868/Investigating Rover

Investigating Rover
Date of Scene:	09 June 2017
Location:	Unknown
Synopsis:	Summary needed
Cast of Characters:	Ares, Feral

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Ares has posed:
    It had taken some doing, some digging to get into what's happened around the ephemeral 'Rover' and seeking to find out those whom he had associated with. Words were spared between the tall man and some of the bookies, men of low character who would pass paper on just about anything, but the thing of late that has most of their attention has been The Circuit. That underground fighting ring that's a no hold's barred rampage between two people trying to get the better over the other. Rover had a presence there, had a good angle on playing the line between weight classes, not that there really were such a thing. It just made it easier to place bets.
    Those conversations led him on a merry way. First there was Finnegan's which was a run down bar that put all its money into the arena beneath it. Then there was that place in Hell's Kitchen, what a sty. But here, at The Pit, it's where all the big time fighters go and they make their money.
    At first nobody really paid much attention to him. Sure he was a tall guy, but in this place, six foot seven isn't nothing to crow about. And sure he had a way about him, stepping through the crowd and talking up the guy that passes for the bartender, doling out the booze without a whit of customer service to him. But some of the people in the crowd had heard about him. That was the guy Rover crossed, he's been nosing around. People hate the curious, and this guy ain't making any friends.

Feral has posed:
    Lounging in the back of the Pit with barely half an eye on the raised ring in the center, one of the city's regular entertainment is recuperating with a beer mug. Looking more than a little worse for wear, her red pants are in shredded tatters and her upper body is peppered with bruises and held together by bandages binding her chest and one shoulder. A tanktop is draped across her neck like a towel and some of the deeper cuts on her arms haven't quite stopped bleeding. The thin one on her face has at least sealed shut.
    Ask around enough and this is where a curious nose will be pointed. Feral's namesake attitude is about as well-known as her brutally efficient and equally ugly bastardization of martial arts styles, but the woman brawler's... affinity for things clawed and bestial has made itself evident in her choice of ring opponents, and Rover is one she's been meaning to catch.

Ares has posed:
    If she takes the time she might see the steady progression. The tall man with the beard and the stubbly hair is making the rounds. He shows a picture to the bartender, leaning forwards as he offers a dog-eared image printed out, just a small angle on a being that if someone knows him is clearly poor Rover.
    The tender snorts and waves off another order as he speaks with the incognito Olympian. Something is said that causes the man behind the bar to smirk, then some currency is exchanged. With the toll paid he gestures with a nod towards Vanya. It's enough to cause John Aaron to turn and look across the room, gaze falling upon the relaxing fighter. A small nod is returned to the tender and with that he moves across the room.
    A moment later, two, the man's shadow will fall across her, blocking out the dim halogen in the ceiling and then his voice will break her reverie. "I am told you prefer to go by the name Feral."

Feral has posed:
    By the time he gets to her, the recovering fighter has gotten herself quite comfortable - and started on her second drink. With her bare feet propped on a box and her good shoulder resting against a support beam, Vanya looks up with the laziness of a sunning crocodile at the man blocking her light.
    "I don't really care but that's what people say when they want to fight me," she drawls before taking another sip. With her mouth shut, a couple jagged teeth poke out from her lip on the left side.

Ares has posed:
    "Well," The man rests a hand upon the back of a chair opposite her, "It makes it easier to direct my words than just shouting 'hey you' throughout the place." A quirked eyebrow is given to her asking the silent question if he can take the seat. Unless she out and out says no he'll pull it out, and sit down.
    He leans forwards enough to rest his arms upon the table, fingers interlacing as he murmurs, "What do people call you when they don't want to fight you?" The tall man asks with a certain calm confidence, as if the sunning crocodile was just another pair of eyes in the night at the watering hole. He does, however, catch the eye of a passing server and orders a beer without caring too much about the brand.

Feral has posed:
    "Hey you," the brown-eyed woman shrugs. "Or Vanya, but those are the boring names," she notes with a bit of a grin. She barely seems to notice her company sitting down and wiggles her toes a bit as she knocks back a hearty drink from her mug.
    "So what do you want?" she asks with an off-hand curiosity that's made spear-sharp by the momentary snap of her eyes locking onto his with a small flare of her nostrils to sniff the air.

Ares has posed:
    Most of the eyes of the herd, of the prey, they're so dull, so glassy. They are these empty orbs that barely recognize when she is near and threatening to snap. But then across that table he meets her gaze and perhaps for the first time she looks at him, can see not just the silhouette of the being before her, but those eyes. They're brown, a neutral color. But there is something in them, an intensity that when her own spirit of the primal roils and growls, she can almost see its match there. It's like two predators squaring off, each taking the measure of the other.
    And few of the herd she hunts can hold her gaze long. But him. He holds it. And he smiles.
    He is definitely out of the ordinary, something other than he seems, and the scent that comes from him is a pure primal aspect of blood and sweat and exertion tinged with almost the tang of ozone. Yet he maintains his facade, impeccably so as he tells her, "I am seeking a man you may know. A wolf man who goes by the name of..." He tilts his head slightly, "Rover, I believe."

Feral has posed:
    Vanya... smiles, an action that draws back her upper lip to flash a mismatched row of teeth, human until a jagged patch of large fangs on the left with a single missing member in the middle of them - someone's souvenir from her latest fight.
    "Oh I know dog-breath. I've been trying to catch him in the ring for weeks," the snaggletoothed woman purrs, staring dead into the man's eyes just because she can. The next breath that fills her lungs travels deep to the pit of her stomach, straightening and tightening the shapeshifter's body before the man that's willing to rouse her namesake fire.

Ares has posed:
    "My name is John Aaron. Dog-breath was hired to take something of mine," John keeps her gaze and seems at ease, as if wherever he was was simply where he belonged and all others were simply passing time in what was his. "He attempted to break in, and attacked my son. Luckily I was able to intercede and he fled." There's a tilt to the side as he gauges her, eyes drifting over each aspect of her countenance and her physique, clearly taking her measure.
    "I was told you knew him, might know where to find him. Currently I wish to share only words with him and find who hired him. Beyond that..." He flares a hand to the side slightly, as if whatever passed then was not his concern. But then he quirks an eyebrow, "Would you be willing to help me, Vanya?"

Feral has posed:
    There's a lot to measure across the woman stretched carelessly out across from him. The subtle callouses on her knuckles and the soles of her feet, the lack of any cuts peeking out to match the torn openings of her tattered pants, the companion odours of blood and sweat that mingle with John's own just before being lost in the pit's haze, and the more blatant physique exposed around her bandages all say the same story that's carved in the earthy rings in Vanya's eyes: John's speaking with a member of homo sapiens and all its quarter-million years of fought and earned history that placed it at the top of the food chain.
    Little valleys form in the woman's stomach as she spots the roaming eyes and her body responds, showing a peek of the well-honed condition she's made her living with. Not superhumanly developed like some mutants that frequent the rings, Vanya's body still has the litheness of its original nature, a predatory grace sprung from feminine sleekness, and if the years have visited her yet they've been too afraid to come too close. No wrinkles or gauntness has marred her yet. Half-dressed as she is with the bandages, the feral fighter is also displaying some rather severe tan lines.
    Smiling just a bit more at the attention, Vanya gives John as much time as he needs. "I can find him," she assures. "But I might ask you to ref a match after how long I've been waiting... how much is he worth to you?"

Ares has posed:
    That regard is a palpable thing as the man considers her. For some there might be a turning of the head, a hint of trepidation for she has the bearing of one who puts others on edge. The utter unapologetic aspects of her existence could in some ways repel most of those who spend any time around her. But him, she for the moment has no idea of what she represents to him in her own way. The marks, the callouses, the contour and physicality of her shape it's all a testament to conflict, to the grasping and rending of life from death's stakes. The scent of blood and sweat probably causes most around her to turn their noses up, however accepting they might seem...
    But to him, she is a warrior. And the way the man holds himself, the way his eyes match hers, the way his scent mingles. It might in some ways be as if she were looking at herself. Then her words are offered and his lip curls. To some they might see vague amusement but she sees it for what it is, subtle baring of fang, the flicker of thought of rending and tearing and finding /that/ amusing. He takes another pull of beer and uses that to hide the smile before he sets the bottle down with a resonant clink that's lost in part to the noise of The Pit.
    What is it you would have of me?" He asks, as if in perfect counterpoint.

Feral has posed:
    "I've never turned down good food before, but I'm willing to bargain," Vanya hints as she tucks her hands behind her neck and leans back. Her eyes land on the ceiling, her head tilts back, her jugular is exposed, and the toothy smile settles into an entertained and slightly pointy smirk. She's not in John's domain - John's in hers.
    "Vegetarian only," she adds playfully with a peek back out the corner of her eye.

Ares has posed:
    At those last few words he feigns a wince and shakes his head, "Ah. Vanya. And I was starting to like you." He shakes his head and seems so terribly sad as he looks out across the hunting grounds of her territory. But even at her smirk he seems at ease, as if knowing she won't attack or perhaps figuring that if she does he could handle it. Perhaps, on some level, he might even prefer it.
    But then he looks back at her, "If you help me find Rover, then I will consider making dinner." He holds up his hands as if to stave off the profuse thanks for him offering such a magnanimous deal. He meets those wild eyes of hers and then adds, "But I can't speak too much for my cooking."

Feral has posed:
    "If you're not that good of a cook I'll take the money and buy a real one. I expect the trouble of finding his furry butt to be worth my time," Vanya replies as her expression falls just as fluidly into a momentary frown. But the other comment draws the were-woman more and she drops her head to regard John fully again. "What, you think just because I eat greens instead of bones I'm not tough enough for you?" she jests gamely, taking a hand from behind her head to pat at her stomach. "A girl's got to keep her figure."

Ares has posed:
    Despite his better judgement, John finds himself smiling and shaking his head as he looks away. The same words, the same arrogance from another might have an entirely other effect on him, but there's something about the purity of this being... this person being entirely what they are and unrepentant about being so. He takes a breath and then looks back at her, "I learned a recipe for a good salad and some squash. I'll dig it up." He waves a hand to the side, "I'll feed it to you after I teach you a few tricks that'll make it seem like all this time you've been fighting in the peewees."
    Now that might be an intriguing offer, that is if she has a sense yet of the man before her. It's not an offer made lightly, and in truth it might well be a coin worth more than any other has offered her.

Feral has posed:
    "Oh-ho," Vanya barks with amusement, sitting up again as John plays back. "If you think there's something you can teach me I'll enjoy seeing you try." To someone else the battle-hardened animal with her hide toughened by both man and nature might be less charitable but John's senses aren't the only one's who've caught a glimpse of a familiar chord. He's captured her interest, for the good and bad that may bode.
    Drawing her leg up by her chest and propping it on its twin, the brown-haired and brown-eyed feral Slav drapes her arm across her knee and lifts her beer. "You'd better cook something more substantial than some grass and a gourd, I've got a big appetite."
    "Oh, and I've been called a bad student more than once," she cracks while offering her mug. Some people might shake hands. Some people aren't Vanya.

Ares has posed:
    A snort comes from him as he wraps a hand around the base of his beer, bringing it up to clink against her own, "Yeah, I have no doubt about that." He says as he meets those wild eyes of hers, his own are seemingly calm at a glance to most. But if she looks long enough she'll be able to glimpse past the facade and see that wolfish open mouth smile there. He tilts the bottle back, draining it in one pull, then setting it down precisely in the center of the table.
    "We'll figure something out. Now you want to help me find Rover, or you need some downtime to recover?' The way he says that last, it's almost insulting the way he says it, how dare he?

Feral has posed:
    *glug, glug, glug, gluck...* Vanya doesn't let him go unanswered and after a few audible swallows, her own mug thumps against the table as dry as the Sahara and dead in line between two sets of brown eyes.
    "Well right now I'm starving and looking forward to a good hard nap," the animal answers shamelessly. "Unless you missed all the fights I was just in. How does a little pre-dawn hunt sound to you?"

Ares has posed:
    "Perfect," John pushes himself to his feet, rising to his considerable height and giving her a single precise nod. "I shall return here and look for you?" He asks, one eyebrow lifting as he looks down at this wild creature. He uncurls a few bills from a wad that had been in the pocket of his jacket, a few twenties set down to cover his bill and hers, taking care of it for now.
    "I am..." He pauses for a moment, as if the concept was foreign to him, "Pleased to have met you, Vanta. Til tomorrow." And with that he turns and begins to move back through the crowd, many of the people seemingly instinctively getting out of his way as he walks.