cord denzel // district eight (cbd1, fin)

Cord Denzel / 18 / District Eight

Thin, scarred lips drew back into a snarl and sunken eyes narrowed at the boy in front of her. He was from the slums - most of them were in Eight, herself included - and he’d been stupid enough to run his mouth about her kid brother in front of her. She swung once, sure and steady, and made solid contact with his mouth. He stumbled back and made a face, spitting blood after a moment.

“Say something stupid again and I’ll knock your teeth out,” Cord growled, straightening and glancing down at her bruising knuckles. She’d been born a fighter, always angry. Angry at her hollow belly, at the struggle of her family, at the world that didn’t notice her. Cordula Denzel. People knew the name. Knew the face, often hidden by auburn tangles as wild and reckless as she was. They called her the little brawler. She got into as many fights as the local gangs and often had the split lips and black eyes to prove it.

Without a backward glance she turned and continued on her way. During the days she worked in the factories until her hands were raw and bloody, but nights were spent hitting the streets. Their house was a shack off one of the alleyways and sometimes she was lucky enough to encounter someone too drunk to notice that the girl bumping into him was taking his wallet. Often she got into fights, sneaking through the door past midnight and patching up the cuts herself so her brother wouldn’t see her bleeding.

“You’re that fighting girl, aren’t you?” The boy called out, words muffled by his swollen lip. “Cordula?”

“Cord.” She said, not sparing him a glance. “I go by Cord.”

odair