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────── #three word count: 4.3k ❝ black eyes ❞ POV:CHASSIS, CARIAD
A week after her exporting run, Chassis had her first fight. That was roughly three weeks to train.
The oldest exporter, a man in his sixties called Big Guns, was a former fighter. With his graying hair in a braid down his back, pitch black irises, large arms, and angular features, it was no wonder he was given that nickname. He offered to help her after he saw Chassis getting escorted by Peacekeepers to the Knockout -- the basement of their headquarters where the matches took place. Big Guns lingered near the Knockout to find any newcomers in need of shaping up, at least to build up their pain tolerance so they could get back to work. She supposed it was his way of helping the community.
While the sun set and the exporters prepared for nightfall at the boarding houses, she had to dodge, swing, run, and get the wind knocked out of her system. In the morning, she'd wake up sore and unwilling to distribute the cargo, but forced herself to anyway. He offered her his extra rations during breakfast, lunch, and dinner to give her added nutrients. Those who saw, envied her and didn't at the same time. They knew of the rumors, too.
Chassis brought her stamina up by jogging around the boarding houses before sunset. While traveling on the train, she'd steal a rope from the supply closet and skip over it whenever she was free. She called Cariad for only a split second in Eleven to tell her that her schedule was tighter than usual, but that she'd make up for it by writing two letters.
All that effort led her to the Knockout, pacing back and forth in the locker room right after gulping down two chuggers from the WanderBar. Chassis contemplated if a slightly alcoholic beverage was the right call. Well, Cariad got around with a drink called posca and still cruised through her educational journey like it was nothing, so she supposed she could have a few doses of liquid courage.
She was shoved into a room lined with lockers, most of which were occupied by Peacekeepers' belongings. The free ones had boxing equipment stuffed into them; gloves, hand wraps, first-aid kits, and the like. She had her hands wrapped with a thin white cloth, and donned a pair of knee-length khaki shorts -- which belonged to her father when he was a boy -- along with a black t-shirt. Chassis opted to go barefoot due to the lack of a dress code, and her hair was tied into two low ponytails. Her charm (which hung by a sewing thread) was with Ginnee, who was at the apothecary with her aunt. When she strapped the brown gloves to her hands, a shiver ran down her spine.
