Every movement is smooth, almost perfect in it's simplicity. Every step, every turn of the head, even the focusing of her eyes fills her with purpose. To call it deja-vu doesn't do it justice how right it feels for everything to be in service of a goal. To move like she's following a well-worn groove, muscle memory of the future leading her with absolute certainty.
The swelling of noise around her pulls her out of her revery. She has to squint to see the crowd past the circle lights above them, a chaotic mass of shadows that's cheering and shouting at the shirtless man stepping into the ring. The lack of a shirt shows wiry muscles tense underneath his skin as he tilts his head left and right and rolls his shoulders. The dirty bandages around his hands match her own, she can feel the slight give and the tension as she clenches her fists. Her paws slide in the sawdust on the floor, dropping her stance ever so slightly, claws scratching at the concrete underneath, just enough to make the crowd holler at the display.
They circle each other slowly, the Chinese man opposite her trying to read her body-language, trying to figure out the trap. Mutant or not, there's no reason he shouldn't have the upper hand over a young woman barely two-thirds his weight but relying on her opponent's overconfidence is almost too obvious of a ploy. He feints a sudden advance and she doesn't even move a muscle in response, her tail calmly swaying behind her, no bristle in the feathers of the wings folded against her back, smiling an almost detached smile. It's aggravating but not enough to taunt him into anger. The crowd shouts non the less, getting louder the more the two fighters are dragging out what they came here to see.
And then the tension finally snaps in a burst of movement as Nailah launches herself forward. Her opponent's knee lifts into her path and his leg swings out in a sideways sweep. The sphinx is already going into a slide and immediately rolls to the side as the heel crashes down to the floor where her head was moments ago. She's grinning as she feels her hair get swept in the air displaced from the blow barely an inch away from her. Her leg moves almost on it's own accord, slashing for the fighter's other leg and forcing even more of his weight on the foot he tried to stomp her with. Forcing her stomach muscles to roll her shoulders into the ground she flexes her legs and hips of the ground and her wings boost her forward so she jumps to her feet behind her opponents, back to him.
They both spin to face each other and exchange a flurry of blows and counters, hand blocking elbow, lower arms clashing against each other, twisting strikes out of the way to open for a riposte. Finally Nailah leans away, pulling her fist back. It's almost too clearly broadcast but the fraction of a second of hesitation in her opponent's read is all she needs and she rushes forward with her whole body, digitgrade thrusting her forward as her fist passes any attempt to block. She can feel the hairs on her forearm brush against those of her opponent as he fails to close the miniscule gap in his defense and her fist hammers against his solar-plexus. Staggered he backs away from the blow to avoid Nailah's attempt to follow up with a left hook but as her miss carries her forward she spins into it, weight shifted to her left foot her right leg rises into the momentum and cracks against his skull, sending him to the ground as she finishes her aerial movement and lands in a three-point crouch. Breathing heavily her wings spread wide and she grins as the crowd erupts into a mixture of cheers and obscenities as money changes hands.
One month previously...
Nailah looks up at the large board of flights and down at the ticket in her hand. Heathrow to Atlanta to Phoenix, Arizona. She really owes her parents an explanation. A better explanation than the one she gave them in the hospital. It's her fault they got hurt in the first place. If she hadn't been playing hero then Hazard might not have targeted them. After everything they did to protect her, keep her from getting hurt they're the ones who paid the price and she just... The ticket crumples in her hand as it clenches. Hazard's dead - his own fault from the looks of it - and even though she's the one who put him in prison in the first place, she doesn't feel much closure about it. Not when it comes to her parents. She wants to make a difference, make things better and the whole Hazard affair is, at best, a wash. She dragged in March, that felt good. But it didn't quite had the impact on Janice that she'd hoped for. And then she didn't really seem to care much about her fake dating Jez. That one stung somehow and she's not entirely sure why.
Nothing's quite right, solved or better. Not yet.
Her plane ticket goes discarded in a trash bin.
She'll face her parents when she has something to show for her defiance. Something big. When she's made a difference.