Maybe I was just imagining it but there seemed to be a definite uptick in conversation upon our entrance. Maybe it was because of my leg, or maybe because of, you know, human and all that. Probably a bit of both. My opponent was already waiting for me, an Ant-lizard . . .
Robalin.
Whatever, whose name I’m sure the announcer had yelled but I hadn’t bothered to catch. To me, he was Scrappy, which as fate would have it was not only his name but also his main quality, although I didn’t know it yet. I clambered into the ring – It’s not so easy with a peg for a leg, okay – stood up, and then, because it seemed the right thing to do, stuck my hand out to my opponent.
You know, I probably should have thought about it before doing it, because Scrappy and the Troll . . .
Locayl
. . . ref went apeshit the moment I did that. Scrappy jumped back, all three arms going up, while the ref quickly interposed himself between us. I have to give that guy credit, from the jumpy way he kept himself between us it looked like he knew at least what I was, so you know, props to him for still jumping in between us.
“Whoa there, sorry, old custom, didn’t mean to startle anyone.”
The ref, now flustered – sheesh man don’t let ‘em see you sweat – shouted at me entirely too loudly considering the indoor setting, “The contestants will remain at either side of the ring until the match begins. Is that understood?”
“Yeah, sure, like I said, my bad, carry on.” As I returned to my side of the ring I heard Eallva mutter behind me from just outside the ring.
“What’s this old custom you speak of, because it looked a little on the aggressive side,” I glanced back to see she was smiling. I knew she would be, because her people had a similar custom that used the tail rather than the dominant hand, with nearly identical origins for why people shook hands.
The ref clicked something in his hand and a loud buzzer sounded. I guess that was the signal for the match to begin because Scrappy started doing this weird shuffle at me, hands up, keeping I guess what he thought was a safe distance. He had reach on me – I mean, most beings out here technically have that on me – and I guess Scrappy was hoping he could use that to his advantage.
Poor, brave, little fool.
Remember, no hurting anyone.
Right, that. Fine.
Taking a step on my peg I stumbled a little. At least it probably looked like I did, because Scrappy took the opportunity to take a shot at me with two of his arms, keeping the third up in defense. I was actually impressed; I’d fought a shipload of Ant-lizards . . .
Why?
. . . before and this guy was pretty fast comparatively. But I’d kinda spent the last decade and a half of my life fighting meter high rodents who put most humans to shame in the speed department, and old habits die hard. I had enough time to grab for his arms – miss because they were coming in too slow – then grab at them again. I nabbed them on the second pass and used them like a rope to pull him closer to me. Gently, mind you, didn’t want to hurt him, but still forcefully.
He came in with the third arm which I saw no reason to block. It hit, then hit again. I mean, maybe it made him feel better. I was out to keep from hurting him, and just maybe that extended to hurting his feelings, so I thought I might as well cover all my bases and let him feel like his wasn’t doing too poorly.
So, in the interest of not hurting his feelings I decided ending it sooner rather than later was probably the better course of action. Once he was close enough I let go of his arms. He tried to reel back but I grabbed him around the waist and – still gently, mind – slung him over my shoulder. I took a knee to the face, a foot to the gut, and two arms to my back and one to my kidney, but it was like I was fighting an energetic younger sibling. They stung for a moment, which honestly I was surprised at, but the net result was he just made it harder for me to balance on this idiotic peg.
“You know,” I grunted as I made my unsteady way towards the edge of the ring, “You could just make this easier on the both of us by –” The knee came in again and hit me in the mouth. I tasted blood that wasn’t mine, “Okay, now that’s just not fair. I can’t keep from hurting you if you hurt yourself on me,” I turned to Eallva “I swear that wasn’t me. You saw that, he hit me hard enough to break his skin, right? That doesn’t count, does it?”
For some reason, she didn’t seem to be able to answer. Instead it looked like she was doing everything in her power to keep from laughing. I had no idea why, this was serious. I was in it to win her challenge, and here I was, first round about to possibly lose on a technicality.
I had to finish this quickly before he broke an arm on me or something. As I finally reached the edge of the ring, his struggling became more intense.
“Oh hush,” I snapped, “If I lose because of you then you’re getting off easy.”
Lifting gently I deposited him on the other side of the ring. He tried to use the ropes to scramble back over but I pried him off and gave him a little toss. I wish I’d been able to place him far enough but, like I said, he had the reach on me. The moment he hit the floor outside the ring another buzzer went off. I didn’t like the way Scrappy landed from my throw, but a moment later he got up. And yes he did not have a limp! Whew, close one there.
I looked triumphantly at Eallva. She gave me a weak thumbs up. Was she crying? She looked like she almost wanted to. Sheesh, some people just can’t handle losing.
You’re not this thick, so why do you insist on acting like it.
Because it’s fun. I’d tossed Scrappy – carefully – off the side opposite where I needed to exit, and as I passed the ref he backed away from me like I was going to attack him for just being too close. Honestly, if he kept acting like that I might start considering it.
If you hurt him that still counts against the challenge.
Shit, you’re right. Fine, racist ref was off the hook too.
Pretty sure that’s speciesist, and I mean, you were just contemplating attacking him.
Hush.
Eallva
It had been the right decision to ask Selvim to try and keep from hurting any of his opponents. Firstly, because it was the right thing to do, and secondly because it was far more entertaining to watch a being whom for so long she had thought only capable of killing try desperately to not kill beings that, now that she saw them fight, really did look like they’d have a talent for dying.
The first fight had only been a teaser to what would follow. The very next fight Selvim’s opponent, apparently having seen what had happened to their predecessor, tried to fight by running past him and hitting low. They were too slow, but when Selvim tried gently placing them outside the ring they instead clawed at his eyes and managed to get themselves dropped. They would have hit the floor at an awkward angle had Selvim not shrieked in dismay and dived, catching his opponent at the last moment and carefully putting him back on his feet.
After that Selvim seemed to think the best way to keep his opponent from hurting themselves was by carefully pinning them. The position looked awkward for Selvim, but it kept the strange creature immobilized without crushing anything. They then had a lengthy and hushed conversation before the being finally agreed that it was best if they just conceded, which was apparently a first in many years judging by the shock on the officials face. It was strange, she thought, having an official for a fight with so few rules.
The next contestant didn’t even try to fight, they just ran around trying to keep away from Selvim, who was jogging softly behind, trying hard to keep from running into his frantic “competition”, all the while shouting that couldn’t they just be reasonable and see that it was far better to turn and fight than keep running. When Selvim finally cornered his opponent the poor thing collapsed, not even bothering to contest it as Selvim gingerly situated him outside the ring.
Three fights away from the final and it was looking like no one would even put up anything other than a token resistance. She was nearly relieved when in the quarterfinals Selvim’s opponent, a being with powerful hind legs, hurled itself into the metal strut they had supplied him in lieu of a leg, toppling him. The moment he fell the opponent attacked with a flurry of blows, all of which Selvim bore. Every time he attempted to rise, the being flew at his bad leg, keeping him down. From her excellent view she could see Selvim getting frustrated, and she wondered if he might go back on her challenge.
On a hunch, the next time he went down she moved around the ring until he could see her face, then she conjured up the smuggest smile she had, holding that expression until she was sure he had seen it. She knew he had when his face turned a brilliant shade of red. He gave a roar and heaved, grabbing his opponent about the middle and lifting them above his head. Still yelling he slowly lowered them to the ground, carefully keeping the contestant on their back despite their struggles.
But they weren’t going out that easily, and Selvim discovered this as he tried to lower them. He couldn’t do it while ensuring his charge’s well-being as every time he moved them away from his body they found the leverage to kick his leg again. After several failed attempts, he resorted to lifting the ropes of the ring and sliding his opponent – still on their back – under them.
As yet another opponent was settled outside the ring, the crowd quieted into the moody silence they usually held while Selvim fought. Apparently there weren’t here to watch a human exercise care and caution against his opponents. They could grumble all they wanted, she’d seen enough blood to fill a lifetime, and Selvim probably more. To her the only palatable fights here were Selvim’s. She’d seen a few after his first, and they were what the crowd had wanted; leaving the loser – and often the winner too – oozing blood and helped away by doctors or on a stretcher. After those she’d stopped watching, instead joining Selvim in their waiting room.
“Two fights left,” Selvim spoke into the silence of the waiting room as they waited to be called out for the semifinals, “And then I win.”
She hid a smile at his smug tone, “That’s nothing,” she replied, “Every fight’s been child’s play so far. Slow opponents with little to no strength or idea how to fight. It’s easy to win without force when the opponents don’t have any of their own.”
He looked at her incredulously, “Oh yeah? And what makes you think the next two’ll be any different?”
“I actually saw the one you’re about to fight. He’s a ‘Gao-’ something or another, I can’t quite recall, but the announcer claimed his species hasn’t agreed to be part of the Dominion yet. My best guess is that means you haven’t fought one of his species before.”
“I have to admit,” he laughed drily, “I can’t recall ever fighting a ‘Gao-something-or-another’.”
“But I saw him fight,” she continued, trying to keep her voice light, “His opponent went down in the first round. The Gao-whatever didn’t have a scratch.”
“Huh,” Selvim picked at a hang-nail distractedly, “Maybe this’ll be interesting then.”
She felt the first fluttering of worry. Was this really the best way to do this? “I bet you won’t stand a chance against him unless you renege on my challenge.”
That got his attention. He stopped his picking to look at her, “Oh really? Well then, I suppose you wouldn’t mind upping the ante then?”
She paused, confused.
Selvim sighed, “Make the rewards larger.”
“What’d you have in mind?” she struggled to keep her excitement in check.
“Not only do you have to play checkers if I win, but I also get a free pass on ten chess games.”
“Three.”
“Ten, I’m not going down.”
Well that was a lie because she wasn’t accepting ten, “Five.”
“TEN.”
“Seven.”
“. . . Eight.”
“Deal.”
They shook – tail to hand – and she stifled a sigh. As far as she was concerned they’d both gotten what they wanted. Selvim had the hope of skipping upcoming chess games, and she had increased assurance he wouldn’t hurt the next contestant.
It was odd, she reflected, how so few beings out here had fur. Even Selvim only had the odd patches on his head and face. Was it so outrageous then that she’d feel somewhat more protective of the Gao-whatever? And it obviously wasn’t just because the creature had had fur. In fact the first thing that had struck her when she saw it had been the eerily familiar face. Different posture, different colorings, but a face type she hadn’t seen in far too long. A little wider, she guessed, but still.
And yet if she thought for a moment it wasn’t even due to appearance. It probably helped, but it was the way the being had looked about before the fight began that had caught her eye. Every other contestant she’d seen had shown fear, excitement, hatred, or a mixture of the three. The Gao – oin? Oen? Ion? Ian? Gaoian, that sounded right – hadn’t shown any of these things. The only emotion she’d seen on their as they’d looked around at the spectators surrounding them had been disgust.
Okay, probably a little anger too, but it hadn’t been directed at the opponent like it had in every other instance she’d seen it. It too had been directed at the spectators, as though the Gaoian had been angry they were even there. Or perhaps that he/she was there, as though they didn’t want to fight. She didn’t like the line of reasoning her mind was currently presenting to her. Should she ask the question now? No, now was a bad time. Later, though. For now, it was enough that the Gaoian was safe. Still, no harm in making sure.
“But if I win,” she spoke after a moment, “And you hurt the Gaoian, you have to play chess whenever I say and defer to my judgment whenever we’re off ship.”
“Holy shit. How is that even remotely fair? I mean, I don’t even know where to begin bargaining that down.”
“Start high so the happy medium is exactly what you want.”
He smiled, “Eight games any time you please and during those games I’ll call you ‘commander’.”
“Low-ball much?”
“We’re going to be here a while aren’t we?”
“Only until we’re called out.”
By the time we were called out she’d bargained it up to fifteen games and I had to call her “commander” during the game and the rest of the day as well. Believe me, I fought that last one, but she was unusually adamant. Well, I don’t know if I should say “unusually,” she’s got this really annoying adamant streak. Probably for the best, else I doubt we’d have gotten off her planet in such good shape.
Define “good”.
At this point I consider good to be synonymous with alive.
Then yeah you got off that planet in great shape.
I sense sarcasm.
Come now, would I do that?
Is this a trick question?
What is rhetorical for most probably comes across as a trick to you.
Wait, is that my opponent?
Well, as they’re currently walking to the same ring as you I’d say that’s a safe assumption.
But it’s . . . cute.
. . . I was going to make fun of you, but you’re right, that’s pretty adorable.
It . . . it’s a raccoon! A fluffy raccoon standing on two legs.
And look, it’s got tiny suspenders on too!
“Selvim, you okay?”
Put your hands down.
What?
You put your fists up over your mouth, take them down, Eallva’s noticing.
I can’t help it! It’s so fluffy.
“Can’t help what?” Eallva interrupted again.
“I can’t do this. I can’t fight that, I want to pet it!
“What?”
“Oh come on, don’t tell me that you don’t look at that and just want to touch it.”
She looked at me strangely, “Um, well, I’ve got fur too so it really wouldn’t be that much of a novelty.”
“You don’t have fur, it’s all hair – coarse and shit – no good for petting.”
She looked a little offended.
You think?
“It too is fur, here touch it.”
“I’m not touching your head.”
She took a side jump at me, throwing her head at my hand, whispering angrily “Touch it, tell me it’s coarse.”
“No!” I put my hands above my head, “You can’t make me.”
You realize she can jump that . . .
She leapt into the air, head-butting my raised hands.
. . . high.
Thanks for the . . . woah.
Holy shit it is fur.
“See?”
“Yeah, wow, that’s actually really soft.”
“Told you,” she said smugly, “Okay now stop touching my head.”
“You can’t just give me something soft then take it away.”
“I can when the soft thing’s me. Besides, you have another soft thing waiting to fight you.”
“Fine, maybe he’ll let me pet him.”
She looked closer at my opponent, “How do you know it’s a he?”
“I don’t,” I admitted, “I’m a guy so until proven otherwise I call everything he.”
“That’s had to cause a lot of embarrassing situations.”
I thought a moment, “Not really. The key is to be impervious to shame.”
“Uh huh.”
Touchy subject.
Oh shit, right. Deciding it was best to end the conversation before it got any worse and I had to actually put my key notion to the test I slid under the ropes and entered the ring. Why suspenders?
“I’m so sorry to ask this,” I began, “But what are . . .” The buzzer went off. The being I’d just been about to ask what he was called – since all I knew right now was that it probably started with ‘Gao’ – flew at my head with a speed that left no time for thought. Fortunately, I’m faster when I’m not thinking. Reactions took over and I caught him mid-dive, used his momentum to move him around me and was about to slam him into the ground before rational thought took over.
Cursing I tried to stop. I was too far through the throw and instead had to settle for flinging him to the side so he had the chance to roll off the momentum. I breathed a sigh of relief when he did, and I cautiously approached. As I crept closer I saw with a sense of mounting dread that he wasn’t moving.
“Are you okay?!” I shouted over the spectators. This was the most noise they’d ever made during one of my fights. “Nod if you’re okay, I have to know before . . .” The little fuck had been playing dead. Apparently I’d gotten too close because the prone figure on the ground was suddenly at my neck. Claws I hadn’t seen before drew lines of fire across my head and upper chest as I desperately tried to get my hands between me and him.
“Ow! You seem fine – fuck! – look, I don’t – shit! Ow! – want to hurt you – OW! stop it! – but if you keep – Fuck! Fine!” I felt the blood starting to drip from my tortured face as I aimed a half-hearted punch at his side, attempting to dislodge him without seriously injuring him. He grunted but dug in and held on, continuing the moment I didn’t follow up. Shit this guy was stronger than most out here.
“You’re not making this easy!” I dropped, throwing myself face first into the ground. He wisely decided to jump ship before I landed, but I didn’t think that meant he was done with me. Trusting instinct I rolled in the direction he’d jumped, flinging an arm out in the direction I guessed he’d come from. I was partially correct, and I felt my forearm connect with something fluffy. So soft!
Looking up I could see I’d connected with his left shoulder, since that was the one that he was holding when he got up. Shit, was it dislocated? Come on, he seemed so durable! I can’t exactly pull punches that I’m making blind.
You have to better than that. Think of something.
But I’m not good at thinking.
You’ve done fine up to this point, now think.
Wait, was that . . . encouraging?
Shut up and think you moron. And duck.
I ducked, putting my arms up to cover my face. I moved to the other side of the ring, giving myself distance. He was too fast for me to block without putting some force of my own into the moves, and too strong for me to gently place him outside of the ring. And yet still too weak for me to go all out on. Fuck this guy, I don’t care how adorable he is, fuck him for being the perfect combination of durable and cardboard that he’s almost guaranteed to get hurt if I was going to win this.
He came at my face again, and I ducked again, avoiding closing to keep what was left of my face intact. That and if I closed again I didn’t think he had enough strength left in that shoulder to throw himself clear of me when I inevitably had to face dive to dislodge him. Wait . . . what if?
Oh look you can think.
“Hey ref!” I shouted as I ducked and rolled, letting the flying fluffy go over me as I popped up and ran back to the other side of the ring. The Locayl looked either shocked or scared that I was yelling at him mid game – maybe both – but I got his attention nonetheless. “The match is over when one of us touches the ground outside the ring, right?” I had to stop talking for a moment as flying fluffy came around once more. This time I faked left and broke right. “As long as you don’t touch the ground you’re not disqualified?”
“Yes. Why?”
“And the match ends the moment someone touches the ground?”
“Yes.”
“Good,” I grunted to myself. Please work.
Okay I know I said you need to think but I don’t know if you can pull this one off.
It’ll work.
And if it doesn’t you’ll have failed the challenge in a spectacular – and bloody – way.
It’ll work, okay? Where’s that encouragement you had for me a little bit ago?
If you’re going for it here’s your chance, he’s coming around again.
He was, and this time I let him close. As he came for my face again I charged, catching him about the middle and holding him out at arm’s length while running as fast as I could with the peg-leg for the edge of the ring. My forearms, scratched up from when I had used the block a previous onslaught registered new injury as he clawed at them, tearing at the already bloody skin.
His eyes widened once he saw where I was going and his clawing became more frantic, but I held on charging for the edge. He tried desperately to pry my hands off to the point of biting my hand – which by the way really fucking hurt. It was all for naught as I flung myself over the ropes and out of the ring, him held at an arm’s length in front of me. Just before he hit the ground I propelled him lightly ahead of me with my wrists, ensuring that he hit first before my hands slammed into the ground on either side of his head and I tumbled over him.
At least I was supposed to roll, but the ring was a little higher up than I’d thought and I ended up doing a clumsy handstand which quickly overbalanced into me landing heavily on my back. It didn’t matter that it hurt, I hadn’t landed on Fluffy, and I was sure he’d hit the ground first. I turned over slowly, groaning as my back made known its discomfort. Fluffy finally came into view; I nudged him.
“Hey man, you good?” I panted, “Could you do me a solid and get up and look okay? Say something.”
He opened his eyes. It was a start, but I think if he was carried away on a stretcher that’d still mean I lost. I almost cheered when he finally flipped himself over and started to rise. He noticed my non-verbal encouragement – okay there was some verbal too – and glared.
“You’re not helping.”
“I know, I’m sorry, I’d help you up but I think she’d count that as cheating. I need you to be able to get up on your own.”
“She?”
“Yeah, the little fucker over there,” I pointed at Eallva watching intently from across the room, “Think you could wave to her and give her a thumbs up?”
“Why?”
“Pretend she’s counting on it, and it’d really help me out.”
His glare deepened, “Yeah, well I also have someone counting on me, and because of you I just failed them.” He spun around and stalked away.
Wow. What a dick. Fluffy and adorable, but still a dick. Forget him.
I walked over to Eallva. She gave me a quick look up and down. “You’re a mess.”
“You should have seen the other guy. No, wait.”
She chuckled, then grew serious, “What’d he say, I couldn’t quite make it out.”
“You heard that he said something from over here?”
Giving me a flat look she gestured to her massive ears with her tail.
“Oh, right. Like dinner plates. Nothing much, just that he felt incredible and so full of energy he needed to go dance a jig or something similar. I don’t know what weird dances they do out here.”
The look grew flatter, somehow.
“Fine,” I repeated what he’d said, “See? Nothing. Just a dick being dickish. Can we go back to the waiting room? Blood’s about to get into my eyes.”
“Sure,” she said distractedly, “Uh . . . go ahead without me, I want to watch the next fight. It’s Uxier’s semifinals.”
“Suit yourself,” I turned and limped – because of the peg leg and because I was in enough pain that limping felt right – back to the waiting room. Waiting alone was boring. After cleaning my scratches – some of which were deeper than I’d have liked – I had nothing to do but sit around and twiddle my thumbs. I didn’t make it past the third twiddle before I was bored.
As I moved to leave the waiting room to join Eallva the ‘heads-up’ guy stuck his head through the door, “[Five minutes].”
I stared at him in shock, “What?! But the fight should have just started!”
“And it just ended, [five minutes].”
I nodded my understanding and returned to where I had been sitting, assuming Eallva would soon be in. She wasn’t. Five minutes came and went, Heads-up called me out, and she still hadn’t shown. I guess she was outside. Exiting the waiting area into the arena I looked around. She wasn’t waiting for me by the ring; maybe the stands? Nope, no Eallva sightings there. Okay, seriously, where the fuck was she?
You don’t exactly have time to search, Uxier’s waiting for you.
Yes, I can see that, but she’ll miss what I’ve been planning for this fight.
Well she can’t say you hurt him if she wasn’t here to witness it.
But I wasn’t planning on hurting him.
I know that, and I still expect you to stick to it, but I’m just pointing out that she can’t claim you hurt him when she wasn’t here to see it.
True. Fine, I’ll beat Uxier, then we’ll find her. She couldn’t have gone too far. Mentally turning away from the internal conversation I took my first real look at the reason I was even here in the first place. He was. . . smaller, than I’d expected. I mean, he was still taller than me, but all the trolls . . .
Holy fuck can you just say Locayl?
. . . are like that, but standing next to the ref you could see that for his species he was small, just over two meters. Short maybe, but that didn’t mean he didn’t look dangerous. “Short” really didn’t do him justice. “Stocky” would have been a better term. Thick arms and legs accentuated his stature until I felt we were nearly of the same height, despite him being slightly more than a half meter taller. He was certainly wider than me, and I didn’t doubt all of that was muscle.
The scariest part about him was how he stood – or perhaps a better term would be idled. He had just fought through a supposedly exhausting gauntlet of fights and yet I couldn’t see a scratch on him. Hell, even I was covered in scratches, several of which I felt I’d be lucky if they healed without scarring. Eh, who am I kidding, with the amount of attention I’d be giving them I’d be lucky to avoid infection. Most frightening of all was the energy he seemed to be exuding from every pore. The exuberance displayed by his pre-fight warmup put most of my previous opponent’s during-fight routines to shame. The scene before me was not something I was accustomed to out here. But where the fuck was Eallva?
Win first, questions later.
Fine. Putting all thoughts of her out of my mind I pulled myself into the ring. Upon my entrance Uxier ceased his hopping about, turned, and settled into a loose ready position. Did he look scared? Most of my other opponents had looked scared.
Nope, he looks relaxed if anything.
Great.
Maybe he had something up his sleeve, such as it were. Maybe, if I had planned on fighting him like all the rest, I would have encountered a twist that would ultimately have been my undoing. Maybe, if I had planned on actually trying to make this fight look like anything other than a clown fest, I would have been shocked by Uxier’s martial prowess. Thankfully, my instructions had been to humiliate my opponent. Buddy, I’m sorry.
The buzzer sounded, signaling the beginning of the fight. Right from the gate Uxier showed he was a different level of skilled. Instead of charging me in a headlong rush like the other few opponents who’d actually tried to beat me, he waited, circling, watching. I wasn’t about that life.
Strolling jauntily across the ring, I approached him at a leisurely pace, trying my hardest to appear nonchalant about the whole ordeal. Does that work? Can you try your hardest to look like you’re not trying your hardest? He had longer arms than me. The moment I was within his reach he struck, all four arms whirling into motion, two attempting to grab while the other two attempted to strike. I dodged every attack, save one. I wasn’t watching close enough and one of the punching arms nailed me in the chest.
That . . . actually hurt a bit. Well I’ll be. Now I was glad I hadn’t gone with the idea of just letting him hammer away at me until he collapsed of exhaustion. I didn’t think I’d be able to take a massive number of hits like that. Quite a few to be certain, but this guy actually had a bit of a kick to him.
To a point – when someone has as many arms as that guy – and they’re so obviously well practiced at using them together without getting them all tangled up, there’s not a lot a guy can do in regards to dodging each individual attack. I suppose I could have activated try hard mode and dodged like I did back on the rat planet . . .
Drakas you moron.
Why should I bother remembering these pointless names when you do it for me?
. . . but I was here to embarrass the shit out of this guy, and very rarely did anyone ever feel ashamed when the person who beat them had to so obviously work hard to win. This guy was better than I’d thought he would be, and I could now see that my plan of dodging him until he collapsed from exhaustion would require visible effort on my part.
What if –
No.
Why not? It’s a tried and true method.
Because that breaks your promise.
No it doesn’t. Not technically.
. . .
Did you – just glare at me?
Glad I got the message across.
I’m impressed, but come on, I’m not going to play keep away from this guy for as long as it takes for him to get tired. I need something else and I think I could pull this off.
Probably, but think of your dignity.
My what?
Forget it. How are you sure it won’t hurt him?
I’ll be careful.
. . . fine, but watch the lower arms, he may attempt to overbalance you. And try to use the peg leg as little as possible. Were I him that’d be the first place I’d strike to dislodge you.
Noted.
During our conversation I’d avoided two more of his attempts to close and was currently on the other side of the ring from him. As I returned my full attention to the fight I saw his weight shift, signaling another attempt. Right on cue he attacked. Focusing fully I tracked his two upper arms, ignoring the lower two. My middle quickly registered exactly where those lower two had gone, but I didn’t care as I grabbed the wrists of the upper two mid-flight.
I couldn’t help the shit-eating grin from spreading all over my face as I tightened my grip on those upper arms. For a moment he looked confused, but instead of trying to free his arms he began to pummel me with the others. That was the price I’d have to pay for what I was about to do.
Letting my grin go wider, I applied a considerable amount of force to his captured arms, turning them back on himself, ramming both of them simultaneously into his jaw.
The crowd became deathly silent as his upper arms impacted his face. His eyes widened, his free appendages freezing mid strike. Into the shocked stillness, I yelled the sacred battle cry.
“Stop hitting yourself!” I struck him again in the face with his fists, “Stop hitting yourself!” again, harder, “I said stop hitting yourself!”
As I forced his arms to strike for the fourth time he started resisting, trying fruitlessly to wrest his arms away from me as his lower appendages once again began their assault. Pouring my effort into powering through his surprisingly decent resistance and ignoring the protests from my ribcage I continued to throw his hands into his face, chanting my mantra louder with each hit, pouring as much concern into my voice as possible.
As it became clear that his upper arms had insufficient strength to free themselves unaided, he abandoned his attack on my stomach and grabbed my forearms with his lower two, pulling down as their trapped brethren yanked up. With some difficulty I maintained my grip. He was strong, but not enough to keep me from slowly bringing his upper arms once again into contact with his sweating jowl. It was more of a love tap than anything. Upon its soft impact he flew into a rage. With a roar he redoubled his efforts, tearing savagely at my arms, trying to dislodge me. His legs also entered the fray. Just as He’d warned me, Uxier went for the peg leg, trying to trip me. I was ready for it and maintained my balance, using his arms to steady me, leaning into him and using that to overpower his resistance.
He relaxed his upper fists to dull the impact, but I continued mashing his limp hands into his cheeks, now screaming in his face “C’mon man I’m begging you, stop hitting yourself!” Furiously he aimed another kick at my peg leg. It was a little too furious because when I leaned into him he overbalanced, falling on his back. Bending at the waist I held on, continuing my attack when he landed. Seeing my chance I started dragging him towards the edge. Every time he tried to regain his feet I pulled, yanking him back down, then smacked him with his hands a couple times for good measure. It helped that he was still attempting to dislodge me, giving me excellent leverage. I was breathing heavily as we neared the edge, and if anything his lunging attempts had only grown stronger.
“Stop fighting me dude, I’m trying to help you!” I shouted, “You need to stop hitting yourself!”
He roared something I couldn’t make out, so I interpreted it as his undying thanks for all I was doing for him. It took a good two minutes of intense grunting and sweating to scoot him under the ropes and over the edge. Thirty seconds in I had to stop offering helpful advice so I could breathe. When his weight finally worked against him and he tipped over the edge, I extricated myself from his grip, sitting down, exhausted. His breath was coming out even faster than mine as he lay motionless outside the ring. Something about the eyes still spoke of unbelieving shock. I couldn’t blame him, he’d beat himself up pretty soundly during the fight.
The crowd was completely silent. From the looks on their faces they couldn’t believe it either. I shot a quick glance at the ref to be sure I really had won, since I hadn’t heard the end buzzer yet. My glance seemed to shake him from a trance, and he looked about, confused. Glancing down at his hand he saw the buzzer button. After staring at it for several long seconds he pressed it. Nodding my thanks to the sound, I slowly stood, exited the ring, and left the arena, making my way to get my real fake leg attached. For some reason Peggy the prosthetic thief was wearing a half-smile the whole time he reattached my leg. For a Corti he might as well have been doubled over in laughter.
Stickman met me outside the medical room. I knew he had watched, but his face gave away nothing of what he thought of the spectacle I had wrought, “Your handler asked me to inform you that she regrets her absence, but that she was sure you would be able to handle business without her, and that she’d meet with you the moment she had completed her business.”
“Business,” I asked, whipping sweat from my eyes, “What business?”
“She didn’t say,” he replied.
“Fine,” I said, not worried at all, nope, not one bit, “I guess I’ll wait for her back at our rooms. Uh, I don’t exactly remember where they are.”
Stickman led the way out of the arena, down the building, through the massive garden that was the majority of the interior of Hedonist, and back to the exquisite rooms we’d so briefly visited what felt like days before. Upon my entering I promptly collapsed into one of the two beds, not bothering to check if I was still bleeding from Fluffy’s cuts or caring that I was still sweaty. I was peacefully snoring in seconds.
Wake up.
. . .
Something’s wrong, wake up.
Mmph
Wake up!
My eyes opened blearily.
What.
Eallva’s not back, it’s been several hours.
Well we can wait several more hours.
I closed my eyes again.
No we can’t, we should go looking for her.
I’m tired.
I don’t care how you feel, something’s wrong, I know it.
How can you be worried when I’m not.
Ask that when literally our only friend isn’t in trouble.
Okay, then how do you know she’s in trouble?
This is her first time around people in like, eight months, and then she just leaves without supervision. Do you honestly think she isn’t in trouble right now?
Fuck, good point. Fine, I’ll get up. Can I shower first?
No, not enough time.
Grumbling in protest I staggered to my feet. Figuring the best place to start looking was the ship in case she’d returned there, I started towards the docking bays, taking my time in remembering where we’d parked. Wish I knew how to get a hold of Stickman. Eh, who needs him. Finally finding the correct bay I boarded the ship.
“Eallva?” I called the moment I was past the airlock doors, “You better be in here because I got a worrywart hounding my ass to find you and I’m not in the mood to play hide and seek in a ship this big.” After several moments of no reply I walked to her room, hoping to find her sleeping. No luck. With a slight sense of worry I decided to check the cockpit, to be thorough. Poking my head through I did a quick scan, saw nothing, backed out, then did a double take.
Checking again I saw one of the comm lights flashing, indicating a message. Curious I sat down, hitting the requisite keys to instigate the playback. Eallva’s face appeared on the screen. Wherever she was it was completely dark, the only light the glow from whatever device she was using to record and send the message.
She smiled nervously “Hey, so, I just want to say I’m glad you showed me how to do this. Super helpful,” she took a long breath, “Funny story, and a long one too, and honestly I don’t know if me sending this message will enable him to find me or some magic like that, so to keep it short I’m . . . um . . .” she let off a short giggle. That wasn’t good, she wasn’t a giggler.
“Okay, I currently may or may not be in the cargo hold of a slaver’s ship.”