Post by Odin Reeves on Mar 17, 2007 5:16:39 GMT 1
(OPEN)
‘Hm.’ The internal shrug at the scene unfolding in front of him went unnoticed with his physical characteristics. Sitting across the library with a book in his hands, eyes peering above the covers edge, he watched as hostile voices rose up from a soft whisper to a controlled shout. In a library where even crickets tend to quite down it was easy to hear the words being thrown back and forth like verbal diarrhea. All to often it caused more then one student enjoying their peaceful break from class to look up with spite, wishing for nothing but silence. The librarian seemed to be missing from the scene, or was at least hiding at the moment afraid to interfere due to unknown faces arguing. It wasn’t that strange for one of the smaller female teachers to cower in fear after hearing the stories of Varron youths, then to see them transferred to their residence of work. It was enough of a change to allow some of the strongest minds to fall to paranoia, leaving the students to pick up the slack on either end.
With no one else stepping forward it seemed Odin would have to oblige to his side of the contract with Kurtz, doing his part in order to continue competing in any organized underground tournaments.
“Hey. Shut up.” Blunt, angry, scathed. The voice sounded as though it hadn’t been used in a long time, dehydrated from the lack of use. Whatever the reason it was enough to catch the attention of the bickering students, their reactions complete opposites. The one on the left looked dead in the steadily moving figures eyes, the green pigment holding a fierce understanding of the force held within his frame, causing the student to turn his head toward the table and shut up. Obviously not a physical fighter, just one who tends to use words rather then fists, an admirable trait if he could back it up.
The other student however was more arrogant, his blood still boiling form the argument, no reason running through his mind. He stood up with both hands on the table, throwing the chair backward with the use of his legs. It skids for half a foot before teetering backward and falling like a tree in a forest. Odin’s steps stopped half a foot in front of the quiet student, keeping to the right with his left knuckles grazing along the edge of the table.
“What was that?” A simply question, one that could be answered respectfully, should it have been spoken with the same attitude. Instead it spewed forth hostility lined with malice and a false superiority. The speaker moved around to the side of the table, staring Odin straight in the eyes. No response was given, simply a stare, so intimidating that it pierced the back of the sitting students skull, enough so that he tugged on his friends pants to get him to stop. But stopping wasn’t an issue, not for one so blind with anger. A fist was reared back, kept lower under the shoulder before being launched toward the mid-section of Odin’s stomach.
THUD.
Following a secure sound there was nothing but a complete and utter silence. Some students looked on, as the thrown fist remained positioned against the dull black t-shirt hanging over Odin’s stomach. Underneath the hardened exterior absorbed the blow with a tightened abdomen, neither being moving for the time being. After a moment passed Odin’s eyes lowered, observing the blow to his abdomen. He felt no pain, no discomfort, and had only felt a minor bit of pressure during the point of contact.
With a near malice presence, one usually seen in movies, Odin’s eyes raised back up, catching the student’s hazel irises with his own. Slowly his lips parted, the other student could see the dry skin peeling apart as he waited for the inevitable response.
“That was one. You won’t get to two.”
A longer series of words this time, each filled with the same amount of intimidation as his stare. This was enough so to cause the attacker to back up, look around for his seat, pick it up, and silently place it back down before sitting down. Having already turned around Odin made his way back across the library, finding his seat and resuming reading a novel called: ‘The Brethren.’
‘Hm.’ The internal shrug at the scene unfolding in front of him went unnoticed with his physical characteristics. Sitting across the library with a book in his hands, eyes peering above the covers edge, he watched as hostile voices rose up from a soft whisper to a controlled shout. In a library where even crickets tend to quite down it was easy to hear the words being thrown back and forth like verbal diarrhea. All to often it caused more then one student enjoying their peaceful break from class to look up with spite, wishing for nothing but silence. The librarian seemed to be missing from the scene, or was at least hiding at the moment afraid to interfere due to unknown faces arguing. It wasn’t that strange for one of the smaller female teachers to cower in fear after hearing the stories of Varron youths, then to see them transferred to their residence of work. It was enough of a change to allow some of the strongest minds to fall to paranoia, leaving the students to pick up the slack on either end.
With no one else stepping forward it seemed Odin would have to oblige to his side of the contract with Kurtz, doing his part in order to continue competing in any organized underground tournaments.
“Hey. Shut up.” Blunt, angry, scathed. The voice sounded as though it hadn’t been used in a long time, dehydrated from the lack of use. Whatever the reason it was enough to catch the attention of the bickering students, their reactions complete opposites. The one on the left looked dead in the steadily moving figures eyes, the green pigment holding a fierce understanding of the force held within his frame, causing the student to turn his head toward the table and shut up. Obviously not a physical fighter, just one who tends to use words rather then fists, an admirable trait if he could back it up.
The other student however was more arrogant, his blood still boiling form the argument, no reason running through his mind. He stood up with both hands on the table, throwing the chair backward with the use of his legs. It skids for half a foot before teetering backward and falling like a tree in a forest. Odin’s steps stopped half a foot in front of the quiet student, keeping to the right with his left knuckles grazing along the edge of the table.
“What was that?” A simply question, one that could be answered respectfully, should it have been spoken with the same attitude. Instead it spewed forth hostility lined with malice and a false superiority. The speaker moved around to the side of the table, staring Odin straight in the eyes. No response was given, simply a stare, so intimidating that it pierced the back of the sitting students skull, enough so that he tugged on his friends pants to get him to stop. But stopping wasn’t an issue, not for one so blind with anger. A fist was reared back, kept lower under the shoulder before being launched toward the mid-section of Odin’s stomach.
THUD.
Following a secure sound there was nothing but a complete and utter silence. Some students looked on, as the thrown fist remained positioned against the dull black t-shirt hanging over Odin’s stomach. Underneath the hardened exterior absorbed the blow with a tightened abdomen, neither being moving for the time being. After a moment passed Odin’s eyes lowered, observing the blow to his abdomen. He felt no pain, no discomfort, and had only felt a minor bit of pressure during the point of contact.
With a near malice presence, one usually seen in movies, Odin’s eyes raised back up, catching the student’s hazel irises with his own. Slowly his lips parted, the other student could see the dry skin peeling apart as he waited for the inevitable response.
“That was one. You won’t get to two.”
A longer series of words this time, each filled with the same amount of intimidation as his stare. This was enough so to cause the attacker to back up, look around for his seat, pick it up, and silently place it back down before sitting down. Having already turned around Odin made his way back across the library, finding his seat and resuming reading a novel called: ‘The Brethren.’