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Luck.
Topic Started: Jan 22 2011, 04:40 AM (23 Views)
Joof
sVo Champion
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"Come on then, you wanna fight me?" Ryan Davis roared, throwing up his fists and staunchly tensing up. "You're not going to just back away now, are you?"

He was standing in a back alley facing three other men, each one of them glancing at each other waiting to see who would make the first move. The three men were young, stupid and assuming that they had the advantage because they outnumbered him.

"We're gonna kick your ass, punk!" the leader of the gang shouted. He was taller than the other two, with caramel colored brown hair styled into a large curl at the front of his head and babyface good looks. He cracked his knuckles menacingly and took a step forward. "Get him, boys! Save some for me!"

Davis glanced at each of the cronies. They were about half a head shorter than their leader, with the same styled hair. They were dressed in tight fitting jeans and shirts compared to his own loose shorts and singlet. They had roughed him up already; a trickle of blood ran from the corner of his mouth and disappeared underneath his chin. It was time for payback.

"You're gonna die!" the leader screeched as his two friends ran forward, fists cocked to fly. Davis stood firm for a moment, waiting until the first one was close then ducking down and driving his shoulder right into his stomach and throwing him up into the air, a tackle any football coach would've been proud of. The second one was lucky to begin with, taking advantage of the distraction to back away and then swing forwards as Davis looked up. The blow caught him in the cheek and he staggered back, barely managing to throw up his arm in time to stop a second blow.

"Is that all you've got?" Davis hissed, his true British accent slipping past his adopted American accent. "You fight like a bloody woman!" The remaining friend attempted a punch with his free hand, but it was easily battered away by Davis. With his jaw set firm he swung his leg up and connected with his midsection, eliciting a loud "oof!" of pain as he sunk to the ground.

The leader didn't look quite so confidant now. Even though he retained a cocky smirk of self-assurance on his face, he took a step back as Davis approached him. "Easy now, buddy. You don't want to go picking a fight you can't finish, you know."

"I know exactly what I'm starting," Davis replied, wiping the blood from his face. "Don't tell me you're scared now just because the numbers have been evened up. You're not acting like such a tough guy now."

"I'm warning you!" the leader drawled. He took another step back, his fists still raised in the air although his smirk had now vanished. "You'd better back off, buddy!"

"Or else what?" Davis grabbed the leader of the gang and grinned, raising his fist and allowing it to hover in the air, just waiting to come flying down to connect with his face. "What are you gonna do, eh?"

It was at the moment that one of the men Davis had knocked down (he wasn't sure which one; possibly the first one he'd tackled) struck him from behind, knocking him down onto the ground. He desperately tried to cover up as both men began to drive their feet into him, not particularly caring where their blows landed.

Crack.

There goes a rib, Davis thought, managing to forcing himself up against the grimy wall of one of the buildings that bordered the alleyway. His vision was starting to blur and he suddenly realized that it was only a matter of time before he sank into unconsciousness, when the kicking abruptly ceased. Cracking open his eyelids, he immediately noticed that his attackers were gone and someone was shouting loudly down the alley way.

"-don't let me see you around here again, or I'll knock your heads together myself!" the voice belonged to a male who suddenly appeared over Davis, leaning down and roughly grabbing his chin to check if he was alright. "Can you speak, kid?"

"Yeah, I can talk," Davis said, or at least attempted to say. Evidently a kick had landed on his face, since the left side of his lip was badly cut. He reached a hand a touched it, however the man roughly swatted it away.

"Don't touch it, wait until you get to a hospital. You'll need to get it patched up, it looks pretty bad." The man waved his hand in front of Davis' face. "Stay conscious, alright? I don't fancy having to carry you around."

"Don't... need... a hospital," Davis managed to grunt. He sat up clutching his ribs, however the explosion of pain he was expecting didn't come. Maybe his rib wasn't broken after all, probably the only good thing to come out of tonight. "What happened? Why... did they leave?"

"I walked past and shouted at them. I guess they didn't like the look of me for some reason, because they ran off right away." The man frowned and extended his hand to help Davis up, however Davis shook his head. The man shrugged and looked around. "My name is Nathan. Nathan Paradine. What's your name? Is there anyone I can call to help you?"

"Ryan Davis," Davis blinked, attempting to shift again. He managed to lift himself up off the ground then stand up, still applying pressure to his ribs. "There's no one you can call, Mr. Paradine. It's fine, I'm used to this."

"That makes two of us then," Paradine chuckled. "The only difference is, I get paid to look like a pound of cheap hamburger meat. You seemed to be doing it just for kicks."

"Yeah... I wish," Davis muttered. He looked at Paradine, finally noting his odd appearance. He was dressed in a blue V-neck shirt, dark slacks and a leather jacket, his head and faced shaved but retaining a thin layer of stubble. Perhaps the strangest feature though was his sunglasses, despite the darkness of the evening they caught and reflected the light, giving him the appearance of a sort of overgrown fly. Perhaps Paradine realized this because he suddenly chuckled and turned to face the mouth of the alley way.

"That's funny. Well, if you're not going to go to a hospital at least let me walk with you for a bit to make sure those guys aren't going to jump you again. Come on, I could use the company. The girl I usually hang around with has been driving me half crazy." Paradine began to walk, obviously expecting Davis to follow. After a moment or two he did, albeit with a slight limp. Paradine slowed his pace to accommodate him as soon as he noticed.

"So, what are you doing out here?" Davis queried, gingerly touching his mashed bottom lip. "This is hardly the Strip. It's not common to find tourists here after dark."

"I'm not a tourist, really." Paradine shrugged, the pointed towards the skyline of the strip. "I'm a... permanent resident of the Goodfellas Casino. I perform as a wrestler for the sVo, but every so often I wander off to just think, I suppose is the best way to put it."

"The Sanctioned Violence Organization?" Davis paused, an expression of surprise on his face. "I see. I suppose that's why those guys ran off, maybe they recognized you, or they just didn't want to fight a professional or something."

"Maybe," Paradine chuckled. "Although, I think it's a lot more likely they didn't want any witnesses to their assault. Typical bullies, really... you still haven't told me why they were beating you up either. You're not in any trouble are you kid?"

"Me? Trouble?" Davis choked out a bitter laugh. "I'm always in trouble, man. It's my thing. I'm just another disillusioned youth wandering the streets looking for a fight. Tonight, I found one. Just my luck."

"That's not a very good attitude to have," Paradine replied in a slightly stern tone. "You could think of yourself as being lucky you didn't get badly beaten or even killed back there. You could consider yourself lucky I happened to be walking past. You could consider yourself lucky I was thinking about luck as I happened to be walking past that alley way."

"Why do you care about luck?" Davis scoffed. "There's no such thing, really. If you're fighting, you're either on or you're off. It might be your night, it might not. There's no such thing as luck."

"This week, I'm faced with the possibility of any kind of match you can think of," Paradine mused thoughtfully. "Think about that. I'm going to show up to work and spin a wheel to find out what I'll be competing in. I could be in a Steel Cage match. I could end up in a Street Fight. I might even have to put my title belt on the line against another wrestler. If you were in my position, wouldn't you think it was lucky if you ended up in a match that suited you best?"

"Well... I guess. But that is a completely different situation!" Davis cried, then immediately winced in pain and clutched his side again. "Dammit, that hurt."

"This is where I'll have to leave you I'm afraid," Paradine announced suddenly, pausing in the middle of the sidewalk. "You should really go and get your injuries checked out, if I may offer my professional opinion. Then, when you've done that, come to the Goodfellas Casino and find me. I'm sure I can find something for a... "disillusioned youth" such as yourself to do around the place, especially if you like to fight."

"Sure thing, mister." Davis mumbled. Paradine nodded and crossed the street, soon disappearing from view entirely, swallowed up by the darkness. A part of Davis told him to ignore his advice, to go home, slap an icepack on his ribs and hope he felt better in the morning. The other part of him, a smaller part he rarely listened to, told him that the stranger was right.

With an agitated sigh, he began to limp towards the nearest hospital.
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