FIGHT CLUB II: ELECTRIC BOOGALOO.

[saam]

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 Harvestmere.
WHERE: The back room of the Boar & Bat pub.
NOTES: Violence! Gambling! Anything worse than that, I'll let you know.

First thing's first: the crowd favorites.

HEROES
• CROWD FAVORITE: Sabine "Red Snatch"
• Skulltimaeus "Fistbreaker"
• Derrica "The Rivaini Raider"
• Laura "Sharps" Kint
• Athessa "Sweet Tessa" Sulanahn
HEELS
• CROWD FAVORITE: Yngvi "Filth Demon" Congealedinagutterson
• Kostos "Babyface Moroney" Averesch
• Findilay
• Barrow "Skullbreaker"
• "Princess" Carla

(Obviously, if you didn't sign up beforehand but still want to have your character fight, feel free!)

Feel free to do whatever you wish with your character and their reaction to being the month's favorite. Crowd favorites will be cheered more, possibly bought drinks, remembered and treated fondly by the crowd, even if they're heels. Bets on their success will be higher, and remember, you're allowed to bet on yourself.

As for the rest: The back room of the pub still has that dirt floor, the bar off to the side, the chairs and tables dirt floor, a bar with drinks and a bartender, and a circle drawn in the middle with chalk.

Eshal holds court at the edge of the circle, calling matches and announcing fighters. Gifted with a booming voice and a 6'2" stature, she's still impossible to miss.

The unspoken mascot of the festivities 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. This time, someone has also added pretty eyelashes to the face.

(credit to Beka for the wonderful sign!)

The rules of the fights are simple, and repeated before every match: No kicking. No hitting 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 looses.

Fighting isn't the only thing to do, however. There are bets being made in the crowd. Drinks being had. Mingle, cheer, loose some money, win some back, have fun!

Comments

eshal fazon | ota.

[saam]

a. PREGAMING.

Need to warm up before the fight? Eshal holds up both fists in a lazy stance, confident. "Don't worry," she says. "Won't scuff you up. Just gonna let you get the blood flowing, is all."

b. POSTGAMING.

She's at the bar, of course. The swill here isn't her favorite, but it's swill, which is her favorite type. She nurses a mug of the stuff, and smiles at whoever's near enough for talking.

"Think we should do something special for next month? Like, masks and shit. Or is that too Orlesian..." She takes another drink.

c. WILDCARD IT.

[do whatever i dont fear death.]

a.

[sulahnan]

"Does feinting a kick still count as a kick or can I fake someone out without being disqualified, so long as I don't actually hit them with a leg?"

She's sworn up and down that she knows the rules and knows that 85% of her fighting style will be useless and cause for disqualification, but she keeps finding new clarifying questions to explore every single possible loophole for this fight.

[saam]

Eshal takes a long moment to consider this. It's a good question. "A feint is fair. But if you accidentally do hit them, I'm dragging you out. It's a risk, is what I'm saying."

[sulahnan]

"So better to not risk getting hauled out by my ears for appearing to kick someone, I guess." Clicking her tongue against her teeth, Athessa nods for Eshal to put her hands up so she can take a test swing at her palm.

"This is gonna be a challenge, then."

b.

[tender]

"Masks can block your vision," Derrica answers, leaning an elbow on the bar. She takes a drink to keep from tonguing at her swelling lip. "You'd have to contend with some accidental cheating, I think."

Generously assuming no one would deliberately pull at the masks.

"You could do special rounds. Maybe make people fight in pairs. Or one person against pairs."

[saam]

"Not if they were good masks..." But good masks are expensive. She files the thought away for later. "Maybe capes...?"

Then her eyes light, and she turns her head to grin at Derrica. "Pairs. That's perfect."

[tender]

Derrica smiles back, quietly pleased. She doesn't know from show business, but Eshal's response is encouraging.

"And useful, even if that's not strictly the point of these nights."

She splays her fingers out along the bar, tapping a muted, nervous little beat before she looks back at Eshal's face.

"Do you ever want a turn in the ring?

findilay | ota.

[pinfold]

a. FIGHTS FOR FREE.

Billed as Finny Longshot, Findilay figures he's been called worse. This whole setup is, yeah, claustrophobic a shit, but it's also exciting and new and loud. He thinks he's gonna need a few days sleeping outside to re-balance, but for now-- fun!

In the ring, he never throws the first punch. He doesn't even have a fighting stance. He just stands there, smiling, occasionally shrugging.

"Nothing personal, right?" He says, eyes bright. "It's for show? Yeah?"

b. BETTING.

A bookie has found him. In all fairness, anyone with an eye for bets would look at him and see an easy mark. If Findilay had any idea what any of that meant, he wouldn't blame them for the attempt. As it is, he's just confused.

"I'm what?" He holds up his hands, (a strip of dark fabric wrapped around one wrist) defensive. "No, no, I don't have any coin- a loan? No, I don't need one."

He continues to walk backward until his feet meet a chair. Easy as anything, he walks backward onto it, now elevated above the man heckling him to make a bet.

c. DRINKING.

Findilay has preferred a drink. He did not pay for the drink. He just waited until someone walked away from theirs and sat in their seat. He's now sniffing the contents like a confused dog.

"Folk pay for this," he appears to be speaking to himself. "I could make better."

The bartender shoots him a look. Findilay replies with a sheepish grin.

d. WILDCARD

[h-h-h-hit me.]

sabine "fire snatch" lastname. ota.

[glandival]

"Fresh from killing Venatori in Orlais, she's here to fight with fists... or love. Can you defeat Fire Snatch?"

THROWDOWN;

It's a lot of rules.

Compared to the drag out brawls that Sabine is used to, anyway, in which the marked absence of rules was generally used to the favour of everyone involved, spectators included. But she's come to play, and doesn't make too much of a face when they are reminded.

By human standards, she is only an average amount of threat at 5'5", all ropey lean muscle; by elf standards, she is a solid adversary. She is dressed in tan leathers, freckly arms exposed, hands protected in lambskin gloves with the fingers ragged cut away. Tall boots with a slight heel bump her up an inch, dusty and well-worn, and her mass of curly red hair has been mostly left loose save for where she's braided it tightly above her pointed ears, keeping it off her face. Where her trousers fasten at her pelvis, a fire-orange patch shaped into a flame is sewn into the soft leather.

Anyway. She has a joke name. It is an easy path to victory.

But there is a ferocious grin on her face as said name is chanted towards the latter half of her fights. She is fast on her feet, pivoting out of the way of the haymakers, tumbling and rolling to her feet when one finally finds her. Dirt from the floor peppers her skin, damp with sweat, streaking her face as she runs her arm across her brow. She is not above leaping onto the backs of her larger opponents when she manages to turn them around, flung off into a crowd that pushes her back in with a cheer.

She starts a round with a tankard in hand, hold up one finger as she sets the ale to her lips and proceeds to methodically down it in languid, practiced gulps, and by the time she throws the empty vessel aside, this is cheered for as its own victory before she launches into the fight proper.

CAROUSE;

And then she is bought many more of them.

The festivities kick off with a victory lap: Sabine on Alistair's shoulders, immensely pleased with herself, balancing herself with one hand flatly atop his head while the other distributes high fives, giggling to herself at the immense absurdity of it all, the occasional flash of a grin showing blood pink between her teeth.

Eventually, she cleans up some, a wet rag dragged over her arms and her face to rid herself of mud and the occasional streak of dried blood.

Catch her sitting on the bar top, head thrown back and laughing with an ale in hand, the occasional wildly flung arm almost taking out whoever might be next to her. Or on her own, for a moment, feet kicked up on table and pressing a cloth full of (magically conjured?) ice to her face, head tipped right back as the world spins from either alcohol or some small percentage of a concussion. She imagines spending multiple hours soaking in the baths, after this.

She thinks Martel would pretend at being proud of her, if he wasn't actually. Odd, how she hasn't thought of that particular shem in so long, and then she is back and does.

WILDCARD;

[ You tell me! ]

carouse.

[tender]

"Can I have some of that?"

Her cup clanks to the bar beside Sabine. Derrica leans on the bar, luckily beneath the swing of Sabine's arms.

"I don't think I got hit as hard as you, but I still feel it."

In spite of her casual request, there's admiration in her voice. Sabine's fight had been impressive. Derrica had enjoyed watching it, and she thinks she'd learned something from it. The ice would be nice, but knowing this person would be better, as far as Derrica is concerned.

[glandival]

The lip of the pitcher bumps against this cup set down by Derrica, pouring in room-temperature ale of dark and frothing quality. A Fereldan brew of some kind, the kind that foreigners might complain about but secret away a small keg in their belongings upon leaving again.

Sabine pivots to engage with this next person, perhaps expecting it to be any of the spectators that have so far offered congratulations, but then grins broader when she recognises the woman who's materialised instead. There is redness blossoming near and around Sabine's eye, just detectable as eventual bruises in all the natural flush of her skin beneath her freckles.

"The Rivaini Raider," she says, laying on Orlesian affect as she enunciates the title. All those R's. "Merci, I think. Thick skulls are virtuous, where I come from." She raises her tankard to bump it to Derrica's.

[tender]

"It's Derrica, really. Eshal came up with the nickname."

Derrica is also assuming Eshal came up with "Red Snatch" and declines to question it. She lifts her cup slightly after the bump in a small salute before climbing up to sit on the bar beside her.

"They really liked you," she points out, sweeping her cup out towards the crowd. "More than they liked the Fistbreaker last month."

Which is still quite a statement, even having seen that entire fight and knowing it wasn't a joke.

sweet tessa | ota

[sulahnan]

I. FLOAT LIKE A BUTTERFLY
She's been told, clearly and repeatedly, no fucking kicking. And she's sticking to it, keeping her word, but it's a significant handicap. Kicking is somewhere around 75% of her fighting style.

The other 25%, in this context, involves a lot of dodging, avoiding hits instead of landing her own, and periodically slapping her opponent. It makes for an entertaining match, when she's pitted against someone bigger and slower than herself.

II. STING LIKE A BEE
"No, I said I want to bet on the other guy. My opponent!" Between matches, Athessa can be found trying to sort out her bets, having to shout to be heard above the crowd.

"Trust me, I know what I'm doing!"

III. WILDCARD
[ The hands can't hit what the eyes can't see ]

ii.

[murderbaby]

Mhavos isn't a bookie. He also isn't not one. Considering how easy he's finding it, he may consider taking it on as a vocation. But at the moment-

He lightly taps Athessa's shoulder. "When one is planning to throw a match," he says in a low tone, "one is usually more quiet about it."

[sulahnan]

She looks between Mhav and the bookie, who unfortunately heard the former's advice.

"No, no! I'm not throwing, " She starts, gesturing urgent placation in case anyone else overheard. "I'm covering my bases! If I win, I win, move up in the ranks, fight more, whatever. If I lose, I win money! Literally a win-win situation!"

[murderbaby]

Mhavos laughs to himself. It's the kind of backward-yet-forward thinking he never expects of anyone, much less Athessa, but he's come to think of as characterizing her perfectly.

It's too late to save the bookie, though, who is shaking his head and grumbling, wandering away.

"Here," he says to Athessa, "I'll be your bookie. He's likely to go and spread the rumor that you're going to throw, anyway." Which should make the odds better in her favor, and means he's going to use the money to bet on her, but she doesn't need to know that unless the scheme works.

[tender]

( i. post fight cooldown )

There's a bruise blooming across Derrica's jaw already as she shores up by the bar. She claims a stool first, then when she loses a clear line of sight to the ring, climbs up to sit on the bar. (She pays for the privilege, two coins to the bartender and another for her drink.) It's a good vantage point, but it does have it's disadvantages. Case and point—

"Can you pick that up for me, please?" She asks, tapping the shoulder of the person adjacent to her, then pointing down at the bracelet she'd dropped.

It's a long way down, okay.

( ii. wildcard )

[ feel free to assume the outcome of the fight/check in with me on plurk if you wanna roll with them having been in the ring together. otherwise, do whatever, i'm down. ]

i.

[sulahnan]

"Huh? Oh," Athessa herself is sporting a blossoming bruise or two, and a wrenched shoulder. Her own fault, and already tended to, but still sore, which translates into her keeping that arm tucked close in to her body as she scoops up the bracelet.

"I do believe this is yours," She says dramatically, in her best impression of a hoity-toity noble from some lame story. Then, the facade is split by her lopsided grin and she offers the jewelry to Derrica.

[tender]

Derrica extends a hand, wiggles her fingers at Athessa.

"You can put it on my wrist, please."

Is this what nobility does? Escapade with Mhavos' terrible, former employers are hardly instructive.

[sulahnan]

She does slip it onto Derrica's wrist, and thereafter lift's Derrica's hand to kiss it. Yes, this must be what nobility does, though without Athessa's silly giggle afterwards.

Without paying for the privilege like her friend, she hops up onto the bar as well.

"So how has milady fared in the bouts this time around?" Athessa herself has been too busy trying to fight and win without being disqualified to watch many of the others in the ring. She gestures to the bruise on Derrica's jaw. "See you've got a nice little trophy there."

i!!

[gritted]

Less far down for Kenna, conveniently, who only takes a very short moment of confused staring to figure out what she's meant to be picking up.

"I'll have to remember that for next time," she says, reaching up to pass off the bracelet. She gives it a quick look as she does, assessing, habit picked up from years of crafting and trade.

"I had to guess at what was happening half the time based on grunts. Not very descriptive, honestly." She shoved to the front a few times to see properly. Worth it, but paying off the bartender for a high seat would've been way less sweaty.

[tender]

"Do you want to come up here?"

Partly out of generosity, and partly because it'll just be easier to carry on a conversation if they're on the same level. Her fingers fold over Kenna's as she reaches to take the bracelet.

"I don't think anyone will mind, and you'll be able to see the next fight when it starts."

Not making any promises about the quality of the next fight. How many people are here blatantly hoping to see Barrow and the jar face off again.

yngvi ota;

[filthydipper]

pre-fight
There are plenty of things Yngvi's been called but this is probably one of the best and really if his father(s) could see him now-- Well maybe they can he's not really keeping much of an eye on anything, considering if he should've brought the goose.

It feels like the sort of place a goose would fit in.

"So like," by the way hi he's here right next to you, what's up, "if I was going to get someone good at that art shit to draw up a filth demon, what d'you think it should look like?"

post-fight
There might have been a foot to the face at some point? Or a knee? Honestly it's sort of a hazard when you're easily a good foot shorter than most people you're dealing with and one of the strategies you got taught was roll into them, do it.

(You don't question why you do things in the Carta because the Carta's been around longer than you hasn't it? Yes? Right well shut up brat.)

So the world is blurring, Yngvi is attempting to order something that isn't alcohol--

He has possibly spilled that all over you if you were in his general direction no he is not sorry get your body out of where he's walking thanks.

wildcard
[or something else go for it and I'll follow]

pre-fight.

[saam]

Eshal considers the question with the careful air of someone who knows they could bench press their conversation partner. "Have you seen many demons?"

[filthydipper]

What is even in this glass? When was it last cleaned? Yngvi squints into it, into years of tidelines and dust that have built up about it as he thinks back, scrolls all the way through his memories (one is shoved in a box, hard enough that the lid gets all crumpled up but that's fine) before he can answer.

"Less than you'd think," Kirkwall being Kirkwall with that whole ooh the Veil thin as a Templar's honour when there's lyrium spilt on the carpet thing and Inquisition-now-Riftwatch, "but more than you'd hope. Do you hope? Guess some do. Get real randy for it, it's their whole thing to just be able to scream demon like they'd know what to do if they did see one."

He shrugs, tries to lean back and he's not the right height for the bar so he has to kind of grab blindly and play it cool as if he has ever been cool in his short (haha) life. "Definitely saw a pride demon more than once but giants are bigger and that's just...weird? How can you be proud if a giant's bigger'n you?"