Smooth Moves?

Markus; the warrior of fire. He did so love that name, today he found himself in the bloodbox again. He was a heavy man, with defined muscles; he had brown wavy hair that fell to his shoulders. With his great muscles he lifted his shotgun to his side; stalking around the corners of the bloodbox he chased his opponent round the great room.

Sighs and moans came from the audience as they watched the warriors go around in circles, until Markus stopped, as did the opponent. The crowd fell silent. He lifted his hand into his pocket, picking out a single silver coin. He threw the coin down the empty corridor in front of him; then he heard his opponent jump, fire and wastes his shot. Almost silently he ran around the opposite side, lifting his gun. Bang. A shotgun round straight to the stomach, the opponent flew across the corridor like a rag doll. Cheers came from the crowd as Markus walked over, picking up the coin he rubbed the blood from it and placed it into his pocket.

His shotgun was an old 1900’s Winchester model. It took a lot of care to keep it in shape but it served him well. He was still amazed after the hundreds of years it still worked. He took another bullet from the desk although he had no intention of walking back into the box.

He walked into his room; newspaper clippings lined his walls of his triumphs. His fame had always preceded him; this was shown by the women that shared his bed each night. He liked his lifestyle, he was wealthy, popular and he would never lose.  He ran his hand over the clippings, placing his gun in its glass case upon the table. Across from him was a mirror to which he peered into, adoring himself when his daydreams were interrupted by a knock on the door. He walked toward it, peering through, he saw another beautiful woman stood at his door. “This is what I love, they come to me.” He laughed, opening it. The woman stood a stern look upon her face. “I do love a woman that plays hard to get.” He grinned in thought to himself until the angelic woman gave him a bill, his bar tab from the flamingo bar. “Here you go ‘hot stuff.’” She laughed her voice steely and cold before slamming the door in his face.

This however did not put off Markus who simply laughed. “One day my Valkyrie.” He remarked, gazing at the bill for over five hundred dollars.    

The End

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