it's not a masterpiece // arc

She'd admit, even after so many years of getting into scraps, it still surprised her when they swung back the first time.

She should have known better than to underestimate him. She knew better than anyone that the starving people she met on the street were bound to be more resourceful, not less. She was careless, though, and the evidence showed in her scarred lips, her often swollen and bruised cheekbones. Reckless, wild, fighter girl. For a moment she understood what her mother always tried to drill into her head in the mornings. You gain nothing by being so damn impulsive. At that her eyes would always slide to her brother and she'd smile a little, a secret they shared that only they seemed to understand. What fun was there in practicality?

Her reaction was a split second late - too late to dodge, but not too late for her hand to fly up and grab at his punch. Almost immediately she realized her mistake. As soon as his knuckles made contact with her hand she felt it - the crack of something, and it certainly hadn't come from him. A moment later white hot pain shot through the inside of her palm and she cried out, stumbling back a step. Automatic tears flooded into her eyes and she blinked them away, grinding her teeth against the pain. She'd felt worse, after all. At least this one hadn't pulled a knife on her. She took a split second to try to wiggle her fingers, but already her entire hand was swelling and movement made the pain almost blinding. She let out a hiss of pain, narrowed eyes raising to meet his.

"Damn, kid." She grimaced, then raised her chin and forced herself to smirk. "You sure can pack a punch, can't you?"

She danced out of his reach for a moment, breathing hard as she held her damaged hand for a moment. Broken. She didn't doubt it, but she'd always been able to patch herself up in the past, hadn't she? You can't afford a healer. But you also can't afford to let it heal wrong. She swore colorfully, then eyed him. He looked like he could barely afford his next meal. Somehow, she doubted he had a spare wallet on him.

"All I see is skin and bones, so you sure ain't new to the slums," she said, squaring her shoulders and tucking her bad hand behind her back. It pulsed and the pain spiked in protest, but she forced herself to ignore it. "But it seems you still have a few things to learn."

There weren't many rules in Eight. Stay away from the Keepers. Don't look the wealthy in the eye. Don't try to pickpocket on the main streets. But Cord had developed her own set in her years wandering the alleyways. Being able to throw a punch did that for a girl. She remembered the first time she'd nailed someone for calling her a rather unpleasant name. She'd knocked out three of his teeth. "The first is that I go by Cord. Not sweetheart. Just Cord."

Her lips curled up unkindly as she stepped toward him again, eyes glinting even in the darkness. "And the second is that I'm right-handed."



Her mouth spread into a grin as her leg struck out instead of her fist. "Too bad I like to fight with my feet, too."

i will stake my flag
in the road where it bends
it was just the start
when it felt like the end

Cordula Denzel hadn't felt ambitious in a long, long time.

(The consequences of such thinking was burned into her brain permanently. She could still feel the rope digging rubbing up against her raw wrists, still see the image of the wooden pole blurring in front of her. She remembered lifting her head and being vaguely aware of the presence of a crowd, yet the square was dead silent. Voices had swam through her head as another crack echoed through the square, followed by another streak of pain ripping through the skin of her back. Not worth the trip to the Detention Center, they'd said. Little rat should be grateful, they'd sneered. And after a while the whip and the blood and the pain had convinced her that yes, they were right. Dirt beneath their shoes, she was. She'd never be anything more.)

Ripred, she hated remembering that day. Her mother had cried when someone - she didn't remember who - had been brave enough to collect her broken body from where it had slumped in front of the pole and carry her back home. That was the day she vowed, through a mind fogged by pain, that she was learn to patch herself up rather than let anyone else do it for her. That was also the day that she realized she was no one, never would be anyone, and she had better make the best of it because nothing was going to change. Ambition was for the wealthy, not for the slums.

And maybe that was where the thrill in fighting came from. In the real world, she couldn't hope to win. In fighting, she stood a chance. Sure, she came home most nights with fresh bruises on her face - (but that was okay because no one had ever called her pretty anyway) - but she had fought and that made every ache and sting worth it. Even after being forced into line, she was still angry at the world, and she still wanted to fight. When her fist made contact with someone's jaw she forgot about the scars on her back and the emptiness in her stomach. She forgot about the unfairness of the world. Wealth and power were a dizzying tangle of words and weighted stares, but in fighting it was only one's ability and strength that won them the game. In scraps like the one she was in, the world made sense, at least for a little while.

"Not big on talking, are you, Rattlebones?" she grinned as he aimed another swing and she brought her forearm up, deflecting the blow up into the air above her shoulder and stepping swiftly in the other direction. She didn't make the same mistakes twice. (Pain was a strong teacher. She'd learned that the hard way.) Her lips drew back into a sneer. She liked talking when she fought - bladed words didn't usually cut deep, but they were always fun to play with. Loudmouth, her mother called her sometimes. But then her brother would always grin. Dead clever, he'd whisper. Her eyes lit up a little. "It ain't polite, being so quiet. And there's no Keepers around to shut you up for speaking out of turn."

She lashed out again, not missing a beat. "Or are you just afraid I'm going to knock a few of your teeth out if you say something stupid again? 'cause I'll admit, it's a valid concern."



She aimed for the exact spot where she'd hit him the first time, not bothering to go for his face. It'd be a shame to bruise up such nice eyes.

when all is said
when all is done
you did your best
you gave your all

As soon as she heard the second crack, Cord released a stream of very loud, very colorful curses that would have made even the filthiest of the slums cringe. Her hand was still screaming with pain and almost immediately her foot joined it, two screeching symphonies that had white flashing beneath her eyelids every time she blinked. She used her good hand to catch herself on the wall as her knee buckled beneath her, the rough stone digging cuts into her forearm.

It took a moment for her to collect herself. There was a roaring sound in her ears and her entire body seemed to be in protest against her, liquid fire shooting through her veins. For a moment, she thought she was going to vomit. And oddly enough, the first thought that entered her head wasn't about the solid month it was going to take for her to get back on her feet. It wasn't about the shame she was going to feel when she was forced to send her kid brother to work at the factory for her. It wasn't even about slaughtering the asshole in front of her for condemning her. No, her first thought was about dragging herself through the front door in the morning.

Mum's going to kill me.

She dragged herself up on the wall, feeling dizzy and more than a little lightheaded, but managed to spit right at his feet and wipe at her mouth with her good hand. "Don't get around much, d-do you, Rattlebones?" Her smile was crooked but it almost hurt more than it was worth. "A fighter's who I am. It's all this damn district knows me as. That fighter girl."

She never cared about the names they gave her to her face. They were probably much better than the ones that they whispered behind her back, the ones they didn't think she heard. Idiots. And yet, she couldn't blame them for seeing her as nothing, because she saw them the exact same way. It was how the government controlled them - first make thieves, then punish them. And of course she wanted to be more. Hell, who didn't? If fighter girl was the best she got, though, she certainly wasn't about to complain. It was better than beggar girl by a long shot.

"And who are y-you, then?" she sneered, forcing herself away from the wall and balancing precariously on one foot. She wasn't about to screech at him for breaking two bones - she'd starting the fight, and she wasn't too blind to see that - but it didn't mean she wasn't bitter. Ripred, she wanted him to hurt. But she was also curious. "Haven't heard of you before, so I guess that makes you a half-starved n-nobody, huh? Got plenty of those to go around."

She was stalling for time, for a few moments to collect herself and recover. Damn girl, her mother would say. Give it up while you're still conscious. The thing was, Cord didn't go into fights looking to win. She went into them looking to injure, to hurt, to punish. Rattlebones hadn't gotten his quite yet, and she wasn't about to let it go that easily. She tilted her head slightly. "Maybe I'm wrong, though. You fight a l-little too well to be nobody, so maybe you're just another asshole. Got plenty of them, too."

She sucked in a deep breath, ignoring the way the pain spiked and tears sprang into her eyes. "And I'm just the fighter girl who doesn't know when to give up, so I guess we're about even." And with that she stepped fast onto her bad foot, releasing a cry through gritted teeth, and aimed to punish.



Her leg collapsed at the last minute and she tumbled, but not before she managed to loop one arm around his leg and take him down with her. She landed on her bad side and was unable to muffle the cry of pain even as she felt some small sense of satisfaction when she heard him hit the damp pavement not a half second after she did.

She doubted she'd be getting back up, though.

and the sins of time will ship
and the rivers heaven flow
when our hearts grow tired and cold
there's a strength to letting go