Float like a butterfly, sting like a yeener

The Cage 
#1
@Peter Von Bogér Wiper


Here again, as if he'd made a den here. The truth of the matter was he often took breaks in work to slip beneath any radar he might have mistakenly pinged on. There would be months at a time he did not have any task at hand. It did well that people paid good money for the work he did. Currently, all Echo had on his plate was searching for a suitable place to live in, ask occupying a hotel room was not among the things he most enjoyed. Now he was certain he would be staying long term, he saw no reason not to invest in at least a six month lease somewhere.

Otherwise, he was free to do things at his leisure. It so happened that The Cage was one fine source of entertainment for someone like himself. Both as spectator and participant, he enjoyed his time here. Some times, more than others. This would be the second time that he noticed a starkly familiar smell upon entering, though this time he did not spot the other hyena immediately. Echo was certain of it, and given he had little else to do but put his name in, he tasked himself with sniffing down the source. Perhaps it was Avery again, or perhaps, someone more exciting.
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#2
Outfit = shirt and cutoff jorts

Five weeks from her last fight had been enough to patch her face and body back together, wiggly teeth resettling their roots, cuts and bruises fading back to jaundice-yellow traces around the periphery of landed blows. But somewhere in this recovery she had grown haggard, a little strung-out, a little thinner. She had paced the whole neighborhood, and then the next neighborhood over, and ended up veering into the Cage, agitated and sweating. She needed to bash her head against something, and maybe her luck could finally change and her new buddy Dante would be lurking and they could blow new holes into each other.

She didn't see him, though, or anything worth fighting. Broke and angry, she slouched into a bar stool and scanned the crowd for any other familiar faces.
And then suddenly, after an excruciating wait, her eyes blackened, and Becky blinked to life. Kin, said the hyena. Asswipe, said Pete. She looked for his head in the crowd and waited, waited for him to come.
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#3
As if on auto-pilot, he let his senses drive him through the crowd. She drew him in like a beacon, and when he finally spotted 'Pete' looming by the bar, a wicked smile curled into his lips. How funny, she'd expressed some interest in harming him before, and now they were both in the building dedicated to doing just that. Where other places might not be appropriate to jam his fist into that fat mouth of hers, well... He approached directly, but moved to the left of her and addressed the bartender. Two Heinekens, open tab. "You look terrible." He informed the woman beside him, the hyena huffing and puffing as it presented him with the idea of moving closer to truly touch. Patience was key, here. They would have time later.
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#4
He smiled at her, and on another day she would have appreciated that. She remembered him being sour the whole time in the hedge maze, and Pete had no patience for sticks in the mud.

Except, that was her. She was stuck. And seeing Snagglepuss happy to see her was not enough to unwedge herself from the mire. She straightened as he approached, and then prickled with a low-grade electrical current as he ignored her, just to get a rise. Becky was outer than she should be, making Pete's eyes all black, but she figured the look would show her disapproval. She blinked at him and began to dial up a smirk. "Least I look good some of the time. You look like a Home Alone villain at the end of the movie."

Hey, real quick: fuck you, Echo.
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#5
He might have been more insulted if he grasped the reference. Since he did not, he regarded her with a expressionless stare as he turned to actually look to her. Her eyes were darker than normal. "If we were anywhere else, I'd advise you to keep your eyes down." He said, eyeing the gaunter features of the woman he had met a short number of times before. Something was decidedly off. Two bottles were slid his way, and Echo took one to offer to her, before bringing the second to his lips. The tips of his teeth were sharper than they often were, regrown after a recent shift and not filed as diligently as he had been. It made drinking a conscious effort.
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#6
UH EXCUSE??? He was one to talk, and at least her eyes were fucking dark and not fucking, what was that even, white? His irises were completely washed out and it gave him fucking cartoon eyes. She accepted the beer with a hard squint at its owner, feeling Becky huff and strain to get at the hyena just a little distance away. She took a long drink. "What are you up to?"
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#7
Such skepticism! Could he not be kind and offer someone a drink? “What is anyone here up to?” He countered, aware that it would annoy. “Inviting you to put your name in with mine.” He said after a beat of a pause that an ugly smirk accompanied. Another drink, deeper this time to match her pace.
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#8
Her eyes rolled. "I meant in general, but thanks for clarifying. I didn't clock you as a Cedar Creek guy." The bottle tipped again, and more than half of it was gone; beer was fucking soda to a were, it didn't matter. "Tell me what you been up to first."
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#9
Nosy, nosy. He supposed he did have plans to pry at her. “Cedar Creek is only good for this place.” He corrected. What was there to enjoy about being surrounded by wolves? “I’ve been staying quiet, being peaceful.” The genuine truth. He finished another sip before adding, “Visiting a place called the Food Rally in Crestview. A vampire killed a hyena I knew there.” It was a futile effort, but it filled his schedule every other evening.


”I fought his widow here recently.” He finished off the beer, finding it largely useless. Was that enough information for her?
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#10
He offered up some moderately interesting information, and Pete had it in her to appreciate, just a little, that she didn't have to drag it out from him. She gathered that the widow was probably Avery, of the supernatural monster spawn. She had met the woman once, in passing. "Why'd he get killed?"
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#11
A question for the ages. "He found himself in a fight he couldn't win, I suppose." The details had been lost in the midst of emotion and grieving. He was not sure how much Avery or Alina even knew. "Not enough trips to the Cage." He added darkly, a small smirk forming.
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#12
"Hmm." She finished her bottle, holding this thought in her head. Supernatural murders weren't so common, so wasn't it more likely to have some history behind it, some intention? But having never met the guy, she let it pass. "You ever fight a vampire before?"
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#13
"I've come close." He said, truthful. There was little point in exaggerating. "But, I know how to pick my battles." If it were a matter of life and death, Echo was one to choose life every time. Pride was one thing, but it wasn't worth his life.
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#14
She thought maybe that was a dig at her — she had been accused before of squaring up for fights she had no business fighting. This didn't bother her much, though, because those people were wrong. "So far," she added, waggling her eyebrows a bit. Noxious as he was, Echo was helping her feel more normal. "Wanna go a few rounds?"
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#15
So far. He hadn't come out of any fight worse than he had expected. Perhaps she could break that pattern. "Another drink," He said with a nod and a smile that was anything but handsome. "To numb the pain."

He would order them both something stronger; gin and tonic. It was hardly enough to do more than have his lips feeling slightly numb, but he did not delay. There was a short process of putting their names in, waiting for the current fight to finish, then being lead to the opposing entrances of the cage. Echo rolled his neck, flexed his fingers, and slipped free of his shoes as he stepped up and into the ring. Across the way, he watched Pete enter as well. He eyed her with a small smirk across his lips, though it was somewhat a hassle to keep them closed entirely. The tips of his teeth, scuffed and chipped from filing, still poked through. Perhaps she would knock some loose. He did regret having to return the favor. She had a pretty face.

He took his stance, feet as wide as his shoulders were, arms raising defensively as he watched her and prepared for her took take the first swing.
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