To Fight Back, To Change

****EXTRA****

.****EXTRA****

OK. So this is a part of the story I’m just rambling on in. I’m going to cut it, but since I’ve already written it I’ll upload it as a kind of EXTRA. Like, a little insight. Not an actual part of the story. Plus, i just really didn;'t like it. I've got to get back into the practice of writing again after so long. So take pity on me.  And i'm sorry for taking so long. I really am.

I groaned. Right, yes. The classes. Because of how busy the days had been I had completely forgotten about my excuse for coming here. Training the mutts.

The prospect of dealing with snotty kids without Cass was enough to make me  want to recrawl under the covers.   Without her there was no way I could work with this class easily. She was the people person, albeit when she’s not suffering from her anger condition. I would drill the kids to death. I didn’t see the limits they needed to stop at. Cass did.  I have made enough kids puke on the training grounds for the janitors to have a strike. What can I say, it was how I worked. But, as a bonus, If they hit their limits and kept going I liked them just a little bit more than hating them.

Still. I hoped for rain. My eyes strained from the text message to the window and the grounds beyond that. It was still sunny outside, as if the weather didn’t care about my mood today and would shine whether I wanted it to or not. After some moments staring out willing the sky to darken and clouds to form I gave up and headed outside the door.

“I believe it’s time to start on the littlies. I saw your training field. Bit of work here and there and it can be a top-notch training facility. Mind you, with me training it doesn’t really matter where. I worked in multitudes of places and moved round to more trainers than I can count. Most of them didn’t like me to stay with them long but I brought round good results. “It was true.

Most trainers sent me on to someone else as soon as possible. Except  Alpha Reyborn. He kept me on when no-one else did; another reason why I was here.  He accepted what I was when no-one else did, and then I found others to go with him. My face softened at the thought of my team. I wanted to return to the familiar place, and my bed. 

I felt Ash stir and lean to stand off his chair. Standing up would give him a feeling of dominance, if his eyes were raised above the others.  I held my finger up and finished my mouthful of cereal,  shredding his attempt at dominance, Ash’s lips were pulled in, like he’d sucked on a lemon, but he waited.  “No arguments. “ I said with force

 “Can any smart-asses please raise their hands?” I say. My eyes watched the faces of my students, all lined up in front of me. They had the faces I would assume drowned cats would have – annoyed, pitiful and ready to get the hell out of there - , if you ask me, none of them seemed happy to be here.  There wasn’t even a giggle at my first question.

“OK” I add slowly. “Who here has any experience in fighting or defence.” One hand raised and I was grateful to see that at least one brain was working. The rest of the kids were silent, staring at their feet as if looking into my eyes would make them burst into flames. I nodded to the teenager at the back, his hand was shaking slightly and he had on massive dweeby glasses, he kind of reminded me of Mike.

“Do kung fu movies count?” He stutters. I swear my eyes twitches at his answer. Damn. I shake my head and grill out.

“Let’s just get to work.”

40 minutes later the students were red-faced and sweating a river. I, who had been doing the same thing as them, was breathing easy, in deep breaths as my nerves were at their very ends and it was getting hard not to get real mad.

“Get up, kid.” I say to a skinny boy of about 15. He was the first to collapse, under heat or exhaustion or just plain giving up. This kid was skinny, sure, but I saw a lot of potential. I’ve watched every one of the kids work and I’ve gotta say they’re determined. I lean down, reigning in the need to just pull him into standing  position by his hair. “What’s your name?”

“Arty.” He wheezes out.

“Alright Arty, get up.”  I say as kindly as I can bear. He still doesn’t move and I turn my head to see every other kid standing still and watching him. I knew the get-go. This kid, Arty, was a domino. Up till now everyone was at their best work, no-one wanted to be run-down first,  it’s the pressure of being around other people that makes teens so stubborn. If Arty went down, they wouldn’t have that pull to impress not only me, but everyone else too, they’d stop and start begging me for breaks. If I let the poor mite off easy they’ll start to think ‘ Hey, this is hard. I’m going to give up so I don’t have to anymore.’ Like hell that was going to happen.

“In a fight, Arty, no-one’s going to give you a hand to help you. You’ll be on your own beccasue everyone will be protecting their own ass.” I whisper. “If you don’t get up now, arty, by your own two hands, you’re as good as dead.” Well…it was true. Arty moaned and shifted slightly, but didn’t move. I sigh.”All right.” My right hadn extends and I pull him up by the crook of his elbow. He slumps slightly and I hold him up until he doesn’t need me to. Arty slouches and looks up at me sheepishly. “Not like I’m going to do any fighting anytime anyway, miss. Fighting’s not good for anything, that’s what my Mum says.” His mouth spews the stupid words, still slightly out of breathe. There’s a silence in the field. 

I give a small, shocked smile and murmur “Honestly.” I breathe in deep and take a step back.

“You all right now, Arty?” I ask, not caring in the least. He nods.

“Good.” I say, as I step forward slightly and push him violently to the ground again. He smacks onto the grass and dirt and cries out in shock. I stand over him, imagining me as a tower. I twitch my eyebrows. “Get up.”

He struggles and  I tap my foot, impatient. “Now.” He leans on his two knees and lifts himself onto his own two feet, holding back tears and cradling his arm. I raise my eyebrows.

“Sorry, Miss. Lesson learned.” He murmurs, embarrassed.

“Good.” I say, and then I push him again, harder. He tumbles 5 feet away and shrieks as his arm lands wrongly. Yet again, he moves to get up, terrified of me pushing him down again. Before he’s even on his knees I walk closer and shove him sharply.

“Get up.” I order again. “Faster.” The kids about to cry and the corner of his lip starts to tremble. He uses his good arm to lever himself up. I turn to the other students and yell out. “Any of you want to try the same thing?” No sounds except the kids quiet groans. “In a fight, you can’t stay down when you fall.” I shrug my shoulders. ”You just can’t. You think what I’m doing is cruel, right? He’s a scrawny kid, injured, tired, you shouldn’t be pushing him down. But if there is a day you do need to fight, even if you don’t think there will be.” This comment was directed to Arty who has now entirely incapable to move. “You need to get up. If you don’t get up, you’re dead. And I don’t want to see any of you like that.  Half of you have a higher than 50% chance of been murdered before the battles 5 minutes through. I’ve seen it so many times. Arty, is one of those.” I point to Arty again. “Someone pick him up? Please.” Two kids move to haul him up and I continue louder.” You have your own backs, because no-one else will be protecting you!” My words ring out and I breathe in deep, from my stomach. “Alright. Let’s keep going.”

That was one of the eventful moments of that lesson. Arty and three others were taken into the houses sickbay before the session ended.

The kids were good, but I prayed to whatever god is out there that they were learning fast enough. Most of the kids collapsed at the end, their legs too weak to carry them indoors. I headed to my room.