( FIGHT CLUB | OPEN )

[puppydogeyes]

CHARACTERS: OPEN
LOCATION: FLOOR 003 HOLODECK
WARNINGS: VIOLENCE, LANGUAGE, ETC.
SUMMARY: MINGLING ENSEMBLE LOG FOR FIGHT CLUB
NOTES: NETWORK POST OPEN INVITATION HERE. FREEFORALL, START YOUR OWN THREADS, TAG AROUND, GO NUTS!

Anyone arriving will find the holodeck almost as it comes: a wide open space with very few decorations. In the middle of the room several set of mats have been laid out in individual areas, as one might expect to find in any wrestling or martial arts training room. There are benches, like bleachers, pushed up against the wall for people to take a seat, and towels folded and stacked in piles on the tables next to them. A water cooler has been moved from one of the common rooms into the corner for relief.

Tyke keeps a supervisory eye over comings and goings, repeats the rules to the room at large regularly, but people are mostly left to their own devices: find a fight, or just watch.

Comments

derek hale | ota.

[altercate]

[ derek's not here to fight. it feels too public for anything derek might want to do, the kind of fighting he's good at. he comes down to watch more than anything else, to get the lay of the land. chris argent had talked about gauging people's reactions, about their state of mind. derek sizes them up, judges them based on whether or not they'd be a threat, if it ever came down to actually having to fight them, or whether they'd be an asset, assuming circumstances every called for it.

he takes a seat up on one of the benches, elbows on his knees. his eyes track the action on the mats idly, disinterest carefully maintained. it's easier than it used to be, coming down to watch the fights, tolerate large amounts of people in one space. he keeps his back to the wall regardless, but his posture is relaxed, expression more interested than its been in the past. ]

[tallverine]

[ derek's not alone in the stands; not alone in being the only not-strictly-human in them, either. logan's a row or two behind him, elbows on knees in a similar posture. he's chewing on a toothpick, the plastic sort, twisting it between fingertips and teeth. he watches a while, not just those in the ring but the crowd milling about, the people in the bleachers with him. his eyes wander beneath heavy brows as he shifts focus to other senses and, after a moment, shifts his weight further forward, easing into speaking distance with the back of derek's head. ]

what're you sitting out for, kid? scared you'll hurt somebody?

[vindictam]

[ He recognizes Derek, though he wasn't sure if Derek would know him. Without mask and uniform, he knew he looked different. Looked human, flawed and real. It did wonders for his demeanor in that regard. Where usually he took such pains to remove himself, the the mess of blood and sweat, he felt at peace. Less agitated.

But it was amusing to see that Derek did not fight, even here. For that, he had to wonder. ]

And still, you do not fight. [ Very quietly coming up beside him. His back as much to the wall as he could before he announced himself. ]

[lockwood]

[Tyler spots a familiar face -- one he hasn't actually talked to in person in a while -- and sits down on the bench next to him. He knows by now that Derek never fights at these things (too public) but he'll greet him all the same.]

Enjoying the show?

[extrabraincells]

[ Peter was just going to flop down on the seat next to Derek. His long wild hair in his face as he followed Derek's eyes for a moment before looking back over at the other wolf. Peter had managed to stay away from almost everyone on the ship, only making a few appearances here and there. Stealing what he needed, keeping to himself. It was the way he generally lived his life. At least back home. Peter never really had "friends" per say.

Still Derek knew him. Or least claimed to. So there was a little bit of a connection there.]

I thought we weren't meant to talk about this place?

[ Hope you're enjoying that silence Derek. Because Peter's more then happy to break it. Besides, first rule remember?]

jax teller | ota.

[kutte]

[ this is familiar. this is beyond familiar. the sons climb into boxing rings for fun and profit whenever the mood strikes, whenever they're bored, whenever there's a party and someone's got something to prove. for all that this place is strange and bewildering at times, this? jax takes to like a fish to water.

he looks transparently pleased with his existence at the moment, stripped to the waist, sweaty and bruised. it's his natural element, the closest he's gotten to it since he washed up on board the tranquility. if there's ever a time to engage him in conversation, this is ironically, probably the best moment. ]

[2leftfeet]

[This is the last place she should be right now - she's got bigger fish to fry and a to-do list a mile long, but she's finding she's dead tired between the ears and the excuse to do something a little more physical is a good one. She could go running up and down one of the passenger decks or she could do this; this way she can pretend she's recruiting too.

Despite the number of spectators and fighters, it's hard to miss the familiar face. And there's something about the ease in Jax's expression that lightens her mood further as Shepard shrugs out of the top of her jumpsuit to the tank top under it, tying the arms around her waist as she makes for him.]

Shouldn't you be minding your post, Teller? [Delivered with a ghost of a grin and a sidelong glance, all dry mischief.]

[chuffle]

[After he gets out of the ring, she goes to sit next to him, even though he smells like sweat and the good kind of adrenaline. She gives him a grin, because it's hard not to smile at him sometimes.]

Are you giving all the ladies here a show, Jax?

[She means your lovely shirtless torso.]

[mindtricks]

[ she doesn't mean to fight him, but she does want to know what he's capable of and so when his opponent taps out and he stays on the mats, anderson steps up. she's in uniform, no different from usual. ]

I'll try to stay out of her head.

[ as that would give her an unfair advantage, wouldn't it? the advantage is something she usually relies on, but tyke put down the rules and anderson is going to follow them, or at least try to. she doesn't actually know in how far she can turn it off, never tried to. ]

robb stark | ota.

[northerner]

[ robb isn't much for fight club, but it's been such a long time since it took place, and he comes down to watch, though perhaps not to participate. he sticks to the edge of the mats, grey wind at his side, watching without comment. he thinks of scuffling with jon snow and theon greyjoy when he was a boy. he thinks of the last time he did this, so long ago.

it's moments like this when robb realizes just how long he has been here, wonders how much longer he'll stay before he returns to westeros. at his side grey wind stirs restlessly, licks his chops as he watches the fighters. which probably is off-putting in its way, so robb makes a hushing noise at grey wind, settles a hand into the fur at his shoulder to soothe him back into stillness as he takes a step back from the mats, leading grey wind aside. the king in the north and his giant ass wolf, everyone, nothing to see here. ]

[naytheist]

[When he first catches sight of Robb, Cesare is...busy.

He had missed the fierce brutality of combat, the hitching of the heartbeat that occurred when you stared at another man who was just as poised to destroy you as you were for him. There are no knives or blades, no fatal edge to these games, but Cesare is enjoying them nonetheless, a sadistic, almost perverse smirk on his lips as he slams some poor soul into his knee. When he is done, for this round at least, he walks, slightly breathy, over to Robb, over confident swagger in his step. He reaches for a towel to mop down his chest and points to the direwolf.]

I thought that they had said no weapons?

[Trust the boy to bring his dog along. Cesare would have thought Robb was marrying that instead, had he not known better.]

corvo attano | ota

[vindictam]

[ There was something to this, the simply focused savagery, that he reveled in. He hadn't simply brawled for the sake of it since he left the tower, and since then it had never been for the enjoyment of it. There was no fighting for the sake of it, there was only killing.

Careful as that urge was to restrain, careful to pick his opponents to the ones that could take harder hits than most. Even with all that, he enjoyed it, found relief in it. Wanted it for months, since he arrived, some out let for the rage. He didn't have much in the way other than his formal uniform, and he'd tried to keep his under shirt on until it became too troubling. But when it did come off, down to his pants just like the rest, he found the scars less concerning to expose, even if there were far too many of them. Inlaid patterns over ribs, burns to his chest, whip marks to his back, the teeth marks from hounds ripped into his arms and he could feel every one of them pull as he rolled his shoulders in a stretch. ( and it shouldn't have felt as good as it did to have that burn, of wounds so recently healed, that shiny white of new skin, but he savored it all the same. The bloodied knuckles and fresh bruises ).

After a bout, he simply went to drink the water, back to a wall, arms crossed over his chest. Watching the other fights and catch his breath. Calm, he felt calm in this. ]

[debts]

[ He's fast.

He's fast, and he's violent, and Natasha knows what most of those scars look like. Burns and lashes and marks of teeth (she's too far away to know if they're animal or human), and she knows the way violence takes its shape when you let it grow. (Or, maybe, when you feed it.) It makes her interested in the way Natasha focuses her interest, and her footsteps are relatively silent when she joins him, shoulder leaning against the wall. Her back to others, her gaze right on him.

(She's dressed up. Her tac suit, void of holsters, the heavy cartridges around her wrists.)

She doesn't look sharp, or accusing, or aggressive. She just looks— still. ]

How old were you?

[ She doesn't clarify, and she doesn't mean to ask how old are you. ]

[northerner]

[ robb isn't going to fight. he's fought before, gotten in the ring in the months when he felt particularly restless and fight club presented itself as an option. he doesn't know whether or not he's surprised, finding corvo on the mats, if he's shocked by the scars on his skin, the violence vibrating in the lines of his body. it's familiar, to an extent. robb understands it, had felt that himself. ]

I did not think to see you here.

[ quietly, a little questioning, robb's eyes on his face and not the patterned scar tissue written across his body. ]

taylor "tyke" kee | ota

[puppydogeyes]

[It's been a long time since one of these was held. Taylor had never been in charge, but regularly attended - the first time, when Dean Winchester had put it together; later, when it was James Kirk laying down the rules. Holodeck 3 has two years of memories clinging to the walls, watching Tommy Conlon beat Dean into a pulp before she'd ever really known either of them, watching Kirk fuss with her dogs, watching fight after fight to assess the skills of those participating, taking a few of her own to calm the restless itching under her skin.

She didn't get that so much anymore, and sometimes she isn't sure if it's a good thing, letting it go quiet.

Today she keeps herself off to the side, near the benches set out as bleachers, circles the room occasionally, keeping a close eye on all the fights. Her dogs are settled in odd spots around the room, one or two following at her heels every now and then. She's dressed to fight, tank top and sweats, sneakers, hands already wrapped - but she doesn't approach anyone, supervising the room her priority.]

[specialism]

[ ward knows nothing about the history of the event, he just saw the announcement on the network and that's how he recognises her. that's why he approaches her now, too, dressed in a black shirt, black cargo pants, combat boots. no weapons, no tac-vest.

he spares her dog a glance, nods his greeting and gets right down to business: ] I'm interested in joining the security team.

Alexis | ota

[redheaded_rock]

[So maybe it's a little strange to see a young woman -- or, well, teenager, really -- hanging out near the benches and watching the goings-on quietly. Arms crossed, frowning a little, but not completely aloof.

She's on SEC, sorta. She wants to be better. And this? This might be a way to figure something out. Or, well. You know. Watching it might give her some idea what she should do next. She promised to look into this sort of thing.

Maybe.

Maybe this is a mistake. She's really out of place here.]

[boogiewoogiebugleboy]

[He notices her because of her hair - it's so bright and red, and it reminds him of someone back home, for an instant. But her face is younger than Rose's and more innocent, if that's possible, than Ride's, so he doesn't do anything but slide in next to her.]

You look a little lost. Have you been to something like this before?

heine rammsteiner | ota

[chaineddog]

[He hasn't come to one of these in ages. Even when he had, he had never participated; he'd always been tucked up against the wall content with watching. He'd never found the need to participate, and besides he liked fighting with his guns far more than with his hands which was something that was banned from this type of thing.

Coming here had been a way to gauge the other people on the ship, figure out who would be problems (most of them seemed annoying but that was different than being a problem) and who he'd have to tell Nill to stay far away from. It wasn't that he thought his opinion had weight when it came to her though. She had a good sense of judgement and could figure out who was bad news from the beginning all without his help. Still. It was second nature by now.

He's not sure why he's here today after all this time. Maybe it's the boredom. Maybe it's because he hadn't realized that he was on his way here before it was a little too late to turn back. Maybe it was the feel of Cerberus restless and looking to pick a fight.

...But it was probably the boredom.]

tyler lockwood | ota

[lockwood]

[Tyler's not sure if he's going to fight or not. What he does know is he's been itching for an outlet, for something, anything he can drive that anger into. To say it's been on overload since Klaus arrived on the ship is an understatement -- to say the least.

But for now he's standing off to the side and trying to gauge who else is there, what they might do. Even if he fights he's going to have to hold back if he doesn't want to out what he is.

And right now? He's not honestly sure he could manage holding back once he started.]

[extrabraincells]

[ Peter's not much of a fighter, least in his human form. Still he's here to see the show at the very least. Peters just going to hover off to the side, his hands folded over his chest as he observed the crowd. There's a few werewolves. It's not hard to tell, it's like a feeling in Peter's bones and a flicker of something in the hair. The room feels different with them in it. ]

isaac lahey | ota

[iceboxed]

[he's there for the distraction. there, because he'd followed after derek, knowing that keeping him nearby should be enough to help. should be enough to stop him from turning around and heading back into the depths of the ship. it was that, or spend another day trying to awkwardly navigate his friendship with scott. or perhaps harder, with hayley. following derek was the easiest option, and so here he is.

it doesn't sink in where he is until the scent of sweat and blood finally hits him, a grimace on his face as he tries to get used to how familiar it all seems. it feels like being back in the locker room after a game. (or worse. but his sense hadn't been anywhere near as strong, back then).

the idea of joining in doesn't cross his mind. not when he still has no idea how to fight without shifting. not really. there's still so much he still needs to learn, and eventually he knows he'll have to turn to the other wolves here for guidance. but now isn't that time. now, he instead opts to head over to one of the walls, taking a seat at its base. and if he happens to choose that position because of a somewhat familiar animal sitting nearby, he won't say.]

...hey there.

[his knees are drawn up, arms folded on top of them. even with the fighting going on nearby, his attention is on the terrier beside him. one that is somehow easier to deal with than any of the speaking portion of the room.]

[chuffle]

[She's not there for the distraction. She's there for the smell of blood and sweat and the feeling of violence, and hoping that it releases some of her rage in one way or another. She hasn't gone in yet - she doesn't like to fight in public, because it makes her a target - but she sees Isaac before she smells him, and looks up when he talks to-

A terrier?]

Hey there yourself.

nat. ota.

[debts]

[ Natasha's in her tac-suit. It makes her stand out like a sore thumb, the way she sticks to one spot on the wall but is dressed up for the occasion, in a matter of speaking. (It's not like the spaceship decided to give her yoga pants.) Her holsters, notably, are gone from her legs, the only spot of color on her the red symbol tied at the belt, the stark of her hair.

She laughs, sometimes, and whistles in a low, impressed kind of way when a move between two people generates a certain kind of energy.

There won't be many who'll notice that in between all of those moments, she's watching and cataloging. Sharp, focused, and trained. ]

[specialism]

[ maybe it's because he's received the same or at least similar training she has, maybe it's because he got close to her scores at the academy — maybe it's just because they are trained to think in similar ways, but ward notes the way she cataloges the moves of the fighters.

it's not a bad idea; it's tactical. so he makes his way over to her, stops at her four o'clock. ] Romanoff. [ greeting and acknowledgment, nothing more and nothing less. ]

grant ward ( ota. )

[specialism]

[ ward isn't in full tac-gear — he's left the vest and the weaponry in his room, same as the bullet proof vest and other shielding. so he's down to cargo pants, a tight black shirt and combat boots. the announcement said no weapons and he's confident enough in his ability to fight without them, even if a sniper rifle in his hands feels more natural.

he's walked the perimeter of the room once, in slow steps and stopping now and then to watch. anyone with a trained eye will still be able to recognise just what he is doing. once he's catalogued the exists, the numbers of fighters in the room and their relative positions, he settles in a corner, thumbs in the pockets of his cargo pants.

he watches the fight unfold in front of him, no reaction on his face even when one of the combatants is thrown to the mat particularly hard. there's a certain intent interest, but for the most part his expression remains neutral. he is willing to be approached, though.

once the fight is over, he kicks off the wall, walking towards the edge of the mat. he wants to try his hand, too. he's been coped up for too long. ]

[vindictam]

[ This had all become a test of his control more than anything else, of measuring his love ( and his pride could never call it a need, though it seemed that way ) of violence, and his own lacking want to kill.

If nothing else, killing was purposeless here. But it didn't mean he wasn't careful in those he approached to fight. Measured those in the crowd that seemed as if they had formalised training, and approached them as cautiously as possible. Could predict, could move with. Keep the precarious balance.

Such with this, and talking wasn't his strong suit, but then, no one was here to talk, were they? Maybe that was why he found it so comfortable. This, this place made sense to him. ]

Shall we? [ The offer is made to the man he'd seen across the mat, that he had gauged. Hand outstretched in a gesture of good will. He'd been in a few bouts already, sweat drying on his chest and his knuckles bruised. There was a amusement in him too. ]

clint barton | ota

[antes]

[ Clint probably needs this more than he'd like to admit. It's not the kind of combat he likes (he's a bow and arrow kinda guy, at the end of the day) but it's present in the way that the majority of his interactions with people on the ship so far have been. Not that that's a bad thing, strictly speaking, but there's a certain amount of introspection you don't want to get to when you're still recovering from having had someone stick their hands into your head and pull your thoughts like puppet strings.

On another note, there's a girl he's got to impress (not like that), so — however you want to frame it, really.

He stays standing as he watches the proceedings; he's got to tap in at some point, so to speak, but for the immediate moment, he doesn't yet step up, instead keeping his arms crossed over his chest as he wonders exactly how much he ought to be worrying about the other passengers of the ship. ]

[mindtricks]

[ anderson almost didn't come to the holodeck — she has her lessons and no shortage of sparring partners. this promises to be different than that, though — even with her sparring partners, she holds back to some extent and so do they. anderson doesn't like violence, much less love it, but she considers it a necessity.

that also means she hasn't fought for real, or without relying on her mutation. ( tyke said no abilities and it will be a test of how well anderson can stay out of someone's head, too. )

she's done two fights already, breathing returned to normal but some bruises marring her skin, knuckles red. ] Barton. [ a greeting. ]

melinda may • ota

[busdriver]

[May is here to fight, which still means more time spent in the bleachers than on the mats. She chooses her opponents carefully—ideally, they're tougher, stronger or faster than she is—and leaves herself a good amount of rest between one match and the next. It takes a little distance, removal, to gauge the extent of her own injuries. Just now, she's wait-and-seeing about a steadily worsening pain in her left shoulder. Experimentally, she turns her arm this way and that.

She values this exercise, but exercise is all it is to her, so she won't overdo it.

There's a cup of water sitting on the bench beside her. She's comfortably arranged, wearing gym clothes, with a towel folded over one knee. Her attention is broadly distributed throughout the room, following more than one fight, and aware of the sidelines. She doesn't look too hard at anyone, on the assumption that staring might constitute a challenge.]

[mjolnir_time]

[Thor has been hanging back at the edges of the room and watching rather than participating. He's not averse to doing some fighting himself, but he wanted to get a feel for the skill and strength of any potential opponents first. (He doesn't want to hurt anyone after all.) He's always been interested in other fighting styles, especially weaponless fighting. He has a tendency to rely on Mjolnir more than he really should at times.

After a while he takes a seat on a bench and gives a friendly smile to the woman already sitting there. He watched her fight earlier and was impressed. She reminded him of both the Lady Sif and the Black Widow.]

You fought well. You have obviously had considerable training and experience.

Kurt Ambrose | Open

[spartan051]

[Kurt had caught the announcement on the network about the so-called 'fight club' but just wasn't feeling comfortable enough to divulge any concrete information about himself on an untrusted network. Instead, he simply showed up at the appointed time and slipped silently into the holodeck.

He had little interest in joining up with the security crew but if things were as unsteady on the Tranquility that he'd been lead to believe then he wanted to see just what the security team was capable of. His years spent molding and training a fresh new generation of super-soldier had granted him a fairly keen eye so he wanted to assess the security force of this ship and see just how capable they truly were.

Topping out at almost seven feet he was definitely one of the taller folks in the room yet he moved light on his feet. Not towards the training mats but rather towards the simulated bleachers where he could get a good view of the people practicing on the mats. Considering he'd been a soldier from the age of six onwards, Kurt was privately dismayed by the wasted movements and ineffective strikes some of the practicing attendees were throwing about yet to look at him, you wouldn't think it. The Spartan's expression was a study in neutrality and practiced blankness.]

William Tsang | OTA

[dogbane]

[There is a lanky Chinese boy sitting by the corner of the fight ring.

His tank top, the cargo pants, the sneakers constitute an ensemble that'd befit a fighter. Yet there's something about the way he's holding his chin on his hands, the question-mark curl of his spine, the wrinkled tube of paper smelling sweetly of marijuana from where it's tucked behind his ear, the cigarette tucked behind his other one, and the fact (just a little paradoxical) that there's a First Aid kit locked in behind his feet. Little signs that suggest he isn't here to get in the ring. Not intentionally, any rate. His inner wrist reads SCI.

William is watching the fights with clear interest. Not quite so avid that it'd speak to some secret craving to be out there, swinging and dodging and taking home contusions like badges. Still, he follows the fighters with his eyes, grimacing good-naturedly at the concussive thump of contact, cuts loose a piercing whistle for the victor. Passes water bottles along with assembly line efficiency. The military wouldn't have taught him medicine if he weren't willing to learn a great deal else.

Wham, someone goes down by him. He barks a laugh, claps.] 有冇搞錯!