"Ugh, mom?"
Benjamin woke up disoriented, blurry-eyed, thirsty, and with a throbbing headache. He looked at the silhouette in front of or perhaps above him in confusion. He could feel it in the back of his head that it shouldn't be his mother, but he couldn't for the life of him figure out why.
"I've been called worse things, but in case you're confused, no, I'm not your mom. I have a bit too much facial hair to assume such a role in anyone's life."
Benjamin's sight gradually cleared as the man helped him drink some stale water. He pretended like he hadn't said what he just said.
"Who are you?" He asked with a slight frown due to his headache.
"I'm Sam. I'm one of the fighters in this courtyard," Sam, who had a plucked eyebrow for a mustache, answered.
"I took it upon myself to look after you after your fight," he continued.
Benjamin glanced at the furry hat in Sam's hand.
"So, you weren't after my clothes?"
"N-no! Of course, not. I was just…making sure you weren't too dirty. No, wait. Making sure you weren't too hot. Or checking how dirty they were. It was quite a fight, and your clothes got caught up in it at the end there."
Benjamin frowned and snatched the hat out of Sam's hand when he held it out.
"How…" Benjamin was about to ask Sam how his clothes were supposed to have been caught up in it when he took them off for the express purpose of keeping them out of the way. But then he realized that he didn't remember the end of his fight with Mangy Mike.
"Did I lose?" He asked. According to Eluzan, things would be a little more difficult without the achievement of winning under his belt.
Sam looked at Benjamin in confusion.
"Are you asking if your win doesn't count?"
Benjamin looked at Sam in confusion. Sam continued,
"Even if you break the rules and kill your opponent, a win is still a win, and while you got close, Mike is still clinging to his stubborn life."
"Riiight." Benjamin nodded slowly. "Anything else?" He asked while glancing at the door.
Sam wasn't a stranger to being kicked out of others' rooms. He just shrugged.
"Not really. If you're feeling fine, there's no need to call Doc. But that also means you might have to fight tomorrow or the day after. People are eager for Vrolas, the mother lover's return."
"..." Benjamin just looked at Sam until he left his shack.
*Eluzan?* Benjamin said with his mind.
*Avatar,* Eluzan responded, confirming his presence.
*What happened?* Benjamin decided that it would be better to ask Eluzan than reveal to Sam that there might be something wrong with his brain. Eluzan was also more likely to have an answer than some shady fighter with a flimsy mustache.
*You blacked out.* Eluzan's answer was short.
*Duh. After that?* The way Eluzan answered made Benjamin want the answer even more.
*Then, you beat the ever-living crap out of that other guy.*
Benjamin frowned. That didn't sound reasonable. People doing things and not remembering the day after wasn't uncommon. Alcohol was a thing, after all. But if Benjamin lost consciousness due to Mangy Mike beating the consciousness out of his skull, shouldn't he have gone limp and lost the fight?
*...I want to see it again before I say anything further,* Eluzan said before Benjamin could continue pressing for an answer that made sense.
Benjamin sighed and got out of bed. He needed to move his stiff body and check how bad it was. It felt like all of his muscles ached, and he had bruises he didn't remember getting hit. It was like he had turned into a poisonous mushroom with how spotty his body was.
But he had already confirmed that his memory wasn't the most reliable. Still, the rest of his body didn't look even half as bad as his face felt. His vision was still blurry and he could barely see out of one eye. The other was completely shut due to how swollen it was.
It was only natural. Mangy Mike had focused on Benjamin's head for quite a while. He had turned the young face into a masterpiece of violence.
Fortunately, all of it was superficial damage. Bruises. Bleeds under his skin and in the eyes. A few cuts. Nothing permanent and nothing crippling. It was bearable.
The thing that bothered Benjamin the most was the pain in his stomach. As if taking revenge on Benjamin for trying to heal with nothing in the tank, his body and stomach cried out in protest.
Benjamin looked around for the money in his coat. He rummaged through all two pockets. Several times. He even flipped them inside out.
"Motherfucker…!" He cursed, Sam's face flashing in his mind.
He had either lost the money in whatever scuffle had occurred that also led to all of his clothes looking like they had been buried alive, or someone who had rummaged through his clothes while he slept had taken them.
Unfortunately, Benjamin wasn't in a condition to take them back. Even if he wasn't a broken mess, Sam had said he was a fighter.
But other than the mustache on his upper lip, his face had been clean. His hands, however, had been calloused and with scrapes on his knuckles. He was most likely a better fighter than Benjamin, even when Benjamin was in his prime.
"Brock it is." He would have to look for his payment for last night's fight.
Benjamin put on his coat and hat. If he left them behind, they wouldn't be where he left them. He put his hand above his eyes, shielding them from the gentle rays of the setting sun, which were still bright enough to sting his headache into causing a ruckus in his brain again.
"Works." Dusk meant he had been asleep for longer than he thought, but it also meant it wasn't as bright. It also meant he knew where to find Brock. With a slight limp, Benjamin made his way over to the Bell Fight Pit.