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xInsane_Night_Skittlesx Crew
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 Posted: Tue Mar 01, 2011 1:23 pm
Ary arced her blade through the air, the metal rippling as it went. She watched it curve and slice, moving slowly and yet the battle she replayed in her mind synced up with it without a flaw. Despite the irritation that came with being at the facility and the odd creatures whose aura's pulsed within the white walls, the woman found just being alone in her office to be one of the most relaxing things she could do. Maybe it was the fact that there was no noise to annoy her, or how she could change everything about the space and not have to worry about it being messed up moments later.
For most people, yoga seemed to work well enough. For her, she supposed it was kind of like it but with an epic battle being played out in her mind. There were no white walls, no demons and angels hiding farther within the building, there was no building entirely. Just her and her little imaginary battle. Hopefully nobody showed up for some random reason or another...
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Posted: Thu Apr 21, 2011 7:12 pm
After his moment on the roof, despite Damien's talent for saving him, for talking any kind of sense into him, the light of day that next morning sent him back into his waves of psychotic depression. A horrific, stabbing, aching pain in his chest, making every minute, every movement more unbearable than the last. Still, he could not find a single reason to keep himself alive, keep himself moving, keep himself breathing. Still, he wanted to find an out. Pills? No... what a waste. He was in Cat's house, they would be Cat's pills, he didn't want to take them, waste them. A gun? No... what a mess. Again, Cat's house, Cat's gun, a mess of blood that Cat would be forced to clean up. What else was there...?
His eyes dragged themselves across the carpet, flicking slowly to a sword on the floor. His sword... how did it get there? A harsh, mirthless laugh fell from his throat, memories of those silly little melee classes bubbling up in the back of his mind. Memories of a time where self-defence was a hobby, where 'bad things' were only bad to him; pitiful little things that hurt him for a moment or two. Things that didn't leave horrible, painful scars all over his heart...
...wait...
That teacher of his... she had... well, she had a certain craving to win the fights, practice though they may be. Especially when they got intense. That laugh, crazed, devoid of humor, fell again from his throat, and he scrambled for the sword, getting to his feet. The tip of the sword dragged the entire way there, but the tip didn'tmatter. It was the blade of the sword that was important and, regardless, it was in its hilt. He entered the classroom, lifting the sword and shaking it in a jerking motion. The hilt slipped off, clattering to the floor. No expression on his face, his eyes flicked up, soulless as they were. "I challenge you. This time, you will not win."
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xInsane_Night_Skittlesx Crew
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Posted: Fri Apr 22, 2011 12:49 am
Ary didn't even look at the door, knowing who it was that walked in before he could even speak. "Hello Aludra. I see you haven't been taking care of the sword I gave you. A pity, it was a very nice one," she commented quietly, not bothering to stop her mock-fight to address the greed spawn. If he wanted to challenge her, he could bloody wait a minute while she finished. The air that surrounded him, however, concerned her. A familiar feel, one she was well accustomed to for many, many reasons.
"However," the woman paused, pulling the blade to a stop at last. The black, no, navy surface rippled once and smoothed out to near perfection once again. "You will not defeat me. You are a child still, lacking power and skills only gained through time, trial, and error. Since I doubt this will make you back down, which I find stupid, I'll take up your challenge." Ary took a couple steps back and paused, a dark smirk crawling onto her face.
"So Aludra, let's see how much you remember since our last meeting," Arytiss spoke, a sudden chill permeating the room, causing the nearby windows to fog up ever so slightly. It was going to be a long day.
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Posted: Wed Jul 20, 2011 10:41 am
Aludra could feel a pang of anger through the hollow feeling of sadness that had pervaded him, taking a deep breath and shoving it deep into his stomach. The sword was fine; it was only the hilt that was scratched... well, the sword itself was, as well, but that was from various practice fights he'd had with his future sister-in-law. Assuming he would live to see their wedding, something that he was now trying to avoid. Yet there was definitely a flicker in that aura of his which, for one of the first times since he'd learned how, he wasn't hiding, wasn't trying to keep under wraps to help himself appear invisible to the masses. A strange flicker, that is, when the woman stated that he wouldn't be able to defeat her. A low chuckle fell from his throat, a painful, twisted smile crossing his face, one that he couldn't seem to will away.
When his eyes raised to her's, it was obvious that any reasoning mind that he'd once had was draining out his ears. Yet it seemed that, at the very least, he knew that he looked just as crazy as he felt, and cleared his throat gently, trying to peel the smile off of his lips and pulling his body up to a more civilized posture rather than that hunched creature he'd been when he crawled inside the door. What a pity that that could possibly be the last memory that anyone had of of him.
Unintentionally, he let a barking laugh pass his lips, one that echoed around the room as he shook his head, that crazy smirk coming back just as it had. What he remembered, was it? "Trust me, Arytiss. I remember all that and much, much more," he spoke calmly, voice low as he calmly slipped off the simple sweatshirt that he'd been wearing, revealing old scars and new that covered his arms and chest, though that was little of his concern at the moment. True, he had few plans to live past this fight, but it would truly be a waste if he allowed himself to burn a perfectly good, designer-priced sweater.
With a practiced air, he slipped into an offensive stance, only a moment of focus allowing the sword in his hands to burst into flame. Steadily, the fire lapped from the hilt to the tip of the sword, his long, painful days of practice keeping the fire from melting the metal of the sword itself. Surely, his ice princess of a teacher wouldn't be fond of such a technique; all the more reason for her to fight with even more ferocity, was it not?
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