“Hey man, I'm confused. I’m just wondering why you had to jump out of the window to get away?” Tye said as he mashed the buttons on the controller. Eyes locked onto the tv screen. “I mean I’m impressed but why?”

“Well young Padawan” I say as I punch in a combination sure to break his character's guard “I don’t want to talk to them right now.”

“No. See that’s not an answer. I know you didn’t want to talk to them but why did you have to jump out of the window to avoid them? Couldn’t you have just walked past them. Take’n the stairs. I’m just confused.” He replies.

“Because it’s like magic, you see. I was in a truck minding my own business and then I was at home. Poof!” I exclaim as my character's staff connects to his fighter's face. “So it only seemed fitting that I should just magically disappear.”

“Poetic.” He says as he proceeds to recover and begin a combination attack on my fighter. “You know I can call my dad over here if things get too normal for you insane person. Ha! Take that!!! I win, you suck.”

I glared at him “luck.”

“Haaa!” He replies as he stretches himself about in a victorious yawn. “I am the ultimate champion.”

“Yeah yeah” I reply as I mindlessly reach over to Tye’s cat Icky between us and begin scratching his head. A growling sound vibrates through my palm as the sound of violence escapes the cats throat. Oh shit, why did I do that? Cats hate me. I hate cats. I freeze, twisting my head to the cute little devil sitting between us. It’s glaring at me and I’m trying to slowly pull away from the situation.

It mauhs…

Tye’s room is draped in luxurious everything from every continent of the globe. His family seemed to have a limitless line of money. Physical money, much less credit, and if something could be bought his family only had to do just that. It was interesting though because Tye liked nice things but didn’t treasure them. He kind of just discarded them this and there. 

The TV we played on was the size of the wall. I didn't bother asking how many inches and the system was the latest and greatest. The movers had mounted onto the walls paintings he’d bought from art districts in our travels. Canvases now framed and hung. Covering every inch. Even the ceiling was covered by high fashion scarves stabled into place. 

The bed was something beyond king and had blankets of every type. Six or seven comforters and layers of sheets silk and satin. His favorite color was all of the primaries he’d say so it was a rather bright expression here. Maybe Locke stayed close to us simply because the lure of this type of riches would inevitably summon up attack and infiltration. His abilities could only be so perfectly refined if pressed and confirmed through intercourse with reality.

I like Tye and I try not to judge the display of lavish abundance. He’d been raised in it, wrapped by it from birth and become insensitive to it since. He just didn’t notice and his best feature being it held little to him in value. At least, I tell myself that it’s a good thing to be so indifferent to it all. Overconsumption was a legitimate problem and gluttony is a sin but we all sin and in my eyes it was the least of potentially horrible afflictions that could have manifested itself onto a Lancaster. 

Besides, I get to live with the guy and interact with it all routinely. It definitely added spice to life you could say. I would steal a set of sheets eventually and he’d just left the smaller tv and older system I stole earlier in my room. Effectively helping me furnish it. Anyways I’d observed the best of Tye while on our travels. 

He had gone up to an artist and asked him how much for this art piece. The guy gave him a number and Tye must have felt as though it was too low because he then turned to the painting he actually liked and said aloud “I’d pay twice that for this if not three times.”

I can understand the arguments for and against this display and interaction but what I felt in that moment was joy. Tye wanted to support this person who’d made something he’d liked. Funnel an excess of fuel into his practice and in turn I imagined would allow the guy to create something more substantial.

I mean if you look at it for what it is: A piece of paper, a canvas with paint on it, oils or gunk, whatever… 

Its value was based on the person observing it valuing the time of your expression. So Tye really liked to try and encourage whoever made what work of art he felt desire for to make more. To find success and share in his bounty. So, that’s the most positive spin I can manufacture for you to excuse his blind decadence. Let’s ignore the other personality traits for the moment. I’m not trying to psychoanalyze the guy that’s kinda gross. 

Either way, as expensive as the furnishings around us might be… this cat’s claws raking my arm and loosing blood everywhere makes it inconsequential. 

“Ahhhh!!!!” I scream! “I’m sorry!” I stumble away fumbling backwards trying to create distance from the cat now hissing and curling its paws were I once sat, black cat. Green eyes. Hair straight and threatening danger.

“What the hell man?! What’d you do to Vladimir Von-“ Tye shouted as he jumped to his feet and between us.

“What did I do? I just touched its head!” I screamed back as I grabbed my now bleeding left arm with my right. Gosh, this is wild, why would it just attack me? I just scratched it’s head.

“Yeah, well, that’s a good excuse used by predators!” Tye snapped back. His eyes locked with mine and I saw the fire of aggression within them. 

“Dude! I wasn’t thinking I just reached over and petted your cat!” I scream back, raising my left arm before us as dramatically as possible. Meaning blood everywhere waving it about. “Give me something to cover this!”

Tye instantly throws one of those high fashion scarves at me. One too many for the ceiling art piece. How much did this cost? This object is collecting my blood…

“Shut up Corin!” He snarled as he steps through the doorway, notably still missing the door, and into the hallway with me. “No means no.”

“What?!”

“No. Means. No.”

“I didn’t sexually assault your cat.” I reply

“Cats don’t like you. You forced yourself onto it.” He replies as his eyes narrow and his body constricts ever so slightly. I can hear it in his voice too. A decision has been made. I’m to be made an example of? Is he showing his cat that he’ll defend them from anyone? Alpha dominance in full display and practice?

“I’m bleeding.” I complain but it’s just words. I already know what’s going to happen. You see, we are best friends but that doesn’t mean we don’t fight. It means we fight sometimes and after words we make up. I’m not sure what it actually is that has Tye mad at me. Maybe avoiding my family and getting yelled at by Gwen? Maybe cuz I didn’t handle my last interaction with his dad as smoothly as I could have? Maybe cuz I punched him in the bathtub the other morning? So many things…

The dam has broken and stress needed to be exhausted if we were to get along together after all this. Call it a barbaric ritual if you will. We have this… this thing between us. To fight it out when things get to be too much. Exhaust ourselves and then figure things out after.

In these exchanges I imagine myself to be ahead but I’m sure he’d tell you differently. Hard to say really. Our fighting is specialized by necessity to overcome one another. So we’re both very good at beating each other.  I didn’t win last time we did this dance. He’d inserted a new beat. A new step that was awkward and unpredictable. It’d confounded my timing and using that he overcame me instantly. Tye is fast, a flash, all reflexes. Wild and able to lash out in unreasonable angles and contortions. 

He could work seamlessly into a show on the strip or a traveling circus act. What it all meant was he could deliver power quickly from unexpected directions from awkward and unconventional positions. It was actually hilarious to watch Confounding the master of refinement Locke. He’d thought himself indomitable before he met us. Thought himself the pinnacle of fighting refinement. Maybe so but that didn’t mean the pinnacle of what Tye embodied didn’t have its remedy.

So when he crouched his front right knee before me and his hands raised open ever so slightly I decided my next best moves would be made strategically. Not whimsically. His left foot planted. Leading. Right foot arched, contracted, ready to sprung. I put my hands between us in the space between each other. 

That touch. That static. In the air. There was a level of gravity overloading between us. Spilling itself into a pool. Magnetic is how you’d describe the following events. Instinct, primal, step by step. 

Left foot forward. Plant. Toe flex and launch.

He led with a knee, lifting in a confined space. The hallway not being much accommodating. I caught it with my hand. Left. Meant my guard was down. Also meant he wanted to step on my right foot. Closest to him. Always the starting move. So I let him lift me with his knee. Jumping back right hand ready to catch or parry whatever strike he was planning. 

Time was so slow in these moments when we were going so fast. Hand to knee, fist to hand. Just grazing the hairs on my cheeks. Tilting my head to avoid it. Knuckles crunched and bashed from a lifetime of sparing. Strong. Flowing through the air. If they connect they’d hit that button and I’d collapse. 

Locking eyes trying to read each-other we tumbled down the hallway…

OoOooooooOoooo

It’s rather remarkable you know how much money changes a situation. Money being something the Lancasters either have an abundance of or none of at all black hole going to consume you pit. Mostly the women held to money, not allergic you could say. Tye’s grandma really liked Brent. He was like a pet to her…

What am I saying?

The women of Lancaster were royalty thick and thin. Prestigious and extravagant. Known for their deep green eyes which swam eternal. Boys have the blues girls have the greens. Strange. Coincidence? I don’t think so. Something bigger was at work when they made the Lancasters and really I don’t want to cross them. If they could feel okay releasing this to the world then I don’t dare imagine the type of retribution it might divine against me. 

Locke was always too deep in his thought. Always right on time. Like a lock and key you might say. But why would you? Anyway, Locke thought to himself, exceptionally deeper than probably everyone else. 

It’s a thumping I hear above me. The sounds of Wild animals engaging in the hallway above us. That’s the sound that snaps Locke out of his curmudgeon-ing. The sound of battle elicits the smile his stomachs recoils and his mind feels a flash of shame. Shame that it should be the only thing that could engage him so…

The house has been completely furnished now. Courtesy of Matriarch Lancaster. The old lady loved Brent and had a soft spot for Tye even though the Lancaster women always seemed to mix awkwardly at best with their opposite sex. Lifting himself off the couch and turning to the commotion as it bounded down the stairs. Catching a glimpse of one Tye Lancaster executing the perfect extended kick. So the beast could be taught.

Looking back to Brent who had yet to stir from the obnoxiously large television before them. Watching some kind of love drama Locke had forgotten to pay attention too an hour ago. He could feel it in his legs. The call of Step. His art. His masterpiece. The one book he’s ever put to ink. How many Steps? How many pages? He hadn’t been keeping track. But every book, include his own, begins with step one.

Step One. Go

The theory was to be fluid and dynamic. Precise but water. So much so you could count each step one takes till the end of a battle. Grade themselves on how long the dance should take. A for few. An A for many. The middle ground was where the lower grades were found and Locke never tread there. 

He could ask aloud what had happened. Try and break up the fight. A civilized person would do such things. An enlightened one might choose to simply observe and marvel. Locke had not reached enlightenment, for he had tasted defeat, and there it was before him assaulting each other. He couldn’t help himself. 

Hunters hunt, soldiers fight and a lion has got to eat…

Step One. Go.

Was a simple form. Left leg forward right leg back. Planted and crouched. Palms out in the middle of the ravine. Clutching each of their wrists in an instant and twirling them out of place. Into the air where there was enough space to attack.

All three of them locked eyes as they engaged.

It’s a triangle. Happiness glinted with expectation. 

Who would win?

Obstacle Fourteen. Collar