World of Darkness World of Darkness: Attrition - There's always one... [Finished]

[Owns-The-Night]

{28th August, 2008}

"Hey, Declan!"

I stopped, the rake dangling from one hand as I watched Sue approach from across the lawn I'd just finished cleaning. The sun was beating down on the campus, hot brick and asphalt mingling with flowers and grass in a disjointing melody of scent. I upended my rake and shoved it into my carry-bin as I waited for the woman to catch up with me.

Her brown eyes searched my face as she drew nearer, her gait slowing as she got within ten feet. As always, she smelled of cigarettes and the vodka she liked to mix with her orange juice during breaks. She also smelled nervous. Most folks wouldn't notice: I do.

"Hi Declan." She smiled easily, just like always, until her eyes looked into mine and she got the rabbit look, just like always. Sue's one of the campus security, and somehow always seems to draw the duty of talking to me. Perhaps it's because she's the newbie. Perhaps it's something else.

Most people avoid me because of how I make them feel, and that's fine: got nothing to say to them anyway. Some people though, like Sue, seek me out even though I give them the screaming heebie jeebies. Sometimes I wonder about that. Maybe she's looking for a tough guy that'll beat her bloody while they're fooling around, but that's not my kink. Some people are like that, though. I call the look they get the rabbit look, because they sort of freeze and go very still, unable to look away. They're natural prey animals, even if they do walk on two legs. I'd find it funny if it wasn't so goddamn annoying.

"Well?" I asked her, to jolt her out of her panic/fantasy/ whatever. She jolted alright; her feet nearly left the ground before she collected her wits.

"The boss wants to see you." She said hurriedly before backing away. Fantastic. I wondered what the fat piece of crap that ran the security and maintainance staff wanted from me so bad that he actually wanted me in his small office. Then I considered that his office smelt of urine and sweat. I must have scowled, because Sue turned and walked pretty damn fast away from me.

I took my time walking over to the boss's office. I picked up some litter there, a cigarette butt here on my way. Got to keep my range clean, after all. I saw a couple of frat boys smoking on some steps and looked at them as I passed. I looked at them long and hard, and made sure they knew I was doing it. They'd use the bin for those butts, I saw in their faces they would. They were even looking to make sure the bin was nearby.

I parked my little trolley outside the grounds offices and walked in. My boss was already sweating up a storm: whatever he wanted to say to me, he thought I wouldn't like it.

"Hi Declan. Umm... I'll come straight to the point. We need you to cover this weekend." I couldn't believe it. I just couldn't believe my ears.

"Jake's covering this weekend." I pictured throwing my boss through the small window of his office. The land-whale had no idea what a fuck-up this was.

"Jake just quit: got a job somewhere else." The fatso moved around behind his desk, as if he somehow knew I was contemplating his whimpers of pain. "Sorry Declan, but you're the next one up for a relief shift."

"I booked this weekend off." I stated flatly, a slight growl roughening my voice. "Find someone else."

He made what he thought was a placating gesture with his hands. It made me feel like breaking his pudgy fingers. Hot and sweet, the beast started uncoiling in my gut, and I closed my eyes for a moment as I fought back the urge to maim this moron.

"There is no-one else, Declan. Sorry, buddy. Look, you can have the following weekend off, and you can take off early too: have that Friday off. How's that?" He looked like he thought it was a sweet deal. It was a sweet deal. I bit back my anger and sighed slightly, shaking my head.

"Alright. I'll take care of it." Motherfucking Jake and his new job! I inwardly screamed as I turned and escaped from the funk of the office. Now I'd be stuck on the campus for the weekend.

And they'd be having that damned pre-season party!

[Owns-The-Night]

*smack* *smack* *smack*

The solid thud of my fists hitting the practice bag is music to my ears, rising above the background noise of the UCLA gym. Ignoring the feeling of eyes on my back, I pretend that the 500lb swinging weight was my fat shit of a boss and step in to deliver a flurry of hard punishing body-blows. I dance back a step and finish with a left cross that set the bag swinging back a little harder. I don't wear gloves or wraps on my hands: it's better that way. Feinting with my right, I deliver another left cross right on the heels of the first.

*bam*

My hands bruise from the impacts, sure, but the bruising was healing as fast as it happened. All the pain really achieves is to make me hit harder, gritting my teeth and unloading everything I have into the sack of sand. I sway to the side, sweeping a vicious hook into the bag at neck height, then throw a right cross straight to the side of my imaginary opponent's jaw. I really wanted to get away for the weekend, to run free for a couple days. Sometimes city living feels like being caged. I launch a left, then another right, putting my whole weight into the punch, holding nothing back.

*BAM*

That one split the skin on my knuckles. I grin with savage satisfaction in the knowledge that, while my own blood might have been shed, that punch would have shattered an opponent's jaw like so much glass. I turn my attention to the wound, watching the skin knit back together with that half-tickle, half-sting sensation. In a matter of seconds it closes, and I lick the blood off my knuckles.

"Hey man." I turn around to face the kid who's been trying to get my attention for the last 5 minutes. It might be unfair of me to call him a kid: I've only got 6 years or so on him. But by the time I was his age, I was through Ranger School and walking hills in goddamn Afghanistan. That tends to separate the men from the boys, in my world. I don't answer him with words, I just look at him as I wipe sweat off my face.

"Like, you've been on that bag for an hour, dude. Is it cool if I take a turn?" I just look at him for along moment, then move away, towelling down with one hand as I wave him to the bag. He moves in and starts working up his routine.

"Thanks. So, do you want to spar later? I was watching you work and you look pretty handy-" I cut him off. This shit always happens.

"I don't spar." That's what I say. Truth is, I can't spar. I'm useless in a practice environment. Put me in a real match and I'm fine, in sparring I'm concentrating so much on not hurting the other guy that I look like an idiot. And I don't like looking like an idiot, so sparring matches tend to take a semi-real turn very quickly. Me and my temper, tsk tsk. The kid doesn't seem to take the hint though.

"Hey, c'mon! What, do you think you're too good for me?" He's right there, but he's also pissing me off. I hate pushy types. Some of his buddies are wandering over to rubberneck, too. "You always come here and train alone, man. You need to get some ring experience, learn how it plays for real."

That does it. The stupid little shit has goaded me. I should be above this crap, but somehow it still irritates me. I give a growling shout and charge him. He gives a startled cry and backs up, eyes widening as he realises that with the bag behind him, there's nowhere to go. But it's not him I'm really going for. I reach in and channel my anger out through the punch I'm levelling at the bag just beyond his shoulder.

There's a smack mingled with a ripping sound, and suddenly college boy is showered in sand from the big hole in the punch bag, an I've-just-shit-myself look on his face as his wide eyes stare from the hole to my face, inches from his own. I hold his gaze for a moment then repeat myself quietly, a hint of the Wolf in my voice.

"I. Don't. Spar."

This time, he doesn't push the issue as I pull my hand out of the bag and walk away. The only sound in the gym is the hissing of sand falling as the other guys there stare after me.

I break the silence with a whistled tune as I wander out to the showers. I feel better now.

[Owns-The-Night]

"...so I'm stuck there this weekend, not that there's anything much to do right now. They just need a gopher on-site to keep shit straight, y'know? And my boss could do it himself, but the fat tub of shit likes to cruise West and pick up hookers. The whole thing just makes me mad." Yeah, that's the sound of me bitching. The guy listening is the pshrink that the V.A. has me see as part of my rehab. Anger management issues: go figure.

Still the dude used to be a Colonel in the Air Force, and he donates his time with cases like me. So I figure that the least I can do is talk about whatever pisses me off so he can feel like he's getting somewhere. I know how to manage my anger: stay clear of people that piss me off. Of course, that's pretty much everyone these days, so maybe there's something I'm missing.

"Well Declan, seems to me that you're looking at the glass as half empty again, my friend." The shrink leans forward a little, looking serious.

"How do you mean, doc?" Yeah, what the hell is that supposed to mean?

"You mentioned a party this weekend. Maybe you should go." I snort, looking the shrink in the eye.

"Yeah, right. I can drink weak beer and watch a bunch of kids who never had to grow up act like assholes. Then I can get turned down by every woman there, listen to people laughing at me behind my back, and eventually go postal with the nearest blunt instrument." I fold my arms across my chest, the endorphin rush from my workout fading away somewhat. The doc smiles and shakes his head, but stops short of being patronising. Smart guy.

"Listen to me, Declan. These kids aren't much younger than you, and there's bound to be other 'adults' there. You should go: try to mingle. You keep yourself too isolated, and you'll get worse not better. If you start to feel you're getting out of control, then leave. It's not a prison, it's a frat house for Christ's sake." That's what I like about this doc, he's a straight talker. I try to shrug it off, of course, but he makes some sense.

"Okay, okay." I say, unfolding my arms and holding my hands up in surrender. "I'll go, Doc. But I'm not anticipating any huge breakthroughs." He just smiles and makes a note on his pad.

"Don't have expectations, Declan. Most of your problem is caused by the assumptions you make about people and how they see you. You're in permanent defensive mode, and the first thing you need to do is break loose of that. You box, right?" He knows damn well that I do, so I sense a point coming as I nod. "Well, at the moment you're all covered up and afraid to open up enough to get your own punches in. Can't win the fight that way, soldier."

Well, that makes a hell of a lot more sense to me, and I nod slowly in agreement.

"Okay, that I can understand, doc. Thanks for breaking it into small words for me." He just smiles and shakes his head, making another note.

"You're not stupid, Declan. You've just been through a lot: stuff that most people wouldn't handle as well. That sort of thing tends to skew ones perspective a bit. You think you're in a war with life out there: well, you won't win by hiding from it. Try taking that view next time you feel like brushing away contact from others."

I agree, both outwardly and inwardly, and shake the doc's hand as he calls the session to a close. As I head out, I feel better. Focused. I have something to concentrate on, a mantra to use when the Herd starts to get to me.

Tomorrow night's gonna be a blast.

[Continued in Pre-Season Party ]