Spike tossed back the rest of his wine in one big gulp, ignoring the last few drops running down the side of his chin. He wiped his face, nodded to Gio, and nearly tripped over the barstool. "Gotta go, bro! Longshore leave!"
The pinup boy didn't even wait for Gio's reaction. He looked--without looking--in Vahni's direction. The tall, dark-eyed champion had since been joined by a posse of quite possibly the most comically evil looking arrangement of spellbreakers on the circuit. Comically evil, and, much to Spike's chagrin, easy on the eyes.
Spike recognized the tall, dark-haired one with the wolfish grin standing in front of Vahni, almost deliberately trying to obscure the man. No other spellbreaker on Earth would dare make such a bold move. That is, no other spellbreaker than Ivan Stepanvich, "The Rabid Russian Wolf." If Vahni was Firebird's villainous champion, Ivan was their posterboy, a cocky 'hero' who enjoyed dismantling his stronger opponents, only for them to be carried out on stretchers. And he was supposed to be the 'good' one of the bunch! Of the shadowy gang assembled, he was the most talkative, happy to shake hands and sign autographs. Spike almost felt Rage's intense gaze turned upon him, knowing that he was forbidden from putting his hands on Firebird's legendary 'hero', supposedly descended from a Russian folk hero intimately tied to the company's namesake.
Spike didn't immediately recognize the tall, aloof, and slightly androgynous gentleman standing at Vahni's side, scowling at the crowd. But he couldn't imagine he was good either. Spike noted his red dragon pin against his dark, grin vest, putting two-and-two together. If memory served, that drink of water was Slayer St. George. He was Firebird's newest recruit, though Spike didn't know much about him. Like Rage, he looked bored, but more keen-eyed, on the lookout for something. Slayer modelled himself on Alban knights of yore, and was quite the upstart, but information was lacking beyond that.
The giant, bearded man behind Slayer, shovelling canapés into his mouth, was "Bear" Misha. One of the "does what it says on the tin" type Spellbreakers, his power was being able to turn into a bear. Rumor has it that he'd actually eaten one of his opponents during his rising days.
The long-haired woman with the gray hair and the winter-colored dress was Yaba Baga, one of the few lady spellbreakers at the top of Firebird's roster. Her skin was paler than Spike's, if it were possible, which made her red eyes and white hair stand out all the more. She was beautiful, in a terrifying way. Like Misha and Slayer, she was another 'shifter'. Yaba could transform her legs into elongated, bird talons. She usually left her opponents shredded into ribbons. Supposedly, her great grandmother was none other than an infamous witch who lived deep in the heart of the Russian forest, and made trouble for almost everything and everyone around her.
Curiously absent from the evil collective was Firebird's president, Semyon Grigorivich--that creepy-eyed man who'd oogled Spike during his debut match. Not that Spike was complaining about it. All of Firebird's baddest company was now present, under one roof, in plain view of their rival federation. And no amount of these well-dressed ladies and gentleman would be able to hide Spike if any of them sniffed him out for trouble.
Spike needed a wall. A barricade. Anything to make sure Vahni Rage didn't catch him out, especially after he'd made that threatening gesture towards him ringside in New York. He tip-toed around the perimeter of the dance floor, using a passing waiter as cover while he tried his best to make himself smaller. For the first time in his life, Spike was glad to be short.
Fortunately, Spike found his lucky barricade--all 6'5 feet of her. Liuliu, the GSA's fitness coach, stood by herself in a corner of the room. Spike almost didn't recognize her. He was used to seeing her in sweats and workout gear, not this knockout-red, split dress number. With mei-fa sticks holding up her coiffed hair, LiuLiu cradled a martini in her hand and looked around the room, shyly. Alone.
Spike positioned himself right in front of her, making sure he was completely obscured by her womanly mass. "Ah! Liuliu! How are you, ma'am?" He looked around the side of her hips to make sure he hadn't been spotted. "You make such a good, natural wall between me and anybody I absolutely do not want to see!"
"Oh, good to see you, darling." She pointed to the purple stain on his chin. "Don't drink too much now. It'll slow down your cardio."
Goddess, I'm a mess. "Sorry," Spike said, wiping the wine stain dribble from his chin. "I'm not even drunk." Wish I was...
"And I am just fine, thanks for asking." The giant bodybuilder sighed and flared out her dress, making sure to keep her martini perfectly balanced as she did. "This dress Rosa picked out for me...it...it...well, it makes me feel so beautiful."
It took Spike a moment to piece together what was happening. LiuLiu had been standing here by herself. No man had approached her; likely too intimidated. Which was a damn shame, as she looked absolutely radiant. Like a warrior goddess.
Seemed Spike's worries were small in comparison, and he wasn't the only odd-one out at the gala tonight. "But...LiuLiu, you are beautiful."
She blushed. "You are far too kind! Hmm...is there something with your eye? Or is there something on my back?"
"No, no, no need to turn around!" Spike said, moving in a semi-circle to keep the giant woman in front of him. He scratched the back of his head, wondering how many exits there were in this ballroom from hell, and if he could make it to one in time before being clotheslined by Vahni Rage, who he was fairly sure wanted to eat him alive...and not in the fun way.
Thankfully, now that Spike had gotten her ear, LiuLiu was in talkative mood. She leaned in and lowered her voice to a whisper. "Oh, but I had this awful man making some very inappropriate remarks earlier this evening. He asked me to...." She looked to her left and right to make sure nobody was listening. "To step on him. For money? Can you believe such a thing?"
Ma'am, I have photos of me tied up naked over a barrel. Spike wisely choose to just smile and nod instead.
"Hmph." LiuLiu took a long sip of her martini. She smirked. "As if he could afford me, anyway."
"Of course, Madame. You're priceless!" Now, please don't move...
"Oh Spike, you are so quickly becoming one of my favorite students. Anyway, Colt dealt with this man discreetly. Such a gentleman, that Colt. He even offered to pay for the man's hospital bill. Spike, why do your eyes keep doing that? Have you gone to Nurse Wheeler and had him check you for a stigmatism?"
If there was anybody in this room Spike could trust, it was LiuLiu. She was partially responsible for keeping up his hunky figure anyway. "Sorry, miss. It's...I saw..." He mouthed the words: 'Vahni Rage'.
LiuLiu turned her nose up at the mention. "Firebird!? Those no-good scoundrels! Likely hopped up on that nasty elixir they inject into themselves. Dirty cheats. Plus, I'd never trust anything an alchemist gave me anyway. Well. Fear not, young pupil!" She pat Spike on the head, like a mistress to her loyal dog. "The Great LiuLiu shall run interference for you." She turned, presenting her massive, ripped back to Spike.
She pointed to the balcony exit to their left. "Slip out the back, darling. I think Joseph is out there, no doubt brooding and plotting--he'll protect you. Come in when the coast is clear."
Unfamiliar with the name, 'Joseph', but breathing a huge sigh of relief regardless, Spike nodded to his coach. Damn, she thick, he thought absently as he tipped toed towards the glass door. He looked over his shoulder. Looks like Firebird's group had made for the bar. He hoped his fellow spellbreakers would fair better if they ran into any of them.
The balmy evening was a welcome respite. The lights from the trees and the buildings danced across the river, a tourist boat floated along its canals, a few stories down from the balcony. Spike followed it with his eyes. The night was peaceful, a completely different world than the one inside the grand hotel. Networking was exhausting. Running from enemies, even more so. Why couldn't these rich jerks just order a few pizzas and beers in a more intimate venue, rather than making everyone dance around in tuxes and dresses, kissing their gings? Guess rich people were pretty much all the same anywhere, even in other countries...
As Spike lost himself in the cool, Texan evening, the hairs on the back of his neck stood up. His magick flickered, telling him to turn around.
Spike pivoted on his heels, terrified he was about to lock eyes with Rage (he wouldn't put it past the heel to stalk him out here on the balcony). Instead, Spike's heart stopped for an entirely different reason. Standing just a few feet away, propped up against the side of the rail in a perfect posture, was an achingly handsome man in a sharply tailored tuxedo.
The gentleman--perhaps a few years old than Spike--regarded him with deep, penetrating eyes. But when he smiled, Spike was immediately put at ease.
“Shit!” Spike cursed, caught off guard. He clamped his hand over his mouth and looked towards the ballroom interior. “Oh no, don’t tell Colt I swore.”
The gentleman--and that was the perfect word to describe the clean-shaven man--laughed quiet and light, like snowfall. He was tall, Asian, with black hair curiously peppered with white, frosted tips. It was a somewhat edgy contrast to his tailored look. He had pinned a white carnation, dye-dipped with black lines--not unlike like the stripes of a tiger--onto his tuxedo jacket.
“Apologies for having snuck up on you," the man said in an accent tinged with Alban English and somewhere else that Spike couldn't place. A hybrid accent. "It is a bad habit of mine.”
It was then Spike realized how much toned muscle he was concealing beneath his expensive clothing. “I thought I was alone," Spike said. "Sorry.” Damn. This hunk looked powerful.
The man did not speak right away. In fact, he began each sentence with a premeditated pause, almost calculating, which would have been completely intimidating coming from anybody else. “No need to apologise.” He balanced his left arm on the side of the railing, making a pyramid with his fingers. Spike noted the trace of red thread wrapped around his left wrist, stringed with a single gold bead. “You are one of the new recruits, are you not?”
Spike wasn't normally so observant, but something about how the moonlight highlighted this man--a ghost, a god--attracted his eye. The back of his hands were very smooth. Manicured. But his palms were covered in callouses and cuts. He was a fighter. No doubt.
“Yeah," Spike demurred. He couldn't remember the last time he'd felt this shy when meeting handsome men! And so many in one evening too! "I'm Sam. But everyone calls me Spike.”
Whereas Mr. Salim had put Spike on edge due to his chaotic, constantly shifting personality, this handsome stranger's penetrating stare and powerful aura kept Spike on guard.
But when the stranger extended his hand to Spike, a feeling of safety--of protection--washed over him. “Joseph," he said. He smiled, almost shy. Naturally, it was a beautiful smile. "It is not my ring name, but it will for now. It's very nice to meet you, Spike. I like that name. It has punch! Or, I suppose...piercing?”
That is a STRONG grip. Spike laughed at the joke, which was both incredibly dorky and impossibly charming. So this is the guy LiuLiu was talkin' about it! Shit, and I thought I had game. “Ring name? So, you’re not an investor?"
“Should I be flattered or offended that you said that?" He shook his head. "Again, jokes. I am indeed a spellbreaker, but I'd rather my work speak for itself. Far too many are wont to brag about their achievements and show off. I find it...uncouth. Outside of the ring, anyway."
This man was so damn fine! And yet, Spike felt guilty for feeling attracted to him, in the way one might shy away at the beautiful sight of an angel, knowing they were beyond carnal approach.
Still, the night was young, and Spike was never not in the mood to score. I bet Joseph's a real tiger in the sack. He looks like it. "Ah, well, trash talk and heat helps you to get over a little, right?"
Joseph gave him a quizzical look. "I do not require such things in order to 'get over', I assure you. Now, judging from that energetic aura of yours…Dynamis is your glyph? Ah, apologies if that was too invasive. I am fascinated by glyphology, you see.”
Of all the times for the alcohol to finally hit me. “No, you’re right! Wow. How did you do that?”
“I’m good," Joseph laughed. He shrugged and then--dagger to the heart--he winked. Goddess, he was cute. "That’s how."
"I'll take your word for it. So, what's a good-looking guy like you doing out here, anyway?"
"Well, from one good looking stranger to another...these parties are amusing, yes. But they are not my favorite. These investor events tend to make one feel as if they are a dancing monkey, especially with my unique position in the GSA. I prefer solitude, or intimate company. Besides, it’s good to get some fresh air now and then. To think things over.”
With a sweeping, graceful gesture, Joseph stepped aside and nodded to Spike to join his side--not in any way that suggested romantic contact, sadly.
“Or," Jospeh said, lowering his voice, "to spy on one’s rivals…” He nodded subtly to the little courtyard below, just at the banks of the river.
Spike narrowed his eyes, trying to zero in on the shadowy figures beneath the topiaries and the party lights. Sure enough, he recognized a tall, gaunt, gangly form. Semyon Grigorivich, Firebird's head ghoul. The federation's boss spoke to a dark, hunched-over figure that responded back to him with unsettling, jerky movements. No doubt, another one of Firebird's monster brigade.
A chill ran up Spike's spine. “That's...”
Joseph nodded. “The president of Firebird, if you were wondering what that stench on the air was. I do not know the other one, but I can promise you that they are unlikely to be the virtuous sort.”
"Yeah, deadass. Vahni Rage is here too. That's...er...why I came out here, actually."
“Ah, Vahni Rage.” Joseph raised his head back, his shoulders dropping. In the moonlight, he looked like the statue of a warrior. “I look forward to utterly defeating him.”
Spike stepped back, sensing he was in the presence of someone way above his fighting league. He's...not kidding. “You sound…pretty confident.”
Joseph flicked his eyes towards Spike. They were like ice. “I am.” Then, the aura of the mercenary subsided, giving way towards warmth. “And you should be too, Spike. You show great promise. The Sailor Boy thing is…different. But, I like that you’ve managed to synthesize your personality with a character. Exaggeration and drama is, after all, part of the presentation.”
Hot and smart? Is that even possible? “Wow, thanks, Joseph. Sometimes I think my ring personality a bit too much for some people. I...er...I dunno. Sometimes I wish I was more masculine like you guys.”
"Hmm. Masculinity. Femininity. Yin and yang. Both have their power, and place in the world. As men, we can--and should--be able to express both. But tell me, Spike. Is your ring persona reflective of your actual personality?"
"Oh! Er...wow, people don't often ask me questions like that. They think I'm too dumb to give them a straight answer!"
"Hm. Do you think you are dumb?"
"Well...I think I can be a bit spacey. But to answer your question, yeah I think my ring personality is very much just me. Maybe just...more...brave? Sassy? Stronger?"
"We wear our identities, our personae, like shields. If this is what makes you a better fighter, Spike, then you must always stay true to yourself. It’s 'you'. And 'you' is always more than enough. If...that makes sense?" Joseph laughed. "Perhaps the champagne has gotten to my head. Regardless, apologize for nothing, Spike. Least of all who you are.”
Joseph placed his hand, gently, on Spike's shoulder. He might as well have placed it directly on his heart. Spike froze. He was blindsided by this rare combo of kindness and wisdom.
“And," Joseph said, forming his free hand into a perfectly executed fist, "should anybody disparage you for your nature or your character, tell them they can talk to me. I promise you that they will cease.”
Who is this absolute king? Spike shook the stars out his eyes. “Got it,” he said, hoping that his fair complexion didn't betray the fact that he'd turned crimson red from blushing. "You're tossing out some pretty big words at a dumb guy, you know."
"And yet, you seem perfectly capable of understanding them." Joseph smiled. There was so much strength and power behind it. "Perhaps not so dumb after all?"
"Marry me."
"Sorry? I didn't quite catch that."
"I said, 'Why, I'll be!" Hahaha. It's my Colt impersonation. Don't I sound like a real Texan?" Oh Goddess, why am I such a dork?
"Colt!" Joseph said, perking up. "Thank you for reminding me. Perhaps I am shirking my duties. I have been asked to run interference for Colt, should our leader find himself in an uncomfortable conversation. Or, even worse, risk blowing our chances at financing.”
Spike and Joseph both turned towards the glass door, giving them a perfect view onto the ballroom floor. Colt appeared to be in the middle of an active conversation between Konstantinos and Zorn, neither of who appeared pleased.
Joseph tugged at his collar. “Looks like that’s about to be the case. I should run interference." He bowed his head towards his new friend. "I do hope to see you later, Spike. This encounter has been a pleasure.” He opened the glass door, letting out sound and light.
“See ya," Spike said, feeling all of a sudden as if he was lighter than air. Okay, give him the look. Give him the look. Secure the bag, Sailor. Spike lowered his baby-blue eyes and gave Joseph a smile both cocky and innocent. "Maybe we’ll meet in the ring sometime, eh?”
At this, Joseph's back arched. He gave Spike a dark, serious look that cut him to the very core. It was the glare of a prideful warrior just offered a challenge.
Spike immediately regretted his decision.
Lucky for Spike, Joseph was a merciful god. He winked at Spike yet again. “Hm,” was all he offered, before gracefully stepping back inside the bustling gala.
His heart beating rapidly, Spike allowed himself a few more moments of peace before gathering the courage to return to a night of forced extroversion and--hopefully--excessive drinking. If Mr. Salim had restored Spike's ability to engage, then Joseph had given Spike back his confidence. He was feeling a whole lot better now. Ah, to be blessed by such handsome men!
Well, the night was still young. So was he. Another drink at Gio's bar, and maybe Spike could convince Rosa to let Buck dance with him. Not that Spike was good at dancing. He walked into the room with slightly more enthusiasm, straightening his collar and looking out onto the dancefloor. There was Victor in his signature mask, whispering sweet nothings to that pink-haired person Spike had ran into in the lunch hall. They were dressed in a rather unusual half-suit, half ball-gown with studded, padded shoulders. Very punk. Whoever they were, Victor seemed enchanted by them. Or vise versa.
As Spike smiled at his teammates, thankful to be in the company of such sweet, strong, eccentric people, he felt the temperature change. He chalked it up to the transition coming from the outdoors. Room full of bodies moving and drinking and dancing; of course it was bound to be a little bit hotter in here. Yet, the temperature grew. Spike began sweating. It was like he was standing in front of an oven dialled way up. The heat was coming towards him.
Then, the voice. Low. Deep. Cold.
“Hello.”
Confused, Spike turned around to look at whatever weirdo had decide to sneak up behind him.
He came face to face with the glowering stare of Vahni Rage, who appeared much taller than Spike had last seen him. That, at least, explained the sudden shift in temperature.
In Spike's mind, he saw Joseph holding out his hand to him. Don't flinch. Don't let him see the fear in your eyes. You got this.
It was one of the rare turns in Spike's twenty-two years when he seized the fraction of a second to think before acting on impulse. He immediately supressed the urge to stiffen up his posture, or avert his eyes. If he looked away, acted submissive, he'd already be on the back foot. That's what Rage wanted.
So, Spike stared death in the face. He internally screamed, of course.
Play dumb. Spike was tangentially aware that both Colt and Joseph were only a few yards away, even if both of them were too wrapped up in business to come to his rescue. “Sorry, were you looking for someone?”
Rage smiled. It was not a comforting smile. “You, little one.” He extended his hand. “I wanted to formally introduce myself. Vahni Rage.”
Spike looked down at the open invitation. He had seen enough matches between heroes and heels to be fooled by this tactic. Nevertheless, he took Rage's hand, and gripped down firm, maintaining eye-contact the whole time.
“I know who you are," Spike said, surprised at the confidence in his voice. Whatever mood had gotten into him, replacing fear with bravado, he hoped it would last. “Spike. You have quite the reputation, Mr. Rage.” He let go before Rage could pull off one of his magick tricks, burn the flesh off Spike's palm, or some other devious tactic.
Rage shrugged, failing to notice--thankfully--that Spike was already looking for allies in his vicinity. “One does not succeed in this field without burning a few bridges. Or...bodies.”
All of a sudden, Rage was no longer the monster hiding in Spike's mind. Here he stood. Human. Alive. A powerful man, but a man nonetheless. Perhaps it was because Spike and Rage fit into their roles so perfectly--the face; the heel--that Spike suddenly found his courage. Play the role.
Or die trying, Spike supposed. In truth, he was still terrified. But it was better to face one's demons and know where they stood, then run and have them at your back. He smirked. “Have you come over to try and intimidate me or somethin’?
Rage's eyes flashed with genuine surprise. Perhaps, even, a hint of amusement. “I do not need to try to intimidate you. It comes naturally. I merely hoped to…light a spark." He held up his fingertip. A small flame erupted, like a match. "I think you would be very fun to break.”
Spike channelled Colt's confidence, all those years watching heroes crush villains on the TV set. “The feeling is mutual,” he said, surprised at his hasty retort. “Look, I don’t really care for villains.”
“Oh?" Rage raised an eyebrow at that. He stood closer, bridging the gap between them. Spike could smell his expensive cologne. "You call yourself a hero then?”
“On the road to becoming one, I guess.”
“Hmm. So confident, pretty one."
Was that...a compliment? Wait a minute... Spike tried to place this emotion. It wasn't just confidence, the thrilling rising of a challenge, that had taken hold. There was another feeling here as well, harder to describe. Was this...flirting? A very devious, threatening flirtation, to be sure.
Rage went on. It was only then that Spike, much to his dismay, realized that the terrifying man had slowly--almost imperceptibly--maneuvered himself between Spike and a pillar. Nobody could see them. Meaning, nobody could come to Spike's aid should Rage reach out and take hold of his throat...
In other words, the fiery heel had Spike exactly where he wanted him. This was bad. And what was worse was that Spike found himself...not unopposed to the idea of being manhandled by this monster. It wasn't just a misread signal either. Spike recognized aspects in his life that needed improvement. Seduction was not one of them. He knew this dance. And while Rage had different moves, Spike read them loud and clear--it was an inaudible language, in stares and in gestures and in lowered tones.
Threats? Flirts? All the same here.
Rage looked down at his watch, as if feigning concern over the time. Then, he looked at Spike. A hungry stare. "To show such strength and technique as yours at a debut match is…well…it did sincerely impress me. And I am not so easily impressed.”
Before Spike could protest, the heel carefully--slowly--moved his fingers onto his head. Spike did not break his stare, but allowed Vahni to brush back his hair, play with it. Spike narrowed his eyes, challenging him, before placing his own hand over Vahni's. He did not push it away, but held it there. He smiled. Pull it. I dare you.
To his surprise, Vahni smiled back. It was then that Spike--who did not count himself among the smartest spellbreakers in the circuit--knew, without a doubt, that Vahni's interests in him were a lot more complex than simple rivalry.
“That golden mane of yours," Rage said, softly. He placed his face closer to him. Spike returned the gesture. Every push. Every pull. He would meet Vahni with defiance and desire. "The fire that dances in your eyes. Your aggression. You were like a young lion tearing into your prey. It was magnificent. Almost as impressive as my first match.” He pulled his head back. “Almost.”
Spike, admittedly, was not good at spitting back threats. Colt had yet to show him how to cut a promo. But he knew enough about energy; redirecting it, or waiting for an opponent to make a move. He stared at Rage and let the silence do the work. He would not, however, back down. There was force, a magnetism, between them now, that he intended to take advantage of.
Rage sighed. “Such defiance. All the sweeter for when I introduce you to pain beyond your wildest imaginings. To be truth though, little one, I have a certain degree of affection for young beasts like yourself. I like…to tame them. To beat them. To humble them. To make them mine. And if they refuse? Then...I put them down. Yes, I think you would look so good, young lion, with a gold, diamond-studded collar around that pretty neck of yours."
He slid his finger across the nape of Spike's neck. Despite his best efforts, Spike couldn't help but let out a small moan.
A subtle twinge in Rage's eyes told him that his much taller, skilled opponent did not expect the reaction. Nor did the smile--mischievous, wanting--that Spike threw at him. He couldn't tell if this had angered Vahni or enticed him further. He suspected both.
"Or, perhaps, I shall grant you my eternal brand." He pressed the space between Spike's forehead. Spike let him, knowing any reaction would show weakness, or fear. "Maybe not necessarily on the head..."
Rage's other hand went to the small of Spike's back. Then, lower, beneath the hem of his pants. Deeper. Spike maintained eye contact the entire time.
“No. No. I would rather keep your face pristine and place my brand somewhere else that you prize so dearly.”
He let Rage touch him. In fact, he wanted it. He challenged Rage with his eyes. Be a man. Touch me. Take it.
To either of their dismay, Rage relented, stopping just at the point of indecency. He retracted his hand.
“You’re a bully,” Spike said through his teeth. “I don’t like bullies." Well, I like when they bully me, but for the sake of the argument here...
A thousand different expressions danced across Rage's face. It was then that Spike knew Rage had underestimated his personality. He had not expected such a defiant upstart, who both maintained his courage while simultaneously invited his violence. Though it would be foolish to underestimate a monster like Rage, Spike knew this much: he had intrigued him. Perplexed him. Attracted him.
The muscular spellbreaker, smelling of wealth--and looking like it too--straightened his own collar. “Hmmm. There is a fable from my part of the world. I would like to tell you it."
Spike shrugged. "I am a travelled man. I like stories." This time, it was his turn to attack. He knew if he dared touched Rage, he would cross that threshold into danger. But he stepped foreword and gave him a knowing glance, a mischievous smile. "Go on, stud. I'm all ears."
Rage raised an eyebrow at that. Nevertheless, he continued. "It goes like this. There was a time when the king of a great kingdom was to have his princess—or prince, perhaps—wed. Whoever could do the most incredible thing in the world would have his hand. All manner of eligible bachelor rose to the challenge. One virile young man wrestled and felled seventeen elephants in a single day. A great sculptor carved the face of the prince into a nearby mountain, rendering unto the rocks his beautiful face. A beast tamer summoned all of the tigers from the forest and had them dance at the feet of the prince’s throne."
"But then came a humble weaver, who presented unto the king the most intricate, most gloriously detailed tapestry. He unfurled it at the gates of the village and one thousand of the king’s knights hat to hold it upright until it reached the prince’s throne room. The finely embroidered images on this tapestry were numerous and, to the horror and awe of the people gathered in the markets and the court, alive. Every god in the heavens, and every demon, rendered in rich, silk threads. Spirits dance. Every animal and hero from the sagas was stitched into those fibers. All of the countries of the earth and all of its people as well. So finely detailed was this work, no, this masterpiece, that the court's jewellers took magnifying glasses and found entire families depicted inside the windows of these woven houses."
"Thus, the king declared this staggering work of art to be the most incredible thing in the world, and granted the weaver the hand of the prince. That was...until a man stepped forward and said, “No. I shall show you the most incredible thing.” And, with a single lit torch, he set the tapestry ablaze. It burnt in front of the eyes of the weaver, the prince, and the king. It lit up the whole village. The people wept to see such beauty, gone in the blink of an eye. And, when there was nothing left but cinders, the king turned to the man and said, “You are correct. That was the most incredible thing in the world.” And thus, the prince was wed to the arsonist, not the artisan."
Rage concluded the tale with his hand on the back of Spike's neck. It was firm. It sent a message. Still, Spike refused to flinch.
"Spike. My vicious, young lion. You are like the tapestry. And I...am the flame.”
Rage leaned in, quick, and Spike--despite himself--reacted. His cheek brushed up against Spike's face. The young Spellbreaker felt Rage's breath on his neck as he whispered, “I am going to burn you until there is nothing left but ashes on the wind.” He kissed the side of his ear. Soft. Sharp. Then, the suggestion of teeth on the lobe--not sinking in, but threatening to do so, followed by another soft kiss, just below.
Only then, did Spike know fear. And something else. Desire. Rage had indeed lit a flame with his spark, but it was not the intended brazier.
Sensuality was Spike's dominion, after all. He smiled, laughing, seizing a side of himself that he didn't even know existed til now. He looked at Rage in the eyes and slowly moved his hand to Rage's cheek. He allowed it.
“But that's just the thing, Vahni Rage," Spike said in a low, assured voice. "You can’t set aflame what cannot be burned.” Even though he had to look up into Rage's cocky, confident face, Spike pressed his chest against his in defiance. “One of these days, you and I are going to settle this in the ring. And I’m going to snuff that fire inside you for GOOD…”
Rage's eyes filled with, well, rage. He snarled at Spike, pressing his chest against his. Perhaps they should settle this right now. “I’m going to break you, little lion.
“Hi! Everything good here?”
The sudden intrusion shattered the enchantment. The tension, gone. Spike and Rage, refusing to take the eye off the other, broke their stare at the same time, turning towards this meddlesome interloper who dare interrupt their heat.
Buck stood there, with his Cheshire cat smile, looking between the two fighters with mischief. He raised a glass of whisky to his lips and took a long, hard sip.
Rage gave Spike a final look. This isn't over. Regaining a more amicable facade, he turned and nodded to Buck. “If it isn’t the son of Colt. You wear your father’s courage well…if not his magick. Hmm. A pity. I would have looked forward to destroying you in the ring while your father watched.”
To Spike's shock--and, perhaps, horror--Buck grinned back at Rage. "Aww, that's really cute that you think you can intimidate me like that."
Spike almost gasped at the brash move. Holy shit, Buck, what kind of underwear do you wear that hides balls that big?
Rage dismissed the challenge. The bark of a pup. Nothing more. "Someday, young Buck, your father will be unable to shield you from the monsters of the world. Monsters such as myself." He nodded to Spike and Colt's son. "Heh. The lion and the stag. What an idea for a tag team. Heh. A good evening to you both.”
Spike had never been happier to see the back of someone. Rage walked back to his Firebird entourage. Semyon had joined then, yet his creepy, hunch-backed henchman from outside was nowhere to be seen.
Spike breathed a sigh of relief, and it was only then that he noticed he was...well...aroused. Hopefully Buck wouldn't notice.
If he did, he didn't say it. Instead, Buck chided him, in that 'big brother' way of his. “Spike. I think my dad mentioned behaving, didn't he!”
“I was behaving,” Spike squeaked. "Deadass! I swear!" It was like he had fallen back down to Earth. Who was the Spike of the last five minutes? Still, he was grateful for Buck's intercession. “Anyways, thanks.”
“No worries. I know you didn’t need me to tag in, but…”
“It’s nice to have someone in your corner," Spike said, smiling, finishing the sentence. "Thanks, Buck.” It was then that he noticed the smell of gin on Buck's breath. He'd been drinking. Heavily. "Er...how is your night going? You're having less confrontations than me, I hope?"
For someone clearly four-sheets to the wind, Buck held his liquor remarkably well. Probably the by-product of a Texan upbringing. "Ah, you know, man, just playing the role of the 'good son'. Trying to make my dad look awesome." He rolled his eyes. "Could be working on the poster for the Vegas show, but no. Dad allllllways finds a use for people, and I guess tonight my use is being trotted out in an itchy suit to make nice with the investors. The heir to the Tamberly spellbreaking dynasty has his role, I guess..."
The venom in Buck's voice did not go unnoticed. Spike looked to the ground, wishing the adrenaline circling through his system would subside so he could give his friend a better point of advice. Suffice to say, after Rage's threats, he was stone-cold sober.
"I'm sure Colt means well," Spike said, doing his best at input. "He cares."
Buck frowned. "He has a funny way of showin' it. Look, Spike, I know you grew up idolizing my dad..."
"Is it...that obvious?"
Buck lowered his stare. "Very. But try growing up with him and you'd see the other side." He took another sip of his whisky. "He's a great promoter. He's never raised a hand to me--voice yes, but not hand. Hell, he's one of the best spellbreakers there ever was and probably ever will be. But...as for the actual 'fathering' department..."
Before Buck could continue, a flash of red darted out of the crowd, straight for him. Rosa, dressed in crimson, with a rose corsage on her wrist, took Buck by the arms-. Really, though, she used him as a leaning post. She was clearly intoxicated.
Spike bit his lip. This night had started awkward, and was growing worse by the minute. “Hey, Rosa.”
“Wellll look who it is," the pretty spellbreaker slurred, making a circling motion with her painted fingertips. "Look at these two handsomes.” She kissed Buck on the cheek, and then, for good measure, kissed Spike's cheek as well.
Spike blushed. "H-hi."
Buck shied away from his male friend, making it clear with his eyes that Spike was not to continue the conversation they'd just been having. “Yeah, we’re both a bit buzzed.”
"Yes," said Spike. "I can see that." And I am not nearly buzzed enough...
Rosa cuffed the bewildered sailor on the arm. “Come on, chico. Get on our level!”
“I think I will,” Spike said, rubbing his now very sore arm. That girl could pack a punch! The jolt of energy activated his magick, only raising the tension even further. “Yeah, I think I need another one. Or six. I'll see you at the bar.”
As much as Spike sincerely loved Buck and Rosa--two of his closest friends since joining the GSA, he just wasn't in the same headspace to carry on a conversation with them. He felt exhausted, sick to his stomach, and a bit confused after his intense encounter with Rage. He wandered over to the bar, and considered ditching this scene in a half hour or so. He'd made his appearance. Played his part, just like Buck insinuated. Colt would be satisfied.
Maybe there was some truth in what Buck had had told him. The whole night Spike had been pushed from one strange conversation to another, Colt hadn't yet once walked over to check up on him. Sure, he was busy with the investors, but how hard was it to do a quick drive-by?
Spike leaned against the bar, staring into colorful glass bottles of liquor on the shelf. Sanjay was nowhere to be seen--hopefully Gio had let him take some time off to socialize. The bartender himself stood at the ready, wiping the inside of a glass with a cloth. Gio noticed Spike and gave him a sympathetic node.
"I need something stiff," Spike said to the muscular Italian. He eyed him up and done. "And a drink too, while you're at it."
Per usual, the innuendo flew over Gio's head. "Yes. Do you like the Tiki drink? A Mai Tai? A Singapore sling?"
"Strong and fruity?"
"Yes." Gio said, a pearly-white smile peaking out of his dark beard. "Just like Spike."
Spike laughed. Muscle men were always the best medicine, weren't they? "I need something that will get me from zero to sixty, stud. What's the strongest?"
"A zombie, then," Gio said, without hesitation. He got to work, pulling bottles off the shelf, mixing colorful liquids like the alchemists of his home country. "It is an interesting name, yes? I do not think of the zombie when I see this drink, but a sunset. Zombie films are quite popular in Italy right now, you know. I was even asked to be in one!" He tested the drink with a small, plastic spoon. Finding it satisfactory, he popped the lid on the shaker and did his work.
I wish I was that shaker, Spike thought wearily. "Hmm. You were asked to be an extra?"
"No," Gio laughed, looking away shyly. "The lead. The hero. I was in the movies, you know. Back in Italy."
That explains that pretty girl from earlier asking for his autograph, Spike remembered. He pressed his hand against his head, as visions of watching drive-in movies with the other sailors came scuttling to the forefront of his memory. Of course, he hadn't done much 'watching' at all in the backs of those cars...
Of course! Spike could picture it now--Gio in a leopord print loincloth, or with skimpy gladiator attire. He snapped his fingers. "You were in those sword-and-sandals pictures, weren't you! With the terrible dubbing!"
Gio, blushing, placed the tall, orange colored drink in front of his guest. "Si. Hercules. Tarzan. Samson. Any of the giant men with the muscles." He sighed. "It was not so good, after awhile. Movie productions are head-aches. I will tell you, another time, when I am not working."
The revelation tickled Spike, and momentarily distracted him from his fould mood. He took a sip of the (very strong) Zombie. He decided it was best not to tell his colleague Gio that his cinematic romps--showing off his bulging muscles and being chained, roped, or bound in increasingly suggestive circumstances--were instrumental to Spike's sexual awakening.
"You like it?" Gio asked, pointing to the beverage.
"Yeah, it's great. I just feel bad you have to stay behind the bar all night."
"I prefer it, though. Much better than having to talk to all the people. I do not like that. Much prefer fighting the people." Gio rubbed the back of his neck. "I want to ask you a question. You do not need to answer if it makes you uncomfortable, pretty Spike. But...Miss Rosa. She is...with Buck?"
Spike shrugged. Oh yeah, this liquor is working fast. Thank the Goddess for it. "Huh, yeah, I think so, why?" He looked over his shoulder. Buck and Rosa were a fair distance away, but with her red dress, she was easy to spot. They were currently slow dancing with each other. Regrettably, they made a cute couple.
"She is very pretty," Gio said. He stared at the empty glass in his hands. He had been polishing the same one for the last five minutes. Well, not just that, Spike realized. Gio had been slyly glancing over at Rosa too.
Perplexed, Spike finally caught on. "Oh! Sorry, Gio. I thought you were...you know..." He bent his hand, making his wrist go limp. "Like me?"
Gio laughed, looking away. "I am half like you. I am like Buck, who is like an old Roman. Like me." Gio winked. "We love everyone."
"Ah," Spike said, raising a glass to yet another dark-haired bisexual man he hoped would ruin his life. "Cheers to--"
The sound of metal on marble, an explosive volume, cut Spike off. His heart nearly jumped up through his throat, and only the panicked chorus of screams from the attending guests drowned out the fresh ringing in his ears. Like everyone else at the bar, Spike whipped his around to the source of the noise, the plume of dust hanging over the ballroom floor.
It was plain to see what had happened. And thankfully, it was not an explosion, though the thunderous noise still reverberated across the large room. Only a few yards away from the bar, a massive, steel-wrought chandelier sat in the middle of the floor, surrounded by a scattering of loose crystals from its underside. Trapped beneath it, struggling to free herself, was a woman in a mauve cocktail dress. Marianne Zorn, co-chair and treasurer of the ISC.
Chaos and panic took hold, the ballroom lit up with rapid shouts and gasps. “Oh, Goddess!” “She’s trapped!" "We can’t move the damn thing!” People ran about, drawing either closer or away from the fallen object.
Frozen in shock, Spike turned his eyes upward to the massive hole in the ceiling. He thought he caught something out of the corner of his eye, but it was likely dust kicked up from the fallen object. Turning his attention back to the frey, Spike saw Colt push his way through the crowd.
The cowboy took command, shouting and pointing. Spike only heard the trail end of it. “...A room full of strong men and women can’t budge one chandelier?” He strutted toward the extremely heavy object, looking like he'd lift the damn thing himself if he had to. Spike almost believed he could.
Cian, in any case, threw himself into action immediately. Looked like he was already trying to deadlift the chandelier. “It’s HEAVY, OKAY?” he snarled at Colt.
All the while, poor Mrs. Zorn cried out in pain from beneath. Spike couldn't even begin to imagine what damaged had been done. It was a miracle she was even alive, or conscious. Perhaps she had magick of her own.
“Fuck,” Spike whispered under his breath. He stood up, head bowed in frustration. Maybe it was that pep talk from Joseph speaking to him, but, for once in his life, he had a solid idea. It was a dumb idea, of course, but an idea nonetheless. In any case, he couldn't just stand by and watch. He'd been in the Navy long enough to know that every second in an equipment accident or failure mattered--the difference between life and death, or permanent disability.
Okay, okay, think. Spike rubbed his hands across his face and tried to formulize a way to make use of his magick. Unfortunately, there was only one way he'd be able to summon enough strength to haul up a several-ton chandelier.
Spike acted without thinking, nodding to the stunned bartender. “Gio, I need you to hit me.”
Gio blinked. “But...I already pour you the drink?”
“No, I mean physically hit me.”
“What!? Hit beautiful Spike? But the face! It is much too pretty—”
“Pancetta is better than prosciutto and I could get a better carbonara around the corner than your nona could ever--”
The sound of Gio's fist colliding with Spike's face was almost as loud as the giant chandelier hitting the marble floor. Spike's world (and neck) swivelled, and he felt his jaw disconnect briefly, before his magick put everything together again. At once, he was brim-filled with power--he could feel his bones vibrating, muscles expanding. Compared to the resulting energy burst, the blow to the face was nothing but a bee-sting.
To his credit, Gio reeled back in horror at his own punch, shocked at what he'd just done. “Sorry, Spike! It is just…the carbonara, it is not really authentic Italian, you know...”
"I agree!" Spike called back, loosening his bowtie and throwing it to the ground. "Thank you!" He removed his jacket and tossed it likewise. The expansion of his muscles notched up his sizing by a few inches in every category, threatening to pop off the buttons on his shirt.
Spike pushed his way through the crowd of gawkers--mostly faces he recognized. He didn't blame them for inaction, of course. There was only so much they could do. He went to an unoccupied side of the massive chandelier--which was much, much bigger up close. It was an incredibly unwieldy thing.
As Spike leaned down to take hold of one of the chandelier's many arms, he locked eyes with the last person he wanted to see in this moment--or any moment really--standing opposite him.
"Rage?"
Vahni Rage, his jacket also removed, nodded to him. "Not the time for heat, little lion. You say you're tough? Prove it. Now."
"Gio can help," came a familiar voice from behind. Spike turned around just in time to see giant Gio bound over the bar, clearing the hurdle in one go, before he sprinted to Spike's side. He pointed to the marble floor. "The stone gives me strength."
Gobsmacked by the revelation that this suggested, that Gio possessed two glyph, Spike barely had time to register that LiuLiu, as well, had jumped onto the scene. She wedged herself between Colt and Cian, rubbed her hands together, and crouched down as if she was about to lift a heavy weight.
"But LiuLiu," Colt barked at her, "you don't have magick!"
"I don't need magick, darling! I HAVE MUSCLES!"
Spike bit his lip. Beneath the chandelier, poor Mrs. Zorn groaned. At least she was still conscious. Now, all he could think about is where Mr. Salim and Joseph had run off. The two biggest guys at this party--unaccounted for in the moment when their strength would be the most useful...
"Okay, everyone," Colt ordered, taking the lead. "On my count, we lift. One...two...THREE!"
And on three, Spike grunted, lifting with his legs. Though it was heavy, probably the heaviest thing he'd ever lifted, Soike propped up the chandelier as if it was a sack of potatoes. He held it above his head, gritting his teeth, wondering why his compatriots were all staring at him. That's when he realized...he was the only one holding the damn thing.
The room fell dead silent. It was eerie.
"Shit," Cian muttered under his breath. "Did you even need our help?
Spike looked around, meeting a thousand different stares. "Heh...heh?"
Even Vahni Rage looked impressed.
"Don't move her," Colt snapped at Mr. Konstantinos, now at his co-worker's side. He turned his head to the onlookers. "Y'all! Clear the area. Spike? You remember that technique I showed you?"
Spike stammered. "Wha-whaddya' want me to do, boss? Suplex this damn thing?"
"Waterford, I seen guys like you suplex whole trains before. Just push the damn thing over! Energy burst, pronto! Explode!"
"Ye-yes!" Spike had no room to argue. He only hoped he had enough room to shove the giant-ass chandelier over his head, and prayed it wouldn't go crashing into someone else. Channelling all his energy reserved, Spike pushed off the floor, moving forward. "GAH!"
It was a clumsy arc, but the chandelier wobbled onto its side, sending party-guests on the opposite end running towards the ends of the room. It made a terrible, reverberating sound, but came to a rest without injuring a bystander. A good result as any.
Spike's energy immediately sapped, having channelled it all into the abrupt movement. Feeling faint and nauseous, Spike sunk to the cracked marble and crawled over to Marianne's side.
“You okay, ma'am?”
The woman grimaced. “BOTH OF MY LEGS HAVE BEEN CRUSHED--OF COURSE I’M NOT OKAY!”
Spike chose not to look at her injury, but based on bystander reaction, it wasn't pretty. His head swam. Somewhere, someone--Buck, maybe--called for a medic.
The spellbreaker ran his head through his sweaty hair, feeling like he was on the verge of being sick. His whole body shook. "Fuck," he said. "Holy fuck. Shit. Goddess-damn."
Spike suddenly felt two giant hands hooking themselves beneath his elbow. He was pulled forcefully onto his feet. The man turned Spike around to face him. Inches away from his face, Colt's eyes glowed yellow with magick.
"SAMUEL WATERFORD!" he growled, while men and women in white robes pulled a stretcher onto the floor behind him. "WHAT DID I TELL YOU ABOUT THAT SAILOR MOUTH!"
"Eep!"
The next few moments were a blur, not helped by the fact that Spike had just downed several volumes of liquor before summoning all his strength into the stunt. He seriously felt as if he might puke. Perhaps this is why Colt had chosen to drag him onto the balcony. The muscle-headed cowboy forced a glass of water into his hands, shut the glass door, and bore down on him.
"Hold out your arms."
This is how I die, Spike thought, doing as told. He's gonna put me in his Texas Electric Chair! Fry my brain out! Ah well, at least it's my idol who's gonna kill me...
Instead, Spike felt soft fabric cover his arms. Colt placed his jacket, tossed during the fray, back onto his shoulders.
"You're a Goddess-damned legend for what you just did," Colt sighed. He handed Spike his cast-off bowtie, and the silver anchor pin that must have fallen off in the confusion.
Spike looked down at the pin, reminded of Buck. "Oh...thanks."
Colt pulled him into a tight embrace, before Spike could say anything to the contrary. Face crushed against Colt's pectorals, and nose full of his cologne, Spike did his best to keep from fainting. This man seemed to have that affect on him.
"S-sir, you're crushing my face." He felt his hair standing up on end as well, a by-product of Colt's ambient electric current.
"Sorry!" Colt pushed his student off him. He looked over his shoulder at the scene unfolding behind him in the ballroom. The medics were attending to Mrs. Zorn. Buck, taking the lead, spoke firmly to the crowd, urging them to give them space.
"Now, that's using your head, muscles, and magick in one go," Colt said. He pat Spike on the shoulder. "This night is a damn mess. You did well though. I'm gonna go with Mrs. Zorn to the hospital." He crossed his arms, and nodded cordially to his dumbstruck pupil. "Take a breather, Spike. Make sure Buck and Rosa get back to their rooms safe, you hear? I'll see you back at the ranch."
Spike remained fastened to the side of the balcony rail, holding on for dear life. He watched Colt place his hands on the doorhandle.
But he stopped short of opening them. "Hey. Odd question, hoss, but did you see anything funny before that damn ugly thing fell on top of Marianne?"
It was hard to recollect much of anything. He told Colt that he'd been too involved in his own thoughts, and his drink, when the chandelier fell. His back was turned. It was the truth. And yet...he felt like he had missed something. The feeling passed, though.
"Right," Colt said. With his back turned, it was hard to tell his expression. But even Spike was clever enough to pick up on the subtext. Suspicion. "Right, kiddo. You have a good evening, now. Oh, maybe a bad time to mention it, but next week is your first Bronze star qualifier. You've shown great progress, as highlighted by this evening."
Spike took a deep breath. "Uh...who am I going up against, sir?"
Colt turned and winked at him. "Your best girlfriend, the Queen of Thorns herself."
Reina Rosa!
"Don't look so green, Spike! Should be an interesting match. Buck's sure excited about it anyway. Think he mentioned something about looking forward to seeing her make you cry." Colt shrugged. "Well, I got a situation to manage. Good night."
Colt re-entered the room, immediately taking command of the situation again. As soon as Spike was sure nobody could see him, he leaned over the balcony and vomited his whole life into the garden below.
To Be Continued!
