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REPOST: Fight Night in Parodiopolis, part two by spiffy! Friday, 05-Nov-1999 14:08:20
Fight Night in Parodiopolis, part two by spiffy! “Okay, start with your left, spiff,” Visionary ordered from beside the punching bag, then shook his head critically. “No, your left! Left!” “This IS my left, Vizh,” spiffy replied dryly. Visionary blinked. “Oh. Maybe you start with your right...” he muttered, flipping frantically through ‘So You Want to Train Boxers.’ Lisa and Cheryl exchanged worried glances and quietly closed the door. “No offense, Cheryl, but... Visionary isn’t exactly... ah...” Lisa paused, groping for words. “Competent?” Cheryl offered. “Pretty much, yeah.” “Frankly, I don’t think the trainer’s gonna make a big difference,” Cheryl admitted. “I mean... well, take a look.” She pulled back the curtain which covered the entrance to the seating area and stepped inside. spiffy’s competition had just arrived... all two hundred tons of him. His huge frame (20 by 30 feet) drew attention to him immediately, as did the glinting glass that projected menacingly from his body between equally menacing pointy rocks. He was a Russian peasant hut in all its glory. He was... the Yurt. “That line about new kidneys,” Cheryl continued. “was that just a joke?” Lisa held up her cell phone in response. “Speed dial one.” “This is ridiculous.” Banjooooo was pacing up and down the hallway, his hands loosely joined behind his back and his face screwed up in a concerned frown. “spiffy can’t punch out the Yurt! spiffy can’t punch out Elyse!” “So why don’t you go in for him?” Finny asked casually. Banjooooo abruptly stopped pacing and glanced at the dragon. “My kingdom needs me,” he finally responded, and resumed his pacing. “I guess I could go in for...” Finny started, but paused as he heard ‘Yurt smash puny camera man!’ “Then again,” he considered, “spiffy did survive hell...” “I could beat him,” the Dark Knight declared. Asil looked him up and down, her eyes narrowing. “No you couldn’t,” she decided. “He’s really big, and you’re not.” He shot her a pity-filled glance. “Strategy and planning will topple physical might on any occasion.” “What’s your strategy?” she asked innocently. He opened his mouth to respond, then closed it, his brow furrowing in thought. Finally, he replied with “I could beat him,” covered himself up in his cape, and vanished into the shadows. “I knew he couldn’t,” Asil smiled to herself. “But I bet Visionary could...” “How many rounds are there?” spiffy grunted as he pummelled the punching bag with all of his fern enhanced strength. Visionary eyed the bag doubtfully as each blow barely dented it before responding. “Well...” he consulted his manual, “it says here that regular matches are ten rounds... championships are thirteen... and amateurs are three.” He glanced at spiffy’s already sweat-covered brow. “I don’t think we’ll go with thirteen... maybe ten.” “So... what’re this guy’s weaknesses?” spiffy asked, still pounding on the bag. “History? Bad knee? Glass jaw? What?” Visionary stared at him for a second, tapping a fingernail on the cover of his book distractedly. “Ah...” he finally responded, “He is kinda stupid...” “Alright, I’ll just outsmart him, then!” spiffy decided, grinning at the slightly increased odds in his favour. “I dunno if thinking’s allowed... according to this thing, punching is pretty much all they do.” spiffy’s grin faded somewhat. “This guy’s covered in razor-sharp shrapnel, right?” he inquired, a note of anxiety entering his voice. “Yup.” “My boxing gloves better be pretty thick.” He looked sadly down at his hands for what could be the last time. “In this... er... corner: The unstoppable, ever-amazing Yurt!” the announcer yelled above the chatter of excited orphans and the worried murmer of the Lair Legion. “And in this corner: The enormous, Ausgardian war machine... ah... spiffy!” The fern covered youth pressed between the Yurt’s body and the side of the ring gave a weak wave. The ring had simply not been designed for someone of the dimensions of a Russian peasant hut. The sides bulged, as did spiffy’s eyes as the circulation to everything below his neck was cut off. “Yurt is sorry if he is hurting little plant girl,” the Yurt rumbled, sending vibrations through the ring. “No... urg... problem,” spiffy managed to croak, not wanting to confuse the big guy by explaining that he was, in fact, of the opposite gender. The announcer had continued his monologue while they talked, and now placed himself at what he assumed was the Yurt’s frontside. “Now, Yurt, do you have anything to say to the audience?” he asked expectantly. The orphans cheered in appreciation. The Yurt shifted to face the microphone, which had in fact been directed at his arm, and took a deep breath to prepare for his speech. In the process, a rather large outcropping of rock swung forward and smashed into the side of spiffy’s head. He collapsed in a heap instantly. “Three rounds. Definitely three rounds,” Visionary muttered. Finny and Banjoooooo rushed forward to help their friend, who was deliriously muttering “I’m fine, fern protected me,” out of the ring. Lisa reached for her cell phone. “Uh uh, no way, I’m not going back.” spiffy shook his head firmly, planting his feet and crossing his arms in determination. “Come on, spiff, that was an accident. The Yurt feels really bad about it,” Visionary assured him. “He feels really bad? I could have a concussion!” the ferned wonder exclaimed. “Actually, we’ve been assured that any brain damage will not be the result of bruising,” Lisa offered. “That makes me feel a lot better,” he responded sarcastically. “Isn’t the fight supposed to end after a knockout, anyway?” “You weren’t really knocked out...” Visionary hesitated. “It counts! Talk to the ref! Er... who is the ref?” Visionary motioned to their left, where Space Ghost was slumped over a table, his face buried in the salad dip. Little bubbles appeared as he snored. “Time to butter him up again,” Lisa whispered hungrily to Cheryl. The PR consultant gave her a look. “Let me handle it,” she said, then walked over to the nervous teen. “spiffy, you can’t really be backing out now! Didn’t you see all those girls cheering for you?” “Oh, sure... between the ages of 3 and 10,” he replied. “Desperation aside, that’s not really what I’m looking for.” “You’d be surprised how many happy couples have that much of an age difference.” A withering look from spiffy convinced her to abandon that particular argument. “Um... well.... you can... ah...” “Cheryl?” Lisa tapped her on the shoulder. “I think we have a solution.” “So she’ll go out with me as long as I try my best?” spiffy asked again, glancing past Cheryl at Aurora. Cheryl nodded emphatically. “But ONLY if you fight.” Aurora’s attempted “I love you no matter what happens, spiffy!” was muffled by Lisa’s hand. “I dunno... I’m gonna get massacred...” he worried. “Have you noticed her lung area?” she prodded him. “Oh yeah. Um... um... fine. Just because the entire LL could hardly beat him doesn’t mean that I can’t. I’ll do it!” “Thank God,” Cheryl muttered under her breath, motioning for Lisa to drag Aurora away. “The fight’s been moved to the parking lot, so you shouldn’t be knocked out before the round starts... with any luck... so go!” spiffy marched into the parking lot, his fern surrounding his form visibly, bulking and hightlighting his form. The crowd cheered. The wind stopped. The sun shone down on the youth as he took his position. Then, the Yurt appeared. The crowd’s cheers stopped, and silence reigned. Each step the giant took caused tremors in the ground. A pair of immense boxing gloves surrounded two giant chunks of rock that flowed out of his body. He settled into his starting point with a faint rumble of contentment and confidence. spiffy’s formerly confident fern wilted a little. Finally, the Yurt broke the silence. “Is puny plant girl ready?” it grunted through whatever served as a mouth. spiffy said nothing, but responded by stepping forwards, bringing his fists up in a defensive position. He stood there, fists clenched, eyes narrowed, with the sun beating down on his green figure. The crowd watched in breathless anticipation. Finally, at the prodding of Cheryl, Space Ghost started the match. The Yurt stepped forward, his immense body causing shockwaves in the pavement and destabilizing spiffy’s posture. The fighters circled each other, spiffy moving smoothly in a circle, the Yurt lumbering after him. Finally, spiffy darted forward, pummelling his opponent’s chest with blow after blow, his fern adding additional momentum to each punch. Finally, exhausted, spiffy dived backwards, resuming his defense. The Yurt yawned, and threw his fist towards the tiny attacker. A half hour later, spiffy regained consciousness to see the concerned faces of his friends above him. “What happened? Did I win?” He struggled to sit up, finally propping himself up on his arms. His companions looked at each other. “What do you remember, dear?” Cheryl asked gently. “Well... he punched me, and I blacked out. I guess I went into one of those bloodrages you hear about... get so obsessed with the kill that you don’t register anything around you... oh God... I didn’t kill him, did I?” “Um... actually, spiff,” Visionary spoke up after a few seconds, “you were kind of knocked out.” “Yeah, I figured,” he muttered, lying back down. “Well, that’s it, he got a knock-out... again... I can’t...” “Beat him!” NTU cried enthusiastically, running into the room. “I figured out how you can beat him!” spiffy looked up into his excited eyes. “Well?” he asked. “My equipment is registering a radioactive energy field around the Yurt!” he announced happily. “So... I’m being slowly poisoned to death whenever I fight him?” the ferned wonder observed. “That’s not the point. Your fern can absorb the energy and use it against him!” “Hey... yeah... that could work...” spiffy pondered. In a few minutes, he appeared in the parking lot. “Puny plant girl is slow,” the Yurt noted, standing up. spiffy just took his stance in response, and the Yurt did likewise. Space Ghost announced the beginning of the round, and the fight began. They began circling again, but this time, instead of attacking, spiffy concentrated on staying well out of the Yurt’s way. This was surprisingly difficult, because the Yurt’s size did not impede his speed, and, though the parking lot was much larger than the boxing ring, spiffy’s opponent still took up a good chunk of it. Miraculously, he managed to stay one step ahead of his enormous foe for a good five minutes. Each time the Yurt took a shot at him, he would duck under the fist, or dive backwards, or jump inside of his defenses, sending fern tendrils close to his opponent’s body and leaving them there as he scurried out of danger. Once they had sapped all the energy they were capable of, he would recall them, and send more out. The cycle repeated over and over, until the fern was brimming with energy and spiffy knew that it couldn’t take any more. The Yurt lurched forward, his fist flying through the air at his small enemy. spiffy flipped backwards, his fern stabilizing the move by attaching itself to a pair of nearby poles. Then, not stopping for an instant, more fern tendrils shot out, far above the Yurt’s head, attaching themselves to the very peak of a tree and a telephone pole in the distance. spiffy smirked and shot into the air, above the Yurt, and landed behind him. The poor thing was confused. The ferned wonder took this opportunity to channel all of the energy into his fist. Concentrating, he felt power flow into his right hand, and a slight glow began to emanate from it. Air crackle and carbonised as radioactive energies were mastered and transformed. Then, the Yurt finally turned around. He gave a grunt of joy upon seeing his opponent, and moved forward. But spiffy was faster. He dove past his enemy’s searching hands and brought his right fist up, driving it forward to make contact with the Yurt’s midsection. Upon hitting the Yurt, the energy exploded outwards, a blinding flash of light and a cloud of smoke causing the audience to shut their eyes tightly. The billowing cloud didn’t move for several seconds, and spiffy lowered his defense to peer inside. Then a fist shot out. “It didn’t hurt him at all?” spiffy moaned in disbelief. “Well...” Visionary hesitated, “a couple of rocks exploded... but that’s it. He was fine.” “Dammit, that was so impressive too,” he muttered. “Don’t worry, spiff, it’s almost over... don’t give up...” Vizh assured him. “Oh, I’m not giving up. I have to beat him. Hey, Trisha!” he called to the LL’s secretary, who froze and turned to stare at him. “Can you grab me the Yurt’s file? Thanks.” Instead of rushing off to fetch it, she marched towards him. He shot Vizh a confused look, but he just looked away. “The name’s Troia, fern-boy,” she said darkly. “and, as I think Jarvis would say, get it yourself.” With that, she stormed off angrily, knocking over an usher in the process. “What’re we paying her for?” he complained to Visionary, who shrugged. “I’m not all that sure we are paying her.” Fifteen minutes later, after pouring over the Yurt’s newly-retrieved file, spiffy was ready again. He entered the parking lot, where the Yurt greeted him. “Puny plant girl give good try!” he grinned. “Tickled!” “Yeah, I’ll show you tickle...” spiffy muttered, trying to sound menacing. Then, the round began, and the combatants were silent. The Yurt bounded forward, trying to end the round quickly, but spiffy threw himself out of the way. “Three times nine is twenty-seven!” he called, falling to the pavement. The Yurt gave him a confused look, registered the information, and tried to punch him again. spiffy dodged, calling “Ottawa is Canada’s capital! Raccoons are nocturnal! Boardwalk costs four hundred dollars!” To everyone’s astonishment, the Yurt shrank a bit. spiffy gave an imperceptible grin and continued. Fifteen minutes later, spiffy was physically and mentally exhausted. The Yurt, on the other hand, was significantly smaller and less rocky, though still bigger than spiffy. He lunged forward one last time, and spiffy barely avoided it. “Carrots are… uh… orange,” spiffy panted. The Yurt stumbled, a surprised expression appearing on what passed for a face. The outline of his body wavered, rock smoothed out, and human features became apparent. His body shrank and changed, until finally, a diminutive Russian potato farmer known as Vlastimock was all that remained. spiffy’s plan had succeeded: the stupider the Yurt was, the stronger he was. Therefore, the smarter he was... With a triumphant grin, spiffy took a slow step forward, his fern drooping visibly from fatigue. Vlastimock stared at his puny, human hands, stunned. As spiffy drew towards him, trying to raise the deciding fist, Vlastimock’s newfound knowledge kicked in. With a moment’s hesitation, he drew back a fist, and brought it forward. “I should’ve won! I was going to win! Why didn’t I win?” spiffy moaned. “Actually, he did win two out of three rounds before that one even started...” Visionary noted. “Shut up. So what happened? Did you take him in to custody?” “Nah, we thanked him for helping the charity. Well... kinda.” “Kinda?” “We WERE thanking him... but then Donar showed up, outraged at your defeat. It looked like he was gonna pound on the little guy, but then he got this funny look on his face... and collapsed. On top of Vlastimock. He’s in intensive care.” “Sucker,” spiffy grinned without a smidgen of remorse. “So... where’s Aurora?” “You LOST Aurora?” Cheryl screamed at her husband. “Shhhh,” he motioned, looking around for spiffy, “I told him she was putting on makeup.” “How do you lose a teenage girl?” she hissed. “Well... the manhole was open... and... sorry.” (spiffy's part of the tag team story) Reposted by Xander |
| REPOST: Fight Night in Parodiopolis, part two by spiffy! ((spiffy's part of the tag team story) Reposted by Xander) (05-Nov-1999 14:08:20) |
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