Entry 001 - Fighters

Ketra gave up repairing her ponytail and folded her arms, ignoring the fizzing sensation running between her shoulders. One cycle back (equivalent to an Earth year) Seven Lacroix had obliterated expectations by upsetting the season’s roster and skirmishing his way to No. 2, with seemingly little effort.

Stories circulated that he often appeared back at the Lacroix sequencing labs after an official match, working late with the plant samples that were his life’s work. He had featured in several publications across the industry, advancing gentle hybrid crop plants in adapted terraform applications.

“Buyers across Union systems chose House Lacroix ...” Or something like that. Ketra grimaced, testing a new human word she had learned recently. “Geek.”

Sure, House Lacroix was well-known for their work in genetics and macro-ecology. Not so much Athletics. And while foxes from all Houses would compete in the Felt, seeing a Lacroix rise so spectacularly was enigma. Seven was making his way slowly toward the center of the arena, greeting fans as he went. Lithe and supremely agile, he was completely unusual in the Felt, winning via hits scored, verses the common male tactic of physically shoving their opponent out-of-bounds.

Several lights held focus on where Ketra stood, checking the cloth wrap on each wrist and fighting the urge to fidget. Victory was so very close, closer than any fox in her family had come for nearly a decade.

She sniffed, watching as her challenger continued wading through the crowd, his entourage trying valiantly to keep the excited foxes at bay. Seven was smiling politely, ears bowing genially as he acknowledged greetings, cheers, and random yells.

“How is he so casual?” asked Garrett, scowling faintly as he handed Ketra a bowl. She took it and drained the contents gratefully, shaking the drops from her face.
“No clue” she said, voice raised against the din. ”I didn’t know Lacroix participated in ranked matches – just how many did he win?”

Garrett wrinkled his nose, showing a bit of canine. “Enough, apparently.”

Ketra tossed the bowl over her shoulder into the crowd, where a very pale blonde fox caught it. Those nearest him looked equal parts shocked and envious, and he himself looked as if the surprise might be too much. He stood frozen several moments, hands locked around his prize, and then noticed Ketra glancing at him.

She gave him a wink and dipped one ear. The male frizzed hugely, spun and disappeared into the crowd, his friends calling after him. Ketra giggled and turned back to watch Seven’s progress.

With ultrashort velvety fur on their faces and necks Dawn Foxes can’t visibly blush, but their fur will momentarily stand on end, often seen when surprised or experiencing strong emotions. These ripples are known as “frizz.”

“Ooh, near fatality with that one,” Jet reappeared hair now dripping wet, standing just below the raised platform.

“Can’t sing if you can’t even keep eye contact,” Ketra clicked her teeth. “Which do you think he was?”
“Maybe Geiger?”
”Really?”
Jet laughed, “You’ve seen any other House with coats that pale? He was practically silver!”

Ketra shook her head, her words drowned as the Game Master reappeared, clambering up onto the platform and gesturing toward Seven, who was (finally) closing the last few yards. Everyone was getting impatient.

“Seven, it’s been a very long time since House Lacroix was represented here!” He paused, flourishing a grin. “Are you prepared?”

Seven said something Ketra couldn’t hear, then caught her eye. He gave her a small smile and glanced away.

Ketra blinked. “Jet --“

The Game Master droned on for several moments; honorable conduct, tradition of combat, wiff waff wuff. Jet couldn’t hear her sister.

“Ketra, are you prepared?”

All the lights in the area focused on the raised mat now split roughly equal on each combatant, shadows splitting and sliding with each move.

Ketra took her ready stance, grinning. Seven mirrored her posture, expression passive. If he really was that shy, well ... she was confident.

The arc lamp flicked and boomed, starting the match. And Seven did not move. Ketra waited, realized she was holding her breath and frowned. The crowd had gone nearly silent, waiting expectantly. The distant rumble of air movers filled the space. Still Seven did not move, looking straight at her, or possibly through her.

Several long moments rolled by, and Ketra exhaled and dropped her shoulders. And Seven was directly in front of her, fist pressed gently against her collarbone. His eyes were steady on hers, glowing faintly in the bright lights as his score advanced by two points.

Ketra grabbed his wrist with a yell, and was instantly yanked forward, stumbling into a roll as she felt him tap her head, coming up in a defensive crouch. His score advanced another two points.

Seven stood several steps away, arms still at his sides. Ketra snarled and launched herself at him, intent on scoring a hit. She threw a feint and quick jabbed, hitting only air. Strike strike strike, nothing.

Seven didn’t seem to move. Rather, he wasn’t there when she reached. Ketra closed the distance and got a block, then stumbled as she was again yanked forward. Instead of falling, Seven caught her around the waist, tapped her head and spun her away, like a clumsy dancer.

Ketra ended in a crouch, teeth clenched, claws dug against the mat. Seven was still standing straight, though he was breathing harder than before. The previously confused crowd was now splitting into factions, some cheering, others calling encouragement, with more protesting and shouting questions.

“What are you doing?” Ketra spat, words full of teeth. Seven’s ears twitched, and he said nothing. But he moved. Ketra saw him coming, blocking just in time. She took a glancing blow, turning each successive strike as they came. His score was climbing again, and there was no opening; almost before she blocked, the next strike was already flying. Seven used fists and feet almost interchangeably, tail flying around to keep her off balance.

“Don’t let up Ketra! He’s fast, but no way he keeps that up!” Ketra felt her anger sizzling with each missed blow. He wasn’t fast –- Seven was impossibly fast, sparring with a weird upright stance, apparently unfazed as she pushed herself to the limit. She caught the score flash as she whirled around. They were close, but Seven was still leading. And he was smiling.

The crowd wound up further, surprised and thrilled with the unexpected speed and raw energy. Ketra had lost her own count ages ago, mind screaming as she rained blow after blow, missing nearly every one, and getting hit often in return. She skipped backward, blocked a kick and was suddenly locked in place as Seven pivoted into an unyielding hold.

Ketra struggled, twisting an arm free and felt his teeth close on her ear. She slammed downward at his ribs, which he somehow blocked, breaking the hold and sending her skidding away. The noise of the crowd slammed against them, wave after wave as the gathered foxes roared in approval. Ketra glanced at her wrists, and realized with a sickening lurch that they were smoking faintly. She shot another glare at Seven, calmly walking toward her. There were tiny charred spots on the loose white tank he wore.

“Well that’s two of us,” Ketra mentally scolded herself, trying to control her breathing.

Seven attacked, and she gave ground as the hoots and cheers rolled into a sonic wave, sensing the pink chalk boundary inching closer. She could smell burning cloth, sensed the heat radiating from her arms, and blocked another several kicks. She was preventing Seven from scoring consistently, but it was all she could do. Each opening darted away before she could move, or she found her fist caught before completing the strike. She was losing, and she felt heat creeping up her neck, her edge of control wearing down. How long had they been going?

Jet yelled from somewhere below, and Ketra’s fist connected, staggering her as Seven hit back hard. There was a brutal flash and thunderclap as the arc fired a second time. Ketra blinked, searching for the score trying to focus. Seven was standing just at her shoulder. The match had ended.

“Hey.” He was roughly a head taller, and glanced away when their eyes met. “That was great.”

“Yeah,” Ketra said after a moment, not feeling charitable. The roar and jostle of the crowd completely boiled over, drowning out all noise and making both combatants wince.

“IT’S A DRAAAAAAW !” boomed the game master, astonishment plain on his weathered face.

“Draw?” mouthed Ketra, finally locating the scoreboard, with its giant numbers blazing above the arena. They were dead even. Suddenly dozens of foxes were spilling into the area – Jet came over the wall and barreled into Ketra, pressing her into a hug.

“That! Was! Incredible!” Seven had disappeared, and Ketra glanced around to see him being bodily carried away, the Lacroix foxes striking up an informal chant of victory, which wasn’t technically accurate. Seven glanced back briefly, wearing that same small smile.

Ketra stared after him, completely nonplussed. What had happened? And then she couldn’t think as was surrounded by House Toul foxes and fans, cheering and pushing towards the subterranean changing rooms. She hadn’t won, but she also hand’t lost. A Lacroix male had given her, Ketra Toul, the fight of her life ... and left with a draw?

Some ten minutes later, Ketra jogged out into the open to renewed friendly cheers, just as the first fireworks exploded skyward,  marking the end of the evening, and the Felt tournament. She flopping down and leaning against Jet as the dark sky bloomed and crackled with million tiny flames. Harvest season had begun. There would be time for analyzing, later.