with. – @itsmarcusreyes where. – the factory. when. – march 20, late at night.
The energy that trails from Nana’s fingertips through to her toes-- it is not foreign. The crackle of excitement, the chatter-- snide remarks accompanied by lingering gazes. Nana knows this world. She’s held it in her palm, split in into her bloodstream; a means for survival. The ask came with little room to decline, and why would she? There are more important things these days, but she’s never been the type to turn down a challenge.
However, it is not Leon who meets her in the ring. Instead, it’s Marcus in patterns and stripes. Her gaze flickers from him to their surroundings-- missable if you’re not intent on watching her movements. Lips curving upwards, she checks the referee as he steps inside too, the sound of his shoes quiet against the murmurs and buzz of excitement that winds up the audience’s throats the moment they realize it’s Marcus that this woman will be fighting.
“Marcus,” Nana says, her voice barely audible over the hollering of men with liquor flattening their tongues and creating blurs in their vision.
Nana’s confusion is a blemish and she takes a breath. Reset, she reminds herself. She nods at Marcus as she reaches out with a gloved hand to bump against his own. A moment later, and there’s the sharp end of a whistle burrowing into her ears. Nana moves quickly, and if this were anyone else, she’d strike for his face, but there’s the reminder that he’s more than this fight by the look in his eyes.
Nana takes a step forward, right hand coming to hook against the side of Marcus’s side.
