Post by Saito Kito on Jul 1, 2014 11:32:39 GMT -5
"Four hundred thirty-five... Four hundred thirty-six... Four hundred thirty-seven..." Saito counted to himself in thought as his bench pressed a nearby statue, lifting it up off of his chest with each count. He had worked up a bit of a sweat, and felt a distinct soreness in his arms... But it was downright boring. He threw the rock upward, sending it crashing to the ground before sitting up, stretching out his biceps a little. He had lately gotten into the habit of working out his physical strength with simple exercises, but it just wasn't enjoyable any more. Not only did the tallest statue in the area offer little challenge, but it took almost thirty minutes of lifting before he even felt the effect. The destroyed dojo offered very little in the way of training in new and exciting ways. Perhaps he could have gone out and spent a little more time cleaning and organizing the cluster of destruction that was inside of the dojo walls, but what good would that do. His own weights were tugging against his arms giving at least a little resistance against the fifty pound statue he had been fondling for the last hour.
Kit thought back on the different students he'd beaten in the past. Most of them were students that stood alongside his father or eldest brother. They too provided very little challenge when it came to training. Really leaving the compound had only caused kit to lose what little equipment he had been entitled to. There was still nothing to do, and still no one but his brother Ethan to fight. Taking a short walk across the still muddied garden, Kit investigated their water catcher. The basket had been placed on the ground elevated just enough to avoid the mud. Caught inside was fresh rain water, probably the most refreshing thing in the hell they were living in. As he knelt down to get a drink of fresh water from the catcher, he wondered what kind of training those students were going through in order to build up their bodies. Besides having exercise partners, there was only one thing Kit could think of: proper training equipment. If he could get his hands on some equipment, he was sure that his physical strength would see a vast improvement in a short period of time. It was time to inquire about some of the basics. He had his own weight set which was nice, but he needed something a little more to add to it. He needed top of the line equipment, and yet he couldn’t afford it. He had already nixed his own bank account by purchasing the weights that were so ridiculously clamped to his wrists and ankles. Perhaps just browsing wouldn’t hurt. Ethan was out on the town looking for home improvements, so it was the perfect time to leave as well.
After several hours of walking, a low rumbling noise that he soon recognized to be the sound of motorcycles. The motorcycle was clearly a preferred method of travel for most individuals as it seemed to be everywhere. It was loud and unpleasant to the sense of hearing, however something about them drew Kit in. Perhaps it was his inner male coming out, but as the group drew near he couldn’t help but stop to watch them drive by, their tires spewing dust from the road into the air. Saito didn't know what cities or towns were connected by the long road, but the group of bikers certainly seemed to be traveling with a purpose. The one up front slowed down as he passed Kit, looking up at the tall man with an expression of intrigue, suddenly pulling his bike off the dirt road and parking it in the grass. The rest of the group followed, stopping their cycles to get a look at the shirtless blond man.
“Hey”
The first one, and what kit assumed to be the alpha of the group, yelled over the sound of the revving engines finally calming as the remaining bikers parked next to him. The man was larger than Kit which was no easy feat. His beard was rather impressive as well, falling below his breasts, which were also rather large given the man’s obese features. Perhaps someone untrained in martial arts would find the man intimidating, Kit however just thought he was a fun loving motor cycle enthusiast seeking directions. He was not.
“What’s that sack you got there boy”
Boy? He was hardly a child. The man was twenty six years old and he looked it. His own goatee wrapped perfectly around his chin, and his thick eyebrows began to show the caustic sign of mistrust as the fat man continued to speak. The sack he referred to was in fact his bag of Zeni. It wasn’t very much, but neither Kit –who had limited understanding of currency- nor the fat biker knew that. Kit, who was not about to be stolen from, retorted as respectfully as he could.
“You should continue along your path sir. I have nothing for you”
The other bikes laughed as their leader dismounted, rather comically stumbling once off the metal horse. While it was obvious the man was trying to intimidate Kit by swaggering over, he was anything but intimidating. His jelly rolls bounced in the glistening sunlight as he waddled, much like a mallard, over to Kit who had to fight the urge to roll his eyes as he now realized that the man was also shorter than him. The bike had been large enough to exhibit height that literally wasn’t there. The man couldn’t have been more than 5’5 and stood easily a foot shorter than Kit. The man began speaking, the fat in his neck and face giving a distinct nasally grunt as he formed words. The gist of his rambling was demanding the money or harm would come to Kit. The dialogue was unimportant, as Kit had never been robbed, nor would he accept it so easily.
“Oh a wager? Acceptable. You say we fight for the undetermined amount of zeni on my person. With all that vibrato I assume you want combat which I will oblige you. Now what shall my prize for victory be…”
A chance to turn this robbery into a profit. But what did these men have that he wanted? Their leather jackets looked ridiculous and frankly wreaked. As did the rest of their clothing. They clearly had no training equipment, and if they were assaulting Kit over a measly amount of money they couldn’t have been able to match his prize. Then the rumble in his heart set fire once more. He would wager for a motorcycle.
“Once of my bikes!? No fucking way…er I mean…well you can’t win anyway! Fine, but we don’t play by no rules so I hope you have some backup”
The other bikers began to dismount, a clear indicator that they would not be fighting one on one. Fine, Kit didn’t need the sympathy that could be provided by a degenerate idiot such as the fat man in front of him. There must have been at least eight of them, and they too were not limited by their appearance. Ugly as sin and armed to the teeth with chains and blades, the bikers stepped forward. Now of course these men assumed that they had intimidated the money right out of Kit’s pocket. They could not have been more wrong. When the fat biker sarcastically said the word, go, Kit went. Taking a swift right jab to the stomach, the fat biker fell backwards, completely incapacitated for a few seconds. Rolling onto his stomach and comically dry heaving into the dirt, the other seven thugs took a more offensive stance.
After dodging for several seconds and undoubtedly pissing off some of the Bikers, Kit took a commanding swing to his left, sending a man flying into his own bike. He followed up with a swift upward kick, punting another man into his team mate. Suddenly Kit recognized his own mistake. His leg came down much slower than he was used to as the weights attached to his leg made their presence known. He could have just dropped his leg, which would have been quick, but not worth losing his balance. As he methodically planned his next attack, his leg was latched by one of the thug’s chains, pulling it down to the ground and knocking Kit off his balance. The other bikers began kicking, being that was the most effective strategy they hand. Kit was on the ground with his leg grappled, and as he attempted to stand he found himself on the move, and quickly. The revving sound of a very familiar bike hit his ears and suddenly he realized what the chain was for. Before he could comprehend what was happening, his body was being drug across the rocky ground. His arms began to scrape as the rocks which had previously been nothing more than steps on the road, had become a painful weapon of which Kit was being scourged.
Trying to grab hold of something, anything, Kit found his fingers too beginning to bleed from the ground. His body was now in a jumping phase where he would hit the ground, fly two feet into the air, and then hit the ground again. The laughter of men chasing behind them was barely audible over the roaring engine of the bike. Kit knew he wouldn’t survive for long under these conditions, and so with all of his might he used an up spike to fly a little higher so that while in the air he could grab hold of the chain latching his leg. His first thought was to untangle himself, but after only five seconds of trying that plan seemed impossible. Now sliding on his back, he found himself in an odd position with both arms grabbing the chain, and his ass taking the brunt of the drop. It was time for brute force to do the job. Pulling with both arms on the chain he not only removed himself from the bike, but removed the back exhaust pipes that hand been attached to it. This did not stop Kit’s current momentum which caused him to skid several feet to his right before finally rolling into the cool grass. His body was sore, and red from the scratches. There were small trickles of blood randomly splotched across his body, as if he had nicked himself shaving in about a hundred places. They weren’t as bad as the pain in his leg. It was probably a sprain.
Shakily rising to his feet, he found that the bike had actually been making donuts with him. His ability to sense direction while being dragged by a bike was not as good as it could be. The two remaining bikers were not surprisingly shocked by what they had witnessed and slowly began to back towards their respective bikes. Kit hobbled over to the fat biker, who was still doubled over in pain from the initial punch. Kit bent over and began to dig through the bikers pockets until he came across the key to his motorcycle. With a short dry couch Kit choked out the words...
“I believe this is mine now”
...And without a minute to spare took off. While he hardly had any knowledge of how to ride a motorcycle, it wouldn’t stop him from trying, and by the time he made it back to the dojo he could speed up to almost forty miles per hour without crashing. It had been a productive day of training, driving lessons, and pain, lots of pain.
“Ethan! Where did we put the first aid kit?”