Fight:Bare-Knuckle Boxing in Vailkrin - Pretty Boy Stevens (npc) v Francesco (npc)

Background

Alfredo's Night of Delightful Fights - Bare-Knuckle Boxing in Vailkrin

Another night, and a boxing match heats up to stir the audience's interest and wallets.

Michael 'Pretty Boy' Stevens was NPCd by Leifong

Foul Mouthed Francesco was NPCd by Cornelius

Michael 'Pretty Boy' Stevens vs Foul Mouthed Francesco

There is an almost rhythmic quality to the shouts of the patrons this evening as Alfredo's Fight Night heats up with a brutal slugging match between two thuggish members of street gangs who'd decided to settle a turf dispute in the pit. Alfredo bounces around the air above the pit, exhorting the crowd "This, beloved gold-dispensers so close to my heart, is the truth behind diplomacy! No empty words here, my discerning friends! Only the truth behind bludgeoning fists! Messages that only well-cabbaged ears would fail to hear! And Oh! My! I do believe that was his teeth Madames et Messieurs! Yes, the Black Rats win the rights to the alleys abridging the Marketplace!" As the pit is cleared of teeth and fighters, the attendants usher in the next fighters, intent to keep the punters as riled up and happy as possible to keep the betting profits going strong. "Ladies and ladies of the night! Swoon in admiration for our next contender in the White Section: Michael 'Pretty Boy' Stevens! Look at those fine features, all straight lines and smooth smiles. The hair won't stay blonde for long, though, if Foul-Mouthed Francesco gets his way. Yes! Frankie is in the Black Corner, if only to match the colour of his heart." Alfredo spins up into the air, and points his cane towards the combatants "Put your hands together and your bets in, dear Patrons! For the match is about to begin! Gentlemen! I want to see shattered noses and bleeding knuckles! Let your very smiles show chipped teeth! Allez! Commence!"

Francesco is a short and stocky man, sporting a shabby moustache and a greasy carpet of curly black hair. Tonight he's still wearing his builder's overalls, sweat mingled with sawdust and dust in general. When Alfredo calls out the command, Alfredo grins "Farmboy's gonna go weeping to his mamma. After I father his new brothers, eh?" He swaggers towards Pretty Boy Stevens, and when he gets closer he slowly steps in with a jab-and-cross combo to clear a little space before he hunkers down into his guard: hunched over almost crablike with broad shoulders raised and chin down, both arms up in a tight guard, and centre of gravity low. He grins from behind his guard "You gonna call me Papa, little Bambino? Coz I am gonna spank you until you shit your breeches"

Pretty boy Stevens tosses off his shirt as the round is called to begin, and advances on the squat man he'd been paired against with a half grin, half smirk etching smile lines in his handsome face. The up and coming rookie is tall in comparison to Frankie, well built and strapping from his corn-fed, manual labour upbringing in the provincial farmland of Kelay. Surely the ladies were cheering for him at least. "Like to go at it with corpses, eh Frankie?" he retorts as he sweeps off the jab with a powerful forearm and leans back to narrowly avoid the quick follow up cross before he too hunkers down and bounces lightly on the balls of his feet.. "Cant abide nobody talking that way about my momma though, even if she aint 'round to hear none o' it." And then he tosses out a quick jab of his own, testing his opponent a little before swooping in with two lefts aimed at the body and then a sweltering right toward the region of Frankie's ear.

Alfredo uses his cane like a conductor's rod, waving it in accompaniment to the cheers and lusty catcalls of various women of dubious repute even as a lot of men can be heard encouraging 'Frankie-boy' to "Bite awf 'is ruttin' nose!". Gold exchanges hands as the opening exchanges have odds shifting with every blow.

Frankie, as he is better known in the pit, grins "Guess tua madre aint' gonna be grievin' ya loss then, eh pretty bambino?" The grin shifts to a look of concentration as the jab impacts on the meat of his right arm. As the two body shots land painfully without a single shift in the grimy fighter's defence, Frankie spits out "Nessuno me lo ficca in culo!" and steps in at the last second, causing the thundering right to pass behind his head as he launches himself into an upwards headbutt towards Pretty Boy's chin, following up with a left-and-right combination of shovel hooks aimed up and underneath the ribcage while calling out "Eat this, testa di merda!"

Michael 'Pretty Boy' Stevens lets loose a spray of mostly spit, mixed with a bit of blood from where his teeth jarred together to badly that the roots tore against the gums as the foul mouthed wonder gets the best of him and goes on the rapid offensive. But the pretty boy isn't out yet, and has enough sense about him to back off quick enough to avoid the worst of those hooks to the ribs. Reeling for naught but a moment the blonde boy pulls himself together, rolling his shoulders and spitting out a bit more blood as his demeanour changes from one of enjoying his first fight in Vailkrin, to a spirited, fiery lust for revenge. He circles briefly, watching Frankie closely for any sign of an opening, and when he picks his moment the farm boy charges. With a leap the muscle bound boxer hurtles himself at his squat opponent and grabs for the neck as his knee drives hard for the gut, and as Frankie is hopefully dealing with either the pain of it, or attempting to block it, pretty boy Stevens will then bring a crushing right elbow down for the nook between neck and shoulder, again and again, until he can be thrown off or persuaded to go back on the retreat.

Alfredo twirls his cane, waves his hand, and tap dances on two coins which fly up beneath his feet "Gentlemen! Not-so-gentle Men! Feast upon this veritable display of enviable brutality! Here we have beauty and the beast, and only blood will determine how this rough-and-tumble romance ends!" Men and women in the audience are screaming out encouragement to both fighters now that things have started to heat up, and Alfredo has had to use his magic to prevent thrown undergarments from landing in the pit - mostly lacy dainties from various women, brought for the purpose, but one drunken man had thrown a pair of indescribable briefs. Indescribable for the sake of decency, at least, if not for an insufficiency of descriptors in the common tongue.

Frankie grins as the thick bone of his skull impacts with Pretty Boy's chin, and when the hooks glance off he takes a moment to gloat "Ey, pompinaio, gonna have some difficulty with papa's pistolino, eh?" A mistake, this, because when the farmboy boxer comes in for the kill, he is too busy mocking to do more than bob and weave out of the way of the primitive clinch, leaving the knee to land solidly and painfully on his hip, knocking him back and out of the way of the elbow. With a saliva-spraying scream of "Disgrazia!!!!" Foul-Mouthed Francesco shakes his fist as he spins away and regains his balance before taking a step in with a perhaps ill-thought-out combination of wild hooks, like some kind of meaty threshing machine, as the already bad-tempered man loses what little he has for a precious few moments as he tries to bludgeon Pretty Boy Stevens into submission.

Stevens doesn't let up as Mr. Francesco pulls out of his grasp, backing up to gain breath and curse. The strapping youth pursues him at a quick pace, that predatory look that most fighters got in the midst of a fight gleaming in his eyes. Thus it happens that as Frankie starts going wild with his fists, the Pretty Boy is already upon him, blocking what he can, taking the rest, and returning them all with a vicious fervour and blistering pace. For several moments the two are nothing but a hard to distinguish flurry of flying fists, the hard packing sounds of solid physical contact ringing through the pit gruesomely. But with the close proximity involved, neither man is able to muster quite enough force to send the other reeling. It is a barbarous display, and one which the crowd is sure to love. Stevens catches a lucky blow to the jaw, and he staggers for a moment, spots shimmering in his vision. But the boxer is young, tough, and this is not his first tumble in the ring, so before his foul mouthed aggressor would have time to capitalize on this, Stevens sprays a thick, stringy mass of mucus filled blood and the fragment of a tooth right into Frankie's face. What follows as the porky man will be dealing with trying to see through all of that nastiness, is a thunderous uppercut headed straight for his throat.

Frankie spits and curses with every blow he takes. A left lands - "Bastardo!"; a jab welts his cheek - "Carogna!"; A hook cracks a rib - "Vacagare!"; and a pleased cry of "Tua madre si da per niente!" when his own right cross catches the farmboy's jaw. In fact, he is so pleased by this that he doesn't quite blink in time to prevent all the bloody saliva from Pretty Boy's surprise tactic getting in his eyes. As he shouts out "Disgrazia!" once more, the uppercut lands, and the short man is jerked off his feet before thumping onto his back unconscious, and thankfully, blissfully silent.

Alfredo spreads his arms wide and raises his cane as Francesco is launched by the uppercut. As the unconscious fighter hits the floor the mage and master of ceremonies causes a cascade of colourful lights to spread out across the ceiling "Madames et Messieurs! Paying customers and dastardly sneakthiefs! Witness as the Pastoral Puissance of Pretty Boy Stevens stifles and stills the sordid utterances of 'loves to be hated by all of existence' Foul-mouthed Frankie!" He points at Pretty Boy "Bravo, Monsieur! Bellissimo, mia maestro virtuoso! Come again, come again! We love to watch you fight, the ladies lust to watch you fight, and the men are all jealous as a result!" With a wave of his arms, the fighters are raised out of the caged pit on cushions of air. Frankie is dumped with his drinking buddies, and Pretty Boy Stevens is dropped by an attendant who hands over a prize purse. Alfredo calls out the next two fighters in the list, and the night continues apace.

Pretty Boy Stevens limps and huffs as moves off after receiving the fight prize, great welts and nasty knuckle abrasions popping up all over his bruised torso. He fishes around in his mouth with a grimy finger, testing the remainder of his shattered tooth before finally grimacing and ripping the already loose thing out altogether. He'd won the fight, but it hadn't been anything like the other contests he'd participated in. His better judgment told him not to come back to the pit, but the weight of the gold in his hand, and the cheering adulation of the crowd as he'd finally scored the winning blow made him concede internally that he would, in all likelihood, be back. But he still couldn't completely believe that he'd won... his ears were ringing, his jaw wasn't moving completely properly, and his fists were both throbbing so hard that they drowned out the other throbbing bits of his body. Upon looking down he found all of his knuckles either split or badly bruised. And thus 'not so pretty anymore' Stevens wanders off to find the closest medical professional, followed by a drink and some food before getting some much deserved rest.