Monster

Date/Timing: 4 May 2017
Setting: The Icebox; Anchorage, AK, United States
== Revised text ==
Logan whistles along the hall to the rec, quietly pleased with how well his general colours camouflage is working on the locals. Not a bit of hassle, though he /still can't find anyone he's looking for. He huffs, turns into 'Recreation'—
/Finally!
Now: button-button-what's-your-button.
Slaps on his best 'axe murderer' grin, saunters over to the matched blonds in royal.
A moment of looming and Pretty Boy's fingers start tap-tap-tapping on the table.
Good sign, good sign.
"You want something?" asks Fancy.
"Beckets, right?"
"Who's asking?"
"Been looking all /over for you."
Fancy and Pretty Boy both raise eyebrows.
Rocks on his heels. "You see, I heard you two were top of your class, ay? Earned yourselves a Mark III? More or less?
Fancy bristles. "Whaddya mean 'more or less'?"
Shrugs. "There was an investigation into cheating, yea? How'd that go for you?" Smirks.
Pretty Boy curls up, knuckles white.
Fancy stands, gets in his face, growls, "We earned her fair and square, so you can just step off."
"Nah. Don't think I will." Trades the smirk for a leer. "Maybe you did so well, Yancy-boy, since you have Rain Man—"
Pretty Boy flinches.
"—there for a li'l brother."
Fancy grabs his hoodie.
B-I-N-G-O!
"You gotta protect him? 'fraid his special brain'll get all messed up and you'll be out on your asses?"
"You /really wanna fight me?" Punctuates with a little shake.
"That's the idea, Yank. Wanna see what you and Short Bus're made of."
A vein in Fancy's forehead throbs.
Logan tilts his head. "You wanna do this outside so we're not interrupted?"
Fancy shoves him away. "Let's."
"Awe/some!" Bounces out of the Rec and backtracks, double-time, to the exit.
"Where're you going in such a hurry, newbie?" hollers a tech.
"There's gonna be a fight," chirps Logan.
"Really? Who?"
"Yancy Becket—" Preens. "—and me."
"Pfft. /Seriously? Becket's gonna /flatten you, beanpole."
"We'll see~!" Logan ducks out the nearest door, leaving the tech to spread the good word.
Which they clearly do, since there's a good-sized crowd eyeballing him and betting by the time Fancy sees fit to put in his appearance.
Logan gives him his back, calls to the crowd, "What sorta odds are ye giving?"
A LOCCENT yells, ""Five-to-one on you beating Becket.""
"I'll have a bit of that action!" Digs in a pocket. "You take crabs?"
""The cook does!""
"Aww ...." Dons his strongest pout. "What if I promise to buy you all drinks with the winnings?"
""Hey!"" shouts Fancy.
"Hey!" Logan sparkles around. "You made it!"
"I'ma make you regret startin' this." Fancy puts up his hands and his heavy ass sinks deep into the mud.
Logan laughs. "Gimme your best shot, Fancy!" Swings straight for his gut, lands of a couple of shots Fancy pretty much shrugs off.
Fancy launches a haymaker—
Logan lets it connect with his shoulder, scoffs, shakes out a mild sting—
—throws /another sloppy punch—
—dodges /juuuuust enough, scores with a solid uppercut—
—staggers, swings wildly—
—steps inside Fancy's reach, catches him on the cheek—
—blinks rapidly, kicks—
—rolls out of kicking range, jumps up, whiffs a swing at Fancy's face—
—/finally lands a fucking /proper punch on Logan's nose.
The whole world smells like copper.
—grins, wipes blood off on the back of his left hand, cackling, "/That's more like it!"
Fancy steps back, guard up, shakes his head—
Logan laughs, plants his right fist in Fancy's mouth—
—tags Logan in the nose again—
—blinks away some blurriness, smashes a heel into his arch—
—finds an opening (fuck!) and slings Logan into the mud—
—hops up, swings for Fancy's formerly 'pretty' face—
—barely dodges.
Fancy's wheezing, wobbling a little.
Logan stifles a giggle, bounces on his toes.
"Who the hell /are you?" Fancy pants.
"'m /hurt. You really have /no idea?"
"Would I be askin' if I did?"
"Suppose not." Sweeps a deep bow. "Logan Patrick Jones, he-him-his, at your service."
Fancy blinks rapidly, gears stripping as he tries to think.
Logan taps a foot, wipes his nose on his sleeve.
The bulb over Fancy's head lights up and he drops his hands. "You ... you're a /Ranger?!"
Logan beams. "You got it, Fancy!"
"Are you—we're on the same side! We're on the same side—we're /supposed to work /together!"
"You fight harder when you're protecting your brother, ay?" Logan shrugs. "Wanted to get to the bottom of you."
Fancy blinks. "What do /you get outta this?"
"A good fight." Logan laughs, waves, strolls away, flicking blood off his fingers.
The crowd parts in front of him, murmuring nervously.
""Jesus Christ,"" mutters Fancy. ""He's a /monster.""
And damn proud of it.
.
== Original text ==
The Icebox's Rec is usually neutral territory but the guy who just entered saunters right for them in a way that promises trouble.
And that is definitely not a friendly smile.
Raleigh's fingers twitch nervously against the tabletop.
It's already a bad day and now the smiling guy's getting to him.
"You want something?" asks Yancy.
"Beckets, right?" replies the guy, an Aussie by his accent.
"Who's asking?"
"Bin lookin' all over fer ye."
Yancy and Raleigh both raise eyebrows.
"Y' see, I heard ye two were top 'a yer class, ay? Earned
yerselves a Mark III? More or less?"
Yancy bristles. "Whaddya mean 'more or less'?"
Guy shrugs. "There was an investigation inte cheatin', yea? How'd that go fer ye?" Smirks.
Raleigh's knuckles go white and he shrinks into a smaller target.
Yancy stands, gets between the asshole and Raleigh, growls, "We earned her fair and square, so you can just step off."
"Nah. Don't think I will." Smirk becomes a leer. "Maybe y' did so well, Yancy-boy, since y' have Rain Man there fer a li'l brother."
Raleigh flinches.
Yancy grabs the guy by the jacket.
Guy grins like he just opened a Christmas present.
"Y' gotta protect him? 'fraid his special brain'll get all messed up 'n ye'll be out on yer asses?"
"You really wanna fight me?" Punctuates with a little shake.
"That's th' idea, Yank. Wanna see what ye 'n Short Bus 'er made 'a."
A vein in Yancy's forehead throbs.
"Y' wanna do this outside so we don't get interrupted?"
Yancy shoves the guy away. "Let's."
The half-thawed ground sucks at their boots.
Yancy does his best to stay on top the mire. "Imma make you regret startin' this." Raises his guard.
"Gimme yer best shot, Fancy."
Guy plants his feet, lets them sink in, starts swinging straight for Yancy's gut.
Yancy takes a couple of blows, launches a haymaker, catches the guy on the shoulder.
Guy shakes out the sting.
Yancy throws another wide punch.
Guy dodges—barely—scores with a really hard uppercut.
Yancy staggers, head ringing, swings wildly, hoping to buy time.
Guy steps inside his reach, catches him on the cheek.
Yancy blinks rapidly, knocks the guy's legs from under him.
Guy rolls out of kicking range, jumps up, swings for Yancy's face, misses.
All of Yancy's weight's behind the punch that finally connects with the guy's nose.
Blood just about fountains outta him.
Guy's grinning despite his ferocious nosebleed. He wipes his upper lip with the back of his hand and laughs. "That's more like it!"
Yancy steps back, guard up, shakes his head.
Guy splits Yancy's lip on his knuckles.
Yancy lands another shot on his nose.
Guy smashes a heel into the arch of Yancy's foot.
Yancy uses momentum to flip the guy to the mud.
Guy hops up, throws a punch Yancy barely evades.
Yancy's starting to feel the fight, winded, legs a little rubbery.
But the crazy Aussie's ... you'd think he's still warming up.
"Who the hell are you?"
"'m hurt. Ye really have no idea?"
"Would I be askin' if I did?"
"S'pose not." The guy sweeps an exaggerated bow. "Logan Jones, at yer service."
Blood drips into the mud.
Yancy knows that name ... if only his head wasn't ringing so bad ....
It finally clicks.
"You ... you're a Ranger?!"
"Y' got it, Fancy!"
"Are you— we're on the same side! We're on the same side—we're supposed to work together!"
Logan shrugs. "Ye fight harder when yer protectin' yer brother, ay? Wanted t' git t' th' bottom 'a ye."
Yancy drops his hands, blinks. "What do you get outta this?"
"A good fight." Logan laughs, waves, strolls away, flicking blood off his fingers.
"Jesus Christ," mumbles Yancy. "He's a monster." Shakes his head. "How'd he get past the psych exam?"
Logan strolls into his temporary quarters, whistling happily, heads straight for the washroom.
"Take it y' found 'em?" calls Jackson from his nest of blankets.
Logan strips off his muddy clothes, splashes water on his face, washes the blood from his hands. "Yep. Only got th' older one, though. Li'l one went all 'rabbit-'n-th'-headlights.' Prol'ly come fer me later seein' I bruised big bro pretty bad."
Jackson sighs. "Y' need me 'round case they come after ye together?"
"Nah. Not th' type. They'll fight fair." Logan towels off. "If th' li'l one kin keep up with th' big one, they're better 'n th' hype. Wouldn't beat the curtains, def'nitely better 'n th' odd couple, prol'ly kin take th' gingers, too."
"Huh. Good t' know." Jackson picks up his sketchbook.
Logan takes a moment to dress, then starts hovering.
Jackson glances up, raises an eyebrow.
"Think my nose kin handle another scrum right now? Haven't tried th' Eskimos yet." Logan grins, bounces on his toes.
Another sigh from Jackson. "Ye'll be worried fer more than yer nose if ye call 'em that."
"So—"
"Better t' let it heal a li'l first. Take a nap."
"Yessir, Cap'n Borin', sir." He gives a mocking salute.
Jackson rolls his eyes, goes back to sketching.
Logan flops on his bunk and snores almost immediately.
Category:Ficlet
Category:Anchorage Shatterdome (setting)
Category:Logan
Category:Logan's POV
Category:Logan (ficlet)
Category:Yancy
Category:Yancy (ficlet)
Category:Raleigh
Category:Raleigh (ficlet)
Category:Raleigh has Asperger's Syndrome
Category:Ficlets with images
Category:Icing and Heat storyline