Green Tea 13, Blue Raspberry 25, Watermelon 29
Author: Casey
Story: Nothing is Ever Easy universe, Pre-NIEE
Challenges: Green Tea 13 (primordial), Blue Raspberry 25 (better luck next time) & Watermelon 29 (it’s only funny until someone gets hurt)
Toppings & Extras: Butterscotch, Sprinkles
Word Count: 2,033
Rating: PG
Summary: Reg is not nearly as prepared for this fight as he thinks he is.
Notes: Totally unrelated to anything except it takes place in the NIEE’verse, many generations before NIEE and quite a few even before Healing (which is almost 300 years before NIEE). So pretty much a one shot, but Reg would not be ignored. I'm sort of back! Internet is worse than usual, but I'll do my best :)
The roar of the crowd was almost deafening in the packed warehouse. The young man smiled as he rolled up his sleeves, exposing well toned biceps. Then he whipped his hands into the air and the crowd exploded with cheers - and a few boos as well. His smile widened. “Listen to them, Kurt.”
“I can hear them, Reg. Are you sure this is a good idea?”
“It’s the best.”
“Your father-”
“What my father doesn’t know won’t hurt him,” Reg said firmly, glancing at the man, about his own age, who stood at his side, holding a water skin. “Right?” he asked, slugging the smaller man in the shoulder.
Kurt’s look soured but he shrugged. “Far be it from me to convince you not to mar that pretty face of yours.”
Reg smirked. “At least you admit it’s pretty.”
“Only as a distant observer.”
“Not too distant.”
Kurt didn’t bother to respond, instead nodding at the two across the makeshift arena from them. “He’s an unknown. Guess he’s gained a rep down south as a vicious fighter, but this is his first fight north.”
“Name?”
“Does it matter?”
“Idle curiosity prompts me to ask,” Reg said, casually stretching, making sure to pose in each position for the enjoyment of the crowd.
“Bart the Dart.”
“Known for speed?” he asked dryly.
For the first time, Kurt flashed a smile. “How did you ever guess?”
Reg appraised the wiry young man who would be his opponent. It didn’t surprise him particularly that he would be quick. With a build like that, that would be his only advantage, not that Reg was a particularly large man himself.
Another man with just the beginning of a paunch now shimmied through the crowd at the edge of the arena and vaulted in with the spring of someone younger. He came over and clapped Reg on the shoulder. “Hey, I’ve heard you’re gonna have your hands full with this one, eh?”
“Kurt was just filling me in,” he said, doing a few last minute stretches as he bounced on his toes, ready for things to get started.
The man beamed. “Can’t wait. Good luck, Reggie, my boy.” He bounded over, scooped up a small stool and took it to the middle before hopping up on it and raising his megaphone. “Welcome, everyone!” he shouted and then waited for most of the roar to die down. Reg could see a few last minute coins exchange hands before the bout started, although he knew as soon as one of them landed a fist, the trade would start up even more viciously than before. “Today, we’ve got our champion, Reg the Wedge, versus our newcomer from the south, Bart the Dart!”
As usual Reg winced at his title as the crowd erupted freshly. “Why couldn’t you have come up with something more original or tougher than that?”
“I had to come up with something in less than a minute the first time you decided on this little escapade. What did you expect?” Kurt asked, look as sour as usual but Reg could hear his amusement. His friend found the title endlessly hilarious, even if he didn’t dare say so.
Reg shot him a look even as he pumped his fist to a chant of “Reg, Reg, Reg!” He then aimed a smirk at his opponent, who stood watching him, arms folded across his chest, tapping his toe as if to say ‘let’s get started.’ Reg couldn’t agree more.
“C’mon, Billy, move out of the way and let us to it,” he called.
“Second to sheets,” Billy, the eternally proud Gilan, said cheerfully as he again scooped up his stool and hopped over to the side where he dropped it and jumped back on. “Clear the rink.”
“Good luck,” Kurt muttered and moved over to stand next to Billy. Bart’s coach or assistant or whomever joined them there. Out of the corner of his eye, Reg saw Kurt lean around Billy to speak to him as Bart sauntered towards the center of the rink. Reg’s attention slipped from his opponent for a moment as he realized, with some surprise, that Bart’s coach was a woman as she tugged her ponytail back into place and grinned at whatever Kurt had said.
He wasn’t sure if that was part of some plan but he only barely brought his arm up in time to block Bart’s first strike, realizing with surprise that the man was indeed damn fast to have snuck up on him like that, even with him distracted. He shot out his free hand, latching onto the smaller man’s arm but Bart twisted free and backed up, disengaging as he began to circle. Reg had no problem moving with him, keeping Bart in clear eyesight. He figured if he could manage that, there was nothing the other man, speed or no speed, could do without him being prepared. Reg was no slouch and was champion for a reason.
Once they’d completed almost a full circle, Reg got bored. “C’mon, Bart, not afraid of me, are you?”
The young man, surprisingly delicately featured, smirked, but said nothing.
The crowd’s chant had long since moved from Reg’s name to ‘Fight!’ In a move that again startled Reg, Bart was across the circle in a flash, striking twice quickly towards his face and then his leg swept in, obviously seeking to drop Reg onto his back. Reg took both the blows on his arm and then, instead of backing away from the leg, stepped inside and aimed a few shots of his own at the smaller man. Bart blocked the first one and then grabbed his fist, twisting with surprisingly strength as he regained his balance from the ineffective attack at Reg’s legs.
Reg more than half-expected Bart to disengage again but the man instead, still holding onto Reg’s fist, twirled and plunged his elbow back into Reg’s midsection. Half of the larger man’s air whooshed out as the crowd let out an appreciative ‘oooh.’ Distantly, Reg registered that this fight was not going like they usually did. This southern fighter was something new.
There was no cowardice in disengaging after getting the measure of your opponent, so Reg now wrenched his hand free and danced back a few steps, putting a yard or so between them.
“You’ve got skill,” he told Bart, who only smiled again, settling his stance into a half-crouch and moving to the balls of his toes.
Reg’s eyebrows shot up, momentarily stymied. It was rare that someone asked so bluntly to go head to head with him, especially someone smaller. Bart’s advantage was plainly his almost inhuman speed. Setting himself up for a straight pounding match didn’t seem like it would correlate well to his mode of attack. Then his eyes narrowed and he scanned the other man’s face, looking for the trick, because there had to be one.
It took a moment to spot the slight leftward lean of Bart’s weight. If Reg charged him, as he usually would on an invited head to head, Bart would be long out of the way and probably behind him before he ever reached his current location. In fact, the crouch would only help his explosive power to move. It took only another moment to decide on a plan and then he obviously scuffed his feet on the ground, like he was gearing up for a charge. The crowd went wild, eating it up. “Go get ‘im, Reg!” someone screamed above the general hubbub. He dug his feet in and sprang forward. Before he’d gotten halfway, Bart made his move, just as expected, darting left with serious agility. Reg slammed his right foot into the ground and swung his left out wide, pivoting on the spot, even as he slid a few feet further forward. He shot his right arm out just as Bart reached that spot, ramming into it hard enough to send shockwaves reverberating up to Reg’s shoulder, but it also stopped the smaller man dead as he completed his spin.
Surprise registered on Bart’s face in the moment they were face to face before Reg slugged him in the side with his left hand. Bart’s loose fitting shirt, another odd thing since looser made it easier to use it as a weapon, constricted under the blow and…
“Gods’ Breath!” Reg yelped, although he doubted anyone heard him over the roar of the crowd at his move.
Bart’s eyes glanced down even as he shuddered under the blow. Then they came back up to meet Reg’s. Before he could react, Bart’s fist shot out, lightening fast, and connected squarely between Reg’s eyes. Stars burst briefly through his vision before he went unconscious.
*
His eyes flickered open, two sensations filtering in almost immediately: one, his head pounded ferociously and two, his forehead was freezing and wet.
An unfamiliar female face appeared. “He’s awake.”
“About damn time.” Kurt’s grumble was far more familiar.
“Give him a break. I hit him pretty hard.” A third voice, also female.
Reg didn’t move for a moment, trying to remember what happened, the fight slowly creeping back into his memories. Then he started upright. Kurt reached forward, plucking the ice off his forehead and helping him sit up. “Steady, Reg, you took a hard one.”
Reg ignored him, scanning the two others in the room through partially swollen eyes. This close, it was obvious the pair were siblings - same delicate features, auburn hair and hazel eyes. The one with the closely cropped hair grinned at him. “I’ll give you credit, my friend. You woke up much quicker than most when I hit them like that.”
“You’re a girl,” he sputtered.
She laughed. “Yes, I do apologize for the knockout, since we were having so much fun, but I couldn’t well let you blab that one at high volumes across the arena. My career would be over.”
“How have you gone this long without anyone knowing?” he demanded, eyeing the woman. He automatically accepted the ice back from Kurt and placed it between his eyes.
“You’re the first one to ever get a hit in,” she said as matter-of-factly as you could get. She lifted up her shirt a smidge on her right side, showing an already blossoming bruise. “It was a good one. How’d you know what I was going to do?”
“You’d be stupid to ask for a head to head against someone larger than you, especially when your best advantage lies in speed, so I looked for the tell. You’ve got a slight leftward lean.”
“Huh,” she grunted and glanced at her sister. “We’ll have to work on that, Sarah.”
“You’re assuming Reg and Kurt won’t be ending your career,” Sarah pointed out dryly. Then both women looked at Reg.
He stared back for a minute. “What’s your name? Not your title,” he said, when she opened her mouth, “but your name.”
She frowned. “I’m not sure why that possibly matters.”
“It’s only fair. You know mine and Kurt’s.”
“Darcy,” she said with ill grace and only after Sarah had planted her elbow right into her fresh bruise. She shot her sister a nasty look.
“Okay then, Darcy, I have three conditions you need to meet if I’m going to keep my mouth shut.”
Her frown deepened. “Fine, what are they?”
“First, you and I never fight each other again, because, honestly, my head has never hurt quite so much and the dual black eyes are going to be a real pain in the ass.”
Darcy’s expression lightened a bit in hope and a small smirk took up residence on her face. “Deal.”
“Second, you seriously consider fighting with me in a pairs’ match.”
“Okay…”
“And third, you and Sarah have dinner with Kurt and I tonight.” The glare came back and he held up his free hand in placation. “It’s not a date or anything, so don’t get any ideas. I’m just intrigued and I want to know where you learned to fight like that.”
She studied him, exchanging a quick glance with her sister, before nodding. “It’s a deal.” She stuck out her hand and he took it with a smile.
Story: Nothing is Ever Easy universe, Pre-NIEE
Challenges: Green Tea 13 (primordial), Blue Raspberry 25 (better luck next time) & Watermelon 29 (it’s only funny until someone gets hurt)
Toppings & Extras: Butterscotch, Sprinkles
Word Count: 2,033
Rating: PG
Summary: Reg is not nearly as prepared for this fight as he thinks he is.
Notes: Totally unrelated to anything except it takes place in the NIEE’verse, many generations before NIEE and quite a few even before Healing (which is almost 300 years before NIEE). So pretty much a one shot, but Reg would not be ignored. I'm sort of back! Internet is worse than usual, but I'll do my best :)
The roar of the crowd was almost deafening in the packed warehouse. The young man smiled as he rolled up his sleeves, exposing well toned biceps. Then he whipped his hands into the air and the crowd exploded with cheers - and a few boos as well. His smile widened. “Listen to them, Kurt.”
“I can hear them, Reg. Are you sure this is a good idea?”
“It’s the best.”
“Your father-”
“What my father doesn’t know won’t hurt him,” Reg said firmly, glancing at the man, about his own age, who stood at his side, holding a water skin. “Right?” he asked, slugging the smaller man in the shoulder.
Kurt’s look soured but he shrugged. “Far be it from me to convince you not to mar that pretty face of yours.”
Reg smirked. “At least you admit it’s pretty.”
“Only as a distant observer.”
“Not too distant.”
Kurt didn’t bother to respond, instead nodding at the two across the makeshift arena from them. “He’s an unknown. Guess he’s gained a rep down south as a vicious fighter, but this is his first fight north.”
“Name?”
“Does it matter?”
“Idle curiosity prompts me to ask,” Reg said, casually stretching, making sure to pose in each position for the enjoyment of the crowd.
“Bart the Dart.”
“Known for speed?” he asked dryly.
For the first time, Kurt flashed a smile. “How did you ever guess?”
Reg appraised the wiry young man who would be his opponent. It didn’t surprise him particularly that he would be quick. With a build like that, that would be his only advantage, not that Reg was a particularly large man himself.
Another man with just the beginning of a paunch now shimmied through the crowd at the edge of the arena and vaulted in with the spring of someone younger. He came over and clapped Reg on the shoulder. “Hey, I’ve heard you’re gonna have your hands full with this one, eh?”
“Kurt was just filling me in,” he said, doing a few last minute stretches as he bounced on his toes, ready for things to get started.
The man beamed. “Can’t wait. Good luck, Reggie, my boy.” He bounded over, scooped up a small stool and took it to the middle before hopping up on it and raising his megaphone. “Welcome, everyone!” he shouted and then waited for most of the roar to die down. Reg could see a few last minute coins exchange hands before the bout started, although he knew as soon as one of them landed a fist, the trade would start up even more viciously than before. “Today, we’ve got our champion, Reg the Wedge, versus our newcomer from the south, Bart the Dart!”
As usual Reg winced at his title as the crowd erupted freshly. “Why couldn’t you have come up with something more original or tougher than that?”
“I had to come up with something in less than a minute the first time you decided on this little escapade. What did you expect?” Kurt asked, look as sour as usual but Reg could hear his amusement. His friend found the title endlessly hilarious, even if he didn’t dare say so.
Reg shot him a look even as he pumped his fist to a chant of “Reg, Reg, Reg!” He then aimed a smirk at his opponent, who stood watching him, arms folded across his chest, tapping his toe as if to say ‘let’s get started.’ Reg couldn’t agree more.
“C’mon, Billy, move out of the way and let us to it,” he called.
“Second to sheets,” Billy, the eternally proud Gilan, said cheerfully as he again scooped up his stool and hopped over to the side where he dropped it and jumped back on. “Clear the rink.”
“Good luck,” Kurt muttered and moved over to stand next to Billy. Bart’s coach or assistant or whomever joined them there. Out of the corner of his eye, Reg saw Kurt lean around Billy to speak to him as Bart sauntered towards the center of the rink. Reg’s attention slipped from his opponent for a moment as he realized, with some surprise, that Bart’s coach was a woman as she tugged her ponytail back into place and grinned at whatever Kurt had said.
He wasn’t sure if that was part of some plan but he only barely brought his arm up in time to block Bart’s first strike, realizing with surprise that the man was indeed damn fast to have snuck up on him like that, even with him distracted. He shot out his free hand, latching onto the smaller man’s arm but Bart twisted free and backed up, disengaging as he began to circle. Reg had no problem moving with him, keeping Bart in clear eyesight. He figured if he could manage that, there was nothing the other man, speed or no speed, could do without him being prepared. Reg was no slouch and was champion for a reason.
Once they’d completed almost a full circle, Reg got bored. “C’mon, Bart, not afraid of me, are you?”
The young man, surprisingly delicately featured, smirked, but said nothing.
The crowd’s chant had long since moved from Reg’s name to ‘Fight!’ In a move that again startled Reg, Bart was across the circle in a flash, striking twice quickly towards his face and then his leg swept in, obviously seeking to drop Reg onto his back. Reg took both the blows on his arm and then, instead of backing away from the leg, stepped inside and aimed a few shots of his own at the smaller man. Bart blocked the first one and then grabbed his fist, twisting with surprisingly strength as he regained his balance from the ineffective attack at Reg’s legs.
Reg more than half-expected Bart to disengage again but the man instead, still holding onto Reg’s fist, twirled and plunged his elbow back into Reg’s midsection. Half of the larger man’s air whooshed out as the crowd let out an appreciative ‘oooh.’ Distantly, Reg registered that this fight was not going like they usually did. This southern fighter was something new.
There was no cowardice in disengaging after getting the measure of your opponent, so Reg now wrenched his hand free and danced back a few steps, putting a yard or so between them.
“You’ve got skill,” he told Bart, who only smiled again, settling his stance into a half-crouch and moving to the balls of his toes.
Reg’s eyebrows shot up, momentarily stymied. It was rare that someone asked so bluntly to go head to head with him, especially someone smaller. Bart’s advantage was plainly his almost inhuman speed. Setting himself up for a straight pounding match didn’t seem like it would correlate well to his mode of attack. Then his eyes narrowed and he scanned the other man’s face, looking for the trick, because there had to be one.
It took a moment to spot the slight leftward lean of Bart’s weight. If Reg charged him, as he usually would on an invited head to head, Bart would be long out of the way and probably behind him before he ever reached his current location. In fact, the crouch would only help his explosive power to move. It took only another moment to decide on a plan and then he obviously scuffed his feet on the ground, like he was gearing up for a charge. The crowd went wild, eating it up. “Go get ‘im, Reg!” someone screamed above the general hubbub. He dug his feet in and sprang forward. Before he’d gotten halfway, Bart made his move, just as expected, darting left with serious agility. Reg slammed his right foot into the ground and swung his left out wide, pivoting on the spot, even as he slid a few feet further forward. He shot his right arm out just as Bart reached that spot, ramming into it hard enough to send shockwaves reverberating up to Reg’s shoulder, but it also stopped the smaller man dead as he completed his spin.
Surprise registered on Bart’s face in the moment they were face to face before Reg slugged him in the side with his left hand. Bart’s loose fitting shirt, another odd thing since looser made it easier to use it as a weapon, constricted under the blow and…
“Gods’ Breath!” Reg yelped, although he doubted anyone heard him over the roar of the crowd at his move.
Bart’s eyes glanced down even as he shuddered under the blow. Then they came back up to meet Reg’s. Before he could react, Bart’s fist shot out, lightening fast, and connected squarely between Reg’s eyes. Stars burst briefly through his vision before he went unconscious.
*
His eyes flickered open, two sensations filtering in almost immediately: one, his head pounded ferociously and two, his forehead was freezing and wet.
An unfamiliar female face appeared. “He’s awake.”
“About damn time.” Kurt’s grumble was far more familiar.
“Give him a break. I hit him pretty hard.” A third voice, also female.
Reg didn’t move for a moment, trying to remember what happened, the fight slowly creeping back into his memories. Then he started upright. Kurt reached forward, plucking the ice off his forehead and helping him sit up. “Steady, Reg, you took a hard one.”
Reg ignored him, scanning the two others in the room through partially swollen eyes. This close, it was obvious the pair were siblings - same delicate features, auburn hair and hazel eyes. The one with the closely cropped hair grinned at him. “I’ll give you credit, my friend. You woke up much quicker than most when I hit them like that.”
“You’re a girl,” he sputtered.
She laughed. “Yes, I do apologize for the knockout, since we were having so much fun, but I couldn’t well let you blab that one at high volumes across the arena. My career would be over.”
“How have you gone this long without anyone knowing?” he demanded, eyeing the woman. He automatically accepted the ice back from Kurt and placed it between his eyes.
“You’re the first one to ever get a hit in,” she said as matter-of-factly as you could get. She lifted up her shirt a smidge on her right side, showing an already blossoming bruise. “It was a good one. How’d you know what I was going to do?”
“You’d be stupid to ask for a head to head against someone larger than you, especially when your best advantage lies in speed, so I looked for the tell. You’ve got a slight leftward lean.”
“Huh,” she grunted and glanced at her sister. “We’ll have to work on that, Sarah.”
“You’re assuming Reg and Kurt won’t be ending your career,” Sarah pointed out dryly. Then both women looked at Reg.
He stared back for a minute. “What’s your name? Not your title,” he said, when she opened her mouth, “but your name.”
She frowned. “I’m not sure why that possibly matters.”
“It’s only fair. You know mine and Kurt’s.”
“Darcy,” she said with ill grace and only after Sarah had planted her elbow right into her fresh bruise. She shot her sister a nasty look.
“Okay then, Darcy, I have three conditions you need to meet if I’m going to keep my mouth shut.”
Her frown deepened. “Fine, what are they?”
“First, you and I never fight each other again, because, honestly, my head has never hurt quite so much and the dual black eyes are going to be a real pain in the ass.”
Darcy’s expression lightened a bit in hope and a small smirk took up residence on her face. “Deal.”
“Second, you seriously consider fighting with me in a pairs’ match.”
“Okay…”
“And third, you and Sarah have dinner with Kurt and I tonight.” The glare came back and he held up his free hand in placation. “It’s not a date or anything, so don’t get any ideas. I’m just intrigued and I want to know where you learned to fight like that.”
She studied him, exchanging a quick glance with her sister, before nodding. “It’s a deal.” She stuck out her hand and he took it with a smile.