Tain - Wed, Apr 2 - 1:52 - The Squat - The Range


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Aero/Claymore - Wed, Apr 2 - 1:45 - The Squat - Downstairs lounge room
It doesn't take long for things to get more rowdy after Tain leaves. Ancients have been drinking, with little to do but carouse with each other, the heavy rain keeping most of them inside. Curly and Jake continue cracking jokes still as Squire slips off a moment after Tain leaves.
Jake throws back his beer, then hollers unnecessarily to Curly, sitting right next to him. Hey, I heard Vixen's taste in men was changin' lately, before she bit it.

Curly looks at him a little confused. Oh yeah?

Jake nods sagely Yeah, head she was seein' this ghoul who's into girls that go down! He laughs as he again mimics Vixen face planting into the pavement. Curly and Jake laugh uproarisly to the back ground groans of others in the room being subjectedto yet another of his horribly bad jokes. The newest group of arrivals look less amused, eyeing the small cluster including Claymore with out right disgust and animosity. Claymore sees Jake see them, getting a wicked smile on his face. He pulls out his commlink, fiddling with it for a moment, then keys in a new song into the AR music system. After a moment, the song Living Dead Girl, a remake by the Ghede Flys, comes over the speakers.

*Music - Rob Zombie - Living Dead Girl*

There's the sound of shattering glass as one of the five new arrivals throws his beer to the ground. Claymore sees the elf storming across the room in a rage, making a bee line for Jake as the other four follow him.

Rolling his eyes, Claymore swears under his breath and heads off on a course to intercept the small group, wondering if this night was ever going to end.

Instead of moving to confront the enraged elf leading the charge though, the gunslinger times his movement so that he can smoothly step between him and the rest of the pack. With his back to Jake and his impending encounter, Claymore folds his arms across his chest and glares silently at the four elves now facing him.

The leader of the pack, a tall elf with dyed blue hair chopped into a short mohawk, never takes his eyes off of Jake as Claymore manuevers around him. A girl with tribal facial nanotats, the pointy potrusions of the design swaying across her face as she moves, maneuvers towards Claymore, stalking head on towards him. She glares down at the wiry elf, having a good three inches on him. She moves like someone wired up, although probably with cheap wires from her sharp, almost jittery movements. She says not a word though, only matching Claymore glare for glare as the mohawked elf rips into Jake.

You little fuck! You shut your fucking trap, or I'll fucking shut it for you. Sting might've said named Tain the Champ, but that don't mean I can't beat your scrawny ass for being a noisy little twat! Beating the drek outta you'll send a nice message to all these other little slitches that think they can bad mouth Vix.

Jake laughs a short laugh back at the elf, still sitting on the edge of a small table. Right, Sting said Tain won. But you're right, that don't mean that much. Everyone already knew Vixen was a loose nasty ass whore, now everybody just gets to s...

Jake's taunt is cut off by the mohawked elf's scream of rage and the tell tale snick of spurs. His arm comes in wide for Jake, but is cut off by the sharp crack and shatter sound of Curly smashing the mostly empty bottle of whiskey into the elf's face. The brawl instantly erupts.

Initiative

"It would be. To her." And, soon afterwards, to everyone else in the Ancients. Sting wasn't a woman to cross, not when she was already unhappy with you. Not if you wanted to stay in the gang without having to hide in Green Lucifer's shadow -- and Tain wasn't ready to do that. The gang leader wouldn't take but a conversation or two to rub Tain the wrong way once the topic turned to the High Prince, and things would go badly for one or both of them. Probably both.

He sighs as the other elf leaves, and turns towards the stairs to head up and out of the basement.

Eying the tattooed chick, Claymore lets a small, mocking grin pull up one corner of his mouth.

Despite his seemingly casual stance, the elf is more than willing to back up his silent challenge. This isn't the fight that he wanted, or even one that he himself would have chosen, as if he ever really had a choice, but he is damn sure he's going to enjoy it none-the-less.

When the bottle smashes, Claymore is ready.

The elf feints shouldering past Claymore, throwing an elbow up directly towards his nose at the last second. Claymore, the faster, sees it coming.
5 Hits Unarmed Combat Against Claymore

Despite having been expecting the chica to pull this type of move, Claymore just barely manages to duck his head under the incoming blow, her elbow brushing harmlessly across his short blond hair. Even as he moves to avoid her attack, Claymore's counterattack is already in motion, his left fist streaking upward toward the ganger slitch's jaw.

The elf half steps back, but not fast enough. FUlly commited to her strike on Claymore, she doesn't have time or the balance to avoid his counter, taking it squarely on the jaw. She keeps her feet well, although the extra klick it takes her to focus on him makes it clear he rang her bell.

Pressing his advantage, Claymore follows through with a right cross, intending to put the slitch down once and for all.

Reacting faster than the female, Claymore's right catches her square on, connecting with her temple. The girl falls to the ground, downed and out before most of the other combatants have really gotten into it. To his left, one of the gang of five has tackled curly, the buzzed headed elf stirking repeatedly, stradling Curly's waist and raining blows down on his arms, up in a rough guard position. Another has circled passed to go for Jake, while the last, a scrawny youth probably used to picking at the left overs, is now having second thoughts, facing square on at Claymore.

Once the fight really begins, Claymore reverts to acting on pure instinct. Even as the female falls to the floor, the gunslinger moves to put down the lone elf left facing him. He has long since learned that once fists start flying there is no point in over-thinking the situation, or in leaving any opponent standing. Discarding finesse, Claymore launches his fist straight toward the youngster's face.

Claymore connects solidly on the bridge of the nose, hearing a satisfying *crack* as the kid flies back,bouncing off of a couch. Nose broken and likely unconcious, the kid isn't going anywhere. Jake seems to be holding his own well enough on Claymore's flank, leaving Clay free to pick his targets.

A wide, feral grin breaks out across the gunslinger's features as the youngster goes down. Taking a quick look around and spotting Curly's predicament, Claymore rounds on the elf straddling Tain's retainer. A couple of quick steps brings him to the side of the struggling pair, also serving to add momentum to the kick Claymore aims at the ganger's shorn head.

Something, a footfall or stray shadow or even just a sixth sense, alerts Curly's attacker to the danger. At the last possible second, the ganger moves to his right, taking the brunt of Claymore's kick on his left shoulder and rolling with the momentum of the blow. In a flash, the buzzcut-adorned elf is back on his feet a few steps away, ready to face the gunslinger.

Meanwhile the dance between Jake and his opponent goes on. Both combatants seem more interested in screaming insults at each other, but both have landed blows, one of Jake's even opening up his attacker's eye. They continue to circle each other, almost oblivious to the rest of the action around them.

In every fight, there are grunts of exertion, curses of pain and anger, the thumps of fists and feet on flesh and bone, the thump of bodies falling to the ground. It's background noise, once you're engaged, and all the incidental sounds just fall away while you're hip-deep in the action. You don't notice the scuff of a shoe on the floor, the hiss of breath that comes with throwing a hard punch, the sounds of clothes tearing or someone crying out in pain.

You do, however, pretty much always hear the sound of a Ruger Super Warhawk being fired indoors.

Tain holds his big black pistol overhead as the sound of the gunshot echoes and rings through the Squat, the thunderous roar bringing all the other, lesser, sounds to heel like a pack alpha reigning in smaller dogs. In the aftermath, for a heartbeat, there's raw silence. No distractions, nothing to lessen the ringing in the gently pointed ears of all present.

"Hold." He lowers his handgun slowly, never levelling it at anyone, aiming his piercing gaze at them instead. His mouth is a grim line, his features sharp with disapproval. He doesn't bother raising his voice. He doesn't have to.

"Hasn't enough elven blood been shed for one night?"

Startled, Claymore drops even lower into a defensive crouch as he spins toward the sound. Reacting on instinct, his left hand has already cleared one of his glossy black Predators from its holster by the time he spots Tain in the stairway. Relaxing, he straightens up and takes a deep breath before turning back to eye his recent opponent. Shrugging his shoulders, the elf jams the big pistol back into place under his long jacket.

When the shorn-haired ganger doesn't immediately fall back into a fighting stance, Claymore nods, then reaches down and grabs a handful of the still-prone Curly's shirt, hauling the dazed Ancient to his feet. Spying Jake standing nearby, he wordlessly drapes the semi-conscious Curly in his friend's arms, then makes his way over to where the ex-Noble still stands surveying the small crowd of gangers.

Though the music had continued to pound out from the sound system throughout the fight and even afterward, the crowd itself had fallen silent with Tain's dramatic entrance. Several moments pass when all eyes in the room focus on the Tir ex-patriot, some quite openly while others try to be more surreptitious. Under Tain's watchful stare, the buzz of conversation slowly begins to rise again, the gathered gangers realizing that this latest bit of excitement is over. At least for the time being.

By this time Claymore has made his way to the noble elf's side. Giving Tain a brief nod in greeting, he looks around the room, nodding once again in the direction of his two allies in the recent fight.

"Good t'see your boys've got some balls at least."

Claymore pauses to light up a cigarette, then turns to face the other elf.

"So, you decide 'xactly where we're meetin' up yet? No point thinkin' 'bout it too much. Maybe we should just make it Farhaven and be done with it."