Authors Note: Welp, here we go, my first attempt at a long form story. This is probably going to be a bumpy ride, but it's going to eventually focus on Rude and Reno during their earlier years in the Turks. Rude will be our central character throughout. Hope you enjoy and let me know if you have any suggestions!
Strong Silent Type
Chapter 1: The Jab
He's strong. What's worse is that he's fast and he knows it. He's cutting off the ring, trying to trap Rude in the corner and finish this. That's what he thinks is happening right now. What he doesn't know is that while the younger man has been weathering the storm the patterns have become clear.
Left. Left. Right cross. Finish with the hook….always finishes with the hook.
In this moment, as Rude's back touches the wall and the larger man begins to strike, it might as well be slow motion. The lefts come, then the right, and as he winds up for the hook, a sloppy hook, Rude's right snaps out and cracks against his jaw. It's not so much the impact of the punch that sends him reeling, it's the surprise. This was his victory, his moment, now he's being driven backward, and by the smaller man. Rude don't give him too much time to worry about it. His hands rise to guard his chin, but he wasn't going there anyway; the hook digs into his liver and he seizes up…it's done. The next few blows bring him to the ground and he lies still.
The crowd erupts. Rude's vision begins to widen once more and he sees the arena in all its filthy glory. A dirt floor surrounded by four concrete walls with makeshift seating: car seats, lawn chairs, stolen park benches, making up a parody of stadium seating around them. Sector 7's own Fight Haven, where the strong shall rise and the weak will fall by the wayside.
He should be celebrating, he just won the biggest fight of his career, but he know what's waiting for him in his corner.
"What the fuck was that!"
"It's called a knock out Coach, it means we won."
"It was fucking sloppy is what it was. How long were you going to let that chump wail on you before you took him out? You're going to get knocked the fuck out!"
"I was fine. He had a better shot at winning the lottery."
"Yeah? Well, you let him buy enough fucking tickets and he'll punch yours. That shit won't fly in the next circuit, you see an opening and you fucking take it."
Rude rolled his eyes and thought. Ladies and gentlemen, I give you Coach Frank Robinson. My trainer and about the only man in this damn slum that I can stand. Expert in all things boxing and the varied uses of the word fuck.
Frank groans as he catches sight of something behind Rude. "Great, now these fucking guys."
"Rude! Congratulations young man! You'll have another champ on your hands in no time Frank!"
Fuck me. He doesn't even want to turn around, he'd recognize that voice anywhere.
Don Juan, and yes, he's sure the name was as fake as everything else about the man. He's probably dressed in that ridiculous purple pimp suit with some monstrosity of jewelry hanging off his neck.
Rude sighs and turn around to find his faith in terrible fashion rewarded as, the short, balding, portly man dressed in all purple save for a gold chain with the word POWER hanging off the end waddles his way towards them. Classy.
"Maybe if you stop poaching my talent." Frank retorts.
"Come on, coach don't be that way. I just took a better offer is all."
Rude's gaze shifted to the tall man standing behind the Don who'd just spoken.
Oh good, he brought his guard dog, that won't make coach insufferable for the rest of the night. He thought sarcastically.
"Yeah, yeah. You keeping up on your training at least Axel, or did I waste my time?"
"Sharp as ever old timer." Axel replied with a grin.
As much as Rude hated to admit it, he looked it. Axel stood a lean 6'3, dressed in a black button-down shirt with matching slacks and slicked back black hair. Most expected a Don's muscle to be…well more muscular, more intimidating. Some had even gone so far as to push the issue when Juan had first hired him…they'd soon learned the error of there ways. He still remembered their sparring sessions from his younger days…sparring being a generous term for them.
The Don stepped in. "Now that we're all reacquainted, I'm sure your anxious to get to the matter of payment."
"5,000 gil was what we agreed on. Don't try to fuck us on this Juan."
"Wouldn't dream of it Frank. There is however, several small fees to account for. We set up the fight, provided the venue, and promoted the event, wouldn't want your boy to go unnoticed now would me? All in all, it comes out to 1,000 gil."
"That actually seems reasonable." Rude cut in.
"Wait for it boy." Frank sighed.
The Don held out a small stack of bills. There can't be 4,000 gil there. The realization suddenly hit Rude.
"You're taking 4,000!?"
"I really underestimated you on this one Juan, fucking us would have implied some kind of benefit, you're just raping us now."
"Now now Frank. It's just business." The Don chided.
Axel shook his head sympathetically at Rude. "Getting your brain shook and your money took my man., that's what this business is all about. Get out while you can, come work with me, I'll show you where the money is."
"Getting out was always the plan Axel! It still is the plan, you were the one that bailed!" Frank snapped.
Axel smiled back sadly. "You know as well as I do there's no honest way out of the Slums old timer. Don't lead the kid on."
"Fuck off." Frank reasoned.
"Gentlemen, as much as enjoy your witty banter, I'm afraid I have more business to attend to today. I look forward to your next bout Rude. Axel let's go."
"Yes sir. Tell you what old man, I'll stop by the gym later and hold mitts or something for the kid to make it up to you. He could use some work."
It was Rude's turn to get fired up. "I'll put some work on you if you actually show up."
"Promises, promises." Axel laughed over his shoulder as he walked away.
Rude sighed. "What now coach?"
"We go back to gym and celebrate."
"It's not going to be-"
"Wutaian cigars and Nibel whiskey!"
"One, I'm trying to stay in fighting shape. Two, that shit is terrible."
Frank shrugged. "More for me."
"One-two. One-two-three." Frank shouted to his fighter as he moved around the ring with a grace that belied his age, holding up the mitts as Rude fired off combinations.
"You've got to be faster kid. Cleaner too, you're moving up to the big leagues now, no more easy fights."
Rude ignored the criticism. In truth, he barely heard it. This was his favorite part of training, the movement, the flow of it, the satisfying crack that his fist made when they made contact with the mitts. It allowed him to relax, to feel at peace…all the way till Frank cracked him on the head with a mitt.
"Head in the game!"
Rude's eyes narrowed as he began to pickup the pace and movement, making Frank turn and catch strikes coming in quicker and quicker. Frank's breathing soon become ragged and uneven.
How are those cigars and whiskey treating you now old man?
Frank kept up for a few more minutes before collapsing to the mat.
"Fuck!" He wheezed.
Rude smiled down at him. "Getting old coach."
A slow clap came from the door. Both men looked over at the grinning Axel filling the gateway.
"Looking good kid! How you going to take that though old man?"
"Axel." Frank grunted.
"Come on, I was serious about helping the kid."
"Put on some gloves and find out how good I am." Rude taunted.
"Damn he's eager Frank! Maybe later kid, I don't think the old man wants us to throw down just yet, bad for your self-confidence"
"Bring it on!"
Frank looked between the two considering. "Do it."
"You sure? I'm not that rusty." Axel asked surprised.
"I know. I want you to show the kid what he's about to get into. I'm too old to teach that kinda lesson anymore."
Axel's face lit up. "Any rules?"
"Don't hurt him, we need another fight soon."
"Got it." Axel said as walked over to the equipment rack and started to strap on a pair of gloves.
"Do I get to be part of this conversation?" An irritated Rude asked.
"You're getting what you wanted boy, now shut up and get ready."
Axel started to climb through the ropes. "Yeah Rude, don't be rude."
Rude slammed his gloves together. "Har har. Ready to lose?"
Axel just grinned back. "Ding ding."
Rude shot forward and threw a jab at Axel's head. Axel dipped out of the way of the shot and began to cut around him. Rude adjusted his stance a began firing jabs in rapid succession…
One, two, three…all hit nothing but air. Axel moved his head the barest amount, slipping each shot in turn.
Time to up the ante. Rude thought as he threw a cross at his opponent. Axel stepped to the outside of the shot and slapped Rude with the open hand of his glove. Rude's counter hook sailed over his head as he ducked, stepped back, and winked at him.
This motherfucker! Rude charged forward and unleashed everything in his arsenal, his anger building as Axel danced around him and delivered open hand slaps for each missed shot. Rude felt himself start to slow down and fought to keep his breathing under control. Axel calmly, mockingly, bounced in front of him just out of range.
It dawned on Rude, he thought he was fast, he thought he had good footwork. But Axel? This is what real speed looked like, he wasn't even sweating hard. I've got to end this somehow. Rude focused on their position in the ring, and a plan came together.
Rude started his assault again, but at a more measured pace, focusing on pressing Axel back rather than really hitting him. Axel just smiled at him and continued to dodge and slap his way backward, smiling the whole time.
Almost there! Rude watched with satisfaction as Axel's back struck the corner, and the smile slipped from his face. My turn! This was going to be his only chance to close this out. Rude lunged at Axel…the next sequence of events were fuzzy at best…he remembered the feeling of something hitting him the face and his legs getting weak, he vaguely remembered being turned so that it was now his back facing the corner, he defiantly remembered the grin on Axel's face before he lunged forward, it was the last thing he remembered.
Rude groaned as he strained his eyes against the harsh florescent lighting.
"There's our bald sleeping beauty!" Axel chirped from beside him.
"What the fuck happened?"
"You got knocked out." Axel shrugged. "It happens."
"Where's coach?" Rude asked as he pushed himself up.
"Take it slow champ. The old man went to go get a doc to check you out."
"Yeah about that, I thought you were going to go easy."
Axel laughed. "You pushed me kid!"
"Anyway, there's something I wanted to talk to you about while the old man was out."
"What's that? Trying to offer me a job again?"
"Not necessarily, you can do what you want, but you do know that you have to get the fuck out of here right?"
"I'm not leaving the gym Axel."
Axel rolled his eyes. "Not the gym, the slums kid. This place fucking eats people and it's only a matter of time before it gets you too. Frank is numb to it, just been here too long, but it ate him too."
"Seems to be doing ok to me."
"Yeah? He ever talk about his wife? How about his kid?"
…
"I thought so. There's no shame in it, like I said, it's this place."
"I'm not going to run away from him, I still believe that we can fight our way out of here."
Axel sighed. "Wake up kid. Look around you. You're in a run-down gym in the middle of the slums and you pay rent to a Don. You think you're going to make it out of here boxing when no one else has? I love that old man, but Rude I'm tired, I'm tired of putting friends in the ground, of looking over my shoulder all the time. Love in slums is different, you know that, I love the old man, so I left before he got to see his dream crushed, I hurt him so I could stop him from hurting more."
Rude shook his head. "So now what? You work for Juan? I know the kind of things you have to do for him. You sold your soul."
Axel nodded. "You're damn right I did, but I didn't sell it to the Don, I sold it to the great God of gil. I'm getting out of here one way or another, and with the job we have coming up, I should be able to walk. Your soul is the only real currency you have down here my man, sell it dearly, you can only do it once."
"All the same, I'm sticking with Frank…he's taken care of me. I'm going to get us out of here."
"Suit yourself kid. One more thing before I go though, be careful at your next fight. I've heard that the Turks are going to be hanging around the few."
"The Turks?" Rude cocked his head to the side.
"Shinra's SOLDIER recruiting agents. They like to use the upper level fights as a chance to look for potential candidates. Their recruiting methods have been known to be…less than voluntary. My suggestion would be to win, but try not to look too good."
"I'll…keep an eye out. Thanks."
"No problem kid. Now I've got to bounce before Frank gets back and murders me for breaking the merchandise."
Rude snorted. "Asshole."
"Yeah, yeah, third time I've heard it today." He reached in his pocket and handed him a slip of paper. "Message from the Don. Good luck." He waved over his shoulder as he walked toward the door.
Rude unfolded the paper and stared down in shock. It was a bout agreement…it was THE bout agreement.
It was a number one contender fight