He was glad that his words finally managed to reach his opponent, since a lack of communication was indeed what caused the bout to begin with. With his explanation out of the way, it came time to move on to the heart of the matter, that being why Mitch had any semblance of victory here. It was because he had nano-boosters, and his opponent did not. He'd come upon situations similar to this one before, which was why he was ready for one.
He would stick his hands into his pocket and pulled out a pill bottle. As the man, who up until a few seconds ago would have probably punched Mitch's face in, bowed in apology, the pompadoured fellow would raise an eyebrow, and offer a couple nano-booster pills, transparent capsules with red pluses on them, filled with dark grey (metal) nanobots which speed the healing process up. "Here. I've bumped into a few others like you back in middle school, so I skip a few days each month to have some pills to spare. For first aid purposes, take these, and your hands'll be nice and fixed up in a few minutes."
The gesture was akin to a hand shake in form, holding the pills in the palm of his hand. "I hope you'll be fine without a drink. I don't carry around beverages," he would say in a joking mannerism, a guy like this one here being tough shit as he were, the guy obviously could handle a flavorless pill.
With the transaction proceeding as it would, Mitch would cap the pill bottle and then re-pocket it. Going over to his backpack, putting his bat away, and slinging it back over his shoulders, in turn pinning his jacket-cape to his back. "So, what's your name, tough guy?" he would ask in a casual mannerism, "I'm Mitch if ya couldn't hear over the fury." Obviously Mitch can't have that level of combat with someone and not pick up their name at some point. All strong guys knew each other, it was an irrefutable law of nature.
"Mitch Banning."
The pompadoured fellow acted like this around his friends in school, casual and somewhat rude, but not altogether unpersonable. It was a delicate balance, which he kept without even trying. He was a genuine jerkass with a heart of gold. "Anyhow, I'm pretty sure the route to the river is cleared by this point. So I'll call it a day, where d'ya live? Or you need a place to bunk? Let's get you out of Low-Key City and into Middletown, that's where the folks don't try and beat you fer breathin'. Just a half an hour walk this way," he'd ask and explain, beginning to walk out of the alleyway.
"Hey! Pompadoured freakshow! You been messing with my boys?" called a new voice.
Mitch would slow his walking pace and turn his gaze towards the poor forsaken soul who was coming to actually finish what those thugs started. "The fuck did you say about my sweet-as-fuck hairdo?" he would say, his eyes converting into pure bloodlust. The person who he'd turned his gaze toward immediately backed off, so quickly Mitch couldn't even get a good look at him.
From behind a corner Mitch heard the voice in a hushed but urgent tone explaining, "That's Mitch the goddamned Butcher, you fucking idiots. Do you want me to die?" The pompadoured man would sigh and turn a relaxed gaze to his compatriot, "You coming?"
Wed Jan 13, 2016 9:56 pm
