#hooting and hollering and yellering

[terribleoldwhitemen]

endeavour || raga

[jaegertango]

The Biggest and the Strongest

I haven’t written some Sigmaine in awhile. So here he is punching stuff with his best buddy in the Brawlpub. These drabbles always come out a lot shorter than I hope them to be.

They still hadn't fixed his seat.

Soren Sigmaine shifted about upon the metal bar stool once more, and it squeaked noisily at his slightest movement. For several months, he had not come to the seedy underdome of Bizmo's Brawlpub, and the dimly-lit club was still as filthy as before. Everything about the Brawlpub screamed that it was a den of violence, from the stained walls to the raucous individuals throwing bottles on occasion. The human had thought that, with the uprising of the Legion, that the gnome owner would find it upon himself to maybe go to church or change his socks. Unfortunately, it seemed like it would take more than an apocalypse to change Bizmo, for the tavern still smelt and looked like an amputated foot.  Even for the armor-clad warrior, the place had a reek that not even nostalgia could properly mask for him – he did not miss that stench at all.

However, the Draenei monk that was sitting beside him, he had missed greatly, even if Xolphiea was wrinkling her nose with the same minor distaste that Soren was behind his horned helm.

“I don'tremember this place stinking so badly,” she muttered, and took a swig of her drink. The tankard she held behind her calloused and roughened knuckles warned she was drinking, but the light sifts of steam streaming from the steel lip explained she was drinking tea. Sigmaine was surprised that there were beverages not drowned in alcohol, but he had to hand it to Bizmo: it only took the barkeep ten minutes to find a dirty case of tea leaves in comparison to the two seconds it took her to find the tap for Soren's ale.

“Gonna be okay?” The zealot rasped in a low growl, his voice crackling with the tone of a man who barely spoke. With a small smile, Xolphiea reached over and gently patted the top of Soren's helmet.

“This smell is strong, but I'm much stronger,” she responded confidently, though she was quick to hide her nose in the depths of her tankard once more.

Sigmaine nodded simply, his eyes leering to her bare shoulders. Once more, she was clad in dark crimson leathers meant to give her strong body as much room for movement as possible. It meant that her tough biceps were on display, as well as her even more powerful thighs. The vest strapped to her torso was open in a v-neck, exposing a great amount of cleavage that strained with the heavy weight of her breasts. Combined with the fact she only wore thigh-high leggings to shroud her broad hooves, this would have been distracting – to the Crusader, he saw only a warrior built on agility and power alike. Speed was something that he did not have much of; his smoldering, black platemail was extremely protective and bulky, but only allowed him to move in short  bursts of power. It was no wonder that the Draenei often won their spars.

“Name should be called s-”

“WHY DO I SIT?! C'MON, WHY DO I SIT?!”

Soren was interrupted crisply by a shrill shout from the lower level of the Brawlpub, calling out to nobody in particular. Xolphiea looked down towards her mug, groaned, and then looked over to Sigmaine in annoyance.

“I just got this!”

“We'll go fast,” the human grunted, setting down his own tankard on the bar.

“WHY DO I SIT?! OI, WHY DO I SIT?!”

The yeller was adamant about getting his message across, his piercing call echoing every three seconds in the tavern. Snickers and jeers screamed back at random, but both Monk and Crusader were silent. With a graceful leap, the Draenei did a soaring backflip from the open balcony, landing just before the human who was bellowing. Most of everyone in the vicinity flinched, only to hoot and holler at the Monk as she stood almost two entire feet over the caller's head.

“Why do I sit?” She asked curiously, cocking her head.

“Why do I sit?” Came the steady response, and the human clucked his tongue sharply, scratching at his parchment. “Couldn't have thought of a better name?”

Before the Draenei could respond, a much more thunderous crash of metal exploded beside Xolphiea, her companion who stood several inches shorter than her making a much noisier landing. The few that had tried to sneak up on the Draenei to get a closer look at her rear was immediately blown away by the sheer impact the zealot had landing next to her; all while she was unaffected.

“No,” he growled in answer for the Monk, craning his neck about readily.

The Brawlpub caller just shook his head, entirely unfazed by either of the two fighter's entrances. “Any sort of name for glory, and you do THIS. Bizmo knows how to pick 'em.”

The Monk merely shrugged and pointed towards the lowered pit behind him, the colosseum for the matches. “Can we-”

“Just GO, you wankers!” He hissed, and the Draenei smirked as she did another agile flip over the railing and into the pit. Soren was quick to follow, though it was with less grace and more metal crunching under his boots as he drew his familiar greatsword Koldraigzharr over his shoulder and circled his right arm around to loosen it up.

In the lowered area of the Brawlpub, just about every one of the dull lights were focused onto it. It made sure that every second of the fights could be seen as brightly as possible, that no inch of gore was spared from sight. Of course, it also revealed just how scarred the walls were, how torched the steel floor was, and overall how badly Bizmo cared for his Pub's death pit. The owner himself was flying above everyone else in his gyrocopter, the gnome's shining grin and curly mustache made less handsome by his shifty, dark eyes. The only thing less obvious than his unsettling smile was the racket echoing from the twin boomboxes jutting from the bottom of the hovering craft, allowing him to announce to the betters and participants as he always had.

“AllllllRIGHT, bets are closed and final!” He buzzed through the microphone merrily, and a pair of spotlights danced into the pit to signal another fight. A rowdy cheer swam through the fetid air, and more of the onlookers began to approach the railing. “Our next round is a crowd favorite! You know it, you love it, and I got paid BIG money to bring it back! So ready your pockets boys – it's the Tag-Team-Tussles!”

Another hooting cheer, and Xolphiea scratched at the back of her dark hair, looking down towards Sigmaine with a slightly-baffled look. “I don't remember this place being so fake either...”

“IN THE FIRST CORNER!” Bizmo boomed, twirling at his mustache as the spotlights focused primarily on human and Draenei. “Maybe ya've seen 'em, maybe they've given ya glory or empty purses! One's got enough kick to make our swill look like water, the other's living on a prayer – to rip and tear your guts! Get yourselves ready boys! IT'S – are you fucking kidding me – WHY DO I SIT!”

The next round of thundering calls were also scattered with whistles as Sigmaine steadied his claymore, helm focused on the other side of the pit. Xolphiea merely massaged her hands, propping herself into a more readied state.

“AND IN THE OTHER CORNER!” The Gnome roared, the spotlights rearing away from the brawling duo to center on the other side of the pit. “Two newcomers, proud to spread their gore-y! One's cunning but brutal! The other's brutal but cunning! That's right! They're mean, green and sure as hells aren't lean – IT'S KROM AND KROG!”

With the end of Bizmo's call, two monstrous forms suddenly rocketed from seemingly nowhere into the pit. Their green-skinned bodies were tremendous, the Orcs both far more muscular than Sigmaine's bulky form, and their eleven-foot frames towered over even Xolphiea. The few parts of their hulking frames that were covered were by scarred platemail, though the rest of them was left open to reveal their incredible girth. In fact, it was impossible to distinguish the two apart besides their two nameplates emblazoned upon their collars: one that read “KROM” and the other that read “KROG.” The Orcish dreadnoughts were quite proud of their size too, for their dull, deep laughter boomed through the pit like a thunder's snarl.

“DA STRONGEST AN' DA BIGGEST! DAT'S KROM-

“-AN' DAT'S KROG!”

As the two Orcs flexed prominently at the staring brawlers, Bizmo's voice bellowed from above.

“Same rules as always! One-on-one y'hear? Hold out your right arm to tag your second in. Let's have a good ol' fashioned bloodbath, eh?”

Xolphiea looked over towards Sigmaine, and he nodded simply, backing towards the closest corner of the pit and giving her the respectful option of the first punch. It took several more seconds after, but eventually the greenskin named KROG also stomped backward, still chanting and cheering at the same roaring volume as before. The raucous crowd had nearly doubled as they lined the railings, booze splashing around their lips as they did so. The air was a sweaty mix of heat and alcohol. Even as Bizmo bellowed out once more, his boomboxes seemed awash in the atmosphere as he called out:

“BEGIN!”

No sooner did he finish the n in that word that the Draenei was attacking. KROG had no reaction as she swiftly leaped at the Orc and brought her hoof across his jaw in a cyclonic kick. The wet, sickening crunch of the blow grossly crackled through the air and garnered several gasps from the audience half a second afterward, but the green giant barely noticed. He merely grunted, backing up a single step, and raised both of his arms up to crush Xolphiea under fists bigger than her torso.

“KROG CRUSH!” He howled, but at the apex of his smash, the Monk continued her attack. With another jump, she stepped up onto the Orc's tough stomach, and used the leverage to propel herself upward and uppercut the colossus of green in the jaw once more. It was another powerful blow that surged through the pit like a wave, but once more, KROG showed no sign of being affected too greatly. The warrior simply backed another stomp, and an irritated roar grumbled in his throat. The purple-skinned fighter was not stopping though, whipping her hands around the Orc's knifelike ears to circle atop of his head, and then use the same leverage to swing her body's momentum to his back. Even for how much weight her foe head, Xolphiea's strength was enough to unsteady KROG and hurl him to his back in a suplex. The Draenei monk landed far more lightly, exhaling softly as she readied to  bring her hoof down entirely on his face, but she froze as she swiveled around to her peripheral vision – and saw KROM cackling wildly as he rocketed towards her in a full-body tackle. She wound back her right fist to somehow defend herself and back away-

-and felt a light tap as Sigmaine came barreling from behind her, meeting KROM's tremendous bodycheck with his much smaller form. Despite the size difference though, the human was meeting every ounce of the Orc's strength, though that may have also been due to that the newcoming greenskin was also latched onto one of KROG's hands. The amount of jeering raining down upon both sides was enough to make Xolphiea scramble back to safety and let Soren fight his own battle as he silently stood his ground. KROM trumpeted furiously, and brought his free hand sideways to slug at the Crusader, but he moved faster. Revolving in place, he was able to shove off the Orc for just a second to swivel around and slash at the giant with his Koldraigzharr. For how heavy and long the blade was though, it was barely able to carve into the Orc, scratching the colossal brute minutely. Still, a shower of blood that was a shade too bright splashed out onto both the ground and the zealot himself, and KROM bellowed more out of anger than actual pain. The Orc was able to catch Sigmaine off guard with a savage backhand, but for how fast the blow was, the human was able to retreat only a few steps as he grunted gruffly in surprise. Keeping his sword slung low, Soren charged towards the Orc without a second breath, winding up to stab that offending limb into one of the walls with a powerful thrust. As KROM roared in actual pain, the zealot abandoned his sword to snatch onto either ends of the first wound he had slashed into the Orc, his fingers digging knuckle-deep into the flesh and ripping outward to tear the gouge even bigger. It would have been a horrendously-wicked display-

-had KROG not suddenly snatched at the human in one of his meaty hands. He now had two humongous Orcs bearing down upon him as KROG roared triumphantly, his clublike foot pinning the Crusader to the ground as he gripped at his ankles, intending to pull the human into two bloody chunks.

But he never got the chance. Before the towering giant could pull, Xolphiea came soaring from the heavens, bringing the back of her hoof down upon KROG's head and stumbling him with the sickening crunch of her mighty kick. Not even the Orc could keep his grip from the concussive force of such a blow, and Soren swiftly scrambled to his feet unharmed.

“IF YOU FOUR ARE GONNA BREAK THE RULES, YOU BETTER FINISH THIS FAST!” Bizmo roared through the speakers, only just audible above the rowdy cheers of the audience. Now Xolphiea stood beside her blood-soaked companion as both KROM and KROG leered at the two with absolute hate burning in their scarlet gazes, as bright as the blood drenching zealot and the pit.

“I'll handle the ugly one!” Xolphiea grinned widely, ignoring Soren's inquisitive stare as she rushed ahead, seemingly picking KROM at random and storming the Orc with a barrage of blows. Inspired by his guardian angel's enthusiasm, Sigmaine also charged, meeting the wounded Orc once more with Koldraigzharr alight. For someone with a stab in one of his palms and a leaking gash in his side, KROG was just as hearty as before, bellowing like a typhoon as he pounded the ground beside the zealot, and the shockwave was enough to make the entire pit shudder like water. Luckily, the human had thought correctly, and had instead leaped into the air at KROG'S toothy maw. Unaffected by the quaking ground, his boots smashed into the Orc's bare chest, and he cleaved at the giant's collarbone viciously. The human easily had enough power to separate most heads from their shoulders with such a strike, but in this colossal brute's case, it did little more than cut simply into him. KROG nonetheless thundered in pain, showering Soren with another dose of high-velocity blood spray and spit, but he refused to stop. Whipping his claymore downward, he did a short hop and wrenched his arms towards the giant's shoulder, attempting to drag it entirely down the Orc's side and at least remove one of those dangerous arms. While he succeeded at digging the steel two feet inside of KROG, the sword got stuck instead, and the Orc instead toppled in baffled agony. Not ready for it, the human fell aside clumsily as KROG bellowed horribly – and repeated it as KROM collapsed on top of him, Xolphiea's hoof just above his fist-thick jugular.

“THE BOYS ARE DOWN!” Bizmo yelled, and a true combination of cheers and curses swam in the fetid air. “WHY DO I SIT WINS!”

The Orcs groaned gruffly, still definitely alive, but not moving very quickly. Leering over towards the fallen warriors, Soren eyed up his blade warily, as it was still buried in KROG's shoulder but changed his gaze as he offered a hand to help Xolphiea down from her victorious pose.

“You're getting sloppy on me,” she chuckled, smiling to him as she took his bloodstained hand. “Hope my tea's not cold!”

Amongst the wild crowd, among which six different fights of fury and joy had broken out, Sigmaine followed Xolphiea's lead and moved back to their VIP bar on the second floor. Surprisingly, it took a minimal amount of shoving as the two made they way back, and the life fluids were still wet on the human's dark armor as he looked joyfully towards his tankard, straw still offering itself for him.

“Still warm!” The Draenei happily stated, already drinking from her mug as Soren reached for his own. “Well... maybe a bit lukewarm. Should've went faster, Sig!”

Soren merely looked up from his tankard, pulled the straw out of his mug, and blew a stream of air at the Monk's face.

“Y'know, it IS your fault it's cold. I need something warm for myself,” she pouted at him, crossing her arms over her broad chest. At her comment, the human turned towards the barkeep, but he couldn't even respond before Xolphiea was nearly sitting in his lap, smiling much more widely at him.

“I think I know something that's tasty and warm,” she purred, gently pulling up on the side's of Sigmaine's helmet as she almost straddled his bloodsoaked form. He flinched as his black beard and long mustache was revealed to the air, but nothing more to the world. With a coo, the brawler brushed her nose against Soren's own before warmly kissing him, a motion that he gratefully and awkwardly returned as well. Her tail wagged happily as the two of them kissed fondly, something that neither of them wanted to break soon.

His chair wasn't fixed – but he sure didn't want to move out of it now.