Geoff (pronounced Gee-off) looked up from his desk in the lobby area of the Tanzanite building, the headquarters of the OwlStone group. He thought he heard the clicking of high heels, which he did, but then he realized who the heels belonged to and shrank back down. His job wasn’t worth it. He simply pulled up his newspaper and tried to look non-threatening, huddling away in hopes that he wasn’t called out.
The man in heels stopped next to him.
Geoff looked up breathlessly out the corner of his eyes, hoping to even accidentally make eye contact through the man’s stylish black sunglasses.
“Tell me” He said, his accent exquisitely riding the line between brilliant English and something evidently spoken as a second language to Spanish “Is Ashton in?”
Geoff gulped and checked his computer, cursing the slow old system as the man towered over him. Even without the heels and the impressive aura, he’d be six foot three, so to have him standing so close-
“Done” Geoff said, his voice cracking slightly. “I mean yes, he’s in sir.”
“Thank you, Jeff. I’ll see myself up”. The man strode off, his high heels clicking on the floor. Geoff looked back and realized that it was because the heels weren’t heels at all. They were four-inch blades.
The elevators opened on the sixteenth floor in a whir of motion. Alarms blared as security was called all throughout the building, and knives emerged from the man’s stylish long coat as he sprinted forwards, slamming into the workers as they sprung up with weapons of their own. He diced through them, leaving a trail of bloodied suits as he flipped over tables and jabbed at anyone who got to close, before he found himself standing atop a table with nowhere to go. Looking back he saw an army of suits swarming towards him with all manner of knives, clubs and guns, some of which were being fired at him. His arm darted up to slice the bullets which got too close as the glass shattered behind him using his knife. A stiletto, of course, with Spanish leather for the grip and a Swarovski studded cross guard.
“Less than ideal” he murmured to himself under the gunshots. So, he threw himself out the window, noticing a cleaning lift right next to where he jumped out and kicking off the flat glass outside of the large building to land on it. The person working in the lift looked at him, understandably surprised, before that surprise turned to worry as the man said “You might want to grab something.” So, she did, and he sliced the steel cable holding the one side up so that the falling car catapulted him upwards. He kicked off the wall and flung into the air by the top story, slicing the glass open with extreme efficiency as he plummeted through the opening, landing on his feet against the ceiling before flipping down gracefully and driving a knife through the back of a big executive looking chair.
“Dominique Aguilar” A man’s voice rung out from the shadows of the room as Dominique withdrew his knife. “I must be honest with you; I’m doing all I can to stop myself from laughing.” The voice was cold and snide, seemingly coming from everywhere at once. Dominique scanned the room, looking for the secret to this magic trick.
“I’ll admit, I’m impressed. Your reputation is certainly something to be proud of…” Dominique slowly sat down in the chair, putting himself front and center in hopes of drawing out whoever else was in there with him “for someone who makes coats for a living.” A gun cocked next to Dominique’s head.
“You know, if I was in your situation I wouldn’t be looking down on my job right now.” Dominique smirked, unable to move his head enough to even see the gun and instead operating purely off the sensation of it being there. It was small, practical, and pointed directly at the side of his head. So, a Glock, maybe?
“Why would that be, Mr. Fashion?” Ashton stayed neutral. This was all purely a formality after all, he just played the game because he’d feel like a tool if he didn’t. It would all be over soon either way.
“Because my company at least makes things.” With that, Dominique head butted the gun with the frame of the glasses, knocking it down as the bullet slammed into the composite core. It was loud as hell, and the impact was enough to just about shred the side Dominique’s head, but his skull remained unperforated, which meant it was go time.
He was on his feet in a flash, rapidly stabbing at Ashton with his two stiletto knives as the gunslinger was forced to hop back. Ashton knew he needed distance, but at this range his footwork wasn’t good enough outpace his opponent. So instead he tried to handicap him, aiming for his kneecaps, but that didn’t even slow Dominique down. He just cut the bullet, lunging for Ashton’s throat. Big mistake.
Ashton dodged the attack, dropping his one gun and trying to hit Dominique with a knife hand strike to the jugular. Dominique stopped the attack, but doing so gave Ashton enough time to shoot him in the stomach with his other gun. The impact made Dominique stand still a second, giving Ashton all the time he needed to propel his gun back up with his knee and jump backwards. Then the moment passed, and Dominique was back after Ashton, chasing him down as the two of them flipped into a smoking area, exchanging shot with lightning-fast blow. Dominique jumped off a table into the air, slashing at Ashton with his heel, but missed as Ashton kicked off a chair, using his large bookshelf to run up the wall and fire down. Ashton was put on the defensive now, forced to flick his wrists back and forth to stop the bullets. Ashton finally had time to dump his empty mags as he landed atop a shelf, but he knew better to assume he was safe. He waited until Dominique played his hand, watching a glint turn into a trio of silver throwing knives. He dodged to the right of one, while using the falling empty mags to stop the other two. He slid two more magazines in from inside his suit, but by the time he brought his gun up Dominique was atop the shelves, swinging blades at him with dizzying speed. He rolled off, landing at the bottom and pulling a shotgun out from under a table. He fired it up at Dominique as he fell towards him, hoping that the bastard had no way of dodging the attack. He didn’t, but what he could do is twist his body so that all the pellets slammed mostly harmlessly into his clothes. He landed with a heavy heel drop, which Ashton easily dodged into a knife in the shoulder.
Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.
“Fuck” Ashton yelled, the pain of the knife in his shoulder not as big as the wound to his pride for falling for a trick like that. Dominique burst forth out the drop, stabbing at Ashton, who blocked with his shotgun, letting it be destroyed and hopefully buying time to bring up his pistol. Dominique stopped it as Ashton grabbed a letter opener, stabbing it into Dominique’s hand. It wouldn’t stop him, but the surprise from the attack was enough to allow Ashton a moment to jump back.
“Oh” Dominique started to smile as he burst forwards again, flicking a series of kicks and slashes at Ashton “So you can fight properly!” Ashton was pushed backwards, forced to use his guns for defense instead of offense as something started to well up inside him. Dominique’s attacks pushed him all the way to the fireplace he had in his large office. Purely for show, but it gave Ashton a knowledge advantage. Slowing his movements and creating an opening for a second, he put all his faith on a gamble now: that Dominique would play his game.
He didn’t know why he did it, but in that moment, Ashton felt something he’d never felt before. Behind those manic eyes, he could see something in Dominique that was special. A kinship, perhaps. No, a love. A love for something that Ashton wasn’t even aware he loved.
Dominique took the bait out of sheer curiosity. He knew Ashton’s reputation, as a cold killer who only took fights he could win when he had to. He was the kind of person that Dominique hated, which is why when God put Ashton upon his path, he couldn’t help but be extra grateful. Then, Ashton did this. A stupid gamble, one which relied on Dominique being so addicted to the fight that he’d take obvious bait like dropping the guard on the shoulder. Dominique knew he shouldn’t do it, but he had to. He had to know what on earth was going on in this man’s head.
Ashton lunged desperately to the side. It wouldn’t have worked if Dominique didn’t take the bait, but he did, stabbing full force into the fireplace and causing a violent hissing to come out of it. Dominique realized immediately what had happened, and jumped to the side just in time to avoid being cooked by a fireball ignited by a lighter which Ashton threw. He landed back on his feet, throwing knives at Ashton, who flicked all three aside before unleashing a volley of fire. Dominique grabbed a tray and stopped the bullets as Ashton grabbed a sub-machine gun from in a vase.
“Come on, stop hiding behind those guns. I know you want to!” Dominique yelled as he rolled behind a sturdy couch. The fire stopped as the tiny mag dried up, and Dominique popped out again, deflecting the one-handed pistol fire from Ashton as he threw his SMG up in the air. Ashton grabbed another mag from a draw, slotting it into the bottom of the weapon.
“I know you want to be more interesting than that!” Dominique spoke as he ran around the side of the furniture, almost on all fours, dashing up besides Ashton and sticking his bladed heel into the bolt of the SMG. In the second he had before Ashton dropped the gun, he lifted himself into the air and kicked at Ashton, who was defenseless to stop the attack and could only barely dodge backwards. He landed on his feet a few meters away, dabbing the blood off a fresh scar as the two of them stood eye to eye.
“Next one” Dominique panted “Next one kills you, Hombre.” He raised his knife to Ashton, who was reloading his gun in the break in the fight. “You’re seriously still using that thing?” Dominique asked, frustrated. Ashton looked down at the gun, its super polymer shell scarred from blocking so many blows. That thing inside him, welling up earlier, was now at its bursting point. He could hardly contain it, and he didn’t know whether he wanted to kill this arrogant man in front of him or confess to him something deeper than love. He felt his head pounding, like it was going to explode. And he kept looking at his gun.
It was in his off hand. There was blood on it. His, on his fingertips. The wound stung him. On his palm, Dominique’s. Not drawn by this gun. This gun had failed to draw blood. Only blades had drawn blood. This gun. The Dominique was only blades, a living weapon. This gun. But he needed to keep the business alive, he couldn’t die. This gun.
Who had given him the weapon?
Ashton saw his father behind Dominique. A phantom, glaring at him and telling him to use the weapon. Because of course, his father had taught him to shoot. This was his father’s weapon.
Ashton tried to rationalize his actions while he lay awake in bed that night.
He’d thrown away the gun because it would have jammed. He’d grabbed the sculpture because it was the heaviest thing he could swing, and he didn’t care if it broke. He’d swung a right hook at Dominique after knocking the blade out the way because he’d been infuriated by his fucking face. The two of them had slugged it out because… why?
The two of them threw punches back and forth for -according to the security cameras- about fifteen minutes. It felt a lot longer, but also shorter in the way that enjoyable things always do. At some point, both started smiling like idiots, grinning as they slammed fists into jaws and grabbed on hair and kneed groins. Their fight moved through the office like a tour, wrecking everything around them as they used anything they could see to hit each other harder.
And then, in a moment of unspoken agreement, they both fell to the ground mid punch. Ashton dragged himself to his desk, leaning against the front while Dominique grabbed a stray pillow and used it to sit against the bottom of a bookshelf.
“So… what now?” Dominique asked, smiling with perfect teeth at Ashton. Perfect teeth covered in blood, but still.
“Well, I don’t know” Ashton blew a strand of hair out his face, accidentally spraying himself with blood in the process. “This is pretty far outside of social etiquette, I think.”
“I’m sure there’s a procedure for it” Dominique scanned the room intently “Since people fight like this all the time. But I can’t say I know it. Usually, people who are put in front of me die.”
“Can’t say the same, but I also don’t like resolving conflict like this.” Well, Ashton said so anyways. But he wasn’t quite sure if he meant it. “Hey, tell you what: how about we go home, shower, and depending on how we feel, we can reconvene in Madison Square Garden to either chat or finish this. Sound good?”
“Sounds good. Honestly, I could go for either.” Dominique stood up, grabbing a plate of cocktail sandwiches as he walked towards the elevator. He stepped in, about to hit the button, before hesitating. He Held the door open before turning to Ashton and saying “No, I lie. I believe you were put in my life so that I could learn something from you, because otherwise you would already be dead.” He pulled out his dagger, flipping it into his free hand and pointing it at Ashton. “That said, if you bring a gun to our date, I’ll know I’m wrong and drive a knife through your pathetic heart.” He flashed a smile, before letting the door slide shut, leaving Ashton to call up his driver for a ride back home.