#albionrush

It was no use. She might as well give up for now. Maybe try taking a nice nightly walk outside. That’s what she decided to do and so she got up from her bed, changed into a pair of sweatpants, which was highly unusual of her, a crop top and a cardigan so that she would not freeze if she ended up spending a longer period of time outside. After slipping the keycard into her pocket the woman left her room.

She was one of the rare ones actually. Many of her competitors, they were all not staying at this very hotel of course, had no intention of calling it for the night. Not like the capoerista would have not loved to stay up late drinking and dancing but during tournaments she wanted to be in the best possible shape. Her battle style did not rely on raw power but more on effortless movement and tricky sets of techniques. If you messed up, you might end up with broken bones or with something even worse. She was not afraid of little bruises because in a tournament like the Iron Fist, you always got hurt in one way or another, but she would not rather break her neck and die due to her own carelessness.

It was so quiet on her floor, but as soon as she reached the hotel lobby, the air got filled with all kind of noises. The night was indeed still young for many people. Christie wiped the hair off her face and took a quick look around before starting to head towards the revolving doors which were the hotels main entrance and exit. The hotel bar certainly seemed busy but this did not surprise her. What also failed to surprise her was the fact that the female was actually able to recognize one of the voices; A loud voice of a loudmouth Korean who had caused the Brazilian nothing but trouble over the past few days. Of course Hwoarang would be down there drinking and killing the few brain cells he still had left. Christie stopped once more to look in the direction of the bar. Hwoarang was sitting in front of the bar, obviously, and was not alone. A column was blocking the view, so the woman took a step back in order to see the unlucky individual who the Korean had forced to spend the night with him this time. Christie shouldn’t have been so surprised by the person she saw beside the redhead.

It was no one else but Steve. What did surprise her was the fact that the Brit seemed barely conscious. She had no idea Steve was such a drinker. Well who could stand Hwoarang’s company sober? The capoeirista chuckled to herself before making the hasty change to her nightly plans. Instead of heading out she now headed to the bar; straight in the belly of the beast. The only reason for this was concern about Steve’s condition. How much had he drunk?

“Heyy…! It’s D cups!” These were the words she was greeted with by the Korean. The female gave him a quick eye roll as a response before she, as they said, just cut to the chase. “What’s with Steve? Steve?” Placing her hand on the Brit’s shoulder, shaking it slightly trying to get some sort of response out of the man. She might have heard muffled grumbling but was not at all sure. The chocolate eyes fixated on the redhead leaning against the container with a pint in his hand. “You made him drink, didn’t you?” With one swift move the redheaded male turned around now with his back leaning against the bar and the pint still in his hand. He was laughing. “Oh, come on tits! It’s yo fault, y’know? He came here feeling like a loser because you treat my best bud like shit. I didn’t make him drink…but I didn’t stop him either. It ain’t my fault Steve can’t handle his liquor.”

So, it was her fault Steve had drunk to the point of passing out, huh? No way! Hwoarang had just been telling his usual lies to encourage the Brit to drink with him. Frowning as she turned her head to look at Steve. His upper body was lying on the bar and he still had a half empty beer in his hand. How much had he drunk? The woman, once again, shook him trying to wake the man up. She obviously needed to help Steve to his room. He was in no condition to continue this, whatever it was that the two had been doing all night. Christie eventually felt slight movement under her hand that was resting on the boxer’s shoulder. It brought a soft smile upon her lips. “Hi Steve, I’m taking you to your room, okay?” were the words she whispered to the man. But Hwoarang seemed to disagree with her for, as the woman helped Steve’s other arm securely over her shoulders, the Korean put the pint down from his hand and took a hold of his friend’s wrist. “Like hell you are D cups! Y’know, if Steve wanted to leave, he would say it, alright?” The Brazilian raised her voice as she replied, “My name is not D cups! Call me Christie or nothing!” The Korean grinned, “Okay, Nothing.”

Causing a scene was not what she would have wanted. There had to be some paparazzi still around, desperate for exactly this kind of drama to put on the internet and Hwoarang was just feeding them the drama right now. The capoeirista released an antsy sigh, looking now at the bartender who had done her best to stay out of this childish duel over a barely conscious man. “Junko, how much must I pay for you to call the guards?” The Korean arched a brow. Confused, asking, “Who the hell is Junko?” To this he got a snarky response from the barmaid, “I am Junko.” Now the Brazilian raised a brow too and glanced at the man with an astonished look taken over her features. “You sit here every night and don’t know the barmaid’s name? Fala sério!” She shouldn’t have been so surprised, though. The Korean shrugged. “She brings booze, has a cute face and wears a miniskirt. These are the only things I need to know.”

Lucky for Christie, and Steve, again Hwoarang’s loudmouth was enough to get him in trouble. Such disrespect was enough for the barmaid to call the guards. They would not be able to fight the Korean and Christie was well-aware of that but it provided the much needed distraction she needed to leave the bar with the 160-pound man with her. Luckily Steve regained some sort of level of consciousness thanks to the racket caused by Hwoarang once the guards arrived. They could only hear Hwoarang curse the Brazilian as they left the bar.

Steve was in no condition to have a reasonable conversation but it did not stop the Brit from talking. With one of Steve’s arms firmly placed over her shoulders and one of Christie’s arms on his waist to secure him, it was quite hard to reach the elevator button, but she managed to do so after a while of trying. They were still in a kind of a hurry. Once Hwoarang would be done with the guards, he would surely rush after them like the hothead he was. But for now they were safe. Anyhow, like said, Steve’s condition did not stop the man from talking, and the time they had to wait for the elevator to arrive and then to reach the correct floor, which Christie luckily remembered because in his condition Steve most likely did not, gave Steve plenty of time to try form proper sentences.

“Yeeer…you’re an angel”, was the first thing the Brit mumbled and this made the Brazilian chuckle. “Não, just Christie.” She could hear the man’s muffled huff after her response. Then it took him a while to make a coherent sentence again, “I…I don’t…ushhually drink this much.” The sentence was accompanied by a small burp which the man obviously apologized immediately. After that Christie found it hard to understand the things Steve was trying to say. His accent was enough to make conversation difficult, let alone his drunkenness, but the female did her best to always give him some sort of response.

Having reached Steve’s hotel room door, she could only hope Steve at least had his keycard with him. She doubted the man could get it himself, though. “Do you have your card, Steve?” At first she got some sort of mumbling as a response followed by the man’s obvious struggle trying to remember whether he had the keycard on him or not. He eventually jerked his head downwards and pointed at his left front pocket. Christie was not very keen on slipping her hand in the pocket of the man’s jeans, but she did do so – reluctantly if one might add, though. She was relieved to realize that there was nothing but the keycard in his pocket. No used napkins or anything else gross like that. The pocket did feel slightly sticky, though, but that was probably only because the man had been wearing the jeans all night. She pulled the keycard out of the man’s pocket and with great struggle opened the door to his room.

The room smelled oddly fresh. She had been in the training are with the guys before. After a hot day and hours of training the smell sometimes got bad. But Steve’s room did not smell like sweat. There were a few items of clothing every here and there but all in all the room was a lot cleaner than she had expected. She helped the boxer in the room and straight to bed after first placing the keycard on the nightstand.

“Careful now, gato”, her tone soft as she spoke while helping the man on to the bed. She felt like there would have been some resistance when she was eventually trying to let go off the man, but it was probably just reflex. The capoeirista told the man to sleep on his side. She did not want him to choke on his vomit in case that sickening thing would happen. She did not receive a response after saying that but Steve did turn to his side soon after; whether it was because she had said so or not did not really matter.

All done, and she was starting to feel rather drowsy herself actually. She would have to face Hwoarang’s wrath in the morning, or at some point in the near future, but she was not afraid. Christie knew quite well that deep down the Korean was just worried that she was going to steal his friend. What a ridiculous assumption. She hardly even knew Steve. They were merely acquaintances. The chocolate hues quickly glanced at him and the sight brought a hint of a smile upon her lips. Seemed like the boxer was quick to fall asleep.

“Durma bem.”