Author Topic: Frustration, and not like the board game. {PK} (Read 408 times)
lain
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Frustration, and not like the board game. {PK}
« Oct 20, 2009 20:18:01 GMT -6 » 		Quote
( OOC: Only for Pain Killer, sorry. Also, take as long as ‘ya want, I have lots of homework to (unfortunately) amuse myself with.
...
And I gotta admit, I have no idea how I expect you to find a reason for PK to be in a forest. XD
Sorry it's huge, I got kinda carried away. )


EARLIER
A personal trainer wasn’t what she needed.
She had one anyway.

They were alone together - oxymoron or not - in a small room; a sorry excuse for a gymnasium, with splotched hardwood floors and just barely enough room for six people to windmill. Three of the walls surrounding them were boring and white, made of over sized white bricks, and the third was thick, thick glass. The room was made for spectators.
There were none.

Today, the floor was lined in blue pads. Other days, she wasn‘t so lucky.

Barely three feet away from Lain was a man, barely illuminated by the artificial light bleeding in through the wall. He was lean, toned, and he had a shadow of stubble blackening his jaw line and beyond. His eyebrows were unruly, puffy even, and while he might have been attractive before, the new scars lining his skin greatly distracted from the big picture. The dragon tattoo riding its way up his throat didn‘t help him any, especially since the teeth of the dragon were closing themselves around the dude’s lips.
Since when was that cool?
The fellow was someone she’d dragged out from the underground, someone who was fairly infamous down there. He'd watched a few of her matches. The only reason he’d agreed to this perpetual torture was because of the massive amount of green (money) she was dishing out.

"I want you to knock me down," decided the taller, a simple request at its core… but there was a catch. He was almost animated in his height, like some sort of freaky giraffe on stilts. His sheer size was ridiculous.

"Sure, uh-- no problem-o at all. I am the knock-down champion. Yup!" Lain balled a fist and rubbed the ridges with her thumb; a few of her knuckles were unmistakably crooked, and she didn’t like it. She didn’t like this, either. How was she supposed to knock down this massive wall of a man?

And from there on, she tried and tried as hard as she could and as soon as the guy got sick of her feeble attempts and the minor clips to the ribs and arms, he grabbed the foot she was kicking with and yanked, sending her backward and - flop - smack onto the mat, easy as anything.

Wide eyed and disoriented, Lain looked up at the towering male, mouth agape.

"See… Lain, this is your problem. You are an animal. I don’t mean it in a good way, either. You fight like an animal; for survival. And that’s the only time you’re good at this shit. You can only throw a punch when your adrenaline is pumped, kid. You’re not good at fighting, you’re good at surviving. There’s a big difference. When it comes to throwing fists, to casual fighting, to just… hitting people, you’re mediocre. At best. Pssh, I thought you were good. You WERE good. Were. Keep your money, I'm out."

---

NOW
The tree was nothing special, just another big ol' oak in the mass of forest she was tangled in. Speckles of sun framed her face, touched her bared skin, illuminated only one side of her face. Today, since Lain was nestled kinda deep into the woods - not exactly a public place - she was wearing a black tank top, several of her scars seeping down her arms, which were usually hidden by some sort of fashionable clothing. Or a man, or Photoshop, or... GIMP, whatever. She had plain jeans and Converse on; the stupidest shoe brand ever in existence ever, but she wore it anyway.

Evidently, she was pissed.
Evidently, the trees were in trouble.

Brows knitted, hair disheveled and - for once - down, she looked up at the tree as if expecting it to rain mice.

Mediocre at best.
Mediocre at best.
Mediocreatbest mediocreatbest mediocre at best mediocre mediocre mediocre.
Mediocremediocremediocremediocre...

The loudest scream she'd ever screamed bubbled up and, inexplicably frustrated, she lashed out and shot a kick at the tree in front of her. HARD. Reeling backward from the impact, Lain landed on her bottom for the second time that day, strings of electric pain rolling up her leg.

She looked expectantly up at the tree.
Nothing. Not even a dent.

What had she been expecting?
Seriously.

Lain didn't need a personal trainer... she needed experience.

"Fuck."

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painkiller
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Frustration, and not like the board game. {PK}
« Oct 22, 2009 22:53:51 GMT -6 » 		Quote
OOC: As long as you don't expect me to match it in length, you can post however long you want. :P

IC:

For a man who took his training as seriously as Adam Rydell did, it wasn't unusual for him to switch things up a little. The self-proclaimed Pain Killer had always imagined that if he were to stick with the same exercises, his body would simply get used to the motions and quit getting stronger, something that was simply unacceptable. As a result, today was designated as an "old school" training day, one where the youngest surviving Rydell would head out into the woods, find a nice secluded spot, and push himself to his limits.

It had taken twenty minutes to find a suitable spot, but eventually, Adam was satisfied with what he had come across. Several trees had grown large enough to have branches able to support his weight, and he had found at least one rock that was heavy enough to give him a challenge. In fact, he had been in the process of gorilla-pressing said rock above his head, a move potentially lethal to himself if he were to slip and let it hit his head, when he heard the sound of someone screaming somewhere further in the woods. Grunting with effort, Pain Killer lowered the rock to the ground, grabbing his trenchcoat and moving further into the woods, walking so that his footsteps wouldn't drown out the sound of any further clues of where the screamer was.

Luckily, it would seem they were closer than he had thought.

Eventually, Adam would catch sight of a girl sitting on the ground, and at first glance, it appeared she wasn't in any danger. However, since she wasn't looking around, he figured she was the one who'd made the sound to attract his attention. Casually, he would walk up beside her, approaching from her left, his trenchcoat slung over his right shoulder and held in place by a gloved hand. Like her, he wore a black tank top and jeans, though he didn't have the scars he could begin to make out over her arms as he came closer, a sight that made his eyes narrow slightly. Finally, he would come to a stop a good four or five feet away, giving her plenty of room so as not to make her uncomfortable.

"Hey. You alright?"

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Frustration, and not like the board game. {PK}
« Oct 23, 2009 15:29:50 GMT -6 » 		Quote
Lain felt as if she’d been caught on candid camera.

She looked like an absolute doe, freshly manicured fingernails piercing the earth in silent panic.
Here she was, out of commission, sprawled on the forest floor, and some anonymous silhouette was weaving its way towards her. Normally, she would just freak the heck out, scramble to her feet and book it, but her leg was a little mangled this time around. Whoopsies. As far as running went, she was as useless as a fucking magikarp.



Not only were her crudely decorated arms showing (decorated with scars, of course), she was also showing off several signs of what probably looked like bipolar disorder and a severe, unhealthy dislike toward trees.
Great job, Lain.
But fortunately, surprisingly, the man didn’t turn out to be a camera-wielding reporter with the intent to shatter her career. In fact, upon closer inspection, the stranger seemed kinda familiar. As the dude edged close, she was more and more able to identify him as an older, more weary and possibly more ripped Adam Rydell, who was one of her Varron buddies.
Arguably the only one.
And also upon closer inspection, she realized… well, the fucker didn’t seem to remember her.

And while Adam seemed overly concerned about her personal space - or maybe he was just freaked out ‘cause she was just ‘that crazy banshee screamer chick in the woods who hates greenery enough to attempt to stop its mortal life with her boot’, yeah that was probably it - Lain did not seem to be worried about his. Uh, at all. She was so insulted by his shitty memory that the consequences of her actions were like the last thing on her mind. Flipping herself onto her hands and knees, she closed the space between them with a quick crawl, and after that she would reach her hand out to hopefully grab the hem of his shirt - if he stayed still - and use the guy as a makeshift latter to yank herself to her feet.

Wobbly at first (and if he didn’t stay still to be used as a latter then uh… I guess she just struggled her way to her feet), Lain tested her leg by walking on it like a drugged ostrich on stilts; highly disoriented. But after a couple moments of her hilarious staggering, she seemed to be fine.

“Nope, I am most definitely not alright, monsieur. If you’ve ever been to prom, you’ve seen how serious chicks can be about people wearing the same outfit as them, and it looks like we have a wardrobe dilemma here, my friend.” Lain pointed at Adam’s tank top and jeans and then at her own, strikingly similar on both composition and shade. “So obviously, we are now sworn enemies. Rivals for life! I‘d say that‘s a huge problem. So nope, not okay.” But the chesire smile on her lips pointed out the obvious truth; she was only joking.

Whatever. If Adam-stupid-asshole-Rydell-in-that-order wanted to not remember her, fine. The old Lain Miasa wasn’t important anyway! The only important thing now was model-Lain, the girl who’d sprung from a career in cage fighting to a career in modeling, who had her own condo and most definitely did not live with her mother.
…
Okay, so if her life was so different, maybe she looked completely brand spankin’ new too. After all, her hair no longer looked like some freaky rejected Kool-Aid colour, she’d lost more than a few pounds, she was absolutely encircled in a ridiculous amount of scars… she looked like a whole different girl.

“Okay, Adam, normally I'd ask for your soul to make up for not remembering me, but I think I'm in a nice mood today... but you owe me a BIG favour, okay?” Taking advantage of a bad situation was what she did best, haha. Instead of disclosing her identity to mister Rydell, she instead dug both heels into the earth, standing in the best defensive stance she could muster. Every joint was bent, nothing locked, and then she asked something that seemed uh... vaguely suicidal.

"I want you to hit me. Hard as you can. Right here." Lain bobbed her chin towards the hands out in front of her, palms facing Adam while her elbows were bent and pointing in opposite directions.
...
Well, if she was going to kick trees in her free time, she may as well go all out and ask huge men to hit her too. Why not?
[/size]

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Frustration, and not like the board game. {PK}
« Nov 2, 2009 16:08:27 GMT -6 » 		Quote
The hulking male's eyes widened considerably at the girl's sudden movements, her rapid crawling reminding him of that scene in The Ring that his sister had forced him to watch, where the girl had come out of the TV towards the end. While he had never admitted it, that movie had scared the crap outta him, and in respone, the self-proclaimed Pain Killer would take a half-step backwards with his left leg instinctually before managing to stop himself, forcing his mind to calm down. Aside from the step, however, Adam would let the mystery girl use him as something to climb up, managing to look confused and amused at the same time by the entire experience.

The strange walk afterwards did nothing to change to change his expression, the only thing keeping the youngest surviving Rydell from having to stifle a laugh being the words the mystery girl spoke, pointing out their similiar attire. It was the first time he'd ever seen someone choose his own style of clothing, and the smile being sent his way would be returned wholeheartedly, Adam beginning to get used to this sort of teasing.

"Ha! And here I thought I was your idol."

As far as he knew, Adam had never met this girl before. Still, he couldn't help but feel like she was familiar, something that was annoying, at best. At times like these, he hated his memory, as it wasn't the first time he'd missed something that felt important just because he couldn't figure it out. Still, it would seem his questions had a good chance to be answered, as the girl went on to demand a favour from him, while also implying that she knew who he was. Brow furrowing, Pain Killer found himself growing apprehensive as she pulled into some sort of stance, though it only grew worse at her actual request.

"Woah woah WOAH! Wait a second here. First off, if you know me, and I should know you, then I'm not knockin' you out for no reason, whether you ask me to or not. You tell me who you are, and why you're lookin' to get killed, and then we'll see about whether I'll take a swing at ya."

Even with his refusal, Pain Killer would toss his trenchcoat off to the side, apparently freeing his hands for any required movement. However, those same hands would drop downwards, his thumbs hooking in his pockets in a clear sign that he had no intention to go through with any such favour, or at least, as things stood right now.

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