Guess Who?

Posted on Thu Feb 9th, 2023 @ 9:24pm by Lieutenant Commander Mara Ricci & Stephen Spires

Mission: S2:4: If Not Like A Mirror
Location: Canopus Station - Spires' Quarters

Spires was several fingers deep in his bottle of double-oaked reserve when the chime at his door went off. Tempting as it was to ignore it, he still had a job to do, and many of his contacts did not like digital communication. If it was one of the Rish, for instance, they as soon pitch camp outside his door as leave. With a groan and a sigh, Spires got up with bottle in hand and opened his door.

"Whoever you are, this had better be good," he mumbled.

What met him was a fuming Marc Ricci. Although, to be honest, Marc fuming looked rather a lot like a cross Kindergarten teacher, so the effect wasn't quite as strong as it should have been. But, he was angry and here was the object of his ire. "You cheated on my sister," he said, dangerously calm.

Out of all the people he expected, Marc Ricci was the last. "Your sister was a slut," he said. "Because that's who I am. I fuck sluts for business and pleasure. You already knew that though." A grunting chuckle. "Back in the day you were there for the best of it. We both know what kind of men we are. Let's just call it a night before one of us fucks the other one up."

But Marc had had enough. Without another word, he grabbed a handful of Spires’s shirt and dragged the man out of his quarters, slamming him against the opposite wall. “My sister,” he spat angrily, getting right into his face, “is not a slut. And if you ever speak her name again it had better be to say she is the angel I already know she is!”

As he was yarded out of his quarters and slammed against the wall, Spires gasped for the wind that got knocked out of him. "I told you what happened last time if you ever touched me again." And then he broke the bottle of bourbon he'd carried to the door over Marc's head. It shattered into a dozen shards, pouring sticky whiskey all over the other man. Spires then gave him a double-handed shove for good measure. "Back the fuck off, Ricci. Final warning."

Disoriented from the bottle hitting his head and the shove, Marc pealed himself off the floor and shook his head. He couldn't make his eyes focus for several minutes and the fleeting thought that he may have a concussion crossed his mind, but that didn't matter at the moment. What did matter was that Spires paid for his crimes. With a yell that turned into little more than a grunt, he launched himself at Spires again, fists flying.

Spires knew better than to let the big man tackle him head on, and he was too close to dodge. There was but one thing to do. Jumping up as high as he could, Spires made himself horizontal with knees bent, waited for contact, and then kicked his feet out as hard as he could.

An intelligent man would have given up, but Marc was definitely not intelligent. Besides, Spires had done something unforgivable and had to pay. Nobody else was going to do it, so it was up to him. So, he peeled himself off the floor where he had landed after being kicked in the chest and charged Spires yet again.

The successful dropkick had left Spires indisposed. While he was getting back up to his feet, he was in no position to repel the next tackle from Marc. The two of them scuffled through the corridor with neither one getting the upper hand. Elbows flew and landed, forearms were bruised with blocking, ribs were pounded, and limbs were twisted from failed holds that sheens of perspiration allowed for slipping out. The former friends were out for blood, neither giving quarter nor asking for it.

By the time the fight exited the living quarters into a mid-level terrace of the Medina, the two of them were bruised and bloodied and half-naked from ripping the shirts off each other's backs, but neither backed down. Security was undoubtedly notified by any number of people who backed away from the brawl, particularly the café owner whose table settings were dashed to a shambles by the half-naked, beaten bodies of the two men who were too stubborn to quit.

Somehow Spires managed to get his feet back under him, thanks in large part to the safety railing on the terrace which overlooked the lowest level. The leverage allowed him to summon a savage knee strike. Marc was on all fours, pushing himself up from a prone position, and caught the knee right in the face.

Marc was holding his own, or so he thought. He was definitely the worst off. He wiped blood off his chin and wondered where his front tooth had gone. But for now, he just scowled at Spires, breathing heavily.

Gasping for his lost wind and standing only by holding onto the railing, Spires pointed a jagged finger at Marc. "You had... enough yet... fuckhead?"

"That depends," spat Marc. "Are you going to apologize to my sister?"

"Your sister ain't fucking here, you cunt!"

Marc wasn't surprised at the response, but it filled him with rage all the same. With a roar, he charged Spires once more.

Falling aside out of Marc's charge, Spires swing his fist in an arc that was somewhere between a right cross and an uppercut. The motion failed to stop Marc or even slow him down much. In fact, all it did was divert his forward momentum into a diagonal path onto the guard rail. His middle section got struck hard, which knocked the wind out of him, but his torso flipped up and over the edge, carried by the momentous force of his own bodyweight.

The last thing Stephen saw was the soles of Marc's feet before a bone-crunching thud on the level below.

"Oh, shit..." Spires leaned over the guard rail and saw his old friend turned enemy in a twisted heap of limbs with one arm slightly twitching.

"Don't move!" shouted an authoritative voice.

"Shit!" Spires twirled around, doing his best to keep his feet under him, and put his hands in the air.

But it was only a shop owner looking to be a hero. Spires looked both ways, saw no one else was in sight, and ran for his life before anyone else could finger him.