( &. survivingfire. )
‘ you know what sucks ? ’ it wasn’t even a question to be answered, more of a rhetorical one. well, at least that’s what rhys was hoping to get out of the interaction with the other. nimble hands are curved into tight fists, enclosed in the blue ( & slightly worn ) boxing gloves as she repeatedly throws punches at the bag in front of her. ‘ when people say i can’t be pissed off because i’m a lady. hell yeah i’m gonna be pissed off if some asshole takes my daughter from me, who wouldn’t be ? --- fuck. ’ she pauses, wiping her brow as she pulls away from the bag, taking her stance beside the other. there’s not a single ounce in her minuscule scaled body where rhys will admit she’s anything near upset due to the court case she had been ROPED in. everyone was an expert when it came to rhys’ life, according to the law, being an successful teen parent ( who happened to also beat the shit out of other girls to raise her daughter ) was something to be deemed unfit for the guidance of a infant. she’s practically covering her emotions with the hard hitting punches she’s been throwing over the now damaged boxing bag, her knuckles were surely BATTERED --- but that would only be revealed when she removed the gloves. but for that time, the nineteen year old will slump against the ropes of the nearby boxing ring, taking her head into her hands. ‘ sorry. ’ she’ll remove the gloves & then the bandages wrapped around her raw knuckles before clenching pale fists --- just as she expected, they weren’t fit for fighting for that time --- rhys could tell that was a HINT to back off for the moment, propping herself to stand against the edge of the ring this time, disgruntled look cast upon her face ; focus sat upon the floor. for once in her life, rhys mazine was lost for words.
