Words Between Warriors

by Turles 8/30/2012, 9:05 pm

“Turles, get in here!”, the Commander's voice rose above the standard sounds of the mess hall, forcing the Saiyan to look up him his rather appetizing meal. What was so important that it couldn't wait for his food to be eaten? Half irritated and half hungry, the Saiyan glanced down at his soon to be abandoned nourishment. If he left now, someone else would take it and he'd be left hungry. That wasn't allowed to happen; while other people may've been the type to allow everyone else to have at it, Turles was not. He was selfish and he would have admitted that within a heart beat. It was his nature.

He stood from the table, ignoring the lustful looks from a cavalcade of Saiyan Warriors. Those little grubby bastards had already gotten enough to eat; he had only just come in from Guard Duty for the King, which was both food-less and payless. They didn't allow a Royal Guard to eat lunch while the King was in mortal danger, despite the fact that King Vegeta could have easily dispatched some of the heartiest assassins. He was under no actual threat. If anything, it would have allowed the man to enjoy himself a little. Even the King of a Warrior Race was still a Warrior at heart.

His feet walked the path almost automatically. He had been conditioned by now to know where to go in times like these, and he would not be bothered by the mongrels who continued to eye his back in envy as he strode forward toward the trash. They wished they had the rations to spare before they were shipped out, and he couldn't really blame them. A lot of their appetites were impressive. Turles himself was one of the more picky eaters aboard the orbiting station. Even his already large appetite made theirs look absolutely voracious.

His food tray fell into the receptacle quickly, tumbling for hundreds and hundreds of feet before finally clanging against the hundreds of other metal trays. Often, there was a collection of empty trays at the bottom of that chasm, picked clean by the hunger-heavy warriors who lived in the barracks and mess hall above. He wouldn't have been very surprised if his tray was one of the only ones not completely cleansed of nourishment. At least, one of the aforementioned that hadn't been left that way by force. A common form of bullying aboard the ship was to throw aside a lone warrior's meal, signifying that he wasn't worthy enough to enjoy it.

“Why're you wasting your food, asshole? Don'cha know we've got some actual warriors who need food around here?”

As the tray's clattering and clanging came to an abrupt halt, a second, equally pleasant sound emerged from behind him. For a moment, he considered ignoring it, but that would have only incited an even more pitiful presentation. Instead, his head turned to look at the source of his latest displeasure, a Saiyan he knew as Letaus. Dark eyes narrowing, Turles appraised the fighter who now stood with his crew, mocking him so openly. He had seen Letaus around before. Despite what he'd said, he didn't seem to be a very useful warrior.

He was just like everyone else in this place. Loyal to a fault, luckless and mentally decrepit. His brain was probably a grave yard. The lights weren't even on, to show that nobody was home. It was the perfect abode to knock some good sense in to, via demolition. There had been no love lost between Letaus and Turles in the past. No, they'd often displayed their distaste for each other through several methods. Brutal, victor-less spars, even full out battles that threatened to rock the station they now stood on. Each time it had ended in some form of intervention, but today Turles wasn't in the mood.

He had recently discovered that there would be no glory, no award. He'd been bumped up to Saiyan Third Class, conveniently a class below the dimwitted man who stood behind him. Turning to face his rather cocky and uncooperative competitor, the Warrior's neck jerked quickly to the side, releasing a clearly audible crack. He would not allow himself to be mocked by such an infuriating individual, no matter how strong he was or how equal they always seemed to be. It wasn't his food to throw away, no matter what he or his cronies seemed to think. Besides, he'd been forced to throw it away.

”Why're you wasting your oxygen, idiot? Aren't you aware that other, smarter Saiyans need to breathe?”, his words came out quickly, like a whip made of words. Letaus merely chuckled as the retort reached his ears, before turning to his squad mates and issuing a low, mocking laugh. The sound, to Turles, was like nails scratching a chalk board. It forced a shiver to race up his spine, and his hair to stand on end. His fingers twitched at his hip as his muscles prepared themselves. He knew this man in battle better than any other warrior in existence; he would not get the jump on anyone.

“In the mood to talk some trash? Don't you remember the last time I kicked your ass, Turly-Cue?”, and out came the nickname. That name induced flashes of primal rage throughout his mind, but right now he was simply too hungry to care. It could wait a little while, his vengeance. Hadn't he somewhere to be? But, no matter how hard he tried to step away or turn the other cheek to perform his duty, something within him forced him to stand his ground. He was not about to give way to such a fucking idiot as Letaus. Scowling, he stared the man down while everything in the mess hall seemed to come to a grinding, noiseless halt.

”You mean the time where you left me with a broken arm and shattered knee-cap? Sounds familiar.” The sting of his words were sharp and quick. He watched as the other man's posture straightened, and his squad seemed to fall together a small distance behind him. If they got into a fight in the mess hall, some tables were going to be over turned, and some casualties were going to be had. Turles' fists clenched as he thought of the punishment in store for the survivor; he'd heard tell of some brutality, though he never imagine that he'd be on the receiving end of it. Still, it was most definitely worth it.

Anything was worth it, to give this prick a rather tenacious beat down. It was true, undoubtedly, that Letaus was more powerful than Turles in a wide variety of regards. It was why he still out ranked him. However, Turles had one thing going for him that a majority of Saiyans simply lacked. He was naturally intelligent, both in and outside of combat. Letaus was a combat genius, but his intelligence and raw skill matched about as well as his battle armor did. Pink and green; he looked like some foreign holiday mascot, and it was sickening. Sure, Turles wasn't exactly the prime Saiyan, but he looked far better.

He was of a lean build, body long and sleek. It explained his aptitudes well. Though he was muscular and hosted a relatively well built body, he was fast and cunning. He knew how to shape energy in ways that others could only dream of. It was intriguing, really. He was more proficient than most of the fighters here, and yet he was constantly forced to play the lap dog or the subservient underclassman. Unfortunately for Letaus, today was not a day on which Turles felt particularly subservient. In fact, he was feeling downright rebellious, and in the mood to show it.

“Yeah right. My knee works perfectly fine, and so does my arm!”, as if the words weren't infuriating enough, he waved both limbs in a tell-tale fashion. It was like he thought it explained everything, and it was infuriating. For a brief moment, a very brief respite from the world of idiots he seemed to be trapped inside, Turles placed a palm on his forehead. It was hardly possible that someone could be so frustratingly stupid. The fact that Turles' own arm was working was proof of... God damn it. ”Limbs heal, nitwit. Don't you see that I can move my wrist and elbow perfectly fine?”

He then waved them, more for mocking effect than anything else. Letaus was the exact opposite of Turles; naturally stupid, and born with what seemed like a silver spoon in his mouth. In his life, Turles had lied, cheated and stolen for everything he'd ever acquired. Hell, even his beautiful blue body armor had been stolen off of a dead body. He couldn't remember what the man's face had looked like, but he remembered a rather ferocious battle in the regard that he had been unable to crack the armor itself. However, the skull was far more easily done away with. Most often, anyway.

Moments ago, he'd merely had to walk his way to the Commander's office, and see whatever it was that he had wanted. Now, it seemed like everything was going amiss, as if everything were going horribly wrong. Then again, he had grown stronger since his last visit to the station. It was possible that he had now exceeded Letaus' combat strength, though the Saiyan had somehow learned to suppress it. It was a wonderful trick when done against Scouters or the like, but Turles was not using a scouter. He could feel the man's resting level, and he could remember the sensation of encountering the man's combat level in battle.

“You sound like you've gotten a healthy dose of balls in you, Turly-Cue. You wanna go right now?”, these words triggered a mass reaction from the Saiyans who had now gathered around them both, watching this show down with interest. Turles was famed for being one of the weaker warriors aboard, but somewhere, deep down, he felt they knew of his real strength. As Letaus' terrible breath bore down upon his nostrils, Turles looked up into the warrior's eyes without fear. He was not afraid of any punishment, so long as he knocked off this block's head.

”What do you think?”, his reply was breathless, short and sour. Something about the tone in his voice set it apart as more of a challenge than anything he'd said so far; perhaps it was the condescension, practically dripping from out from his parted lips. His mind raced, while his blood pumped quickly through his veins. He was in no mood to deal with this shit heap's bull. He was in the mood to kick some ass and forget this man's name, and he was in the mood to do it pretty quickly. His eyes were glowing with some form of life, as if they were alive all to themselves.

Letaus' fist came crashing in from the right side of Turles' peripheral vision, cutting through the air with a sickening curve. Turles' body ducked backward without hesitation, allowing the scythe-like blow to sweep right on by him. Eyes never leaving his opponent's, Turles' fist slung quickly toward Letaus' hip. With immense satisfaction, he felt it sink into his enemy's battle armor and send the man stumbling to the side. Grinning wildly now, his other fist came around quickly toward the enemy's face, racing against the reaction time of a more powerful warrior.

Unfortunately, Letaus' wrist rose up in defense, catching the blow before it could connect. A loud 'boom' echoed through the walls of the mess hall, forcing several tables aside from the sheer force of the collision. In retaliation, the other warrior's hand curled and swung upward into Turles' gut. He lurched forward from the force packed into the strike, but quickly came to his senses. If he remained stunned for longer than a second, this battle was going to be over. His body rolled forward through the air, taking flight as he flipped over his enemy.

As the other man turned to catch him before he landed, Turles' arms hooked themselves under Letaus' arms before accelerating at full speed and releasing him, sending the warrior flipping through the air at a high speed. Though his body spun and turned through the center of the room, pulses of energy were still loosed from his hand with a wild, machine-gun like accuracy. They slammed firmly into the wall behind him, one of them even flying through the trash flap his tray had gone through mere moments before. Heat and smoke washed over him as scorch marks littered the walls, and his enemy landed.

Taking aim, Turles sprang forward and forced both palms together. Quickly, a black ball of floating light massed in the air in front of his collected hands, hovering for an instant before releasing a powerful beam in Letaus' direction. The other Saiyan raised both arms in defense, but he was quickly knocked aside by a larger, more powerful Saiyan. The man batted the beam downward into the ground with a lazy swipe, placing eyes on Turles as Letaus' went crashing to the tiled floor beneath his feet. Though this brought him some immense satisfaction, he knew that this was no good thing.

When the smoke filled the mess hall, Commander Cobb's deep voice took precedence over the whispers of dozens of eager Saiyans.

”What is it you think you're doing, exactly? No, stay down, Letaus!”, his voice was interrupted by the sound of a boot being planted upon a chest. He was clearly demonstrating his dominance over the downed warrior, whose head could be heard thudding off of the linoleum. Struggling to bite back his chuckle, Turles straightened as his view of the situation was obscured by the smog. How he would have loved to see the expression on the man's face, when his head met the fucking ground.

“And Turles! Why the hell aren't you in my office? I've been waiting on your slow ass for ten minutes, so get in there before you're cleaning the floor with your teeth.”, the threat was growled and though it was low volume, it was more easily audible than any other whisper in the room. Clearly, the other men were rather surprised that the Commander had left his office just to retrieve Turles. They were equally surprised that he hadn't been the one with his head slamming against the floor. Perhaps he had acquired that glory on Trexia after all.

Grinning smugly to himself as he turned to exit the room and things returned to normal, a dark shroud fell over Turles' mind as he pondered the possibilities of discussion. Was he finally being allowed outside a longer range than he had before? If so, would he be able to find his ship and reunite with his crew?

”Coming, Commander.”

Oh, yes; he sounded like quite the sheep.

WC: 2,505