Spike had survived the bear attack--but at what cost?
The warmly decorated infirmary resembled more of a hunting lodge (without the mounted game, thank goodness) than a hospital wing for damaged spellbreakers. It was clean and sterile, but gently lit, with a hearth covered in family photos, medical degrees, and--as Spike observed--several wartime decorations.
Mr. Wheeler, a red-headed bear of a man in his own right, scratched his beard and surveyed his patient. Spike hugged his thick legs into his equally thick chest in a gesture of resignation.
"Looks like he didn't break your ribs," Nurse Wheeler grunted. "Your spirit, however, is an entirely different matter."
Spike tugged his shirt back over his head. "I kinda wish he had broken me," he sighed. "I deserved it for cussin' at him."
Mr. Wheeler was a jovial sort, a strange cross between a rugged logger and Father Yule. He eschewed the standard nurse scrubs for a white apron draped over his flannel shirt.
"Aw, don't talk like that, kid," he laughed. "Listen. Spellbreakers bust each others chops all the time. And you kids always say dumb crap to each other." She shrugged. "Feelings get hurt. Bones get broken. Both can be mended with the right sorta treatment." He handed Spike a glass of water. "Here. Hydrate."
The dejected fighter graciously took the glass. "So, I should apologise again? But like...mean it?"
"Knowing Kengo, that'll be enough if you're sincere."
"Oh, he come in here a lot? Surprised to think a guy that big that gets injured so often."
"Hahaha." Mr. Wheeler shook his head, putting away his gauze and bandages. He'd wrapped Spike's ribs with kinesthesiology tape as a precaution. Spike accepted the measures, mostly because the wrappings made his pecs look even perkier than usual.
"No, kiddo, him and I go way back. He did me a very big solid about a year and some change ago. I scouted him out for Colt." He nodded to the window, in the direction of the canteen. "He's really grown, that one. He used to be a hell of a lot shyer, if you can believe it. That one has his own battles to wage, but he's a pure soul. I have a feeling Colt knew exactly what he was doing pairing you two together."
"Hm." Spike got stretched out his legs, making sure to give his tendons some well needed movement after that brawl. Could have been worse. Kengo was a machine. It was a good thing he was such a sweetheart.
Someday, I'll beat him fair and square , Spike vowed. "I shouldn't have taken out my anger on him just because I was losing." He shook his head, deeply angry that he'd lashed out. "I should have taken it out on myself."
"Er...no," Mr. Wheeler sighed. He'd dealt with some handfuls in his times, luckily, so this was far and away the most difficult patient he'd tended. "Look, kid. I'm prescribing you a hot meal and a slice of humble pie." He pointed to the cafeteria, a few yards away. "Go out there and be gracious, okay?"
He was correct. Self pity wasn't going to make this right. Funny though, Spike realized--he'd rather fight a million bears than have to confront someone and own up to his faults! Spellbreaking was easy. Responsibility? Not so much...
Spike slammed an oily, paper bag down in front of Kengo. He was, at present, half-heartedly finishing a salmon poke bowl.
"This is an apology," Spike said, eyes downcast. He took the seat across from his roommate.
Kengo looked down at the bag, frowned, and then glanced up at Spike. "Those are churros."
"No, I meant..." Spike tried to find the right words, but he choked. He briefly scanned the barebones cafeteria, smelling of grilled meat, roast vegetables, and other protein-rich and nutritious foods. There was Blue Dragon, a few rows back, prattling on to a perplexed Calypso as he shyly scratched the back of his neck beneath his ornate mask. Sitting at the end of their row, Gio flipped through the pages of an Italian comic book ("The Bound Barbarian in the Jungle of the Lust Queen") while doing a bicep curl with his free hand. A rather androgynous and attractive person with pink, voluminous hair, strutted confidently past him. They adjusted the zipper on their studded leather jacket, gave Spike an intriguing look, yawned, and then proceeded to help themselves to the salad bar.
Spike narrowed his eyes, feeling somewhat star struck. Wow. They're...pretty. Or handsome? ...Both? Wonder who they are?
Kengo waved his large hand in front of Spike's face. "You were explaining the churros?"
Spike shook his head--apparently he was just as good at apologies as he was at spellbreaking, which was to say, all flash and no substance. "The churros are part of the apology. Look, I was a real heel back there, and I'm trying to be a babyface. I was just upset in the moment and panicked because I was losing. I got mad at you when you were just fighting fair." He sighed. "And you're a really good fighter, Kengo."
The handsome sumo regarded him for a moment. A moment, perhaps, too long. Spike's anxiety began gnawing away at his self-esteem.
"Oh," Kengo said. He shrugged. "Okay. Thank you. You are forgiven."
Spike cocked his head to the side, trying not to stare at the pink-haired spellbreaker standing in the lunch line. They had since placed a pair of headphones over their ears and was now tapping their feet, tray in hand, patiently waiting for Lucinda to serve them.
"What? Really?" Spike averted his eyes, just as the person in leather jacket met theirs. "Wow, it's that easy with you, huh?"
Spike's roommate--and, apparently, a saint--smiled at them. "My faith teaches us not to hold grudges. Well, mostly because they say if you die with grudges you come back as an evil ghost, and that sounds stressful..." He meditated on this grim thought for a moment longer, before waving it away and resuming his cheery disposition. "Friends?"
Anxiety unravelled inside Spike's chest like a ball of yarn, and he breathed a sigh of relief. "Ah Kengo, you king!" With those worries slayed, Spike's needs shifted back to... what else? Food. His stomach rumbled, as he suddenly remembered he was sitting inside a cafeteria.
Even so, Spike pictured Colt's handsome, scowling face inside his head. You wanna fess up and address the real issue here, bud?
Spike didn't, but it would probably help to get Kengo's opinion. He was obviously full of insight.
Pushing a tiny crumb on the table around with his fingertip, Spike perched his chin on his free hand and spelled everything out for his lovely roommate. "I think I just get really frustrated when I lose. Makes me feel...incapable. Like I'm not good enough."
This revelation appeared to come as a genuine shock to the heavyset fighter sitting across from the scrappy pinup boy. "But losing is part of life! Not even Colt has won always."
Duh. Kengo might as well have taken that book he was reading and slammed it across Spike's forehead. Spike had totally forgotten that even his hero, the best spellbreaker there ever was--and his new teacher, to boot--had accumulated a few losses during his tenure.
"Oh yeah, huh." Spike tried to gather his thoughts. It wasn't easy, as 'thoughts' were not his strong suit. "Guess I feel like the spotlight is always on me, Ken. When I was a little trouble maker, felt like everything bad that happened at the home was my fault!" He tapped his finger against his temple. "Which I guess half the time was true, but still..."
"When you were a trouble maker?" Kengo asked, eyebrows raised. He gave Spike a cheeky grin. "Maybe I am having trouble with my English tenses, but do you not mean that are you still a trouble maker?"
"Very funny, wise guy," Spike pouted. "Heh. Guess I deserved that though."
Kengo nodded, though it was well intended. "You say you have the problem of being in the spotlight. Hmmm. Could it be also that you were...hmm...what is the word you said...a calendar slut?"
"You mean pinup boy?" Spike said, trying not to burst into laughter. "Well, yeah. I guess when you want everyone's attention all the time, and you feel like all eyes are on you, the pressure of fuckin' up is kinda always there too!"
"Hmmm. Perhaps I shall teach you to meditate." With that said, Kengo held his meaty forearm across the table and extended his hand to Spike. "Let us do an exchange of spirit!"
Spike's eyes travelled from Kengo's hand up to his face. Exchange what? But...we're roommates! "What does that mean?"
"I shall teach you how to be humble. And you can teach me to be...er...less shy. It is hard for me to be social. I have to translate everything in my head first before I say it in English, and it is hard for me to express how I feel. I am afraid people will think I am not intelligent."
Awww, so he has insecurities too! This was a relief. "Buddy, I promise you, next to me anybody is a damn Einstein." He laughed, trying to ignore his stomach's demands. That mango grilled chicken over there in the pan looked better than sex. Well, almost better.
Restrain...impulses. Show...Kengo you...can listen. "All of that sounds like a good idea, big guy!" There. Another item crossed off the list. Roommate relations restored. Almost, anyway. There was still one more lingering question, and it was arguably more important than the giant serving of mango chicken Spike was about to demolish in just a few seconds...
Spike allowed himself to demonstrate his lack of magical knowledge. Most of the magi he'd encountered were your standard elemental variety, which made sense, as the six basic elements--or 'fundaments'--made up the world. But 'spirit' was a rare one, or at least rare in Spike's neck of the woods.
"So, your scary bear ghost friend..." Spike lowered his voice, pointing to his back, right about where Kengo's tattoo sat. "He can hear me, right?"
"Yes," Kengo said.
"Okay. And like, does he talk to you in a way where I can't hear him?"
"Yes."
The big man really kept his cards close to his chest, didn't he? Spike nodded. "Got it. Got it. And is he...still angry with me?"
"Yes," Kengo said blankly. "Minoru is my protector. Sometimes, he is over protective. He will warm up to you." He shrugged. "Maybe." Relaxed, and clearly in a better mood now, Kengo opened up the paper bag and soaked in the sweet scent of cinnamon, butter, and fat. "Mmmm. Thanks for the churros, roomie."
"He won't...come out and eat me in my sleep, will he?"
Kengo just took out a churro, bit it in half, and kept smiling while chewing.
"...Right."
"Oh," Kengo said, swallowing. "I should mention that I can sometimes snore really loud."
"Hadn't noticed," Spike lied. He was still not over the fact that he now slept right above a giant spirit bear that could rend him in twain at any given moment..
"I will get you ear plugs!" Kengo suggested. Behind him, Blue Dragon let out an excited yell, and sped out of the cafeteria, leaving Calypso glancing around in utter confusion. "I am also working on finding a treatment with Nurse Wheeler. He is an old friend of mine."
Spike had wondered about that. Mr. Wheeler, like Kengo, had a pleasant aura, and so much more lurking beneath the surface. "Yes, he mentioned that to me when he was checking me out after you nearly turned my ribcage into jelly"
"Hehe! You are fun to bear hug. You make cute noises." Grinning, Kengo held up his arms and made a squeezing motion, making Spike flinch. "Mr. Wheeler is a special person. He was there when I met Minoru."
As Spike took in all this information, Kengo rolled up the bag of churros, put his book on his tray, and stood up. He was a mountain of man! "I am sorry to go so quickly, but I have to get back to my studies."
Spike stood out of politeness, but really he just wanted to get in line before Lucinda closed up the cafeteria for the afternoon. "Oh, you are studying more than spellbreaking, huh?"
"Yeah, I'm studying to be a nurse! I have spellbreaking classes and then nursing classes."
"Wow, you must be busy."
"I like it." Kengo smiled. "See you later, Spike. Thanks for the churros."
He really was a big sweetie. Content that he'd actually made progress, Spike eagerly turned back towards the lunch line...only to find that pink-haired punk had snatched the last piece of chicken!
The (quite attractive) classmate turned to Spike and gave him a quizzical glance, and with an immaculately shaped eyebrow raise at that. "Hm?"
Spike grimaced. "Er...never mind..." It was then that Spike realized how much muscle they were hiding beneath that heavy leather jacket. Who was this person!?
After giving Spike a dark glance, as if to say 'you snooze, you lose,' the tall spellbreaker's expression changed. They looked at Spike as if he were the piece of chicken, then licked their lips. "Que fofo..."
They walked away with a confident air that Spike instantly envied...and somewhat feared.
Left in the dust, and hungry to boot, Spike moped anew. Did...they just check me out? "And who the fuck is 'fofo'?"
Colt had chosen to utilize the training ring room as a makeshift assembly hall. Spike sat on the bleachers, just like earlier that day, but now wedged between Rosa and Kengo. He was now sufficiently exhausted, and glad that this was the rookie class' last scheduled 'item' of the day.
Mashed potatoes and meatloaf were nowhere near as tasty as that mango chicken would have been, Spike thought, lamenting a love that had gotten away. Still, he was full for now. Content even.
After wheeling out a whiteboard, Colt whistled, signalling for the class to shut up and pay attention. He never needed to whistle more than once. Colt was a nice guy, but he had...well...the look.
"Is Buck really well behaved," Spike whispered as his peers started hushing down.
Rosa cringed. "Everywhere but in private," she whispered. "He's a standup guy, for the most part. Good head on his shoulders. Maybe too much of a perfectionist, but...let's just say, if this place lit up on fire, I'd trust him to get everyone out in an orderly fashion." She looked at Colt, arms folded and toe-tapping impatiently. "And if the place ever did catch fire, it was probably because our dear leader accidentally started it."
Spike didn't doubt that. Colt definitely had that retired legend's air about him, but wrapped up in the personality, and power, of an enormous golden retriever that hadn't yet grasped the limits of its own strength. Still, there was no doubt that his captivating oration in the ring extended to his tutelage.
"The Global Spellbreaking Alliance is a federation first and foremost," Colt said, fidgeting with the cap on his dry erase marker. "We have about fifty or so spellbreakers signed at any given time, which includes y'all green-horns staring goggle-eyed at me right now. Our goal here at the GSA is perfecting and enhancing talent. My view is learning never stops." He pointed to the ring behind him. "Even our champion trains here sometimes." There was a sudden starriness in his eyes at the word 'champion'.
Spike raised. "Um, and who is the ch--"
"Save your questions for the end, hotfoot," Colt said, cutting him off. He turned to the whiteboard and made a thick line--uncomfortably crooked--with his dry erase marker. Then three more above it. Then, after making his audience wait while he grumbled with some terribly drawn star shapes in brown, silver, gold, and platinum. Well...more like brown, gray, yellow, and the black outline of a big star on top of the chart, but everyone knew Colt was trying his best.
Colt tapped the bottom of this haphazardly crafted hierarchical chart. "So, first tier is you lot. The rookies. You gotta' earn your stars. Getting to bronze is fairly straightforward. You just got to beat one of your peers in a match to move on to the next level. Which brings me to another important point. There's no going backwards in this system, only forward. You lose. You get up again. It just means you gotta' train more. That is, unless you're defending our Platinum Star belt as GSA champion."
Spike nodded, and grew quite concerned when he realized Kengo was taking notes. Should be taking notes too? Not that it was incredibly hard to follow, even for him. Spike had been wondering how advancement would work since he got here, but now it just sounded like a lot of work!
Colt spoke with broad hand gestures. "In order to go from bronze to silver, you need to beat one of our silver stars. Then, from there, you gotta beat at least 5 silvers plus reach at least a year's worth of training. Every win scores you points. The more points you got, the more I send you out there for filmed shows--so please understand that in my ring, merit is all that matters. Don't care how much money you have, where you come from, the color of your skin, who you love, if the inside matches the outside, or what's between your legs--spellbreaking is spellbreaking and you're as good as you are. And once you get to gold star level...well, you gotta beat the champ, as that's the only advancement left at that point."
"Question!" Spike piped up again.
Colt tensed his shoulders and placed a palm to his forehead. "Yes, Mr. Waterford?"
"Who is the GSA champion anyway?"
Around him, Spike's classmates snickered, most of all Cian, sitting in the back room.
Colt frowned. "You mean...as big as fan as spellbreaking as you are, you tellin' me you don't even watch our matches, boy?"
"WHAT! No, I do, it's just..." Spike stumbled for an answer. Put on the spot twice in one day? Far too much. "Okay, I mostly like the classics, for one. And also...well...I've been out of the loop for awhile. All those years in the Navy, we really didn't get much sit-down television time, ya know?"
"That's okay," Colt said, warmly. He turned to his other students. "Folks, do Spike a favor...don't tell him who the champ is. Let him find out on his own!"
"WHAT!? That's not fair." Betrayed by his own teacher, no less! Spike narrowed his eyes at Colt, knowing it was probably unwise. "Wait, it's not you is it?"
"Flattered to think so, but I don't compete for glory no more, boy. Just for fun. And to be frank with you...it's been awhile. Might need to do some training myself to be honest. On that note, you can expect a whole slew of seminars and guest teachers in the coming months, including my personal hero and friend, Mr. Iron."
"Coach!" Spike exclaimed.
Several rows behind him, Spike heard Cian muttering to himself. "Does this lad ever shut up?"
Finished with the whiteboard, Colt capped the marker and missed placing it back on the board by just an inch. He let it fall to the floor and pretended nobody--that is, all of his students looking directly at him--had noticed.
"Yeah, I thought you'd like to hear that, blondie." He cleared his throat. "Now, even though you're all competing with each other, remember that you're still peers. Help each other out. Learn from each other. Try...to keep relations professional. If you catch my drift."
For some reason, Spike felt it necessary to avert his eyes.
It didn't work. "Yes, I'm looking at you, calendar boy. Anyhow, that brings me to a topic you're bound to find exciting. Next weekend we have our first investors gala at the Hotel Vermillion. It's a fancy shindig, so Rosa and Buck have taken the reigns in ordering you all appropriate, cocktail attire. And you will be on your best behavior, you hear? And yes, I am looking at you again, Spike."
Around him, Spike's class snickered at his expense. He sulked. How did I become the class clown this quickly?
The cowboy king of the ranch pulled up a folding chair, and for a brief, shining moment, Spike hoped Colt might slam it across his head and end his embarrassment. Instead, he sat down with the backing facing him, in the manner of a teacher trying to relate to his students.
"If I can level with y'all...it's a very important night. Not just for me, but for all of us. Reps from both the International Commission will be there to decide this year's championship dates and venue. Also, our...rival fed, Firebird--"
"BOOO!!!!" shouted everyone in unison. Especially Cian.
"Good response, kids! Yes, those guys will be there. Don't go startin' trouble with them. Those guys and gals have a way of...provoking reactions. With that said, it's been a long day, and y'all are free to do whatever it is you do when I don't got my eyes on you." Colt took a moment to make sure Spike knew he was still in his sights. "Oh and if I didn't stress it enough before. Best. Behavior. Okay, now scram. We got drills tomorrow and I don't want you bellyaching over not getting enough sleep--rest is important, and if anybody guilts you for not taking five, I'll piledrive them all to hell! Get out of here and treat yourself kindly, you grunts!"
With that out of the way, Colt sat up, kicked the chair clear over the ring ropes, struck a pose, and made for the exit. "I still got it!"
Some of the trainees were content to leave as soon as possible, but most of them lingered behind to discuss their plans for the big night. Spike, however, sat in discontentment, turning to Rosa for support.
"Aw, why does Colt gotta single me out like that, Rosie? Makes me feel like a lousy bastard!"
No sooner had those words escaped his lips, than Colt poked his head around the corner and pointed a very firm and scary finger in Spike's direction, voice booming like a thunder god. "Samuel Anthony Waterford, if I hear you cussing like a sailor at this ball, I'm gonna tan your hide! And I'm privy to your work; there's a LOT of hide to tan." He ducked out. For a moment, anyway, before he re-emerged. "And NO, you won't enjoy it!" He made a slit-throat motion with his fingers and left his pupils to their own devices.
Spike groaned. "My hero has become my bully. It's not even as as hot as I thought it'd be..."
But all of this was par the course for Rosa, who had been with the GSA for quite some time, and was already Bronze Star level. The dark haired girl shrugged. "What do you expect? Colt has high standards. You should see how high he sets the bar for Buck."
"His own kid?" Spike asked, shocked.
"Yeah. We rarely see him because he's always busy running things behind the show."
That made sense to Spike. Granted, he'd only met Buck briefly, but he seemed the type who knew the score. Mostly because he exuded confidence and...he had glasses. It was probably tough being the son of a famous athlete, and not having magick of one's own. Spike didn't envy Buck's position.
Turning to the subject of the upcoming gala--a concept that Spike could barely comprehend--the New Yorker tapped his roommate on the shoulder. "Kengo, will you be my date to the ball? I'm not used to these fancy occasions, and it would be nice to have a buddy come with."
"Oh..." Kengo started, sadly. "Sorry, Spike, but I have permission not to go. I have a big test to study for."
Spike bit his lip. "Ah, got it. Rosa, what about you?"
"Buck already asked me out. Sorry." The changing color of her cheeks betrayed her, just as she looked away.
Spike was positively green with envy. A handsome buck like Buck? Lucky girl. It didn't matter who Spike's army candy was--it wasn't like it needed to be a real date, of course. He just didn't want go it alone.
He looked behind him. "Blue Dragon? BD? What about you?"
The handsome, masked fighter looked like he was on another plane of existence. Complete bliss. "Bro, I asked Calypso and she said yes!"
So that's what that commotion in the cafeteria was about, Spike thought. Though he was happy for BD--mostly because he could picture him and Calypso making a hot couple--he was starting to panic.
He noted the swarthy, skinny, young man trying to creep out of his peripheral. "Sanjay?"
The too-smart fighter froze in his tracks, flashing Spike a sheepish grin. "I'm actually barbacking for Gio."
"Oh, nice! Have you two gotten tested recently?"
"BARbacking," Sanjay blurted out, mortified. "Gio is a wine buff. He likes to bartend. He's really good at it too! And I'm trying to score some extra training lessons with him since he's an Earth magi like me." Sanjay lowered his voice, nodding (without looking) to the muscular red-head shuffling out the door. "You could...in theory...try asking Cian?"
Spike blanched. "In theory, I could also tray eating the gum stuck underneath the training ring, but it doesn't mean I will! And I'd probably have a much better time doing just that. Sure, Cian is beefy and has giant thighs and a great butt and a bulge that could shame a wild stallion...but his personality is despicable!" He stuck out his tongue and gagged, to drive the point home.
Sanjay shrugged, and left Spike to his own devices. As did Kengo, Rosa, and everyone else. Spike, sitting by himself--not exactly an uncommon occurrence in his life--stared at this reflection in the mirror on the opposite of the ring.
"Well. No date for good ol' Spike I guess!" he laughed, sadly. "That's okay. I'll be my own date!" He stood up and turned, posing for himself. "Wow, nice ass. Oh stop, it! But go on! You wanna get out of here and go back to my place, sexy?"
Spike stared at his reflection. The door slammed shut. A punctuation mark. Reality started sinking in.
"Oh no...I really am starting to lose it."
To Be Continued!
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