atalante kumar | d4 fin
Aug 24, 2017 0:02:46 GMT -5
Post by shrimp on Aug 24, 2017 0:02:46 GMT -5
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Her mother smiled when she took to the waters with a flourish. Laughing as she splashed her sisters, giggling as her mother taught her the strokes. Shoulder length hair gleaming in the sunlight. Every day she went further and further, learned new strokes and competed to see which one of the girls could hold their breath underwater the longest. Eventually, with enough practice, she won.
She understands this cycle at a young age: victory is rewarded through skill and hard work. So that's what she did, confidence imbued into her veins as she grew. Her limbs grew long and toned, her lungs as healthy as an ox's. Her fingers nimble and her grip steady as she shoots her targets. Her laugh is bright. She'll spend mornings training, running laps around the island and practicing her archery. The afternoons are spent in the water, whether it be staring at the dappled sunlight on her skin or hauling in a net of fish. In the evenings she dons her lipstick, fixes her eyebrows and sets sail in a small boat that rocks against the docks, coral-colored paint chips drifting in the waves.
If she's in a group, she'll be the first to cast sail, the first to arrive on the shore, the first to walk into the bar. If she's nervous (some doubt if that's even possible), it's not shown in the corners of her mouth, her calculating gaze, the swagger when she orders her drink from the bartender, sending them a wink and a tip. It's not shown in her hair swaying from side to side as she loses herself in the music. And it's certainly not in her laugh when it smashes into the first man who speaks at her with slime coating his voice. The sound is heavy with venom.
They challenge her to darts. She'll "beat them without breaking a sweat." They challenge her to a race and she wonders if they're kidding: all full of fire and brimstone from the liquor in their bellies. If they had real confidence they'd do so when their minds were clear and their feet could walk in a straight line. So she raises the stakes. "Whichever one of you asswipes beats me in a race, I'll marry you."
They've technically beaten her once - she'll never admit it (instead huffing & tossing her hair). Throwing pristine apples in her path counts as cheating and results in her punching the violator square in the jaw and kicking him in the balls. Rage boiling, she had left for the island and hadn't returned for a month. She still hasn't been back to that particular bar, lest they have hung a wanted poster of her near the bar or some man decides that his underhand tactics were deserving of a wife.
Sometimes, she'll see her father. The owner of a large fishing boat, he still makes trades with the Amazons at least once a week, exchanging pleasantries with her mother. For six months he took her with him on an expedition, teaching her how to spear fish with precision, how to haggle with merchants, how to defend against hostile ships. It was a world much different than the one she grew up in, filled with tempests and steel, the taste of iron as she bit her tongue in exhaustion.
She had pushed herself before, but when she arrived back home she knew that if someone asked her to lift the world on her shoulders, she could do so without hesitation.
So she works with knowledge in her steps, carefree because she knows that she can do what needs to be done, because when the going gets tough, she plants her feet and pushes back with as much gusto. She thinks of an old saying, an Unstoppable force and an Immovable object. If she's even more honest with herself, Atti likes to think that she can be both.
When the stars have risen above the horizon Atti and her mother climb onto the roof, staring at the lights. Stories etched into the skies, her mother recounts constellations from her past, and they create new ones with ludicrous tales. She snickers, she snorts. Sometimes, she falls asleep with the wind brushing her face before her mother shakes her awake. "Do you want to fall off the roof?"
"You're overreacting, mom," she'll respond. She knows herself, she trusts herself. As she stares at the sky she knows there's only one direction she'll go.
ATALANTE KUMAR
"ATTI" KUMAR
17 YRS. - DISTRICT 4
{ AMAZON }
"ATTI" KUMAR
17 YRS. - DISTRICT 4
{ AMAZON }
Her mother smiled when she took to the waters with a flourish. Laughing as she splashed her sisters, giggling as her mother taught her the strokes. Shoulder length hair gleaming in the sunlight. Every day she went further and further, learned new strokes and competed to see which one of the girls could hold their breath underwater the longest. Eventually, with enough practice, she won.
She understands this cycle at a young age: victory is rewarded through skill and hard work. So that's what she did, confidence imbued into her veins as she grew. Her limbs grew long and toned, her lungs as healthy as an ox's. Her fingers nimble and her grip steady as she shoots her targets. Her laugh is bright. She'll spend mornings training, running laps around the island and practicing her archery. The afternoons are spent in the water, whether it be staring at the dappled sunlight on her skin or hauling in a net of fish. In the evenings she dons her lipstick, fixes her eyebrows and sets sail in a small boat that rocks against the docks, coral-colored paint chips drifting in the waves.
If she's in a group, she'll be the first to cast sail, the first to arrive on the shore, the first to walk into the bar. If she's nervous (some doubt if that's even possible), it's not shown in the corners of her mouth, her calculating gaze, the swagger when she orders her drink from the bartender, sending them a wink and a tip. It's not shown in her hair swaying from side to side as she loses herself in the music. And it's certainly not in her laugh when it smashes into the first man who speaks at her with slime coating his voice. The sound is heavy with venom.
They challenge her to darts. She'll "beat them without breaking a sweat." They challenge her to a race and she wonders if they're kidding: all full of fire and brimstone from the liquor in their bellies. If they had real confidence they'd do so when their minds were clear and their feet could walk in a straight line. So she raises the stakes. "Whichever one of you asswipes beats me in a race, I'll marry you."
They've technically beaten her once - she'll never admit it (instead huffing & tossing her hair). Throwing pristine apples in her path counts as cheating and results in her punching the violator square in the jaw and kicking him in the balls. Rage boiling, she had left for the island and hadn't returned for a month. She still hasn't been back to that particular bar, lest they have hung a wanted poster of her near the bar or some man decides that his underhand tactics were deserving of a wife.
Sometimes, she'll see her father. The owner of a large fishing boat, he still makes trades with the Amazons at least once a week, exchanging pleasantries with her mother. For six months he took her with him on an expedition, teaching her how to spear fish with precision, how to haggle with merchants, how to defend against hostile ships. It was a world much different than the one she grew up in, filled with tempests and steel, the taste of iron as she bit her tongue in exhaustion.
She had pushed herself before, but when she arrived back home she knew that if someone asked her to lift the world on her shoulders, she could do so without hesitation.
So she works with knowledge in her steps, carefree because she knows that she can do what needs to be done, because when the going gets tough, she plants her feet and pushes back with as much gusto. She thinks of an old saying, an Unstoppable force and an Immovable object. If she's even more honest with herself, Atti likes to think that she can be both.
When the stars have risen above the horizon Atti and her mother climb onto the roof, staring at the lights. Stories etched into the skies, her mother recounts constellations from her past, and they create new ones with ludicrous tales. She snickers, she snorts. Sometimes, she falls asleep with the wind brushing her face before her mother shakes her awake. "Do you want to fall off the roof?"
"You're overreacting, mom," she'll respond. She knows herself, she trusts herself. As she stares at the sky she knows there's only one direction she'll go.
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