“Silly, pathetic, little boy.”
A red boot slammed into Spike’s chest at exactly “fuck-you” miles per hour, sending the Sailorboy straight into the ropes. The audience—that is, the good folks of San Antonio—didn’t even have time to gasp. The boyishly handsome, model blonde bounced off the ropes and straight into his opponent’s trap.
Reina Rosa, The Queen of Thorns, wore her hair in a tight ponytail, clipped with—what else?—a rose. With painted red lips, smoky eyes, and a wicked smile, she cut an intimidating figure. She also hit like a damn truck. As soon as dazed Spike fell forward, she grabbed him by the arms, pulled him straight over head, and slammed his pretty head straight into the canvas.
“And that’s how you do it!” she laughed, whipping her ponytail back in triumph. "Man, I love hurting cute boys. Am I right, ladies?" She winked to the women in the audience, who erupted in a hearty cheer. Their boyfriends slowly cowered away.
“Agh!” Spike groaned, tasting canvas. “I knew I shouldn’t have picked out those boots for you.” He moaned with agony. "They...really match your outfit, completing a feminine but otherwise dangerous and modern look." He spat blood onto the mat.
The Queen of Thorns scowled mischievously at her prey. “Should have probably mentioned this to you before you got in the ring with me...” She stopped short, and kicked Spike right in the side, stomping her thick, shiny boots down on his ribs. “But I’m a heel.”
Spike coughed spittle. “Rosa, I thought we were friends.”
“Oh, we are.” The fighter in red tugged on her leotard strap and held out her hand. Spike looked up just in time to see her eyes flash bright green, an unearthly glow. From out of the aether, a thorny vine—not unlike a whip—appeared in her hands. “But you know how it is with friends sometimes!”
With a well-timed flick of her wrist, the Queen of Thorns whipped Spike across his pale, white back—tearing open skin and lining his unmarred flesh with red, swollen welts.
“AGH!” Spike screamed. He tumbled further to get away from the next lash, barely dodging the thorny assault. "I thought I'd pegged you for a gentlewoman!"
"You're not the one who's gonna get pegged tonight if I have my way."
In the audience, Spike’s friends and fellow trainees watched the fight with bated breath. Sanjay, wearing a Calavera Escarlata t-shirt, turned to Dragon Azul and whispered, “Is it wrong that I find this really hot?”
The masked, young man gulped. "What's hot about it?"
"Oh, I mean nothing! There's nothing at all arousing about a thick, curvy, muscular Latina stomping her big, red boots into the back of a slightly feminine--but very muscular--beautiful, whiteboy and making him squirm and squeal like a little piggy. I definitely wouldn't want to be in Spike's position right now! No, sir!"
“I mean…if you’re into it bro.”
“I’m not saying I am!” Sanjay stammered back. He coughed. “But I am.”
For Dragon, it was more stressful than entertaining. “I don’t know who to root for, bro! These are our friends!”
For Cian, holding up a sign portraying a giant boot stomping down a stick-figure version of Spike, it was a bit more obvious where his allegiances lay. “MAKE HIM BLEED, MY QUEEN!”
“Cian,” Sanjay said, trying to tune out Spike’s yelps from the ring, “do you like watching Spike get brutalized by dominant women? Or would you rather do the brutalizing!”
“Er…I plead the fifth.”
“That’s…not how that works.”
"I'm not from this country, boyo, I don't know what laws are!" Cian grunted. "Eyes forward and watch the match. I'm waiting for that pretty punk to start crying for mercy!"
Kengo held his bucket of popcorn closer to his chest. “I am afraid for Spike! I didn’t know Rosa was so scary!”
By now, Rosa had Spike tangled up in her thorny vines, completely binding his hands and feet, intertwining her rose branches with the ring ropes. There was nowhere for Spike to go. The runes woven into the rope glowed green trying to absorb Rosa’s plant magick, as Spike struggled pitifully to free himself. It was no use. The thorns only dug deeper. His fair skin now ran with blood, a scene not unlike a Renaissance painting of a saint mid-martyrdom.
The Sailorboy glared defiantly at his opponent, taking her time walking over to her intended victim. “That shade of lipstick is tacky.” He spat more blood onto the canvas.
The audience simultaneously let out a collective, “Oooooh,” recoiling in fear of what the rose-wielding amazon would do to her foe now.
“It’s a great shade and you know it,” she said nonchalantly, before slapping Spike across the cheek with an open hand.
Spike groaned. “Yeah, okay, I was lying. It’s a bold yet classic lip.”
“I’ll make your lips red too!” Rosa snarled, hitting him again. “Red from the blood!"
“Your trash talk needs work,” Spike said, wincing. Seriously the thorns in the side of his soft bits were not fun.
“Oh?” The beautiful spellbreaker raised her eyebrow. “How about my chops?”
WHAP!
Rosa struck Spike on the chest, leaving behind a red handprint.
“How about another one!”
WHAP!
Spike’s brow glistened with sweat, even as he tried biting down on his tongue to keep from screaming. “Be careful, Rosa. You don’t want to awaken something in me. Last thing you need is two bisexual men making your life difficult.”
Rosa made a quick motion with her hands, tightening her vines even more. Spike’s body ran red with rivers of blood. “I would give up now, if I were you, handsome.”
Truthfully, Spike did want to give up. He moaned, almost sexually. He looked up into his pretty opponent’s eyes. “You’re just afraid I’ll steal your man from you.”
This time, Rosa elbowed Spike directly in the face, eliciting another reaction from the crowd. When she pulled back her arm, hoping to Spike’s unconscious head lolling into his chest, all she saw was him smiling right at her.
And the blue, radiant glow now emitting from his body. His baby-blue eyes intensified, before glowing intense orange. The burning silhouette of his glyph appeared behind his dilating pupils.
Rosa's jaw dropped. How had she fallen for it?! Even she had to crack a smile. “You son of—”
“RAGGGH!” Spike’s muscles, imbued with the kinetic force of Rosa’s physical assault, bulged against her tight thorns. This is really gonna suck, he thought. Lucky for him, his glyph’s activation help dull the thorns' bite. Spike flexed all his muscles at once, ripping through the vines like they were made of paper. He breathed deeply, sweat and blood dripping onto the canvas. The soma coursing through his system sealed up his wounds in rapid time. He had gone from bound, beautiful boy to muscle beast in an instant.
The crowd popped.
Rosa covered her mouth, in shock. “Oh crap…”
Spike, fully recovered, gave her his standard goofy grin. “Ok. Let’s dance!”
Spike shot to his knees, grabbing Rosa under her thigh and hoisting her up onto his back. The plant magi tried to summon her vines, but she realized right away that her magick was tapped. She’d channelled all of her energy into binding and holding Spike, and then used her physical stamina beating him down, failing to realize he was deliberately goading her into feeding him the reactive force that his magick thrived on.
Up until now, strategy hadn't really been Spike’s strong suit. Had he…actually been paying attention in class?
"I can't lost to a himbo!" Rosa spat.
“I hate to do this to ya,” Spike said, holding his struggling opponent aloft, “but I gotta get that Bronze Star!”
He didn’t waste time pumping his energy into his muscles, jumping into the air and slamming Rosa straight back down into the mat. The ground shook. She wasn’t knocked out, but there was no chance of her getting up after that. He hooked her legs for the pin, the ref counting her out. She kicked out...one second too late.
The bell rang. Somewhere out in the audience, Cian lowered his sign in dismay.
“Unnnhhhh,” Rosa moaned, coming to her senses. She looked upward at Spike as the ref held his hand up for the victory. To his confusion, she sniffed the air. “Wait…is that the cologne I gave you?”
Spike blushed, nodded to the ref, and offered his hand to the spellbreaker in red. “Of course,” he said. "It's my favorite."
She eyed his friendly gesture, smirked, and took it, letting him pull her up onto her feet. The crowd “awwwed.”
Somewhere in a private booth, Colt the Bolt leaned back, took a sip of his whisky, and said, “Now them’s good ratings. Well done, kids. You made dad proud.”
At they exited the ring together, Rosa scratched the back of her neck awkwardly. She leaned into Spike. “For a second there, I thought you might…y’know…sit on on my face for the pin. Like you usually do?”
“Nah,” Spike said, ducking through the ropes. He let her help him down to the ground. “I’m a gentleman when it comes to broads.”
“Oh…haha...right! I’m kinda disappointed…”
The two spellbreakers retreated backstage. Attendants handed them paper cups of water, as well as towels. Both Spike and Rosa were very gracious.
Spike took a seat on a chair, trying not to let exhaustion show on his face, and eyed the muscular luchador stretching not far to his right. “Sorry if I was a bit rough back there,” he said, laughing.
“Rough! Chico, I just made you bleed from at least sixteen parts of your body! Don’t apologize.” She slapped him playfully on his meaty thigh. “Besides, I already got my Bronze. Now you got yours! You made me one proud mama.”
“That’s right!” Spike shouted, bolting up from his chair, knocking it back to the floor. His eyes gleamed. “That means I’m not a rookie anymore!” He turned to the luchador in the green mask, who awkwardly gave him a thumbs up in response.
“Psss. Do you know that guy?” Spike asked Rosa.
She rolled her eyes. “Spike, it’s not like I know every luchador just because of my family.” She paused. “But his name is Super Lizard. My cousin trained with him. Miserably straight. Sorry.”
“Ah, see, this is why you’re my wing woman!”
“And your ring woman,” she winked. Her attention shifted to somewhere behind Spike. It was only perceptible because he knew her, but Rosa’s eyes lit up with a subtle glint. “And speaking of hunks…”
Buck Tamberly, dressed in his usual ‘baseball cap couture” as Rosa called it, came dashing over. “You guys! That was amazing!” He removed his cap and ran a hand through his ‘boyband’ haircut, the ‘wave’ of slightly longer hair that always fell across his brow. Spike warmly referred to as his ‘fwoop’.
Buck turned on his father’s charm. “It was also very, very hot. If anything, I’m the real winner tonight.” He glanced wolfishly at his would-be-girlfriend. “So about those vines, babe.”
“Not tonight, guapo.” Rosa patted her belly. “I’m starving. Sailor Kid here gave me a workout.”
Spike blushed, despite every effort to remain cool and collected. Beyond the victory—which was amazing, of course—he found himself far more content with the aftermath. Hanging backstage with Buck, Rosa, and the other guys had become his favorite part beyond the actual spellbreaking. He’d experienced moments of comradery in the Navy before, here or there, but always under the guise of a grunt. A few months into fighting alongside the GSA, Spike almost forgot what it was like to be lonely. He’d tried forging makeshift families for most of his life. This one, made up of colorful weirdos and fellow himbos, was starting to look like the most promising one yet.
Now, to make them all proud.
As Spike got up to go and hit the showers—maybe that hot luchador would be there—Buck tapped him on the shoulder. “Oh, by the way, S-man. Check out the cafeteria tomorrow.” His sly smile could barely contain his excitement. Vague as he was. “I haven’t forgotten our gala conversation…”
“So, you and Kengo all patched up?” Sanjay pointedly asked Spike.
Spike slammed his tray down onto the cafeteria table. It was the trail end of the lunch period, and the cafeteria was mostly empty. Sanjay, chewing on a green apple, barely lifted his eyes up from his book. Geomancy: Make the Earth Turn for You.
Spike held his head high and meditated on the question. “Hmmm. Well, that is a loaded question. I suppose we have come to a cordial and civil arrangement.”
From the other side of the room, Kengo, in his favorite baseball team’s shirt, threw the door open with gusto. He locked eyes with Spike.
His face lit up!
“Koguma-chan!”
“Big bear!”
The two roommates sprinted towards each other, winning several annoyed glances from their fellow spellbreakers just trying to eat their meals in peace.
Spike met his buddy in the center of the cafeteria. “Come here, sumo stud!” He dropped to a playful grappling stance.
The sexy sumo barrelled on ahead. “Rawwwr!!”
The unstoppable force and the unmovable object collided, but Spike kept his ground, pushing his roomie—and best friend—back. Even Kengo had to anchor his back foot to keep himself grounded.
“I got ya!” Spike shouted triumphantly.
It was a fleeting victory. The sound of a wooden spoon rapidly tapping on metal turned both men’s attention towards the scowling, middle aged woman leering from behind the cafeteria counter.
Lucinda placed one hand on her hip and brandished her wooden spoon like a wand. “Not in my cafeteria, niños!” Her lips curled into a snarl as she pointed her spoon in the direction of the exit. “This is spellbreaking school, not clown school. You want to do that? Afuera!”
Spike grinned innocently at her. He nodded for Kengo to take a seat next to him.
“What...did he call you?” Sanjay asked. He rid himself of his apple core by conjuring a hand made of dust, throwing the discarded husk of fruit into the nearest trash bin.
Kengo beamed back at the Earth magi. “It means bear cub,” he said. He helped himself to one of Spike’s offered French fries. “Hey, Spike, you are getting stronger!”
“Aw, really? I guess I have been putting the work in, huh?” He thought back to his match with Rosa. He wouldn’t have been able to bust out of her vines if he hadn’t concentrated his efforts into both lifting and magickal studies. It was odd. Was this rare, elusive thing called ‘discipline’ actually paying off?
“Oh, look at that!”
Spike’s eyes followed Kengo’s eyes towards the colourful, brightly lit object standing against the wall in the back of the room. A shiny, polished jukebox—with hue-cycling glass siding—and a crystal clear window, sat where one of Buck’s monstera plants had presided glumly over tired and hungry warriors only days prior.
Spike felt a swelling of excitement rise up in his chest. “A-a-a jukebox?” It had been ages since he’d last seen one. They were staple of diners everywhere back home. Out here in the outskirts though, they were hard to come by. “It’s…so...beautiful.”
So, this was the treat Buck had promised! That absolute stud. But it couldn’t be just for me, could it? Nah. But what if…?
Kengo followed his roommate—looking like a kid in a candy store—to the music machine. “Do you know how to dance, Spike?”
“Just ‘The Twist’,” Spike admitted, a little embarrassed. He salivated over the freshly pressed vinyls waiting to be placed on their rightful dais. Sweet, sweet liquorice pizza.
“Hmmm.” Kengo tapped his finger to his chin. “I thought hunky guys like you always knew how to dance.”
He’s too kind. And yet…strangely insulting. “Ah, well. For a guy with an incredibly desirable body such as myself, I dance like a drunk uncle at a wedding. I suppose the Mother giveth and She taketh away.” He scanned the records for anything tasty, pressing the arrow button to shuffle the LPs over to the next page.
Sure enough…
“Oh what? Wow! They got my entrance music!” Spike pointed to the record. ‘Roundhouse Rock’.
Curious as to what the fuss was about, Rosa—clutching a protein drink—came over to investigate the new machine. “Hey, and mine's there too. That Buck…” She said her (and Spike’s) crush’s name with a wistful sigh. Still, Spike picked up on her face change.
The sailorboy queued up his title song and tried to see if he could suss out his good friend’s mood. “Hm?”
“Oh, it’s nothing.”
The cafeteria filled with peppy rock-and-roll swing, full of honky-tonk guitar and raucous saxophone accompaniment. It livened the atmosphere, with the juke just audible enough over the chatter without drowning it out. No doubt, the ideal volume had been meticulously calibrated by Buck and his near-obsessive perfectionism. He didn’t half-ass anything.
The roommates returned to their table. Kengo bobbed his head along to the music. “Your entrance music is so spirited, Spike. It really reflects your personality. I am still trying to choose mine.”
Spike grinned, pulled back his white t-shit, and gave his roomie his signature single-bicep flex. He sat down, content on digging into his cheeseburger—extra pickles. “Rockabilly is my favorite style of music, handsome bear! It suits the pinup look, you know?”
Suddenly, the music stopped. After a brief pause, it was replaced by furious electric guitar, bordering on heavy metal. A smooth, androgynous, and deeply alluring voice crooned out the lyrics: I am your fire, your angel from hell. Taking you higher, under my spell.
Spike winced. “Hey—what’s the big idea?” He whipped his head towards the jukebox, ready to glare cold-steel into whatever piece of garbage had dared interrupt not only one of the best rockabilly bops in the genre, but the entrance music to Spllbreaking’s sexiest newcomer...HIM! Sailorboy Spike! The Pinup Prince!
Wait, it’s—
Their back was turned, but Spike recognized them straight away—and not just because of their distractingly firm backside. Feathery, long, pink hair—held back by a black headband—fell over a black cut-off shirt, hiding what appeared to be an array of sculpted, toned muscle. In big, white block print: “I’m such a f***ing Libra”—the equivalent constellation outlined beneath the words, cracked like shattered glass, with one star askew.
Beneath that, they wore a pink tartan kilt, barely concealing their massive, long legs, which ended in pairs of polished, black Doc Martin’s. Real ‘ass kicking’ boots.
The musical intruder braced their hands (black nail polish, spiked cuffs) on the jukebox’s black top, swaying seductively to the music. They swivelled around, tossing their hair back, and lip-syncing for the amusement of the cafeteria. All eyes were glued to them….and they knew it, eye-fucking the crowd as they were.
Those bedroom eyes zeroed in on Spike, scowling at his seat. “Heh…”
That was enough. Spike, already annoyed that his song had been rejected by this punk dandy, covered their ears with their hands and groaned, loud enough for everyone to hear over the music. “Ugh, what is this crap?
*Record scratch*
The canteen let out a collective gasp.
Over by the juke, the pink-haired menace lifted their hand off the needle, letting it drop. They balled their free hand into a fist, knuckles turning white. They trembled with rage.
Spike looked around, innocently. “What. What?” Nobody dared make eye contact with him. “Why’s...everyone bein' so fuckin’ weird?”
“Hmmm.” The stranger turned around, this time facing Spike directly. They exhaled, venting their anger, and let their shoulders fall. That sly, mischievous smiled returned to their beautiful, beguiling face. “Well, well, well. Looks like we have a little music critic in the audience today.”
Spike narrowed his eyes at them. Without a doubt, this was that weirdo jerk he'd ran into the other month.
“Hey, you’re that dude who stole the last piece of mango chicken!”
They raised an eyebrow. “You…still remember that?”
“Sailor Boy Spike never forgets a food grudge, buster!”
“Hmm. Well, get this through your pretty, blonde head—I am not a dude. Or rather, not simply a dude. And I didn’t steal anything, bicha.”
By now, Spike noticed people—including Kengo—slowly inching away from him. “What's wrong? Did I forget to put on deodorant?”
“Probably not,” the spellbreaker in the cut-off shirt said. “They’re…afraid.”
“Huh? Of me?” I didn’t think I was that scary! Guess this is what happens when you win your first star!
To the left of Spike, Blue Dragon dropped his fork. Silence followed.
The pink-haired spell breaker crossed their arms and gave Spike quite possibly the most sinister grin that had ever been lobbed in his direction. “No, little boy. Not you.”
The energy in the room shifted. Spike gulped. “Who…are you, anyway?”
The sneering spellbreaker strutted down the center aisle of the canteen, their own private runway. Those closest to them edged away, leaning forward into their trays. Nobody dared make eye contact. Thankfully, they were a row away from Spike, who would have otherwise frozen as they passed.
At last, the scary—and sexy—fighter arrived at their destination. They whipped their hair back (Spike noticed they were really quite fond of doing that move). “Fool,” they grunted. Everything about their movements was exaggerated, performative, and the odd middle ground of campy and sexy. “You will learn. Boy. Soon enough…”
Across from Spike, Rosa diligently put her hand up. “Hey, I could just tell them who you—”
“No, Rosita,” the punk gently instructed her, holding the canteen door open. Their eyes fell on Spike. “Is more…dramatic this way.”
They shut the door behind them, exiting with a malicious cackle not unlike a fairy tale witch. After a few seconds of awkward silence and exchanged glances, the hungry spellbreakers in the cafeteria returned to their quiet chewing and chatter.
Spike sighed, suddenly no longer interested in his burger. “Okay, I don’t need dramatic tension—people can just tell me things. I have anxiety, y’know!”
“How do you think I feel,” Rosa grumbled. “Do you know how much time you idiots waste on your silly posing and posturing when you could just be direct? It’s like…I dunno, trying to go to school with a bunch of violent, horny mimes!”
Spike wisely elected not to mention he had been training on a new spell to create an invisible deflection barrier with his stored energy...not unlike being behind a glass box.
Rosa, the lone luchadora shook her head, deciding the fight wasn’t worth it. “Well, eat quick. We got a team meaning.” She jammed her thumb towards the clock hanging over the exit. “Bossman Colt has finally decided on an ‘away’ show to close out the summer series. All the Bronze Stars will be in it.”
Spike was glad for the distraction. “Got it,” he said. He lunged for his burger and placed half of it in his mouth.
Kengo’s eyes bugged out of his head. “R-r-oomie, don’t put so much in your mouth! You'll choke.”
*NOM!* Spike swallowed half his burger in a single bite—the competitive eaters at Coney Island would have been proud. “Trust me, Kengo, I've had much more in my mouth at once han this.” Metabolism and energy doing the work for him, a reinvigorated and confident Spike stood on the bench and punched the air. “Okay, Bronze babes, let’s DO THIS!”
The sky above campus was a hazy gray, typical of midsummer in Texas. Hurrying to the practice ring—the GSA’s ‘meeting room’—Spike caught wind of a familiar, loud voice angrily chastising someone behind the administration building.
“You damn, good-for nothin’ brat! You think you can eat the food off my table and act like spoiled, little king!”
Spike froze. That was Colt's voice. And it sounded like Colt was pissed. Who was he yelling at?”
“Dirty layabout! I give you a roof over your head and you disobey me like this? I oughta pound you into next Tuesday, boy!”
Oh my Goddess, he’s yelling at Buck! Spike’s heart dropped of his chest, but his legs moved before his better judgment could take hold. He hoped he could say something to diffuse the situation as soon as he rounded the barn’s corner.
Colt stood, in his typical exaggerated, larger-than-life posture, leaning forward like he was ready to charge and beat the absolute stuffing out of the…lazy, Maine Coon cat resting on the wooden railing in front of him.
“Ignore me, will ya?” Colt growled through clenched teeth. He tipped his cowboy hat forward and angrily blew a strand of blonde hair out of his face. He held up his hand, bearing a deep red scratch line. “Nobody—and I mean NOBODY—scratches Colt the Bolt and lives to tell the tale!”
Spike looked up at the sky. A low peel of thunder rumbled across the clouds. He gulped. “Uh, sir?”
Colt jerked his head towards the newcomer. Next to him, the cat yawned. “Ah shucks, you heard all that?” The handsome, tough-looking spellbreaker’s face turned red—which was made all the more charming by the embarrassed smile cut across his face.
“Hello, sir. I was on the way to the meeting.” He looked over at the fuzzbull resting on the rail, licking its paws. “I…er…thought you were yelling at Buck.”
“Bucky?” Colt blinked. He belly laughed in his signature style. In the sky above, a beam of sunlight cut through the gray. “Aw hell, now I’m downright embarrassed. I haven’t raised my voice to Buck since he got a D- on his middle school math exams!"
Wouldn't be the old D he'd get if I had my way...
"And even then, I’d never cuss at my own son. That’s not how you rear a gentleman, you got that, Samuel Waterford?”
“Y-yes, sir!”
Colt crossed his arms and glared at the feline opponent. “It’s this goddess-damned cat that I take exception with, I’ll have your Yankee butt know! Buck had the cojones to name this rude graymalkin Zeus, and now he thinks he is the god himself.” Colt stepped forward and confronted the nonplussed cat as if he was staring down a camera, mid-promo, threatening his opponent. “But YOU LISTEN HERE. There’s only ONE thunder god on this ranch, and it’s COLT THE BOLT. You’re lucky I’m an animal love, or I’d piledrive you into the dirt, furbull!” Colt sighed. “I swear, this scamp only listens to Buck. Boy’s always had a way with animals. It’s spooky.”
A flicker of a lightbulb went off in Spike’s mind, but like most of his ‘lightbulbs’, it burnt out too quick.
Colt sighed, dismissing Buck’s pet with a hand wave. “Anyhow, speaking of animals, Bucky is in the dog house—but you won’t see me harping on him for it. Too busy anyway.” Colt nodded for Spike to get a groove on.
Spike did as told, though he was glad to be walking alongside his boss, teacher, and personal hero. “I won’t pry, sir. Just…hope everything is okay between you two. I am a big fan of both.”
“Shucks, Spike, the way Buck talks about you, you’d think he was the one about to ask you for an autograph.”
It took all of Spikes’ power to stop from freezing in his tracks. “R-really?” He hoped Colt couldn’t see the stupid look on his face.
Of course, one-track minded Colt didn’t have the attention span to devote to that subject. “We’re behind schedule because Bucky keeps working on the damn fliers. I just told him to slap a graphic on it and call it a day, but no, he’s a damn perfectionist. Keeps bugging me at all times asking me to look it over. He keeps taking it in all sorts of directions that I just don't like.” Colt sighed. “He’s too much like his old man, trying to do things different. But he doesn’t have the experience to back it up. I know how these posters and fliers work, Spike. I been in the business most of my life. Buck wants to…” he lowered his voice, out of shame. “Elevate the art. Whatever the hell that means. I was supposed to raise an heir to the Tamberly sprellbreaking legacy, not the next Picasso! We coulda’ been the Texan equivalent of the Escarlata luchador dynasty…”
Spike listened, without judgment. Deep down, his heart hurt. He hadn’t really known his own father, but he knew enough about the dynamic between older and younger men, students and teachers, and masters and apprentices, that the disconnect here was uncomfortably familiar.
Colt shook his head, realizing he was effectively venting to his pupil. “Ah damn it, son. Now I sound like my own old man.” He shot Spike a look. “Don’t repeat that.”
Spike mused to himself, though there wasn’t much time for analysis. They’d arrived at the practice ring building anyway. “I…actually don’t know much about you from outside your spellbreaking days. Hell, I’d count myself as one of your biggest fans and I deadass didn’t even know you had a kid!” He suddenly swallowed; afraid he’d gotten too familiar. “Sorry, sir! I didn’t mean to intrude.”
But it was Colt that looked like the cat who’d swallowed the canary.
“Ah shit, after I just poured my guts out to you? Bless your heart.” Colt laughed, in his ‘dad’ way, and ruffled Spike’s hair (Spike noticed Colt really liked doing this, and tried not to think about it too much). “I’ll tell you all about it over whisky sometime. Long and the short of it is…I was the black sheep of the family. Just grew up to be a big ol’ studly ram is all! And Buck’s grandpop, my old man…well…he was…” he trailed off. “Er. A difficult soul.”
Colt opened the door for Spike and ushered him in. Spike accepted that conversation had ended, but was left wanting to know more. He’d never considered what it was like to be the son of one of the greatest champs the sport had ever seen, but after everything Colt had just told him—combined with the little side-remarks Buck had shared with him since they’d first met—a thought was starting to dawn over him.
Perhaps being a father, and being the president of one of the major spellbreakings feds, were mutually incompatible…
“First, I’d like to congratulated both Spike and Kengo on nabbing their Bronze Stars!”
On the bleachers in front of the ring—Colt standing at attention in front of all—Kengo and Spike high fived each other.
Kengo grinned handsomely. “Yata!”
“We did it!” Spike said. He tried not to get too excited, especially with the other spellbreakrs siting around them. Spike eyed his red-headed rival, in his workout shorts and hoodie, sitting at the edge of the row.
Spike whispered to Kengo as Colt moved on to the next subject. “Of course, that jerk Cian beat us to it. But whatever. We’re better than him anyway.”
“The fight card has more-or-less been decided on,” Colt continued. He was in his element now, that is, teaching. “We’re looking at a mix of our own guys and gals as well as some outsider bookings, which is always fun.” Colt slapped the clipboard in his hand. “So, lemme go ahead and announce the matchups. First, Mr. O’Rourke.”
Cian looked up. “Yes, sir?”
“You’ll be fighting the Amazing Usagi.”
“Wait,” Spike whispered to Kengo. “His last name isn’t Enbarr?”
Kengo went to open his mouth—likely to explain that Enbarr was just a ring name (and a mythological, Celtic horse)—but was cut off by the sound of his own name.
“Mr. Oyama?”
“Yes!?”
“Kengo, you’ll be fighting…” Colt looked down at the clipboard and frowned, narrowing his eyes. “…Kevin?”
Kengo blinked. “Just…Kevin?”
“Hmm. Last name ain’t on here. Looks like he’s got sort of a penguin gimmick. I dunno...”
Kengo bowed his head in deep respect. “I will do my best, sir!”
“I know you will,” Colt responded, smiling. “Now, moving on…”
Spike thought back to his conversation with the big man outside and wondered if he and Kengo and all the other guys here were also kind of like sons to Colt….
“Mr. Waterford!”
“Yes da—I mean, yes sir!”
“You’re up next. This one was an internal request from within the GSA. You’ll be going up against one of our Silver Stars.”
The bleachers devolved into a mix of grumbling and intrigued whispers. Spike didn’t know what to think. He’d been kicking ass lately, sure, but wasn't going up against a Silver too soon? Then again, it was his first ‘away’ show. That was a big deal.
“Well,” Spike started, confidently, “I’m on a hot streak! So, yeah, lemme at the loser who wants to square off against the Sailor.”
“Right,” Colt acknowledged, indulging his student. “Mr. Waterford. You’ll be going up against—”
A familiar voice called out from the locker rooms behind the ring cutting Colt off. “WAIT! Vaquiero, you must do the thing.”
Spike cocked his head to the side. He looked to Kengo, who was just as puzzled. “Hey, I know that voice. That’s—"
Colt sighed. “Yeah. Right. I guess.” The president of the fed cleared his throat, doing his best Boomer Harlow impression of a ring announcer. “Coming to the stage. At 246 pounds…all the way from rocking-and-rollin’ Rio de Janeiro—Goddess-dammit, Iggy—it’s the neon beast themselves, Iggy Astroooooo!”
After breathing out another long, exasperated sigh, Colt turned to the tape deck perched on the ring apron and hit the play button. Boisterous heavy metal music spilled out of the tinny speakers.
Before Spike could even ask who the hell that was, a tri-part flare of neon green, yellow, and pink lights zoomed out from the locker room, nearly blinding the young spellbreakers sitting on the bleachers. The ‘fireworks’ exploded into a fine, glittery, and luminous rain.
Sanjay, sitting behind Spike, held out his hand to the glitter particles. “Is this biodegradable?”
Next to him, Blue Dragon licked the sparks off his arm. “Oh, It’s magick, bro! Light magick! But it doesn’t taste like anything…”
A tall, statuesque figure emerged from the locker rooms. Hair now teased with hair sprayed assistance, the pink-haired punk—and recent bane of Spike’s existence—zoomed out to the front of the bleachers with a confident, cocky gait. Nothing covered their tanned, muscular legs save for a pair of neon green and yellow kick-pads and boots. The shape of a star outlined their hot pink speedos (and dangerous package). A yellow, plasticine tank top clung to their chest for dear life.
Holy shit, Spike thought, his confidence wearing a way. They’re tall and buff scary! Iggy was almost a flamboyant, colorful reflection of Vahni Rage.
“Hell yeah!” the rockstar roared, making the ‘devil horns’, sticking out his tongue. His fellow students watched on, politely, though Iggy acted as if they were all at a rock concert.
“That’s right, groupies! I’m Iggy Astro. My pronouns are…” He flexed his right bicep. “He…” Then the left. “They…”
Finally, they snarled, gripping the center of their tanktop with both hands and pulling it apart. The plastic material stretched out and ripped, freeing their massive, oiled, shiny pectorals.
“…AND HUNNNNNK!”
Their muscular, greased up body radiated a bright aura, cycling through the colors of the rainbow. The audience, captivated, stared on in a trance.
“Woah…” Kengo said, under their breath.
Spike forced his slack jaw shut again. “I…I…have to fight THEM?” He didn’t know whether to be afraid, aroused, or both! This…this…being was at least several feet taller than Spike, cut like a diamond, and oozed both charisma and sex appeal. But there was no denying their mean streak or their mischievously evil aura.
They were a heel. And heels especially loved hurting little Spike.
Bored of posing for his adoring public, Iggy balanced his elbow on Colt’s meaty shoulder. Colt, annoyed (or just too tired to argue), allowed it.
“That’s right, padrãozinho,” Iggy snarled, whipping back their lustrous locks. He pointed a painted fingernail towards Spike. “I’m your WORST nightmare. And after I’m done with you, you might not wake up from it! HAHAHAHAHAHA!!!”
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