Munch. Munch. Munch.
“Can you stop eating those damn chips already?” a loud voice rang throughout the kitchen of the Von Licht’s house. A burly man stood opposite of a pale white table, a look of exasperation plastered on his rugged mug. Garbed in business casual, he rose his hand to snatch away a bag of Lays Barbeque and keep them on his side. His brown eyes analysed the person he yelled at before him.
Across the table was a much younger man. His eyes were widened in confusion and shock, his mouth still full of the potato chips he was snacking on. He swallowed the snack and sighed. “You need to calm down, Dad,” the young boy said, chuckling lightly. His father banged on the table, causing a yelp of fear to escape the boy.
“You’re booked to fight for your first World Championship, boy! Take this a bit more seriously!”
Peyton straightened up, stretching his neck a bit to prevent any stiffness from setting in. “I’m sorry, Dad, there is a guy named James Shark! Sharks! I love Sharks!” His father allowed him to laugh at the humor behind his name. A look of happiness graced Peyton's face. As if he truly thought that their supposed common interest would bring them together as friends.
“And just like one, he loves to shed blood. He’s a five world champion, looking to make it six!”
“But he loves sharks, right?” His father let free another exasperated groan. Peyton feigned grief. His father didn't answer. It was mostly serious. "I love sharks. He loves sharks. So---"
“Damn it, Peyton!”
Peyton put up a defensive pose. “I am taking it seriously! I, a young rookie, has the opportunity to become the World Champion of a brand new federation? All I have to do is…get past…” his face began to pale (if that is possible). His father arched a thick eyebrow. “There is a cute, little female in here!” Peyton burst out in a giggle. His father’s palm met his forehead while Peyton cracked up.
“Are you underestimating a female’s ability?” That statement caused an offended look to appear on Peyton’s face. “Not at all,” Peyton said, checking over the profiles that some random stat pages. “I am scared that I might catch the sickest brainbuster in the world.” Peyton said, patting the top of his head. “I happen to like my brain,” he added in a murmur. His father glanced at his actions and his face, catching bits of focus. A smile crawled onto his face.
“Your sense of humour is going to get you kicked one day,” his father explained, chuckling just as his son did earlier. He stood up from his chair and walked past his son, dropping the bag of chips in front of him and rubbing his hair. He left the kitchen, proud of his son’s diligence to studying.
This left Peyton alone. His ochre irises followed his father before lowering back to the computer. The internet database had plenty of information for him. Many of these people barely had history, leaving Peyton with only vague thoughts. He groaned in annoyance, until he came across Flex Johnson. There was a bountiful amount of information on him.
His eyes scanned throughout the pages. What kind of move is that? Peyton cringed at the clip of Johnson colliding his knee with someone's face. Poor fellow. Facial reconstruction sounds painful and tedious. He blinked twice at the blood escaping the nostrils of the victim. His eyes widened and he noticed one crucial part.
"Strong style," he murmured. He saw the kicks and the Shining Wizard that he performed. Peyton gulped at each kick and each knee strike. He lowered his head and sighed. "How can I compete with that?" He remembered his kicks and how weak they seemed in comparison. He pursed his lips and closed the laptop.
His father came back in with a cleaned plate. He peered down to his son. "What's with that look?" he questioned. Peyton stood up and walked away, talking venomously to himself. "I am gonna to get my nose broken out there, Dad!" His dad flinched at the harsh comment.
"I hope not!" he called out to his son. "Facial reconstruction is expensive!"
