BF: Roman Custom

Dehr walked down calmly to the garage, unchained his speeder, flipped it to a low hover and “walked” it out to the curb like a bicycle. He hopped on, after pulling his black overcoat from the “trunk” and slipping it over his arms. He raised slightly higher off the ground and set off at about forty-five miles per hour. He cruised towards the center of the city, which was, despite the layout of a stereotypical city, the worse part in comparison to the outskirts of town. The nice, moderately-gleaming buildings on either side of him slowly transformed into, boarded-up brick buildings and plastic sheets. He saw various homeless anthros and overlanders lounging about randomly, as well as classic garbage can fires about, but no unfortunates huddled around them. It was fall, so fires were only necessary at night. Dehr powerslid through the air, and cranked the throttle , launching into an alley in what would be a wheelie. He reversed the thrusters to jerk to a stop and lower down to within three feet of the alley ground. He left it on hover and once again “walked” the speeder over to an open, empty, dumpster. He lifted it up into the dumpster, with help from the throttle he twisted, and clamped a padlock, that he had pulled from the “trunk”, on the metal loops of the dumpster.

He started walking around, no headphones, eyes down, hands in his pockets, listening intently to the random babbling of the somewhat insane homeless in the area. He eavesdropped carefully waiting for words like “fist”, “stogen”, and “gang”. He walked for about fifteen minutes before the bell in his head dinged as the words “gang headquarters” drifted in and tickled his eardrums. He turned slowly but at a wide angle in the direction of the continuing noise. He looked up and found one homeless person. Talking abnormally loud to, Dehr supposed, another less fortunate anthro farther down the sidewalk. He approached said anthro, a dingo in fact, and stood still until he finished rambling. Dehr smiled slightly for a moment before clearing his throat to get the dingo’s attention.

“Excuse me, sir.” Dehr said, courteously.

“Eh?” the homeless mumbled, confusedly, looking around a little before focusing on Dehr.

“I heard you mention a gang headquarters?” Dehr said in a business-like fashion.

“Uh, yeah, the fist guys, down in the old factory building, eh-it’s their headquarters, just down this street. But they’ll never give us any of the peanut butter they got stored up there.” the dingo said, slurring his words slightly.

“Peanut butter? I thought they-” Dehr began inquiring, then saw the dingo take a long drought on the bottle wrapped in brown paper in his hand, “Oh…well that would do it.” Dehr mumbled to himself conclusively as he walked away, reassuming his walking stature and heading in the direction of a massive warehouse, standing out slightly in the area full of narrow alleys, spray=painted brick walls, boarded-up windows, and billowing white plastic.

He arrived and turned right, into an alley between the warehouse and a random building, he looked about everywhere spinning slowly as he walked down the narrow path. He circled the entire building like this, observing, taking in as much info as possible about the massive. metal rectangular prism.Hmmmmmm, Dehr ran his fingers down the side of the building, corrugated metal sheets, Might as well find out how thick it is. Dehr turned, walked to the opposite side of the alley and turned around, whirling Reipar form his back as he did. He dashed forward, gritting his teeth, and slammed the axe down into the metal wall as hard as he could. The primary blade sunk in a good six inches and made an incision in the metal about a foot long. The terrible scraping sound of the metal ripping opened Dehr’s eyes, he straightened up, Reipar was unmoving, Dehr noticed. He was pleased to witness the gash in the metal plate. He wrenched Reipar out, tolerating the screech due to his success. Dehr sniffed a few times, recognizing the new scent, but couldn’t pinpoint exactly what it was or what was causing it. He looked around, then raised the axe in his hand and looked at the blade. At first he freaked out a little bit, before further scrutinizing the light brown gloop on Reipar’s blade. He sniffed it up close, prepared to jerk away, given what he first suspected of any brown gelatinous substance. Peanut butter? Dehr lowered the axe and took a few more steps back to the cut in the warehouse wall. He crouched and looked into it up close, sniffing a few times. He turned around, and sat down, banging the back of his head on the metal wall repeatedly, Peanut butter! Must’ve been a few cases stacked up against the wall from before the factory went down. “Aaaaaaugh.” Dehr covered his eyes. “What to do next,” Dehr whispered to himself, “Well I guess I could-” Dehr stopped and quickly uncovered his eyes, looking around the down the alley he was facing, as he was at a “T” alongside the warehouse. He saw plastic bag fall, his eyes darting around,Hmmmm, thought I heard something. Dehr started to stand up, Reipar in hand.

A sharp PING resounded from right next to Dehr in the dead silence, Dehr jumped and looked to his left. Reipar wouldn’t move and Dehr’s body stopped abruptly in the process of standing back up, he saw a quite large, black shuriken sunken deep into the metal panel, just in between the back of Reipar’s primary blade and the handle, pinning the battle axe to the wall. Dehr saw a black mass moving rapidly towards him. Dehr figured it wasn’t good as he let his hand slip and virtually went limp, falling a few feet to the alley floor. Dehr looked up and to the left as a black…being made a great dent in the wall with nothing but it’s cloth-wrapped foot. Dehr rolled underneath said unknown being who, seemingly supernaturally, was hovering, foot still wedged in the wall. Dehr stood slightly and grasped Reipar’s middle with both hands, and put on boot on the wall. He pulled back and pushed with one leg, just as the dark thing turned, evidently standing at an angle in the indent it had made with it’s foot. The shadow-like anthro grasped the night-black shuriken and jerked it out of the wall in less than a second, simultaneously swinging it at Dehr’s head.

The energy from Dehr’s push, which he anticipated would take more power, before the shuriken was removed, launched Dehr roughly eight feet from the wall, causing the shuriken swipe to miss. Dehr, after skidding to a stop on his back, coughed once while scampering to his feet, extremely angered of being caught by surprise. The black figured hopped down from his perch in the wall, big, black shuriken in hand. Dehr noticed the figure was, in fact, not black, but an extremely dark green, just as the green figure dashed forward and, in one bound, met Dehr in the middle of the alley. Reipar’s handle grated against the five-pointed shuriken’s edges, as Dehr locked eyes with the attacker. Dehr glanced at the three, black protrusions on the strange assailant’s nose and forehead, before being lifted off his feet by a hard knee. Dehr spun once, blurring fast, his enemy ducked Reipar as it whizzed overhead. Dehr grasped the axe, white-knuckled, up by the blade with his left hand, and brought it back again, attempting to get the opponent with the secondary blade, ducked as well. Dehr spun Reipar ninety degrees in his hands, keeping it horizontal, and switched his left hand to on top of the handle, shoving the whole axe straight down, main blade first. Dehr was appalled to see the figure roll left, dodging the quick decision Dehr had made. Dehr planned to slam Reipar down again, as the attacker finished his roll, but his heart skipped a few beats, when Reipar slid out of his hands. He looked down to his horror and found Reipar’s primary blade almost completely in the concrete. Dehr jumped to the right, as he glimpsed the large, dark fist getting bigger my the millisecond. He grabbed left the arm attached to said fist and cranked it around Reipar’s vertical handle, forcing it behind it’s owner’s back Dehr snagged the opponent’s right wrist and held it tight against his enemy’s chest. The green anthro jerked his head back into Dehr’s forehead, Dehr didn’t mind much, but was still infuriated by the whole situation. “Why are you attacking me!!!” Dehr yelled into his captives ear area, fuming and in pain, and snapped his left fist into the air, and brought it across into the green animal’s head with enough speed, power, and anger to cut the metal paneling as well as Reipar did.

The dark anthro flew a few feet and Dehr, who, in his adrenaline rage, dashed over and dealt the combatant another fury-driven buffet to the head, before pinning him with a knee to the chest, and whipping a serrated dagger into a spin just above the downed, struggling animal. Dehr snatched the knife and pressed it to his prey’s neck. “Now,” Dehr pressed his knee harder, leaning down to his assailant’s face, “just let me know,” Dehr stopped to breath heavily, “are you a Fist,” he pressed the blade a little harder, “or…not?” Dehr hissed, slightly louder.

“No, I’m not.” The dark anthro said slowly through clenched teeth.

“Then why the hell are you attacking me!?” Dehr raised his voice quite a bit, it echoed down the brick hallway.

“I…I though you were one of them.” the incapacitated stuttered.

“Great.” Dehr eased back a little, “Now, drop your shuriken.” the black blade plinked to the ground. “Dehr stood up, knife still raised, and offered his hand to help the fighter up. He took his hand and was hauled up. “So…truce?” Dehr offered his hand again.

“Truce.” He attempted to take Dehr’s hand, but Dehr snatched his wrist. Surprised, the dark anthro almost punched Dehr, before Dehr started moving his hand up and down. He grabbed his wrist as well, still confused.

“Roman custom. Symbolizes a stronger bond, as well as checks for daggers in the sleeves.”

“Interesting.” His voice was slightly whispery at all times, and rather deep.

“Dehr.” Dehr smiled slightly.



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