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Kim Possible The Power of Trustby Cyberwraith Nine
A pounding bass line buzzed beneath Kim's black mission shirt as her eyes angled upward, past the milling mob crowded around the doorway and up across the smooth obsidian surface of the converted warehouse. The winking, tail-wagging neon monkey mounted above their heads was the only indication they were in the right spot. It occurred to Kim that a monkey-themed club was one of the stupider ideas she had encountered, but the hundreds of people standing about near a set of velvet ropes must have disagreed with her. Judging by the sheer amount of noise coming from within the club, she guessed there were probably an even greater number of deviants from her opinions inside.
Monique's whistle fought through the residual roar of music and into Kim's ears. "Girl," she gushed, "Did I say I didn't want to come?" Her eyes shone with delight for a moment, Kim actually thought she might weep with joy. "I take it all back. This place is so far off the hook, it can't even see the closet anymore!"
"If by that, you mean that it is 'cool'," Yori intoned from beside her, "Then I wholeheartedly agree." She, too, looked around in awe of the club's ambiance and magnitude. The green neon glow of their monkey monolith tinted her golden skin emerald and made her almond eyes gleam even brighter than usual.
Both of the irregulars wore Team Possible mission clothes. Monique possessed her own set, and had earned the right, at least in Kim's eyes, to wear them whenever she pleased. Yori, however, wore a spare set of Kim's, and had no business sullying them as far as Kim was concerned. She seemed to enjoy the attention Ron gave her bare midriff, which made Kim considering purchasing clothes without belly exposure. For Ron's sake, Kim kept her objections silent. It would be easier in a moment; she doubted they would even be able to hear each other in the club.
Kim led the way, channeling her anger into the task of plowing through the locals in their path. Most of them ignored the foreigners. Some of them didn't seem sober enough to notice their own hands in front of them, much less a world-renowned team of heroes. Kim, however, was totally on the ball, and she couldn't help but notice Ron lingering back at the end of their train with Yori. Again, she said nothing, and instead put blinders on.
The classic set of burly goons served as bouncers for The Monkey's Tale, looming behind a velvet rope. They were trussed up in tasteful black suits and sunglasses (which could only have hindered them at three in the morning), but Kim caught the unmistakable stench of stooge on them. And where there was one set, there were ten or twelve waiting in the wings. It set her immediately on edge.
One of the goons tilted his sunglasses forward to examine the approaching teens. He had been turning away those not possessed of the right 'stuff' for the Monkey's Tale with strict, no-nonsense Japanese. Kim and Ron's pale overseas skin incited him to speak in flawless English. "And where are you going?" he asked superciliously.
"Inside." She watched him produce a Plexiglas clipboard and quickly added, "Kim Possible. And friends."
He didn't even bother leafing through the clipboard's extensive lists. The realization of Kim's identity seemed to startle both the bouncers. They tripped over each other opening the violet barrier. "Ms. Possible," one gulped, "Please, go right in. Mister F is waiting for you on the upper terrace. It's in the back, closed off from the rest of the club. You can't miss it."
"Thanks." Kim led the way in, followed closely by the others. They echoed Kim's hollow gratitude, too eager to see the inside to even feign sincerity. The doors yawned open, and a blast of music nearly took them off their feet as blinding, flashing lights beguiled their eyes. They hustled in quickly before any minds could be changed. As the doors snapped shut behind them, Team Possible found itself lost in a sea of late teen Japanese pop culture.
"Oh my God," Monique squealed, and bit into her knuckle to contain the sobs of joy threatening to spill out. "I can't believe I didn't want to come!"
Her sexy hips already worked themselves into the pounding beat, mimicking a sea of scantily-clad dancers. The club was built on three different platforms, rising from the door in steps. Each platform looked to be almost a hundred yards long, and each was packed to capacity with tight leather pants, halter tops, and the tight young bodies to fill them, all rolling as one collective whole. The flashing lights rippled throughout the crowd, interspersed with the flowing lines of glow sticks as they danced between ravers.
Through the haze of machine smoke, Kim caught sight of an elevated box running the length of the back wall, with spiral stairs connecting it to the DJ pit and the massive speakers flanking a hooded individual. It was hard to see, as there were cages suspended from the ceiling, each containing some kind of simian. She silently hoped Ron didn't spot the cages. She didn't need to deal with his ridiculous phobia at the moment. "There," she said, pointing out the VIP section. "That must be it. Let's go."
"Go? Are you crazy?" A pair of rail-thin, washboard-stomached boys with open leather vests and little inhibitions had already paired off, putting Monique in the middle of a hotty sandwich. "You said there'd be dancing. Well, girl, if this is the appetizer," and she chucked a thumb at both her partners, "I am so sticking around for the main course."
Ron piped in, rushing to her rescue. "Maybe we should check the place out." His eyes wandered to a younger girl with a body that would make a Hollywood starlet red with rage and an outfit that would have made Britina blush. She winked a stunning blue eye as she passed him, tossing her snowy hair in his face and glancing back teasingly. Kim's eye began twitching with irritation so violently she missed the same expression of jealousy on Yori's face. "You know…scope out the ladies…I mean, layout."
"Perhaps it would be best if we examined the premises more carefully." Despite her jealousy, Yori seemed excited to be in the club. She pulled closer to Ron and looped her arm around his, jerking his eyes away from the ashen-haired temptress with a tug. "Ron-san and I shall take the left side, while you move through the right. We shall meet by the steps in, say, twenty minutes?"
Kim looked helplessly between Ron and Yori, and Monique's pleading eyes. The blasting music made it difficult to think. In the end, she threw her hands up and shouted, "Fine. Go. See you in twenty. Just be careful."
"Jeez, KP…" Ron seemed taken aback by her attitude. "We're not kids."
"Then stop acting like it." Her green eyes beamed silent disapproval at him. "We're here on a mission, not on a date."
Ron surprised Kim by matching her tone and her eyes. "Funny," he remarked snidely, "I seem to recall you being in favor of inter-team dating. But maybe that was just a Global Justice thing."
Monique watched Kim's mouth flap open and shut, sensing an explosion growing beneath Kim's swishing red hair. She clasped Kim by the shoulder and pulled her away from the pair, forcing a big grin on her face. "Well, better get moving. Sure this club guy doesn't want to be kept waiting too long. See you soon."
"Not if we see you first," Yori called back with an equally false grin. She was already pulling Ron away. The two of them vanished behind a curtain of crowd before either Kim or Ron could think to say anything. By the time Kim found her voice, there was no one left to yell at who deserved it. But that really never stopped her before.
"Did you…can you believe…Oh my God!" Kim's indignant tone carried over even the most powerful to trance tracks. She tossed aside Monique's controlling grip and stomped her feet, glaring at her best girlfriend and thrusting a hand in the departed duo's direction. "What the hell was that?"
"Kim, just let it go." In a happening place like this, Monique was in no mood to play relationship counselor for either Kim or Ron. Was it too much for her to want to find a rich, inexperienced Japanese boy, heir to an enormous fortune and possessed of jungle fever and rock-hard abs? "Maybe you and Ron have been spending too much time together lately. You seem a little stressed out."
"I am NOT stressed out!" Kim twitched.
"Hey, Red." A tripped-out teen holding what Monique was positive wasn't a cigarette stumbled over to the ladies. He giggled, and offered Kim the burning bud with hooded eyes beneath a knitted cap. "Looks like you need to relax."
Kim reached out and snatched it by the burning end, extinguishing its red tip without so much as flinching. She then proceeded to cram the rolled paper up his nose and smack him on the forehead. "Shove it, Smokey!"
Monique followed Kim as she stalked through the crowd, tossing a look back at the boy. "Yeah," she muttered, "You're the picture of calm and collected."
"I just…I hate what she does to him. I hate it!" Her cheeks flushed as they pushed through oblivious teenagers and young adults. An aura of uptight worry hovered around Kim as she parted the dry ice smoke. For a second, it actually looked like she was steaming. "I hate her!"
It had been a long, long plane ride over. Between naps, snacks, and listening to Ron and Rufus turn the folding tray tables into a percussion section, Monique had spent most of the time talking with Yori. Like a good friend, she had done her best to be a frigid bitch to the foreign girl. That lasted as long as it took her to figure out what a charming, fun individual Yori was. They had spent quite a bit of the flight in peals of laughter sharing stories about Ron, much to their victim's embarrassment. "Kim, you know that's not true."
"Yes it is! She's…and she…" Kim hated being wrong, but she hated it even worse when everyone, including her, knew she was wrong. Her shoulders slumped in defeat. "Monique, what's wrong with me?"
Monique patted Kim's back mechanically, scoping out the eye candy passing by, which was, in turn, checking them out. "There, there," she consoled Kim, "You're just crazy, that's all."
Unbeknownst to Kim or Monique, a pair of beady eyes observed them from high above. They caught sight of Kim's flaming red hair among the dark, rolling crowd, then swiveled to find Ron's bright shock of blond sticking out like a sore thumb.
It couldn't be possible. And yet, ironically, that is exactly what it was: Team Possible. He had been far too careful to be caught now, so close to having everything fall into place. But somehow, Kim Possible and her sidekick had caught wind of his plotting, his planning, his machinations, his scheming, his preparations, his scheming, his…
A hairy pair of fingers snapped as he continued to glare out the window.
"Yes, sir?" A voice from behind intoned obsequiously.
"Kim Possible has come," he sneered, "And she has brought her pretender with her."
He could sense the woman behind him stiffening at the mention of Possible's sidekick. Though her hatred for the faux Monkey Master ran deep (one of her most attractive qualities), she kept her voice's inflection calm and servile. "What would you have me do, sir? Would you like her eliminated?"
His eyes narrowed in on the glowing point of yellow standing out in the crowd. "Kim Possible does not concern me. But Mister Stoppable…Let us see just how far he has come."
Ron was unfortunately oblivious to the conversation. Instead, he restricted himself to glaring straight ahead and shoving his way through the crowd. Were he to use the intuitiveness drilled into him at Yamanouchi, he might have noticed the flashing lights in the monkey cages, or the creatures scurry to the tops of their cages to gather up something secured secretly to their ceilings. But bitterness was the only thing pounding through his mind. Even Yori's soothing hand on his shoulder wasn't enough to diffuse the anger Kim's irritating mood put into him.
"Ron-san, I have never seen you so angry." Yori's voice carried across the thrumming beat without effort as her lips drew closer to his ear. She ignored the various catcalls and advances around her and looped her arm through his. Ron would never know he was the envy of every man within eyesight. More's the pity for him, but neither teen worried about that. "You know my opinions of Kimberly-san, but surely one considered your best friend is not the cause of such hostility."
"There's no excuse for the way she's been acting, Yori." His clenched fists began trembling along with the rest of his tensed frame. "I'm so tired of her expecting everyone to fall into line, like she's grand marshal of everyone's life."
"You have always 'fallen into line' before." The words were halfway between a question and a statement.
He stopped, and turned to her. Gone was his anger, replaced with a weight that sagged across his whole face. "I don't know if I can be your Chosen One, Yo-chan. But I'm not the sidekick I used to be, and it's putting a strain on my friendship with Kim."
Soft, delicate hands caressed his cheeks. He closed his eyes and leaned into her touch. Yori marveled at how the suffering on his features melted at her fingertips, and felt her heart swell and flutter. She leaned in close, brushing her lips to his cheek. "What would you do," she whispered, "If you were not a sidekick or a warrior. What would you do if you were simply Ron Stoppable?"
"I don't think I've been just Ron Stoppable since I was four." A wry smile planted itself on his lips.
"Isn't it about time?" He could feel her breath in his ear. "What would Ron want to do, right now?"
His eyes opened and his hands found her arms, pulling her back. 'Kim can handle the mission herself,' he rationalized to himself, 'Just like she always does.' He brushed back a lock of her hair, watching her shiver at the contact. "He would want to dance," Ron admitted, "With a gorgeous girl in a hot nightclub."
Yori pulled back wordlessly as her body began undulating to the beat. Ron did his best to mimic the movements of the men around him, but it wouldn't have mattered if he began jumping up and down on one foot. All eyes were on Yori as the crowd backed up, giving the pair some room as they became the main attraction. The DJ saw the commotion and, taking one look at the pair, put on a slow, sexy track.
Yori and Ron slowed down in time with the music, twisting around each other like serpents. Their eyes remained locked as their bodies intertwined, grinding against each other. Yori's red barrette fought against her wild passion to keep her hair in check as it bounced above her shoulders. She ran her hands up and down her body, closing her eyes and swaying to the beat. The whole world just slipped away, leaving only two enthralled teenagers in a spotlight, and the rhythm they were slave to.
Yori opened her eyes and saw a silent question in Ron's gaze. He asked her permission, and she was all too glad to give it. She swiveled and planted her hips against his, raising her arms as he grasped her waist. His chest pressed against her back and his cheek rubbed against hers, and for the first time since she could remember, Yori felt like an ordinary teenager.
"This is Ron Stoppable?" she turned her head, placing a hand on his cheek to turn his.
They were nose to nose now. The intoxicating aroma of chestnuts made him dizzy with lust. "Pretty much."
"I like him," she murmured before taking his mouth into hers.
Monique noticed the disturbance in the crowd first, and elbowed Kim. The redheaded hero halted her beeline for the VIP room and turned, following Monique's finger to the circle in the dance floor on the other side of the club. "Kim, check it out. Looks like…" A second later, she recognized the pair in the middle of the circle, and watched them play tonsil hockey as the crowd cheered. "Oh…Oh, Kim, don't check it out. Don't…Oh, jeez."
Kim watched the display with a cold, unreadable expression. Her heart grew icy as she watched Yori take yet another piece of Ron and hoard it for herself. "Doesn't matter," she said, "We have a job to do." She glanced over at Monique, who looked like she had just backed over Kim's kitten in a semi truck. The last thing she needed was pity, so she added, "Actually, why don't you chill here a while? Find a boy. Find two. Have fun."
"I'll find three," Monique promised, "And the second-hottest one'll be all for you. He'll be way better than…I mean," she squirmed as Kim's face fell even more. Her bottom lip gnashed between her teeth. "Sorry."
"Go. Have…" Kim stopped. As she stared out past the grinding pair, a glint of metal flashed on the wall. At first, she thought it was just a quirk, until it happened again, and then again. The glints came in twos and threes, moving down the wall. She had seen this glint many times in her relatively short life: The flash of a new blade or the spark of a throwing star when it hit the light just right. "Mon, I think they're in trouble."
"Kim, I know you don't like her, but-"
"No," she insisted, and pointed out the dancing flashes of light moving closer and closer to the pair, "Real trouble!" She caught hold of Monique's wrist and began plowing through the gawkers. "Ron! RON!"
Distracted as he was, Ron could hear snatches of his name being screamed frantically between the beats of the music. He broke off the kiss with a sharp breath, savoring the flavor of everything Yori had eaten in the last few hours as he looked back. Amidst the sea of raven heads, he spotted a fiery mane of red wading through with an upraised hand. Every now and again Kim's face would surface, broadcasting near panic as she bobbed and surged in his direction.
"Kim?" he breathed. He looked to Yori, but she was just as confused as he was. "What's she-?"
"Ron, look out!" Yori pushed him aside with a violent shove. Ron tumbled back as the world spun. He heard Rufus squeak in protest and squish between his thigh and the floor, awakening from his noisy nap. All Ron caught was a flash of silver as Yori reeled back, clutching at her side with a yelp. "Ah!"
"Yori!" Ron was back on his feet in an instant with a push of his hands. The crowd had pushed back even further, widening the circle to accommodate a trio of tiny figures that had joined in on Ron and Yori's dance. They stood little more than half Ron's size, dressed all in black with only twin beady eyes poking through the obsidian robes. Each held different weapons; a katana, a set of tonfas, and a bladed gauntlet. And each possessed a swishing brown tail poking from the back of their robes. "Monkeys. Why is it always monkeys?"
Rufus' head popped out of Ron's pocket at the word 'monkey'. The little rodent's eyes narrowed as he snarled, "Monkeys! Grrrr!"
"Ron-kun, be careful!" Yori called. She looked down at her hand and saw a slick red coat covering her glove. The cut was shallow, but along her stomach, and hurt with every movement. "There-"
"It's okay, Yori," Ron assured her, adopting a tiger stance as the monkeys circled around the wounded ninja and advanced cautiously on him. "I can handle these sorry sacks of hair."
The confidence in his voice fled when another three dropped from the ceiling. One wielded a short, monkey-sized staff, and another swung nunchaku with frightening proficiency. The one in the lead, armed with a series of shiruken, glared at Ron with pure hate and spurred his fellows on with a piercing shriek.
"-are more of them." Yori finished through her grimace.
Ron sighed as the monkeys began spreading out. "Ah, hell."
"Floor show," one addled teen in the audience shrieked delightedly, "Floor show!"
The crowd resumed cheering as the DJ went with the flow, replacing the slow, sexy beats with a high-tempo fight track. Kim's progress was suddenly nullified as the crowd became frenzied once more, rolling and bumping with enough force to shove her and Monique back. Frustrated but far from beaten, Kim brandished her elbows and tripled her efforts. "Hold on!" she hollered above the rumble of the crowd.
Ron caught a monkey paw straight to the jaw as he called out, "Would love to!" He tried to roll with it, only to wind up with a tiny staff in his breadbasket. "Don't think I'll have the chance!" he groaned
"Ron!" No matter which way she turned, the crowd rebuffed Kim's efforts to reach her best friend. In desperation, she pounded at the human wall of pleather and spandex. Angry kids shoved back, then immediately regretted it as she grabbed them and tossed them aside like they weighed nothing. Where one wouldn't move, she simply flipped over, launching off of shoulders and stepping on protesting heads. Monique trailed behind, unable to mimic Kim's moves, but the heroine didn't even notice. No force would stop her from getting to her friend.
The monkeys' weapons blurred together into flashes of steel. So fast were their strikes that Ron had stopped trying to judge exactly what weapon he was dodging at the time. It was all he could do to stay ahead of their blades and blunt strikes. He felt a small swell of panic as the hairy ninjas circled him, forming a waist-high perimeter of death. Whoever had trained them, they had done excellent work; these were by far the toughest monkey ninjas Ron had ever fought. 'How sad is it,' he thought as a miniaturized katana took several triangles of hair from his forehead, 'That I can compare the different monkey ninjas I've fought? I'll bet Jackie Chan doesn't have to fight monkeys. It's not fair.'
He caught the wrist of the monkey with the tonfas and twisted sharply. The lighter creature flew up in his grasp and spun away, relinquishing his weapons. Armed with the oriental nightsticks, Ron took comfort in the fact that he was now only at a horrendous disadvantage, and not an insurmountable one. "Okay, poo-flingers," he spun the sticks by the handle, adopting a defensive stance, "Who wants to be next?"
The crowd ate it up as the monkeys regrouped, forming a wedge against Ron's one-man stand. They roared and cheered, drowning out all but the bass of the music in approval. Their roars quickly became boos as the monkeys abandoned any strategy and simply leapt onto Ron, knocking him to the floor and pinning his limbs, one monkey to each. The fifth stood atop his chest and raised his katana. Ron watched in horror as a cruel smile stretched the fabric of his killer's mask.
As the blade plunged toward his chest, a blur of red streaked from above the audience, bowling the monkeys from Ron and scattering their numbers. Ron rolled back, on his feet in an instant and reassessing the battle. "KP?"
"Ron," Kim grunted as the staff-wielding simian swung into her block, "Run! I'll handle things here."
"Like fun you will!" Ron hand-sprung behind her attacker and, still propped up on his palms, scissor-kicked the simian into a wide arc that knocked him into the edge of the crowd. Kim collected the monkey's tiny staff and held it as a billy club, watching as all six monkeys regrouped yet again. "I can handle this."
"Since when?" Unconsciously, Kim and Ron drifted apart, preventing the ninjas from flanking them together. It forced the simians to split, sending three each at the teens. "A few karate classes, and suddenly you're Bruce Lee?"
"For your information," Ron grunted, bashing an unarmed monkey in the face with his own tonfa, "I can take care of myself. I don't need you babysitting me."
Kim jumped over a katana and lashed out with her foot, knocking the monkey back as she blocked the other two. "Maybe I like fighting hairy, smelly ninjas. And I know how much you hate monkeys." The other two dropped beneath her crescent kick and pressed the attack, splitting up and striking from either side. It forced Kim up into the air, where her split kick caught one unaware and drove the other back.
"Me?" scoffed Ron as his fist shattered tiny monkey ribs. "Nah, I love monkeys. You should go talk to our contact. He's probably waiting for the great Kim Possible. Better head up before the tea gets cold."
Kim was about to respond with another quip when she felt a tail wrap around her ankle and yank it out from under her. The monkey with nunchaku looped the chains around her wrists and pulled them painfully above her head, stretching her out as the katana monkey landed next to her. He eyed her bare midriff, raising his sword up as if to chop her in half at the exposed, ivory skin.
Rufus spotted the trouble before Ron did, and tugged on his transport's mission shirt. "Kim, Kim!" he squeaked. Ron's own attackers were forgotten in an instant as his eyes swung around, spotting Kim and the deadly situation she found herself in. All his bluster and banter vanished in a panicked heartbeat. "KP!" he cried.
His legs worked on autopilot, launching him into the space between them in an aerial windmill kick. Hairy black robes filled with aching ninjas flew in every direction to avoid his flashing feet. As he landed, his palms snatched the singing blade, stopping it just inches from slicing open Kim's belly. She flinched at the close call, and then gaped at Ron's glare of naked hatred at her would-be killer. The monkey seemed equally as shocked as he put all his weight into the blade. Even with his leverage, the sword didn't waver an inch.
"No one," he snarled, "Ever touches her." His eyes burned with a mysterious crimson light as he twisted the blade from the monkey's grasp and flipped it into the air. His hand and foot lashed out as one, catching both the lead monkey and his nunchaku friend with devastating blows before retracting. The katana fell into Ron's grasp, then snapped across his knee, seemingly without effort on his part.
Kim lay frozen with awe, and a touch of fear. She watched the red fade from Ron's eyes, unable to tell what trick of the light made them so. A dark shape rose above his shoulder, grasping a glinting blade meant for his throat. "Behind you," she managed to cry before a streak of silver flew across her vision. The monkey reeled back, clutching its side and the throwing star buried in it. Both Kim and Ron stopped and followed the star's path back to its origin.
Yori grimaced. One hand remained on her side, putting futile pressure on the bleeding slice across her ribs. The other retracted from its throw. "Watch your back, Ron-san," she called, not noticing the dark shape taking form behind her. It was only when a streak of pink flew past her head that she caught sight of it, and by then, the ninja meant for her was contesting with an amorphous pink mole rat morphing over its face.
"Watch your own," Ron retorted with a smile, watching with satisfaction as Yori knocked the monkey aside and retrieved Rufus from its face.
Dazed, the monkeys regrouped in the center of the circle, watching as the teenagers did the same. Ron placed himself between the monkeys and his girls, snatching up Rufus as his buddy returned to his palm. As Rufus took to his shoulder, Ron glared at the six wounded warriors. Their little chests heaved, and several of them looked to be in terrible shape. Ron jerked forward, snarling, "Boo!"
The fight seemed to leave the monkeys as the monkeys left the fight, leaping high into the air. They bounced off of several delighted members of the audience, making for the walls and vanishing into the heavy shadows of the crowd. Try though he might, Ron couldn't track them with his eye. Instead, he turned back to the girls. His victorious cheer squelched itself amidst a breath of horror as he watched Yori gnash her teeth to quell the moans of pain. "Yori!"
"I am fine," she assured him. "It is just a scratch." Her shirt's hem hung in loosely, torn near the bottom and soaked with blood. Though the cut wasn't deep, it ran the length of her stomach, and refused to stop bleeding. Her tiny hands, stained crimson, could not cover the entire wound.
Wordlessly, Ron went to her side. Rufus scampered across his arm and leapt onto Yori, examining the cut in detail and chattering with a disapproving tone. He remained so intent on her injury, he didn't notice when the music of the club cut out suddenly, or when the lights leapt up to levels of normalcy. He looked back at Kim with a determined expression. Kim saw his features twisted like she had never seen them before, so serious and forceful. This was not the Ron she had grown up with. Loathe though she was to separate the team again, she knew there would be no stopping them, and reluctantly nodded in agreement.
"Clear a path, people!" Ron's voice took on a commanding quality as he led Yori back toward the way they had entered. Most slid aside quickly as Yori's injury became apparent. Several people tried to slap them on the back or chatter excitedly in their ears, eager to meet the night's entertainment and express their admiration. Ron drove them back with a heated glare that could have melted steel.
"Kim! Kim!" Monique squeezed past a pair of gawkers and pushed into the circle. "Are you okay? Where's-" Kim nodded in their direction. When Monique caught sight of the red staining Yori's midriff, she gasped. "Are they all right?"
"Yori's hurt," Kim muttered. "And Ron's…" She paused, thinking of Ron's heated words and fiery temper during the fight. She had never seen him fight so fervently "Ron's fine. He's taking her to get some help."
The crowd's constant chatter trailed off as a loud set of hands clapped slowly. Kim and Monique turned around, spotting someone moving with ease through the throng. Where they had choked Kim's movement, they now parted easily for this new figure moving forward. "That was quite the display, Ms. Possible," a regal tone called from behind the living curtain of people. "I must commend you for driving those ruffians from my establishment."
The tone sounded exceedingly familiar, but it wasn't until the last of the obstructions cleared aside that Kim made the connection. But the shaggy, goateed businessman bringing his gloves together in polite applause, recognizable though he was, only confused her more. "Monkey Fist?" she gaped.
The man's thuggish Caucasian features tugged themselves into a smile as he ceased clapping, and straightened the lines of his three thousand dollar suit. A pair of burly bodyguards, indistinguishable from the bouncers they had encountered at the door. "I'm afraid you have me confused with my ne'er-do-well younger brother, Ms. Possible. Allow me to introduce myself." He bowed at the waist, bringing his arm before him in a gesture of flourished respect. "Lord Gregory Fiske, at your service, my dear. I believe you had some questions to ask me."
"…and now I have a whole lot more," Kim muttered from the corner of her mouth.
To Be Continued
