Lone Wolf

Chapter 1

Grabbing her book bag, Imaris trots down the steps of her new apartment. The street below bustles with people and cars in the morning rush.

Note to self: leave earlier tomorrow

With an irritated sigh, Aris slings her bag over her shoulder, jogging at a leisurely pace down the sidewalk, keeping her head down. No need to draw any attention to herself yet. Thank goodness the gym was only a few blocks away. The last place she'd lived was halfway across the city from the nearest gym. Decent one anyways. That apartment had been a better place though, especially for what she had payed for it.

Street fighting was her main means of income when she couldn't find other work, parsimony was a familiar practice all the same. She didn't have enough money to spend on trivial things, she only had enough for what she needed, and what extra she could occasionally get was saved for her sister.

When you're alone in the world at eighteen, you can only do the best with what you have. There had always been days where she wouldn't eat, leaving the food they had for her sister. She doubted that would ever change.

Picking up the pace, she sprints through the city, mindful of the people around her. She wanted to be able to relish her time at the gym, which meant getting there on time might help. Just a bit. Cue the eye roll.

The gym's front doors come into sight moments later. The silhouettes of several people visible as they go about their business. Heaving a breath, she shoulders the door open, rifling in her bag for her boxing gloves. Though she had seen people through the glass, she hadn't expected quite this many to be here at this time, didn't they have work? Dozens of people mill about the back of the gym, sparring on the mats, lifting weights, running laps, and hitting heavy bags.

Blinking, she moves towards the front desk, to buy a member ship. Three months should do for now, she couldn't know if she'd be able to stay any longer until she got a better idea of the city. The woman behind the desk smiles brightly up at her, shockingly red hair flowing down her back and flashing in strongly lit area, her wide blue eyes gazing gaily up at her. Hesitantly, she returns it. "Could I have a three month membership?" Aris asks, eagerly gazing around the gym, her expression most definitely resembling a child in a candy store. She couldn't wait to have a go on the equipment.

The woman nods studiously, her pale eyes falling to the computer in front of her , "name?". "Imaris Bronte" she replies absently, scanning the gym. She really needed a new alias, come to think of it. Ira flowe could only be used so many times, she loved anagrams though, so perhaps she could come up with another?

"Phone number?" The secretary asks, her pale face lifting to look at her once more. She rattles it off vacantly, her eyes roving the veritable buffet of new competition. Most looked either completely inept or barely competent. One man caught her eye, his concentrated hazel eyes analyzing his dueling partner as they circle each other. He looks capable, possibly a real challenge.

"Imaris?" Someone repeats, she whips around, slightly disoriented. "Yes?" The red head simply. laughs, handing her her membership card. "Have a good day, Imaris" she smiles, she returns it less cautiously this time. "You as well, and it's just Aris" she corrects. "Alright, Aris" the woman repeats, seemingly tasting the word, feeling it out on her tongue. "I'm Ellie, maybe we could hang out sometime?" She makes a noncommittal noise, Her eyes darting towards the punching bags longingly, desperate to inflict her pain upon an inanimate object. Pain that no one could ever know of. She should never of initiated a conversation of any kind. Conversation lead to questions, and questions lead to another move. She'd only just began to get settled in, too, she pouts mentally.

Thankfully, 'Ellie' notices, and doesn't attempt to further pursue the blooming discussion. Slipping the membership card into her bag, Aris moves hastily towards the heavy bags, wanting, needing, to attack something. An ingrained, fundamental, even primal need to hurt. An unoccupied bag waits in the corner, beckoning to her. Begging to fall prey to her body. She gladly obliges, setting down her book bag in the corner and pulling her black boxing gloves from amid various titles of interest filling her bag.