Chapter 25: Booze and Bitches

Quentin brought his shield up just in time for the sword coming down on him to stop with a loud thunk and a jolt racing up his arms. Jonas grinned at him and danced out of his reach before his counter swing could come anywhere near him. What Quentin had in experience and strength, Jonas made up for it with pure speed. His footwork was going to make him a legend one day. If he didn’t get too cocky before then.

“C’mon Quintius, aren’t you gonna hit me?” Jonas teased, flourishing his wooden sword as he circled around his opponent.

“Sure,” Quentin returned, turning with the kid and keeping in a low, ready stance. After five days of training together every single day, the kid was getting pretty good. Good enough to be a challenge, and keep him on his toes. “When I’m ready to drop you. You fast shits can’t take a hit to save your life.” Quentin pointed the tip of his own training weapon at Jonas.

Jonas let out something between a laugh and a roar as he sprung forward. Each step was accompanied by a measured swing that Quentin parried and retreated. It was their most basic form, drilled into them from the time they first entered the training yard. Any and everyone could and would use this, but there was something to see it done nearly perfectly.

“Stop fucking around and hit each other!” Demetrius roared from his place on the training arena’s wall. His feet dangled above the ground as he watched and beat rhythmically on a drum. Each low thrum of the instrument egged the combatants to stay moving, no matter what. Their fights were like a private dance, supervised by the head trainer.

Quentin’s own footwork wasn’t nearly as good. He felt no shame in admitting it. Instead, it was exciting. Jonas was running circles around him in the arena, attacking for all he was worth. What Jonas didn’t know was that a simple sword and shield was Quentin’s preferred weapon. When it came to executions or brawls, Quentin was a practical man who understood there was no such thing as a fair fight. He’d mercilessly exploit any weakness or opportunity presented to him.

When it was his choice, like a friendly sparring match with the hotshot new gladiator, Quentin was very much a defensive fighter. He’d learned from The Turtle, after all. Before Jonas was Demetrius’ favorite prodigy, Quentin had earned his respect and all the tutelage the grizzled man could provide. Each step backward was likewise in a circle, dragging Jonas around without the teen ever being the wiser.

There! Jonas finished the combo, ready to draw back to a neutral position when fatigue caught up with him and slowed him. Just enough for Quentin to spot the opening and strike, smacking Jonas’ wrist hard enough to make him drop his sword.

“And like that you’ve got one hand,” Quentin said. “Going to learn how to fight with the other hand or should we graft a weapon onto your stump?”

Cursing, Jonas picked up his weapon. His cheeks were red, and he didn’t wait about coming after Quentin with renewed vigor. He launched himself at Quentin, blow after blow raining down on his sturdy wooden shield. Quentin pulled his arm back to slam the shield into the youth, but Jonas dipped out of the way and Quentin had an eternity to realize he was open. Painfully open.

The next thing Quentin knew he was on the ground, spinning in place and seeing stars. A dim voice yelled for him to get up. He tried, but his legs wouldn’t cooperate. His vision cleared and Jonas waited above him, sword pointed at his throat. “Dead. You want to learn to fight without a head, or should we graft a weapon there?” Jonas grinned. “I think an axe for a face would suit you.”

Quentin glared at him before laughing. He smacked the weapon out of his face and took Jonas’ helping hand up. “Good hit,” he said.

“You shield bash a lot,” said Jonas, excitement in his voice. “I knew if I baited one out I could probably nail you.”

Demetrius slid off the wall and came between them, all but growling at them both. “You’re being predictable, Quintius. What does that get you?”

Here it came. “Dead,” Quentin said, shrugging.

“You’re dying more and more these fights,” Demetrius pointed out, crossing his arms.

“Yeah, Jonas is getting good,” said Quentin, face heating up. He knew what Demetrius was going to say before he said it. Quentin had just enough time to inwardly groan at the incoming lecture.

“That Savant is good, ain’t he? Good enough that it took a dozen men to bring him down. You think you're good enough to face him? With performances like this? You’re distracted,” Demetrius accused.

Quentin wanted to deny it, but he couldn’t. Five days of training had been some of the most fun he’d had in quite a long time, if he was being honest. It was nice to spend a couple hours running around the track until he got a stitch in his side. Fighting a younger and faster opponent was just what he needed to stay at the top of his game and be ready for overwhelming odds. And it was fun. But there was a lot more in his life these days, and it was starting to bleed into training, towards the end of each day.

“Yeah,” Quentin admitted. The throbbing pain in his head was proof of that. “Just a little.”

Demetrius rubbed at his eyes. “What on earth could be more important than getting in shape for the most important fight of your life?”

The answer came to Quentin immediately. “Booze and bitches,” he said, forcing himself to keep a straight face.

The training was fun, but it was the least of his days. Over the past week Quentin had settled into a comfortable routine of waking up and having breakfast with Razia, taking care of his home, going to train for a few hours, coming back for a hot bath and then out each night. It was hard for him to believe, but Quentin had friends now. With no matches until the Blooming, he spent his nights with Razia and company, catching dinner and a few drinks.

“Nice to see you’re taking this seriously,” Demetrius sighed.

“I am serious,” Quentin insisted. Then the thought occurred to him. “I can show you. What are you two doing tonight?” he asked brightly.

Jonas paused from drinking from his waterskin. “Was going to watch the beast fights and maybe try and win a few shards off ‘em,” he said, dropping the skin. “What did you have in mind?” He at least looked intrigued.

Demetrius stared at him, trying to figure out if he was serious. “Watching the matches and making sure each fighter knows exactly how they fucked up and how to do better. You know, my job.”

“Yeah, but do you have to do that?” Quentin asked, waving him off. Now that he’d given the invitation, there was nothing he wanted more than to show what he was doing these days. Once upon a time, Demetrius had been his only friend. “Ditch the Colosseum for a night and come with me.”

Demetrius made a face like Quentin had uttered the unspeakable. He looked at Jonas’ excited smile and the odd sly expression Quentin was making and he paused. “I haven’t skipped a night in years,” he muttered weakly.

“Sounds like a good time to try it then, yeah?” Jonas piped up.

It was tempting to tell Demetrius right then, everything Quentin had been up to. But he knew how the older man was. He’d be lucky to be interrupted once every couple of sentences to receive the latest scathing critique of Quentin’s judgment and personal habits. So Quentin did what he usually did in a social situation: he kept his mouth shut. For a change, it worked.

“It’s just the beast fights and some d-listers tonight,” Demetrius said, fighting to keep a growing smile off his face. Quentin had him curious and they both knew it. “What’ve you got for us?”

“A surprise,” Quentin said. “Something you would never guess in a million years.”

But Quentin was going to have to drag it out a bit and make them wait. Their first stop was back to Quentin’s house for a bath and a change of clothes. Neither of his friends complained. They stripped down and joined him in the bath, letting the scalding water soothe their tired muscles and pains. Sharing a locker room together was the only thing that made Quentin comfortable enough stripping in front of them, but it was enough.

They spent the better part of half an hour relaxing in the water, talking about training, the Blooming coming up in just over a week, and some of Demetrius’ favorite matches in his long tenure at the Colosseum. They got out only reluctantly, with Quentin’s promises of booze and bitches coming back to the forefront of their minds. Refreshed and dressed once more, Quentin led the men out of his home and onwards to The Fighting Beetles.

The Fighting Beetles stood just before the western outskirts of the city. The Boulevard opened up even wider as the city proper ended and the desert sprawled onward. The Fighting Beetles wasn’t just a pithy name. It was spitting distance from a stable that housed behemoth and charger beetles. A quarter mile away was the arena where people pitted their beetles against each other. Violence, gambling, and wide open spaces; it was a perfect place for Razia and the girls to go hunting for the night.

“This is what you’re showing us?” Demetrius scoffed as they stopped in front of the building. Night had just fallen and the warm sunset breeze showed no signs of cooling down. The Fighting Beetles was a huge two story warehouse-like building, and it was crowded that night. “You?” He raised an eyebrow.

“Looks like a good time to me,” said Jonas, craning his head to get a good look at the people dancing on the roof. “Maybe I’ll even get to see some beasties fight after all,” he said, pointing over to the arena. It was like a minor Colosseum, though nowhere near as intricate or well made.

“It does look like a good time,” Demetrius agreed, turning to Quentin. “Which makes me wonder what made this guy come here. You avoid people like the plague.”

“That’s not true,” Quentin said, smiling. “I avoid talking to people. I don’t mind if they’re around. I like to people-watch.”

Demetrius scoffed. “And that’s what’s got you distracted from training that could save your life? Getting drunk and watching pretty girls from afar?”

The smile on Quentin’s face gave Demetrius pause. “Not exactly,” Quentin said, leading them in.

The Fighting Beetles was bustling, with servers running between tables and people playing cards with friends. The place may have been called the Fighting Beetles, but this wasn’t the kind of place where fights broke out. This was the kind of place that actually had security to break it up and keep the fun running smoothly. Quentin led them around to their usual spot in the back corner.

The anticipation and excitement swelled with each step. It wasn’t often Quentin had anything to show off, and only recently did he even have people to show off to. Demetrius knew him better and longer than just about anyone else in the world, including Quentin’s father. There was no way the man was expecting this. Quentin lowered his hood as they approached a group of four tables in the corner where Razia, Samantha, Isa, Maria, and Amy and Jenna sat.

“Mr. Q!” Samantha saw him first and waved the three of them over. The others (sans Isa) echoed her. Quentin’s cheeks heated with a pleasant warmth over the dumb nickname Samantha had somehow got to stuck.

“How’s the food here?” Quentin asked, accepting a big hug from Samantha.

“Big portions,” Maria answered, waving at him.

“Excellent.” Quentin grinned like a fool. It was weird, good food wasn’t the only thing he was looking forward to for a change. Everyone here seemed happy to see him. It was almost overwhelming.

“You brought friends this time, huh?” Razia nodded towards Demetrius and Jonas, who stood a few feet away, gobsmacked. That’s what Quentin had been waiting for, the slow trip there. The dumbfounded look of utter confusion on Demetrius’ face. Quentin’s face hurt from smiling so much.

“I did. Razia, meet Demetrius, head trainer and his protege Jonas.” Quentin’s heart hammered in his chest. This was where it could all go wrong. He motioned to Razia. “Brother, I believe you’ve heard me speak of Razia before.”

Demetrius worked his mouth open and shut silently. He screwed up his eyes staring at her, but it didn’t take him long to realize what Quentin meant. “YOU!” he growled.

“Me,” Razia said, standing and giving a mocking curtsy. “I’m going to assume Quentin’s had nothing but glowing things to say about me, of course.

“I’ve got some pretty choice things to say about you.” He turned on Quentin, eyes blazing. “You should’ve killed her, but here she is.”

Silence descended in their little corner. The girls looked at each other and Quentin uncomfortably as Demetrius’ words hung in the air, poisonous and angry. Isa looked triumphant, as if she’d been right from the start. Maria looked uncomfortable, Razia unphased, and Samantha looked angry. She hopped off her stool and jabbed her finger into Demetrius’ chest.

“Who the hell are you talking about?” she demanded, voice almost squeaking with anger. “Mr. Q wouldn’t hurt any of us. He’s fought to protect us!”

Quentin’s face burned even as there was a pleasant flutter in his chest. As nice as it was to have someone defend him, this was the wrong person for the job. He stepped in front of Samantha, gently pushing her behind him. “I’m not a murderer, brother. You should know that.”

Anger turned to shame. Demetrius looked away, nodding slowly. “Yeah, you’re right. I should know that,” He admitted. Behind him, Jonas nodded hesitantly as well. “That doesn’t change the danger you’re in.”

“Or the fun I’m having,” Quentin countered. It was dirty, in a way only two close people could be, but Quentin added, “Would you deny me some fun before the Blooming?”

“You’re a dirty, rotten, scum sucking bastard Quentin,” Demetrius grumbled.

“Love you too, brother.” Quentin gave a crooked smile. He met Razia’s eyes. She motioned towards Demetrius with an expression Quentin didn’t quite understand. He tentatively nodded, finding that he trusted her a hell of a lot more in situations like this than he did himself.

Razia touched Maria’s hand and pointed to Demetrius who was muttering something to Jonas. Maria didn’t need to be told what to do. She got out of her seat and draped herself around Demetrius’ shoulders, whispering in his ear. His expression changed from irritated to intrigued very quickly.

Jonas didn’t wait for one of the girls to come to him. He carefully pushed past Quentin and joined Isa in the corner. He sat down, flashing her a dazzling smile. Isa rolled her eyes in return, but she teased a smile underneath the feigned apathy. She crossed her legs and set her feet in Jonas’ lap. Razia sidled up to Quentin.

“Think we’re in the clear?” she said, nudging him.

“For now.” He surprised the both of them by throwing his arm around her shoulder. It felt like a good moment, and it’s not like she would object. Maybe. Quentin swallowed and tried to read the sly smile on her face. “How’ve you been tonight?”

Razia shrugged, reaching up and wrapping his arm around her closer, keeping her hand in his. “It’s been slow so far tonight, but we’ve got good news. As of last night we’re up to seven aquilos towards our debt. We’re averaging a little over one a night. Not bad for just a few girls.”

“A few?” Quentin’s brow furrowed. “I thought it was just the two of you.”

“Well,” Razia hedged. “I’ve been doing a few favors for some of the girls and they’ve tossed a few shards our way out of gratitude. Most of it’s been the two of us. At this rate we’ll be square by summer!”

She sounded too chipper. Quentin was on edge immediately. “What aren’t you telling me, Razia?” he asked calmly, squeezing her shoulder to show he wasn’t angry. Not yet.

“You’re getting pretty sharp,” she said, laughing merrily. “Okay, so. I swear this wasn’t intentional. Before I tell you anything else, do know that I didn’t plan or do anything but sort of...Not stop it.”

Quentin groaned. “You know that’s making it sound worse.”

“Here,” said Razia, handing him her drink from the table. “Take a drink, steady yourself. It’s not that bad. I don’t think it’s bad at all, but…It’s important to me that you know this wasn’t intentional.”

He took the cup and took a drink, making a face. It tasted funny. He looked around the rest of the group. Amy and Jenna were chattering between each other animatedly in some kind of fight or mutual excitement. Demetrius was drinking while Maria had her arm around him, saying something that made him spit beer out laughing. Even Jonas and Isa looked content to go as they were, with him rubbing her feet while she had an expression of delight that eclipsed his. Even here in public with a hundred people nearby, they were practically alone as they talked. Still, he hated being this exposed if she was going to drop some complication on him.

“Okay, so.” Razia took a deep breath. “Remember the first night here, when you got into a fight getting some drunks away from Isa?”

“Yuh-huh,” Quentin nodded, not sure where this was going.

“Word travels fast, Quentin. Especially about people who stand out or are unique. Like you, me, and Isa.”

Quentin followed her gaze over to Isa. He couldn’t deny that Isa was a beautiful woman. The strong, sharp features sometimes found in dusk-girls did stand out. Razia was of course stunning, and he was an impossible to miss eyesore. “Yeah, I suppose. What’re you getting at?”

“That wasn’t the first time people were rough to Isa. We all have to deal with shit like that, you understand?” Razia slipped out from under his arm and faced him, still close and speaking just loud enough for the two of them to hear over the clamor of the bar. The smile was gone and she was dead serious now. “Most of the time, we don’t have someone willing to fight for us. Or if we do, it’s someone just as shitty.”

“Okay,” said Quentin, still not understanding. His head was starting to swim a bit. Maybe it wasn’t common for men to stand up for prostitutes, but that was a good thing, right? Quentin might’ve been a damned monster, but he wasn’t an asshole, at least.

“Everyone there probably talked about you taking on that many guys and winning. And how girls started coming up to you for safety. Figuring that you’d proven that you weren’t going to hurt them, and people weren’t going to want to start shit with you. And how Samantha and I are paying you money regularly. Well, some of the other girls wanted in on what we seem to have. They wanted to pay you for protection. Your cover job encouraged them.”

Quentin remembered he was supposed to be an arms instructor and high end guard. Things were beginning to become more clear. And foggy. He didn’t know how that made sense, but there it was. “Razia, have you been taking money in exchange for me being a bodyguard to these girls?”

Razia made a face and shook her head. “Not...Not quite a bodyguard. You’re a big scary looking gentleman who hangs out with a bunch of prostitutes. They think you’re…”

“Oy!” A man yelled, making the entire corner look up from what they were doing. He was a decent sized guy, shirtless but he wore pants with suspenders that went over his shoulders. His eyes were lined with dark makeup and his hair was shaved on the sides, leaving just a garish red stripe down the middle. Piercings lined his right ear and both eyebrows. “Motherfucker, the hell you think you’re doing here?”

“I’m sorry?” Quentin said, completely thrown. The world blurred. He rubbed at his eyes.

“You godsdamned better be!” The man spat, jabbing his finger into the air at him. “E’rryone knows this is Georgie’s spot. Take your bitches and get the fuck outta here.” Behind him were a few girls of his own, dressed about as revealing as the women around Quentin.

That’s when it hit him. “Excuse me,” he said to the man, Georgie he presumed, and turned to Razia. “Are you telling me people think I’m like this asshole?”

“Oy!”

Razia blanched. “Kinda. Not like him. Better. Your reputation is honestly off to a great start.” She shrugged, smiling innocently.

“A great start? A start of what, Razia?” Quentin all but yelled. Everyone near them were staring at him anyway. There were too many eyes on him, too many people looking right at him and watching. Even Quentin’s new friends had turned and faced him, looking uneasy. Were they friends, or were they supposed to be his girls? The world flipped upside down and then back again. Quentin swayed in place.

“Don’tchoo ignore me, fucker!” Georgie grabbed a bottle off a nearby table and flung it at Quentin’s feet. It shattered and pieces bounced off his boots. “Get yer bitches and get the fuck outta here. The Beetle’s my stomping grounds and you ain’t welcome.”

Quentin took a deep breath, counted to ten, and exhaled. He put on a fake smile he hoped looked contrite and turned to Georgie. The polite declaration of what Georgie could do to himself froze in Quentin’s mouth, along with all rational thought. He managed to mumble, “I don’t feel so good,” before he collapsed.