fascination {fawn/asta}
Dec 29, 2015 6:53:41 GMT -5
Post by Python on Dec 29, 2015 6:53:41 GMT -5
astaroth.
Originally, his father promised him that the stench of sweat, dirt, smoke, and leather in the underground ring was the natural scent of men. Now – sitting in a humid stew of this so-called “masculine” flavor – he decided that if this were true, he didn’t want to be interested in men anymore. Big Johnny was a furnace sitting beside him, wiping sweat off of his forehead after a fight’s worth of exercise. There was not a scratch on him – only a smudge of purple here and there, where someone managed to swipe him with their knuckles. ”You gonna shower?” Astaroth asked, eyebrow raised to the heavens as if secretly thinking, I’ll judge you if you don’t, nasty.
”Soon,” the brute mumbled. He sounded suspiciously insincere, but he wasn’t dumb enough to press on. He had a match to prepare for.
His dad was somewhere among the crowds of riled up men and women, cigar hanging from his lips and ashes decorating his stubble. He wouldn’t expect much from his son; his streak of disappointment stretched beyond prediction, and the withering self-confidence didn’t quite motivate him enough to improve. Victory was expected of an untrained, illegitimate child handpicked for no reason but to carry a legacy too heavy for his scrawny back. Whose fault was it? His own, of course. Dad aimed every blame at him like he was a target for archery practice, and there was no room left for holes. He was done with the bullshit, done with the insults and the crap excuses.
Yet here I am.
Who was he kidding? Surviving on his own? He couldn’t run away with empty pockets and no future. He wouldn’t last a week in the streets. As much as it pained him both physically and emotionally, he needed that bastard for food and shelter. In the meantime, at least. He planned to find an actual job after he turned eighteen and finished school. Then it’s goodbye, asshole. You’ll never have to see me again.
He wrapped his hands in bandages and bathed in the sounds of the crowd. Bottles of beer were clinking, friends were chatting, and spectators were betting. This place was always bustling with activity on Friday nights. People here lived for the fight – or lived to watch the fights for entertainment. Astaroth would rather sit on the sidelines like when he was eight years old, still innocent and confused about the world. Back before his dad ever slapped him for being a loser. Those were simpler and easier times. Now he was a landslide; it was all downhill from here, and he would reach rock bottom soon enough. He didn’t know what it would feel like. Hard and cold, probably.
He sighed.
The rubber ring bounced beneath his feet as he stepped under the rope. His opponent was approximately five inches taller than him – because he always boasted about his height to the ladies who never listened – and sported an ugly red cap, like it was supposed to be part of his fighting wardrobe or something. Astaroth wanted to roll his eyes, but couldn’t risk offending a giraffe. Some people were too dramatic with this fighting thing. Costumes and accessories were pushing it. All he needed was his not-so-lucky pair of black shorts, and a bare chest – not that it helped. It was just the “uniform” his dad encouraged him to wear. A classic, apparently.
The bets were on his opponent for certain. Nobody in their right mind would invest money on Astaroth, not even his own dad. Surely, as he hurled his first punch and nailed the giraffe in the jaw, his father’s eyes were hardly watching. The most he would do was wait until Astaroth was flat on his back, then shout his crude opinions into the ring for everyone to hear. Thanks, dad. Humiliation was infinite.
As a boulder of a knee struck his groin, he thought he saw stars. Weird.. Usually that only happened on the brink of unconsciousness, but perhaps the fire brewing in his lower half was sending the stars to his eyes as a distraction. He stumbled into the ropes and tried not to curl up in submission right then and there. He could handle a damn cheap shot from a wannabe career. It wasn’t fair; most of the competitors here had a background in career training, but his dad had believed in natural talent. Training wouldn’t be necessary for a champion like his son, right? Adopted or not.
What idiot would think that?
He wondered if his father realized he was an idiot for being an idealist. Ha, probably not. His only regret was “adopting a failure,” like it was Astaroth’s fault for having weak genetics and a neglectful moron as a dad. It was evident in his awkward steps that he was not built to be coordinated, but he managed. Barely. He struggled to land a few decent punches on the giraffe, but his arms were much longer. Fists made an assault on different parts of his body. The worst was on his spine. He really hated it when people aimed at such a sensitive weak point. You can take me out without being an ass, sheesh.
He was panting by the time giraffe landed the final blow to his gut. The sensation of gravity sucking every breath out of his body was miserable, and he didn’t want to be consumed by misery. As resilient as he was, he didn’t want this fight fucking him up too badly. The white flag was up. He rested his side against the rubber floor and waited for the inevitable cheers of his opponent’s fans. The uproar was deafening. It didn’t, however, outweigh the ache in his gut. He decided to roll out of the ring to avoid his father’s imminent bellows of unreasonable anger, and headed for the water fountain to swish the blood out of his mouth.
Exhaustion seeped through him. There would be an after party once the matches ended, but he wasn’t feeling up to it. The potential lays would all ignore him, and defeat wasn’t sexy. He just wanted to go home, shower, and sleep the world away.
Then he spotted an actual angel.
He blinked because religion wasn’t real, it was all crap. But beauty was, and it was standing in the corner looking lost. His blood churned hot and cold, making him tingle. He had to talk to them. (Is that a guy or a girl).
”Hey there, cutie.”
Even if he made a fool of himself.table by ugky
