thepavensiestyle

[thepavensiestyle]

Hazards

6/13/2021 8 AM The morning of Sunday would be a brutal one. The hottest day Johnathan could recall, and he was awoken by the rustling of grass. The only considerable shade had been presented underneath the tree from which he’d been perched upon. Desperate enough to flee the conditions, he had also taken to stripping out of a majority of his clothing. Leaving himself practically naked and only decent by a pair of long, black shorts.  This particular morning was different, however. He strains enough to peer down and off of the branch which he had been sleeping upon. At first, nothing would happen and his vision was mostly obscured by the towering branches and leaves. But it was up until he hops off the branch to reach ground level that he discovered his first mistake. Just beyond the small watering hole, he would spot a tuft of grey fur. Partially hidden by his vehicle, Sasha and the dead zhevra. John could not determine exactly what the creature was but he assumed by its positioning, that it was eating from the carcass.  So with quick yet quiet steps, Johnny hurries to his backpack at the base of the tree so he could remove the mace which was present inside one. The sounds of its metal bashing against other metals as he desperately tore the piece from the bag would alert the beast. A pair of golden eyes would stare intently at Johnny, its jaws covered in blood from having eaten the from the corpse. “Get!” Johnathan was far enough away from it but he shouted loud for the beast to hear. The creature was a wolf-like creature, but far too small to come across as one. So Johnathan could confirm that this was simply a coyote.  He’s seen coyotes before on his trips through the world but something here seemed particularly off. Normally when he scared them off, they would run away. But that was only when they were alone, so to this information, Johnathan would use to his advantage. With it, he peels his gaze away from the singular coyote so he could take a swift gander at his own surroundings. From the grasslands surrounding him, more and more coyotes would gradually spring up into visibility. John’s blue eyes would widen at the sight of them all as an entire pack sought to surround the man. With only a tree to his back to keep his flank protected to some degree.  “Fuck.” Johnathan would mutter to himself, just before hearing the choir of growls and barks coming from each and every one of the creatures. “Fuck off!” Frantically, Johnny would look around him to see the coyotes start closing in. There had to have been at least 6 of them. And only one of him. The first one he spotted would come to assist the rest of the group, with its own bloodied teeth bared and snarls leaving its throat. When they’d gotten too close for comfort, John would swing the mace in front of himself to temporarily ward them off. They were quick to back off for a time, as neither wanted to be hit with the heavy weapon.  With nothing but his shorts on his person, the man was completely vulnerable. Sweat would trickle off of his bare skin, his chest rising and falling heavily to give way for a rapidly beating heart. Stepping backwards, he further pushes his back up against the tree as a means to corner himself. Which might have been for better or worse but presently, the coyotes would remain at bay. The beasts would have grown quite noisy at this rate, making not only growling noises but also howling and barking towards Johnathan in a daunting song. It was only when one decided to make the initially bold move that John had swung the mace at it. The small creature had taken to easing its way in towards the man’s front to try to bite at his loose shorts at first. And when the man swung the mace, the creature was quick enough to jump back in avoidance. Just barely avoiding the blow to its head. With the recovering momentum, John would just then be swarmed by another pair. On his right, two of them had lunged for him with teeth bared. One was able to latch onto his bicep from the leap while the other had bit at his shorts and began to tear relentlessly. Letting out an agonized yell, Johnny would try to back away from them while shaking his arm and leg rapidly in an attempt to get them off. The momentum seemed to do well enough, as the one that had latched to his arm would be deterred for now. It would drop back into the grass with a faint yelp. This would give Johnathan an opportunity to swing his mace at its head. Yet with its small size and agility, the coyote was barely able to make it without being struck. It was the one clinging to his shorts that had taken the damage. The bash of its skull by the heavy object would promote a loud whimper and the creature immediately withdrew its teeth from the clothing to run away from Johnathan.  Without watching to see where the beast would go, the ruffian takes to watching the rest of them with a vigilant gaze. Each of them had promoted some distance from their ‘prey’ but none seemed inclined to leave him alone after that. Their tongues would loll out of their mouths and their golden eyes settled on the man. Blood would run from his arm as the bite had pierced his flesh easy enough but it wasn’t the pain he could feel in the moment. The pumping adrenaline and instinctive nature would snuff out any present infliction on his person.  He himself had been panting, riddled with fear for what might happen if he doesn’t ward the beasts away further. John couldn’t even think straight at the time so suddenly, he would pull forwards to swing his mace in a wide arch. From left to right in an attempt to scare the rest of the pack away. “GET!” He shouts louder this time, enough to make the coyotes pull back a few more feet but not entirely withdraw. “If ya don’t wanna get fuckin’ killed!” His voice shook with agitation but neither of his words would persuade, not that the animals could understand them but it was worth a shot.  One final attempt to brutalize the man would promote one of the coyotes to ease in again to bite at John’s bare ankles. Which sent another yell coming from him before he swung the mace at the coyote. This time, the blow to the scalp had knocked it down. A fresh bite mark to his John’s in the wake of sharp teeth piercing flesh. Blood dribbles from the open wound but as soon as the coyote was down, it lay flat on its side and begun to twitch for but a few moments before it went completely still.  That was enough to ward off the coyotes. The creatures looked to the downed pack member and then back to Johnathan for another prolonged few moments. But then movement would occur and it was nothing in offense to Johnathan. This time, they each decided to turn away and leave the area without furthering the attack on the human. Neither would remain for too much longer as the supposed leader of the pack, the one with blood on its snout, would hurry along to find another source of food. The dead zhevra just beyond would remain there without being tampered with anymore.  With vigilance, the man watches them all flee the area without another word. Nor would he pursue. As long as they left him alone, he could care less. And now with open wounds, there was only a matter of time before infection kicked in. The conditions in the Barrens, them being as they are, it wouldn’t take long at all and he knew that. He’s been under these circumstances before when he fought in pits as a child. There was some medical knowledge presented upon him for just that account so he would use it. The adrenaline would gradually wear out to leave only instincts the main source of his motivation. A panting breath to showcase fear and franticity would prevail. As he returns to his backpack in a slight limp, he drops the mace and quickly rummages through one of the packs to retrieve the medical supplies he’s stowed away within a couple days prior.  Disinfectant and bandages would be the main supplies he uses to wrap his wounds. From his arm to his leg, the strong smelling liquid would leak out along with the blood, draining from his person alongside curses as the sting would be a lot to handle. Yet overall, he was able to fix himself up. If only temporarily. He would probably need real medical attention when he returns home but for now, the bandages would be enough to survive off of. For now. But on top of that, there was some semblance of good news to go along with it. A dead coyote lay beside him and he hasn’t eaten for a few days. In no way would he eat the road kill that consisted of freshly rotting zhevra. That was a no go for him do he decides to clean himself up as best he could, dress himself in something more protective, and use a knife to start cutting through the dead beast. First he ensures it was completely dead but then he continues to jab the knife into its flesh to cut out chunks of meat for himself.  Meat he would clean with the warm water of the hole in front of him before setting alight. The dead campfire would see life again when he opens his lighter to flick open, the flame brought to the blackened logs in the pit. It was just enough to cook the food and as soon as the meat was charred enough, he ravenously eats it. First meal from a few days of depriving himself. 

[thepavensiestyle]

Getaway

6/10/2021 2:00 PM The shore of Ratchet was a beautiful sight in the later afternoon. An orange glow as the light shone off of the mountainside would provide more than enough warmth for those who had visited. Yet this wasn’t the place Johnathan had desired to stay near. Far too many people for his liking. A majority of Goblin traders would pass him up, their paces quick and almost frantic as they so clearly had been working. Moving crates to and from the trade ship at their backs. While Johnathan was lethargic and unenthusiastic. And with the motorcycle pushed along by his hands, movements were slower than normal.  At some point, he would mount his chopper and turns its key into the ignition to set it to life. After he’d been off of the dock to allow the traders and dockworkers to commit to their duties without the worry of having to veer past Johnathan, of course. With but a singular glance in the direction of the town, he turns Sasha’s gears to let her fall into a lurching motion forwards. The loud momentum garnering the attention of those who have heard the boom of the engine. But as quick as they were to feed their curiosities, heads would turn away as the vehicle had gathered enough speed to disappear across the horizon line with seconds to spare.  Through the drive, Johnny’s thoughts would run rampant in his mind. The town at his back gradually becoming smaller and smaller until at some point, he was able to disappear behind a mountainside. Ratchet would be nowhere to be found at that rate. Everythin’s fallin’ apart. Left to his own thoughts, he couldn’t help but fret over the state of things. I fuckin’ called it. The very notion would set his hand to rotate Sasha’s gears to allow for an even louder boom to manifest from the engine. Protesting the sudden momentum, which seemed to grow at top speed the more Johnny had set the gears in a rotating grip. His teeth would clench and grind together with a boiling rage within.  Everything around him would become a blur, the wind breaking through his hair and forcing it in either direction to completely mess it up. Not that he could care about those circumstances. Had he been racing in the Crash Cog’s Cup, the speed which he was presented at in the moment would for sure promote a win. But for now, he was racing against his own thoughts, despite how often they’d come back to haunt him. He’s dead! You have no job! You’re a fuckin’ failure! Web’s gonna leave ya and you’re gonna kill yourself! WATCH IT! He barely understood why the last two words had come into his head until it was too late.  His eyes refocus on his surroundings, no longer lost in the endless swirl of darkness that was his mind. But only seconds too late had he spotted the grazing zhevra ahead. In just seconds he could register that it was there but the next instance, just as he attempted to veer, the vehicle would strike against the creature to send him crashing. A loud grunt left the zhevra as it felt the impact before it would cut out, most likely having been killed at first strike. But Johnny was left to possessing ragdoll like qualities and skidding across the dead grass and dirt from having flown off his chopper.  Yet it was by some fortune that his overall landing was cushioned by a nearby water source. He’d splash into the warm water with a gasping breath, heart racing back against his chest and eyes wide. Fear swallowing him whole to completely deter him from the dark thoughts once present in his head. His current state would be drenched entirely with water but that was the least of his worries. He simply swims back to the shore to leave the water source, dropping both of the backpacks he’s brought with him and shedding his leather jacket.  Fortunately, he was able to escape with his life. With but a few cuts and bruises on his person. Nothing felt broken by any means so there he would start counting his blessings. Though it seemed like poor Sasha and the zhevra had been dead by the looks of it. Poor beast was laying on its side with Sasha’s tire tread practically impaling it. Meanwhile, Sasha was overturned with some of her plates scattered around the barrens. But of course, all Johnny could think about was his own survivability. You can’t even kill yourself. Fuckin’ failure. He muttered out a few reprimanding words to himself before deciding that this was going to be his getaway. Instead of return to his vehicle, he takes to sitting at the edge of the water source with his bags. The spot wasn’t bad so it would suffice for now. 

[thepavensiestyle]

Escape

6/9/2021 9:00 AM Mind drifted in a typhoon of darkness to a point of everlasting numbness. Thoughts settling into a hurricane of grief, regrets and doubts. All of which had promoted a sluggish gait upon Johnathan as he packed as much as he could within the singular backpack. He had even taken to using an old bag for good measure, the one that had long seen enchantments which could help with hiding more of his belongings away for the trip.  Extra clothing, hygiene products, money, medical supplies. Anything he thought he might need on his trip outside of the city. John had even decided to bring along many of his magazines just in case he needed an out throughout the voyage. The Legend comics would all be assembled carefully into the baggage, ensuring that no pages would accidentally tear if he wasn’t careful enough with the handling process.  During his packing, he had mostly moved mechanically through the rundown apartment. Barely fathoming that his hands were grasping at certain items to drop into either backpack. Practically unaware he’d been walking up and down the rickety stairs. The one thing he could identify for himself was the fact that he would need to let some people know he was actually leaving. Though presently, it seemed only two people mattered most of all to him. Only two people were able to come to his mind during this time, as many other thoughts were clouded to a point he would lack recognition. He wanted so much as to feel whole again, that his only way out seemed to be leaving the city altogether. With no idea of where he wanted to go, Johnathan would not present any details in any of the letters he’s decided to write for both his roommate, Edith, and his girlfriend, Lucy. As much as he was aware that he’d been writing said letters, his hand moved mechanically across the parchment. The pen in his grip only stiffened and cramped at the wrist. So with only few written words on the parchment pages, he’d plant the notes to their designated areas once he felt finished enough with writing them. Edith’s would be displayed up on the front door to his apartment in Old Town, which he would keep locked so there’d be no intruders. And the second note, he would pin up on a post holding up the store front in the Dwarven District. Without even bothering to drown the notes with his cologne, which seemed to be a regular thing with him, he instead had left them scentless.  His final visit to the apartment building would be met with him reading through the note he’d just plastered there on the door. One breath is inhaled through his nose and then exhaled from his mouth in some form of meditating approach. “All’s cool.” The mumbled words would be his personal attempt to calm his rising nerves. “Everythin’s cool.” Another breath is inhaled and shortly exhaled. It seemed like he was about to start breaking down again but without waiting for the emotions to explode out of him a second time, he approaches the motorbike he’d left parked beside his home.  The second bag he’d carried would be slung over his front while the original had taken to sitting on his back. The weight was heavy but the magic of the enchanted backpack helped with lessening the weight it normally would offer. One leg swings over his chopper so he could find a seat on the leather cushion, only for him to turn the key to start the ignition with a loud boom as the engine roars to life.  For a moment, he slowly hunches forward on the bike and closes his eyes. Heart wrenching recollections would grasp at his thought process, which was enough to hinder his actions in reality. It felt hard to breathe for the while but a few times, he would have to count up to 10 in an attempt to settle his emotional state. It helped, somewhat. You haven’t eaten. He reminds himself, forcing his thoughts down a different route. For the sake of calming himself down. Maybe if ya fuckin’ ate somethin’, you’d feel betta’. The internal reprimanding of personal neglect would continue; helping him to think of something else entirely.  But the less virtuous side would take over again, to provide the blast of despairing notions upon him. Fuck eating. Sebarrion is dead and here you are thinkin’ of yourself and your own needs like always. His jaw clenches at the reminder of the horrific news he’s come to learn of. The tension arises to a point that it would cause a strain on his being and so to prevent cramping, he would force the chopper into motion by twisting the gears. The vehicle would roar as it lurches forwards and with the steering of the handles, Johnny guides the machine away from the apartment and outside of the city. Outside of the Kingdom as a whole.  His movements were random and the direction changed at times but he seemed to have a set destination regardless. Like it was second nature almost, he would head down to Booty Bay. With the speed he’d driven his bike at, it wouldn’t take long for him to arrive at his destination. But he wouldn’t stay at the Bay. It was going to be a long trip but his intentions were to go to Ratchet. So all morning he would wait for the trade ship to arrive and once it does, which had occurred in the later afternoon, he would board with the motorcycle and all of his belongings in tow. Then from there, he takes up a cabin space to gather his thoughts. Finding a seat upon one particular cot in a dark corner. Dockworkers of varying races and of a neutral faction would pass him up on the occasion to commit to their duties. Nobody paid him any mind but that was how he liked it.  He’s dead. The reminder to himself was a constant during his voyage. He’s actually fuckin’ dead. His eyes had glazed over, popped open and staring down at the cabin’s wooden floor in disbelief. In his stage, he kept feeling a sort of denial but tears had welled up in his eyes all the same. He can’t be dead. No, he can’t be. His hand runs through his hair out of a nervous habit. The continuation of that reminder would only raise his regrets and worsens the grief. Similar thoughts would run rampant in his mind and despite his great fatigue, he could not find it in him to go to sleep on the very hammock which he found minimal comfort in. Even when the cabin boys had offered him a free meal and drink, he would decline it. Despite the grumble in his stomach that betrayed his hunger, Johnny simply could not accept anything. He could not even feel anything of the sort: no hunger, no thirst. Nothing physical. All he truly wanted to do in the moment was escape.

[thepavensiestyle]

Criminal Comeback

6/8/2021 2:21 AM Well beyond the hours of midnight, the lonely streets of Old Town would be met with the whispered wind as the trees swayed gently to the nightly song. Aside from the dancing brush of leaves, all was completely still. Peaceful. But it was not everlasting. Not after the opening of one such door to a rundown apartment building at the street corner.  Out would come Johnathan, donning the nicely fitted leather jacket, dark jeans and heavily worn shoes stained with dirt. On his face, a black mask to cover his identity, even if he was well known to most who resided within the District. It was no secret but wearing the cloth was mostly out of habit. In his gloved hands, the very bat that was gifted to him by his friend, Kormac. And on his back, a heavy bag with its straps coiled around his shoulders. Giving him more weight to carry but it was a weight he’s grown fond of.  Closing the door to the apartment building behind him, Johnny starts onwards. His right hand lifted the bat by the grip so he could pat the heavier end against his opposite palm. A motion to betray his intentions. His eyes were locked on one such building down the street a ways and while maneuvering down the path, thoughts would graze his mind. An angel and a devil tugging at his morality, perched upon each shoulder to whisper in his ear.  This is a bad idea. You’re gonna get caught. The more virtuous side of him lacked in the weight of its competitor but it had still made an attempt to sway him from his current intentions. Fuck it. The reminder from the reprehensible side would give further input on the matter. You’re jobless now. You need to make a livin’ somehow, don’t ya? Yeah, you got some shit in the bank but money don’t last, does it? Just do it quick and get it ova’ with, nobody will know a thing. And it ain’t like the money flow is gonna keep on, despite all the assurances. They ain’t gonna pay ya for the rest of your fuckin’ life, are they? Betta’ get used to how things are from now on. As the thoughts keep flowing, Johnny would reach the destination from which he planned to commit to the break in.  With bat at the ready, he stands directly in front of one particular apartment building just a few blocks down the street from where he resided. A smug look to his face, the remorseless anticipation for what is about to go down. For what he is about to do. There was no guilt, this was necessary in his mind. He first approaches the window to peer inside, to only find the shrouding darkness of a silhouetted living area within. Dark shapes to represent furniture would line every aspect to the apartment room. Nothing of noteworthy quality, not that it was easy to spot as it is. So in he would breathe a deep breath and backs away from the window in the same motion of raising the bat up over his own head. Like he was about to swing at a baseball. One heavy sway of the bat by his hands would shatter the glass seconds upon impact. Allowing the outdoor breeze to invade the home while Johnathan tentatively approaches to ensure no one dwelling within had heard the loud shatter and had been inspecting the area. Not only that but he had to resort to looking up and down the street he was upon to make sure there’d been no guards nor eyewitnesses.  But nothing comes of the evaluation. Everything seemed all calm and normal and from that, Johnny takes into account. The slow approach to the window would send him lifting a foot to kick out the remains of the glass shards so he could create a hole wide enough for him to creep through without the threat of cutting himself. Then finally when it was ready enough to intrude, John had carefully swung a leg through the window and lowers himself just enough to fit through the open hole in the building. Bat was still in hand and at the ready, in case the residents would try to retaliate had they been startled awake. Once inside, Johnathan would inspect his immediate surroundings for any sign of animals. More often than not, he’s encountered dogs but he was quick to remind himself that the dog would have been alert and barking not even seconds after the sound manifested. So with the silence, he assumed it was safe. And that was when he begins to steal anything of value, whatever he could find in the formidable darkness. Through most of his endeavors, he could not help but suspect that someone had been lurking just beyond and watching him. The weight of eyes had always been upon him.  One such box of small size would catch his attention. The gleam of the metallic covering would be caught in the available moonlight as it shone through the open window. A little jewelry box, set at the base of a coffee table displayed in the very center of the living area. A funny place to put such a thing but to each their own. It was almost like this was deliberate but Johnny played his suspicions off as his paranoia and anxiety. So there he had been able to lower to a squat to first test the box in order to see if it opened. And alas, a miracle happened. The box opened without incident, without needing a key of any sorts. And inside, Johnny marveled at all of the goodies displayed inside. All of the gleaming metals from varying pieces carefully placed inside. A free hand would snatch up the jewelry pieces from rings, bracelets and necklaces, to earrings and even a decorative claw. All of which he tucks away into the pocket of his jacket. It was only until the sudden grip to his shoulder and an alarmed, “Hey!” that Johnny stopped his actions short to let out a frightful yelp. All in one motion, his body instinctively had lurched up and whipped sharply back with the bat in hand. The heavy wood would bash against the side of whoever it was that was standing at the flank and they would go down in an instant.   The collision of body hitting the wooden floor would send Johnny running for the open window out of horror. His breath was heavy, heart up in his throat and his legs carrying him to the window. Which, he would dive out of like his life depended on it. Then once back out into the atmosphere, he races home before anyone could suspect a thing. If nobody hadn’t already, he was experiencing tunnel vision to even get a look around. Yet at some point, which felt like mere seconds for Johnny during his sprint home, he had been able to open the apartment door for himself to enter. The door would slam shut and the click of a lock is heard once, followed by the frantic footsteps as he races for the upstairs floor of the home. Intent to lock himself away in his bedroom again. 

[thepavensiestyle]

Nihilistic Upkeep

6/6/2021 7:00 a.m.  The morning which would have been bathed in sunlight promised warmth in the light of a new day. The sun would sneak past the curtains to bring life through the dark bedroom which belonged to Johnathan. Many pinups that hung on the walls around would brighten and produce a glare that had reflected off the shiny material and into the man’s eyes. It was just enough to wake him up. Blue eyes would pop open to gaze up at the blank ceiling. The glare of the light reflecting against his hues but it would not deter his stare in anyway. He had nothing better to do today so it seemed a good enough decision for him to lay back in bed. Waking up in the early morning was useless but through his grogginess, he does reach a hand over. Near to the nightstand table a few paces from the bedside so he could grasp at one of the comics from there.  He’s read it already but through his state, he felt it necessary to read another passage. The incident from the previous night’s endeavors still fresh on his mind and promoting him to consider his life choices. There was a sudden desire to break up with Webthroat, mostly thanks to the advice that was given to him by Ace the night before. The one role model he could actually look up to, despite the lack of authenticity. Man seemed more real to him than all of the others Johnny has come to know, that was the truth.  By the guide of his fingers, Johnny flips the pages open and peers through the flashy text and artwork displayed on the comic. The one page he’d flipped to would showcase the image of Ace yelling at a strange man who looked to be wearing leathers. The man’s build was mostly lean muscle and he stood a head shorter than Ace. A sardonic grin had been painted onto the character’s face but in the next comic panel, Ace would have run him through with a dagger. The text would boldly be written above in white lettering to give way to the man’s reaction, “Gasp!” Bubbly letters for such a gruesome scene. Then in the next panel, the spray of blood had covered the scenery along with the action word, “SHIK!” to cover the entirety of the center in bold, sharp lettering.  Johnny couldn’t help but to smile at the scene. And in his head, he imagined himself being Ace and the person he was stabbing was Dhaston. There was still the belief that the man in question had purposefully cut him out of the job Johnny had just started but there wasn’t much he could do about it. Aside from wallow in the boiling anger within, oh how he wanted so much as to stab Dhaston like Ace had effortlessly done in this panel comic. Maybe he could, but would he? Were his morals so far gone?  “Nah.” Johnny closes the comic book shut and tosses it back to the nearby nightstand table. “He ain’t worth it. Prick ain’t worth the time or effort.” He continues to reassure himself, to push aside those dark thoughts. He turns over onto his side and stares at the wall, pulling the blankets up and over himself as certain thoughts begin to stand out amongst the rest. “Fuckin’ hell, I’m gonna stab myself soon if I keep admittin’ that I like the prick. Eggh.” He shakes his head and closes his eyes, desperate to find another source of peace and solitude from his own mind.  Which, had not seemed too hard to grasp. In his exhausted state, he was able to return to a dreamless sleep where all of his thoughts would sizzle out when enough time had passed. The majority of the day would be presented in such a way, with Johnny making no attempt to get out of bed. He’d occasionally wake up to read a few panels of his comics and some magazines of varying genres and then would force himself to sleep it all off. Not once had he gotten out of bed. 

[thepavensiestyle]

Falling Star

6/6/2021 A heavy breath is drawn and released, like a crossbow firing. Sharp and huffed out in exasperation. The door to the rundown apartment would be pulled to a slam and for a time, Johnathan would slump his back against it. Thudding the base of his skull against the chipped wood. The mask over his face would be ripped off and tossed to the side alongside the heavy bag that always burdened his back. And now that he was relieved of those items, he would reach into the front pocket of his pants to withdraw a cigarette pack.  Carrying just about a few more nicotine sticks, John would pull one free from its casing to settle in between a set of straight, pearly whites. He wasn’t allowed to smoke inside the apartment’s walls but after the events had transpired this night, first with his former boss, Dhaston and next with his girlfriend, Webthroat, it was hard to manage his morality level.  So with cigarette held in his teeth, he calmly walked towards the rickety staircase to allow himself to ascend to the top level. Passing by the many cats that had watched him move along; each one flinching as the wood of the staircase had threatened to cave in with each step Johnny took.  However, without any incident, Johnny makes it to the top floor. His attention turned towards the room in the far back, his feet mechanically carry him over to the door of his bedroom. He reaches for the handle and slowly turns it and pushes it open with a faint creak as the door moved on rusty hinges. The door would open by itself until it reaches a gradual stopping point and the creaking cuts.  Giving way to a dark and empty bedroom, shy from the many pinup posters that had been mostly shrouded in natural shadows, Johnny enters. One hand reaches for the door and he swings it closed behind himself, caring not if it slammed this time. He rests with his back to the door once it was all the way shut and a hand reaches for the same pocket at the front of his jeans to fish out a lighter. One which he flips open and thumbs to life; the brief moment of light would be snuffed out shortly after the cigarette burned at the end.  Then he takes a deep inhale of the cherry flavored contents. Allowing for the billow of smoke to leave his core in a sharp breath of air. Leaning against the wood, a free hand reaches back to lock the door to his bedroom. Blindly he had to feel around in the darkness so he could get it right on the first try. But it was effortless in his approach. “Everythin’s fallin’ apart.” He pulls the cigarette from his teeth to speak those particular words, head slumping against the door. “First is a forced resignation and next is a possible break up. What else can fuckin’ go wrong?” One fist is battered against the door, giving it a concerning shake upon its rusted hinges. His head only slightly tilts up so his chin faced the ceiling and the top of his scalp rested against the door. From there, Johnny would take to occasionally smoking while gradually sliding against the wood to sit on the floor in the darkness. His thoughts would run rampant, like an angry beehive. Giving good and bad advice for himself to take from all of this. Yet he could not decipher exactly which to use and which to avoid. The confusion was too well known and prominent; back on that path he would be aimlessly wandering. Like a lost puppy. “What am I gonna do now?” These words would be mumbled underneath his breath and his eyes close in time for tears to well up.      When first there was complete silence, a harsh and gruff voice would break it and speaks against Johnathan in something of an aggressive manner. “Well you know what I would do, Johnathan.” The voice wasn’t something all too familiar to Johnny but he knew already who it was. By some instinctive feeling. His head snaps up enough for him to capture the glowing image of a real life version of his favorite character. Ace from the very comic book he’s been reading from for a while. The man was of elven descent with short hair on his head to give way for a pair of long, sharp ears and equally long eyebrows that extended well beyond the range of his facial region.  “Ace?!” Johnny called up to the elven man, who appeared tall and heavy in appearance. His voice leaked of both excitement and disbelief. “Wait, what the hell is goin’ on? You’re just a characta’! The hell are ya doin’ here?!” Such a response would promote laughter from Ace.  “Aren’t we all? But simple characters living in a made up world.” The elf would swagger over to Johnny before getting into arms length of the man. When he does so, he slowly lowers to a kneel to get to eye level with the younger man. In Ace’s mouth would be a thick cigar resting at the corner of his lip. His shirt was black and the sleeves were shortened enough to show off the tattoos. “While I am a mere figment of your imagination, you know well enough the advice I am about to give to you.” A sinister smile would curl up at the corners of the man’s lips, past the cigar. “Stop caring too much.” Just then, with those very simple words, Ace seemed finished. The man would raise himself back to a stand to loom over Johnny in a menacing stance.  For some time, Johnny and Ace maintain a certain silence but each would look into each other’s eyes. Like they were considering something or perhaps reading each other’s minds. One could assume it had been the latter for the everlasting silence was a tad overwhelming but some time later, Ace breaks the silence again. “This Dhaston fellow? You already know what he’s about so what brings you to care about the bastard? All he is, is a scoundrel. Following in the direction of any typical roguish fiend.” Ace would laugh at that, the mockery ever prominent in the way his tone changed in pitch. “He’s nothing more than a cliché and you know it, John.” He continues. “And Lucy?” Ace waves a hand as if to dismiss it. “Pssssh! You know what she’s about too! And it’s nothing good, as I’m sure you know by now. She ain’t a lady at all, she’s a deranged broad.” The elf would close in on Johnny once again, with a prominent sneer to showcase the mockery on his mug. “Ask yourself Johnny Boy, do you even love her? Or is that a façade to fill the emptiness? Are all of the relationships you siphon from, merely to fill the void inside? To make you feel whole again?” The purple hand would lower to rest against Johnny’s heart. But just moments later, Ace would take the hand back without offering too much discomfort for the other. “I leave you to ask yourself those questions. But the one I want you to walk away with more than not is this: Why do you care so much? You know that there is plenty more life has to offer and I know that you of all people would rather die than to live tethered into such relations. So, the same question in a different form. Why do you bother with it all? Get a load off and relax, Johnny. Life, for humans anyway, is way too short to be dwelling on these things.”  Ace would then turn about to retreat to the bed that had been shrouded in complete darkness, while Johnny remains seated against the door. “Come along, Johnny boy. You have more of my comics to read and I wouldn’t want to disappoint.” And finally with that, Ace winks once before his form completely vanishes from sight. And Johnny is left to sit but almost like he was compelled, he does ultimately stand himself up from the floor to approach the bed. A hand reaches for the light at his nightstand table to turn on and immediately, he finds one of the comic books from his favorite series. The Legend in bold and just waiting to be read. So, Johnny does exactly that. Binge-reading on every comic, whether he’s read it or not.

[thepavensiestyle]

A Style is Born

Dated back 10 years ago. “Don’t tell me that’s how they make ya dress, kid.” A well dressed Goblin male would drop a small pile of boxes on a rickety table with a grunt. “‘Cause you know how it goes: if ya look bad, you’re gonna be treated bad. Dig?” Girt was always the more well dressed of Goblins. Beautifully slicked pompadour, dark leather jacket and dark pants was a constant sight to be seen of him. He was a barber after all, so physical appearance was almost always his top priority.  “Yeah, it’s how they dress me.” A 12 year old Johnny would speak up in a similar accent to the Goblin. His voice was going through some notable changes but was still locked in the balance between childhood and maturity. Presently, his dark hair was lengthy and reaching past his shoulders in a matted disarray. On his chest would be a stained shirt with rips all over and complimenting it, a pair of brown, sun bleached pants that also had been torn in most areas. No shoes were on his feet.  “Egggh, now ya see! If I wasn’t their friend, I’d wanna seriously put the hurt on ya, kid. ‘Cause lemme tell ya, you look like crap. Seems like ya wanna rob me or somethin’, like a little urchin. A scrub, ya dig?” Girt would snort out through his nostrils but waits no time in gesturing Johnny to a sit on the wooden floor. “Sit for me, would ya? You’re too tall for me, unfortunately!” The light-hearted nature of his words would give cause for laughter to rise up from his core. “This is gonna be fuuun!”  Just then, Girt would unveil what he had to carry in those strange little boxes while Johnny took to sitting on the wooden floor of the barber shop. The boy was average in size but with a notable tan to his skin like he’d been outside for long enough. Dirt filled to add onto the darker shade of his skin tone, with blue eyes to contrast against it all.  As Girt would rummage noisily through the box, he mutters some things to himself in his search. Up until the loud, “AHAA!” can be heard and snapped Johnny to attention. Looking up to the Goblin, he finds that there were a pair of scissors in his hands. “First! Ya need a trim, kid! Now hold still!” Girt turns about to approach the boy at the flank. Opposite hand immediately moving to grasp at the long locks of hair that beset the kid’s head. “Ooch, boy. This is gonna be fun.” A less light hearted approach and more of a grave statement at the circumstances.  Without wasting anymore time, Girt takes the scissors to begin clipping the locks. Mats and dirt filled strands would fall from the boy’s head once they’d been amputated. Falling to the floor and surrounding him in a black sea of hair in moments. With each cut, lasting throughout the hour, Johnny’s hair would get shorter and shorter. During it all, the Goblin would reposition himself to all angles of which the boy was sitting. Starting first at his back and then moving around in clockwise and counterclockwise precision. Cutting at each and every strand the head has to offer and occasionally needing to brush out the mats when the knotted hair refused to cut.  At some point when Girt felt finished enough, he pulls the scissors away from the boy’s head and gives a final examination to ensure the hair had enough length for what he planned to do with it. “Alright, alright! It looks alright! Stay there! Lemme get somethin’ real cool that I think ya might like!” Then he would turn away from Johnny to return to that trusty box on the table.  Sitting there, Johnny could not help but reach up to touch at his head, a tad baffled by the shortened length. It’s been so long since he’s had short hair like so, way too long. But it felt nice, like a weight had quite literally left his head. Both hands would run through the shortened hair and a smile comes to his face. Already, he liked it.  But those hands would be slapped away by Girt’s when he returns with what appeared to be a small vial in hand. “Hands off! Ya don’t wanna aggravate the hair, kid! It has feelin’s too!” Pulling his hands back, Johnny sets them in his lap while Girt went about opening the small vial. Which, inside would free a rather strong scent of vanilla and mint in one sitting. “This stuff’s the bomb, kid. If you eva’ wanna use this stuff again, come find me wheneva’. Ya won’t regret it, I’m sure.”  Such words would promote a certain anxiety within Johnny. He had no idea what he was talking about or why he was addressing the strange vial as something that can also be considered as a ‘bomb’. The boy nervously looks back to watch as Girt dips a few green fingers into the vial to gather up the white cream found within. Which, did enough to set the boy’s mind at ease but when it was plopped down onto his head, there was a whole new issue to worry about.  The gel was cold to the touch and sent a shiver down Johnny’s spine but he takes it all the same, with little objections other than the occasional squirm. “Hold still! This takes precision!” Then as instructed, Johnny sits as still as he possibly could to allow such things to happen. The Goblin’s hands would gracefully roam through the locks, pulling back the strands over his forehead and tucking them back over his scalp. While the hair in the back would remain as is, sleeked with a nice white sheen that glimmered in the torchlight.  Hair would be tucked back behind his ears, back across his scalp and settled firmly at the back of his head. At first, there was a pause of Girt’s actions as he’d returned to the box to obtain another item. Which he’d bring to Johnny’s head another time to begin running through his hair. A wooden comb to help further brush out the knots that beset the hair. “Always brush your hair out, Johnny boy.” Girt finally used his name. “Havin’ bad hair like that is just BEGGIN’ for rats and bugs to move in, dig? Do ya wanna be itchy all the time and have creeps ticklin’ your head with their tiny legs? EUGH, I know that ain’t what I want.”  “Nah, I don’t want that, eitha’.” Johnny snickers out and gives a nod to his head in agreement. “Do ya think Kleegal and Ena would care much if I’m doin’ this to my hair? I do have to fight in the pits, ya know. Wouldn’t that mess it up?” The 12 year old looks back to seek guidance from Girt, who only expels a sharp huff from his core.  “Listen, kid. If it makes ya feel betta’, I’ll talk to ‘em about your hygiene. Me and Kleegal are coola’ than Winta’spring so he’ll listen to me. And if he don’t, well I’ll have to land one in on ‘em if ya know what I mean! Ahaha! Your hair should also be fine, the gel keeps it firm and stiff so it don’t move for hours.” Girt just then would wink at Johnny. “Now turn your head so I could finish.” Listening to the Goblin, Johnny tilts his head back so he could let the man finish.  “And ya know, kid.” Girt speaks up a few minutes after combing more of John’s hair. “I got a present for ya. I know you ain’t keen on it since, nobody eva’ gives ya anythin’ but here’s a first. From your uncle Girt!” The Goblin moves away from Johnny in order to approach the same table holding the many boxes. He sets aside the top box that held his barber supplies and unveils another moderately sized box. Which seemed a bit heavy for the Goblin but he was able to effortlessly grasp at the bottoms to heave it towards Johnny. Settling it on the floor beside him.  Girt would sharply huff. “Open it and see how ya like it.” His green hand pats the top of the box, thrumming the many gold rings against the cardboard. Without waiting, Johnny would scoot towards the box to open it with a growing excitement and anticipation. He’s never received a gift like this before in a very long time so it made the situation even better.  And open it he will. Pushing the box flaps up to reveal the inner contents, which held colored wrapping over what felt like something leather. When he removes the wrapping, he would unveil what looked like a leather jacket. A plain one but brand new and black in color. His eyes light up with equal excitement at what he’s come to reveal of his new gift. “Well, try it on!” Girt would prompt with the flick of his wrist and a friendly smile on his mug.  John would immediately shoot up from his sit in order to do just that. He opens the jacket’s flap and shoves both arms in through the respective arm holes and tries it on. It was a perfect fit, if not a little heavy in weight but at least it was comfortable. “This was real cool, Girt! Thank ya!” To view himself in this new style, Johnny meanders up to the barber’s floor mirror to examine his current state.  Leather jacket, slicked black quiff but dirty pants. The bottoms would need to change but from the waist up, Johnny was looking very different from what he used to remember. The white gleam shone off the top of his head, the dark leather jacket complimenting a sort of ‘coolness’ that Johnny had just then adopted. There was no way in hell he could ever abandon such a style, not after having a first taste of what it looks and feels like. If anything, he would embrace it.

[thepavensiestyle]

The Legend

Flipping through his brand new comic, Johnathan would be enthusiastic. More than he’s ever been. He presently lay sprawled upon the messy bed in a dark and equally messy bedroom; laying on his back with the paper flipped upside down so he could read from his positioning. A smile ever present upon his features as his blue eyes scan each and every piece of both literature and artwork as a whole. Some words on the page, he spoke aloud.  “’He kept fallin’! And fallin’! And fallin’! Until he dropped into the wata’’! AHA! Get ‘em, Ace!” Johnny would let out a series of giddy laughter. Tickled at the stomach by all he was reading. A few fingers turn the page of the paper so he could feast his eyes upon the last page. He read until few very particular words were mouthed by him. “’To be continued’?! You gotta be kiddin’ me! Every time! They gotta leave ya off with this malarkey!”  That was when Johnny turns the pages back so he could reread what he’d just unearthed of the comic’s storyline. “Nah! Nah, this is such shit! What happened to Celina?!” A few pages back and Johnny would discover the one page that represented a human female that was labeled as this ‘Celina’. The hourglass figure of Celina would be displayed as a tough looking biker on the thin page. She was grinning and sitting on a motorcycle, appearing to be racing off a cliff with the boxed words lining the top page: “Where she would flee the Guardsmen by driving off the cliff.”   With a huff, Johnathan would slap the comic book page closed and gently sets it aside. Careful not to rip any pages nor bend the book as a whole. He cared too much about the literature from what it seemed. From then on, Johnny would be laid on his bed, staring up at the ceiling with a sort of hopelessness. Thoughts over the magazine swarming his mind as the cliffhanger had gnawed at his curiosity. What was going to happen next?! He had to find out. 

[thepavensiestyle]

The Legend, Issue 1.

[thepavensiestyle]

De-stress

A dark bedroom with but a simple ceiling lantern would illuminate the immediate surroundings. It was by some fortune that the room was small enough to garner some light but it was just enough to feed the resident. The main issue that has taken to it was the mess of dirty clothing scattered about the wooden floor and the mass array of magazines of varying genres lining the bed and the floor in a disorganized pile.  But none of which had bothered the 22 year old that occupied the bedroom. The quiet blare of rock music would play from a small boombox on the nightstand and the door would be locked by the soft click of a lock as fingers turn it clockwise. The hands used would pull themselves free of the black leather gloves that covered them. A jacket that was worn on the regular would be stripped of and gently discarded. Letting it drape over his backpack that he’d left set on the foot of the bed, on the floor.  Then finally, a pair of black and white shoes would be peeled out of to reveal a pair of sock-ridden feet. Comfortable enough in his attire, Johnny would hop on the messy bed and immediately falls to a relaxing pose. With his back to the singular pillow and head propping back against the headboard, he leans an arm down to the mattress and pulls out a magazine hidden from sight. It wasn’t anything lewd or questionable by any means but rather, quite the contrary.  The Legend would be unveiled and opened by John’s fingers. A smug look on his mug and eyes looking over the inner text. The front cover would showcase the image of an elven biker standing over a beautifully crafted chopper coated in metallic black paint, the white sigil of Darnassus ever prominent against the paint job. The bold words of the title would have been written gigantically in sharp lettering to give for a more intimidating approach. It was a comic. The first issue of the several part series. And Johnny was going to read them. All of them. 

[thepavensiestyle]

A Fighter is Born

A bright, sunny day would promise heat for a majority of the early morning. Seeping well into the later afternoon. An expansive sea in possession of rough blue waves would lap up against the sandy shore of a littered beach. The conditions were visible along the horizon as heat waves rose up to distort reality. 

But well beyond this sunny patch of peace, the scenery had erupted in chaos. Nothing natural but rather manmade. An illegal sparring ring consisting a myriad of races that had ranged from humans and elves, to orcs and tauren. Though, there was more where that came from, a lot more. Horde and Alliance both coexisted in order to get a view of this popular event in Stranglethorn. Members of both factions assembled in a friendly clash of one mass for but a singular look at those that would be participating in the center ring. 

The roar of a crowd sounds just as those already on the sparring grounds had first made contact. At first glance, they could be mistaken for gnomes or goblins. But on closer inspection, the fighters were made up of children. Whose ages ranged from 5 to 10 years old. Regardless of those circumstances, these particular fighters appeared well trained. They carried weapons like they’d had years of experience with them. 

Although, deep underground, the sound of the crowd muffled.

The latch of one iron shackle sounded in a faint click as it clamped around the bared ankle of one such human boy. It wasn’t anything to hinder him in any way but it sure was tight. Tight enough to cause discomfort. “There, that’s to identify ya’.” Such was always Kleegal’s excuse on the matter. The well dressed Goblin stood roughly around the height of the 7 year old child, perhaps a few inches shorter. 

The boy was not as well dressed as Kleegal. He wore no shoes on his feet, a patchy and faded shirt along with ripped shorts. Beside him, another Goblin had stood with a drink in hand. This one was a female, her blue hair dolled up nicely in a loose bun on the top of her head. She wore a lack of clothing as well, though not quite so roughed up as the child. “Make sure ya win for us, will ya’?” Was the first thing she’d said. Ena was always focused on the riches that had come from accomplishing such tasks. 

“‘Ey, kid.” Kleegal spoke without regarding Ena for the moment. “Just rememba’, if ya’ lose, you ain’t gonna be allowed back inside for the night. Ya’ hear?” The male would look the boy in the eyes, pressing the threat by the slight tilt of his head. He receives no verbal response other than the light nod of the boy’s head. But he was acceptant of it all the same. “Good, good.” 

From behind the Goblin couple, a door had seemed to swing open to allow for a brutish orc to enter with a child of his own. A child who was also of orc descent and had already been huge for his apparent age. Tall and buff by the looks of it, and staring at the human boy like he was fresh meat. “Ah! Karguk!” Kleegal announces before making his approach towards the burly Orc. 

“We’re about to be called up.” The Orc had spoken in a deep and gruff voice. Complete with the intimidation to scare off a lion. A singular hand would shove the Orc child forwards, allowing him to stumble gracelessly into the room. “You’d better get the little-” Karguk looks over at the human child and grumbles. “-worm ready to lose.” The same hand used to shove his own child would be one to pat him on the shoulder. A gesture used to show off the prominent size differences between human and orc. 

Kleegal would fall to a lean against one of the posts holding up the underground ceiling and laughs at Karguk. “He ain’t gonna lose! We trained him well enough!” This would be enough for Karguk to expel a gutterous series of laughter. 

“And I have trained mine well.” Once again, he pats the Orc child’s shoulder. “I will see you in the stands, Goblin.” That would be when the giant Orc would turn around with the child in tow to leave the underground room. All the while, the remaining trio would stand by watching. Kleegal and Ena with sneers while the human child had nothing short of fear written across his features.

“Well!” Kleegal calls back out just as the door to the room closes. “He was peachy, wasn’t he, Ena?” Laughter commences, until the male was right back to confronting the child. “Johnny boy.” He finally called the child by his name. “You betta’ not lose this one. It’s gonna really put a stake in our career if ya’ do. So let’s do this!”   

Out of the room Johnny had been ushered, and onto the sparring ring outside. The hot sun boring down upon everyone who’s attended. Though it seems the attendees had less of an issue to worry about. There’d been vendors going about selling drinks and snacks for the audience. Many overhangs gave the audience shelter from the merciless sun but standing in the very center would be open for all elements to view. The worst of the conditions being the sun of course. And with the ground being made entirely from sand, standing still for too long meant burning your feet, if you’d been unlucky enough not to wear shoes. Kleegal would only linger for a short time to mumble something towards the human child before he hurried away from the sandy center. Desperate enough to flee the harsh conditions. 

��‘EY LOOK!” From the booming crowd, one voice stood out to them both. “Kleegal’s free laba’! AHAHA!” Then the Goblin’s voice would be drowned out by the loud crowd. Whistles and cheers would sing in an immense choir as voices filled up the entire audience. Though, Johnny and the orc child both stood together in silence, both peering up at the crowd of faces. 

And above all of the sound of cheering, an echoed voice through what can only be described as a loudspeaker would manifest. Another Goblin’s voice. “Ladies and gentlemen! Here we have next on the docket, fightin’ for this swell 13th anniversary of the Black Sun Sparrin’ Ring! This time we got somethin’ a little different! We got a new competita’ with us! Ahaaa! Today will be the day to showcase a series of new faces overall, most of which should be bloody by the end of this! Now we will be featurin’ Yegoth! Also known as Beast! The mightiest orc boy in the land! Challengin’ against Lil’ John! Who we will call, Fish Food!” The name call would promote laughter amongst the crowd around them. “You all know the rule! First fighta’ dropped for 10 seconds is the losa’! Ladies and gentleman, are you ready?!” And with that, the promotion of louder cheers and whistles as the crowd would get pumped for the coming fight. “Alright! Let’s get ready to rumble~!” Shortly afterwards would be the sound of a loud bell that brought the fighting to its introduction. Which had only excited the crowd even more.

That was the same time Yegoth had started forwards, raising his hefty fists up in defense. He approaches Johnny rather quickly despite his immense size. While Johnny would stand by and simply watch to see exactly what was to come of the action. He’s seen fights like these go down but never has he been in the center ring doing the fighting. It wasn’t like the boy even knew how to fight but he braces all the same. 

Yegoth would have been able to land the first hit, while Johnny had taken it like a champion. He emits a loud yelp as the force had sent the boy back several paces from where he’s first started. Already, the side of his face had bruised over and his head rattled by the impact. It was by some miracle he hadn’t fallen over into the sand but he straightened up in an instant. 

Though, this had not seemed to be the end as Yegoth had once again recoiled a fist to land directly into Johnny’s nose just as the human boy turned to face his opponent. Immediately, blood would spurt from his nostrils and the impact this time had pushed Johnny to fall on his ass in the sand. The announcements would come up as this was witnessed. “And we got the first drop in not even two seconds of the intro! Will Fish Food get back up?! Help me count! 10! 9! 8!” He continued to count down while Johnny stayed seated, with the help of the crowd counting along with him. 

Johnny would raise a hand to his bloody nose, barely listening to the sound of the numbers counting down. Although, it was just when the audience and announcer had reached ‘3’ that Johnny had slowly gotten back up. He was relentless despite his desperate desire to flee and leave the area. Not to mention the sudden nausea from the rattling of his brain with all the whiplashing as a result of the punches. Needless to say, he wanted to get out of there. But the only way out was to either win or lose. And losing only meant sullying his foster parent’s names. He didn’t want to do that. 

So he pivots back and raises his arms up in a defensive posture this time, similarly to his opponent’s stance. Yegoth was big and tall but that might have just been an advantage for Johnny. He was small and more agile than his counterpart. The sight of Johnny’s positioning gave cause for Yegoth to sneer and smile with mockery. It was easy to note that the human child had no idea what he was doing and to the orc, it might be the only thing he needs to best him. Use his lack of coordination against him. 

At first, Yegoth had sprinted towards Johnny and feints a punch in his direction. During such an action, Johnny would raise his arms up to cover much of his face but when no impact was made, he instead felt the real punch to his uncovered stomach. He let out a wheezing breath and was quick to drop his arms to protect his stomach, now leaving his face uncovered for yet another punch to his bloodied nose. 

The blow was enough to send him backwards a few steps at first before flopping on his back in a heap onto the sandy dunes. Curling up into fetal position, Johnny would make no move to actually stand back up. Despite the daunting sound of the crowd and announcer counting from 10 to 0. He wanted to throw up in that moment but he held his breath so as not to allow for any spew of chunks to leave his empty stomach. Vomiting would only add insult to injury for both the loss and the obvious tears in his eyes. 

Though once again, one thought would stand out against the others. The thing Kleegal had once said before he entered the sparring stage. About his career and all, Johnny did not want to be responsible for his losses. So again, the boy would force himself back to a stand just as the crowd and announcer made it to ‘2’. “TWO! And Fish Food is relentless! Second time! Could this be his charm?!” The announcer shouted loud, again urging the crowd to laugh and roar in cheer. At that moment, Johnny’s ears had started to ring. Head pounding and heart thumping hard against his chest. His blue eyes locked down on his opponent much like a predator to its prey; just as the orc had begun to lunge for Johnny once again. Time would gradually begin to move in slow motion to a point of stoppage and just before Yegoth was able to close the gap with Johnny, the human would duck down to let the orc’s fist soar past him as he swung it.  Unknown to Johnny, something seemed to have gotten over him. How was he able to commit to these actions with no training at all? In the next instance, none of that seemed to matter as the 7 year old straightened back up to land a heavy blow to the side of Yegoth’s face during his recovery. The momentum from the orc’s punch preventing him from defending his person for a time and so the fist would land. The attack was enough to rattle Yegoth but not completely deter him; he was mostly caught off guard by it. How Fish Food suddenly had the prowess to fight against Beast. When Yegoth pivots back towards Johnny to follow up with an attack, the human had suddenly dropped in a crouch to the sand and collected a handful of it in order to throw it in his opponent’s eyes. Giving cause for a loud yell from the orc to manifest before his hands had risen up to try to clear up the grainy mixture that blinded him. It was in that moment, Johnny would take to attacking every aspect of the orc’s person. Punches and kicks would land on the entirety of his body and it was when Johnny kicked the other in the groin that Yegoth dropped. Sand filled eyes wetting with tears in a desperate attempt to get them cleared up enough to see. Both of his green hands struggled to rub away the countless grains that were stuck under the small crevices and sockets. But in the end, it was for naught. The poor boy was down and laying on his side in the sand while Johnny awaited for a response. Blue eyes rage filled and boring down on Yegoth like he was the enemy of this arena. He had half a mind to continue brutalizing the boy but he does no such thing.  This time, the announcements and the count down from 10 was music to Johnny’s ears. With no prominent move from the Orc to stand back up, he could manage a smug grin up until the 0 mark was struck and the audience both cheered and booed in one chorus of excitement and disappointment. Regardless of it, Johnny turns about in the hot sand to raise his scrawny arms up in celebration. “We have our winna’! An unlikely fighta’! JOHNNY BOY! The Unda’dog who was able to pull through!” The announcements would continue but Johnny tuned it out, smiling throughout. All he could think about was sleeping in a nice bed back home.