Maybe it's just me, or do I intimidate you? [Lei]

Actions speak louder than words, or so I’ve been told. I guess that’s a good thing, since words have never come quite as easy to me as simple body language has. A sharp glare does more than any “stay away” ever could, (though I do admit that a simple “fuck you” hurts a lot less than the usual swing of my fist and the white-hot flash of pain that comes with it as it collides with the underside of some poor sap’s jaw.) But some things just can’t be said with an eloquent turn of speech, and sometimes words are just harder for some people than they are for others. And then there’s me. I'm not exactly what one would call a social butterfly, not do I have any desire to be. I may not have the most articulate of tongues, and not only is a hard punch in the face easier for me than a clever turn of phrase ever will be, but it’s also a helluva lot more satisfying.

The sharp crack of bones breaking that echoes through the high-vaulted ceiling and white-washed walls of the training room is a testament to that.

The boy cries out, stumbling backward a few steps before tripping on his own feet and crashing into a rack of weapons, his hand flying up to his ruined nose as blood spatters the floor at my feet. (I ignore the sting in my knuckles from the hard contact, the pain dulled by the slowly dissipating fury that still boils at my core.) An endless stream of curses and profanities stream through the rage-muddled haze of my mind, the words I can never seem to stop from bursting from me in a quick swing of a fist, even as the red fades from the edges of my vision and that familiar fire rampaging through my veins flickers out in a flash. The boy (I don't even know his name, but he chose the wrong person to pick a fight with.) curls up on the cold metal floor, blood seeping from between the fingers of the hand clasped to his nose as tears seep from the corners of his squeezed-shut eyes. He looks like he's in a lot of pain- sometimes I forget my own strength- and I don't know whether to be smug or guilty, so I settle for cold indifference. I don't say anything, of course. I think he got the message, because who needs words?

"Ripred, Phoenix." My trainer is eyeing me from a few feet away, not impressed but not moving to help the boy, either. "Just because someone laughs at you when you miss a target doesn't mean they deserve a broken nose. Learn to control your temper, son - before you blow up on the wrong person." The barest breath of a laugh escapes my lips at that, one corner of my mouth curling up into a smirk for a mere second before it quickly morphs back into its usual straight, inexpressive line. I'm a formidable opponent when it comes to battle, and I have yet to meet my match in the training room, (Nor do I think I ever will.) but I don't point that out to my trainer. Instead, I cross my arms over the broad expanse of my chest - I don't like it but I'll do what you said - and give one last glance to the groaning boy on the ground before stalking off towards the other side of the training room.

I barely take three steps before I feel the collar of my t-shirt tighten around my neck, sharp nails digging straight through the fabric to prick painfully at the skin at the nape of my neck before a hand shoves me hard from behind. I stumble forward a little (not unlike the boy I'd just beaten to the ground just moments before), but catch myself before I can crash to the floor in an ungraceful tangle of flailing limbs. Loser, is what they call me, and the rage that had just recently faded from my system comes roaring back to wash over me in a crimson wave. I whip around, fist clenched and ready to smash in another nose if I have to, and am only stopped by the sight of full, pink lips and steely blue eyes that could freeze lava. A girl. And a particularly pissed off looking girl at that. I've hit a girl before- and it's not something I'm particularly proud of- but gender isn't going to stop me from showing someone who's boss. It is, however, enough to stop me from immediately driving my knuckles into the delicate slope of her jaw. For now. My anger is only boiling hotter and hotter by the second.

"Watch who you're shoving, little girl." I straighten up to my full height, towering at least a head and half over the girl and glaring down. "Else you end up getting your pretty little head smashed in." Words. My fingers itch to cause pain, my arm tensed and ready to swing, and it takes all I have just to keep from unleashing the fury building up inside me on the girl who dares to stand in my way.

She has to pay.

Move and show me what you can do
When you step into the circle and shake like we do
Move when you just can't take it
And move if you just feel like breaking it

[ooc: idek what this is but okay.]