faderift | THE FIRST RULE ABOUT FIGHT CLUB IS THAT THIS ISN'T FIGHT CLUB

WHO:Eshal and EVERYBODY, you're all invited. You don't have to have expressed interest oocly or icly before now to participate!
WHAT: The first inaugural Riftwatch underground boxing tournament... thing.
WHEN: Feel free to hit this up whenever, presumably it's taking place at various times over the month.
WHERE: The back room of the Boar & Bat pub.
NOTES: Violence! Gambling! Anything worse than that, I'll let you know.

The back room of the pub is no special beauty, but it's workable. A dirt floor, a bar with drinks and a bartender, and a circle drawn in the middle with chalk. Eshal is on the side, acting as referee for matches, and moving through the crowd in between bouts. She's convivial, crassly cheerful, and, at 6'2", impossible to miss.

But perhaps most notable is the sign stolen from the front, and pinned to the wall, in clear view of the crowd. Beneath it, someone has scrawled into the wall: LEAVE SOBER.

(credit to Beka for the wonderful sign!)

THE MATCHES

It's time to fight! The rules are simple, as outlined by Eshal and her booming voice at the beginning of every match:

No kicking. No punching below the belt. No hitting while they're down. Stop when the referee says so. First person who can't get back up after a five count loses.

She also introduces each participant to the crowd. She gives their name (or whatever name they gave her, if you want to go under a pseudonym), and a fact about them, perhaps ...a little made up. Nothing terrible, but always something to spice up the match. Are you fighting an elf? She may imply you have something against elves. Are you rich? She may imply your opponent has a grudge against Hightown. Little things.

(Feel free to godmod what she says as needed for comedy or plotting, but keep in mind it wouldn't be outright derogatory or obviously insulting. Just some slight implication to spice things up.)

THE BETTING

Are you a bookie? Are you making bets? Time to make some money.

Feel free to handwave who's fighting or who's the crowd favorite, what the odds are, etc. Don't get too bogged down in the details. Just remember: People love betting, and bookies get a cut. It pays to know the odds.

For those betting? Sometimes you win big. Sometimes you lose. Try and be polite about it.

THE SPECTATING

It's time to just sit back and watch the fight. Boo or cheer. Who's your favorite? Your least favorite?

Or maybe you're here for another reason. Gossip, making connections, pick-pocketing... Plenty of people here, plenty of connections to make... or you could just get drunk.

IN GENERAL

Hey, just have fun. In the future, there might be signups or more complex structures for the fights, but for now, let's just be chill and punch each other senseless.

Top level and comment around, fight whoever you want or handwave; there are presumably NPCs fighting and betting, make them up as needed for your threads. Please note if you're okay with threadjacking and etc.

Let me know if you need Eshal to step in as a referee (PM, whatever)! And note: She will not be fighting, just making herself very visible as the ref.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

THE SPECTATING.

There’s a part of Six that had stalled at the door, at the sign, wondering if she now somehow counts as a pirate; she works for Flint, does she not? Working with him, with the others, people she recognises, assigning herself a position on their ship… Perhaps she ought not to be allowed, perhaps she should turn her back and leave. Sarenrae would likely look down on her with some frustration if she engaged in fighting for the sake of anything but redemption, but she can see it in only one way as it stands: the need to get rid of her anxious energy, the need to strengthen her skills, to train with people she doesn’t necessarily know.

Instead of joining in straight away she watches, seeing the betting take place and letting herself judge the other competitors. She doesn’t necessarily stand a great deal taller than a lot of them - she’s higher than six feet herself, but the bulk of her muscle makes her look larger, more threatening - but she thinks she might be able to win at least a few rounds. She is strong enough, smart enough, at least in fighting, and had been well trained. She wonders, absently, if magic is allowed, though she fears that might be somewhat unfair; as much as one can be fair in an underground fighting ring.

Slipping to one side, she stands, hesitating, before she crosses her arms and watches. Her hair is tied up in its bun, her gaze is set and stern and she appears like a dangerous, unfriendly bodyguard to some unknown noble - at least until she decides she might take part.

THE FIGHTING

Six appears a formidable foe for anyone who wants to take her on; wearing a cotton shirt and breeches, her muscles showing as her sleeves roll up, her head tilted with a set face and a jaw sterner than an angry schoolteacher, no one would suspect her for the soft heart she actually is. She knows the rules (no kicking, not that she is adept at that, stop when told, hold yourself to a decent standard) and she means to obey them, as she obeys all the rules given to her, but she does not intend to appear anything less than stern and stoic, to give away any of her misgivings.

That would put her at a disadvantage.

It does not help that she thinks absently of Adrian, a man with a clear weakness for the dice, for betting, curling his fingers around her hand and laughing as he bet on sixes, rolling them time and time again, pushing her hair behind her ear and saying, soft and gentle, my lucky six! -

Breathing out, she steps forward into the ring, prepared to tackle anyone who might wish to take her, who might wish to attempt to survive her as she is, ready and brimming with energy.

WILDCARD.

( Come and find her after the fighting / drinking water / etc, or ping me for something personal! )

THE FIRST RULE ABOUT FIGHT CLUB IS THAT THIS ISN'T FIGHT CLUB

six | ota