Inhaling the dampness in the air, Cora let herself release a small smile to the world. The sound of rain filled her ears and she felt it in her core, the rain pleasing her to no end. In hindsight, Cora should hate rain. She was often targeted by it, from living with Alaric to living the factionless, having no full proof shelter from it. But Cora had come to accept rain as a part of her. She felt the safety in it that no one else would. For when it was raining, and nearly everything was wet, the chances of something catching on fire was severely lessened. And that security kept her love for rain strong.
Taking in her home for the past couple of weeks, Cora rose from her sitting position by the wind, and glanced around the abandoned house. It must’ve been a home once. If she closed her eyes and imagined really hard, she could almost picture a family in there, gathering around for a fresh cooked dinner, ready to share the reports of their day. The thought of it made her angry. No longer did that family have that luxury of sharing this house, this home, with one another. The anger was nursed carefully and before the dark haired girl knew it, she fists were curled and her body was tensed up. She was so easily agitated, she knew. It’s why she was able to train so hard, so often. What better way to get rid of her agitation?
Moving what little she owned to the side, she cleared a space with debris to give her enough room to start. She stretched first, remembering Alaric’s words that she should always do so beforehand, if the chance is available. The last thing she needed to do was pull a muscle, in her way of life. Though it had taken some work, and pushing away the resistance on her part, eventually the ritual had become a part of her. Never once did she start training without stretching, the memory of her once guardian lingering on her mind.
After preparing, Cora got in the position of a push up, before being interrupted by a door opening. She glanced up and prepared her body for any sort of person, friendly or not, before seeing Damon Salvatore, drenched and either drunk or hungover, telling by the stench of alcohol that stuck to him. She scrunched her nose and stood, slowly, putting away the notion of training for a moment while she dealt with him.
"I don’t remembering offering you anything," she spoke, coldly in response at first, not used to someone’s presence so late at night. She was often alone and nearly preferred it that. "But whatever. Have a seat," she gestured to the pile of fallen wood and blank floor space, sarcasm spouting in her voice. At his question, she rolled her eyes, but the corners of her mouth perked up, and she returned to the position of a push up, starting again her routine. "Working out has its advantages. For example, my body looks so much better than yours.”
