Smack my b*tch up.

[Neiva Ruiz]

It was the abandoned warehouse complex this time, deep in the contested zone between La Raza and Tres Onces territory. Not exactly neutral ground, and more than likely to get her into a fight she wasn't getting paid for.

But she wore the La Raza colors around her wrist anyway. She didn't have much of a death wish, just a violent streak a mile wide and nearly bottomless.

Even the few punk-ass Tres Onces she could see in the crowd weren't stupid enough to challenge Miguel Ruiz (http://i54.tinypic.com/28bfy8m.jpg), Neiva's favorite form for fighting. Not that she never fought as herself, but self was a strange concept to someone who's natural form included something akin to rippling quicksilver. The black leather gloves over Miguel's hands were torn and bloodied from the first three fights, rendering them useless.

Barefoot in one corner of the makeshift ring, he paced side to side, doing a rather credible imitation of a male lion stalking the edge of its territory. Miguel was one of the kings of the circuit, deceptively faster than his heavily muscled frame would lead a normal observer to believe, and possessed of a flexibility that would make a Russian contortionist weep with envy.

It was good to be a 'shifter, Neiva mused, and what would have been a wicked smile on her full crimson lips was instead a vicious smirk on Miguel's strong features. One of the organizers voices rang out, calling for all last minute bets to be placed, heralding the last two minutes before the fight started. Dark eyes lifted to the opposite corner, drinking in the sight of the opponent.

Because Pedro Calaveras was a sight worth savoring, Neiva thought as she leaned Miguel's tall frame against the post behind her, crossing strong arms over a broad chest. A corner of Miguel's mouth turned up in the perfect male version of Neiva's trademark smirk as he tilted his head side to side to crack his neck.

The shouts were getting louder.

Sixty seconds to go.

[Pedro Calaveras]

Pedro Calaveras rolled his shoulders, popping bones in his neck and beck, as he looked across the ring at his opponent. Although the Tres Onces wanted him dead, there weren't many of La Raza's rivals who would go toe to toe with Calaveras, unarmed. They knew they'd get the same results from squaring up to a brick-wall: bloody knuckles and a broken face. Bare-chested, he looked like he'd been cut from stone, the ink on his upper-arms and chest proudly announcing his loyalty to La Raza and Los Santos. He knocked his fists together then spread his arms wide as a surly cheer rippled through the crowd.

“Le's go, carnal.”

He beckoned Miguel forward with both hands then drew his fists up into a loose guard.

[Neiva Ruiz]

She took a moment longer to stare, letting herself appreciate the sight he was, eyes briefly rippling silver as they coursed over the familiar ink embedded in his skin.

Miguel's neck was bent at an odd angle before it lifted and snapped into place with an audible snap as he nodded. An almost sickening sound the crowd seemed to have been waiting for, and one she was only too willing to provide.

The roared as they had for Pedro, but it was a darker sound brimming with anticipation. Tearing the ruined gloves from his hands, Miguel stepped off the post he was leaning on and tossed the leather out of the ring. The gloves wouldn't do much to save his knuckles in this fight anyway.

Feet shoulder width apart, hands were brought up into loose fists, a comfortable guard neatly mirroring Pedro's stance. Miguel moved forward, knees bending slightly as he did, muscles rippling like coiled serpents waiting to strike. A half a breath later, he did, sliding close in a fluid movement to the roar of the crowd, his left hand striking towards the center of Pedro's chest.

[Pedro Calaveras]

Rolling with the punch, Pedro swayed backwards, grinning at Ruiz as the jab came a few inches too short of its target. A thin cry went up from the crowd, already a hint of unrest in the air. Although most had come to watch a decent fight, others were just there for blood. Pedro threw a jab of his own. It slid into thin air as Ruiz twisted at the shoulders. He took another quick half-step forward, throwing in a right cross to finish off the one-two combo.

[Neiva Ruiz]

Neiva grinned right back at him, barely resisting the urge to wink before Pedro came forward with a speed most wouldn't credit him with. She twisted out of the way of one jab, but the other connected solidly with Miguel's collarbone given his still-moving torso.

No sound save for a sickening crack came out of him, flesh rippling briefly silver at the point of impact. He moved with the blow, letting the momentum carry him into a spin. Shifting his weight onto one foot, he turned the spin into vicious kick, aiming for Pedro's midsection.