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Prelude to Fire. (18+ Violence, Language)

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Simon Toews

Joined: 17 Mar 2017
Posts: 9
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Can Be Found: Usually with a drink in his mangled hand.
775.00 Silver Crowns


PostPosted: Sun Mar 19, 2017 1:47 pm    Post subject: Prelude to Fire. (18+ Violence, Language) Reply with quote

Long. ****ing. Night. It had been 3 weeks since his last fight and the boys were itching to do some damage. That was how he ended up in that dingy, filthy warehouse. Sign up, win three bouts, and take home a hefty purse. The first had been a skinny little crackhead. Slippery little ***, but he managed to put him on his ass relatively quickly. The second was a tall guy, all wirey arms and long legs. Vicious bastard who dealt more than few good hits in before finding his face smashed down into the matt, leaving him spitting blood.

Simon was bleeding from gashes on his forehead now, one eye beginning to swell a bit. He took his cigarette out of his mouth and spit a wad of blood on the ground, smoke pouring out his nostrils. His bare upper torso was forged by a life spent dealing out and taking beatings. Toned, hard muscle kissed by tattoos, scars and currently more than a few bruises. He absolutely shone with sweat, as he grabbed a shot glass from the table.

"Ladies and Gentlemen, that IS TWO down!" The announcer bellowed over the crowd. "And our boy is STILL STANDING!" The crowd roared as Simon propped one sinewy arm up on the metal links of the cage, looking almost distractedly as he took a drag.

The hellion would come to this place every now and again. Sometimes to simply check out the competition. Others, to scope out some fresh meat. Willing fighters were the easiest for sure, though the unwilling ones certainly had their perks. Perhaps it was the anger that they felt after, it fueled her. Places like these were full of it, and being around them always left her feeling satisfied. For the moment, her lava-like eyes were stuck on the fighter, even as the announcer's voice came in to play. A little smirk found its way onto her face at the mention of him still standing. "Yes, he is..." she said, admiration in that voice.

"But let's see how long that lasts, because here he comes! 6'3" 340 lbs of pure muscular mayhem! Give it up...FOR JEORG THE DESTROYERRRRRRR!"

Simon didn't look at his opponent as he entered. Just a massive brick ****house of a man. The cage slammed shut as the huge fighter paced, ready to destroy the smaller man.

Simon was a crowd pleaser for sure, and she liked the way he brought them to life. Pulling off her sunglasses, she stared over at him with those glowing lava eyes, a brow perked. If he wanted a boost of rage, she'd give it to him. Perhaps it was just her wanting a taste, though.

As the countdown to fight began, he took one last drag of his smoke, and threw it to the ground at "one", turning and immediately moving for his opponent. Just from the few seconds he had to study, he had a feeling he could guess the first move. He was not disappointed. Jeorg grabbed for him with both arms, but simon ducked from his grasp, dropping low into a slide and punched him as hard as he possibly could in the balls as he passed through his legs. He was up before the man could react, a quick glance back and he kicked out one of the big guy's knees, a loud pop and awkward angling to his leg telling the damage that he'd just dealt out.

Simon moved around him like a lion stalking his prey, rushing in to grab him by the head and drive his knee as hard as he possibly could into the huge fighter's face, the nose exploding in a mist of red that covered Simon's sweat-streaked torso. Those big hands got ahold of the smaller fighter, but Simon just kept slamming his elbow into his opponents shoulder as he was lifted, to no avail.


Simon was slammed to the ground viciously. He just lay there, looking like he was barely breathing. Jeorg grabbed him by the hair and threw a vicious right into his face, a spray of blood flying from Simon's lips. It looked like the end. The huge victor hobbled up to his knees, and bellowed like a feral animal at the crowd one huge arm raised.

The crowd roared...but not for him.

He turned just in time for those battered, bloody knuckles that hit like a *** Mack truck, to slam into his face. Simon leaned in again, spinning the man toward himself and then drove his knee into his jaw again and again and again before throwing him up against the cage. Jeorg was woozy as he turned slowly toward Simon.

A foot to his face slammed the big man's head into steel, teeth and blood flying into the crowd before the mountain crashed to the ground. Simon stood there, covered in filth and crimson, panting with clenched fists. "LADIES AND GENTLEMEN! WE HAVE A WINNER!"

His one good eye was red with a burst blood vessel, his cheek open from the blow Jeorg had dealt him. He just spat a wad of blood onto the mat and grabbed his last shot glass, shooting it back, and stepping out into the crowd.

Jamie watched on, fingers slipping the shaded lenses back over her eyes which could have easily triggered a crowd fight had she not been careful. There was the slightest frown of disappointment, without a touch of sadness when Simon was grounded as if it were a pity that he wasn't what she expected him to be. The underdog prevailed, though. Refusing to go down, and it brought up those eyebrows and resurrected that little smirk that rested on her features. When he took his shot, she lit up a cigarette and began to slip away from her spot and follow after him. "My, my..." she spoke in a sultry little tone. "Aren't you just a treat?"

Slowly, he stopped and glanced back at her, that right eye swollen. as he took her in. A smirk crossed his cracked lips and he wiped the red from them and turned to face her. "You enjoy the show?" He asked her, flinging a t-shirt over a strong shoulder. Yes. That was how he thought of a brutal cage match. A show. A fun little exercise.

Looking him up and down, she didn't seem even the slightest bit offput by his battered appearance. If anything, it made him all that more attractive to her. Her teeth were displayed in a grin, "You definitely caught my eye," she told him, chin lifted lightly as she propped an eyebrow up on her forehead. Looking him up and down once more, her tongue lashed out against her lips. "What do you say, we go somewhere more private...? You got a car?"

"...I can get one." He said simply, nodding to her. "You got a private place?" He asked with an upnod her way. He was up for something private...but ****ed if he was taking her to his place. when the fight groupies figured out where he lived they expected a repeat. He wasn't really about repeats...unless they were really good.

Yeah, Jamie wasn't all about bringing people back to her place. That didn't mean she hadn't a place she liked to go. Little did he know, though, that she was no groupie. Would she bang him? Probably...but that wasn't where her interests rested. "I know a place," muttered with a little smile as she headed for the door.

He was handed the purse from the fight; 2,000. Well worth the beating, he decided, pulling that tight black t-shirt over his aching body as he followed her out into the parking lot. He fished around in his pockets, producing a pack of smokes. His zippo flipped and burning, he lit the cherry, eyes looking across the lot for "his" car.

"Ah. There it is." He said, moving to an old black 69 Mustang with white racing stripes.

Her own neglected smoke was brought to her lips as she stared after him. "Borrowing?" she asked, a wicked little grin on her face that said she wasn't at all above breaking the law. If she was, she'd probably have to question all of her life choices up until this moment.

He bent down mid-stride, grabbing a large brick from a scrap heap. He wound up and smashed in the window, reached in, and unlocked the car. "Yeah. Borrowing."

Without hesitation, she moved over to the car. "Le's go." Delighted, she got in when he 'unlocked' it, and even reached over to dust some of the glass from his seat for him. She'd wait until he began driving, and she'd direct him. The drive didn't last long at all, and soon she was moving in to an old abandoned bar. It was creepy, quiet, and dusty save for the bar that seemed to have various spots dusted off. By what, would remain a mystery. "This is my quiet space," she told him, moving behind the bar and grabbing two glasses. She poured them both some whisky from an old bottle and then hopped up on the bartop. "So," she muttered.

He followed her in, brows knit. "I can't say it's what I expected, but I like your idea of a place to lay low." He said, stepping up the bar proper, leaning on his elbows, that bloodshot blue eye scanning over her figure as she poured him a glass. "So." He repeated to her, a confident little smirk on his face.

"So, that was cute." A little nod given to him as she pulled the glass to her lips. Her cigarette had been long since spent, and now there was nothing left to do but drink. "It was beneath you, though..." The girl said with a scrunch of her face. "Fighting for money... There's no risk in it."

He cocked his head as if to say "Oh, really?" taking a sip of his drink. "Maybe. Pays the rent though. And it's fun as ****."

Leaning forward, "But I have something more fun in store for you... Something with, less reward..." she admitted. "But a lot of risk. Hell, if you make my crowd as happy as you made that one, I might even pay you for your trouble."

His eyes drifted down, trailing over her, a little smirk crossing his battered features. "Pay me, huh?" He asked with a teasing tone. "What's the gig?"

"Pay you," she nodded, looking him up and down for a moment as if weighing her options. "You fight, just like you did back there... but you don't stop at a knock-out. You stop when they're dead." Another swig of her whisky was taken and she raised an eyebrow. "In or out?"

Simon did not seem fazed by the idea. If he did, he had a hell of a poker face. "They know the stakes going in?" He asked her, taking another drink.

"Some do," she answered honestly. Her legs folded Indian style as she rested her glass just on her knee and propped herself back on one hand. "Some aren't really given a choice. I don't hand those out a lot," she told him with a shameless little grin.

He studied her a moment, not entirely sure if she was some sort of cop trying to bust him. Though...she was very blatant about what he'd be getting himself into. "Fair enough." He said. "I'm in."

Yes, these are bruises from fighting. Yes, I'm comfortable with that. I am enlightened.
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Simon Toews

Joined: 17 Mar 2017
Posts: 9
See this user's pet
Can Be Found: Usually with a drink in his mangled hand.
775.00 Silver Crowns


PostPosted: Mon Apr 10, 2017 6:00 pm    Post subject: Reply with quote

The roar of the crowd. The cool air hitting his flesh. The smell of sweat and blood in air. It fueled him. Simon watched as the loser of the last bout was dragged, unconscious from the outdoor ring. This fight set up in a makeshift arena on the docks, shipping containers stacked around the perimeter. He stood in his corner, looking fresh-faced and ready, one hand reaching up to his head, stretching his neck to one side.

His knuckles clenched, letting out little pops, those sharp blue eyes tracking his opponent. Slim, tall, with long, sinewy arms. Body packed with toned muscle. He looked fast, hungry, alert. Simon walked out, his tightly wrapped fists bumping against his opponents. Before the bell could even ring, he turned his back and walked toward the other end of the ring.

The skinny fighter watched him walking away, for a moment confusion settled into his face, but it gave in to anger. This guy was disrespecting him! Well, he’d be regretting that in a second. The man charged at Simon ready to attack him from behind. Simon’s stride turned into a run, he leapt up, foot connecting with the metal side of a shipping container, launching himself into a mid-air roundhouse that connected with the charging fighter’s face.

Down he went, faceplanting, blood splattering on the cardboard mat that served as the fighting surface. Simon landed on his feet, whipping around and moving to bring his heel down onto the back of the man’s head. But the fighter was indeed quick. He rolled quickly out of the way and scrambled up to all fours.

Just as Simon turned to face him, the skinny man pounced. He slammed, full bodied into Simon, knocking him off his feet and bouncing onto his back. Even as he hit the ground, Simon grabbed him by the long hair, pulling his head back as those hammer-like knuckles of his pounded his opponent’s face mercilessly. His legs wrapped around Skinny’s waist squeezing as tightly as possible until the thin man felt like his ribs my break under the strain.

Blood rained down on Simon’s face with every hard, packing sound of fist on face. Finally a vicious right cross had his opponent rolling to one side. Simon moved to the other side and got to his feet, giving the bloody fighter a chance.

Skinny pushed up off the ground and spat a big, stringy wad of blood out onto the cardboard mat. Simon’s scarred, tattooed chest rose and fell, slick with sweat and blood. The thin man snarled and got to his feet, quickly. His fists went up as he approached Simon.

A cocky little smirk crossed the tattooed combatant’s lips as Skinny threw punch that was easily dodged. Laughter escaped him on the next dodge, drawing out the rage in his opponent. Skinny was throwing unaimed punches at his face missing by a mile as Simon danced around them, making him madder and madder. As the next dodge went, Skinny threw a close fisted backhand, catching Simon across the jaw.

Apparently, Icarus flew a little too close to the sun there. Skinny grabbed the mildly dazed Simon by the head and brought his knee into his face, sending the tatted fighter stumbling back. Simon blocked and dodged a flurry of kicks, the last caught in the crook of his left elbow, his right dropping down hard, hyper extending that knee.

Skinny managed to stay standing and fighting through the pain as they squared off again. Simon lashed out with a vicious right...that missed. Skinny caught his arm and went around him, throwing Simon, face-first into one of the shipping crates. He felt the metal cut into his brow, hot crimson running down his face as fingers wrapped in his short.

Lights flashed with a burst of pain as his head was smashed into the metal again and again and again, his knees growing weaker with every impact. His head snapped back, pulled away again, but as he he was thrust back at the container, he caught himself with his fists, halting that momentum.

Simon’s elbow shot back connecting with Skinny’s nose, shattering it with burst of blood Another shot back hitting the exact same spot, Skinny’s grip loosening. Simon spun to face him again, a quick head-butt connecting with his opponent’s face, sending the slim man stumbling and flailing into the cargo container on the other side of the ring.

His vision was clouded with red on one side, but Simon watched as a lead pipe was dropped into the ring for the skinny man. So THAT was how it was going to be, he thought. He grit his teeth and spat blood on the floor, readying himself.

Skinny grabbed that pipe and hobbled over toward him, Simon keeping his side facing the battered man. The pipe sang through air, swiped at him, but Simon leaned out of the way, backing away. Let him tucker himself out more.

He kept Skinny moving and swinging, until his body was clearly just ragged with exhaustion until, finally, Simon caught that pipe, ripped it from his grasp and with both hands on either end slammed to the middle of the object into Skinny’s teeth.

Simon felt those teeth crack underneath the lead pipe, choked down, wound up and with one swift, hard swing, whacked him across the temple.

Skinny fell to the ground in a heap, the bell ringing to the sound of a screaming crowd. The barker came out shouting things, but with the roar of the crowd and blood pounding in his ears Simon barely heard it.

Yes, these are bruises from fighting. Yes, I'm comfortable with that. I am enlightened.
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Simon Toews

Joined: 17 Mar 2017
Posts: 9
See this user's pet
Can Be Found: Usually with a drink in his mangled hand.
775.00 Silver Crowns


PostPosted: Wed May 03, 2017 3:13 pm    Post subject: Reply with quote

You know that feeling when things go horribly wrong, and the world feels like it’s crashing down all around you? That was Simon’s reality at the moment. The opponent he’d been booked to fight was short, but he was so quick, so agile, the taller fighter could barely lay a hand on him.

The tiny ball of furious violence kicked off the cage, throwing his whole body into a punch that connected hard with Simon’s jaw and sent him stumbling away. He was barely stopped when the next attack came. A knee slammed into Simon’s cheek bone once, twice, pain blossoming out through his face as the skin broke in a bloody mess.

Released, finally, those blue eyes, hazy and dazed opened to find his diminuitive opponent rushing toward him. Before he could react two feet planted hard into his chest, sending him flailing back into the cage, his head thrown back and clanging against the bars. The world seemed to move all on its own for a moment as the little man called him forth.

Oh **** THIS guy, Simon thought. He half-stumbled toward the man, fists up and ready, the two fighters circling. Finally, he threw a punch, but tiny ducked, cracked him in the ribs with a quick rabbit punch. In response, Simon launched a backhanded fist that went way wide, missing entirely.

As he stumbled into the follow-through, the smaller man jumped on this back and started raining blows on Simon’s skull while he struggles and stumbled about, desperate to get the little bastard off him. He slammed his attacker back against the cage, again and again and again. The final time, the little fighter, caught the bars with his feet and kicked off, arms wrapped around Simon’s neck. The force of his body flipping over Simon’s brought the taller man falling, and face planting into the mat.

As Simon tried to push himself off the ground and elbow connected with the back of his head, bashing his face down into the hard canvas and wood. The world flashed white a moment as his head was pulled up, the smaller man’s fist wrapped in his hair.


His face hit again.


Another blow. Suddenly Simon lasher out ,his elbow connecting with face. The little man went down. Blood poured down Simon’s busted face, vision in his left eye gone completely black. He climbed atop his opponent and drove his knuckles again and again into his jaw.

Ahhhhh….good. All was right. Simon was back in charge and this little sh-

Suddenly, the smaller fighter grabbed Simon’s throat maneuvering so his legs wrapped around his neck. Simon gasped and choked for air, fists slamming wherever they could into his opponent.

Well, this was different…

He struggled up to his knees and lifted Tiny up and slammed his back down onto the mat. His vision began to pop like cigarette burns on film. He lifted him again and the man hit hard, his legs loosening around Simon’s neck.

The tall fighter gasped greedily for air, reeling back and fighting to breathe again.

WHACK! A foot connected with his forehead, snapping his head back.

WHACK! Again, it hit, this time putting Simon on his back.

The smaller fighter climbed atop of him and mercilessly hammered on Simon’s face until he cried out in a spray of blood to stop the fight, tapping out.

As he lay there, eye swollen shut, nose busted, entire body aching and blood soaked, he found it hard to be mad. His opponent rolled off onto his own back, the two of them laying there, panting. He turned his head to him an upnod to the victor. “Good fight, *** hole.”

Yes, these are bruises from fighting. Yes, I'm comfortable with that. I am enlightened.
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PostPosted: Tue May 16, 2017 2:28 pm    Post subject: Reply with quote

Simon sat at the bar, mid-day, an empty beer bottle in front of him and a cigarette hanging from his lips. On the TV, a horse race was playing. Simon put down some big money on this one, and it wasn’t looking good. He bet on an underdog, and was beginning to think he might have taken a bit too large a gamble.

A man settled in beside him at the bar. Well-coiffed, clad in a gray suit without a tie, the white dress shirt open a few buttons to his clavicle. Simon sized him up immediately. Broad-chested, biceps straining the material of his suit coat. Obviously a man who could handle himself.

The barkeep approached, “What can I get you?”

“Whiskey sour.” The stranger said. Simon gave him another glance, drawing the dark haired fellow’s attention as the glass was slid in front of him. Steely blue eyes looked to the empty sitting in front of the tatted fighter. “And another beer for my friend, here.”

Everything about this guy screamed “COP” to him. But never one to pass up a free beer, Simon accepted. He raised the bottle to Johnny haircut over there, receiving a raise of the glass in return. He turned his gaze back to the TV as his horse fell behind. He lost big time. A grimace crossed his face. “God damn it…”

The man glanced up at the screen. “You just lose some green, there?” He asked, taking a sip of his drink.

Simon stubbed out his cigarette. He’d play along. “Yeah. 10 large.”

The stranger sucked air in through his teeth, making a sympathetic face. “Ooooh...ouch.”

“****in’ tellin’ me.”

“Well, here’s to ya.” the man said. Silence hung between them as Simon lit another cigarette. “Name’s John. John Calloway.” He intro’d himself.

Simon glanced over, not exactly warm toward him as he offered an upnod.

“Simon.” was all he gave.

Calloway watched him a moment with an easy going smile on his face. “What you do, Simon?”

Was this guy still trying to keep the ruse up that he wasn’t there specifically FOR him? Simon just smirked. “Youth Pastor. Keepin’ the kids off the streets and in the light of the Lord.”

Calloway laughed lightly. “Youth pastor. I like that.” He took another sip.

“Yeah, it’s a laugh riot.” Simon said with a sigh, taking a long drag off his cigarette. “So, you got something you wanna ask, or we gonna keep pretendin’ I don’t know what you are?”

Calloway grinned. He liked a worthy opponent. “Where’s Tahlia Faras, Simon?”

“Never heard of her.” He said cooly without thinking.

“Funny. Because I have it on good authority you two have been seen together multiple times over the past month. Now, I’m not exactly a playboy myself, but if I had a minx in the backseat of a car I was driving, I’d probably remember her.” Calloway eyed him like they were playing a game of poker.

“Sounds like you need to get laid more.” Simon countered.

The stranger leaned against the bar and nodded as if considering the idea. “Call me old fashioned.”

“I’d rather call you gone.” Simon nodded to him. “There anythin’ else.”

Calloway just watched him with that amused little grin, silent. Simon stubbed out his cigarette and pushed away from the bar. “Thanks for the beer.”

Calloway watched him go for a moment, but his words stopped Simon cold. “Tahlia Faras is a cop killer, Simon. She killed a friend of mine, and I’m going to find her, you understand me?”

The tall Fed stood up from his stool and moved toward Simon. “She’s gonna burn. Up to you if you want to help me or if you want to burn with her.”

Simon locked eyes with him, that unflinching, dangerous expression on his face. “You should go home, officer. This place ain’t for you.”

Calloway nodded, keeping very cool, calm and confident. “Mm. No. I think I’m right where I need to be.”

Simon grinned back at him. “You said you were gonna burn her. You know the problem with fire, John? It’s unpredictable. Watch out you don’t light yourself up in the process.”

With that, Simon turned and headed toward the door, leaving Calloway in his wake, a grin on the handsome man’s face. He watched as that tattooed thug disappeared out the door. He glanced over to the bartender a moment. “You. I want you to tell me everything you know about that man.”
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