Kolya Van-Metzger
Sep 26th, 2003, 04:08:53 PM
"Twenty says the butcher kills him in round one!"
"Forty on the newcomer!"
"Forty five that butcher gets put out!"
Kolya fell back, landing hard on the wooden stool in the corner of the improptu twenty foot ring, looking more shocked than hurt. His opponent, a giant of a man, grinned stupidly - a headbutt to the face had some serious stopping power. In retrospect, perhaps he should have wondered why Kolya didn't pass out from the pain and shock, or have a nose burst open across half of his face, but bare-knuckle fighters are never much given to introspection. Especially not when pumped up on so many drugs and adrenaline as this one had been taking, and when against an opponent like Kolya. When fighting someone like him, any hit was a good hit.
Van-Metzger staggered forward again, turning a deceptively graceless lurch into a quick jab to the face of the other man, repaying him for the headbutt. He looked up for a second, seeing a face in the crowded bar, and was distracted for a second, in suprise at seeing him.
now thats.....
Another headbutt broke the lank-haired maniac's nose quite comprehensively, and interrupted his train of thought.
Black and silver sparks flashed in front of his eyes as he sank to the floor, the noise of the cheering ringing in his ears.
***
About ten minutes later, the now-drunken victorious prizefighter lurched out of the pub, singing something lewd. The shadows shifted behind him as he walked, and a large dark grey wolf appeared at his side.
"Nice doggy..." he hazarded, barely able to stand upright. "Who's a good doggy...."
The creature, standing four foot tall at the shoulder, with bristling fur and baleful saffron eyes rolled back its black upper lip, revealing a mouthful of yellowing fangs. The drunk stopped walking, and suddenly started paying attention, hitching his collar up and backing down slowly.
Maybe he saw something in the eyes which he recognised, ar maybe just did the first thing which came to mind, but he reached into his coat and pulled out a wad of notes - his winnings from the prizefight.
"Here... take it... it doesn't matter anyway...." he gabbled, throwing the notes on the floor, and fleeing for his life.
Picking up the notes in his mouth, Kolya slunk back to the safety of the alleyway beside the establishment, and a series of crackling joints was heard, accompanied with a fibrous stretching, such as that of muscle and bone rearranging itself, in a potentially painful process. A rustle of fabric, and the thump of a leather coat being donned, and he returned to the street, then with a moments thought, returned to the welcoming atmosphere of the pub.
"Forty on the newcomer!"
"Forty five that butcher gets put out!"
Kolya fell back, landing hard on the wooden stool in the corner of the improptu twenty foot ring, looking more shocked than hurt. His opponent, a giant of a man, grinned stupidly - a headbutt to the face had some serious stopping power. In retrospect, perhaps he should have wondered why Kolya didn't pass out from the pain and shock, or have a nose burst open across half of his face, but bare-knuckle fighters are never much given to introspection. Especially not when pumped up on so many drugs and adrenaline as this one had been taking, and when against an opponent like Kolya. When fighting someone like him, any hit was a good hit.
Van-Metzger staggered forward again, turning a deceptively graceless lurch into a quick jab to the face of the other man, repaying him for the headbutt. He looked up for a second, seeing a face in the crowded bar, and was distracted for a second, in suprise at seeing him.
now thats.....
Another headbutt broke the lank-haired maniac's nose quite comprehensively, and interrupted his train of thought.
Black and silver sparks flashed in front of his eyes as he sank to the floor, the noise of the cheering ringing in his ears.
***
About ten minutes later, the now-drunken victorious prizefighter lurched out of the pub, singing something lewd. The shadows shifted behind him as he walked, and a large dark grey wolf appeared at his side.
"Nice doggy..." he hazarded, barely able to stand upright. "Who's a good doggy...."
The creature, standing four foot tall at the shoulder, with bristling fur and baleful saffron eyes rolled back its black upper lip, revealing a mouthful of yellowing fangs. The drunk stopped walking, and suddenly started paying attention, hitching his collar up and backing down slowly.
Maybe he saw something in the eyes which he recognised, ar maybe just did the first thing which came to mind, but he reached into his coat and pulled out a wad of notes - his winnings from the prizefight.
"Here... take it... it doesn't matter anyway...." he gabbled, throwing the notes on the floor, and fleeing for his life.
Picking up the notes in his mouth, Kolya slunk back to the safety of the alleyway beside the establishment, and a series of crackling joints was heard, accompanied with a fibrous stretching, such as that of muscle and bone rearranging itself, in a potentially painful process. A rustle of fabric, and the thump of a leather coat being donned, and he returned to the street, then with a moments thought, returned to the welcoming atmosphere of the pub.