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"You guys are heroes "
One month later
Rowan's heart hammers hard against her rib cage, a dull ache forming in the corners of her skull due to the fact that she couldn't quite grasp the idea that padded gloves against her skin could surely still cause head trauma. She was moving promptly, smoothly. Sweat drips from her forehead, staining through her tank top.
She pushes herself hard, never giving her screaming limbs a break. Her muscles contracted and her arms felt as if they were going to fall off, but yet she still continued on inconsequentially. Happy, her father's personal assistant, had taken one too many beatings today, growing sore and tired of the girl's fierce movements, but yet Rowan still commanded him to stay in the ring, to help her train just a little more.
"I don't know why you're learning how to fight when you're telekinetic-" grumbles Happy, "This really hurts you know?"
"Oh quit complaining, you big baby." The sixteen-year old rolls her eyes, squirting some water from a sports bottle into her mouth, "my powers are too unreliable to not be trained in self defense combat. Now, get in the ring."
"Get in the ring, Happy. Get the shit beaten out of you, Happy." Harold mocks in a high-pitched voice before making his way into the squared arena, clad in protective pads to prevent permanent damage to his limbs.
"Ready?"
"No."
"Good."
With sweat glistening off her tanned skin, the brown eyed girl starts her eerily quick maneuvering. Kicking, punching, kneeing. She even tested out an armlock Natasha had taught her earlier that week, the quick little demo deemed successful as the chubby test-dummy tapped out in a matter of seconds. And by the end of the session, Happy was collapsed in the middle of the ring, groaning and panting heavily. Rowan smiles, chest heaving, before stepping out of the ring.
"Good work today, Happy! I'll be seeing you tomorrow." Rowan calls over her shoulder, smirking as the man once again voices his discomfort.
Rowan, who was on her way to the shower, immediately skids to a halt right in front of the living room. Her eyes narrow, her sore body leaning against the wall to try and catch the muffled sounds of Steve's laptop.
"11 Wakandans were among those killed during a confrontation between the Avengers and a group of mercenaries in Lagos, Nigeria, last month. The traditionally reclusive Wakandans were on an outreach mission in Lagos when the attack occurred."
It was a news anchor speaking, his voice now clearly audible throughout the quiet room; mocking, robotic.
"Our people's blood is spilled on foreign soil. Not only because of the actions of criminals, but by the indifference of those pledged to stop them. Victory at the expense of the innocent, is no victory at all." A new, accented voice spoke.
