Fight Night at the Nest I (Carina)

[Morin]

Searing 40, 122

The Nest was the special place for all of the members of the River Rats gang in Trashtown. Formerly a multifloored textiles workhouse, it was now one of the most prominent features of their territory, visible even from the other side of the river. The ground level was a large lounge, filled with couches and chaise loungers, all very used and soiled, of course. The drinks of choice were Beer or Wine. There were no other choices. And absolutely no food, whatsoever.

There was, however, a gratuitous amount barmaids and barmen, all topless, at a minimum. That drew in the first timers. And it was a good paying entry level job for those affiliated with the gang. The second floor was far less about the drinks and more about the consorting in the many limbs of both professionals and strangers. But even this floor was not the main draw.

In the first basement floor, Morin walked through a gate into a fenced in arena. He was bare chested, grimy and dirty, as those in the benched seating around his cage yelled and cheered and booed. He cast side eyes on one man who was paying more attention to the prostitute on his arm than on Morin. His lip started to curl up when the opposite side gate opened.

She walked through, eyes set on Morin. A gnome bounded in behind her, to the middle of the arena, "Welcome to the Nest, rats and roaches! You have three minutes to finalize your bets on this cage, just find one of our lovely bookies in the tophats." He grinned lecherously, as the various bookies wandering the crowds were stark nude aside from their hats. "As per all fights here in the nest, there are no rules. The fight ends at pass out or death, no matter what happens. We have Morin here, a newcomer from last season. He won his last fight but he's below the five hundred in his time here." Boos all around.

"And over here, Moira. She's back after recovering from beating her last opponent to death so hard she broke her own arm in four places."

The gnome bounced smiling, "If you need a smoke, find one of the smokeboys, drinks from the lasses, and powders from our mixes. Place your bets, get your refreshments and put away your..." he snickered, "rat tails, the fight will begin soon."

Morin was bouncing on the balls of his feet, looking over at his opponent. All muscles and sneer, not tits, only a bit of hips. Dangerous. A bit of a smile curled up in the corner of his mouth. She was rotating her neck and rolling her shoulders. Morin was pretty sure she was three cells down from him. A win here might move him next to hers, and that's when it would get really interesting.

[Carina]

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Gel'Grandal was far more fast paced than Zaichaer or even Kalzasi had been. In a matter of days after she learned of the destruction of her loosely-called home, she was settling into the sounds and sights more fully. Maybe Grandal would be a more permanent home, once she picked up on their language. Kathalan was a difficult fit in the mouth compared to Synskrit and Common, but she'd manage. Luckily enough for her, most everyone spoke Common anyway. She didn't mind playing the tourist for now.

More unfortunate than the language was that Carina was decidedly low on funds, and decidedly addicted to nicotine, among other things. There were only so many times she could bat her eyes outside a restaurant and bum a cigarette from a line cook on break. She only lucked out that one of those men took a little bit more of a liking to her, that he had the intoxicants she loved, and that he was willing to spend some of his checks on arm candy. Dressed in a short, fringed dress that seemed to be the fashion in this part of town (aside from her long hair, which she refused to cut — she had it loose around her shoulders and down her back), she held his arm like he was the only man in the world. In the other hand was a cigarette in a stylish quellazaire.

With her runed eye just slightly glimmering in the dark, Carina took in the sights and sensations of the building. A fighting, gambling den was bound to have cash kept somewhere, and though she passed it off as admiring the scantily-clad people, the aura she was truly focused on was of the building itself. In a matter of minutes, she knew the entire layout of the workhouse, every floor, every room and door. Every cell that held the fighters. She needed more time to find the right room, but a gnome with the loudest voice she had ever heard broke her concentration. The layout of The Nest, however, remained firmly in her memory.

Carina leaned over the railing as the contestants entered the ring. "Oh, I like him." She said, looking to Morin, though her eyes lingered on Moira even longer. "What are you betting, darling?"

"I've always liked an underdog," He said quietly, releasing her arm to pass money to a bookie that walked behind them. When he turned around, Carina blew a puff of smoke in his face.

"Me too."

.

[Morin]

"FIGHT!"

The bets had all been placed, and it had begun.

Both fighters seemed willing to take the same strategy, rushing toward each other. Arms were up, chins down. Morin threw a right handed hook, that she caught with her blocking arm. She changed levels, dropping a couple of inches down as she unleashed a hook of her own. Morin started to drop his elbow, but she was faster. Her hook caught him high in the ribs. He grit his teeth through the pain, stepping forward rather than backing away. He never played a cautious style.

Moira threw a lefthanded uppercut to try and make Morin back up, but he brought his right arm in to eat the blow low, before it gained any speed. The gap was closed and Morin slammed his forehead into the upper bridge of Moira's nose. It stunned her, but there was not the sickening break Morin was looking for. Moira didn't step back, but rather braced against her back foot.

Morin's world flashed white as an uppercut cracked against his exposed chin. His head snapped back and he stumbled back two steps, dazed. Moira took a half second to recover, and was charging forward. Morin brought his arms up defensively and Moira kicked his legs out from underneath him, sending him crashing into the smoothed, wooden flooring with a loud thud. He crabbed up onto his back, kicking upward, but she maneuvered around his legs, reaching a mounted position, and began raining punches down at his face.

This was the exact position she was in when she won her last fight.

Morin had his arms up, trying to block as much damage as he could, but still, blows were getting through, a cut opening up over one of his eyes. He tried to buck her off but she had her legs hooked around his own. Another punch slid through his defenses, and Morin managed to move his head just enough to avoid it. He twisted his torso, grabbing the arm and getting the side of his head rung by her other fist.

Morin bit deep into the muscles and tendons just above Moira's wrist. She howled in pain, punching at him with her free hand trying to get him to let go. He continued to roll toward the arm, biting deeper and deeper, savoring the coppery taste of her blood, feeling her flinch. It was taking the power out of her strikes at his head until she relented, rolling off of him and managing to yank her arm free.

Morin reached out, grabbing her ankle in the scramble, and heaved her body back, causing her torso to fall to the floorboards. His face and chest were covered in a mix of his and her blood as her scrambled onto her back. He grabbed at the base of her braid and slammed her face down into the boards. Again. Again. She reached back, trying to grab at him, grab at anything, to find purchase. Anything to make him let go. He grabbed her wrist, twisting and jerking it behind her, as she worked to get a knee beneath her.

Morin lifted his weight just a bit, and she got her knee to the floorboard, using his small action against him. She pushed off to shove him overtop of her, in doing so, he jerked up on her arm with a sickening crack before he was thrown to his face on the boards ahead of her.

Morin quickly got to his feet, wiping the blood from his eyes, as Moira was up as well. His nose was bent and broken, his face nothing but smears of blood. Her face was battered but intact, but her left wrist was bleeding profusely and her right arm was held gingerly. Her face was in a twisted, angry snarl as she glared at him, raising both of her arms once more, and Morin smiled at her.

This was getting fun.

[Carina]

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Carina ashed her cigarette directly into the fight pit as she leaned over the railing, enthralled by the brutality. Her semblance drifted from the building — she had a good idea of the layout now, anyway — and to the fighters, watching their auras as much as she watched the fighting. Moira's aura brimmed with intelligence, with the energy of a woman who knew her next move and the move of her opponent.

Unfortunately, Morin did not think that far ahead. The man fought like a wild animal with less survival instinct, like he was prey playing with a predator. Moira didn't seem to know how to react, and no matter how many times she trapped him, he escaped. It was like a very bad dance, and Carina knew dances.

"Oh that poor girl," she remarked to her date, who raised an eyebrow in question. "She's stuck fighting a man without a thought in his head." He seemed impervious to pain, or at least, he didn't give a shit that he was hurt. He was smiling, even, and his aura showed the pain he must've been feeling. She brushed a stray strand of bangs out of her eyes, and then tore her attention to a rather androgynous naked person and plucked a glass vial of white powder from them. She turned back towards the fight, and tapped a careful line on her finger and snorted it immediately, with the practiced movement of a professional.

With a little temporary stimulation, the auras of the fighters were very visible. Carina glanced at her companion. "Still hoping on the underdog?"

"If he's as stupid as you think, yes."

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