The “Goblin Drive Bar” was one of the few places that had survived, (or well was really more unaffected than survived), the fire that had broken out in the Underground a year ago. While it remained largely unaware why or who created the fire the junk part of Suna continued to move on like nothing had happened anyways. One of those two people who had started the fire and wasn’t still currently in prison walked down into the dark dank streets of the shadows. His hair had grown out and looked far more wild and unkempt than he normally would have allowed it to get. He was wearing a pair of white bell-bottom pants with a dark stripe down the sides, a regular red colored t-shirt and a green jacket that seemed a little short on his long, lean, six-foot frame. His feet were bare as usual and he seemed completly unbothered as he walked through the dirty streets. Even as he stepped on broken glass his foot stepped away without injury. There was a bandage on his head and face from his newest hobby but a despite the ache and pain of every movement back into the Underground he could feel his adrenaline starting to pump.
While Michino was training his body and mind as fiercely as he could the teenager eventually hit the wall of how far he could go on his own. It had occurred to him that in order to really advance his technique and use it in missions he needed more to work on than just theory. Two options was laid out before him and the first was to seek out a master in a martial art or a dojo to start training with other pupils. However the thought of having to change any of his current routine annoyed him so he went with the second option; find a fight. It only took a few hours of figuring out how he could do that outside of a mission when the whispering swears of the only man he had fought himself started to come back to him. Down there the law was more subject than solid. Down there something bad was always happening to someone.
Yet what started as a step into vigilantism became quickly boring as it turned out the bad stuff happening was already on a limited value. Since Uzumoreru Toushin returned to Suna he had quickly worked to snatch up the power vacuum that had been left by the previous King of the Underworld. Now that Toushin ruled his daughter had little to stand in the way of sharpening her own skills on the baddies that used to regularly run through here. It almost felt like Michino was just too late to the party.
So his bored attention and far more attractive self began to turn towards bars to look for fights and found different kinds of fun. Alcohol had never been a thing he had ever had fun with until he ran across a girl named Ryoki on one of the nights he came looking for a fight. Now after an incredibly intoxicating three weeks the boy had sort of fallen in love with the flaky woman who had been ignoring his approaches lately and head over heels for another; The Ring. The latter was the real reason he was now walking down the steps into the dive bar. Nodding his head at the Rurki the Bouncer, or Rurki the Tank as Michino liked to think of him, he pushed the swing door open to the smell of alcohol and smoke.
Loud pleasantly funky beats were played just barely over the roar of the crowd as two men inside of a boxing ring surrounded by a steel cage beat the respective crap out of each other. One boxer sported what looked like mechanical augments in his arms to strengthen his punches while the other was fighting with brass knuckles. Free for All night. The bets would be high and the top shelf would be served to anyone asking. The boxer continued down the stairs onto the main floor where he pushed pass the people in the crowd. Every once in a while he’d slip his fingers into pockets and sneak a bit of their yen into his jacket. It wasn’t that he didn’t have the money to enjoy himself but lately with his new hobbies started taking more his time he was down to only doing a basic mission once a week in order to keep the rent payed up for his little dojo; and tonight he really wanted to have some fun.
On the other side of the crowd was a long bar that stretched from one end of the place to the other. Leaning up against the long wood and stone counter the teenager knocked on it twice and looked at the bartender who smirked and nodded back. While there wasn’t any rules on serving minors down here the bartenders didn’t just serve anyone. Even people who were well within drinking age would get turned away if they weren’t known by the man beyond the counter. Michino had won this gentleman who was pouring his first tequila shot quite a bit of money with the way he had overturned his last match at the last second.
“Hey man, you fightin’ tonight? Booths are still open and the tables are hot. Got some big numbers down here for the Free for Al’.”
“Why? You need another win tonight?” he quipped before tossing his head back to let the warm burn down his throat. It left a strange bitter taste on the back of his tongue that he could only compare to ‘old chocolate’, but it was far better than anything he had tried with vodka.
“Ayyyyeee,” the bartender replied with a sincere smile, “Nah, nah…not really. I’m actually still pretty set right now and I’ve got some legit bets going that I wouldn’t mind losing. Honestly I just like watching you fight…got a certain natural talent you don’t see around here. Well, unless you’re Chi-chi. That girl got more talent than every fighter in this place, including you homie.”
The teenager almost choked on his second drink upon hearing that nickname but he knew full well how strong she had been a couple of years ago. Chiyoko had been a bit of something that haunted his thoughts from time to time but he knew full well when to leave enough alone and had, thankfully, seen nothing of her or her homicidal father since their last meeting.
“I have no doubt of that,” was all he would reply. In the short three weeks of liquor, sex, and underground boxing he had been swept up into there had been three rules that was firmly laid down no matter where you went in the Underground. Don’t cause trouble and there won’t be trouble. Business between two adults was handled privately and no names were every traded, only nicknames. And last but not least; you didn’t speak of, look, or touch Uzumoreru Chiyoko. The few that had tested the theory had died at her hands in brutal self defense. Anyone left that would have come after her in revenge was handled quietly by her father’s extensive network. No one dared to bother either the king or his princess now.
“You know, I just might fight tonight,” Michino said after his sixth shot. He had been standing there watching the matches go by one after another lasting anywhere from two to five rounds. He was enjoying himself and the hearty buzz but the last one left a bad taste in his mouth. It had a new fighter paired up against someone that outclassed the hell out him and the poor kid had been beaten all but to death. There was a fire lit under Michino watching the injustice despite tasting the hypocrisy of it all. The bartender who had been watching him only nodded knowing that the boy was about to go fight drunk and angry, but, also knew it was his life and that two decades ago he too had been in those hot-blooded shoes.
“Get ‘em,” was all the bar man said as the Toraono stalked off to the registry boards for the second half of matches. He would be placed in as a late entry and would thus be fighting the man who just decimated his opponent, but that was really what he wanted anyways. As he picked up the pen to write out the paper and sign the death waiver he looked down at the “nickname” box. Most of the time he left it blank and went in under his clan name to, so far, the sounds of boos. Today he penned in the name “Owari” with a cocky smirk and handed it to the guy in the booth who used his thumb to point towards the direction of the lockers.
[MFT|1522]
While Michino was training his body and mind as fiercely as he could the teenager eventually hit the wall of how far he could go on his own. It had occurred to him that in order to really advance his technique and use it in missions he needed more to work on than just theory. Two options was laid out before him and the first was to seek out a master in a martial art or a dojo to start training with other pupils. However the thought of having to change any of his current routine annoyed him so he went with the second option; find a fight. It only took a few hours of figuring out how he could do that outside of a mission when the whispering swears of the only man he had fought himself started to come back to him. Down there the law was more subject than solid. Down there something bad was always happening to someone.
Yet what started as a step into vigilantism became quickly boring as it turned out the bad stuff happening was already on a limited value. Since Uzumoreru Toushin returned to Suna he had quickly worked to snatch up the power vacuum that had been left by the previous King of the Underworld. Now that Toushin ruled his daughter had little to stand in the way of sharpening her own skills on the baddies that used to regularly run through here. It almost felt like Michino was just too late to the party.
So his bored attention and far more attractive self began to turn towards bars to look for fights and found different kinds of fun. Alcohol had never been a thing he had ever had fun with until he ran across a girl named Ryoki on one of the nights he came looking for a fight. Now after an incredibly intoxicating three weeks the boy had sort of fallen in love with the flaky woman who had been ignoring his approaches lately and head over heels for another; The Ring. The latter was the real reason he was now walking down the steps into the dive bar. Nodding his head at the Rurki the Bouncer, or Rurki the Tank as Michino liked to think of him, he pushed the swing door open to the smell of alcohol and smoke.
Loud pleasantly funky beats were played just barely over the roar of the crowd as two men inside of a boxing ring surrounded by a steel cage beat the respective crap out of each other. One boxer sported what looked like mechanical augments in his arms to strengthen his punches while the other was fighting with brass knuckles. Free for All night. The bets would be high and the top shelf would be served to anyone asking. The boxer continued down the stairs onto the main floor where he pushed pass the people in the crowd. Every once in a while he’d slip his fingers into pockets and sneak a bit of their yen into his jacket. It wasn’t that he didn’t have the money to enjoy himself but lately with his new hobbies started taking more his time he was down to only doing a basic mission once a week in order to keep the rent payed up for his little dojo; and tonight he really wanted to have some fun.
On the other side of the crowd was a long bar that stretched from one end of the place to the other. Leaning up against the long wood and stone counter the teenager knocked on it twice and looked at the bartender who smirked and nodded back. While there wasn’t any rules on serving minors down here the bartenders didn’t just serve anyone. Even people who were well within drinking age would get turned away if they weren’t known by the man beyond the counter. Michino had won this gentleman who was pouring his first tequila shot quite a bit of money with the way he had overturned his last match at the last second.
“Hey man, you fightin’ tonight? Booths are still open and the tables are hot. Got some big numbers down here for the Free for Al’.”
“Why? You need another win tonight?” he quipped before tossing his head back to let the warm burn down his throat. It left a strange bitter taste on the back of his tongue that he could only compare to ‘old chocolate’, but it was far better than anything he had tried with vodka.
“Ayyyyeee,” the bartender replied with a sincere smile, “Nah, nah…not really. I’m actually still pretty set right now and I’ve got some legit bets going that I wouldn’t mind losing. Honestly I just like watching you fight…got a certain natural talent you don’t see around here. Well, unless you’re Chi-chi. That girl got more talent than every fighter in this place, including you homie.”
The teenager almost choked on his second drink upon hearing that nickname but he knew full well how strong she had been a couple of years ago. Chiyoko had been a bit of something that haunted his thoughts from time to time but he knew full well when to leave enough alone and had, thankfully, seen nothing of her or her homicidal father since their last meeting.
“I have no doubt of that,” was all he would reply. In the short three weeks of liquor, sex, and underground boxing he had been swept up into there had been three rules that was firmly laid down no matter where you went in the Underground. Don’t cause trouble and there won’t be trouble. Business between two adults was handled privately and no names were every traded, only nicknames. And last but not least; you didn’t speak of, look, or touch Uzumoreru Chiyoko. The few that had tested the theory had died at her hands in brutal self defense. Anyone left that would have come after her in revenge was handled quietly by her father’s extensive network. No one dared to bother either the king or his princess now.
“You know, I just might fight tonight,” Michino said after his sixth shot. He had been standing there watching the matches go by one after another lasting anywhere from two to five rounds. He was enjoying himself and the hearty buzz but the last one left a bad taste in his mouth. It had a new fighter paired up against someone that outclassed the hell out him and the poor kid had been beaten all but to death. There was a fire lit under Michino watching the injustice despite tasting the hypocrisy of it all. The bartender who had been watching him only nodded knowing that the boy was about to go fight drunk and angry, but, also knew it was his life and that two decades ago he too had been in those hot-blooded shoes.
“Get ‘em,” was all the bar man said as the Toraono stalked off to the registry boards for the second half of matches. He would be placed in as a late entry and would thus be fighting the man who just decimated his opponent, but that was really what he wanted anyways. As he picked up the pen to write out the paper and sign the death waiver he looked down at the “nickname” box. Most of the time he left it blank and went in under his clan name to, so far, the sounds of boos. Today he penned in the name “Owari” with a cocky smirk and handed it to the guy in the booth who used his thumb to point towards the direction of the lockers.
[MFT|1522]
