Timeless Truths (Bing / Z-Fighters / BBA / Whoever) Sept 8, 2017 6:06:40 GMT
Post by Vi-Poi on Sept 8, 2017 6:06:40 GMT
“A boy’s will is the wind’s will / And the thoughts of youth are long, long thoughts.” – Longfellow
“Television rules the nation.” – Daft Punk
(Thread PL: 17,376,400)
Poi Toques ducked under the swinging fist, grabbing Strom around the waist when he spun around. Even though he lacked Strom’s size and strength, his adrenaline was enough to lock those clutching arms. For now.
“I’ll kill you, Toques!” Strom yelled, struggling.
“Bite me!” Poi growled, holding on for dear life. Strom was mad enough that he just might not be lying this time. Who knew that Majiko’s Everlasting Bubblegum was so hard to get out of hair? And it wasn’t like Strom’s new haircut was so bad anyway-
Abruptly Poi felt the alleyway swing under him, swerving up to strike the back of his head. Flashes crackled before his eyes and a steam-whistle blew in his ears. It took a while before he realized Strom had just elbowed him. Poi rubbed his throbbing cheek and his eyes refocused. The older, larger student stood over him, both hands balled into fists.
Strom’s expression changed from rage to coldness. The coldness scared Poi even more than his anger. Scrambling to his feet, and with a bit of bewildering giddiness welling up alongside his fear, Poi backed against the alley wall and raised his hands. He crouched into Turtle Stance One, the kind his mother did all the time when training, and the kind he learned during his own lessons for the green belt.
“Well come on, Mister Mohawk,” Poi sassed.
He was tired of running and ducking Strom and his goony friends, or passively taking their shots. He was in Ninth now. Practically grown up. What, was he going to let the wedgies and the brown-bag robberies go on through all of High School?
The coldness didn’t leave Strom’s eyes, even with Poi’s proverbial twisting of the knife. He came carefully, his left arm stretched out, his right fist tight below his jaw. Though he was a green belt, Poi didn’t have any real experience with fighting. Strom on the other hand was a rising star in West City High’s JV Martial Arts Team, and an infamous schoolyard bruiser.
The resistance was over faster than Poi’s giddy heart had hoped. One moment Strom was three feet away, and a heartbeat later he was driving a fist into Poi’s face. Poi’s knees buckled, and he slumped back against the alley, shielding his face with trembling hands.
But the rain of pain Poi was expecting for his defiance never came. A shadow flickered, an impossibly quick movement, a woosh of air that stirred his hair and lifted trash from the gutters, and suddenly Strom sprawled twelve feet back into the sidewalk, landing in a puddle with a great splash.
“Sorry for butting in Poi m’boy, but Strom’s breaking Team rules again. Can’t rightly be captain and let the rules be broke, especially the No-Brawling Rule!”
Poi blinked up, lowering his hands.
Tofoo grinned down at him and winked.
He was a very tall boy for fifteen, taller than most adults, with vivid blonde hair and emerald green eyes. Quick to laugh and quicker on the fighting mat, Tofoo was popular at school, and his teenage tendency for trouble didn’t hurt the consensus either. He was Poi’s lifelong neighbor and best friend, more brother really, and for that reason Poi earned some rub-off notoriety and acceptance at school, too. Except for mouth-breathers like Strom.
“Thanks man,” Poi said hoarsely, rubbing some blood from his nose and the tears from his eyes. Dragging himself out of the puddle, Strom did a double-take, and fled. No one wanted to fight Tofoo.
Tofoo clapped a strong hand on Poi’s shoulder. “What are friends for?”
Poi grinned, feeling better already. “Yeah.”
d[ o_0 ]b
There was a knock at the door.
Vi-Poi glared at it while he awoke from his nap, his dream. He’d almost forgotten about Tofoo. How was that possible? They’d been best friends. Though he was fully fused with Poi, and had most-all of Poi's memories, certain details were very foggy until they hit him like a ton of hoverfreight. Details like Tofoo. Morbidly, and with a pang of sadness, he wondered where Tofoo was buried. After all this time, surely, he’d be dead now.
The knocking came back.
“Go away,” He mumbled at the thumping door, taking a handful of stale popcorn from the bowl under the couch and shoving it past his lips. “I can monitor everything from in here,” He added, voice raised.
“Mister Premier! You got to get out of the Castle. Please! You’ve been in your room all week!” It was Pasti Noudelle, his personal assistant. Worried about him again.
Vi-Poi rolled his eyes. “I’m fine. I’m binge-ing Catty Old Women, is all.” That was true enough. There were forty-six seasons of the geriatric alcoholic ex-debutantes, and Vi-Poi was only through real-timing thirty of them. He could process them all internally superfast, sure, but it just wasn’t the same.
There was suddenly a latch-opening sound, and the treacherous horse-zoanthrope hoofed her way into the Vi-Poi’s bedroom. She gasped. It was a little messy, okay?
“Mister Premier,” Pasti implored, her pleading eyes watching as Vi-Poi scooped some errant popcorn from his bare belly and ate that too. His hair was a disheveled mess, and he was only dressed in underpants and oversized fuzzy pink slippers.
Vi-Poi waved her off. “I told you I’m fine, see?” He clicked Catty Old Women back on.
“You are not fine!” Pasti Noudelle roared, throwing a shoe at the tee-vee. Vi-Poi jolted. He’d never seen Pasti act like that! “You even skipped the Serpent Master red carpet release, and you were so proud of acting in that movie! Mister Premier, you need to get off this tee-vee and go outside! Get some fresh air! Go see your friends. This is not healthy!”
Vi-Poi’s expression darkened. “Friends, huh?”
Vi-Poi gave a depressed sigh of surrender. “Alright.”
d[ o_0 ]b
Vi-Poi landed on the Timeless Lookout. He’d put his Bombers cap on over his mussed hair, some jeans on, and an old New Yolk City shirt. He shoved his hands in his pockets sullenly. “Anybody home?” He asked, half-hoping no one would respond. Bing and his nosy wife were probably off giving a hapless planet away to some space pirates or something. For peace.