By the Bell

By the Bell

"Pick up the pace, worthless piece of flesh."

Jab jab, cross. Clank clank, clink.

"Ya dun d'serve ta be called anythin'."

Four more blows. The wooden target teeters on it's base.

"Are you serious to believe that I would buy such a... thing?"

A grab. A pivot. A toss. Hurried feet follow after it, foot raising to land another strike-

"Get in. The Pit."

A slip. A crash into sand.

>DING!<

A bell rings out through the Colosseum, a booming voice echoing through the air. "'AIGHT, THA'S 'NUFF!"

A scarred mul'neissa, from her position on the ground, snarls and punches a plated fist into the ground, sand splaying out in a granular splash.

The ringmaster began to stomp on over to the downed woman, a redskinned oruch with a snaggletooth. He crouches down and offers a hand. "C'mon now, lass, tha's the third one. Ya kno' the rules."

She smacks it out of the way, scrabbling to her feet and picking the target back up.

"Now now, Aryi-ya, ain't need ta get wrapped up 'gain, with this. Thar's always t'morro-"

Aryia, eyes wide behind a pair of shades, steps up to the ringmaster as the target falls back over, her holding a single finger, shaking. Then clasps her hands together. Looking up.

He glances behind him to the other combatants waiting for vetting, before giving a hefty sigh and kneels down to cut down the massive height difference. "Lass, I got a line outta th' door of folk waitin' ta try since th' place opened back up. Been no matches fo' neither o' th' gods as o' late. If I gave ya a fourth try, I gotta give everyone a fourth. And we ain't got that kinda time..."

She scoots forward on her knees, dragging out two lines behind her legs in the sand.

"Aryi-ya. C'mon now. T'morro'," the korrite ringleader puts an hand on her shoulder, the large mitt almost covering her whole upper arm.

The mul'neissa's hesitation to cast off was drawing some grumbling from the line, a few getting up on tiptoes to see what the holdup was. It had been the fourth day in a row she's been to tryouts. And every time, under the watchful eye of others it was clear she had the moxie. But something always threw her off before she could pass the test. A weak punch. A thrown shoulder. A pulled muscle. And it only grew worse as each failure resulted in more frustration. Which fed back in on itself.

She cuts a hand through the air, cold iron plates clanking from the motion as she holds up one finger. Firm. Glaring. Then, she waves dismissvely. One finger. Dismissve. One finger. Dismissive.

It takes him a moment, brows knitting in thought. Before slow realization dawns across the Oruch's visage. "... one mo' try, else ya done tryin'?"

Aryia sharply nods, lips pursed.

He lets out a hefty sigh, head tilting back as his gaze settles on the statues that bless the arena. "... ya got one shot, else ya back on probashun."

The shadow elf rolls her shoulds, and nods again, turning back around to face the target. He rises, shakes his head, then walks back to the steadily growing irate crowd. He does his best to qwell them, explaining the situation.

Both fists raise, and she closes her eyes. The chatter fades. The echo of the bell fades. And memories of eld trickle in. Aryia bolts forward.

"Learned your lesson, already?"

Jab, cross, hook. Clink, clank, clunk. Wood chunks start to dent, break, and fly.

"You dare defy me? I'll kill both of you!"

Let the anger feed in. Let the pain be the bar. Nothing hurts more, and nothing will.

"You're lucky I saved your life. Get. In. There."

Twist of a foot, a catch in the ankle. A silent gasp.

"Feel that? That fear? Like a cornered dog? That's you. An animal for show."

Shoulders hit the sand.

Shame floods in. Not for her performance. But at herself. This was the one of many hurdles she needed to surpass. And the despair of the ring was one of them. She could feel it. The winding up before the bell was struck again. One foot hits the sand. She looks over beside her. The peaks and valleys of the ground. How much have these grains seen? The fights that happened here? As well the the atrocities? Were she to be useless here and join them? Only to witness?

"I think you're across the line now."

Time paused for a beat. Both plated hands plant into the ground, last falling limb curling up.

"You should strive for yourself, for your desires, whatever they may be."

A boot shoots upward, nailing the target underneath. The pugilist kips up in the same motion. Twirling around with a back fist to its side. Clank.

"You are strong to be standing still."

Stance adjusts, and they lean in. A flurry of straight punches clanging against the wood again. Clank clink clank clink clank cli-crack.

"You're.... a kind person... ...a good person."

More and more straight jabs, the target wobbling back with every strike. The core of the wood block distingirating to wood shavings with every strike. Cli-ack cl-ack cli-ack.

"No one... is closer."

Was it fear? Of failure? Or was it something else fueling her? She did not know, the grasp of her inner turmoil was always an enigma. Yet, her eyes burn bright despite the noon sun behind those shades, jaw clenched in determined focused. Sparks began to fly as she rips through the core of the target to its metal plating. The cold iron growing brittle with every hit. But still, she kept striking. Ankles deep in the sand.

"I love it. And you."

What did it mean? And why did it burn as intense as the blazing star above? Shards of cold iron sharpnel began to fling in all directions, fingers exposed to the elements as the onslaught held no quarter. The target crashes against the stone walls. Fists crash against banded iron and wood. And still she swings.

"I'm here..."

Face twisted into a silent howl of battle, Aryia draws her fist back, a trail of dust and debris marking its wake.

A singular, wide haymaker crushes the training dummy, the cestus shattering into a thousand tiny shards, strewn across the sands like miniture monoliths. The target snaps. Then slowly folds over on itself with a slow creak and crack, akin to a felled tree.

With steam rising off of her hands from what remained from the glove striking metal again and again, she pivots to the grinning ringmaster. Bows at the waist. And exits.