Rhone stood up and tossed a few bills on the bar. No one had heard her get up; it was too loud. She was still wearing the clothes she had worn in the tournament and was ready for a shower. She didn't know what she would do tomorrow, but she still had a hotel room for another night. Maybe she would figure out what to do with all that money she had just won. She patted her zipped front pockets, reassuring herself that the money was still there.
"RC! Where are you going? You didn't even have a drink," a male voice slurred behind her.
She turned from the door. "I'm going to bed. You should consider doing the same, Ken," she said dryly.
Rhone thought Ken, a bouncer for the tournament, was a nice guy. Before he saw what she could do, he took on an almost protective older brother role. She smiled faintly at the memory of the look he had on his face when she KO'ed her first opponent.
"It's still early, have a drink. It's on – well, it's on you," he held up his almost empty glass of beer. A few of the other guys she had come with were starting to pay attention to their conversation, telling her to stay.
"Maybe next time," she turned. "I left your next round on the bar," she said over her shoulder.
"Thanks RC!" the men had turned and began looking interested in the next round that was being poured.
Rhone walked out the door and into the night. It had to have been almost one, but she really didn't know. Looking at her car, she noticed someone in a dark trench coat getting out of the car next to hers. Why were they wearing a trench coat? It was June and quite warm. Otherwise, she was alone in the parking lot. She got an intense feeling in her stomach, but it wasn't fear.
She started walking toward her car and the figure in the trench coat started walking toward the bar, which was coincidently right at her. She didn't deter from her course, just walked straight for her car.
She began to make out the features of the figure walking toward her. It was a man in his mid 50's. He had dark gray hair that was only about an inch long, combed back.
She stared straight ahead and strode forward purposefully. He did the same. If one of them didn't move, they would clip each other in the shoulder.
Neither of them moved and they bumped shoulders. She turned as they made contact and looked into his eyes. They were – squinted despite the darkness. If she had to make a guess in a poorly lit parking lot, she would guess they were brown.
She turned to face her car again and heard, "Undefeated Champion, what did you get for that? Twenty-five, thirty thousand?"
She couldn't tell, but the voice had a regal air and was faintly – English? She stopped abruptly and turned around. The man was already stopped and facing her, just grinning. They were about six feet from one another.
She looked harder at him; she didn't recognize him. She didn't think that he was at the tournament. She knew he didn't fight in it, but there were quite a few people in the makeshift bleachers. And if he were there at all, he would have known how much she won. "I don't think you need any more of what they're serving in there," she pointed at the grimy bar she had walked out of.
"I'm not here for the spirits. -- I'm here for you," he put his hands in his coat pockets, maintaining his smile.
She debated whether or not she should try to take this guy. She didn't understand it, but something in her gut said no. She redistributed her weight, ready to run. But something was holding her there. "I think the hookers patrol the next block over," she gestured with her hand.
"Tell me, does one automatically acquire such wit when they work in a comic book store?" he asked.
Her back straightened, "What?"
"Or perhaps you had to hone the skill by practicing with Marie?" he continued, "If that is the case, as of September, you became in dire need of a new counterpart." She was rigid. Her eyes were set on him and her face was one of uncertainty. He took a few steps toward her. "Aren't you going to run?" he asked lightly.
Her face turned to one of resentment, "Your assumption that I fear you is flawed -- and arrogant."
"Fearless, independent, not to mention her skills," he said as though talking to someone else. "But…" his voice trailed off.
"But what?" she asked slowly. The man started breathing heavily and brought his hands out of his pockets. One hand went to his heart and the other contorted into a position that conveyed pain. His face began to mirror the emotion of his hand. "Hey," she said as she reached out for him and grabbed his shoulders. He began to slowly collapse and she helped lower him to the ground. "Hey! Are you alright?" she said with wide eyes.
Heavy breathing and a faint groan was her only reply. She put a hand up to his forehead and lightly caressed it. She leaned over him and picked him up. She was happy that she had been exercising so vigorously these past ten months. She turned and started to run for her car. She knew that if she went to the bar everyone would be too intoxicated to help and getting the music turned down so she could call for help would be no easy task. It would take too much time.
With a little effort, she opened the passenger side door of her Honda Civic and put the limp body she was carrying inside. She shut the door and rushed to the driver side. She jumped into her seat and shut the door. She was – calm. She put the key into the ignition and heard, "Compassionate, heroic."
She slowly looked over at her passenger. He was sitting up and opening her glove compartment. "Get out of my fucking car," she said calmly.
He pulled out some maps and other things she had in her glove box. "Always prepared, yet travels light," he said as he looked at the few things in her back seat.
"Who in the hell are you talking to?" she asked. She started to slowly reach for something to the right of her seat.
"Self preservation… I'm not going to hurt you," he added, looking at her briefly.
She was holding an inking pen in her hand so he could see it. A wry grin crossed her face, "If you tried, I would either kill you with this inking pen or kill us both by crashing this car so you could never hurt anyone else."
For the first time the man froze, staring at her. "…Altruistic," he said, in a barely audible voice. There was a long silence between them.
Finally, she said, "You aren't getting out of my car, are you?"
"Give me one day," he said.
"One day to what?" she asked.
"To change your life," he said softly.
"And how are you going to change my life?" she asked with a small smile.
"I can make it less – average," he promised.
"Average is hardly a word that is used to describe me," she chuckled.
"You can still draw comic books, Rhone," he stated.
"You act like I'm attached to anything else," she relaxed into her seat.
A wide grin crossed his slightly wrinkled face, "Bishop." He extended a hand to her. She looked at the hand for a moment, but eventually shook it. When she did, a feeling washed over her. It was one of those feelings that told you things were never going to be the same again. It was a moment that changed your life.
"Bishop? Let me guess, family name," she said sarcastically. She thought back a few moments, how does he know my – name? How does he know any of those other things about me?
"Not exactly," his grin became faint.
"Do you have a last name?" she asked.
"No," he said flatly.
"So you're like Sting or Prince? Do you sing?" she said coyly.
"No," he couldn't hold back a slight chuckle. "Where did you come up with a name like Rhone Chade anyway?" he asked.
She looked at him sideways, "Best damn Dungeons and Dragons character I ever played."
He opened the passenger side door and said, "I'll contact you tomorrow." Without waiting for a response he got out and shut the door. She looked in her rear view mirror and watched him get into his car. Jaguar – nice.