Blackjack: Who can take a cheese grater, strap it to his arm?
The teams took the field.
The 'Rebels' amassed on their line, all of them rich cookie cutter pretty boys. Blond hair, blue eyed, chiseled good looks, fine, respectable haircuts. Their shirts all matched, and were perfectly starched and laundered, their tan 'Dockers' shrorts neatly ironed. Their cheering section was just as pretty, and every bit as diverse. The girls were all blond, pretty, well bred. The types of girls who play the pretty princess for Daddy and Mumsie at home, and go wild at school, while maintaining their veneer of class.
And they all laughed at their opponents.
Not that the opponents cared. Their Rugby team was 10-2, and they led the 'league' in brawling before, during, and after games. The home team, the 'Knuckleheads', were a motely crew of mostly UT students. They wore mostly t-shirts and army shorts, of no common theme, most o fthem had hair, but there is where any similarity ended.
They weren't even all UT students, 'Pitchfork' was dropped from his classes two semesters ago, 'Wildey' went to a local community college, and was barely maintaining a passing average there.
And, of course, Blackjack was a 32 year old college drop-out turned homeless thug.
But the 'Knuckleheads' didn't give a shit. All they cared about was whether you could stomp ass, break heads, drink, and play Rugby. Preferably all at the same time. Of course, the 'Rebels' planned to call them on their membership violations to the League Organizers. That is, should the 'Rebels' lose.
The game was underway, the Knuckleheads had possession of the ball. The spheroid landed in the hands of Barker, who started to boble it in his hands. Blackjack came out from the line to snatch it from him, and make the pass to Skulldog. Biggs ran with the ball towards the goal.
The Knuckleheads scored. It would have been perfect, except that after the ball was passed to Skulldog, and after the play had been made, one of the Rebels, a rather large, Viking-like teuton named Stanley, crashed into Blackjack, dropping him to the ground.
Legs went out, sky filling vision, eventual contact with the ground. Blackjack cought his breath, and shook it off. Stanley walked back to his team, laughing. Blackjack climbed up off the turf, shaking his still reelling head. He couldnt' understand it. He rarely got hit. It just didn't happen. First, he almost never got the ball. Second, his true nature as an Uratha kept normal folks at a distance.
What the fuck was with this guy?
"OK, ok, honest mistake I guess. The heat of the game and all! It's OK, I forgive you!" he called to the frat boy. Of course, Blackjacks blood boiled knowing that Stanley wasn't even listening.
A few plays later, the Knuckleheads were up 4-Zip. They made their next play, Blackjack blocked for the play. He never even touched the ball.
~WHAM~
Lights out. Blackjack laid there for a bit, and, when he finally looked up, he saw the broad shouldered back of Stanley walking back to the Rebel side.
"Hey."
Stanley was ignoring him again.
"HEY."
Nope. Still not listening.
"HEY, SHITHEAD."
That did it! Stanley turned and lumbered back towards Blackjack.
"You got a fucking problem, old man?"
"Well, I just wanted to let you know I don't appreciate the cheap shots. Let's all us play nice. Hm?"
"Fuck you." and with that and a well timed finger, Stanley walked away.
"Suit yourself." Blackjack mumbled.
The next play. The Rebels set up a running play, giving their swiftest Hitler Jurgen the ball, for a much needed run to the goal.
Blackjack gave chase, but couldn't match the boy for speed. He slowed to a trot.
Stanley came up from behind, barrell assing all of his massive size right at Blackjack.
~BOOM~
An elbow caught the big norseman in the neck, and he dropped like a ton of bricks. Blackjack turned and looked down at him. "I warned you."
Stanley pushed up, clutching his neck, and he spun his big leg around, aiming for Blackjacks head.
But, instead, it hit a hand. And the hand it hit grabbed the ankle, and twisted it, dropping the big bastard once more. Blackjack tucked the boys leg under his arm, and held him there.
The rest of the Rebels cleared their bench, and rushed in. The Knuckleheads responded in kind. But four or five boys of privelege made their way around to Blackjack and their teammate first. With their approach, Blackjacks right hand found Stanleys kneecap, and Blackjack leaned on it a bit. Stanley cried out.
"You move on me, he lives his life with a very avoidable limp. Your choice, faggots." Blackjacks voice was like steel. The Rebels backed off.
He applied more pressure to the boys knee. "You had to be stupid. You couldn't let it go? Could you? Now an old man is gonna show they rest of your date rapin', beer pong playin', circle jerkin', latent homosexual faggot ass friends what kind of a pussy you really are." he pressed harder, he could feel muscle and cartilage straining "Call for your momma. Go ahead. Do it loud, I want everyone else to hear it."
"Mommaaaaaa! MOMMMAAAAA!!!!" tears poured form his eyes.
Blackjack smiled. "I could break your fucking leg. Snap it, POP, just like that. You'd need to re-learn how to walk, because I would make sure your knee was proper fucked. All because you had to be a big man." Blackjack could feel his blood beginning to boil, he breathed hard. Oxygen pased in and out of his nose, a calming technique a Miccosuccee Ithaeur had taught him.
The scent. Suddenly, it all clicked in his head. Wolf-Blooded. He ain't freaked by me. He has no idea.
He calmed himself down. "But, I ain't gonna do that. The thought of your ooky-cookie buddies calling you momma's boy and reminding you of how you cried like a bitch for the rest of your college life is satisfaction enough for me." He let go of the leg, Stanley curled up and held it close to him, still crying. Blackjack leaned down close to the boys ear, and whispered.
"But if you ever lay a hand on me again, I will make sure you find out what loss truly means."
He stood back up. "Now, what do you say to you sitting out the rest of the game?"
Unsuprisingly, the Knuckleheads went on to win, 12-1, maing their record for the season 11-2.
Yet, suprisingly, the Rebels never challenged the Knuckleheads team roster.