Description: In a seedy bar in the Metro City slums, two criminals beat on each other while another watches! In the end, a recruitment... fails? (Winner: Alan)
Monte Carlo, this is not. Quite far removed from the swanky, upper-crust jazz clubs that have cropped up on the side of one of Europe's most famous cities, the slums of Metro have since been the worst of all the ghettos that Reed has encountered in his young lifetime. Though Southtown's seedier areas might have been comparable to this one, the place nevertheless reeks of discreet criminal activity, centered along the hub of a non-descript bar just several blocks away from the subway. A flash of neon blinks outside the place, calling attention to those curious SNF-viewers that have somewhat gathered along the curb of the street, forming a small line behind the stained velvet rope situated a pace away from the large bald bouncer behind it. And where /is/ our young thief this evening? At the fore, arguing rather belligerently with the gruff sentinel posted outside, his voice clear and loud over the murmuring crowd. He waves his black baton in front of the bouncer's face, "I /AM/ one of the main attractions at the fight today, you DUMBASS!!! Now let me through, or I'll stick this," he shoves his weapon directly under the unruffled man's chin, "Right where you don't want it. Capiche??"
The bouncer deadpans, "No individuals under the age of 21 allowed."
Oooh. Wrong answer.
Like some kind of avenging angel, the other fighter - a lean blonde, of a basically identical build to Reed - melts out of the shadows of the door. One hand, crackling with electricity, doffs the bouncer on the back of his head, but from the way he reels away he might as well have been poleaxed. "He's with me." Though the bouncer stares daggers at Alan, apparently he is known around here just enough to let him do shit like that and get away with it.
Alan R. B. digs a cigarette out of his pocket, lighting it despite having no lighter, and pops it in his mouth. Mmmm, tar and nicotine. He quite openly looks Reed up and down. "Shit, you are young, aren't you? Your hair is terrible," says the man with a lightning bolt hanging down the right side of his face, "but at least you know how not to look like an idiot. C'mon, kid."
Without waiting for anything further, Alan vanishes into the dark doorway.
HE---BUT---WHAT----I WAS GOING TO-----DAMN. The crackling lights from Alan's chi casts funky shadows between the two, and for the briefest second, the tiny hairs on the back of the kid's neck stand up. Not because he's scared, but because there's a sense of rising competition. Brooding, Reed gives the bouncer --- bowled over, now --- a hooded stare, before alighting those half-mast absinthe greens over Alan. Sizing him up. He was going to give the damn guy a good thwacking!! What's up with that!
"HEY!!! Just who are you anyway!!??" He asks. That Reed. So....er, snarky. The teen's got spunk for sure.
Without a word, he follows the blonde into the club, snarling. "Hey, my hair may be whacky, but at least I know how to manage it!!!" Uh, yeah!! Or something like that. Once he's fully in, the interior is another story. The bar is practically empty save for the sole 'tender behind the long table, and he's cleaning up a brandy glass with a soiled cloth. Yegh. On the plus side, there's a stack of alcohol lined up along the back, mainly whiskey and rum, the beers in kegs for now. A few people have just started to walk in, and the SNF crew have already set-up shop within the dimly-lit bar. Cameras angle in from the ceiling, and Reed looks a bit miffed. "I thought this was supposed to be underground."
Damn, but this kid is loud. Spunk is a word for it, sure... Alan's thinking of a different one. The center of the building is cleared of tables, a bright notice on the wall amidst the dingy ones advertising the SNF. The bartender - a scarred man missing one eye - spits to the side as Alan and Reed enter. "Don't break too much shit." That's all he says. The bartender isn't a talkative guy.
"Well, kid, you thought wrong." Alan /is/ a talkative guy, and will be talking a lot. "Ain't my fault you don't read your mail closely." His hands dip to his belt, an odd motion, but some back up with iron rings on each finger, glittering in the dim light. As he gets ready for the fight, the electric chi around his hands and face actually becomes less intense, a better focus lashed onto it. There's no loud announcement of fighter, because the last time the announcer was saying something he got a bottle thrown at him, and now has a few bandages on his forehead and no desire to talk. Alan turns, cracking his knuckles and sneering.
"Name's Alan R. B., and I'm here to win an SNF." The hair crack goes unacknowledged as the boxer pulls his fists up, starting to 'dance' a little on the balls of his feet. It's a much tighter boxing stance than most fighting boxers, offering a very small profile.
COMBATSYS: Alan has started a fight here.
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Alan 0/-------/-------|
COMBATSYS: Reed has joined the fight here.
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Alan 0/-------/-------|-------\-------\0 Reed
Yep, that's Tyler. Loud. Mouth. "Yeah, well you ain't gettin' MY money, thunderhead." Is Reed's response to that, not even bothering to introduce himself at this point. Where did all his manners go? Well for one thing, this is a fight, and he's not here to pull a scam or charm the pants off of an heiress just so he can make his steal for the day. No sir-ee. For once....or twice, to be exact, he's actually fighting for his prize. Does he care for the SNF title? Probably not. But when it comes to winning, he's pretty territorial. Walking over to the bar, keeping both eyes on Alan, he nudges the bartender aside, casting him an unrepentant wink, "Sorry, old man. But keeping things clean is not my style." Not in fights, anyway. Picking up a nice French bourbon, he sets the bottle ablaze with green energy, its concussive flames tangoing along the surface of clear glass. "Heads up, chump!" Hurtling it in Alan's direction, the chi-absorbed bourbon heads straight for the blonde's forehead.
COMBATSYS: Alan overcomes Fuoco Greco from Reed with Lightning Strikes Twice.
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Alan 0/-------/-------|-------\-------\0 Reed
Alan, however, actually reads his mail, so he knows that he is fighting one named 'Reed.' If he's insulted by the lack of introduction, he doesn't show it. He doesn't show much of anything except that arrogant smirk. Lightning swirls down his right arm into an orb of crackling chi between his middle finger and thumb as the flaming alcohol comes flying at him.
"Oh, come on. Is that all you can bring to the table?" He whips his arm up, incredibly fast, snapping his fingers. "Strike!" A lightning bolt sizzles through the stale air, slamming into the oncoming bottle, shattering it. The two projectiles sit in the air for a moment, a swirling mass of green flames and yellow electricity. But it is not to last, as Alan swings his hand back down. "Twice!" He snaps out another bolt, which picks up the whole mass, hurling it at Reed in a swirling column of mixed chi.
COMBATSYS: Reed blocks Alan's Lightning Strikes Twice.
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Alan 0/-------/-------|=------\-------\0 Reed
Yeah, the kid managed to block that, but that doesn't mean it didn't hurt. You see, chi has a way of getting to you, no matter how much you try to tough it out. So when Reed threw both of his arms up to prevent Alan's double hurl from slipping through the cracks, a jolt of pain slammed through his body, which didn't go entirely ignored. "Heh. You sound like a f*ckin' umpire." A hiss of smoke seems to wisp out of his leather jacket as he points a finger at Alan. "Ya see, guys like you don't deserve to get hit by my best, so I'm going to save it for the hardier types. Got it?" With that, he rushes forward, swinging his baton out to catch him in a fast jab towards his chest.
COMBATSYS: Alan dodges Reed's Weapon Jab.
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Alan 0/-------/-------|=------\-------\0 Reed
Boy. Reed and Alan have been at it for like twenty seconds, and it already qualifies as a ruckus. It's pretty rad. However, what's this? There's another ruckus nearby, the sound of loud shouting coming from outside. The fact that you can faintly hear it over the club's music is a testament to just how much force a certain man's lungs can expel.
"WHAT DO YOU MEAN, I'M NOT COOL ENOUGH TO GET IN!?" Today, on ManTV: Dr. Tran Meets a Bouncer!
Alan moves really, really fast. Lightning crackles around his legs as Reed comes in with his fast jab, and the boxer completely sidesteps it, and follows it right up by pressing on on Reed, hands crackling. "Y'know, it's funny. You talk like you're doing better, but you haven't even come close to landing a blow."
Alan feints an elbow at Reed's face, ducking away under his arm with the motion. Energy pools into the iron rings on Alan's right hand as his true punch is made, coming up with a solid blow at Reed's gut.
Alan doesn't realize Tran is anywhere near. This may become relevant later.
Too close! Too close! The speedy blonde may not know it yet, but Reed can be just as dexterous if he so chooses. Luckily, all of the ruckus outside isn't distracting the kid from making his comeback with an attack. Or....it could fail horribly. Anything and everything is up in the air in an SNF fight, right? Right. As the argument continues outside (Or maybe Tran just managed to blast the dude?), Reed sets his baton upright, forcing it down against the rickety old floor. And when he does, his dark-clad form shoots out in a vault to catch Alan in a modest kick to the jaw. If he succeeds, he'll have negated the punch to some degree, pain-wise.
....Meanwhile, outside. "No one shorter than the height of 5'7" is allowed." So sayeth the bouncer. He levels an incensed stare at Tran, towering well over him at six-foot-five inches and counting.
COMBATSYS: Reed interrupts Medium Punch from Alan with Splitz Overkill.
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Alan 0/-------/----===|====---\-------\0 Reed
It's funny that the possibility of Tran blasting the dude should be mentioned. Now, the doctor's tried to be a reasonable man about this. He's shouted. He's tried bribery (twenty bucks doesn't get a man far around here, evidently). Hell, he's even resorted to the old "C'mon." "No." "C'mon." "No." "C'mon." "No." routine. And then shouting again.
At this point, if you were some kind of sadistic punner, you could say that Tran is getting steamed. It wouldn't be exactly right, however, as momentarily the bouncer's limp form goes flying through the door. Not the doorway. The door. Tran steps in, silhouetted by a steam cloud. "WHO ELSE THINKS I'M TOO SHORT TO GET IN!?" Does he even remember why he's here?
Ka-crack! The kick knocks Alan back a few steps, and he rubs his jaw. First clean hit on him of the fight. He sneers. "Was that the best you can do, emo kid?" A subtle crack at the hair. Alan is a true wit.
Electricity builds around the "R" boxer's hands as he charges in, stopping just outside his own reach and making an incredibly fast series of swings. None of them actually hit anything, but they build up a wave of thunder and lightning which rushes forward at Reed - conveniently obscuring Tran's yell to Alan's ears. Oh, the length coincidence can go to. "Burst!"
COMBATSYS: Reed interrupts Thunderhead from Alan with Battere il suolo.
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Alan 0/-------/-======|=====--\-------\0 Reed
Emo?? EMO??? Who said anything about EMO??? Ooo. Reed may be a complete asshole, but he's not Emo. And just to prove his point, he snarls, baring mini-fangs at the boxer while he builds up that frightening lightning energy. "HEY! For your information, I don't just wear black to look all goth or some crap like that!" Individuals of his profession blend in with the night for other reasons. So. When Alan unleashes his lightning and thunder like some provisional Zeus, what does the kid do. Well. It's not all flash and show tonight. No, he's going to be smart about it this time. The kid smacks his baton against the floor again and goes for it with another side-kick, but this time, he literally flies in the air. This time, he's aiming for the side of Alan's head, and again, though it may not be his strongest, it'll be good enough to soak in some of the damage. The WHOOSH and CRACKLE of 9thunder, lightning and might!) literally sets his entire form ablaze with electricity as he breaks through Alan's thunderhead, his expression pained. That hurt, make no mistake. But this is the only way to do it!! "HYAHH"
Looking around for a moment after his triumphant proclimation, and not finding any takers, Dr. Tran looks around just in time to see Reed kicking the hell out of Alan. Neat.
After assessing the situation with his doctorly prowess, Tran moves to the bar, quietly orders a drink, and then sits down to watch the fight for a while. How...pedestrian.
Once again, Alan finds something blown through so that a kick to his head may be delivered. This one is even what someone might call a /flying/ kick. He's knocked back, having to roll up to his feet, and now he keeps his distance. Then he appears to completely forget that he's in a fight.
Alan R. B. runs his hand back through his hair, and takes out a fresh cigarette. He snaps his fingers, a spark leaping up to take hold in the tobacco and light it aflame. He takes one deep drag, then pops his shades off to wipe them on the hem of his vest, sliding them back on. He finally returns his attention to Reed. "Then cut your hair!"
COMBATSYS: Alan gains composure.
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Alan 0/-------/--=====|=====--\-------\0 Reed
Credit to Urban dictionary:
1. Faux-hawk - A haircut in which the wearer, rather than shave off the sides of the head for a real mo-hawk, merely gels up a portion of hair in the middle. Not everyone can wear it and look good. But if you do, it tends to look very cool.
That's the definition Reed will go with tonight. It's arguable, but he's not taking any helpful suggestions otherwise.
"You know, that lightning bolt style makes you look like a dweeb too, asshole." He points his fighting stick towards the guy's blonde head, "Maybe I can give YOU a make-over. That face doesn't suit your look at all."
As for Tran? Well, it's so good of the doctor to come by and show his support? No doubt the two will exchange some nasty words later, and it's here that Reed glances at the short entrant, one green eye cracking wide open while the other narrows. "YOU!!" Great. "Why are you here? You tryin' to make me lose the fight tonight or what?"
COMBATSYS: Reed gains composure.
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Alan 0/-------/--=====|====---\-------\0 Reed
The doctor just gives a cheerful wave. "Hey, now, I'm here to cheer you on, little buddy!" Make sure he doesn't get any wrong ideas. Maybe piss Alan off a little, too. The doctor wets his lips on his newly received drink and then continues, "I'm sure you won't have any trouble against this guy, though, he's a pushover, trust me."
Alan has an unnatural ability to shrug off the insults of others. Getting pissed at sass implies that you give a shit, after all, and the boxer really just doesn't give a shit anymore. He barks out a laugh at Reed's response, shaking out his hands and moving in.
Coincidence continues to strain itself. Alan comes in range of Reed right after he yells at Tran, fists crackling. "Hey, kid, your target's over here!" His right hand snaps out twice at his face in quick succession, the crackling electricity and his own running inner monologue of insults aimed at everyone he can see obscuring Tran's response from Alan's ears.
COMBATSYS: Alan successfully hits Reed with Light Punch.
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Alan 0/-------/--=====|======-\-------\0 Reed
"Wha---ERNF!!!" While Reed was having a little conversation with Tran, looks like Alan managed to bowl his way in with a fast punch. That leaves some bruises on his face, and knocks him back quite a bit, but he's not down yet. Rubbing his jaw, the loud-mouthed teen doesn't say much after that, but he does bring his baton down on Alan in a hard whack over the head. Internal monologue indeed.
COMBATSYS: Alan dodges Reed's Deep Strike.
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Alan 0/-------/--=====|======-\-------\0 Reed
At first, it actually looks like Reed's swing passed /through/ Alan. It takes a moment for the mind to catch up, and realize that the boxer leaped away from the baton, and then surged right back in, hands crackling. "It's almost as if I saw that coming a mile away!"
Alan's hands come up, now, electicity pooling in his palms. "Thunderclap!" He slams them together, hopefully right in front of Reed's face or chest or whatever. Electricity bursts around his hands, throwing a huge wave of sound and concussive force. An empty chair too close to Alan is shoved away, hitting the wall loudly.
COMBATSYS: Reed fails to interrupt Thunderclap from Alan with Weapon Jab.
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Alan 0/-------/=======|=======\==-----\1 Reed
"Will you just shut UNNNNFFGGGH----!!!!" Just as Reed swings his weapon out at Alan again, the clap hits him and hits him hard! In fact, the attack gets him to the point where his body is hurtled back in a wave of deafening sound and energy, going so far as to hurtle him against the gigantic liquor cabinet. Bottles of fine Jack Daniels and Wild Turkey come crashing down on him afterwards, and he's just drenched with the stink of alcohol. The glass shards even go so far as to cut through skin as he gets up, shakes himself and glares right at Alan. "Alright, punk! SHOW ME WHAT YOU GOT!!!!"
Hm. His boy's getting pounded. Maybe Tran should step in...he hefts his bottle up, testing the weight, and even brings his arm back to throw it. But he pauses. Not because he's reconsidering, but because he wants to taunt Alan first. "Hey, Sp-"
Unfortunately, Tran is right then interrupted by the bouncer from before, tackling full on into him. Along with a half dozen of the bouncer's meaty friends, a converging wall of angry mass, descending upon Tran in a fury, muffling his words, his shouts of protest, and his vain attempts to beat the shit out of them. The Bouncer Brigade, moving as one, swarm toward the door, squeeze through it, and then tromp off to a nearby dark alleyway to show just why you don't bust in on this club.
Alan R. B.'s stance relaxes a bit after he throws Reed away. "What, you haven't seen enough? You want more, kid?" Alan's arms drop completely, shoulders slumping. He looks incredibly relaxed. "I'll show you a little something."
The boxer releases the hold on the lightning chi he gathers naturally. Shockwaves start to spread from his legs, dancing around on spilled alcohol. Power thrills about his skin, the lightning bolt in his hair dancing about. He is now surrounded by a corona of dancing lightning, a rumble of thunder rolling faintly through the building.
COMBATSYS: Alan gathers his will.
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Alan 1/----===/=======|=======\==-----\1 Reed
Flash, flash, flash, flash. The amount of electricity that Alan holds just seems to set this place on fire! Look----it's a light show! Ooooh.....ahhhhh. What little spectators have gathered to see this fight actually open their jaws in awe. But as for the young thief? The lighting seems to reflect off of his eyes in pure adrenaline-crazed rage, and he smacks the end of his baton against an open palm "Heh. Gimme all you got." Snarl. Racing straight for Alan, Reed swings his baton out to bat the blonde straight up in the air, and should he not miss, the kid will vault straight up and pummel him with a set of multiple kicks that just will not stop. It would work perfectly were he on a rooftop, with nothing but the night sky to hold him back, but unfortunately for him, there's a ceiling up there. A ceiling that just may prevent him from getting just the right amount of height that he wanted, but no matter. Maybe it'll break. He's pushing his luck.
COMBATSYS: Alan blocks Reed's Tempesta di Colpi.
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Alan 1/-======/=======|==-----\-------\0 Reed
Alan's relaxation ends as Reed comes at him, and he crosses up his arms. The baton hits right at the point, still managing to lift Alan up, but not so much that he isn't still in control of himself. He spins in the air, planting his feet firmly on the /damn ceiling,/ and remains up there thanks to the spray of kicks from Reed. Every one of them is intercepted with a crackling forearm. The fabric of Alan's fine shirt is worn thin, but he himself looks to have weathered the blows as well as could be expected. He starts to drop, but lashes a hand out to grab one of the pipes up here, swinging acrobatically to stand on it.
"All sass aside, kid, you're not too bad. I might have a business proposition for you after I'm done taking you to the cleaners." The blonde rolls his neck, electricity starting to flare around his arms. "So let's get the fun out of the way, so we can get to business." Alan just falls off the pipe.
But it is a controlled fall. He locks his hands together, starting to spin at a rather amazing rate. His fists flare with more and more electricity as Alan focuses everything he's built up into one single great blow. His hands chop down brutally at Reed, followed immediately by a tremendous wave of chi and noise that shakes the entire bar. The only thing that can be heard other than the tremendous crack of thunder is Alan's voice:
"MJOLNIR!"
COMBATSYS: Alan successfully hits Reed with Mjolnir.
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Alan 0/-------/----===|=======\-------\1 Reed
Being as high up in the air as he is, well, Reed just can't simply /fly/ out of the way like Superman. It's simple, really ---- the law of physics just smacks you upside the head every time when you least expect it. Unless, you're some crazy mofo with alien powers beyond human comprehension. Or something like that. So when Alan's lightning-fast energy just flares through and batters him down, the boy hits the wooden floor with a smack, busting shrapnel in its wake. All of Alan's talk of a business proposition is merely white noise as he gasps on contact, surprised that the adrenaline is still as high as it is when he's on the verge of blacking out. So. Instead of falling down back on the floor with a thump and groaning, he slowly picks himself up, picks up his fried leather jacket and tosses it away. He's covered in cuts and bruises and all sorts of nasty wounds, but there's still that look of stubborn determination about his face. KILL, KILL, KILL! SMACK, SMACK, SMACK! PUMMEL! That's the mantra in Reed's head as he stares at Alan, the rage still there. "You...." He doesn't say much after this, but he does rush in and give the blonde boxer the toughest uppercut he can muster. An explosion of green overwhelms his baton as concussive energy flares, shooting straight for the older man's jaw!
COMBATSYS: Reed can no longer fight.
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Alan 0/-------/----===|
COMBATSYS: Alan dodges Reed's Flaming Lips.
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Alan 0/-------/----===|
The wave of concussive force threw Alan R. B. back, somersaulting in the air to land ramrod-straight on the floor. All of the excess lightning crackles out of his body, then, in a wave all around him. For once, no chi is surging around his arms and face. When he goes back into his stance, his movements are relatively sluggish.
But it's not enough to screw him over when Reed comes flying in with his tremendous uppercut. Alan's feet remain planted, but he leans back hard, tilting his head back. The edge of the chi scratches against his chin, only enough to completely erase the faint traces of stubble that had accumulated over the day. Like a marionnette, Alan comes back to a standing position, smirking.
"
Alan R.B. says, "So... you open to hear more?"
"Aw, f...ck....y...o...." Yep. That's the answer that Reed gives Alan as he falls flat on his face, vaguely watching the blood run from under his mouth. His eyes are closed shut, and it looks like he's about to pass out any minute now. Inert, unable to move even a finger, the kid simply stares out with his head against the floor, breathing nice and slow. That's it. Just keep sucking the air right into your lungs, don't give up. Looks like this thief has no choice but to listen what the boxer has to say.
Alan R. B. sure fared a hell of a lot better tonight. He's got his bruises and lumps, arms hurt like /hell/ after soaking all of those kicks, but he's still moving around just fine. He is no longer smirking or sneering or scoffing - no, now he's grinning, a disquietingly sharklike expression.
"I'm just going to assume you've heard of "R" here. We're a pretty damn strong organization... drugs, guns, guns and drugs, appropriation and dissemination of goods... shit like that." He reaches forward to swat Reed's shoulder. "And you? You've got talent. I looked into your background a bit - didn't get much, but if you're in this fight, here, you've got a reason." He nods a little. "What I'm getting around to in my roundabout way... you should really think about signing on with us. Great benefits package, and imagine the resources you'll have access to... you just keep doing what you're doing, whatever side jobs, and be open for anything the Big Man thinks you can handle. What'dya say?"
Drugs, guns and more guns. Hmn. Is Alan a thug? Were he fully conscious, the mere thought would make him fume, but he's not. Reed shuts his eyes again, and he barely rolls over to his side so that he can take a good look at the man who bested him tonight. One swollen eye narrowly cracks open to regard the boxer, "Uhnnghg...ffff..ghjherhg." After another string of incoherent expletives, he raises his middle finger in front of Alan's face. Surprisingly enough, he's managed to salvage that scrap of energy for his last, and official comeback. Er, yeah. Then he passes out on the floor.
Alan reaches out and pats Reed on the shoulder. "Yeah... yeah. I'm not that good at the pitch. Tell you what, I'll get the Big Guy to have a chat with you." The pat was in fact MORE THAN MEETS THE EYE - Alan's hand slips down to the waist of Reed's pants, slipping a small device on his belt, a belt loop, anywhere that has a chance of not being noticed at least /immediately./ It is, in fact, a small GPS tracker, feeding Reed's location to some computers on the Black Noah until the thief inevitably finds it and gets rid of it. Whistling to himself, Alan stands up, cracks his knuckles, and just leaves.
Everyone thinks Alan is pretty badass now.
Log created on 15:31:06 07/08/2007 by Alan, and last modified on 20:20:23 07/08/2007.