[open] Have you any dreams you'd like to sell?

[brickinthewall]

Who: Hanna King and you
Where: Westerley underbelly
When: W8D1
Summary: Hanna's terrible life
Restrictions/Warnings: Hanna's terrible life including experimentation, violence, and so on


[Level 5.

That's where she needs to go.

Level 5, the ultimate clearance, the ultimate tool in her arsenal. It's the means to her bloody end. She has to get there, somehow, in some way. She doesn't care how.

It'll be just another way to find the answers she needs.

Hanna skips out on the standard training protocols. That shit's cake. She's here again, in a cage, knuckles cut, spitting strings of blood. When was the last time she'd pushed herself this hard? Who knows. Who cares.

Too many punches to the head and the face have her reeling, speaking slurred, seeing things, too many things, all kinds of things. The bruise on her temple is growing and throbbing. It's only by force that she leaves the enclosed arena, to sit on the sidelines closer to the audience with a beer in her hand. The cold bottle is pressed to the wound. Maybe you've been watching, and maybe you're close enough to see a thing or two firsthand.

She struggles, too, to walk out of the arena, towards empty back exits. She can feel her consciousness slipping. Where is she again? Is what she seeing real anymore?]

Comments

[eusford]

[ It smells of blood and musk, something he's adjusted to and so the sight of heads being smashed and scrapped skin doesn't so much as make him flinch. In fact he looks absolutely disinterested; all this fighting is barbaric despite having some value... but having a quarter doesn't make it whole, so overall Crowley views this all as pointless for the struggling fighters.

It's not sympathy that has him leaving his seat, either, just as the woman stumbling her way out begins to walk. It's simply convenience, someone he plans to avoid, until she's slipping into his line of vision. ]

Oop. [ He grabs her by the forearm. ] Don't die now.