\.Pressure.(Jimmeh).Point./

NoireRose
Merchant

254 POSTS

Pronouns: She/her
last seen Dec 27, 2013 1:42:16 GMT -5

I'm surprised how comfortable I feel coming back here...

\.Pressure.(Jimmeh).Point./ Sept 1, 2012 14:50:07 GMT -5

Post by NoireRose on Sept 1, 2012 14:50:07 GMT -5

(Body)o(Others)
(Info)o(Speech)
(Importance)
------[CHATO]------[HAPLIDON]------

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The arena, our training area. I stretch and yawn. I was sleeping when she woke me up.I'm glad for some training time. Especially knowing that Pepper should be fighting Fanta soon. I briefly glance over at him. I can tell that he's slightly relieved to be out of the cell. Salt is beside him talking to him. I try to read her mouth but I only see a profile view of her face. I smile slightly; she's so gorgeous. It's a wonder how I never noticed her earlier before I was captured.

My eyes glance over at the rest and I frown slightly. Each and everyone of them are hurting in a different way. Each of them. I walk calmly past Salt and Pepper glancing out of the corner of my right eye. Pepper needs Salt about as much as she needs him, I bet. Right as that thought passes through my mind. I hear Pepper release a long line of sneezes. A slight smiles cracks itself open on my lips, and I reach out for an available weapon on the rack. I end up picking a small knife. It'll work for now.

Briefly, my brother's voice pops into my head and I space out. My mind starts wandering, and before I even know it my eyes are darting around looking for a way out. The quiet and the calmness start to upset me. Mostly everyone has succumbed to the idea of imprisonment so well... except Salt. The entire aspect of it chills me to the bone. The concept of being trapped here the rest of my life. I just- I don't want to be stuck here forever. I never wanted to be here in the first place, but now, I am here and there's no going back.

Right as I'm turning around to start walking in the direction where no one is training. I bump right into Salt. She's about 5 inches taller then I am, and I feel an almost instant light blush cover my face. I blink a couple times to make sure that this isn't just a nightmare in which Salt kills me. Before I've even opened my mouth to apologize, she's calmly yet forcibly pulling me away from the rack of weapons and apparently, Altiar or Bones or maybe even Tiltoo mentioned something about partners because as I'm looking around I realize that everyone is in sets of two. I bite the inside of my cheek and hope that she isn't too ticked off but I think that she is. Then again....She usually always is. All you really can assume is that it's her way of looking at things.

Half-way through the walk over to the wall of the arena; I pull my arm away from her. That sly smirk stuck on my face. I get to have Salt as a partner. Mentally, I laugh at the idea of me fighting her and the idea of me in general. When I'm in the arena, my heart is racing and I focus. Eventually, my mind reminds me that this isn't the arena. This is merely a training session that might last an hour at that. This is only something to help us get aquainted with each other. Though, I can't help but look back around and watch the others briefly. Once we get to a good enough area, I stop and quietly turn towards her. I open my mouth and words come falling out.

“He'll be fine I know it.”

Mentally, I scold myself for saying such a thing, but all I can hope for is that she knows what I mean by that. The idea, briefly, pops through my head that I'm reassuring myself. I throw that idea away as fast as I can. I lick my lips, and I look at her. My stance adjusts into one that is more suited for combat. I'm prepared, I have to be or else, I die and I will finally see my parents again...

(Words)o(Muse)
(630)o( Nothing)
(I'm glad to be out of the cell. It's a wonder howeach of them reach out for an available weapon. Mostly everyone has sucummed to the idea of imprisonment so well... exscept for Salt. The concept of being trapped here the rest of my life, forever, and there's no going back. I bumb right into Salt. This isn't just a nightmare, forcibly pulling awayt from Altiar or Bone or maybe even Tiltoo. As I'm looking around I realize that everyone is in sets of two. I pull my arm away from her. Mentally, I laugh at the idea of me fighting her in the arena. I focus. This isn't the arena that might last an hour. This is only something to help us get acquainted with each other. I stop and quietly tur towards her. I open my mouth and words come falling out. I scold myself for saying such a thing, but I can hope. I'm reassuring myself. I lick my lips,and I look at her. I die and I will finally see my parents again...)

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Last Edit: Sept 1, 2012 15:33:32 GMT -5 by NoireRose

Jimmeh!
Merchant

[M:-600]

188 POSTS
last seen Feb 9, 2024 17:36:57 GMT -5

\.Pressure.(Jimmeh).Point./ Sept 8, 2012 15:58:02 GMT -5

Post by Jimmeh! on Sept 8, 2012 15:58:02 GMT -5

Partner training. I hate partnered training. For two reasons mostly. The first, I can't go all out, venting my pent up fury and rage, lest I accidentally kill someone with it. I may be heartless when it comes to the finer points of life and death, but frankly, I've got enough blood on my hands for a lifetime. Second, I actually have to interact with people. With the rest of my cell-mates. Sonnet and Pepper I can deal with, Pepper's my brother, and Sonnet... Well, he's inescapably chipper. Gives me a small reminder of life outside. When I used to smile, and laugh. We're escorted through, before basically being left to partner up. Nobody wants to partner with me. I smirk slightly. No surprises there. I stride to the weapon rack, before the small, poetry spouting boy turns and walks clean into me. I can't help but roll my eyes, as I move him aside, forcefully, but without hurting him. Wouldn't want him to break down and start weeping on me.

I stand at the rack for a few moments, looking over the motley arrangements of weapons. The only things kept in decent condition around here. Well. Except for our captors. But then, perhaps these implements of death are as much our captors as the loathesome threesome as I like to think of them as. My hand runs across the selection of blades, hammers and axe-heads, before settling on a particularly heavy looking hand and a half sword. More affectionately known as a bastard sword, due to the melding of a single hander and a greatsword. Neither one nor the other, with no true name to call it’s own. It feels good in my hands, the blunted weapon, used exclusively for practice swung up to my shoulder, carrying it with all the poise of a warrior, the grimace on my fate on of general disdain and haughtiness. As usual. I’m about to walk over to the blade practice dummy, when the boy I’d just shoved aside is stood alone. My eyes roll. Great. I have to deal with Chato the poet today. A faint utterance of irritation forces itself from my lungs. Perfect start to a day. Pepper starts sneezing, Sonnet tries to strike up conversation, now I have to deal with the doe-eyed child as well.

I walk beside him, ignoring his presence, before sensing him shift away, as he grinned at me. I only scowl in response, before looking directly forward again. Eventually, he strides ahead of me, stops, turns and addresses me. I pull up short, his words making my eyes flash dangerously. My lips purse together, my scowl intensifying. The blade tip drops to the floor, as I lean on the pommel. You think I need telling that? My tone is dry, cold, unfeeling. His sympathy rolls clean over me. I have no time for his pathetic attempts to make me feel better about something I have no control over. I try to tell myself that I will be strong if he dies. Inwardly, I choke up at the very thought. As ever, my steely expression shows nothing.

I move into the space, setting the blade down on the floor, beginning to stretch off, pulling my lithe frame down to my toes, touching the floor, doing splits, generally limbering up. Just like singing, without a warm up, you damaged yourself too easily. In fighting, that damage could often lead to loss of life. Get comfy. I’m not doing anything until I’m ready. You can wait. I’m condescending in my tone, even as I contort my body in positions that most cannot hope to achieve. Lateral splits, lowering my torso to the ground, arms pulling myself forward more, not looking at Chato. Slowly, with perfect control, I return to an upright position. I don’t fancy armed combat today. We’re doing hand to hand. I gave no option. I see myself as one of the best in here. If not the best. It’s no idle boast. Save for Sonnet, I have more kills to my name than any other. And unlike most others, I have thrown myself body and mind into this. My will to survive seemingly unconquerable. Why cave to someone’s wishes now?

Last Edit: Sept 8, 2012 15:59:57 GMT -5 by Jimmeh!

NoireRose
Merchant

254 POSTS

Pronouns: She/her
last seen Dec 27, 2013 1:42:16 GMT -5

I'm surprised how comfortable I feel coming back here...

\.Pressure.(Jimmeh).Point./ Sept 24, 2012 11:51:11 GMT -5

Post by NoireRose on Sept 24, 2012 11:51:11 GMT -5

(Body)o(Others)
(Info)o(Speech)
(Importance)
-----[CHATO]-----[HAPLIDON]-----

Once she hears my words, I can tell that she’s flustered. Her eyes seem to show that she’s upset at me. Which, by now, I’m used to but it still burns. Her scowl is fierce as ever and I would swear that I feel a chill creep down my back. That’s when I’m sure I’m in for it, but instead she drops her knife, and my heart drops.

”You think I need telling that?” Her attitude about as cold as ever. The way that she behaves though. I feel as if in a intriguing yet hidden way I have helped her in relieving some sort of worry or fear. I only can hope that Pepper can hold his own in his fight. The fight that could break his sister and him. There’s the possibility of one and not the other but that’s doubtful. I mean look at me and my brother. He’s gone and yet, deep inside others could consider me a tad bit insane. It all depends on which perspective you view it from.

My attention snaps back from my brother, and I can’t help but look at her as she’s starting to stretch. I’ve seen my brother do it before, but the way that she looks while doing it. Her movements that flow with her body, that calm and collected look that never fades from her face. She’s gorgeous. She’s entirely focused on herself, and I can’t help but stare. Before I know it, my lips have upturned slightly, and my eyes betray me. My eyes show others that I have feelings for the person who is stone cold to me.

That’s when her voice breaks my gaze. Mentioning something about getting comfy and waiting. I’m perfectly fine with waiting. I was waiting my entire life to get out of that hell hole that my father and brother considered home- and the place that I did as well. She’s still doing those warm-ups of hers, and I believe it would be in my best interest to warm-up as well. However, she would probably think that it would be awkward for me to start warming up with her. So, instead I just twist my upper body around, and get the joints moving a little bit. Making sure that I can be as she wants me to be.

Despite my constant staring at her, she never returns the contact to me. I simply ignore that fact, and watch her get up from the ground. That’s when she mentions something about hand to hand. My smirk grows into a full smile. She doesn’t know what she’s in for. The only thing that may put me at a default is not being able to keep up with her other wise. She will underestimate me though. Which I could use to play to my advantage. It all depends on whether she comes at me full force or not.

All I’m doing is training with her, and in which my brother did go full force. So who knows, but if the luck is in my favor, I sincerely do hope that she goes full force. The only reason I do hope that she does is so I’m able to come back at her with all of my force. Either way, I know for a fact that this will be the most fun I’ve had in a while since staying here. I, too, hope that this will help her in learning a way to protect herself and Pepper. All that she cares about is getting out and going back home. My goal is to help her in any way possible.

(Words])o(Muse)
(600)o(Nothing)
()
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Jimmeh!
Merchant

[M:-600]

188 POSTS
last seen Feb 9, 2024 17:36:57 GMT -5

\.Pressure.(Jimmeh).Point./ Sept 26, 2012 9:05:02 GMT -5

Post by Jimmeh! on Sept 26, 2012 9:05:02 GMT -5

I can’t tell what’s going through Chato’s head as he watches, no, stares at me stretching off. It’s a touch unnerving actually, but I certainly don’t show it. I’m used to people looking at me, just not down here. Out of the corner of my eye I can see him beginning to loosen up. I’ll give him his due, he at least knows that what I’m doing is what he should be doing. I’m just glad he’s not decided to start doing what can only be described as a gymnastics routine, which is essentially what I’m doing. I still can’t shake the fact his eyes never seem to leave me. Nor can I shake the sense of dread that he’s made crawl up my spine by mentioning Pepper. What if he isn’t okay? What if he’s feeling particularly ill on the day? My mind reels as I continue to flex my limbs and stretch my joints, conflicting feelings of worry and annoyance at myself. Pepper will be fine. I’ve already told him I’ll never forgive him if he dies. And it’s true, I won’t. But I won’t ever forgive myself either.

I’m actually contemplating just smacking him upside the head with the blunt edged blade that lies in front of me to vent my frustration. No, it’s not fair. Neither is being imprisoned in a squalid cell for no reason but for the twisted amusement of a few pathetic adults who never got to play in the Games. Rage boils under my skin, so intense that I’m sure that if you looked close enough, you could see it roiling through my veins. If, of course, I didn’t tear your head off for coming to close to me. Again, I can see him, smiling a little at me. I shake my head slightly, hair tumbling down to the mat I’m stretching on, splaying out in a halo of dirty blonde, looking somewhat unkempt from the abject neglect we are subjected to daily. It’s abhorrent, considering we’re supposedly in one of the more affluent Districts. It sickens me that some people live like this not through being captive, but through an inability to afford anything else. Puts things into perspective somewhat, of just how lucky we all were. Until now at any rate.

I bring my legs together, before pushing my torso out and up in a cobra stretch, head tilting back, holding my form with startling rigidity, before easing down for a moment, and reassuming my position. I continue to glance at Chato, who seems content to keep watching me while he stretches. Rude to stare Chato. You should at least have the decency to be subtle about where your eyes wander. My tone is flat and mirthless, devoid of any sort of emotion, joy, anger or otherwise. As cold as the cells we sleep in. I begin to rise into a wide stanced stretch, pulling myself down to each ankle, lithe body moulding to the contours of my sculpted, honed thighs and calves, hair trailing in across the dusty mat once again, adding another layer of grime to the tangled mess it’s becoming.

Finally, I finish, flexing my legs and arms slightly, towering over the much smaller boy, looking every inch like a Career, except for the presence of so much dirt. I crack my knuckles menacingly. I know full well that intimidation is half the road to winning a fight. If your opponent is afraid of you, he or she isn’t focussing on the simple exercise of not getting pounded into the dust. I begin to circle Chato with deliberate, slow steps, stalking him, a lioness around her prey. Don’t hold back. I’m not here to learn how to dance. With that subtle preamble, I sidestep, foot snapping out, lashing at his midriff, before pivoting on the ball of my foot, readjusting the follow-through to become an attack in itself, scything down at his thigh, before rotating, driving down his centreline and closing in, slamming one fist at his sternum. A cold, calculated attack, so typical of me, unrelenting, remorseless, swift and brutal.

I must admit to some complacency, he’s that much smaller than I am, that I can’t help but wonder if he’d even be able to bring me to my knees if I let him pummel me. I blink lazily as I drift back out of the close quarters engagement, assuming a loose, low guard, stepping around him once again. Pad. Pad. Pad. My feet are near silent on the mat, as I circle, slowly, methodically, implacable and measured. Really? What do I expect he’s going to do to me? My guard relaxes a little as I think that, but my eyes never leave him, pacing round so I’m back in front of him, before switching to my weaker side. May as well train up this side now I’ve got an easier opponent…

Word count: 819