tw: lots of language - and lots of dick.

Edward "Eddy" Lyons 40 | Fighter | Asshole

[reibread]

[eddylyons-blog]

Friends were hard to come by for Eddy. Mostly because he was an insufferable ass that spent more time scowling at people than talking to them. But there were a select few that seemed to stick around or draw his attention more than the rest. His girlfriend, though the reasons for that were pretty obvious. A few of the men at The Pit, though that was less friendship and more encouragement for his negative behavior. Ari was, perhaps, one of the few people that could be ranked a friend. Looking at the two of them, one wouldn’t have assumed they’d get along, and there were certainly times that they didn’t. Though, most of that stemmed from Eddy’s attitude and not Ari’s.

The fact that Eddy knew his face was one of the main reasons that he still choose to be around the kid. There was some saying about time and fondness or something. He didn’t know and it really wasn’t important. Not like he chose to live his life based on some quote from a dead person. Dead people were unimportant; if they mattered, they wouldn’t have died.

‘Having plans’ was a bit of a foreign concept to Eddy. If he wasn’t working he was at The Pit, and if he wasn’t there he was usually back at his apartment. Occasionally, those routines would deviate because he didn’t really care abut having a rigid schedule. Today, that meant going to the bar, apparently one where Ari was. When he’d walked in, he was looking for the kid. It wasn’t hard to spot them, shoving his hands into his pockets and heading over to take a seat.

His hello was more of a grunt than actual words and he hunched his shoulders forward as he settled into his seat. Conversation wasn’t necessarily his gifting, a fact that he was sure Ari had recognized by now. Glancing over, he was giving Ari a once over before looking back to the bar and motioning for the bartender. 

[kristamurdock-deactivated201608]

Perhaps it was naive of Channing, but the man’s greeting would warrant a roll of blue eyes. Every city had its dangers, that was something she didn’t expect that London was without. “Yeah? That mean I need some tough guy to walk me home?” she replied, turning her attention towards the man and giving him an all too obvious up-down, a small amount of bemusement taking to her expression.

While she felt a tinge of nervousness, she swallowed it down - for the time being at least. While Channing didn’t want to be someone who judged a book by its cover, the man who’d approached her didn’t exactly scream welcoming. The small smile he wore even seemed a touch off, but perhaps it was merely her nerves about other things sinking in. Yeah… That was it. That was what she’d tell herself. It was all in the art of small comforts.

“Look, I appreciate the – whatever you’re trying here, it’s cute, but I’m from Brooklyn. I’m pretty sure I can handle London.” Forget the fact that Brooklyn had more or less become a full fledged Manhattan extension over the years. For as dangerous as people spoke New York to be, she couldn’t recall the last time she’d so much as witnessed a mugging. Her tone took on a certain note of clueless privilege that she’d be aware of - if only she could hear her words for herself.

[eddylyons-blog]

Most of the time, Eddy was harmless. Especially when talking to a pretty woman he wanted to take to bed. As much as he was willing to growl and bitch and yell, he rarely did anything without a level of familiarity. When he was with Eden, all bets were off. But here? Meeting a stranger on the street? While his friendliness may have seemed out of place and intimidating, he was hardly a threat.

It was mainly because conversation had never been his strong suit. He could handle getting his most basic of points across, but his ability to fully articulate anything ended somewhere right after ‘Hi, my name is Eddy’. 

“Yeah?” He asked in reply. He’d never been to America, so the idea of what Brooklyn had to offer was lost on him, but it had him chuckling anyway. Maybe she was from some shitty area, but she was new here. She basically admitting that she didn’t know her way around, since it seemed out of Eddy’s realm of understanding to think that she may have been here before or known the area well. “Just visitin’, eh?”

[hangingyang]

Hans Starke was a violent man, in more ways than just one. Not really the way these men from The Pit were, hitting each other with their fists for no reason other than they felt like it. He could, of course. And he had. But more than that, he was violent with his words, with his actions, his existence alone hurt so many it was a crime just to keep breathing. So many lives ruined, ended, under his name. And yet, he didn’t feel a thing. He knew they did– feel a thing. He watched them as they fought and there was emotion there. A lot of it. Of course, he too, felt emotion– he was far from being void, but far from feeling the same they did. If he wanted to, he wasn’t entirely sure.

It was unhealthy to be there, he knew. Admittedly, The Pit was the closest thing London had to a warzone. It looked like it. Hell, it even smelled like it. His jaw clenched at the violence, the breaking of bones. He wished he could say it went over his head and that he didn’t like it, but that’d be a lie. There’s something sickeningly beautiful in brutality; and sometimes it felt like he was the only one that saw it.

Between one fight and another, Hans excused himself silently and moved away to the bar, a beer already waiting for him by the time he got there. Yeah, he was a regular. Big deal. Still, he stood out, his suit and tie among a sea of ripped jeans and dirty t-shirts. There were a few men like him here and there, those that were in it for the thrill of the gamble not so much the violence, but they were fewer. That’s when Eddy approached him, one of the only fighters with whom he’d ever bothered talking to. The man was a good fighter, true, but man was he thick.

“I’m making entertainment tonight,”  he told him. “But if you want me to bet on you I will. How much would I have to invest for a good show? Say, fifty if you kill the latino?”

[eddylyons-blog]

Certain people should have never interacted in life. Some couldn’t; acting more like oil and water than good catalysts for interaction. Others were more like gasoline and a spark, and being around each other ignited something a lot bigger and a lot more dangerous. Eddy would’ve never drawn that connection between anyone, but being around Hans was a lot like that. 

As he took a seat and ordered a drink, he was looking towards Hans for a brief second before focusing instead on the bar. The man was around enough that Eddy had talked to him a time or two. Eddy couldn’t be called a conversationalist by any means, and his willingness to talk to people diminished the later it got. Early was also a bad time to talk to people. Generally speaking, it was just accepted that talking wasn’t his cup of tea and best to be avoided at all costs.

Hans’ offer was interesting, though, and like a lit match dropped in a puddle of gasoline, Eddy was already thinking it over and running with it. There were no hard moral lines in his life. No issues with breaking laws or breaking people. Especially not here, where rules were limited and enforcement was weak. 

Smiling a bit, he took a drink of his beer and turned around in his seat to look back at the room at large. Despite leaning back to rest against the bar, his shoulders still hunched forward slightly. After a moment, he nodded and glanced at the man. “Alright.” 

His smile widened just a bit for a second before he looked back to the crowd and took another drink. It wouldn’t be hard; or so he assumed. He’d seen most of the people around here fight and hardly thought they were as good as he was. That, and he hardly thought anyone was as good as he was. He got bored quick watching other people throwing punches unless he was standing opposite of them. “When?”

[eddylyons-blog]

nicolaudeleon:

Nicolau was particular about his money, which meant he was particular about his betting. It was easy to lose oneself in the thrill of what The Pit had to offer: lots of angry, violent men (and women, every now and again) beating the shit out of each other as a crowd of equally angry, violent men and women cheered and yelled their bets. It wasn’t uncommon for fights to break out over bets on the real fights, people who’d lost hundreds, sometimes thousands, of dollars, going after the son-of-a-bitch who’d cost them a fortune.

Those people were much too eager, much too desperate: they jumped at the first successful fighter they saw and shoved all their money at him, only to be disappointed when they saw how fast he faded. Nicolau was not like them: he was careful. He watched, he waited.

The more time he spent at The Pit, the more he began to realize a pattern in the fighters. The desperate ones fought longer. It didn’t matter what they were desperate for– whether it was the money, the power, or the glory– they needed to win, much more than the guys with desk jobs did. Every now and then, some arrogant, has-been wrestling star would come to fight. There were people who came to The Pit without understanding what it really was– they’d think it to be a joke, or perhaps something reckless to check off a bucket list. One fight in and they’d back off, bruised and bloodied, and run out the door as soon as they thought nobody was looking. Those were the fighters who’d start off confident and run away crying. Nicolau checked them off his box.

It was easy to tell which ones were on drugs. The fighters on speed were confident, aggressive, and seldom lost. Cocaine users crashed quickly. They’d win a couple rounds, but just as the crowd raised their bets, they’d be out. He checked them off his box, too.

The patterns Nicolau noticed in The Pit fighters weren’t particularly revolutionary. They weren’t hard to pick out if you paid enough attention. The thing was, very few people ever did. It was the excitement. It swept people up, made them forget about the sly little fox that was rationality, made the crowds throw all of their money away in a matter of minutes. It was a good business tactic, really.

Nicolau’s bets tonight were placed on Eddy. He’d been watching him a while, heard talk of him even longer. He appeared to have been hit in the head one too many times, but he was a good fighter. He didn’t give up easy, and genuinely seemed to enjoy getting his hands dirty. Eddy’s fight tonight, as with most nights, was impressive. Nicolau followed him as he left the ring, noting both the look of excitement he had on his face as he flexed his bloody fingers and the glazed look in his eye. Drugs, most likely Nicolau’s own.

Can I help you? Of course he wasn’t friendly. Why would a man like that be? Nicolau resisted the urge to laugh. He offered up a compliment instead. “Nice fight. You’ve got quite the crowd in your favor tonight, you know.”

Eddy should have attempted to be more personable when it came to the crowds at the Pit. If he was friendly on top of being deadly he could probably get more money from things, but he wasn’t necessarily in it for the money. He liked having cash, but he had a tendency to blow it so quickly that it seemed unnecessary to put more in his hands just to turn around and drink it or fuck it or shoot it away. 

When he was at The Pit--when he was anywhere--the only thing that really mattered was making sure he was the best. The strongest, the one that could destroy someone else, the one that made others bleed. It was the only kind of power trip he needed, and while some looked for that in being able to control others through money or drugs, he just wanted to know that he could beat someone until they weren’t able to fight back anymore. He had yet to find someone that could get the same out of him.

His instant reaction to any contact was always aggression, especially when he was in an environment as hyped and charged as this one. It didn’t matter if he was in a ring or in the crowd. People knew who he was, at least enough to see that he was one of the fighters and not just someone here to watch the action take place. They should’ve known better than to get in his fucking way.

Looking towards Nicolau with a bit of a challenge, because everything was a challenge when you were face to face with another person, he was shifting. Moving felt good now, and being stationary after the fight he’d been through was more like coming to a dead stop after a full out sprint than an easy slow down. The fact that he was just starting to feel the drug induced high wasn’t helping.

“Yeah?” He looked around. The crowd didn’t do much for him. The energy had always been a nice boost of confidence and desire, but he could’ve cared less if they were there or he had been in some back alley with just the person he was beating.

He finally looked back to the man and shrugged, offering a short comment. “Good for them.” 

[john-boyega]

[serena-vorshevsky-blog]

It seemed as though the man before her was rather fond of pushing buttons that he was not supposed to, judging by the way his demeanour had been right from the start. And to think she was going to apologise to him initially. She shook off his comment, offering a tight smile in return instead. He couldn’t quit with the smart-ass remarks, could he? It appeared not. “Like I said, idle. You may be used to those types but I can assure you there’s not a Vorshevsky who would dish one out had they not the intention to act upon it should the need arise.” Of-course she didn’t peg him down as someone who would know what the name held, nor did she care. She’d made her point clear, it was his job not to dig himself in deeper.

Serena shook her head, unable to stop herself from letting out a short laugh at him. Inviting her to spend time with oneself might have been a pleasing experience years ago, but now it brought more misery than it did pleasure. “—Oh I don’t know, I might be inclined to lead you into harm’s way rather than safeguard your well being,” she shot back without a moment’s hesitation. Her tone, however, was more harmless than it had been previously, and a ghost of a smile even played on her lips. Mocking, of-course. She felt nothing but slight distaste for the man in front of her from the moment he had first opened his mouth. What on earth was she even doing entertaining his presence? “I don’t suppose it’s particularly a wise move to take your chances. Just a tip.”

[eddylyons-blog]

Vorshevsky? She said that like it was supposed to mean something, and while the name resonated just enough for him to think that she was probably important, he wasn’t the kind to let a familiar name keep him from being whoever the fuck he wanted. She could’ve been the motherfucking queen and he might’ve still given her a little shove into traffic if he felt like it. Or offered to fuck her. Either way, he was leaving some options open. So instead he shrugged, letting his hands come to rest in his pockets and his gaze look her over again. She was good looking, but she had that hard look that made her seem like a real bitch; and not the good kind of bitch that did what you said.

“That so?” He asked in reply to her mild statement that she’d lead him into harms way, and the slight smile it drew from him was more one of amusement than anything else. When she gave her next comment, he chuckled a bit. More from his mind jumping an entirely different direction than the one she had meant. Was he to be blamed if her mentioning ‘just a tip’ was enough to make him laugh like an eight year old boy. “Alright, hun.” He gave a wink, another shrug lifting his shoulders a bit. “Whatever you say.” 

[99lleon]

                    “What?” Dorian let out, his eyes wide. He was appalled at how daft can a person be. Now, he prided himself in being polite and civil but he couldn’t help but let out a laugh, surprised at the hostility coming from the man. “You are merely flattering yourself. It’s called manners, if you weren’t aware.” He spoke and flashed the other a cold smile, guessing that it would piss of the male just as much.

[eddylyons-blog]

Maybe he hadn’t made himself quite clear enough. This man was either stupid or deaf if he couldn’t make out a perfectly understandable reply. Rolling his eyes at the kid, he wasn’t appreciating the laughter. Was he laughing at him? Even just the thought of it made him want to hit the man in the face. Scoffing, he was looking the man over and shaking his head. “Fuck off with that, yeah?”

[eddylyons-blog]

There were two kinds of people in the world, according to Eddy. People worth paying attention to and people that didn’t mean anything. Whether that was girls worth fucking or men that could put up a fight, it didn’t really matter. Some people you paid attention to and some of them disappeared without a word. That was how the world worked. Eddy made sure that he had established himself as someone that could put up a fight; his history at The Pit was record enough of the kind of damage he could, so he mattered. He’d found himself a girlfriend that people actually paid to sleep with, so it was clear that she was worth fucking, and therefore she mattered.

The only people he really talked to outside of that were other people that fell in those categories. Less than that and what was the point? Was he going to sit and have a little tea party and chat about his day with someone that couldn’t show they had the balls to win a fight or a girl that wasn’t worth bending over the kitchen table? No. It was pointless, and while he had the time to waste on just about anything that he wanted, he didn’t see the appeal in hanging out with people like that.

It was why the nights after a fight at The Pit were almost always spent with Eden or finding a woman that made the cut. The rare times when that didn’t happen, he was switching to option two. Alcohol, and usually someone that fit the latter category of people that mattered.

Hans was one of those people. Not that Eddy assumed Hans could best him in a fight--or maybe even fight at all--but he mattered because people listened to him. He struck Eddy as the kind of guy that would have a couple people around ready to throw themselves at anyone that he wanted just to beat the shit out of them. Even if he didn’t bloody his own knuckles, he had probably had people that would. For that reason, Eddy figured he was worth his time. Their interests seem to fall in line with each others, too: talking about themselves and talking about women. When he’d taken a seat at the bar, he took the one near Hans and greeted him with more of a grunt than any real word. Eloquence wasn’t exactly his gifting.

After receiving his drink from the bartender, he was looking at the other man. “Making money tonight, huh? Betting on the right fuckers?” He considered himself to be one of those ‘right fuckers’, but far be it from him to tell Hans how to gamble his money. (He would have happily told him how to do it, he just needed a drink or two first.)

[thievesgambit-a]

When Michael bumped into the stranger’s shoulder, it was an accident; it was a crowded street. People ran into each other. But he was going to apologize. 

Was.

But the other guy beat him to it, shouting at him with a scowl on his face. Michael paused in his stroll and shut his eyes for a moment to gather his patience. Don’t hit a guy in the middle of a street, stupid. 

“Sorry,” Michael said in the most thorny of tones. “Won’t happen again.” Please, for the love of God, leave it at that, he silently begged the other man. 

[eddylyons-blog]

Nobody in this fucking town knew how to walk without bumping into people. Of course, he wasn’t at fault at all, because he’d been the one bumped into. That, and Eddy could do nothing wrong as far as he was concerned.

The man that bumped into him was turning back, and even with the sorry that he gave Eddy’s demeanor wasn’t softening. Sarcastic or not, he accepted just about any apology that came his way. As long as sorry was said, he didn’t give a flying fuck how it was said. With how little the word was said by him, he figured it was basically like admitting fault and defeat anyway. Saying sorry was like saying ‘don’t respect me, I can’t do jackshit.’

Huffing a bit, he looked the man over and nodded. “Well see that it don’t.” 

[serena-vorshevsky-blog]

When she heard him speak again, Serena could only sigh in mild annoyance as he was not getting the picture that she did little to paint. There wasn’t much of a reason to divulge anything to him really. Still, ever the consistent, she would have no problem in cutting his tongue out and having it fed to him. Blind, dumb, it was all the same to her on the surface. “Someone else turning blind? I’m not so sure. In your case, however… That entirely rests on whether you can keep your filthy mouth shut.” Or not. She figured that whilst presumptuous, it would not be an overstatement to assume that he couldn’t.

“Now something tells me I overcompensated in my rather generous judgement. But pray, do tell, are you just plain stupid, or on the receiving ends of idle threats on a regular basis?” That, it was not for Serena was not the type to throw around words carelessly, nor was she fond of people who did so. “And I can do that just fine, thank you. But if you would like a helping hand I’m pretty sure I can go to the trouble of finding you one. Disclaimer, you might not make it across unscathed.” There was a hint of bite in her tone that could have gone completely undetected had it not been for the way she straightened her already rigid posture by a fraction, her chin tilting up ever so slightly.

[eddylyons-blog]

There was something about being threatened that made Eddy want to push harder. Being told no made him want to say yes anyway. The stubborn side of him flared at the opportunity to assert itself and the impulse to keep going urged that decision more and more. So he did. “I’ll do my best then, princess.” He added sarcastically, not two seconds after she’d told him to keep his mouth shut. He gave her a wink smile and, though his glasses shielded his eyes from being seen, he was winking as well.

This was cute, but boring. She didn’t seem like she was going to suddenly drop her panties and throw herself at him. The only way she was getting closer was if she was going to start batting at him. Which was cute, but hardly something worthwhile. So he shrugged, looking around to see if something more interesting would draw his attention. “I thought threats were how people said good morning around here, yeah?” He’d probably heard more ‘fuck you’s than ‘how are you’s in his life, but some of that may have been specifically related to his own demeanor when addressing others.

“Not going to help me yourself, then?” He looked back to her and that smile was pulling up the corners of his mouth. “Guess I’ll have to fuckin’ manage on my own.” 

[edenruocco-deactivated20170507]

There was a split second where things seemed like there were going to go okay. Eden supposed it was the second that Eddy took processing. She knew enough to purposely poke at Eddy in a way that would send him raging. It may not be the smartest decision, but it got the attention off the girl he had bent over the couch and the attention on her. Rightly it should have been. If he hadn’t done that, she wouldn’t have been forced to throw the gym bag straight out of the window.

Had she not been used to heels, Eden would have tripped as Eddy backed her up and towards the wall. One hand behind her, the other on Eddy’s wrist–nails hard against his skin–, Eden kept hold of the situation in a way that was minuscule but enough for her. She knew where the wall was and as soon as they stopped against the wall, she’d be able to slap him. When her hand hit the wall, Eden braced herself, twinging slightly as her back connected to the wall shortly.

“You want to know how many?” Eden snapped, her hand dropping from his wrist but not going far. “Two!” She slapped him once with each hand as if to accentuate the point. It was ridiculous. Eden was telling Eddy the truth but it was none of his concern. She had a photoshoot earlier in the day and so what if she spent some extra time with the photographer It took up some of the other girls’ time and with her shots, they had plenty, and that meant she was going to be shown more than the other girls.

Sleeping with her recruiter was like a longterm investment. Eddy should know that. What she was doing was different than fucking hookers because her hand got tired. Still, it gave her a moment to point out something else to Eddy that was entirely relevant. “Maybe if you even attempted to spoil me, maybe I wouldn’t go fucking other people! There’s shit you can’t do for me, Eddy!” God, it was like he couldn’t understand the simplest of things.

[eddylyons-blog]

He could’ve strangled her. Right there in his apartment, he could’ve choked the life out of her and tossed her out the window after his bag that she clearly hadn’t given a shit about. Was he supposed to feel bad about that? He didn’t. Maybe that made him a bad person. Maybe that made him a really shit boyfriend. Both of those things were probably true, and he wasn’t going to argue otherwise.

But if agreeing meant she was going to stop being a bitch, whether by changing or by force, then he was fine with that. Even if he asked and even if he knew what she did and even if he had seen her fucking other people, there was no world in which he actually wanted the truth from her. Not unless the answer was ‘I fucked twice, but both times it was with you.’ Since he was definitely not fucking her today, that wasn’t the answer, and the accompanying slaps of her answer had his jaw clenching and fingers tightening just slightly on her neck.

Maybe he’d end up leaving a mark; he’d get hell for that if he did and he knew it, but there was little controlling his actions when when he was pissed.

“Oh yeah?” He was showing back just as loud as she was, moving closer rather than holding tighter. “The fuck can’t I do? I can do anything!” An exaggeration, but one that he would have happily lived his life believing. What couldn’t he do? So maybe he hadn’t finished high school and maybe he wasn’t a genius, but he’d like to see some pretty smart boy try to take him in a fight. In the end, doing ‘everything’ in Eddy’s mind looked a like like just being able to win a fight.

[kristamurdock-deactivated201608]

London was different to say the least. In this case, different was good. It was the breath of fresh air that she’d needed… well, since she could remember. How easily she could question why she hadn’t taken a moment like this sooner, make a past up of regrets, but Channing promised herself she wouldn’t do that. In moving to England, looking back wasn’t what she’d come here to do. –  Instead, to look forward.

Her flight had landed earlier that afternoon, her second trip - this one for a much longer haul. After getting things settled at the hotel, her home for the time being until she found an apartment she deemed suitable, she’d crashed as a result of the jet lag, thus waking in the evening as wired as ever. A spur of the moment spur landing her along the pier, she rested her elbows along its railing and gazed out - taking in the city that was now her home.

[eddylyons-blog]

It wasn’t every day that Eddy walked around looking for someone to talk to. But it also wasn’t every day that he walked out of a fight and Eden wasn’t there to stake some sort of claim on him. There were times when he was almost positive that it didn’t matter whose arm she was hanging on as long as that person won the fight. Seeing as how he won, that didn’t bother him too much. But today, she was no where to be found, which meant he was now free to wander the streets of London in search of someone else to take home. (He wasn’t picky, though; he didn’t have to make it all the way home if they wanted something a little quicker.)

Normally he would’ve gone for something easy. The hooker on the street corner or one of the girls practically falling over themselves to get with someone from The Pit that actually won fights and not just took part in them. But he was looking for a change of pace; maybe it was because he was feeling high from the adrenaline and thrill of the win. The dope didn’t hurt either. He’d left his options open, and when he saw a young woman standing on the pier alone, he figured it was as good an opportunity as any.

“You know, it’s a pretty rough neighborhood around here.” Perhaps not the most comforting greeting he could’ve given, and as he walked closer to the woman with his hands in the pockets of his jacket, he likely didn’t give off the friendliest vibes, even if he was giving a rare smile. “Lotta crime and stuff in the area. Pretty dangerous.”

[patrickmcguinn-blog]

“That’d be an easy question to answer if I knew what a map looked like.” Man, this guy wasn’t even trying to be polite. Patrick was almost starting to get a little defensive over his faked disability. He made a mental note to treat blind people better the next time he came in contact with one. Open the door for them or…complement their sunglasses at the very least, shit. 

You know what? Patrick was going to continue to waste his time—he was already having his fun with it as it was. Hands on his hips, he offered a scowl of his own. “I know exactly where I am. I have these heightened senses, it’s like I can see with other parts of my body.” Documentary. “For example, I can definitely sense that the button of your jeans is undone. Might wanna check that out.”

[eddylyons-blog]

The fucking hell had he walked himself into? Or, more accurately, had walked into him? Eddy wasn’t the poster child for political correctness, and he wasn’t really a great example of anything but what ‘not to be’. He was the kind of person a mother could point at and say ‘stay in school, or you’ll end up like him’. But he didn’t much care. And he didn’t much care for the man that was standing in front of him.

And yet he hadn’t walked away yet. He couldn’t give a solid answer as to why, except maybe some morbid curiosity about what it was like to not see anything. The guy seemed to be doing okay, which was almost disappointing. Maybe he’d walk into traffic if Eddy didn’t lend a hand. That wasn’t a strong enough incentive to help.

“The fuck?” And yet, like a child being told not to do something, he was falling right into the trap of doing what the man suggested. His chin dropped as he looked down, scowling at his trousers. They weren’t undone, and when he looked back o the man in front of him he wasn’t necessarily doing so with the softest of expressions. “Who the fuck you think you are, bitch?”

[eddylyons-blog]

The Pit was more like home than his actual apartment. It was entirely possible that he spent more time there than he did at home. Being in the ring was where he was comfortable. He controlled the space because he knew it more intimately than he did anything else. There wasn’t an unfamiliar side or apprehension that usually came from new situations. Being in a fight was easy, because fighting was one of the few things that he did well.

Lately, being high usually coincided with being in the ring. There was a sense of relaxation that came with being high; the ability to think more clearly that he wouldn’t necessarily say he craved as much as he enjoyed. Eddy Lyons did not hold himself to any vice. He was his own man, after all, not to be controlled by anything unless he specifically allowed it.

Half the time, people in The Pit didn’t use wraps, and even when he did they were sub-par at best. Today, he’d gone without them, and his knuckles were showing the trophies of his fights from the evening. Red and split across nearly every rise of his knuckle, though he didn’t really care. All things considered, he enjoyed it. Almost as much as he enjoyed the money that found its way into his pockets after a fight. Enough to cover his not-vices, whether that was heroin or pussy for the night. Often times it was both at the same time. Eden wasn’t around, so he’d need something to do after all.

He’d gone back to find his shirt and pulled it on, momentarily pausing to flex his hand and smirk at the blood that was already drying on it. It wasn’t his blood, at least most of it wasn’t, and that was what pleased him even more. There as a unique rush, separate from that of a drug, to know that he’d decimated someone else. Walking back out among the crowds, he was looking around for someone that could draw his attention for the evening. Rather than finding himself a beautiful woman, he was being bumped into by some man in a suit. Clearly not a man there to fight, which meant he hardly registered in Eddy’s books, even if he seemed like a man that knew how to carry himself.

“Can I help you?” He was asking, though an actual tone of helpfulness was missing from his voice as he said it, eyebrow arching and standard scowl crossing his features.

[patrickmcguinn-blog]

“I won’t forget it. I have to live with it every day for the rest of my life. This…pain, knowing that I’ll never be able to see again.” Patrick took this as an opportunity to give the guy a once-over of his own. He wasn’t that tall—Pat easily had a couple inches on him. On the other hand, the dude could probably kick his ass if prompted. That, or at least call on someone who could. His bet was on a butcher. 

“Oh, by the way—” He called, keeping the other from going any further. “Do you think you could tell me how to get to this café from here?”

[eddylyons-blog]

Eddy wasn’t known for being bright. As he watched the man, he was trying to resist the urge to roll his eyes at the dramatic statement. Not that Eddy often found reason to resist those sorts of urges, but he was too busy staring to try and figure out if the man was dicking around with him or not.

He was ready to leave when the man was asking him a question, and the words that fell out of his mouth next had clearly not been thought out if he actually believed the man to be blind. “Do I look like a fucking map to you?” Did he know where there was a cafe near by? Sure. Could he have helped? Probably. But was he planning on it? No.

“You’re out all alone and don’t know where the fuck you are?” It was more of an accusation than a question, and it brought back the confused scowl to his face. He was neither drunk enough, high enough, or patient enough to deal with this.

[serena-vorshevsky-blog]

Serena merely rolled her eyes at the man giving her the all too obvious once over. Not that she wasn’t used to being subjected to the same and more during her days at The Platinum Lounge. That was also a thing of the past, the reason being her relationship with Viktor. After it became public knowledge, people were a lot more discreet with appreciative glances and whatever else their hearts so desired. Because a single step out of the line could prove fatal to that particular organ exactly. He clearly wasn’t familiar with the concept.

“Take it as you will, but not lightly.” Because it was common knowledge that whilst Viktor Vorshevsky’s widow spoke with a tranquility about her often-times, her actions were anything but. And her mind was already brimming with the possibilities if this man were to piss her off. Although in that case, he’d be a little more than just blind. “And I hope that you’re smart enough to both understand and follow through with that.” Her accent was a strange mix that echoed her roots yet had traces of Russian in there, but her voice was smooth.

[eddylyons-blog]

Was she serious? Eddy had heard his fair share of threats in his life, and he had the scars of a few that had been followed through on. Some of the biggest ones he had came from women, so he wasn’t necessarily going to dismiss the idea that she was serious... but he wasn’t going to sit there pondering it. Besides, she was alone, she was pretty slight, and he didn’t generally think anything was going to happen to him.

Sniffing a bit, he turned towards her a little more and pushed his hands into the pockets of his jacket. With a bit of a huffed laugh, his smile returned, nodding in agreement to her. Or, as agreeable as Eddy may have ever been. It was a good thing that she was nice to look at or no one would want to talk to this bitch.

“Alright, bitch,” the degrading term was slipped in without thought; when it came to talking to others there were very few terms that Eddy used and they were used often. “So, what? You walk that way and I go that way and no one’s blind today? Or you need help crossin’ the street?”