The Cruel Tutelage of Gillen Beilschmidt (Continued)
3rd Person POV:
"HA!"
Gillen punched through the wooden board with a single blow, then turned to look at Arya. "Since your arm now belongs to me, I want it strong. Can you do that?" he asked, and Arya looked uncertainly at the board. "I can, but not that close." she said respectfully, and he snorted dismissively. "Then you can't do it. What if your enemy is three inches in front of you-" he hissed, holding his hand the corresponding amount just below her chin. "-what do you do then? Curl into a ball? Or do you put your fist through him?" he shouted, slamming his fist through the board again. "Now begin!" he snarled, stalking away. Arya followed him with her eyes, then took his place, standing less than a foot away from the board and holding her hand out in front of it. She curled her fist and punched the board with a grunt, but did nothing. She extended her fingers, measuring the distance, and then hit again, letting out a muffled hiss of pain. She looked at her shaking hand, then measured the distance again and hit.
Skin came off her first knuckle.
Again.
Again.
Again.
Aryana clutched her wrist, hissing in pain as the blood flowed down it. Gillen watched her impassively from the entrance to his home. "It's the wood that should fear your hand –not the other way around. No wonder you can't do it –you acquiesce to defeat before you even begin!" He tossed his head arrogantly and swept away as Arya glared after him, then set her bloodied fist against the wood and tried again.
***Montage***
Arya panted heavily, her hair dank with sweat as she staggered up the long, long steps, a pole carrying two buckets of water draped across her back.
Arya flicked her wrist one way and then another, copying Gillen's movements exactly as she kicked and punched, wove and dodged.
Again.
Again.
Again.
Blood continued to flow, but it wasn't as much as before.
With every failure to punch through the wood, Gillen, seated above Arya on the flat board and the posts keeping it in place, smacked her with a cane. She paused for half a second to clutch her bleeding hand, and he clubbed her over the head with it. Arya rose to her feet, giving him a smoldering glare of determination, before hitting the wood again.
Again.
Again.
Again.
Arya twitched in her sleep as she remembered the thud of her hand meeting the wood over and over and over, and her fist suddenly lashed out, smacking into the brick wall next to her as she woke up with a gasp of pain, cradling the wounded limb dumbly.
"Hah! Hah! Hah!"
Arya punched the thick wooden board as Gillen rapped the cane against a rock, smirking to himself. She continued at the same pace as he stopped tapping the cane, and he wiggled his cigarette thoughtfully.
Thunder boomed as rain pattered down on the roof of the establishment. Arya shakily scooped up some of the rice with her maimed right hand, dropping it from the chopsticks before she could reach her mouth. Gillen inhaled the aroma of the meal smugly, shoveling the rice into his mouth with all the ease of long practice and born skill. Arya continued to pick clumsily at her meal with the chopsticks, before dropping them and picking up a chunk of the rice with her hand.
SLAM.
Arya flinched and looked up as Gillen smacked his hand on the table, dropping her rice. He reached across it and took the bowl from her. "If you want to eat like a dog, you can live and sleep outside like a dog!" he said contemptuously, flicking the greater portion of the rice out of the bowl and then setting it down on the table again. "If you want to live and sleep like a human, pick up those sticks." Arya stared at him for a few moments, then slowly scooted the rice to the side and picked up her chopsticks. She struggled for a few moments, grunting, before she scooped up a portion of rice and shoved it in her mouth.
Gillen wiggled his cigarette again thoughtfully.
***Montage End***
Arya turned on the flashlight again, scanning it around her prison. She began to wriggle, squirming her way out of her boots –and therefore the belt tying her legs together. She used her newly freed feet to inch her boots up to her hands, clapping her legs around the flashlight to hold it still as she used both hands to work free a battered razorblade, unfolding it and methodically cutting the bonds on her hands. It was hard work, and she moved the flashlight up to hold it in her teeth. "C'mon, you bitch." she muttered, sawing at the tough fibers. Aryana pulled her hands apart as the rope gave, then kissed the razor and stuck it in her back pocket. She aimed her flashlight up at the lid of the coffin, tapping it a few times with her fist. She then held the flashlight in her left hand, holding her other just inches from the lid. "Okay, Gillen Beilschmidt. Here I come." she whispered, then hit.
Again.
Again.
Again.
Blood smeared on the boards for lack of practice, but they cracked. Slowly but surely, they began to crack, and trickles of dirt began to seep through them at every punch. Arya continued to punch, even as she broke a hole right through the lid and loose dirt flooded down to greet her, breaking as much of the wood as she could. She shoved her hands up through the loose soil, clawing her way out of that coffin inch by claustrophobic, death-smelling inch. The dirt was thankfully still loose, and she could force her way through it, feeling like she was both swimming and tunneling at the same time, and any second about to loose her nerve and scream, filling her mouth with dirt. Until finally-
Her hand broke free.
Arya pulled her head above the ground, gasping for breath. The soil continued to suck at her body, wanting to pull her down, and wheezing, she clawed her way towards the more solid grass, away from the sinkhole she had just created. She rolled over and continued to pant, staring up at the beautiful night sky and all the stars it contained. She then slowly got to her feet and wobbled out of the graveyard, glancing around at the gate to see a diner across the road. She quickly marched across the tarmac, dust floating off her with every step, and pushed the door open. The unshaven man behind the counter stared at her mutely as she walked inside and slowly sat down. Arya looked up at him and smiled awkwardly. "May I have a glass of water, please?" she asked hoarsely, and he blinked and slowly closed his hanging mouth.
The Bride: Aryana/Arya/Ari Thompson
Pai Mei: Gillen Beilschmidt/2p Prussia