Swindle
Major
This space for rent.
Posts: 571
|
Post by Swindle on Mar 23, 2012 18:51:27 GMT -5
The Dealer nods sagely, hand on his chin, as Fletcher talks. He gives Swanson an appraising look. "He does look like the more experienced fighter, even if he doesn't have any name recognition. We should see about bringing him on board," he decides, fishing his smartphone out of his pocket to make some notes to himself, then ambling off to place a few bets.
|
|
Misfire
Minor
The Chamberlain, His Incomparable Immensity, Emperor Misfire. The Accidental Butcher of Anyone He Wasn't Aiming At
Improving. Honest!
Posts: 449
|
Post by Misfire on Mar 24, 2012 21:14:03 GMT -5
Williard will get the chance to beat on a Decepticon, though neither he nor the Decepticon in question will know that's the case.
Reid has more than held his own during his bouts. He's not quite as beat up as Williard, but Reid is sporting butterfly bandages over a cut on his right cheekbone, and a bald spot in his hair where they had to shave part of it back to clean up a cut there. Rosa will fuss and whine over that win or lose, and no doubt about it He's not looking forward to it.
He's also had opportunity to watch a few of Swanson's matches, and Reid has been pondering much the same ideas as Fletcher. The older fighter has no polish and no finesse, and hasn't had any training. That much is obvious. But watching him fight is like watching a cornered animal. Swanson is fierce and doesn't back down. Attacks by his opponents that should provoke backsteps and blocks in the average fighter don't, and that gives Swanson an advantage. He doesn't behave the way he is expected. That's the edge Fletcher sees.
After a few more bouts, the final pair for the class goes up. It's to be Swanson (who some folks are now calling the Berserk Badger) vs Papago, winner take all. No gloves, no tag outs, no neutral corners, no knock down rules. Like any fighter, Reid mentally compares himself to Swanson as he heads to the ring. This is gonna be tough. Really tough.
But if it wasn't tough, it wouldn't be fun now, would it?
|
|
|
Post by Swerve on Apr 9, 2012 19:39:00 GMT -5
The nickname has no meaning for Willard, who wouldn't know a badger if he saw it, but he'll take it over 'pops' or 'old fart'. He tracks down one of the medics to get his face cleaned up and the scar over his eye glued shut; it takes him a moment to argue for the glue because he doesn't want some little bandage peeling away right next to his eye in the middle of a fight.
He eventually gets some water, too, and wanders closer to the ring so he can watch while he waits. Most of the fighters here have a more polished feel to their style than he does, something he's noticed in his matches. That Reid guy he ran into at check-in is no exception. He's quick, Willard notes, quick and clean. And fights almost like he has eyes in the back of his head. And… they'll be up against each other, it looks like, in an upcoming bout. Willard narrows his eyes as he looks at the board, remembering belatedly that he can't just focus these human eyes the way he can his proper eyes. The last fight? Already?
|
|
Fleetwind
Major
The Chancellor, His Eminent Grandeur, Marquis Fleetwind. The Insurgent Subduer of A Non-Threatening Cute Little Furry Kitten
Twined Elf
Posts: 730
|
Post by Fleetwind on Apr 11, 2012 17:50:49 GMT -5
"Yes, sir," Fletcher answers Dealer. It's really just polite acknowledgement - Fletcher doesn't handle the negotiations (although having him at one's side when negotiating isn't a bad idea... for whatever reason, people tend to look on Fletcher favorably).
He moves to a position closer to the ring, slipping through the crowd to do so. Given how many people there are, and their varying states of sobriety, he really shouldn't have managed to avoid as many as he did, but natural grace and good fortune alone aren't enough to keep the fragile man from a few new bruises before he's made it to his new position.
|
|
Swindle
Major
This space for rent.
Posts: 571
|
Post by Swindle on Apr 20, 2012 16:46:18 GMT -5
The Dealer plops himself down in a ringside seat next to Fletcher. While he was gone he placed some bets, moved some money between accounts, and left a business card where Willard could find it. He also bought popcorn.
"Want some?" he asks, offering the bag to the willowy little man.
|
|
Misfire
Minor
The Chamberlain, His Incomparable Immensity, Emperor Misfire. The Accidental Butcher of Anyone He Wasn't Aiming At
Improving. Honest!
Posts: 449
|
Post by Misfire on Apr 22, 2012 14:16:28 GMT -5
Reid is momentarily distracted again when Fletcher passes near him in the crowd. The thought crosses Reid's mind that it simply isn't fair for a man to be that pretty and... alluring and... gah!
He shakes his head and moves to his corner, grasps the ropes and pulls himself up. Once in the ring proper, Reid strips off his shirt, revealing a few more bruises, cuts, and scars. The crowd gives an appreciative cheer as he does so, and he rewards them with a wave and a smile. Reid doesn't play to the fans as much as some, but he does appreciate them.
The handler gives his various bandages a once over and checks the tape on his hands before nodding to the ref. Everything's on the up. The ref gestures for the fighters to toe the scratch as he announces the last match.
"Ladies, Gentlemen, and other assorted unwashed, the final middleweight match of the night! Seasoned circuit fighter Reid McClaren, aka the Papago Kid, versus newcomer Willard Swanson, whose persistence and sheer rage have propelled him through the ranks of some top talent to the finale!
"All right boys," he says to the fighters, but loud enough that the crowd can hear, "You know the rules are that their ain't no rules, 'cept those you impose on yourselves. It's winner take all, so if you want that purse, better give it all you got!"
|
|
|
Post by Swerve on May 3, 2012 20:41:01 GMT -5
Willard shrugs and sets his water aside to climb into the ring, vaulting over the ropes rather than slip through them. He doesn't do it to be deliberately showy; even back in the underground, he wasn't much of an entertainer, and that hasn't changed here. It's just that he's wired and needs to move. He doesn't play well to the crowd, either, in spite of what remarks pass on an old man being so spry. It's one of the things he has going for him where he lacks training.
After a moment's hesitation born of old habit more than anything, he settles enough to hold out his hands and let the handler check his tape. The handler whistles lowly as he has the last few times he got a closer look at Willard; it's almost as if he spots a new scar on the old man every round. Willard just shrugs; he gave up bothering with a shirt somewhere between the second and third rounds. He doesn't feel the internal heat as badly as he should, and this human body has a novel – and inconvenient – built-in cooling method. He gave up liquid cooling ten bodies ago to lessen his weight, but it seems to work vexingly well for this body.
He cracks his knuckles and flexes his shoulders once he gets the okay.
"Sure, sure," he mutters, watching Reid.
|
|
Fleetwind
Major
The Chancellor, His Eminent Grandeur, Marquis Fleetwind. The Insurgent Subduer of A Non-Threatening Cute Little Furry Kitten
Twined Elf
Posts: 730
|
Post by Fleetwind on May 4, 2012 19:29:56 GMT -5
Fletcher lifts an eyebrow as the Dealer offers him the bag. "What are you charging for it?" he asks. Surely the Dealer's not offering anything for free, not even a handful of popcorn!
He glances up as the fight begins, unaware that he had only been recently watched by one of the fighters. Hopefully he won't lose his boss money in this one. If he did, he can be sure he won't be getting any popcorn!
|
|
Swindle
Major
This space for rent.
Posts: 571
|
Post by Swindle on May 12, 2012 13:47:18 GMT -5
The Dealer raises an eyebrow at Fletcher's question. "I'm not charging you to share a bag of popcorn, Fletch," he says, in the tone he normally reserves for children and people he hired for their muscles rather than their brains.
It's a just question, of course. The Dealer doesn't offer anything for free, economically speaking. He doesn't have an altruistic bone in his body. But economics isn't just about money. Affection is a currency too. Fletcher's given him good work for a while, which is worthy of popcorn. If his betting advice pans out tonight, he may even reach the coveted Soda Tier of acquaintanceship. But not the Backwash Tier.
|
|
Misfire
Minor
The Chamberlain, His Incomparable Immensity, Emperor Misfire. The Accidental Butcher of Anyone He Wasn't Aiming At
Improving. Honest!
Posts: 449
|
Post by Misfire on May 16, 2012 13:49:28 GMT -5
As the ref is crawling through the ropes, the bell rings, and Reid grins.
"This'll be a fun one, I'm bettin,'" he says as he feints a left at Willard's jaw, hoping to startle the other fighter the side and into the low right waiting there.
Reid is going to take it slow at first. He needs to get a real feel for Willard, better than one can get by just watching a bout.
|
|
|
Post by Swerve on May 16, 2012 16:02:55 GMT -5
Willard doesn't necessarily see through the feint, but he doesn't startle either; true to his fashion of the night, he takes the bull-headed approach that does him no favours in his proper form and stands his ground. He brings up his right arm from the inside – and much as he has all night, he uses it as if holding a nightstick – to knock aside Reid's punch. He follows through with a left cross.
He's been called angry all night, but while his mouth scowls, his nearly-gold eyes say something completely different: I'm gonna enjoy this.
|
|
Fleetwind
Major
The Chancellor, His Eminent Grandeur, Marquis Fleetwind. The Insurgent Subduer of A Non-Threatening Cute Little Furry Kitten
Twined Elf
Posts: 730
|
Post by Fleetwind on May 17, 2012 18:25:36 GMT -5
Fletcher seems unperturbed by Dealer's addressing him like a child. "Ah," he states. "Well then, thank you." He reaches over and grabs a few pieces and pops them them into his mouth. He watches the fight with a clinical interest, studying both of the fighters.
OOC: Skippable for the moment. May interject from time to time.
|
|
Swindle
Major
This space for rent.
Posts: 571
|
Post by Swindle on May 18, 2012 19:43:10 GMT -5
The Dealer watches the fight with the rapt attention of a man who really enjoys seeing people beat the snot out of each other for money, his eyes darting back and forth between the fighters as he grins and stuffs his face with popcorn.
OOC: Similarly skippable.
|
|
Misfire
Minor
The Chamberlain, His Incomparable Immensity, Emperor Misfire. The Accidental Butcher of Anyone He Wasn't Aiming At
Improving. Honest!
Posts: 449
|
Post by Misfire on May 27, 2012 20:23:51 GMT -5
Reid recognizes that look in Willard's eyes. There's a similar look in the Irishman's as well, a look that speaks less of anger and more of a sheer love for the sport. There may be a shade of something more in Reid's- not cruelty, really, but Reid does so love being better than most of the mooks he deals with it.
The way Willard blocks is odd, but there's a left coming that Willard needs to deal with. Reid twists into Willard to turn that left into a more glancing blow, trying as he does so to grab Willard's and toss the older man with a rolling hip lock. Some fighters get thrown off when Reid starts mixing his styles. Time to see how this guy takes it.
|
|
|
Post by Swerve on Jun 4, 2012 7:54:57 GMT -5
Overextended into Reid's parry, Willard finds himself locked into a throw. The whole ring spins and inverts around him; he twists, feeling a twinge in his side, so that his feet are under him when he lands. He clamps down on Reid's arm in turn and hauls on him hard to return the favour and hurl Reid over his shoulder.
There's nothing on his face but a determined frown and that exuberant gleam in his eyes.
|
|