Adumar
Cartann City, Uptop
Cartann City, Uptop
Claus felt his left foot slip then his knee buckle. He'd managed to parry the first attack, but the second had come out of nowhere. His eyes were wide with disbelief, he could not believe the power and speed this twig of a kid was capable of. It was inconceivable! Suddenly, a third hit crashed into his upheld blastsword and sent him squabbling backward tripping. His tangled legs fought one another for control and he toppled over landing on his ass with an audible, "Oof!" A roar of laughter swelled up from the rowdy crowd. The jumbotron lit up in a celebratory fashion as Leon Baudelaire's name scrolled across the screen.
1-0
The referee motioned for Claus to stand, which just so happened to be the exact moment he realized he was still on the ground, and he scrambled up in a panic. He gave his sword a little flourish as if to bolster his own confidence. The Ref called them to position and chopped the air starting the match.
Claus stabbed. The tip of his sword was batted away easily. He swiped and struck empty space, he feinted, slid, stabbed, cut, swiped, but nothing hit. Nothing was even close and the little bastard wasn't even looking at him. Clause followed his opponent's gaze carefully, never taking his full attention from Baudelaire. A man with close-cropped hair and a weathered face stood out immediately. His expression was made of granite. Claus frowned, then as if appearing out of thin air Leon was there teeth bared in a gritting smile as he delivered cross cut. Claus only just managed to get his guard up in time. His weapon was slammed into. The flat of the blade crashed against his shoulder, the impact jarred his grip and sent his hands buzzing.
Baudelaire's shoulder barged into him and he was sent, once again, scuttling backward off balance. However, instead of finishing the bout, his opponent simply flourished his weapon and beckoned Claus to come on. Rage bubbled up out of Claus Shaeider in a way that it never had before. The imperious little smirk tugging at the corners of this pompous little asshole's mouth, the languid stance. Baudelaire looked like he was bored out of his mind and that made Claus fly into a rage. As he charged he saw the smirk grow into a smile and as they collided Claus watched the world invert and felt gravity lose its hold on him as he was flipped out of the ring.
How? How had this happened? How had he been so completely, utterly, and embarrassingly defeated by a man child that was nearly ten ranks below him? His eyes finally began to focus as his concussed head came back online. His eyes met that of the grizzled stoic he could have sworn Leon was looking at earlier. There was something about the worry in the man's face... something guilty. That's when it hit. Leon Baudelaire was a CHEATER! That was the only explanation. The boy was a filthy no-good cheater and that stoney-faced bastard was in on it! As if to celebrate his revelation the crowd roared, finally the recognition he deserved, that is until he realized no one could hear what he was thinking and that his opponent was strutting around the ring taking bows.
"I'll prove you're a cheater you little shit!" he was muttering as the med unit showed up and began attending to him.
Downbelow
Murry's Pub
Murry's Pub
Leon sipped on his whiskey as his crew around him fawned. Normally, he'd be reveling in their compliments soaking up their adoration like a self-absorbed sponge, but his screaming match with Fearless in the locker room had cheapened his victory. Leon kissed his teeth as he won the newest fake argument upset he'd not made some of the points he'd just discovered, but in the back of his mind, there was a niggling sensation that Fearless was right. He finished his drink with a smack of his lips and let the burn wash away his remaining doubt. He was special. What was there to think about? Not using what made him special was asking him to deny part of himself! If he did that then it could contradict everything the older man had ever taught him!
"Bah!" he said suddenly cutting off whatever platitude was being lobbed in his direction. Suddenly, he didn't quite care for the gaggle of sycophants around him. His anger fueled by the whiskey he'd been drinking was starting to get hot.
"You good Le—"
"I'm fine." he snapped standing from the table.
He slipped his jacket on and made for the door without another word. The others were put off for a moment, but their desire for his attention outweighed any offense they may have felt. Even as he was walking out the door they were still calling out congratulations.
The pub door hissed open and Leon stepped into the Downbelow. The subterranean half of Cartann City, and the longstanding housing of the lower class. He loved it here. No pomp, no fake smiles, no bullshit. In the Downbelow people were just people.
"Ey, fuckoutta the way, kid," barked a delivery guy as he swerved around Leon on his scooter. Baudelaire lifted both hands in apologetic surrender and unsteadily made his way to the rail. he approached he saw a group of troopers file up the stairs. He panicked and slipped into a nearby alley. He watched them head in the opposite direction until they were out of site then rushed for the stairs.
In his haste, Leon missed the two figures lurking to the right of the entrance. As he descended they looked at one another and nodded.
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