Mutant Fight Club: Intruductions

[x-wildchild.livejournal.com]

Kyle watches a fight, and gets an invitation to come back.



The warehouse-turned-gym smelled like sweat, and blood, and oddly, Kyle thought, of warm laundry rooms. He'd had a moment of sensory overload on coming in - loud voices shouting advice to the two men in the ring, the slap of bodies against the mats, side commentary about the fight, and the smells, almost too much in such a small place.

But watching the men in the ring was like having his very own UFC PPV, and he forgot all about the tang of blood clinging to the inside of his nose. The larger man, he'd thought would be slow. He was tall, and had muscle, but under a layer of fat, and he didn't like the kind of guy Kyle would've thought to find in a place like this. Blond, crew-cutted, and with a friendly easy-going looking face.

Until he lifted one leg, and let it come crashing down on his opponent's shoulder. Kyle shook his head, blinking back confusion. No one that big should be that fast, or flexible. The other guy, he could see it. Thin, just as tall, and all wiry muscle, not an ounce of fat on him. And yet, he was choosing to come in close and attack with his hands. All punches and strikes to the larger man's neck and head.

~Huh. Not anything like what I thought this fight was gonna be...~ Kyle thought, and leaned back against the wall where he was standing. ~Cool though..~

A cleared throat behind Kyle carried over the noise of the fight, echoing off the concrete walls. "You look a little green here, sport," the slightly squeaky voice followed. Its possessor, a slightly chubby man with a day's growth of beard and a New York Yankees hat, looked at Kyle from the doorway he'd entered through. "Looking for someone in particular, or just thought you'd catch a free demonstration?"

Kyle was prepared. He pulled a slightly ragged, obviously folded-and-unfolded-and-refolded flyer from his pocket. "Scintilla Records, it's a music store? Had one of your fliers, and.. " He shrugged and gave the man a grin. "I dig UFC, and Pride, and figured I'd come and watch. The guy with the loud shirt said it was cool.." He pointed a thumb over at a stocky man moving one of the mats across the floor, who returned a thumbs up.

"Gabe and his fliers, right..." The man who was obviously the manager here stepped forward, taking the flier from Kyle. His suit jacket, worn over a faded concert t-shirt, was well-kept but threadbare as he looked it over. "Yeah, we usually put on a competition every other Saturday, local guys, you know. Not as flashy as what you'll see on TV but hey, you look like a fan of the art, not the glitz and glamour, am I right?" He stuck his other hand out to Kyle. "Paul Ellering. Guys call me Paul E."

Kyle took the hand and shook it, keeping the claws in his fingers pulled as far back as he could. This guy seemed pretty cool, if kind of, well, dorky, and freaking out the cool manager dude was just not a bit cool. "The TV stuff is cool, and I mean, don't get me wrong, I love watching it, but you know, there's stuff you just can't get from a screen, and sometimes, I dunno, it seems like those guys just do it cause it's a job."

Paul squeezed, noting Kyle's strong grip. Slowly, he took a long look at the boy's ears and fingers. "Uh... huh. Yeah, you know how it is. There's a difference between fighting and being a fighter. Look at that guy there, Dolph?" He pointed at the large blond man Kyle had watched earlier. "Finished tenth in a field of sixteen at the All-Europe kickboxing tournament last year. By their standards, a nobody. But here, it's about being who you are. Not 'some guy who does martial arts' or 'some black belt'. It's about knowing what's in your soul, and knowing that being a fighter at heart sets you apart from everyone else." He nodded to Kyle as he watched the two brawlers circle each other again. "Know what I mean?"

Kyle had no danm clue what the guy was really talking about. It sounded good though, so he nodded gamely. "There's a guy back at my, uh, a guy I know, and man, I couldn't tell you if he's got a black belt or what, but the dude can -fight- like other people breathe." He nodded towards the bigger man and grinned. "I wasn't expecting to see, um, Dolph there, move that -fast-, you know? I mean, littler guys, guys built like me move like that. Not a big dude."

Paul smiled and nodded. "Ever think about stepping into the ring yourself? Lot of kids your age waste their time with the McDojos thinking they're 'modern samurai' or some crap, and even worse are the ones trying to do what they see on TV in their own backyards. What about you, you think you got what it takes?"

"To fight that guy?" Kyle asked incredulously. "I dunno, I mean, no McDojos here, but.. " He grinned self-consciously. "Not like I haven't been in a fight before, or, you know, um, a decent number of fights.." This was perfect, a little voice in his head said. And Logan had said he should do something to get out all the aggressive and maybe this was it.

Paul held up a finger, wagging it in the classic "ah-ah" gesture. "Remember what I said, there's a difference between being in a fight and being a fighter. If you want to find out..." He pulled a pen out of his pocket, scribbling something on the back of the flier before handing it back to Kyle. "We've got a little something that might interest you. Think about it." He turned, then stopped and looked back at Kyle. "I'm gonna break my own rule here, and I'm gonna give you a little something for free. I see a lot of potential in you. You got something inside you that you want to let out, maybe something other people might be... a little afraid of? Take my word, this is a good thing. Grab a chair, watch the guys for a while. Think about it."

Kyle grinned widely and hooked a bare metal folding chair with his foot. "That sounds, um, cool, actually. " ~Be cool, Gibney. Be cool, like the Fonz. Like Samuel L. Jackson. ~ "Thanks." Sitting still was, well, nigh-impossible, and once the baseball-capped man turned to watch the fight himself, Kyle let his foot tap out a statacco beat of excitement.