Laura Kinney (innocencelost) wrote in athinblackline, @ 2009-07-18 14:07:00 |
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Entry tags: | x-23 |
Who: X-23
When: Saturday, July 18th; evening
Where: Grass arena
What: Laura's debut in the arena rocks (or rolls?)
She stepped out onto the arena, boots sinking in the grass. Instantly a rush of noise hit her: screams of the crowds, the announcement of her name, even the lights were loud. Her eyes went to the audience, blinking against the spotlights and turning her head to take it all in. Hundreds of eyes didn’t instill in her a sense of nervousness, but all the same, she was used to killing without witnesses. Lowering her gaze, she watched her opponent step out, his eyes rising just like hers to the audience, but he sneered, baring his teeth and raising his arms to raise the cheering.
He was big. His arms were thicker than her legs, and she had to crane her neck to see him properly. He looked top heavy to her, his chest widening and becoming more imposing as she swept her eyes up. It was almost comedic; she tilted her head slightly, wondering who this was she had been put up against. They hadn’t given her much information, significantly less than she was used to dealing with, and when she recalled her previous kills, she realized she hadn’t fought anyone who was like her before – any other mutant. Though, they were quite explicit when they told her to kill him.
His gaze lowered to her, and he rolled his shoulders back, moving his head from side to side. She frowned, slowly unsheathing her claws. They stepped toward each other, just within arm’s length when he lunched forward. He grabbed her shoulders, fingers clinging to the fabric of her shirt, and she grabbed him, too, crisscrossing her arms to protect her chest. They looked at each other for a moment with lowered heads and raised, determined eyes, he surprised by her strength and she by his hesitation. He pulled her toward him before pushing her back, throwing her; as she flew back, she drew her claws down, slicing a double x on his chest, cutting through his shirt and drawing blood. She hit the side of the arena, smashing the side of her face and her back, leaving a mark of blood and sweat on the wall. Slowly, she slid down, dropping on the ground, but she kept on her feet and turned to him, her face scratched and showing the metal skull underneath.
As she fell he approached, so when she turned to him, he was ready with a fist in her face. She raised her arm, redirecting his hand above her head and kicking him in the side. Her hand tightening around his arm, she took the opportunity and pulled him down, kneeing him in the stomach a few times until he pulled free and stepped away from her. This time an elbow came for her jaw, and she deflected it the same way, redirecting it upwards – but this time, he seemed to expect it. He moved to grab her raised arm, tucking down and flipping her over his back. She landed on hers hard, knocking the wind out of her and keeping her still for a few heartbeats. He had already let go over hand, moving to her side to throw in a few kicks to her ribs for good measure. It took her a few kicks, probably enough to break anyone else’s ribs, but she picked up on his rhythm and grabbed his extended foot, rolling to her side to pull him off balance. He fell on his back, just as hard as she did.
When he fell, though, she wasn’t at his side with kicks. She pushed off the grass, coming to a stand, and wiping off the blood in her mouth. Metal bones aside, she still was human. He rolled himself to his feet, and the two of them looked at each other again, this time both bleeding and hurt. He pulled his arm back, lunging for her again, and aiming his fist straight into her chest with enough momentum and force to send her flying. She didn’t wait for it to come, sending a punch that mirrored his, and milliseconds before their two fists met, her claws went through his knuckles and up his forearm. Their skin touched, but by that time, he was already screaming and buckling in pain. Pressing her fist downwards, she urged him to his knees, and as he fell, she dug her free set of claws up underneath his rib cage into his chest. He choked on the blood that started to pour into his mouth, looking up at her with incredulous, almost betrayed, eyes. She sheathed the claws that were in his fist, letting his hand fall into the heap that once was a man.
Her jaw clenched, and she swept her eyes over him again, sure he was dead. Raising her gaze to the audience, she realized their screams had escalated to the point she wanted to clap her hands over her ears. Instead, she looked down at him, and for the same good measure with which he kicked her when she was down, she bent over him and set her claws next to his neck.
She often wondered at what point a body stopped becoming a person, whether at their last breath or when they were eaten by maggots underground. She never knew when to start calling someone a corpse. When did he lose possession of his body? There was only way to remove identity for sure, she thought, but that introduced the interesting quandary – which was her opponent, the body or the head? Or should she say his body or his head?
With a single claw and a smooth motion, she glided the sharp metal through his neck and out the other side. Rising slowly, lowering her hand and letting his blood drip off her claws, she watched his blood stain the grass, rushing out of his body and head, as if liberated. Slowly, she lifted her boot and put it on his cheek, watching his skin mold to the shape of her toe, before nudging his head away, letting it roll toward the other side of the arena and leave an erratic trail. Before it hit the wall, she had turned her back to it and started walking out of the arena.
Her opponent’s head clunked against the wall just as Laura hit the threshold, taking a breath before heading toward the dining area. It was dinner time, after all.