Logs:Dirk the Gentle Vs. The Rhino

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Dirk the Gentle Vs. The Rhino

Characters: Kyros and Tris
Date: 2020-01-04
Summary: Two Crimson Courtiers meet at an illegal fight. Neither walks away disappointed.
Disclaimers: {{{disclaimers}}}

The decent folk of New Orleans are probably at home, settled with their nearest and dearest around their dinner tables, with food laid on and conversation shared (if anyone can get of their screened devices long enough to be bothered with the typical social conventions of human contact). Those decent folks are not here. The people who have slipped into this abandoned building in Iberville, a part of the city where there are still a wide variety of repairs yet to be made from the utter devastation of Katrina, have come in ones and twos and small groups, trickling in over the last hour.

The din of the noise has risen from low conversation with bets being placed by illegal bookies to a fever pitch as fighters dance into the ring, roaring in challenge, in exultation for the cheers that meet them. No one is trying to be quiet now. The cops will inevitably be called, but probably not before the fights finish. This bare-knuckled fight has no rules but what a man can do and what a man can't do, and that's just how this dizzied crowd thirsting for the sight of blood and pain wants it.

It's a perfect place for Summer to prowl, feeling the surge and rise of the mortals in the throes of passion, of competition, primed for rage when their favored fighter starts to lose. The man with the glowing scars, a lurid orange with dashes of algae green keeps to the back of the crowd, not wearing (for once) anything designer, but a simple pair of ripped jeans and a grungy tee-shirt with the name of some band on the front. Aside from those scars, spread along his jaw and up toward his cheek on the right side of his face, his natural good looks and the intense heat of him known only to those who see through the Mask within two arm's lengths of him, there's nothing to mark Tris as anything unusual among the fans.


Re-building an empire isn't easy. It requires time, energy, connections, and... money. Kyros has managed to land himself a part-time job, and so he has enough to live on. He needs much, much, much more. No legit 'job' is going to help him turn his pathetic wage into a fortune, so here he is.

The Middle-Eastern man moves through the crowd with the confidence of someone used to such gatherings, even if he's a newcomer to this one (indeed, to the city itself). Still, there's a presence to him, a bearing, that keeps people from hassling him. Those who can see through the mask might understand why. The man, who's just wearing a pair of jeans and sneakers, sans shirt, is obviously an Elemental, his obsidian 'skin' broken into scale-shaped forms, embers burning between them. Small horns sproud from his hear and shoulders. Fire tickles his feet and ankles, leaving a trail of sparks and ashes behind him. The heat isn't just from the fire, either - although his Mantle is not as powerful as Tris' own, it's strong for a man who escaped a mere year ago.

Dark eyes scan the crowd quickly, spotting the bookies, and he heads in that direction. He's nearly there when he spots Tris. His head tilts slightly, a somewhat reptilian gesture, and he snorts. He gives the other Lost a little salute from across the crowd. It seems he's going to place his bets before making an introduction.

It doesn't take him long - he doesn't have a lot of funds. A couple bets, hopefully well-placed, and then he's moving towards the man with the glowing scars.


It's practically a universal truth that the Lost have trust issues. And yet, when dark blue eyes land on the Elemental, his eyes widening ever so slightly, Tris' lips tug at the edges into the smile of the man finding someone who shares his secret. The up-nod from the Crimson Courtier with the extensive scarring that runs down his bare forearms with his 'artistically' (read: nonsensically) re-arranged tattoos is acknowledgement of the little salute.

He doesn't crowd the other Lost while the obsidian man with the embers inside his skin conducts his business with the unsuspecting mortals who get the bets on the books before the fight begins, but once the business is concluded, that intense near inferno is coming into range. The zealous lift in cheers signals the start of the match but Tris' attention is now on the man who gets uplifted brows from under the fall of his floppy fringe of brown hair as Tris comes enough into range to recognize the man's oath to the same Court that holds his own allegiance. "Tris," the scarred man offers the other Changeling, expression largely neutral but edged with curiosity. He doesn't bother with unnecessary obvious words like 'we haven't met' or 'fancy seeing you here.' Maybe he thinks they don't need such niceties under the circumstances.


The Elemental moves towards where Tris is standing, but stops at a reasonable distance - close enough to converse over the din, while still retaining a 'safe' personal space. Those dark eyes study Tris for a brief moment, rather intently, and then he gives a grunt. Is that a little trail of smoke that comes out of his nose when he does? It might be. He seems to appreciate the lack of small talk, however, and he doesn't try to add any of his own.

"Kyros." With that, he points to his eyes, then towards the fighters in the pit, and he turns in that direction. For a moment, it might seem as if Tris has been dismissed. Just a moment, however, and then Kyros speaks in a low, rumbling, accented voice, "Dirk the Gentle. It is said that he can disable his opponent without drawing blood. I wish to see this." Not to mention, he wishes to see weather or not he's going to win.

His gaze narrows as he focuses on the fight. His intensity is more than simple harvesting. He's invested. It's the fact that he put every single cent he had on the fight, most likely, but Tris doesn't know that. "Who is your bet on?"


The Beast's eyes blink when there just might be smoke, but it makes his smile grow wider and adds no wariness to his expression. Perhaps he's foolhardy, perhaps he's daring. Either way, he seems to welcome his fellow Lost's company. His attention strays to the crowd, to the fight, when Kyros' does, but comes back before the Elemental's returns to him. "As well you should. It's impressive. Who can say if he'll manage it tonight?" Tris' lips purse with a slight amused look, but then... this Lost has little to lose.

"No bet tonight. I like the ambiance," which is to say, he's hungry. There is no feel in the air to suggest he's harvesting the room ripe with emotion, not yet. Perhaps he knows this scene well enough to know the mood can rise higher, the high can be sweeter, the flavor-- better, if only he can have the patience to wait. "Tempers sometimes take a turn in the back alley after the fight. Sometimes the after-fight is better than the event itself." This is offered with a slight lean toward the Elemental as one sharing a trick of the trade, or at least, of this particular location.

"I haven't seen you around before," and presumably this is Tris' sort of scene often enough that he blends well, then again... this does seem to be a place that welcomes beasts and monsters in all their forms. "I thought I knew all the Crimson sworn in the city." And there's something to that that has him measuring Kyros against some internal gauge.


There's a grunt at Tris' first words, about wondering if good old Dirk will succeed this evening. A quick glance towards Tris and back to the fighters, and a flicker of annoyance, indicates that he's less a spectulative sort of person and more the sort of person who wants to see for himself. As Tris continues, however, Kyros looks back, smirking. "Mmm." That's his response to the ambiance and the tempers flaring. Kyros is obviously a man (dragon?) of many words. Still, he looks like he approves. Maybe. It's hard to tell with Elementals.

He turns back to the fight, watching as the two opponents begin to go at each other. Dirk the Gentle and The Rhino, who is built like one and is known for his incapacitating headbutts. Dirk is the more agile, weaving and dodging. So far, no one's gotten beaten. It's disappointing, really.

Kyros grunts again at Tris' words. Definitely a little plume of smoke. "Better how?" He doesn't sound skeptical - he's quite sure they are better - but he's curious about exactly /why/ Tris personally finds them better. As for Tris' question, he shrugs, still focused on the fight. "Because I have not been here before. And assuming I am the newest of the sworn, then you /do/ know them all, since we have met." The Rhino lunges towards Dirk and Kyros tenses, but Dirk spins away, performing some thing of agile-magic spin-kick, and the Rhino appears momentarily stunned.


Something about Kyros' matter-of-fact words makes Tris grin. There's no complaint for the brevity of speech overall. Who better than a Summer to appreciate the punch the right few words can deliver? "Two birds with the figurative stone." Tris' regular volume of speech is really only just loud enough to be heard at this proximity. With the cacophony of noise in the crowd, there's enough of a cover that even if someone were to overhear the Changeling's words to his fellow, it could easily be dismissed as nonsense. "This... this is good, but it's a mix." There's the competition, the passion, the joy, the disappointment, but the rage is flickers and flares. The frustration is building with the lack of blood being spilt, but it's dull yet.

"The wrath in the back-alley fights... it's just got that special something." That something that lets Crimson Courtiers pay the contract to their Season and get something out of it themselves. "It's always more visceral a feeling when their own blood is on the line." Or bone, or whatever else might be sacrificed in a throw down without the law to stop them. "As long as the cops don't break it up beforehand..." Tris adds glancing at the riotous crowd with some measure of doubt as there are mixed sounds of disappointment and excitement when Dirk takes advantage of the stun to sweep another leg about and take the Rhino down at the knee.

This might be the tipping point... except the Rhino is known for more than just his vicious headbutts. The flex of abdominals and a rock back onto his lats before driving back toward the glutes has the more muscular fighter turning the fall into a spring back onto his feet, followed by a rage-filled charge.


Kyros grunts at Tris' words, but doesn't comment on them or reply. Apparently, that was good enough, for the time being. He focuses his attention on the fight, which is heating up. Rhino charges, and he knocks the agile Drik off his feet, sending him back across the fighting area. He crumples, but he's up in a moment, even as the Rhino prepares to charge. This time, Dirk's ready. He's slower now, winded, but he manages to leap, to grab the Rhino's charing shoudlers and flip himself over the larger man, swinging back and twisting to slam his feet into the back of the Rhino's knees. The Rhino goes down, and Dirk dodges to avoid going down with him. He mostly succeeds, but the Rhino's got his leg and gives a tug.

Now the combatants are in wrestling territory, and it's not looking good for Dirk. Kyros grimaces, murmuring to himself, "Well? Do it, motherfucker." He's imagining his funds trickling away. That was everything, all he had. Tris is still talking, though, and that draws him back somewhat. Irritated from the fight, he replies in a low, curt voice, "It's child's play to delay cops. No reason for them to show up at all."

Dirk isn't doing well. He relies on certain strike points to take down his opponents, but the Rhino is a brute. He's having trouble breaking that armor. And he's starting to get winded. Kyros growls, then turns away from the fight. He looks at Tris, those embers flaring. "Fuck these guys. How much do the winners get?"


The shrug of the scarred man's shoulders is distracted because there's something about the way the crowd's demeanor is turning more frustrated with Dirk's repeated attempts to take down Rhino not meeting success that's building that feeling. "Hang on," is all Tris says before he submerges himself in the crowd of spectators, his voice knitting with the others. It's less an act of persuasion and more one closer akin to carousing, even if Tris lacks a drink in hand. He's stoking the fire of frustration. His voice can be heard to shout, "HIT HIM, DIRK!" which is taken up by others calling similar advice.

Obviously Dirk is the favorite and as the frustration kindles into embers of rage that the favorite isn't delivering, Tris turns his attention on one particularly fervid participant and sips from that rage, the one becoming slightly subdued as the Changeling steals that feeling and feeds his Glamour, feeds his bargain with Summer. It's enough to do what Tris came here for and even as Rhino looks to hold that advantage, using brute strength to hold his opponent’s agility in check, the Summer Courtier is extricating himself from the largely booing crowd, looking brighter in the eye, and refreshed, even a little naturally high.

He's back at Kyros' side and actually looking like he might be ready to go now that he's gotten his. "You need cash? A place to stay?" His hand slides into a pocket, producing a wallet as though he might hand the other Lost cash on the spot. What he actually produces are a handful of business cards which he thumbs through while waiting for an answer. All the earlier comments get boiled down to one distracted response: "Holding off the cops seems useful. I might have work for you down the line." If, that is, Kyros can stomach the idea of taking work from a man who seems in need of nothing.


Kyros snorts as Dirk tells him to hang on. He waves the other Lost away dismissively, but there's a wry smirk across the Elemental's lips after Tis has gone. He's used to being the one to tell people to 'hang on'. It's a strange feeling, even if his own reaction was dismissive. He doesn't have too much time to dwell on it, however, because then Dirk's fans are getting riled up. He hears Tris, and then the following cry. He can't help but to chuckle and murmur to himself, "I think I like that kid." A pause. "Wait, kid? He's probably older than you are." He realizes he's speaking out loud and he grows quiet. Thankfully, the crowd likely drowned anything he said out.

The fight continues, and Kyros focuses on that. The cheering seems to have given Dirk the courage and energy he needed. He comes back, jumping up on the edge of the ring and then launching himself at the Rhino as he charges. He lands on the man's back and, finally, finds a crack in the armor. A quick jab to the back of the neck and the Rhino goes down, out cold. Dirk, bruised and beaten, crawls out from under the brute and the crowd goes wild. Tris' theft is quickly forgotten, even by the victim. At least until those dreams later.

Kyros smiles. When he notices Tris' return, the smile vanishes quickly, and for a moment Kyros looks like he might have been caught doing something naughty. He quickly narrows his gaze and growls, "I don't want your fucking..." Charity. But it's not money being offered but business cards. His words trail off and he takes the cards with a grunt. "It'd better pay well. I can speed them up, too." He tucks the business cards away and nods.

"I'll see you next time, Tris." He starts to turn, to go and collect his winnings. Double, at least. It's still nothing, not even a drop in the ocean, of what he's used to. But it's a start.


The cards eventually forked over are for the Changeling Community Center, with the associated passcode to get an identification card there, a card for Tris himself (a high quality matte black card with white lettering: D. Kesel, Photographer, Kesel Holdings and a phone number). "The community center is set up for residence, but you have to talk with Robin who's one of ours. They," Tris helpfully stresses the pronoun, "are a star. Or were a star. You might like them. We've set a lot of things on fire together." That has a delighted, boyish grin for the fond memory.

"If that doesn't suit, you can text me, my number's the other card, and the king might have a place for you. He's putting up another Crimson right now while she gets settled. Her name is Molly. Robin, Molly, you and I. That's it." For their Season, he means. That he knows of, anyway. "You can choose the jobs that pay the right thing when I get things up and running. Bounties." He adds, but it sounds promising for the self-making-man-- er, dragon, doesn't it? Well, possibly, anyway. "If you need something else in the meantime, you have my card. My name..." He shrugs, "At least with ours," the Summers, "it might carry weight. Might not." He flashes another grin, this one Devil-may-care; he doesn't give a shit if it does or not, apparently. "I'll see you around Kyros." Then he's leaving the other Summer to collect his winnings and he, himself, is heading out into the night.


Kyros watches Tris with those dark eyes. The rest of him seems to be coming apart, but his eyes are just dark, depthless pitts. He stares at Tris with that alien gaze as the scarred man goes on, and on, and one. Kyros quietly tucks the information away, along with the cards. And finally, as Tris winds down, and flashes that grin, Kyros grunts. Another little plume of smoke.

"You talk a lot." It almost seems as if he's ended it there before he adds, "I'll see you again, soon. And the others." He doesn't clarify which others, but there were only two other names offered. He looks at Tris another moment, snorts again, this sime faintly amused, and he turns to head off to collect his bounty, and let Tris collect his.