"Dammit Ralph, last match of the season and you had to go all-out. Stupid, big-headed rat I'll show you… one day… I'll… I'll- grrr I'll do something!" Rolf limped through the streets of his hometown, glad that nobeast was awake to see him do so. He was a short and scrawny mouse, with fur that seemed perpetually ruffled and a gap between his buckteeth large enough for a fist to pass through.
"Sunrise… not much time…" he whispered, desperately tip-toeing past a wide-open gate. As usual luck was not on his side, and the mouse tripped over a misplaced brick. His nose, already blue, became intimate with the ground and turned purple.
"Ow, ow, ow," he seethed, dragging himself across the path towards his home. "Ow, ow, ow," he repeated, pulling himself up a small flight of stairs. He dug his dirty fingers into the nearby potty plant in search of a spare key, and using the wall to prop himself up, unlocked the door.
"Alright, just need to sneak into bed before mum gets up, then act like I'm too tired to do much walking around until the limp goes away... Shouldn't be too hard as long as Great Aunt Maggery isn't staying over again." The young mouse's family had a nasty habit of using his room as the guest room whenever he was away. Which was pretty often. Work, or rather Ralph, kept him busy.
With newfound determination, Rolf dragged himself up the staircase, one step at a time. "Nearly there, nearly there, nearly there…" It was a good thing none of his family were early-birds, they'd no doubt have a dozen good questions about why he looked as bad as he did. There was still the risk of somebeast waking up for an extra-early breakfast, but it was a risk he'd have to take if he wanted a bed to sleep in.
Rolf pulled himself to his feetpaws at the top of the staircase. "Okay, okay… nearly there… nearly there… ow, ow, ow..." It was a good thing his room was the first one on the landing, merely a hop or two away from the top of the stairs.
The pain in his bad leg was worse than ever by the time he laid his paw on the handle. But he'd made it. With a final grunt of exertion Rolf pushed the door open.
Something thick and malodorous wasted no time in assaulting his nostrils, yet it was the sight of his room that nearly knocked-out Rolf.
"M-my room…" he gasped at the sight of his torn bedsheets. "What on earth-" A pair of his finest tunics lay crumpled on the floor, surrounded by bent and broken spears. Everything in sight was somehow covered in feathers and no less than four large eggs lay in the corner, decorated with all sorts of ridiculous faces.
"New mousie! Hello!" A horrific creature sat up from where it lay on his bed, grinning wide.
Taken by surprise, and more than a little alarmed by the size, sharpness and colour of it's teeth, Rolf let out a cry of alarm and leapt backwards.
As luck would have it, he landed on his bad leg, swore loudly, lost balance and fell down the stairs.
Kew-Kew winced at the repeated 'ow's', his grin faltering rapidly.
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"Oh my pore baby! Don't even think about trying to walk." The one good thing Rolf got out of his early-morning surprise was his mother's medical expertise. Already his bad leg was beginning to feel as good new. "If only you had said you were coming, we'd have prepared for you, w-warned you at least."
"Should have knocked son," his father chided. "Look at you now, bruised all over."
"Didn't want to wake you up." It had also given Rolf an excuse for all his injuries. Now at least he wouldn't have to worry about hiding a dozen bumps and bruises from his family's prying eyes and curious noses.
"Oh you sweet thing," Elizabeth, his mother and the family's matriarch, seized him by the cheek, and tugged, the way she so often did. "Planning to surprise us at breakfast, were you?"
"You know me so well."
"Well you did fall down the stairs last time as well," Barth interjected, grinning that smug, insulting grin only an older brother could manage. Rolf had no doubt that, were both their parents not present and were his leg not thickly bandaged, the elder mouse would have had him in a chokehold.
"Hello to you too," said Rolf, his lips curling into a frown.
"Don't let Barth get you down Rolf." Margaret sat down at the breakfast table, and bit back a yawn. "He hasn't had anybeast to pick on for months now."
"Barsh will be Barsh," Hammond summarized from around a crumpet.
Elizabeth ceased her bandaging and turned towards her fattest son. "What did I tell you about talking with your mouth full."
"Shorry," the tubby mouse swallowed abruptly.
"Barth ought to get into fighting." Rolf tapped his purple nose knowingly. "I could set you up with a couple of guys you'd get along great with." Ralph and you are practically the same after all. "Maybe it'll teach you to pick on somebeast your own size."
"That's how you win, eh?" Barth grinned cheekily. "Pick all the teeny, tiny runty opponents?"
Hammond butted in before Rolf could come up with any fitting retort. "Honestly, I still have no idea how you became a champion. You can't even beat me."
"Weight classes Hammond, weight classes." Rolf chided. "And it's mostly luck really. I get some good matches." He pointed a finger at his bag. "Brought home another trophy."
"Wooooo! That's my boy!" Forgetting his son's injuries, Thomas the proud father brought his paw down upon Rolf's bandaged footpaw.
The wounded mouse yelped, yet failed to suppress a smile as his ears turned pink.
Violet was the first to seize the trophy. "Ooooh! First place!" The mousemaid shook her head. "And they misspelled your name again."
"Haha! That's our 'Ralph' for you. Best fighter in the world and too polite to correct the blacksmith." This time his father settled for thumping the table in appreciation. For that Rolf was grateful.
"Y-yeah." If Ralph ever finds out where all his trophies went I'm a deadbeast. "S-so… yeah, lot's of interesting fighters this season. Saw some lizard in the ring too, and let me tell you I would not want to get on that guy's bad side." Ralph had, and it had made Rolf very happy. "What about you guys?"
"Nothing much," Barth shrugged, and took a bite out of a delicious breakfast pastry. "Me and Violet have been busy with the kids. Pieholes, they grow fast. Mum and Dad have been tending to the garden- lovely rosebush outside, I'm sure you saw. Hammond here is fatter than ever. And Margaret… Margaret can probably tell you herself."
Rolf turned expectantly towards his elder sister.
"Well," all-in-a fluster Margaret tugged at a whisker. "It's a bit of a long story but I suppose the gist of it is that I was kidnapped and used to hunt down an eagle." Rolf's eyes widened. "By… another eagle who currently lives with us." Margaret scratched the back of her neck. "I er- think you've met Kew-Kew."
The creature beside her, who now resided in Rolf's bedroom, waved. "Sorry I scares you," he said. The stinking, slobbering, masked monstrosity raised a claw to his mouth and chewed at it. "I ish not echpecting moushie to shcream sho loudly. Or to fall on shteppy-shteps."
"It's fine," Rolf blinked, wondering what on earth had compelled his family to let the creature stay in his room of all places.
"An' shorry I shleep in nesht of Rolf-moushie."
"Not with your mouth full Kew-Kew," Margaret reminded him, and the wearet immediately pulled his saliva-ridden claw away from his maw.
"Sorry," the wearet repeated, before gesturing at a stack of pancakes.
"Now I know what you're thinking, and yes, we might be a little bit crazy." Margaret slid the desired dish towards Kew-Kew, who proceeded to wolf it's contents down without mercy, and a distinct lack of table-manners. "But he doesn't really have anywhere else to go, and well… haven't we always prided ourselves on our hospitality?
"I… see…" A large platter was placed before Rolf, and ever the fussy mother, Elizabeth began to heap food upon it. A knife and fork were delicately placed within his sore paws. "Well I suppose he can't be any worse than Great Aunt Maggery."
At this, the entire family laughed.
A second look at his room gave Rolf second thoughts about that statement. The mess was nothing short of a major safety hazard, and the stench would no doubt stick to the walls for a long time to come.
But then, Kew-Kew couldn't be any worse than Ralph.
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It was a while before Rolf was healthy enough to walk again, a while longer before his mother allowed him to and nearly a month before he was given anything resembling a chore. Not that Rolf complained. As boring as being bed-ridden was, it was preferable to being thrown around and beaten. A pity he couldn't earn trophies for sleeping.
The mouse's first order of business, upon recovering, was to make his room habitable once more. The windows were thrust open, the curtains pulled apart, and the multitude of stray feathers swept up into a pile. His bed was pushed into a corner, and what belongings his family had managed to keep from Kew-Kew, were brought back and neatly organized around the sparse furniture.
"Rolfie has lotsa cup-things," Kew-Kew noted.
"They're not cups," Rolf snapped irritably, pulling yet another feather out of his mattress. "They're trophies."
"Troffee?" Kew-Kew cocked his head to the side.
"Like… prizes."
If anything Kew-Kew seemed even more confused now.
"Rewards then. It's er- it's something only a winner gets."
"Kraw! So Rolfie is winner. Is that what champie-thing is?"
"Y-yeah... I guess you could say that."
"Keeraw! Rolfie is big champie to have so many cup-things" Kew-Kew praised, setting the latest trophy atop one of his eggchicks. "Bestest champie!"
"Y-yeah… big champie…" The mouse's face fell as an old guilt began to stir within him. "The bestest…"
"So what does Rolfie do to be champie?"
I get my tail handed to me on a solid, silver platter. "I er- fight. Professionally that is."
"Fight?" Kew-Kew turned to Margaret for explanation.
"It's when two or more beasts try to kill each other, usually without the killing part. Rolf goes from town to town with a little fighting troupe of sorts and they put on a show of beating each other up."
"I-it's not a show," Rolf hastily corrected. "We do beat each other up."
"I know. It's barbaric."
"But what does fighter-thing do?" Despite the mousemaid's explanation, Kew-Kew was still visibly confused.
"They bite, spit, claw and snarl at each other."
"We do more punching actually," Rolf scowled.
"Kraw!" The wearet clapped his paws excitedly. "The lil' mouseyworms is big fighters then, always scratching and biting." Another thought hit him, and Kew-Kew began to hop around excitedly. "Keeraw! Kew-Kew is fighting-thing too." He stood still long enough to jab a thumbclaw into his puffed-out chest. "I is biting and scratching eagles since I is eggchick! And I is best eagle hunter in all land of Kew-Kew. And I is eagle!"
Margaret, more than used to Kew-Kew's eccentricities (and especially his sense of self-importance) shook her head and made her exit. "I'll be in the kitchen if either of you need me."
"Bye Marr-garr-ett!" Kew-Kew waved her away. Rolf turned back towards his shelf of cup-things and sighed wistfully. If he squinted his eyes a little the 'Ralph' looked ever-so-slightly like a 'Rolf'...
"PREEEEEEEEEESENTING! The one, the only, the greatest fighter this ring has ever seen, you all know him and he needs no introduction but I'm being payed to say this anyway!" The crowd laughed and for once it was not because Ralph had somehow humiliated him. "Give it up for ROOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOLF!"
Amidst violent applause, and the proud smiles of his family Rolf raised this trophy high.
Kew-Kew's voice pulled the mouse free of his daydream."Does mousey want to fight?"
"H-huh?"
"Just as game," the eagle explained, wearing the biggest, goofiest grin the mouse had ever laid eyes on.
"W-well, I mean… I just got back recently and-"
"Awwww! Please? I is always fighting little mouseyworms, fighting fun, lotsa fun!"
Rolf took one look at Kew-Kew's yellow teeth, furless arms and thick tail and knew that he most certainly did not want to fight him.
"A-another time maybe."
"Aaaw." Slightly disappointed, Kew-Kew dropped onto all fours. He made to turn towards his eggchicks once more, but something caught his attention. Rolf stepped back against the wall as Kew-Kew drew nearer, closing the space between them. The wearet's nose twitched and sniffed at the air until it prodded the mouse's middle. "Rolfie is scaredy," Kew-Kew accused, his voice nasally.
"I-I'm not scared," Rolf stammered.
"Is scared. Is stinky," Kew-Kew withdrew his sniffer. "Kew-Kew can smell it."
"I do not stink!"
"All thingies do when they is scaredy."
"I'm not-"
"Is scaredy Kew-Kew is better champie-thing-"
"Th-that's not-"
"Kraw! Is true!"
Rolf growled. "F-fine then. We can fight. But no biting or clawing o-or wounding o-"
"Yes, yes." Kew-Kew was once more grinning wide. "No killa the mousey. I promises."
For some reason the mouse was not reassured.
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"And if you give up, or are having difficulty breathing or anything just tap the floor twice like so." Rolf demonstrated the motion, more for his sake than Kew-Kew's. "And remember, if you see me doing it, it means you've won and you should let me go, okay?"
Kew-Kew nodded, and practiced tapping at the floor.
"Well I guess that's it then," Rolf swallowed audibly. "Er- whenever you're rea-"
"KA-KAW!" Before the mouse could finish his sentence, let alone enter a shaky stance, Kew-Kew had pounced and pinned him to the ground.
"I-I wasn't ready," Rolf squeaked.
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"This time Rolf-Mousie hit first," said Kew-Kew, with an air of great generosity.
Continuing to mutter under his breath about how much he did not want to fight, Rolf threw a punch. Kew-Kew, who was taking this 'game' very seriously, scurried backwards and returned the motion. With interest.
"That's gonna sting…" Rolf winced, rubbing at his freshly-blackened eye.
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"On three, okay? Three-"
"KRAW!" The wearet spun round in a flurry of feathers and used his muscular tail to sweep Rolf (who had been about to say two) off his feetpaws.
"I was still counting down," the mouse groaned.
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Rolf darted forwards, but Kew-Kew was ready. Yawning, the wearet sidestepped the blow and extended his footpaw, predictably, the mouse tripped over it and hit the ground hard.
"Issa fun game!" Kew-Kew cheered, sitting down atop the downed champion..
"Maybe for you," Rolf grumbled to the floor.
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The results were the same for the remaining rounds. Somehow or other Kew-Kew always came out on top. In most cases quite literally.
"Is Rolfie tired?" the eagle asked good-naturedly.
"What do you think?" the mouse panted. "We've been doing this all day."
"And champie-thing Rolf didn't beat Kew-Kew single time!" Grinning, Kew-Kew helped the mouse off of the floor and onto the bed.
"Yeah, yeah, you win," Rolf muttered, tugging a feather loose from the fur between his ears.
"But Rolfie is good champie-thing!" the wearet went on, sitting down besides the mouse. "Is not fair fight. I is eagle, you is preything- eagle always eat preything- but still mousie is only little bit scaredy of fighting Kew-Kew and not give up! Barth-mousie big scaredy of fighting Kew-Kew and Hammond-mousie big scaredy of Kew-Kew- but Rolfie is fighting Kew-Kew all day!"
Rolf could not help but smile at the notion of his elder brothers cowering before his present roommate. "Thanks I guess." Yeah, you're definitely not as bad as Ralph.
Kew-Kew licked him across the face by way of saying 'you're welcome'.
In some ways you're worse...
"So what is Rolf-mousie like when fighting other champie-things? Rolfie is getting beaten less, yes?"
"Oh of course. Much less." Far, far more… "See normally I would never fight someone like you- you'd be in another class, er division that is- you'd be in another group and you'd fight beasts closer to your size."
"Other eagles?" he asked hopefully.
"Y-yeah, maybe. I was thinking more along the lines of big, muscular rats… the type that wear noserings y'know?"
"Knows-ring?"
"Terrible fashion choice," Rolf explained. "I usually fight people more my size. Voles, moles, shrews, other mice… the occasional rat."
"Kraw! Kew-Kew would love to see Rolf-mousie fight!"
The mouse laughed nervously. "Hahaha, y-yeah that would be fun. Er- n-not that I think it would ever happen. We don't really fight h-here in Thornhill."
Kew-Kew looked mildly disappointed, but Rolf would have to live with that. None of his family had ever seen him fight and with good reason. His mother would have murdered Ralph several seasons ago… and she'd have made sure Rolf never left the safety of his bedroom again...
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As the weeks rolled by, Rolf found himself spending a great deal of time with Kew-Kew. The wearet was not so bad (when he was not insisting that they fight) but took a great deal of getting used to. He was, rather literally, the monster under Rolf's bed. And while he was no Ralph, Rolf doubted he'd ever, truly, get used to living with him.
"Issa pancake!" Kew-Kew insisted, gesturing at the naseauting contents of a pan he was trying to get the mouse to eat. "Makes Rolfie big, strong mousie!"
"Th-that is not a pancake," Rolf squeaked, backing away quickly from… whatever it was.
"How is Rolf-mousey knowing is not pancake if mousie is not eating it?" demanded Kew-Kew, crossly.
"Because it's not!"
"Is! Kraw! Champie-thing small and weak. Eatta pancake be big like Kew-Kew! Then Rolfie win much cup-things!"
Despite the absurdity of the statement, Rolf could not help picturing the scene. A taller, more muscular, less bruised version of himself at the center, lifting a trophy with his own name on it. Countless opponents, many of whom greatly resembled Ralph, lay defeated on the floor behind him.
Before Rolf could even finish his daydream, a spoonful of Kew-Kew's pancake was shoved into his mouth.
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The months flew past, the fighting season drew nearer and in no time at all it was time for Rolf to depart again. The young mouse stood at the gate, waiting for his family to finish their farewells.
"And remember to be careful on the road, they say you never know when a brigand is watching," his mother was saying as she fussed over his whiskers.
"Don't worry 'bout that dear, any no-good thief tries to stop our 'Ralph' they'll get a swift one-two and regret it, eh son?"
"Y-yeah dad, of course," Rolf neglected to mention that the last time he had run into highwaybeasts he had been stripped of all his possessions and forced to borrow some of Ralph's clothes. "And yes mother, you know me. Always picking the safest routes."
"Here's a snack for the road," Hammond said, emerging from the house and handing him a large haversack filled with food.
"And here's one for good luck!" Barth laughed, punching him none-too-lightly on the shoulder.
First bruise of the season...
"I thought you might like a journal, something to write down your thoughts and all that," Margaret chewed her lip as if trying to bite back something harsh and vile. "But then I figured you'd find bandages more useful in the long-term."
"Gee, thanks Maggy," Rolf accepted the gift with a great roll of his eyes. "As if I'd need them." Thank you! Thank you so much! You have no idea...
"Bye-bye Uncle Wolf!" the dibbuns chorused, as they waved at Rolf's departing figure.
"Darlings," sighed Violet. "His name is Rolf."
"Don't forget to bring back another trophy!" Tom called. "And make sure they spell your name right this time!"
"Victory, here I come!" Rolf cried, throwing a fist into the air. His family and even some of the neighbours cheered as he departed.
The mouse skipped through the town, unburdened by the weight of his luggage, until his family was out of sight and out of earshot. Then he slowed and began to drag his feetpaws along the ground, his ears drooping in misery.
Bitter defeat, here I come...
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Kew-Kew watched from the rooftop as Rolf trotted away, cheered from all sides by the townsfolk. The same townsfolk that watched Kew-Kew like a hawk every time he set footpaw outside.
"Kraw! If fighting such a bad-bad thing why is all mousies happy-clapping?" The wearet scowled. "Even Marr-garr-ett big happy-clapping… But then Margaret-mousie is not knowing every-thingie."
Rolf had refused Kew-Kew's offer to accompany him in no uncertain terms and had made it quite clear that he did not want the wearet going with him. Margaret had of course told him repeatedly that he wasn't missing out on anything...
"Hihihihihi! Lucky Kew-Kew doesn't always listen to prey-things!" As if a mere champie-thing could stop a determined eagle from doing what it wanted! Rolfie had described fighting in big, complicated and epic-sounding words and Kew-Kew had long since made up his mind to see a real fight for himself.
"Of course, Kew-Kew is good eagle and is wrong to go with Rolfie if Rolfie don't want Kew-Kew to… but is not wrong to go in same direction." Cackling gleefully Kew-Kew scrambled off the tiles just as the speck that was Rolf drifted out of sight.
And Rolf would know nothing. Like any good eagle Kew-Kew was good at hiding things if he wanted them hidden.
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"Ah, there goes our champion," Tom sighed contentedly. "We raised a good one, didn't we honey?"
"Oh I don't know dear," Elizabeth tugged one of her whiskers into line. "It sounds quite dangerous. And I know Rolf is all grown up now, and he'd hate to hear me fuss over him but he's still my little baby."
"Aaaaaw, I'll be sure to tell him that when he gets back," Barth snickered. "And c'mon Ma, he's been doing this for a while now. No needs to worry about-"
"I is leaving!" Kew-Kew announced, appearing behind the family of mice. At once they whirled around to face his grinning face.
"Y-you're leaving?" Margaret raised an eyebrow.
"Not for long time," Kew-Kew promised. "I is back before mousie misses Kew-Kew. Is just Kew-Kew is hungry." Right on cue, the wearet's tummy rumbled. Hammond, who had never warmed to the wearet, visibly flinched. "And mousie-food is much good but I is wanting eagle. Or maybe eggses." He paused for thought, wondering which type of food he missed more.
"W-well that's alright." Margaret had to bite back the urge to beg him not to use anybeast as bait.
"B-be careful of brigands dear..." Elizabeth's eyes trailed up to Kew-Kew's terrible teeth and monstrous fangs and trailed off.
"Yes yes. Kew-Kew no eat the big-ans," the wearet bobbed his head up and down. "Is bad for stomach. Is bringing back big eagle for mousie family, yes? Lotsa big eagles and eggses too."
"That er- that won't be necessary Kew-Kew," Margaret tweedled her fingers. Please don't bring back an eagle, please don't bring back an eagle, please don't bring back an eagle…
"Lil' mouseyworms take good care of eggchickies, yes?" Kew-Kew crouched down, the better to address the dibbuns.
"Yes Mister Eagle!" they chorused, their little chests puffed out and their arms raised in salute.
"Kraw! Good mouseyworms!" he ruffled the fur between their ears and stood up. Clapping his paws, he grinned down at the assembled prey-things. "Don't worry, I is coming back much soon!"
Before anybeast could think of a reply, Kew-Kew gave a piercing screech of farewell, then hopped over the gate and scampered down the path.
Footnote: I owe thanks to whoever wrote Merill of the Top 30 for the creation of Rolf. I was going about making predictions, didn't know what to do with Merill until I remembered there was an actress called Merill Streep and came up with the concept of a character who is payed to lose fights as opposed to a character who pays to win. His application was not as refined as it should have been because I couldn't get my head around what he was supposed to do contest-story-wise (lousy motive what can I say) so here I made him Margaret's little brother which automatically ties him to Kew-Kew. And of course *that* story had to be told XD