Flashback Word For Word, Fist For Fist (Solo)

[Ray]

39th of Summer, 501 AV The last traces of sun disappeared over the horizon, leaving dashes of pink and gold to be overtaken by night. Inside the citadel, the sun had been hidden by the high walls hours ago. Outside, however, the hues of the sky still shone as best as they were able. Though knights were posted here and there, the land was much less guarded that it was in the Hold. And it was for this reason that the two forms flitting in the shadows were filled with glee. Young, they were, barely men. One was tall and muscular, wavy long hair tied back with a strip of leather. The other was medium height and lanky, swathed in a red shirt. His hair was a very pale gold, almost as if reflecting the sky. Both of their clothes held more than their fair share of dirt while their boots were scuffed and scratched, and they moved through the warehouses confidently. They had walked these alleys many times before. They ducked behind a pile of crates as a Knight passed by. While it wasn’t exactly illegal to be out and about, neither of them had any love for the Knights. Also, the thrill of not being caught was a good one, and one that they tried to get whenever they could. The taller one looked around his crate to check that the Knight was really gone. He gave a thumbs up to his companion, and they were off again. They wove away from the main road until they came to a dead-end alley. The tall one stopped, took a few steps back, then sprinted. With some scrabbling he scaled the wall and found his way on top of it, then turned back to his white-haired companion and held out a hand. The young man took a deep breath. He had done this before, but he was no acrobat. The breath he drew was shaky, but nevertheless he steeled himself and sprang into a sprint. His friend’s hand loomed above him, and with a gulp he leapt. He missed. The white-haired adolescent slid down the wall, and his companion had a fit trying to contain his laughter. “Petcher!” the white-haired boy shouted. “Come on, Ray, is that the best you can do?” the other boy giggled. Fueled by anger, Ray took a step back, then leapt for all he was worth. He stretched as far up as he possibly could, and by some miracle his hand landed onto the rim of the roof. The other young man was still laughing, and so Ray was left to toil onto the roof all by himself. Several minutes later he lay at his destination, gasping for breath. His companion had regained control of himself and was looking at Ray with sparks of amusement in his eyes. “Shut up, Ian!” said Ray. This caused Ian to erupt into laughter once more. Ray growled, and that was all the warning that Ian got before the smaller man tackled him and sent them rolling away from the edge of the roof. He wrapped his arms around Ian’s torso and wrapped his legs around the young man’s knees, preventing either of them from standing. Ian, still chuckling, rolled in an attempt to scrape Ray off on the shingles. It did nothing but allow Ray a pause to slip behind Ian and wrap his legs around his friend’s stomach. The boy encircled Ian’s biceps with his own, then tightened his grip for all he was worth. Ian gasped as his lungs were suddenly constricted. He struggled, but his arms were held in place. He attempted to stand, but Ray pitched himself sideways and took them both down again.

[Ray]

One. Two. Three. “Fine! Let go, let go!” Ray let go and Ian rolled away, massaging his almost-crushed ribs. Ray remained slumped on the roof, catching his breath but looking at his friend with a self-satisfied expression plastered on his face. “Shut up, Ray.” Ray suddenly couldn’t contain his laughter, and Ian shot him a murderous glare. Struck with sudden, reverse déjà vu, Ray managed to spin out of the way when Ian launched at him like an arrow. The young brawler rolled from his back into a crouch, and while Ian was still busy wondering where his antagonist had gone Ray leapt at him once again. This time he didn’t take them down; just solidly shoved him farther up the roof. The larger boy turned with a growl, and Ray took off with a grin. Unable to resist a chase, Ian fell into stride behind him, anger slowly vanishing. There was little that happened between them that couldn’t be forgotten with a good chase. Most of the warehouses were close together, and so when the first gap came up Ray had little trouble clearing it. The second and third ones were similarly easy, but the fourth one he had to avoid and Ian almost caught him. It was alright, though; just like with the Knights, it was good to have a close call as often as possible. Eventually they slowed. They were getting near, and the run became a jog that became a brisk walk. The need to catch and win had disappeared as it was eclipsed with anticipation. There were few things that made Ray more excited than being out of Syliras proper after dark, with the gate closed and no way back in until it was opened at sunrise. He had stayed out overnight plenty of times; he preferred it to what waited at home. Still, the knowledge that he was not only on his own, but that he was fine in spite of it was truly liberating. Ian struck his arm. “There,” he said, pointing. They knelt at the rim of the warehouse roof upon which they dwelled. The warehouse before them contrasted with its neighbors. Instead of dark silence, golden light spilled from under its door and the loud sounds of indulgences rose from within. It was a place well known in the city, and well avoided by those that had any amount of respect to their name. The Spinning Coin.

[Ray]

The two boys managed to get down by finding a narrow alley, then bracing one leg and hand on each wall and making a semi-controlled slide down. They both ended up on their rear ends, but no damage was sustained. They slipped from the alley, checking the rest of the street out of habit, and then eagerly muscled their way inside. It was lively tonight. There was a pig race, and many people had come out to bet. They were just in time to hear the shout that signaled the start, and the warehouse was suddenly filled with screams as the onlookers waved their hats around and threw obscenities at the pigs they had place their money on. Neither of them were particularly interested in pig racing, and they made their way over to a different side of the establishment. They came here for the same reason that many of the patrons did; to let loose and try and forget about the tyrants that ruled their city. The bartender nodded in recognition; as some of the youngest patrons to frequent the Coin, Ray and Ian were known to him, and he was not surprised when they ordered the same thing they always did. Their tankards had scarcely arrived when Ian nudged for Ray’s attention. “There’s a girl over there looking at you. No, don’t look—!” Ray looked towards where his friend was indicating. A young woman was on the other side of the warehouse near the betting table, flicking her gaze between Ray and the game of dice she was watching. Her skin was the color of cream and her hair was a rich brown, probably the length of her spine but tied up in an elaborate knot that could not manage to contain the wisps that floated around her face. She noticed his returned attention and flashed him a sultry smile. Ray responded with one of his own and raised his tankard to her. Her smile widened, but she was suddenly distracted as the last round of dice was thrown. Apparently, the outcome was not what she had been looking for, and she left the table in irritation. Sensing opportunity, Ray left Ian with both of their drinks and assumed his best attempt at a confident pace to cross the boundary between the tavern and gambling sections of the Coin. She saw his approach and her smile returned as she rose to meet him. “Well, now,” she said silkily, “Do I have an admirer?” “How can I not admire such a beauty, especially if she is the beauty admiring me from across the room?” She laughed in mock sheepishness. “Alas, I have been caught in my sin. Am I to be forgiven?” “A sinner forgive a sin? Never,” he purred. “But perhaps an offer can be made to sin together.” “An offer entertained. Still, may I ask the name of my sinner?” “Ray. And you?” “Valencia.” She offered a hand to shake. He took it, but drew it closer to him instead of shaking. “Well, Valencia…” He placed a kiss on her knuckles. “It is an absolute pleasure to make your acquaintance.” “Acquaintance?” She raised an eyebrow. “Surely a sinner can do better than that.” He laughed. “Indeed. May I buy you a drink?”

[Ray]

They made their way back over to the bar, where Ian was giving Ray ludicrously enthusiastic gestures of encouragement and congratulations. Though Ian may have been larger and older, Ray was more versed in etiquette, street or otherwise, and pulled Valencia in another direction, embarrassed. She smiled sympathetically, and that made him feel a little better. He caught the bartender’s attention, then realized that he had left his own drink with Ian. Irritated, Ray told the tender to put whatever Valencia ordered on his tab, then slipped back into the throng and towards the person he was currently reluctant to label a friend. “Ray, buddy!” Ian was a bit tipsy, and when Ray investigated he found that both tankards were empty. “You drank my drink.” “Yep, twice, but no time for that! What’s going on there?” he said, gesturing at Valencia. “There heat there?” “Yes, there’s heat. You drank my drink.” “So? Tell! You think you’re gonna be lucky tonight?” Ray ground his teeth in irritation. Though he could bear his friend’s crassness to an extent, there were some things given to him by his birthclass that could not be completely stripped away by the street, and when referring to the opposite gender Ray always had some degree of politeness about him. “I don’t know, Ian,” he said calmly. “You drank my drink.” “I’ll pay for it, if it’s that important to you.” “Thank you.” He opened his mouth to say something else, but Ian’s gaze shifted and his expression sharpened for a moment. Ray turned to see what had caused it, and he blinked in sudden alarm. Valencia seemed to be fending someone off.

[Ray]

Not wasting any time, Ray left his empty tankard behind and quickly made his way over to where Valencia was trying to pry a man’s hand from her arm. “Come on now, girl, don’t be like that. I seen you at the Golden Dragon, seen you work there, know you like it.” “Remove your hand,” Valencia commanded. The man, obviously drunk, ignored her. “You ain’t new there, either. You know how it works. I got money, know a place.” Ray arrived and put a firm hand on the drunkard’s shoulder. “I believe the lady has decided that she will not be in your company tonight.” The drunkard turned, releasing Valencia’s wrist. “Well I believe that someone is sticking their nose where it doesn’t belong,” the drunk retorted. “Get lost, or we’re going to have a problem.” “We already have a problem,” Ray replied, voice edged like a knife. “I suggest you leave. Now.” “Or you’ll what?” “Or I’ll make you.” The few bystanders that had found their attentions garnered by the obvious tension murmured. Ray’s stomach fluttered. He had been in brawls before, but none like this. The man was large and was marred by countless scars that Ray had to assume were from battle. The drunk grinned. “That so? You think you could beat me?” He couldn’t show weakness. Not now. “I could beat you unconscious,” Ray stated. Another murmur passed through the onlookers and the drunk leaned close, close enough for Ray to smell the stench of cheap alcohol on his breath. “How much you willing to bet on that?” he asked. “How much are you?” The drunkard drew back. His eyes narrowed. Then, slowly, he reached down and pulled a long, knuckled knife from the sheath that was strapped to his calf. The air suddenly seemed to freeze. It was a long knife, about half the length of Ray’s extended arm and seemed to be the only thing in the drunken man’s possession that he took care of. It wasn’t shiny and was covered with shallow scratches from use, but the wicked gleam at its edge was a sharp one. It was thick-bladed, and one side of the handle was overarched by what looked to be a set of brass knuckles welded on. It was a trench knife. It was a knife meant for fighting. It was a knife meant for killing. The man slammed the knife onto the bar, causing everyone watching to jump slightly. Ray’s heart, stilled by fear, leapt back to life with a heavy pounding. “This here’s a good knife. Had it years, and it hasn’t given out yet. I’ll have it for years more.” His voice was certain. He had no intention of losing this fight. “You beat me, you keep it.” Ray nodded in agreement, face blank. He couldn’t afford to show the relief he felt at not being stabbed. But the drunk wasn’t done. “And what do you put against it?” Ray blinked. He suddenly remembered that he had nothing but the clothes on his back and the measly few silver mizas in his pocket left over from the drinks. His shoes? He might be able to put them against the knife. They were scuffed but sturdy. Still, that knife was worth at least twice as much, and he suspected that the drunkard wouldn’t accept such a trade. He reached out, trying to think of something, anything that would suffice. It was Valencia that decided. “Me,” she said. Ray swiveled to her, startled, and yet a third murmur went through their audience. “You?” the man asked. “If you win, I will be yours for the night. Me against your knife.” The drunk broke into a grin, but Ray shook his head. He opened his mouth to protest, but Valencia put a finger to his lips and leaned close to his ear. “The stakes have been raised, sinner,” she whispered. “Make sure you keep me.” And with that the woman placed a hand on his chest, pushing him to be swallowed by the crowd.

[Ray]

Both he and the man were corralled by onlookers-turned-referees, eager to see the fight that had been promised. They made their way to the open area and immediately dragged the wrestling mats out of their stack to cover the floor. Ray knew the rules of a fight, and knew the rules that they had set down. This wasn’t going to be a tap-out fight; this was going to be a drag-out fight. Last man conscious wins. Shyke. A larger audience gathered around the rim of the circle of mats, and the two opponents claimed opposite sides. With the pig race done, many were itching to see something more violent. A small pathway was made for Valencia. She was holding the knife that she had placed herself against, and the look she sent Ray was a strange mix of confidence and apprehension. She expected him to win. She had placed herself on it. There was no way he could back out of the fight; to do so would be to surrender her to the drunk who’d started all this. He couldn’t let that happen while he was still conscious. When he turned his gaze back to the mat he was no longer trying to mask his nervousness. He had pledged to this; it didn’t matter now if they knew if he was scared or not. He was scared. He was petching terrified. But abandoning the fight wasn’t an option, not now. The drunk turned and grinned at Rayes, and the young man’s stomach dropped into his shoes. This was going to hurt. There was no shout of “go!” to start the fight. Instead, his enemy let loose a charge. Instincts took over, and Ray charged to meet him. They clashed in the center, and a cheer rose around them. Ray took a blow to the shoulder and landed a punch to the man’s ribs sending them whirling away from each other. Scarcely had they stopped before they dove at each other again, eager to do damage. Ray evaded a hook and sent one of his own to the man’s stomach. Even drunk, he was built like a wall and the strike that had hit Ray was like a hammer. This man was experienced. A second blow sent Ray reeling, and he used the momentum to spin an elbow into the side of the man’s head. He grunted, and Ray landed another one to his collar. A solid shove to the man’s chest and they were apart before he could retaliate. They stood apart, breathing hard. The man’s intoxication had allowed the younger brawler to land a flurry of blows, and Ray knew he needed to keep using the advantage. The larger man was now aware of that, and Ray could see him calculating. They leapt together again, and Ray managed to stop a kick by punching the man in the thigh with all of his might. He appeared to strike a pressure point, and the man yelped and stumbled back. Ray continued to move in, to crowd him back. He landed quick, light blows to the man’s face, shoulders and stomach, trying to overwhelm him. It was because of this that he didn’t see the incoming blow until it was too late to avoid. A fist hammered into Ray’s face, and the world went white.

[Ray]

He hit the ground, but the feeling was distant. Around him people were cheering, but it seemed as if someone else was hearing them. The golden light of the Spinning Coin blurred with the faces above him, fading in and out indistinctly. Everything was muted and smudged, and he couldn’t feel his head. Then there was Valencia. She was a beacon of focus in this fuzzy crowd. She looked at him with wide eyes, almost as if she was unable to believe what she had just seen. Her attention was shifted, however, when the battered brawler that stood over him moved towards her with victory on his face. Why was he doing that? What had she done to him? Ray tilted his head upwards and draw in a large breath of air. None of his ribs hurt enough to be cracked, though he knew for a fact that they would be black and blue in the morning. That was good. The pain seeped into his senses, and as it did so came his thoughts. He blinked. The ceiling above him was becoming two ceilings, but it was focusing. The crowd’s cheering had lessened now that the victor was apparent. He could feel the mats under him, doing next to nothing to protect him from the stone floor. Ray coughed up something metallic, and with a massive effort he rolled onto all fours. The metallic substance dribbled out of his mouth and spattered the mats with black. Around him, the dull speaking of the audience had ceased. Suddenly, the fight was not as over as it seemed. The man, already addled by drink and battered from the fight, was too busy staggering victoriously over to Valencia to notice. Ray dragged another deep breath, then stood. The fire of pain was hovering, waiting to appear in its full force. Body numb, Ray sprinted. He wound up a fist, and then used all of his weight, strength and movement to hit the man in the back of the head. Around them, the crowd was cheering again. He staggered with a gasp, and Ray elbowed him fiercely in the side. He hammered a blow to the thigh to reinforce the earlier pressure point, and the man was forced to drop to one knee. Unflinchingly, Ray grasped the man’s head and smashed it into his rising knee. The man fell back to the same spot Ray had, and the white-haired brawler took no time in sending a heavy uppercut into his chin. The man was still. Silence dropped for an instant that felt like an eternity. Ray was wondering if he’d suddenly gone deaf, but he had barely thought the thought before the audience erupted into a roar. Money was exchanged as bets were won, but he couldn’t have cared less. A feral smile made its way onto Ray’s face, he straightened to his full not-that-tall height and bellowed, every single ounce of adrenaline left in his body rushing through his veins at the same time. He had done it. He had won. He had gone up against a seasoned fighter, years wiser, and he had won. And at that exact moment, there wasn’t a thing in the world that could have stopped him.

[Ray]

Of course, when that was done, there wasn’t a drop of energy left in his body. The world faded out of existence for a moment, and he was dimly aware of falling. It stopped short, too short for him to have made it to the floor. Was he being dragged? Someone was speaking to him. “... years I’ve never seen such a brave, stupid son of a bitch. You almost got yourself killed, you idiot vagik!” “Oh, hello Ian,” Ray said. “And why the petch are you smiling? Your nose is probably broken!” “Is it?” Ray lost interest in the person who was carrying him when he discovered that Valencia was walking beside them, worry etched onto her face. “Valencia,” Ray said, doing his best attempt at a sultry voice when he couldn’t feel his tongue. “I was afraid I’d lost you.” “Yes, so was I,” she said dryly. “Do you always call things that closely?” “What would you say if I did?” It was Ian that answered. “That you’re a reckless bastard.” A reckless bastard. That wasn’t nice. Ray took a breath to reply, but halted. Reckless bastard. Reckless: to act without forethought or regards to the consequences. Charge into things without knowing what is to come. To seek out leaps of faith. Bastard: someone of illegitimate birth. Both of Ray’s parents were happily married, but… well, these days, in these places, bastard was almost a compliment. No, to Ray, it was a compliment. “Yes,” he replied. “Yes I am.” They deposited him on a stool, and Valencia hurriedly asked the bartender for a clean cloth and water. Ray must have been in dire shape, because the tender looked at him and took off with unusual speed. Ray turned to her. “Well now, lady Valencia, where do we go from here?” He leaned close with a woozy smile. “It seemed I managed to keep you.” “Indeed,” she agreed with amused patience. “But now the trick seem to be whether or not I can keep you.”

[Ray]

It wasn’t long before their cloth and water arrived. Valencia began to gently wipe the blood off of Ray’s face while Ian fumed off to the side. However, all of their attentions were garnered when someone else approached from behind the bar. His hair was a dirty red and his face was set in a scowl that almost seemed permanent, and the young men and woman immediately stood to attention. There were few rules in the Spinning coin; it was a place without rules in a ruling city. Even so, there were a few rules in here that you did not break. And of all of them, one rule stood over all else. Don’t make Gene angry. Whatever you do, don’t make Gene angry. The muscular owner surveyed them coldly, and Ray instinctively leaned back. The silence stretched long, almost painfully so. “Good job, there.” All three breathed a collective sigh of relief. “Uh… thank you, sir,” Ray replied. “You think you’ll do it again?” “Do… what?” He jerked his head impatiently towards the mats that were now being put away. “Do that. Fight.” The answer came from his mouth before he’d even thought of it. “Of course.” Ian and Valencia stared at him, but Gene smiled in a cold sort of satisfaction. “Do,” he said. “And if you promise to tell me in advance, I’ve got a bed in the back that you can use for the night.” He looked Ray over. “You look like you need it.” “That sounds like a mighty fine deal, sir,” Ray replied, bobbing his head. The man nodded, already calculating money and bets in his head as he turned and walked away. “What was that?!” Ian hissed. “What was what?” “That! Agreeing to let him know when you fight? He’ll probably have the entire place putting bets!” “So?” Ray shrugged. “Not like I’ll be the one losing money.” “No,” Ian growled, “You’ll be the one losing teeth. Everyone’s going to be after you for a fight every week, if they can help it. One fight was bad enough, Ray, and you’ll be lucky if scars are all you get from that man. And that man was drunk; how do you expect to hold up against someone who isn’t?” Ray shrugged. “I’ll deal.” Valencia stepped between them before Ian could shoot another accusation. “He’s just won a brawl. He needs to rest.” Ian snarled and stalked off. Valencia hoisted Ray from the chair and put one of his arms around her shoulders. Slowly, she helped him walk in the direction that the man had indicated. Ray couldn’t help but look back on what had happened, and questions began to fill his head. What had he just done? He had just assured someone, Gene no less, that he would be fighting again. Ray had no aversion to fighting—he sometimes even sought it out—but never had he taken on more than neighborhood boys out for a little roughhousing. Here, tonight, he had probably taken on the most powerful enemy he had ever faced. And he had won. That wasn’t something he could just forget. A small heat blossomed in his chest and the fight replayed itself in his head. The thrill of fear that sent adrenaline coursing through his blood had been undeniable, and the whirlwind of the fight… never had he felt anything so powerful. Never had he been anything so powerful, able to send a full-grown man sprawling on the floor. Every one of his strikes had been heavy, had been painful. But he had still won. He had defeated the pain and had won. In that instant, Ray changed. Never again would he tumble with other adolescents looking for something to do. No, that couldn’t hold a candle to what had happened tonight.

[Ray]

The entered a back room, and though the closing door didn’t managed to mute the sounds of the Coin, they did manage to soften them. “Here.” Valencia gently laid Ray onto a small cot in the corner. “Well, who would have thought,” he rasped. “This was just all an elaborate plan for you to get me into bed.” “Of course, offering myself and seeing you beaten bloody were all part of my scheme,” she replied sarcastically. “You shouldn’t have,” Ray murmured. “What was that?” “You shouldn’t have offered yourself. What if I had lost?” “You didn’t.” “But what if I had?” She smiled. “You think someone like me wouldn’t be able to defend themselves from a rowdy pursuer?” Someone like her… He remembered. “He said you worked at the Golden Dragon.” Her pause was momentary. “What of it?” “Do you?” “Why does it matter?” Pause. “I want to know where to find you.” Another pause. She blinked slowly at him. “You’d want to find me, even if I worked at the Dragon?” Ray grinned. “Only if you’d see me, even if I had a broken nose.” She smiled again, slowly, but this smile was different. It was a shy smile; an earnest smile. A silence stretched between them, before both realized to their horror that they’d just shared a moment. “Ahem, well, I’m happy to say that I don’t think your nose is broken,” she informed him curtly. “But you should still have it checked, and I think you’ve lost a large amount of blood. You shouldn’t do anything too strenuous until you see a doctor.” He narrowed his eyes and adopted a sly smirk. “What counts as strenuous?” He tried to prop himself on one elbow, but she placed a firm hand on his chest and forced him to return to his back. “Go to sleep.” He pouted at her, and she rolled her eyes. “Here,” she added, placing the trench knife beside him. “I do believe that this is yours.” He wanted to say something witty back to her, but she sent him a sharp look and stood. He sighed in defeat and allowed himself to relax into the cot. Almost immediately he could feel sleep creeping up on him. Spotting his struggle to remain awake, Valencia smirked and blew him a kiss. He was aware of her closing the door behind her, and then he could do nothing but surrender to the blessed darkness. ~End~