MONROE

(n.) the star destroyer

"So, what do we do?”

It was simple enough question, concise, but yet all the ramifications of the answer were what had consumed him. Broken lips pursed, he looked towards the bottle of vodka with tired eyes. Fingers trembling, he reached forward, but as he neared the bottle the booming voice once more took precedence.

“I asked you a question, what are we going to do about this? This is the second guy in two weeks that he’s managed to break.”

He twitched, his body yearned for the sweet embrace of the sinister poison in his presence, but business proved to be a great obstacle. Leaning forward, he pressed his dirty palms to the surface of what looked to be a desk that had seen much better days. What looked to have been originally a wood panel finish was now mostly chipped away by various scrapes and nicks. The majority of the surface was covered in papers, overdue bills and notices, and what wasn’t covered in paper was covered in filth.

“What the hell do you want me to say to the guy? He’s paying the fuckin’ bills, isn’t he?”

Each thud echoed in the small room, yet no fighting was visible. The office was small, rectangular, and the walls were an eggshell color that had long since been covered in grime. The man standing in front of the desk took a step back, peering out of the doorway, seemingly checking on the situation at hand. After a moment, he peeked his head back in, instantly barking as he did so.

“I don’t giva’ flying fuck if the guy is Nic fuckin’ Virtue, we ain’t got enough guys for him to just trash them all when he’s in town. That’s not how shit flys around here, ya’know?”

Skittishly, the other man nodded. His skin was rough, a pale with an unhealthy yellowing to it. Forcing a smile, his broken smile told a story of drug abuse and years and year of alcohol abuse. Standing from behind the desk, he finally got close enough to snatch up the bottle of vodka – that’s when it happened.

“We’re going to need some help out here!”

A voice called out, and instantly the other man reacted.

“This is the shit I’m talking about –“

The other approached him, reaching out and planting a firm hand upon his shoulder.

“You can’t just rush out there, man. I’m –“

“Why the fuck not? I don’t care how much he’s payin’ to work out here. It ain’t fuckin’ about that…”

He shrugged off his partner’s hand before stepping outside of the doorway. The area was open, well lit, a hangar that had been retrofitted into a poor excuse of a gym. There were three rings and a cage, all of which looked as though they had seen better days. The center was filled with two men, only one of them coherent.

“You’ve gotta be fuckin’ kidding me, man.”

The more boisterous of the two owners approached the ring, climbing the stairs and slipping between the top and middle rope. A sea of bodies had gathered around the fallen fight, curled into a fetal position and rubbing his sternum. The man gazed from the fallen fighter to the cornered man, who could do nothing but offer a smirk in return.

“Ya’ gotta be kidding me, you think this is funny?”

His partner scrambled to the ring as fast as he could, with a heavy limp on his right leg that seemed to nearly hobble him with every step forward.

“He doesn’t mean it, Alexis. Don’t pay him any mind…”

The smirk quickly faded.

“I do.”

His voice was a deep baritone with very little play in it. His brow furrowed as he gazed upon the much smaller man who had taken it upon himself to stand up for the rest of his gym. His thick arms rested upon the top rope, with his back to the pads. His left leg hung out over the middle rope, his foot resting upon the apron while his right leg was bent at the knee, with his foot pressed against the bottom turnbuckle.

“I don’t fuckin’ care who the fuck you think you are, guy –“

Pressing out of the corner, he loomed over the man like a mountain, casting his shadow unapologetically across the ring.

“If you don’t care who I am, what makes you think that I care what you have to say?”

The man looked astonished. Despite his partner’s rather disheveled appearance, this man absolutely reeked of false bravado. He wore custom-tailored suit that was obviously at least two decades past its prime, still well kept. His wiry black hair was slacked back as far as humanly possible. He had large brown eyes that had narrowed to the point of near nonexistence as he glared at Alexis.

“Who da’ fuck do you – “

Stepping forward, Alexis placed his open hand upon the man’s throat. He applied no pressure, simply walking forward as the man seemingly stumbled backwards simply to avoid contact – this brought the smirk back to Alexis’ face.

“I think I the only reason you can pay your pills. I think I am the only reason that you can afford to look as greasy as you do.”

The man began to babble, looking for words but nothing but awkward noises fell out of his mouth and on the floor like sloppy piles of shit. All he could do was stumble backwards as Alexis continued to approach him.

“I think that you need to get some more talent in here. If you weren’t blowing the money I was giving you, you could afford better, couldn’t you?”

It was obviously rhetorical, as the answer was obvious. As they reached the ropes, the man staggered before slithering out of the ring and to the floor. Rather than respond, he simply turned around and walked away as fast as his stubby little legs could carry him, his partner following close behind.

“H-hire more guys.”

He finally yammered out as he went back into the office, slamming the door behind him. Alexis stepped away from the ropes, a tight smirk playing across his lips as he waited for the next bag of meat to enter the ring.

words

1,044

tags

#training #introduction

notes

Closed.