#fcxlay

her feet are in excruciating blisters due to her lavish and rather idiotic choice of footwear on the very first day in school. the roars echo within the hallways and rings for an extra moment or two. the inevitable fear that chases the princess finally bites her in the ass. lovely.

oh my, oh my mary janes are pumping with unbelievable pain, to think that running in heels was a great idea. "fuck fuck fuck." she murmurs with a whisper as she pathetically jogs in her heels making a 'tack, tack, tack' sound. lovely! if the monsters find her it'll be some darn good job of her expensive heels.

"excuse me!" she squeaks pathetically out loud, hearing the roars distancing from her. a male, with some muscle definition, yum, and an overbearing amount of sweat that soaked parts of his shirt satisfied the princess (-- visually might she add).

her feet singing at the sight of biceps she approaches the male, huffing. "i need your help!" she's overdramatic and slightly manipulative if she wants something. "i'm in terrible pain and those monsters!"

the tattoo of your chosen word appears on your shoulder as soon as your hand finishes the last stroke — you’ve been granted the ability of floortilting, and must follow the guidelines below :

concentration is vital to maintain the false floor.

limited to everything within a twenty-five feet proximity.

The dark hours passing in slow monotonous lull, the former raucous of the training facility, of high powered mutants fighting and building their bodies with the machines provided, are gone.

Having left for sweet slumber awaiting them in their beds, left alone are they both in the witling hours of the night with the luminescent phosphorous lights above their heads being their only other accompaniment.

Drenched in sweat, his blindfold and clothes sticking closely to his skin like a second layer, tirelessly does he move through the fluid steps of the various katas taught to him. His fists and feet flying in the air in rhythm to the motion of his aching heart, Xiumin could hear the other’s labored breaths in front of him as he dodged and weaved each of his attacks.

Zhang Yixing is a capable expert.

Appointed to him as his trainer for the day, courtly he has greeted his seonbae with little words. Disrespectful, it may have been; wrapped, his mind still is in the worries of the events transpiring around him, of the world around him.

His left fist is blocked once more. Aggravation toiling, a harsher gasp leaves him as he retreats his bruising bandaged hand from the block, tiredly becoming of the task given unto them.