NOTE:
Alrighty, I'm just gonna give this a go and see what comes of it. This is going to be a story written by me. This is not intended as an active RP thread, though at some later point I hope to open it up if there's any interest. I will be writing said story over several postings, hashing it out as I go. This serves two purposes: Pure entertainment value for any who care to sit and read it and a method by which I can flesh out my fursona into a complete character. So, that being said, I would appreciate it greatly if any replies made were kept to the "good job" type, as I really would not appreciate the reverse. For posts that are made in an attempt to join in, if it was not discussed and/or approved beforehand, I will just ignore whatever was posted and go about my business and hopefully the moderators can deal with such as a disruption. If this breaks some regulation regarding use of the forums that I am unaware of, or if there is a more proper place for such a thing, please, by all means, notify me. Alrighty, enough of sounding negative for now. It is my sincere wish you enjoy reading this. On with the show!
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                                              A Different Sort of Jungle
  Heat. The press of bodies crowding the nightclub basement made the fairly large space swelter, the warm summer night air that occasionally found it's way down doing nothing to alleviate the feel. The humidity provided by the ocean was bad enough, but in that cellar, with the air hardly moving save for the minor wisps kicked up by the swishing of tails or ears, or by the continual panting that filled the space with an odd hum, the temperature was almost disorienting. Not to him, though. He had grown up on a fairly secluded island in the tropics, where humidity and heat were present almost year round. This was nothing, even without the absence of an ocean breeze.
  The low hum of panting mixed with the noises that filtered through the floorboards overhead, feet and music and chairs colliding almost in a rhythm with the steady bass beat of whatever popular trance or techno song was hypnotizing those upstairs. The low murmur of voices from those assembled around him were a counterpoint to it all, excited whispers about what might happen in the next few moments, heated discussions over odds and whether this fox or that turtle had placed the wiser bet. His own heartbeat added itself to the cacophony that he ignored, embracing it and disregarding that which did not matter as his teacher had shown him so long ago. His ears pivoted ever so slightly, picking up on the steady breathing of his opponent. For the first time since he had entered the ring made by the furs surrounding him and the other fighter he opened his eyes.
  Across from him stood a tall, rangy raccoon, with beady little eyes that he could not make out the color of in the dim light made hazy by the smoke from pipes and cigarettes. A very clean cut fur, this one. No hint of flab about him, well-formed, even if the racoon's height did make him look thinner than he should. Easily a head taller than himself. Quite probably outweighed him by thirty pounds or so, too. Still, in the overall sense, that meant no more than a reach advantage, some leverage, and possibly making his opponent more willing to try tackling him. What was more impressive in his mind was that there was no sight, sound, or smell from the raccoon that betrayed any nervousness or overconfidence; nothing in his posture or expression that showed anything other than a collected and focused mind. A true fighter like himself, then. A fun night, win or lose, he thought.
  "Alright, you two. Strip to your pants. You both were told the rules." The fidgety mouse who ran this part of the club squinted at both of them, plainly worried that one of them might balk and cause trouble. The two massive bulldogs who must have been twins that bounced this area stood behind him, overshadowing the tiny proprietor easily, and he seemed to want to slink behind them. But there was to be no trouble. The two fighters each recognized a like soul. Neither would shame himself in such an uncouth manner.
  He nodded to the mouse, then slipped off his black and purple trenchcoat, handing it to one of the bulldogs, then knelt to unlace his boots which were also black and purple, though lacking the dragon designs that his jacket bore. His opponent removed his shirt, hat, and sandals, handing them to the other twin. When he stood up he stretched his paws, feeling the dirt floor underneath him, flexing his claws out. No need for them for this, but it always felt good to remind himself that they were still there. The raccoon rolled his neck lightly, scuffing at the dirt with his feet.
  The mouse made as if to speak, but the raccoon brought his hand up, silencing the mouse as if he had shouted. "Everyone here knows me," he said, and was instantly proven by the collection of hoots and shouts in his favor. The racoon's eyes circled the room and he smiled, then they settled back on his opponent. "But you, sir, are quite new. So please do us the honor of an introduction, for I am sure by my gut feeling about you, that our audience will want to know, win or lose. It would be rude of me to not go first, though." He stepped forward and offered his hand. "My name is Capar."
  "Ginn," was the reply as he extended his own hand.
  "An honor to fight you, Ginn." Capar stepped back and bowed formally. Ginn returned it, equally formal. The crowd began to grow more excited. Surely such formality and well-wishing by one of their favorites meant something good for them.
  The mouse stepped back in, rather in a huff over having any of his announcements robbed of him. "Yes, yes, and I'm Symth. Wonderful. Fantastic. Now let me get this started." He pulled up a stool, clambered on top of it, then cleared his throat noisily. "Lapines, Felines, Canines..." A dramatic pause before he finished with, "and the rest of you," to a collection of chuckles and false grumblings. "Here are the two combatants for tonight's entertainment! To my right," gesturing as he said as much, "the challenger, a black jaguar hailing from..." Symth scratched his chin, then bent down to ask Ginn, "Eh, where did you say you were from?"
  "I didn't," said Ginn.
  "Heh. Fine, fine. Don't have to get touchy about it. He hails from somewhere that isn't here... Ginn!" There were some claps, mostly just a show of not being rude. Ginn was used to it, by now. "And to my left, our champion, hailing from our very own lovely San Deerago... Capar the Swift!" Far more applause this time, probably all of it genuine. "Now gentlefurs, you were both given the rules beforehand, were you not?" Both fighters nodded, eyes upon each other. "I'll just remind you of a few important bits. No using the crowd, no using the various objects lying around, no killing the other. And you can tap out, but remember you'll forfeit what you're guaranteed doing that. These good people pay to see a fight to the finish, not a fight to the wuss-out." There was plenty of laughter at that. Ginn didn't quite snort, but he doubted that the mouse had been in much of a fight in his life to sound so condescending over surrendering. Still, not getting paid at all would be worse than being knocked out. He had been knocked out plenty of times; once more wasn't going to end the world. "We all clear?" Raccoon and panther nodded in unison. "Well, alrighty then."
  Symth almost stumbled off the stool, one of the bulldogs reaching out to steady him only to get his hand slapped. "I'm fully capable of doing things myself. Don't need you or your brother babying me. Ha! I'm only fifty-nine, in the prime of life, I tell you!" Grumbling to himself he made his way behind his bar, to a seat set high for his viewing. "Let's go! Haven't got all night to sit and watch you preen and chew at fleas!" The little mouse clapped his hands sharply a few times.
  Capar eased into a stance, but before he could much more than begin to circle, Ginn gave him another bow, a fighter's bow, a slight bend of the waist. The racoon's eyes widened slightly, revealing their blue color. Capar pulled himself up and returned the bow, smelling pleased. He then slipped into his stance and was mirrored by Ginn. The jaguar held his hands close, left foot forward, his right fist up near his chin and his left across his belly. His black fur soaked in the dim light, the highlights rippling as he moved, light on his paws. His deep purple eyes did not blink, just stared out to his opponent. His tail swayed with him, in sync with his movements. He felt himself become aware of the floor, the grains of sand under his pads, between his toes. He felt himself become aware of the air around him, smells and sounds and stirrings, his whiskers picking up the faint movements. He became aware of the people around him, easily done as they had no thought to stop him, the trance that he was trained to slip into snatching them up unawares. He was balked Capar, though he doubted the raccoon did so consciously. It was a technique that only his master had known before him, and his master's master, a secret passed down to the singular pupil of each successive teacher for generations. It just meant that the raccoon was focused and trained to betray no thought or feeling, nothing that would give anything away to an opponent. It also meant that Ginn was going to have to win without such help or find a way to get the raccoon to open himself.
  As they circled, each threw out testing jabs and feints, poking and prodding at the other to see where there might be potential openings. Jab, duck, sway back, false kick. Neither fighter gave up ground as they circled, then stopped, then circled again. So many pieces of information to sort through for both yet only moments had passed. The din around them had quieted to the hush of a held breath, faint whispers breaking through now and then. The crowd almost leaned in as one, anticipation strong in their scents. Suddenly, it began.
  Capar lunged forward, swiveling his body down as his fist shot up in an arc aimed at Ginn's ribs. Ginn shifted just an inch, letting the punch slide across fur, fists reacting to the next attack that was already coming. The raccoon tilted back, his back leg snapping straight from behind his other leg, aimed at Ginn's shin, using his tail for distraction while he twisted into a backhand intent on Ginn's jaw. The panther lifted his leg, stomping into the floor and forcing Capar to hop back to avoid having his foot crushed and sliding his left arm upwards, guiding the backhand higher. Capar never lost his balance once, even with the quick redirection of his attack. Yes, Ginn thought, this was going to be an enjoyable match. What was more, Ginn recognized that Capar might be good enough to beat him. A slow smile crept onto his muzzle at the thought. Here was something he had not found in several months. A real challenge. Capar smiled back, like minds understanding thought without need for words.
  The raccoon eased back, then straightened, a quick bark of a chuckle escaping him. "I knew you were at least competent when you first stepped in the circle, and I figured you were good enough to give these guys a show worth watching, so I was planning on staging a real nice bout. Not that I meant any disrespect by it." He laughed, and the crowd laughed with him. Ginn simply waited. When Capar spoke next, however, his tone was equally serious and approving. "But after that little exchange, I realize that there is no need at all for theatrics. You're gonna give me a handful and the crowd is gonna be entertained without any showiness from my end or yours, I think. Time to get serious. I say again, an honor to fight you, Ginn." The crowd went almost silent at his words, surprise and uncertainty strong in the air. Many looked at the big cat again as if really looking this time and an excited buzz began to grow.
  "An honor and a pleasure, Capar," replied Ginn.
  The raccoon nodded slightly, and Ginn returned the gesture. Both resumed their circling. This time there was no pawing, no dancing, there was only a slow, methodical study in each of them, all senses extended, taking in the smallest detail. They weighed each other a thousand times over in the space of a few moments, tearing apart and rebuilding what they could see, hear, smell. As quick as both had been in that last exchange, each knew the other probably had not shown his full potential. Gin made up his mind to be the first to move this time around. After all, it was only fair.
  He slid to his left, his paw pivoting and his claws biting into the dirt for leverage and stability as his right leg swept upwards, tucked and then snapping out as he brought it down towards the racoon's head and then pivoted and changed it's direction, bringing it crashing down to Capar's exposed thigh. The raccoon was not fooled, though, dipping his leg down and striking out at Ginn's planted leg. The cat had expected not to land the kick, making sure that his balance allowed him to hop off his left leg, spinning himself around, body almost parallel to the ground as his fist streaked towards the racoon's face, forcing Capar to push off with his other leg and slide backwards to avoid the punch. Landing on his paws, his right tucked under his body and his left stretched out to the side, Ginn sprung forward. Capar was on his feet in an instant, and the two began an exchange of strikes and parries, dodges and sidesteps. To the untrained eye, it must have looked choreographed. Once or twice a hit slipped through to one or the other, but nothing that changed the fight. Not until Ginn decided he needed to get hit good.
  Capar's defense was astonishing and it was quickly apparent to Ginn why they called him "Swift". He had managed a few blows, mostly glancing, and it was the racoon's speed that kept him at bay. His defense was fast enough, but Capar was able to counter so quickly--as two particular soon-to-be bruises would attest to--that there was no real time to set him up. Only Ginn's almost unnatural dexterity kept him on pace with the raccoon. Capar could never be sure where an attack might come from, even when it looked as though balance and gravity would make something seemingly impossible. But the racoon's blazing speed was a problem that Ginn could not quite get around. The jaguar decided that Capar would only open up when he found an advantage. Considering the rate things were going, Capar used much less energy being quick than Ginn did being acrobatic. Time was not on his side. He needed to be able to include Capar in his trance. Hopefully the raccoon did not realize how tired Ginn was going to be getting soon.
  The panther let his next kick slide a half-inch to far to the right, a mistake the raccoon was all too happy to capitalize upon. Sliding into Ginn's leg while kicking a paw back out towards Ginn's other leg, Capar tilted Ginn's balance to where they both knew that there would be no agile jumping to save the cat. The racoon's left elbow crashed backwards, driving into Ginn's upper ribs, taking some of the panther's air with it. It only did not collide with his lower ribs by Ginn tucking himself into the blow. Even so, it hurt like hell. A grunt escaped his lips and his teeth flashed in a grimace as he flew backwards and to his right, his feline instincts barely managing to get his feet under him after only rolling once. Silently, he braced for what was coming.
  As soon as he raised his head the raccoon was there, driving a kick into his midsection that he managed to buffer some by sacrificing his upper arm. He swung out his fist and twisted into a quick snap kick to give himself a little room to maneuver with. Just because he was planning on taking the hits did not mean that he wanted them full force. He had to crack his muzzle to pant some. His ribs were on fire where those blows had landed. His tail twitched as he righted himself, already seeing the next attack coming and already seeing on how to take it. He knew beforehand that it was going to hurt. Badly.
  He leaned his head away from one punch and had to block a leg with his arm, sliding his face right into the other fist that flew at him. He barely managed to shift his head so that the punch at least did not land completely on the flat of his chin. His head rang as he stumbled backwards. For such a wiry-looking fur, Capar hit like a train. As he rocked back, knowing that the raccoon was following up, he let himself drop to his back, kicking up his feet and catching the raccoon in the chest. With no power behind it though, all it really did was move Capar away, which was all Ginn wanted at that moment. He sprang to his feet in the lapse, resetting himself. Capar was already circling again, but his eyes held heat now. Nothing more enjoyable to a fighter than a good challenger. One that you are winning against on your home turf might even be better. It apparently was true for Capar. The racoon's playing to the crowd had been the giveaway. Now he was excited, into the moment, his focus not just on Ginn, but the crowd who had cheered those delivered blows, also. Ginn's trance enveloped the raccoon, made him one with the floor, the crowd, the smoke meandering through the basement. Understanding came as surely as Capar's fists.
  Most of Capar's strikes were not centered in power, but speed. Simple enough to see. He had known that much after the first minute. Power came when certainty in the next strike did. Capar wasted no real shots. The raccoon knew it was going to land before he threw it, otherwise he would simply continue to overwhelm with speed. That was the understanding. Which explained why his defense was so outstanding. No overextending until a hit was assured. Now it was just a matter of assuring a hit that was not there. Throw that off balance, and Capar's style could not function.
  This time when Capar's kick led to a punch into the kick that should have rattled Ginn's teeth, the cat's muzzle was not there. Capar's movement's were now one with Ginn's. His kick slid to the right of Ginn's ear, his balance shooting forward as the expected resistance was not met. The racoon's eyes had an instant to widen before they were forced to close in a wince as Ginn spun about, landing a backhand chop to the neck where it meets the shoulder followed quickly by a knifehand into the soft area between shoulder and pectoral. Capar's right arm spasmed as his nerves flared, his left hand coming over to ward off the cat. Ginn slid one hand as if to land a blow to the right side of Capar's face and when the raccoon brought his left arm up to block, swung his left fist into the racoon's right side, somewhat blocked by a feeble attempt for Capar to bring his numb right arm over. But the raccoon dropped his left arm some in reaction, and Ginn cocked his arm, twisted his body into it, and brought his right elbow crashing full into the front of the racoon's face. Capar reeled back, right arm flinging out uselessly, his tail and other arm frantically trying to balance him. Ginn flipped forward with the elbow, letting the power behind the strike help launch him, extending his right leg and using the motion itself to drive his paw down onto the top of Capar's other shoulder, buckling the raccoon forward. The cat landed and, using all the strength available to him, leaped upward, left knee swinging up to strike home under the racoon's chin. Capar's head snapped back, his eyes rolling up in his head, body lifting off the ground to land on his back near some of the stunned patrons who made up the ring of bodies. Ginn landed, none too gracefully, collapsed to his knees and began to pant, his breath coming in heaving gasps.
  The room remained quiet for only a couple moments. Sound exploded as furs went to plead their lost bets--or in a few cases, to gloat over their winnings--and dozens of them came into the fighting area, most to worry over the condition of Capar, all to stop and give a frantic look at Ginn, as if they didn't quite believe what they had seen. Several female furs, a few of which had caught the panther's eye, came rushing to attend their fallen champion, fawning over him but taking the time to shoot vicious glares at Ginn. The staff doctor came rushing over, checking pulse, breathing, and others, as if fearing he had been killed. He even found time to give Ginn a few glares of his own. In fact, the only people who looked happy at all were the few who had won bets, those that had remained after collecting. The proprietor was something else again. The mouse looked as though he could not decide if he were thrilled at all the money he had just made or appalled at what he had just witnessed. Apparently Capar was very well thought of. Word had even spread upstairs, it seemed. Furs were filtering down, disbelief and worry high in the scents, but anger and resentment were laced in there as well. He was going to have to get to his feet. He doubted he would be welcome to stay much longer.
  He forced himself to stand against the protests of his legs and made his way towards Symth. Conversation died down as he moved. The mouse looked ready to sick up or bolt and the bulldog twins looked ready to resurrect the long dead cat versus dog bit. "I'll take my winnings now, please. Somehow I doubt lingering about is such a good idea at present." He tried to keep the tiredness out of his voice.
  "Sounds like a reasonable assumption," said one of the dogs without taking his eyes off the panther.
  "Well, you certainly earned it, stranger," said Symth, digging about and counting out the money. "Though, yes, it might be best if you leave now. I'll have Sado and Sarr escort you out. For your own good, mind." That seemed like a half-truth. The twins snorted in unison.
  "Come on then, cat." The bulldogs moved, clearing a path through those that did not move of their own volition. At least they hadn't tried to drag him along physically.
  "One moment," said Ginn in a quiet tone. The two dogs stopped and turned, narrowed eyes suspicious. Ginn walked over to where they had left his effects, picked them up, and then moved to where Capar had come around and was busy enjoying the female attention. Those around him grudgingly gave space. "I would not feel right just walking out on a fighter of your caliber. An honor and a privilege." He bowed low then, holding the position for a moment, before straightening.
  Capar grabbed his arm before he could turn. "An honor and a privilege. Forgive me for not bowing, but standing might be asking a tad much of me." A weak chuckle accompanied that, along with more fawning by the ladies around the raccoon. "I will look for you, Ginn. Someday I hope you will tell how letting me pummel you led to your victory." That brought a few surprised squeals and grunts.
  "I would be honored to discuss all that does not disregard my teacher," Ginn replied with a faint smile. To that the raccoon simply nodded in understanding and relaxed into the grasp of his admirers once more. Ginn turned away, walked to the edge of the dirt ring, laced up his boots, slipped on his trench and followed the dogs upstairs. The scent and feel of hostility had lessened, but there was no point in staying longer. Besides, food and sleep sounded wonderful right then, and quite possibly a bath if he could manage to stay awake long enough.
  The twins led him to the door and he stepped out onto the sidewalk, pausing to stare down the street at the crowds of furs waiting to get inside this club and all the various species about, doing whatever it was they had to do. Dawn was still some hours off, but he was tired enough not to care. A taxi would be a quicker way back to the room he was renting currently, but the walk would do his body good. He was used to walking anyway. He had lived for years without ever having seen a car, much less ridden inside one. The jungle was no place for such things. But then, the city was a jungle, too, in it's own way, complete with it's own pitfalls and dangers. He'd learned that in drastic fashion before and he knew he still had much to learn yet. Absently he fingered the scar on the back of his neck. Better not to think about that. Here and now was the priority. He turned the other way down the street and began walking.
Topic: A Different Sort of Jungle : A Story (Read 3032 times)