Fight Or Flight Is Such An Easy Question (OPEN)

[Deleted]

Anastasia stood at the ‘grave’ of her family. Well, as much as a grave could be for people who couldn’t die. And just as much standing at as on top of. She had absolutely no respect for these three and would ‘kill’ them again if given the chance. People in general were stupid and untrustworthy and deserving of death. She ground her heel into the dirt, firmly packed from years of doing this every so often. One might thing that she would have forgotten where they were, as overgrown as it was. But no, she could sense them there. Squirming in their graves, forever alive, but trapped and dead to the world. Forever.



Anastasia Arroyo pulled her gladius free of its scabbard and stuck the point in the ground over her family, part of her wishing she could destroy them, but knowing they deserved the horror they were ‘living’ in right now. She resheathed the gladius and spun on the spot to stalk back out, her ankle boots crunching in the undergrowth. Her black jeans were perfect, not faded or torn or anything. Her black t-shirt hugged her curves, but all she cared about was that it was clean this morning. Her dark hair was pulled up in a tight bun.



She broke the cover of the woods into the harsh sun. One might think wearing all black would be highly unpleasant in late May in San Francisco, CA. She didn’t though. She didn’t care. In fact, bring on the discomfort. She didn’t like to feel cozy. Warm, happy feelings were lies. Life was ruled by death. Especially for people like Anastasia. Becoming a half-murderer at the age of eight was one thing. She hated the fact that there was probably someone looking for her right now. They knew she went to the woods and sometimes they tried to follow. They had yet to discover the grave, or at least that it was a grave. She hated being stalked and it being legal. She was brutally tempted to kill the next official babysitter who got too close. Her hand rested on her gladius as she walked, feeling comfort in an object that could do such glorious damage. Not that her hands weren’t weapons in and of themselves.

TAG: @ OPEN

WORDS: 377

NOTES:
Anya's first thread!

[Deleted]

Nora blinked, inspecting the second bar that streaked down her forearm. She was twelve now... it didn't feel any different. It never really felt different when she got older. Except for the slight stinging on her arm which could have been mind over matter. It had happened to her when she had gotten her first bar too. One day she'd have ten of these. Once that happened, she could go home! At least... she hoped so. They'd let her go after ten years of faithful service, right? Although still looking forward to returning to her parents, it would have been dishonest to say that the Legion hadn't changed her. Nora still disliked fighting; however, she found the mental stimulus of it fun, especially since she started getting used to using her plants while fighting. She had worked hard on it; now, she could make small vines grow and wrap around people's feet to trip them. At first, she thought of it as cheating, but after a few practices and hearing a couple of stories from older campers, she realized that there was no cheating in the real world. You had to do what you had to in order to survive. There was no cheating. There were only trick moves to help you stay alive.

Every day she counted herself lucky that she had missed it all: two wars and a capturing by the U.S. government. She had missed all the hardship, but she could still see it in the older campers' eyes. The way some of them subtly moved away if a sudden, loud noise went off. The way she'd hear soft crying in her barracks. It must have been really bad: everyone around here always seemed so tough, so it was hard to think of things that made them cry. Not that crying was bad. Her dad had always told her that it was okay to cry, but once her tears were gone, she had to figure out what to do about what had made her cry. After her first few months of crying in the Legion, she had learned that she needed to make herself a better fighter. As they said, Rome was not built in a day. A soldier was not built in a day. So she learned. She practiced. It became less and less hard. She shyly asked for help when she needed it. Being able to do it by herself gave her more satisfaction, of course, but if it was really that hard... besides, everyone needed help every once in a while, right?

With the constant thought of improvement milling around her head, Nora took herself to the Field of Mars, a staff in hand. The young girl preferred it to a sword. Although seemingly impractical, she liked to have a non-threatening look to her. She had been told by one of the other Cohort mates that a demigod of Ceres would always carry around a staff. She also learned that he had died during the war. From what they had said about him, he seemed like a nice person. A tree he had planted was still growing on the outskirts of the Field of Mars. So, with staff in hand, Nora stood in the Field of Mars and looked at the ground. She concentrated, hard, and sure enough a small vine popped out of the ground, curing as if to seize someone's leg. Nora smiled. She was doing it!

She tilted her head up just in time to see a figure come out of the forest. Nora squinted a little, trying to think. Had she seen this person before...? Maybe... maybe not... No, she would have remembered someone wearing long, black pants. She knew of only one other person who did that. One of the forgers did. He was always so grumpy... and not that talkative. Huh. Two years. She still had yet to meet people. With that in mind, she gave a shy smile and waved over at the taller, approaching figure. She didn't mind the gladius that the figure carried. It was quite common for everyone around here to carry weapons.

OOC: RIP Nora
IC: 690