familiar bruised faces [muffin]

[d6a georgie cham 🍓🐢 frankel]

Thane Alenko

 Following the fight at the club, it was going to be hard to hide my injuries from my aunt. Dragging myself home in the dead of night, having probable concussion, it was hard to string together a simple excuse. Thankfully, my body helped clean up my night’s antics, by refusing to carry me back home. I had to bed down on the streets and did not awake until late into the afternoon the next day. I am sure many passed my sleeping self, shaking their head, thinking I was some useless tramp. After resting, my body was willing to guide me back home and my brain helped with conjuring up a reason for my night’s absence.

”I slept over at a friend’s, I was sparring at the centre this morning…I did pretty bad.” Astonishingly, my aunt believed every word. Despite her hatred for my attendance to the training centre, she accepts the fact that now and then I may get banged up a little. Tending to my injuries, I was back on the road, I am never doing fight club again. Why did I even bother? I was humiliated in front of all those people, to prove what? It has obviously proved that I am a terrible fighter, how am I to even protect my family, if I can’t withstand a simple fight like that? I am useless, I am no defender.

Days have passed and now I am back at the training centre, I decided it was time to actually brush up on my skills. For years I have been training at this centre, learning a lot of skills but I’ve noticed a lot of careers don’t value their skill. They’re all here to look tough and are hoping to be a victor in the games. While I am here to learn how to protect my family, I don’t want to willingly put myself into the games, how am I to protect them then? It’s ridiculous and most of the time; they abuse their skills on the weak. Maybe the winnings of the victor would help my family but I could never risk it, however if either of the twins were reaped… I would have to step in for them.

Pushing open the doors into the gymnasium, I’d glance around the room. A few bruises still remain on my face, slowly fading, but too slow. I’ve had a lot of people glance at me, for if you’ve too many scars, it proves you’re weak. Many think the opposite and that if you’ve scars, you’re battle worn. Yes but, if you’re a warrior, wouldn’t you have less? Shouldn’t you be blocking yourself from such scars? I don’t take pride in my injuries, I just want them to heal and disappear from my appearance forever.

Approaching one of the heavy bags, I’d decide to train my hits on it, at least then I won’t have to train on somebody else. Many times, I have burst another’s lips and once broken another’s nose. I hate hurting people who don’t deserve it. They’re just here to train, yet I’ve gone and injured them, I hate having innocent’s blood on my knuckles.

Standing in a balanced stance, I’d begin to throw a few punches at the bag, each one being harder and harder with each punch. Moving around the bag, I’d throw a knuckle at every available spot on it. But it doesn’t feel right; I don’t feel this fury like many others have. I just feel like I prancing around a bag of leather, flicking out my fist now and then. Stopping, I’d rest my hands on the bag, glancing around. What do I do? None of this feels right? I shouldn’t be here…

Wiping away the sweat with the back of my hand, I’d just continue to throw more punches at the bag. You’re here to protect your siblings Thane, you’re their guarding and you must shield them for life. I can’t shield them, if I can’t even defend myself.

Muffinface

[Muffinface]

XX

He can hardly recall the night at the fight club- not two punches into his second fight, the chick knocked him out cold, flat on his ass. Honestly, he can't even recall going home that night- a dull image of the dark warehouse reflects poorly in his memory, but hell, he could have just been dreaming anyway.

A fight ensued, he knows that much, and his mother declared him grounded 'Until you're thirty' or whatever. So, the routine began- school, home, then the training center if he asked politely.

Fault himself rubs his cheek, where a beautiful black eye blooms in the morning light. Sure while he never told his parents where he went, his oldest cousin could take a single look and know exactly where he'd been, sharing only a dull frown- what career didn't take part in Fight Club? It was a twisted initiation ritual into the ranks of minor stardom, and anyone who was anyone attended at least once or twice, and only those who wanted any chance of someday getting into the arena won.

But the sixteen year old didn't lie when confronted, didn't say anything, simply brushed it off with a laugh and a 'You know me' which seemed to sate the hunger most approached with.

Though he does make sure to avoid the 'floor' for a while, hanging back on the sidelines while others fight, fists and fury soaring through the air while his eye struggles to heal, initially blurred and swollen shut. He opts instead, for less physical courses, classroom settings he normally found boring and only minorly useful at best.

Today, specifically, he holds a styrofoam cup, lounging on a weightlifting bench with his legs propped up on a few dumbbells stacked to about knee-height. Pale eyes flicker -mostly- upon the lithe forms of women and girls twisting and turning, gymnasts in their own rights, before they fall on a lonely male.

Eyes narrow tight, his jaw clenched as he focuses, struggling to put a name to that face. Thin fingers lift to pat at his still beautifully bruised face, quiet huff slipping past his parted lips. Blurs of trash talk and unfocused eyes ping his face.

Oh. Right.

He hauls himself free from his nest, adjusting his tank top. He leaves the other things as is, uncaring- he wasn't lifting the weights anyway, so he wasn't using them. Fuck it, someone else can get 'em.

His feet drag slightly as he approaches, hands pushing his pants pockets to the limits, fists clamped down inside. A few moment pass with Fault standing on the sidelines, just watching the half-hearted attempts to slap the crap out of the bag, before he finally grins, and steps forward.

"Hey, you're supposed to keep your stance tight." he states, circling the bag, gaze meeting the kid's. Actually, Thane is probably older than him, but Fault doesn't give two shits either way, a shit-eating smirk on his face.

WC- 488

Hay Frankel, since we started the thread pre-reaping, I kept it along that theme. c:

[d6a georgie cham 🍓🐢 frankel]

Thane Alenko

Continuing the beat the leaving daylights out of the bag, I’d slowly somewhat become sentimental over the bag and the force of my punches worry me. Am I that strong? Am I that crazed? What is wrong with me? Allowing the bag to swing backwards and forwards, I’d realise that I’ve been so blind to my own fury. I need to relax. Lately there has been something ticking inside of me, maybe a countdown to something…quite possibly a bomb. I have never become agitated or annoyed but so much anger has possessed my body. I need to stop it; I need to control it…quickly.

I can’t help them if I can’t control what’s going on in my head. Do I need my own help? Who do I go too? Having looked after the twins for so long, I’ve forgotten that I need my own help. Slowly I am crumbling into pieces. One slice at a time, the soft cushion surrounding me is revealing a concrete wall containing a monster. I need to conceal it; I need to stop feeling it, I can let go of my usual self. I am not here to frighten the twins, I am their saviour not their nightmare. Pull yourself together Thane, you’re nearly a grown man, not a soft little child.

Circling my body, the thoughts would travel to my arm’s muscles, taking control of the punches. Curling a tight fist, my thumbs outside resting on my fingers, I’d force my fist into the bag. Getting most of the power from my waist, past training would begin to play through in my mind. Thankfully my thoughts are elsewhere, focusing on better things. Gritting my teeth with every hit, a shock of pain would sprint through my nerves, sending a shock in my chest. I am ruined; my body is falling apart already. How can I protect them if I am not even fit?

Blocking out anyone who may be observing me, I’d be too focus on the pain swimming around my body. Never have I really interacted with anyone at the centre…I do have the odd friend but I am too committed to training to socialise here. From time to time I do pick up a training partner now and then. But then do I only converse about the activity we’re doing. I am not here to make friends; I am here to learn how to protect my family. If I become committed to a friendship, I’ll be unable to do that.

It seems my blocking out of surroundings is quite advanced, as the sounds of someone’s words send me into a slight panic mode. Quickly ending my battle with the bag, my heart would nearly jump out of my chest as the person would nearly scare the shit out of me. His words would only be as insulting as ever but with the soft coat wrapped around me, I have somewhat grown immune to criticism; after all I am not the greatest career in the centre.

Brushing off his words, I’d quickly identify him as Fault…the guy who beat me at Fight Club. He seems worse off than be and I wonder how he did. Never talk about  Fight Club Quickly recollecting the words, I’d try to twist my way to find out how far he got. ”You seem beaten. Are you sure you’re the one who should be keeping his stance tight?” Poison rolls from my tongue, the sour taste that has been resting on my tongue lately. Thane you’ve to stop this, you’re too kind to go down this road.

Muffinface
598 words

[Muffinface]

XX

"Oh ha, ha, ha. You here to shit talk, or are you here to fucking train?" he teases back, though his voice lacks the painful, fiery venom. "You wanna go again, only this time with actual fucking tools?" His hand gestures widely to the massive array on either side of them- wooden swords, glaives, fake throwing stakes, spears, axes and whatever else the center could come up with. All tools of destruction, of defensive protection turned offensive.

Fault himself feels fairly relaxed, and completely unoffended- more than one male, and nearly all females have told him basically to fuck off, and sometimes, its a regular thing. Still, he keeps trying and struggling against their walls, though his hands finally fall. A glimmer of frustration reaches his pale eyes, and he finally frowns, taking the hint- maybe. The guy just wants to be left alone.

Nah, of course not! Training is a social event, and it should be friendly and a welcoming environment- the games are just as much a team sport as they are going to have to turn solo at some point.

"Alright look, I didn't mean to offend you, sorry if I did." His hands lift defensively, as though he knows exactly what Thane wants to do- maybe kick his ass across the center from one end to the other, and at his size, Fault doubts he couldn't. What the opposing male lacks in skill, he more than makes up for it in strength and sheer size. Fault is like a mouse, compared to the crouching tiger of the career before him, and a momentary fear grips his throat.

Actually he couldn't be too sure- with himself out of commission, it could just be an even fight, especially with his left eye still being a bit blurry. Fault relies mostly on speed and sidestepping, and if his perefriels are out, then so is he.

WC- 317

[d6a georgie cham 🍓🐢 frankel]

Thane Alenko

Watching Fault’s hand movement, his response would send venom trailing around my body, even though it is already full of it. As he gestures to the weapons, I turn my attention back to the bag. Sending another great big fist towards the centre of it, all the frustration that had been kindling inside would douse itself on the poor leather bag. Swinging backwards with my hit, it would drop off from the chain, landing on the ground with quite a thud. Now I have to get another. But then a red flag would pop into my brain, Fault obviously wants to socialise with me. I must calm myself before I take his request.

Crossing my arms, I’d wait for any other response from Fault, totally ignoring his first comment. Regret would circle my body, as I realised my comment to him must have been very rude. I am not always like this and I don’t want to come across as an arse hole, especially to a potential friend. Glancing around the room, I can feel the eyes of the other careers on us; they must’ve heard what I said and the loud thud of the cascading leather bag.

Darting my eyes to the bag as it lies on the floor; it would turn into a body in my mind. A dead body, lying flat, motionless on the ground. I did it. I knocked the life right out of it. One of my victims. I can’t be a killer; I can’t hurt anyone, only if they’re a threaten me and especially the twins.

Turning my attention back to Fault, I’d listen to his comment. All the regret that had been circling my body earlier would return as I feel sorry for his apology.”No it’s alright, I should be the one apologising. I am sorry if I came off quite rude.”

Eying Fault, I’d get a better view of him than what I did at the fight club. He must be a bit younger than me and he pretty much smaller. Like most small people I know, he is probably quick and well he proved that in our fight. I am just like the slow typical big guy, with the odd strength here and there. I wish had both sharpness and strength however I can never get the best of both worlds. Especially me, I can never get what I deserve.

Looking around the centre, I’d try to make a mends with Fault, suggesting whatever I could. ”Do you want to do something? Maybe train somewhere or go chill out somewhere?” My chilling out suggestion slightly excites me, as the thought of sitting down somewhere and doing nothing hits me.

Muffinface