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| The Apprentice; Easy Quest | |
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| Topic Started: Oct 24 2016, 02:43 PM (124 Views) | |
| Hercule | Oct 24 2016, 02:43 PM Post #1 |
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| Hercule | Oct 24 2016, 03:29 PM Post #2 |
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"Give me one more, barkeep," Hercule tapped the counter for what he knew was his fifth 'one more' in the last hour. "Do you know you have a drinking problem? Because everyone else does." The barkeep popped the cork on a new bottle of sherry and poured him another glass. "That's no way to keep me around is it?" He retorted as the smooth nectar swirled around in his cup. "Having the champ drink at your bar is the greatest advertisement you'll ever get." He took a slow swig with savor and gestured to the rest of the bar, but his point was lost in the empty seats. In addition to the fact that his fame had lasted 15 seconds at best, it was a Tuesday afternoon. The barkeep rolled his eyes. "You're not the champ Herc, remember?" Herc did remember. He'd been bought out. "Why are you here anyway?" "To celebrate!" The champ pulled a crumpled sheet of paper out of his gui and smacked it on the counter. "Easy money." It was a help wanted flier for a personal trainer, posted by none other than The Hammerfist. He needed someone to train his son outside of the old man's shadow. But instead of an interview there was an all out Battle Royale, where the winner gets the job. The bartender only glanced at it for a moment. "Do you know this starts in an hour? Because everyone else does." Hercule would have spat out his drink if it didn't cost 9.50 a glass. He lurched to the side and fell off of his chair in his hurry to leave, and forgot to pay for his drink anyway on the way out the door. The address on the flier was useless to him, a sense of direction was never one of his claims to fame. But through sheer luck, achieved by combing over a quarter of the city in drunken panicked flight, he got within earshot of the gym. The sounds that reached him were just as likely to have come from a series of fatal car accidents as they were the Battle Royale, but he took the chance and swooped down to the sidewalk. 'The Hammershop', the squat building read over the double doors. He reached to push the doors open, but thought better of it. Instead he leaned back on one foot and slammed the heal of the other into them, blowing them off their hinges and into two competitors now removed from the running. "Make waaaaaayyyy for the champ," Hercule howled as he dove headfirst into the fray. [Word Count: 408/1,800] |
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| Hercule | Oct 26 2016, 11:45 AM Post #3 |
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These guys were no pushovers. When a dozen men had fallen to his fists a cage trapped his lungs inside, and with every swing afterward the cage grew smaller until every breath felt like a wound. How long had it been since he got there? He risked a glance at the timer above the bell. Five minutes. He knew he was in bad shape, but this was something else. His daily pack of cigarettes and bottle of booze weighed on him like cinder blocks tied to his feet. "Sixteen fighters remain!" The Hammerfist's rumbling baritone called over the gym's intercom and hooked his focus back to the fight. Hercule scanned the clump of competitors for an easy out. There was a chunky, red faced girl in tights wrenching a frail older man's neck in a head lock. She would never see it coming. Just as the old man prepared to tap the red faced woman was knocked unconscious by a flying elbow to the back of her neck. She dropped like a bag of rocks. Fifteen fighters left. Hercule found the older man on his hands and knees, trying to catch a breath. But instead he caught a knee dropping into his spine from above. Fourteen. The champ fought to win. In the end of the first ten minutes only Hercule and one other fighter remained. Instead of a gui his opponent wore shiny golden spandex. They were in the center of the ring, circling near the ropes like predators waiting for the kill. What had made him so devastating to the other fighters? He didn't look particularly strong, or fast, or threatening at all. But he'd have to find out sooner or later. He decided on sooner. The champ spun on his heel and lunged toward the ropes, and with a second spin he was backed far into them like a loaded slingshot. He was thrown through the air with a twang, coming down toward his target with an elbow ready to connect. But instead he was caught and slammed to the mat, and before he could recover the man was on him, putting his arm in a bar. "One...Two...," a voice counted over the loud speaker. Hercule cursed. How was he supposed to get away without throwing his shoulder out of socket? He didn't have much time to decide, the man was getting ready to tear his arm clean off. An idea was born from the pain and hercule used his ki to hover off the mat and swing a heel into the grappler's chin. The kicked man reeled backward, for a moment all he could see were the lights on the ceiling. His head hit the mat and before it could bounce Hercule took his chance, diving onto his stomach with both knees. The opponent held his conquered abs like he was trying to hold them in while the champ rolled around to trap him in a head lock. "One..." The Hammerfist started again while Hercule's victim writhed in desperation. "...Two..." Struggling proved to be totally ineffective against the champ's iron vice. By the count of seven the opponent barely seemed to be conscious, and the bell rang. He felt the tension of the match drain from his body, leaning back into the pool of sweat beneath him while the golden spandex wearing loser coughed and sputtered back into the world of the living. [Word Count: 975/1,800] |
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| Hercule | Oct 26 2016, 01:44 PM Post #4 |
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"Would you like a drink?" The Hammerfist waved his hand in front of the liquor cabinet behind his desk. Hercule had noticed it as soon as he walked in, every bottle was top shelf quality. "I can't say no to a drink." His tone was light, but he was pretty sure it was true. But he needed something to take the ache out of his bruises. The office was on the second story of the building, over the gym. The wall to the right of the desk was entirely glass, but the view only consisted of the competing gym across the street. The Hammerfist was a massive, barrel chested man. His suit was custom tailored to fit, he probably couldn't even squeeze into a triple extra large at the big and tall store. Seeing him fight on TV was one thing, but being next to him was another. Hercule felt shadowed, the man's presence was as massive as his form, it filled the room. For the first time he wondered just what sort of power this giant could muster. Drinks were poured for each of them before Hammerfist sat down. His office chair and desk were both comically proportioned next to the smaller man, but fit their owner just fine. "Now Hercule," The Hammer spoke first, "this isn't an interview or anything of the sort." He reached into a desk drawer and put on a pair of slim reading glasses. "But I do have a personal question for you, and feel free to decline an answer." "I'm not a man who's got much to hide, so uh, fire away." The sentence felt true when he started, but by the end the weight of all his hidden thoughts and desires was crushing. He chuckled to try and vent his tension. "It's widely known at this point that you were visited by vengeance in your dressing room, shortly before your fight with Cain Blackheart. A lot of people, myself included, bet on you as the victor after your third round." Hercule started to apologize but The Hammerfist held up a hand in protest. "The reason I ask is to examine your motives. See, there are two theories at this point." He held up two fingers. "The first is that you knew her true identity before anyone else, and that you complied with her plan to exact her...well, vengeance. Quite noble considering the fact that the Blackhearts murdered her father." "Well, you see-" "Let me finish." The room rumbled, the voice of The Hammerfist was bottled thunder. "The second is that she threatened you with the same mutilation that Cain Blackheart suffered if you were to defeat him. Leaving you with a choice, to either lose the match or abandon it." He was silent for several seconds, Hercule didn't try to interject again. "Now, as I said before," His voice was a whisper now. "there was a great deal of money attached to faith in your progress. Tell me, was this money lost for nobility, or cowardice? I will not-" His voice quickly climbed from a whisper to a roar. "-have my son-" He jumped from his seat and slammed his hands on the desk to loom over Hercule. "-trained by a coward!" The champ swallowed a lump in his throat. He could feel The Hammerfists power bearing down on him, it was hard to even breathe, but he managed a squeak. "I need to call my lawyer." [Word Count: 1,550/1,800] |
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| Hercule | Oct 26 2016, 02:23 PM Post #5 |
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The couch sucked him deeper into it's cushions the longer he sat. It smelled like smoke. His whole apartment wreaked of it. That and the stench of liquor spilled here or there, but never cleaned. The bourbon buzz dulled his senses, but not enough to curb his guilt. There it was, glaring at him, taunting him. Not the prize money from the tournament, but the lucrative reward for his mediocrity; zeni passed from the hands of a widow and a fatherless child. He took a swig. Cain Blackheart's twisted body was rotting in the bottom of his bottle, so he took another swig with his eyes closed. The alcohol burned the cuts on his face, it felt good. There was a rhythmic knocking at the door, it barely cut through the haze. He ignored it. Another swig, Jet Markil's face. Her eyes dripping blood lust and tears, leaving gaps in small places where the pain of loss, the need to fill a void were hungry and hollow. He could see her behind his eyelids. Sid continued to knock at the door. What the hell did he want? Couldn't he feel it from the hall? Couldn't he smell the sorrow and pity seeping out from under the door. Hercule saw sunshine pressing up against the closed blinds and hated it. He saw the stained carpet, the dingy walls, the money on the table and hated them too. Maybe he could leave. Maybe he could go somewhere far away from here, from his shame. A fresh start, that's what he needed. To be someone else, how happy he would be as someone, anyone else. Just when he was starting to get somewhere the door opened. A breath caught in Sid's throat when he saw him. Hercule turned the bottle upside down and chugged it's liquid relief like a newborn calf. Maybe he would wake up as someone else. He hoped so. [Word Count: 1,869/1,800] |
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