Work Text:
West Baltimore, slums. 10:00PM
The old basketball court was surrounded by rusted chain link fencing and tenement housing in various states of neglect and abandonment. The cracked pavement was illuminated by overhead neon lights, providing an unimpeded view of the violent spectacle taking place on the court. Credits changed hands in the bleachers as men and women gambled on the fights taking place under the lights. The sounds of flesh on flesh blended with cries of pain and occasional insults, with a steady undercurrent of murmuring, muttering, and the occasional quiet applause from the bleachers. In the distance, a car engine that sounded far too expensive for this neighborhood quietly purred to a stop a few streets away. Minutes later, a figure in a trench coat and hood stumbled towards the bleachers, an unmarked bottle of some mystery drink clutched in one hand. The scent of cheap alcohol rolled off of him in waves, causing the rich gamblers in their fancy suits and dresses to slide away from him as he took a seat. Slumming it might be fashionable, but there were limits to such things, after all - drunken beggars were not supposed to be part of the evening's festivities. Security was about to evict the drunkard when he quietly placed a $50,000 credit bet on the next fight against the odds-on favorite, an orc with as much chrome showing as flesh. His opponent, a dwarf whose arms were covered in scars, was a 3:1 underdog.
Security decided to let him stay for awhile after that.
The fight was over fairly quickly. The orc spent a little too much time showboating for the crowd, underestimating his opponent and paying for it. The dwarf shot forward so fast he was nearly a blur, snatching a leg up and twisting with his hips, throwing all his body weight into a technique known to the hooded drunk as a dragon screw. The POP of a dislocating hip was heard clearly above the din followed by a scream from the orc, who was now laying on his face and wondering how he got there. His opponent wasted no time, mounting the prone brawler from behind, he kept his weight on the orc's spine, sitting directly between the shoulders with both his legs in front of his victim's biceps, preventing the arms from being used in defense. The dwarf grabbed a handful of hair in one hand, pulled the orc's head off the pavement, and them rained a barrage of devastating elbows down with his other arm. The orc stopped resisting after the third or fourth of twelve strikes.
The drunk quietly chuckled, feeling the heat of the audience's stares as he watched his account fill on his com, nothing more than a smile and a few strands of black hair visible beneath the hood.
The next several fights went in similar fashion. The drunk sized up the combatants, placed his bet, and got paid. After the third fight, the savvier spectators began to place their bets after he had placed his, doing their best to put their credits on his choice. After the fifth fight, security approached him again. An albino night elf wearing a suit that tastefully contrasted with the color of his fur walked up to him, accompanied by a large ogre wearing a considerably cheaper suit that did not match him in any way. The ogre remained a silent threat, the elf did the talking.
"Hey wino, time to go. You had your fun, but you're costing us money. Ain't gotta go home, but you can't stay here."
The man looked up, eyes reflecting the garish white lights above them in the way that a cats eyes do. "But I'm having such a good time," he replied quietly. "I'm certain I'm not causing any.... undo harm, sir. Perhaps we can come to some kind of arrangement?"
Perhaps it was the eyes, or the way the man spoke. Regardless of the specific indicator, the night elf narrowed his eyes and took a half step back. Like recognizes like, and he recognized that even drunk, the man was a predator. The ogre made no such realization.
"Boss says you gotta go, little man. Get movin' or I'm gonna move you for you!"
The night elf took in half a breath and held it, tensing his muscles like a coiled velvet spring in response to his companion's crude threat. The hooded man merely held up his hands. "Easy, friend. There's no need for that. See, I'm go...oops, oh god, I'm terribly sorry!"
In the process of standing, the man had stumbled over the bench seat he had occupied, throwing out his arms to steady himself... and launching the remaining contents of the bottle all over the face and chest of the ogre. The glass vessel fell to the concrete foundation and shattered, leaving the tiniest of puddles in its passing. Something that smelled like rubbing alcohol that had somehow managed to turn rancid dripped down the ogre's chin, his bared fangs clearly showing what he thought of the drunk's apology. Seemingly unaware of his mortal peril, the man reached into a pocket of his coat, pulling out a handkerchief that was almost comically out of place in the setting and situation.
"Please, let me clean you up, I'm so sorr-OH!"
As he spoke, he reached out with both hands and his handkerchief towards the orc, stumbled again, and fell forward, leaning into the fall with his right shoulder and elbow. The impact caught the ogre at his center of gravity, causing him to fall backwards over the benches and finally come to a stop on the ground amid the contents of an overturned, crushed garbage can that smelled like it was a few weeks overdue for collection, having left dents in several rows of seating on his way down. The audience of bored, rich corpos had been in the process of leaving this scandal, but now it seemed they had decided to stay and enjoy the entertainment. A chorus of not-quite-muted chuckles greeted the ogre as he rose, a blackened banana peel impaled on one tusk and hanging down in front of his chin.
"That's it, when I get my hands on you-"
"Quiet, Luca," the night elf snapped. The ogre instantly stopped talking mid-threat.
The elf dropped his "street trash" facade and accent, quietly addressing the drunk with no pretense. "You seem to have a flair for the comedically dramatic, neighbor," he hissed under his breath, just loud enough for the man to hear. "It's something that fighting style lends itself well to, but I know what I'm looking at. Make no mistake, I appreciate what I'm seeing, but now I'm wondering exactly how you plan to get out of this situation you've caused." The elf shifted the hem of his jacket slightly, revealing the hilt of a cleverly concealed combat knife at his hip to emphasize the point he was making.
The drunk smiled from beneath his hood, all teeth and eyes and nothing else, silently demonstrating exactly how concerned he was with the implied threat. "I'm certainly open to suggestions, neighbor. Are you certain you want things to devolve into violence, or do you have a better idea?"
"As it turns out, I do. I think we can solve all our problems at once - Luca's destructive urges, my sudden loss of credits, and your apparent need to put on a show. I do hope you're up to the task."
He turned to the audience, slipping back into his street trash accent as easily as a second skin. "Ladies, gentlemen, and whatever else decided 'ta come get yer jollies from the pain and suffering of others, please, return to your very expensive and personally lucrative seats. Seems our clumsy friend here has decided to make amends for distubin' us all by putting on a show, in the cage."
"Oh, really?" the man muttered. "I couldn't possibly-"
"You can and you will," the elf cut him off flatly. "And unless I'm completely losing my touch, you're going to put on a show and make me rich in the process." He glanced sideways at the drunk. "You do understand the importance of making me rich by putting on a show, yes?"
The Hood chuckled. "Of course. In fact, we should possibly revisit that desire of yours at a better time. Speaking of, what name should I use for you?" (edited)
The night elf's purple eyes widened at the audacity of Hood's question, a ripple of not-quite-amusement running through his short, velvety fur. "You can call me Shades. If you manage to survive the evening, anyway."
Hood nodded. "Shades. How absolutely droll. Very well Mr. Shades, I suppose this is the part of the show where I 'stagger' my way onto your tetanus infested stage?"
Shades nodded, a predatory grin on his face as his hand rested on the hilt of his weapon. "Yes, if you would be so kind, Mr....?"
Hood began making his way to the court, making sure to stumble appropriately as he did so. "If I survive the evening, you'll learn my name."
Shades just shook his head, the smirk on his face vanishing into his 'street barker' persona. "My gracious, loyal, and oh-so-wealthy patrons, please place your bets on our next contest. In one corner, we have our very wet head of security. You know him, you love him...or maybe you don't, that's your problem.... Luca Barone!"
The ogre tore the banana peel from his tusk and hurled it at Hood with a snarl.
"And in this corner, a newcomer to our little event, someone who has managed to entertain us for, oh.... at least five minutes now. I'd give you his name, but when I asked I couldn't understand a word of what he slurred at me so let's just call him Drunk, eh?"
A wave of laughter dipped in manufactured propriety bubbled up from the audience.
"Now," continued Shades, "I understand that some of you may not have had the best night at the betting booth, so as your humble host, I'm just going to let you know that I'm betting heavily on my head of security. Let's just call that job loyalty, yeah? I'm sure you all know how important that is."
Another wave of canned laughter emanated from the crowd, this one slightly more uncomfortable sounding than the last. Hood finally lurched his way into the cage.
"Hold on a second, I need...yes, there. A... a friend, swears this will sober me right up." He reached into another trench pocket, pulled out a coffee flavored energy drink, popped the tab, and took a long gulp from the can. Luca took the opportunity to charge.
Hood reacted by doubling over just as Luca threw a punch, stumbling to the left and under the massive arm as he spewed the drink all over the ogre's cheap dress shoes. "UGH! Vile substance! How the hell does he drink this swill?" He hurled the half empty can, striking the back of Luca's head as the massive thug attempted to regain his balance after punching thin air. The sticky liquid splashed all over him, making his hair glisten under the lights and soaking into the cheap brown suit. The audience began laughing and jeering at Luca's continued humiliation - more than a few of them had been 'escorted' from previous shows by him.
In the stands, Shades snickered despite himself.
Hood began to struggle with the trench coat, trying to free himself from it as Luca rushed in again. He was about halfway out when a second punch made contact. He took the blow on his shoulder, spinning with the impact. Somehow the trench coat managed to wrap itself around Luca's face, blinding him. A barely noticeable kick to his back foot, easily mistaken as yet another drunken stumble from a distance, sent him careening into the fence face first - giving the crowd their first look at Hood.
Under the trench coat was a fairly average sized man wearing a black turtle neck and loose fitting khakis. A trained fighter's build was evident even under the turtle neck, accented further by hands that had clearly been wrapped in anticipation of a fight. Short, jet black hair sat atop a clean shaven face set with eyes that shone nearly black in the glaring halogen lights above - eyes that were far more sober than anyone but Shades suspected.
"Now, that's better. Shall we continue this contest, Luca?"
The crowd had gone silent at the reveal. As murmurs slowly started back up, Luca pulled the coat from his face, rose, and approached his enemy with a great deal more caution than had been shown previously.
"Come on now, this is your arena," Hood mocked. "Surely you don't have stage fright in your own home? That will never do."
The ogre snarled, putting on a show for the audience, but quietly replied as the crowd cheered. "Seems we've both been hiding what we're actually capable of," he said with a wink. His next series of attacks showed far more restraint and intelligence than before, throwing a few probing jabs before coming in with a sweeping hook. Hood bobbed and weaved, dodging all the jabs before stepping into the hook. The blow struck him with the inside of Luca's elbow rather than his fist. Hood spun into the attack, grabbing the massive, hairy forearm with both hands and letting Luca's momentum carry him over his hip and shoulder. The orc came to rest on his back beneath a wave of quick, repeating punches that seemed to carry more impact than they should. Hood started at the nose and worked his way down, the final blow striking Luca's solar plexus and knocking the wind from him.
"Stay down, Luca," he whispered. "I don't actually want to hurt you, it would be detrimental to both our futures."
Luca's eyes narrowed at the assertion that he would simply lay down. He rolled sideways away from the punches, huffing and wheezing as he scrambled to his feet before lowering his head. "Fuck you Pinkie, I don't take a dive for anyone. Hood's expression went flat as the ogre rushed him, clearly attempting to gore him with his tusks. He waited until those tusks were three steps away before reacting.
For just a moment, Hood's eyes flares with violet light. An instant later, a ball of energy the same color flew from his hands and struck Luca directly between the eyes. It was as if he had been hit by a hammer - his legs buckled, momentum carrying him sliding forward on his belly, coming to rest at Hood's feet. The stunned silence from the crowd was quickly broken by angry shouts and accusations of cheating and the fight being rigged. Shades stepped forward again, a more vicious smirk on his face. (edited)
"Well friends, while no one can deny that we certainly bore witness to quite the show, unfortunately our new competitor broke a well established rule here - no magic in the cage." He locked his purple eyes on Hood as the crowd started to turn angry, shouting insults and occasionally hurling a drink or some other rubbish in his direction. The projectiles all bounced harmlessly off of the fence, but the message was clear. "Can I please have security clear the cage and escort the offending party to my office?" Shades motioned to a trailer sitting off to the side, tucked in between two crumbling rowhomes. "It seems we need to explain the rules to him in a more private setting."
Four men entered the cage through the crowd, responding to the order with an immediacy that implied they had been waiting for this moment the whole time. Hood sized them up - two humans with stun batons, a troll with a club, and an elf carrying a knife that began vibrating once he entered.
He reached down and touched a button on the wrist watch hidden under his sleeve.
Around him the crowd increased their hostility, graduating from insults to threats. He blocked them out, focusing his attention on the actual threats in front of him. The knife was the obvious priority - he absolutely could not afford to be stabbed or cut by it, although not for the typical reasons. The stun batons were next on the list, with the troll and his club bringing up the end. The four hired goons spread out around him in a semi-circle.
Hood grounded and centered, rooting himself in a stance completely contrary to the discordant, stumbling style he had used earlier. His eyes lit up again, a steady glow accompanied by ribbons of violet energy coiling around his limbs and torso in perfect Fibonacci spirals and geometric patterns. He stared at the stunned faces of his enemies through glowing eyes.
"Are you positive that this is how you want things to play out?"
In response, they moved in. One of the humans, more impatient of perhaps just faster than the others, broke ranks and closed on Hood alone, swinging the baton in front of him as if he'd never actually used it before. Hood stood his ground, "blocking" the attack with an elbow strike to the wrist holding the baton that shattered the fragile bones. The unfortunate amateur managed to get out half a shriek before he was rendered unconscious by his own weapon.
In the distance, sirens could just barely be heard approaching.
The other three approached as a team, the troll and human trying to hem him in while the elf constantly remained just out of Hood's field of vision. He kept circling to keep the knife wielder in sight, but once the other two pressed the attack that became impossible. He parried the first attack from the human, managing to step out of the troll's kill zone as he swung. The club caught Hood in the chest and right shoulder, and he allowed the blow to spin him around, turning the momentum into a spin that ended with a heel to the troll's temple - and a vicious stabbing pain inside his shoulder joint. As the troll collapsed, he felt a second pain across his ribs - a line of fire that causes him to panic.
The elf had approached from a blind angle and slashed at his ribs, expecting to land a cut that would end the fight. Instead, an instant after the blade parted flesh, he gasped in pain as a crimson line started seeping through the T-shirt he was wearing. He stumbled backwards, dropping the knife as he tried to figure out what had just happened and why he was bleeding.
"God fucking dammit! You fools don't know when to quit!" Anger rushed through Hood as he realized what had just happened, and he vented it on the stunned elf with a backhanded baton strike to the jaw, followed by a second across the other side of his face as he fell. A red pool began to form under his limp body as the sirens grew louder. The final assailant took one last look at his fellow "employees", threw his weapon down, and ran. Hood hurled the baton he was holding at the fleeing man, but it had little effect once it left his hand and was no longer activated. He looked around, trying to assess the situation again.
The sirens grew louder as the crowd decided that they needed to be elsewhere - anywhere but here, in fact. Hood caught sight of Shades attempting to flee against the flow of neohumanity and stalked towards him. Unable to escape, the night elf instead pulled a pair of blades from hidden sheaths and prepared for a fight. Hood rolled his eyes at the display.
"Put those damn things away before I make you eat them," he growled.
Shades didn't comply, but he didn't attack either, staying clearly and obviously outside of attack range. "What the fuck was this about? Who are you?"
Hood smiled, fished a chip out of his pants pocket, and tossed it to Shades. "This? This was therapy for me and a job interview for you. I believe in that sort of efficiency and multi-tasking."
"A job interview?"
"Yes. You are a trained killer. Luca is an experienced tactician and your former squad leader, and you're both wasting your talents bilking idiots out of their pocket change with this nonsense. As for me, I am your employer and new team leader, and I came out tonight specifically to find the two of you."
Shades stared down at the chip, then back up at Hood.
"Here's how this is going to work. There are corporate police on their way here, now. You are going to let them arrest you and Luca. If you resist, they will kill you. When they arrest you, you will give them this chip. Make certain that they see the insignia on the front of it. After that, you will be given further instructions." Hood turned and began walking away before Shades could ask more questions, then stopped and turned halfway around.
"Oh yes. I told you I'd give you a name if I survive tonight. You may call me Mr. Rhinehart." With that, he walked back to his too-expensive car and waited for the sirens to arrive.
Once he was safely in his car, Damien made the window tint opaque, and then released all of the emotions he had tried and failed to either drown in alcohol or vent in the cage. They poured down his face as tears. Somehow, he had managed to make things even worse. He hadn't expected to be put in actual mortal danger, or for his Gift to activate. Again, for the second time.
He squinted and wrinkled his nose. Did his car smell like dog?
As he turned to figure out what the hell was going on, a large wolf materialized in his back seat, silently staring him down with ice blue eyes. Moments later, a short, teenage hobgoblin girl winked into visibility in his passenger seat. Before he could react, she started talking.
"For fuck's sake. Out of all the ways I imagined meeting you, this was not on the list. And before you ask, no, I won't tell Alex I found you sobbing like a bitch in your front seat. Not that he'd have any room to talk shit about it. I swear to God, is this some sort of family trait, being all-powerful mopey sad sacks? The fuck is wrong with you two idiötas?"
Damien blinked, thought about violently evicting the girl, and then felt, rather than heard, the growling in his ear.
"Careful. Folt is mighty protective of me. That ain't even his final form, either."
Damien blinked again. "Eris? What the hell are you doing in my car?! Empty Fucking Night, Alex is going to kill me for this! I don't suppose you told him you were planning to break into my car before you left?
Eris reached up to pet the spirt wolf. "Calm down, D. Alex doesn't need to know I'm here, does he? As for what I'm doing here, I was watching the fights. I figured out it was you as soon as you started talking to Shades, and then I got interested. And then....well...."
She shifted her attention back to Damien. "So I hear you're taking job applications?"