2012-09-20 Another Chance

Black and Bruised is a rarity. Odd to the point of being unique. A kickboxing gym that never closes. The proprietor is a retired fighter, a rail-thin old man who never seems to sleep and always has his wary eyes open for fresh talent.

The gym is housed in an ancient, dilapidated warehouse. The floor and walls remain bare concrete; cold but scrubbed clean. The center of the room is dominated by a single ring that has seen decades of wear, tear, and repair. The ropes are bristly jute, the canvas is spotted with battle scars and bloodstains, and the turnbuckles have been double-padded. Weight machines and free weights line one long wall, punching bags of every size and description clutter a second portion of the room, and the remaining area has been left open, with mats rolled up in the corner should more sparring space be required.

This late at night, training has more or less ceased. This is when the gym's regulars meet; when the pads come off and fighters start making bets. Despite the athletic nature of the location, there's a haze of cigarette smoke in the air. Most of the occupants are packed tightly against the ring, drinking cheap beer from bottles, swigging bourbon, and jeering at the two men who are squared off inside the ropes.

Remy is one of them. He's stripped to the waist, wearing only a pair of loose, soft athletic pants. His opponent is larger than him. Much, much larger than him. This doesn't seem to bother him. On the contrary. He's grinning as he ducks and weaves around the larger, slower man's attacks. Every once in a while, Remy sticks the big guy with a jab or a kick to keep him on his toes, but someone here is definitely being toyed with.

It took a little bit of work to find this place. More importantly, to find someone within this place at the right hour. Domino's had to grease some palms with what little cash she's got on hand, even had to threaten a couple of individuals (that was fun,) and in the end she's led to this testosterone festival. There's some attention passed her way as she steps in, all pasty-skinned and black leathered, though she's used to working and living in a male-centric business. She can ignore it until someone either stands in her way or lays a hand upon her.

Besides, most people are watching the fight. Dom included. This is how Remy spends his free time? No wonder he hit like a truck before, that bruise on her forehead has spread outward into a constellation of unhealthy skin tones.

With the fight in session she just becomes another face within the crowd. A very recognizeable face. And a voice to match. "Kick his ass, already!" She didn't come out here to see a fight. For once she didn't seek to pick one, either.

Dodge. Parry. Riposte. It's like fencing. Remy sways casually around his partner's attacks, even letting them come close enough to graze him. He doesn't retreat, though. In fact, he advances. Without throwing a single punch, he backs his opponent into one corner of the ring. Despite being a bare wisp compared to the other man, Remy is definitely teasing him.

The call from Dom is unexpected, to say the least. He doesn't turn his head to look at her. He's too good for that. It catches his attention, though. His gaze shifts to the side for an instant. His attention has been diverted.

His opponent is more than willing to take advantage of this. ONE-two-THREE. Jab, hook, haymaker, all of them solid shots that land. Remy actually spins in place from the force of the third hit. Blinking away stars, he narrows his eyes and drives a heel kick into the big man's gut. It's a fight-ender. Bloodied but unbowed, he makes a quick round of the ring, accepting high-fives and collecting winnings from side bets before he comes to a stop in front of Domino. "Bonjour, p'tit," he greets her cheerfully.

Because there's always someone else out there willing to fight your battles for you. When the opponent takes Domino's distraction to land a few hits, she actually grins. Saves her the trouble, -and- it's not her fault! There's no doubt that Remy could take the fool with how he's toying with the bigger man, after all.

It also helps soften the sour feeling that she's got, the same feeling that's followed her halfway across the city right out to this joint. When you step down from the ring she's wearing an idly amused smirk, though it never quite reaches her eyes. Defense mechanism, most likely. "And here I thought you might be a -little- surprised, at least. Way to steal my moment."

"I was surprised," Remy assures her as he throws one long leg over the top rope, then the other. "Merde, did you see dat big ox just about flatline me with dat combo? Trust me, I was surprised."

Rather than upset, he's smiling as he slides over the apron and lands lightly on the floor. Someone hands him a towel, which he uses to dab at his bloody lip before giving himself a general rubdown. "So, what brings you to dis humble little shithole?" he asks, his voice muffled as he ruffles his hair.

"Got the shithole part right," Dom mutters while glancing around herself, hands shifting up onto her hips.

Quit stalling, girl.

"We got off on the wrong foot." And there's an entire organization after her so she can't trust people even more than the norm. "You've been accomodating, and I've been a bitch. I'm giving you another shot at this, just don't expect to see me in a dress anytime soon." As far as apologies go it could use some work. As for that choker, if she's still wearing it she's choosing to hide it beneath the full collar of her armored suit tonight.

Remy pauses in mid-towel, peeking at Domino through his one visible eye. It's a comical stance. He holds it for several seconds as he looks her over. His mouth is opened for a reply, but he immediately closes it again. Sometimes discretion is the better part of valour.

"Okay," he finally says. "So now we can be friends again?" It's an honest enough inquiry. The towel is draped around his neck and he crosses his arms over his chest. "Dis all I ever really want, me. I might be a strange guy, but I'm not a bad one."

To your inquiry, Domino holds out a half-gloved hand. "I'm hoping so." There's no underlining motive any more than there's any obvious reason behind wanting such an alliance with you. This one's more driven by instinct, and perhaps just a small amount of desperation. Tough times, and all. Being buddies with a master thief can certainly work out in her favor.

"Nice fight, by the way. Harassing people is something of a hobby for you, isn't it." There is a grin, she's probably teasing.

Remy snorts out a laugh as he accepts Domino's hand. Rather than shake it, or even kiss it, he grips her arm at the base of her wrist and gives a powerful squeeze. It's an old-fashioned gesture; a sign of respect between warriors.

"Thanks," he replies, grinning as he releases her and rubs his hand against his stubbly chin. "Anyway, I'm just a regular guy who's lookin to have a lil' fun. Honest. De only thing I'm afraid of is bein' bored."

That sort of gesture works plenty fine for her. Perhaps better than any alternative, in fact.

"There's something we can relate to," Dom admits. "I like a little ..I like a lot of fun in my work, too. Not that it always turns out in my favor, but it's something to aim for. That said, I suspect that the fun that we're all searching for might be close neighbors." If you can handle the part where she kills people for profit while you just take their stuff.

"So yeah, I've been out of the loop in Gotham for several years. Know any good sniping roosts?" she asks with a grin that just starts to show some teeth.