Don't Touch Me! [Training]

Age : 31 Posts : 1836

Training | Special Characteristic | Physical | Evasiveness

Spoiler:

“Hey, kid! ‘Bit early t’be dressin’ up for Hallow’een, innit?”

Said "kid" turned around calmly to face the speaker, who was a burly, brute of a man wearing a pair of horrendous gray trousers with a pair of wooden clogs slipped onto his feet. The black buttoned shirt he wore was opened down the front to reveal his chiseled form. The rugged, slightly-tanned face sported a ludicrously flamboyant moustache beneath the large, beak of a nose. The man was resting a long metal staff on his broad shoulders as he leered down at his prey, his beady black eyes glinting with arrogance and pride. Behind the man stood four other men, almost equal in size and sporting the same attire, each with his own wooden staff in his hand. The four men behind the speaker were currently sniggering unintelligently at the latter’s comment.

With his knee-length, straightjacket-resembling white coat, his elaborately-designed mask, and his eccentric hairstyle, it was no wonder that man spoke those words to Masquerade. Masquerade stood in complete silence, as stiff and rigid as he always did, watching the five men snickering at him from across the dark alley. The line of his mouth was straight yet relaxed, the opaque visor of his mask obscuring his eyes from sight, giving him a further unruffled image. The man in the front, the one with the extravagant facial hair, frowned as he noted how Masquerade did not seem affected by what he assumed to be a clever remark.

“Oi, you deaf or somethin’, kid?” he asked, advancing towards Masquerade with a swaggering gait, his moustache bouncing with the motion. Whiskers stopped a foot from the boy, bringing his face down to his level, granting Masquerade a whiff of the man’s ghastly breath. “What’s up with the mask, eh? You playin’ superhero with yer friends or somethin’?” Another round of guffaws sounded from the posse as the man before Masquerade reached towards the mask on the boy’s face. “Let’s take a look at that perdy face, eh?”

As the man’s hand came within an inch from Masquerade’s face, it was suddenly grabbed at the wrist by Masqeurade’s own hand. The man gave an inexplicable cry of pain and yanked his hand out of Masquerade’s grip, stumbling back and away from the boy as he clutched his arm. The other men called out to their boss in surprise and hurried to his side, gathering around him with worry. Their leader was staring down at his arm, his pain-strained eyes gazing at the steaming, red-white burn mark on his wrist in the shape of Masquerade’s hand. All five men looked up in surprise at Masquerade, who still stood composed and unfazed before them.

“Tut, tut, tut. What’s the matter? Did the little superhero give you a nasty little burn?” taunted the blonde male, raising the hand that had grabbed the larger man’s earlier and casting a mocking smirk at the five. “Oi! No one makes fun’o Boss ‘Stache!” the front most of the four men growled as he shook fist at Masquerade. “You’ll pay for that, you will!” The other three gave cries of approval, brandishing their weapons in the air like medieval warriors, bellowing in a manner similar to the aforementioned. As one, they lunged at Masquerade, raising their staffs high into the air and howling like Spartan warriors.

Masquerade stood his ground, his body completely still as the four men rushed towards him. The strikes came in sequence: one, two, three, and four; and just like that, Masquerade nimbly evaded all of them. Starting with the first downward swing, to the backhand horizontal swing, the front-hand slash at his skull, and lastly an uppercut sort of attack; each of these attacks was dodged effortlessly and acrobatically, resulting in a moment of stunned surprise from the four men. “He’s a ninja, you fools!” shouted the man called “Boss ‘Stache”. He rose to his feet, picking up his own staff with his uninjured hand and striding up beside his men. He glanced at each of them, barking the words harshly: “You won’t get him by attacking like idiots! Follow my lead!”

With a cry of agreement, all five of the men resumed their assault on Masquerade, who simply smirked once more and resumed his evasion. He flipped over kicks, ducked to avoid the staffs, and bent his body under and around punches, all as easily and tirelessly as if he were peeling a banana. This time, the boy launched his own counterattacks after each dodge, simply proceeding to grab a part of his opponent’s body and corroding it enough to disable them. Two received a strike to the legs, one to the back, the fourth was struck on each shoulder; the fifth, which was none other than Boss ‘Stache, received the most painful face palm of his life. Soon the men lay on the gravel around Masquerade, howling in pain as the acid ate away painfully at their flesh. Masquerade bent down beside Boss ‘Stache, smirking down at him as he watched the skin on the latter’s face disfigure before him.

“I must say, the corroded look is an improvement over those whiskers you had before, Walrus-san,” he teased, chuckling as he straightened up and left the men to their pain.

Word Count: 894/600