multiversallogs | brother what're you gonna do with a 9mm and a three piece suit?

Who: OPEN
What: an underground fight night. place your bets.
Where: a warehouse in Griss Twist
When: evening
Notes: Jason is fighting in the main bout, but there is at least one other one, so feel free to make up details for that or others. I'll put up one subsection specifically for Jason's fight and directly after his match. That's primarily for Lisa, but anyone else could harass him if you felt so moved.
Warnings: not especially explicit violence.

The warehouse is an old venue and this evening's organizers old hands. The small arena sits low, not quite a pit, and it's standing room only. Plenty of drink is being sold, and a little food, at mostly reasonable prices. The lighting is harsh, the air is smoky, the sound of people spectating and jeering and arguing is muted yet immense, partially suppressed by the murk of the warehouse and the jaded atmosphere. But the evening's early yet.

In a side room, grubby tables and a varied assortment of seating is available. Some desultory gambling is going on. Substances may be purchased discreetly, deals are being made, and one table in the corner is the unofficially designated area to place bets.

A few matches are set to take place. The ultimate total will depend on how fast they come to an end, who showed up, and if there are any adventurers in the crowd. The main event has a designated time and is between a known fighter with a good reputation, and a newcomer. It hasn't been hyped much, but for regulars, that may be more promising than if it had been.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Adam weighs the odds and the opponents in the match. Odds seem to favor the smaller fighter strongly, but his gut tells him otherwise. The newcomer is bigger, more solid; in Adam's experience, skill is helpful but there's something to be said for a fighter who can take a punch.

He places a bet on the newcomer, and settles in to watch the match. The longer it goes, the more confident he feels that he's made the right choice. The knockout is vindication; he probably doesn't feel as elated as the winner seems to be but it's not bad.

The odds against means he collects a respectable payout for his bet. He's pleased by this, it's that much more toward getting himself a stake in something in the city. That's how he's always operated, every time he's had to start over: new place, raise capital, buy into some form of respectable business, let the rest fall into place.

He's tempted by the other fight on the bill but he decides to abstain rather than let his current good fortune and good feelings carry him along. So he lingers too, drifting through the crowd, sizing up the other attendees, fighters, and would-be fighters.

He sees his lucky fighter for the evening headed his way. Adam nods in polite greeting. "Well fought tonight."

It's in line of most of the comments made to him, and Jason fields it the same way as he has the others, the casual, pseudo-modest cockiness typical of the young and talented.

"Hopefully next time there'll be more of a challenge." He says with a smile, watchful behind his carelessness. For someone who just finished a multiple round fight, he's alert and not very tired, though he's not making a show of it. It's in the little reactions, the continued awareness of his surroundings. But that could be passed off as post-fight adrenaline.

Ah. So the young man knows he's talented, and isn't afraid to acknowledge it. But not so boastful as to be outright insulting or draw unwarranted trouble. Quiet confidence and not shouting insults and challenges. The latter is more common than the former, particularly following a victory. Once again Adam is pleasantly surprised.

He doesn't ask the man's name or introduce himself; that would beg his name and he's not inclined to give it here. Instead he nods, smiling. "Hopefully so. You intend to return?"

"Bet on me again." Or don't, since, you know, odds and payout, but statements of such simple confidence are as likely to alienate as to win over serious gamblers. It all depends on how people take it, and who his next opponent will be. Granted, he still looks pretty good after this fight while the other guy had to be carried out. There's just something solid and seemingly unmovable about Jason.

Someone yells at him to stand everyone a round and he rolls his eyes, but makes a little gesture of acquiescence. If they think he's a moron with his money, they'll want him back. He himself accepts a drink, but doesn't drink it.

A faint smile curves Adam's lips, amused. "I just might," he says. It seems he's one of those won over by that kind of confidence, or at least willing to entertain rather than dismiss it.

He accepts a drink, sipping slowly. It's just for show, alcohol does nothing to him anymore, but there's no need showing that off. Let people have a different idea about him: reserved English dude, not much of a drinker, therefore not much trouble.

"Is this the only place you fight?"

Jason leans one elbow on the bar, keeping up cocky and casual while wondering in a very vague way if this conversation, which he judges as just one small step past the typical amount, is interest of whim or interest of some other nature. Not prurient, as far as he can tell, though that wouldn't bother him.

"So far." That will change, his tone says, though in fact he only plans on a few more fights. He prefers to diversify when it comes to gambling. Jason concludes in a sunny tone: "I figure I'll get in, get rich, and get out before I rack up major brain damage."

Adam wouldn't be bothered by anything prurient either, but he doesn't shit where he eats. Or, in this case, screw where he bets. It's mostly whim that keeps him here, lingering over his drink, and the thought of perhaps looking this fighter up at another bout, taking another chance with his money.

And what the fighter says about getting out is actually sensible. "That's a good plan," he says. "There's no point fighting to get rich if you come out of it too much a mess to be able to enjoy what you've worked for, hm?"

His smile is quick and cynical. "And that's everyone's plan. Even that guy I beat tonight, I'm sure he came into it thinking exactly like I did, but here he is, oh, three, four months later. Probably run up some debt doing dumb things like buying everyone a drink."

Jason flashes a more normal smile at some other drunken patron, lifting his drink in answer to the toast and once more failing to drink. He continues in his conversational tone (though in a crowd like this, 'conversational tone' is much louder than what it would normally mean), not caring if anybody else should overhear. "But me, I can actually do it. You keep betting on me. Just don't tell everyone else. It'll be a very sweet little run."

It occurs to Adam, briefly, that this young man seems awfully sensible for a confident fighter. Particularly one that was recently taking blows. It might not hurt to see him fight again, perhaps bet in his favor again.

"I'll keep that in mind," he says, faint, interested smile back on his lips. "May everything work out as you planned."

brother what're you gonna do with a 9mm and a three piece suit?

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