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Remi hunched over as he checked and rewound the wrappings on his fists. He had a small bit of respite after three bouts in a row. He looked at the blood on his knuckles before it disappeared under white wrapping. It wasn't his, and it didn't make him feel bad. That was probably against some heroic code here, but the foreign Atlantean couldn't bring himself to care. He had dressed down in sweats and gone to find some action. No criminals had presented themselves for a beating, so he had found something shadier to deal with his anger. He needed action. Prior to actually having a girlfriend there would have been lots of women he picked up in clubs to try to sate a physical need, wet wallpaper over a gaping hole. A distraction he needed but wouldn't force just one woman to handle. She was human to his brutal monster of merman and mutant.
He sucked in a breath to make sure the lucky blow that had landed two fights ago hadn't done more than bruise his ribs. Finding an underground superhuman fight club in New York City did not seem all that surprising. Be able to get himself in on the action had been surprising. Then again, those that fought here might have relished the chance to beat on the pretty boy Atlantean prince. Remi snorted at the thought. He was prince of nothing. He had no claim in this reality. He was trapped here. There was a Namor, but he was not Remi's father. He couldn't get home to his real family, and his attempt at trying to have something like a family here had failed in a fiery crash here.
He could ignore his team not coming to rescue him for years.
He could ignore that he had lost his parents and siblings.
He could ignore he only hadthree two people he was close with here.
He couldn't ignore being made a fool of. Especially by someone he had thought of as a little sister. Fool him once, there wouldn't be second chance to try. Remi ground his fist against his palm to test how the wrappings felt against his skin. One hand done, he moved to the other.
His mind switched to mechanical movements of what he was doing. He needed them tight and covering. He had heard the rumors that his next fight might include broken glass against someone who could hit hard enough to actually hurt. Remi was not his father, but he was strong enough to easily stand up to the ones he had faced already. The fight organizer didn't throw him to the big hitters right away. Remi had quickly built a rep that night. The place was buzzing about him and his oddly fast fighting style. Atlantean martial arts had to contend with water resistance; taking it out of water made it look odd but sped up moves considerably. There were shouts of bets. Remi smirked to himself as he finished wrapping his hand and testing the wrap. He had placed no bets and had no desire to.
He wasn't there for the money. He was there for the fighting. Though it had cost him a bit to buy in, he wasn't looking to recoup his money. He just called it the cost of temporary therapy. It wasn't a good fix, but it took off more of the edge tangled sheet and pleasured moans had already dulled some.
His name was called. It was time for another go at the pain. He pulled his hood forward to put his face further into shadow. Then he was upright, floating a bit off the ground. He moved out of the improvised locker room. He ignored the dark looks and whispers that swirled around him as he left.
He would go until someone put him down. Until he needed the sea or the tank to heal.
Until he felt less.
He sucked in a breath to make sure the lucky blow that had landed two fights ago hadn't done more than bruise his ribs. Finding an underground superhuman fight club in New York City did not seem all that surprising. Be able to get himself in on the action had been surprising. Then again, those that fought here might have relished the chance to beat on the pretty boy Atlantean prince. Remi snorted at the thought. He was prince of nothing. He had no claim in this reality. He was trapped here. There was a Namor, but he was not Remi's father. He couldn't get home to his real family, and his attempt at trying to have something like a family here had failed in a fiery crash here.
He could ignore his team not coming to rescue him for years.
He could ignore that he had lost his parents and siblings.
He could ignore he only had
He couldn't ignore being made a fool of. Especially by someone he had thought of as a little sister. Fool him once, there wouldn't be second chance to try. Remi ground his fist against his palm to test how the wrappings felt against his skin. One hand done, he moved to the other.
His mind switched to mechanical movements of what he was doing. He needed them tight and covering. He had heard the rumors that his next fight might include broken glass against someone who could hit hard enough to actually hurt. Remi was not his father, but he was strong enough to easily stand up to the ones he had faced already. The fight organizer didn't throw him to the big hitters right away. Remi had quickly built a rep that night. The place was buzzing about him and his oddly fast fighting style. Atlantean martial arts had to contend with water resistance; taking it out of water made it look odd but sped up moves considerably. There were shouts of bets. Remi smirked to himself as he finished wrapping his hand and testing the wrap. He had placed no bets and had no desire to.
He wasn't there for the money. He was there for the fighting. Though it had cost him a bit to buy in, he wasn't looking to recoup his money. He just called it the cost of temporary therapy. It wasn't a good fix, but it took off more of the edge tangled sheet and pleasured moans had already dulled some.
His name was called. It was time for another go at the pain. He pulled his hood forward to put his face further into shadow. Then he was upright, floating a bit off the ground. He moved out of the improvised locker room. He ignored the dark looks and whispers that swirled around him as he left.
He would go until someone put him down. Until he needed the sea or the tank to heal.
Until he felt less.
