11995/Another Rule of Fight Club

Another Rule of Fight Club
Date of Scene:	13 July 2022
Location:	Bushwick <Mutant Town>
Synopsis:	An old fashioned networking affair happens as Cheyenne confirms his desire to crossover to the Brotherhood side of things.
Cast of Characters:	Cain Marko, Cheyenne Brawley

---

Cain Marko has posed:
Mutant Town is a great place if you're a metahuman, mutant or otherwise person of interest and you don't want to stand out amongst the crowd. The various denizens with visible mutations are a dime a dozen and a person with wings is as liable to fit in as a person with four arms and one eye. And though it can be high on crime it does have a few note worthy places of entertainment that attract varous comers and goers despite the risk that they may entail. One of their famed fight clubs happens to be one of them. Fighting for fun isn't exactly legal..but..hey whose keeping track?

This particular pop up fight club makes good use of a long abandoned and reconfigured subway station whose entrance is cleverly disguised to keep authorities at bay, but is found easily enough if one knows the right questions to ask and is a local. Here, those with healing abilities can find good pay as they keep any 'Whoops, hit them to hard' situations from getting particularly nasty and various bouncers who have a good 'mean mug' around them keep the rowdy crowds under control as best they can. Right now the crowd is moderate in size as two mutant bruisers pound on each other in the ring. Their blows shaking the first few rows of the spectator seats.

Cain Marko is present. A celberity bruiser of sorts, by virtue of immensity alone, the goliath swamps over a seat and table to himself near the rear of the bar..watching the proceedings boredly. Out of armor and costume, he passes for a particularly massive meta. Not even as big as Juggernaut himself is when in full regalia..but he's big enough. A tee shirt sporting Godzilla looming over a skyline, stretches across his gigantic torso, swelling visibly and stretching under the behemoths heavy breaths. His muscles rumbling with the vague connotations of a seismic disturbance waiting to happen as he boredly contemplates matters with the look of someone clearly unsatisfied with the nights entertainment.

Cheyenne Brawley has posed:
     When the current bout has run its course, the circle is cleared and a pause is given for folks to take a break before the next fight begins. Carmine, the club owner - he looks a bit like a shorter and older version of skinny Penn Jillette - steps into the ring with a bookie at his side. Reading from a pocket spiral notepad, he glances to his left at one of the next round's competitors, who he singles out with a grandiose gesture.
     "Fresh meat," Carmine calls, grinning. "Put your hands together for this cowboy from the armpit of Texas..." he checks the notepad, then continues: "Cheyenne Brawley. Wish him luck. He's gonna need it." The crowd reacts with silent indifference, apart from a few smirks and the odd chuckle following a random remark from the back: "Wait, that's a girl down there?"
     Buster himself stands to one side of the circle, bare chested and wearing a plain pair of black athletic shorts. He's in decent shape, and doesn't seem too nervous, based on his placid expression. The young man limbers up his arms and tilts his neck from side to side. He happens to catch sight of Cain and tips the invisible brim of an imaginary hat in greeting in his direction, then refocuses his attention to the other side of the ring, awaiting the arrival of his opponent.

Cain Marko has posed:
He's not exactly riling the crowd up, that's for sure. A relative unknown here, the audience is probably more invested in considering how badly Buster here might get beaten up then expecting anything out of him.

Cain, for his part, simply arcs an eyebrow in surprise while leaning slightly to the side and resting his head against a propped up fist, still bored looking...but at least slightly intrigued now.

"Huh..him? Thought that guy was too squeaky clean for a place like this." he muses to himself while considering matters thoughtfully.

Opposite Cheyenne, a red skinned, thickly built, meta of some sort, climbs into the ring. Tattoos of coiling flames adorn his large arms and he grins, teeth pearly white against the contrast of his flesh, as he begins sauntering up towards Buster, "Yeah? Let's make this quick..."

Cheyenne Brawley has posed:
     The Texan's face is grim and stoic, apart from an eager fire evident from the glint in his eye. When the red-skinned man arrives, his extraneous motion ceases and he stands in calm readiness, staring his adversary down.
     Carmine half-heatedly rattles of a list of rules at the speed of the fine print disclaimers at the end of a pharmaceutical commercial, then leaps back out of the way with a downward drop of an arm, indicating the bout has begun. Meanwhile, the bookie works furiously to scribble down bets as they're called out - clearly, odds are in favor of the tattooed beefcake.
     Immediately following the signal, Buster drops slightly into a light and mobile stance, weight balanced on the balls of his feet. Perceptive types might observe a subtle flow of air around him, as well a strange, syrupy current through the substrate of the ring floor, as if some sort of gravity is pulling matter toward the young man's position. Clearly visible, a few inches in front of his chest, there forms a nodule of a glittering, crystalline substance. The gemstone slowly spins like a faceted disco ball, reflecting oddments of neon signs as it rapidly grows from a mustard seed into a pinto bean, and then into a grape, and on into a chicken egg.

Cain Marko has posed:
A whispered rumbling mutter at one of the workers sends a bet from Cain Marko towards the bookie--for the texan. And it's not a small sum either. Cain has cash to throw around when he wants to and he seems inclined to lean align himself with Cheyenne this evening though he remains in his position and does not draw any closer to the ring and the rowdy crowd.

As the call for the fight to begin occurs, the red mutant, mutate, meta, whatever, lunges forward at the texan, bringing in a series of rapid fire swings as a glowing red burst of flame like energy fires up around his fists, trailing contrails akin to the tattoos drawn upon his form.

Cheyenne Brawley has posed:
     The gemstone, now the size of a peach, spreads into a lens with plastic ease - it creaks and groans loudly as it is twisted into shape, like the sound of a ball of aluminum foil being crunched against itself - and levitates to ward off the flurry of flames.
     Buster, meanwhile, sprints a few steps to 2-o-clock from his position and does a clean shoulder roll in such a way that he pops up facing his opponent. He is now several paces to the fiery mutant's left, and slightly behind him.

Cain Marko has posed:
The bursts of fire explode out into the crystal shield, blasting into but otherwise being deflected by them as the mutant grunts in frustration. "What kinda weak sauce is this!" he shouts before spinning, lifting a leg up as he wheels around to try and catch Cheyenne with another burst of flame that erupts outward and fans through the air towards the rapidly moving mutant in an arcing discharge. What is he? Some sort of firebender or something?

Cain, meanwhile, rubs his jaw thoughtfully as he watches. He doesn't look particularly blown away but then again this is a man that's faced gods, demons and Hulks on the regular. Still, credit where it's due and he nods his head with some approval at Cheyenne's movements and footwork. "Alright, don't drag it out now.." he mutters as he watches curiously.

Cheyenne Brawley has posed:
     The flaxen hair on Buster's arms curls as he shields his face from the arc of flame. Even through gritted teeth, he grins at the red-skinned man.
     A miasma of thick black smoke takes form behind the Texan's opponent, floating in the air like a poltergeist; its source appears to be the glittering jewel, which disappears in proportion to the emergence of the dark, menacing cloud. Like the tentacles of some Lovecraftian nightmare, tendrils of the black dust strike out with serpentine speed and seek to force their way into the fiery mutant's nose and mouth, delving toward his lungs.

Cain Marko has posed:
Now that gets peoples attention. The crowd erupts into a roar of chaos, confusion, cheers and jeers as the fight becomes decidedly non traditional in nature and Buster begins exhibiting quite unusual abilities that goes beyond just ducking and shielding.

For his part, the flame wielder manages a gagging roar of pain, confusion and rage as he turns his attention away from Buster to reach up and grab for the tendrils to try and disolodge them from his nose and mouth. His fire bursts out from his hands, somewhat uncontrolled, but he seems to be trying to ignite and destroy the matter, whatever it may be.

For his part, Cain arcs an eyebrow in some surprise at this. The brutality and suddeness of it causes him to purse his lips in thought and he straightens up abit and leans forward, waiting to see how this will play out.

Cheyenne Brawley has posed:
     The black smoke vanishes. So it seems. Through some artifice, Buster has coarsely transformed it into a cocktail of paraffinic and olefinic C1 - C4 and C5 - C6 hydrocarbons: tasteless, odorless, colorless gases. In other words, the sorts of things you would find in the gas stream at the apex of an oil refinery.

Cain Marko has posed:
It's not a pleasent combo to say the least. But it -is- a spectacular sight! A sudden blast of flame explodes out of the mans mouth, pluming upwards towards the ceiling and fireballing out violently into the air with enough pressurized force that those in the front row seats are forced to the ground and the entire room shakes from the expanding shockwave.

The mans eyes roll upwards as his body goes slack, held upright only by the sheer force of the explosion and discharge of energy..and then, once it finishes, he tumbles over and goes collapsing to the ground with a trail of crimson energy following behind him and leaking from his eyes.

The audience goes silent in shock..and then erupts into a loud roar of cheers, boos, cursing and screams.

Meanwhile, one of the assigned mutant medics quickly ducks into the cage - moving warily but swiftly all the same to check on the fallen man. Murder isn't their trade here but there is still agreed to dangers nevertheless. It's in the fine print! - He seems to sign in relief though and he gives a nod towards the Carmine who sighs and enters the cage finally and points towards Buster.

"Your winner!!"

The crowd remains equal parts furious and elated. Such as it is.

Cain leans back again and rubs his jaw. "Huh."

Cheyenne Brawley has posed:
     As the medic enters the ring and approaches his opponent, so does Buster, who kneals and places a gentle hand on the red-skinned man's shoulder. He meanwhile gestures with his other hand over his opponent's mouth and slowly draws it back to remove a lingering wisp of black dust from the man's lungs, as if he were exorcising the remnants of some hellish curse from a demoniac, which he flings away with a flick of his wrist. Only then does he stand and seem to become aware of the reaction of the crowd; he glances around for a second or two, then pumps a couple of thumbs up.
     Carmine scowls at the Texan as the young man exits the cage; no doubt, this bout was meant to be an easy win for the pyro, to boost him a little higher on the card. The bookie isn't happy either.
     "What's the good word, Tiny?" says Cheyenne as he makes his way to the big man's side and collapses onto the bleacher nearby. He gazes down at a blister on his left forearm and rubs it tenderly.

Cain Marko has posed:
"You just made me some money." answedrs Cain, tone seemingly neutral but there is the vaguest hint of amusement in there as he leans back and spreads his arms along the back of the seats he's occupying. "Good job."

Cain then allows a slight smile to come, eyes squinting as he peers at CHeyenne, "I didn't think you had that in you. That innocent fish out of water stupid texan thing you do just an act after all? Or maybe you're hanging around too many folk on SHIELDS most wanted list? Starting to rub off on you?"

He gestures, almost absent mindedly, at the thought, "Might start making you dangerous or something...."

Cheyenne Brawley has posed:
     The Texan returns Cain's grin, but his expression soon sours. "Just trying to get ready for the real trouble, whenever it comes," he says in a steely tone. "Did you know mutants have been going missing, lately? On top of Bane's bullshit, and the day-to-day garbage us mutants have to deal with." Looking at the big man with a lethal expression, equal parts wrath and determination, his nostrils flare as he draws in a deep breath. "You know, I came here hoping to join other mutants to do good." He scoffs. "I guess I really am as naive as you think I am. Because the movies fooled me. There ain't no heroes here. Not for mutants. I hear tale of the Brotherhood every now and then, but near as I can tell, they're as much a myth as the X-men. So I'm going to do whatever it takes, myself."

Cain Marko has posed:
"Yer being over dramatic..." Cain rumbles, his own voice a drawl. He feigns marginal disinterest at first as he reaches for a drink, verging on just ignoring Cheyenne's comments...until he ends up sighing.

"Much as I hate to admit it....what you're saying aint true. There are heroes about. They stick their nose into folks business and try and do what they think they're supposed to. I guess. You'd probably not be here right now..but for some of the things they've done to protect this dirtball of a planet. So don't go creating your own super-villain origin story or something. Folk are doing things. There's just...stuff happening at times in places you can't see it happening."

He shrugs lightly and looks over the club, "Mutant Town is a dump..but..If The Brotherhood didn't do the things it -does- do..it'd be much worse. Even the X-Men and my stupid step brother..." He wrinkles his nose a little, looking like he tasted something sour in his effort to give Cheyenne something to be hopeful about. "..Listen, it's not easy to just suit up and think you're going to be a hero. It takes a lot of guts and risk. Don't get all hasty and emotional.. That'll get you dead before it gets you helping anyone.."

Cheyenne Brawley has posed:
     Buster huffs a staccato of dry laughter. "Is that right, then, Tiny? Well, I tell you what, if the Brotherhood is looking for a new recruit, they need look no further than right here," the young man thrusts a thumb into his chest, "Not that they would know it, or give a flying fuck. Even Queen Dane suggested I reach out to them, but damned if I caint find any type of way of contacting them." He heaves a sigh, props his elbows on his knees and cradles his jaw in his hands. "And I ain't never said it would be easy." He glances over his shoulder at the big man, rolls his eyes and settles his attention on the next fight in the ring, but doesn't seem interested. "I trained for years on my own, Tiny," he adds as an afterthought, almost to himself, "but I realized I wasn't getting anywhere that way. So I came here in search of a team; a -brotherhood- of folks who would stand up for the folks who caint stand up for themselves, and teach me how to do what they do. But I guess I'm not good enough for them. Might as well just go back to Texas."

Cain Marko has posed:
"Queen Dane?"

It's not a term he uses. Ever. But it gives him pause and he looks at Cheyenne closely before frowning now. His drink is set down and he keenly and critically eyes the man.

"..Are you....are you for real? You talked to Lorna Dane? Of Genosha?"

There is something to consider here. She gave him the advice but Cain knows well that she could have just introduced him herself. So she's keeping her distance for some reason..

"Right.." he muses before rubbing his jaw and looking at the ring. There is an internal struggle going on here. "You're a good guy, hayseed. If you're serious about this...you're gonna start getting tangled up in stuff that keeps people up at night. Nightmares..living ones. It's not all sunshine and being heroic and helping people. It can get dark. Real dark.. and that includes the people you might end up alongside. Murderers, somma them. Others, supremacists. Are you -sure- you want to cross that line and get in bed with that just to help the little guy?"

Cheyenne Brawley has posed:
     "Yessir, that's right, Tiny. Queen Lorna Dane, of Genosha, daughter of -the- Magneto - gal told me so herself," he makes a flourishing gesture with his hand then waves dismissively. "She made out like I could just look the Brotherhood up in the phone book and talk to somebody liketisplit. So much for that. To be fair, I only had a chance to tell her I wanted to see about networking with them, before ourconversation was cut short, but I meant to tell her what I'm telling you." The young man heaves another sigh, fidgeting as he stews in his own frustration, "I mean, Mutant Works is coming along fine; it ain't nothing to sneeze at. I made a connection with a techy gal that will join with me to promote it with an app. The Queen, er, Lorna, said she's game for the Embassy to link up with me, along with another fifty or so businesses around New York and Jersey. In time, maybe it will bear fruit. But it ain't hardly worth building something if some asshole is just gonna come out of the woodwork and destroy it." He turns to face Cain, expression grim once more. "I done seen all the nightmares I need to see, right here in Mutant Town." He hesistates for a second, then snarls, "And why shouldn't we regard ourselves as supreme? Mutant pride, world wide - I aint ashamed of what God made me." He punctuates this with a firm nod. "Until regular folks learn to live with us, we have to stick with each other."

Cain Marko has posed:
"I aint a mutant hayseed. So don't walk with the line of thinking mutants are 'supreme' to me. But some mutants do. Magneto eh? So that's your line of thinking eh? Magneto's line of thinking really working for you? Huh. Maybe that fish out of water innocent texan act -is- just that after all and I had you pegged wrong."

Cain's tone is neutral, not judgemental whatsoever, nor angry, just stating it how he sees it.

"So if this is the real you..the one that coulda killed that guy in the ring..."

His voice trails off in thought and he finally just inclines his head and leans it from side to side, "Yean I know Lorna. I don't call her Queen though but I know Genosha. So I tell you what...I'll make a few calls on your behalf. I'll open the door for you.. I want to see if you walk through it.."

Cheyenne Brawley has posed:
     "You ain't a mutant, Tiny, but you ain't got any problems with us just for existing, neither, and that's good enough for me." Buster's eyes go wide for a moment upon Cain's final remark. "-You- know the Brotherhood? Hot damn..." He grins and tips the bill of his imaginary cap once again. "Much obliged. I won't make you regret it."

Cain Marko has posed:
"Hmm.. We'll see."

Cain slowly rises, towering up and up and up, "..You got the passion kid but..I don't want to see you start tumbling down a well you can't get out of but let's see what you do with what I give you. I'll get back with you and see about arranging a meeting."

The behemoth studies Cheyenne for abit longer before looking away, "Don't go spreading this around though, hayseed. Keep it to yerself for now." And with that, the giant starts moving off, heading for the exit of the fight club with slow but deliberate heavy steps.