even during her time caged between towering concrete walls; throwing punch after punch, taking blow after blow, winning round after round, she hated it. the dried blood staining patches of the wall, practically black with age, mixed with newer splotches from more recent fights ā incarnadine and foul ā always left their nose curling in distaste. combined with the acrid stench of sweat, both from the morbidly excited crowd and the brawlers themselves, and stale alcohol? it dredged up all the worst kind of memories.
maybe, at the beginning, she'd found herself enjoying it. the fighting aspect, at least. the death of her parents left a dark, burrowing hole in her chest ā rage rearing its ugly head, digging it's blackened, icy claws into her heart, curling its way around her limbs and clogging her throat in a way that suffocated her. the money was one thing; something she needed to keep her and the twins afloat, but she'd be lying if they were to say it was the only reason.
the relief brought from torn knuckles connecting with tender flesh and hard bone was one she chased to alleviate her anger. every feeling mounting in her sullen form pounded out against each opponent until she dragged herself home with aching limbs and bloodied skin ā a mix of her own and the suckers she'd left crumbled and miserable in their defeat. the boys always worried, but she had the same look their mother had ā a sharp glare that demanded questions not be verbalised. one that had their mouthes snapping shut with audible clicks while their eldest sibling went about the motion of making them dinner, despite the desire to collapse into a heap and sleep away the evenings. responsibilities made as much impossible.
cheers and hollers so loud it left a deafening, piercing ringing in her ears no matter the precautions she took, gert ignored the displeased complaints from crowd goers surrounding the current brawl as her elbows jabbed into ribs, fighting her way through and to the edge of the pit. gloved fingers grasping jagged concrete, their eyes scan over the clearly one sided fight.
their surprise was mounting by the second.
the fight looked as though it would be a no brainer ā a giant, imposing form riddled with gilded limbs and sickly purple veins versus a smaller woman, no less impressive in her muscles mass, but clearly at a disadvantage with the lack of augmentations: both physical and chemical. even so, it was clear who the winner was expected to be. despite the fair share of injuries each had sustained, the smaller of the two continued to bounce readily on her feet, the other looking far worse for wear; heaving with hunched shoulders, arms poised in a piss ā poor defence that even made gert cringe at the prospect of the beating he'd endured. the crowd's bets are only made clearer when a swift uppercut leaves golden teeth and sticky, luminous purple spit flying out into the mass of surrounding people. the heavy thud of a body, followed by the announcers thrilled voice and the eruption of ecstatic cheers, depicts the obvious winner.
it isn't until she ā violet ā gazes up into the crowd, pale white lights blinding enough to elicit a harsh squint, that they realise just who had been making the rounds down in the festering bottom of the barrel that was zaun. gert can't place the look on vi's face when their gazes clash; disbelief, anger, confusion, sadness? all rolled into one cold sneer until she's ushered out quickly and the next fighters are called upon.
as much as it pained them to admit, she never expected vi to get out of stillwater. not with the sheer joy each and every guard relished in from kicking her around her for their own twisted amusement. their adjacent cells meant, over gert's year locked up, they'd become . . . acquainted. if by that you meant them taking a few beatings to give violet a break, then sure. maybe even, at a stretch, friends.
a deep exhale passes from her nose, meticulously twisted hair swaying with the weary shake of her head as she pushes off concrete to begin weaving her way with jutted elbows back through the buzzing crowd ā each and every person exchanging some form of currency over the conclusion of a seemingly much anticipated brawl. many had beaming grins on the faces, pointedly counting their earnings in the dejected faces of those who bet everything they could in a weak attempt to earn enough to live another week.
it was already late, the time ticking well past midnight and into the still bustling hours of the morning. the crate gert leant against dug uncomfortably into her thighs, bandaged arms folded across her chest and her head leant back against the wall behind her. despite her closed eyes and seemingly relaxed posture, they still listen closely for any signs of approach. relaxing anywhere, especially in the dim, sodden streets of the fissures wasn't the smartest move, but she had enough faith in herself to fend off anybody who might believe her to be an easy target.
they could've approached violet inside, but she'd already had more than enough of the pounding music in the claustrophobically cramped space, filled to the brim with the dirty, sweating bodies of drunken fools. so she waited. most fighters exited from the back ā primarily because it was somewhat concealed: more discrete than the main entrance. most the average patrons were unaware of the door hidden behind an surplus of old and broken furniture that had gradually stacked up from all kinds of bar fights where they'd been wielded as weapons, ultimately destroying them and rendering them useless.
the piercing squeal of a door opening on rusted hinges, followed by a familiar aggravated yelling, had one of gert's eyes peeking open just in time to see violet stalking away from whoever it was she'd exited with, who'd already began walking in the opposite direction. sighing softly, her shoulders shift to push herself off the wall, now open eyes flitting over the plethora of cuts and bruises marring all visible stretches of skin.
a whistle, quiet but high in pitch, is intended to draw the brawlers attention, but all she gets is a flick of a banged up middle finger and nothing else. yep, that was violet alright.
unwilling to let it go, lest her journey be nothing but a waste of time, gert opts to follow the hooded woman. she doesn't speak ā neither of them do ā and they're surprised they don't get an earful to back off and leave her the hell alone. not that she would if she did, anyway. they'd never been one for doing as they're told.
the walk to wherever violet resided was short, filled with the irritated grunts of the brawler and the echo of their shared footsteps. after ascending the few steps leading to the others place, a wince contorts gert's features as her arm shoots up, forearm blocking the sturdy door from slamming directly into her face. " ouch. " she makes a point to mutter, loud enough for the other to hear, and confusion flickers over her features that mirrors violet's own ā it was almost as if she was surprised gert was really there, despite the fact they'd followed her all the way home.
" never thought i'd see you again. " they admit, blue hair beginning to traverse around the room after letting herself in, rifling through the very few drawers and cupboards until she finds a beat up box filled with a ropy array of medical supplies ā if they could even be considered that. turning with it clutched loosely in bandaged hands, they crouch beside a shitty looking bed, knowing all too well the struggles of getting by with the less than the bare minimum.
when vi doesn't move from her place at the door, even after all gert's meandering, a pierced brow raises to her hairline, head nodding to gesture toward the spot in front of her. " you just gonna stand there and stare at me like i'm some kinda ghost? "
ā except the starter just exists in my head and i haven't written it yet š but why haven't you replied ...
why are you shy, let's write
i'd like to apologise to the wider community. many people have raised the issue of how i don't reply to starters that people have only written in their heads. its sick behaviour and i have to stop this. i'm sorry to you and the millions of people this affects daily
her relationship to sobriety is sisyphean. as they veer closer and closer to progress day, and all the memories that crop up with it, the temptation to drink is stronger ā and tonight, trapped in her office in the council chambers, with nothing but mountains of paperwork vi for company, she breaks. she stands to cross the room and peruse the collection of bottles on the bar cart, with all their vintage labels, rotund shapes and sizes of several hues.
some four or five feet away from the bar cart, in front of the tall windows that make up her office, @gntlets sits. sevika has already poured her a drink, out of courtesy, and she hasnāt touched it.
vi coming to take shelter here is a newer development. but she canāt go back to zaun, and sevikaās beginning to worry she canāt, either. so: she pours herself a drink from the nice bottle of bourbon she uses to charm pilties into listening to her (not unlike the one she used to strongarm them into giving her an office like this, instead of one tucked away, out of sight and out of mind), and goes to sit down on the flat bench, alongside vi. a bodily sigh heaves its way out of her. she is exhausted. but she's always exhausted.
the ice cubes in her glass rattle noisily against each other. she frowns, grasp hard around the thick, green-tinted glass. ā if you're here to talk about kiramman, i've got other shit to worry about. ā always kiramman. never sheriff, or caitlyn, and, under no circumstances, cait: sevika's feelings on the woman range anywhere from loathing to tepid distaste on a good day, and in her years as a councilor she hasn't been shy about voicing it, though she suspects her reasons and the reasons vi is here now vary on some level.
jayce strolls down the hall of the academy, hands in his pockets as he heads towards his lab. fingers clenching against the fabric as he attempts to keep his irritation in check. once again he'd had a f r u i t l e s s council session that was beginning to wear him down. he was eager to get into the lab and feel PRODUCTIVE. while viktor dove into expanding hextech to find a way to use it save his life, jayce had been left in limbo. while he often tried to help viktor in his off time, he felt as though he was very little help. it felt impossible, and that scared him more than anything else.
unable to help his partner with that too much, jayce had been focusing on other ways to utilize what they'd already created. all he had that day to look forward to was diving back into that. something that actually made sense, that he knew he could have an ACTUAL influence over. however, as he rounds the corner and sees the door to his lab, he notes a figure twisting the doorknob, attempting to get in. his eyes narrow and he walks closer, r o l l i n g his eyes as he gets close enough to recognize her.
ā are you LOST? ā he asks as he reaches her, pulling his keys out of his pocket as he brushes past her to get to the door of his lab and unlock the door with an easy twist.
pale blue eyes observe from a distance, following each movement of feet and punch thrown. he remains in the crack in the doorway, amusement illuminating his eyes before he makes himself known, calling out, ā what're practicing for, your next brawl ? ā
vander pushes the door the rest of the way open, choosing to interrupt this practice, r e g a r d l e s s of what it's for. he raises his own fists, modeling the right stance as he adds, ā you're dropping your fists. keep 'em up. it'll give you a better starting point. and you can BLOCK a punch a hell've a lot better. ā
JINX GLANCES UP, STARING AT vi with blank eyes. she's so tired, sleepless nights all having caught up with her and finally hitting her like a brick. jinx huffs, trembling hands play with her right braid, " YEAH, RIGHT . . . " jinx mutters under her breath, defeat laced in her words. hands dropping to wrap around her legs as they come towards her chest, hugging herself tightly.
" I'LL JUST MESS EVERYTHING UP, LIKE I ALWAYS DO. YOU AND I BOTH KNOW THAT. "
