Monday Night Fight!
Roleplaying Log: Monday Night Fight!
Participants
IC Details
Synopsis:

The Punchline in Gotham has the inaugural night of its illegal fighting ring.

Other Characters Referenced:
IC Date: June 03, 2019
IC Location: Gotham City - The Punchline - Downstairs
OOC Notes & Details
Posted On: 06 Jun 2019 18:35
Rating & Warnings: PG-13 (Language and Violence)
NPC & GM Credits: NPCs by Harley Quinn / Announcer Shared by Domino, Harley Quinn, and Carl Creel
Associated Plots

It's Monday night in Gotham.

And sure, it's raining cats and dogs. It's late at night. But there's something happening once most of the businesses in the area have shut down for the night.

The Punchline is doing plenty of business.

Past the secret doors in the basement, a new world opens.

Men and women have begun gathering and finding places to sit. Waitresses wander through in little black dresses, delivering booze and dishes of cashews to various tables, although there aren't nearly enough to service the area efficiently. They do their best, but most folk would be best served going to the bar against the one wall by themselves.

Bookies work the crowd, enticing visitors to lay a little money down. Make it more exciting.
The increasingly familiar dark-haired form of LENA ZELLE - who continues to be in no way, shape, or form HARLEY QUINN - makes her way quietly into the room from a side door in a long black dress and settles at a table well away from the action below.

And then? After what might feel like FOREVER to some of those here tonight, an announcer makes his way in. He's tall and lean and dressed immaculately in a tuxedo.

"Weeeeeeeeeelcome to the Punchline!" he starts, full of showman's bravado. "Where the punches get thrown and the line isn't exactly clear! Thank you for jooooooining us for our INAUGURAL FIGHT! Are you ready for blood?" He holds out the microphone to the crowd, and their is some mild noise in the affirmative. "I asked, ARE YOU READY FOR BLOOD?!" This, in the way these crowd activities tend to go, garners a more full-throated general response, and the roar echoes off the hard walls. "Let's hear it for tonight's fighters…"


"Coming straight from the irrrrradiated wastelands of Fury Road, it's ALABLASTER!"

Stepping up to one side of the ring is a wiry looking woman who is decked out in baggy grey cargo pants, plenty of white bandages around the hands and forearms, straps criss-crossing her torso, dusty grey hair, TWO deeply blacked out eyes, and skin so white as to be difficult to look at directly beneath the lights.

They saved a ton by not having to white out her entire body. That shit is -totally natural.-

The Wasteland Chick looks properly grim while coming in but then gets properly into character and strikes the 'Sacred V8' pose for the audience.

"Willll she go to Valhalla with the other War Boys or will she crash and burrrn!"

Alablaster climbs into the ring and punches into an open palm then leaves her arms swaying about at her sides, primed and ready.

As far as disguises go it'd be difficult to tell that the person behind the act is, in fact, Domino, though at least one person in the audience might recognize some familiar healing wounds now left uncovered for all to see.


"And opposing her, is the HAMFISTER!" comes the announcer next. A rather impressive large and well-built man strides in, wearing a white and black striped outfit of a prisoner; a black cape with yellow interior drapes across broad shoulders, a simple bandit mask, and yellow-ribboned hat atop a rather cruddy red haired wig. Crimson gloves and yellow-red boots finish things, although Carl is also dragging behind a large ball and chain. He's always been a fan of cage fights and other brawls, and was a fairly easy recruit to this opening.

"Will he RABBLE RABBLE his way to VICTORY?!" Carl squints, covering his eyes with his hand to better peer at definitely-not-Domino. "Aw man, some little girl?! The hell is this… I wanted an actual FIGHT!" He thumps his chest with both fists. His physique's not for looks, but how well he moves and brawls is likely going to be a good deal more important. "And what's with all the white body paint on your skin? It looks lame!"

Oh, yeah. He WENT THERE.


The crowd, for a long moment, looks very confused.

Lena Zelle, although no one can really see her where she's tucked up and away, is not confused. She is, however, covering her mouth very, very demurely with one hand so no one can see how she is about ready to positively EXPLODE with laughter as Creel makes his appearance.

The announcer continues along as though nothing at all were strange about this fight.

"So! For those of you who have only just joined us - which is all of you, since this is our inaugural fight, HA! - there are only three rules in this fight.

"Rule #1 - Don't be boring!" His hands sweep to ALABASTER and HAMFISTER, commenting: "I think we have a good start. Rule #2 - We get to choose what you take with you, from perks to handicaps because who else would you trust to keep it fair?!" Ha. Ha. Ha. "And Rule #3? Everything. Else. Goes. Your fighters, ladies and gentlemen!"

He turns to the fighters as the crowd finally recovers and gets back on board with the encouraging of violence, and he peruses them as he starts getting the heck out of the ring. "Start whenever. Just remember to make a good show of it. People are watching."


Alablaster shoots a hand out toward Hamfister with a clear look of 'is this guy for real?' "Would someone give this clown a cheeseburger and get him the hell outta the ring before he bleeds Ketchup?"

The guy's built. Looks like he belongs in this ring, honestly. Though is that ball and chain some cruddy prop which might get in the way, or — no, that is TOTALLY a real ball and chain. She could be in a bit of trouble…

Then the announcer mentions 'perks' and 'handicaps.' Hmm. Welp. This could be ..interesting.
Hamfister is, clearly, a peculiar opponent! Alablaster wants to play with him for a while, try to figure out where the fighter's head is at and how serious or motivated he is in putting his strength into the match. Compared to the bigger fighter she looks almost delicate. It's a layer of deception which she is going to -run like hell with.-

Get a couple good back and forth runs going then the White-Out Girl launches into motion. A palm aimed under his chin to stun. A knee to the side of his ribs to unbalance. A grab for an arm to immobilize. A foot shoving against that very real ball attached to a chain to try and entangle his legs. Then a healthy dose of speed and leverage to try and topple the much taller man. Fast and clean. Someone's gotten into some fights before!


"The only thing that's gonna be bleeding here is my eyes from looking at your pastey ass!!" Carl declares towards the Alablaster. Sure, the ball and chain is heavy, but the Crusher seems strong enough to yank it along without as much inhibition as it should. Primarily given it's powerful enchantments; it's more or less an extension of his body and soul at this point, although it does act as a pretty good bluff.

"Everything else goes…? Hah! Then I might as well be KFC Man, because you are BONED, bitch!!" Somewhere deep in his head, this made sense. Fists thump together, the sound less impressive with those gloves. Assuming a competent boxing stance, he then shows what he's made of.

It's made of painful grunts, apparently. A swift jab is evaded as a palm strikes his chin. Eyes glaze, reeling a touch right into a THUMP of the ribs. All semblance of stance and agility fail as he pinwheels from a caught chain, staggering forward into a faceplant right across the ground beside Domino.

People probably stop cheering immediately, since that was pretty pathetic. On the plus side, he's not unconscious, already pushing up to hands and knees. He's tough, to be fair. "Ow…!!" A spit of saliva and blood impacts the ground nearby. "You hit like a… a GIRL!!"


Erik Stevens has been hanging loose in the crowd to kind of pay attention to whatever the hell is going on down here. He likes to get a lay of the land before he starts putting himself out there. He stays quiet and humble, keeping to his corner of the room and not exactly making his presence known. He looks ever the part of an ex-military vessel with the way he's leaned against the wall and the fatigues he's wearing. It's a simple moment in which he makes sure to not be noticed. Not yet, anyway.


And down goes the Hamfister! That..was surprisingly too easy. Alablaster quickly hops outside of his reach and takes a swing at the air to act all triumphant and such.

"Looks like a man with three balls can't fight, huh! This pasty ass is gonna show you the POWER!"

He's taking way too long to get back to his feet. While Hammy's on all fours Ala comes zipping back in with a "WITNESS THIS, FUCKER!" to kick him in the stomach then elbow-drop him in the back!

Maybe this is all just an act! Maybe… maybe… no. He gets a swift kick to the ribs, and the elbow thumps into his shoulderblade with a growl of pain. The only thing going for him is that Domino's pain-inflicting levels are primarily based on mastery of technique and speed, but he's enough layers of muscle and toughness that he's not being surgically taken down just yet. That, and it's not much of a show if she just crushes his throat with a backfist in the first few seconds.

Suddenly the Hamfist twists, a broad backfist leveling across the area. It's surprisingly strong and fast; one might make the mistake that Carl is slow for his size, but he never lost much in speed for it all. A moment later he twists into a kneel with a short upper aimed at her stomach, his technique with punches of a recognizable level. The sort of minion who might get three panels fighting Batman instead of one, maybe.

"SUCK! MY! STEEL! BALLS!!"


As the fight goes on, the crowd cheers with every sunk blow. The announcer really doesn't doo much to offer, save his own call of events as they happen. It seems to be that there will be no interference from him at all, until he suddenly puts his finger to his lips and then holds up a large drawstring pouch.

He holds it up until everyone cheers, and then he leans over to empty it out upon the floor to the ring.

But, what's in the bag you ask?

Thousands and thousands and thousands of tiny ball bearings that are, somehow, quick to start rolling all over the floor in lazy circles that are sure to make footing a challenge.


Oh, crap! The sleeping giant has awakened! He played it off well for a while there, long enough that Alablaster was starting to think he really was that lousy of a fighter. Here comes reality…at a much accelerated pace.

The backfist is just -barely- dodged by way of flipping where she stands, white skin glancing off of hardened knuckles in passing. It's a good dodge! But it leaves her underprepared for the follow-through which is unexpectedly swift.

Catching his arm isn't going to do anything useful but for one brief passing of time she's got it! Then she's flying backward across the ring, flattening out onto her back and sliding across the polished concrete floor. She may be quick but she's not heavy, Hammy could probably bench all of her with one arm.

Ala rolls over and coughs harshly, spitting once on the ground before scrambling back to feet.
"They're as rusty as you are, Ground Chucklehead!"

Big guy with fast, powerful arms. Duck, dodge, dip, dive, and deflect. Let him wear himself out some trying to catch her with another swing, wait for an opening and -suddenly ball bearings.-
For an instant her eyes grow wide as her next step wobbles slightly. Then she starts to grin. Welcome to Chaos in Motion, ladies and gents!

Alablaster stands her ground and holds her arms out wide. "C'mon, Hamster! Show me whatcha got!"

Meanwhile upon the floor so many bearings are bumping against so many -other- bearings, nudging and shifting the mass of trouble around their feet like some organic being. She can't possibly lose this round!


Well, that one blow might be all that Carl gets; he's efficient, but to a degree that makes him predictable. For Domino, adjusting to his style is stupidly easy. If she plays to his range and ability to strike with his fists, he's not bad. Everything else is fairly piss-poor beyond balance and stance, and luckily nothing is going to be ruining his footwork in the near future.

Good thing he's not dumb enough to exhaust himself trying to punch Domino wait no there he goes. Swing! Swing! The air bellows behind each fist, and it'd probably hurt if there was any chance of connecting. He's deluded into thinking that he's got a shot if he just keeps pressing forward, meaning that his drive to step at Domino hits a lot of bearings.

Suddenly, he discovers he can do the splits, in exchange for horribly agonizing pain. "AUGH!" He thumps on his side, white stars of agony hovering around as his shoddy hat and wig fall off to bare his disappointingly shiny head. That's it… enough of this crap… ANYTHING GOES, they said. He's done playing with this stupid Alablaster. Once his groping hand finds a ball bearing, he'll crush her like a…

Then his ball and chain, inadvertently kicked skyward, lands right atop Creel's head. Eyes bug out, blood spurts from his teeth, and he writhes in agony. Luckily, Domino would never take advantage of an utterly helpless opponent!


It's like something out of a cartoon. A brutal, violent, bloody cartoon. Hamfister goes down like a ton of bricks, Alablaster swears she can feel the floor shake! Little steel bearings scatter away from the downed fighter, one of them neatly bouncing into an awaiting palm as she brings a hand closer to the floor. It's held upon her fingertips as she looks down at Carl, asking loud enough for the crowd to hear "Are these the steel balls you were talking about?"

It gets flicked toward the much larger ball welded to the end of the chain, the smaller bouncing off of the larger with a *ping!* as if she's chiming the bell for the fight to be over.


As the mighty ALABASTER gets in the last joke of the night, the crowd erupts into a bloodthirsty roar. She is lauded champion and given all due rights to celebrate in the ring as she will, and HAMFISTER is slowly collected up and taken elsewhere to nurse his wounded pride, the bookies have already started to tabulate the payouts. Creel was a favorite tonight, but it's probably safe to say that the House is getting more than it's fair cut.

In the back, naturally, is one Lena Zelle, smiling her Mona Lisa smile as she offers an entirely polite golf clap, rises to her feet, and then departs via the same easily-missed little side door that granted her access in the first place.

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