Lights Out! {Pogue!blitz}

Death
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509 POSTS
Pronouns: they/them
last seen Feb 13, 2023 21:20:51 GMT -5

Just because you're trash doesn't mean you can't do great things. It's a garbage can, not a cannot.

Lights Out! {Pogue!blitz} Jan 4, 2015 16:05:27 GMT -5

Post by Death on Jan 4, 2015 16:05:27 GMT -5

[googlefont="Griffy:400"]

a reaper grimme

I've always skulked by corners. It's always more fun than in plain sight. Corners are edgy and you can hide behind them. Some days, you blend right in and not only does everyone else forget you exist, but even you forget you exist. It just becomes your mind observing the world. Feeling the spotty breeze. Breathing in the scent of mud puddles and garbage and slushy snow.

Right now, I'm standing on the sidelines of a fight. I'm familiar with the ring but I'm not familiar with its occupants-- which I should be the thing I'm most familiar with. I'm not going to be fighting a location in three days.

He swipes from the side and jabs with a left hook. Mostly power. His muscles ripple with strength, but not flexibility. His opponent is rigid and doesn't flow.

Be the leaf! I want to shout. It's what my instructor had always told me.

This fight is boring. I've fought dozens just like them. All strength but no agility.

I paid for my ticket, however, so I might as well stay and watch and mingle with some of my buddies. They've become more leery of me since Rye was killed. Probably because I lost my shit for a few weeks. But I'm back. I promise I have a lid on everything.

I remember the look on the face of the last bastard I found who took part in savaging and murdering her. The glib grin. The sunken eyes that danced with blood lust. I grit my teeth, my blood boiling just thinking about it.

Almost everything. I have a lid on almost everything.

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Lights Out! {Pogue!blitz} Jan 4, 2015 17:12:28 GMT -5

Post by Deleted on Jan 4, 2015 17:12:28 GMT -5

{Niamh Fenge}

Why she would ever choose to hang out with people who watched others fight for fun is beyond her. But of course, one more thing that's beyond her doesn't hurt, hopefully.

It's loud, it's crowded and it's a place she never would have visited if her sister were still around. And her fingers shake every time she looks up into the ring in front of her, or at the faces around her.

She's never been a fighter. Ripred, how can people enjoy this

A man's nose splits and blood splatters across the floor and her will splatters along with it. Because it's just like when they broke in, it's just like when the butt of a gun fought with her father's nose, and won so easily.

But she doesn't faint, and she doesn't scream like the people around her. She stumbles.

Backwards forwards Left right everything becomes blurred in her conscience and every fiber of her being just wants out of this place so fast before it's lights out for her just like the man in front of her.

It's a game of pinball getting out of there, her stick legs carrying her as fast as they can towards whatever exit she can find. And she bumps into so many people she can't even count the scowls and side eyes that greet her.

She makes eye contact with one. Blonde hair and he looks bored of all of this, as if he was expecting more. And its sick.

The fresh air is something of a pungent relief, because as soon as she hits the outside she's on the ground, knees pulled to her chest and eyes staring at the stars above.

Why she would ever come here is beyond her. But then again, everything is beyond her at this point.

Death
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509 POSTS
Pronouns: they/them
last seen Feb 13, 2023 21:20:51 GMT -5

Just because you're trash doesn't mean you can't do great things. It's a garbage can, not a cannot.

Lights Out! {Pogue!blitz} Jan 4, 2015 18:37:33 GMT -5

Post by Death on Jan 4, 2015 18:37:33 GMT -5

[googlefont="Griffy:400"]

a reaper grimme

We got girls in here running out and puking all the time. These fights could get ugly fast. In one second, their just throwing punches and in the next, a neck as been snapped in one quick jerk and lifeless eyes stare back up at the ceiling and the crowd is standing and the fighter's groupies are screaming and everything goes to hell in a hand basket because two fighter couldn't keep their outside problems outside.

She ran past me and for the brief seconds I could see her face, I saw the lines of disgust etched on her face. Whether from me or from the suddenly blood spurting of the fight, I could probably never be sure.

I glance back and they're announcing the winner as he holds his nose, blood pouring down. It was broken for sure.

It would be a little while until the next match. Why not go out and comfort the girl? Did she have friends with her? Did she come out alone? It would be dangerous to be alone. Always dangerous.

I walk outside to see her, legs tucked and head angled straight up, staring at the night sky.

I look up too and see the gentle twinkle of stars. Not many lights out here to dim them. I pop a squat next to her, laying my legs out across the pavement and leaning against the wall of the building.

"You okay, girlie? First fight?"

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Lights Out! {Pogue!blitz} Jan 4, 2015 20:28:04 GMT -5

Post by Deleted on Jan 4, 2015 20:28:04 GMT -5

{Niamh Fenge}

And the irony is that every day of her life she's been fighting.

There's flashbacks going through her brain, watching her parents get dragged into the streets. Hearing her parents get dragged into death. It's this bubbly feeling in the pit of her stomach, like everything she's ever eaten was about to force it's way back out.

It's been a struggle, ever since she left. She counts the days on a calendar in her room, crossing out the days with a faded red marker she found in a drawer downstairs. Four months and ten days.

And every single one has been the hardest thing she's done in her life.

"You okay, girlie? First fight?"

She looks and it's him, the one she saw for those brief milliseconds as she sprinted out the door, memories nipping at her heels. There's a brief laugh that escapes from her mouth, followed by an exhausted sigh. She didn't want to play games with someone who enjoyed those things.

She didn't want to play games with a monster.

"Can't say it isn't."

Another sigh, another half mumbled, inaudible sentence before she looks at him again.

"You enjoy those things, don't you?"

Your move, monster.

Death
Career Tribute

509 POSTS
Pronouns: they/them
last seen Feb 13, 2023 21:20:51 GMT -5

Just because you're trash doesn't mean you can't do great things. It's a garbage can, not a cannot.

Lights Out! {Pogue!blitz} Jan 4, 2015 21:05:33 GMT -5

Post by Death on Jan 4, 2015 21:05:33 GMT -5

[googlefont="Griffy:400"]

a reaper grimme

"Can't say it isn't," she says and a smile seizes and twists my lips. I don't glance back from the night sky above us. Her flat tone tells me enough about what her expression could be.

"You enjoy those things, don't you?"

It's said more like an accusation than a question. Like the very fact I derive pleasure from pounding my fingers and fists into another man's face or chest or sides is abhorrant to her. I'd apologize for making her feel uncomfortable, but it's not any of my business what she does with her feelings so I offer nothing but a glance over at her and a shrugs of the shoulders.

"I guess. When people use their brains more than their fists."

I stare back up into the sky. People like to say the stars dance with each other. I'd say they're wrong. The stars are in a constant battle. A battle to survive, a battle to be seen and heard and mapped and wished upon. They don't have time to watch us. Sirus fights the alliance of the Seven Sisters and Cassiopeia slits Oberon's throat and steals his belt of followers.

"Is that a problem?" I ask, looking back at her.

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Lights Out! {Pogue!blitz} Feb 18, 2015 17:43:22 GMT -5

Post by Deleted on Feb 18, 2015 17:43:22 GMT -5

{Niamh Fenge}

She had cut her leg on a rusty nail as she had excused herself from the fight as quickly as possible. And there was a slight trickle of blood running down her leg, and a stinging coming from it too.

Maybe she would have passed out had it not been for skin being torn apart. Her finger wipes the trickle of blood off of her leg before smearing it onto the ground. It mixes with a trail of oil and stains her shorts.

"I guess. When people use their brains more than their fists."

And she looks at him looking at the stars, long and hard as if she'll see something about him that she could respect, as if something would jump out at her through the night sky, through the stars, through the moon.

But she see's nothing

And so she squints her eyes and turns away.

Brains more than fists, the thought sickens her, because what happens when that brain ends up spilled out all over the ground-

All because of a fist?

"Is that a problem?"

She scowls in the dark.

Words gurgle up in her throat, threatening to spill out at any moment all over the ground, words that hold meaning only she would know, words that had been sharpened like daggers ever since they had been killed and ever since she had left.

Her words could be her weapons, not her fists.

But she spares it, because the boy is a brute, and brutes deserve a quick death.

"Only a problem if you make it one. Which-"

She looks him up and down.

"It looks like you have."

She crosses her legs and fiddles her thumbs, waiting for him to leave as soon as the words fly from her mouth.

But he doesn't, and her eyes wander to where he's standing, face half illuminated by the moonlight, the other half consumed by the shadows.

"What's your name, anyway? I guess to you i'm girlie, but I'd rather not call you boyie."