Post by Mitch 'The Broken' Heart on Aug 21, 2020 19:14:19 GMT -5
Mutual Respect Through Bloodshed
OOC: This fantastic collab is courtesy of the also fabulous Lab Rat King. This takes place almost directly after 'Emergency Contact', but you won't be lost if you read this one first 
Enjoy!
Enjoy!The motorcycle roared down the streets of Baltimore. Its rider was absent his usual leather jacket, as it’d been torn to shreds the night prior. His body was bandaged and bruised, one length of it wrapped around his forehead, covering a slight lump. He probably shouldn’t be riding in his condition, but there was nothing else for it. It was his only way home, and he didn’t want to delay going back there any longer than he had to.
Still, there was one more thing he had to do before he headed back to Detroit. Pulling into the parking lot of a building that seemed to resemble a converted warehouse, Mitch Heart parked and walked inside.
The building was empty, everyone probably home recovering from the explosive night prior. But that was fine- it just meant less interruptions. Turning down the winding halls, he found himself in the locker room corridor. Which one he was looking for, though, he wasn’t sure.
“Hey, King! Where are you?”
He kept alert, not knowing if he’d be greeted with words or a hulking mass of humanity bursting from one of the doors and charging at him. The man who’d become his rival was nothing if not unpredictable.
Mitch was lucky this time; apparently the toll had come down heavily as well on the Lab Rat King, who was simply so exhausted by the previous bout that he didn’t have the energy to get a jump on his new favourite combattant. As Heart approached the door, he could see the hulking mass of a mutant sitting on the locker room bench, his hair still damp from a recent shower, replacing the bandages on the wounds he could reach.
King was already looking at the doorframe; apparently he’d heard the approach. When he met Mitch’s eyes he nodded, rumbling low in his throat as he returned to taping up the back of his elbow. It had taken a rather brutal scrape behind the motorcycle during the match, and while it wasn’t bleeding it certainly looked raw.
“Heart-pounder.” his raspy voice broke the stillness of the room; his muzzle had been set aside, resting on the wooden panel bench a ways to his left.
“On his feet despite the slaughtering. Hnh. Expected from a beast like you.”
“Heh. Could say the same for you. They say I probably shouldn’t drive, but it can’t be helped. I gotta get home after this. You concussed me, you magnificent son of a bitch.”
He grinned a bit in spite of himself, gesturing to the bandaged bump on his head. Hoofing out a sigh, he leaned in the doorframe, giving the gargantuan brawler ample space, both out of courtesy and caution. He wasn’t afraid of King, but he didn’t want to be beaten up when he had an eight hour motorcycle ride ahead of him.
“That’s actually what I wanted to talk to you about. Something that happened during the match. I can’t believe I’m asking this to a guy who looks like he could get hit by a fucking Mack truck without a scratch, but…”
He reached up, scratching the back of his head a bit.
“...are you okay?”
King’s low, rough chuckle carried through the locker room, amused by the turn of phrase; it dissolved gradually, the crooked smirk slipping from his face following Heart’s inquiry. It didn’t escape him that this was the second moment in a very short period of time that someone had asked him a question like that. It was the type of question he wasn’t entirely sure how to answer.
He stared for a long moment with bloodshot eyes, their light brown colour darkened to a ruddy oak in the low light. From the knot in his brow, it was clear that he was thinking, taking the time he needed to translate himself. It was never a simple or quick process. He looks off suddenly as if hearing a sound somewhere else, lips parting on a breath, then looks back to Mitch with his head cocked.
“You had it on your hands. Thick and viscous and dark and it made you question what happened to the Rat… what poisons turned his insides to ichor.”
“Yeah, that’s pretty much it, actually. I’ve been in a lot of fights in my life, King. I mean, a lot of fights. I’ve had my share of blood on my hands, mine and other people’s, and I’ve never once seen anybody’s blood be, like… the consistency of half set Jello.”
If he found King’s manner of speech difficult to understand, he didn’t show it. He didn’t even pause to try to decipher it. His own brows were furrowed, though not in thought- in concern.
“Look, I ain’t here to pity you. That’d be the stupidest thing. Weird as it sounds I had fun last night. I feel… fighting you, I don’t feel like I’m just living, struggling against something I’ll never get out of. I feel alive, and it’s weird. But if there’s something wrong with you? Something you need help with?”
He raised his hands, only to drop them to the sides again.
“I ain't got much. I can’t do much. But if there’s anything I can, I want to. You’ve been through shit, I could see that before I even made you bleed.”
King exhaled through his nose, those eyes trained steadily on Mitch. He was quiet for another moment, except for a low, raspy sound in his throat that sounded vaguely like ‘not now’.
The mutant continued wrapping up his elbow, securing the bandage one-handed, like he’d done it a dozen times.
“Heart-pounder… you have already granted me such a glorious gift,” he growled, giving the bandage a firm tug. “The violence in you churns my soul, changes the breath in me from surviving to thriving. A conversation I’ve been craving. You met me not as a monster but a monstrous man. So few are willing without walking away. Or… running… Henhh.”
He grinned briefly, but it fades, leaning forward to rest his forearms on his broad thighs.
“We can’t talk about the details while the Little Man is listening. Have to keep him safe from the memories. But this corpse is still kicking, maybe better than you believe.”
He stood up, tossing his head a bit toward his back as he half-turned around. Shockingly, Mitch could see that the brutal gashes torn into his flesh by the rake during the match appeared as though they’d been healing for a week, not a day. The thick, syrupy blood had congealed fast, leaving behind glossy, angry red lines.
King looked over his shoulder, fingers curling into his palms.
“Don’t dial the doctor, Heart-pounder. If they take their tests and file their findings, then much worse things might find me here. And I would rather feel the fight in you again.”
“Okay. I get it. I probably wouldn’t have gone to the hospital myself if I had a choice in the matter. I just kinda woke up there so I guess someone thought it was a good idea.”
He snorted a bit, shrugging. He didn’t get everything- who was Little Man, it seemed like they were alone here, but he decided that it was probably a good idea not to press the issue right now- but he got a lot.
“Yeah. That’s what I was saying too. So I guess what I should say is that I’m sorry for the reasons I started all this between us. But I’m not sorry I started it. Long as you want to fight me, I’ll fight back. I expect the same of you. But I also expect that if there ever is anything I can do for you, tell me. Even a top shelf ass kicker like you couldn’t hurt to have a dude watching your back if necessary.”
It was kind of silly to feel at the same time protective of someone he’d just beaten the tar out of and eager to fight him again, but Mitch never claimed that anything he thought or felt made sense.
So far as King was concerned, feeling and intent mattered a hell of a lot more than sense.
Turning to face Mitch again, the mutant nodded with a crooked smirk. “When the time for words comes again after the time for blows, we will offer them up with a will.”
He blinked, pausing a moment, staring off just to the side. After a brief pause he nodded again, a rough chuckle in his throat. He offered a hand to shake, heavy and calloused but for once, not closed.
“Heart-pounder earned my respect in the cage… expect these jaws will come to your defense when you call. Your reason for your rampage is something real… we can feel it.”
“Same. Maybe I’ll tell you what that reason is one day. Maybe you’ll tell me what yours is. But till then, that don’t matter. For a monster, I’ve met way worse scumbags in my life.”
He shook the offered hand, grip hard and firm.
“You got a phone? I’m gonna be heading home but you can call me if you need me.”
As he allowed his hand to return to his side, King hummed an affirmative, and then began patting down the fatigues he was wearing. That was something he’d acquired while spending time with Leon. He found the phone in his back pocket, offering it to Mitch with a soft grunt.
“From the Tarot Terror.”
“Sil gave you this, huh? Ain’t surprised, he’s a good kid.”
Fiddling with the phone a bit, he got his number entered and set as a contact, handing it back after.
“I’m serious, man. Take care of yourself. I don’t want nothing bad happening to you but me.”
Grinning, he gave the Rat a wink and a smirk before turning, headed out the way he came.
As Mitch made his way back out into the corridor to retrieve his bike, he could hear the Lab Rat respond with one more low, raspy laugh.