The Aftermath {Marcus}

[Freya Reeves]

When Freya had first heard tournament, she figured it would be some card game or silly matches. She had no idea that it was actually going to be such an intense set of fights over such a short amount of time. She had no idea that kids would come back groaning in pain and there would be whispers of how injured they were, practically immobile with certain joints in some cases. Maybe if she had realize how sever the event would be she would have tried to stop her only real friend from entering. Not that it would have done much but she would have at least tried to prevent harm from coming to him. Now she was left pacing around in a less crowded part of the dungeon where they were kept, worry being the only real thing that was keeping her awake. However, as time progressed her little corner became far more crowded than she realized and as she did a signature Freya (aka trip and stumble forward) she found herself slamming into something that she couldn’t quite identify. Bandages and a hard material were the only thing she could sort of make out before pulling herself away and called out, “Sorry!”

[Marcus Finch]

The aftermath of the fight wasn't pretty. After his less-than-graceful defeat at the hands of Veronica in the second round of the tournament, Marcus was looking a little worse for wear. The right side of his face had ballooned to the point where he could no longer open his eye, and the thick bandages that covered the ugly injury rendered him almost unrecognisable. If it weren't for the matted green hair that still stood out like a glow stick in the dark, the punk might have been mistaken for your average dungeon mummy. His left arm, now free from its sling, rested in his lap as he pressed his aching shoulder into the cool wall of the dungeon. With his eyes closed, he leaned his head back against the wall and tried not to think. His body was bruised and broken, but nothing could compare to the pain in his head. Whatever Veronica had done to him left him feeling like the victim of a jackhammer lobotomy.

Somehow, despite his agonised body and the annoying, incessant echoing of chatter in the dungeon, Marcus managed to nod off. That was, until someone assaulted him from above. The girl landed hard, drawing a yelp of pain and surprise from the punk. "What the fuck is wrong with you?" he snarled, shoving the girl away with his good arm even as she tried to scoot away from him. He grimaced as his body spasmed in pain, lights popping before his eyes. It felt like it would never end, but a few seconds later his muscles began to relax and he was left feeling breathless and angry. Marcus glowered at the apologising girl. Freya might have been the only person on the island the punk didn't hate, but these were exceptional circumstances. "Go away, Freya," his voice was a low, warning growl, "just go away right now."

[Freya Reeves]

As the yelp of pain hit her ears, Freya felt her eyes widen in shock. She hadn't thought she had fallen that hard on the poor kid, but the sound of pain practically radiating from the other student clearly told a different story. However, before she could utter out another word she was shoved away causing her to tumble off to the side. "It's not like I meant to!" She snapped back, as she caught herself on her palms. Having lost all her bearings for a moment she sat frozen with a slight, uncomfortable twang centered around her now scuffed up palms and knees. Something about that venom seemed vaguely familiar though, and suddenly it dawned on the red head,"Marcus?!" Her eyes widening once more as she recognized the growl coming somewhere from her right. He must have lost his match which meant the injuries were probably really bad, the injuries she had just made worse. "Crap, I'm sorry!" She repeated but she didn't move much beyond slowly feeling out the area around her and praying she didn't hit him again. She had no reference where she was now, let alone to go. She had a sinking feeling this wasn't going to go well.

[Marcus Finch]

The pain had retreated to a distant but ever-present ache. He watched as the girl stumbled and fell, scraping her hands and knees on the uneven stone floor of the dungeon. Behind the superficial wall of anger, the punk made note of the twinge of satisfaction that itched in his chest as he watched the blind girl struggle. And then there was the guilt and the guilt fed the anger and the anger provoked the action which would start the whole septic cycle over again. He pressed the heel of his good hand to his forehead and tried to breathe through the overwhelming need to break something. "Freya," there was a quiet urgency in his voice as he repeated the name, "shut up." Something brushed against his leg and he jumped, recoiling out of instinct and evoking a fresh wave of punishment from his body. He made a sound that was half-way between a groan and a growl. "Freya. Shut up. And go away," he was yelling now, shoving the words at her. Anger rolled off him like steam. The little breaths between the words were punctuation, and the overwhelming need to break something broke him.

[Freya Reeves]

His words alone were enough to want to make her want to leave, the only real problem was that she didn’t know how. The push of his words and evident annoyance only caused to become more flustered with her movements. Which lead to the inevitable second touch, while she yanked her hand away quickly, it sounded like he did as well. ’Frack!’ she thought, a grimace on her face as she heard consequences of such a small action. With a flinch at each one of his words, she scooted backwards and away from his voice. It took a moment of cringing before finding enough of a backbone to straighten up and yell back, “It’s not like I’m not trying! It’s kinda hard when you don’t know where the hell you are! Floundering around in the dark isn’t as fun as it seems.”

[Marcus Finch]

It was soon apparent that Freya was not going to "shut up" nor "go away" and Marcus was cornered, angry, and slipping out of control. Without speaking, he pushed himself to his feet. His stiff muscles begged for mercy but the anger overrode them as he stood over the girl. Wincing, he bent just enough to grab her by the arm, hauling her onto her feet. "Here," he growled, "do us both a favour. Save your breath and start walking." Spinning her around, he shoved her hard between the shoulder blades. "Don't fucking look back. Just shut up and keep going." The throbbing in his head reached its peak as the words spewed from his mouth. Marcus squeezed his eye shut and raised his hand to rub at his forehead once more. This day was a nightmare and everything felt bad. He just wanted it to end.

[Freya Reeves]

Most of the time, Marcus was the only one that could really touch her and not have her become a finicky mess. However, since today was destined to twist everything around, the moment he made a move to pull her up she recoiled from his grip but unsteadily made her way to her feet, her free arm flailing out to the side hoping there was a wall for support. No such luck. “Cheesus!” she yelled, quickly being forced around and shoved forward. Her legs barely caught on in time to prevent her from face planting into the basement floor. She couldn't quite believe he had just done that, since she figured he realized her issue with interactions like this, but at the same time she could with his current frame of mind. It still didn't help ease the tension building under her skin any. “So freakin sorry I accidently wandered into your corner,” she replied while steadying herself a bit as her hand found a wall. “Scratch that, sorry I wandered into your life, asshat.” She mumbled as she started walking, using the wall more than anything to guide her way. As long as she made her way away from him it’d be good.

[Marcus Finch]

The words hurt almost as much as the physical wounds, but now Freya was walking away and Marcus was done. Even though she was still fighting him, he couldn't help but relax as the distance grew between them. She was leaving and that was exactly what he wanted. The further apart they were, the less they would hurt each other. But now he found himself facing a new problem. He was friendless. Alone in the dark, he clenched and un-clenched the fist of his good hand. The punk wasn't sure how to feel. Marcus tried to convince himself that it was liberating; now he wouldn't have to worry about anyone but himself, but, really, he just felt kind of lonely. That was not acceptable. Shaking his head, he sighed. As much as he didn't want to admit it, he hated seeing her leave. Maybe it was for the best, but as he squinted at her shrinking form a pang of longing rang through his gut. What was a punk to do?