Fable - Ask Bussin' Heads in the Head

[Hazen]

Hazen’s grin was wide enough to be wicked as she spoke of never wanting to be posh.

“You can be whatever the fuck you want to be, love,” he said easily, tugging up his sleeve and showing her the rough scar burned into his forearm, a faded cross, the mark of a former slave. His smirk softened for just a breath. “Hazen Cross,” he said, giving her the whole name, like it actually meant something for once. “I bought my freedom with mine.”

When she finally said she was in, his hazel eyes danced. “Atta girl,” he said, clapping his hands together once and rubbing them together. “Alright then, champ. Tonight at the Crooked Mare,” he reminded her, dipping his chin with a sly look before flipping a coin to the bartender on his way out.

_______________________________________________________________________________________________

By the time Suzy approached the Crooked Mare, Hazen was already leaning in the shadows of the street outside, collecting coin from a few lingering patrons before they descended below.

“You're about to lose that smirk for once, Ghost..” one of them muttered as he handed Hazen his stake.

“Ah lads, afraid I'm stuck with it,” Hazen said with a grin, shaking his head and pocketing the coin deep into his jacket before glancing up and spotting her.

“There she is…” he said, stepping out of the gloom into the warm glow of a swinging lantern. He moved to throw an arm around her shoulder like they’d known each other for years, giving her a squeeze before steering her toward the door. “Busy one tonight. Hope you’re ready for it,” he smirked, his tone equal parts teasing and excited.

Inside, the Crooked Mare was almost deceptively quiet - a handful of old drunks nursing tankards, the faint smell of pipe smoke clinging to the air. Hazen strode to the corner, stomped his boot hard twice on the floorboards. The sound echoed. A moment later, a trapdoor creaked open and a burly, fuck ugly man poked his head up, nodding once in recognition.

“Evening gorgeous,” Hazen said with a crooked grin, jerking his head toward Suzy. “Got business.”

The man stepped aside with a roll of his eyes and a muttered "'aven't you always." Hazen motioned for her to follow him down the steep, narrow stairs into the underbelly of the city.

And suddenly, there was chaos.

The sound hit first: the roar of a crowd, the crack of fists against flesh, the clatter of coin as bets were shouted and slammed down. The air was thick with sweat, smoke, spilled drink, and blood. Salacious women laughed and coaxed drunken men into darker corners, coin purses vanished from belts when no one was looking, and the entire place felt alive.

Hazen guided her through the throng to a balcony that overlooked the pit three levels below, a circle of sand stained with old blood, where two hulking men circled one another like wolves. The crowd leaned forward as a blow landed, roaring its approval.

Hazen turned to watch Suzy’s expression, clearly enjoying every second of her reaction.

“Got a fair wager goin’ on you already,” he said, having to raise his voice above the din. The smirk that followed was positively wicked.

 

[Susannah]

Only the familiar voice saved him from a knuckle sandwich; she was keyed up and ready to go at a moment's notice. The familiar way he threw an arm round her shoulders she took with a grin of her own, eyes alight with mischief.

"Always," she said. The lack of a slur was notable. Not that she had stopped drinking, of course. There was baseline to maintain.

The dive looked exactly as she was expecting it to look. No curiosity as to where exactly the ring would be. Certainly not in a place where the law could find it too easily. She was unsurprised when, led there by Hazen, he tapped out the hidden way down. The man that opened the way and let them in looked like he had been on the wrong end of many, many.... many of the kind of brawls she prided herself in. Hadn't been on the winning end to judge by his looks. If he had, she didn't want to see the other side.

'aven't you always,' washed over her. So she was not the first to go down into this hole with the man attached to her shoulders. She gave a short, sharp laugh at that. Wouldn't be the last, either, she reckoned. She knew that one of these days she would end in a shallow grave. When she did, the world would move on without her.

She wouldn't care then, and she didn't care now.

The sound that slapped her once they were down below grade was almost shocking. The shouts and groans that she was familiar with was a mouse farting in a hurricane compared to this. The sound was alive, filled with a vitality she had never felt before. Fists on flesh meant nothing to her, but the animal wildness in the patrons was new.

The difference between a barfight between idiots and one very intentionally for money became clear quite quickly. The idea, some vague notion before this moment, lit her blood aflame.

Looking down at the fight in progress would have made anyone looking to slip themselves into that situation pale a bit. If they were sane, sober, or both.

She reached out and snatched a drink from someone, careless of whether or not they would get angry about it. She didn't even stop to look at what it was she'd taken. "Looks a lil' rough an' all," she said in a husky voice. There was no regret in it, and every kind of excitement one cared to imagine in the words. "An' who'm a' goin' t' be beatin' t' a pulp, eh'?"

Her eyes were locked on the pair below. It was clear that no one was going for an efficient and quick win. "...put on a show....." Well, now Hazen's comment made much more sense.