Open Duel The Trenches Fight Club

[Fanjo Mercytooth]

Here the cat began to show his skill. Fanjo’s feint failed to fully pay off, leaving space for his opponent’s strike. To the echoes of the crowd’s ‘oooooh’ he stumbled back with a grunt. On instinct, he switched to defence, trying to gauge where he thought the next blows would land. If he could buy enough time and get lucky enough to regain the advantage, he might have him. Otherwise, it had been good while it lasted. He hadn’t been fool enough to bet everything on himself.​

 

[Berchar Fleetfoot]

“Y-you what?” Panic suffused Berchar’s face, long whiskers twitching rapidly as he gaped at Arthur. The emotional part of him, the part longing for friendship and community and justice, squirmed gleefully at the thought of seeing Coddy pasted into the unrelenting floor of the warehouse. To his eyes the marten was big and confident: two things his bully of a flatmate couldn’t hope to be. Responsibility argued that this was unprofessional, neither the time nor place and what if Arthur was hurt as a result of his own problems? What if Coddy was so injured he’d never pay rent again? There were too many variables, too much potential for things to go horribly wrong and he’d not the backup plans to-

He blinked. Arthur was gone. With a squeak Berchar hopped after him, grabbing up rough bandages for the marten’s paws before he hastened to catch up. Despite his own misgivings he knew his friend was a stubborn sort: better to be prepared. “Arthur! You really don’t have to do this, not here – won’t it be bad for your reputation?”

Codtail lifted his nose at the call, wiry brows furrowed in bemusement as he stared at the marten for a few long seconds before Berchar popped up near him. “Eh?” He sniffed, spitting on the floor. “I ain’t boxin’ with no old timer.” Berchar opened his mouth to contest that Arthur was only ten or so years the weasel’s senior, realised it would make little difference and pinched the bridge of his nose. “What you even want a scrap for, gran’pa?”

 

[Tanya Keltoi]

The atmosphere changed significantly: ice would have formed on every surface in a six-foot radius of Tanya. She did not work to mask her feelings as she usually would, hackles risen and tail flashing as both single and half-ear stood stiff. She wanted Falun to see the response, wanted to provide him one final out. The revelation had caused momentary alarm on her features, but there was little time to grill Falun on the finer details, to ascertain what was truth and what was purely incendiary. He’d wanted to get a reaction and he’d have one.

Funny: for all she’d gathered from her husband about Falun, and from what she’d heard of Anithias’ final years, it was ironic to hear this alignment in their apparent disdain for her niece.

She cared about the younger generation with a maternal ferocity and a deep loyalty: unfortunately for the large todd that didn’t extend so far as to letting taunts lie. He was old enough to know better; she was happy to teach him. The dangerously level tone she had taken before was possessed of a sharper edge now. “Son, I’d watch that mouth of yours before somebeast closes it for you. Take poor Orion here as example.”

 

[Sean Wicke]

Sean pressed his advantage for two more strikes, then fell back, instinct telling him not to overextend himself. He was still more adjusted to fighting crowds and having the advantage of potential weapons just lying around him, so his training sacrificed the momentum to satisfy his desire to look around for one and prepare to guard against any attacks from behind. With neither present, he cursed silently and focused on his foe, preparing for the next strike.

~~~

Falun, in absence of a strong maternal figure, had never learned the danger that came with that particular tone of voice. He dared to step closer to his 'aunt', sneering down at her. "Wha', ya gonna pu' me in time ou'?" he mocked. "Ben' me o'er an' spank m' tail? I'd like ta see ye try."

 

[Arthur Barrett]

Poor Berchar's pleading was ignored as the marten made contact with Coddy. While Arthur had quite the skill for picking arguments and goading others into verbal conflict... this was certainly his first time trying to egg someone on into physical conflict. Wasn't "yellow bellied" one of the strongest, most severe insults? Prone to provoking beasts into uncontrollable fury right out the gate?

Whatever the case, Coddy seemed to be unphased by it. He was even amused, perhaps! Arthur hadn't expected him to try and de-escalate things, and it almost visibly threw him off balance. Gates, I already swore I'd fight... what if he doesn't want to fight me, and I have to fight someone else? The marten paused for a moment to size the beast up -- but inwardly, he was scrambling for rhetoric to antagonize him further. "Fer bein' a right blow hole!" he shot back -- leaving Berchar anonymous for the time being.

Arthur didn't have a terrible poker face, but inwardly he was sweating. He just needed to give Coddy enough of a reason to get in the ring -- but how? The marten briefly considered insulting the beast again... but direct attacks seemed not to work. Perhaps an indirect route would work better. "...but if it's an easy fight, then how 'bout you put down ten gilders on yerself? Pocket the winnings?"

 

[Orion Bloodtooth IV]

Orion, still holding onto tooth and nursing his jaw, promptly stepped out from between Tox and Falun. He wanted no part of what was about to come, and was more concerned with locating a doctor… or was it a dentist?

“Ow….” He muttered.

 

[Berchar Fleetfoot]

Berchar cringed, wondering if perhaps he should try and de-escalate the situation before it brewed any further: as much as he’d love to see Coddy get his comeuppance there was Arthur’s wellbeing to consider – and not just inside the ring. What if his flatmate decided to make life more difficult for his friend?

There wasn’t time to interject: Arthur had thrown down a gauntlet he knew would prove too difficult to resist. Coddy was a bully by nature, far less prone to chasing a scrap if words sufficed, but for all Arthur’s size he was older and the lure of money proved too great a draw for his avaricious desires. This was easy pickings from an old fool bent on re-living his glory days.

“Yeah? You that desperate fer a beatdown? Fine – ‘ere, ten guilders it is and no funny business.” Bold words from a cheat, indeed.

 

[Tanya Keltoi]

There was a momentary tenseness in her jaw, a further prickling of her fur which heralded a moment’s hesitation as guilt wrestled her impulse. He was grown (that much was obvious in how he towered over her), but he was still by all accounts a youngster in her eyes. She’d always protected family. She’d promised Julia and Anithias she’d watch out for them.

Some lessons, however, were best taught in blood.

From the sounds of it the matches were continuing and to wait on their turn would dissolve the drive that fury would lend to her paws. It would also require rules and fairness, two aspects of combat she had little time for when life had demanded she kill or be killed. Poor Orion being caught in such personal dramas; she liked the todd and hoped he wouldn’t think too poorly of her for what she was about to do. Sean at least might approve.

She tilted her head briefly to the white fox as though breaking the stare, regarding him sympathetically as he paw reached towards the nearest table which had been set for the medics. “’Ere, Orion, don’t go alone – take ‘im with you.”

Without further preamble she seized one of the metal trays used for placing medical equipment upon, mercifully empty, and made two short moves with it: one sharp jab up beneath Falun’s chin before bringing it in an arc against the side of his face.

 

[Falun Furotazzi]

Falun hadn't been expecting his aunt to actually strike at him. A lifetime immersed in a casually sexist social environment had instilled in him the implicit assumption that brawling was for males, while things like archery or daggers were femmes' weapons. Thus he didn't see the tray to the face coming until it was already striking him upside the jaw.

The first blow sent Falun reeling; the second knocked him to the ground. Dazed, he struggled to prop himself up on one elbow, and he tried to open his mouth, then frowned and spit out a tooth amidst a glob of blood and saliva. "Ya bitch," he growled, trying to get back on his footpaws, any remote hint of familial goodwill gone from his eyes.

 

[Fanjo Mercytooth]

Oblivious to the burst of violence breaking out beyond the ring, Fanjo snarled at his opponent. There was no malice it, only for show and attempted distraction. His arms ached from the cat's hits. He wondered what they were seeking when they glanced around occasionally, checking he was not being backed against the wall or into a corner perhaps?

Fanjo dropped down and aimed a kick at Sean's legs, vying to destabilise him.​