Boxer: Storson taught her how to box. She wasn't very good at it.
Storson somehow manages to convince her to get into a practice boxing match.
She doesn't agree to it at first—this has only been a thing between the two of them, a sort of in-joke, as it were, that he taught her to box to being with—but she eventually lets him talk her into it, and it's only through research done himself while she makes dinner that she finds herself at a little boxing studio in an area of town she's never been to.
She gets odd glances from other patrons when she walks in; it's not because they don't see women often, but because they don't see women like her often. Or at all, really. They can tell just by looking at her that she doesn't belong here. She's too stiff, too uncomfortable, and Storson expected this when it came to leaving Ellen's comfort zone. She's an academic, not an athlete.
Oh, bull, Storson says, rather crudely. You ran cross country in high school.
Ellen shoots him a glare while he smirks at her. She doesn't answer.
The smirk stays on his face as he shuffles ahead of her, toward the center practice ring where a burly red-haired man she assumes is the instructor and his current student are just finishing up. Ellen reluctantly follows him, wondering why she ever let her daemon talk her into this.
She needs to learn to say no to herself every once in a while.
They get to the base of the ring just as the instructor and his student finish up their last conversation and the student climbs out of the ring. The instructor wipes his brow on the back of his arm and climbs out of the ring. Ellen and Storson shuffle back to give him room; her daemon stands up and bounces gently in excitement while Ellen stands awkwardly and feels her hands grow clammy. She's not sure she wants to go through with this.
You've already made the appointment, Storson reminds her, with a touch of smugness that he managed to convince her to do so. It's a little late to cancel now.
Ellen glowers, but says nothing. Her mouth has gone dry; if she tries to say anything, she'll stumble over her words and give Storson just another reason to mock her. Her heart races with fear and excitement as the instruction approaches them with a smile that fades into curiosity when he sees the kangaroo perched excitedly at her side. The look doesn't last long before it gives way to a smile.
"An interesting daemon you've got there, lass," he says. He doesn't quite have an accent, though the last word of his sentence seems to lend to one. "As strange as it sounds, in all my years of boxing, I don't think I've seen very many kangaroos." He laughs, his own daemon, a ring-tailed lemur, winding about his shoulders with an interested stare at Storson. "Ellen, yes?"
Her response is a non-verbal nod. Her mouth is too dry for her to say very much of anything.
Beside her, Storson flicks an ear and looks up. Am I allowed to introduce myself or are we sticking to the bonded human-daemon conversation rule as usual?
She doesn't have as much heart to glare at him this time as any other. She sighs reluctantly, relieved to feel some moisture coming back into her mouth and nods. If you must.
"And Storson," her daemon adds, rather boldly.
The trainer grins and laughs. "And a spunky one at that!" He extends his hand out to her; she takes it. "Luke Garrot," he introduces himself. "Nice to meet you."
Ellen nods again, mouth still too dry to reciprocate the feeling verbally.
Luke claps her on the shoulder. "Don't be nervous. You'll do fine." He turns and waves for her to follow him to a rack on the adjacent wall; Ellen has to take a handful of Storon's fur to keep herself steady. Luke, meanwhile, turns to small talk, and Ellen's grateful for it. "How much boxing experience have you had, lass?"
"Not very much," she says, which is true. She and Storson have only ever boxed as a casual past time. "Storson taught me some."
"Really?" Luke turns around to Storson with raised eyebrows and his daemon chirps curiously. "Well, I can't say I've ever heard of a daemon teaching their counterpart to box," he says, smiling now as he looks Storson up and down, "but with a daemon like yours, I'm not too surprised. Kangaroos are some of the best boxers in the animal world." He nods approvingly. "He's a good partner. Perhaps you'd care to have a sparring session with a fellow human?"
Ellen rolls one shoulder. "Let's start with the basics first."
"Alright." Luke pulls a couple of white wraps down from a box on the top shelf of the rack and tosses them to Ellen, then unwraps one of the navy blue ones around his own hands. "These are hands wraps," he says, "one of the ways we keep our hands safe in the ring. Go ahead and unroll them all the way and I'll show you how to wrap them."
Ellen does just that, Storson looking on with attentive ears and bright eyes. She feels his excitement racing through her. He's more excited about this than she is. "Now what?"
Luke motions to the loop at the end of the wrap. "That goes around your thumb. There, just like that. Now you're going to wrap it behind your hand, at a slight angle, good, and come around two or three times. Good." He stops her then, and explains: "This is to stabilize your hand. If you start the other way, and some do, the wrap will slide off when you punch. You'll risk hurting yourself."
She makes a mental note of it.
"Now, come up and around your knuckles two or three times, there you go-no, come up over your knuckles more. Good. Come back down and around, just like that. Now do that again in the opposite direction, and come down around your wrist again, there, and you'll start wrapping between each of your fingers. Okay, come down around your wrist again, and come up, and now wrap around your fingers again, that'll keep that wrap and your knuckles stable. Excellent. Come around the back of your hand and wrap the rest around your wrist. Good."
By the end, Ellen's head is spinning. She'll need some practice before she can do it alone.
At least you're admitting it, Storson says, and earns a glower from Ellen.
She starts with the second wrap, just the way Luke showed her, and successfully secures it.
"Excellent," Luke says. "Now take this pair of gloves and follow me to the ring."
Ellen is overly self-conscious as she climbs into the ring without Storson; the other patrons have their eyes on her, the academic. She rolls her shoulders.
"Relax," Luke tells her. "Ignore them. Focus on me."
She exhales. All right. "What basics are we starting with?"
A smile appears on Luke's face and Ellen feels Storson smirking at her. She looks over too late as her daemon and Luke's converse in the silent language of daemons and curses. Damn it, Storson, what are you telling her?
Storson doesn't respond; he continues to smirk. The lemur clambers back up onto Luke's shoulder and shares whatever information Storson gave.
"I'd like to see what you daemon taught you."
And the blood drains from Ellen's face. She's never boxed with Storson in public, in front of anyone, even in her own living room. No one's ever seen her box with him, and she hasn't been in any hurry to show her skills off. Fantastic. But she shrugs her shoulders, pretending it's no big deal. "If I must." She can't help shooting a glare at Storson as she moves in on Luke.
What she demonstrates is a modified version of kangaroo boxing. She's got no tail to lean back on, so she has to kick with one leg, which she realizes now is a serious disadvantage with someone as experienced as Luke; she's able to get some half-closed-fist swipes in at his face, and she's able to avoid Luke's blows by leaning back and to the side, not as drastic as Storson does. It's enough to save her face for the time being.
Luke soon enough calls off the session and Ellen steps back with relief. She feels the eyes of resting patrons on her; she doesn't look at them. She keeps her eyes on Luke, who wipes his forehead on the back of his arm.
"Impressive," he says. "I can now say I've met someone who can box like a kangaroo. Storson did a good job."
Ellen smiles, feeling her face burn. "Don't give him too much credit. He'll never let me hear the end of it." She glances over at her daemon. Sure enough, he's smiling as widely as a 'roo can and looking as proud of himself as he is of Ellen. "What now?" She's feeling winded already. This is nothing like the cross country she used to run.
"Now we'll start with the basics of human boxing."
What follows is an in-depth lesson in foot positioning, hand positioning, and a series of drills that teaches Ellen the right way to punch. It's a long, grueling lesson, but after a while, Ellen feels that she's got a decent enough handle on human boxing to be able to hold her own in a sparring match and Luke agrees. Storson hops excitedly at the prospect while Luke leaves the ring and calls over one of his other, more advanced students. The man, an inch or two taller than Ellen, climbs into the ring. Luke stays on the outside.
"Ellen, this is Brian. Brian, Ellen." He motions to each of them as he names them off. Ellen lifts a hand to Brian in greeting. Shaking hands isn't exactly an option with gloves on. "Let's take it slow," Luke says. "Ellen's still new to this. Five minutes. Take a corner."
Ellen backs into the nearest corner, diagonally from Brian. He's far more muscled than she is and he's got far more experience than herself. Her mouth is dry. Her heart races. She's not so sure she wants to do this.
Ellen? Storson stands a little taller against the ring. Are you all right?
I'm not sure.
Storson hops around to Ellen's corner. She signals to Luke and Brian that she wants a moment with her daemon and crouches down to Storson's level. "Ellen," he says, "I won't push you do to this. I don't want anything to go too far. I don't want you to get hurt. You can stop, if you'd like. We can go home and practice ourselves."
Now she feels her confidence come back. Who is she, Ellen Anders, to back down from a challenge? It's what science is based on! She didn't earn her position by running away from challenged! She kisses her daemon's nose. "Nothing ventured, nothing gained."
Storson looks at her with frustration and worry as she stands and turns to Brian. "I'm ready."
Luke rings the bell. Ellen and Brian square each other up, moving in circles, testing each other, looking for weaknesses and openings. Ellen strides in circles rather than hop like Brain does; training with Storson has given her an appreciation for stillness; Brian moves far too much for her liking. It's almost distracting.
He's the one to throw the first punch. Ellen dodges and throws one herself; she only manages to clip his shoulders, but she's nonetheless proud of herself for it. Nothing ventured. Her confidence is dashed, only briefly, when a dodge ends with Brian's fist in her ribs. She doesn't call a timeout to the fight. She wants to keep going. She wants to win.
Ellen goes in with renewed vigor. Her actions are a combination of kangaroo boxing and human boxing, and while she doesn't managed to hit Brian as hard or as often as she'd like, she gets a few good swings in (and is harshly reminded by Storson that kicking is very much not allowed in this type of boxing) and learns she's incredibly good at dodging. It's all she seems to do. Still, hubris be damned, she wants something close to a victory.
Call it beginner's luck, she gets a hit on Brian. Then another. Then another.
Storson taunts her, even with worry in his voice: He's letting you win.
It only fuels her, the novice 'roo-human boxer that she is. She's feeling her oats now. And she's ready to-
Her shoulder collides with the floor. Storson's calling her name. Luke's calling her name. Brian's saying something she can't make out. The room spins for a moment. She's completely and utterly thrown off, her eye hurts, and she's never been happier to have Storson at her side.
"I think that's enough," he says quickly. "I think we're done here."
Ellen agrees, and so do her instructors.
Luke helps her up and claps her lightly on the shoulder; Brian gives her a well done pat. "Excellent job for your first time, Ellen," Luke says. He nods to her eye. "Why don't we get a better look at that? I'll grab you an ice pack. Out of the ring now, lass, yeah?"
"Yeah," she says, and climbs out of the ring.
oo0oo
Ellen sits on the bench, hunched over with a soft groan and nursing a bruised eye with a bag of ice wrapped in a towel. Storson crouches beside her, his own eye shut and mildly swollen. He twitches one ear, but says nothing.
With a sigh, Ellen shakes her head and presses the ice pack further into her face. She glances at Storson. "You taught me how to box. I didn't think I'd lose."
Storson shrugs. "I never said I was any good at it. Here's the thing, Ellen." He climbs up onto the bench and sits awkwardly beside her. "Kangaroo boxing only really works with other kangaroos. You're not a kangaroo, love. It doesn't exactly work with humans. Not to mention"—he nods to her tailless rear end—"you don't have tail. You couldn't lean back and kick. You'd have to be on your back for that, and that won't do you much good."
Ellen waves him off with her free hand; it's nothing she doesn't already know. "I'm more concerned with how I'm going to explain this to my class on Monday." She looks down at her hand and flexes it, testing her bruised knuckles. None of this is going to be easy for her to hide.
"Tell them you got into a bar fight," Storson suggests. "They'll believe their one-hundred-eighty IQ professor went out drinking on a Saturday night, won't they?"
He means it so sincerely that even with her aching ribs Ellen can't help but laugh. She nudges him with her elbow. "If they believe that, they'll believe anything."
oo0oo
Ellen's eye is still black and her knuckles are still mildly bruised when she goes into work on Monday. She keeps her head down and avoids the other faculty as much as she can to avoid questions. It doesn't stop the worried looks she gets in passing in the halls, but no one stops to ask her what happened.
That she can bear, but having her entire class staring at her she can't. She leans against the wall just outside the door with a groan. "I don't know how I'm supposed to explain this." She motions to her bruised eye.
"I made my suggestion already," Storson says.
"I'm not telling them I was in a bar fight. They won't believe that."
"Why not?"
"Look at me, Storson," she says, motioning to herself. "Do I look like the type to go drinking? Do I look like the type to go boxing? Everything about me screams academia. No one in the studio thought I was the boxing type. They thought we were mismatched. No one in my profession has a kangaroo—"
"Ellen." Storson shuffles forward and raises himself enough to where he can meet her eyes. He puts his paws on her shoulders. "You're overthinking this. My settling as a kangaroo doesn't mean anything about your boxing abilities. Or your physical abilities. All it means is that you're observant, adventurous, and…maybe you're a little lacking in the self-protection area?"
Ellen scowls to hide any trace of agreement—that was the whole reason Storson taught her to box in the first place. "Maybe," she mutters. She won't agree aloud, not that she has to, when Storson knows her every thought and every feeling.
But he doesn't draw attention to that or her blatant denial of her distinct lack of self-defense abilities. Instead, he draws her into a strong-armed kangaroo hug and pats her awkwardly on the back. He pulls away, paws still firmly on her shoulders. "Who knows, you might not even have to tell them anything."
Ellen exhales. "I'd prefer that." She takes a gentle handful of his fur, adjusting her shoulder bag with her free hand. "Let's get this over with, then."
oo0oo
For a while, and much to her relief, the lecture goes fine. Then, just as she dreads, the question comes out when she calls on someone with a raised hand. "Professor, what happened to your eye?" The student is genuinely concerned. That doesn't help.
Ellen looks to Storson first, but her daemon only nods toward the class. She glowers. Not helping.
Storson shrugs. What do you want me to do?
Something to ease their worries. I guarantee you most, if not all, of them think someone did this to me deliberately.
Or maybe they don't, Storson says. You never know. He rocks lightly on his paws, ears perked with anticipation. Maybe they'll want a demonstration.
Ellen feels her face grow hot. I am not demonstrating kangaroo boxing in front of my students!
Well, why not? Storson challenges. He has the nerve to stand up halfway. Ellen leans away, bristling at his audacity. This is a biology class after all, isn't it? Why not teach them a little thing or two about kangaroo biology, hmm?
Xenobiology, Storson, she corrects him. How many people do you know of who deliberately fight their daemons? And get hurt in the process?
Storson snorts. I never thought we were fighting. I thought I was teaching you how to defend yourself. He looks her up and down, still feeling her bruises. As best you could, at least.
I'm not demonstrating. I'll be the laughing stock of this university.
Who says you aren't already?
Storson!
All right, all right. But he's snorting a laugh, and Ellen can feel the burning stares of her students on her, wondering what her daemon finds so damn funny. She glowers at him, trying to push away the burning and redness in her face.
"Professor?" The student's voice draws her away from Storson.
"I," she starts, then stops with a side glance at Storson, who has finally stopped laughing and urges her on with a nod, "was in a…brief…" Ellen pauses and steels herself for the next word to come out of her mouth and braces herself for her students' reactions. "…boxing…lesson…on Saturday. I did not do well."
She watches as the students look back and forth to each other with a few hushed words, and their daemons shuffle around on the floor. The heat in her face only grows when she sees the disbelieving head shakes from a few of the kids.
Storson.
Her daemon shuffles to her side, his shoulder against her leg. It's all right, Ellen. Let them process for a minute.
Storson's voice is nearly drowned out by Ellen's heart hammering in her chest as the seconds tick by and still none of the students address her directly.
"Are you sure, Professor?" one student asks. There's still a note of concern in her voice; Ellen slowly realizes that some of these kids think she was assaulted by a significant other she doesn't have. "You don't seem like the type to be boxing."
Ellen bites the inside of her lip. What did I tell you, Storson? Her daemon largely ignores her, with only a flick of his ear as an acknowledgement. "I'm very sure," she says. She runs her fingers through Storson's fur.
Storson would never let anyone get that close with the intent to hurt me.
"I was convinced to go at least once," she adds with a glance at Storson. She doesn't get a response.
Another student raises his hand. "Where'd you learn to box, anyhow?" he asks. "With all due respect, Professor, I would've thought you'd be neck deep in research."
Storson snorts loudly and turns away, trying to muffle his laugh with his paws. He tries to apologize, but can't stop laughing long enough to get the words out.
Damn it, Storson!
Shit, sorry, Ellen. But he can't stop laughing. Give me a few minutes. Answer the kid.
She rolls her eyes and turns back to address the student. "I learned from the best." She runs her fingers through Storson's fur and takes a loose hold of it; it's the only thing that gets him to stop laughing. She can see the boy raise an eyebrow; the students and their daemons around him suddenly look a lot more interested.
Of course. Because no one spars with their daemon.
Ellen sighs; there's no backing out of this now. Storson may very well get his wish, knowing that any attempt Ellen makes to change the subject will be seen as a very obvious deflection of the subject at hand. It looks like there's going to be a slight adjustment to the syllabus. She inhales heavily.
"Your daemon?" Someone else asks. He doesn't believe her. And, judging from the incredulous look going around the lecture hall, neither does anyone else. "Are you sure, Professor? It's unheard of for anyone to spar with their daemon."
Ellen stiffens, regaining but a fraction of her lost confidence with a glance at Storson. I told you so, she tells him and "Absolutely" she tells the student. "Think for a moment," she says, feeling that her explanation will become a desperate attempt to regain control of the situation, "how often is your daemon able to protect you? No, that may not necessarily be the point of having a daemon to begin with, but they've all gotten that urge, haven't they? They want you to be safe. They want you to be out of harm's way. Sometimes they try to do it themselves, but it isn't always that easy."
She scans the room, taking note of the smaller rodent daemons perched on shoulders and tucked away in shirt pockets and handbags. "Some of your daemons are smaller. They can't keep you safe the way they want." She goes and rests her elbows on the podium. It's a rare gesture, but they've moved from a formal biology lecture to an informal daemon one.
"So they teach you to keep yourself safe. Or, like mine, they urge you to go someone who can." She reaches for Storson and runs her hand over his ear. "After they've taught you an extremely rudimentary version of what they really want you to know."
And of course, that begs the next question: "How did he teach you to box?"
"Kangaroos do it naturally, of course!" This time it's Storson who answers, gleefully taking the reins from Ellen, who dreads the direction this conversation will go in now that her daemon is in control (and finds it odd all at the same time—Storson rarely, if ever, addresses one other person, let alone an entire lecture hall). Storson hops a little, quite proud of himself for knowing so much. "Sometimes for territory, sometimes for mates, but I box so your favorite professor"—Ellen rolls her eyes, That's a bit presumptuous, don't you think?—"can keep herself safe if I can't."
With one sentence Storson has gained her students' attention, and for the next few minutes he hops around lightly while explaining the finer mechanisms of kangaroo boxing, which, he finally says, "is sometimes hard to demonstrate without a partner," and looks to Ellen with a cocky smile, even while her hands are clammy and her heart is racing. "Ellen?"
Ellen, without a word, comes away from the podium, lightly pulls Storson aside, and continues on with her lecture as though the offer was never made. Storson sulks. The students smirk (some lament silently). Ellen ignores all of them.
There will be no boxing in her classroom.
Daemons featured:
Ellen Anders and Storson: red kangaroo