Calamity Hoppers ~Reprise~
by Christopher R. Martin
Chapter 6 – Fancy a Drink?
This place has changed so much in my absence that I'm not even sure I'm in the same old town I used to know. Wherever I look, the citizens have their gadgets and gizmos at the ready. These portable phones, these 'laptops' as they call it, and even the drastically-improved vehicles appear to be doing everything for their owners. At one point, I even think that they might be driving their cars without the need for a steering wheel, but that might be pushing it.
Everything around these parts seems to now revolve around machines and technology, and the convenience and simplicities they guarantee. I don't recall everything here being so…advanced. And I definitely don't recall everyone being so contented, so at ease. One thing I will give this place credit for, it looks much more appealing to the eye. Much cleaner, more organized than the town I come from.
All of this is so far beyond my understanding. Not that I can't get a grasp on these brand new concepts, and I will. One way or another. But it's going to take me a while to get accustomed to this new world. I just need a good place to start.
Right now, I need to find something that's faintly familiar to me. Something to indulge in and work away the shell-shock.
Dusk is now fast approaching. The sun is nearing the end of its descent, the sky orange. With the first hour of nighttime now upon us, the streetlights are flicking on, and the buildings are also illuminated from the inside.
In my aimless travels, I find a brightly lit bar in one of the town's more secluded districts. A towering neon marquee sign stands right besides the building, its design comprised of a pool cue, a musical note and an opened glass bottle. A sensory assault seems a more fitting observation. At the bottom of the logo shines the name of the establishment. Wild Ones' Booze, Beats and Billiards.
Yet another change in this town that I don't know of. But unlike everything else before this, it's something I can easily attach to.
After an entire day of trying to get a grasp on what's new and what stayed the same, I believe a nice little drink is in order. I make my way into the bar, which definitely lives up to its namesake. Pool tables are on one end of the bar, ball after ball rolling right into the pockets. A jukebox stands on another end, blasting a very rowdy tune for everyone's enjoyment. Right before my very eyes is the bar itself, with shelves of alcoholic beverages lined up behind the female bartender.
I should feel at home just from these distinctions alone, but immediately upon entering, I am met with the suspicious looks of the customers. Just to name a few of these guys, there's a tiny cockroach with a tablecloth—or I guess it's a cape?—tied behind his back. There's some blue-skinned lady in a dress shirt, slacks and high heels, sitting side by side with her fellow females. To my left is a goat—or horse, or moose, whatever—whose musculature possibly outpaces a microscopic brain inside his head. Right beside him is some rodent inside a ball, sharply dressed for his kind.
Not a single remotely friendly face can be found in this crowd. Every last one of these people looks like the sort to stir up trouble, and they seem none too pleased with my arrival.
I get the feeling that I've walked into a lion's den or some other dreadful place, but disregard it not a second later. I need some refreshment and no troublemaker, no matter how intimidating, is going to scare me off. Even if I have to start a bar brawl, I am going to get myself a nice, refreshing drink.
Paying their eyes no heed, I walk in a straight line for the counter, where the young female bartender, the only friendly face in this bar, wipes one last glass dry.
"Well, good evening," she greets, nodding and smiling despite the attention I'm drawing. "How can I help you?"
"I'll have a glass of that, thanks," I answer, pointing to a bottle labeled 'Theory'.
Rather than fetching the bottle from the shelf, she pulls out what appears to be a hose from under the counter. With a push of a button, a stream of light yellow liquid gushes from the nozzle and into the glass, which she gives to me.
Again, these newfangled advancements never cease to amaze me. I wonder how much this kind of drink costs if it's dispensed this way. Effortless and convenient. Probably a lot. Then again, in this new town, this new world,I could be wrong.
Stop with the worrying already. You'll have all this figured out in no time. For my sake, I hope so.
I search the inner pockets of my coat to check for any money I may have. Rattles can be heard from inside. A few pennies or dimes, I'd wager. Damn it. Looks like my agenda's been held back by a significant amount.
I feel a hand on my shoulder – the bartender's hand. She hasn't foregone her smile, and I'm happy for that because it makes being here, among these unpleasant folk, slightly more tolerable.
"Relax. This one's on me," she says, winking, to which I let off a chuckle. As I take the first sip of my beer, she leans forward with her clasped hands resting on the counter's surface. "I don't recall seeing your face before. You new in town or something?"
"You could say that," I answer. She has absolutely no idea. No one else here does. Another sip of my glass, and she snickers at the frothy mustache left behind on my lip. "I gotta say, this isn't half bad. In fact, I think I like it." It definitely makes all this trouble worthwhile.
For a second, the bartender is pleased at serving a happy customer. It might be more than she can say for her regulars, though. This is my take on it, anyway, and the reason for it is because a dour countenance replaces her lustrous mask when she sees these punks eyeing me from behind.
This sudden change has me half curious and half worried.
"Better watch your back while you're here. As you can tell, these guys don't play nice at all," she says as she busies herself with a new task, sweeping the floor with a broom.
"Thanks for the warning, but I'll be fine," I assure her with a grin, though it doesn't quell her. I sip some more of my beer.
"Are you sure about that?" a new voice announces, getting me to find the source. It's the cockroach with the dishrag—or a cape, I don't know and I don't care—on its back. Its forelimbs are alight with red sparks of energy. It's a sign that he wants to pick a fight with me. A sign that I do not acknowledge, for his sake. For their sake.
"Um, can I help you?" I ask, not impressed in the least.
"No, a better question would be, 'do you have any idea what this place is'?" asks the cockroach.
I shrug at his question as if to say "Isn't it obvious?" look away from him and continue with my drink.
The insect has not left my side yet. I don't know if he has a bone to pick with me, but he had better get away from me quick. Otherwise, he'll find himself flat on his back and struggling for breath.
He then pulls me by the collar and leans his face close to mine until we're both touching each other. "Don't turn away from me when I'm speaking to you," he says, his voice bristling with rage. "Now you listen to me and you listen well. This right here is a bar strictly for villains. And in case you haven't figured out, that's us. So I'll only tell you this once: leave now, or face the wrath of Carl, the Evil Cockroach Wizard!"
He drives his dramatic enunciation home by lifting his glowing hand triumphantly. And it might be just me, but I could have sworn that lightning just struck a second after he said that.
I try not to laugh my head off at this. At all of this. These must be strange times if this band of misfits are now in charge of the town. Seriously, who died and made them villains? Or did some poor sap lose a bet? My attempt to keep a straight face falters as a chuckle slides off of my tongue. It's a good thing that it's the only one that escapes me.
Doing away with the humor, I give a glower to this bug, Carl.
"And I'm going to tell you this once," I say intimidatingly to outdo his anger. I clamp his spindly limb with two of my fingers and bring my face in an inch away from his. "Get your filthy little paws off of my coat." I wrest his limb off of my collar and finish the last of my beer.
Nothing seems to deter this fool since I catch a glance of him shaking his arm—or leg—more in annoyance rather than fright. Hell, I doubt that any of these people would be afraid of me. None of them could possibly fear a fifteen year-old canine trying to act tough with his taste in clothes that scream out 'piss me off and you'll pay', or with the sword in his grasp and, even less so, with his calm demeanor.
But they don't know that this is more than an act. They don't know that I'm so much more than what my body and my age claim. That the power in my possession, which even I am weary of, is far beyond their comprehension. And if they know what's best for them, they'll keep it that way by minding their own damn business.
"Are you actually trying to threaten me?" asks Carl with a quirked eyebrow. How foolish of him. How pathetic.
"Are you still talking to me?" My response is lacking in care. In respect.
"This is our bar! This is our territory! You are not wanted here! We are villains. We are evil. E-V-I-L. You, my friend, are barking up the wrong tree! Don't make me say it again!" Instead of sounding like the villain he is, the villain he claims to be, he comes off more as a child than anything. He's worse than a child, to be quite honest.
And by the looks of it, he isn't going to quit this anytime soon, so I have to do something. They leave me no other choice. Slapping the counter with the palms of my paws, I turn my seat and glare at him.
"You know what, fine. Since you obviously aren't going to shut the hell up, and since none of you are going to stop gawking at me, then how about this?" I swivel the chair a little more so that I'm facing the gang of villains behind me. "We settle this the hard way. It's one of me against the lot of you. If you guys kick my ass, then you won't hear from me ever again. But if I kick all of your asses, then I'm staying. And this bar will be open to anyone. What do you think? Sound fair?"
In a matter of seconds, laughter erupts across the place. They don't even take a moment to consider this. Each and every last one of them finds my proposition to be hilarious. Another mistake they have made, and probably the last.
The guffawing dies down as they wipe their tears of hysteria from their eyes. Once the last of them has quieted down, a few of them give their answers.
"You're out of your mind, boy. We're not going to fight you."
"That is just so typical of you men. So boastful, but never able to deliver."
"What in the world makes you think we'll accept? You're obviously outnumbered and outmatched. Not only would you be wasting our time, but you'd be wasting yours as well. Not to mention you'd be wasting your life, too."
"I speak on everyone's behalf when I say that we take our villainy seriously. We have, as we say, much bigger fish to fry, like those blasted Woo Foo cretins. So for the very last time, just run along, stray little puppy." I stand corrected; that is the last mistake they will ever make.
I should be insulted by that 'little puppy' quip that the hamster—yeah, that's it, 'hamster'—but oddly enough, I'm not. The comment about Woo Foo strikes a chord with me. Hearing these guys regard it so bitterly, it might be what I think it means. For the first time in so long, the age-old martial art is being seen as an object of respect. A force to be reckoned with.
That, or it could just be my senses dulling from the alcohol. These times are so topsy-turvy that just about anything can happen. Nevertheless, it is nice to hear.
The thought is withdrawn as fast as it arises, and I sigh to express my disappointment. This could have been a perfect opportunity for me to get back into shape. To retain the sense of direction I once had. It is what it is, I guess. I can't change their mind.
Or maybe I can…
I turn my face away to hide a smirk rising across my lips. "What a shame," I say, giving my glass to the bartender. "I was kinda eager to see if this little rogues' gallery here could put up a fight. It is what it is, I suppose. Guess you guys are all hype and nothing more. Oh, well."
The bar falls silent. Even the jukebox stops playing its current music track about two-thirds of the way.
"What did you say?" the moose demands, thrusting his index finger at me.
"As a matter of fact, this bar should have its name changed from 'Wild Ones' to 'Wussy Ones'. I think it's more appropriate, wouldn't you agree?" I nudge the bartender with my elbow, to which she giggles. "How about you, Jiminy?"
I then give Carl a nudge, which makes his blood boil. That priceless snarl he wears says everything I need to know.
"That does it!" he erupts, jets of smoke shooting from his ears. "You want a fight that badly? Very well. Let's just get this over with so everyone here can move on with their lives. Come on, everyone! Someone needs to teach this mutt the meaning of respect!"
The insect storms out through the doors with his cape blowing behind him. Everyone else follows closely behind, clamoring to one another indecipherably.
As soon as they are out of sight, I lower my head and chuckle. The bartender, on the other hand, pokes me on the shoulder, a grave expression upon her.
"What the hell do you think you're doing? Did your brain get saturated all of a sudden or something? You are gonna get yourself killed out there," she says, slamming a glass she had just wiped on the surface behind the counter to stress her point. "You might as well be dancing with the Devil himself."
Her concern, though I do appreciate it, is met with a round of soft laughter. "If that's the case, then it won't be the first time. I've had a couple of run-ins with my own devils back in my day." That last phrase strikes her as curious. Confusing. Not that it'd matter to her. "Thanks for caring, but like I said, I'll be fine. My little friend here is not just for show."
I bring my sword up to the counter – an iaidō sword as long as my arm. It'd take me a long time to explain what it is to her, so I let its mere sight do the talking. She appears convinced, though, given that her features lighten, but I can't change her worry for my safety.
Exiting the bar, I am met with the many 'villains' of the town as they stand in wait. One at a time I imprint their appearances into my mind, but only a select few of them are worth even a mutter to me.
There's Carl, who's a given already since he came to me in the first place.
Next to him is an even smaller insect—I think it's an ant, whatever—that's decked out in a silver suit of armor. The two of them must be related because I see them argue in a way that siblings do, to see who will outdo who. To see who between them is the better villain.
The burly moose with the iron antlers might be a threat himself, if his brain wasn't a hollow mass of tissue. If said antlers didn't do most of the work for him.
Another noteworthy face is the blue-skinned witch with a burning hatred for men. Not that I'll see her again after this, but seriously, what is her problem with guys like me?
Last but not least is another female adversary: the yellow-skinned girl around her mid or late teens dressed up like some school girl from the East, lugging around a large hunk of metal she calls a sword. I'll be frank that she's quite a catch, 'gifted' in more areas than one. And she might just be the most competent of these bozos if she can use that sword well. Between her and that ant, of course
I can go on and on about these guys. They've certainly outnumbered me, but whether or not they've outmatched me remains to be seen.
"You are going to regret this, little man," says the blue witch. Of course she'd be the one to say that.
"Regret what? Giving you dumbasses a much-needed facelift?" I say with a shrug and grin. "Nah, I don't see that happening anytime soon."
"Ulti-moose will not stand for your insolence any longer, little pup," the moose resents, and yet again I'm doing my best to suppress a round of hysterical laughter. 'Ulti-moose'? I can't believe that someone would actually come up with that crap.
"Yeah, okay. Hey goat man, I've got a question for you before we get started. Do you know what two plus two is?" I tilt my head to my right, fold my arms and watch the poor fool scratch his head. "I'll give you a hint: it's not infinity and it's not twenty-two, either."
"Enough!" the ant interjects, sporting a thick Scottish accent. He slams down a small Warhammer that's right for his size. For how small it is, though, the ground quakes from its blow. "Your banter only prolongs the inevitable, boy! Let us begin!"
I forego my humor right there, unsheathe my sword and flourish it. My mouth shapes into a fiery grin, and the beckon that leaves it is just as heated, if not more.
"If that's how you want it."
Then it begins. The lot of them sprint straight for me, their weapons and powers primed. I can feel it in my veins. This battle will be a monumental one.
Once the first strike is thrown, by Carl no less, I can tell that there is only one rule in this fight: there are no rules. Every option is valid. Magic spells of multiple varieties are flung at me. Punches and kicks of different forms, or little to no form in the case of—dare I say it—Ulti-moose, are thrown at every direction, at every angle.
Whatever these guys they can get their mitts on, in fact, they can and do use them to their advantage. One of them yanks out a streetlight from off the ground and swing it at me, another uses a park bench and some even toss a kitchen sink at me. The bystanders around us wise up and get out of the way, thank goodness. The sight of it as the faucet still gushes out a stream of water is kind of funny, yet tells me how far they will go to put me in my place.
It is one hellish skirmish. It can end in only one of two ways.
Each attempt at leaving the smallest of dents on me falls just short. Either I deflect them with the edge of my sword or parry them altogether by ducking, weaving or somersaulting. At one point, the yellow-skinned girl and I clash blades, and the blaze in her eyes is almost on-par with mine. I do mean 'almost'.
"It's not the size of the sword, honey. It's the hands on the hilt that truly matter," I manage to quip before she pushes against me and sends me backflipping to safety.
They catch on with my strategy in a matter of minutes and stop in their tracks. I observe the town around me. All that damage done, and not a single scratch on my body. Pitiful.
"Is this some kind of joke?!" yells Carl, shooting rays of red-tinted magic from his limbs in anger. "You wanted to fight us, and here you are doing anything but! Are you even going to try?"
I could have made another crack right there, but a thumping in my chest pushes my retort back down my throat. None of them can see it because I'm standing firm, masking the sharp, burning pain inside. It robs me of the will to act momentarily. Once I regain myself, I raise my head up and see the villains waiting impatiently for a response.
"Are you even listening to us?" the ant adds, threatening to pound the ground again with his hammer.
A new kind of grin emerges on my lips. It is colder than the previous one. More sinister. Thirsty for blood, hungry for flesh. Raising the scabbard next to my hip, I pull my iaidō sword out of it and lock eyes with my reflection and then with them. I take up a firm stance, feet spread apart shoulder-length, breathing steadily, in through my snout and out through my mouth.
The smile vanishes briefly from my face before returning for the villains to see. They gaze at the fangs protruding out of the lips. At their gleaming tips. At my crinkled, ardent stare.
"You losers have been warned," I say in a soft tone, lowering my posture to get ready.
The battle resumes as I lunge at them with my sword reared above my head. I leap from one foe to another to gauge what they can do. To see how long they can last.
One at a time, my enemies are dispatched without too much trouble on my part. The muscular moose goes down the quickest of them, his formless strikes unable to hit their mark. The blue-skinned witch has a go at me with her magic and the occasional comments about me being a 'pompous, ego-inflated man' or something along those lines, but she is soon subdued the moment I shoot forth my own spell, an incapacitating lightning bolt from my fingertips. The ant and the yellow girl are probably the most fearsome of the lot, but it's not saying much. Every swing of their weapons tells of their pride. The pride of a warrior. Admirable as it may be, it's not enough, and I return their attempted offense with a flurry of slices from my blade. Gashes open on the insect's face and thorax, and on the girl's arm and abdomen. They collapse to the ground in unearthly cries of pain.
The last of them falls before me, laying sprawled along the ground with the rest of them. I withdraw my sword, the rushing sound it makes pleasant to my ears. All that remains is Carl, who stands face to face with me in the wake of the fury. He immerses himself in the collateral damage heaped on this district of town, the decimated vehicles, benches, signs and asphalt. On his allies as they lay there, soaked in puddles of their own blood. Fear burns in his eyes and soon enough they spread throughout his body. Whatever trace of bravery is left is shortly overridden.
"Impossible…" he utters, the reddish glow on his limbs subsiding. Both his legs give way, and he slumps to his knees. Poor, pathetic creature. "Who are you? What are you…?"
"I'm afraid that's the least of your worries," I boast, spreading my legs apart shoulder-with.
Lifting my open paws upward, I affirm my posture and channel everything I have towards them. The earth underneath the soles of my feet starts to shake from the sheer concentration I am mustering. Everyone within a three-or-so-mile radius can feel it. They can feel this energy that swells in my body.
"What are you doing?!" asks Carl, jumping to his feet, overwhelmed by his terror.
"Woo Foo AURA!" As I invoke these words, a flood of light pours out and manifests into a shining sphere in between my hands. The light pours across my body. It transforms into an apparition that bears the same canine features as me. This is the signature technique of Woo Foo.
At the center of my Aura, I gaze at the insect as he cowers uncontrollably, unable to get his fright under wraps. His trembling, coupled with his tortured face and the injuries I have dealt him…it's all too priceless. In any second now, he's going to beg me for mercy. Those gaping, unnerved eyes say so.
"What's wrong?" I ask with a sadist's smile, in feigned concern. "Didcha lose your balls already? It'd be a shame if you did. But really, who could blame you?"
Carl backs away as my Aura stalks him on all fours. He stumbles on his cape and now gets to crawling on his back. I'm surprised he hasn't turned tail and ran. He may be afraid, but he isn't backing down.
He and I are now inches apart, and I pin him down with my Aura's right forepaw. Carefully, so that he isn't crushed from the weight on top of him. Underneath me, I can hear him struggling to break free. His strained groans and shouts of suffering. Should I finish him off or spare him? Live or die?
It'd be so simple if I am to just snap him by the thorax. To tear his neck in two. To rip him asunder. But I do not. I look into his miserable stare, his miserable state, and lift my Aura's paw off of him.
There are many ways I could have killed him. The possibilities are endless. Yes, it'd be easy, but it'd be too easy. An easy victory isn't a satisfying one to me. There's no thrill to it. No excitement. No fulfillment. I wasn't expecting these chumps to push me to my limits, but at the same time, I wasn't expecting such a quick end.
At least I can say that I'm not totally over the deep end. At least I'm assured that I'm still me, and not some monstrosity. And that redeeming myself, undoing the sins I've committed, is not a lost cause. That much, I can say.
My Aura is withdrawn back into my body. I walk over to a battered and broken Carl and look him dead in the eye.
"Count your blessings, Jiminy," I say coldly and turn around.
Everywhere around me, I can sense many a townsperson standing in awe at the destructive display that has just now come to pass, setting their eyes upon me. I am overcast with a torrent of emotion, mostly ones that leave a bitter pang upon my tongue. They are confused. They are awestruck. They are afraid. Each and every one of them. Yet some look with amazement. Most of them are children.
The bartender stands amidst the gathering of people. She is the one nearest to me and the most bewildered out of all of them. As the closest thing I've made to a friend so far, it only feels right that she be the one I should try and soothe.
I hold my sword out to my side, and at my command, it vanishes in an array of sparkles. I tuck my paws into my pockets and sway my head to the right.
"I'm sorry you had to see that," I say with a sigh, anticipating the worst. Not out of pessimism, but just to be cautious. "Listen, it's all well and good if you wanna pretend we never met. I don't blame you. It's probably better for you if you did, anyway."
Looking at her for one more second proves to be difficult, so I shut my eyes and turn away from her. I'm about to begin my aimless walk anew, when I feel a hand on my shoulders stopping me from taking a step forward. I don't turn around.
"Thank you," says the bartender, as tender as her touch, to the astonishment of the townspeople and mine. Her words are what get me to face her.
"What are you—"
"You showed a lot of guts taking those guys on. You did a favor when you taught them what for, something I wish I could do but never could." She smiles softly.
"I only did what had to be done," I say with a nudge of my shoulder.
"And this town could use more guys like you." Now I'm lost. And here I thought that she'd be running the other direction and screaming for her life. Here I thought that I'd be the one to console her. It doesn't matter much. Her comments relieve me, somewhat. "Tell you what? Since you did the joint a huge favor, why don't you come work there? We've got an opening right now that's just waiting to be taken."
"Um, thanks?" I say tentatively. A job? Is she really offering me a job? My fight just now was easy, but this is too good to be true. Then again, if I accept, then it'll definitely help me with my money problems. "But I'm not sure if I should."
"Oh, don't overthink it. We could use an extra pair of hands. Even if you're not eighteen years old, you'll at least pass off as one. I'll just tell my boss that you are. And don't worry, I'll take the flak for you if my boss does catch on, which isn't as likely as you think"—she leans closer and puts a hand besides her mouth—"Don't tell anyone I said that." She whispers, and I laugh a bit. "What do you say? Yes or no?"
Okay, now it's too good to be true. She's offering to vouch for me and take the fall for me? Contrary to her advice, I lean my chin on my fist and spend more than ten seconds considering this.
Her comment just now strikes a chord in me – the one about how this place could use more people like me. I could say the same thing for her, and I probably should, given the kindness she's shown. Times really have changed in my absence, in a way that I'm not used to yet. And maybe in a way that's not half bad, if this bartender is any indication.
"Sounds good," I say, reciprocating her smile and shaking her hand.
"Now come with me. We've got a bit of paperwork to do." I follow her into the bar, but not without one final glance at the aftermath of the battle.
The road to atonement begins here. I may not know how long it is, but I'll reach the end of it. I'll wipe this slate clean, as I have sworn on the blood that runs in me.