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Verse
Star
- Joined
- May 8, 2011
Iro was the same age as the boy he was chasing. But they still looked like different creatures. That had determined the lives they were going to lead. In school, and now out of it, since they were recently young adults, Iro had relentlessly tormented him. At first it had been for material things, but eventually it was just for fun. In fact, it had started with this little shit being a momma's boy, and how her training of her students had actually come in the way of Iro's business a bit. So Iro made it his business to bully the son of the local dojo owner. You'd think with a renown martial artist mother, he'd be able to handle himself better. Iro had seen him try, and through watching him grow in skill, had been able to keep up.
Iro himself was tall, large but not bulky. Long limbs. He was a slugger, which was the antithesis to this loser's style. Maybe if the shit had more confidence he'd been able to develop, even in something as useless as judo. But maybe being beaten up often, and robbed regularly, and humiliated in front of his contemporaries, there among his rumored crush, made it impossible to get good at anything. Iro liked to see the potential become stunted and go to waste in his victim. And while Iro's gang involvement required him to practice violence pretty much anywhere, he had this one as a hobby. He never went too far, but he got close a couple of times.
They were running after the victim now. He'd stood up for himself when he encountered Iro and his guys, loitering by a convenience store between jobs to collect money for protection of nearby businesses. Iro had looked as the momma's boy froze. And then they started flinging insults, and even had the guy go into the store and get them a couple of snacks. But when he came out, and Iro insulted his mom and the weak style she was teaching girls around here to defend themselves, the son had spoken up, and thrown the food on the ground. And now they were chasing him. Admittedly, the guy could run pretty fast. That's why Iro had put pressure on him in the past to start moving drugs for them, especially since nobody would suspect a wimp like him to be carrying K's of contraband.
Iro, with is long legs, could keep up rather well, but his gang were falling behind a bit. He saw him turn a corner and when Iro followed, he almost ran into the still waving gates of a traditional dojo. It made Iro stop and look up at the building, and the plaque. Jūdō. So the brat had ran all the way home to mommy? As he stood there and grinned, the others caught up, and he pushed the gates open and came up to the building. They did not take off their shoes as they made their entrance. The inside was a large, well-kept room with mats on the floor and awards on the walls, as well as a few portraits of those who had probably excelled here before, and black and white ones of what he had to assume were the little shit's ancestors.
"Hey! Where the fuck did you go?" he shouted. This was exciting. He had never pushed the brat this far before, and he kind of liked the smell in here. Smelled like women and their sweat. Smelled like dreams he was about to step on. And for some reason blood was moving toward his cock in his blue jeans. He had a leather jacket on, and gray tanktop underneath. He was close to getting his own fine suit made, if he could expand well into this area, and this fucking dojo was part of the problem. It seemed to be symbol of their spirit, and made the citizens a bit harder to break. Iro had his black hair tied back, which made his pointed cheekbones and noble nose more visible in his youthful, mean looking facial features. His light brown eyes, almost red, moved about the place. "Hey, is this a school or a mausoleum? We're guests!" he called, and the others laughed behind him.
Iro himself was tall, large but not bulky. Long limbs. He was a slugger, which was the antithesis to this loser's style. Maybe if the shit had more confidence he'd been able to develop, even in something as useless as judo. But maybe being beaten up often, and robbed regularly, and humiliated in front of his contemporaries, there among his rumored crush, made it impossible to get good at anything. Iro liked to see the potential become stunted and go to waste in his victim. And while Iro's gang involvement required him to practice violence pretty much anywhere, he had this one as a hobby. He never went too far, but he got close a couple of times.
They were running after the victim now. He'd stood up for himself when he encountered Iro and his guys, loitering by a convenience store between jobs to collect money for protection of nearby businesses. Iro had looked as the momma's boy froze. And then they started flinging insults, and even had the guy go into the store and get them a couple of snacks. But when he came out, and Iro insulted his mom and the weak style she was teaching girls around here to defend themselves, the son had spoken up, and thrown the food on the ground. And now they were chasing him. Admittedly, the guy could run pretty fast. That's why Iro had put pressure on him in the past to start moving drugs for them, especially since nobody would suspect a wimp like him to be carrying K's of contraband.
Iro, with is long legs, could keep up rather well, but his gang were falling behind a bit. He saw him turn a corner and when Iro followed, he almost ran into the still waving gates of a traditional dojo. It made Iro stop and look up at the building, and the plaque. Jūdō. So the brat had ran all the way home to mommy? As he stood there and grinned, the others caught up, and he pushed the gates open and came up to the building. They did not take off their shoes as they made their entrance. The inside was a large, well-kept room with mats on the floor and awards on the walls, as well as a few portraits of those who had probably excelled here before, and black and white ones of what he had to assume were the little shit's ancestors.
"Hey! Where the fuck did you go?" he shouted. This was exciting. He had never pushed the brat this far before, and he kind of liked the smell in here. Smelled like women and their sweat. Smelled like dreams he was about to step on. And for some reason blood was moving toward his cock in his blue jeans. He had a leather jacket on, and gray tanktop underneath. He was close to getting his own fine suit made, if he could expand well into this area, and this fucking dojo was part of the problem. It seemed to be symbol of their spirit, and made the citizens a bit harder to break. Iro had his black hair tied back, which made his pointed cheekbones and noble nose more visible in his youthful, mean looking facial features. His light brown eyes, almost red, moved about the place. "Hey, is this a school or a mausoleum? We're guests!" he called, and the others laughed behind him.