crossmyheartandhope (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
crossmyheartandhope) wrote2018-08-05 06:21 pm
crossmyheartandhope) wrote2018-08-05 06:21 pm
Entry tags:
Memory 3: A victory for the ages
The room is a gym.
It’s equipped with mats on the floor and a balance beam set out in the center, like someone’s been using it. A row of archery targets stand against the far wall, and there are parallel bars tucked up into one corner.
“We doing this, or what?” says a girl’s voice. “I ain’t got all day.”
She’s standing with her arms folded, tapping her toes on the mat. Her hair’s bleached blonde, shoulder length and spiked, but the black is starting to creep back in at the roots again. Her gym clothes are a sedate shade of navy set with white piping. The track pants and socks match, but she’s ditched the shirt for a tank top, sunset orange.
Beside her is a monster of a boy. He can’t be a day over fifteen, but his shoulders are massively broad, and he looks like he could bench a whole person without breaking a sweat. He’s got his entire uniform on: pants and socks, top and undershirt. His lifting gloves are still on from the weight room, and his close-cropped hair, light brown, is damp with sweat.
“Yeah, yeah,” says Nemesis. “If we knew you were in a hurry to get your ass kicked, we’d have started sooner.”
Nemesis looks a little younger, here – perhaps fourteen – and she’s wearing the same uniform as the other two. She catches hold of Hurricane's arm and hauls him around into a huddle. “We doing this, or what?”
“Dude,” says Hurricane, voice low. “We can’t back out now.”
“Good,” says Nemesis. “Cause this time, we’re taking them down.” She flexes the fake arm – makes a fist in a move that probably would’ve cracked the knuckles on her real hand.
“You know it,” says Hurricane. He holds up a fist, and Nemesis bumps it with her own.
“High stakes, Blondie,” she says. “Eyes on the prize.”
“No mercy,” Hurricane agrees, grinning, and they break the huddle.
The girl across the gym has her hands on her hips now. “I’m falling asleep over here,” she says.
Nemesis closes the distance between them like an alley cat looking for a fight. “Not for long.”
“Are you ready, then?” says the boy who’s built like a tank. “On the count of three?”
The girl with the bleached hair snorts. “Oh my god. Just go, Sasha. They’re not grading us this time.”
So they just go – all of them, at once, like they’re on some synchronized internal timer – and when they close the distance between them, it’s a free-for-all of clashing styles.
Hurricane weaves and dodges, light on his feet; he misses a roundhouse kick from the girl with bleached hair and ducks, laughing, under Sasha’s fist.
“Anyone ever tell you you’re a pain in the ass?” growls the girl, and closes in for a blow that rushes by his face, a near miss.
“Couple times,” says Hurricane, and side-steps to miss an elbow that’s meant to take him in the stomach. “Not today yet, though.”
“Guess you hit your quota,” she says, and takes another swing – curses when this one misses, too.
When she rights herself, coming out of the maneuver, Hurricane hooks a foot behind hers and yanks – shakes her balance just in time for Nemesis to slam into her like a bullet train.
“Thanks, dude,” says Hurricane, and moves to intercept Sasha before he can try making the same play.
In the periphery, Nemesis and the other girl are still going at it – one hell of a flurry of blows, them snarking at each other the whole time. Nemesis is leaning in and absorbing the hits to get in better hits of her own, the way she always does.
Hurricane knows her, though; if they take this, she’ll wear every bruise like a badge of pride.
“Pay attention,” says Sasha, and comes in for another pass, big fists leading the way.
Hurricane dances back out of range, grinning. “I ever tell you you fight like the level boss in some side-scroller? You totally telegraph your moves, dude.”
“I do, do I?” Sasha barrels forward, leading with his shoulder, and Hurricane steps back and to the side, still grinning – knows exactly what to expect, right up until the other girl hits him from behind.
He yelps and goes down – hits hard, and rolls just in time to miss the follow-up kick. The second one catches him and knocks the breath out of him in a wheeze of air. “Jeez, Mayu,” he says, and gets his legs under him to flip back up to his feet. “Not pulling punches, huh?”
Mayu grins, pleased and a little feral, and circles back around. “Do I ever?”
She presses him, hard and fast, not letting up with the rain of blows. He’s on the defensive now, not stumbling back but definitely on the retreat.
His calves hit wood and he registers that he must have gotten too close to the balance beam - hops up without looking and takes a couple of quick steps backward along the narrow bar, trying to shake her.
“Oh for fuck’s sake,” says Mayu. “Stay still.”
“Ha,” says Hurricane. He’s still grinning, even if he’s breathing hard now. “You gonna make me?”
She lunges in to try, but this time, he’s ready for it – flips down off the balance beam to land on the other side, light on his feet. When she makes to follow, he’s ready for that, too, leading with his shoulder and getting ahold of her arm. He pulls in and shifts his weight, gets his legs up under him, and down she goes, there on the mat.
He’s just moving forward to follow up – to go for the pin and declare half-victory – when Sasha body checks him from behind.
It’s kind of like getting hit with a sledge hammer; the force of the blow leaves him reeling, uncertain on his feet. Hurricane stumbles, and then outright squawks as he gets lifted up overhead like he weighs nothing at all.
The ground comes up way too hard and way too fast. He hits and rolls – is still getting to his feet when one of those big fists sends him down again.
“Hey, uh, protector?” says Hurricane, stumbling back upright. “Could do with an assist over here.”
It’s like he’s invoked some kind of avenging god; that’s all it takes, and Nemesis is swooping in. It’s kind of impressive to watch her grapple a guy who’s got almost a foot on her and hold her own, but there she is, larger than life and just as cool.
“Sweet,” says Hurricane, and then he dives back in.
They go a long time, all four of them – long enough that they’re wrung out, and the quips, on all sides, have slowed to a trickle.
The round ends with Hurricane standing over Sasha, grinning fit to burst, and Nemesis over Maya, crowing victory.
“Oh hell yes,” says Nemesis. “Who’s off laundry duty for two weeks?”
“We’re off laundry duty for two weeks,” says Hurricane, and he circles around to bump fists with her.
“God dammit,” groans Mayu, picking herself up off the mat. “We’re never going to hear the end of this.”
“Today’s going down in history,” says Nemesis. “Mark it on your calendar.”
Sasha’s climbing to his feet now, too. “A new holiday?” he says, tone mild and decidedly amused.
“Hell yeah it is,” says Hurricane. “And what good’s a holiday without a parade?”
Nemesis turns toward him, a question plain on her face. She barks a startled laugh when Hurricane ducks down and gets his legs up under him, grabbing hold and boosting her up on his shoulders. He stands, grinning, and she lifts her arms up overhead in an impromptu victory salute.
“Weee are the champions, my friend,” Hurricane sings, in English – wildly off-key – as he turns for the door out of the gym.
Sasha opens it for them, with a fond sort of smile, and the mini-parade winds out into the hall, all four of its members laughing and yelling and snarking the whole way.
It’s equipped with mats on the floor and a balance beam set out in the center, like someone’s been using it. A row of archery targets stand against the far wall, and there are parallel bars tucked up into one corner.
“We doing this, or what?” says a girl’s voice. “I ain’t got all day.”
She’s standing with her arms folded, tapping her toes on the mat. Her hair’s bleached blonde, shoulder length and spiked, but the black is starting to creep back in at the roots again. Her gym clothes are a sedate shade of navy set with white piping. The track pants and socks match, but she’s ditched the shirt for a tank top, sunset orange.
Beside her is a monster of a boy. He can’t be a day over fifteen, but his shoulders are massively broad, and he looks like he could bench a whole person without breaking a sweat. He’s got his entire uniform on: pants and socks, top and undershirt. His lifting gloves are still on from the weight room, and his close-cropped hair, light brown, is damp with sweat.
“Yeah, yeah,” says Nemesis. “If we knew you were in a hurry to get your ass kicked, we’d have started sooner.”
Nemesis looks a little younger, here – perhaps fourteen – and she’s wearing the same uniform as the other two. She catches hold of Hurricane's arm and hauls him around into a huddle. “We doing this, or what?”
“Dude,” says Hurricane, voice low. “We can’t back out now.”
“Good,” says Nemesis. “Cause this time, we’re taking them down.” She flexes the fake arm – makes a fist in a move that probably would’ve cracked the knuckles on her real hand.
“You know it,” says Hurricane. He holds up a fist, and Nemesis bumps it with her own.
“High stakes, Blondie,” she says. “Eyes on the prize.”
“No mercy,” Hurricane agrees, grinning, and they break the huddle.
The girl across the gym has her hands on her hips now. “I’m falling asleep over here,” she says.
Nemesis closes the distance between them like an alley cat looking for a fight. “Not for long.”
“Are you ready, then?” says the boy who’s built like a tank. “On the count of three?”
The girl with the bleached hair snorts. “Oh my god. Just go, Sasha. They’re not grading us this time.”
So they just go – all of them, at once, like they’re on some synchronized internal timer – and when they close the distance between them, it’s a free-for-all of clashing styles.
Hurricane weaves and dodges, light on his feet; he misses a roundhouse kick from the girl with bleached hair and ducks, laughing, under Sasha’s fist.
“Anyone ever tell you you’re a pain in the ass?” growls the girl, and closes in for a blow that rushes by his face, a near miss.
“Couple times,” says Hurricane, and side-steps to miss an elbow that’s meant to take him in the stomach. “Not today yet, though.”
“Guess you hit your quota,” she says, and takes another swing – curses when this one misses, too.
When she rights herself, coming out of the maneuver, Hurricane hooks a foot behind hers and yanks – shakes her balance just in time for Nemesis to slam into her like a bullet train.
“Thanks, dude,” says Hurricane, and moves to intercept Sasha before he can try making the same play.
In the periphery, Nemesis and the other girl are still going at it – one hell of a flurry of blows, them snarking at each other the whole time. Nemesis is leaning in and absorbing the hits to get in better hits of her own, the way she always does.
Hurricane knows her, though; if they take this, she’ll wear every bruise like a badge of pride.
“Pay attention,” says Sasha, and comes in for another pass, big fists leading the way.
Hurricane dances back out of range, grinning. “I ever tell you you fight like the level boss in some side-scroller? You totally telegraph your moves, dude.”
“I do, do I?” Sasha barrels forward, leading with his shoulder, and Hurricane steps back and to the side, still grinning – knows exactly what to expect, right up until the other girl hits him from behind.
He yelps and goes down – hits hard, and rolls just in time to miss the follow-up kick. The second one catches him and knocks the breath out of him in a wheeze of air. “Jeez, Mayu,” he says, and gets his legs under him to flip back up to his feet. “Not pulling punches, huh?”
Mayu grins, pleased and a little feral, and circles back around. “Do I ever?”
She presses him, hard and fast, not letting up with the rain of blows. He’s on the defensive now, not stumbling back but definitely on the retreat.
His calves hit wood and he registers that he must have gotten too close to the balance beam - hops up without looking and takes a couple of quick steps backward along the narrow bar, trying to shake her.
“Oh for fuck’s sake,” says Mayu. “Stay still.”
“Ha,” says Hurricane. He’s still grinning, even if he’s breathing hard now. “You gonna make me?”
She lunges in to try, but this time, he’s ready for it – flips down off the balance beam to land on the other side, light on his feet. When she makes to follow, he’s ready for that, too, leading with his shoulder and getting ahold of her arm. He pulls in and shifts his weight, gets his legs up under him, and down she goes, there on the mat.
He’s just moving forward to follow up – to go for the pin and declare half-victory – when Sasha body checks him from behind.
It’s kind of like getting hit with a sledge hammer; the force of the blow leaves him reeling, uncertain on his feet. Hurricane stumbles, and then outright squawks as he gets lifted up overhead like he weighs nothing at all.
The ground comes up way too hard and way too fast. He hits and rolls – is still getting to his feet when one of those big fists sends him down again.
“Hey, uh, protector?” says Hurricane, stumbling back upright. “Could do with an assist over here.”
It’s like he’s invoked some kind of avenging god; that’s all it takes, and Nemesis is swooping in. It’s kind of impressive to watch her grapple a guy who’s got almost a foot on her and hold her own, but there she is, larger than life and just as cool.
“Sweet,” says Hurricane, and then he dives back in.
They go a long time, all four of them – long enough that they’re wrung out, and the quips, on all sides, have slowed to a trickle.
The round ends with Hurricane standing over Sasha, grinning fit to burst, and Nemesis over Maya, crowing victory.
“Oh hell yes,” says Nemesis. “Who’s off laundry duty for two weeks?”
“We’re off laundry duty for two weeks,” says Hurricane, and he circles around to bump fists with her.
“God dammit,” groans Mayu, picking herself up off the mat. “We’re never going to hear the end of this.”
“Today’s going down in history,” says Nemesis. “Mark it on your calendar.”
Sasha’s climbing to his feet now, too. “A new holiday?” he says, tone mild and decidedly amused.
“Hell yeah it is,” says Hurricane. “And what good’s a holiday without a parade?”
Nemesis turns toward him, a question plain on her face. She barks a startled laugh when Hurricane ducks down and gets his legs up under him, grabbing hold and boosting her up on his shoulders. He stands, grinning, and she lifts her arms up overhead in an impromptu victory salute.
“Weee are the champions, my friend,” Hurricane sings, in English – wildly off-key – as he turns for the door out of the gym.
Sasha opens it for them, with a fond sort of smile, and the mini-parade winds out into the hall, all four of its members laughing and yelling and snarking the whole way.