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Afro Samurai
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Like a Raisin in the Sun
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Don't leave me, baby! Middle of winter, I'm freezin' baby! - It's cold, and Gucci Mane lyrics work for most any context when slightly edited.
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Oshea Jackson
"Predator, prey--ain't no real difference when they both locked in a cage."
Location: Xavier's Mansion
A feeling always crept over him when he felt he was being watched. Most of the time it was just his paranoia, but he grew up around predators who knew how to thrive in broad daylight, those who stalked city streets with the most evil intentions dressed in modern lingo and deed: hustlers, boosters, drug dealers, pimps. The skin of Man and the skin of beast blend together too well. He approached the group with a steady pace, only to be swarmed by the same sensation as before; it grew stronger with each step until he saw whose eyes had been stalking him the whole time. Either Ayita was truly apex or he was beginning to lose his mind; how could he hardly manage to spot her though she was right in front of him? Maybe he was beginning to a step in more ways than he imagined before.
His thoughts tensed as he drew closer to the shifter; it didn't take him long to see what was present in her eyes--the Hunt. She was stalking him! It was no literal stalking of course, in his present state she could surely capture him if she wished; this was to be a strategic exchange. Oshea knew he could make no erroneous moves here and each word he chose had to be the right ones, or she would shut him out completely--and frankly, he was tired of everyone avoiding him for whatever reason. If all of Oshea's dalliance in books of war taught him anything, it was this: in dealing with the quietest of friends--or enemies--it was best to invite them in. The prey can lure the predator if it makes itself appear weak. He was excited, perhaps too excited, to engage in this game of tug-of-war he had been constructing in his mind.
How am I gone start? She look like she's starin' into my damn soul, bro.
"Start with the weather", his conscious replied to itself.
Lame shit. Need something she might be interested in.
"She hates everybody, son. She prolly ain't even got no interests." his conscious retorted once more,
You wildin', I got this; got suhn perfect.
"Ayita! Aye! You know, I never got to say thanks for savin' me an' all that. The wolf thing was nice, you know? You did real good out there--better than me, shit. Hah!"
Too light? Maybe too light. Try for somethin' more direct next time. Don't seem like she enjoy small talk.
Posting tonight.
@RiDaku Tell yourself to come get this smoke.
@Doc Doctor Tell RiDaku to come get this smoke.
December 4th, 2019
In the days followin his skirmish with the mob, the transformation had reached its pinnacle. He was faster, stronger, agile, more energized, and taller than ever. Not only that, but he felt. . . smarter? Using Uncle Red's sorrowfully outdated Dell computer, Marvin began researching what exactly had caused this steady change in his body: he yielded no results, but he would continue his search another time. For now,
"Time'na get back to it." Uncle Red called,
Marvin swept sweat from his forehead with the white towel wrapped around his neck. He returned to the heavybag which lay on its side and returned to practicing his transitions; top mount into sideguard, sideguard into north-south, back into sideguard, and finally sideguard into back mount. From back mount he reigned hammerfists on the cushion of the bag--thunderous pops echoed throughout the gym, blows so powerful they sounded like gunshots. He wrapped his arms around his would be opponent's neck and flipped him into a seamless rear-naked choke.
"Good, boy, good. You gettin' the hang of this thang, 'uh?" Gaines quothed,
"Yeah, unc'," Marvin sucked in as much oxygen as possible between speaking, "shit still kickin' my ass though. You sure know how to make a man ti'ed." Marvin chuckled, Red as well.
"Look, bo', we gon' finish up here then you gon' tell me what's on ya mind."
"Ain't nothin' on my mind!" Marvin objected, Red shot back stern disbelief.
Marvin knew said look all too well, in all these years, he could never get a lie past old Archie Gaines. He kissed his teeth, still objecting. Nonetheless, he obliged and Archie went to grab the mitts typically used for testing Marvin's punching accuracy and speed. He assumed the clinch, interlocking both sets of fingers and wrapping his hands around the base of Archie' neck; he pulled down lightly and began to rain soft knees into the mits. He alternated for two reps before he transitioned guard and wrapped the crook of his left arm around Archie's upper arm while keeping his right hand around Archie's neck and twisted him around. From the single collar tie overhook, he initiated a single leg trip and softly guided Gaines to the mat below.
Once Gaines got up, they reset position; this time, Marvin tossed a jab-hook combination into both mits and as Gaines twisted his body and placed the mit near his left oblique, Marvin threw a turning left kick. There was enough power to stumble Uncle Red sideways, his disposition spun foul.
"Bo', hell wrong witcha?"
Hayes went silent for a moment before speaking up,
"Just a lot on my mind, Unc'. Worried and shit, you know? They ain't just comin' for me. They'll come for everybody I know."
Silence clenched the surrounding air.
Archie gleaned the deteriorating walls which barely held up the interior of the smoky old gym. There were memories for him here; he raised his children here, taught kids the meaning of hard work, ambition, respect. The gym had been a staple of this small Nevada neighborhood for more than 20 years; moving on was never something he considered. Not at 55.
"Y', guess so, . . . I guess it's 'bout time to give this ole trap up enway." he grinned before glancing around again, "what to do 'bout all this stuff, thou'?"
"I'll take it. I could do some good wit' it."
"Yeah? Well, I guess it's yours nah. Take care of it, an' be careful, it done been through a lot."
Marvin game gave another smile, "What about you? What chu gonna do? You ain' seen much of the world outside this raggedy ass gym." Marvin chuckled a little,
"That's what you think, nigga. I been savin' every penny I got from this place since 1990; secretly went and bought me a boat. Might find me a nice li'l thang and hit the seas, shiiit--Bangkok, Venezuela, Paris, London.Hahaha! I might be old, but I ain't dead yet!" Archie mused. Out gym back was his grey Toyota truck. The two stepped into the alley which lead to the gym and Archie handed him the keys to the establishment.
"You be safe out here boy, look after yoself. Call me if you need anything ya hea'?"
"Yeah, Unc', I hear you." The two hugged. Gaines got in his car and with a final nod of his head, rode off to begin a new life.
Marvin stood alone, ready to begin a new life of his own. The mob was soon to come for him full force, and he would be ready.
Oshea Jackson
"Gotta enjoy life and appreciate rest, we mutants don't get much of it these days."
Location: Xavier's Mansion, Courtyard
He had heard through the grapevine he would be rooming with Quicksilver. Quicksilver, of all people! Who mandated this buffoonery? Did Professor X secretly hate him? Put me with the fool who snapped my damn leg in half, yeah, real smart. There was some sense of irony in all of it, though; maybe this was the world's way of telling him that he should see his 'enemies' as friends. They were mutants, moreover, and the world hated them both equally. It made them brothers; no, too strong--unintentional acquaintances. They did have similar personality traits, after all. As he laced up his Nikes to prepare for his daily run, he couldn't help but get lost in his thoughts again; the zipping pain from his healing leg fell to the back of his mind.
They really must think I'm some type'a fool out here. What, just 'cause nobody talks to me they think it's fun to mock me? Put the two speedsters together, it will be fun to see them rip each other's throats out. We all hate Oshea, yaaaaaaay!
Obviously this was not the case, he just had a habit of over-reacting. Things were always much bigger in his mind than in real life, he concocted elaborate schemes he thought would work because of their unorthodox--and this was usually the reason he ended up worse off than necessary. Just like the time he tried to rob another kid for his lunch money with a slingshot and got jumped. Flashbacks of getting stomped out still gave him headaches to this day. Part of him did wonder if the universe was plotting against him, though.
He supposed he could be in a much worse position. Allison's words lingered in his mind as well,
You compared me to the rook, but I wonder if I’m just a pawn. Something without much use other than to be there and be sacrificed. I mean, everyone at the plant seemed to be doing something useful, whereas I just kind of...was there. Other than gaining a new power, I didn’t do much.”
For all of his rehabilitation, and all of this waiting, he was also beginning to feel boxed in. He knew vaguely that Magneto was plotting something more devious than the world had ever seen and he didn't know how much help he would be in the grand scheme of everything. This ragtag team of young X-Men he called his compatriots were spirited, compassionate, and ready to save everyone they could; they had even gained some field experience together. But with all of their improvement as a unit, Magneto was pulling something together that was far more complicated than simple moves in a chess game. People were not chess pieces, and one could not merely undo the loss of thousands of lives--if it ever came to that.
He began his jog. It was a slow and steady pace from the Courtyard all the way around the school grounds. Word was there were some new X-Men around, another of the Reeds; the S.H.I.E.L.D. agents were here to stay, and there was even a new teacher. He wondered how the rest of his teammates were feeling, Ayita in particular. Of those who generally avoided him because of his impulsive ways or his excessive energy, she was the one who tended to avoid people in general. That and Oshea always found her shapeshifting excited a primitive and boyish reverence for nature that he otherwise only expressed in his art. Like it or not, Oshea would make a point in the upcoming days to break that shell she had.
He kept a healthy pace, and stopped within the space of five minute intervals to ease the pressure on his healing leg. He wondered where everyone was, did no one like studying outside anymore? It was then that he saw Damon, Ayita, and Carolina who appeared to be in some sort of awkward conundrum foreign even to Oshea; this was, of course, something he enjoyed and figured he would make his way over.
I'm still around; I had a character idea for this but never got around to working on him. I might have him up in the next few days.
November 30th, 2019, 7:30 p.m.
Marvin scooped a forkful of fluffed eggs into his mouth, his other hand drenched his shortstack buttermilk pancakes with diabetes inducing amounts of syrup. At the counter, Elanor, a stout Welsh woman whose hair had long greyed and was beginning to thin out. She donned an apron smeared with ingredients which had long become unidentifiable. As usual, the inside of the diner smelled of cigarette smoke--the widower of three years had picked up the habit in the event of the death of her husband, Vinny, who was the owner of the restaurant for well over thirty years. If one were being gracious, he would remark that Vinny's had seen kinder days, Vinny was obsessive about keeping the place clean; Elanor, not so much. Marvin helped where he could, during downtimes in training camp or when he was on vacation he often stopped by and helped mop, sweep, wash the windows, whatever was needed. It was in this small diner where Marvin watched his first boxing match on Vinny's old black and white television which sat above the ever decaying refrigerator where Vinny used to keep ice cream and popsicles for the kids of the neighborhood.
"I saw your little match there." Elanor boasted, smoke plumed after her grizzled exclaim.
"Yeah? You seen how I dropped 'im?" Marvin added in play.
"Hook still needs a little work. You know how Vin' used to say--"
"If you're gonna hit the fella, make sure he remembers it when he's dreamin' too!" both joyed in unison with a laugh.
Marvin sawed a healthy piece of pancake from its comrades and gave it a new home in his mouth. Succulent processed syrup helped the thick breakfast food swim efficiently to its death down his esophagus. Elanor enjoyed another toke from her cigarette before he ashed its remains; her silver eyes danced over Marvin's heightening afro and to the garrison of black vans arriving outside. Their headlights were rather bright considering it was nowhere close to the dead of night. Once they shut off, Elanor spoke again,
"Popular place tonight! We haven't had these many people 'round here since '99." Elanor chuckled. Her mood switched near as quick.
"I take it these ain't no friends of yours, honey?" there was the cock of a shotgun.
Growing up in a city where the mob reigned supreme for nearly five decades, everybody had to be tough, no matter what their vocation was. Forklift driver, schoolteacher, boxer, 60 year old widow shop owner. Everyone had to be alert, too, but at some point the citizens of Las Vegas had grown tired of 'being aware' all the time, and once the FBI cracked down on the mob in the eighties and the big money from the casinos had all but gone, the mob had virtually disappeared. So did the people they used to intimidate, if not by nefarious means then by their own volition; no one wanted to stick around to wallow if the mob so happened to regain the power they once had over Sin City. In the wake of the great flight, Vegas became little more than a glorified tourist attraction; those who remained were leftovers from a hardened generation of blue collar men and women who were afraid of no one, no matter who they were.
"These days, Miss Elanor, I don't got many friends, no." Marvin sighed.
"You know this is gonna get messy, right?" There was almost a glow of excitement on Marvin's face. He hadn't been in a real street fight since he almost got locked up for hitting Darrell Cartwright with a wrench when he was 15.
"I've always been good at cleaning up messes, honey. Take it around back, I'll be ready."
The men began to exit the vehicle. Ironic enough, they weren't dressed in more concealing clothes; colorful Polo and Hawaiian shirts splintered the more "flamboyant" members from the "quiet" ones. Each had hands covered with black gloves, and each had a unique weapon of choice: crowbar, metal bat, hammer, 2x4, switchblade. The most average sized man of the group lead the procession toward the glass door where the "Open" sign hung. He shifted the door open and stepped inside, along with six others. Marvin examined each with calculated fire.
Smallest one, switchblade. He's probably the quickest; uppercut works best. Lighter mass carries.
Two of 'em my size, body shots. Weave, try and disarm them. They probably will catch my ass eventually.
One tall, lanky. Not much power, lot of reach. Stay out of his range. Don't have to worry about him otherwise.
Two big dudes. Too much muscle, if they get me it's over. Gonna need something for them.
As the average sized man went to the counter, Marvin slipped the fork and the knife into his hoodie. The 'average sized man' spoke up.
"Make this easy, yeah?" he leaned in, "no screams, an' if ya so much as look like ya gonna call the cops, well, I'm sure you know what's gonna happen, yeah?"
Elanor played dumb and nodded her head in fear.
One of the large men turned his sights on Marvin, who sat solemn with the knowledge of what was about to happen. He awaited as the 6'5 man lumbered over. He grabbed Marvin by the shoulder and with a nod of his head toward the entrance door, indicated where the two were about to go. Marvin knew well that if he followed his request, it would be the last request he would ever follow. Marvin still had his hands in his hoodie's pockets, and intentionally resisted the larger man's request. Things were not going quickly as the apparent leader of the group would have liked,
"Rip, the hell is taking ya so long, ya fat tub o' lard?" the leader asked,
"Hey, I'm goin' hea, alright? Bastard ain't trynna make this easy on 'imself."
Rip began to fluster, his hand tightened around Marvin's shoulder; and soon as Rip's second hand sought to join the party, Marvin injected the butter knife directly into his palm. It was an unusual feat, Marvin had only hoped to graze him with it and cause enough pain to make him think twice, not send him collapsing to the floor screaming in agony. He felt a sudden rush of strength and energy that was not entirely foreign to him before. The other five men turned to view the sight; the strongest of them, Rip, writhed on the ground, defeated by a man nearly a foot shorter than he was.
Ever advantageous, Elanor rose the double barrel shotgun to the back of the anonymous leader.
"You all get the hell out of here, 'fore I make sure you won't be getin' along anywhere else ever again." amidst shock and confusion, they heeded orders. No sooner had they arrived were they repelled by a man hardly larger than a twig and a widower with bad lungs.
"What the fuck?" Marvin marveled, "what the hell was that?"
"I have no clue, honey. What I do know is you need to get out of here before they come lookin' for you." Elanor remained strangely calm.
"Uh, yeah, right, right! Uh, shit. Uh, well, what are you gonna do about him?"
"Him?" she retrieved and lit herself a second cigarette, "Self defense after all, right? I'm a little old lady. Some big scary men tried to rob me, adrenaline" she expelled a rough cough, it sounded like grinding sandpaper against stone, "an' I stabbed him with a damn butter knife." Elanor chained a last series of gaudy coughs together before he gathered herself and spoke again.
"Get up and get out of here, honey. I've got this." the widow smiled,
Marvin heeded her advice and exited the diner for what would be the last time. There was something strange happening to his body: he felt stronger, faster, more agile, than ever before--but this feeling was unnatural, what he was beginning to feel couldn't be gained by regular martial arts training. There was something powerful at work, and he was going to find out what. He headed back to Uncle Red's gym to scavenge what answers he could.
@Dynamo Frokane Too many nameflips for you, shun.
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