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Leslie viciously tore into the training dummy. He was either carefully numb or furious, it seemed, or at least where others could see him. It wasn't ideal, but that was reality. He was dressed down, looking more like a hooligan than anything else: ripped jeans, raggedy hoodie, bandages around his wrist. The dummy fell over, splintered and cracked, and he snarled.

What he wouldn't do for a person to wail on, instead.

Leslie whirled on the guy, club out, eyes flashing. There were dark circles under his eyes, and he ******** off or fight me. Pick one."

It was almost like Leslie has a spidey sense for pity. He'd been on the receiving end of it plenty of times in his life: and look how far that'd gotten him.

He lashed out, sharp but sloppy. The spikes of his club just glanced against Jake's shield, a mere brush.

hp 50
dmg 3
charge 1/3
fear chl3, eye2 remain

Pain bloomed across his vision, spiderwebbing across his back in vicious retribution. "Jesus christ," he hissed, staggering from the force of the other hunter's strike. He definitely hadn't been expecting something that strong as a first blow.

Leslie raised his arms, club with it, and brought it down with a crash.

"You hit like a ******** truck."

hp 40
dmg 7
charge 2/3
fear chl3, eye2 remain

Jake's next move left Leslie debilitated, the blow so strong it set his ears ringing.

"Jesus ******** christ," he groaned, again, reduced to a paltry set of words in his weakness. "What do you eat for breakfast, steroids and bitches?"

hp 31
dmg potato
charge 2/3
fear chl3, eye2 remain

Aleria did as they always did, when under duress. They wrapped around his mind like a coiling vine, tightening into a vice grip. The sensation of sharp, bared teeth, of claws pinpricked into skin, of a hunger unchecked. Adrenaline was a hell of a drug and a weapon was like having a shot directly into his veins, into his heart, into his--

Leslie tensed, shaking off Jake's blow like a horse tossing its head, and took a step forward. With a jerk, he yanked his club up to aim right for that blue-haired a*****e's face.

hp 26
dmg 9
charge 3/3
fear chl3, eye2 remain

The punch sent Leslie reeling, forcing him to tumble back across the training field's turf. He laid there for a second, not unconscious or still, just groaning and clutching his head. It took a moment-- or two, or three-- but finally Leslie rolled back over, shaking his head to clear it.

There were a few tufts of grass stuck in his mohawk, and a green stain was smudged across his cheek.

"Jesus," he muttered, not for the first time in his life nor the last, "fine already." Leslie probed at Aleria, drawing on the ice in their veins -- from the crystalline form they now took-- in an attempt to heal. But it sputtered and faded, the telltale hoarfrost failing to sprawl across his skin and clothes.

He couldn't focus. Story of his ******** life, these days.

Leslie didn't feel bad for jumping the guy, so there was no apology. He just beckoned wearily, perhaps hoping that Jake would do him a kindness and knock him the ******** out.

hp 11
healed FOR NOTHING WHAT A ******** POTATO
charge 0/3
fear eye2 remain

Kindness was indeed delivered in the form of a righteous knockout, sending Leslie toppling down to kiss the turf. Aleria disappeared in a flash of blue light, fading into nothing, save for a simple black bracelet wrapped around his skinny little wrist.

His shield had dropped with the hit, and then the ground had wreaked havoc against his ribs and wrist. s**t.

Leslie coughed-- wincing a little as he did-- and rolled over onto his back with a low wheeze. "Call me a medic? Not the end of the ******** world, just. Need a check up. If you don't uh. Mind."