Burn the Night, Keep the Spirits Strong

The Cage 
#1


 She had leaned forward enough in her seat that her foot tapped against the side of her duffel bag and her body tensed. The ring was currently showing two human men, young enough that she assumed they were here on bravado and the hope to glean some sort of attention from the opposite sex. Which, fine - whatever. All that she really cared about was that the one with the shitty tribal had busted the blonde's lip open and that if he kept wailing o him like that there was a good chance he'd break his nose.

Do you know who paid money to get their shit set? Some ass clown with a broken nose, that's who.

 Without even realizing it completely, she crossed her fingers and watched the bigger one pull back his arm and - "Shit!" It was rushed out in a huff under her breath, raising her hands and dropping them back in her lap when blondie tapped out. Yeah there was still a chance, but usually in such a state it hurt ego's more to sit down across from her then to just suck it up and deal with the cuts and the bruises later.

 Some nights were bank, other's were ... this. Still, not exactly an optimist but stubborn enough to not want to throw in the towel and go home just yet, she craned her neck and glanced about - didn't bother to mask her staring as she assessed patrons and looked for anyone that screamed: 'Hello, I've come out to get my ass handed to me.'
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#2
Outfit no shades no bag no blue thing

The idea, fundamentally, was amusing. A genuine fight club, complete with secrecy and a questionable location. The name itself was something to scoff at. The Cage. Echo did not suspect anything could have been more obviously owned by a Were. Still, there was a fraction of intrigue. Echo was no stranger to violence, and often times reveled in it. It was what he was good at. But actively seeking it for some sort of self gratifying agenda? Be the winner. Be the strongest. It was a simple minded idea. Something he figured might be worth the observation. He was, so far, not disappointed.

Two brutish men pummeled one another in the ring. Echo lingered against the wall, silent and un-moving as he watched with the ghost of a smile on his lips. Clumsy, un-calculated, tired. Like watching two chimps wrestle over a piece of fruit. The one with inked skin seemed to have come out on the better end of the gene pool, and was able to use his mass to knock the fair haired man to the ground. A woman nearby him caught his attention as she exclaimed in what he could only assume was frustration. Young, thin, dark haired, wolf. Accompanied by a bag and looking vaguely hopeful. Echo moved with a measured gait.

"Lost a bet?" He prompted, though his un-even gaze settled on her bag. He did wonder what it was she carried. For her sake, he hoped she was not entirely dim-witted enough to tote money or valuable things to barter on the fights. Then again, he had met those with less sense. Like Chloe, whom taunted a tiger in the public eye at a Zoo.
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#3
 Of all the people she wanted to be approached by, a fully able-bodied stranger didn't make the immediate top of the list. In business mode, agitated by how calm things had been, it was really come fucked up or be a familiar and friendly face. He was neither, clearly hyena (which should have been a comfort but fell short) still, she sighed and used the toe of her boot to drag her bag a bit closer to the foot of her chair. It was more or less an unspoken offer, the ability for him to go ahead and take a seat if he was so inclined.

 "Not quiet, I work here - unofficially." Perhaps officially? Alina knew about her side hustle, but the money only rolled in when the blood did - so ... she watched as they walked off, looked to the table as two employee's tried to work out who to pit against who next. "Are you spectating or are you punching?"
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#4
She did not seem overly cheerful about being approached, and Echo might not have had she not been sporting the bag. What his intention was, he himself was not entirely certain. Curiosity, of course. Though if it was revealed that he was carrying something valuable? He supposed it was up to the sway of conversation on what he did with the information. However, she was inviting enough to let him sit and prompt conversation..

"If you are a referee, I am afraid you are doing a very poor job." He said as he settled down beside her. "I do not often fight with fists," He thumbed the hilt of the knife quite blatantly strapped to his hip. "And I have no interest of sending a human to the hospital. Too soft." He said simply. A single punch might even be deadly, if he were not mindful of the force he used. It seemed like an awful lot of work for such little reward.
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#5
 Her eyes traveled to his waist when he motioned to the side - pursing her lips but saying nothing else to creep knife guy about it. "Not a referee, actually - a medic." Well, an unemployed (at least where the field was concerned) veterinarian. But medic sounded way, way, way cooler - so what was a little gloss, really?

 "So having you beat up the soft guys actually stands to benefit me a great deal." From her experience they usually tried to keep Were's and human's separate, but it was hardly a hard rule anyway.
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