Chapter 922 Class Trickster
"Again."
That order.
Oh, that accursed word.
After today, context and intent be damned, if I hear that stupid word one more time, I'm adopting a new language entirely and English will just be a dead and bitter memory for me to forget.
"Lasted even shorter this time," Irene said, her disappointment and disapproval looming from on high as I lay disoriented on my bed of grass for the millionth time. "Again."
I got up, dusted myself, walked it off, before recommencing this weird, bizarre game of catch-me-if-you-can. A Tom and Jerry skit, and of course, I'm playing the punchline of the duo.
So far, every attempt wound up being just as close to my first. Just when I thought I had an edge, saw through all of her foils, she'd pull out something else I could never foresee and there I go tripping over my feet all over again.
Ugh, there's that stupid word again.
Damnit, not again.
FUCK!
Over time, I learned to hold my breath whenever she attempted to pepper spray me with her noxious beauty, and to bide my time whenever I felt a sinking feeling in my gut. I wasn't just recklessly swinging at her and hoping Christmas would come early. In short, I was adapting.
But she was quick, she was agile, and worst of all… she was magic.
Sticking hocus-pocus glue to the soles of my shoes wasn't the only tool she had in her arsenal.
Sometimes a blinding flash of white light would scorch my eyes and the next I knew she's miles away. Other times, when my knuckles were on the cusp of earning me a battery charge, gravity would suddenly begin to distort, twist, growing invisible hands of its own and shoving me with enough force to send me tumbling to the ground.
But she didn't need to do that most of the time, because most of the time all she needed to do was veer slightly to the side, make me whiff, and briefly lay her loving hands around me which was more than enough usually to get my knees buckling, collapsing, my pants pitching the tent of utter submission.
Then the same old routine would play once more, me wallowing in the dirt, and her reminding me from high above, "This is all basic, elementary magic I'm using to thwart you. If you can't overcome this then just think how'd you fare if it were much worse?"
"Well, maybe if you taught me ways to defend myself, then perhaps—"
"Not yet," she said firmly. "First, I want you to learn how to navigate a fight like this as you are now. Fighting back, actually defending yourself, that part comes only after you have a solid grasp on the field."
"That's gonna take a while…"
"Indeed. So until then," she lightly nudged my leg with her heels, urging me on my feet. "Once again."
God, I hate that word.
So then, hoping for the best, it was another long, arduous back and forth of trial and error and falling on my ass. The only upside was I wasn't feeling fatigued one bit, no matter how much I exerted myself, all the sweat I was pouring over this. So long as we stayed here, we could go on forever.
Shit, it better not be forever…
Another flashbang erupting from her hands blinded me, and feeling the pull of gravity doing its thing, I braced myself for impact.
I heard myself thud, felt myself ouched, accompanied by the pang and frustration of another failed attempt.
"You got good reflexes, you're pretty quick on your feet, adapting well, so that's good," Irene walked to me, pausing our bout to assess our progress so far. "But your punches are too wild, desperate. You look like you're flailing your arms more than you are using them. Slow and steady though, we're getting there. Nearly got me then just now, you noticed that?"
"Nearly's not enough," I huffed, springing back up. "Had so many nearly-s the past hour or so already."
"There, there," she braced herself, a readied smile in waiting. "Nearly there."
I dashed forward, a fist speeding toward her. Of course, she moved out of the way before it landed. She loves to do that. But the question was where? That split-second. Left? Right?
I sensed right.
Immediately, I diverted all momentum in that direction. Twisting my body, my arm, and there for a single flicker of a moment, my knuckles grazing the surface of her cheek. I still missed, she still dodged. But we both knew that already.
Irene made her move then, the slightest flick of her wrist, a shade of red dispersing into the air. I jumped, widened the gap between us, clearing my head from the small whiff that managed to sneak into my breath.
"By the way," she called out from her end of the arena. "Your birthday. It's soon, right? A couple of days from now?"
Now we're making small talk in the middle of this? She really that confident? complacent? Whatever the case…
"Yeah, the tenth," I replied, deciding to indulge her while keeping an eye out for opportunities to strike. "Why are you asking?"
Rushed at her again. Like a bull seeing red. A barrage of vigor, desperation, and flailing limbs, none of which managed to hit their mark.
Irene weaved through them all, sneakily striking back at the end of my offense. I saw her reach for me, a slithering hand darting for my chest. I pulled my body back, felt the whiplash in my bones at the sudden stop, and found myself staggering back at a safer distance once more.
"Does Amanda know?" She asked, picking up where we left off. "Actually, does anyone else know?"
"Oh, I think, umm…"
Shit. I don't think anyone else does, do they? My birthday feels like any other day, it doesn't even come to mind for me. But they won't think like that, will they?
Amanda certainly wouldn't.
Oh, god.
"Oh, shit," I answered, flooding immediately the sudden sense of urgency. "Irene, pause here, um… I think I need to make some calls and—"
"Don't tell them," Irene said, speaking so suddenly that she even caught herself off guard. She cleared her throat, continuing calmly. "Sorry, I mean—feel free to tell anyone else after this, you should. Only… yeah, tell everyone, just don't tell Amanda."
What the hell?
"Why not?" I asked.
"Today's Saturday. The fourth. So that means, the tenth, that's a Friday," for some senseless reason, delight began manifesting on her face in the form of a wide smile. "It's perfect."
All I could do was blink my eyes at her. "That really doesn't answer anything."
"Maybe not to you," she said, continuing to leave me hanging. "Now, come on already. No slacking."
Whatever. I'll figure it out later.
Third time being the charm, I went rushing at her with as much fervor as before. We went sprawling along and across the boundaries of the grounds in the skirmish. The killing blow still far out of my reach.
"So…" Irene started to speak again, dodging left, weaving right. "Is there anything you'd like?"
"Huh?" I sputtered, too focused on getting her to dwell on her words. "Like for what?"
"For your birthday," she clarified, disappearing in a blur of movement before reappearing right behind me, her tone as casual and dry as a weather discussion. "I believe it's a timely and trite tradition for a person to get gifts on their birthday. What do you want for yours?"
We're having this conversation now? Seriously?
"Nothing in particular," I replied. "But you're not gonna accept that kind of answer, are you?
I spun a speedy ninety-degrees, ready to strike, only for her to vanish once again.
Then I heard the scrunch of grass behind me, her words resounding, "What do you think?"
Could feel myself unraveling at the seams against her firm composure. I started wailing at her again, grinding the gears in my head for a plan, a strategy… anything to sweep her off her feet.
"Still thinking?" she asked, dancing through my blitz of fists. "I don't mind splurging if I have to. It's for you, after all."
"Actually, y'know what?" I exhaled out, grasping straws now in desperation. "There is something you can get me."
She smiled. Delighted. But not for long.
"What is it?"
"Another necklace," I said. "I accidentally broke the one you gave me. Tossed it away."
"Huh? Y-You what?"
It happened then, as her eyes flickered downwards in shock, outrage. That's when I took my chance.
Before she realized what had just happened… noticing just too late the sway and shimmer of swirling red that still hung loosely across my neck.
The classic untied shoelace trick.
Never fails.
I grabbed both of her wrists, bounding them as one. Securing them in a hold so she couldn't move them, use them.
Panic rippled across her once cool, controlled demeanor. Gasping. I raised my other fist. She flinched. Her eyes snapped shut.
Then, nothing.
I lowered my arm, loosened my grip, and right before her eyes fluttered back open in confusion, I leaned in… planting my hit on her finally, softly, damply onto her forehead.
"Ha," I panted heavily, smiling, the electrifying buzz of triumph lingering still on the surface of my lips. "Gotcha."
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