Participants:
| Scene Title | The Green Mile |
|---|---|
| Synopsis | This wasn't in the program. |
| Date | February 22, 2009 |
A battle drum is sounding. Steady, it beats in the form of feet stomping the ground in rhythm. A crowd, charged with energy, a voice shouting out from above, muffled from down here, in the basement. The steady, deafening rhythm of feet beating the earth is enough to make the ceiling shake dust to the ground, coating Ethan in a fine sheen of grime, catching the minimal light of dim, dusty lightbulbs. He's seated on a bench that lines the holding, sub-basement room, and waits.
Despite the war-like noise from just above Ethan's head, it's peaceful, down here, alone in the dark room shaped with cement, wood and iron. The ground beneath Ethan's feet is dirt and cement, and everything seems just another variation of grey, the smell of water damage and blood thick in the air.
The drum up above of hundreds of feet dissolves into thunder as the crowd cheers the arrival of the fighters. Ethan is not one of them, and yet, a heavy door opens to reveal the shape of what can only be described as a handler, beckoning to Ethan. "You're on. Get up."
Deep breaths, inale and exhale. He took on several heavily armed Homeland operatives, destroyed a helicopter, and saved a dying woman all with his handcuffs, only to be taken right back into custody. But this is a very different type of custody. He takes in another deep breath of the musky scent and lets his eyes close. He's not the type to dream back on better days, that's only a road to dismay and the pang of loss surging up inside once again for what feels like the millionth time. He has gained a lot and lost even more in his relatively short life. And now he sits in a cage for one reason…
Eileen
A dead gaze pierces through the dark at the man as Ethan sits against the cold surface, his hands laying limply in his lap. He starts to open his mouth to tell the man to 'fuck off', but instead he simply watches him for a moment. Then sighs, goes to his knees and then raises to his feet, his hands chained together in front of him. Taking a few steps towards the man, he watches the handler quietly. "Time for the green mile innit?"
The man raises his eyebrows at Ethan, a twitch of a smirk, and tilts his head a little as if to indicate the roar of hands, mouths, feet all working to create a storm of cheering and excitement. "That's up to you," the handler says, then reaches out to grab the chain link between Ethan's cuffs. "You live through tonight and you may be finding yourself walking it again."
Down a corridor, a turn up cement stairs, and suddenly, the reality of the arena muffled through floors and ceilings and distance slams home. The noise can be expected, but it assaults the senses - the visual mass of churning bodies, the smell of sweat and adrenaline, the lower sounds of bets being called and organised under the table, and the bright lights that focus on the huge platform all have their eyes on. Ethan goes ignored by everyone as he's lead to the cage, where two fighters show help to ramp up the crowd.
A lanky man with a mane of hair tied into an old fashion warrior's braid roams the periphery of the cage, shirtless and wearing jeans that have obviously suffered a few fights, feet bare on the ground. He leaves marks in the dirt that smolder a little every time his feet leave the packed earth, and his hands seem to be dripping wet. With a flick of his wrist, a thin stream of liquid arcs from his fingers, hits the cage bars, searing them.
The second is a woman with a plain face and short dark hair, standing mostly in the center and wearing a black tank top, matching pants for better movement. She lifts her long arms up, and suddenly— she seems to turn into a plume of fire for several seconds before transforming back with a hazy cloud of smoke, seeming to land in a crouch to the cheers of the audience.
Ethan gets no introduction, cannon fodder often doesn't, lead towards the arena of bars and hooks, from which hangs such items like a chain, a crowbar, a machete. The cage doors creak open, the handler efficiently undoing the handcuffs.
Like a sheep led to the slaughter, or at least that's what everyone expects him to be. Nothing is of interest, not the man leading him up, not the crowd, not the gamblers, the only people who get his attention are those already in the ring. His eyes seem like they're cemented to those, sizing them up, watching for their powers, watching for anything they might be able to do. Not just abilities, physical prowess, range of movement. He watches them quietly as he walks forward, "I will be walking it again, mate."
His handcuffs are undone, and he swings his hands around as if testing them. His eyes go up to his handler. "But not with you." His head flies forward, skull crashing against the man's nose, as his hand darts forward to take the handcuffs just taken from him. Blood splashes from his handler's newest entry onto Ethan's face.
Grinning, the Wolf turns and moves into the ring without further instruction. His shirt is taken off and rubbed on his face a little bit, still leaving some of the blood there. Let his oponents wonder why there's fresh blood on his face that's not his own. One of the cuffs is attatched to his left wrist. He smirks at the ring as he walks in.
The brief scuffle in the dark goes largely ignored save for those nearby, the man controlling the gate of the cage staring down at the handler who tries to get to his feet, hands clasped over a broken nose. No one of authority is objecting, however, so the designation cage doorman almost shrugs to himself, pushing the iron gate shut and chaining it as appropriate, hurriedly retreating back.
Up in the higher balconies, Logan drapes an arm over the shoulders of his chosen companion for the evening - not one of his whores, but a nicely dressed Asian woman. An associate of the Triads? Perhaps. Although why the brothel owner would court with them is up for debate, but she seems to be of some importance if she has his attention. "Fight's due to start in ten minutes," he explains, his pale hand playing through her long dark hair, the other one resting on the wolf-shaped head of his cane.
"And this third fighter?" she asks, her eyes forward on the cage down below, though Logan keeps his eyes on hers.
He shrugs. "Not a fighter, just someone who's gotten on the wrong side of someone better than him. Think of it as a demonstration, keeping us all entertained." A flash of a smile. "Like the previews. Never liked those, myself, personally." He leans in to nudge through the curtain of inky black hair to perhaps kiss her throat, but she coyly shies away from those advances, back straight.
"I like the previews, John."
Down below, the fighters continue to circle, but Ethan's arrival gains the attention of the man with acids hands. Hazel eyes dart over the blood now smeared on Ethan's face, looking for the injury and finding none. Puzzling, but not to concerning, and he gestures out towards the new arrival, bellowing to the roaring crowd, "Everyone give a big hand to the new arrival!" His outstretched hand drips with the clear, viscous fluid, turning dirt to ash when the droplets land. "C'mon, big boy, dance for us." His hand arcs through the air to send off a thin stream of acid towards Ethan's feet.
The woman approaches, stealing a detachable hook off the wall, one attached to a short length of chain, her back to the two as she spins it over her head once, disappearing with it into a roaring ball of fire.
"'Ey. Please." The man calls out, as his feet practically split away from each other as the liquid lands. The man backs up, pressing his back into the wall. "I've got kids. You don't 'ave to do this, mate!" The man urges, his cockney accent strong as ever. His smirk vanished the moment the man took aim at him, and now seems rather alarmed despite his cocksure attitude moments before.
With his back pressed against the wall, the shirtless man sidles alongside the wall, he does not yet go to take a weapon. His eyes dart to the woman for a moment, then back to the man approaching him. His features scream fear and helplessness, his hand even twitches a little bit. But were one to look deep into his eyes.
One would see that he's already killed the pair, before even lifting a finger.
"Kids, huh? Me too. Now, don't be boring, you'll live longer," the man chides, cupping a hand, letting the acid secrete into a dripping puddle in his palm, and a word starts to formulate amongst the crowd now. Hard to make out, at first, especially seeing as it's a word not often chanted, but the man seems to understand it. He grins. "Hear that?" he says. "They want me to melt your face off, friend. Start running."
MELT. MELT. MELT.
His arm pulls back to fling the heavy liquid towards the man, but in the same instant, a roaring ball of fire suddenly leaps through the air, forcing the acid secreting man to step aside as it plunges itself straight towards Ethan. The crowds chanted changes into an accompanying roar of approval, the fire mimic's form making a heated, bright trajectory for the hapless human.
"Well fuck me, if you're going to be like that.."
His eyes narrow as the humach torch-ess rushes at him. But he doesn't move right away, his hand moves up for one of the machetes. These aren't fighters.. These are people who just happen to have abilities and be in a ring. One bare foot moves slightly behind the other, cementing his stance. Holding the machete Ethan watches as the woman rushes towards him, his eyes darting to the acid man for just a moment before flicking back. Wait until she's absolutely commited, until she's too close to bail and then—
Ethan leaps up, his free hand grabbing at the hooks in the wall. Grasping at them he heaves himself up, feet finding placement carefully. Just need to get away from the fire woman is all, climbing up quickly, his eyes dart towards acid man, pressing his feet against the hooks the man pushes firmly against them before leaping off, towards the man with acid. He lands on his feet and quickly goes into a roll as he approaches.
The bars turn dully red hot as the ball of flame passes through them, diminishing into nothing as the woman materialises, lands on the other side amongst the ruined front row. She turns, eyes narrowing only to see Ethan utterly evading her. That's fine. They're just playing, after all.
The acid man's sneer from when the woman had stolen his limelight vanishes— into a wild grin as the larger man within the ring monkeys his way up the side of the cage and launches himself forward. "We have a fighter!" he announces, although his words are mostly drowned out by the repetitive instructions to kill, maim, destroy, melt, burn. He backpedals several feet, rearing to launch another spray of acid towards the man, but Ethan tumbles out of the way, the missed streak of acid making a black ashy line in the dirt. With a snarl, the acid man brings his other arm around to repeat more of the same, acid glistening in the light as it streaks towards the Brit.
His shoulder dips, as Ethan is on his feet and stalking forward, he makes an impressive amount of ground as the man of acid attempts to backpedal and let out acid. By the time he lifts up his hand to let out another stream, Ethan is practically on top of him. But the man doesn't go to hack down his opponent. Instead, a elbow flies at the man's chin, just to throw him off balance, and as soon as the attack flies Ethan's economic movements are already going to the next attack.
Click
Fastening the empty cuff around the man's wrist, the machete goes down as Ethan moves behind the man, yanking on the cuff to give him a better target. The blade slices down to hamstring the acid man cleanly, before his attention flicks to where the fire woman should be. Just to see what she's up to.
This time, the cheer from the audience is not the unanimous, thunderous roar as previous. Shocked yells, shouts of surprise and disapproval, but more piercing, the acid man's scream as the machete comes down on his legs. Ethan's arm is yanked at as the man stumbles down onto useless legs, hip meeting the earthy arena ground and other hand splaying out to catch himself. "You fucking cunt!" the acid man spits, all that bravado and pride gone into an uglier kind of painful anger.
"Fuck me," Logan murmurs from where he's seated, standing up now to wander closer to the edge of the balcony, hand on the wolf's head cane, other on the railing, joining his companion who had already moved closer to watch. Eyeing the man in the middle of the cages, Logan's gaze then shifts to see how the crowd is reacting to the pre-show entertainment incapacitating one of the main events. Most aren't happy, bookies baffled as to what the hell to do now - one can almost hear the sound of money going down the drain and the future brawls such a thing will insight.
This could turn into a riot. Not the laughing kind.
The fire woman watches with bright eyes through the bars, a smirk playing out on her mouth. She again dissolves into flame, enough so as to move through the bars once more and land on the dirt ground. Still in her hands is that short length of chain with the iron double hook on the end, but right now? She's watching, standing still and casual with a knowing look cast on both men.
Because the crowd is chanting again. One word, over and over.
KILL. KILL. KILL.
The acid man realises, slowly, that this death sentence is for him, and struggles to get to his knees, to thrash and for one dripping acid hand to clasp itself on Ethan's wrists, to bite through flesh and bone.
To win back the crowd.
"Aren't you a fuckin' idiot?" Ethan growls down at the man trying to struggle. The butt of the machete flies at the back of the man's head as he jerks his wrist away from the hand. And then their linked hands are pointed in the direction of the woman. The bloody machete comes to the man's neck. "Shoot 'er and I won't kill you, roight?" He demands. The edge of the blade putting pressure on the man's throat as Ethan's eyes flick to the form of the woman becoming tangible. "You kill the pretty lady, and maybe all your friends will love ye 'gain." He practically laughs.
The woman only tilts her head at this development, apparently unconcerned, absently swinging the hook in front of her like a pendulum. The acid man's eyes dart in his sockets, growling as the machete is pushed to his throat. "Fuck you," he croaks, from where he's half collapsed on the ground, but he doesn't have much of a choice. He shifts his hand as much as possible, letting the acid arc on over towards the woman, though she nimbly moves out of the way, a few droplets searing the edge of her clothing but not much else. Then, the man abruptly goes to tumble away from the machete, to drag Ethan with him in a scuffle, acid-covered hands reaching to grab, to burn.
"You've got to know that's a bad move, Drip-Drops." The machete flies up the moment the man starts to pull him down. And as he goes down, the blade flies at the other man's arm. Going to lop off the limb that keeps the two attatched. The machete then goes with a follow up strike to the man's chest, he doesn't want to kill him, yet. Normally, he would have just sliced his throat, but people are here to be entertained…
His gaze goes over to the woman. Blood dripping from his blade. "C'mon lovely. You stop being a little bitch right now, and I'll go easy on you."
There's a roar from the crowd as Ethan forces a battered blade through skin, muscles, and bone. They like blood. They yearn for it, even with the confusion of who's meant to be fighting who, where their bets went, and new ones begin to form, hurriedly, begins to reorganise. The woman lifts her chin when Ethan address her, eyebrows raising, but she says nothing, ignoring now her former opponent's screams of pain as he shuffles towards the edge of the cage, holding on his severed arm and leaving behind a hand flopped onto the ground like a dead fish, dripping with both acid and blood.
The fire woman steps forward, and in a smooth motion, she brings the chain up to swing over her head like the blades of a helicopter, the hooks whipping around, haloing her as she spins the weapon in a wide circle above her. It picks up momentum, quickly, and she starts moving in on Ethan with confidence, aiming to impale one of the hooks into whatever gets in the way first.
Rolling his eyes a bit, the man takes a few steps away from the swinging hook. He tests the weight of the machete in his hand before looking up at her. "That'll be enough of that, missy." He chides gently, before bringing the weapon back then throwing it powerfully sending it end over end at the woman. He then simply drops his hands to watch his work.
His eyes dart to his enemy and then to the crowd, what's the possibility that she's out there, watching him? If he was here, then maybe.. just maybe. Snap back, there are two people he has to kill before he can think about her any further.
The flung machete gets tangled in chain and hook, the woman easily releasing the weapon from her hands and everything making a metallic clatter against the bars when it's discarded. Apparently, she has experience in this department, her face never breaking the look of stoic concentration. This doesn't stop her advances, only pausing it as she goes to tumble towards Ethan's feet, turning into flame part way, tearing across the dirt ground towards him, about two feet high and trailing heat and light. It can't sustain, in a few seconds she will have to switch back into her solid, killable form, but for a moment, she hopes to burn someone alive.
The crowd wants it. The crowd cheers for it.
Eyes narrow as the weapons tangle, he takes a few steps back and to the side, checking just a moment over his shoulder. Locating where the acid man had fallen. Going towards him he watches the woman cautiously as she tumbles towards him. Then in a leap, he darts back at the acid man.
Turning he flings two hands at the man's shoulders, going to yank him up from his fallen position and hurl him as powerfully as he is able at the woman of flames.
A roar of voices, clapping and flame fills the arena, her flame-body suddenly surging with life as its given something to devour, something to feed, and the acid man's screams die eventually as preternatural fire burns through him, withering flesh, eyeballs. Black smoke, smelling of death, belches in a thick plume towards the ceiling as fire feasts on a thrashing body that finally goes still, nothing more than charred pieces of a man now rendered unrecognisable save for dental records.
What's left is body parts and ash, and the flames die to reveal the woman in her solid form, apparently sated and breathing hard, covered in the ash of the dead man. She turns a sharp look towards Ethan from where she's crouched, offers a crooked smile, and straightens her legs to stand, and wait for whatever's next, visible tense and ready.
Watching the events unfold passively, Ethan strides forward calmly after the fire dies out, as it were. Strolling forward as if he were taking a trip in a park to meet his sweetie-pie the man lets his arms dangle at his sides casually as he nears closer. Once he stands right in front of her he tilts his head a bit. "Listen love. I'm not going to kill you." He murmurs, eyeing her for a moment.
And then one heavily muscled arm is moving quickly, a palm flying up at the womans nose an attempt to dislodge the bone and send it into her brain. A single quick but extremely powerful strike, after which he'll simply drop his hands.
"I guess I lied."
Her head jerks back under the blow, eyes that show momentary shock, and then nothing, staring up in the bright lights, and then with a clean geometrical sweep, she falls to land flat on her back onto the packed down earth of the cage floor.
Thud.
For a moment, the crowd goes quiet, not quite expecting this twist, and up in the stands, Logan's jaw clenches as he observes not the shiny, flashy happenings of the fight, but the crowd. He's put too much time and money into this place not to be concerned, but perhaps it can be dismissed as a bad night. He even smiles, after a moment, and murmurs to his companion for the evening, "Kain's either going to shit bricks or see dollar signs." Meanwhile, a discontent murmur rises from the crowd, surrounding Ethan in that audible displeasure.
Watching the body fall, Ethan wets his lips before glancing up at the crowd. Rubbing the blood off his hands he does a slow turn to view them all, before finally giving a hefty shrug that. Bringing up his hands he gives a 'what do you want' gesture before turning his back and heading back towards where he had entered.
Arriving at the cage he rubs a hand over the spot where there would be hair on a different man's head. Tilting his head he waits for the door to be opened. His eyes go to the handler who's nose he had previously busted up.
"I'd like chicken for dinner tonight, if possible."
 February 22nd: It's Hard Out Here |
Previously in this storyline… Next in this storyline… |
 February 22nd: Paranoid Hallucinations |