Fight Club II

[not_the_grim]

The last time Sirius had done this, his reasoning had been wholly selfish. Admiration for Palahniuk's concept aside, he'd wanted to go mad, had been desperate to curl his fingers into fists and actually use them, had wanted to draw and taste blood and be primal. He'd needed it, then

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[likedtheodds]

Well, it's taken just a bit of time, but Gwaine's found like-minded people. If by like-minded people, he means a place like with Jarl, except he's not so much a champion here and people aren't fighting to the death. Not that he's averse to it, but it's nice to not have the pressure and all.

He catches the eye of someone he might not fight -- not really as burly as his regular fare -- but Gwaine is all for changing it up. "You and me," he invites with a broad grin. "How about it?"

[not_the_grim]

"Absolutely," Sirius replies without compunction. His grin is more boyish than predatory, now; he's just anxious to be on with it, to have the fun that's the point of the whole damned thing. (No one ever said Sirius' idea of fun was particularly healthy.)

Stepping out into the circle of fellow fighters, he rolls his shoulders and head, bounces once onto the balls of his feet and nods to the nameless bloke that called him out. "Anytime you're ready, mate," he challenges, his smirk hitching into something a bit more devious.

[likedtheodds]

Gwaine rubs just under his nose with two fingers, unhooking his sword and being careful of where he sets it before he steps into the ring, rolling his shoulders back and gripping his fingertips into his palm. "So," he says conversationally as he throws the first punch and steps forward lazily, almost like he's asking to be hit. "Where're you from?"

Gwaine lives by the thought that even if you're fighting a man, you can still get to know him.

[not_the_grim]

The hit is easily blocked, but damn if Sirius refrains from swinging back right away. The whole situation seems almost pleasant. Cordial. Two mates having a bit of sparring rather than two strangers here to release pent up aggression.

"London," Sirius answers and then swings out a jab for real, "You?"

[whoneedsadream]

Anatoly hadn't meant for this to be happening at all. Freddie had walked purposefully past him without even a glance or any kind of word and this was disconcerting enough that he'd followed him.

And now here he was, in the ring because it was his first time here at this fight club and he was absolutely certain he was going to be crushed to pieces.

[pitythetrumper]

Freddie was almost disappointed when he arrived at the meeting place for the fights and there was no Lex. Maybe he would find another person equally willing to beat him up, but would he get the same kind of satisfaction out of it? Probably not. He toed off his shoes with a sort of heavy resignation. Well, at least this way he'd be able to keep himself from being arrested a second time. He'd come close that last fight with Sergievsky.

He tugged his shirt off, tossed it behind him without thinking, and cracked his knuckles.

[whoneedsadream]

Anatoly sputtered with indignation as he was hit in the face with a shirt. His rage only grew worse when he tossed it to side and discovered just who it was that had thrown it.

It had to be Freddie. Of course it did. If it had been anyone else, it would mean the island liked him and naturally, such a thing was nigh on impossible.

"Trumper," he said, clenching his fists. In all truth, it was probably a good thing that he had ended up coming here. The two of them were due for a fight and at least here, they wouldn't get arrested for it.

[pitythetrumper]

Freddie stiffened at the sound of his name and he turned ever so slowly. It was impossible. Sergievsky could not be here and yet there he was. A slow, dangerous smile spread its way across Freddie's face. He wasn't disappointed that Lex wasn't here anymore. No, he was actually thankful because that meant that Lex couldn't grab him before Sergievsky did.

And now? Now he could reveal a secret.

"You remember those bruises your boyfriend had a few months back?" Freddie just cracked his knuckles and smiled.

[dichotomos]

Know thy enemy. Didn't someone famous say that? Even if it wasn't someone famous, it's good advice, and I speak from experience. Know thy enemy. Yeah, it makes a lot of sense.

Stepping out into the circle of people gathered for fight club, though, wasn't exactly like fighting monsters. 'Enemy' would be applied there pretty loosely, if at all. Trixa I honestly knew shit about except that she had a smart ass mouth on her and was plenty fearless, and in that moment before I squared off against her, I didn't think it fucking mattered.

The thing is, see, sometimes it isn't the other person who's the enemy, it's you.

"Let's go, princess," I said, my stance and expression deceptively casual as I stared her down.

[tricksthetreat]

"Princess, huh?"

Taking the stud out of her nose, she pinned it on her shirt before peeling it off and tossing it to the side. The necklace, the garnet-studded sun, was treated with a little more respect, tucked safely into a pocket. Boots off, knives tucked inside, no shirt, sports bra and jeans, bare knuckles... and the Aupheling.

Stretching her arms above her head, she looked him up and down, instinct taking over and assessing possible weaknesses even as her rational mind tried to quell her unease. Human. He was just human here. And he was a puck-ass smart-mouth to boot.

"Don't you think you should bow down then?"

[dichotomos]

"You want me to get on my knees for you, sweetheart, you're going to have to be a little friendlier than that," I shot back, and settled into a high crouch, arms loose but pulled up, feet planted. My grin was sharp. "But I'll definitely consider it."

I've fought my share of women. Well, females, I should say, because very few of them were human. I had no problem with making the first move, but it was the principle of the thing. I wanted her to come to me.

Hey, I never said I wasn't a prick.

[tricksthetreat]

Oh, she wanted to wipe that smirk right off his face, which, admittedly, was kind of the point of this little club she'd stumbled over. But still she didn't want him to get to her. She was better than that, above that. In her soul, she was still a Trickster.

But what was he?

Keeping the smirk on her face, she moved closer, balling her hands into fists and looking for her opening. She made a quick jab, aiming for his jaw, testing to see how he'd react. Dodge? Take it like a man? Use the opportunity she gave him to try and unbalance her?

[whatdiesinside]

It's a lot more straightforward than waiting for someone to strike his temper in a bar, if a lot less rewarding than baiting someone else's temper in a bar, but Snafu takes what he can get these days.

He thought it was stupid, when the boys would wrestle and brawl, waste that energy on each other when they could just fuck with the fresh meat, but he's got nothing better to do with his energy on this island. Nobody to fight but this lot of strangers.

A lot of strangers with a surprising number of women, and the one his eyes catch on might not be Shari-petite, might look more than ready to put a scrawny shit like him down, but it still gives him pause, still makes him side-eye her and wonder what she's doing here. What sort of problem she could possibly have that makes everyday life too fucking dull, too fucking trying not to get drawn into a place like this.

[frakkup]

She gave the first look a pass - half the new ones always looked at her like this, here at fight club or in the ITF. It crawled under Kara's skin and made her want to crush their noses, pushed her right into trying half the time, but Kara wanted to hit something all the time these days, stuffed into the endless grief and misery that had become the World Tree, restless enough that she was almost afraid to come here today at all.

But when she looked up, their gazes locked again, and the sharp crack of Kara's neck did nothing to tamp down her ire. "You up for it, scrawny?"

[whatdiesinside]

Beggars can't be choosers, especially when the lady's choosing for him. "Why else would I be here," he answers, kicking his boots all the way off and dropping his shirt next to them.

Let her see just how scrawny he is, nothing to prove in it and he's not that interested in beating her, not that interested in being beaten down by a woman for the first time since his mother got too sick to do it, but. Nice as it'd be to give a shit, he doesn't.

[frakkup]

There was a drawl to his voice that reminded her of Doc Roe, a lazy tongue that matched the loose way he shrugged out of his shirt, and Kara's blood ran a little hotter. Frakker wasn't invested, not at all, and Kara'd come here for a fight.

"Start now," she said, dancing close enough to punch him right in the ear.