Break Me Down

Yi TaeKyung · 12-16-2011, 05:19 PM

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Sorry for the wait! A combo of finals and the holiday season >n<~!
WC: 539

The frail trust that existed between the two women threatened to shatter—and yet it held. Both women knew that the time and place for violence had not come. Regardless of that fact, peace did not reign within her mind. It grew even more turbulent, her magnified, belligerent nature fighting to break loose of the already weakened barriers. But the Taekwondo artist was not completely broken. The remnants of that shattered mind still lingered, simply unable to heal themselves. The tenebrous female took a deep breath to calm to torrent within her, but she refrained from any other extra gestures so as to not alert her enemy—the teacher-of-slaves. For that was what she was, correct? These wolves did not give her friendship. They were her enemy. And yet, it was a strange relationship, she found, that was forming between the Salsolan pack wolves and herself. It was difficult to explain, and her mind was not interested in explaining it.

As the bounds were cut, tension formed in her arms. The pack wolf’s claws were dangerously close to a vital place—she could be cut and bleeding—dying again. And yet, it seemed as if labor was more important than death to this pack. The bounds were cut, and she was not killed. Circulation flowed more freely into her hands. She felt a sudden warmth before it dissipated, and then a discomfort. As her limbs remembered what it was like to be relieved of their bounds, the sensation was altogether overwhelming. Dark hands moved slowly—no sudden movements in this engagement. The Korean rubbed her wrists, aiding in the dissipation of any sensation of discomfort. She admitted, if only to herself, that she felt much at ease—relatively speaking—now that her hands were free. Lunar orbs looked down briefly at them, noting their restlessness. For a moment, it was almost as if she considered attack as an option. But then her hands were lowered passively at her side. Not today.

As the teacher-of-slaves moved back, towering above the shorter Korean, the lunar orbs followed the form as if mildly curious. Yet that calculating gaze seemed to always be aware of the danger and threat against her that lurked within all wolves of this pack. While the frustration of her enslavement lingered within her heart, the promise of fighting motivated her silence and stillness. The dark female remained unmoving, and she fought to hold the violence in. The young woman, as if resigned, swallowed, but her parched mouth found it difficult to do so. The dark lips were tugged by the mirthless smile, but her face grew still. As the words moved through the air, the black auricles drank them in. “My name is 이태경.” The alto voice grew silent for a moment. “TaeKyung,” she repeated, a little slower this time so that the Westerner might better understand. A hand came up to pat her chest twice, indicating to herself. She felt, however, that her name meant nothing in this place. She wondered, even, why they would wish to know. Perhaps for convention. Perhaps to steal it. The martial artist grew suspicious, but it was too late. She was already too deeply drawn in to fully escape this fate.

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