Yesterday, 09:21 PM
There wasn’t much that actually soothed Oriena, but sometimes focus made her grow quiet inside of herself. She wasn’t using gloves; she didn’t want the cushioning, and she didn’t care about injury. This wasn’t sportsmanship and it wasn’t training, it was just pure aggression. The bleeding inside kind. The kind that desperately needed silence of the mind.
Her eyes cut to the stranger’s approach, though only for a second, and it didn’t slow her savagery. It was the woman’s own fault if she got close enough to get caught in the bag’s violent swing.
“It’d feel better if it hit back,” she muttered. She didn’t stop, and for a moment it didn’t seem she would. Luka was MMA, they’d always sparred bare-knuckle, and there were no real rules with Nox. Admittedly the most rage-fueled of those always ended a certain way. She wasn’t someone Ori recognised in order to know her proclivities, but a woman was less likely to pull her punches on account of gender at least. If she crumpled disappointingly under the first hit, Ori wouldn't have an issue stepping over her body in order to return to her punchingbag.
After a moment she finally stepped back. Her breaths came hard from exertion, her skin sheened with sweat, but she didn’t want the pause of respite. The flicker of a smirk twitched her lips. It was the kind of unhinged expression that promised she was probably about to get them both kicked out, but it didn’t stop her lifting her arm and beckoning the challenge with the curl of smarting knuckles.
Her eyes cut to the stranger’s approach, though only for a second, and it didn’t slow her savagery. It was the woman’s own fault if she got close enough to get caught in the bag’s violent swing.
“It’d feel better if it hit back,” she muttered. She didn’t stop, and for a moment it didn’t seem she would. Luka was MMA, they’d always sparred bare-knuckle, and there were no real rules with Nox. Admittedly the most rage-fueled of those always ended a certain way. She wasn’t someone Ori recognised in order to know her proclivities, but a woman was less likely to pull her punches on account of gender at least. If she crumpled disappointingly under the first hit, Ori wouldn't have an issue stepping over her body in order to return to her punchingbag.
After a moment she finally stepped back. Her breaths came hard from exertion, her skin sheened with sweat, but she didn’t want the pause of respite. The flicker of a smirk twitched her lips. It was the kind of unhinged expression that promised she was probably about to get them both kicked out, but it didn’t stop her lifting her arm and beckoning the challenge with the curl of smarting knuckles.
![[Image: orianderis.jpg]](http://thefirstage.org/wp-content/uploads/2020/09/orianderis.jpg)