˙⋆ ✮ ❥ who: public open starter!
˙⋆ ✮ ❥ place: undisclosed | the bronx, nkc | tourniquet show
˙⋆ ✮ ❥ time: 05.28.2022 – late night | post skate-con
⚠︎ multiple content warnings ⚠︎
tw: hella blood, gore, s/h implied (not trauma or mental illness related/no self mutilating motivations involved).
After a month of dealing with colleagues, management, and the general public giving her shit, it was finally time for Trix to shine in all her glory, on no one’s terms but her own. Between her remarks about Under Armour and her cameo in Atlas’ unboxing video, the opinionated commentary and unwarranted gossip has been incessant. Although she isn’t exactly new to being at the center of a controversy, the situation was suffocating and constraining – two things she despises. There’s no reason she should have to justify her reasons for vocalizing her distaste toward some ridiculous campaign or explain her associations with anyone, simply because of a difference in ranking. Being harassed for publicly interacting with someone of a “lesser ranking” is especially infuriating, because to her, the entire system is arbitrary. Spending time with her best friend recently was therapeutic in its own way, but this event would give her the opportunity to channel the intense rage and frustration that’s been boiling her blood for weeks.
For this solo venture, she decided on an FMX show. She had two very tall, narrow ramps trimmed with red lights brought in on trucks the night before by a few folks she paid off to keep her business under wraps when she needed a hand doing her dirty work. The city was enormous, and there were plenty of places where one could stealthily host all sorts of underground gatherings. Skate-Con was a perfect diversion to keep unwanted prying eyes away and allow her to truly savor the rush of exhibiting her feared and revered powers. A crowd of almost 250 people had formed surrounding the contraptions, and they were growing restless with anticipation – as was Trix. Emerging from the shadows, she darts up to the very top of one of the ramps, turning toward the onlookers and raising her hands in the air with a shout of acknowledgement. One of her favorite things about these performances is that they don’t require many words or any prefaces – anyone who made it this far knew what they were getting into.
She notices someone particularly familiar standing slightly apart from the crowd and brushes it off, assuming they were just a fellow hero* who wanted a night off from all the buttoned-up, formal events. Squeezing her right hand into a tight fist, the thorns from her rose ring puncture the circumference of her finger. The immediate rush of strength, speed, and energy following the flow of seeping dark liquid indicates the activation of her powers. She swipes two bloody fingers across both sides of her face to create double streaks underneath her smudged jet black liner, living up to her theatrical reputation. She backflips off the structure and sticks the landing with her feet directly onto her custom made, deep wine Ducati 1200, lights glowing red in perfect contrast with the black night sky. She doesn’t bother with much equipment other than her thick leather jacket, The Pretty Reckless band tee, plaid pants and combat boots – not like she needs protection, given her exceptional agility and eyesight, especially when her powers are activated. So long as she doesn’t lose too much blood, everything would be fine. Besides, the risk is a part of the thrill, and there was usually a healer somewhere amongst the sea of people at her events.
After doing 360° burnouts on the ground, she revs the engine and kicks the bike into full speed. She charges the motorcycle up the ramp, performing a triple backflip in the air before landing sturdily at the top of the next one. Reaching the ground, she pops the bike onto its back wheel, spinning in circles with one leg raised perfectly vertical behind her. Her choppy dark hair whips around her face, adrenaline coursing through her veins as blood seeps between her fingers from the activation point on her right hand. She stands upright, grinning and leaning back to look at the sky with her arms spread wide open at her sides. These are the nights she lives for and the moments that make all of the hero shit worthwhile. She barely pays attention to her roaring onlookers, vainly losing herself in the thrill of her own invulnerability.
Placing her bloody hand back on the clutch and squeezing, she does some more ground tricks before racing back up to the ramp at full speed for her extreme final stunt. Once airborne, she lifts her entire body off of the bike and flips forward at a seemingly impossible speed before landing back on the bike and regaining control of it just in time to stick the landing. It was her first time performing the trick, and the rush it gave her was indescribable. She screeches the motorcycle to a halt at the base of the ramp and nudges the kickstand with her foot, standing on the seat and pumping her bloody fist into the air. Feeding into the rambunctious, chaotic energy and loud cheering surrounding her, she climbs back to the top of the ramp and freefalls into the crowd backwards. Trix knew that all of the people who chose to come to these private events she held would catch her. And they did, every time.
Once they’ve surfed her all the way to the back of the crowd, they rotate her so that she can jump down and land perfectly on her feet. Thankfully, she ended the performance with enough time to not suffer too much blood loss, and closes the activation point by loosening her thorned ring slightly and sucking her finger.
"You all look beautiful tonight! I love you guys!" she shouts at the undying, pumped up crowd. “If you want to stick around, head into the warehouse for the open bar!” Chattering excitedly, they all begin to disperse, with most of them taking her up on her offer and heading inside to continue the night. Sighing deeply and basking in the moonlight, she is just about to pull out a cigarette when she meets the eyes of the person she noticed standing off to the side of the crowd at the start of the show and pauses. “Oh. It’s you. Thanks for coming,” she says with a slightly unhinged smile, her blood still hot with adrenaline. “Smoke?”
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