[It can only be assumed that Tyler has been moved to the dungeon of Figaro Castle.] Subj: [ffml] [MW] Street Fighter Date: 00-05-26 23:33:07 EDT From: tkaneshi@bobcat.bradley.edu (Tim K.) Reply-to: ffml@egroups.com To: ffml@egroups.com Look Ma, I wrote a [MW] post! :D ------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Sitting around in a jail cell was not how Tyler had imagined he'd been spending his days when he joined the militia. Sure, he'd given momentary thought to spending a few days in the hole when he was thinking about doing things that probably would have landed him there. Of course, because he was smart enough not to get caught, that never happened. Now he was rotting away in a dungeon as a prisoner of war - something he had never considered at any time before or after enlisting. All things considered it wasn't bad. He wasn't shackled to the wall, mainly because he hadn't attacked the guards physically. Verbal barbs were good enough, in his opinion. And the interrogators quickly figured out the extent of his knowledge of Mog's plans. After a minimal amount of mostly psychological torture, they left him alone. In short, after the first few weeks, nothing happened to him. And that was precisely the problem. He talked to several other prisoners but quickly figured out they weren't much more entertaining than he was. After about a month, new prisoners stopped coming in, which meant no new faces, at least to the prisoners. Escape plans were discussed, but the inmates were all privates or corporals and none too bright. At last, everyone came to the conclusion which had first occurred to Tyler: they were just too dumb to get escape plans together. Soon, even hurling verbal abuse at their captors had lost its charm. And so, with nothing to do and no realistic hope of escape, Tyler ultimately resorted to doing the thing he had hated most in boot camp. Exercise. He began with things like situps and pushups but quickly tired of them (mentally more than physically). Then he hit upon something he could enjoy doing: shadowboxing. Every day between meals he'd be there in his cell, his fists pumping and jabbing, his feet flying across the stone as he dodged and countered the blows of invisible opponents. Some of his fellow inmates taunted him about it. But with nothing else to do in the dungeon they soon gave up and watched mutely, the taunts giving way to Tyler's grunts and the sound of his feet pounding the floor. Some of them even followed suit. Soon the flat, dead air of the dungeon grew rank with the smell of sweat. Of course, totally absorbed in his imaginary matches, Tyler didn't give much thought to what his captors thought. Certainly, his jailers never brought it up as they doled out the barely adequate and bland prison food. So he figured most of them didn't know and the ones that did didn't care. At least until one evening, when one of the guards came to pick up the dishes after what passed for dinner. "Tell the cook he's getting better at covering up the taste of the cockroaches," Tyler said sarcastically. To his surprise, the guard replied, "So I've seen you practicing in here." Though caught off guard, Tyler recovered and shrugged as in as nonchalant a manner as he could. "What of it?" The guard hesitated then forged ahead. "Look, I'll level with you. The soldiers have a sort of - sport going." "Sport?" "Yeah. Hand to hand fighting. Two soldiers square off until one of them eats dirt. Anything goes, as long as you stay away from the eyes and don't use weapons." Tyler smirked. "I don't suppose the officers know anything about this." The guard returned the smirk. "Those that do are the highest betters. Some of 'em even compete." "So you're saying I could get out if I'd be willing to take a few lumps?" The guard's grin quickly vanished. "Only for the night. Don't think you can win your freedom or anything. This is strictly for entertainment value. And you can forget about running, too; you'll be ringed in by soldiers." "Not much of a deal," scoffed Tyler, "Maybe I like it better fighting opponents who dont hit back." "Suit yourself," said the guard unconcernedly. "Not like we need you anyways. "But if you change your mind, you know where to find-" "Wait." Tyler knew he wasn't going to have any chance to escaping. He knew getting clobbered wasn't his idea of fun. He knew he'd probably be nothing more than a novelty for the Domans to jeer at and bet against. But still......"When do I start?" - Xoth =-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=