Fight Night (open)

[betwixt]

Kael shook her head, a triumphant smirk on her lips. "Pay up boys." She said, holding a pale hand out. The men around her groaned, but dropped money in her palm anyways. She always seemed to know who would win the fights. She pocketed the money in her black leather trench coat. That coat held all her necessities. Vials of poison, small throwing knives, leather pouches full of small morsels of food, one even contained water. The loser was carted off and the winner was met by thunderous yells. Some of praise, some of scorning. The bounty hunter, and sometimes mercenary on the other hand, only offered a slight incline of her head. She must've looked like a fighter herself. Clothed in black, black leather cuffs shielding the thin skin of the insides of her wrists as well as ankle high combat boots with black belts looped around left one. She shifted, leaning against the raised stage where the fighting took place. She tucked some of her brown hair behind her ears, brushing some of it away from her neck as well, the hair falling a few inches past her shoulder blades. Her hazel eyes swept the perimeter, looking for past clients or one of her targets. None. She internally breathed a sigh of relief. She thanked God for one night without having to work.

She turned back to the ring, her black pants, shirt, and coat standing out in stunning relief against her fair, pale skin. She had some freckles, but only a few that could be seen. One on the right side of her throat, two side by side on the left placed further down, and on to the right above the hollow of her throat. She was tall, about 5'10 or so, but she was slender and lithe, not to mention extremely flexible and agile. Her unique and intricate necklace was cool against her skin, and she sighed, closing her eyes for a moment. She dreaded going to sleep. When she slept, she always had a weapon under her pillow or in her reach, and she would wake up at any sound a creature made. She could sleep through thunderstorms, but if a creature made a sound, she awoke. But it wasn't that that made the infamous warrioress dread sleeping. It was the nightmares. Sometimes she didn't remember them, but she knew she had them. Other times she remembered every detail, waking up in a cold sweat. Last night it had been of a giant serpent eating her heart right out of her chest.

She opened her eyes and the fight had already started. Her eyes stayed on one fighter, though. Watching his movements.

OOC: Who wants to be the fighter? lol

[Я Є Đ WOLF]

OOC: me, me!

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[bg=4e4e4e] Oh, to be sure there was not an ounce of brute thought in the wolf's mind... Not one ounce of that regrettable bluntness and stubbornness of character that came with being the proverbial hammer in the proverbial toolshed of life. He had always fancied himself as the tool within the tacklebox in the corner of that toolshed, not the front and center stage one. He imagined himself the thin, hideously curved fillet knife in that tacklebox, oh, but never this simpleton's game of force above finesse. And he certainly did not fight for the sport of it - or fight not to kill. The wolf stepped aside, waiting for his opponent's punch to graze by him before seizing the arm that delivered it and flipping him. Whatever creature that lay inside that human body howled. It also sprung back up to murder him. He did not evade this time. He took advantage of the slower reflexes and turned to his wolf form, severely tearing up the chest of his opponent. If it hadn't been for those pesky fists again, wringing his neck, he would have stayed to finish his work, too. He did not like brutes, you see. They were so very... brutish. To explain, they were simply not his people. He could be the fine-edged creature he was, but never work in broader strokes. Which is exactly why he was attempting to be the brute now. If you had both a child and homicidal tendencies, what would you do to alleviate stress from the latter? He was caught in a headlock, which would have not been a problem had he in fact been a brute. He could have broken free in some some gesture, but seeing as he was not the strongest, instead he fought with the trials of oxygen deprivation. The world turned gray for a moment. Really, he wasn't good at this.

[betwixt]

Kael watched as the fighter she wanted to win, lost. Well, was loosing. If only they allow weapons...She mused. Then her fighter would probably win. Smirking, she suddenly got an idea. "They said the fighters can't use weapons, they never said anything about the onlookers." She easily took out a small, slender knife with serrated edges and ran a finger along the side, feeling the intricate design etched into the silver. The design was of a phoenix, her calling card so to say. Making sure that no one saw, she flicked her wrist in the direction of her fighter's opponent. The knife was a flash of silver as it sliced across its lower back, not stopping until it landed in one of the posts in the corners. The opponent howled, clutching it's back in pain, letting go of her fighter. Roars went up from the crowd, some happy about the intervention, some not. Kael stayed quiet, a smirk lifting the corners of her red lips.

The opponent looked around wildly, snarling, looking for the assailant. His eyes landed on Kael first, looking her up and down since her curvy form was visible, even with her coat on. Changing her expression to shock, she pointed to the man next to her. The opponent snarled at him, causing the man to yelp like a scared puppy and run. Kael laughed at that. Her eyes flicked over to her fighter, wondering what his reaction would be. If his opponent decided to forfeit, he'd win. If his opponent tried to fight, it would be substantially easier to win now that the opponent had blood sluicing down his back. She leaned her elbows against the stage and crossed her arms at the elbows so she could still lean. She raised her eyebrows as if to say, 'what are you gonna do now, wolf?' Yes, she could tell that he was some sort of wolf creature. She didn't know what, but it was plainly written on his albeit handsome, wolf like features.

She learned not to trust anyone from day one in this strange world. Not to trust appearances. And whatever you do, don't rely on anyone. Those were the rules she lived by. She wanted to rely on someone though, though whenever she felt that feeling rise, she immediately squashed it. She told herself that if you relied on someone, they would slow you down. She didn't need someone to watch out for her, she did it perfectly fine herself. So she almost died a few times. Almost. No big deal. She'll just be more careful next time.

[On The Edge]

The fight seemed to be nearing its climax. A good thing, but, maybe not. It was entertaining watching the fighters rip each other up, sure, but Arious found himself wincing, their pain, he wasn't really expecting... But then again, what was he expecting? A friendly little punch up? Pff, no.

He supposed he came here to keep himself occupied. At least he wasn't bored out of his mind, despite the fact he was practically mentally torturing himself with this.

He sighed and folded his arms. He hadn't missed the 'foul', you could say. But then again, that woman wasn't really causing that much trouble. Just evening the odds for the wolf fighter. "Good show." Arious muttered, with that familiar flicker of his Cheshire Cat grin.

He always thought it best if fighters played fair, but it seemed they never did.

He jostled for a better position in the crowd, and leaned forwards. Getting a better look at the pair within the ring.

The interesting thing about these kinds of things was that you never knew how they would end, or even play out. Still, if he were to guess at who had more of a chance at winning, he'd say the lupine. After all the tables had turned now, better suited for the one whom had not long been in a headlock that'd almost taken away his consciousness.

For a moment he let his eyes wander, taking in the sights of the crowd. Their expressions of a mix of emotions. He couldn't understand how they could enjoy watching this violence so much without thinking of how much pain the victims would suffer.

OOC: Hope you don't mind me joining in. ^^

[Я Є Đ WOLF]

ooc: I'm not complaining

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[bg=4e4e4e] It must be something - because it was certainly not him. Why was he still in this mortal coil? And this did not pertain just to the stray knife that seemed to grant him an advantage (an advantage that caused him to within seconds win the match, of course) however, this question was posed to his general existence. The story of his life was a long and tedious one - certainly filled with the blinding tragedy that might cause him not to be very friendly and to murder and eat people occasionally - but to sum it up, he had always managed to survive. He had until recently assumed it was through his own force of will, but he was willing to reconsider. It was, after all, his dear Claudia that prevented him from doing anything foolish and life threatening - he would not want to disappoint her as her mother did - and furthermore it was for Claudia that he was here now, attempting a substitute for the obvious choices of a poor, broken creature such as himself. But it was Claudia that kept him alive, just as it was whoever threw that knife that prevented him from a rather unfortunate situation. Really, he did appreciate the gesture. He might have previously found it insulting, to have accepted help from someone, but it it quite amazing what a few months of suicidal depression can do. It was reminiscent to a day at the spa. All that tension just melted away after a while. The wolf raised his hand, admitting victory to the crowd. His opponent was very hard to forget, for with the fall usually came the kill. Le Cyll gritted his teeth in a smile, waving cheerfully before swiping the knife and exiting the stadium. He wove his way around the mulling crowd for a moment, seemingly wandering, but in three minute's time he was standing in front of the person that had saved him. "I believe this is yours," he smiled, handing the blade back to the young lady. He did not, however, say "thank you." This whole "good guy" thing... it was a process. Before the subject could come up, however, he heard a familiarly lethargic voice from behind. "Dammit, pup. What the hell was that?" White... Le Cyll tipped his head in greeting.