Post by BARE MASON KINGSFORD on Oct 9, 2010 15:05:39 GMT -5
ALLEYWAY, JASPER FALLS, ILLINOIS, MARCH 2011
Jesus, but his hand hurt. Leaning against the backstage wall of the building the city used for amatuer boxing matches, Bare looked up, biting is tongue against the pain. Having some background medical training came in handy at times like these because if he were to look down at what he was about to do, he would have been able to think logically through the whole process. Bare did look down for a brief second and saw the way that the three last fingers of his left hand were sticking in odd directions, a product of his left jab hitting the guard instead of his target. But dislocated fingers were the only prizes he had earned tonight.
His fingers were his most immediant concern, but his right eyes was starting to swell from a rather large cut above his eyebrow, which despite having been looked at by Bare and his trainer, was still bleeding slightly. Bare sighed a slid down the dusty brick wall, coming to a breif drop into a sitting position. He didn't want to pass out and fall, which could have been likely if he was standing up. His equipment, a bottle of Jack, sat next to him and taking a brief swig, he felt the fire go down his throat, and gripped his middle finger. As the burning sensation of the whiskey peaked in his throat, he pulled and heard, and felt, the first finger snap back into place. Pain lanced up his arm and made his teeth clamp shut. But he fought throughi it, grabbing his ring finger with determination and snapping it back before he could think about it. The pain redoubled this time and Bare left out a brief moan into the darkness. Bare snatched the bottle from the ground and chugged what was left, feeling his head start to swim. With a slight reluctants, he finally snapped the pinky finger back into place and sighed out when the pain was finished. It was of course nothing close to the pain that he went through at every full moon, but it was enough that it would leave him sore for a while.
Getting up, he flexed the previously dislocated fingers, making sure that were trully back into place. At the moment, he didn't have anything to bind them with, so he could have to wait till he got home to do anything about it. They would heal in a few hours, but he hadn't wanted them to set crooked. His roomates had been terrifed the first time Bare had come home, bloody and bruised, but by now, they were so used to it that they didn't even bother about him anymore. The only time they were aware of it was when he left a bloody towel out in the open. And he didn't box often enough for anyone to make a huge deal about it.
The truth was that Bare didn't trully enjoy boxing. It was just something that he did to get money and he didn't do it often enough to build up a huge tolerance for it. Oh he didn't hate it, but he held no passion for it either. It was just easy because of his strength that being a werewolf gave him. He would rather have spent a night in the seniors ward of the hopsital, listening to the old senile citizens blather on about days gone by. He would rather heal, than wound. Violence just wasn't in his bones. Well that was a lie. It was in his bones, but burried deep down through years of patience and control. He had to be careful not to hurt anyone for most of his life, always using something that would get him out of accidently hurting someone. Having the extra strength of a werewolf made somethings difficult. And he used it as an excuse to box. He didn't like boxing, but it kept him calm and level headed.
Leaning his head against the cold, rough brick sided building, he took a deep breath and sighed out. A normal person would have been in bed by now. Bare closed his eyes, feeling the night around him. Of course Barer liked the sun, but more often than not he was working the student life, doing everything during the night, so he used the day to sleep. But he wasn't wsorry about that. Bare loved the moon. There was something like a quiet grace about it. With it's silver beams of moonlight, it made him feel like something bigger than himself. Sometimes, Bare could imagine that he could hear the moonlight shifting through the streets.
But tonight there was another sound. Footsteps. And then a slightly rustle as someone brushed past a garbage bag. Bare pulled away from the wall and looked down to the area where he thought the sounds were coming from. When he looked though, there was no one there. Not scared, but slightly wary, he drew himself up to his full height of 6'2. It was probably nothing more than a few muggers looking for a victium and Bare knew, if he could see their faces, it wouldn't be hard to track them down in the long run. Turning around, Bare watched as someone walked towards him down the alleyway.
-----------------
Tag: No One
Song: Running up that Hill, Placebo
Words: 811
Notes:AH, this one kinda sucks.
