Author's Note: Schedule what schedule hahahaha

Okay, notes on the previous three drabbles.

Gourmet - This is a King Hippo drabble that is not actually centered on King Hippo. (mind blown) O_o And yep, I do apologize for Bear Hugger and Aran's accents. I'm really bad with accents. x.x Anyhoo, this is just a cracky little drabble with the three. I see King Hippo as a man of refined taste - 'refined' being of a quite different definition from what we would consider so, but come on, he's a king. He should have some basic manners at least and he does indeed!

Hug - Well, the only person who fitted this word almost instantaneously in my mind was Bear Hugger. It's a given, seeing as it's a part of his name. He also seemed to be the first boxer in the WVBA who genuinely didn't look like he bore any grudges to Little Mac. He's a hugger, not a fighter, after all. This is one of my experiments in giving Mac a mentor figure that is not Doc Louis. I tried with Joe, I've thought of writing one with Kaiser, but here I've tried with the boxer who is canonically a non-begrudging person. I like it personally.

Indulge - Soda gets his second drabble quite early on the series, I think. This is a sequel of sorts to 'Abstinence' and is about how he's dealing with his with drawl about a month on. It also features kind!Aran - kind as he can be at least. I think this is the most accurate portrayal of him as a nice person without getting too sappy. I liked writing this drabble a lot. Soda's a character I never seem to focus on a lot and he's usually with Aran. They have a sort of bros-before-hos kind of relationship, I like to think.

To Chaos Wielder - Again, thank you for the review. You're the only constant reviewer I get in this fandom, giving me constructive reviews every chapter of every story... I appreciate it very much. And to expand once more on the deathfic idea... I did think of Aran being the boxer who did it. He seems to be the most likely. But I toyed with the idea of Sandman as well - a larger than life figure brought down once and for all by the death of a weak, small man. I do agree that Sandman will not show much emotion initially - but it's what'll happen afterwards that'll lead to the breakdown. It's just such a dramatic imbalance. I can even imagine the boxers banding together to attack him for his actions, it'd be an ultimate unity regardless of how much they like or hate each other.

The fourth installment is J-L, starring Aran Ryan, Great Tiger, Glass Joe and Von Kaiser in that respective order. Glass Joe and Von Kaiser share the same one. All the drabbles here have turned out... a tad longer than the average drabble. They have a fairly otherworldly feel to them, only very faintly. And I've broken the no pairings rule here, I'm afraid - the drabble for 'L', 'Language', is a Glass Joe x Von Kaiser piece. However, it deals with the very beginning of their friendship itself, not the deeper relationship they share. So you will not find kisses or hugs or endearing words in there; it's a pairing piece simply because it serves as a very early prelude for that relationship and because it says so in the drabble that they will grow to love one another. That is genuinely all.

'Language' is also notable in the sense that it has some pretty damn bad French. I dropped French in the September of 09 and have not used it frequently since. All of you French speakers out there, I sincerely apologize. I try very hard to avoid Google Translate or other similar sites, because I see that as a bit of a cop-out for things like basic sentences and a few phrases; it also brings forth the bad habit of trying to apply English grammar to other languages. I try to do research for languages I don't know, and I try to apply the knowledge I have in French. It's still hard, though. I have provided a translation of what the French is meant to be saying on the very bottom of the page, so please do check on it when you read it. It's also an exploration into a potential Von Kaiser who originates from the French Foreign Legion.


Jester - Aran Ryan

"Oh, for heaven's sake, Aran!" the shout rings out across the hallways of the WVBA; boxers passing by briefly raise their head inquisitively at the sound, but soon shake their heads and carry on about their business. Don't mind them, they seem to think; their expressions all say that much - they're just as bad as one another. They, of course, don't know (nor are they very interested in knowing) why exactly Narcis's outburst was triggered. The outburst itself was certainly little and insignificant, but the very source of it goes back a couple of months. Yes, it all started when Aran's sister came in to visit the Irishman while he was training.

"Hello, boys," she'd trilled pleasantly as she walked casually into the room where Aran, Glass Joe, Narcis and Don Flamenco were training. Aran had been practicing on a punching bag, Glass Joe and Don Flamenco lifting weights and talking about current affairs; only Narcis hadn't been hard at work, staring vacantly into a pocket mirror and adjusting his hair. All of them stopped what they were doing when they saw the young woman leaning against the doorway - it was rare that women were seen in the WVBA, and this interruption came as quite bizarre to them.

Only the young Irishman was relaxed about it. "What're you doing here, sis?" Aran had asked, skipping the greetings; all the others murmured a hello, and had nodded in a shy sort of acknowledgement.

"I'm just stopping by for a short while. We need an escort home, little brother," she'd replied, smiling in her usual lovely way at him. "I'm with two of my friends... we're passing through a rough part of town later, I was wondering if you could give us a lift in the evening..."

"There's a catch, isn't there?" Aran asked before she finished her sentence, looking bored. "there's no way my sister would be afraid of a few hoodlums in the neighbourhood, let alone ask me about a lift in the evening when it's sunny as all hell outside."

"Funny how there's no hiding from the resident joker! All right, fine. I won't beat about the bush. I need a partner for my dance finals," she'd replied; the Irishman had groaned at this and backed away, rubbing his forehead lightly. "come on, little brother, just once. Only you're a good match with me when it comes to dancing - why, you're better than I am. Please? You won't go unrewarded for it, I'll pay for your drinks for the entire damn month if you want-"

This was hardly new banter between the two siblings; eventually Aran would have given in and he would have left with his sister, muttering to himself and gazing at her with irritation - and yet, he would have looked at her with unmistakable fondness. But Narcis had to step in at this point, and that was the true beginning of it all. "I could go with you if you wish, my lady," he'd said silkily, boldly stepping in between the two. "I'm not bad at dancing myself, and I would be honoured to escort such a lovely lady..."

Glass Joe and Don Flamenco actually visibly winced at this, but nobody saw this at the time. Aran looked ready to kill, and quite happily would have done so if his sister had not dealt with it - "Thanks," she had responded coolly, barely throwing the Englishman a glance. "but it's Irish dancing, and I think I can trust my brother a little more on both fronts."

They'd left, and that should have been the way things had ended. But neither Aran nor Narcis have forgotten that day; the Irishman's been keeping a closer eye on the other recently, and the blond man really hasn't let him down on that front. It's not often the Englishman is rejected by women, and he must be intrigued by Aran's sister. But Narcis hasn't exactly been very secretive about his pursuit, either; Aran's seen the Englishman loitering around his house twice, hoping to catch a glimpse of his sister. Both times he yelled at Narcis to go away and leave both of them in peace. It's only when his sister turns to him in the morning and shows him that someone has been calling her that he loses it; he doesn't know how, but either way the Englishman's gotten hold of her number. And that's what Aran was confronting Narcis about. The exact words that triggered the Englishman's frustrated outburst were this; "And may I enquire what exactly His Lordship thinks he will do with my sister?"

Narcis's angered reaction is not what irks him. Neither does the Englishman's constant denial of Aran's accusation that he's been stalking his sister. No, what enrages the Irishman is the fact that the other man turned away from him, sneering 'Who would believe you over me, Aran?' as he left.

It's not that it was a particularly spiteful statement. Aran has heard worse, both from Narcis Prince and other individuals, and not a lot of insults can sway him. No, it's rather because Narcis has spoken a rather chilling truth; as much as Aran hates to admit it, he is right. He is so completely and utterly right about the boxers who will not give Aran their trust; of course they wouldn't, because the red-haired man is famous for too much playing the fool and making trouble for his own good. His track record pretty much ensures that he won't be receiving any help in this situation, even when his sister is involved. That upsets him more than anything, the fact that he can't defend his sister.

Narcis is a delightful dreaming young prince amongst older and more down-to-earth men, yet he is almost angelically deceitful. Aran is the jester, forever vulgar and brash, yet ironically he is the one who speaks the bare truth for anyone to hear. He knows this, of course, he knows it all too well - but Aran does know he won't be listened to. He's only a joker around the WVBA after all; in return for speaking the honest truth as much as he likes, he will be laughed at and ignored. But what does any of that matter? Someday Narcis will see his beauty fade. Someday everyone will see his beauty fade - and along with it, his innocent exterior. Either that, his various acts of deceit and subtle lies will come to light. Aran knows that he has to do no more than wait for a while, because either way, Narcis and his delicate facade isn't going to hold out.

It would do no justice to that statement to note down in simple words just how correct his assumption turns out to be; only a month after this incident, Narcis Prince gets involved in a highly publicised scandal with a fan, and has to retire from the WVBA in disgrace while Aran stays. But not yet - no one actually knows for sure that this is going to happen, not Aran, not Narcis nor anyone else in the WVBA. All the Irishman can do, really, is to wait and not make any foolish moves until something happens to the other, and when that happens he just needs to do his best to stay out of everything and enjoy the sight. And even though he doesn't know that Narcis will retire in a month, he is the first and only one yet to sense it coming.

He's, of course, fine with that. He'd much rather be taken for a fool, if that ensures that Narcis will never get his hands on his sister.


Karma - Great Tiger

The WVBA is not a peaceful place. It's a good place to be in, of course; for its quite astounding facilities and the social and ethnic diversity, it's certainly better off than some Associations out there. It's not a place any boxer would miss out on. But for all of its good points it is certainly not a very peaceful place - inevitable, really, because the Association contains its fair share of arrogant, inconsiderate, violent or even downright lunatic boxers. Friction is unavoidable. For most part, the rest of the boxers are advised to ignore them, although some do try to fight back using any means necessary. It can get to such a point that one has to wonder whether it's the so-called 'fair' boxers or the undeniably insane ones that need restraining.

Great Tiger is not one of those boxers.

He is one of the quietest men anyone will ever meet, not just within the WVBA; days have passed without a word from the man towards anyone in the building. It's not as if he's not good with speech; he's a fair talker once he gets started, and he's fairly outspoken in the ring, possessing one of the harshest and most infamous laughs in the history of the Association. It's more that he does not feel the need to speak out unless he is truly required to do so, or if it has to be done as a part of his act. This probably stems from the incredible self-control he gained from his faith, years of meditation and a strong sense of confidence. Great Tiger will easily brush off insults and snide remarks without even blinking an eye; this is really not as easy as it seems, especially from someone quite young who will inevitably hear at least a few of those remarks throughout his career. Even mature boxers, ones who have been in the WVBA for over a decade and are not inherently violent, will lose their composure sometimes - everyone's lost count of how many times Von Kaiser has suddenly snapped and taken his fury out on some poor unsuspecting boxer. Soda Popinski was once seen beating someone into a wall for making sarcastic comments during a particularly bad day. Even Glass Joe, who is widely regarded to have a patience of a rock, has been driven to the end of his tether in between long intervals, and seeing the Frenchman making sharp remarks and punching people outside the ring (rare, but it did happen more than once) is not really a sight that is easily forgotten.

Again, Great Tiger is not like any of them.

All he does when he feels wronged is to look at the person in question, and that's usually enough to make them back off; quite a few people in the WVBA are afraid of his 'evil eye'. It's not that his gaze is particularly judgemental or contemptuous - outside of the ring he doesn't even glare at people that much. It's more that there is a constant sense of dread when it comes to wronging Great Tiger, because sooner or later things seem to go quite grievously wrong for the boxers who have done so.

'You just wait,' his gaze seems to say to the boxers - never threatening but nevertheless far too imposing to ignore. And maybe it's just a phenomenon or a curse or whatever, but most boxers who do the man injustice outside the ring seem to go down with bad luck. Aran Ryan once had a streak of five consecutive losses - half of his total losses throughout his entire career - after drunkenly shouting abuse at Great Tiger. Of course Aran being who he is, he didn't quite learn the first time (despite being so superstitious and sensitive to things he can't explain); only toppling down the five final steps on a flight of stairs and rolling to a stop by Glass Joe's feet (to the amusement of everyone, including the Referee) somewhat humbled him enough to never go near the Indian man again.

But it's genuinely not as if Great Tiger curses anyone. He doesn't actually do anything but glare; no, any bad things that might happen to those boxers are the consequences of their own actions, that's all. The man believes in the concept of karma - you gain what you sow. Bad karma comes around, so does good karma, and that's the end of it. It is simple cause and effect. This is why the Indian man is careful not to be on the wrong side of injustice, whether concerned with himself or other people, because he believes that any wrong he does will eventually come back with a vengeance upon him someday. And god forbid should that happen to him, especially during a match!

Despite having karma on his side, though, it's not easy living like this. He believes that responding to hostile manners with further active hostility will only worsen the cycle, so he does not defend himself verbally or physically against racial slurs and insults thrown towards him. Even when he has to, he tries to do this as indirectly as possible. Because he believes that the worst of all karma will fall upon those who choose to idly stand by while injustice is taking place, he often ends up stepping into fights unrelated to his affairs and only narrowly escaping in the process (of course he can't curse the hostile ones involved, either). He knows that he's not exempt from this grand cycle so he tries his utmost best to not build up bad karma; surprising how he must bend to this merely abstract concept when his meditation has granted him unbelievable physical powers!

But he has free will to choose, and he chooses to do as much good as possible. No one can blame him for that choice. Besides there is no reason why he can't play around with the concept of karma a little - he turns his head lightly towards Bald Bull, who is talking to the Referee just outside the Reception door, and gazes at him ever so lazily. Two days ago the Turkish man insulted a room full of boxers whilst in a bad temper; whilst the temper is understandable, seeing as he'd lost another match to Little Mac then, it was still rather offensive (especially since he'd insulted Great Tiger's turban). He gazes at Bald Bull, and shifts his gaze towards Disco Kid (sitting opposite him), again doing nothing but simply looking at the boy. Disco Kid finds the older man's gaze uncomfortable; it's a very focused and somewhat unnerving look and the boy is far too fidgety to withstand tension.

Soon Disco Kid gets up and murmurs an apology, stumbling over the footstool and shoving it towards the door in his hurry to get out of the place. As soon as he disappears Bald Bull enters, looking rather disgruntled at whatever the Referee's said to him - maybe he told the Turkish man to tone his manner down a little in the ring, it's a common complaint, but that's no matter at all. What matters is the angle in which the boxer enters the room-

-and success. The man stumbles and trips over the footstool by the door, letting out an exclamation of surprise followed with some incomprehensible bellowed cursing. Great Tiger smiles quietly to himself by the corner as the man kicks the footstool so that it slams into other side of the room (the receptionist exclaims 'well, really!'); Bald Bull then storms away, presumably to unleash his anger on a punching bag. And just like that Great Tiger has had his little revenge on the Turkish man, and as a bonus he's also ensured that this particular chain of karma will not carry on to anyone else. Bald Bull's not the type to actually maim innocent boxers because he's angered by an object, and Great Tiger never aims to actually hurt anyone - at the most, no more than a few seconds.

Magic, he thinks cheerfully to himself, and his smile widens just a little more.


Language - Glass Joe/Von Kaiser

"Mon Dieu..."

Glass Joe wasn't having the best day of his life. It was his tenth day as a boxer of the WVBA - he'd fought one match on the fourth day, had lost badly, and now had been approached for a second one. And he was still barely healing. Worse, he was as of now far too beat up and scared to go for lunch in the cafeteria - he was still a rookie after all, and he knew all too well that he would be a primary target for others to push around. The Frenchman didn't fancy that all. Sighing heavily, he picked up his bag and beret and slunk away to a nearby cafe; he couldn't well spare more than a hour and a half there, but at least he would probably get some peace.

He was proved wrong almost immediately when he got there. Another of the new boxers had already gone in and had taken a seat by the windows - and avoiding him was not an option, for the only remaining tables were at close proximity to him. Glass Joe bit his lip nervously, weighing his options, before he reluctantly pushed the door open and went in the cafe. He had never talked to the other boxer - he had wanted to, a couple of times, but from what little he'd picked up, the other wasn't keen on talking to people. The Frenchman cleared his throat lightly to relieve the knot that had settled there somehow; not meeting anyone's gaze, he walked in and ordered himself a coffee and a stuffed baguette roll. He was careful to avert his eyes as he took a table next to the other boxer and sat down; the latter's eyes had drifted to him and was looking him over, but Glass Joe tried to hide his discomfort as much as possible. No use in starting anything here.

The man sitting in the table next to his was known as Von Kaiser in the WVBA. He was from Berlin; he had been there ten days, having entered the association in the same session as Glass Joe, and he'd fought and won two matches already in quick succession. He seemed eager to get rid of his rookie status as soon as possible, and could be seen training with an almost savage determination during the day. Rumours were that he had been in the military, had taught boxing there, and had retired from it young - this didn't seem far from the truth. Von Kaiser could not have been more than four or five years his senior, and even the latter made him only twenty-eight years old. That wasn't old at all. Glass Joe tapped his fingers lightly on the tabletop, stealing glances at the other every now and then; Von Kaiser had a sort of disciplined and refined look to him that he liked. The older man had dark red hair and piercing green eyes, all nicely complimented with his already-much talked about mustache; but although Glass Joe thought him quite handsome, there was just something about the man that looked off somehow - something severe that gave him a permanently irritated look. All this, coupled with Glass Joe's inability to speak German, made Von Kaiser unapproachable.

The older man was still looking at him. Glass Joe was mercifully distracted from his discomfort when the waitress arrived with his coffee and baguette - he thanked her as she left, and and tore open a packet of sugar for his coffee. But although he was trying his best to go through his usual motions, he was far too nervous this time - Von Kaiser was looking at him, he was certain, and he wasn't sure how long he could take sitting here in silence. He could not speak German, he didn't know whether the other spoke French, and nor did the thought of talking to him in general provide him with comfort. But he eventually fought against his urge to leave and looked up, meeting the older man's eyes bravely; he had to show that he wasn't afraid of the German, no matter how intimidated he might have been in his mind.

He regretted making that decision within seconds.

The other had been scrutinizing him with a somewhat narrow gaze. Von Kaiser's eyes widened slightly, seemingly in shock, as their gaze met in mid-air - but only very slightly, and even then the rest of his expression didn't change. Unnerved, Glass Joe lowered his eyes and meekly turned back to his food; however, he was soon stopped by the sound of the other's voice.

"Sprechen sie Deutsch?"

His incomprehending look seemed to say all that the German needed to hear. With a rather irritated 'hmm' the man fell silent; Glass Joe dropped his stare and looked away, feeling incredibly humiliated. What was he going to do now? He strongly doubted that Von Kaiser would actually hurt him for not knowing German - that would be beyond unreasonable even for the harsher WVBA boxers. But he surely wasn't going to be held anywhere near high regard in the other's eyes-

"C'est mieux?" Von Kaiser spoke again, this time sounding considerably gentler than before, although he now clearly wanted an answer out of the younger man. "vous êtes francais, non?"

Now where had he learnt that?

"Oui, je suis francais," Glass Joe replied, trying to hide his surprise. "... mais où avez-vous appris le français, Monsieur?"

"La Légion étrangère."

Of course. The French Foreign Legion - the younger man had to admit he had never considered this particular possibility. He had thought the older man had been in the Bundeswehr, the German Army, and had been stationed there for the entirety of his military career; as for the French, he'd briefly entertained the thought that perhaps Von Kaiser had been exclusively taught the language, maybe with a private tutor. But he saw now that that wasn't the case. Von Kaiser's French was comprehensible and quite elegant but it still had some flourishes missing; his voice also lacked the softness of the language, his German accent being quite harsh on the tones. He had obviously not been tutored especially in French, and it was probably more likely that the older man had picked up the language in a casual sense. But he'd have had to pick up on a great deal to communicate within the Foreign Legion without tutoring, and Glass Joe truly had to admire that.

Apparently this approval had showed visibly in Glass Joe's expression. The German leaned forwards, his features catching the sunlight from the window; and Glass Joe inwardly remarked to himself that the older man reminded him very much of a cat, noting especially the gleam in his green eyes.

"Je vous trouvez très interessant," he said quietly, never averting his gaze from the other's face. "Excusez-moi d'avoir vous regardé, c'etait parce que vous avez un regard de détermination. J'admire ça. Mais je sais que vous n'êtes pas parler l'allemand; Je trouve le français difficile à parler aussi. Bien, je propose que nous parlions en anglais pendant que nous apprenons à mieux nous connaître."

He stopped talking and looked directly into the other's eyes.

"Do you understand me?"

Glass Joe hesitated only for a brief moment before he responded with a decisive nod.

"Yes."

That occasion marked the very beginning of their friendship. Along the way there were disputes, arguments and the like but they had never experienced a major falling out. It was fortune that their first encounter had gone so splendidly on that sunny afternoon, and neither of the two forgot that. Glass Joe gained a fair grasp of German over time, Von Kaiser carried on talking to him in French while their English improved - it was after a decade that they eventually reached a point where they did not need language to communicate.

Now they communicated via smiles, the occasional meaningful glances and appreciative words. Soon enough they would advance further in this relationship, adding increasingly more gentle and intimate touches as the months went by; but it was not the time yet. Sometimes hours would go by with the two men barely speaking more than a hundred words altogether - but they were more content than ever during these times, for they had achieved a rare degree of comfort with one another.

And for now, that was just fine with them.


The translation:

"C'est mieux... vous êtes francais, non?" - "Is that better? You are French, no?"

"Oui, je suis francais... mais où avez-vous appris le français, Monsieur?" - "Yes, I am French... but where did you learn to speak French, Monsieur?"

"Je vous trouvez très interessant... Excusez-moi d'avoir vous regardé, c'etait parce que vous avez un regard de détermination. J'admire ça. Mais je sais que vous n'êtes pas parler l'allemand; Je trouve le français difficile à parler aussi. Bien, je propose que nous parlions en anglais pendant que nous apprenons à mieux nous connaître." - "I find you very interesting... forgive me for watching you earlier, it was because you had a look of determination on your face. I admire that. But I know that you do not speak German; I also find French difficult to sustain (I've used '...speak' to get this across). So, let us speak in English while we get to know each other better."