Call it Genetics // Brooklyn & Vy

[Arrow]

Brooke Ruze

The nut didn't fall far from the tree as far as Mom and I go. Back before she was the woman she is today she was a fighter, not just in spirit. Whispers whipped from phantom face to phantom face bringing about her name upon their twisting tongues. A legend lives within the beaten base of my Mom's picture perfect past. Victoria was a woman who critically changed the dark dynamics of the fighting forces deep within the rigorous rings of District Two. With such a story swimming through the songs of citizens, how am I not supposed to be bound beautifully by fate to follow the legacy of my blood? It was a seductive symphony too sweetly sung by the spirits of my cells. I was born, bred, and raised to rise rightfully onto a throne awaiting one with the rivettingly rich name of Ruze. 

Sweltering summer sun rays rapidly ripple away bleakly beneath an orange burnt horizon by the time I'm shifting swiftly through shadows. Life lavishes itself into every necessary niche while my footsteps follow the secret stones through the forest. Overhead stunning streaks of ruby red and outstanding orange mingle with the maple leaves loitering in a soft swell of breeze. Beyond barriers of cold concrete and blood kissed ground the world sings songs of simplicity and perfect peace, I never grow manipulated by their majestic magic. I'm a girl of grit, soot, sweat, blood, and tears. Peace is pathetic and boring. 

Several secret sentences said aloud allow entrance into the terribly terrific thunderdome. Through heavenly halls of victory and lose I linger with my steps sweetly stealing a second to take in the dramatic din of an eager audience, tonight will be fun. Alas, I no longer lay lovingly in addicting adoration as farther down the corridor I go before the final door awaits my presence, the room worthy for its arena's champion. I shove through with several steps and powerfully proclaim the Queen has made her arrival. 

Minutes mingle mindlessly as tape tassels around my knuckles and a bow brings back my blonde battalion of hair into a pony tail. Soft tight touching pants and tank top both breathtakingly black bound across my body with my name embroidered in gold on the shirt's brilliant back. A mirror manages to present my presence, a final flourish of thick black mascara and eye liner finishes my fearsome stature just before the rich red lipstick joins in as well, everyone will always know when Brooke Ruze enters the ring. A lacky leaps literally through the door to bring me forth to fight, a smile stains my skin. Time for war. 

Standing silently in the wing of the ring runs excitement at shocking speeds through my veins. Several stretches spread out any soreness from past predicaments and fuels focus on my new task at hand. My stretching stops. Suddenly shooting through speakers names are announced and I walk willing forward to fight. Upon my appearance stands surge with screams shadows spilling as forward as they can reach for a chance to touch my sacred skin, never before a fight with a new foe. 

Within the ring with weight of those intensely watching weighs down upon each of our shoulders, I even think I spy her skin shudder in suspense. In the moments before the bell bellows I take in her strong stance, her larger body build, and her easily visible upper body muscles. I hone in on a strategy. Then it all suddenly surges with adrenaline, the battle has begun brought forth by the banging of the bell. 

The girl before me lumbers looming forward looking for an early slam to shock my senses, but I predict such a common attack. As her hand hauls towards my face in a fist my body flips freely backwards. Her hand hauls through air as I land a light laugh lifting from my lips.

Step one. I slide forward through her legs before spinning outstretched on the ground sweeping her feet with my own at high velocity bringing big Bertha flat to the floor. 

Step two. I waste no time rolling from my spot and suddenly shifting to stand as I send a punch straight across her face while she attempts to return to her own feet.

Step three. I spot a spout of brilliant blonde just beyond the ring, my Mom stands watching while I work, she knows now.

Step four. I have more important things to deal with, I suddenly send I kick over my head and heartily slamming into the side of my opponent's face. She falls frozen and unconscious to the floor. 

Shouts and screams surge from the seats but my eyes only lock on the electric illumination of two irises, those of Victoria Ruze. I wipe the sweat from my skin with a towel while walking past her powerful presence. "Champion's quarters, I know you know the place. Meet me there." I walk off and down the heavenly hall now soon to surely be spun with the furling flames of hell. Ruze anger really is a rampant bitch after all. 

While waiting for Mom to arrive I snag a seat on one of the several single couch chairs with a water pressed perfectly to my lips. I begin to count down the seconds in my head until the old Champion battles the new One. Talk about a showdown of epic proportion. 

[cameo]

Vy Ruze

My thumb gently taps against the edge of one of the cards sprawled out within the grasp of my fingertips. The right corner of my lip twitches to a slight smirk for a mere moment – attempting to fool any potential eyes veered my way. “Another lucky hand? How?” And it appears to work by the taste of another’s words. Defeat wrinkles his aging face from far too much liquors and smokes within this warehouse of many more years then he pertains. Just the same to myself, he’s one of the many veterans to have fought and drank within these secret chambers years ago. But unfortunately, he didn’t pertain the intelligence to halt the hobby before the act of the poison contorted his skin.

One by one the naïve fold their chances, collapsing into the grip of my silent manipulation. Solely one dares to bite back to my game, and remains within the round. “Your poker face may trick the others. But surely your fortune has run out by now.” He attempts to cause me to cave as well, while my feature refuse to budge in even the slightest. Exactly how I would combat within the ring over a decade ago, I don’t permit for my words to fight my battles. Casually I refrain in a relaxed back position within my chair, at ease to whatever may occur. “Fuck this! I’m not losing any more money to this bitch!” Anger radiates from his lungs, as he slams his cards down in a folded position. The legs of his chair screech against the antique floor, before he storms off to further his misery.

A ravishing grin spreads across my lips; and being the last remaining, I reveal my cards to the other across the wooden table. “It was only a straight. There was no need for him to get so upset.” Sarcastic concern seeps from my voice, with a light laugh intertwined. Once more I collect my rewards, debating if I should continue testing my odds.

“Why don’t you bring this luck into the ring?” The Fella, who I’ve known since I was a kid reigning this place, tries to entice me for the hundredth time tonight. It’s been equally as long since I’ve stepped into these walls, then I’ve been within the ring – yet somehow, he immediately recognized me. Hell, with the new password shit they have now I wouldn’t have even managed inside if he didn’t spot me at the entrance. And since then he’s been craving to make a chunky buck off of bets if I were to fight.

A shake softly maneuvers my head back and forth. “I promised the Wife I wouldn’t get in there.” Finally, I admit the sappy truth hoping it’d lay him off from convincing.

“Wife? Promise? Who the fuck took the Vy from years ago?” He criticizes, with unsavory words that creep beneath my skin. A shot rumbles down my throat in search of drowning this conversation with a gentle intoxication.

“Back the frack off.” Demands from my core, before another unpalatable message echoes across my senses. The ring of an all too familiar name blares from the speakers announcing the next two to combat. Automatically my attention is drawn to the ring at the center of this massive room, and sure enough the very Blonde I call my Daughter is within it’s hold. In seconds, I’m viciously breaching from the table, leaving behind the luxury of my rewards.

Anger is the immediate response that riddles through my veins – and not over the disobedience my Daughter is portraying, but the fact another would dare to touch her. Sure enough however, Brooklyn easily swipes from her Opponent’s aim; and within a graceful dance maneuvers the Brunette to the floor. Arms cross before my chest, as I endure witnessing what I’ve always attempted to avoid – one of the kids ending up just like me. It’s evident that her alluring blue eyes stare straight into mine, but rather then shuddering at her Mother’s discovery, she continues the battle like the fighter she is. Pride coaxes across my features, even though I know that it shouldn’t.

All too soon she seals the conclusion of the fight, with a kiss from her foot to her Opponent’s head – sending the unfortunate teen to another realm. An unforgiving stare nails into my own eyes from her, as if I were the one to blame for this incident. Debate argues within my thoughts on how I’m supposed to deal with such a situation. Just when I believed parenting was finally becoming manageable, all of the Youngster became uncontrollable teenagers.

Within a simple pass she instructs where to meet, as if preparing for the verbal battle that’s about to ignite. A sigh stresses from my lungs after she’s yards away, uncertainty continuing to overtake me. But sure enough I travel towards the chambers I knew all too well long ago.

“She’s a Vet, let her in.” My friend from earlier orders the guard protecting the door, before he’s even given a chance to deny me. And with that I’m permitted into the room I assumed I’d never return to.

Richness now decorates the rooms unlike it did within my days here. Fresh paint welcomes the Victorious, while extravagant furniture awaits to comfort them. Another sigh licks past my lips, as I sternly stand there with arms still crossed. What the hell am I supposed to do now? Punish her for turning out exactly like me?

“Do you end all fights that quickly? Because though you’ll keep everyone adoring your skills, you’ll bore them just as fast as you knock out your Opponents. An audience loves a long, drawn out fight.” Advice sarcastically flutters from my voice, and with that I move to a seat furnished opposite from my Daughter’s. “I’m not going to ground you – I can’t, because that’d make me hypocrite. I know Kyanite would want me to... But if your other Mother finds out, or if you get seriously hurt, if you get into any sort of trouble because of this place, I will kick your ass worse than any of your future Opponents possibly could. Got it?” And with that I leave the choice up to her.