea but she thinks about it every damned night.)

'til it's all blown away

[attr="class","abox"]
Astra Vincent

district 2
seventeen
female

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Jack Frost. Sorry I took so long.