212/Ready, set, FIGHT!

Ready, set, FIGHT!
Date of Scene:	29 April 2017
Location:	New York City
Synopsis:	Summary needed
Cast of Characters:	Feral, Crusader

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Feral has posed:
    A broad and drab expanse of warehouse stands sentinel along the edge of the China Basin docks, offering weather's shelter to the cargo crates destined to or from the nearby sea. It's a soulless, metal-walled structure with a minimum of heating and rust spots creeping along its steel reinforcements and across the overhead trusses. In a small break between shipments as the trade piers go quiet for the night, its edifice is similarly abandoned and the heat shut off.
    
    Inside, the coming seasonal warmth has kept the bare cement floor from chilling and sheer human body-heat has raised it to warm and stifling. The warehouse keeps its idle hours filled with a lucrative side business and the empty floor space between metal crates has been cheaply but deftly configured for the purpose.
    
    Crowded around chain-link cages, throngs of men and women are cheering, swearing, and waving betting tickets at the fighters inside. The door's guarded but unlocked and a not ungenerous admission fee can be traded for an opening bet. The air is thick with sweat, cheap smoke, cheaper alcohol, and the primal adrenaline-strumming ambiance of bloodsport.
    
    Just one dark-eyed woman's home...
    
    In the center cage and comfortably dwarfed by her larger male opponent, she looks to be getting towards the later years of good fighting shape but well-developed from time well-spent in training. An unruly mane of brown hair swings across her back as she ducks and dodges slashes and thrusts from her adversary and nimbly springs back on the balls of her feet to gain distance. Dressed in nothing but a tank top and a well-diced pair of red pants, she's in what might pass for traditional martial arts attire; no shoes, no belts or jewelery, and no weapons but her hands and feet.
    
    As a thick-soled boot stomps in her direction and one of a pair of daggers cut a jagged line through the air at her throat, the woman leans back again to let the blade pass just far enough out of reach. The fights here don't have any standard attire and no rules means a larger payout.
    
    Odds currently have her at 2:1 and label the woman tersely as 'V'.

Crusader has posed:
The place... was really no place for most 'hero' types. Their dedication to the law, justice would make folks assume so anyways? But not all heros are equal, and nor are the personal lives anyone buisness

And sides...what hero work without some fun? Crusader, not in his 'Vorn' guise was within the crowd. A rather hairy individual, he quite litterly looked like an orc. Except his skin was an extreamly light grey, argubly pure white...and it strangely seem to more resemble polished metal than simply skin. His sheer imposing muscle mass and size (at almost 8ft) paried with his tusks gave the monsterous entity...made him an intimidating individual

A thick cigar in his maul had smoke circling about him. He was watching...Feral

He was due to possibly be the next opponent, an unknown fighter as it stand. And the devesating blows....were making him smile. He didn't know if it was fair for him to be here...but to hell with it, he wanted to fight.

Vorn takes a swig of his cheap ale before roaring out "CUT HIM DOWN!" in a voice that was deep and more beast tha man

Feral has posed:
    How many of the cuts in her pants came from V's current fight are hard to say, but her nimble and evasive dodging at the edge of slashing range, combined with a perilously low guard near her waist and an unmolested shirt, suggests she's a long-range fighter. Not atypical in more aggressive women, where the weight and length of a good kick can quickly make up for a shortage of reach or raw strength.
    
    And then the woman drops completely flat and lashes a shin at the man's advancing leg. His foot swings out from under him with the ease of a puck on ice and in surprise his back strikes the barely-padded ring hard. Honed reflexes tuck his chin and splay his arms just before impact - it's far from his first fight - but before he can recover, V shifts her sweep into a roll across the floor and drops her heel in a wide arc onto his chest.
    
    There's a deep, cavernous thump and a muffled crackle drowned out by the roar of the crowd and the woman with untamed hair looks to the face of her opponent with her hand up in a guard, just in case. She smiles primally and open-mouthed as she spies a small trickle of blood at the edge of his mouth, then kicks him away.
    
    The man's daggers are left behind as he clutches weakly at his chest before going limp.
    
    Falling onto her back and catching her breath for a moment, the woman prize-fighter swings her legs up above her head and arches her spine into a C before springing up and onto her feet once more. Her arms go out open-palmed and nails towards the overhead lights as she makes raking gestures to fan herself with the cheers and boos that well up around her.

Crusader has posed:
The crowd was going wide. They shake the fence of the ring making the chain ring out loudly. They shove and bump into each other roughly in their cheering and booeing of Feral! Likely due to either losing or winning bets!

The man is out of action. Some 'guards' enter the ring and drag the man away. The matched was over for him.... and well it seem they need better guards because they had toruble MOVING him! Low rent indeed, but at leas the weapons are also removed.

But the annoucner was another thing. The voice was smooth but ambitious "Alright alright. Give it up for the girl on the prowl FERAAAAAAAAAAL!!!!!!!" he calls out the crowd responding in kind! "Cool it down peeps. Because now we got a rookie going toe to toe with Queen of Beasts"

Wait a rookie? It may be considered an annoyance. After all, Feral is already well known in the underground arenas shouldn't be putting her up agaist rookies at all...unless they were something....different than your average rookie

"Alright alright. Now I know what you must be thinking...so go screw yourself. After that..." the announcer let it ang their "Welcome the nearest edition to this fight. All muscle, all metal and plenty of trouble, give it up for The Real Steel Orc...VOOOOORN!!!"

The crowd cheer anyways, even though they had NO idea who he was...untill it became rather obviouse it was the orc in the crowd.

Vorn steps into the ring. He was shoeless, shirtless.... and humungous. His beady eye look down at Feral silently.

"Alright, you know the rules. If your down, your out. Otherwise, do whatever the hell you want. Take your positions"

ANd with that....Vorn actualy just seems to slouch, having an air of a lazy bumb despite his fierce looks.

Feral has posed:
    Feral lowers her arms and looks strangely up at the echoing announcer's voice, at least until her next opponent steps towards the ring. A wide, toothy smile spreads across her lips as she looks him slowly up, and up, and up to find his grizzled face. The woman fighter's eyes dance a little and her nostrils flare, soaking in the mingled odors of the ring around her. She's not here just for the money; she's having fun.

    Letting her weight sink into her heels, Vanya raises her hands the token distance above her waist that makes for her loose guard and clenches her fists. Joints pop and crackle just loud enough to be audible as she watches the tower of muscle and bone before her and for just a moment, waits.

Crusader has posed:
Vorn take one last puff of his cigar...before he actual eats it. Some may think it was to show off how 'tough' he was...but judging his face and the burp he make (which is accompanied by smoke) it may have litterly just been a snack.

Vorn eyes meet Vanya, and much like her...they mimic a sense of thrill and excitment, a dance yet to be made. His so called lazy stance likely wasn't going to fool her

For Vorn...the crowd seems to dissappear as he begins to circle. Watching...waiting. And than almost without provocation he lashes out going for a full brute tackle. The mans was incredibly fast inspute of his size, but he was none the less going for a brutal grapple that can possibly end the match before it even begins.

Feral has posed:
    Vanya's dark brown eyes fall upon Vorn's chest and stays there and a dangerous relaxation spreads down her arms as the towering man begins to circle - his own focused intent and ominous bearing aren't missed by her senses and the woman's taking him more seriously than her last challenger.
    
    Her breath comes in shallow, low breaths that barely ruffle her shirt, buried out of sight beneath her ribs as she watches his movements with hair-trigger alertness. When Vorn rushes forward, Feral dives towards him but ducking wide of his right arm, trying to cut an angle that weaves under and around his sudden burst of speed. As she passes, the brown-eyed fighter reaches down for a leg, hoping to hook it and pull the mammoth to the ground.

Crusader has posed:
The charge didn't work out as Vorn had hoped, when Vanya had ducked under his arm! His leg is hooked, and with so much weight in his being... he certainly does comw down to the ground! But Vorn was hardly helpless in such a manuver

Not just fast but nimble and strong as his next move would show. As he hits the ground, his arms reach out and push him upwards while he twist his body with power. Creating what essentialy looked liked an upside down spinning kick! If it hits...well it will hit hard, and if it dosn't it at least acted as a quick way for Vorn to get back onto his feet and facing Feral

Feral has posed:
    Having stayed in close to follow-up and hopefully ride the behemoth to the ground, Feral has Bjorn's leg ripped from her hand by the strength of his frame only for the other one to come whirling back at her chest. The dark-eyed woman's forearms raise close before her as their muscles stiffen to offer a wall of flesh to the impact while her weight tries too slowly to shift back.
    
    The impact from Bjorn's heel and calf is firm and satisfying as Feral's body yields and is forced backwards through the air - but not as satisfying as it should have been. She tumbles backwards and eventually comes out in a controlled roll, with her hair tossed like a salad all across her face and an entertained smirk as she shakes out her arms. The bones around her elbows are still in one piece and the cage is inches away from her back. From the outside, the end result made the spinning kick look human in delivery. On the inside...
    
    Feral windmills her hair back behind her shoulders and then bounds on the offensive this time, rushing Bjorn in much a similar way but kicking off the abused mat underfoot to launch a flying knee at his face. It's fast, a little too fast even for a practiced street fighter, but after their last clash it might be expected.

Crusader has posed:
Vorn wanted to push further, push more. When he had gotten up he was prepared to continue his assult, with every muscle tensed to unleash physical prowess...unfortantly he wasn't fast enough to go on the defensive!

But than again, when your more or less living metal, you normally didn't need too. But this wasn't just a normal match. Feral kick certainly makes contact with Vorn face...but as Feral may feel, hitting him is the equilivent of hitting a wall made of at least a foot of solid steel.

However unlike an /actual/ wall, Vorn isn't welded into place, and even then his stance wasn't fit to stay rooted at the moment. The mammoth figure stumbles back from the kick several paces, but this time does not fall.

Both his fist raise into the air as the line between self control and full out battle thins. Like sludge hammers that try to come down on Feral with extream force...enough to actually leave a small crater in the ground.

Feral has posed:
    There's a sensation of bone and sinew flexing just a little as an inhuman momentum behind the rising knee compresses in behind it before the visceral crush relaxes as Bjorn is knocked backwards. Carried with him by the same force, Feral feet slam into the ground as they drive her forward to stay in close and push her attack.
    
    There's a tell-tale widening of her eyes as the shadow of Bjorn's arms rise above her, a basic and instinctual realization of coming peril, and Feral's own arms lift over her head in a steeple-shaped guard to try to deflect the coming force as much as absorb it. In the same motion, the rising of her defense, the forced relaxation of her stomach and under her arms as she moves up and in to be as close to the mammoth as she can, something else comes up - a shin - between Bjorn's legs.

Crusader has posed:
The entire crowd (especialy the men) seem to wince when Feral brings that leg up into Bjorn legs. WIth a collective "Oooooooh" from the crowd. And then....there was an arkward silence. Why?

Vorn having realized his mistake after he made impact with the ground (instead of his opponent) when Feral got up close was braced for pain. Heck, even his eyes were closed. And well the sound that occures... is basicly a metallic *thunk* sound. Vorn opens one eye...and seems realief. Good lord, he has NEVER been so happy to be made of metal! The reaction might spur some questions

But he quickly recovered himself, his face instead taking on a look of 'Really?' as if he actually came with equipment to protect himself for that very purpose.

Moving on

With Vayn in such close proximity, Vorn does once again tries to grapple her into what would essentially amount to a bone crushing bearhug. Emphasis on bone crushing.

Feral has posed:
    With her hands up within the broad territory of Bjorn's arms and her legs in a... compromisingly off-balance position, Feral's gamble is exposed as precisely that. Two tree-trunk limbs close like a press around her unprotected torso and the brown-haired fighter is crushed tightly between metal on all sides.
    
    There's not a feeling of flesh yielding but of bone as Bjorn fights her skeleton and Feral kicks wildly with her legs, peppering his thighs and stomach with sharp, tightly-focused strikes, but ones that can no longer marshal bodyweight behind them. Her face grimaces in pain as parts begin to buckle that aren't meant to move and she grunts from trying to force the air in her lungs to remain - needing any cushion she can get.
    
    It feels like compacting a car's roll cage and as the pressure grows and space for the woman's body becomes tighter, things... change. The ribs between Bjorn's arms begin to thicken and blur together and a palpable crackling follows an increase in strength, an increase in resistance to crushing the woman completely. Undoubtedly there should be sounds, but there's no hearing anything anymore against the roar of the crowd.

Crusader has posed:
Haha! Victory was in sight, his tusked smiled revealed as he neared victory...but wait, what! Vorn can feel how the woman is changing... but as for how he couldn't say. Mutant, meta...alien (cause that completly valid in his head)

He ignores the sharp strikes Feral makes, and instead begins to turn up the pressure. This was a race agaist time, he had no idea what Feral was doing....or possibly changing into. As such his pressure was begining to increase rapidly. dangerously so as if trying to squeeze the air out of her. Veien begin to slither and appear beneath his skin...weather it for show or because of him trying to exert his strength is tough to say

The crowd cheer and jives as the battle contines. They were eating this up with jumping and cheering and pretty much wanting the fight to go on forever and yet end with one of them broken.

Feral has posed:
There's a belief since ancient times that spirit exists in the breath and as the pressure increases even further, Feral's restructuring rib cage begins once again to creak and crackle under the pressure. There's a telltale *pop!* and spirit is finally forced from her mouth along with a sudden shrinking and weakening of her structure. The woman's teeth gnash in breathless, red-faced pain as she tries to hold herself together with whatever muscles will respond. Another change is taking place beneath her tank top, one that crunch and shatters palpably in Bjorn's grip something like ceramic roof tiles, but it's a second-class solution - the bulwark of her defense is gone in the ring air.

A weak cough rattles Feral's shrinking body as flecks of telltale red spray from the corner of her mouth and her struggle weakens. Her eyes are beginning to lose their vigor, going glassy from pain and lack of air, but a last hurray instinctively swipes itself up at Bjorn's unprotected face. It's just a hand, with no weight or structure behind it. Just a hand covered in fur with inches-thick claws on every tip.

Crusader has posed:
Fur and claws were not enough to Startle Vorn, not this late in the match. He grip never loosens, his face is as still as stone. When he looks into Feral glassy eyes as her breath weakens....his own were a startling mix of cold blooded and remoreless killer and compansionate and wild fighter.

Tighter...tigher...and tighter his crushing hug becomes

ANd then almost as suddenly...almost as if he was reigning himself back in, he lets go, dropping Feral to the ground.

Feral has posed:
There's no fear or hatred looking back from those dark brown eyes, no sudden panic or regret. Even as her body is forced to contour itself closer and closer to Bjorn's chest, her focus doesn't waver from fighting, escaping. There's no more thrill or excitement in her eyes either; trapped, losing -- dieing??

The last instinct left to turn off the lights is survival as one final ineffectual swipe precedes the woman fighter going limp in the mammoth's grip.

When she's dropped to the ground she doesn't move, collapsing with all the control of a marionette without its strings and slumping backwards on the floor. The tight fit of her shirt that just a minute ago was making a sporting show of her proud and well-trained physique now betrays the result of Bjorn's bear hug. He was the bigger bear, and what's left of Vanya is a little thinner for it.

Crusader has posed:
The crowd is silent.

    Was it really over?

        Yes...yes it was

The crowd ROARS to life at the conclusion! They got what they wanted. Two almost primal (or perhaps actually primal) beings hasing it out. In response to the crowd Vorn lets out a massive yet still metallic sounding Roar! The Real Steel Orc, the rooki, the unknown has taken this match! ANd in it...he has quickly solidifed that he was no rookie.

The Annoucner calls out "Alright alright. You saw it here and you saw it first. Orcs really are born for war! Don't know about you folk, but I would not want to be feral right now. MMMM mmm,she just got skinned" of course, with this underground rings, they have no problems kicking you while your down.

"Now that was just our special exhibition match, special made. Now, now we get to see the rest of the rookies. Remember to place your bets. All bets are final"

Vorn picks up Vanya body before the guards come... and quietly carries her out. Most didn't bother trying to stop him. Instead he just bring her to the 'quiet' area (as quiet as it can be in places like these) for the fighters and lays her down on a bench.

He takes leans agaist a nearby wall and quietly waits. Mostly to see if she stirs...or if he will need to take her to the hospital. He...may have gone overboard.

Feral has posed:
Vanya's broken body put up the fight of two or three women before it went down and it weighs like it too in the steel orc's arm. Limply hanging in his grip, she looks and feels human again, without the wild, animalistic fervor that was driving her earlier... Asleep, unconscious, dead?

A thin trail of blood makes its way down the side of her cheek and towards the floor, and there's an eeriness to how readily her back contours itself to his arm. The fighter's hair dangles beneath her like the cape of a fallen general and her face, frozen in time, is oddly soft. In the very last moments of oxygen-starved unconsciousness, there must have been a moment of peace.

Once she's laid out on the bench, with her calloused feet poking a little bit off one side, Feral remains still as the grave. There's no rise or fall from her chest, no reassuring *thump* of a beat, and if there is any meager breath drawn into her crushed lungs, it's far from rousing any attention in the still-noisy warehouse.