02-28-2015, 12:31 AM
White's return to the preparation rooms, where fighters went through their pre-fight routines or had their injuries tended by owners or managers, was met with sour glares from the few other fighters still waiting their bouts. The night was nearly over, with only one or two rounds left before the big finale, something which had caught White's eye while he was finishing up with Arseniy. The big prize fighter had been bustled away in quick order, and White was soon tucking a hefty wad of cash into an interior pocket of his suit jacket as he emerged upwards among the club's more 'respectable' clientelle, where he was met by the handful of familiar faces that had known to bet on him.
White's professionalism was sorely tested as he caught a glimpse of the two fighters scheduled for the evening's climactic throw-down. The first could probably have been written off as just some dirty as fuck schizophrenic homeless twerp, probably all hop'd up on a variety of terrible street drugs. The second, however...
White shook hands and made small talk before finally able to excuse himself; as happy as the Pervaya costumers and investors were over their winnings on White's fight, they had little reason to actually talk to White. He was a working man, after all, not 'one of them.'
But once he was cut free of the fluttering socialites, he made his way towards the center ring where the fight would be held. It didn't seem like much of a fair fight at first glance; a Rougarou would make short work of a drugged up crazy man. The yellow eyes didn't mean much to him; contact lenses and crazy eyeball tatooing were far too common place to be a definitive marker, but the man did seem...off...in the image that was flashed on the screens.
Some part of him figured he should probably send word of what was about to happen to the Atharim. But even if he sent it that very moment, they wouldn't show up until the fight was well over. He would let them know later. Besides, it wasn't likely to get out of hand. They were in a caged ring, after all. He was somewhat curious as to just how the hell they had gotten their hands on a Rougarou though.
The two were loosed into the ring, and they set upon each other like wild animals. The golden-eyed hobo snarled and snapped like an animal, where
the Rougarou was all violent rambling and starved guttural barks of rage. They battered against each other, against the walls of the cage, biting and clawing at each other. One in an animalistic rage, the other like the starved monster it was. And then they hit the door of the cage.
Obviously, what came next was the result of some sicko's sense of humour. The cage door broke open under the sudden impact, and the crowd suddenly fell eerily silent as the pair of fighters crashed to the floor and fell apart from each other.
In the silence, White's eyebrow shot up in vague surprise. The two creatures rolled away from each other, and set off in different directions. The Rougarou surged into the crowd. The creature was fixated on one poor rich-dressed sod in the crowd, and as people began to panic and flee, there was little chance that White could have intercepted the thing on time. Besides, he still had to deal with the other one.
Golden eyes the angry dick head wasn't quite so tunnel-visioned as the half-starved Rougarou, and he laid into the first person he could get his hands on; some street-level criminal trash who, unlike the crowd of slumming rich folks, didn't just turn tail and run when the two burst out of their cage. The punk was tackled to the ground with the gold-eyed freak's hands around his neck, and blood spurted as the rage-monsters' uncut thumbnails pierced through the skin of his jugular.
White closed on the golden-eyed weirdo in short order, calmly shoving aside some suit-and-tie wearing rich kid that had blundered into his path. Goldie flashed a glare at White just as he planted a foot in the feral bastards' face, knocking him clear of the gurgling ganger. It was probably too late for the idiot, but White barked at one of the shocked bystanders to apply pressure to the man's throat and call an ambulance. Seemed like the 'proper' thing to do.
Goldie took the blow and rolled with it, coming to a squatting stance and growling at White, who was momentarily distracted by a discharge of electricity the direction the Rougarou had gone. He caught a glimpse of the thing flailing in the grip of that fine-suited individual, and silently cursed his luck. This was supposed to a pleasant night out, and now he was up to his eyeballs in Atharim bullshit.
The distraction was brief, but when he glanced back at Goldie he found the weirdo lunging at him, snarling and grappling with wickedly nailed fingers. The man needed a damn pedicure. Or at least a pair of nail clippers anyway. At least they weren't actually claws like a Rougarou.
White wasn't quite as tired as his fight with Arseniy might have led some to believe; part of giving folks a good show was making sure it didn't end too quickly, but on the other hand, the big man had had one hell of a punch. He was sore, and had a few bumps and bruises to say the least, but those were mostly forgotten as Goldie closed and his adrenaline surged.
He danced back a step, causing Goldie to over-extend to close the distance, then swept across his front with the back of his left arm, swatting Goldie's outstretched arms aside, following through with a quick open-palmed jab to Goldie's jaw. The man staggered aside more from the redirected momentum of the arm sweep then from the blow to the head, but came around far faster then White might have expected.
Goldie came in low, lunging for White's torso as if to try and topple him to the ground, but White, who had the advantage of still being well balanced, swept one foot back to soak the impact, wrapping his left arm around the man's mangy-haired head and neck, then drove his right forearm down across the man's shoulder blades, the downwards strike jerking Goldie's throat against White's grasping left hand and pinching the windpipe.
Goldie let out a strangled yelp then grabbed at White's leading leg desperately, jerking it up in a powerful two-armed grip and throwing White backwards to the ground. Gasping for breath, Goldie still leapt at White as he fell, raking at the fallen man with stiff fingers but scoring mostly against the cloth of White's suit jacket.
He quietly lamented his dress shoes, which were scuffed from the fight with Arseniy and were now surely ruined after wrestling around on the floor with Goldie. The two struggled until White was able to throw the inexperienced grappler's weight off balance and managed to roll the two over so White was on top. Goldie managed to bloody White's forehead with a shallow graze of those uncut fingernails, and he absently pondered how up-to-date his Rabies shots were as he snapped a fist into the man's bearded chin, rebounding the dirty hobo's head off the floor and knocking him soundly unconscious.
With Goldie taking a dirtnap, White slipped back to his feet and calmly adjusted his suit jacket as he glanced towards the Rougarou, which was, it seemed, indeed dead. There was of course the possibility it had been some sort of hand tazer at work, but after the sort of night White had had thus far, he somehow doubted he could be so lucky, and he spent a moment studying Giovanni, and more importantly the woman he was with. The same woman that he had once seen in the company of that troublemaker, Jaxen, some months back at a big fancy party. Neither had, as yet, caused him any trouble though, so he wasn't about to go running and tattling on them.
White's professionalism was sorely tested as he caught a glimpse of the two fighters scheduled for the evening's climactic throw-down. The first could probably have been written off as just some dirty as fuck schizophrenic homeless twerp, probably all hop'd up on a variety of terrible street drugs. The second, however...
White shook hands and made small talk before finally able to excuse himself; as happy as the Pervaya costumers and investors were over their winnings on White's fight, they had little reason to actually talk to White. He was a working man, after all, not 'one of them.'
But once he was cut free of the fluttering socialites, he made his way towards the center ring where the fight would be held. It didn't seem like much of a fair fight at first glance; a Rougarou would make short work of a drugged up crazy man. The yellow eyes didn't mean much to him; contact lenses and crazy eyeball tatooing were far too common place to be a definitive marker, but the man did seem...off...in the image that was flashed on the screens.
Some part of him figured he should probably send word of what was about to happen to the Atharim. But even if he sent it that very moment, they wouldn't show up until the fight was well over. He would let them know later. Besides, it wasn't likely to get out of hand. They were in a caged ring, after all. He was somewhat curious as to just how the hell they had gotten their hands on a Rougarou though.
The two were loosed into the ring, and they set upon each other like wild animals. The golden-eyed hobo snarled and snapped like an animal, where
the Rougarou was all violent rambling and starved guttural barks of rage. They battered against each other, against the walls of the cage, biting and clawing at each other. One in an animalistic rage, the other like the starved monster it was. And then they hit the door of the cage.
Obviously, what came next was the result of some sicko's sense of humour. The cage door broke open under the sudden impact, and the crowd suddenly fell eerily silent as the pair of fighters crashed to the floor and fell apart from each other.
In the silence, White's eyebrow shot up in vague surprise. The two creatures rolled away from each other, and set off in different directions. The Rougarou surged into the crowd. The creature was fixated on one poor rich-dressed sod in the crowd, and as people began to panic and flee, there was little chance that White could have intercepted the thing on time. Besides, he still had to deal with the other one.
Golden eyes the angry dick head wasn't quite so tunnel-visioned as the half-starved Rougarou, and he laid into the first person he could get his hands on; some street-level criminal trash who, unlike the crowd of slumming rich folks, didn't just turn tail and run when the two burst out of their cage. The punk was tackled to the ground with the gold-eyed freak's hands around his neck, and blood spurted as the rage-monsters' uncut thumbnails pierced through the skin of his jugular.
White closed on the golden-eyed weirdo in short order, calmly shoving aside some suit-and-tie wearing rich kid that had blundered into his path. Goldie flashed a glare at White just as he planted a foot in the feral bastards' face, knocking him clear of the gurgling ganger. It was probably too late for the idiot, but White barked at one of the shocked bystanders to apply pressure to the man's throat and call an ambulance. Seemed like the 'proper' thing to do.
Goldie took the blow and rolled with it, coming to a squatting stance and growling at White, who was momentarily distracted by a discharge of electricity the direction the Rougarou had gone. He caught a glimpse of the thing flailing in the grip of that fine-suited individual, and silently cursed his luck. This was supposed to a pleasant night out, and now he was up to his eyeballs in Atharim bullshit.
The distraction was brief, but when he glanced back at Goldie he found the weirdo lunging at him, snarling and grappling with wickedly nailed fingers. The man needed a damn pedicure. Or at least a pair of nail clippers anyway. At least they weren't actually claws like a Rougarou.
White wasn't quite as tired as his fight with Arseniy might have led some to believe; part of giving folks a good show was making sure it didn't end too quickly, but on the other hand, the big man had had one hell of a punch. He was sore, and had a few bumps and bruises to say the least, but those were mostly forgotten as Goldie closed and his adrenaline surged.
He danced back a step, causing Goldie to over-extend to close the distance, then swept across his front with the back of his left arm, swatting Goldie's outstretched arms aside, following through with a quick open-palmed jab to Goldie's jaw. The man staggered aside more from the redirected momentum of the arm sweep then from the blow to the head, but came around far faster then White might have expected.
Goldie came in low, lunging for White's torso as if to try and topple him to the ground, but White, who had the advantage of still being well balanced, swept one foot back to soak the impact, wrapping his left arm around the man's mangy-haired head and neck, then drove his right forearm down across the man's shoulder blades, the downwards strike jerking Goldie's throat against White's grasping left hand and pinching the windpipe.
Goldie let out a strangled yelp then grabbed at White's leading leg desperately, jerking it up in a powerful two-armed grip and throwing White backwards to the ground. Gasping for breath, Goldie still leapt at White as he fell, raking at the fallen man with stiff fingers but scoring mostly against the cloth of White's suit jacket.
He quietly lamented his dress shoes, which were scuffed from the fight with Arseniy and were now surely ruined after wrestling around on the floor with Goldie. The two struggled until White was able to throw the inexperienced grappler's weight off balance and managed to roll the two over so White was on top. Goldie managed to bloody White's forehead with a shallow graze of those uncut fingernails, and he absently pondered how up-to-date his Rabies shots were as he snapped a fist into the man's bearded chin, rebounding the dirty hobo's head off the floor and knocking him soundly unconscious.
With Goldie taking a dirtnap, White slipped back to his feet and calmly adjusted his suit jacket as he glanced towards the Rougarou, which was, it seemed, indeed dead. There was of course the possibility it had been some sort of hand tazer at work, but after the sort of night White had had thus far, he somehow doubted he could be so lucky, and he spent a moment studying Giovanni, and more importantly the woman he was with. The same woman that he had once seen in the company of that troublemaker, Jaxen, some months back at a big fancy party. Neither had, as yet, caused him any trouble though, so he wasn't about to go running and tattling on them.