6 Miserable Comedy - 6

[Observer]

It had taken about half an hour for the boy in the black hoodie to get to the gates of Ilus.

Seth, off in the distance, had collapsed against a tree, somewhat resigned to the idea of being late. He was now catching his breath, gasping and wheezing, flapping his sweat-drenched shirt in a feeble attempt at cooling down.

The hooded figure, however, was unperturbed. He had walked the whole way there without breaking a sweat. He was very calm.

The two much taller boys in front of him were not.

"Good morning," the muscular one said between gritted teeth, hastily smiling as "morning" left his lips. "Would you-"

"...nit... ftern..." a mumbling response came from the black hoodie.

"Sorry?" the giant one said, puzzled.

Bringing another chip to his mouth, the other boy grumbled. "Iznit afternoon," he said, only slightly louder than before, less as a question, more as a statement.

"Yes, because of you, but we can leave that aside," the one who looked like a model told him.

"Hey, hey, I didn't walk all the way over here just to get attacked like that, bro. You need to calm down," he responded, smirking slightly.

"Okay, no, this isn't working. Both of you shut up, let's get this over with. Are you or are you not Seth?" the bigger boy interjected, sensing resentment growing between the two of them.

"Who's Seth?" the hooded boy asked.

"You, unless God stepped in to save us," the tall one sniped back.

"I mean, I'm Grant. Not Seth. But if you prefer me to be named Seth, I can try that for a little extra," he responded through a mouthful of cheese and crunch.

Ignoring his growing anger, especially with the latest jab, the muscular boy gave a sigh that sounded like a train blowing off steam, then said, "All right. That's settled, then, our business with you is done. Well, actually, one last thing, then you can go to your... actually, might be lunchtime at this point." Then, he reached for the ground, where a bag containing folded Ilus shirts and pants was half-open expectantly. Pulling out an XL t-shirt and shorts with one hand, he casually reached up to grab Grant's shoulder with the other.

The reaction was so fast that by the time the scowling model blinked, he had already vanished. The giant one was standing with the clothes knocked out of his hand, frozen, dwarfing the black-clad figure who had dashed about five feet back instantly.

"Grant, troublemaker. Got it," he said, picking up the clothes again slowly, standing to his full height, squaring his shoulders.

"Hey, not a troublemaker, I just don't like to move that fast. Let's get to know each other over a candlelit dinner first, at the very least," Grant responded, a wide sneering grin visible even under his personal shade.

"Okay, how's this for an introduction? My name's Argus. I'm going to make you wear this damn uniform. You're going to hold still. That's the only ending to this that goes down good for both of us," the bigger boy said.

"Hey, hey, cosplay's an extra charge!" Grant teased, sticking his tongue out and crossing his arms over his chest in an X. Wordlessly, Argus stomped towards him, his expression stoic, his forearms rippling, prepared to enclose the clown in front of him in a brand new circus tent.

The ground in front of him erupted in a spray of dust. A line had been carved out into the brick of the road, and Grant was standing with his legs flipped 180 degrees from where they had been, his right foot still hovering over the ground. For the first time, Argus could see the other boy's eyes. The sight froze him for a second.

The jester who had been making jokes about being a prostitute earlier had eyes that looked frozen in time, by either tragedy, death, or both. These were not the eyes that were asking for a little foreplay before the main event. These were the eyes of somebody who had done worse than he had done to the brick on things that could feel it more than the road could. They were the eyes of somebody who was sending an unspoken message to Argus: "Cross this line, and I repeat that trick on your hands."

Argus paused just long enough for Grant to settle back into a casual position standing in front of him, crossing his arms. Then, cracking his neck and swinging his upper arm as if to stretch, he casually stepped over the line.

The two blows came at such similar times that it was hard to tell who had struck first. Grant's left foot casually hooked around the uppercut Argus had swung from down low, an unexpected move for somebody with the height advantage. Both of them had gotten bloody noses from the exchange, and were now both smiling, a fire alight in Argus's eyes, a frost burning in Grant's.

The next four blows were similar. Lightning fast right-arm roundhouse blows, twin grapple holds into dirty knees to the midriffs, double straight jabs that slammed into each other half-thrown, and a rerun of the grapple holds, this time aiming for the faces. Assuming that he had overpowered Grant, Argus aimed for his endgame, gripping the other boy's shoulder with his left and raising the shirt with his right.

Then, a flash of light.

Blinking away the flare from their eyes, the two boys observed the situation to muted interest. Grant was twenty meters away from Argus, but behind him this time, inside the school gates. Argus was nursing a sore wrist, clearly having had his grip twisted off. And the third boy was standing halfway between them, a glow fading from his hands, impeccable, breathing in slowly.

"That's rude of you, Tony," Argus said, nursing his arm. "I would've gotten the pants if you hadn't stepped in."

"You would've gotten your ass kicked, is what I think you meant to say. I didn't like that fucker's expression," the arbiter hissed. Clasping and rubbing his wrists vigorously, he was clearly sore from whatever he had done to break up the fight.

Also, I told you not to call me Tony," he continued, shooting a glare at his partner.

"Anthony is so boring, though. Don't you want a little spice in your life?" Argus taunted him, smiling insincerely.

"Is that over there enough spice in your life?" Anthony responded, pointing towards the school.

Grant had looked down once Argus had mentioned his pants. It had shown him that he was now wearing the Ilus dress shirt, buttoned neatly and looking freshly ironed. Being extra-large, it was cavernous on him, but it still didn't make it impressive that his arms had been stuffed in.

Unfortunately, the size had meant that he very easily slipped it off, and was now back to walking into the closest building.

"That fucker," Argus said, starting after him, only to feel a firm grip on his shoulder.

"Don't," Anthony told him quietly, watching the smaller figure slowly approaching the middle of the hallway the entrance led into. Once Grant had reached that area, he turned sharply left, purposefully, almost exactly 90 degrees counterclockwise.

"Headmaster's office," he breathed.

"How do you know?" Argus demanded.

"Feels like it," he responded. "Now, c'mon, we have stations to watch."

- - -

[Seth Lee]

It feels weird.

After I threw up behind some of those trees, I could feel this weird... energy coming from behind me. Don't really know how else to say it, just fuckin' weird energy.

So I turn around, right, and I look at where this feeling is coming from, like, "Is this shit gonna make me through up again", and I see this kid fighting some huge guy. They were hitting each other really hard, actually too hard, and the kid wasn't getting folded by the other dude, which is fucking bonkers.

But, like, I'd blink. Just a couple times, because it was really fucking cool and I didn't want to miss anything. Miles above the other fights I've seen, felt like I was actually in it, even though I probably would've been a little pile of Seth on the floor if I fought that big guy.

And when I did, I'd see these flashes of light, coming from where they were. I only blinked like three times because of how short that shit was, but I saw it.

There was this one moment, third blink, where I blinked and that kid who looks like a prick was where they were before, and the other two were split apart. That was the brightest, by far. It felt like what happens when you look at the sun for too long.

What the fuck was that?

- - -

[Observer]

A queasy looking boy holding a hastily stuffed backpack and wearing a now-rumpled, sweaty Ilus uniform lurched towards the gates from out behind the trees where he had been hunched for the past ten minutes.

Seeing that the two boys he had witnessed fighting another student had vanished while he went back to dry heaving, he urged his tired legs to sprint for the door once again. In his deliriously tired state, he had the vague thought that perhaps these were the school bullies, and they were being very proactive with their hunt for others' lunch money.

His attempt to run was pathetic. Forget walk, he could barely stagger past the gates.

He'd only just recognized that when two different hands clapped onto his shoulders. One was an enormous palm surrounded by fingers the size of water bottles, while the other was a slim, beautifully pristine hand.

Turning slowly to his right, he gazed directly into the smiling face of Argus Manson.

"Hey," he said in his normal, deep, sonorous voice.

"H-hi," Seth responded, nervously smiling.

Argus pulled out a tissue and raised it to his nose. As he blew, some blood leaked out of his nostrils, which he hastily wiped away, plugging both his nostrils with a single tissue ripped in half.

"You Seth?" he said, his voice nasally and booming at the same time.

Seth's knees quivered.