The Legend of Jean-Claude Fin Damn

Jean-Claude Fin Damn, the mussels and brussels superstar, watched the timer, set to sound after a minute, dripped in fresh sweat, from his head of short brown hair down his tight white vest down to his tiny black shorts. His lightly tanned skin shined with the sweat as he stretched and finished his warmup. Hot, most would say, did not really do his look justice. The man was something of a living legend and knew it. As he kept one eye on the timer and the other on the action as it unfolded.

Fin Damn, as he was known to others in his field, recalled a time when he faced off against a whole room of bad guys interested in his blood. One had a machete, one had nunchaku and another had flaming fists. They weren’t actually on fire, but rather it was descriptive of how quick he was. Fin Damn, though made light work of them all and left them lying with blood seeping from different orifices on the floor.

He was used to pressure and right now he was under an extreme amount of pressure. He only had a little time, and everything had to go exactly right, or it would all fall apart. The safety of the world, his world, was literally sitting on his shoulders. He was used to managing even the most trying of situations. It was in his blood.

A lot can happen in a minute, after all. Something that he knew better than most.

He had to use double-quick timing and all his suppleness to make sure he executed everything perfectly.

Remembering the time, he faced off against the Big Boss, he was primed for action.

As the silence in the sparkling and shiny white room was interrupted by a slow and gradual whistle, he leaped over the countertop and grabbed a cup from the cute little cup horse his niece had made for him at school. Pushing the hands on the edge he leaped backwards onto the adjacent counter and grabbed the coffee jar from the cupboard and with one quick twist of the fist opened it, as he flipped a spoon from the drainer with his left foot into his free hand and added a teaspoon of coffee into the cup. Just like the time he threw sand in Big Boss’ eyes. Placing the jar back in the cupboard he flipped off the unit into a somersault, landing on the tips of his toes and pressing down onto soles. Next, he grabbed the kettle in his left and passed it in a cool action-star fashion to his right before pouring hot water into the cup until the dark, earthy and strong coffee filled the white porcelain.

Flipping again as he slid the kettle back into its base, he grabbed a croissant he baked earlier from the wire rack, like he grabbed the damsel in distress that he saved from the evil cartel and took a bite just as the timer sounds a minute. Job well done.

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Thanks for reading!

Author's Notes: This is more or less Heather Hubler's fault. I can't find where, but in the comments the name Jean-Claude FinDamn was born and I said I'd need to write a story about the man, the myth and the legend. So here it is. The first, possibly last, adventure of Jean-Claude Fin Damn