My Dad Taught Me How To Kick Your Ass
"Are you sure you want to do this? I mean, seriously, Raoul you've had like how many drinks already?" Raoul heard the words but didn't quite register them. Where was Amy? Was she bringing him another drink? That would be swell. He clapped his friend on the shoulder and grinned.
"What's the big fucking deal anyway? It's just some rhymes. Not like I have to kick his ass or anything."
And then before anyone could stop him, Raoul was out on that stage and flipping off his 'opponent'. Syre Fleetbreaker was a much taller man than Raoul, with too much hair and muscles that were far too obvious. He was Gilnean. An infected one at that. But even this towering behemoth of a student wasn't someone Raoul took seriously.
He was having a hard time taking anything seriously right now.
So he spun elegantly on his heel, and when he had done a 360 turn back to Syre, Raoul was flipping him off with both hands. The applause and whistles of the small crowd drowned out the groaning of several friends offstage.
Syre growled and gestured dismissively.
"Look who's back, the alley cat. Well I eat pussy-cats for breakfast. You're reckless, challenging a tempest. I'm a storm capable of washing off that grease, I'll find release in leaving you in pieces. They call you Raoul, I call you a fool that can't follow simple rules. Maybe it's cruel to bring up school, but I'm just saying you probably would've passed Enchantment if you hadn't been in the workshop with your girl and your 'tool'."
Raoul shook his head and shrugged. "I'd give a fuck but I'm all out, so I'll just have to take another route. Not that it makes a difference. Excuse me, Princess. We all end up at the same place, same disgrace, make those same mistakes. The kind that keep you up at night. But here you're acting like you've seen the Light and know what's right, think you're so fucking bright. So you can pass a class- that doesn't mean you have any."
He laughed when Syre shoved him. But the worgen wasn't laughing.
"I've got plenty of class, that why I'm at the top of mine. Now I'm about to shatter your world like it's made of glass. You're crass, couldn't even conjure up a proper Fire Blast. I've got abilities you just can't surpass, and if you don't catch my drift...just ask your lass."
Raoul sharply lifted his left hand and let the ice encase it, just like he'd shown off for his father once.
"Your magic isn't my forte it's true, but you could never bend the arcane the way I do. I don't need to cast from the back or from a distance because when I spit, it's in your face. Blink away, I just give chase. You think your cowardice is really grace, but try for once to contemplate. I've seen how leylines interlace, in the trim on the back of my girl's dress when it unzips. I make no apologies for my priorities."
Not one to be outshown, Syre leaned back and summoned an impressive ring of fire at his feet. The flames rose up and stretched thin until they could actually be seen through and became a translucent, flickering orange bubble.
"Neither your fist nor your whore can get through my shield. Just yield before I set fire to the fields. Country life never did appeal, to me. Us Gilneans, we prefer the sea and storms. I'm practically Highborne, compared to your little miss Creamed Corn-"
Despite everything, the constant references to Amavia were starting to get under his skin. He didn't wait for Syre to finish before he started his retort.
"Let me stop you right there with a Counterspell. You think you're like a necromancer, raising hell. See what the Darkmoon cards foretell. They say your rhymes are blank shells, and they can't penetrate this armor. See, I'm a charmer. Turn your days into a haze until they bleed to crops from seeds and back again, won't ever end. And then we'll see who's just a farmer."
"I'd say don't speak out of turn, but you'll learn when you get burned. My fires churn faster than the Maelstrom and then some, play you like a drum, not just for fun. There's education in my confrontation, enough to shake your foundations with this rotation of words to fray your nerves. Respect is earned, not given. Just common sense passed from fathers to their sons, but I think we all know why you missed that lesson."
There are some who knew Raoul enough to make snide remarks about his father (or lack of, rather)... and then were the those who knew Raoul well enough to understand why you shouldn't. Really, it was a surprise Raoul hadn't snapped at the first slight against Amy. His girl and his father were triggers that no one really needed to pull. To have those buttons pushed almost in unison was just asking for trouble.
Perhaps amusingly given some of Syre's earlier rhymes, Raoul's first punch did indeed cut right through the shield. Strong enough on its own, Raoul heard a satisfying crack thanks to the extra power of the frost magic. Syre went down and Raoul was right on top of him. Needless to say, the crowd loved it probably more than Raoul did.
But once they were on the ground, Raoul had to let the ice casing around his fist crack and fall away before it severely damaged his own hand. Would ordinary punches really finish this fight? And Syre was a worgen, which only reminded Raoul how angry he was about losing to Sangrey in the cemetary. Light-damn worgens. Hadn't Dad fought a worgen once?
"I stabbed him and he ran away."
Raoul hissed as a conjured sliver of arcane energy in his palm expanded into a blade.
"What's the big fucking deal anyway? It's just some rhymes. Not like I have to kick his ass or anything."
And then before anyone could stop him, Raoul was out on that stage and flipping off his 'opponent'. Syre Fleetbreaker was a much taller man than Raoul, with too much hair and muscles that were far too obvious. He was Gilnean. An infected one at that. But even this towering behemoth of a student wasn't someone Raoul took seriously.
He was having a hard time taking anything seriously right now.
So he spun elegantly on his heel, and when he had done a 360 turn back to Syre, Raoul was flipping him off with both hands. The applause and whistles of the small crowd drowned out the groaning of several friends offstage.
Syre growled and gestured dismissively.
"Look who's back, the alley cat. Well I eat pussy-cats for breakfast. You're reckless, challenging a tempest. I'm a storm capable of washing off that grease, I'll find release in leaving you in pieces. They call you Raoul, I call you a fool that can't follow simple rules. Maybe it's cruel to bring up school, but I'm just saying you probably would've passed Enchantment if you hadn't been in the workshop with your girl and your 'tool'."
Raoul shook his head and shrugged. "I'd give a fuck but I'm all out, so I'll just have to take another route. Not that it makes a difference. Excuse me, Princess. We all end up at the same place, same disgrace, make those same mistakes. The kind that keep you up at night. But here you're acting like you've seen the Light and know what's right, think you're so fucking bright. So you can pass a class- that doesn't mean you have any."
He laughed when Syre shoved him. But the worgen wasn't laughing.
"I've got plenty of class, that why I'm at the top of mine. Now I'm about to shatter your world like it's made of glass. You're crass, couldn't even conjure up a proper Fire Blast. I've got abilities you just can't surpass, and if you don't catch my drift...just ask your lass."
Raoul sharply lifted his left hand and let the ice encase it, just like he'd shown off for his father once.
"Your magic isn't my forte it's true, but you could never bend the arcane the way I do. I don't need to cast from the back or from a distance because when I spit, it's in your face. Blink away, I just give chase. You think your cowardice is really grace, but try for once to contemplate. I've seen how leylines interlace, in the trim on the back of my girl's dress when it unzips. I make no apologies for my priorities."
Not one to be outshown, Syre leaned back and summoned an impressive ring of fire at his feet. The flames rose up and stretched thin until they could actually be seen through and became a translucent, flickering orange bubble.
"Neither your fist nor your whore can get through my shield. Just yield before I set fire to the fields. Country life never did appeal, to me. Us Gilneans, we prefer the sea and storms. I'm practically Highborne, compared to your little miss Creamed Corn-"
Despite everything, the constant references to Amavia were starting to get under his skin. He didn't wait for Syre to finish before he started his retort.
"Let me stop you right there with a Counterspell. You think you're like a necromancer, raising hell. See what the Darkmoon cards foretell. They say your rhymes are blank shells, and they can't penetrate this armor. See, I'm a charmer. Turn your days into a haze until they bleed to crops from seeds and back again, won't ever end. And then we'll see who's just a farmer."
"I'd say don't speak out of turn, but you'll learn when you get burned. My fires churn faster than the Maelstrom and then some, play you like a drum, not just for fun. There's education in my confrontation, enough to shake your foundations with this rotation of words to fray your nerves. Respect is earned, not given. Just common sense passed from fathers to their sons, but I think we all know why you missed that lesson."
There are some who knew Raoul enough to make snide remarks about his father (or lack of, rather)... and then were the those who knew Raoul well enough to understand why you shouldn't. Really, it was a surprise Raoul hadn't snapped at the first slight against Amy. His girl and his father were triggers that no one really needed to pull. To have those buttons pushed almost in unison was just asking for trouble.
Perhaps amusingly given some of Syre's earlier rhymes, Raoul's first punch did indeed cut right through the shield. Strong enough on its own, Raoul heard a satisfying crack thanks to the extra power of the frost magic. Syre went down and Raoul was right on top of him. Needless to say, the crowd loved it probably more than Raoul did.
But once they were on the ground, Raoul had to let the ice casing around his fist crack and fall away before it severely damaged his own hand. Would ordinary punches really finish this fight? And Syre was a worgen, which only reminded Raoul how angry he was about losing to Sangrey in the cemetary. Light-damn worgens. Hadn't Dad fought a worgen once?
"I stabbed him and he ran away."
Raoul hissed as a conjured sliver of arcane energy in his palm expanded into a blade.