Happy Belated AU or Canon: AU (slightly) Location: Chicago Date: 2014 Notes: Takes place after City Limits closed. Discounts character epilogues.
It was already a packed house, and yet somehow more bodies kept finding places to put themselves. Connor watched the bleachers fill up as he did a series of stretches, listening to the sounds of shoes on concrete as people continued to look for space to sit or stand. If a fire broke out in this place, it'd turn into a barbecue. The Destroyer continued his knee-bends, then pulled his shirt off when he was finished. Part of him still couldn't believe he'd managed to talk Rhiannon into this.
"I think we have fans," he commented, actually being half-serious about it. The demon community knew them by now, and it was likely that some of the creatures they'd fought had spread the word in whatever human quarters of the population they dealt with. This many people didn't just show up to see a fight, no matter how much the bloodshed might appeal. Raising his voice to be heard over the din of the gate closing and the continued tidal motions of the crowd, Connor cracked, "Hope they're not expecting autographs."
Bent at the waist while she stretched her hamstrings, Rhiannon craned her neck to see. Her ponytail was in her eyes, but the noise was more telling than sight, anyway. In the last half hour, the little arena had turned into an ant farm, if ants drank beer and placed bets. "You have fans, maybe," she said, "You're the repeat offender. I have curious onlookers." She put her boots together and wrapped her arms around her knees, pulling her torso into tight contact.
Rhiannon was an old hand at her calling, but this was new. An actual, intentional audience. Why she agreed to it was beyond her. Maybe because Connor's birthday got obscured by supernatural craziness. Maybe because the notoriety would boost interest in her work (the non-violent kind). Maybe because she needed to see what the hubbub was about. Whatever. She was about to fight for profit, with her favorite hunting partner at her side.
She straightened up, an unimposing figure in olive-colored cargo pants and a black tank. "What do I get for doing this?"
"I don't know, what do you want? I wasn't aware compensation was part of the deal." He was looking at her from a crouch, the worn denim of his jeans pulling tight at the seams as his legs flexed and stretched. His hair was getting too long again, and he shook it out of his eyes before standing up to fish around in his pockets. The red bandana he found went over his head, and he tied it securely at the back of his neck after tucking the last of the unruly brown strands under it. It made him look like a half-assed imitation of a pirate, but until he remembered to get a haircut it'd have to do.
"I'll clean the bathroom for you, how's that?" They'd become roommates a little while after his thirtieth birthday, and while both of them could be lackadaisical about housework, his suggestion seemed like a fair trade to him.
"You were thinking something for nothing?" Rhiannon spread her feet to shoulder-width and wound her ponytail into a bun. "C'mon. This is me." She stored a couple of hair pins in her mouth while she tucked the ends, and then poked the points into the brown coil. "I could lose life or limb... in front of people. Can you imagine the embarrassment?"
Her arms fell to her sides. She walked past Connor to look through the gate at the empty floor, its sand swept clean for the skirmish. Fencing kept the fans at a respectable distance, unable to interfere or get dragged into the fight. On the other side of the arena, another gate and tunnel housed their mystery opponents. "The bathroom," she said, wrapping her fingers around a bar as she stared out. "Don't forget to lift the lids."
"I'm sure you won't lose face tonight," Connor said. It was already stifling inside the former factory, and the close press of bodies in the audience made it worse. A trickle of sweat wandered down the side of the Destroyer's face, and he wiped it away absently. "I don't think weapons are being offered tonight, but even if those guys don't know who you are, whatever's coming from over there probably will. It takes them a minute to even get close enough to lay their hands on you, I've noticed."
The noise level picked up on the other side of the crowded space, and he climbed up on the bottom rung of the cage to get a better look. "I think the show's about to get on the road. Hopefully they won't smell too bad up close."
Rhiannon poked her tongue in her cheek. "You noticed, huh?" Knowing you had a talent was one thing; hearing someone who could knock you out say it, quite another, better thing. Still holding the bars, she leaned her weight back and used them to stretch the muscles in her arms and shoulders. "No big about the weapons. I kinda like it like that."
She dropped into a crouch, bounced a few times, and got back up. Just then, a man's voice announced that the match was beginning. A buzzer sounded and the gate slowly rolled up. The bars played with the arena lights, bathing their faces in intermittent shadows, and then there was nothing separating them from the ring. Rhiannon reached across and tugged on the tail of Connor's bandana. "C'mon, Aunt Jemima."
Out of deference to his past matches, she waited for him to walk out before joining him on the floor. The air smelled close, like bodies and beer and the hard-packed dirt. She felt eyes on her, taking measure of the new woman's face and posture.
Connor took a breath, looked up into the lights briefly before directing his attention towards the place their opponents would be emerging. He could feel the weight of the stares too; despite his repeat appearances in the ring, the spectators still didn't know what to make of the mop-haired skinny guy who could take a demon apart in less than twenty minutes. That he was stepping into the cage tonight with a woman as his partner would probably just make them whisper among themselves more.
"I always notice," he told Rhiannon a little absently, and then the gate on the opposite side of the ring began to roll up. Under the glare of the fluorescents he could see grayish skin and red eyes. Humanoids, walking on two legs, but definitely Other. Connor inclined his head in a nod of acknowledgment, which one of the demons returned. Even in a life-or-death situation, politenesses could be exchanged.
From Rhiannon's perspective, making eye contact was friendly enough, unless they happened to meet in a bar where fighting was an impossibility. She studied their physiques from a distance, searching for weaknesses or natural adaptations. Meanwhile, the noise went on, which she tried to tune out. It was strange being out in the open. After staking a semi-famous vampire in a bookstore, her face had gotten around, which wreaked a little havoc on the anonymity she enjoyed in the human realm. Still, there was a difference between seeing glimmers of recognition and having a couple hundred pairs of eyes watching her fight.
All of that would be ambient the minute a punch was thrown, though. She was ready to get going, not stand around listening to the blonde guy pump up the audience. He announced both sets of competitors and then there was nothing to do but wait for the buzzer.
Rhiannon split off from Connor, wiping a forearm across her cheek.
Roughly 6 feet tall. Gray skin. Red eyes. Tiny ridges in a double row from chin to scalp, like baseball seams. Five fingers on each hand. A sharp point of bone on the end of each finger. A hook, like a reinforced thorn, protruded from each knee.
"Knees," she called to Connor. How tiny they must look in comparison. How ordinary and ill-equipped.
The buzzer sounded.
The sharp sound had Connor's shoulders tightening even before it finished, and he noted the barbs extending from the demons' knees as his battered tennis shoes started eating up the distance of canvas between himself and the first opponent. What he lacked in height he made up for with speed, and he struck out with his right fist in a blow that sent the creature staggering back several paces. If he had learned nothing else of value from his vampire father, it was that throwing the first punch could go a long way towards intimidation.
The crowd had already gotten louder, but it had become white noise the moment the fight was on. One long-fingered hand made a grab for the Destroyer's bare shoulder, those tips of bone threatening to close into a pinch, and he slipped out of the way before kicking out with his left foot. The old Nike made contact with a gray midsection, and both of them backpedaled before the demon paused long enough to size him up a second time. Maybe he wasn't so inadequate after all.
It took Rhiannon and the other, 'unfriendly' demon a bit longer to get going. They squared off, eying each other like a couple of pissed-off bulls without the pawing. She let it charge her, dodging at the last instant. The demon's momentum carried it by and she turned around, kicking its spinal column. It crashed into the fence and snarled at the fans. It turned around, arms outstretched and bent.
"That had to sting. Am I wrong?" She raised her fists and rocked on her feet. The next time it ran at her, Rhiannon took the bait. A quick round of punches were thrown by the demon and blocked by her forearms. The heat in the arena had both fighters sweating. One of the fists slipped off her arm and made contact with the Slayer's lip. She stumbled and the crowd cheered.
The first speck of blood in a fight had a rallying effect. The demon thought he had the upper hand. Rhiannon got annoyed. It tipped back its head and ululated a high-pitched noise. She hitched a kick and popped the demon in the jaw. It bled red, brighter than hers, like the color of its eyes. Drops of it mixed with saliva and spattered her face.
The metal cage surrounding the ring rattled as Connor's opponent slammed him into it, the demon's superior height allowing it to work on pinning him there. He fired off a quick series of punches to its midsection, hammering at solid flesh until he had enough room to kick his adversary away from him. Blood trickled out of his nose from a punch that had edged past his guard, and he wiped at it with his left hand before slinging droplets onto the canvas.
He was back in it in the next second, wiry arms looping punches at the demon's ribcage in fast succession. He'd emptied his wallet of thirty-four dollars to bet on himself and the Slayer, although this time at narrower odds. Far be it for him not to take money if he could get it. Out in the world it was different, of course, but if he was going to be in here tonight, he should get something out of it. He got clipped on the side of the head, reeled sideways to try and get his bearings. He'd have to watch those elongated fingers, those bones could split his scalp open.
Across the floor, Rhiannon and her opponent were locked in a grapple. Their shoulders flexed with the effort to throw each other off-balance. They staggered in a circle, stirring up dirt as they fought to keep their footing. Since the demon had the strength advantage and momentum, it was the slayer's arm and temple that struck the wall, her grip that faltered on sweat-slick flesh. She suffered another smash that almost knocked her shoulder out of the socket.
"Fuck!" She needed a quick recovery. Locking her hands behind its neck, she tugged the demon's head down onto her knee. Crack. Blood spurted out of its nose. She shoved it off and watched it crab-walk on the ground. "Gotta say. I'm a little jealous of the knee things," she said, wiping sweat and dirt out of her eye. The arena tilted while her equilibrium adjusted.
Rhiannon grabbed a gray foot and stopped its retreat.
Realizing that the demon's longer arms gave it a fair reach advantage, Connor tried wading in close, his knuckled fists beating a tattoo on a gray-skinned torso as the crowd stomped and cheered. The Destroyer took a punch in the mouth, returned it with a blow hard enough to spin the demon halfway around, one hand coming up to check if its jaw was broken. A foot shod in an old sneaker kicked out at the creature's backside, propelling it into the cage. A quick glance towards Rhiannon said that the Slayer seemed to be faring okay.
Mindful of the built-in knee spikes, Connor closed the distance and tried to get an arm around his opponent's neck. The demon, who'd been crouched near the chain links of the door, drove an elbow backwards into his stomach, and then the two of them were locked in a wrestler's clinch while Connor tried to keep his footing. Sweat ran into his eye, stinging it. Another sharp jab at his midsection, and his feet skidded on the loose dirt that had been tracked onto the dirty canvas. He punched the demon in the back of the neck, a glancing blow. It was like trying to land a trout with his hands.
Rhiannon dropped her knees on the demon's arms and her weight on its ribcage, pinning it down for a decent pummeling. Both fists were a motion blur, her knuckles getting chapped and bloody on the ridged rows of the demon's face. One of its red eyes swelled shut. It bucked and thrashed under the onslaught and she dug her toes into the ground, trying to keep herself seated. One of the thrashes brought its knee up into her back.
She cried out as the burr tore through her shirt. The puncture was just below the kidneys, no major damage done, but it hurt like hell and forced a retreat. She rolled off the demon and scrambled across the dirt, fingers seeking the wound to check its depth. She hoped to God that it didn't carry poison.
While she was on her knees, she got a look at Connor, the headlock probably an attempt to break his opponent's neck. The crowd screamed louder. She pulled her eyes away from her friend and got up to face off with the demon again. With its eye shut like that, it had a blind spot, and now that there was a hole in Rhiannon's back, she had a sore spot to exploit. They clashed again. This time, the demon took a flying leap and Rhiannon squatted down to duck it. She pivoted and waited for the demon to come down before sweeping at its legs.
Connor heard Rhiannon yell, couldn't spare a second to see why. The demon was trying to pry his arm loose from its neck, and it managed to get just enough room to sink blunt teeth into his forearm. "Son of a bitch!" The crowd was raving beyond the cage, and the Destroyer gouged a thumb into one of those red eyes as payback. Sweat and blood mixed together, and the two of them glared at each other before crashing together again. The demon ended up on its back from the impact, and Connor started hammering the tough bones of the creature's ribcage again.
He'd managed to get one knee on his adversary's arm, but the other was still free, and a fist struck him in the left temple, dazing him. The Destroyer went over on his side as the lights spun and whirled overhead. He scuttled backwards as fast as the vertigo would let him, palms gritting over sand. The demon came after him, and he kicked it in the face. He'd have to wear his boots next time. The demon's blood was a neon red as it dripped from the thing's possibly broken nose. The bite on Connor's arm throbbed. Demon rabies, what a lovely concept.
He picked himself up, touched the blood coming from the wound on the side of his head. Caught sight of Rhiannon, then went back to business. If there was one thing he hated, it was a biter.
Rhiannon's foot hooked around her opponent's and dropped him. He landed on his back, legs bicycling the air. She rushed closer and brought her fists up in a hammer. When her arms pounded towards the ground, it rolled out of the way and left a cloud of dust in its wake. Flecks of sand got in her eyes and for a few seconds, she fought blind, taking a foot to the jaw. Stars exploded behind her eyelids and the arena swam.
Mother of... do not pass out. Trying to protect herself, Rhiannon crawled away and used the fence to pull herself up. She felt the demon approach from behind and slammed her head back into his nose. While he was on the retreat, she turned and grabbed the fence overhead. Her legs swung up and clamped around the demon's neck. She squeezed them as tight as she could.
Two bodies slammed together, and Connor bulldozed the demon back into the metal the cage was made of. He got one hand around his opponent's neck, whacked the back of a thick skull against the mesh, then drove a fist into the now-misshapen nose. Cartilage broke as more blood sprayed, droplets spattering the Destroyer's upturned face. Those tips of bone dug into his breadbasket, but despite the pain he held on. The blood was pounding in his ears, almost as loud as the crowd, and he bared his teeth in a feral grin.
The demon tried turning itself into dead weight, knees buckling, and the Destroyer kicked it just under the jaw as it slumped to the ground. The gamblers in the audience screamed their approval. He slung sweat away from his brow, kicked the thing again. Most of his power came from his punches, but his feet worked just as well. "Nothing's as easy as it looks, is it?"
"Tell me about it!" Rhiannon used her abdominal muscles to lift the demon off the floor by its neck. It clawed at her legs, scoring a few deep gouges. Even a vigorous shake didn't break the creature's neck. She unwrapped her legs and planted both boots in the demon's chest, giving it a solid kick instead. It landed hard and skidded across the dirt. Coughing from all the particles of sand in her lungs, she let go of the fence and went after it. Recovery time was an offensive killer.
No knives, no stake, no sword. It didn't leave many options. Either she broke the demon's neck, ripped out its heart (wherever the hell that was), dismembered it, or pounded its skull until there was brain damage. The clock ticked and she was getting anxious.
Hunkering over, the demon stumbled in the other direction. Hot on its heels, she chased it across the ring, grabbed it around the midsection, and drove its head into the low wall under the fence. She felt like she was operating a medieval battering ram. The demon slumped in the dirt. "I guess we're playing soccer." She kicked its head against the wall.
Connor had resorted to stomping by then, hair hanging in his face as his shoes left imprints on the demon's chest. Ribs were sharp no matter the species, if he could break one or two of them they'd be bound to puncture something. Fingers grabbed for the cuff of his jeans, and he smashed the hand against the floor with his foot. If he ended up here again, he'd have to wear boots.
The clock said that eighteen minutes had passed, and the Destroyer put his foot on the gray-skinned creature's neck. Time was passing, it was time to stop fooling around. He could barely hear the crowd over the thrumming of his heart. He wondered if Phillip had bet against him this time or if he'd learned his lesson.
The best part was, he didn't have the hurting thing inside this time. It was just...better, maybe because Rhiannon was there with him this time. He hadn't fully trusted anyone to have his back in a long time. It was an occasion in itself that he should make note of it. The Destroyer smiled a little grimly, added more pressure with his foot. Pondering could come later, once the bleeding had stopped.
The sixth kick cracked the skull. Rhiannon stopped. It was still alive; as she wiped the sweat off her forehead, she could see a pulse in its slick, gray neck. A good killing blow would take it, or she could pound on it a while longer, but this wasn't mixed martial arts on pay-per-view, and she could give a shit whether the audience got another thirty seconds out of her. She wasn't gonna brain the thing for the hell of it.
She wiped her palms on her knees and bent down. One hand behind its head, another on the jaw, and snap. Dead demon. There was a corresponding roar from the crowd, some of it jubilation over bets won and some of it dismay. She turned around and put her back to the wall, sliding down it a little, searching for Connor. And there he was, smiling how he did when he got in a really good fight, his boot poised for a sick break.
Rhiannon laughed and squatted, catching her breath.
Something gave under Connor's foot, and blood burbled out of the demon's mouth on either side. Bare feet jittered on the ground as the thing died, and the Destroyer stepped back and then away from it, wiping at the red fluid that still seeped from the bite on his arm. Hopefully they had some peroxide back at the apartment so he could clean it out. Now he could hear the crowd, and he crossed the distance between himself and Rhiannon so he wouldn't have to bellow to be heard.
"I'll make sure to lift the lids." He crouched down in front of Rhiannon, his hands dangling between his thighs. He was sweaty and worn-out, and he felt great, like he could still run for miles with just a brief few minutes for rest. "Did they get a lucky shot in?"
"I thought I'd give 'im a few freebies, even things up," she said. A few pieces of hair had slipped her bun. They clung to her neck, damp with perspiration and a little bit of blood. The puncture in her back hurt and her face stung, but she felt alive, more animated than usual, like it was okay to grin if it was after a fight. On the microphone, Phillip announced the official results of the match-up and where the fans could go to collect or put more currency down on the next bout.
Rhiannon spoke up. "Plus, you know. I didn't want to make you look bad. Steal your thunder?" She made a fist and rapped her knuckles on his chin, just enough to move his head.
He snickered, then pushed himself to his feet with a grunt. "I gotta stop by the betting kiosk, but it'll just take a minute." He extended a hand in his friend's direction to help her up, then added, "If you're up for it later tonight we can go snag something to eat. I'm starved and I don't think I could sleep if I tried. Want to hit IHOP after some triage?"
"Oh my god, blueberry pancakes." Rhiannon grabbed his hand and hauled herself up. "That's a yes, in case you weren't sure." The bleachers were a swarm of activity and the gates had rolled back, giving them a way to leave and the clean-up crew access to the dead demons. She headed in the direction of the small locker room. "Do me a favor," she said, "Let me know if my guts are hanging out of my back. It feels okay, but I might just be pleasantly numb."
The Destroyer's mouth quirked at the left corner as he followed after Rhiannon, and his hand touched the base of her spine through her sweat-damp shirt. "No guts that I can tell," he said, his fingers applying careful pressure before retreating. He'd pick up his winnings and stuff them into his pocket, then get as cleaned up as he could. The bike could use some work, maybe a newly upholstered seat. "Thanks for the late birthday present."
"You're welcome." She smiled over her shoulder. "By the way, I would've settled for you taking out the trash." Or really, nothing at all. But he didn't have to know that. Rhiannon lifted her arms overhead and pulled on her elbows, giving her shoulders a stretch. Decent fight, hot shower, band-aids, clean clothes, and pancakes with Connor. It was her idea of a great night.