05-15-2017, 03:43 PM
Bricks occasionally crumbled from the rundown facade of the warehouse, and the low down denizens had learned not to sleep next to any walls for fear of waking up with a concussion and a broken tooth. Fumes hung heavily in the air, smelling of diesel, dust, and burnt plastic. The tenements of the far rim of Tier 5 were no place for anyone who didn't have the reflexes of a gecko and the sharpness of an alley cat. Muggers and desperate men lurked behind every corner and in each shadow, waiting and watching silently for their next potential target. A student, or a tourist who'd gotten lost, or even the finely suited gentleman with the bowler hat. What a prize he'd be, wandering around down here wit-
SPLORTCH
Harlan shook the gore off his wrist as the wide eyed man slumped downward onto the ground, stone dead. "Yew made me ruin me cuffs, yew bastahrd." He put a hole through the unlucky criminal to be's chest, resulting in immediate death from tissue shock, his heart still beating weakly in Harlan's gnarled hand. The Ravnos brought his fangs up to the dying muscle, sucking some of the aortic blood out. "But thanks fer tha pick-me-up."
The roving gangster had adjusted his voice and mannerisms, slipping into a exaggerated and gravelly version of his natural accent. What remained of it anyway. He'd taken on so many different ones it was hard to remember what he used to sound like before his Embrace. Anyway, it fit the area and the errand he was on. A few casual investigations of the local narcotics scene had led him to this particular neighborhood, and another round of perhaps a bit more forceful coercion had led him down this block, to the destination that lay on the shabby street corner: Grag's Gym. And inside, "Shorty" Dri'gaklia. The dwarf who'd been slinging his Amaranth secondhand to kids.
Harlan was no saint. He was a soulless bloodsucking monster who commanded the forces of dream and nightmare to rip his enemies apart. He'd sooner suck a punk dry than say how do you do. But there was business, and then there was business. You didn't drop a citizen stone cold. You kept well away from the little people just trying to make a living. Maybe you hit them up every so often for a token, just so they remembered your face, but you didn't steal their lives. You didn't go back on a spit-shake (that one was more due to his bloodline than anything else). You didn't renege on a bet or a wager. And you didn't fucking sell drugs to kids.
He pushed in the door to the gym, to be greeted with a rank stench of sweat and testosterone. Continuous thumps and slams rang around the concrete room, various types of being working out, lifting weight, running speed bags, and assorted other fitness activities. Shorty's gang seemed to be all muscleheads, but the Ravnos spotted more than a few wiry type guys wearing odd white robes and different colored belts. Some of them paused their exercise and turned to face him, assorted races and builds staring out of the dimly lit corners. In the very center of the room was a classic boxing ring.
In the center of the ring, overseeing the whole floor, was a dwarf. An extremely musclebound dwarf, wearing athletic apparel and gym shorts. "An' who be this, walkin' into me establishment with nae an appointment or how de ye do?" The dwarf bellowed, cracking his knuckles. "Ah know ah fanceh lad like yerself didnae come here just ta ruin yer suit with sweat, aye? Bagh hah hah!" The rest of his clientele joined in his laughter until it died down.
Harlan just stood there politely, waiting for the braggart to finish. "Actually, oi came 'ere for business. Namely, t' business of slingin' my product to children." He raised his hands and cracked his fists while the dwarf chortled. "Och aye? An' you must be the discernin' pusha! Adults only, amoiroight?"
The Ravnos nodded. "Oi am. And if yew don't stop, 'ere's gonna be some hell to pay, get me?" He looked around the room, feeling the weight of his gun in his waistband. Easy enough to ace this entire lot and leave with not much effort. But then the dwarf stumbled upon a weakness of Harlan's that, in retrospect, was a pretty bad one.
"Tell ye wot, fanceh lad. Yew beat me in a fistfight, an' ah'll stop, and them yew call friends can even come on down to tha gym and work the bags with us all friendly like. But I beat you..." And the dwarf cracked his knuckles, big meaty fingers like sausages. "Oi keep slingin' yer product to whomever oi likes, and yew supply me with more. For a small fee, natch."
The Ravnos smirked, and started to take off his suit jacket, bowtie, and dress shirt. With a flick of his fingers, he altered the remainder of his outfit into something a bit more suited to the Gentlemen's Game that he was more familiar with, cheap rough slacks with the seams frayed. "You asked for it, hotshot." Harlan spat in his normal voice, before climbing into the ring.
THUD
SPACK
WHAM! SPLAT! KERRUNCH.
Harlan stumbled back into the ropes, feeling the stretchy rubber bounce and go taut as it prepared to return him the way he came, and with added velocity. The dwarf's last blow had cracked one of his ribs, and the vampire could feel it poking out of his sallow grey skin. This was not going the way he had hoped, and the wager prevented him from using his Chimerstry. Goddamn clan weakness, the dwarf had him by the balls. Harlan spat, regaining control of his momentum, and used the bounce to hurtle towards the shorter being, one fist reared back as if to throw a wild haymaker. At the last second, Shorty saw Harlan's feint and adjusted his posture before the vampire crashed into him, arms wrapped around his waist in a classic street takedown.
Arms raised up, the gambler's fists crashed into the dwarf's meaty forearms as he whalloped his opponent, lifting a knee up and slamming it into the dwarf's kidney. A moment's pause allowed his opponent an opening and those sausage-like fingers made a grab for his eye socket, gouging the delicate orb as the vampire roared with pain. forced to roll onto his back, Harlan threw an elbow into Shorty's throat, denting his windpipe and finally interrupting his relentless assault as he grasped his neck and gagged.
Harlan sprung back to his feet, coughing blood as the broken rib jabbed out further, and took advantage of the respite by sending a decidedly ungentlemanly kick into the dwarf's bollocks. He went down, understandably, but not before headbutting Harlan in the torso and caving in the rest of his ribcage. "Fook me, you bastahrd....-kaff-" The Ravnos managed to choke out, before putting the boots to his small time rival. Medium style.
Both combatants were bloodied, broken, and bruised, but it was Harlan who was still standing, albeit a bit shakily, and Shorty who was lying on the mat dripping blood. "Yew....win.....ya pale fuck." The diminutive pusher gasped. "Ah concede...."
The leader of the Gentlemen Jacks produced a fine cigar from his suit coat and lit it, inhaling as he left the dumbfounded meatheads and their leader in their blood spattered gym. "Naturally." He mumbled under his breath, before closing the door behind him and limping back into the gloom of Tier 5.
SPLORTCH
Harlan shook the gore off his wrist as the wide eyed man slumped downward onto the ground, stone dead. "Yew made me ruin me cuffs, yew bastahrd." He put a hole through the unlucky criminal to be's chest, resulting in immediate death from tissue shock, his heart still beating weakly in Harlan's gnarled hand. The Ravnos brought his fangs up to the dying muscle, sucking some of the aortic blood out. "But thanks fer tha pick-me-up."
The roving gangster had adjusted his voice and mannerisms, slipping into a exaggerated and gravelly version of his natural accent. What remained of it anyway. He'd taken on so many different ones it was hard to remember what he used to sound like before his Embrace. Anyway, it fit the area and the errand he was on. A few casual investigations of the local narcotics scene had led him to this particular neighborhood, and another round of perhaps a bit more forceful coercion had led him down this block, to the destination that lay on the shabby street corner: Grag's Gym. And inside, "Shorty" Dri'gaklia. The dwarf who'd been slinging his Amaranth secondhand to kids.
Harlan was no saint. He was a soulless bloodsucking monster who commanded the forces of dream and nightmare to rip his enemies apart. He'd sooner suck a punk dry than say how do you do. But there was business, and then there was business. You didn't drop a citizen stone cold. You kept well away from the little people just trying to make a living. Maybe you hit them up every so often for a token, just so they remembered your face, but you didn't steal their lives. You didn't go back on a spit-shake (that one was more due to his bloodline than anything else). You didn't renege on a bet or a wager. And you didn't fucking sell drugs to kids.
He pushed in the door to the gym, to be greeted with a rank stench of sweat and testosterone. Continuous thumps and slams rang around the concrete room, various types of being working out, lifting weight, running speed bags, and assorted other fitness activities. Shorty's gang seemed to be all muscleheads, but the Ravnos spotted more than a few wiry type guys wearing odd white robes and different colored belts. Some of them paused their exercise and turned to face him, assorted races and builds staring out of the dimly lit corners. In the very center of the room was a classic boxing ring.
In the center of the ring, overseeing the whole floor, was a dwarf. An extremely musclebound dwarf, wearing athletic apparel and gym shorts. "An' who be this, walkin' into me establishment with nae an appointment or how de ye do?" The dwarf bellowed, cracking his knuckles. "Ah know ah fanceh lad like yerself didnae come here just ta ruin yer suit with sweat, aye? Bagh hah hah!" The rest of his clientele joined in his laughter until it died down.
Harlan just stood there politely, waiting for the braggart to finish. "Actually, oi came 'ere for business. Namely, t' business of slingin' my product to children." He raised his hands and cracked his fists while the dwarf chortled. "Och aye? An' you must be the discernin' pusha! Adults only, amoiroight?"
The Ravnos nodded. "Oi am. And if yew don't stop, 'ere's gonna be some hell to pay, get me?" He looked around the room, feeling the weight of his gun in his waistband. Easy enough to ace this entire lot and leave with not much effort. But then the dwarf stumbled upon a weakness of Harlan's that, in retrospect, was a pretty bad one.
"Tell ye wot, fanceh lad. Yew beat me in a fistfight, an' ah'll stop, and them yew call friends can even come on down to tha gym and work the bags with us all friendly like. But I beat you..." And the dwarf cracked his knuckles, big meaty fingers like sausages. "Oi keep slingin' yer product to whomever oi likes, and yew supply me with more. For a small fee, natch."
The Ravnos smirked, and started to take off his suit jacket, bowtie, and dress shirt. With a flick of his fingers, he altered the remainder of his outfit into something a bit more suited to the Gentlemen's Game that he was more familiar with, cheap rough slacks with the seams frayed. "You asked for it, hotshot." Harlan spat in his normal voice, before climbing into the ring.
THUD
SPACK
WHAM! SPLAT! KERRUNCH.
Harlan stumbled back into the ropes, feeling the stretchy rubber bounce and go taut as it prepared to return him the way he came, and with added velocity. The dwarf's last blow had cracked one of his ribs, and the vampire could feel it poking out of his sallow grey skin. This was not going the way he had hoped, and the wager prevented him from using his Chimerstry. Goddamn clan weakness, the dwarf had him by the balls. Harlan spat, regaining control of his momentum, and used the bounce to hurtle towards the shorter being, one fist reared back as if to throw a wild haymaker. At the last second, Shorty saw Harlan's feint and adjusted his posture before the vampire crashed into him, arms wrapped around his waist in a classic street takedown.
Arms raised up, the gambler's fists crashed into the dwarf's meaty forearms as he whalloped his opponent, lifting a knee up and slamming it into the dwarf's kidney. A moment's pause allowed his opponent an opening and those sausage-like fingers made a grab for his eye socket, gouging the delicate orb as the vampire roared with pain. forced to roll onto his back, Harlan threw an elbow into Shorty's throat, denting his windpipe and finally interrupting his relentless assault as he grasped his neck and gagged.
Harlan sprung back to his feet, coughing blood as the broken rib jabbed out further, and took advantage of the respite by sending a decidedly ungentlemanly kick into the dwarf's bollocks. He went down, understandably, but not before headbutting Harlan in the torso and caving in the rest of his ribcage. "Fook me, you bastahrd....-kaff-" The Ravnos managed to choke out, before putting the boots to his small time rival. Medium style.
Both combatants were bloodied, broken, and bruised, but it was Harlan who was still standing, albeit a bit shakily, and Shorty who was lying on the mat dripping blood. "Yew....win.....ya pale fuck." The diminutive pusher gasped. "Ah concede...."
The leader of the Gentlemen Jacks produced a fine cigar from his suit coat and lit it, inhaling as he left the dumbfounded meatheads and their leader in their blood spattered gym. "Naturally." He mumbled under his breath, before closing the door behind him and limping back into the gloom of Tier 5.
“I don’t wanna be a product of my environment. I want my environment to be a product of me.”