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Hurts.. Cold..
The child was curled up in the middle of the street as a downpour soaking him to the bone. Muscles aching. Beaten. There were more of the other kids, his last piece of stale bread ripped from his hands. Thump. Thump. Heart’s still beating. A tiny furnace refused to go silent. It’s starved, barely any fuel, but he crawls. Forward. Strangers, men and women just walk around him, not even tilting their umbrellas to cover the child.
A pair of well polished shoes reflect his miserly face.
“Hey, piece of trash, ain’t you supposed to move out of the way for your betters?”
Fiery smell of booze hits his nostrils. Words don't really reach his brain. Rather, he reaches out. Hand grabbing ankle of the woman in front of him. The one thing that stood in front of him, rather than ignore him.
Cccrack.
Splatter of blood spilt down his forehead, into eyes. Vision red. Ears ringing. Iron taste on tongue…
He doesn’t let go. He should be dead. He’s dead. He’s already dead. He knows he’s dead. He feels as if he's getting lighter, and his hand finally lets go. A dead soul, going into heaven.
Yet he merely changed his hell.
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“Wrong! Wrong again! I told you, act, push the tempo, never go on the backfoot!”
Valencina slapped Textbook across his face, a sound so familiar it might as well echo throughout the corridor.
“You can’t just change your mind mid strike! Faster, faster god dammnit! Don’t give your opponent a chance to breathe!”
It hurts. But he doesn’t cry. He can’t. It’d be ungrateful. He’s alive, only thanks to her.
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The kids laying passed out on the couch. She’s bandaged his forehead, even if he deserved the wound for his audacity, what was that brat thinking grabbing her leg like that? But the way the bastard clenched his filthy fingers ‘round her ankle? There was something noble about it, nothing like filthy disgusting vermin.
Another glass of the gold-oaken liquid warms her oesophagus. Smoky, with notes of cinnamon. Ah, isn’t this life, high grade booze, just enough to keep her mind off of the-
ANOTHER
What’s this kid's deal anyways? Doesn’t matter, this whole situation is just a passing moment of fancy, the sooner he wakes up, the sooner she can kick him back to the streets. Best before that bastard Callisto comes and tries to make yet another sculpture out of the kid. Not like the gore is much to her, just his ones are weird, swear she could hear skittering in his gallery once..
Fuck, glasses empty.
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She’s drunk. Two bottles of whiskey stand empty on a nearby table. It’s not often that she’s sober really, but Lucio prefers when she is, her hand stings less when she’s sober.
“Again, Il Cacciatore, do it properly now. Like a textbook. A T - E - X - T - B - O - O - K, understand?”
That is what he is. A textbook. Showcase proper form. Forward, Strike, Clash, Accelerate.
Strike. Strike. Dodge and Riposte. Escalate.
30 degrees, left diagonal, 90 degrees right horizontal, then.. Then..
Bludgeoned. Lungs emptied, together with some contents of his guts.
Lucio folds to the ground like a ragdoll after receiving a kick right to his kidney. Clank. Blade striking the ground as he falls, just as useless as he is. Dizzy. Dark. Ringing.
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Heaven, is he in heaven?
Overwhelming, ever present aching down to the bone, burning lungs, scorching shine piercing past his eyelids.
Hell, he’s in hell.
Blurry ceiling reveals itself. Whimper tries to escape past his lips but breathing feels like swallowing needles. Yet, he still forces himself to. Heart keeps on beating.
“Finally awake kid?” Woman's voice. Coarse, Irritated.
Lucio opened his eyes further, slowly, getting used to the light boring itself into his eyeballs, and taking in the room… completely full of alcohol shelves.
He turns his face towards the voice, a tall woman dressed like from Thumb, with golden hair crowning a threatening looking face. Glass filled with something? Cigar in her lips. After the woman's expression turns to a worrisome smile, Lucio remembered how to speak.
Or rather how to try to, as all that came out of his throat was a pained wheeze, so he instead decided to just acknowledge with a nod, before lack of a reply would get him killed.
“Tch, did a rat get your tongue? Wouldn’t be the first time I’d execute someone for Not speaking, but I ain’t got the mood for that.” Without elaborating much further, she finished whatever she had in her glass, stood up, and walked somewhere, leaving Lucio alone.
He’s alive, it seems. Now that he’s more conscious, breathing’s not just swallowing needless, the inside of his throat is like sandpaper. When was the last time he drank… anything? Just… anything..
With his eyes landing on a nearby shelf, some crystal bottle of whiskey… He bends his flesh, trying to sit up. Slowly. Then the world spins around, coagulated darkness filling his vision…
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“Shit!”
“You fucker! You were meant to keep standing after this! You fucking useless piece of shit!”
Valencina dropped her own blades, and knelt down by the unconscious boy, with her first reaction being to check the pulse… Beating. But weak.
Always, fucking always. He’s always doing this! Not tough enough, not taking the hits properly, not fighting properly-
“Not doing anything properly! You’re always finding new ways to fuck things up! How do you want to be useful if you can’t take this? What’s the point in a textbook that tears so easily? They’d fucking eat you outside without my teachings, useless bastard! It’s almost like you WANT that!”
After the rant, Valencina’s forced to take a moment. Nobody she’s ever fought has knocked so much air out of her as the frustration textbook leaves in her. And now she’s forced to deal with him, bastard’s knocked out cold on the hard floor.
She puts her hands under his body, before lifting him up with ease. If he stays there, he’ll be even more of a wreck. Now to take him to the couch… The sleeve of her jacket’s feeling wet… Fucker must have cracked his empty skull, now bleeding all over her! God dammni-
Valencina stumbles forward, even if she’s used to drunkenness that additional weight sets her off balance, and rambling thoughts made the Eye useless. Flying herself down to the floor, she still was fast enough to turn around, taking the brunt of the fall on her back, still holding Lucio like a ragdoll.
“What a fucking nuisance…”
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Death is a greedy lover, eager to take you into her embrace. Fickle too, like a cat with a rat, she plays with him before pouncing…
Lukewarm water poured onto his parched lips, slowly, and with frequent breaks. Thank whatever god graced him, he dared not open his eyes, not jinx it, not after…
When was the last time he drank some? Master is going to punish him for… Master?
There's a hand behind his head, firmly holding him, pushing to swallow the water just like back…
Like a worm impaled by a pin, Lucio squirms in pain, swallowing some of the water into his lungs. Piercing hurt, like a rusted nail lodging itself deep in his brain forced him out of his stupour-
“God damnit Lucio! Sit still you bastard!”
The hold on his head tightened as he coughed the water out. 15 seconds. Breath, still clenching his eyelids closed. A wrong look might make his situation even worse.
“Haah, see what you put me through Textbook? When will you finally pay off? You…”
Valencina’s voice turned flaccid, exhausted, missing even the notes of the anger that was scorching so hot just moments ago. Clink, her lighter burning aflame, acrid taste of smoke filling the room. He still doesn’t open his eyes.
“Lucio.” A single, dreadful word. Like a trained dog, he opened his eyes, and responded quickly “Yes Master?”
He couldn’t read her expression, nor her piercing eyes as she looked him in the face. When responded to, she pulled her hand from under his head, letting it fall to the couch.
“See what you did? Knocked all the wind out of me, bastard. I ain’t got the mood to keep training you today, do whatever.”
And with that, she paced to lay herself on another couch. She stared into the smoke of her cigar, before sharply telling him off with a glare, to which he knew how to respond. By getting out of her sight. . .
Lucio replaced his bandages. They weren’t sloppy, nothing like that, just soaked wet with blood, not enough to be threatening, but it still stuck uncomfortably to his hair. Funny, isn’t it? All this “training” yet it’s just an inconvenience that ticks him off. It’s never enough with that woman, it never is… some time has passed, she should be asleep, in a drunken stupor.
With quiet steps, he sneaked back to where he last saw her, and of course, she was there, strewn across the couch with elbow over her eyes. He’s never seen her sleep in an actual bed. So pathetic, all that critique, while she herself is an alcoholic wreck.
Step by step, he approaches, readying his heart. This time. Slit her throat, gouge her eye out, and you’ll be free Lucio. You will be free. He raises his blade and…
And what after? What can he even do? He’s incompetent, he can’t even do basic forms right, he’d die on these streets. The same streets she picked him up from. The same streets he almost starved to death in. And for what? To bring him into a new hell? This…
Not this time. He’s still got more to learn. He’s still weak.
He’s still indebted.
Once again… Textbook walks away.
This place… really has its way of driving people insane.
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Come on, try it. Try it you bastard. I know you want to. You’re not coy you dog, I saw thousands of predictions with this eye of mine, come on, COME ON. Show some fangs you damn mutt! Do it by the book Lucio, do it right! Raise that knife, go for the heart! For the heart!
. . .
The coward. He walked off again. Good for him, if he tried I’d gut him on the spot. With that sloppy form of his, he’d waste his precious seconds and his breath, even if the wound would be mortal, I’d take the bastard down with myself. . .
Don’t leave room for mistakes. If you want to take down your Padre, do it by the textbook Lucio.