table testing . [ Pogue ]
Aug 2, 2021 10:33:11 GMT -5
Post by pogue on Aug 2, 2021 10:33:11 GMT -5
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S T A Y W I T H T H E M
Love breaks his own post-training tradition in the face of a new beginning, muscles in his arm straining in protest as he pulls himself gracefully up from the edge of the pool. The water weight clings to him softly as he stands for a moment, mixing and twirling below him with the little bits of blood that seep from the shallow cuts on his skin. The footsteps are red as he walks back to the center of the room, contrasting against the pearly whites on display in the trademark smile that’s etched once more onto his face.
His hand wraps around the journal he’d placed onto the table in the very beginning of all of this, flipping open the pages until he finally gets to the twelve pages he’d written on the three trainers that had fallen under his weight. Diagrams and notes and circles and squares and every little itty bitty finding he’d snatched from the shadows are written in red ink, meeting his gaze as he flips through each page.
Then, in one fluid motion he rips the chapter free from the book, the sound of tearing paper echoing through the training center.
They crinkle in his grasp, water of his skin seeping into the pages and mixing with the notes he’d carved into them, turning red lines into nothing but bloodstains. Fitting. he thinks to himself. Thirty seconds left and Love tosses the paper into the air above him, hearing the swoosh of the running current under their wings as they bounce and scatter amongst each other.
He bows like the gentleman he is, all seeped in blood and Bellisario bravado.
”Love Bellisario. Two.” He repeats as the timer begins to blare. Keep them. He thinks to the Gamemakers as his eyes dart between the falling papers.
His hand wraps around the journal he’d placed onto the table in the very beginning of all of this, flipping open the pages until he finally gets to the twelve pages he’d written on the three trainers that had fallen under his weight. Diagrams and notes and circles and squares and every little itty bitty finding he’d snatched from the shadows are written in red ink, meeting his gaze as he flips through each page.
Then, in one fluid motion he rips the chapter free from the book, the sound of tearing paper echoing through the training center.
They crinkle in his grasp, water of his skin seeping into the pages and mixing with the notes he’d carved into them, turning red lines into nothing but bloodstains. Fitting. he thinks to himself. Thirty seconds left and Love tosses the paper into the air above him, hearing the swoosh of the running current under their wings as they bounce and scatter amongst each other.
He bows like the gentleman he is, all seeped in blood and Bellisario bravado.
”Love Bellisario. Two.” He repeats as the timer begins to blare. Keep them. He thinks to the Gamemakers as his eyes dart between the falling papers.
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S T A Y W I T H T H E M
Love breaks his own post-training tradition in the face of a new beginning, muscles in his arm straining in protest as he pulls himself gracefully up from the edge of the pool. The water weight clings to him softly as he stands for a moment, mixing and twirling below him with the little bits of blood that seep from the shallow cuts on his skin. The footsteps are red as he walks back to the center of the room, contrasting against the pearly whites on display in the trademark smile that’s etched once more onto his face.
His hand wraps around the journal he’d placed onto the table in the very beginning of all of this, flipping open the pages until he finally gets to the twelve pages he’d written on the three trainers that had fallen under his weight. Diagrams and notes and circles and squares and every little itty bitty finding he’d snatched from the shadows are written in red ink, meeting his gaze as he flips through each page.
Then, in one fluid motion he rips the chapter free from the book, the sound of tearing paper echoing through the training center.
They crinkle in his grasp, water of his skin seeping into the pages and mixing with the notes he’d carved into them, turning red lines into nothing but bloodstains. Fitting. he thinks to himself. Thirty seconds left and Love tosses the paper into the air above him, hearing the swoosh of the running current under their wings as they bounce and scatter amongst each other.
He bows like the gentleman he is, all seeped in blood and Bellisario bravado.
”Love Bellisario. Two.” He repeats as the timer begins to blare. Keep them. He thinks to the Gamemakers as his eyes dart between the falling papers.
His hand wraps around the journal he’d placed onto the table in the very beginning of all of this, flipping open the pages until he finally gets to the twelve pages he’d written on the three trainers that had fallen under his weight. Diagrams and notes and circles and squares and every little itty bitty finding he’d snatched from the shadows are written in red ink, meeting his gaze as he flips through each page.
Then, in one fluid motion he rips the chapter free from the book, the sound of tearing paper echoing through the training center.
They crinkle in his grasp, water of his skin seeping into the pages and mixing with the notes he’d carved into them, turning red lines into nothing but bloodstains. Fitting. he thinks to himself. Thirty seconds left and Love tosses the paper into the air above him, hearing the swoosh of the running current under their wings as they bounce and scatter amongst each other.
He bows like the gentleman he is, all seeped in blood and Bellisario bravado.
”Love Bellisario. Two.” He repeats as the timer begins to blare. Keep them. He thinks to the Gamemakers as his eyes dart between the falling papers.
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