HCBC Round 1: First Night (Ch. 2: Day 7)

Sheff · Posted: Sun Dec 26, 2010 8:30 pm

With heavy hands, Quinton had tapped his gloves against his opponent's, and continued to hold them up, some effort being put into the task. The bulky red pads felt awkward on his inexperienced hands, and he couldn't simply believe people actually punched others with the things. He could barely move them around without feeling like he was swinging around large weights.

Then there was the announcer's detailing of his new persona. Whatever distaste he felt to the head honcho of the resort had now increased ten fold, the not-so-subtle insults ringing in his ears.

The skunk was not given much time to actually mull over all the mocking towards him, as the short one before him was, at the bell's ring, swinging one fist his way. Quinton, who's eyes grew wide with shock, instinctively ducked to the ground, feeling the arm swish over him, the move so unprofessional, he himself cringed at his maneuvers.

At least try to be elegant with this, Quinton... he thought to himself as he quickly straightened back up, holding his shaking fists before him in the best defensive position he could think of.

Kazz · Posted: Sun Dec 26, 2010 9:12 pm

Meanwhile, elegance was not on the fuzzy little devil's mind,

"Gonna break 'yer arms like that, sparkleshorts," Murdoch remarked in a low voice, not quite meant to be heard, as he followed through with his missed punch, and stepped back. The skunk's arms, or ribs, or face... All valid options! He, for his own part, resented the porcupine, but for far from the reasons that Quinton may have had in mind. No, it was more that he had to make a show of it instead of just knocking the skunk senseless in the first couple punches.
He just dearly hoped this wasn't going to turn into a game of whack-a-skunk. He didn't want to break some rules and give his opponent a good old knee to the face... or at least, not in his first fight. Better to start clean.

Not that this contemplation was going to make him stop mid-match for a navel-gazing bout. Another punch was thrown, and another, and a third in succession, all aimed at the defender's held-up arms.

Sheff · Posted: Mon Dec 27, 2010 1:57 am

With each punch thrown, Quinton staggered back from the impacts on his arms, wincing each time they drew near. He was clearly sweating now, maybe from strain, maybe from panic, or maybe a good mixture of both. The ridiculous sunglasses slipped down his nose a ways, teetering on the edge as he kept stepping back, barely capable of holding his arms at ready.

Things were already (and to no surprise) not going in Quinton's favor, feeling quite helpless in the ring, no burly bodyguard at his side or the power of his money-making empire at his fingertips. It was just him, the short one, and the jeering crowd. He could just imagine the amused smirk on the porcupine's lips, the man in question more then likely in the stands as he fought. Anger began to build once more...

Suddenly, the skunk did something that was completely unexpected, even only this far into the match. Slowly, one arm seemed to cock back, and what could come from nothing but the desire to defend himself and his boiling hate, he threw a punch. It was a feeble, uncoordinated, sloppy movement of the arm and fist, slow enough for even a blind man to sense and avoid, not even seeming to have a target on his opponent's body, but gosh darn it, he'd thrown a punch.

Kazz · Posted: Mon Dec 27, 2010 2:19 am

A smirk crept onto Murdoch's face as some of the audience fell into a surprised silence at the mere simple action of the poor, be-sequined skunk.

Oh, look, it's baby's first punch. How cute. The look on his face clearly expressed this thought when his mouth didn't, even as the sloppy and aimless punch hit him-- without too terrible an impact, of course, but even through his sarcastic looks... why, he was downright surprised that a punch had been thrown at all.
Murdoch allowed the skunk a bit of breathing room as he took a half-step back. He cocked his head one way, then the next. Why, if anything, that one punch had just made any beatdown the skunk received from there on out completely justifiable.
Anyone who expected any more honorable was obviously not familiar with the Tasmanian devil, or not familiar with Westside at all.

As if to punctuate this point, Quinton would soon find the fist of the short little man connecting with his lower jaw unless very swift precautions were taken.

Sheff · Posted: Mon Dec 27, 2010 3:08 am

Quinton's eyes were wide in amazement as he watched his red-gloved fist connect against his opponent. Despite all his demeaning comments toward the sport in general, he felt a sort of pride as he managed to actually accomplish something within the match. Maybe he could continue on and fight the good fight, at least to put some effort into regaining his fortune instead of being utterly humiliated.

Just then, reality came swinging back in the form of a red-blurred uppercut.

Fist smashed into jaw, head snapped back, and one would believe a skunk could fly as his body flung back off his feet... that is, until gravity decided otherwise and brought him crashing to the floor of the ring.

Hm... perfect view of the stars tonight... but why are they so dazzling...

Quinton gave a groan, his head in a daze as he staggered to his feet, unaware of the fact he was reentering himself into the match as he stood. He teetered in an uneven stance, the area before him spinning, eyes squinting as he tried to make out the short figure before him, having lost the sunglasses. His jaw flared in a pulsing pain, but he barely took notice, still trying to grab the reigns of consciousness.

It seemed, for the moment, the skunk was still in for the count.

Kazz · Posted: Mon Dec 27, 2010 3:37 am

Well, well-- the scrawny man was getting up!
That could be fixed.

As the skunk came back around, Murdoch was... ... not doing anything. Bobbing on his feet a bit and keeping his arms ready for the strike, but he didn't seem to be acting on it until the skunk was upright. He shot, out of the corner of his eye, a look towards the officials, but it was only for a second. his attention was back to Quinton, just as soon as he had stood up.

It was then, and not a moment sooner, that he let the fist-y death -- a new barrage of unfocused, loosely-aimed punching -- come forth, albeit with a few pauses here and there, perhaps enough time for the skunk to retaliate if the fates were kind. Less consideration for his opponent, more heeding the official's special instructions.
He seemed rather irate. If his expression, yellow eyes glaring murder at the skunk, didn't betray that, only heavens knew what did.

Sheff · Posted: Mon Dec 27, 2010 3:47 am

Flashes of red came his way now, and they only confused him more, but as he actually felt the pain that came with the connecting punches, the skunk was brought a bit more back into reality. His arms uselessly pulled themselves up, but just as he did this, one of the short one's punches connected with his own glove, jerking it back and smacking him right in the bridge of his nose.

The statement "stop punching yourself" would not be out of place in the situation.

Trying to clutch the bruised schnozz with the barely flexible gloves, Quinton took a step back, eyes suddenly cold and glaring as they stared down at the man before him.

"I've had it!" he nearly screamed with all levels of frustration. "I will not stand here and just take this abuse!"

Quinton then took a step forward, his arm, much to the audience's second surprise, pulling back once more, a bit more readied look in the skunk's eyes as he prepared himself to strike the Tasmanian devil. A shame the attempted assault on his opponent would presumably be useless yet again.

Kazz · Posted: Mon Dec 27, 2010 3:59 am

Whether or not it had been enough of a show was lost on him-- the skunk's words were as good as a taunt to the angry little man, and he was never one to take a threat lying down.

"Yer right, twinkletoes! Yeh're about t'make real good pals with the floor!"

And with that, Murdoch drew his arm back, and a good word would be slammed-- indeed, he slammed his fist forward, aiming cleanly at the skunk's poor nose with all the subtlety of any given bulldozer.

Sheff · Posted: Mon Dec 27, 2010 4:10 am

One could say Quinton's forward momentum literally allowed him to greet the punch halfway there, his head only a blur as it snapped back for the second time that night. Blood began to flow profusely from the nose, the skunk's armed and ready fist falling slack, and very slowly, he slumped to his knees, tilting to the side. He was unconscious before he even hit the floor.

It was a pathetic end to a... strangely entertaining fight, Quinton now a splayed heap on the floor of the ring, a pool of blood forming around his head from his spurting nose. Lets just say he would awake to the vilest of headaches.

Tony · Posted: Mon Dec 27, 2010 6:49 am

As the crowd jeered-n-cheered at the latest KO, the porcupine was just now polishing off the remnants of a wine glass, and in the middle of prepping another cigar. He gazed over the unconscious Quinton on the mat, and couldn't help but release an amused cackle amidst the clamour of the crowd.

"Keh hah hah hah hah!! What a short, yet sweet spectacle that was, Rancid Wind! You certainly lived up to your name -- We can smell you all the way up here! Keh hah hah!"

As he grinned, Vince smoked through his cigar, and sat back, planning to wait around a bit longer for the final results, or even to see if the skunk had any miraculous attempts to get back up. Barring that, he would soon retreat back to his Base of Operations at the hotel for further 'business related' matters..

Admin · Posted: Mon Dec 27, 2010 1:07 pm

It sure looked like the referee wouldn't need to be bothered with counting any of the knockouts that evening. Sure, on TV and in the movies, they always gave that 10-count no matter what, but in this situation? The bleeding guy who dropped like a sack of potatoes and hit the floor with a splat was not getting back up, and even if he was, he didn't need to be fighting anymore. So, the second the skunk hit the deck, the ref got over him with his arms out (maybe to keep Murdoch from beating him the rest of the way dead), and signaled the end of the match. The bell soon followed.

It wasn't exactly the kind of competitive match anyone likely wanted, but the crowd seemed more appeased than they had been with Ritchie vs. Walter. If nothing else, it was a prolonged spectacle of brutality without any runaround, and large masses of excitable people could always appreciate those.

The ring was again flooded with people, but before long, the "body" was carefully placed on a stretcher and moved out. No, he wouldn't get the dignity of coming around and carrying himself out. They had a show to run, and a lot of matches to feature. Eventually, the center of the ring cleared, leaving space for the announcer.

"In his thirty-second consecutive knockout, the winner, by knockout, is: Murdoch— ... JOHNSON."

It sounded like he was able to get into it a little better with a "real" boxer to announce.

Another guy in a suit—a squat fellow, kind of mole-ish, and a bit overweight, possibly a promoter—stepped in and was handed the mic.

"Tonight's fights have gone by a lot faster than we anticipated! Th'next contenders are still gettin' ready, but we've got more action comin' up, so help yourselves to the concessions, and see us back here in ten minutes! Thank you."

As the mic retracted high above the ring, the two exited through the ropes together. The referee was waiting for them.

"I didn't sign up for this garbage," said the dark, canine referee.

"Please, Geoff, not n—" the promoter began to answer, but was cut off.

"I'm a professional," complained the ref. "These aren't fights! These are... these are spectacles."

"It's the first round of the tournament," replied the promoter dismissively as he tried to walk off, but the ref followed him down the aisle. "This event is unique, let's put it that way. This first round will be a little, eh, rough, but it'll separate the bulls from the clowns."

The referee did not look satisfied. The promoter detected as much, and added, "It'll get better. Just stick with it."

Admin · Posted: Wed Dec 29, 2010 7:57 pm

If the ref had been wanting a "pro" match, it soon became evidently clear that... he wasn't going to get one too soon. Festivities had commenced again in a manner similar to the previous bouts—the announcer, the greeting, the name-dropping of the venue and so on—but when the contenders were introduced, the oddity of the upcoming match became obvious.

It was a girl being matched up against... a slightly overweight guy who looked like he was having a hard time entering the ring. In fact, the portly tiger met the ropes like a challenging puzzle, groping them all sorts of different ways as he tried to figure out how to get through, his eyes unfocused, and his hands extra-clumsy with the addition of boxing gloves. For, you see, he wasn't just some uncoordinated fat guy: he was drunk as a sailor.

He eventually found his way through, though, and kind of wandered around in the ring, looking vacant and aimless. Someone from his corner had to pull him back where he belonged.

"I toldju you best not be drinkin' before a match!" his cornerman scolded.

"I didn't! Honest!" he replied emphatically. When met by "that look," he rolled his head on his shoulders, and added, "Not much."

"In the red corner, wearing white and green, weighing in at forty-six and three quarters kilograms, official record: 11 wins, 1 loss, no draws, 9 victories by knockout. The Crown Prince of the Casino Park Pen, Roy 'Leeroy' Li!"

"Where's the other guy?" Leeroy asked his corner, hazily scanning the ring.

"In the other corner," replied the cornerman.

"Where?"

"Right there."

"That's a damn ... ring... round... sign... girl chick. The one that carries the cards between rounds. I ain't that drunk."

The announcer unknowingly contradicted him, pointing directly to the girl in the opposite corner.

"In the blue corner, at an official weight of thirty kilograms, a new contender with one win, no losses and no draws: Ember!" (The announcer seemed uncertain of how to read her name since it was so short, but he tried to do it with the best effect possible. He ultimately sounded awkward.)

Roy looked utterly puzzled as he was pushed to the center of the ring for the reading of the rules. Even as he was made to tap gloves, he just gawked and looked around with a face that silently begged "is anybody gonna stop this?" only to be sent back to his corner for the start of the match.

"I can't fight a ghrhhrl—" His mouthpiece was stuffed in his mouth just before the bell rang. He spat it back out in protest. "I can't do this! I done a lotta things, but this ain't one of'em, pal! This's gotta be a mistake."

MuffinUnsane · Posted: Wed Dec 29, 2010 8:30 pm

Contrary to her opponents stumbling entrance, Ember seemed quite energetic as she slipped between the ropes and into her corner of the ring. Making sure to give a hearty wave to the audience, she examined her opponent afterwards. Big. Big man. This was going to be tougher than she thought maybe. Even with all his stumbling, all it would take was for him to fall on her. Was that in the rules? Ember chided herself for not reading them thoroughly.

"Maybe I should have gave them my real name..." the bird muttered to herself when her name was announced awkwardly. Moving in to the center of the ring, she tapped gloves with the tiger taking note of his expression. Maybe she did have a chance!

Moving back to her corner, she did a quick stretch before the bell ring. With the signal given, Ember moved back out to the center of the ring. There was a broad grin on her face as she held up the oversized boxing gloves.

psikeout · Posted: Wed Dec 29, 2010 8:41 pm

Leeroy didn't get any compassion. He was pretty much abandoned there, drunk, confused, and stranded in his corner with no idea of what he should do.

"I don't wanna fight a girl," he whined. The only answer he got? "Do it or you forfeit!"

"Whose damn idea was this," he mumbled as he tugged at his shorts, and swaggered (more like staggered) toward the middle of the ring.

"Hey, babe, listen," he greeted charmingly, liquor heavy on his breath, "we don't have to do this. I'm a pretty stand-up guy! What say we just, y'know, dance around a lil' bit, you pretend to hit me, I pretend to hit you, you fall down, I take you out for some drinks or somethin', everybody's happy, right?"

MuffinUnsane · Posted: Wed Dec 29, 2010 8:54 pm

The board smile was still on her face as she gave a laugh. "I can't silly. That would mean I would lose. Plus you're not my type babe. Plus you don't need another drink."

Not even waiting for him to give an answer, she threw a punch at him aiming at his stomach. She would have to try and be quicker than him and try her best not to let a punch get through to her.

HCBC Round 1: First Night (Ch. 2: Day 7)

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