The Bellators

4:6:1

 Damp and withered the wooden floorboards were, the surface not perfectly flat but instead with minor variations of angling from the individual boards, just partially poking out when observed keenly from the ground. To the perspective of the one who wouldn't even view this sight, there was silence. In front of the ripped base of the leather couch– black but with its foamy yellow cushion expelling out like guts from gaping wounds– only stretches of light reached the floor but dim at the point of contact, resulting in minimal stimulus.

The lack of stimulus was serene, in a void of nothingness there was an absence of the cruelty reality would bring, for in monotony the pain wasn't so excruciating, least not explicitly so. When there was nothing, there was no danger, there were no enemies, there was no conflict. A moment away from such chaos of the world was one rare, thus when it was received it was a gift, one that had to be squeezed for as long as the moment would last.

That tranquility showed on the open, relaxed hand hanging upside down from the wrist attached to the sky, a hand marked with faint scarring that obstructed the softness of the skin, but one that still has that baseline of youthful delicacy in its fair tones. The back of the hand had some reddening by the knuckles, but the fingers were so laxly hanging, not balled into a fist but not straightened intentionally either, instead in the balancing point where they make a gentle claw.

Especially when at the foreground in front of the black scratched couch, the brighter colors of the hand popped despite there being little light, only the thinned ends of yellow rays reaching the backhand such that the diminishment of luminosity could be studied on the skin alone.

Upon the emergence of shuffling and rummaging from afar however that hand immediately tensed as the fingers bent intently like claws, the tendons of the backhand redefined in greater intricacies. The body that the hand was attached to abruptly rolled to the side, throwing the hand up as the black cuffs of the sleeve beneath the wrist held on tight during the entire rotation of the barrel roll before the clawed hand alas landed on the wooden floor, its nails digging into the boards intensely like the whole arms covered in the black sleeve part of the full hoodie covering the upper half of the being whose lower half had black joggers tapered with thick black cuffs around the ankles but no shoes, her bare feet instead also gripping the floor; prompted by the force of the self toss flew a white sheet from the same couch's surface which drifted in front of the figure initially cloaking any sight ahead like a flag. At a low stance the body was, one hand on the ground and the other raised in a fist in preparation as the head faced onward, the head covered from the back by the amber asymmetry-cut whose bangs hung on the left.

The white sheet floated down gently before touching the floor to reveal that in front of the aggressive awakened was the corridor of the familiar room, and in that corridor stepping out of a doorway to the side was a man dressed in cargo pants with visible patches due to variations in coloration which had two holsters one on each side and several pouches attached with belts on the thighs and knee. He also wore a black half shirt albeit with visible hung strings and over it a black vest lined with pouches albeit some of them punctured with holes yet to be restitched. Without any sleeves, the wrinkled arms were visible along with a pattern of scars from slashes to bruises in points, although not all the wounds could be seen as some were covered by small white patches with one white sheet tied around his upper arm. Slung around his neck was a gray chain with a pocket watch-sized disk ornament over his chest, and above that was the scruffy dark gray beard same colored as his wavy albeit receded hair beneath his pacific blue eyes.

Those eyes faced the being in the combative stance, and upon turning to face them the man showed curious puzzlement, his left hand gripping a handful of white pills casually as his right's fingers were holding the disk on his neck before they slipped off to his side.