Give me a hand.

[Lamont Fenris]

Short, short long, this was the recurring pattern of the yellow lines in the middle of the road as Lamont rode his motorcycle through the city streets to explore Kalispell a little. But then he stopped, suddenly in the middle of the road. He got off of the bike right there in the middle of the road with traffic honking behind him and slurs being thrown his way. Then he taking out his smart phone he dialed a number. Taking off his helmet his conversation was short then he paced for a few minutes in front of his bike and one of the men in traffic got out of his car and walked over to Lamont to confront him about stopping in the middle of traffic. As the man approached Lamont gazed in his direction and the disorder and flaws in the man's movement and his body were shown as if looking through an x-ray machine. Like time slowed so that each fault and flaw could be noticed and identified before the man approached. This was common practice. Lamont could not turn it off. Sometimes it sucked but when it came to traffic disputes. 

"Let me stop you right there, normally I would make you feel like less of a man by pointing out all of your faults. But frankly I just don't have the time. So would you mind just crying then punching yourself in the face before going back to your car so that you do not have to throw the sloppy left hook you are planning that is evident by your dominant right swagger but clenched left fist, and strange balance problem with the way you walk?. Only for me to dodge the idiotic attempt at manliness and literally flatten you with one shot to your recently rewired jaw. Do it for me, and when you bring the tears make sure the rest of the traffic is able to see you for the person you are. I am waiting for someone and I have a meeting to get to that I would rather not be worked up for. So if you would be so kind and do it yourself that would be much appreciated."

As Lamont was annoyed and berated the man in his raspy Swedish accent, Just then before any action was taken by the other man, a truck pulled up and a man walked over to Lamont with a can of paint in his hand. Lamont pointed to the road and the man got down on his knees with a paintbrush and extended one of the yellow lines to make the pattern consistent to the short, short, long pattern he had seen for miles. Then Lamont put his helmet back on and walked past his would be attacker and patted him on the back before  getting back onto his motorcycle then he took off through the city once again. 

The time that he had to kill before his engagement had been shortened by this endeavor. Now he had to look around for the place the fight was taking place. He was new to the city and still not fully familiar with it. It did take him a while to find the place. He felt that he should had taken his limo then he would have gotten there quicker and easier but he wanted to explore the city a little before his meeting so that he might come to learn about his new would be home. Which was why he took his motorcycle.

Pulling up to the venue he got off of his motorcycle and took off his helmet once again. his parking was not in a place that was normally acceptable but he did not care as once his helmet came off and people saw who got off the motorcycle no one in their right mind would mess with it. Especially since he had a security system that electrocuted anyone who touched it. Pushing the button on his key he opened his leather jacket and walked up seven steps and opened the door to the building then he went straight to the nearest desk.

"Seven steps?. Seven?. Not Eight? not Six? but Seven?. Who designed this place?"

Then he walked further down the hall into a room, but he could not get the Seven steps out of his mind. When he entered the room 3 men stood in the room. But the most noticeable was the large 6'6 man with the lumber jack beard and boxing gloves on. Lamont did not take the time to study these men as it was not part of the business he had come here to do. He had talked with the other more elderly man in the badly tailored suit for about 15 minutes. The man was trying to horn in on Lamont's air shipments that he had weekly. Lamont indulged in the man's weakness for gambling and told the man that if the man's fighter won the match the man could have the rights to those shipping hours. Though even without knowing who the opponent was Lamont knew the man's fighter was not going to win as everyone had physical flaws to exploit and this mountain of a man was no different. So in order to entice the man to take the bet. Lamont sweetened the pot by putting up 3 million dollars. But also said should the man's fighter lose. Lamont get's the old man's right hand as a lesson not to make bets and deals with men like him.

The man agreed. Lamont smiled and then made his way into the venue to take a front row seat and watch as his manipulation played out. 

[Vince Cooper]

---

The other day, a man in a bar had approached Vince. The man told him that there was an upcoming opportunity to win some major cash. Vince declined immediately, telling him that he wasn’t into any sort of drug dealing or any illegal shit like that. The short man stopped him and assured him there would be no drugs involved. Before Vince could decline whatever the hell this man was offering, the short Italian man mentioned a fight. 

An underground fight that had a bigger pot than Vince could imagine. He said Lennie was him name. Vince stopped and asked him what kind of fight he was talking. “A clean fight. You win, you go home with the prize money.” The man mentioned that the amount would be based off of bets but it was always high. The mystery man told him that they had bee keeping an eye on him every since he came to Kalispell. 

“Every Friday night there’s a fight. The winner always comes back for more.” He shrugged. “It’s Kalispell, bud. We don’t get A1 fighter like you comin’ around her so often.” Vince stayed silent through it all as he took a slip of paper with an address written down. “Be there.” The man told him. “You won’t regret it.”

...

Friday came and Vince placed down at the paper he had laid on the kitchen counter in his apartment. He knew unsanctioned fights were illegal. He was never much for breaking the law through crimes like this. Boxing was always something he repeated and took pride in. 

However, times were tough and rent wasn't cheap. Vince figured these guy knew what they were doing. The young pyro sighed before grabbing his gloves off the shelf and workout bag."Here goes nothing." 

...

When he came to the door, Vince jogged up the steps and cracked open the door. It was everything he expected it to be. It stunk of sweat and molding beams over head. It was dark, grimy, and reeked of crime. 

He was met at the door, down the hall, by a couple of guards. "Fighter." He simply stated. "Short Italian guy told me to show up." Without question, they opened the door and the surrounding crowd roared as he entered. He heard booing and cheering but it all just mushing into a blob of yells. He was wearing a hood. No one could recognize him but everyone knew his role. 

The man from the bar appeared out of the crowd and embraced him with a hug and pat on the back. "I knew you'd come!" He screamed over all the noise. "This way, this way." He led Vince through a couple of doors and into some sort of quieter dressing room. "Ah that's better." The man said as he shut the door. He rubbed his hands together and gestured for Vince to sit in the chair placed in the center of the room. He pointed out the circular window in the door out the the rink where a huge, burly man sat in one corner. "Tonight, you are the under dog.' The man explained in his thick accent. "But you will be fine, don't worry. They think you're the underdog. They didn't see you come in did they? Well, they'll know who are are as soon as you get out there. Then my friend, we will be making some real money once the tables have turned." 

Vince just sat and listened to him until he was finished. He was there to get the job done. Nothing was going to distract him form his first fight back - under ground or not. "When do we start?" 

[Lamont Fenris]

Score

=====================

Getting settled in to watch Lamont, flagged one of the people that was walking around taking bets. When the man walked over to him Lamont ordered a drink. Aged scotch, on the rocks, only two cubes, clean glass. His usual order. The man took offense to basically being called a waiter. Then Lamont stood up. He towered over the man who stood at 5'6" inches and he was build like a Norse god, and dressed like he owned the world. The man just nodded at the drink order and walked off as Lamont sat back down. Reaching into the inside pocket of his jacket, he pulled out a very illegal presidante style romeo and julieta cuban cigar. Running it under his nose he smiled as the scent filled him with delight. Then reaching into his pocket he pulled out a spring loaded cigar cutter and cut the end off. The man came back and gave him a drink for which Lamont gave him a 10 dollar tip. Then he put the cigar in his mouth and replaced the cutter into his pocket replacing it with a box of matches. Which he took a match out and struck it cupping his hand under the cigar puffing on it until it was lit properly. Then with a smile his cigar and his drink he leaned back in his chair ready for his lesson to the other man to begin.

------------

Other Fighter

------------

Adrian "The Wall" Floyd. Made a living being an enforcer. It was all he really did well, hurting people. Otherwise he found himself useless. He didn't get many ladies. He didn't have a family to go home to. He had nothing to lose really. So when he was approached just before the fight and told to make an example of his opponent because the big wigs had their own spat going on. He could care less.

Sitting on the chair in his corner he was eating a bag of doritos waiting on his opponent. Crumbs from his snack seen fallen into his bushy red beard. He was not called The Wall just because of his last name being Floyd. Adrian stood at 6'6" and was nearly 300 pounds of muscle. Yeah he had a bit of a gut on him but it was not a huge weakness as he could take quite a few pops to the gut. Generally just the look of the man would be imposing to anyone. Even the big wig swede himself, though Lamont was not the least bit worried, because everyone had physical flaws, The Wall would be no different. 

Adrian stood up. Then just kind of glanced into the audience. Then grabbed his gloves from the man that had been in his corner and slid them on. as the man helped tighten them in place. This would soon be a fight Adrian would never forget. One way or the other. 

[Vince Cooper]

---

Tunnel vision was the best word for it. Vince was laser focused. He had been taught at a young age that if you were not in the right mindset, you’d lose. In high school, when he’d gotten to the point in his junior year where he could pretty much beat everyone in Kalispell under the age of 30, Vince got cocky. By cocky I mean cockier then usual. His ego has grown so much he brought it into the ring, patronizing his opponents.

Lessons were learned when during the summer going into him senior year, an incoming sophomore just about put Vince into the hospital. That ended that and Vince got back on track. He did end up kicking the kid’s ass the next tourney after the embarrassment.

Whatever the small man in the room was saying was irrelevant to Vince. Everything was blocked out as he stood in the room, staring out the window out at his opponent. He spotted the bag of chips and Vince scoffed. Doritos before a fight wasn’t going to do him any good at all.

At the thought of disadvantages, Vince rubbed his shoulder. It was mostly healed but there was always that chance. He hoped it wouldn’t give out.

When the announcer called out the introducing calls for Vince the sea of tight packed people parted where the door was and made a clear path to the ring. When his name was called, Vince busted through the door, gloves ready. His hood stayed on. He mad dogged the burly man through the shade under his hood.

The doors swung open and the crowd roar. Some cheered and some threw things like cups and popcorn at him. He figured that was how it could be at a place like this. He ignored it all and made it a point to not flow on his way into the ring. The pyro walked up a couple wooden steps onto the matt. He continued staring as he stuck a leg through the ropes and ducked under. Intimidation was key, even if the guy was bigger.

He didn’t have a coach so when he sat down on the stool, some fill-in unzipped his hoodie and took it once Vince pulled it off.

Vince Cooper popped his mouth guard in and smacked his gloves together, ready to fight.

[Lamont Fenris]

Score
=====================

Just a puff of smoke from his seat as Lamont enjoyed his cigar. Looking on and watching. He could not rig the match as that would be unfair and cause disorder. But he could offer help when the time was right. The large man on the one side of the ring moved around. Lamont watched him and studied his movements. Lamont's ability was a lot like the scan ability in rpgs or the Professor Pyg quests in a recent batman game. His ability highlighted the man's flaws. All of them. However most of them were useless in this case. But there were three prominent ones that could be used by the smaller speedy opponent to basically nullify the weight and reach advantage of the larger man evening the fight. The man did have a flaw that could end the fight but this would not look well and could look staged so evening it and giving advantage to the underdog would be the better course of action.

Lamont noticed that the large man was dominantly right handed. Yet insisted upon trying to be a south paw. Meaning the strikes from the left would be much weaker yet more frequent. The man's right shoulder had a problem of getting dislocated frequently, Lamont could see the wear in the movement of the shoulder. That could be useful. The man also had a pulled muscle in his abdomen that he was ignoring. These three things could give the smaller man the match taking away the larger man's advantages. But the biggest one that Lamont noticed and it actually started to bother him was that the larger man was relying on his height to minimize head shots and was not wearing a mouth guard. Lamont thought this was absolutely idiotic and wanted to pop the guy in the jaw himself after he noticed it a few well placed blows or a well placed uppercut to the jaw and the match was over. This was going to be much easier than Lamont had thought.

He looked at his own fighter that he had put money on. This man had flaws as well. But they were less relevant than that of the larger man as he needed this man to win he just hoped that the larger man would not accidentally figure a few out. Taking a sip of his drink Lamont watched as the larger man ran forward at the smaller man and give him a hard left to the face knocking him on his ass already. Lamont started to pay more attention to the fight puffing at his cigar and nursing his drink.

The thought of those damn Seven steps kept crossing his mind and a way to fix that. Perhaps he could call someone to have one removed.

[Vince Cooper]

It all going too slow. Vince was too rushed. He was too city to get it over will that he being sloppy. His form was shit and he left himself to be easily overpowered. Of course, his opponent saw this and continued to fire slugs at his face and Vince took the blows with a failed attempt to block them. 

There was no wight class in underground.

The man stepped back obviously tired and Vince fired, dazed. It was slow and pathetic. the big man doge and returned an astonishing blow that knocked Vince to his ass. The crowd erupted in cheers as he smashed adjacent the mat. He sat blood on the already dirtied canvas and tried to regain his senses. 

The whistled blew and round one was finished. Vince picked himself up and wobbled over to the stool. He crashed down in it and threw his head up against the post behind him. He spat out his mouth piece, landing on his shorts. A hand stuck out from behind him and Vince grabbed the bottle. 

As he rehydrated, the man who was supposed to being his fill-in coach starting yapping a bunch of basic things to boxing. Vince turned around with double vision to see the 4'11 hispanic man shouting at him. Rolling his eyes, he turned back around and tired to ignore him. "Keep your hands up! Punch harder. Use your feet and hips for power." Vince needed some real help.