1271/Truck vs. Sabretooth in the Bronx

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Truck vs. Sabretooth in the Bronx
Date of Scene: 03 July 2017
Location: Unknown
Synopsis: Summary needed
Cast of Characters: Molly Millions, Sabretooth




Molly Millions has posed:
It's that sort of place. You know the sort, exists for a night and then come the dawn there's nothing but blood on the ground and smoke in the air to suggest it ever existed. That kind. Somewhere in the Bronx, through a prototypical warehouse and down into a labyrinth of pipe-filled corridors with crappy lights and the scent of mold and death in the corners.

The room itself is rough, without decoration, a bar formed of black painted pressed board serving a whole array of likely stolen beers and 'taps' consisting of kegs stacked between the board and the wall.

There's a cage up, the source of tonight's entertainment, and a couple of guys pounding the crap out of one another as the bets fly. Not the kind of place tourists stumble over, unless they're the kind to be permanently missing afterwards.

Which makes, perhaps, the slender woman in black perched at one of the makeshift tables an oddity. Not a known player, not overtly intimidating in appearance... and at first glance one could totally mistake the silvered lenses covering her eyes as the faux pas of wearing sunglasses. She's got a beer in hand and her head tilted towards the stage, watching the bout with an absorbant air and just the vaguest kind of smile.

Molly Millions has posed:
It's that sort of place. You know the sort, exists for a night and then come the dawn there's nothing but blood on the ground and smoke in the air to suggest it ever existed. That kind. Somewhere in the Bronx, through a prototypical warehouse and down into a labyrinth of pipe-filled corridors with crappy lights and the scent of mold and death in the corners.

The room itself is rough, without decoration, a bar formed of black painted pressed board serving a whole array of likely stolen beers and 'taps' consisting of kegs stacked between the board and the wall.

There's a cage up, the source of tonight's entertainment, and a couple of guys pounding the crap out of one another as the bets fly. Not the kind of place tourists stumble over, unless they're the kind to be permanently missing afterwards.

Which makes, perhaps, the slender woman in black perched at one of the makeshift tables an oddity. Not a known player, not overtly intimidating in appearance... and at first glance one could totally mistake the silvered lenses covering her eyes as the faux pas of wearing sunglasses. She's got a beer in hand and her head tilted towards the stage, watching the bout with an absorbant air and just the vaguest kind of smile.

Sabretooth has posed:
Whether or not the beers are stolen, it isn't stopping whoever set this impromptu bar up from charging fifteen bucks apiece for them. Most of the people don't seem to mind though. After all, this sort of entertainment can't be found anywhere else in New York. At least, not tonight.

But although they're making a killing on alcohol sales, most of the money is being generated by the betting that's still going on even as the fight continues. The fight has been going on longer than these things usually take, and both of the contestants have shed quite a bit of blood. Some of the lucky patrons who have spots near the cage even have the blood spatter on their clothing to keep as a souvenir.

Still, once a fight goes beyond a certain point, and the fighters start to look a bit tired, the crowd starts to get a bit antsy. It isn't long before someone tosses a pair of crowbars into the cage, but only one of the fighters bothers to grab one.

The fighters look like the typical hulking brutes who tend to gravitate to illegal cage matches like this one. But one of them is covered entirely by some really thick scales. The scales seem to have an almost metallic sheen to them, giving the fighter a degree of protection that is keeping this fight from reaching a rapid conclusion. The scale guy picks up his crowbar while simultaneously fending off a series of punches from his opponent, who doesn't seem to think that the crowbar is worth the amount of time it'll take him to pick it up.

The other fighter is significantly less exotic than the guy with scales, but he's still weird enough that he's obviously not entirely what we'd think of as a 'normal' human. His head turns sharply to the right as he takes a crowbar to the face, and a fresh spray of blood spatter hits a few of the audience members near the cage. But it isn't enough to knock him off of his feet.

"Come on! Stop playin' kill him already!"

"Three thousand on Truck Johnson!"

"No! What are you doing? Pick up the crowbar!"

The feeling of the crowd has noticeably shifted to favor the scaley guy, whose name is apparently 'Truck' Johnson. It's a decent enough name for a giant man with metal plating covering his body, if a bit generic. But as Sabretooth gets bashed repeatedly in the head with the crowbar, the crowd doesn't seem to notice that the steel claws on the feral mutants fingertips are getting substantially longer.

Molly Millions has posed:
Not quite in the proverbial nose-bleed section, and quiet where others are yelling. It's the sheer oddity of the combatants as much as the fight itself that has her absorbed enough that she doesn't immediately notice a drunk guy approaching from the edge of her field of vision until his hand is practically at her face.

He's distracted her from the fight momentarily, and she pulls her head out of the way just enough to make the grab miss her. Normally she'd worry about subtle, but he's distracting her, and most people are too busy looking at the fight anyways, so she has no qualms about extruding the blades on her right hand where he can see them. A wordless warning accompanied by the tilt of her head his way. Not drunk enough to try... yet at least, to judge from the raising of his hands, and the woman rises to her feet to prowl closer to the cage.

She's got an eye for skill, behind those lenses. Truck's meat. Sure, he looks exotic, but it's his opponent that gets the lions share of her attention, assessing and silent... and quite possibly the only one to notice that she's not the only one with 'claws' in this place.

Sabretooth has posed:
The blows to Sabretooth's head keep going, until finally he starts staggering around like a parody of Jack Sparrow. To all but the best trained eyes, it looks like this fight is pretty much over. Of course, most people can't see beneath the skin, which is where the most important information is.

As the betting reaches a fever pitch in favor of Truck, they finally stop allowing people to place new bets. If this place was even remotely legitimate, they'd have had to stop before the fight actually started. But... who are the people here going to complain to?

As soon as the bookies announce that betting is closed, something changes in the cage. Sabretooth takes one more blow to the head, but instead of staggering backward he advances forward. Metallic claws slash out, ripping away several of the scales from Truck's neck and sending more blood flying all over the fighters and into the crowd.

Truck is so shocked by the turn of events that he reflexively tries to bring his hand up to protect his neck, but it's already to late. Like a vampire, Sabretooth has hooked his teeth on the exposed flesh and has ripped the majority of Truck's throat out before anyone in the audience even has time to open their eyes wide in surprise/horror.

As Truck's blood gushes all over Sabretooth, the crowd finally erupts in the belated surprise/horror that the bookies were counting on. Sabretooth allows the body to fall, rapidly bleeding to death, and turns to face the crowd. Fists raised in victory, and pieces of flesh stuck between his teeth, he looks like he just went to the prom with Carrie. But forgot his tuxedo.

Molly Millions has posed:
Molly Millions slipped in a bet, for Sabretooth, just before the betting closed. All the while the bookie eyeing the woman like she'd lost her damned mind. She's content to drink her overpriced beer and watch the carnage unfold.

And it is so much more than she'd anticipated. A hand raised to shield her lenses... screw her jacket, from being splattered by Truck's rapidly fading lifeforce as that deafening silence ebbs through the room followed by the roar.

No question as to who won, really, but between those who are ecstatic, those who are pissed, and those about to lose their lunch chaos ripples through the room. Molly, on the other hand, is watching him even as she decides that overpriced /and/ blood splattered isn't a good look for her beer, setting it aside and wiping her free hand along the sleeve of her jacket as she waits to see which way the tide is going to go with apparently little concern.

Sabretooth has posed:
Despite the fact the he's cost most of the people in the illegal bar several thousand dollars each... there's actually some enthusiastic cheering. Most of the people here can easily afford to lose that amount of money, and if nothing else it was a pretty impressive show.

"Let's hear it for SAAAABRETOOTH! What a shocker! And now we're going to take a brief pause to dispose of the body, so be sure to get your drink orders in. You'll want to make sure you're in your places when our next match starts. We're trying out a new segment called Nude Couples Co-Ed Boxing! As always, Roulette brings you the best in entertainment..."

The schpiel goes on, as the hype man tries his best to direct traffic toward the bar and the insanely overpriced drinks before the next frantic round of betting begins. Meanwhile, a couple of guys drag Truck's lifeless body out of the cage, though it takes four of them just to drag the poor slop. By now, the cage's floor is far too slippery for anyone to fight on it, but the mop boy isn't able to do much more than smear the blood around before the next round starts.

They'll be fine. Probably.

As for Sabretooth, he gets out of the cage at the first available opportunity, and makes his way through the crowd. He doesn't bother cleaning himself up at first, since people in the crowd want a chance to take selfies with him. The inevitable crowd of gambling scumbags and fight groupies start to crowd around him, but they dispel pretty quickly once he growls at them and makes his way to the bar.

"Whiskey."

It's a simple enough drink order. Suffice it to say that they don't charge him fifteen bucks for a drink. Or... anything at all.

Molly Millions has posed:
The next segment doesn't hold as much interest... for Molly at least, given the way that she elects to go claim her win when the cheers win out. With her beer ruined it's inevitable she makes her way towards the bar herself.

It's hardly a case that she doesn't know he's there, distance calculated with a drunk guy for fodder between so she can tap the bartop with a false burgundy nail and with a nod towards the bottles elects to go with.

"Vodka." herself. Though unlike him, she definitely gets charged for the privilege of it. The glance his way might be taken as casual as her attention goes back towards the cage, the posing nudes reflected in her silver lenses with comparative disinterest.

She's patient, she waits for the fodder to stagger out of the way before electing to enquire,"So how much of a cut does the house get?" in a conversational tone.

Sabretooth has posed:
Although the bar is new, the people staffing it are apparently not. When Sabretooth orders a whiskey, the bartender produces a bottle from beneath the counter, pulls out the cork, and gives him the entire bottle. Sometimes you wanna go where everybody knows your name...

After he took a few sips from the bottle, most people got the idea that they'd probably be better off NOT talking to the guy who just ripped out someone's throat with his teeth. The gamblers and groupies will have to get their post-fight kicks somewhere else. So there's a bit of surprise in Sabretooth's cat-like slitted eyes when he hears someone actually trying to make conversation with him.

"You know, I never learned how to count, so I got no idea. I'm more of a... whaddayou call it? An enthusiast."

Molly Millions has posed:
Maybe it's liquid courage on Molly's behalf, for all that all she's got is a ridiculously overpriced glass of vodka. She's content to lean with her elbows on the bar and back to its workers.

"Is /that/ what they call it?" she asks with a flicker of a smile,"You certainly know how to work an audience, either way." there's the raise of her glass vaguely his way by acknowledgment as she turns those lenses towards him,"Molly." she offers, either oblivious to the potential for danger from his quarter, or unconcerned about it at the moment.

Sabretooth has posed:
It's true that most people don't possess the courage to talk to someone who's easily twice their size. Especially when that someone is covered in hair and blood instead of a shirt. But judging by the way that Sabretooth responds, he seems to enjoy a bit of chutzpah. Though he would never call it that, obviously.

"Audiences are easy to work. Don't matter if it's a cage match or Nascar, all they wanna see is a little blood. But if you're talking to me, 'Molly', then you probably already know that's my specialty."

He places a bit of stress on the word 'Molly', as if he doesn't quite believe that it's her name. People who travel in these kind of circles tend to use fake names, after all. But his suspicion is the natural result of people only being nice to him when they want someone killed. For... about a hundred years or so.

Molly Millions has posed:
Molly sets her glass on the bar and gives it another tap, those burgundy nails a feminine oddity compared to the rest of her for their obvious fakery,"That much was obvious from the match, yes." she's unfazed by the emphasis on her name, the lack of reaction probably sure enough sign that it's fake.

"I don't know you from Truck." she has no qualms about uttering,"But it was pretty obvious, to me, that he was outclassed long before they tossed in those crowbars. So I admit. I'm curious. Especially given your modifications."

Sabretooth has posed:
The steel claw at the end of Sabretooth's pinkie finger is extended, as he tries to pick the bits of Truck out of his teeth. It's a fairly effective toothpick, if you don't mind the risk of slicing your tongue open.

"Man, speaking of modifications, I usually try to stay away from the GMO beef. Always tastes a little funny, you know?" He spits a sizeable chunk of Truck's neck out on the floor, before he continues his drinking. Nothing about his demeanor suggests that any of this is out of the ordinary for him.

"Well, you're one of the only people here who thought that. That's the trick to making a bunch of money on these fights: You gotta make it look like you're the underdog. I don't gotta explain that to you though. I figure a frail with robot eyes is probably smart enough to figure out how bettin' works."

Molly Millions has posed:
Molly Millions is so very not at all going to look at the bit of Truck's neck he just spat out, no. Her eyes being concealed as they are certainly help with the poker face. The turn towards the bar to pay for her vodka perhaps not so coincidental as she tries to make it look.

"I figured you were saving that for later." she utters in the driest tone she can manage,"And you might say that I have an eye for those sort of things, yes."

The vodka gets a swig taken from it in order to bring her back to looking at him again,"And that's what gets me curious. The show, yeh. But unless you've got a side bet going or an arrangement with the house... why bother playing with your... food."

Sabretooth has posed:
"Heh. Like I said, I only eat the non-GMO meat. Guess I'm a hipster at heart." Sabretooth looks down at the piece of flesh on the ground, turning up his nose slightly.

His hand is large enough to wrap around the entire bottle of whiskey, which makes it look almost like he's holding a slightly oversized bottle of beer. He's certainly drinking it the way someone would drink beer, anyway, but doesn't seem to be getting any closer to being drunk than when he started.

"I might have a few side bets going on, but that's not really what this is all about. Let's call it a public service, if you will. There's all kindsa GMOs out there these days. Most of 'em don't do much harm. But sometimes a GMO gets out into the marketplace, and it starts causing problems. When that happens, you get health inspectors asking a bunch of nosy questions. I just found a way to make the problem disappear, and made a couple grand on the side."

He takes a long swig from his whiskey bottle, downing nearly a quarter of it at once. "Like I said, public service."

Molly Millions has posed:
Molly studiously doesn't look at the meat on the ground, for all that she smiles vaguely. A flickering difference in the shade of the lenses might be detectable, as she has to look up just what the hell GMO might be within context, and then has to add what's a hipster on top of that. Causing her to be silent for a long moment.

"So where do after-market additions fall in the spectrum of things?"

She shifts slightly in the way she leans, still perfectly casual to an outside observer, but just that trace more stable. Aware, certainly, that she's perhaps treading into dangerous areas in the conversation, for all that she keeps her hands visible and clear to try and insure that there's no misunderstanding of intent.

Sabretooth has posed:
"I don't think anybody's ever really asked me that before. I can smell all the ways that you're wrong even in this nasty-smellin' dump. But if I had to kill everyone who had a little bit of steel and silicone in 'em I'd have to stop dating strippers."

For a guy who apparently specializes in R-Rated gore and violence, Sabretooth seems like an amiable enough guy. At the very least, he doesn't seem even remotely interested in getting into the cage with Molly, so that's got to be a good sign. He still seems slightly surprised that someone is casually talking to him though, and can't help but try to think of the last time an encounter like this didn't end with someone asking him for something.

"Word of advice though, seeing as how you're fishing: Them upgrades you've got are gonna get you noticed. So I'd find a way to use them that doesn't cause any questions to get asked. Maybe consider just getting 'em yanked out before somebody decides you're a security risk. Or competition."

Molly Millions has posed:
He actually manages to get a laugh out of Molly,"Wrong, huh?" she repeats,"That's a new one." she polishes off the vodka and sets the glass back down on the bar,"Story of my life right there." one tap of her nail on the bar, then another before she elects to dip her head and go with,"Enjoy your... meal." and seems content to prowl off for the moment at least.