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

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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.

Threaded | Flat

a. BEFORE THE FIGHT.

She's getting ready for the next bout. You're here to fight. She needs to get shit in order. Leaning over, she's all grins, sharply friendly.

"Gimme your name," she says, "and some shit about you. Y'know, where you're from, your job, something. People need a reason to cheer."

She gestures to the crowd. They're waiting.

b. DURING THE FIGHT.

Somebody done goofed. How did you break the rules in the ring? Below the belt? Kicked? Doesn't matter. Soon you'll find someone's sizable strength grabbing you and yanking you back.

"That's not in the fucking rules."

c. BETWEEN FIGHTS.

You have to have breaks between matches, so people can buy drinks and make bets.

You can find her at the bar, downing something that probably isn't rotgut. "Double my bet on the Nevarran." She says, grinning. She turns to whoever's next to her at the bar; they happen to be you. "What do you think?"

d. WILDCARD

[go for it, dude.]

Edited 2019-09-05 01:14 (UTC)

hit somebody! was what the crowd roared

Laura understands the rules set before her: No claws. No feet. But she has never been especially interested in punching people. All that leads to are bruises that--while they fade from her knuckles in an evening--annoy her.

And that's why, when Eshal says they may begin, she leaps at her opponent with the intent of knocking them flat to the ground. Pummeling will be more effective from that vantage point.

there's always room on our team for a goon

She watches the other bouts with a scholarly sort of interest. Having decided she does not want to waste any of her small savings in the pub, she neither eats nor drinks, just sits there, possibly with bruises blossoming over her face, and stares at the others' footwork and jabs.

Very, very occasionally, she might comment. "His foot is wrong."

but what's a canadian farm boy to do

[Laura's going to fight at least once, maybe more than once! She's otherwise going to lurk and observe, which I realize might not be terribly exciting, so we can absolutely do other stuff as well, if you like! Please feel free to pm/plurk/disco me to discuss as needed.]

Edited 2019-09-05 01:59 (UTC)

pretty as.
Spite? Please, he hardly knows the meaning of the word. And as he'd said to the event's organizing - if he cared to watch people punch one another for sport, he hardly needed to look farther than the crew of his own ship.

It must therefore be every kind of happenstance which finds Flint in the back room of the Boar & Bat somewhere toward the evening's halfway point, having taken a seat practically beneath the posting with his own face and name on it. The floor of the makeshift ring is flecked with spit and the cast offs of bloody noses, and there's been enough drinking done and punches thrown that the volume of the assemblage has risen to be heard like a muffled shout from the street. Exactly when and under what circumstances he'd manifested there and who he might have arrived with are all unclear, but he has possession of both a bottle and cup and so clearly his reputation with the barkeep can't be as bad as all that.

Or maybe it's worse. Or maybe--

Crack! say knuckles and flesh. A whoop rises from half the spectators with the right betting sense. Flint pours himself another glass from the bottle.

wildcard.
(he's not fighting any of you losers, unless your name is luwenna coupe)

A villain to behold
She's not the biggest Avvar you've ever met, she's compact and wiry, but the marks exposed from beneath all her leathers and furs when she strips down into more boxing friendly attire show the time she's spent fighting the biggest Avvar you can imagine. The most interesting of her marks are a pair of burns on the backs of her shoulders that look like flattened angel wings made out of scar-tissue. The result of one of her more interesting scuffles with her own brother. She'd given him his own presents in kind.

She lets Eshal introduce her as the Princess of the Avvar, let's her make the threat that she might take any of those she defeats back to the Frostbacks to live in a cage. Her smile is wolfishly confident in a way that does not undermine the tale.

This first night, much of wins come from the simple process of getting under her opponent's skin. She's good at it, a mix of precise insult and sexual flirtation, backed up with heavy fists and good movement. Early on, she makes a show of dragging the defeated ones out of the ring and placing them by the entrance, as if making a pile of her winnings.

But it is all of show. She's more interested in doing something which pleases the translator than anything else.

Around
It's more obvious how much of her performance in the ring is play acting outside of it. She's still sharp and her smile is still dark, but she sits back languidly at the bar and flirts with the things that interest her in a much more mild manner than her strut out in the spotlight.

But her propensity for insult is still there, especially if you make it too easy.

Wildcard
[ surpriiise meee ]

THE SPECTATING

The sign is certainly noted. If anything, it's apparently delighted the handful of Walrus men who have made their way in and mixed into the crowd. John's considering his odds on stealing that sign at the end of the night.

While contemplating petty theft, John's followed his usual habit. This isn't a night as usual, but he still finds himself a seat, a good drink, and observes the comings and goings. The fights themselves aren't interesting him, but there's a crowd, and John likes to be in the midst of the crowd.

"Placing a bet on the next bout?" John asks, leaning his weight forward onto his crutch. "I've heard there are fairly good odds on this pair."

WILDCARD

[ do whatever, i'm down. ]

A BRAWL

Derrica squares up in the ring, bouncing on her toes. As she'd waited her turn, the alternate shouts and applause from the crowd had made her nervous, but she doesn't feel it now. She's vibrating with anticipation anyway, waiting for Eshal to say the word.

Sure, she's supposed to be fighting the person across from her in the ring, but Derrica still flashes a bright smile at them. We're all here to have a good time, right?

POST-FIGHT

There's blood on her face. She can taste it in her mouth, even after she's collected a glass of sweet-strong alcohol. Maybe she could find a healer, but it doesn't feel especially urgent. Her braid's are coming loose, and she can feel aches and bruises each time she moves, but it doesn't dampen the glow of satisfaction left in the wake of the fight.

She's lifted a bottle from the bar, perched on a stool presumably to watch the proceedings. She alternates between sipping and holding the cool glass against her swelling mouth. Still, she grins at anyone approaching.

WILDCARD

[ derrica's going to fight a few times, and be generally hanging around otherwise!! do whatever, i'll roll with it. ]

FIGHT fight FIGHT fight FIGHT

Here he is, the participant built like a brick shithouse and, when he's not smiling, about as scary as one after a night of collective binge drinking. Knuckles wrapped, shirt off, Barrow has already taken down one or two opponents with relatively minimal effort, and he's ready for more-- but if anyone steps in who's too small, or exceptionally female, they might get a shake of his head and a raising of his hands in surrender.

general carousing

Drinking liberally, making bets, playing cards, talking shit: Barrow is someone you want at a party, because he's quick to get loud but exceedingly slow to anger. He can be found here all night, having an excellent time on the whole.

Edited 2019-09-09 22:33 (UTC)

SPECTATING

Acclimating to Kirkwall after so long on his own, with nothing but sporadic stops in populated areas and mostly darkspawn for company, is going to be a challenge. Ellis' presence at the fight is partly for the entertainment, and partly to hasten that process by sticking himself in a crowd.

He finds a spot with his back against the wall to observe, moves slowly through the crowd by turns, eventually shoring up against the bar.

"Which of them are you putting money one?" he asks the person closest to him, gesturing vaguely at the ring. They're all strangers to him, and he doesn't have anything to bet. But might as well make conversation.

PATCH-JOB

"Need someone to take a look at that?" is all the introduction Ellis gives. It's a fight, people come out of the ring a little worse for wear. He's holding a dented cup but his expression is intent. He might not have any bandages, but he can make sure your nose isn't broken.

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! )

Threaded | Flat

eshal fazon | ota | threadjack away.

laura kint / ota

flint, ota

karoliina o nidhold | ota

https://i.kym-cdn.com/entries/icons/original/000/024/196/sign.jpg

derrica | ota.

Barrow ota

ellis | ota.

six | ota