We Are The Fire [Amalea]
Posted: 13 Dec 2017, 17:18
You won the first round, little sister, you won’t win again.
It was a never-ending battle. She pushed against the voice in her mind, and he pushed back. Even when he had been alive, her brother had been all consuming. He was a force to be reckoned with – and in his death, in the way he followed her, haunted her every waking moment, he was worse. Pressing her fingers to the bridge of her nose, the slender Russian leaned back against the wall, her sharp gaze missing nothing as she swept it across the pit. The first time she had placed her boot in the dust and blood, she had been confidant. It had been the first round – and she had refused to fall to anyone.
Now, she was going against someone that had possessed the same grit and determination that she had. She knew nothing of her new opponent, but if they had passed round one – she doubted that it was pure luck. Running her tongue along a sharp fang, she lifted her gaze to the stands, seeking her husband. It didn’t take her long to find him amongst the crowd, his angular jaw and muscle build taking up far more space than necessary. It was more than that, however. The humans angled away from him, a few inches between him and their forms, as if they could feel the tension, the chaos, within him.
A small smirk tugged on the corner of her lips, a single flash of emotion, before all was washed away and she found herself pushing from the wall to step into the center of the stadium. With one hand, she brushed it across her black t-shirt, the cotton hugging her form like a second skin. She stilled donned the same leather pants, the worn boots, and the jacket. The jacket that draped heavily over her shoulders and engulfed her, the jacket that held a single pack of old cigarettes and a lighter that she had never been able to throw out. Even now, her fingers dipped within the pocket and brushed across the plastic wrapping, finding comfort in the few remaining items that her brother had left behind. It was in this motion that she found herself torn between the man he was – and the ghoul he had become.
His voice still echoed in her mind, his whisper against her ear, and yet she remained focused, her head tilted to the side as she waited her second opponent. If she failed today, it wouldn’t shake her confidence, it wouldn’t leave her broken. Even the best succumbed every once in a while. With a flick of her wrist, she brought her braid over her shoulder and tapped her gun against a leather clad thigh.
Let the games begin.
It was a never-ending battle. She pushed against the voice in her mind, and he pushed back. Even when he had been alive, her brother had been all consuming. He was a force to be reckoned with – and in his death, in the way he followed her, haunted her every waking moment, he was worse. Pressing her fingers to the bridge of her nose, the slender Russian leaned back against the wall, her sharp gaze missing nothing as she swept it across the pit. The first time she had placed her boot in the dust and blood, she had been confidant. It had been the first round – and she had refused to fall to anyone.
Now, she was going against someone that had possessed the same grit and determination that she had. She knew nothing of her new opponent, but if they had passed round one – she doubted that it was pure luck. Running her tongue along a sharp fang, she lifted her gaze to the stands, seeking her husband. It didn’t take her long to find him amongst the crowd, his angular jaw and muscle build taking up far more space than necessary. It was more than that, however. The humans angled away from him, a few inches between him and their forms, as if they could feel the tension, the chaos, within him.
A small smirk tugged on the corner of her lips, a single flash of emotion, before all was washed away and she found herself pushing from the wall to step into the center of the stadium. With one hand, she brushed it across her black t-shirt, the cotton hugging her form like a second skin. She stilled donned the same leather pants, the worn boots, and the jacket. The jacket that draped heavily over her shoulders and engulfed her, the jacket that held a single pack of old cigarettes and a lighter that she had never been able to throw out. Even now, her fingers dipped within the pocket and brushed across the plastic wrapping, finding comfort in the few remaining items that her brother had left behind. It was in this motion that she found herself torn between the man he was – and the ghoul he had become.
His voice still echoed in her mind, his whisper against her ear, and yet she remained focused, her head tilted to the side as she waited her second opponent. If she failed today, it wouldn’t shake her confidence, it wouldn’t leave her broken. Even the best succumbed every once in a while. With a flick of her wrist, she brought her braid over her shoulder and tapped her gun against a leather clad thigh.
Let the games begin.