Lag 6.5 (Patreon)

Lag 6.5

– o – o – o – o – o – o – o –​

“There comes several times in a young person’s life when they have to make a decision. These decisions are important. These decisions are life-affirming. These decisions can and will make or break the adult you become later in life. These moments of choice are few, fleeting, and far too often, they go by unnoticed. However, I want you to trust me on this one; they are, without a doubt, sig-ni-fi-caaynt. Throughout the misadventures of your youth, you wi-Ramon!”

A bored-sounding voice replied back with a “Yessir?”

“Ramon, what on god’s green earth is your hand doing up. in. the. ayer?”

The Ramon being addressed - first name Axel - shrugged his shoulders as he leaned forward. "Uhh…" He leaned forward further, allowing his raised hand to fall as he shifted positions slightly from where he sat cross-legged on the cold gym floor among a small crowd of roughly sixty other students.  “Uhhh… cause I have a question?”

“Fine. Speak now or forever hold your peace.”

“...Okay?” Sparky let out a slight hum before continuing with his actual question, “Senor Wilkers, You’ve been talking for almost ten minutes now. What does any part of this speech have to do with dodgeball?”

Gordon Wilkers let out a loud huff, a pair of meaty hands coming to rest on his proportionally sized hips. "Five things, young man. Uno," he slapped his chest, the thick chest and belly under his white 'Winslow Warriors' T-Shirt jiggling slightly, "that is Coach Wilkers to you. I may have been the Spanish teacher, but with Coach Barker deciding to retire, I can now live my dream."

"... of being a gym coach?"

"Dos," he slapped his chest twice more, ignoring Sparky's follow-up, "If you can't see what my words have to do with it, you haven't been paying attention. Tres," three more quick slaps to his chest, "I am required to spend at least ten - count ‘em - ten! Minutes of every physical education class providing some sort of non-physical based education. Thank your school board for that one."

"That's dumb", spoke the student sitting right next to the aforementioned Ramon. "That's really dumb."

"Thank you, Veder, for saying the obvious and in-terr-up-ting me," Coach Willikers barked back at the amused face of the blond boy. "You never fail to be a credit to your hair color," the coach said with a roll of his eyes. "Anyway, cuatro," four guesses as to what repetitive action the large man did here, "I like imparting life lessons into impressionable young minds. Ain't that right, Gerold?"

"Yes, sir," A squat, beefy redhead sitting near the front replied back, looking for all the world like a miniature version of the coach. "Yes, it is."

Coach Wilkers nodded proudly and continued on with a grunt, as he held up a moderately-sized blue rubber ball for the whole class to see. "That's why we're here to play ball."

"Follow-up question," Greg chirped, leaning forward.

"De-nied."

Greg simply shrugged, an amused look still on his face as he leaned back on the cold gym floor.  Shooting his friend a glance, Sparky simply rolled his eyes at his friend and raised his hand again.’

"Ramon?"

"Follow-up question. Isn't dodgeball banned?"

"Very good question. You can blame your school board for that too. That is exactly why," the coach began slowly as if to build up tension, "We will be playing hitball. Entirely different ball, entirely different rules… which I will now explain to you."

Wilkers cleared his throat a moment later, before launching into an explanation of the rules that made up what he referred to as his "all-new, all-different" game which was not at all dodgeball, in no way at all.

"So, what's up with Wilkins?"

Greg let out the audible equivalent of a shrug, a single eyebrow raised as he glanced over at the coach and back again. "Honestly, I don't know. If you ask me, those shorts are a bit high and tight but what do I know about P.E. teacher fashion?"

“What?” Sparky froze, mouth open for a moment before his expression shifted from puzzlement to one of disgust. "No, brah… I mean, what's his attitude about? Man's been giving you the stinkeye since I walked in.”

“-e makeup of this ball, specifically the rubber compounds…”

"Oh, oh yeah, that." Greg clicked his teeth, mouth scrunched up in a way that made his expression hard to decipher. "Welllll, he might have asked me what I was 'on' and kinda got pissy when I said this was pure natty."

"Ohhhh," Sparky vocalized, tone making clear his realization. “He got mad ‘cause he thought you were lying to him.”

“I mean…” the blond in blue shorts pulled a face as he gave his friend a shrug. “I guess that might be technically it, but I’m pretty sure it’s ‘cause I wouldn’t share what I was using.”

“-p to five percent softer than the average dodgeball but with a greater tensile...”

“How do you figure?”

“Well, I did hear him call me a selfish little prick under his breath,” Greg answered back with a smile, “so, using my expert powers of deduction, I came to a conclusion.”

“Huh.”

“Yeah,” the blond agreed. “Two other dudes asked me the same thing this morning and I just don’t get why everybody thinks I’m doing ‘roids. I like my nuts the way they are, y’know?”

“Yeah, brah, I’m sure,” Sparky rolled his eyes again, “but if I had to guess, I’d prolly go with the fact that Mal’s been spreading that rumor for a while now.”

“What?” Greg hissed, albeit with no actual anger in his voice. “Wait, which Mal?”

His friend shot him a pointed look. “I dunno, Sherlock Bonehead, try the one who usually picks on you? The one we have a bunch of classes with? The one whose head you used to dent a locker?”

“Huh.”

“Yeah,” Sparky agreed.

After a moment of quiet thought, Greg made a simple announcement, low enough that even if anyone was listening, only he and Sparky would hear. “Imma kick his ass.”

“...” After letting out a tired sigh, Sparky raised his head and pushed aside his bangs to ask a simple question. “Fine, I’ll bite. Why?”

“To teach him a lesson.” After a moment, Greg hummed. “Also, just ‘cause.”

“Please don’t.”

“What?” Greg whined under his breath. “I’m just saying that Winslow would be a ton more fun if it was a shonen battle high school.”

“Yes,” Sparky replied in a monotone. “Wannabe Nazis, wannabe drug lords and wannabe Yakuza running around a shonen-level fighting school would be a great idea.”

“Exactly.”

At this, the blond craned his head, glancing back at the far corner of the gym where Mal sat with some of his friends. Sparky could only watch as the taller boy locked eyes with Greg, and in response, his friend slowly raised a middle finger toward his former bully as a greeting. Sparky wasn’t sure it was possible for a vein to be visible from so far away and yet...

Greg Veder let his mouth open wide into a grin, one that Sparky had been growing too familiar with for comfort over the last month and a half. “Well, now it’s up to him.”

“You know I really don’t get why you bother.” Sparky shook his head, a slight noise of disgust leaving his throat. “He can’t touch you but you still fuck with him anyway for shits and giggles.”

The other teen looked puzzled for a moment, grin returning almost an instant later. “...Well, you kinda do get it, then.”

A pair of amber eyes narrowed. “And you don’t think that’s bad?”

Greg met Sparky’s gaze, unwavering blue meeting slitted amber. “Well, I’m not the bad guy. I’m the hero,” he dropped his volume even lower, leaning forward as he whispered the two syllables. “I mean, I could do whatever I want to him and that still wouldn’t change.”

“... I don’t think that’s how that works, brah.”

Rather than answer, the blond just relaxed his grin into an amused smile, and after a moment or two, simply shrugged.

“Eh.”

A few long seconds of silence passed between the friends as they stared each other down, the quiet broken up only by the background muttering of their classmates and Coach Wilkin’s voice booming throughout the gym as he explained exactly how the new balls were much less likely to give them brain damage.

"You know, all things considered," Greg jabbed a thumb in the coach's direction, his mouth concealed by the back of his left hand, "I'm kinda getting a vibe for why Senor Wilkers got denied the P.E. job before. I mean..." The blond let himself trail off, tongue out and eyes crossed as he jabbed his index finger toward his temple and drew lazy circles in the air with it. "You get me?"

Sparky stifled a snort, his mild annoyance fighting to make itself known over the urge he was feeling to just let himself laugh and relax. "I’ve been saying that since last year, brah."

“-nd that’s how hitball works.”

“Wait, that sounds exactly like dodgeball, though!” Both Greg and Sparky snapped their attention back to the coach as another student yelled out his opposition to the large man’s proposed game.

“And to-may-to sounds like to-mah-to," Wilkers barked back. "What’s your point, young man?”

“That they’re the s-”

"Aaaand, that's ten minutes exactly. Grab your balls and let's get going!"

– o – o – o – o – o – o – o –​

It didn’t take long for Axel to remember exactly why he didn’t miss playing dodgeball. Hitball, he sarcastically reminded himself in his head. Entirely different games, he says.

Granted, it was a little more different than he expected. Considering they were divided into thirty teams of two and each person had to get hit three times to be considered out, the game had a bit more to it than a simple game of dodgeball.

“Jesus!”

Thing about it, though, was the fact it was pretty hard to remember that little tidbit about the naming structure of whatever the coach wanted to call the fucking game when he was stuck doing more fucking dodging than any actual hitting with said balls. Who actually enjoys this shit?

“Booo-frickin-ya!!!!”

Sparky groaned as his partner began gloating again, the yellow ball he had just caught in one hand raised high like a trophy. “You’re out, sucka! Hit the bleaches like the rest of the losers! My ball now!”

Before Sparky could even open his mouth to tell him to cut it out, Greg let out a grunt worthy of a tennis player - his way of faking effort in a throw - and tossed the banana-colored ball at one of the few teams nearest them.

“Aren’t you gonna brain anyone with a ball?” Sparky asked his friend. “Might make the class end quicker.”

“Wha-” Greg let out a bark of laughter, the blond tilting his head as a blue rubber ball sped past where his cranium just was, only to laugh again as he glanced back at Sparky. “Jesus, I almost thought you were for real.”

“Honestly,” Sparky continued, voice edged with irritation, “I’m debating it .”

“Well, if you were being a Serious Sparky, first, I’d say that murder is bad, mmmkay?”

The other boy raised an eyebrow. “Hasn’t stopped you before.”

“Un segundo, mi compadre,” Greg continued in badly accented Spanish, completely ignoring Sparky’s statement, “why would I wanna share the spotlight with anyone but my best bud? Look at us, we’re killing it out here!”

“You mean, you,” Sparky corrected with a roll of his eyes, doing his best to ignore the sweat dripping down his brow. “You’re killing it.”

“Splitting hairs.”

“Fuck your hair,” Sparky hissed as he held back a yelp from a ball that whizzed a bit too close to his head for comfort. He really couldn’t help but get annoyed looking at the blond next to him, his hair especially serving as a source of irritation.

The fucking thing isn’t even damp! Sparky groused. It was true, there was no denying that much just from looking at his partner. Greg's face was as dry as the moment he had changed for gym, and not a single drop of sweat could be seen on him. Fuckin' disgusting is what it is.

Oh, sure, he knew it wasn't fair or even fucking logical to actually be annoyed at Greg for his powers, but considering the fact that he was already annoyed at his friend for much more than that, Sparky didn't really see the point in letting this one go. Fuck! The boy in yellow shorts yanked himself out of his thoughts as he batted away a purple ball launched towards his chest using his own hitball, and threw himself to the side a moment later to avoid another one aimed center mass.

Jesu- He couldn't even get the thought out before he was forced to duck backward to avoid another ball, but even as he stepped forward to right himself, his eyes widened. One foot in front of the other was simple enough. Not so much when your legs were all twisted up trying to dodge a series of hard rubber balls. 

Shit! He bit back a grunt as he slammed onto the floor, palms out as he landed in a general approximation of a pushup position. Even as his palms stung and his arms strained from the impact, he only let out a quiet, disgruntled "...o-kay, then."

"You good, Ax?" 

Sparky glanced up at Greg's slightly worried-looking face staring back down at him and once again bit something back, this time the urge to reply sarcastically. It took even more willpower not to reply the same way a half-second later as Greg simply tilted his head out of the way of a ball aimed at the back of his skull - without even looking - just to catch it with the palm of one hand and toss it back without missing a beat.

All in one single motion that looked almost too fucking smooth to be possible.

To add insult to injury, he tossed a middle finger over his shoulder at the thrower, the person letting out a pained scream as the ball hit home.

Real subtle there. Sparky's eye twitched. "Yeah, fine."

"Good." His mouth quirked up into a smirk. "Now, get up. We're still in the game."

"We're still in the game," Sparky mocked under his breath. Almost thirty minutes into gym class and this asshole hasn’t even worked up a sweat. As Sparky rose to his feet, the teenager raised an arm to wipe the moisture from his own face. Whatever, least I didn't break my fucking nose or something. The thought came and left an instant before his eyes widened again, his hand coming away from his eyes just in time for him to catch sight of another red rubber ball.

This one rocketing right at his face. And of fucking course.

The hard sound of rubber and skin sounded off a scant moment later.

“The f-” Sparky could only blink in complete surprise as he stared at the back of the pale palm just inches from his face. Before he could even jump back in surprise, he watched as Greg Veder launched the ball back where it came from with more force than anything else he had let fly the entire class.

The red streak blurred across the gym on a seeking path toward it’s target, the one who had thrown it. All Sparky could do was let out a surprised bark of a laugh as the projectile hit home with full force, smashing into Mal Duncan’s shocked face the way only a properly thrown dodgeball could.

– o – o – o – o – o – o – o –​

The bottle blond stumbled back, hands clutching the front of his face, as a stream of blood made its way through his tightly clasped fingers. “FUCKKK!” A stream of less-intelligible profanities followed that one as he leaned back into the wall his group of fellow wannabe Nazis had formed behind him.

“Ouchie ouch, my hand.” Greg Veder shook his fingers as he took a few steps closer to the bleeding Empire junior, the shorter teen letting out a slight groan of pain that rang false to anyone paying close attention. “Man, I bet that’s gonna cramp up later.”

He glanced up at Mal, head tilted to the side, and let his hand fall to his side as he grinned at the furiously bleeding teenager trying to bite down his very real pain. “But your nose, though… What is that now? Twice in four hours that I smashed it?”

“I swear to God, Veder!” is what Mal tried to say but with his hands clutching his nose, it could really have been anyone’s guess, honestly.

Fortunately, Greg guessed correctly.

“I have to wonder if God would ever answer Nazi prayers, y’know considering you all share some very differing ideas on the Jews.” His grin grew, Greg shooting the larger boy a look that screamed ‘I'm not taking this seriously’, because of course he wasn't. The super-powered sophomore was doing his best to pull back on every hit, though, while at the same time trying hard to make every swing look like it actually took effort. It's way more of a struggle, Greg groused to himself. All this acting like I'm normal.

Granted, he had the 'roids excuse to fall back on at least. Who knows how long that one's gonna last, though? Greg caught a swing from Mal and struck back, his knuckles making contact with the junior's upper torso.

“Although, I'm pretty sure the Big Guy killed a ton of Jews one way or another, so maybe he would. It’d be a sick world if God was a Nazi but y’know, kinda funny, right?”

The last syllable was punctuated with the sound of an unyielding fist on flesh and the sound of rattling metal as Greg deftly avoided Malcolm's blind swing and retaliated with one more quick jab to his former bully’s stomach.

It wasn't much, really, but it did the job.

Mal’s back slammed into the chain link fence, grunting loudly as he made impact with his friends not there in time to keep him upright. The bottle blond hunched over with a hand on his chest as he tried his best to rise to his feet, making noises that made him sound more like a rather pissed-off zombie than anything else.

“Jeez, Mal, you gotta be in a lot of pain right now. If I was you, I’d quit while I was… behind? Conscious? Breathing?” Greg let out another laugh before pausing after a second or so. Eyebrow  raised, he glanced around the gathered mob of students crowding the alley, all of them here to watch the fight. Not a single one of them were even so much as snickering at his attempt at a joke. Well, I thought it was funny, at least.

He fought the urge to frown, mood picking up again as he glanced down at Mal. “Whatever, anyway, just give up, man. You gotta be feeling this ass-kicking in your bones by now.”

Malcolm raised his head from his position on the ground to shoot the shorter boy a look filled with equal parts pain and rage, Greg smiling at Mal as if daring him to try something. “I don’t feel shit!”

“Ooh, Zen Bullyism. Nice.”

“Kick her in the balls!”

Greg grinned. “You hear that? That’s my boyfriend hyping me up. It’s the sound of sweet, sweet bromance... uninhibited by racial boundaries, of course.”

“Gaaaaaay!”

“Love you too, Sparkplug.”

Both the bully’s hands dropped to his sides, fingers tightening into fists as knuckles cracked menacingly and for a few seconds of hateful glaring, the Empire wannabe appeared to be on the verge of action. “H-how?”

“How am I kicking your ass?” Greg shrugged. “Practice? Luck? Expensive Tinker steroids?” He said the last part in a low voice and a playful wink in Mal’s direction. “All of the above?

“I swear…” Mal bit out through gritted teeth as he stood back up straight, shaking his head as if to push away the pain through that physical action.

“What was that?” Greg mocked, surveying his bloodied hand as if he just received a fresh manicure. “Seriously, it all sounds like trombone noises to me every time you open your mouth.”

“I'm… I… You...”

“I-I-I-Ay-yi-yi, spit it out,” Greg interrupted with a snort. “I don’t got all day. What is it?”

After a few moments of struggling to get the words out, Mal stilled. “You're gonna pay.”

He blinked. “No, seriously… what?”

“I said…”

“No…” Greg rolled his eyes, letting out a laughing scoff as he did so. “I heard you but I can't believe you're saying that again.” He shook his head, one hand rubbing his nose as he stared back at the bottle blond with quickly dimming interest. “Like... Mal, you keep telling me I'm gonna pay but I'm still the one kicking your ass for free.”

With a roll of his eyes, he turned his back on the junior and with a nod to Sparky, the two friends began walking away, the crowd of students, Empire and not, parted to give way to Greg.

Before he fully left the semi-circle, Malcolm shakily got to his feet, shoulders trembling even in their hunched position. “I’ll kill you, shithead! Don't… don't you turn your fucking back on me, Veder!”

Greg let out a loud sigh and paused in place to glance over his shoulder. He stared at the other teenager with a look of literal boredom for a few seconds, his smile vacant. “Oh my god, I kinda already did, dude. If you're gonna say something, say it already. This literally isn’t even fun anymore.”

“I said,” Mal bit out with renewed anger as he reared up again, almost snarling his words like some animal, “you're gonna fucking pay for this, Veder.”

His shout echoed throughout the alley, the gathered students suddenly quieting as they took in the threat along with the almost insane look that Malcolm fixed Greg with.

As if unable to read the sudden change in mood, Greg laughed again at the top of his lungs, almost bending over to match the taller boy's position from before until he just… stopped. Without reason or justification, the near hysterical laughter ceased and Greg’s expression blanked.

To the further confusion of everyone around him, the natural blond suddenly took a few steps back and glanced upwards, a knowing look crossing his face before he closed his eyes a moment later and let out a low whistle.

Quest Gained

Asserting Dominance II

Mal Duncan refuses to stand down despite knowing that he can’t actually beat you. His pride as a man and an Empire member is on the line here. Make him regret having both.

Objectives

- Make him regret talking shit [ ]

Rewards: 1000 XP

– – – – – – – –​ – – – – – – – –​

– – – – – – – – ​– – – – – – – –​

When Greg opened his eyes again, something felt undeniably different. Whether it was the air or the ground under his feet, Axel Ramon didn't know. As an odd feeling of nervousness crept down his back, all he knew was that he didn't like whatever it was. From Mal’s expression, the older boy definitely didn’t.

“What? You're gonna kill me?” Greg Veder glanced at the Empire junior with narrowed eyes and a smile that looked more than a little eager, his gaze so focused on his target that Sparky could have sworn that his friend didn't even notice the crowd’s sudden burst of whispers at his threat. “You’re gonna put me in the hospital?”

Regardless of that, Sparky was sure that Greg had to notice their reaction as the next four words left his mouth and the back alley exploded with noise, the audience finally getting over their surprise at the upset to actually cheer for the first time.

“You and what army?”

As if taking Greg’s words as cue, several more Empire wannabes and newbies stepped forward to square up around Malcolm, looking ready and determined to make the cocky sophomore eat his words.

Greg spared Mal a grin, his body language shifting in a way that left Sparky wondering who he was looking at. The slope of his shoulders, the graceful stance, the too-wide smile…

It all contrasted rather shockingly with the smile on Greg's face, an expression that looked more like a kid at a birthday party than anything else.

Sparky somehow felt that made it worse.

“Bring it.”