Vicky smiled next at T-Bone. She took in his sweater-vest and perfectly ironed khaki pants before glancing back down at me. “Did you make another friend, King Henry?”
“You say that like it’s a miracle.”
Vicky giggled a bit before sticking out a hand for T-Bone to shake. “Vicky von Welf.”
“Tyson Bonnie,” T-Bone greeted her. “I’m sort of his friend, sort of his business partner, sort of the person responsible for keeping him out of too much trouble. So . . . the new Pocket.”
Another laugh. “I hope you’re better at it than Pocket ever was!”
T-Bone and Pocket both chuckled as well.
Vicky eyed T-Bone some more, he was uncomfortable at the intense regard since he wasn’t used to that kind of thing from women. “Stormcaller, yes?”
His jaw dropped a little. “Yes.”
Vicky nodded at him, turning to Pocket and nodding at him as well, like all was as it should be and nothing was out of place. She studied me last, freezing in place. She blinked at me, like she didn’t believe what her eyes were telling her.
I gave her some canines in answer, but more friendly than usual. “See what mere humans ain’t supposed to see and you might be struck blind one day, Vick.”
She tsked me, reaching down to raise my arm, inspecting it. “What have you done to your aura? It’s . . .”
“Boiled in a stew?”
“I was going to say suffused with anima.”
“Same thing, except my definition is tastier. Especially with a little pepper and chili powder added to the pot.”
Jason Jackson finally stepped forward to help me off the ground. He could’ve thrown me over his shoulder if he wanted, but he refrained. Gave me a pat on the back, then stretched out a huge fist for Pocket to tap. “Your boy’s racing his dogs pretty soon, right?”
“Yeah,” Pocket said, a little nervous about it, “you’re competing tomorrow if I remember right.”
Vicky took my hand, pulling my fingers apart like I was some foreign creature to be categorized. “What did you do?” she whispered.
“It bad?”
“No . . . it’s . . . it’s like you’re older than you should be. Like the Lady or Samson, although not quite the same.”
“Guess that explains why my balls keep hitting my knees.”
“Yeah, I’m fighting some werebull tomorrow,” Jason was telling Pocket. “Day of Brawn is all boxing and fighting and weight lifting. Lot of corpusmancers and Were Nation members. I met him before we signed off . . . big guy. Looking forward to trashing him.”
“Wait a sec,” I interrupted, pulling my hand out of Vicky’s grip, “Jason gets to fight, but I don’t?”
“We’re past the sign up time,” Pocket reminded me.
“Come on, lots of werecoyotes I’d like to beat the shit out of man. I bet I could get an exemption from Igor. I saved the guy’s cock from getting bit off by a panicking stripper. We’re like family now.”
I felt a hand on my chin a moment before lips pressed softly and quickly against my own. “Good to see you, King Henry,” Veronica Lee greeted me. Which left me shutting up. Veronica Lee is hot, Veronica Lee knew who I was, and Veronica Lee just kissed me like it was nothing in front of what I took to be her boyfriend.
Total Douchebag Welf move: going after the most desirable girl at the Asylum. Didn’t matter that we weren’t at the Asylum anymore or that his relationship with Hope had exploded at the end of Hep—mostly due to my big mouth—he’d upped his game and went searching for someone even more beautiful and almost a mythical creature as far as all us ‘09er boys were concerned. The Quad Intra Beauty Queen, the most gorgeous girl at the school, who put Hope and the Three Queens and Valentine Ward all to shame: Veronica Lee.
She knows my name!
She just kissed me!
She did the same for Pocket. “You too, Pocket.”
His face was as surprised as mine must have been. She knows who we are? he mouthed at me.
I shrugged.
She even gave T-Bone a peck. “Nice to meet you too, King Henry’s new friend.”
“Yes,” T-Bone squeaked out. He probably would’ve blushed, but most of his blood was busy elsewhere. When your wang is that big, you need all the blood you can get to fill that force of nature up.
Her recombobulation complete, Veronica Lee sauntered away from the door, across the room towards a bar. “What’s everyone having?”
I suppose I should take a second to explain how luxurious this luxury box was. It was like this big living room, with couches and a massive television on the wall showing the feed from the stadium, then a fully stocked bar over on the far wall. On the edge looking out into the arena you had to step up into rotating seats that let you see down onto the field. There were also little OLED screens that twisted down into your lap, part tablet, part direct feed of the sports going on below.
Veronica Lee smiled over her skinny ass shoulder at me. “Rum and coke, isn’t it?”
I tried really hard and managed to keep my face neutral. Veronica Lee knew my go-to drink? How the heck? “Nothing,” I said, keeping to my vow.
Vicky cocked her head at me like I was speaking Dwarvish . . . which I do know a few words of . . . mostly the curse words . . . you Hackla Yunibu Vosh. Means ‘gray-skinned pebble-slit whore.’ Unless Poug lied to me, in which case it might mean ‘I’m with stupid.’
“Are you sure you’re okay?” Vicky asked.
“He’s fine,” Pocket said, “better than he’s been the last few days actually.”
“She cast you off again, didn’t she, Foul Mouth?” a voice called from over by the spectator seats. Welf had turned to watch us all come in, but hadn’t stood himself. Instead he tapped his cane on his foot, a pleased little smirk on his face over my misfortune.
“Good to know that some things don’t change, ain’t it, Welf?” I said back, teeth grinding against each other. “The Foul Mouth is still foul, Boomworm still giving him a taste of heaven then snatching it away, and Heinrich Fucking Von Fucking Welf is still jealous he ain’t ever had a shot at the star. Bet you were like a school boy with a crush when she invited you over to her parent’s house. You could be the special white knight to convince Christmas to be a good girl! But you balls’d it up, didn’t ya?”
He’d gotten better at keeping calm in the face of barbs, especially so since we’d graduated apparently. “I’m quite happy with Veronica, actually. I’m sorry that your romantic life keeps repeating itself. Perhaps one day you will learn to adapt your ways to be more pleasing in the sight of both society and the fairer sex.”
My expression was outraged. “You’ve pleased a woman, Welf?”
One of his tombstone eyes twitched.
“Victoria thought it would be a treat for you if we were to allow you to attend tonight’s event with us,” Welf explained coldly that it wasn’t his idea. “So you could see how the other half lives if you will, away from all the commotion in a private box. We do have so much extra room after all; it would be cruel not to share with the less fortunate.”
I ignored the poor barb. Being poor had never really bothered me. Just gave me lots of excuses to fight and I liked to fight. Once at least. Now . . . nowadays when I fought, people had a habit of dying on me. Made it less fun. Still did it though. Too deep inside me. Not that it doesn’t have added risks. Shit, I realized, now I got to deal with Welf and still stay vigilant about Vega stomping my ass!
“Scar’s not bad,” I commented to keep up the flow of shit-talking.
Again that eye twitched. “I gave up on it disappearing about a year ago. Vain to keep using important Slush over something so superficial and I’m not a vain man.”
“First step towards being a Bond villain, Welf. You just need to get a little white pussy instead of a Chinese one.”
Veronica Lee laughed, shaking her head at me as she went about mixing a variety of cocktails.
Don’t remember Veronica Lee being this cool either.
> Huh.
Guess you can’t judge people by high school.
Even magical high school.
Vicky sniffed at us, all offended noble woman despite her clothes and jewelry screaming punk rebel. “You two behave.”
I gave her a don’t-give-a-crap shrug. “Not like I’m punching him, is it? Say that’s about as behaved as we get with each other.”
“Do try,” Welf mocked me, his Construct turning to face my direction.
Yup, that’s some bullshit.
Bonegrinders might start out as weaklings as far as the Mancy is concerned, but by the time they graduate and start keeping Constructs around—who wants to fight an unkillable flesh machine of pure destruction? Especially when a few dozen of them just tried to kill you a few months back?
“I’ll pass,” I told him.
“Just so,” he whispered, a little cocky.
“Brother,” Vicky warned.
He snorted at us, turning back around to watch the corpusmancers race.
Pocket nodded at it all. So did Jason. “Some things don’t change,” they both said together, tapping fists again.
“Ain’t jumping you this time if they go at it,” Pocket admitted.
“Neither am I,” Jason added.
T-Bone smiled. “All friends then, good! I was worried I might have to electrocute someone and I really don’t like doing that.”
My pals followed Jason over to get their drinks from Veronica. Which left me with the Welfs . . . and the Construct. Hard to count the undead as people.
Vicky gave both of us a piece of her mind, “I’m quite serious about you two being pleasant with each other. I invited King Henry up here because he’s been our friend—”
Welf turned back around to give her a look of disgust.
“Classmate for you,” she amended, “friend for me, for almost a decade!”
“I seem to remember Asa chatting with us in the Rain Zone two nights ago and you didn’t force me to invite her to my private box.”
“Our family’s private box,” she pointed out.
“I convinced father to purchase it,” Welf said.
“Fine! Then kick them out!”
“No . . . I would rather keep him around to torture today. I won’t be inviting him back tomorrow however.”
“Wait,” I finally broke into the conversation, “you want me to deal with the douchebag for five whole days while I’m trying to get over breaking up with my girlfriend; how’s that fair, Vick?”
She batted some eyelashes. “You’ll be in my company too.”
“You don’t put out.”
Welf made a strangled noise, but Vicky only snickered at me. “Not for you at least.”
Welf made another strangled noise.
“No plays, no fighting, try to keep the comments from being too mean,” she ordered us. “Really! You should be friends! You both saved each other’s lives that night, doesn’t that count for anything?”
“He didn’t save my life!” we both snapped at her, then glared at each other.
Vicky gave me a pat on the arm. “Your new friend seems nice. Follow his example?”
“Never . . . but he is nice.”
“And I’m sorry about Valentine.”
“That’s two of us.”
“Why don’t you sit down and tell me about it?” she asked with a big smile. “And about some of these adventures I hear rumors about?”
Vicky Welf, ladies and gents.
She’s kind of awesome.
Session 151
Sometime after the water races but before the bird races, I noticed a ring on Welf’s left index finger.
Vicky was off on the other side of the luxury box being friendly with T-Bone and Jason, all three of them trying to keep Pocket from freaking out too much about Jesus’ upcoming event. Am I like that with Val? I mean . . . after she dumps me I’m a pain in the ass, sure, but am I that annoying when we’re together too?
Don’t think I am.
Worrying about Valentine Ward to come out on top? What’s the point? She’s Boomworm. Of course she’ll win. Watch and see, enjoy the show. It’s an outcome stronger than prophecy.
Thinking about her kept getting easier and easier.
Didn’t know if I liked that, but it was happening slowly but surely.
First T-Bone, then Pocket, the whole Ouroboros thing with Vega, now a pair of Welfs to keep me occupied.
The Crazy ain’t in sight yet, I thought, wondering what kept it locked up in its cage. It should’ve been trying to tear my throat out. But . . . nothing.
Guess that means I’ve gotten to a point in my life where something as weird as the Ouroboros don’t count as the Crazy.
I wasn’t even that interested in the races. The run on water part was okay, but the rest . . . well, the vampire beat the corpusmancer guy from Algeria who earned the honor of challenging the baron. Swimming ain’t ever been my thing, even with the way the women’s asses flashed out of the water during the butterfly stroke. Asa from my Ultra ‘09 class competed in them . . . got to the semi-finals then finished in twelfth. Asa’s lot in life. Being just outside of the best. She was really unhappy about graduating in fifth place for our year. Toss up over whether it was her or Miranda more butthurt about me topping them.
Don’t include Welf in that.
I know his ass was the most butthurt over me topping him.
The way that eighteen-year-old spoiled man-child whined over the test scores. He did this, somehow he did this!
Ancient history now, but yeah . . . kind of did.
Not very interested in the races. Crowds were a bit more interesting up here at the top of the arena where no one noticed you watching them. Played Guess-the-Were. Found the Rejuvenation Society, the Circle of Light, and Guild contingents all grouped together. Easy to see the Guild in their cocksucking skullcaps.
Picked out a few Vamps.
None of them I knew.
Surprised Gentlewoman Moore hasn’t made an appearance like the cockroach she is.
No Crazy, no races, no distractions, so my gaze wandered.
Wandered to that ring on Welf’s left index finger.
Said finger was part of a hand wrapped around Veronica Lee’s waist and her waist was right next to her lovely booty, which is exactly where my gaze first wandered to . . . you that skinny you don’t deserve a badonkadonk so shapely!
Her legs were nice too.
There was a lot to them.
Not quite the legendary Ceinwyn Dale legs . . . but they was nice, yes they was.
Quite a bit of Veronica Lee was nice.
She remembers me . . . and Pocket . . . weird.
Welf was as oblivious as always, but Veronica noticed me and gave me an encouraging wink.
Hey, buddy!
Wha . . . what? Who is that?
It’s me, Prince Henry! Hey, buddy!
No! We can’t! Even we can’t do that!
Come on! You know you want to! You were worried about me falling off so you never fucked Hope! Now’s our chance to finally cuckold Welf! We’ve waited years for this! You’re not with anyone, she’s hot and interested . . . it’s perfect! I mean, I’d do it even if she was ugly, cuz I like the warm wet hole things you stick me in, but—
No! Bad penis!
“What the fuck is that ring?” I asked to stop the fact that I was having an inner dialogue with a body part.
Welf turned towards me a little, smirking. He glanced down across Veronica to his hand and then back up to me. He slid his hand down and then off of her, inspecting it only after he marked his territory.
Nazi douchebag.
The ring was large and gold; it’s only ornament a single hefty-sized spectro-crystal emitting a black light. Its shape was vaguely familiar even if the materials were all wrong. Welf gave a little chuckle. “It was a Christmas present from Guild Master Massey. Everyone in my family received one. I understand we aren’t the only ones, but a select number at any rate. It holds a small
electro-anima charge that can be used like a stun-gun . . . quite ingenious really.”
Those thieving pieces of shit, I thought.
Ceinwyn wasn’t in my corner and now the Guild thought it could rip my designs off without censure.
Welf kept smirking at me. “I’m sure if you asked nicely they’ll let you have one. Perhaps you’ll invent something as nice if you would just give up your holdout and join them. I never understood why you’ve made that fight anyway. Guild membership would give you a place in society sure enough to create any future you wished. A better future than you deserve, Foul Mouth.”
Veronica reached up to twine her own fingers through Welf’s. “It’s very pretty. Don’t suppose you’d buy me one if I batted my lashes a bit?”
“Maybe for your birthday,” Welf whispered into her ear. “Or if you became part of the family.”
There was kissing.
Yucky icky poo.
No tongue at least, since Welf has that stuck-up patrician thing going.
I fingered my own SDR. Okay, so they stole the idea but were still using actual electro-anima, not my anima containment with normal electricity. They must still be stumped on how I did it . . . or they just didn’t care. When you have access to vast stores of anima vials you don’t have to do it the most effective way.
“Have you even invented anything yet, Foul Mouth? Or are you just wasting Dale’s money? Or . . . your own money now, isn’t it? Not much of it to last, is there?” Welf taunted me.
“Hey Jason, Welf wants me to show him the stuff I’ve invented,” I called over to the other side of the luxury box.
Jason snorted. “I got a fight tomorrow, man. Ain’t getting involved in your two’s usual shit slinging.”
“Why didn’t you tell him what I did to you in San Fran though?” I asked, referencing a particularly smooth usage of my SDR to knock out the big, badass corpusmancer.
Jason’s face got a little angry, but not enough to do anything about it. “You’re an asshole, Foul Mouth.”
“Room seems to be full of ‘em.”
He nodded at me. “Fight’s over tomorrow you want another round the next day.”
“What round is that?”
“Shit . . . I lost count.”
The Foul Mouth and the Mancy Martial Artist (The King Henry Tapes Book 5) Page 19