{SHOUT OUT TO THE SCOUNDRELS} - - {FIGHT CLUB}

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gamemaker kelsier
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“And now that you don't have to be perfect, you can be good.” - steinbeck

{SHOUT OUT TO THE SCOUNDRELS} - - {FIGHT CLUB} Jan 4, 2012 0:06:52 GMT -5

Post by gamemaker kelsier on Jan 4, 2012 0:06:52 GMT -5

No nonsense voice
Talking
Doing
Deep thought
Hearing
Singing

She was looking for her out.

Practiced hands lifted the dishes from the kitchen table, carrying them over to the sink in a way so effortless it did not look like Avon Lightwood was holding a replica of a certain famous tower in her hands. A tall obstacle in the form of one Riley Lightwood stood in front of the sink, so she settled for placing them beside it. She stood behind him, watching his shoulders move as he worked. She heard a soft, tune coming from between his lips, and she wondered if he was even aware of the fact that he sang it. He always insisted on wearing those big yellow dish washing gloves when doing the dishes. Avon liked to stick her hands into the scalding water and feel the sting. She thought before that it was just because he hated that pain, but now she knew that wasn't the case at all.

She knows what lives there, beneath all that rubber and fabric, waiting for the tang of a razor on the lip of it's scarred tissue. She's seen the way his pale skin doesn't even look real, all scratched, chipped away at, and cut to try and reveal a Michelangelo masterpiece underneath, when all he can find is blood and skin. She knows that he's looking for perfection in there because he can't see that it's hiding in the most obvious of places, that first layer. She wishes she knew what to do about it, but anytime something emotionally overwhelming happens, she shuts down, and closes up like a clam. And she doesn't even know how to tell her brother that she loves him more than she loves the memory of their father, or the way the sun sits on the library floor in the summertime.

She could tell him right now. She could open her mouth, and tell him that he's far more important to her than even herself because he's the one she knew she could always trust. He's the one she couldn't ever save, like the rest of them. She can't save anyone, how useless is she? So what she wants to do is lean her head against his firm back, and tell him these things, but even the thought of trying makes her words well up into nothing, and her face go smooth as a china doll's one again. So instead she just does what she normally does in such a situation. "I'm going to go see Alphonse," the tone of it neutral, and polished, and the kitchen door opening with a soft click. She hears him turning, a quick reply maybe, even as she shuts the door tight behind her. She's galloping, running for the tree as soon as her foot is on the small stoop.

She needs to find something to punch. And Alphonse used to be that someone, but it's kind of gotten bigger than that. It's gotten to the point now that there are enough people in District One that like to punch things, that Avon and Phonse made something special. See, they don't just punch each other now, they have the opportunity to punch a whole mess of people, and those people want to punch someone as well. They even got the use of the basement of a bar for this so called fight club, and had been building it up for a year now. So maybe it was a tiny bit illegal, so what. No one cared. They were a bunch of Districters, the most important people were the ones in the capitol. As long as they still did their jobs to make them happy, then who really gave a fuck about them?

She climbed the tree separating the Sommer's and the Lightwood's yards. It had been there probably since the dawn of time, but the fence was built through it, as if the tree had seen it in it's path, and thought, no big deal. The tree was full of knots, and little crannies to stick one's feet into. Ever since they were little, the two of them had found new ways to test things out between them, to take risks. And there were holes in the tree that they stored things in, one of those being a flashlight. She lifted up a big yellow one, and aimed it expertly at the bedroom window Alphonse left open, just like she left one open as well. Flicking the light on and off in intervals, she told him that she was going to fight club. Hiding it again, she dropped down the six feet or so to the ground, with a practiced roll.

She was too agitated to wait for Phone, so she started at a light jog, the back way to the club, waiting for his footsteps to come along so she could look at him in half annoyance. her mother always said that Phonse and her were going to get married, but the two of them always laughed at the whole idea of it. They weren't really made for marriage. They were simply soul mates in the sense that they knew each other backwards. She was more used to Alphonse's face than seeing her own looking back in the mirror. Currently her's was sporting a slight bruise on her jawbone, and torn knuckles. Small prices to pay for an evening of sweet release. She could be feral and crazy in the ring and no one would blame her. It was like paradise, but she always had to return to some level of something less than that. She wasn't so much addicted, as she was dependent.

She knew that sometimes when she rolled out of bed late the next day because she was too stiff to go for her morning run, Riley looked at her with those puppy dog, sorrowful eyes, as if he had been the one to do something wrong. Sometimes she hated that look so much that she wanted to punch it. But who would punch a puppy in the face? There's no analogy for that one. It's literally like punching a puppy in the face. But when she's all riled up, blood streaming down her face from a fight, she forgets that Riley will look like a kicked puppy the next day because Alphonse is shouting excitedly in her ear as they run back home together. When that happens, blood singing through her, she can barely remember her own name, let alone Riley's certain disappointment.
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ooc: So I'm expecting an Alphonse post first! And then we shall go from there :)

compendium / avriel
clown car / pietro
2022 tracker / 2023 tracker / 2024 tracker

edelweiss
Seam Resident

22 POSTS
last seen Jul 23, 2012 1:03:09 GMT -5

The Plight of the feeble minded...

{SHOUT OUT TO THE SCOUNDRELS} - - {FIGHT CLUB} Jan 5, 2012 3:59:58 GMT -5

Post by edelweiss on Jan 5, 2012 3:59:58 GMT -5

Theodore brought the pastry up to his mouth, tearing through half of it in one swift bite. ”This cupcake tastes like fucking sawdust.” “It isn’t that bad, I like mother’s cooking.” Theodore replied. “You must be a masochist after all, huh?” he asked. “Theodore, you like it don’t you?” said the pale faced woman, staring the young career down with both confidence and anticipation. Theodore turned back to her, throwing out a wide smile and shutting his eyes so tight they curled up in strain. “I love it mother, this tastes wonderful." The old seamstress grinned back at her son, fist tight with satisfaction. "The others are probably expecting us, we should get going." “Mother, I’m going out to look for him again.” said Teddy, slipping on his white jacket and gradient black sneakers. This brought a frown to his mothers face, “Theo, it’s been a week. I don’t think that dog is coming back.” The young Deux turned back to her as he always did, loathing her inquisition into his motivations for leaving the house. “And what happened to your eye?” asked the seamstress, rubbing a thumb over the faint bruise on Theodore’s light bronze skin. “It’s nothing; I probably just need some sleep.” Her face went blank, unknowing of whether to question further or let it be. Of course, being weak of will, Theodore’s mother would make the same choice she made every time. “Goodbye, I’m going to check some of the side-streets this time.” And with that, the door was promptly shut and Teddy made his way down the sidewalk, hands in his freshly cleaned jacket.

How frustrating it had been, washing out the blood-stains by hand. Sometimes the blood was his, other times it wasn’t. Whatever the case, it had to be removed consistently, lest Theodore’s mother raise even more suspicions. His once black jeans had turned a dark grey due to repeated washings. It was counter intuitive however, the lighter they became the more vivid red showed. Teddy ran a finger under his eye, closing it slightly at the tinge of pain that accompanied such a wound. “Didn’t do so well last time, did we?” “Of course we did! He was bleeding, crying for his mother by the time we were done with him!” “And his blood tasted so damn good . Teddy could only chuckle at such a rendition. It made him feel like a turkey, opening his mouth wide trying to catch as many drops of rain as he could. But it wasn’t raining water. The blood would splatter onto his face every time he tore open a lip, or split an eye, or broke a nose. These were rarities however, for had they been regular occurrences, the taste of crimson fluid would spoil young Theodore and tempt him towards vampirism. And nobody needed that. Teddy loved it, the taste of human flesh. An ear in his mouth, a nose, a finger…anything. It may have been rather odd, but too much face to face and Theodore would be reeling at the thought of tasting skin. But downright cannibalism seemed rather savage, and the young career couldn’t stomach the thought of his reputation being damaged by his affection for bodily fluids. Madness in the purest form it was. Every member of fight club, he had probably tasted their blood at least once on occasion. The opportunity even arose during fights he may have lost and more often than not he took it. It would have seemed feral if he were too obvious about it, so he would lick his knuckles in-between fights or pretend to drop something and kneel down for a taste off of the ground.

Perhaps it had been just a stranger form of affection. It was true; he held a fondness for both his companions and adversaries. Yet social interaction was undoubtedly Teddy’s downfall, he would thus resort to hurting those he “loved” and hated alike. An opponent Theodore had particular interest in would face unrelenting torture if weaker than him. The sadist would water down his punches, his kicks, in hopes of spreading the battle over large amounts of time. It took them longer to wear down that way, giving Theo even more time to play with their psyche. He loved seeing pained expressions, things his “pets” couldn’t perform for him. The way they curled up in the fetal position once they knew there was no hope left, the white tinge flooding their eyes as they fell to the floor unconscious, Teddy loved it. Gratification delivered onto this ego’s doorstep. That’s what it was. It was Euphoria, Pure pleasure.

What goes around however, must come around, right? Theodore was certainly not the “toughest” of competitors. A fair share of fights he had lost, yet his ardor for drawn out losses were adjacent to his love of drawn out victories. There could be no in between. Theodore’s world had to be either black or white, and grey was not a welcome visitor. Either he would cause pain, or endure it. The pleasure was the same either way. His worst loss had been to Alphonse. Ending with a bloody nose, a crooked tooth and a black eye; the fight hadn’t been entirely one sided but it was clear who the victor was. The conflict had only served to make him like Alphonse even more. Not in that sort of way, as Theodore resented such human contact, but in strange sort of sibling admiration. He had admired the bond between Avon and Alphonse, but figured such closeness was probably unattainable to him with his outlandish indulgences and whatnot. So the young career maintained his distance from such intimate encounters, seeing his fight club affiliates as business partners, comrades, perhaps even family. Yet resilience in self reliance prevented him from divulging deep feelings to them, the way it probably should have been.

Unquestioned, unrelenting loyalty had undoubtedly been the culprit in his recruitment as a crow. Theodore had never questioned one of Alphone’s orders, and if he had, the thought had most certainly remained in his head. More of a borderline obsession than a service, Teddy’s duty to his “king” and fight club was valued as one of his most important priorities. If the king told him to kill, he would kill. If the king told him to maim, he would maim. An order was an order, and since words had little true value to Theodore, no command was of major inconvenience. Being a crow was a job more than it was a hobby, a responsibility more than a favor. Anyone who was to challenge Alphonse was to suffer, and even if they managed to best Theodore the trauma of the entire event would probably discourage them from pursuing a further expedition through the Barking Mutt. His position under the "King” afforded the young Deux many privileges, as well as opportunities to inflict pain. Theodore could never forget the taste of Alphonse’s blood. A drop fell into his mouth by chance on one occasion or another. It was sweet, but smooth in a sense. It left him feeling dazed like a fine wine and like a drunkard he always stumbled back for more. Perhaps that’s why he was chosen for such a position… perhaps.

The walk to the barking Mutt wasn’t to be a long one. Sadly, in a twisted way, he didn’t live that far from the establishment. By the time he returned his mother would be asleep anyway, whatever wounds he’d acquired covered up long before she awoke. He would oversleep as usual, with little concern for morning punctuality. “Excited? Are you prepared? Is your tongue wet with anticipation?” “Of course it is.”, said the young career, smiling back at his reflection in the puddle. Splash! The doppelganger had vanished as quickly at it had appeared, and young Theodore continued his paces.

Last Edit: Jan 5, 2012 4:19:50 GMT -5 by edelweiss

umber vivuus 12b 🥀 [dars]
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— 🥀 —

{SHOUT OUT TO THE SCOUNDRELS} - - {FIGHT CLUB} Feb 19, 2012 18:50:18 GMT -5

Post by umber vivuus 12b 🥀 [dars] on Feb 19, 2012 18:50:18 GMT -5

Speaking
Main
Thinking
Outsiders

Guess what? I was pissed, and I'd just walked in the joint. Now, I may seem like a good girl that does all her school work, and walks down the sidewalk picking daisies, but I hope, for your sake, that you realize your wrong before it's too late, because chances are you'll regret it. The punk who is now probably in a hospital bed somewhere realized it too little too late. I can tell you one thing, though. He won't ever call me sweet heart and slap me on the ass again. Well, maybe if he were retarded, and if his hands ever healed. His hands. The thought was almost enough to make me laugh, actually. I was proud of my work, it was another job well done. Getting him on the cold, midnight sidewalk was the easy part, what with my slamming my fist into his temple after chasing him down, but I didn't let my imagination run wild until he was unconsious. I started by taking my heel off of my left foot, sitting on his arm, and pounding the back of his hand beyond recognition. I grabbed the fingers on the other hand with a smile, and bent each and every one of them back slowly, and one at a time, and I didn't stop until I heard the obnoxious "pop" that told me they were broken. I plopped down on his belly and sighed. "Poor guy. Just think, we could've been friends." I Pulled my left foot up to my right thigh and slid my blood stained shoe back on.

I slapped him in the face, not hard, actually, more playful than anything, and sloppily pulled myself to my feet. I turned my head back to him and smiled."Nice chatting with you." I said as I walked away. It was people like that who pissed me off more than any others. The ones that thought they actually had the right to treat people, girls, like me, like they were stinking ass dogs that weren't worth the scum beneath their feet. Not only was it obviously offensive, but pathetic, and I wouldn't ever stand for it.

Even the walk home wasn't enough to calm me down. Thoughts of assholes like him taking advantage of me, of my body, kept racing through my mind. All the times that they went to far, or didn't want to pay me back, and all the times I had to kick their asses. I pulled some hair out of my face, and pulled it down the back of my head. I leaned against one of the many brick walls that surrounded me and took a deep breath. "Hold it together, girl. You've got this." The sad part was that I honestly didn't know if I did or not. I wouldn't ever let anybody know that, of course, accept Avon. She was probably the only person in the entire District I could trust. I knew she trusted me, too, and I think that's why I liked her so much. I slid my hand onto my neck, and decided to finish the walk and think at the same time.

It wasn't like I had much further to go, after all. Just another block or so. I couldn't stand the damn heels anymore, so I took them off within a few feet of my previous stop. I squeezed my toes tight against the bottom of my tired feet. This wasn't anything new, my feet being tired. It seemed like they were always tired these days, what with my constant movement. I seriously doubted they'd be getting better anytime soon, because unless somebody wasn't telling me something, then my schedual wasn't going to change in the slightest. I seriously hoped it would, but it wasn't, so there was absolutely no point in worrying about it.

I was home, or at least that's what I called the apartment that was sitting across the street. As always, I started climbing the cold metal ladders and walking across the flimsy balconies, trying to get to my third story room. Why couldn't I just go in and use the nice, sturdy, strong staris? That's easy, it's because that would mean I'd have to walk all the way across the living room to get to my room, and that would increase my chances of "Daddy Dearest" seeing me, and that couldn't happen. I was okay, though. I'd done this a thousand times, so, it was an easy task and it was over in minutes. I slid the window up careful not to make a sound, or knock something over, and slid in. I didn't risk using any lights, and I was tiptoing all across the decent sized room. I sat the devil heels in my closetm and grabbed some running shoes, and dropped them on my bed. I pulled off the short dress I was wearing, and threw on a red tank top and some sweat pants, pulled my shoes on, and tied them tight. Then, as if it never happened, I snuck back out the window, and down the ladders.

Wearing these shoes was better than the heels, that was definate, so I could've ran all the way to my next destination, had it not been for it's far away distance, and the fact that my feet wouldn't let me. Plus I needed more time to think. I needed to clear my head so, I needed more time. I hadn't bothered to pull my hair up because it probably would've been yanked out anyway. Then, I would have had to kill a bitch, and that wasn't something I could have on my hands. With my reputation, there was no doubt about it, I would die too.

After I realized I wasn't going to be calming down anytime soon, I started picking up the pace. I stopped lollygagging and got down to business. Regardless of how far away it was, it seemed longer than it should have to get there. When I did get there, I popped my knucles and walked in with attitude. Everybody was usually there was standing around like always, awaiting their time to beat somebody senseless. There were a few new faces, the ones that looked more nervous than anything else, some of whome I found myself. I walked up to them and smiled. "Hope you guys have got dental plans." I liked putting fright into the newbies. We've all been there, so It's sort of like an unspoken ritual. We got them as scared as possible, then watched the ones that really did belong here stand up and fight, and the ones that didn't either leave, or get their asses kicked. I looked one of the few girls over and smiled."This will be fun."

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Last Edit: Feb 19, 2012 22:53:35 GMT -5 by umber vivuus 12b 🥀 [dars]

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