Lay your head down (open brawl thread)

[Fable Merrill]

"ALL OF YOU! HAVE COME! FOR ONE REASON! FOR THE GLORY! OF OUR HOST! THE GREAT HUTT!" A booming announcer declared, his voice echoing through the dingy, poorly-lit basement/warehouse Fable found herself in. Nar Shadda was full of lovely little nooks like this, filled with the desperate dregs of society, milling about impatiently as the hypeman explained why they should be thankful to be there. Fable tuned him out; this was not her first time. A lesser Hutt had some coin, wanted to show off to his flunkies, time for a battle royale - the perfect thing to accompany a wild party and live music was fifty or so nobodies beating the heck out of each other in a pit in the middle of it all in hopes for a prize that'd barely cover the medical bills they'd accrue.

Some were slaves. Some were people with no other skills. Some people were here because they figured it'd be fun, or glorious. And some, like Fable herself, were addicts: slaves of a different sort. She'd been made to fight, after all. The thrill of boiling blood and the craving to lash out in violence was coded into her very being. What recourse did Fable have? Sign up to fight a war she didn't believe in, or bleed and brawl with people who'd mostly signed up for it?

It was her secret shame, her hidden passion. And around her, Fable even saw a few familiar faces. Men and women here for the same thing she was. In a moment, they'd be beating the tar out each other for barely any reason at all. Fable offered a scar-riddled Wookie - a regular winner, unsurprisingly - a friendly wave. He whurfed back and nodded a greeting. Good guy. Looked like he'd lost an eye recently. Pity, that.

"AND FINALLY! REMEMBER THE RULES! NO WEAPONS! YOU KILL IT, YOU BUY IT! LET THE BLOODSPORT... BEGIN!"

An obnoxious horn was the signal to begin, followed by a lively baseline from the band that led into a lightning-fast, harsh-sounding, heart-pounding mess of horns, drums and string.

An immediate sucker-punch from the masked man behind her nearly dropped get out of hand - gauntlets, it seemed, weren't weapon enough to get confiscated by the guards who'd searched them. Fable wanted no part of that nonsense, and stumbled forward, grabbing into the arm of the woman (she figured) beside her. A twist and grunt, and Fable swung the dense Devronian around and into a wall, dazing her just long enough for a proper arm bar. Just a bit more pressure...

Something snapped, and adrenaline flooded Fable's system as she dropped the screaming, recently-armbroke woman. The mosh pit thummed and flailed all around her, to the screaming of the music and the cheers of the crowd. It was dirty, bloody, terrible and absolute magic. Where she was meant to be.

 

[Arage Bao]

[member="Fable Merrill"]

Fire and blood.

Those were just words uttered by men who had no recollection of what it really meant, civilization had ruled the center and colonies of sentients for as long as they could remember, the days when darkness had ruled and cavemen had to fight for their lives in their holes were long since passed. People had forgotten the catharsis in a clean struggle, fight against nature and survive on your own merits, but not Vheissu Ireles.

The Crusades were over and now it was the time of reclamation, it was time to seize control over their destinies and spread the influence of the Primeval towards the other regions of space. It was for this reason that Ireles had found himself on Nar Shaddaa, but it wasn’t for this reason that he had decided to join the brawl.

This brawl… it reminded him of the old core values of survival, fight with your fists, cold meat beating against cold meat until only one partizan was still standing in the dusty dirt of a colosseum and so he had come, and so he fought.

A fat pig-lizard with scar tissue spread across half his face had been staring him down during the entire speech of the Hubbabobo The Hutt, or however he deemed to call himself, and as the fights erupted all around them it was a surprise to no one when the Pig started running towards Vheissu.

It seemed that even here on Nar Shaddaa the rule stayed the same, pick off the big guy and establish superiority. Big green boulders of meat slammed in the general vicinity of Vheissu and it took him all his dexterity and superior foot placement to dodge them, before finally metaphorical dropping to the ground and swiping the Gamorrean from his feet.

The next moment Vheissu’s fist firmly placed itself on the solar plexus, or the spot that usually contained the plexus of an organic- he didn’t have a lot of experience with fighting big war pigs with a flavor of lizard, a grunt, a cracking noise and then the Gamorrean was KO’d for the rest of the battle.

So much more blood to shed, so little time to do it.

 

[Fable Merrill]

[member="Vheissu Ireles"]

There'd been blood, where she'd been. Blood, raining from the sky. Burning the flesh and stinging the eyes. Her boots, once expensive leather now worn from years of use by a girl who'd grown very quickly and actively, had been ruined by the mixture of mud and viscera. That was what Fable remembered most vividly: the thick, reddish brown muck that stuck to anything and everything, and every lost soul who'd been doomed to fight and die and return to fight and die again and again.

War was hell, it was often said. Fable had been to a more literal hell, which was maybe why she was avoiding the wars. Didn't explain why she was here, living out the cycle of trauma in a night of visceral combat, but hey. Nobody was perfect.

The lean clone, in her worn leather jacket and heavy boots, vaulted off the supine belly of a man who'd had his fill a bit early, throwing her weight into the back of the same jerk with the gauntlets who'd hit her. Her arm wrapped around his throat, her weight forcing his back to arch painfully - not enough to break it or anything, but more than enough to present a target to the Cathan he'd squared up with. Weathering frantic blows to her forehead, Fable held the man in place until the Cathan had winded and then knocked him out - at which point, she let him drop to the floor like a sack of old ribines.

Right. Cathan nice tiger stripes, deadly claws. Thanks to the trio of cuts above her eye, Fable's pale features and dark hair had the added contrast of red, and she had the added handicap of blood in her eye. Should make for a nice challenge. The closer they came to death, the more exciting it was.

Never once losing her almost robotic grin, Fable kept at the Cathan. He was bigger and likely stronger, but that only mattered if he was quicker, too. His first punch passed by her cheek, and his second jab skipped off her crown as she instinctively ducked. Fable's fists flew forward like the quick, hard hooves of a very small horse, hammering the Cathan's solarplexus. But not quite enough - a powerful kick was enough to knock Fable backwards and send her tripping over the gauntlet-wearing jerk she'd just helped take out.

 

[Lancem Cuiléin]

The consistent jittering was beginning to annoy the people around him, he could tell. They were casting strange glances and wondering what in goodness name was the fellow so twitchy about, perhaps he was nervous or a little frightened. After all, he was a newcomer a few would note, he had never been here before.

In reality, it was the four cups of caf he'd just drank mixed into a viscous liquid with his adrenaline and eagerness. In fact, it was enough to give the guy a headache, maybe he needed another caf. "I need another caf, definitely need another caf." He spoke to himself as he continued hopping up and down.

The announcer had been talking, spewing something about rules or something. Lancem knew the blasted rules, you didn't murder people. It was really simple, and a rule he broke a ton in the real world, after all, a man's got to eat. Did he have enough time for another caf?

He bumped one of the people near him, a plump looking Rodian with his elbow as he leaned into him, perhaps a bit too close for the poor lad's comfort. "When do we start, is it soon or later, if it's later I may want to grab another caf, hey do they sell cafs here or will I have to go somewhere?" He spewed his words out at the same speed a monkey-lizard might should it be capable of such things.

The Rodian just inched away slightly, apparently a little perturbed by the closeness and gave a calm shrug. "Well aren't you helpful, I mean all I neede-" Someone shouted a loud noise which sounded like begin and everything went downhill.

Well, it went pretty uphill, the jittering stopped for about two seconds and a wide grin spread across Lancem's face before his arm flashed out and caught the Rodian in the forehead, sending him sprawling. "Guess we're starting moss-face!" He shouted as he took off towards another piece of the crowd.

Ahead of him stood a Twilek woman, apparently quite content to fight the man she'd just watch punt another one through a knot of people in the span of one second. "You people are kriffing idiots!" He shouted as he moved towards her rapidly, still powered by his adrenal caffeine. The woman gave a high kick with her leg, one that would normally catch a person right in the jaw, probably stop the fight.

Thankfully, Lancem had what was practically super reflexes...most Anzati did. He ran his hand down her leg as he held it up to her shock and then delivered a painful two-fingered jab into her chest, right between her mammaries. The woman crumpled slightly and he shifted his grab to her shoulder, holding her in his arms like a damsel in distress. "Nice legs, ever think about a professional dancing career? No? I'm pretty sure a lot of people around here would like that. Oh sorry babe, gotta get going, you know, a fight and all." He released her, letting her slump to the ground in a pile of wheezing.

"All right! Who's next! I've only hurt like two people!" He shouted as he spun around to find a new opponent.

[member="Fable Merrill"]
[member="Vheissu Ireles"]

 

[Fable Merrill]

[member="Vheissu Ireles"] [member="Lancem Cuiléin"]

Swipe, swipe, swipe.

The Cathan guy had claws, and he wanted everyone to know about it. In a way, it was nice - it seemed he only had the presence of mind to kick when she was close in, and was otherwise set on using his claws to create distance or intimidate.Why was he even here? Intimidating people into backing away or backing down just meant you'd have to fight them later, or fight the person who took them out. Some people just didn't get how this stuff worked. They had to overthink it. Morons. The bass and bass and blood were singing in her bones, how could she be bothered to think strategy? There was far too much harm to inflict, pain to endure, to bother with such nonsense. This was her world, they were simply providing background targets in it.

Fable was still trying to recover her balance from the Cathan's last attack, struggling with the deep fog of thought. Razor-sharp claws whistling just past her nose were enough to get her back into the correct state of mind. Eyes focused. Boots down. Fable bent at the waist, then twisted herself back upright with little more than core strength. Like a twisted-up cord, she violently twisted forward, closing the distance on the Cathan, using the momentum of her recovery to slam her fist into his kidney. If Cathans had kidneys in the same place as humans, anyway. Judging from his momentary, stunned expression and gasp (mew?) of pain, there was something there, anyway. Keep hitting it, see if it breaks.

Maintaining her offense, Fable ducked the Cathan's wide retaliatory swipe, and used her semi-crouched position to drive her shoulder into the taller near-human's gut, driving him backwards. Her twisting continued, fueling another punishing blow to the Cathan's already-bruised kidney. Her heavy boot came down on his foot, eliciting a how of pain - which was enough of an opening for Fable to drive her fist up into his chin, unleashing an uppercut that snapped his head back hard enough to topple him backwards. He was down. Before he could scramble to his feet, she was atop himl; no grace or preamble, just leaping onto his chest. Something cracked, and convinced him to stay down.

Had to keep moving. Lots more people. Fable wiped some of the blood from her eye with the back of her hand, trying to clear her vision. It wasn't very effective, but it'd do for now. Sliding off the Cathan, Fable set her sights on the next obvious target - a man holding a winded Twi'lek woman like they'd just finished a dance. Only, he dropped her unceremoniously to the ground and began boasting for a new challenge.

Fable slipped her expensive leather coat off, approaching the man she didn't know as Lancem Cuiléin from the side. In one smooth motion, she tried to throw her jacket over his head and tackle him around the waist, hoping to do some damage on the ground before he had a chance to react to the assault.

 

[Fabula Caromed]

Why was she here?

Charlotte didn't really belong anywhere, but she especially didn't seem to belong here. This was a place of those who fought out of need. Need for money, need to survival, or just the simple and psychotic need for violence. The young cyborg had none of those needs. She was funded, had no perceivable bloodlust, and far too much motivation to keep living for her to throw it all away. This place, this hall of conflict, this temple to bloodshed ill fit her. She was neither worshipper nor adherent.

In the several minutes she had to wait before the Hutt had called for the brawl to begin, Charlotte had decided that she was here (rather ironically) for science. When she had met the invisible man back on Hypori, she had struck a stance out of reflex that she couldn't quite decipher. Almost two dozen known martial arts used a stance 80% similar to what she'd fallen into, and she needed to know which one it was. Research it, devise strategies around it...

Test it.

At the moment, she was testing her responses. Countless unwashed thugs and bloodthirsty psychos met each other in brutal unarmed combat around her, and it would only be a matter of time until she was dragged into that hurricane of violence. At the moment, she felt not unlike the metaphorical eye of the storm...or would if she had any sense of drama. Her eyes switched through view a few view modes, then settled on normal vision. She could track hostility as it came, and react before-

[trandoshan male; 198 centimeters], eight-thirty. Openly confident, issuing verbal threats. Weight heavy on his right, right side likely dominant. Natural weapons: claws, teeth. Natural armor: scales. Species is know for physical strength, lacks reflexes. Wait for opening attack, counterattack during follow-through.

Charlotte's body struck that stance again. Arms bent at a 45-degree angle and close to her body, hands open, legs spread with her left forward. Twenty-one known martial arts used a neutral stance either exactly like this one or close enough to be 80% accurate and allow for school variation, and she had no idea which one she was using. When the Trandoshan got fed up with her lack of responses, he came at her with a shoulder charge. Muscle memory kicked in before Charlotte had a chance to cross-reference.

He tackled with his right side. Charlotte waited until he was too close to properly react, stepped to his left, and hooked one of her legs around his ankle. With a quick kick, she rendered him properly unbalanced, then moved in quickly behind him to grab his left arm with both hands, once at the wrist and once by the shoulder. Leverage. She knocked him to the ground and pinned him. But the maneuver wasn't complete. Something was wrong...

Before she knew what she was doing, the redhead had wrenched the reptilian man's arm until it cracked at the shoulder and elbow. 'Maneuver complete.' Savage but simple. Reactionary, focused on disabling, rather than striking. [search]

Narrowed down to...twelve possibles.

 

[Lancem Cuiléin]

This was exhilarating in the way that caf could never be, though he still really liked drinking caf. Seriously, he probably drank the stuff more than anything else in the universe, it was amazing. Plus it really helped when you needed a little adrenal boost, like right now when you were in the middle of the children's museum and everyone was clawing for the last "Scrappy the Wookie" toy.

It didn't take long for a new opponent to show up anyhow, in fact it took only the span of a few seconds. Of course the woman almost caught him by surprise, and he didn't quite know what he looked like. His predatory senses on the other hand were always on the lookout, and this girl stoked his hunger in a way most of the others around here simply couldn't. She was force-sensitive, he could tell, though she didn't seem horridly powerful in it, a pity.

Still, knowing that a freight train was coming and actually being able to stop it were two different things, for example, his reflexes were much better than a human's. However, one could not simply do a complete 180 in the span of one second, no matter how quickly...at least he couldn't completely stop the blow, maybe he didn't want to.

He spun anyways, his hand cupping up against her cheek as she rammed him, sending him sprawling to the floor with a grunt and the lance of pain shooting up his back and into his left shoulder "That was not pleasant at all!" He shouted as he regained his focus. His right hand stayed on her cheek however, not exerting any sort of hostile movement. Instead he had a better idea to deal with this fair looking pest on top of him.

He ran the hand down her head, twirling one of the strands of her hair as he exerted himself into her mind, staring her directly in the eyes as he used his Anzati abilities. "You're pretty cute, you know that? I think maybe you should get into modeling, I think that would work for you. You know, a guy like me and a girl like you, we could have a lot of fun. Maybe we could talk a bit...calm down a little, let me buy you a drink, you look so thirsty." He spoke in a soothing and flirtatious tone, one built up over the span of centuries.

[member="Charlotte"] | [member="Fable Merrill"] | [member="Vheissu Ireles"]

 

[Fable Merrill]

[member="Lancem Cuiléin"]

Wait, what? Fable had been winding up the mother of elbow-to-jaw assaults when her usually pretty simple mind realized that the guy she'd tackled was caressing her cheek and... Trying to pick her up? That was weird. He was handsome, though. Had a nice voice.

Wait, what? If there was one thing Fable knew, it was the landscape of her own mind. A mind that, up until right now, had been awash in blissfully thought-numbing violence. That was the reason she was here, right? Why was this guy hitting on her? Gosh, he smelled good. She should do some modeling. That'd make him happy, and maybe then...

Wait, what? No. Shut up shut up shut up CA-5, nobody likes you nobody could like you you're here to fight not daydream you're being messed with you stupid girl, stupid useless clone, you fought through hell only to go gaga to some sleeze?

Wait. She WAS being messed with. Fable wasn't that good with the force, let alone mental defenses, but much like her progenitor, what she lacked in finesse she made up for with unfathomable, animalistic rage. Realizing that she was bearing down on somebody else's endgame, Fable's programmed mind all but retreated into nothingness, the way Jared Ovmar had taught her years ago. The morose girl washed her hands of strategy and bathed in the foul rage boiling beneath the surface. Her mind articulated the only word it could think of as she reared back - still atop the Anzat - and tried to drive her knee into his groin. "WHAT?!"

 

[Poro]

(Whee ha! I'm going in!) [member="Fable Merrill"] [member="Lancem Cuiléin"] [member="Charlotte"] [member="Vheissu Ireles"]

It was dark and stinky in the inside of the sock he was in. He could hear people and one loud person outside, but it was all muffle through the sock that held our hero, Poro. But not only did the stink and the fear of being trapped get to Poro, it was the incessant excited pendulum-swinging of the sock that made him really upset. Eventually, the sock was turned upside down and Poro fell onto the floor. Many people were standing about while the loud man kept talking. He was picked up, turned around to face an ugly man,

and set down again.

The man spoke in a manically excited voice as he hopped quickly up and down. "Hee hee! You're going to be my little warrior! HA haaaa...No one will expect you! They'll never see you coming...Now listen, little rat of mine, you must scratch, claw, and KILL your way to the top. And then, I'll collect all the reward money, and then we'll do it ALL over again! How does that sound? HAHA! What am I saying? Rat's can't hear! That'd be crazy! HEE HEE HEE HEE Heee!!" And with that, the bell rang, the crazed man picked up Poro, and he tossed him into the fray.

With a high pitched scream, Poro sailed through the sky and landed on a black man's arm. He straddled the arm and then quickly crawled up into his sleeve. The man tried to dislodge Poro and was too distracted to see the wookie he was fighting punch him in the head. The man stood there for a moment, just long enough for Poro to jump out of the neck opening and land on the ground. He skittered away before the man could fall on top of him.

The wookie confusedly scratched his head before he was tackled by yet another combatant. The entire floor was complete chaos. So many feet were walking, running, and stomping around, occassionally followed by the thump of a downed body. He ducked left, he rolled right! He jumped onto a shoe for safety...and it flipped him across the room. With a large squeal of joy, he softly bounced off of [member="Fable Merrill"]'s head with a loud "Oof!". His momentum carried him over her head and he landed on [member="Lancem Cuiléin"]'s chest. He rolled down the chest until he came to a stop, still on top of Lancem. He looked up and saw a large foot about to come stomping down. He cringed and whined softly in fearful anticipation of what was to come.

 

[Qhorin Solas]

Such chaos...

Cronos moved through a tangle of bruised bodies, dodging fists and claws and feet. Blood and sweat pooled on the ground, slimy and viscous. There was yelling, and swearing, and screaming. Screams of rage, of pain, of frustration. The crowd was cheering. The wet sound of fists impacting against flesh mixed with all the rest, growing into a cacophony of violence.

And through it all Cronos moved, stepping aside a lunging kick, only to duck beneath a swinging fist. Before the Vong, before his enslavement on the worldship, he would've never come to a place like this. Back then, he'd had use for the darkness in his heart. It had given him the edge he'd needed to face the foes he fought. It had been a strength. A tool. Something to be wielded.

But now that darkness was more hindrance than help. It weighed him down. Halted his progress. This... madness, he hoped, would help purge him of that darkness. By miring himself in the shadows, perhaps it might be easier, then, to find the light?

That was the theory, anyway. In truth, he was doing no more than satisfying a desire, feeding the darkness that he so longed to rid himself of. It was his love of fighting that had birthed that darkness in the first place. There was nothing quite so freeing as a fight, nothing so enlightening. Battle showed you who you were, revealed the truth that men would rather hide deep within themselves. The same held true for Cronos.

No matter his feelings, or hopes, or beliefs, at his core, he was a fighter. And that, that truth, would never leave him.

Someone slammed into his back, knocking him off his feet. He turned the fall into a lunging roll, coming up on his toes. All throughout the brawl, he had maintained the same calm, almost blank expression. He wore that same look now as fighters converged on him, seemingly lost in the throes of bloodlust.

No weapons, the announcer had said. What if your body itself was a weapon, as lethal as any knife or blaster? What then? Bodies jostled against him, pushing him into the approaching brawlers. His stoic expression shifted, something like malevolence dancing in his eyes.

He gave into the darkness, and attacked.

He snapped out an open palm strike, smashing a nose to bits. Someone big and scaly filled his vision; he exploded upwards with a rising knee that cracked against the creature's chin, sending him reeling. A Nautolan came in from the left -- Cronos took hold of his tentacles and yanked him into an incoming kick, then tossed him at the kicker, weathering a blow to his back to finish the manuever. He lashed out with a kick of his own, then another, and another, and another, clearing the space around him.

He used the brief reprieve to seek out a mightier foe, for there was little satisfaction in breaking the easily broken...

[member="Poro"] [member="Fable Merrill"] [member="Lancem Cuiléin"] [member="Charlotte"] [member="Vheissu Ireles"]​

 

[Arage Bao]

[member="Poro"] | [member="Fable Merrill"] | [member="Lancem Cuiléin"] | [member="Charlotte"] | [member="Cronos Aegir"]​

~~~​

The thrill rose up in him, that peculiar feeling of numbness that overcame him whenever the fire in his blood spread out through his limbs and made him see red before his eyes, every breath taken was a breath that pushed more adrenaline through his veins and made him more and more caught up in the rapture of the moment. In front of him roared a wookie, one eye gone and his fur was splattered and sticked with the blood of a different contestant, his remaining eye narrowed at the sight of Vheissu Ireles, holder of the flame.

And so it should be, the warrior did not allow himself to be intimidated and instead growled back as they circled around each other, for in this moment there were no other men and women involved. They gave those two beasts all the room in the world to finish their dance, because standing in the way of a hammer and an anvil? Was never the brightest idea.

A blink as dust entered Vheissu’s eye and obscured his vision for one defining moment, the wookie made us of that opportunity like every warrior would do and stomped forward, his arms spreading to take the Force Master in an ugly bearhug.

Ireles breathed in, time slowed down to a screeching halt, his heart raced and then wookie crashed into him, hot meat touched sticky fur and suddenly everything speeded up. As the wookie embraced the warrior to literally press his internal organs together and let them be impaled by his ribcage, so did Ireles hug the wookie.

Fire and blood.

The wookie started howling, screaming in pain as he felt his own internal composition being heated up by infernal and above all external rising of temperature, and yet he kept pressing down against Vheissu in an attempt to take this demon with him.

It did not avail him.

 

[Lancem Cuiléin]

The weakness of nearly half of the sentient population of the universe was a quite obvious one, and one that there was little to do about. Maybe it was there just to keep men from dominating over their female counterparts, it really didn't matter why it was there though. What mattered was that the cute little pest had just hammered him there with the force of a Death Star bearing down on a planet.

It hurt. A lot. He jolted in agony, grinding his teeth so as not to allow the satisfaction of the pain to increase her assault, still he felt everything become vaguely numb and the pain in his stomach was hot and active. "Not...nice." He gasped as he crushed the strand of hair with his hand, just trying to hold it in place.

What did the Sith do in situations like this? Didn't they use their pain somehow? It seemed quite ridiculous that any being could somehow transform being hurt into actual energy, who knew though. For a few moments, Lancem wished he had brought along a gallon of black mascara, several scar wounds, and an agonizing childhood filled with the abuses and tresspasses of his late alcoholic father. That was what the Sith were really about, looking like emotional dysfunctional teenagers and acting much the same way, bunch of weirdos.

"Next time you want to fiddle around with me in the middle of the floor, remind me to wear protection will you?" He groaned as he moved his other arm to grasp at her left one, trying to keep it from smacking him more than anything. "Still, i'm pretty sure you just hammered the lust from my loins, you know what that means? Gloves off!" He shouted as he drew back the cheek hand and attempted to slam the palm of it into the side of her nose.

All the while he was pretty sure there was something furry crawling all over his chest.
[member="Vheissu Ireles"] | [member="Cronos Aegir"] | [member="Poro"] | [member="Fable Merrill"]

 

[Fable Merrill]

@Poro @Lancem Cuiléin

The hell was that fuzzy thing? And THE ENEMY she'd just kneed in the delicates was still talking and might have pulled some of her hair. Did pull some of her hair. It'd grow back. Pain only kept her going, pain was what she deserved. She would punish THE ENEMY for that, and maybe try not to squish FUZZY THING in the process of enacting her retribution. Fable was preparing to belt THE ENEMY one right across his yammering gob for pulling her hair, but he'd managed to talk AND think AND act faster than she could do one and a half of those things. A wet crack, not unlike a moldy log breaking... it wasn't the first time somebody had broken her nose. Likely wouldn't be the last. Still hurt like hell.

Fable's head snapped to the side with the momentum of the strike, her eyes wide with shock. Between her clearly-broken nose and the cuts above her eye, she had a nice mask of blood going. Her mouth tasted like old copper or maybe when you got too close to a high-end electric generator. Blood. Gross. Mud and blood, just like that place. THE ENEMY was going to pay for that. Fable grotesquely blew her nose to clear some of the blood away, eyes wide as she turned her attention back to THE ENEMY in surprise, or perhaps respect that he'd recovered quickly enough to put the hurt on her. There was little thought in what she'd do next - she could only do what felt right.

Fable scooped up the harmless FUZZY THING that was thus far not a threat to her, holding it protectively to her abdomen so it wouldn't be unduly squished as she whipped her head back, and then tried to return the broken nose with a berserker's favorite mainstay: a messy, obvious headbutt. She was already atop and straddling him, so why not?

 

[Poro]

Even though Poro had never been involved in an earthquake, the sudden and violent shifting, which started once the foot came down on the "hard candies", was similar enough for our little hero. And not only was the woman, [member="Fable Merrill"], instigating it, but the man that he was on started to get involved, too. Poro had seen plenty of other ropo couples go into the snow banks to understand that this wasn't how you started a romance...or whatever it was, but it looked enough like romance to Poro the ropo.

He tentatively crawled up [member="Lancem Cuiléin"]'s chest until he was sitting on top of his sternum. After the violent throwing of the man's arm, this was currently the least shakiest area he could find. He squeaked quite loudly so as to get both of their attention and then he glared into the eyes of [member="Lancem Cuiléin"], as though he was reprimanding his actions.

He felt a sudden surge in his stomach as he was picked up and held against dirty leather clothing. He cooed something akin to the human word, "Aaaaaahhh...." when he watched [member="Fable Merrill"] go in to kiss [member="Lancem Cuiléin"]....at least, he thought that she was.

 

[Lancem Cuiléin]

There was definitely a furry thing crawling all over him, that didn't bode well to the sanitary conditions found in the area. Probably meant whatever passed as a health inspector would be very upset. Still, despite his arrogance and general superiority many Anzati tended towards with sentients, this was most definitely an animal. The poor thing must have simply been caught unawares and flung into the fray of combat, something that didn't bode well for it's survivability.

His mind snapped back to the fight as he gradually moved his hand back down, the woman straddling him had taken a crunching blow across the nose, something that had apparently done more damage then he'd even intended. Poor woman, she was a fighter and he knew she would be coming back any moment now with some form of combative move, he was ready this time, unlike the past two times when the blows had caught him unaware.

"I'm sorry, didn't mean to catch you so hard there." He soothed as he watched her move about and steady herself for the attack both of them knew was coming. It didn't quite come by her hands like he'd expected, but there was still enough time for him to fling his arm upwards towards the downwards sailing head. "Let me make it up to you." He rapidly spoke as his hand pressed against her throat, slowing the movement of her head so that it only lightly bumped into his own.

He stared into her eyes for half a moment before leaning in and planting a kiss on her lips, followed by a gradual push backwards with the hand on her throat. "Told you i'd make it up to you. I hope you don't mind, you seemed like the type who may be snapped out of a violent rage of emotion by something you didn't expect." He continued, almost apologetically as he continued holding her slightly away from himself. "By the way, sorry for the rudeness, my name is Lancem." He muttered rapidly as he scooped away the furry thing on his chest and planted it beside them.

This was definitely one of the riskier things he'd done in one of these little moshpits, in the end it was up to her how the outcome fell down. Probably he would be smacked...rapidly. Which really didn't bode well for the little fluff-lit next to him.

[member="Poro"] | [member="Fable Merrill"] | [member="Vheissu Ireles"] | [member="Cronos Aegir"] | [member="Charlotte"]

 

[Qhorin Solas]

[member="Vheissu Ireles"] [member="Lancem Cuiléin"] [member="Poro"] [member="Fable Merrill"]

Cronos resisted the press of bodies, eyes roving the almost manic fighters, searching for the one foe that might present him a challenge; or, even better, could actually defeat him. The smell of roasting meat reached his nose, growing stronger as he flowed with the press of bodies to the other side of the pit.

Then he saw him. The man was tall, though not much taller than Cronos himself, and heavily muscled. More importantly, he was bear-hugging a Wookie to death. And very possibly roasting him alive. That was no small thing. Had Cronos found a worthy foe?

He approached slowly, in plain view, his intent clear. Sometime during the brawl his sleeves had been torn, so he ripped them off, bouncing on the tips of his toes. He would wait until the man was done with the Wookie before he attacked...

 

[Fable Merrill]

[member="Lancem Cuiléin"] [member="Poro"]

One moment, she'd been about to feel the sick, beautiul, painful crack of skull on skull, but then she was collared. Hand on throat. Ghk. This is okay. This was managable.

And then he kissed her.

It was, in fact, her first kiss.

And it did not go over well.

Lancem had been intending to short-circuit her fury, and insofar as that was concerned, he'd absolutely suceeded. Fable was, in fact, startled into brief inaction by the liplock, and barely heard the subsequent rationalization. Then he tried to take her FUZZY THING away from where she was safely holding it to herself. This was not the most fun fight she'd ever been in. It might have been the least fun fight, in fact. Didn't this guy even know what a fight was? That fighting was the entire point to this event?

Had her knee's attempt to atomize his gonads not served as a clear enough marker of disinterest?

The handsy guy got a heartbeat's worth of half-lidded eyes fluttering open and slightly parted lips from Fable, which might have perhaps given the impression she'd been brought out of a trance by the liplock. In a romance movie, this was likely the part where she'd throw herself against him to return it. Romance wasn't Fable's genre by any stretch of the imagination, though, so she was largely immune to it's cliches. After that moment, she was angry again - now more indignant than animalistic, but no matter the flavor, Fable remained a berserker teetering on the very thin, bloody edge of lucidity. If Lancem had tried half this charm anywhere else, Fable likely would have been completely paralyzed it - but surrounded by violence was where she was allowed the luxury of self-worth and a modicum of confidence. It was why she came to places like this.

"I don't care what your name is!" She snarled, swatting his hand from her throat so she could speak. "Nobody cares what your name is!" Fable added for emphasis, twisting at the waist, her thighs tensing and gripping onto Lancem's midsection. The wind-up, and the pitch! Fable curled her free arm in and brought her elbow down like a swinging blade, right for the temple, with all the force her limber and twisting body could muster while still carefully holding the FUZZY THING protectively to her solarplexus. "Just shut up and fight!"

 

[Fabula Caromed]

Reaction one recorded. Move on to strikes.

A couple of young humanoids who looked a little light on the "human" end of that scale were quite intensely grappling with each other nearby. Charlotte moved from the prone lizardman whose shoulder she had just dislocated with singular purpose and fluid coordination, her eyes isolating every possible threat from a decent distance. Fortunately, the two of them seemed to be more focused on each other than on their surroundings-

Pain exploded in Charlotte's jaw, and there was a grunt of pain from beside her. Someone had...apparently attempted to sucker-punch her from her blind spot. They hadn't been expecting duraplast bones. Like punching commando armor. Charlotte didn't feel much more than simple hurt, and that was nothing she wasn't used to. 'Neutralize threat.'

Her reflex was a little more extravagant than she'd expected. Grabbing her attacker's arm without even looking at him, she held it fast in both hands, hoisted her body into the air for a moment, and wrapped her legs around his chest. Her (surprisingly heavy) weight naturally brought the two of them to the ground, and Charlotte began twisting and pulling the arm that the [shistavanen male; 183 centimeters] had lost control of. They were apparently supposed to be a strong species, meaning it took her a few more seconds of concentrated effort to feel the wet "pop" of a shoulder disconnecting. 'Maneuver complete.'

[search]

Standing arm bar? Strange name for a maneuver. Down to eight possibles. Charlotte twisted herself into a mounting position on the wolf-man's chest and struck his trachea with her knuckles. He descended into a coughing fit that sounded not unlike a dog being beaten by a board full of rusty nails, and the redhead decided that her task was complete for the moment.

Her attention returned to the couple of technicolor-skinned near-humans before her. She needed to test a strike.

 

[Arage Bao]

Corpse collapsed to the ground and Vheissu sighed, his eyes closed for a brief moment as he felt the essence of the Wookie detaching itself from his corporeal form and leave this distasteful place for the heavenly fires of the Abyss, Vheis’ hand moved to touch the spirit as it went in a sign of respect for a worthy combatant and an even more worthy fight.

But the moment passed soon enough and the Shaman’s eyes snapped open once again, tracking, pondering, wondering who would be next, until they settled down on the approaching form of a man approaching him, whilst some would have called [member="Cronos Aegir"] a boy in a form of mockery or spite, Vheissu knew better than this.

A man was he who knew the fields of battle, a man was he who had bloodied his sword and felt the jerking touch of an opponent struggling for his last breath, a man… was he who knew the fire. And Vheis would not give quarter to a man, and so his lips curled back in a snarl and he waited.

Let the man come, let him walk to his grave.

 

[Lancem Cuiléin]

Lancem couldn't help but laugh quietly to himself, well, it was quiet for about half a second before he just burst into spontaneous laughter. This woman was hilarious, she was the first one who'd actually managed to not fall for his charm in a long while, or maybe he was just getting older and it was starting to show.

Probably not, at least he hoped not. He had a complexion and reputation to keep up, and that simply would not do if he began to grow gray hair. Besides, this woman with her resistance had once more stoked his predatorial hunger, sharpened his instincts as he searched for ways once more to harm her. "If you really want me to fight, then I will." He said simply.

The elbow caught him with even less surprise than the headbutt had, especially after all the yelling and obvious anger issues boiling within this woman. She was prey...and yet he could not hunt her fully, not in a place such as this. Not in a place with rules he'd agreed to, besides she was quite fun. He could get used to hanging out with a person like this, first he just needed to beat her.

He still couldn't completely negate a blow, no matter how skilled. His arm scrunched up around his head, taking the blunt of the force though a large portion still cracked through and he felt his lip split with blood and a tooth loosen. It wasn't actually that painful, though it bled more than it should. Most head wounds did.

"To be honest, i'd have hoped we could have a much nicer more civilized conversation. Instead i'm going to sing you a beautiful song of my people, fueled by the intensity of caffeine, adrenaline, and that concussion you just gave me." He spoke rapidly as he readied his right arm.

It lashed forward in a slap towards her face as he began to grin. It would move forward and then once that was complete would sling backwards in a harsh backhand. "I think we both understand that sort of sentimentality don't we?" He asked rapidly, obviously becoming more entranced in the actual fighting as it went on.

[member="Fable Merrill"] | [member="Poro"]