Post by Press1269 on Sept 16, 2019 20:25:08 GMT
THE EMPORIUM
NEW ORLEANS, LOUISIANA
The BombTrax pushed open the double doors leading into the Emporium and filed through the opening, letting the doors swing shut naturally on their own as they surveyed the room. There were a few patrons still piled into the place at 11:49PM on a Wednesday night, but the upper portion was completely abandoned save for a lone man wearing a dark red cloak with the hood pulled up. The two men search the rest of the bar to see Samedi fast tracking his way straight towards them, two glass mugs folded into one another in his hands. He's wearing the face of a man whose been shaken into sobriety and his bloodshot eyes dart back and forth between the two as he steps up to them.
"He be upstairs. Here, I've already supplied the mead." He says in a hushed tone, looking behind him to make sure that none of the other customers are ease-dropping. "Whatever you two fools do, be careful."
Press allows his eyes to drift back up to the man sitting upstairs by the banister and his face turns grim, but his partner good-naturedly slaps Samedi on the shoulder with one hand while the other takes the glasses.
"Careful? We're always careful" he says cheerfully as he makes his way in a skipping manner for the steps leading up.
The Voodoo Priest's eyes go wide as he watches him go, and then he looks back at Press with pleadingly before heading back to the bar mumbling to himself. "God's damned fools going to be the death of me..."
Press sighs and heads towards the steps himself, but he never takes his eyes off the cloaked figure as he ascends. When he finally reaches the top Youth has already sat down the mugs on the table and plopped down casually into one of the seats sitting opposite. The Big Man approaches slowly, the cloaked figure now looking up for the first time to see those who have approached him. He doesn't pay any attention to Youth who continues to sit there almost mockingly, and Press has the sudden urge to open hand slap him in the back of the head. Instead he stares right at the man in red as he strides methodically towards the table, resting himself gently in the only other unoccupied seat.
Across from them is a tall man in his own right, clearly thick and brawny under the cloak, wearing a black button up shirt and dark tan trousers that lace up in the front. His features seem Scandinavian and his skin is so white it's translucent against the incandescent bulbs providing luminescence from lamps overhead. He's handsome for his age, which seems to be about sixty, but his face is weathered and not without it's scars. A black patch is over his left eye and seems to be held in place by four screws on either side of the leather. He already has a half filled mug of an amber colored liquid in front of him, and he extends a gracious hand towards the pitcher on the table full of the same substance.
Youth scoots forward not minding himself, taking the pitcher by the handle and pouring himself and his partner a good sized portion of the mead while the other two men at the table continue to stare across at each other, as if trying to size the other up.
Finally Press speaks in a flat voice that shows no emotion, "What do you want, Norseman?"
Odin bristles at being addressed so directly without the formality that he was accustomed to, but then his mouth twitches as if he has a second thought. He leans forward to rest his elbows on the table, allowing his finger to slide along the rim of his glass in a circle. "I can appreciate direct. Let me do the same. You have one of my Ravens..."
He lets the statement hang in the air, and despite Press knowing that was exactly why the All-Father was here, it didn't stop his heart from moving into his throat for a moment. To his side, where Youth was sitting, he hears a muffled laugh, as if someone was trying to choke it back with their fist.
"Nin isn't anyone's property. You should know that better than anyone, considering. By the way, I'm a little confused. Aren't you supposed to be strung up in a tree somewhere with some of your children pecking out your guts?"
Odin never flinches as his one eye flashes from Press' gaze to take in the ostentatious Youth. "I'm still there and Leviathan is still asleep in the center of the void. I'm projecting. It's what one is want to do when needing to be doing two things at once." He smiles now, the kind of smile that makes your skin crawl, or at the very least break your gaze from his to make sure there isn't something actually on you. "But don't change the subject, and don't be a fool. Munin is my property because she's apart of me. That would be like saying your spleen isn't your spleen just because it's lying outside of you. That can be arranged if you'd like to experience it."
Youth couldn't stop himself from gulping if he tried, so when the loud sound of his adam's apple scraping the inside of his throat came Press subtly nudged him with his elbow while leaning forward himself.
"Is that all eternity has taught you? Threats? It's unbecoming of someone of your status in the universe. You're certainly not wrong, but you aren't right either. A child is apart of the mother until it is born, and then it exists outside of them as a separate entity while still being part of the two halves of the parents. Munin is her own entity now and isn't aware of the nature of her birth."
"Not yet." He said it quickly, just as soon as Press had went through his spiel, and it made the hairs on the back of his neck stand up on end.
He brought a fist up onto the table and his nostrils flared as he leaned in even further. "Why now? We're nowhere near Ragnarok. As you say, the serpent is still asleep."
Odin smirks but it's obvious it's to hide his disdain at having a mortal question him, even if the mortal was God-Touched. "We're closer to Ragnarok than we were yesterday and I'm taking stock of my inventory. I don't need to explain my reasons to you for wanting my property back. I'm giving you the courtesy of this parley because of what you have done for the universe, and nothing more. Now, If you'll excuse me I'm off to sate my passion."
Most who study Norse mythology believe Munin, one of Odin's Ravens, was meant to be his memories, but some scholars believed that it could translate to mean 'memory' or 'passion'. It's even theorized that makes sense as one's passion can very likely be linked to fond memories. Odin moves to stand but so does Press, and it's Youth who ends up stepping in-between them with outstretched hands resting on their respective chests. He can't help but notice how Odin's radiates heats while Press' is heaving a hundred miles a minute.
He whistles while rolling his eyes. "Gentleman, please. Certainly we can come to an arrangement before this gets any more hostile than it has. Could I suggest a rack of lamb, maybe a bull sacrifice, Oh! I know! What if we went down to the Greek meat factory on ninth and I placed a sigil or two on a few of the goats before they are eviscerated in the grinder!"
Press continues to heave, but Odin lets out a barking laugh before plopping back down in his seat. "Lucky for you," He indicates his open palm towards Youth, "This one is funny."
Press still fumes as he plops down himself, the chair creaking under his weight. He grabs the mug in front of him that Youth had filled and drains the mead in three huge gulps before slamming it back down to the table. Youth eyes the big man for a second to make sure he's under control, and then lets out a little chuckle. "You see, that's the spirit, you two just need to have a few more drinks. I'm sure we can settle this reasonably."
"You're not that funny. Quit stalling. You two obviously have an affinity for Munin, and while I don't have any reason to cater to the whims of mortals, I do have to admit I'm curious how that will play out for you." He eyes Press in a knowing fashion, before turning his attention back to his drink. He knocks the mead back and places the glass back onto the table while switching glances between the two of them. "If not Munin, then what of Hugin? I've lost sight of my thoughts lately, and it would be a dear help."
Press and Youth's eyebrows shoot up at the same time in surprise, and the two men chance a glance before turning their attention back to Odin. "Uh...we've never met Hugin, and Munin doesn't really talk about him that much. I think they may have had a falling out..."
Odin's laughter cuts Youth's explanation off and his mirth seems to ring true, slapping his knee and being forced to wipe a few tears from his good eye. He finally calms down with a few chuckles escaping as he tries to explain. "Of course they did. The two are twins, but their rivalry is legendary. As much as Munin and Hugin love one another, they have always competed for my affections. Now that they've been on their own, they compete without ever realizing exactly why. Would you be the one's to tell them?"
His one eye sparkles with mischief as Press clears his throat firmly. "At the end of the day what is it you want? You know the time isn't right. You wouldn't have risked coming here if you didn't have something in mind. Everyone has your brother pegged as the grifter in the stories, but we aren't everyone. We know the deal. We know that you didn't set anything in motion without having some purpose behind it, so what is your purpose here? The real reason you've come?"
Odin sits back to thoughtfully observe the two men in front of him. A slight smile tugs at his worn features and finally it gives way to a full grin. "She said you two were wily, but I have to admit, I wasn't prepared for how perceptive you really are. You're right, it isn't time."
Press eyebrow shoots up, but before he can say anything, Youth beats him to it. "Who said we were wily?"
Odin's smile doesn't dissipate in the slightest, matter of fact, growing bigger if that were even possible. "Why, Munin, of course."
The color drained from the two men's faces and Odin brought his hands together in a clap, seeming quite pleased with himself at throwing the two men off.
"You...You've spoken to Munin?" Press stammered, real fear drawing up into his voice.
Odin continued to chuckle as he waved his hand in front of himself in a dismissive manner. "Oh, don't worry. She's fine. She'll wake up tomorrow believing that she drank too much wine and won't remember a thing. But she knows you two. Knows your secret. Somewhere in her subconscious she's fit the pieces together about all of it, but she keeps it buried under all of those human emotions. Her name literally can be translated as 'Desire', so it's only fitting that she have so many of her own. Part of the reason she can't let herself go there with you is because if she did that wall she's built for herself would come crashing down. Love is a powerful weapon."
Press fell back into his seat as if he'd just been struck and Youth searched his own feelings to try and tell if what Odin was saying was even the truth. Finding nothing, he decides it's best to push forward now that they understood there was a purpose for him being here that didn't include his raven.
"Then what? What do you want?" He says emphatically, pleadingly, trying to put an end to all of this.
His mirth finally abated, Odin falls back into his seat as well, fingers steepling in front of him. He regards the two thoughtfully once more, and watches as Press regains some monochrome of control over his emotions, while Youth still sits there expectantly like a child. Finally he sighs, as if bored of the game, and allows his fingers to unfold so that he can go back to caressing the rim of his glass.
"I'm looking for someone. Someone that is also on earth. Someone that no matter how hard I try I can't seem to locate."
Press, finally having found his voice, leans forwards again to ask, "Who?"
Odin suddenly looks up from his fixation on the glass to stare Press directly in the eyes with his one. "Loki."
"Are...Are you fucking kidding me?"
"I assure you, I do not jest."
A low whistle omits itself from Youth once again as it's his turn to fall back in his seat, and he shakes his head solemnly, mind officially blown. "And what makes you think we can find him?" he asks shakily.
"Munin told me it's apart of what you do. Finding things. Killing things. Saving people. I'd say that all of those apply when it comes to my brother. As you said earlier. The Grifter."
Press and Youth exchanged glances before turning back to the god.
"And this free's up Munin?" Press asked flatly.
"For now..." Odin replied musingly, obviously leaving the answer open ended.
"Where would we even start?" Youth asks the most obvious follow up that he can think of, and even that sounded ridiculous given the gravitas of the request.
"Well, boys," Odin began, leaning back into the table with a conspiratorial smile and a low voice. "Where on earth do men go to play the biggest games for the biggest rewards? You lived there once as I recall. I think some people call it Sin City?"
Press lips pursed as he breathed the answer, "Las Vegas."
"Shit, man...there's a reason we left that place for New Orleans." Youth adds.
"Not my point, not my problem. You asked where to start, and I have provided. Now gentlemen, I assume that we have a deal?" He asks while extending his hand across the table. They both notices the ornate ring situated on his middle finger, and they know exactly what kind of binding magic it holds.
Press folds his arms over his chest and looks the god up and down hard. "How long do we have?"
Odin's thin lips pursed before turning into a curt smile. "I'll give you a year. One year, my brother for my raven as it were. If you don't pay up, I come to collect my property. If you don't agree, I'll be taking it today. Up to you?"
But it wasn't up to them was it. It was the sort of deal that you couldn't welsh on or everyone would pay the consequences. And he wasn't making a threat, rather a statement, which really left them only one option. The two men exchanged glances followed by a nod, and Press shook the hand first, and then Youth. The minute they touched the ring both had felt it. They were marked now, and the clock was ticking. More than that, there was absolutely no going back. Odin nodded satisfactorily and then stood from the table. With a swirl of his cowl he disappeared from sight, leaving both men sitting there awestruck despite having expected nothing less.
"He be upstairs. Here, I've already supplied the mead." He says in a hushed tone, looking behind him to make sure that none of the other customers are ease-dropping. "Whatever you two fools do, be careful."
Press allows his eyes to drift back up to the man sitting upstairs by the banister and his face turns grim, but his partner good-naturedly slaps Samedi on the shoulder with one hand while the other takes the glasses.
"Careful? We're always careful" he says cheerfully as he makes his way in a skipping manner for the steps leading up.
The Voodoo Priest's eyes go wide as he watches him go, and then he looks back at Press with pleadingly before heading back to the bar mumbling to himself. "God's damned fools going to be the death of me..."
Press sighs and heads towards the steps himself, but he never takes his eyes off the cloaked figure as he ascends. When he finally reaches the top Youth has already sat down the mugs on the table and plopped down casually into one of the seats sitting opposite. The Big Man approaches slowly, the cloaked figure now looking up for the first time to see those who have approached him. He doesn't pay any attention to Youth who continues to sit there almost mockingly, and Press has the sudden urge to open hand slap him in the back of the head. Instead he stares right at the man in red as he strides methodically towards the table, resting himself gently in the only other unoccupied seat.
Across from them is a tall man in his own right, clearly thick and brawny under the cloak, wearing a black button up shirt and dark tan trousers that lace up in the front. His features seem Scandinavian and his skin is so white it's translucent against the incandescent bulbs providing luminescence from lamps overhead. He's handsome for his age, which seems to be about sixty, but his face is weathered and not without it's scars. A black patch is over his left eye and seems to be held in place by four screws on either side of the leather. He already has a half filled mug of an amber colored liquid in front of him, and he extends a gracious hand towards the pitcher on the table full of the same substance.
Youth scoots forward not minding himself, taking the pitcher by the handle and pouring himself and his partner a good sized portion of the mead while the other two men at the table continue to stare across at each other, as if trying to size the other up.
Finally Press speaks in a flat voice that shows no emotion, "What do you want, Norseman?"
Odin bristles at being addressed so directly without the formality that he was accustomed to, but then his mouth twitches as if he has a second thought. He leans forward to rest his elbows on the table, allowing his finger to slide along the rim of his glass in a circle. "I can appreciate direct. Let me do the same. You have one of my Ravens..."
He lets the statement hang in the air, and despite Press knowing that was exactly why the All-Father was here, it didn't stop his heart from moving into his throat for a moment. To his side, where Youth was sitting, he hears a muffled laugh, as if someone was trying to choke it back with their fist.
"Nin isn't anyone's property. You should know that better than anyone, considering. By the way, I'm a little confused. Aren't you supposed to be strung up in a tree somewhere with some of your children pecking out your guts?"
Odin never flinches as his one eye flashes from Press' gaze to take in the ostentatious Youth. "I'm still there and Leviathan is still asleep in the center of the void. I'm projecting. It's what one is want to do when needing to be doing two things at once." He smiles now, the kind of smile that makes your skin crawl, or at the very least break your gaze from his to make sure there isn't something actually on you. "But don't change the subject, and don't be a fool. Munin is my property because she's apart of me. That would be like saying your spleen isn't your spleen just because it's lying outside of you. That can be arranged if you'd like to experience it."
Youth couldn't stop himself from gulping if he tried, so when the loud sound of his adam's apple scraping the inside of his throat came Press subtly nudged him with his elbow while leaning forward himself.
"Is that all eternity has taught you? Threats? It's unbecoming of someone of your status in the universe. You're certainly not wrong, but you aren't right either. A child is apart of the mother until it is born, and then it exists outside of them as a separate entity while still being part of the two halves of the parents. Munin is her own entity now and isn't aware of the nature of her birth."
"Not yet." He said it quickly, just as soon as Press had went through his spiel, and it made the hairs on the back of his neck stand up on end.
He brought a fist up onto the table and his nostrils flared as he leaned in even further. "Why now? We're nowhere near Ragnarok. As you say, the serpent is still asleep."
Odin smirks but it's obvious it's to hide his disdain at having a mortal question him, even if the mortal was God-Touched. "We're closer to Ragnarok than we were yesterday and I'm taking stock of my inventory. I don't need to explain my reasons to you for wanting my property back. I'm giving you the courtesy of this parley because of what you have done for the universe, and nothing more. Now, If you'll excuse me I'm off to sate my passion."
Most who study Norse mythology believe Munin, one of Odin's Ravens, was meant to be his memories, but some scholars believed that it could translate to mean 'memory' or 'passion'. It's even theorized that makes sense as one's passion can very likely be linked to fond memories. Odin moves to stand but so does Press, and it's Youth who ends up stepping in-between them with outstretched hands resting on their respective chests. He can't help but notice how Odin's radiates heats while Press' is heaving a hundred miles a minute.
He whistles while rolling his eyes. "Gentleman, please. Certainly we can come to an arrangement before this gets any more hostile than it has. Could I suggest a rack of lamb, maybe a bull sacrifice, Oh! I know! What if we went down to the Greek meat factory on ninth and I placed a sigil or two on a few of the goats before they are eviscerated in the grinder!"
Press continues to heave, but Odin lets out a barking laugh before plopping back down in his seat. "Lucky for you," He indicates his open palm towards Youth, "This one is funny."
Press still fumes as he plops down himself, the chair creaking under his weight. He grabs the mug in front of him that Youth had filled and drains the mead in three huge gulps before slamming it back down to the table. Youth eyes the big man for a second to make sure he's under control, and then lets out a little chuckle. "You see, that's the spirit, you two just need to have a few more drinks. I'm sure we can settle this reasonably."
"You're not that funny. Quit stalling. You two obviously have an affinity for Munin, and while I don't have any reason to cater to the whims of mortals, I do have to admit I'm curious how that will play out for you." He eyes Press in a knowing fashion, before turning his attention back to his drink. He knocks the mead back and places the glass back onto the table while switching glances between the two of them. "If not Munin, then what of Hugin? I've lost sight of my thoughts lately, and it would be a dear help."
Press and Youth's eyebrows shoot up at the same time in surprise, and the two men chance a glance before turning their attention back to Odin. "Uh...we've never met Hugin, and Munin doesn't really talk about him that much. I think they may have had a falling out..."
Odin's laughter cuts Youth's explanation off and his mirth seems to ring true, slapping his knee and being forced to wipe a few tears from his good eye. He finally calms down with a few chuckles escaping as he tries to explain. "Of course they did. The two are twins, but their rivalry is legendary. As much as Munin and Hugin love one another, they have always competed for my affections. Now that they've been on their own, they compete without ever realizing exactly why. Would you be the one's to tell them?"
His one eye sparkles with mischief as Press clears his throat firmly. "At the end of the day what is it you want? You know the time isn't right. You wouldn't have risked coming here if you didn't have something in mind. Everyone has your brother pegged as the grifter in the stories, but we aren't everyone. We know the deal. We know that you didn't set anything in motion without having some purpose behind it, so what is your purpose here? The real reason you've come?"
Odin sits back to thoughtfully observe the two men in front of him. A slight smile tugs at his worn features and finally it gives way to a full grin. "She said you two were wily, but I have to admit, I wasn't prepared for how perceptive you really are. You're right, it isn't time."
Press eyebrow shoots up, but before he can say anything, Youth beats him to it. "Who said we were wily?"
Odin's smile doesn't dissipate in the slightest, matter of fact, growing bigger if that were even possible. "Why, Munin, of course."
The color drained from the two men's faces and Odin brought his hands together in a clap, seeming quite pleased with himself at throwing the two men off.
"You...You've spoken to Munin?" Press stammered, real fear drawing up into his voice.
Odin continued to chuckle as he waved his hand in front of himself in a dismissive manner. "Oh, don't worry. She's fine. She'll wake up tomorrow believing that she drank too much wine and won't remember a thing. But she knows you two. Knows your secret. Somewhere in her subconscious she's fit the pieces together about all of it, but she keeps it buried under all of those human emotions. Her name literally can be translated as 'Desire', so it's only fitting that she have so many of her own. Part of the reason she can't let herself go there with you is because if she did that wall she's built for herself would come crashing down. Love is a powerful weapon."
Press fell back into his seat as if he'd just been struck and Youth searched his own feelings to try and tell if what Odin was saying was even the truth. Finding nothing, he decides it's best to push forward now that they understood there was a purpose for him being here that didn't include his raven.
"Then what? What do you want?" He says emphatically, pleadingly, trying to put an end to all of this.
His mirth finally abated, Odin falls back into his seat as well, fingers steepling in front of him. He regards the two thoughtfully once more, and watches as Press regains some monochrome of control over his emotions, while Youth still sits there expectantly like a child. Finally he sighs, as if bored of the game, and allows his fingers to unfold so that he can go back to caressing the rim of his glass.
"I'm looking for someone. Someone that is also on earth. Someone that no matter how hard I try I can't seem to locate."
Press, finally having found his voice, leans forwards again to ask, "Who?"
Odin suddenly looks up from his fixation on the glass to stare Press directly in the eyes with his one. "Loki."
"Are...Are you fucking kidding me?"
"I assure you, I do not jest."
A low whistle omits itself from Youth once again as it's his turn to fall back in his seat, and he shakes his head solemnly, mind officially blown. "And what makes you think we can find him?" he asks shakily.
"Munin told me it's apart of what you do. Finding things. Killing things. Saving people. I'd say that all of those apply when it comes to my brother. As you said earlier. The Grifter."
Press and Youth exchanged glances before turning back to the god.
"And this free's up Munin?" Press asked flatly.
"For now..." Odin replied musingly, obviously leaving the answer open ended.
"Where would we even start?" Youth asks the most obvious follow up that he can think of, and even that sounded ridiculous given the gravitas of the request.
"Well, boys," Odin began, leaning back into the table with a conspiratorial smile and a low voice. "Where on earth do men go to play the biggest games for the biggest rewards? You lived there once as I recall. I think some people call it Sin City?"
Press lips pursed as he breathed the answer, "Las Vegas."
"Shit, man...there's a reason we left that place for New Orleans." Youth adds.
"Not my point, not my problem. You asked where to start, and I have provided. Now gentlemen, I assume that we have a deal?" He asks while extending his hand across the table. They both notices the ornate ring situated on his middle finger, and they know exactly what kind of binding magic it holds.
Press folds his arms over his chest and looks the god up and down hard. "How long do we have?"
Odin's thin lips pursed before turning into a curt smile. "I'll give you a year. One year, my brother for my raven as it were. If you don't pay up, I come to collect my property. If you don't agree, I'll be taking it today. Up to you?"
But it wasn't up to them was it. It was the sort of deal that you couldn't welsh on or everyone would pay the consequences. And he wasn't making a threat, rather a statement, which really left them only one option. The two men exchanged glances followed by a nod, and Press shook the hand first, and then Youth. The minute they touched the ring both had felt it. They were marked now, and the clock was ticking. More than that, there was absolutely no going back. Odin nodded satisfactorily and then stood from the table. With a swirl of his cowl he disappeared from sight, leaving both men sitting there awestruck despite having expected nothing less.
PURE AMUSEMENT ARENA
PURITY, LOUISIANA
PURITY, LOUISIANA
By the time Munin arrived for their morning session at the arena the two men were already there. Unbeknownst to her they had been there all night discussing their decision to aid the All-Father despite not really having a choice in the matter. They had also discussed that they didn't want to ever get caught with their pants down again. Munin was their friend, and something more to Press. He wasn't about to let her get used up by the god, and Youth vowed to help him. They were probably wasting valuable time by sticking around New Orleans for the time being, but until Munin decided to leave they were going to do the next best thing to starting their quest.
They were going to teach her to fight. Not for a wrestling match, but for her life.
Munin gave her greetings like she always did, but she wasn't stupid. She could tell something had changed in the air, and it wasn't the stale atmosphere of the unused arena. Youth wasn't his usual talkative self, instead keeping his conversation short and glib. When she finally got him to tell her what was going on, he pointed to the ring where Press was already standing inside and said that he would explain. The Big Man was taping his fists when she approached, and he gave her a curt nod when she bid him greeting. He sat on the middle rope like a gentleman to offer her a clear path into the ring, but when she turned to regard him he was all business.
"Press, is everything alright with you? You guys seem a bit tense."
Press chuckled gruffly and shook his head, reaching his hand up to bite the tape and rip it cleanly. He padded the last piece in place and then nodded in her direction.
"It's graduation day, Nin. Everything we've been doing up til now has been really good. Your speed is back. Your strength. You tapped me the other day, so obviously you know what you're doing. So now, we're going to try something different."
"Oh Yeah?" And as soon as the question left her lips he was lunging at her.
It took her brain a moment to register, but just in the nick of time she's able to side step as he comes to a halt at the ropes. She starts backing away but he whirls into a back fist that comes inches away from her nose and she finds herself backpedaling now with wide eyes. He plows forward to catch up to her and suddenly she finds herself on the ropes with nowhere to go. He brings his right fist barreling down in an overhead smash but she throws both her arms up in an 'X' to block it which leaves an opening for his other hand to snake in and grab her by the throat. All oxygen was suddenly cut off to her brain, his grip like a vice as it worked her neck muscles closed. Before she knew what was happening she was flying through the air to land hard against the mat, the impact bouncing her back up so that she could thankfully land on her feet, but here he came again. And he wasn't stopping.
She blocked an incoming right, then a left, and managed a few stiff kicks into his thigh of her own that seemed to knock him to the side. She surprised him with a headbutt to the chin that had him draw back and that gave her confidence. She turned to her side and floated forward into a thrust kick, but when he deftly sidestepped her boot she realized her mistake. Seconds later his fist crashing into her face and her bouncing along the hard mats to land in the far corner confirmed it. She reached up to her nose and to her surprise it was pouring blood and her eyes began to water from what may have been dislocated cartilage. She was shocked. A little disturbed. I mean, this was exactly what she wanted, and although he had been coming at her hard for the past few weeks, nothing like this. What the hell was going on here?
She felt bile and anger building up inside her at the same time, and she came up like thunder to confront the two, call them out, give them a piece of her mind. But when she looked across the ring Press was standing there, taped fists up in the air, her blood dripping from his right. He gave her a bit of a smirk and then a wink.
"You gonna do something about it, toots, or just stand there and bleed."
Munin's blood was boiling, and all thoughts of logic left her. She fell back into that place where only true warriors go. People who have scraped and fought and bitten and gouged. Not just for victory but to rise up out of the muck, to survive. And with all of that radiating out of her she charged back in, leaping into the air like a raven, her hand swiping hard at the enemy in front of her like a talon seeking to rend.
They were going to teach her to fight. Not for a wrestling match, but for her life.
Munin gave her greetings like she always did, but she wasn't stupid. She could tell something had changed in the air, and it wasn't the stale atmosphere of the unused arena. Youth wasn't his usual talkative self, instead keeping his conversation short and glib. When she finally got him to tell her what was going on, he pointed to the ring where Press was already standing inside and said that he would explain. The Big Man was taping his fists when she approached, and he gave her a curt nod when she bid him greeting. He sat on the middle rope like a gentleman to offer her a clear path into the ring, but when she turned to regard him he was all business.
"Press, is everything alright with you? You guys seem a bit tense."
Press chuckled gruffly and shook his head, reaching his hand up to bite the tape and rip it cleanly. He padded the last piece in place and then nodded in her direction.
"It's graduation day, Nin. Everything we've been doing up til now has been really good. Your speed is back. Your strength. You tapped me the other day, so obviously you know what you're doing. So now, we're going to try something different."
"Oh Yeah?" And as soon as the question left her lips he was lunging at her.
It took her brain a moment to register, but just in the nick of time she's able to side step as he comes to a halt at the ropes. She starts backing away but he whirls into a back fist that comes inches away from her nose and she finds herself backpedaling now with wide eyes. He plows forward to catch up to her and suddenly she finds herself on the ropes with nowhere to go. He brings his right fist barreling down in an overhead smash but she throws both her arms up in an 'X' to block it which leaves an opening for his other hand to snake in and grab her by the throat. All oxygen was suddenly cut off to her brain, his grip like a vice as it worked her neck muscles closed. Before she knew what was happening she was flying through the air to land hard against the mat, the impact bouncing her back up so that she could thankfully land on her feet, but here he came again. And he wasn't stopping.
She blocked an incoming right, then a left, and managed a few stiff kicks into his thigh of her own that seemed to knock him to the side. She surprised him with a headbutt to the chin that had him draw back and that gave her confidence. She turned to her side and floated forward into a thrust kick, but when he deftly sidestepped her boot she realized her mistake. Seconds later his fist crashing into her face and her bouncing along the hard mats to land in the far corner confirmed it. She reached up to her nose and to her surprise it was pouring blood and her eyes began to water from what may have been dislocated cartilage. She was shocked. A little disturbed. I mean, this was exactly what she wanted, and although he had been coming at her hard for the past few weeks, nothing like this. What the hell was going on here?
She felt bile and anger building up inside her at the same time, and she came up like thunder to confront the two, call them out, give them a piece of her mind. But when she looked across the ring Press was standing there, taped fists up in the air, her blood dripping from his right. He gave her a bit of a smirk and then a wink.
"You gonna do something about it, toots, or just stand there and bleed."
Munin's blood was boiling, and all thoughts of logic left her. She fell back into that place where only true warriors go. People who have scraped and fought and bitten and gouged. Not just for victory but to rise up out of the muck, to survive. And with all of that radiating out of her she charged back in, leaping into the air like a raven, her hand swiping hard at the enemy in front of her like a talon seeking to rend.
TO BE CONTINUED...
