10-25-2018, 11:36 PM
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MARIA
6 MONTHS
[/td][td]Maria’s background on training was...foggy.
There was something about the concept of it - of the movement and momentum carrying her forward; of the rush that coursed through her veins and the intoxicating slam of her heartbeat against her ears - that was so satisfying. It felt like art, like memory: like she’d repeated the same sequence over and over so many times that it was impossible to do it wrong.
Just the idea of combat pulled the girl towards the group. There was a thirst to prove herself in her pawsteps; in their eagerness and pressed curiosity. There was a desire, deep down, to know why her usually clumsy mannerisms felt calmed by the objective of attacking someone else. (That wasn’t it. That was never it. It was the action, the satisfaction, the praise.) Maria wanted so badly to know what her history was; why it felt like it was keeping her on her toes for good reason.
So distracted was the young Somali that she sat down on the right side at first, mind having already forgotten what she’d heard in the directions only seconds before. It wasn’t until she noticed most of the clan gathered on the left side did she move, readily accepting that she did not want to be on the losing team. (She honestly didn’t know what was going on.)
An absent, excited hum slipped past bitten lips as she took her seat beside Charlotte, idly tightening the bandage wraps on her paws and legs in her restlessness. This was going to fly out of proportion very quickly, sparks already heating the air around her paws. Her mind was two parts lost to the depths of her subconscious - as per usual - while the other part was solely focused on the goal of both impressing people and proving herself as more than a hyperactive klutz.
[/td][/tr][/table]There was something about the concept of it - of the movement and momentum carrying her forward; of the rush that coursed through her veins and the intoxicating slam of her heartbeat against her ears - that was so satisfying. It felt like art, like memory: like she’d repeated the same sequence over and over so many times that it was impossible to do it wrong.
Just the idea of combat pulled the girl towards the group. There was a thirst to prove herself in her pawsteps; in their eagerness and pressed curiosity. There was a desire, deep down, to know why her usually clumsy mannerisms felt calmed by the objective of attacking someone else. (That wasn’t it. That was never it. It was the action, the satisfaction, the praise.) Maria wanted so badly to know what her history was; why it felt like it was keeping her on her toes for good reason.
So distracted was the young Somali that she sat down on the right side at first, mind having already forgotten what she’d heard in the directions only seconds before. It wasn’t until she noticed most of the clan gathered on the left side did she move, readily accepting that she did not want to be on the losing team. (She honestly didn’t know what was going on.)
An absent, excited hum slipped past bitten lips as she took her seat beside Charlotte, idly tightening the bandage wraps on her paws and legs in her restlessness. This was going to fly out of proportion very quickly, sparks already heating the air around her paws. Her mind was two parts lost to the depths of her subconscious - as per usual - while the other part was solely focused on the goal of both impressing people and proving herself as more than a hyperactive klutz.
© LEXASPERATED, PENNED BY MIITHERS
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★ I'M GONNA RUN THIS EMPIRE
and if i go down in flames, the smoke's gonna spell my name