Anthropology Isekai Ch. 01

"Come one, Marky," Romani told him as he aimed a kick at the inside of his thigh that Mark barely blocked by rising his leg, "Raise those hands. Throw a punch. Do something!"

The crowd yelled with him, but unfortunately for them all, Romani had already set the pace of this fight and Mark had to wait until the second round to win this fight. IF he could win it at all, some would have said.

But with how fast Romani moved, with how aggressive he was being and how biting his blows were?

Well, Mark would have been far more content if he could have tired Romani first.

Alas.

"Well, if you insist," Mark said as he jabbed for Romani's chin, but the fighter simply leaned back until Mark's blow lost their range. Then he sprung back along with Mark's punch, following behind it in a pull counter.

It missed simply because Mark advanced forward, his chin tucked in and his head lowered. Romani's fist slipped on the crown of Mark's head, the fouling the strike, and Mark slammed his forehead into Romani's nose.

The crowd all "ooo"ed as Romani staggered back, a hand on his face as blood went down his palm.

"Motherfucker," Romani screamed in a nasal tone as Mark patiently waited for him.

"The fight is not over gentlemen," the announcer warned them.

"Motherfucker," Romani muttered again, this time not to Mark, as he lowered his hands into a fighting stance and revealed a now crooked nose.

One minute down and four more to go.

So chastised, Romani quickly took back the initiative but never pressed more than he had to. His jabs were still darts, his kicks still made Mark cringe and his speed still made dealing with him hard. But he just wasn't willing to push Mark until he opened up.

By the time that the first Round finished, people were clearly rooting for Romani. And, to be fair, by any measure he had won the round.

"You can win this, right?" Julius passed him a bail of water. Mark took a long drag from it then upended its contents over his head, "You can at least do that, right?"

"Didn't you bet everything on me winning the second round?" Mark curiously asked. Yeah, he had lesions and would be feeling bruises in the morning, but of the two, Romani was breathing harder and sweating more profusely.

"I hedge my bet," Julius said without an ounce of shame, "But if you don't win, we are not going to get anything!"

"Just one day," Mark sighed, "Just one day, and I am already getting tired of you Julius."

"Whatever," Julius spat, "Just don't lose."

A bell rang and both Romani and Mark stepped into the Ring.

Romani charged at him again, going low to provide a diminished profile. Once he stepped into his long-range, once he was exactly one arm's length away from Mark's face, his jab flicked out. It was hard to perceive to begin with and, reenergized as he was, it was fast enough to catch Mark on the side of the head and make cut the skin of his brow.

The straight that followed was just as fast, but it followed a path that Mark was now familiar with so he blocked it with his left elbow. And, upon feeling the bite of the cross on his forearm, he forced his pained left arm to unwind and follow Romani's right hand back with a jab of his own.

Like at the beginning of the first round, Romani leaned back just enough to avoid Mark's fist.

But not his fingers.

"Fuck!" He yelled as the tip of Mark's fingers made contact with his open eyelids and he jerked back, destabilizing his posture for all of one second.

Romani neither saw the teep flying at his jaw, nor did he have the time to hear the warnings from the crowd.

The balls of Mark's feet connected with the tip of his chin and then it was as if Romani were a marionette with its strings cut off.

He collapsed into the sand of the ring, losing the presence of mind of the fight and of the world.

"...well, shit," the announcer said before the crowd let out a roar.

"Um, yes, that's right folks, Marky Mark marking another victory to his name!" the announcer bellowed as Mark shook his left hand. Most of his fingers hadn't hit Romani's eyes. They had, instead, impacted upon his skull. It was like jabbing them with a hammer.

Augh.

But men chanted his name as Romani's friends came up to drag him out. He was bleeding from his nose, his mouth and from one of his eyes. Mark didn't think he'd lose his sight in that eye, his finger hadn't landed plainly on the middle of his eye, but he wouldn't be surprised if he did. Certainly, Romani would have problems seeing through it in the foreseeable future either way.

God, he hated this sport.

"Holy shit, holy shit," Julius was waving their tickets, "I was wrong to have ever doubted you, Mark!"

"You got my money?" Mark asked, feeling tiredness start to creep on him now that adrenaline wasn't being pumped into his veins.

"No, no, we just have to collect," Julius assured him, "But, say, you don't have another fight in you, do you? Not against another fighter, of course. Now that you've had your fun, we can have the audience members come up and try their lu-"

"-Julius!" Mark almost growled, "My money. I want it now."

"Jesus. Fine, but chill your shit," the vendor grumbled as he led Mark to cash in the bet.

But of course, it would have been TOO easy if this was the end of it.

"Fantastic show, gentlemen," one Thomas Joy said from a finely made wooden chair that might have as well been a throne by how he sat in it.

"Mr. Joy!" Thomas was all of a sudden nervous as he handed his ticket to an otherwise nondescript man who looked as though he had a rod inside his colon. The betting and the money in general that passed around unofficial fighting events like these were all managed and arranged by people who had connections to those handling the fledgling currency of their nation. And these people would invariably have a lot of influence and power in their little slice of humanity.

Thomas Joy outright had his fingers in it.

But his companion was of significantly more interest to Mark at the moment.

"That a wager ticket?" Thomas asked as his arm went around the slim shoulders of a woman. An actual flesh and blood woman.

She was small, compared to men. Like Mark's mother really. She had dark hair, she had big eyes, she had a modest bust and, well, womanly curves that her jeans clearly outlined. Back, when his mother was alive, Mark had managed to make the acquaintance of her female friends. It was basically the only way for someone like him to have ever met a woman. He'd develop his first crush, back then, and then had to shelve it when his mother died.

But his love for the female form never died.

"Mark?" Julius nudged him and Mark realized that he had been staring, "Mr. Joy asked you a question."

"Sorry?" Mark asked the well-dressed man.

"Oh, no worries," Thomas laughed as his hand landed on the right breast of the girl, making her giggle as he squeezed, "What's the point of showing off if no one appreciates, heh?"

Mark quirked his head as he looked at him, "You don't care?"

"Ah, he asks if I care?" Thomas laughed and Julius as well as the attendant nervously followed along. The girl in his grasp laughed more freely, "Son, I believe you'll find that when you are like me? Women are the least of the things you can own."

The girl didn't seem at all bothered being referred to as property and, while Mark knew it was wrong, he felt a deep pang of jealousy for the man.

"But yes, I was wondering if you'd gotten bored of the fights," the man said.

"Are you...offering me a job?" Mark asked. He couldn't think of a single other reason for this inquiry.

"I am certainly not talking to you because I like big sweaty men!" Thomas replied, "But this is a one-man conversation, so if your accomplice could just leave, I'll forget the fact that you were trying to cash in on a bet you made on yourself."

"Oh, I can certainly see that you guys need your space," Julius awkwardly laughed, "I'll, um, wait outside."

And then he left the tent, leaving Mark on his own.

"Right, now that the deadweight is out of the way, let me ask you a question," Thomas, without so much as losing his posture crossed his legs, "What do you know about the natives."

"The natives?" Mark asked. Everyone knew that there were other species living in this world. The spy satellites, back when they worked, had taken all sort of pictures of civilizations far away from them. Point in fact, the reason why there were certain prohibitions in settling out of the peninsula that Camp Town found itself in was because they wanted it to remain that way, "What anyone else does, I guess?"

"Do you even know what they look like?" Thomas asked.

Mark opened his mouth. And then closed it shut.

"I don't know that anyone does?" though, as soon as the words came out of his mouth, he realized how stupid that sounded. The Admiralty, if anything had probably taken close-in pictures of them at some point. Mark didn't doubt for a second that they still had hidden caches of Old World gasoline to do it with.

"Oh, but we do," Thomas corrected him, "And, as it turns out? A lot of them look remarkably like us."

"Like, Tolkien and shit?" Mark asked. But Thomas just smiled.

"They have a lot in common with is, aesthetics-wise." Thomas told him, "As do their women."

...women? They had women?

No, what was he saying, a lot of the native fauna of this world had sexual reproduction and even mammalian analogs to old Earth. Of course, there were good chances that any species here would have females.

....but women?

"Don't believe me? Oh, I'd show you a picture if carrying one wasn't grounds to get me arrested," Thomas chuckled, "But you can trust me in this: They are delectable."

"Alright, alright, alright," Mark said to avoid getting worked up. Talking about women was how you ended up visiting a brothel trying to find the most feminine guy you could, "You said this was a job proposition. What is it that you want me to do?"

"We are going to procure some of these women, Mark," Thomas smoothly told him as he crossed his legs again, "We are going to provide a need so far unfulfilled in most of Camp Town."

"And you want me as muscle?" Mark asked.

"You'll get first dibs when we succeed," Thomas simply told him, "God on Old Earth as my witness, do well and you'll get to own your very own girl."

Mark almost said "yes" right there and then.

The concept of love, the concept of companionship, to have what people like him once had simply by living through life and trying to find love, was one of the most tantalizing fantasies in all of the tents. It was also one of the most hopeless ones.

Yet here was this man, telling him it was possible after all.

But in the end, a different dream was already within Mark's grasp. A dream where he didn't have to deal with the bustle of the city and didn't have to live down to the ceiling of the people living there. Where he wouldn't have to put up with any of this shit.

A little house in the mountains all to his own. A genuine one, made with his own hands by him and for him. A place to live and, hopefully, peacefully die in.

A place for him.

"I am sorry Mr. Joy," Mark respectfully said to the man, "But I am afraid, that I have plans that would get in the way of that."

"Huh, are you gay, Mark?" Thomas examined him.

"....no." Mark tried to simply leave it at that.

"Cause we can kidnap one of their men too, if you like." Thomas offered.

"I am good!" Mark groaned.

"Fine, fine, I see I'll not make your employment at this time," Thomas sighed, "But this little project of mine won't take off for a while yet."

"And if you change your mind-" Thomas snapped his fingers and the woman in his arms reached for bust. Before Mark's staring eyes, she sank her fingers in the crevice between her tits and pulled a card out.

A card that she then offered to Mark.

"Show this to one of my attendants and they'll get you in contact with me," Thomas said in the sort of tone that let Mark know that the conversation was over.

Mark stared at that card as he left the tent, resisting temptation enough to leave before he stuck the card to his face and breathed the scent in.

He shuttered as someone's scent went defused into his brain.

Ah.

Money in hand, he was able to afford lodging in the Camp Town's nicer establishments. He didn't mind sleeping in a sleeping bag, but a bed was a luxury he indulged in from time to time.

He closed his eyes and dreamed of better days. Days when his mother was alive, and his brothers weren't conflicted between their connection to him and their different dads.