The Troubles Increase (Bix)

["Unfettered"]

Not Really A Good Week For "Unfettered"

What was the story this time?

...Well, "Unfettered" was still horribly, horribly slow. A given, he was weighed down so heavily by all his equipment. Didn't know how to take a break. Almost, anyways, excluding every day. So that was a lie. Still, this was how the German would be... His usually clean, long, white hair was long ago dirtied and crusted with his own blood from earlier this morning. His Hades Coat looked a bit beat up. Ares War Gloves, jeans, Artemis Hunting Shoes... scarf that was occasionally used by his opponents to choke him himself, still wrapped about his neck.

Now, picture that, with a strange look on his face---A mixture of glee and pain, as he was both punching the lights out of one fellow in front of him with a lunging straight, and while simeltaneously getting kicked in the side. Propel him across the hallway a good thirty feet, and that's how he make his newest crater in the floor.

...Unless he got kicked into someone else.

[bix]

Another Day
Another Fight

Tragedy
Filled the halls
Old and new
Blood Trickles
down the white walls

Spilling upon the floor
Puddles
Dropplets
Intricate patterns
Artwork of violence

Beauty it was
Beauty it remains
The color of red
Strong
The symbol of pain



Another fight. In these halls. More red. Stained the walls. A little thought. Ran through the mind. Of the witch. That leaned. Against. One of the lockers. Watching. While she chewed. Upon the black licorice. It was her favorite. The soothing black. Flavor. How it coated the tongue. And if not careful. The lips. With the pure. Obsidian color. It was her favorite. Snack of all. One she carried with her. Often. In her bag. Which held many things. It seemed. With all the safety pins. That the bag. Surely would. Fall apart. But it never did. The integrity. Seemed to be held on. By some amazing. spells. Standard. Or inner secret. Still though. She watched. The skinny one. The one bulked up by. A coat. A scarf. And other things. Got his ass kicked. While. Kicking ass. At the same time.

A talent for sure.

Boredom. Finally. Reached her. And with a sigh. Bix pushed. Herself off the wall. And moved to head. Off down the hall. Perhaps. She could go. Find Scene. For some more. Murderous fun. More blood letting. more blood collecting. Oh yes. Blood was all too interesting. But it seemed. This. Was not her destiny. Not today. At any rate. For as the white one. Pasty. hair and skin. Flew down the hall. Despite the cries. To watch out. She was not. Listening. And the one. Flying across. The hall. With the power. To create. A crater. Flew into her. Knocking her down. Licorice. Going everywhere. Falling down. Around the floor. Bix growled. Her candy. Was sacred. AFterall. She only had. This one bag. For today. She had nothing else. To eat. If it was gone. And there was only. A single. Solitary piece. In the bag now.

Picking up. The candy stick. She folded it. In half. With her hand. And jabbed it. Right into the eye. Of the asshole. That decided. She was his bed. For the day. Her combat boot. Covered foot. Would stomp down. On him. The angry Bix. Was only. Angry inside. Outwardly. It seemed that. She was calm as could be. But she was not. She was pissed. And Whitie. Was her victim.

["Unfettered"]

Something Off. Horribly Off.

Now, granted, some credit had to be given to the German. He was fighting with a shitton of things weighing down on him. Hence, it was actually surprising that his apparent, haphazard victim not only got hit (how "she" [as the lumps beneath him would suggest] didn't know what was going on was beyond him, but then, this school was full of very, very powerful people), just in time to get about and try and jab him in the right eye with something. In that position of all things. Well, its not like he wasn't noticing the girl take the... whatever it was from the ground, fold it, and then try to jab it into him.

Bloody hell, he was worn down, but not so terribly worn down. He shifted his head from right to left, just in time to have her try to stab into his already covered left-eye socket, stabbing through the Nazi eye-patch. Goodness, such killer intent.

Now, she was knocked over, hadn't even gotten up, and it was very hard for him to imagine that she would be able to try to bring up her boot down onto him, while he was presumedly on top of her, from knocking her down. Instead, he just slowly rolled away, 'til he hit the wall, his right hand sliding onto the locker, as he slowly leaned backwards, working his back and knees, to be in a semi-standing position. Further propping himself up with his left hand, as his right hand guided him by the wall, he'd look up at the girl.

Stare at her, as blood came from his empty left eye-socket.

On his face, a strange, grimacing look, as his left brow raised.

"...Vat ze hell vaz zat for...?"

...Meanwhile, behind him, the person who had knocked him across was charging straight at the German.

An opportune moment for this new girl to strike a consecutive strike on him? Or... had the German already noticed the guy charging at him from behind?

...Or...

...?