To the reviewers, huge thanks, and to all readers, enjoy!
Chapter 3: Smashing
Under the watchful eyes of a growing number of spectators, Jin saved face as best as he could: lifted his head up, fixed his eyes on a neutral spot on the wall, and—muscles allowing—hoisted himself from over the top of Hwoarang onto the man's other side, rose on one knee, and carefully ignored everyone else in the room.
"Oh, I thought you were..."
Jin paid no heed to the speaker. Something else concerned him more instead. "Hey." He shook Hwoarang.
Hwoarang, who had lain senseless, gave a stifled sound, and Jin sighed with relief. He was gathering strength to get up when a sheepish Paul emerged from the blur of faces and took charge.
"You fine?" he asked Jin, who nodded mutely. "And you, kid? Still breathin'?" he asked Hwoarang and nudged him slightly. He barely received a response.
The crowd was still there, though, and Paul Phoenix took care of that first. "Show's over. That's gonna be my fist in your face if ya don't scram... Watch yaself!" he roared when someone on the upper landing almost tripped over through the broken rails.
The crowd began to disperse obligingly, and only few fighters remained behind.
Phoenix gave a satisfied snort and turned his attentions to the original problem. "Time to get up," he said to Hwoarang. "Come on. I'll take you to lie down." He pulled the drooping redhead on his feet and struggled to support him. "You gonna be fine here?" he asked again.
Jin realized the question was directed at him and nodded. And immediately he regretted nodding because of the dizziness it brought. "Yes," he mumbled.
"I'll get him to his room. Or should I take him to yours?"
"His," Jin said numbly. His contributions were becoming increasingly monosyllabic. He could not fathom why Paul Phoenix was helping, either.
As on cue, Paul offered an explanation of sorts. "Hey, Kazama? I was outta line. It's none of my business."
Uh? Jin had no idea what the man was talking about. He couldn't recall talking with Paul Phoenix . . . ever.
Paul Phoenix was satisfied, though, and turned to his attendee. "Come on. Work with me, kid," he muttered as Hwoarang sidestepped and nearly crumpled on the floor. Paul grabbed him brusquely and hoisted him up the stairs as the remaining spectators made room. The others could only hear his reply to Hwoarang's mumbling. "Ya don't hate him; that's just the concussion talking..."
"Are you feeling all right?" That was Julia, eyeing Jin worriedly.
Jin stood there, dazed. He gazed after the retreating pair, but he snapped out of it. "Fine," he responded weakly. He could feel the eyes on him as he took his leave in the opposite direction and out of the building.
Hwoarang lay on his bed, looking at the nicely swinging room.
Why Kazama? Why not one of the feather-light females? That was the gist of the problem, was it not: Why Kazama?
While Hwoarang fumbled with his thoughts before dozing off, the question why was pondered downstairs as well, although along more practical lines.
"This house is shit. That's why the rails caved in," one fighter voiced.
Bryan Fury shrugged. "It's not that bad. Besides, these don't take much to break down." Before anyone had had a chance to comment, Bryan had stepped up to the staircase, taken a firm grip, and yanked an entire sidebar out with a creaking sound. The rails gave a warning screech and shifted visibly.
"Useless idiot! Why did you do that?"
Bryan held his answer. He studied the sidebar in his hands with obvious relish, and then shot a wolfish grin. "Because I could. Endless power, sweetheart," he said. He left with a cackle and flung the sidebar at the man who joined the scene just then.
The newcomer caught the piece of wood easily and gave a hard stare at the retreating figure. "Bryan Fury," he said in an undertone. He itched to use his badge on that one. Now was not the right time, though, and the man handed the sidebar over to Julia courteously. He and Paul Phoenix passed each other on the stairs, as Paul returned without his attendee.
"Did you just leave him there? You can't leave a person who's hit his head alone," Julia scolded.
"What am I, a nurse?" muttered Paul Phoenix.
"Who's hit his head?" a voice murmured. Anna stood there, brushing her disheveled hair lightly and dusting her clothes with careful caresses.
She was informed of the latest Jin–Hwoarang development.
"How dreadful. I simply must go and take care of him," she cooed. "Where is he?" She bent low to brush off her skirt.
"Who?" Phoenix was distracted.
"Dear Who-rang, of course. Have you not a single brain cell in you?" she spat.
Paul stiffened. "Suit yourself. Last door to the right."
Anna humphed in triumph, and made a beeline for the stairs, hips swinging precariously. The others watched her go and disappear before the corner. Phoenix could have sworn he heard her purr. He gave a smile of his own.
"Did you say, 'last door to the right'? I thought that was—" Julia started and frowned.
A feminine shriek was heard from upstairs, followed by a gravelly, "Oooh, yeah. Gimme sugar!"
"—Marduk's room," she finished lamely.
"Honest mistake."
Hwoarang was awoken when someone entered the room.
"Oy, you awake?"
"Mmm." Hwoarang acknowledged the person, and that was all he cared to do: to acknowledge. He hoped the man would take a hint, not that he thought it very likely.
"Come on. Rise and shine."
"Mmm me alone."
Steve Fox faked a sigh and propped himself on the bed. "Come on, already." He punched Hwoarang playfully, and was surprised at the lack of response. "You aren't actually sick, are you?"
"Been better," Hwoarang muttered.
"Come on. Get up and come for a spar. It'll do you good." Steve waited, but no response came. "Mate?"
"What?"
"You coming?"
"Where?"
Steve remained undeterred. "Come on. We're going for a spar. You need practice."
That made Hwoarang open his eyes and glare at Steve. "Speak for yourself, Fox."
"I am; I am." Steve shot a radiant smile. As Hwoarang accepted his fate and picked himself off the bed, Steve got up as well and gave a few warm-up jumps excitedly.
Hwoarang looked at him and felt like his head was just about to explode. "Stay still, freaking hell. Actually, get out, already. Let me get changed."
As Steve Fox cleared the room smoothly, Hwoarang buried his head in his hands and tried to stop the world from spinning.
Hwoarang and Steve made it to the training hall adjacent to the lodgings and discovered the premises mostly empty. Jin Kazama was there, on the opposite end, doing kata. He raised his gaze and rested it on them briefly, but didn't make it over to them, as the two resumed an interrupted conversation.
"I didn't know about the accident. Sorry, mate. I thought you had a bad case of morning after," Steve said apologetically.
"Morning after what?" Hwoarang said and kicked a heel high up in the air and spun around with another, equally impressive kick. So much for stretching. His head felt decent, surprisingly enough, though he had his misgivings about sparring with a boxer.
"Just morning after. You know, hangover. I know I've got the entire symphony orchestra playing in my head." Not that Steve gave that much of a sign of his acclaimed headache. Instead, he was making warm-up jumps and honing his moves enthusiastically.
Hwoarang turned away. That damn jumping was getting to him. "So... you have a good time last night?"
That didn't sound right.
"I had a great knees-up. Fury may be crackers, but he knows his booze."
Hwoarang was suddenly reminded why he preferred fighting the guy instead of talking with him. It was too much guesswork to figure out what Fox was actually saying. Aloud he said, "Sure. Whatever." He tried a string of swift kicks. So far, so good. He raised a brow at Steve, who accepted the challenge and moved to intercept him.
They went around in circles and kept it light in an unspoken agreement. Steve threw a lazy punch, which Hwoarang blocked and retaliated with an idle kick, which Steve ducked. They picked up the pace just a little.
"I've been getting attention. Any idea why?" Hwoarang feigned casualness, but he was fishing.
"Attention?"
"Attention. As in date invitations from just about everybody." Hwoarang's jaw clenched slightly and he lunged a more forceful kick than originally intended.
"Really?" Steve thought about it. "Actually, that's not surprising. Not after that show you and Jin put up."
"Oh, yeah?"
"You almost sound like you don't remember." Steve was amused.
Yeah...
Steve shrugged. "Don't worry about it. They'll forget about you once the games get tough." A sly smile spread across his face. "Although you two looked smashing together."
"What?" Hwoarang spun around. Unfortunately, with the force of momentum and a little help from Steve, he lost his footing. With a futile attempt at regaining his balance, Hwoarang fell promptly on his back.
Steve took a double-take, and then doubled over in laughter. "That was easy! Good on ya."
"You go to hell and you die, Fox!"
Steve cocked his head. He pulled a glove off and offered his hand. Hwoarang shot him a hateful look, but allowed Steve to yank him up.
"Hate you. Truly, I do."
"Enough to say no to a rematch?"
"You wish. You're a dead man."
At the other end of the hall, Jin Kazama had kept an eye on them. He saw Hwoarang fall and made a move to come over. The man seemed fine, though, and Jin receded. His face was unreadable as he slipped out unnoticed.
T.B.C.
A knees-up means a blast or a party.
Crackers means crazy.
Hearty thanks to Gypsie for the proofreading!
Published June 5, 2008.