7:15PM | Corner of Hill Street ( open | Ric & Faith | violence )

[Faith Lehane]

To look at Faith, you'd think she was the one in the ring. Dodging this blow, pumping a right hook from close to her chest. If she weren't doing it all in miniature, she'd likely knock the hat off the woman in front of her.

One of the boxers is too aggressive, he's tiring himself out. Faith's about to witness his opponent use that fact to clean his clock when she's startled out of her fantasy by a hand on her shoulder. As if her reaction were the handiwork of a movie producer or a hack writer, the jolt prompts her to spin around and get about an inch from socking Ric in the mouth but she catches herself, pulls back.

The crowd out in the street is roaring, ring taking up most of the sidewalk corner and bound go get busted up by the police at some point. Faith drops her fist and steps back, having to raise her voice a little to be heard, "Whoa, sorry! Thought you were at work?!"

[Alaric Saltzman]

At first, he’s drawn in by the crowd. Fight, fight, fight. The roar of the crowd. He might almost have walked past, probably with a moment of ‘I should be in there’, except there she is, his Faith, barely constraining a far better upper cut than either of the idiots in the ‘ring’.
Of course, that gives Alaric ideas.

“Shhh,” he says, one arm raised in case Faith thinks it might be a good idea to slip an arm around his waist. They haven’t had a good meal in weeks and this is one hell of a crowd. He shifts his weight, playing up his limp, and leans in just enough to make himself heard.

“Feel like playing bookie? Because if anyone needs a little extra cash this afternoon, it’s us.” The early afternoon wasn't exactly Alaric's choice, and the consequent dock in pay will hurt. He glances her way. Not long enough to make him want to drag her home and get that dress off. Just long enough for Faith to (hopefully) recognize the mischief in his eyes.

“Gimme some shitty odds. I’m gonna play up the limp,” he says, quietly. “Hey. I love you. You need shoes, we need to eat like royalty for a week or two.”

[Faith Lehane]

He looks like a real, live dream with that gleam in his eye that says his plans are for more than making a little extra money. Ric loves the ring, he loves the fights and, really, he loves to be in the spotlight even if he can't admit it to himself.

Faith's right there with him. She can't bask in it, herself, being that if anyone takes a photograph of her in the ring beating a man senseless the likelihood that someone's going to notice her strong resemblance to a wanted poster's not low enough to risk it. But she can watch the crowd go nuts over her man, something she loves more than he does.

She doesn't touch him, no hugs and no kisses because she knows the drill and as soon as Ric starts to walk toward the ring she makes her voice heard over the crowd, "Are you outta your mind!? Somebody stop that guy, he's crazy! Mister, you can't fight the champ, you're a cripple! Somebody? Anybody, stop that man!"

Of course, they aren't going to stop him. The fight's over, the dummy leading the match has already called for a anyone in the crowd who thinks he can beat the champ and, the second he sees Ric heading for him, Faith turns her back on the ring and yells out, "Ten to one on the cripple!"

[Alaric Saltzman]

Alaric hobbles exaggeratedly towards the clearing, and turns to Faith with a look of indignant rage on his face.

“Hey, lady, who are you callin’ a cripple?” he snarls. “Fightin’s all up here!” He taps his temple with two fingers, and stumbles slightly. It’s not quite lying; it’s playing a part, and with Faith at his back, that’s a little bit easier.

And already, people are pulling out a handful of coins, maybe a dollar bill. Others are looking at him like he’s crazy, and the fighter still on his feet in the clearing (hard to know what might keep a guy like this out of the service; you could say luck, maybe, but the best you could say about ‘luck’ was it meant you had to volunteer or end up with a letterbox full of feathers for your bravery) is looking at him like he is dinner.

Alaric unbuttons his shirt and tosses it aside. He really can’t afford to get it torn, or bloodstained. Bit of a pity, since his upper body probably belies the whole ‘helpless’ look.

He puts his fists up, in quite possibly the worst parody of a fighting stance ever performed this close to Hollywood, and takes a couple of jabs. Three seconds later, the first punch to his jaw ‘throws' him backwards and onto his ass. It's not the best sell, but no one's looking out for something hinky in a street fight.

As he staggers to his feet, and the smell of money fills the air, the unmistakable thrill of trouble galvanizes him. He’ll take another punch, maybe two, and then this guy is creamed spinach.

[Faith Lehane]

What Faith wants to know is how Ric manages to keep pulling this gag, pretending to be a helpless crookshanks, when he's built like the Golden Gate bridge. It doesn't seem to matter. No matter how tall and ship-shape he is, the fact that he limps seems to be all anyone ever notices.

It's too bad they can't risk doing this twice a week, they'd eat like kings. That was the plan, actually, until Kate Lockley and her goons started sniffing around and realized what was going on. In this economy, with everything so tightly controlled and scarce, tossing someone off their hustle's a load of horse shit. How's that for not having empathy? Damn cops.

The other guy's got a barrel instead of a chest and a jaw that looks like it doubles for an anvil. Wise ass look on his face, fist like a Christmas ham and the general look of an escaped gorilla. He's got two inches on Ric, easy, which makes him damn near titan-height. Taking the sight in leads Faith on one, simple thought - Ric's gonna chew him up and spit his ass out on the street.

That doesn't mean it's easy to watch Ric take a hit, even knowing what he's capable of. There's a Slayer inside her that has the strong impulse to hop in that 'ring' and beat that fathead to death with his own shoes. Just a little protective of her man, can't blame her for that.

She stays put, though. Gathering bets, as though she'd actually pay anyone out if they lost, and when Ric takes his first dive she turns on the fake concern and pushes behind the front line at the edge of the 'ring' and blasts out in her best, pouty, 'girl' voice, "Aw, come on, Mister! Have a heart, would ya? He's in over his head!"

[Alaric Saltzman]

The only reason Alaric’s dignity doesn’t resign in protest at the second hit (which by any standards is a good one; Alaric will definitely be feeling it for a couple of days) is the fact that he can almost smell the money changing hands. Also, he can smell the steak dinner they’ll be eating later. Steak, actual steak, with gravy and chips. Not a bean in sight. He even staggers, for effect.

(The tentative hand to his jaw is less for effect and more for, ow, fuck.)

It’s all over when he hears Faith wail for mercy on his behalf. No, fuck the whole slayer deal. She’d make a million in Hollywood, and as soon as the war is over, they need to look into that. There is the glorious sound of money rustling as it rushes to change hands. Probably enough. Also, fuck this guy and his look of contempt. Time to wipe it off.

He makes a conciliatory gesture in the general direction of his opponent. “Alright,” he says. “Look, this is your last chance to back out before I beat the tar out of you.”

Apparently it’s aggravating enough for the guy to attempt a repeat of the punch to his jaw, and that’s when Alaric actually starts fighting back.

Honestly the look of shock when he deflects the blow would have been enough to put a grin on Alaric’s face for the rest of the week; but the bellow of pain when Alaric doesn’t let go of the arm and instead holds it in place to enable some serious rib punches is downright musical. He ducks the next swing, answering it with a jab to the solar plexus which makes the guy double over briefly.

“I warned you,” he says, offering a love tap to the chin. The guy is getting stupid, his aggravation overwhelming his technique like he’s forgotten they have both an audience and a pot of cash to contend with. He comes out swinging, but Alaric already has the upper hand, and they both know it.