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honestly, brendan isn’t so sure what to think anymore. Well——actually, he does know what to think: the badlands is fricken awful. Anyone that comes from there is, like, a fricken hellspawn or something; there hasn’t been a single person from the badlands that Brendan has met that’s been moderately decent. Every single human he’s encountered that claims allegiance to badlands is nothing but horrible, evil, awful, deadly...jeez Louise, the list goes on and on and on.

It’s been a few days or so since that——incident with mike, the fricken man that attacked him at the border all because Brendan poked him. While that final kick to the solar plexus felt relieving to Brendan, as if it lifted a weight off of his shoulders, he still can sense a hint of rage boiling inside of his own abdomen. At this point, he has zero idea what’s going to happen; the badlands are going to want their mike back sooner or later, and...sheesh, is there going to be a fight? Last time Brendan had dealt with the badlands raiding, he was still on crutches, if he recalls correctly. But not anymore.

With a small huff, Brendan enters an empty room in the lodge, eyebrows furrowing as he kicks off his boots. The room isn’t all that much; if anything it’s just some mediocre training room with a few leftover mats and a singular punching bag near the center. Even then, it’s spacious—the perfect room for training. Setting his staff up against the wall, Brendan stretches out his arms before advancing his way to the punching bag.

Adopting a simple fighting stance, Brendan glares daggers up at the head of the fake figure, fists raised. In one swift motion, the top of his foot slaps against the shoulder of the bag with a rapid thwap!, then retreats back to the ground. After that, Brendan pauses for just a moment to exhale sharply and give his shoulders a good roll, before he lifts his toes high up towards the sky and slams the ball of his foot down onto the punching bag’s "collarbone." He allows his foot to rest there for a moment only to shift it back down to earth.

Frown tightening a little, Brendan exhales sharply once more, sliding back to further lengthen the distance between him and the punching bag; after one hop, then two, he swiftly turns and lifts his leg up as high as he can manage. suddenly: thwap! his foot connects with the chest of the punching bag. Once he’s back in his fighting stance, Brendan hesitates a little. He...didn’t kick as high as he wanted to——Ideally, he’d nail the head, not the chest. Teeth gritting, Brendan turns and attempts to land a kick higher up on the punching bag, but to no avail—he only hits the chest again. Ugh.

(( references just in case?: fighting stance, kick one (roundhouse), kick two (axe kick), kick three (spin hook). obvi I don’t own images/gifs & this is all based off of taekwondo lol ))
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#2
[align=center][div style="width: 375px; text-align: justify; font-family: verdana; font-size: 7pt; line-height: 1.5;"] Edmund couldn't say that he had much professional training when it came to fighting. Only scuffles with his brothers in the past or fights that he'd gotten into with others could account for the level of technicality that he had with fighting with his bare hands. One thing that Eddie knew for sure was that he enjoyed fighting with his fists, but loved fighting with weapons more. Guns were his area of expertise; after all, as a kid his father would smuggle weaponry and illegally trade them between groups. Bad people getting a hold of dangerous weapons... The mere thought of danger excited Eddie.

He was proud of admit that, from the years of growing up around weaponry, he knew a thing or two about how to use them. Firearms, explosive, close-ranged weaponry... The thrill of the kill brought an excited glimmer to Ed's eyes. And this weapon of choice? Guns. And so, when he heard a noise from the makeshift training room with a sound that could only be described as the sound of a punch against a punching bag, his curiosity was piqued. Ed wandered into the room quietly, allowing the door to click shut softly behind him before he stalked in, arms folded across his chest comfortably as he watched Brendan train.

Remind Eddie to not get into a fight with Brendan unarmed, Ed thought; the younger boy seemed to not need a weapon to whoop somebody's ass. Yet, Ed would still dare to comment contemptuously, "You know, those are some impressive moves... Though, one shot of a gun could still bring you down in an instant." He cocked an eyebrow, leaning against the wall. "Ever shot a gun before?"

// a rubbish post sorry EEP


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I'M OUT OF MY MIND, REPLAYING THE SCENE
[sup]AS THESE THOUGHTS START TO ASPHYXIATE ME — NOTES.

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#3
[align=center][div style="width: 375px; text-align: justify; font-family: verdana; font-size: 7pt; line-height: 1.5;"]— Unknown to Eddie, Brendan hated guns. The very opinion would probably make Eddie so confused, however, because they were in the New World. There was no longer such thing as 'law enforcement' nor was this the perfectly ideal American lifestyle with the white picket fence home and no need to be concerned for their safety. The world was vicious, Ed had experienced enough in his lifetime to figure out, and he knew in order to stay alive, he needed to know how to defend himself. It appeared that Brendan had the right idea, too - skills in close-combat fighting were also very important, Ed couldn't deny. Yet, he couldn't help but wonder whether it could actually ever serve a purpose. What kind of fighting was this anyway?... Um, Eddie would simply assume it was... Karate.

This karate bullshit wouldn't be enough to stop an enemy from taking the kid down without second thought if they had a gun. If they had any weapon, really. This was the generation of armament. This was a lifetime where they had no choice but to rely on weapons to protect themselves from harm. Sure, this guy was only a kid, but somebody had to show him how to use a gun one day, right? People could consider Eddie as a man who was just trying to do a good deed rather than a man who was looking over at the younger boy scornfully.

His tongue dragged across his bottom lip with curiosity as he watched the boy training, and he couldn't help but silently admire that he was actually pretty good as fighting. That was one thing that Eddie would not deny. Brows began to furrow at the apparent vexation from the other. So, Eddie had been at Flintlock for some time now, though he tended not to associate himself with a lot of the people who lived here. Seeing the reaction of the boy, Eddie began to remember why. He straightened up, releasing a sigh of slight frustration at the boy's bullish temperament, Eddie knew that he would keep himself entirely composed as usual, despite wanting a click his tongue with the tension he felt forming between them.

Slowly nodding his head at Brendan's monosyllabic reply, Ed began to dig his hand into his pocket to search for his pack of cigarettes, readying one for when he'd return outside. After all, after this conversation, Eddie was going to need it, he thought. "It's not as hard at it seems." He tried to reason, flitting his gaze to look at the door briefly before lowering his gaze to watch the ground. "I can set up a target practice for you. Shooting a gun will come in handy one day - perhaps that man who's imprisoned here at the moment could've had his brain blown out yet instead he decided to hand your ass to you. That is the difference between being armed and unarmed." The comment was snide, perhaps in response to the seemingly unforthcoming attitude of the boy. After all, Eddie knew what had happened to Brendan. Perhaps a small reminder of what happened would get the boy to understand Eddie's point a little better, hm?


[align=center]
I'M OUT OF MY MIND, REPLAYING THE SCENE
[sup]AS THESE THOUGHTS START TO ASPHYXIATE ME — NOTES.

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BIRDS ARE BLEEDING UPSIDE DOWN — open
#1
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brendan i. collins
tag: n/a. words: 472. bio.
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