#albionrush

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            MUSE AESTHETICS :  S T E V E  ⇼

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            OTP AESTHETICS :  C H R I S T E V E  ⇼

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@albionrush

⊰ ✿ ⊱ —— クリスティ ・ モンテイロ

It was nearly impossible to remember the last time she had felt this relieved and happy. Although her manager was still constantly reminding her about how her career was not currently doing too good, and it was very true, she felt like nothing could stop her now. Finding Eddy, knowing that he was alive and well, had given her the boost she had so desperately needed. However, if Eddy so decided, she would be ready to drop out of the tournament. Her sole reason of coming here was to find him and now that she did the tournament did not really matter all that much. Her manager disagreed of course. 

She had not seen Steve in days. Whenever she tried to find him, he seemed to be hiding from her. She had been eager to share the good news with her friend. Steve had been there for her after all, so he deserved to know that things had changed. He would be happy to hear the news for sure - or at least to see her happy for change. Hwoarang would be happy for sure. 

It seemed like Steve had been busy with interviews and other promotional material because she had not seen him around at all — until now at least. As she returned to the hotel she spotted the familiar swept-back blonde curls. The view brought a smile to her lips. She hastened her steps to catch him. Gently grabbing the hold of his arm when she close enough to do so. ❝ Hey Steve !! I’ve been looking for you all week. ❞ There was a small pause before she continued.  ❝ You won’t believe what happened. I finally found Eddy. Can you believe it ?? I finally found him. ❞

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                                               | albionrush | talonbacklash |

With each passing day the opening of the tournament was getting closer, and with each passing day it was becoming clearer that she would not find Eddy. The thought of that mixed with all the Iron Fist related stress kept her awake at nights. This was doing no good to her and was definitely weakening her performance. Tonight was no different. She kept tossing and turning, trying everything from counting sheep to listening to soothing music yet here she was – wide awake.

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.”

Christie left the room as quietly as possible, not that Steve would have woken up even if she didn’t, but she wanted to be polite.  She returned to her room, without running into Hwoarang anymore, which was always a plus. She got out of her clothes and put on the white nightshirt she usually wore to bed. Tonight’s incident was enough to take her mind off the tournament and Eddy, but the next night was already on its way.

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⊰ ✿ ɢᴀᴍᴇᴏᴠᴇʀ ✿ ⊱ ·Srah, one day there’s gonna be a day when these icons happen:

and that moment is gonna tear your heart apart. Just thought you should know :) 

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「 continued from here. 」

Steve could feel his face burning with embarrassment. He dropped his head into his hands and groaned. Why was Hwoarang so determined to make his life difficult? Sometimes it felt as if their dynamic was less one of best friends, more one of a mischievous pet and its bumbling owner.

Still; Christie said there was nothing to worry about. Steve willed himself to relax, took a deep breath and lifted his head from his hands. There was still a light blush present on his cheeks, but that couldn’t be helped.

Laugh it off, Fox, he told himself. Laugh it off.

“You can say that again,” he said, rolling his eyes and smiling almost bashfully. “

⊰ ✿ ⊱ —— クリスティ ・ モンテイロ

       His embarrassment failed to surprise her. Over those few occassions they had spent together talking she had learnt so much about the Brit; the fact that he got easily embarrassed was just one of the many things. Sadly, it seemed that the man had not learnt much about the capoeirista if he still assumed her to be even slightest bit of angry over something silly like this. 

While the man cringed with embarrassment, hiding his face from her, the woman leant against the counter next to him just waiting for the man to get back to normal. Was he ever normal when he was around her? Hardly.

When he was again able to look her in the eye, Christie tried to maintain a friendly comforting smile even though she could not help but to feel a little bit amused by the whole situation. ❝   It’s nothing truly. You worry too much. How are your nerves not . . . how to put it--A wreck ? ? ? ❞

[capoeiirista-archive]

"Look, whatever Hwoarang told you, I swear it's not true!"

⊰ ✿ ⊱ —— クリスティ ・ モンテイロ

       Chuckling at the panicky words of the Brit while patting him on the shoulder. Always with the worrying… ❝  —- Don’t worry, Steve. You’re not the first to have such dreams about me. I know the Korean is always trying to embarrass but I can assure you ; there’s nothing to worry about. ❞

[capoeiirista-archive]

⊰ ✿ ⊱ -- albionrush

It was finally late enough for people to be moving out in the corridor, but it was not so late that everyone would be asleep already. Those who enjoyed the nightlife would not crawl back into their rooms for a couple of hours, so those who enjoyed the peace and quiet could now do so. Christie was loved partying as much as the next gal but since the opening of the tournament was getting closer by the second, and she wanted to be in the best possible condition as it did. Besides, she did not really have people to party with here in Tokyo. She could have gone and asked Steve and his Korean friend, though... 

Speaking of Steve Fox, the capoeirista now stood outside the boxer’s room and in her hand she held a small clear plastic bag which content had caused her quite the headache. She had not understood the fun part of this whole escapade, but at least someone, most likely the Korean, had a fine time planning out this prank. After this episode, Christie had made it very clear to the hotel staff that no one was allowed into her room without her permission. Not that seeing a pair of male underwear would have shocked her so deeply, but the thought of someone just entering her room just made her feel uneasy.

It was the first time she would be returning someone’s underwear, though. She was usually the one to forget hers after sleeping around; though she was not one to give her address to the people she met. They were often even left with a fake name. She did not really do the whole sleeping around thing much these days...

How hard was it to knock on someone’s door? Several times had the brunette raised her hand to knock on the door, but with no success. She was still standing there. Christie was more worried about the Brit than herself. He probably knew nothing of the situation and would be so flustered he would start talking goofy things again. Her lips curled up into a slight smile as she thought of her last conversation with the Englishman. And to think that the man was a middleweight champion of the world...

She could not spend her all night standing outside Steve’s room with his underwear in a plastic bag. Once again did the capoeirista raise her hand, but this time she actually knocked on the door. To be honest, she was not even certain whether or not Steve was in the room. She had not seen him in days. Their schedules probably just crossed. Every fighter was more or less busy right now; some did press conferences; some spent all their time training. Everyone was doing something.