Flashback Brawling: Part One; Because Fists Were My First Choice

[Cowlquape]

Fall 490AV

Cowlquape had a temper. It wasn't bad, but it's cause was. It wasn't summomed by high levels of blood pressure creating agitation, nor was it a simple fact of being prone to anger. Nay, it was his own self-confidence.

Cowlquape is a bit of a narcissist; has been since he was young. As a wee youth, he snapped a kid's nose with a well aimed punch and a series of unfortunate events; leading up to knuckles covered in blood that wasn't his own.

Now Cowlquape, 18, standing in the large Illythian district apartment of a friend who just challenged his worthiness to society, was about to demonstrate once again his insane narcisism.

I know, it's such a cliche age to begin a story at, but puberty did nothing to put an end to Cowlquape's horrible attitude. Most would say that his mannerism in this case began with being the single child of rich parents. But the increase in hormones would have a great enough affect on any individualistic young man.

Cowlquape's mind was constantly taking in more than you thought. His frenemy standing before him; human, light blonde hair, blue eyes with dark rings around them, fancy restricting clothing, a pointed and fair skinned face with high cheek bones; horse riding boots.

A red, embroidered carpet on the floor below them, less prone to slipping. a hastily cleaned rum stain on the left corner behind the rather posh youth in front of him. A quaint, small, wooden table upon which a white ceramic vase, sporting a small hairline fracture, held up a bright red flower. Below that on the white floor, a dribble of dirt. Two candles on the walls behind the two of them; unlit. A portrait painting of some relative of the family. Slippery, marble floors beyond the carpet's reach.

"A posh bum like you could never live up to it's family's name," the other young man said. "You're a waste of air in this upper class world! You are more fit to be in the mines."

Cowlquape synthesized the situation. His self-confidence could never be hurt by mere words, and even yet he felt that any attack on it was punishable.

"How ironic. And yet a brat with an alcohol problem is considered 'upper class'?" Cowlquape gesticulated. The other young man's lip twitched a bit.

"How shameful. And what do your parents think...?" Cowlquape asked sarcastically. The young man frowned and his eyes widened.

"Shut up, swine!" he shouted. "You don't know anything!"

Cowlquape smiled. He had guessed correctly. "Tsk tsk tsk. So you rode home, in a buzzed stupor, with a bottle of rum in your hand, arriving back assumedly in the middle of the night, when your parents wouldn't hear you enter. Once you got inside, your stumbling caused you to spill a fairly noticeable amount of your liquor, which you cleaned as much as you could. Whilst fumbling about, you managed to tip this pricey vase, spilling a bit of dirt on the ground as you did so,"

By now, the young man was shaking, trying to contain his fury.

"Now now... what a shame it will be once your parents hear about this..." Cowlquape pressed.

It was the tipping point. "I SAID SHUT UP!!" The young man shouted, lunging forward at Cowlquape.

He's going to go for a left swing. Just a simple side step, pulling his arm simultaneously, and let him smash into the wall. Then he'll likely swing with a right once he recovers, followed by a series of pummels. After he lets his fists fly, a pop in the nose ought to shut him up a bit.

[Cowlquape]

With a shout, the young man led from the left. Cowlquape stepped to the side and yanked the enraged aristocrat as he went. With a low thud, he crashed into the wall.

In a daze, he spun quickly around. "HOW DARE YOU!" He shouted at Cowlquape, and then swung from the right.

Cowlquape brought up both of his arms to face level and deflected a series of attacks with incredible defense. In the flurry, Cowlquape quickly sprung his fist outwards, connecting with his opponent's nose, and in the same second sprung back, hands to the side.

Blood erupted from the aristocratic youth's nose, which he clutched at to staunch the flow.

"You'b pieth of thyke," he said, words distorted by the damage.

Apparently his shouts must have alerted the family attendants, and they rushed in as Cowlquape motioned for another attack. Struggling, they restrained the two men.

"I'll twel da knight'th wha'd you dit!" The aristocrat shouted.

"Ta. And I'll tell your parents about your drinking 'hobby'. Fancy being cut off from their money?" Cowlquape leveraged.

The young man frowned, but never spoke more except to kick Cowlquape from the apartment.

Ironically enough, Cowlquape was the one who would eventually be cut from his family's funding. This narcissistic attitude of his was leading him nowhere good...