Duel:Muraski v Valentin
Background
Muraski sees his potential, if aggravating, future employee Valentin for a second time.
Sure, Valentin may not think of himself as a potential employee, but this time they are in the gangster's home turf, and the dapper man in suit and fedora feels more confident of getting his way.
Setting
The Whalers' Bar
Jovial shouts and raucous laughter assault the ears upon entering this establishment. Booths and tables are filled with patrons of all races and nationalities, as the owner has made clear that all are welcome within his bar. Fisherman's netting is creatively strung from the rafters throughout the room, holding many treasures and tokens of the sea. Starfish, shells and deep-sea corals have been interwoven with anchors, mastheads, and even a boot or two. Every cast away nuance of the nautical seems to find its way to some corner, wall or alcove within this sailor's haven. Under a crude replica of Selene, goddess of the sea, hangs a list of the standards offered.
A Business Proposition
Although the bar is crowded, Valentin is seated at an otherwise empty table, his cleaver resting prominently as a paperweight on the sheathe of parchments he is reading through.
Muraski moved through the crowd of people as he traversed through the bar, the buthcer having caught his eye. As he approached the man, he sat down in front of him, a clean suit on today. "I got a job for you."
Valentin mutters "Tha's luvverly for ya" as the butcher's shadow slinks from under the chair to wink at the gangster
Muraski removed from his pocket a copy of the parchment Vuryal had placed upon the Kelay Boards, "Need you to defeat a wraith. I'd like to be the sole owner of the cure." He pushed the parchment towards the man.
Valentin looks up from his paperwork to send a dour look at the fedora-topped toff. "You're mad. Mus' be something in th'water these days." The shadow had practiced this one earlier, and now repeated the motion - tapping a shadowy finger against its head and then circling it in time honoured salute to the asylum-bound.
Muraski raised a brow at the man, "Mad? Mad would be to pass up the wealth to be had from that vial. You get your hands on something like that and you won't have to worry about funds for a long time. That vial there will catch more then a pretty penny from the heroes of these lands." Eyes followed the shadow for but a moment till he grasped a flask from his inside pocket and took a small sip. "What are you working on?The paperwork."
Valentin grunts "Not in'erested, guv. Go play w'the ghosties y'self, or whatever they are." The brief interlude of silence was appreciated, care of that flask, but the resumption of pleasantries caused the butcher to think fondly of his cleaver for a moment. "Double-checkin' the property laws. The'city may be chaos now, innit, but bureacracy's blimmin' eternal, and 'as an even longer memory."
Muraski looked at the papers for but a moment, "What about the property laws?" Seemingly intrested, the thief's questions continued, "And what do you need with property? Anything of importance or perhaps I could offer my assistaince?"
Valentin glowers at the gangster "The entire point o' property laws, is for the purpose o' legitimisin' y'place o'work. I ain't interested in stolen goods, guv"
Muraski sighed at the man, "I'm an honest business man, check my books if you don't believe me. Not a dime I have made hasn't been through an honest sale." Truth be told, that was honest, he'd never stolen gold only sold stolen goods. "Now, if you remember, I have a legitimate business.. I know a few things about the laws or at least I'd like to believe I did. All I ask in return for my work is a favor."
Valentin's shadow produces a cleaver as the butcher states, quite bluntly, "I don't do favours, guv. That's a fool's game I won't be in on."
Muraski shrugged, "Was just looking for names. Need to find a real man who isn't to cowardly to take my job." Another swig was taken as he finished the words and the flask was then deposited back within his jacket.
Valentin smiles coldly "Off ya go then, guv. Challenge the wraiths, y'manly banker you." The butcher's shadow gets a predatory hint in the slanting of its eyeslits as it fingers its cleaver thoughtfully
Muraski grinned, "And what profit would it be in there for me to lose?" Muraski knew better then that, "No, no, I need a man who's also a buffoon.. Hence why you were my first canidate." He stood from the table, "It's fine though, I'll be finding me a new ape to rush at the wraiths." He awaited a response but was close to just taking his leave.
Valentin narrows his eyes as the gangster stands. The butcher's shadow heaves on the shadowy legs of Muraski's chair, and the man will find the chair slamming into the back of his knees. A probable outcome, should the man not notice this, would be finding himself seated yet again on a truly obstinate chair.
Muraski fell backwards as the chair collided into his knees. A confused and slightly agitated man would stare down the vampire, "Is there something else you wanted to discuss?"
Valentin retrieves his paperwork, rolling it up and jamming it in an apron pocket. He picks up the large, heavy cleaver, and runs his finger along the blade with his left hand, the flesh scored by the razor-sharp monstrosity. A new pair of fingerless gloves conceal the bolt hole from their previous business venture on that same hand, but no doubt the gangster would recall his haste. "Seems to me, guv, that you're showin me a lack o'respect." Valentin looks on impassively as people from nearby tables quietly get up and leave the bar. "Seems to me, guv, that we have a problem."
Muraski looked upon the man's reaction with amusement, so he had struck well enough with the insults. A smug look presented itself upon the human's face as once again he stood from the chair, unbuttoned his tux and took the suit off. A quick toss would place the clothing within the bartender's hands and then his attention would be back upon the man. "A problem? Couldn't be that you're having an issue with the words I chose to call you and your kind is it? Afterall, had you just accepted my offer for help or perhaps the job I presented your way.. Seems to me, those words wouldn't of even been presented." His eyes looked for obstacles and other ways to avoid being cut in two, perhaps even a way or two to distract the vampire. For now, he'd keep on talking until the man decided to shut him up, "Afterall, I wasn't the one who stated I'd be there for temporary jobs then deny the first one offered to me.. Seems to me, if you give your word, you give your word."
Things get complicated
OOC Information
Valentin oocly proposes a duel. Stakes: mild beatdown and the humiliation of having actually lost.
Muraski oocly accepts the duel ^.^
Post Limit: 10 minute rounds
Hollow Time: Approximately 9pm, 08 September.
Hmail Judges: Vaidhe, Svilfon (Mid), Jolie
The Duel
Valentin grunts at the well-dressed toff's rambling insults "Y'talk too much." The stocky vampire surges to his feet, deliberately knocking the table towards the gangster as he focuses on his shadow, causing it to trip a fleeing tavern patron into the path of the gangster's likely path of escape. If all goes well, that table will slam against the smarmy human as his retreat is blocked by a tripped-up drunkard. Successful or not, Valentin is swift to follow, stomping out a kick at Muraski - directly at him if still standing, or through the table if the man was knocked over. His cleaver remains in his hand, his intention to humiliate, not kill.
Muraski 's words had done their job as the man had finally grown ill of them and as he spoke the thief knew trouble would ensue soon. His legs moved to flee and just as he went to roll out of the way of the table, the tripped drunkard collided with him. A quick tumble to the floor saw to the thief's downfall as both him and drunk fell down which normally would have been great had the fat man not fallen on top of the spry thief. Rolling left, right, back and forth as he continued to attempt to free his pinned form from underneath the heavy man, yet it never seemed to work. Finally, yet to late, the drunk moved just in time for his own form to be missed by the giant vampire's foot which landed directly into Muraski's side. A grunt of pain escaped his lips, his own teeth biting down into the side of his mouth to muffle any sounds of pain. With the drunk no longer upon him the thief went to move, a quick push with his hands would once again find him on his feet, though with a definite limp from the blow. He pretened to run, as he made a fake juke for the door only to in turn roll hopefully underneath the vampire and aim a fist into his groin as he passed underneath. As soon as he was through the roll there would be a definate few paces taken away from the surely angered butcher to insure he didn't get cleaved in two from behind.
Vampire or not, a groin shot hurt. While the burly butcher's undead flesh might not consider it a telling blow, the butcher's mind assured him that a punch to the weddin' tackle was bad. That moment was enough to allow Muraski past before the vampire realises his groin was pretty much dead meat anyway. With a snarl, Valentin flexes his knees to pick up, with a surge of vampiric strength through his right arm, the drunken man previously tripped over. Using the hilt of his cleaver as further leverage, he hurls the man directly at Muraski. A narrowing of eyes as the drunakrd leaves his hands then precedes a cold smile as Valentin focuses on a basic task of shadowmancy, one drilled into him by his insane master, causing the drunkard's silhouette to solidify at the moment it approaches Muraski. Valentin hoped the gangster would duck the drunkard to get thumped by the fat man's shadow.
Muraski :: Duck, duck, his mind forced him to duck as the large man who had already once laid atop him came sailing towards the thief, only, even with the duck the human had once again forgotten the shadows weaved by the butcher. As the shadows smashed into him with as much force as the man had been thrown, Muraski found himself smashed against the wall of the tavern just to the side of the large man. This time however, he wasn't pinned underneath the large cretin. With his mind in a haze from the rather beating he had been taking the man wasn't exactly able to move about the easiest, no he needed time and time meant a distraction. Above them was the nets which held onto all the treasures of the sea from the pirates and others who often wandered through this bar. A hand reached for his weapon, the small crossbow upon his hip, and pulled it free from the holster which held it. He aimed for the nets above Valentin and began to shoot, soon to watch parts of the net weaken as strands were cut and slowly it would make it's way to fall down upon his foe, along with whatever it held on top of it. It took but a few moments for the web like netting to fall and when it did, down crashed all manners of memorobelia, shells, life preservers, oars, and even an anchor came crashing down toward the unfortunate vampire, hopefully enough to bury him underneath the mounds of things or maybe even knock him unconcious should something heavy enough make it's mark.
The vampire's displeasure is given voice with a loud and terse "Buggrit!" as the anvil falls. Pinned beneath an anvil and shelves of bric-a-brac, several ribs broken, Valentin looks forward to the day he learns more advanced aspects of the black tides of necromancy, but for now the butcher and Novus Morior of the Necromancer's guild would have to get creative with the basics using his own talent for shadow. Whether the gangster runs or waits, Valentin lets dissonant syllables slip from his lips as he binds his own essences with that of his shadow. Pooling out like spilled ink beneath a pile of rubble which suddenly deflates a little, Shadow-Valentin flits from table to table to hitch a ride in the shadow of another fleeing patron passing in the direction of Muraski. When he finds himself close to the annoying toff, Valentin rises to form a shadow simulacra of himself and releases the shadow-binding, reappearing in all his disgruntled bulk behind Muraski. He would then give the man a -very- solid kick towards the rear end, following up with a bludgeoning blow towards the back of the man's head with the flat side of his oversized cleaver.
Valentin oocly amends to anchor
Muraski seemed to accomplish his goal reasonably well as the man fell to the piles of stuff that fell from the ceiling. Ahh, an accomplished thief slowly stood to his feet, a hand pushed upon the drunk to assist him up. A few steps were taken to get past the pile of rubble upon the ground when all of a sudden he found himself kicked into a table. A very disgruntled man's head connected with the side of the table and then landed underneath, the flatside of the cleaver to connect with the table instead of his head, much to the thief's thanks. With little strength to remain, and not a lot of energy left to commit, the human did what he did best, fight cheaply. With all the power he could muster he fastly kicked his uninjured leg up at the groin of the butcher, once again hoping it could serve a temporary flinch and afford him time to push away further underneath the table.
Valentin tries to move back out of the way. Regrettably, the butcher's own positioning by the wall Muraski had just vacated makes that difficult. With back to the wall and the the blimmin' Cenrilli Toff's foot coming in, Valentin twists, hoping to wear that kick on any part of his body other than the precious weddin' jewels. "Ya bloody Cenril Banker, I'll have y'Xalious Pass f'this!"
Svilfon said, "ooc- It was a very close duel. Split decision victory to Valentin. All in all, a great showing. Congratulations, Valentin, commiserations, Mura. I was very torn as to who I'd vote for. It was excellent! <3 Kudos."
Valentin wears the gangster's kick on his thigh, then grabs a hold of the man's lapels. He delivers a ringing slap to both man's cheeks, then fetches him a return knee to the groin which would leave the man ...frustrated... for at least a couple of weeks. His aggression expelled with that kick, the burly butcher calmly advises Muraski "Y'gotta show respect if y'wanna survive in Cenril, guv. The less y'talk, the less stupid y'appear. Think about it." The butcher will then put his cleaver away, and walk off, sundry duties to attend to.