A Bacherlorette Party To Remember
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With IDs and social security numbers in hand, I spent Friday afternoon at the bank, jumping through their countless hoops, in order to open up a bank account for the four of us. Pointless rules and regulations made the task more difficult than it needed to be. In the end, the girls would still need to individually go to that specific branch to sign their names, before getting access to that account and their debit cards mailed to them.
While I was at the bank, I set up a second account under my name. I felt that it might come in handy later.
After leaving the bank, I stopped by the girl’s gym and sought out their instructor. Nancy Luck didn’t even hesitate before shooting me down. She had no desire to let her unknown friend become a Portal explorer or team up with us, even with the Terrible Trio begging.
Once the girls came home, I passed out their new bank account numbers with instructions that they needed to go to that particular branch and make out a signature card before they could get access or a debit card.
Much screaming and dancing occurred, to the detriment of my poor eardrums.
A few days later, I arrived late to my Tuesday late afternoon class with Kyle MacRory. I was at a crucial point in my latest Project and kept working until I came to a good stopping point.
Twenty new students were being lectured to by the stocky weapons instructor. The older students were warming up off to the side in their usual place by the dummies. I wasn’t exactly an older student, but I had earned Kyle’s respect, he skipped me well past the beginner’s portion of his lessons.
I waved at the Dojo owner and headed to stretch in my heavy Carhartts that he insisted that I practice in, unlike his other students who mostly wore sweats and heavy padded jackets. I had brought my first set of armor to the third lesson at his request. Since then, he insisted that I bundle up each and every lesson.
Sweating my ass off wasn’t my favorite thing to do, but I could not gainsay his reasoning. I wore heavy clothes to fight in, so practicing in anything less could throw me off when crunch time came.
My old coaches all believed in full pad practices for the same reason and I had never found any reason to think differently than they did.
After warming up, I took down a weighted foam-headed Axe from the rack, and went back to work on my footwork. Sliding into the groove, I felt my movements click. Really click.
The smoothness of my strokes, increased along with the power behind my swings. The low kick combo, felt natural for the first time.
Level three was a huge jump in proficiency!
I kept working on my stances one at a time while getting more and more comfortable with my strike, parries and blocks in each set. Not that I did much parrying with my Axe. I felt blocking was more efficient and worthwhile.
Lora slid next to me and watched, “are you on drugs?” she asked out of the blue.
“Huh?” I misstepped at her question, but still connected with my swing.
“You improved a lot. How did you do it?” by her tone, my improvement was more than just, ‘a lot’.
Pausing in my new Level acclimation, “a few hundred zombies will do that to you. You either get better or become lunch.”
“No, it’s more than that.”
“Are you familiar with Weapons?”
“Yes.” she didn’t look too pleased, at whom exactly, I wasn’t sure.
“I Leveled. When any of us Level, we get points. When I hit Level two, I received two Status points to distribute how I wanted to. I chose to put them on my weapon Skill upgrading it to Level three from Level two.”
“My turn to say, ‘Huh’,” she mocked me. Lora obviously wanted to say more.
“If you want, we can talk after class.”
Steeling herself, “I want. Do you have time?”
“Sure. What’s with the new students?”
“Kyle is the best weapon instructor in the city. People like you need a good teacher.”
“People like me?”
“Death seekers” she replied with a hint of Mediterranean accent.
“Ouch.”
“The money grubbing fool threw an ad out again and hooked some gullible fish.”
“If it saves a life or two, I’m for it.”
“It doesn’t work that way; more will end up dying with his teaching than without.”
“Why do you say that?”
“Their confidence will grow faster than their Skill.”
Ah.
“Talk to you after class, Jason.”
Most of Kyle’s students only attended two hours of the four-hour class. Four of the twelve advanced students that attended Tuesday class, stayed with me for the full four hours. Only two of the new twenty some students stayed through the class change with the more advanced students.
Four hours of near constant activity, even to me, was tiring at the tempo that Kyle kept us moving at. Even Lora needed a few breaks. Granted, her workout was higher tempo than everyone’s but mine. Her blade work emphasized speed and endurance, where mine targeted strength and endurance.
I wished for the countless time, since meeting the older woman that she would join my team, yet I knew she was too old to be a Weapon. The oldest known recipient was 29, the youngest; 15. Lora had at least five and maybe ten years on me. There were also hints that the Spanish woman and Kyle were romantically linked.
After cooling down, I showered and headed back inside the dojo.
The two new students didn’t make it through the full four hours on that first class, yet they stayed to the end, leaving together. I guessed that they were husband and wife. Maybe both had been four or five-star athletes in college and maybe were slightly out of practice, intending to get back in shape to Portal dive with their new team.
“Kyle says you are looking for people to die with you.” Lora’s attitude said she was serious.
“If they are going to enter a Portal anyway, finding good teammates is a must.”
“What makes you think you are a good teammate?”
“I’m honest, trustworthy and decently Skilled.”
“You are better now than when you first arrived here, I’ll give you that. You can get better. Just because you say you are worth trust, does that make it so?”
“I think so. Why the questions, Lora?”
“Tell me about your teammates.”
“They are three high school seniors as close as sisters. I believe that they will live and die for each other. They were all from broken and destitute homes, and had no one else besides each other growing up. Even now, their world revolves around each other. If I weren’t in the picture, they would soon be living in a one room apartment struggling to survive together.”
“What about the Death Portals?”
“They give me no reason to change that belief. They strive their hardest for each other.”
“And you? What role do you play in their sisterhood?”
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