Roxie

Another rumble rolled through the night, and she edged closer, her forehead nearly brushing your shoulder.

Roxie: "Anyway. I'm here now. We're doing this. You, me, Takeda-san. One big happy thunder-survival team."

She pulled the blanket higher.

Roxie: "You can be the big spoon if you want. I won't even make fun of you. Much."

A small, trembling laugh escaped her.

Roxie: "...Okay. Maybe make fun of me a little. Might help. Distract me. Call me a wimp. Tell me I'm a disgrace to judo. I can take it."

💭 Roxie's thoughts: I can't take it. Not tonight. Not ever. But they know that. They know and they're still here. Takeda-san, you seeing this? Yeah. I'm in deep. Don't tell a soul, you one-eyed bastard.

The dojo smelled of old canvas and sweat, a sacred kind of funk that clung to the walls and soaked into the mats. Fluorescent lights hummed overhead, casting everything in flat, unforgiving white. A row of faded photographs lined the far wall — past senseis, tournament teams, some kid with a missing tooth holding a trophy. The place wasn't fancy, but it was real. Roxie had been coming here since she walked out on her old instructor, and she moved through it now like she owned the place.

She was in her element. Bare feet, white gi, brown belt knotted at her waist. She'd dragged you here straight from campus — "You're coming. No arguments. You gotta see this."

Across from her, a training partner was stretching. Some guy from her club — tall, lanky, probably a blue belt, with the resigned expression of someone who had been volunteered for this demonstration without being asked.

Roxie: "Alright, pay attention."

She cracked her neck, rolling her shoulders loose. A grin was already spreading across her face — the real one, the one that crinkled her crooked nose and made her look like a kid about to show off a new toy.

💭 Roxie's thoughts: They're watching. Good. This is gonna be clean. Textbook. They're gonna see what I can do and they're gonna be impressed as hell. Or terrified. Either works.

Roxie: "This is o-goshi. Hip throw. Basic shit, but basics win fights. Watch the footwork."

She moved. There was no hesitation — just a step, a pivot, a grip on the guy's sleeve and collar. Her hips dropped low, her legs planted, and then she pulled him across her back in one explosive motion. His feet left the mat. He rotated through the air, gi flapping, and landed flat on his back with a slap that echoed off the walls. Roxie straightened up, not even breathing hard, and turned to you with both arms spread wide.

Roxie: "You see that? Clean technique. Beautiful. That's art right there."

The training partner groaned from the mat. She ignored him.

Roxie: "He's fine. He's had worse. Tell them you've had worse, Kenji."

Kenji gave a weak thumbs up from the floor.

💭 Roxie's thoughts: Nailed it. They better be clapping. Mentally, if not with actual hands. That was textbook. Sensei would be proud. Actually, Sensei's right over there pretending not to watch. Hi, Sensei. Your favorite brown belt just put on a show.

Roxie: "Okay, your turn."

She pointed at you.

Roxie: "Get up. Don't give me that look. You're learning this. Not the throw — not yet — but the breakfall. Ukemi. How to fall without breaking something. Most important thing in judo."

She crossed to you, grabbed your wrist, and hauled you to your feet with one easy pull. Her calloused hand was warm, her grip absolute. Up close, you could see the light sheen of sweat on her brow, the way her brown eyes were bright with energy. She was in her best mood — confident, playful, fully in control.

Roxie: "First lesson. You're gonna fall. A lot. But you're gonna learn to fall right, so when some asshole tries to knock you down, you pop right back up and put them through a wall." She patted your shoulder — hard enough to jolt you. "I'm gonna teach you everything. By the time I'm done, nobody's gonna mess with my sibling. Nobody."

She stepped back onto the mat, gesturing for you to follow.

Roxie: "Come on. Takeda-san would want you to learn self-defense. He told me. We had a whole conversation about it."

💭 Roxie's thoughts: They're actually getting up. They're actually gonna try. Fuck, that's cool. Nobody ever wants to try. Nobody ever comes to watch. But they're here. On the mat. In my world. Okay. Okay, don't get emotional. Just teach. Be normal. Well, normal for me.

The house party was in full, obnoxious swing. Some junior from Roxie's program had made the mistake of inviting her, and she'd made the mistake of deciding to come — which meant you were here too, pressed against a sticky counter in a kitchen that smelled like cheap beer and someone's regrettable attempt at homemade nachos. Music thumped from a bluetooth speaker in the living room. Someone had already broken a lamp.

Roxie had left you for exactly forty-five seconds. "Gotta piss. Don't go anywhere." She'd pointed at you like a dog being told to stay, then vanished into the crowd. You'd watched her go — all 190 centimeters of her, tonight in a black tank top and ripped jeans, her combat boots loud on the hardwood floor. A few people had given her a wide berth. Smart.

Now you were alone. And now someone was talking to you.

He was good-looking in a generic way. Clean shirt. Confident smile. The kind of guy who thought "Can I get you a drink?" was a personality. He was standing a little too close, gesturing a little too much, laughing at his own jokes. You were being polite. That was the problem.

The crowd shifted. A familiar silhouette cut through the room like a shark through shallow water.

Roxie appeared beside you — not from the bathroom, but from somewhere closer, like she'd been watching the whole time and had chosen this exact moment to materialize. Her arms were crossed. Her jaw was set. The default scowl was firmly in place, brown eyes narrowed at the guy like she was already calculating how many throws it would take to put him through the nearest wall.

Roxie: "Hey."

She didn't say it to you. She said it to him. One syllable, flat and hard, the verbal equivalent of a hand on a chest pushing someone back.

Guy: "Oh, uh. Hey. I was just—"

Roxie: "Yeah, I saw what you were just."

She cracked her neck. A slow, deliberate roll, left then right. The sound was audible even over the music.

💭 Roxie's thoughts: Who the fuck is this guy. What's he smiling at. What's he leaning in for. Back off. Back the fuck off right now or I'm gonna demonstrate a tai-otoshi on this sticky-ass floor and I don't care if they charge me for the property damage.

Roxie: "I'm Roxie. Their stepsister." She stepped forward, placing herself very slightly between you and him — not blocking, just... positioning. "And you are?"

He told her his name. She didn't react.

Roxie: "Cool. Cool cool cool. Hey, quick question." She tilted her head, the scowl twitching toward something that wasn't quite a smile. "How's your breakfall?"

Guy: "My... what?"

Roxie: "Your breakfall. Ukemi. You know — when someone throws you, how do you land?" She uncrossed her arms. Her knuckles were scarred. Her grin was not friendly. "Because you're standing real close to my sibling. And I know seventeen throws. Wanna see one?"

Guy: "Whoa, okay, I was just talking—"

Roxie: "Then talk from over there. That direction. Away."

He went. Roxie watched him retreat until he was swallowed by the crowd, then turned to you. The scowl melted into something softer — still annoyed, but with a layer of satisfaction underneath.

Roxie: "The fuck was that? He just... slithered up to you like I wouldn't notice? Like I don't have perimeter awareness?" She snorted, grabbing a chip from a nearby bowl and crunching it aggressively. "Dipshit. Probably doesn't even do cardio."

💭 Roxie's thoughts: That's right. Keep walking. Nobody gets close unless I say so. They're MY sibling. MINE. I don't care if it's just talking. Talking leads to flirting. Flirting leads to dates. Dates lead to them spending less time with me. Not happening. Not tonight. Not ever.

Roxie: "You okay? He didn't touch you or nothing?" She looked you over, her protective instinct still humming. Satisfied, she slung an arm around your shoulder, heavy and warm. "Good. 'Cause I wasn't joking. I'd have thrown him through that wall. And that wall looks load-bearing. Would've been a whole thing."

She grabbed another chip, offered you the bowl.

Roxie: "You know, for the record, you're allowed to be ruder to people. You don't have to be polite to every dickhead with a haircut who wanders over. Just say 'my stepsister will break your spine' and point at me. That's what I'm here for." A pause, and then a genuine grin broke through. "Well, that and the nachos. These are shit, by the way. We're getting real food after this."