Drink deep of battle
#1
The crowd around the ring lurched. Coins, the currency in the place, were thrown around. Bets were placed; on the huge, adult bull-mastiff in his secui form, mostly. The brute was huge, rippling with muscle, and he easily outsized and outweighed the little blonde child in front of him. The little blonde child clutching a wooden stick. Achilles was no child, though. Looks could be deceiving, as they said. Though he was physically a boy, mentally he was a warrior, and he could hold his own in battle.

It was over in seconds. The mastiff lunged. Achilles lunged to the side. The mastiff fell straight into the crowd, and someone hauled him back into the circle. He snarled, and lunged again. Achilles did the same thing, except this time, once the mastiff was thrown into the crowd, Achilles span around and smacked him round the head with his stick. The boy was little over 6 months old, and he had beaten a full-grown adult male through simply wit and cunning.

The crowd was shocked. The dog that organized the fighting, Joe, was not surprised however. This was how the boy made a living. Joe pressed coins, the prize, into Achilles’ paw and the blonde boy nodded curtly, and then pushed his way through the crowd. He walked away, to the corner of the town square, and was about to sit down on some stone steps when he was confronted by a nasty looking coyote.

“Where did you learn to fight like that, boy?” asked the old luperci. Achilles scowled. “I’m not a boy, I’m a-” he was cut off sharply. “A girl?” asked the hardened coyote, his muzzle wrinkling in discontent. “No, but” at this, the coyote looked outraged. He spat on the floor and took the young boy by the neck, fingering the loose skin and fur and tightening his grip, his eyes growing edgy and fierce. Achilles did not react. Had it been a different situation, he would have smacked the coyote and disarmed him, thrown him to the ground and tasted victory, but there was something in this man’s eyes. Something chilling, and it scared him. Achilles had never been scared before. Not since-

“A man never says but to his elders. This just proves my point, boy. You are nothing but a boy. A wild, dirty boy. You smell. You stink. And you’re scared. I could make you cry out whenever I wanted. I could make you hurt” the coyote snarled, dripping saliva down onto Achilles’ chest. The young wolf raised a lip and his eyes flashed silver for a second, as if he was going to give in to the petty bullying and snide remarks, but instead he fought back. “You’ll never hurt me.” he growled defiantly, pushing up with the palms of his paws and thrusting his weight into the lock-position, body-slamming so the coyote gave up his hold on his neck. He gave a kick of his heel and sent the old man stumbling backwards, and then crossed his arms.

To his surprise, the man merely laughed. A crooked, gnarled sound that had the edge of death to it. Confused, Achilles clenched his paws into fists, ready to fight when the time came. This was merely a distraction. But no. “I don’t like you, but you ‘ave some guts.” said the coyote, spitting on the ground once more. He sniffed his pointy, ugly muzzle and wrinkled up his nose, straightening up. He didn’t appear to look very harmed for an old man that had just been slammed into and kicked. “Keep fighting.” said the old man to the boy. “Keep at it, boy.” he advised. He pulled out a silver chain from seemingly nowhere, and pressed it into Achilles’ hand. And then the man was gone. Achilles was left alone, confused out of his mind, standing solemnly in the square.
#2
Willow whisked across the square, her body looking sublime in the tight black leather, her auburn mane drew back into a braid that reached her mid-back. She had watched this little male with the skills of an adult, and now she wanted to speak to him. The blue eyed Soul woman wasn't known for random acts of kindness; rather she did whatever felt good and right to her and for her. Right now, talking to this male, seeing what she could do to get him to be on her side, that was what she wanted to do, what felt good and right for her.

She could see the old grizzled coyote hassling the one she wanted to see. Anger filled her, but outwardly, she remained calm. As the coyote stalked away, she approached her target, stopping only a few foot away from where he stood, a silver chain in his grubby hand. An eyebrow raised. Her voice was sultry and hard as she spoke in her perfunctory manner. "Achilles. You fight very well. What would you do to have your skills increased ten-fold?" She looked down at the grubby street urchin, weighing him in her mind, pitting him against the best she knew.

She had seen the way the young male had pushed away the older coyote. It was impressive to her. But she knew tricks the male could only dream of, she'd been trained by one of the best assassins back in Michigan. She had been second only to him. She reached up and fingered the raven feather in her hair, an old habit left over from her time with Odadio. A hawk was perched on a nearby roof, watching the woman talking to the male. Willows ears were perked forward, her body held dominantly and confidently. "Well?"

((WC: 299))
#3
That had been a good battle. A very good battle. It was a good thing Amy had checked out how things were weighed before placing her bet. She'd made a small bundle on the child. Seeing him leave after the match Amy followed lazily, thinking about what she might possibly say to him. Congratulatory words were not in her vocabulary. There was no kindness in her soul. She turned the corner, spotting the child talking to an assassin. It wasn't anything innate that the woman did to give herself away, simply the recognition of another of her kind. Amy hadn't worked that job for about half a year now though, and she was fairly confident the deathly air that followed such creatures were gone. If only she realized that it was actually just her carrying that air of death.

Not wanting to barge in Amy leaned against a nearby building, idly playing with one of the coins she'd won. She was close enough to hear what was being said, while looking like a completely innocent bystander. A trick she'd learned, and never forgotten. Examining the coin with slight dissatisfaction the merchant's mind milled, trying to think about what she could trade the coin for. It was no good in her line of work, bartering and traveling. Only city canines used such things, and Amy had better uses for it.


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