Owns-The-Night World of Darkness: Attrition - Mixing It Up

[Owns-The-Night]

[september 19th, 2011]

"I don't believe it."

"I told you. Didn't I tell you? The guy's a fucking animal. Eighty minutes on the heavy bag and he ain't slowed down. And he isn't love-tapping it neither, look at the momentum he's putting on it."

"No gloves." said a third voice heavy with grudging admiration. "Not even wraps."

"Fast, heavy hands." a woman said in a soft Gaelic brogue, as though evaluating a car. "Balanced mass, too. Look how he dips his right shoulder and raises his left to bring it down into the cross. That's old-school barroom bareknuckle. Whoever taught him to fight didn't do it with gloves on. What did you say he was called, Kieran?" The woman speaking had dark blonde hair and a beach-tan. Currently in a halter-top and shorts, her arms, legs and exposed midriff were all taut with hard muscle. She stood against a far wall, idly talking with her three friends, all of whom bore the same logo on their t-shirts as she did on her halter-top: a green neon hawk's head, beak open in a silent scream, with 'Raptor MMAS' written around the central design.

"Perault. First name's Declan, I asked around. Most call him 'Crazy Perault', but not when he can hear 'em. Word is that he's some vet got sectioned out two years back and he's been here ever since, and the guy's like the proverbial fucking honey badger - he just don't care. Rumor has it a dealer pulled a gun on ol' Perault there one month after the V.A. released him, and the man just took the gun off the druggie and beat the everloving shit out of him. Put him in hospital, and a bunch of his pals when they came round a week later looking for payback." The current speaker was the youngest of the four, a freshman at UCLA and obviously the junior of the group. He looked at the woman eagerly. "What do you think, Mary? Was I right, or was I right? This guy's got 'bank' written all over him."

"Big deal." said the third speaker, a towering, bulky man with a crooked nose, scars and a bunch of biker tattoos. "So he beat up some crackheads. That shit's different from being in a cage with a real fighter. He's got potential, though." he added as though grudging the words.

"Yeah? Well pretty much every Chuck Norris joke told around UCLA has Crazy Perault's name swapped in." Kieran said defensively. "He's a scary son of a bitch. Caused a jock to piss himself with a look. Didn't lay a finger on him, and the tough-guy just folded. So if you think he's no big deal, why don't you go up there and tell him, Rack? I double-dog dare your ass."

"I reckon I will, then." Rack said, straightening away from the wall with a smirk. An outstretched hand stopped him as it slapped against his chest, and the big man looked down at Mary. The woman had a speculative look in her eye as she watched the burly, dark-haired figure, sweat soaking his hair to his head, continue to pound on the body bag.

"Uh oh. I know that look." said the first speaker, who'd remained quiet till now, in an amused tone. Mary flicked a glance his way and shrugged, her lips curling in a smile as she looked back Perault's way. The man who'd spoken looked at Rack. "Looks like Mad Mary's got her sights locked in." The others chuckled.

"Hush, you blatherin' girls." Mary said irritably as she unloaded a short jab into the ribs of the one that'd called her Mad Mary. He 'oofed' and moved away, rubbing at his bruised ribcage. "And I told ye what would happen if you kept on with the 'Mad' monicker, now didn't I?"

"Now waitaminute." Rack said, scowling. "You ain't allowed to sleep with a member of the team, Mary. We all discussed that shit. It causes nothin' but ill feeling."

"Relax, Rack." Mary reached up and patted his cheek, smiling with a mischievous twinkle in her light brown eyes. "I'm just going to feel him out. And besides..." she added as she started to move away from the others, winking over her shoulder. "He's not a member of the team yet."

[Owns-The-Night]

"Nice form."

The lilting female voice was clearly flirtatious, but Dec was currently not in the mood to flirt. Sue from the security staff had been trying to invite herself round to his house for dinner earlier, as though having an angry screw on Fuckwad's desk gave her the right to pick out curtains. The vargr had flatly refused, only to have the woman tearfully insist that she had something she needed to talk to him about. Not wanting to cause a scene right there in the staff rec area, Declan had gritted his teeth and agreed to meet her for a drink at the Frappe House once she got off duty. He'd put it off long enough - the way she'd go on fuckin' point as soon as he entered the room and expect him to come over to her was grating, and he needed to tell her straight that it was a one-time thing before she started coming round to his house uninvited or something. It wasn't that he disliked Sue, or even thought she was ugly. It was just that he didn't like her enough to consider a relationship with her, which was a shame, because that was plainly what she had in mind. Besides, she was well-known to fall in with a new man every six months, reputedly due to her codependant streak driving men away, or so one of the guys had said. Well too bad. Declan was going to have to lay down some law.

"Thanks." he replied tersely without looking around as he unloaded another ferocious left hook on the bag, following it with a feint to the right and a punishing left cross.

"Damn, but that has to hurt. Don't ye use gloves?" The female's scent wasn't unpleasant - fresh sweat from her own workout, antiperspirant, a hint of shampoo.

"Sure." Dec growled through clenched teeth as he let rip with a lightning fast one-two-three hit. "When I want to be a gentleman and practice safe fightin'." That got a laugh - not a coy giggle, but a hearty laugh - from the woman behind him.

"Oh, ye remind me of my second cousin. He's a bareknuckle man too, over in the old country. Hands like teak."

"Yer point?" Declan said as he stepped in close to the bag and loosed some short, chopping rib-rattlers.

"Not in the mood fer talkin', then? Tis a shame. I had a business proposition for ye." Mary was gratified to see that get a reaction. Declan's hands dropped as he stepped back from the bag, then turned towards her. And for the first time in her life, Mary Nolan found herself wanting to take a step back from a man's gaze. The girl who'd kicked seven kinds of shit out of Tommy Wills for pulling her hair in sixth grade, who'd been the terror of her high-school until she'd been packed off to Ireland by a mother at her wits end, the girl who'd grown to womanhood on a farm in County Kildare and spent her weekends going to regional bare-fist boxing moots (as a spectator) with her uncles and cousins, learning the finer points of fist fighting there, who'd come back to L.A to go to college and had fallen in love with the MMA phenomenon and becoming a local and state-wide name in the circuit... She found herself wanting to make some excuse, go back over to her friends, and get the hell out of here. She also found her heart pounding like she was in love - or terror.

The eyes were a striking silver colour, and behind them was something fierce, watchful... animal. The implacable, barely-curious expression on his face was intimidating, as was the set of his broad shoulders. Mary felt an aura of violence, barely checked, that dwarfed anything she'd felt from another human being. The closest she could come to a comparison was a killer pitbull she'd seen once: unlike other dogs, who raged and barked inside their cages, this one - a local dogfighting champ - just sat inside his cage and watched you, like the cage was a temporary thing and it just knew that, sooner or later, it would get out. And then, once it was out, it'd remember your face as the person who poked it with a stick between the bars. And then it'd kill you.

Declan Perault had eyes like that, only worse somehow. And this was when the guy was calm.

"Business proposition, huh?" he asked her, and Mary forced herself to smile as his speech dispelled - kinda - the memory of that pitbull. Okay, so Kieran was right - the man was fucking scary. But Mary was used to scary. Hell, Rack was scary, right?

"Yes indeed. The name's Mary, by the by." she said, leaning against the wall and folding her arms. "I understand ye're called Declan? A fine Irish name, that. I got a grandpa by that name."

"Pleased to meet ya." Declan said, picking up his towel and wiping sweat from his eyes. "I don't do leg-breakin' work, porno, or bodyguarding. Just so's we're clear what I consider to be business."

"Oh, it's nothin' shadey." Mary protested, waving her hands placatingly. "Tell me, have ye heard of cage-fighting?"

[Owns-The-Night]

Dec listened, his wary gaze flicking over to the three men hovering out of earshot before returning to the woman in front of him as she explained. She wasn't hard on the eye, and she had a matter-of-fact air about her that he appreciated, if not enough to lower his guard. Declan wasn't a genius, but he felt this Mary gal was on the level.

"So what's the catch?" he asked as she finished, his sudden question causing her to blink. Mary smiled then.

"No catch at all. Ye train, ye fight, you win purses and sponsorship deals. We train together and enter competitions as a team, representin' our gym." She saw a wary glint in his eye and pre-empted the shaking of his head quickly by speaking. "Look, ye don't have to agree right now. Why don't ye come over to the gym tonight, see us at work, get to know us all. Thing is, Declan, I think ye'd be great at this sport. Ye're young, fast, strong and can hit like a hammer. We kin teach ye tricks ye'll need - it's called mixed martial arts for a reason, ye know." She stepped close, looking into his eyes levelly, her tone sincere. "But I'll be straight with ye, the reason I came over was because ye hit like a bloody champion." She reached into a pocket and handed him a card - black, with the green neon hawk's head on the front - then nodded to the others.

"I'm an athlete, not a salesman." she said with a wry grin as she stepped away. "All I ask is that ye come and see fer yerself. We're there most nights. Call ahead if ye want to be sure." She kept eye contact until she'd finished turning away, then hurried over to join her teammates as they headed from the UCLA gym.

Declan looked down at the card, rubbing at the back of his neck with his left hand as he turned and made his thoughtful way to the showers.