The First Rule About Fight Club...

[Revenchent]

It seemed the Death Watch couldn't keep their claws out of anything as of late.

There had been reports of their activities in Kurs'taylir in the past. They were nothing serious; a few groups of sympathizers voicing their opinions, mostly. Occasionally you had the crazed fool who actually went out and did something, but that fool ended up with a blaster bolt between the eyes more often than not.

Things had changed in the past few weeks.

A number of killings had occurred in the Death Watch's name. Cal had come across some of their operatives personally just a few days ago. The results had been gruesome, but with Mel's help, he'd managed to pull through on top. Since then, he'd cracked down on their activities within Tal'verda's holdings.

It had only been a matter of time until he found himself in the shadier part of Kurs'taylir.

The shock boxing leagues were perfectly legal in most circumstances, but the real money shifted hands in the underground circuit. Cal knew of its existence - knew that its fighters often fought in particularly dangerous conditions not condoned by Mandalore's league, but more pressing issues had stolen his attention.

Now he was wishing they hadn't.

He wore his full suit of beskar'gam as he strode into the facility which housed most of the matches. The armor was old and belonged to his late brother - not a soul would recognize him. He had asked the help of one of the Tal'verda elders, a Gen'dai who had seen generations go by. Cal had a feeling he would be able to find the sympathizers with far more ease than anyone else.

Mel was expected to come along as well, as was the usual.

Currently, the chieftain was content to find his way near the arena and watch the going-ons. Death Watch dealt in coin here, and the volatile fighters often proved easily manipulated by a cause promising blood and glory.

The culprits would show up on their own. All Cal needed to do was watch.

 

[Sam Rodarch]

Another night, another fight.

The venue was the warehouse, the largest arena that they fought in by far. Dark, dirty and with high ceilings, if you listened carefully enough a solid smack in the chops would echo to the very top. Not that you had the chance to listen, the roar of the spectators, the gamblers and the drinkers drowned out any semblance of action that took place inside of the ring.

It was set up like a moving operation, crates of goodness knows what left behind by whatever operation had been working there last, temporary lighting set up, illuminating the ring that sat within the middle of the room.

There had been a few warm up bouts already, mostly between the really young and the really old. Just a small taster, to get the crowd really riled up and ready for blood.

To Sam Rodarch however, the crowd was nothing but background noise. She wasn't a woman that fought for glory or honour, she was a woman that fought for the sake of fighting, because it sated the thirsting beast of rage that sat atop her mind at all times.

Her opponent tonight was Stosst, an unlucky Trandoshan that had not been given the gift of height as his species was accustomed to. Nasty bugger with a serious case of short person syndrome.

There was a strange sense of equality in the world of underground shockboxing. Women fought with men, aliens fought with humans, it was a veritable free-for-all, with the only close guide being a vague recollection of weight classes. She was rarely rejected for being a woman fighting against men, and hell, she wasn't the only one. Mandalore's culture spoke highly of their women, of their mothers, they were like bears and more than capable of looking after themselves.

Rolling into the ring, the woman began to adjust her gloves, a heated scowl affixed to her features. The betting was against her tonight, she was the outsider at ten-to-one whereas Stosst was sitting comfortably at one-to-twenty, you'd have to put big money on the lizard to get anything worthwhile back.

Whatever.

---

[member="Calico Tal'verda"]

 

[Ba'vodu Atin]

With a heavy laugh Atin patted the shoulder of Calico, "Seems a bit soft using gloves for a fight, your father's father's father wouldn't have been caught dead with a set on. Quite a left hook let me tell you! Why one time we were going at it he got one in on me that set my ears ringing. Of course that wouldn't happen so much if they weren't under my chin, but it makes the humanoids so much less jumpy. Ah yes, no fancy ring like this though, no my boy, we were just swinging half drunk around the good roar of a fire. Believe it was over who's spear killed the alpha, ah good times." His grin didn't die a bit though as he waited for the perspective fight, his fangs exposed for all to see.

Bright orange eyes scanned the crowd though in search of friendly faces, and memories of older days. The room was a bit warm for him, the heat of close bodies filling the air with sweat and a dozen different odors. It made him miss the quiet of the wilds, the fierce cold of the northern winds, but he was needed here he supposed. The Gen'dai let his senses relax a bit the reverberations of a dozen conversations ringing in his ears, it was a bit much to take in sometimes. With a quiet hum he brought his head down towards Calico's level. "You know, I once boxed a bear, now that's sport! Ah, he rent me up pretty good before I got him down. Ended up shoving half my arm down his mouth when he tried to bite me, not the cleanest win, but a win's a win. This one though we could make some money on this one, might draw some attention out our way. A big payout always makes the people behind the bookies awfully curious."

[member="Sam Rodarch"]
[member="Calico Tal'verda"]

 

[Melina Tervho]

Mel wasn't especially excited about being shoved into a full kit for their undercover trip to a shockboxing ring, but considering that most people around the chieftain had come to at least recognize the black hair and bright ice blue eyes of the new girl, she had to dress the part tonight. Cal was wearing someone else's armor and so she was forced into a suit of beskar'gam she knew she had no business wearing. She pleaded to wear a different suit, maybe an envirosuit or something but nothing could be found in time.

She also had different weapons tonight. A pair of old, cobbled together slug throwers graced her hips. Kinetic damage to the chest plates would stun enough to drop an opponent. She could kill outright if she aimed for the ribs on the sides. Beskar was not a really effective armor solution in most cases.

She took interest in the fight coming up. She couldn't understand why, but she liked the look of the woman who was pitted against the Trandoshian. Mel threw in 100 credits on her. Might as well get into the part if she was playing a gambler tonight.

She watched the one who kept shadowing Cal, but he just wanted to talk. No reason to answer or get involved in Cal's business. She wished she could pull the helmet off and have a drink. A bourbon would hit the spot right about now.

[member="Ba'vodu Atin"] [member="Sam Rodarch"] [member="Calico Tal'verda"]

 

[Revenchent]

Ba'vodu had a point.

The more credits they threw around, the more interesting they became. That was the nature of the dark, dingy places that lined Kurs'taylir's great gates. Folks came around credits and reputation. Having one usually meant you had the other, and if it didn't, that was usually on the roads of change anyway. The Alore of Clan Tal'verda couldn't help but snicker at the ancient Gen'dai's recollections of the past - recollections Calico had stopped believing were all fact.

Yes, at first, he had been mesmerized by the ancient alien. The old hodger knew things no one else in the clan could even begin to comprehend. But then, as time did to all, so it did to Ba'vodu. Cal assumed half the osik spewing out of the great warrior was unequivocally bull, but he never worded such. Doing so would be disrespect, and half those foolhardy stories tended to have a moral to them.

The Manda knew he needed some of those these days.

"If anyone starts looking at you wrong, let me know." He teased through the private circuit between himself and Mel. The woman could more than handle herself, but the sentiment was all the same. "My money is on the girl. She looks tough. Thoughts?"

He asked for opinions, but he'd already slipped eighty credits across the counter to the booky. Sometimes you just had to act. "She's got spunk."

[member="Melina Tervho"], @Ba'vodu Atin, [member="Sam Rodarch"]

 

[Ba'vodu Atin]

With a deep grumble he shook his head before tripling the bet, if she pulled the fight off be quite the payoff. "Spunk eh? If your gut tells you she's got it then bet like it. That's how your father's father won that old speeder bike, ah he'd ride that thing all the time. Well until he got all the responsibilities that come with age, always told him he should keep it running a bit of play keeps life in perspective. Not like ole Jak though, never stopped playing, well at least until he was shot for cheating at pazaac. Sad day, he had a good singing voice always liked him on a hunt. Of course this was about a hundred years ago now, maybe a hundred fifty its hard sometimes pinning it all down. Its too bad though, but some never learn."

Looking about the room he nearly forgot the point he was trying to make until he looked at his own bet again, if she did manage to win the house was going to be unhappy. Of course if she didn't pull it out well, no point thinking over spilled milk. Besides there were other ways to gain more attention then you wanted most of the time, a good thrashing of a bookie and hollering about fixed fights was certainly another one.

[member="Calico Tal'verda"] [member="Melina Tervho"] [member="Sam Rodarch"]