Disclaimer: Werewolf the Forsaken and all related names are copyright White Wolf.
CHAPTER III: Back on track
Training began today. I hate to admit it, but I'm kind of taking a liking to ground wrestling. It's hard, takes a lot of effort, but it doesn't really matter if you're a tiny, 1,67 meters tall girl like me or a gigantic, 1,81 meters tall amazon like Thunder. Plus, it's great for building strength and stamina.
It still looks silly and highly homoerotic, though.
The only thing I don't like about it, is that I have to train with Sound of Thunder. She's nice, after you get through the boisterous shell, but I want to beat her, and it doesn't seem right to learn all you can from a person then kick said person's ass. On the other hand, if she keeps teasing me I WILL revel in her pain when we finally have our rematch.
Whoa, I'm picking up her exaggerated tone. Flippin' Cahaliths...
Funny thing is, Thunder is a lot like Moonbiter, yet very different at the same time. Both of them are tall, strong women with a lot of affinity for all things physical. And, I'll give in to that, both of them are what one could call attractive. But while Moonbiter is a seductress with a mean streak, Thunder is a warrior lady who somehow manages to come off as elegant and strong, rather than intimidating and brutish.
Of course, noticing the similarities about them makes me wonder why is she here? Did she do the same type of stuff Moonbiter did? Will she leave us, leave me, the first moment a pretty guy who is not scared of her bestial nature comes up?
I just realized it's hard to make friends when you think everyone will leave you when you need them.
Not going to delve into those thoughts, there lies the path to loneliness and angriness. I'd rather think about today's routine and the progress I've made. Thunder said I'm already pretty strong, but my endurance sucks, so she was going to beat me and smash me like clay until I came out stouter on the other side.
Now that I think about it, that metaphor doesn't sound very pleasant.
Well, training started very simply: limber up, warm up, couple hundred push-ups, couple hundred sit-ups, the basics. Then it's takedown training, followed by takedown evasion training (my favorite part, as there's little grabbing), then it's on to ground submission techniques, then the sparring sessions. The other girls where there with us, and I didn't got to do sparring since I can't wrestle, and its ground only.
I must say I got surprised on how well these four women get along, they're really different. The Japanese one, Shibata, for example is so silent I think I only heard she say two or three words, yet she seems to get her point across with only a look. That, and she's the most vicious fighter I've ever seen.
Seriously, I thought I was hardcore, and that Laughing Thunder, the big Rahu from my former pack (who is in no way related to Sound of Thunder, even though both of them are tall, blonde and strong), was the toughest bastard ever. But this Shibata, she's some sort of devil.
She was the only one Sound sparred with on foot rather than on the ground. It turned to a full on fight so fast I thought we'd have to stop them from killing each other. Shibata evaded all of Sound's attempts to take her down, and countered with some vicious knees and elbows. At one point they actually clinched and the Japanese just pounded her opponents torso with her knees. Hell, she actually took Thunder down! She only lost because once they were on the ground the blonde's experience began to shine and she managed to pull a bog-standard armbar.
Still, by the end of that 'sparring' session, there was blood everywhere and Sound's face had an ugly looking gash above the left eye. Crazy blonde still managed to give a bloody smile and salute her foe.
However, they got blood even on the ceiling, and the mat had to be cleaned up. So while Thunder and I got some mops and started cleaning the mess, the other three took the mat outside to wash it and dry it up before the sun set.
Sound of Thunder's hair had red all over it, and blood was clogging down on her chest and abs, forming deep red streaks that turned darker when they got into her short shorts and sports bra. She looked like shit, I couldn't hold it:
"Say, does it hurt as bad as it looks?" I couldn't resist asking as I moped the ground and left her to deal with the walls and ceiling of the room.
"Not really. I'm still pumped up in adrenaline, and when that ends most of this will have healed anyways." Her voice was tired, but she still managed a grin.
"Well, how come there's all this blood? It's just a tiny gash."
"Not that tiny. Plus, I got nosebleed and I'm pretty sure I bit my tongue when I took the third knee to the face. I really should start wearing mouth protectors when sparring with Shibata."
She tried to laugh at her little joke, but her lungs decided it was too early for that, so she only managed a painful sounding cough. I have to say I liked seeing her beat up. Yeah, yeah, she won, but she got so pounded I couldn't really care.
"You're enjoying this, aren't you? You sadistic little thingy."
I must have set my thoughts on broadband transmission. And I suck at feigning surprise, and/or lying:
"No, I'm not. I was actually worried you two would take that fight to the death."
That last part was true.
"Now I understand why they call you 'Snake Eyes'..."
"What?"
She stopped scrubbing a blood stain from a wall and turned to me. One of her eyes was swollen, but it already had started healing. Even wounded, her dark hazel eyes still had a piercing glare:
"Hey, I'm not angry at you, but, damn! You don't move or act like it, but your eyes betray your soul, girl. I saw the way you looked at me when I was getting beaten up... The whole predator shtick was not just for show, I guess."
That was one of those moments when I disarmed completely. No one ever told me I looked like I enjoyed watching those I dislike suffer. Worst of all, I realized I had no reason to wish any evil upon this dumb blonde. She was just that, a dumb blonde.
"I'm sorry... I..."
She dropped the scrub and walked over to me. And then she hugged me. And I guess I hugged her back. It was really weird, generally I don't like touching people or people touching me, but in those moments I disarm, I guess I become easy prey. Plus, she was kind of warm to the touch and the size difference between us allowed me to nestle up in her embrace like a little child.
Then I noticed I had almost stuffed my face in her bosom. Awkward.
We let go of each other, just then she pulled my face up by the chin and looked me in the eyes again:
"There, childish and cute again, much better."
I punched her. Hard. In the gut. Dumb blonde didn't even flinch. Instead she smiled a bloody, but soothing simile:
"My name is Celeste, by the way, what's yours?"
We have titles for two reasons: the first is that a title makes quite clear who and what you are, the second is that it makes your human name that more powerful. Someone calls you by your human name, they either know you well, like your pack mates, or really like you, like some wolf I don't like to talk about.
So, when that dumb blonde just threw her name up like that, it was almost surreal. I didn't even ask. It was like she was asking 'hey let's be friends!" in the most indirectly direct way possible. It took me a lot of time to decide:
"Clara. My name is Clara"
She kept that soothing smile and said:
"Short and sweet, like you. Now, Clara, can you stop punching me at random?"
I almost punched her again, but she had a point. So I just gave her a light punch, more of a kind stroke to the gut.
"Ah, okay. By the way, why don't you go take a bath? You smell."
She sniffed the air, then sniffed one of her hair locks, then sniffed her armpit. It was all an elaborate scene, but she did play it in a funny way. In the end, she turned to me and said, with honesty:
"Well, I hugged you, so now you smell too!"
I picked up my mop. I hadn't even noticed it had fallen before. And went straight back to cleaning the ground. I did my best to sound like an old, angry lady:
"We should be working here, not goofing around! Those bloodstains won't clean themselves, you know?"
She too picked up her scrub and went back to work.
"Fine, you smelly, sadistic thingy..."
"Dumb, brutish, blonde."
We started flinging insults at each other. It made the boring work a lot more funny, but I noticed I didn't know much about this Celeste, not enough to properly call her names yet. Still, she felt right, I guess. Yeah, a lot like Moonbiter... Only Moonbiter had this motherly feeling, I think because of the age gap between us, while Sound of Thunder is much closer to my age, if only a tad older, so she's more like a sister, or a very good friend.
Yeah, a very good friend. When we finished cleaning the training room we even hit the showers together. The bathrooms in this farm are communal, large rooms with several shower booths so you can get some privacy if you need it. I guess it's a lot like a club or camping house. Or a prison.
But it's not that bad. We managed to trade stories about our physical scars. I told her about this time I got three shots to the gut in a jungle fight, we couldn't fire back because we had a human with us and we had to get him to safety before he woke up. She told me about once her pack chased down some rat hosts into the sewers and their slave master sent all the hosts available to rush her pack in a tight corridor. She and the alpha got stuck on the front line and took the brunt of the assault. Must have been quite a fight.
That made me wonder again. I'm not the only one here who had a pack once, so what brought these women here? Thunder sounds so boisterous and happy I can't even imagine what she could have done. I think I should ask her, but that would be rude.
Maybe she did the same stupid stuff Moonbiter used to do. If that's the case, I'll ditch her and her lady friends. I don't want more traitors in my life. Whoa, stop. Am I really that mad? Could I be so angry at this perceived treason I'm seeing everyone as false and traitorous? I can't believe I have become so cynic and bitter. I gotta do something about it before I end up alone again.