Redemption [h.s]

02

The door leads to another set of stairs, longer. This stairwell is illuminated by deep green LED lights. The concrete walls are canvases for graffiti, and Cara notes both her own markings and all of the new ones.

She decides to help ease Marcus and Giana's frantic minds, pointing out her acts of vandalism as they traveled deeper to the underground world. They both absorb the spectacles in nothing less than absolute awe.

The farther they travel, the more Cara picks up on faint noise from the Saturday-night event. Once they reach the last step, they're met with a slightly lengthy hallway with an arched entrance awaiting them at the end. Two men stand on either side of the entrance, but they don't seem to be enjoying the bodyguard role. It seems more as though they've been put into timeout, having to keep lookout for any suspicious intruders instead of breaking noses.

These walls are a smoother concrete, with neater graffiti littering them gracefully. The squared lights in the white tiled ceiling shine a warm blue hue, capturing the bright colored artwork and making it pop. There's also posters strung up here and there, a few random photo's tapped up. What especially catches Cara's attention is the right wall and how its been speckled with polaroids, pictures of the audience, staff, and fighters — professionally took pictures, and raw, hand-taken photos alike.

As the trio nears the end of the hallway, Cara analyzes the two men. The one on her left has messy blond hair, and she struggles to decipher whether his eyes are truly blue or if it's simply a trick of the lights. He gives her more frat boy vibes than the fighter kind, with his cut-off tank and snapback hat. An unlit joint hangs loosely between his lips. Cara also notes the bruises peppered across his knuckles and the slim cut on his cheek.

The one to her right has jet black hair that's been stylishly combed backwards, with dark eyes and toffee colored skin. The deep blue light accentuates his sharp cheekbones and swims over the slender, vaguely noticeable scar across the bridge of his nose. He wears a sweater, one that's loose enough to be pulled over the notable brace around his left wrist.

It's easy for Cara to notice these things; the bruises and the brace. She remembers the tougher fights — the intense trainings. Though she isn't sure these two are aware of the latter, she's positive they're fighters.

The two unknown men let their eyes land on her, sizing her up. She watches both of their gazes travel over her at their own pace. She even watches as both pairs of eyes halt once landing on her right eye. She knows they're examining the slender scar there, watches their eyes follow it's path; starting from just outside the arch of her eyebrow, traveling through the brow, across her eyelid, and ending slightly past her bottom set of lashes. Her actual eye was lucky to not have major damage, though a slight fog— a lightness, is seen where the wound was; cutting right through her brown iris, fitting right in line with the scar.

The one with the brace keeps his eyes on her, unlike the blond, who's attention is caught by the other two. She watches the way his expression changes, almost softens, and he gives her a look that tugs something in her chest — as though he's telling her a hundred things without saying anything at all. As though he's telling her he isn't staring to discomfort her, but instead, because he relates. Because he knows what it's like to have something be so intense it left a permanent mark, and an even more permanent memory — how that feels.

Cara simply matches his expression, keeping the eye contact for a few moments longer before looking away in order to pull her ticket out.

The blond one takes it from her, his hand ghosting over hers in the process, and she doesn't miss the way he smirks at her. She's decided to mentally name him Frat Boy until further notice, but she has a feeling she's going to struggle finding a nickname for the other one.