==== December 4th 2013
==== M'tias, K'ane, Jovie
==== K'ane really doesn't like it when people say bad stuff about Teya. M'tias really doesn't like it when he loses bets he places on K'ane to not hit people because- Oh whatever. There's a fight. And swearing. And blood. You've been warned.

Who M'tias, K'ane, Jovie
What K'ane really doesn't like it when people say bad stuff about Teya. M'tias really doesn't like it when he loses bets he places on K'ane to not hit people because- Oh whatever. There's a fight. And swearing. And blood. You've been warned.
When There are 0 turns, 6 months and 18 days until the 12th pass.
Where Dustbowl Cantina

M%27tias21.jpg kane_fightorflight.jpg black.jpg


Dustbowl Cantina
All roads in the weyr ultimately lead here, to this center of commerce. Canvas awnings jut out over time worn, sandy cobblestone, sheltering customers and wares alike from the majority of Igen's elements, and funnel scents both mouthwatering and vomit inducing through the thin streets. Almost all store fronts are open air, delineated by sandstone arches with intricately carved facades. The insides of these stone-shingled buildings act as an amplifier for the salesmens' bawled enticements, and are held up by the chipped swirls of marble pillars.

Has M'tias seen K'ane since 'The Incident' that resulted in K'ane's transfer and M'tias being bounced from wing to wing? We'll just go with a 'no' on that. And despite being an entire foot shorter and weighing less by who knows how many pounds or stones or whatever unit of measurement we're going with here, that doesn't stop the greenrider from strolling straight up to where the bronzerider is sitting. Placing one foot on the bottom rung of his chair, folding his arms over his chest and breathing out, "I hope you're happy now." Whatever the fuck, that's supposed to mean. But it sounds sarcastic. He really hopes that K'ane is MISERABLE. Or something.

"Listen, it's not m'damn fault that y'had t'lay that goddamned bet on me not punching someone, okay? It's y'own damned fault. Y'heard what he said." K'ane's hands move into FISTS, demonstratively. Like THIS. "Not about Tey', man. Y'don't fuck with that." At least K'ane sitting down and M'tias standing up/leaning over is RELATIVELY SPEAKING the same height. "Y'say one thing an' I'll lay your ass flat." His voice is flat, too!

"For fucks sake. All you had to do was not punch him. That's just- You know, like how they teach little kids? Keep. Your. Hands. To. Yourselves." A little space in between each word, in case K'ane needs the extra time to digest what he's saying. M'tias of the intentionally insulting tone of voice. "Also, just to be clear. When you knock up every woman that you put your dick into, there's going to be some comments made. You do know that you can pull out to lessen the chances of pregnancy, right?" Unfortunately, the greenrider is totally ignoring the part where he should pull away from K'ane before he kills him.

That would be K'ane's fist flying at M'tias' nose. SHIT IS ABOUT TO GO DOWN, YO. Well. Depending on if the punch lands or not.

He should have expected that. But he didn't. So M'tias gets slammed right in the face by K'ane's fist, which sends him to the floor. Where he's dazed for a few long seconds before coming to again. At which point he launches at the bronzerider's feet, digs his fingers into the pressure points down by his calf and looks like he's about to bite him. All the while bleeding everywhere.

How the fuck did this scene go straight into chaos and destruction? WITHIN TWO POSE ROUNDS? WHAT IS WRONG WITH US?! K'ane seems just as surprised about punching M'tias as M'tias is about being punched, but his blood is still up and he's moving to stand (for all that will do) when M'tias starts ZOMBIE-ING his FOOT. "What th' f…" Then pressure points collaborate for that leg to buckle and K'ane goes down HARD, because the big ones ALWAYS go down hard. M'tias better move out of the way of all that mass!

Jovie walks in from the Central Bazaar.

Clearly we suffer from some kind of shared violent mental problem. - Yes. M'tias has no shame and he will literally sink his teeth right into K'ane's ankle if he doesn't- if he doesn't fucking land right on top of him just then. And then it's hard to detail how this works out exactly but there's probably some confused scuffling and where we end up next is with the greenrider trying to climb on top of the much larger man and pull his hair. Which is going to just work out spectacular for him. Already, a ring of people are circling around them and laying bets. 'I put a piece on the short little fucker- he fights like a stray mutt!' 'No, no. Kane's going to rally in a second and smash his brains in- FIGHT FIGHT!'.

"Are y'tryin' to fight me or t'fuck me? Carenath's balls," K'ane can be DISTINCTLY heard hollering as he grapples with the slippery little leprechaun of a man. The bronzerider is going for the BEARHUG SHUTDOWN, but he's already amassed a rapidly-puffing eye (dude what is with those pointy elbows M'tias) and a split lip. BLOOD FOR EVERYONE, BLOOD EVERYWHERE.

"BOTH." That should result in a good round of laughter from the onlookers. And he continues trying to pull the bronzerider's hair out or poke his eyes to blindness, whatever it is he's aiming to do. But that bearhug is coming and when K'ane's arms squeeze around him he squeaks as some air is squeezed out of his lungs. It's enough to get him to stop moving. "You're. Lucky. I. Like. You." He gasps between desperate gulps for oxygen.

Perhaps it's the audible hubbub that draws a certain waif into the Cantina tonight, or maybe she was headed here anyway, but once inside, the scuffling and swearing, the ring of bodies, it's clear to Jovie what's going on. There's a pause in her trudging boots, a little extra light in her eyes, but otherwise it seems as though she might consider this any old evening, moving casually through the patrons, both the eager and the appalled, to head toward the bar as if someone there will actually be pouring drinks at a time like this. She doesn't quite make it, though, as a glimpse of familiar ginger coloring furrows her brow and finds her wedging herself between stout bodies to discover it really is M'tias that is getting cobra-squeezed by a much larger man. Was anyone expecting the little blonde gypsy to end up front row? Was anyone expecting herself to step forward toward the fight, shrugging off the reach of someone's protective hand to plant her skinny, bare legs in front of the tangle mass of scrabbling men? Well, she does. And it looks like she might be about to aim a kick toward K'ane's ribs until the little man gasps out his supposed affection. So she just lifts a brow.

Awww, look mom, THEY'VE HUGGED AND MADE UP. "Take it back!" K'ane doesn't do very well at dispelling the whole notion that they are, in essence, two juvenile miscreants lacking parental guidance. "Just cause you're damn sterile, little Holder boy…" Nevermind they are both blooded; M'tias' blood factor is WAY higher than K'ane's. Then there are skinny legs in front of his face and K'ane stills his motion to peer upwards. Look at that eye — it's going to be one hell of a shiner. Damn pointy elbows. "Y'may not want t'stand there." To Jovie, of course. Then he cracks: "I may get y'pregnant." He'll give poor little M'tias another SQUEEZE.

"Never." M'tias hisses between clenched teeth. He's that friend everyone has that they'd rather they didn't have but can't get rid of somehow. "Just because I know how to aim my dick away from their pu-" Oh, well hello there helpful little blonde gypsy girl. He shakes his head when he notices the stalled out motion of the kick that thankfully didn't happen. "No, no. Don't kick him." He gasps as K'ane gives him another one of those painful squeezes. "That's my friend. You keep your super spunk away from her." They do look like a pair of bloody, juvenile miscreants. But at least the heat of the encounter as seemed to ebb. Now they're just awkwardly semi-embraced on the floor, staring up at Jovie.

A second eyebrow follows the first, so that it's a put-on impressed expression that Jovie wears as she stares impassively down at K'ane's swelling eye. "That'd be something. You gonna come on his leg?" she wonders with wry amusement, an eye flicked at the tangle of man on the floor in front of her. "Or should he and I swap positions first." She has put her bootheel back on the ground, though, so it would seem that K'ane's ribs are safe for the moment. She flashes a sly smile at M'tias, a little twist of her hips that could be meant for either of the men, or neither.

BEARHUG moves to HEADLOCK unless M'tias, shifty weasel he is, weasels out of it. He could. Y'never know with the short men, right? But he DOES look up at Jovie and over at M'tias and back up at Jovie. So unhelpfully: "/You/ should knock 'er up. Then you'd understand somethin' about life, little man." Or about parenthood. Since apparently in K'ane's book they are synonymous.

It continues to be hard to breathe, the headlock doesn't help even if it does make it more manageable. "Sure, good idea. Hey, Jovie? Want me to knock you up?" Struggle, gasp. "I have nothing to offer you. No marks. No future prospects. And in about eight months? I'll probably be dead. So you don't have to worry about me even being around when the kid is born." The headlock means free arms now. And M'tias pinches K'ane in all of his sensitive spots.



The boot swings, though it's not meant to kick, just to poke K'ane a bit sharply beneath the arm that stretched around M'tias' neck. "You're having a tickle war on the floor of a bar," Jovie points out. Blood and bruising aside, of course. "Yeah, sure," she answers the redhead dryly. "Do I just climb between the two of you?" She doesn't do that, though. She just drops to squat, knees wide and far more thigh visible than most people are used to seeing outside of the bedroom. Her steady stare is for K'ane, waiting to see if it's enough of a distraction.

K'ane is more distracted by his throbbing, sensitive, BRUISED left nipple than Jovie's thighs, mostly because his eyes are squeezed shut and he is rubbing the afflicted area with his free hand as if somehow that will make it better. He does, at least, release M'tias while he gives himself this critical triage. He really needs to be held right now. :(

He has a semi-sympathetic ear somewhere, surely.

When he's released from K'ane's choke hold of death, M'tias slides off of him and lands his ass on the floor. He begins to try and wipe some of the blood off of his face with the bottom of his shirt. Unfortunately some of it is dry and congealed and generally really gross. And his face looks like utter hell now. "Sorry, pookie." He comments as he casts the other man a glance out of the corner his eye. Is that the hint of a smug little smile? "Hey, we were fiercely fighting moments before you walked in. It could have gotten ugly. I could have severed the tendon in his ankle." Tickle war? They're men, they have their pride!

Thighs, so unappreciated. But Jovie has no interest in holding the big man, and now that he's released the little one, she stands again and a glance around finds only a few stalwart onlookers still hoping for more blood. She gives them a squinted face and a jerk of her head for them to fuck off. As for missing the better part of the violence, she surveys the blood and scrapes and purpling skin and a stretch of her brow seems to say she believes it must have been a real pounder at one point. "What started it?"

K'ane just lies there in the puddle of blood, because he can. He squints with the one eye that still opens up at Jovie, finally. "He's a fuckwad," is his oh-so-helpful comment, flat-stated, his voice disgruntled. The bronzerider then just POINTS at M'tias. "He started it, th' little…" His voice grumbles downwards into less articulate commentary, and he'll really just lay here for a minute, sighing and staring up at the ceiling.

M'tias can only shrug his shoulders at Jovie's question, cast a look over at K'ane and nod in agreement. "I may have said some things that were inflammatory." Holding up a hand, he makes that universal sign of 'a little' with index and thumb fingers. "But he got us transferred." As if that explains completely why it would be okay to stand aroud and piss of someone that's twice your size.

With a step forward, Jovie's boot slides a little in the splatters of blood on the floor, but she hardly seems to notice beyond a flick of her glance toward the bartenders, as if checking to see how quickly they'll be over with rags or commands to get the hell out. "That's a bad thing?" she asks flatly of this transfer situation, offering her hand out to M'tias — K'ane looks comfortable enough where he is.

"I was y'wingleader," K'ane replies, half-complaint. "Ain't my fault y'made a bad bet." He finally gets his feet under him and rises up, shooting a baleful look first at M'tias and then a more considering look for Jovie. "Eh. Arroyo isn't bad." He SHOOTS M'tias a look as if to say 'isn't that right'. "I think I better go get an' icepack for this." His EYE, which is SWELLING. Nevernomind the dried smear of blood congealed on his lower lip. He is not necessarily an attractive sight at the moment, nope.

"You're not anymore, are you?" M'tias replies from his position on the floor, cheeky. He's not going to respond on how great Arroyo is or not. Though there might be some muttering under his breath about 'easy for you to say' and/or 'Blaster for life, idiot'. But he's beyond trying to have anymore confrontations with men who can kill him for the evening. Tomorrow however, is another day. Or maybe the next day. Or maybe he'll wait for the cuts on his face to heal and his nose to set. That sounds like a plan. He does accept Jovie's offered hand once the former Wingleader is out of sight. "Thanks."

There's a good chance that Jovie could see K'ane again someday and not recognize him at all, judging by the look he has going on tonight. Well, unless this is a regular thing. Now that he's on his feet, she gives him a look right back, the calm pass of her gray eyes from his feet up to the top of his head and then meeting his lopsided and swollen gaze. Her mouth quirks in a half smile, which might mean she agrees about the ice. Her weight braces to help M'tias stand, whether he really uses her hand or its just taken for show. "Drink?"

K'ane is OUT OF HERE, all sore nipple and split lip and swollen eye. Just another evening in the Cantina, obviously.

It's sort of taken for show. But M'tias does use her for some sort of leverage. "I think he landed on my leg at one point." He rubs just above the leg, almost thoughtful as he glances down. Lifting his shirt up to wipe at his messy face again, he nods in agreement to her suggestion. "Yes." The verbal part probably almost doesn't need to be done. However that arm he loops over her shoulder, that's another thing. Both men are going to be limping out of here later to lick their wounds, that's for sure.

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