2007-11-04: Spreading The Word


George_icon.gif Tyson_icon.gif Mikhail_icon.gif Ophelia_icon.gif Felix_icon.gif Mariska_icon.gif

Summary: Out handing flyers for his new favorite hangout, Tyson several people are flagged down out of interest.

Date It Happened: November 4th, 2007

Spreading The Word

Midtown, NYC - Kirby Plaza

"Thanks," Mikhail says, grinning a little. "School's not that great, but it works." He does wonder about Ophelia, but he doesn't want to ask. Too nosy. He just met her. Heck, he doesn't even know her name. "…Oh. I'm Mikhail. Hi." With that, he extends a hand.

Taking the hand, Ophelia smiles. "It's nice to meet you, Mikhail. I'm Ophelia.. call me Phi. Sounds a little less Shakespearean that way. But really, be thankful for college. I'd kill to get into college."

Meanwhile, George wanders along, left hand pressed against the back of his neck as he holds a cell phone in his right. "No, you know what?" he says into it. "You keep putting her out there with the same talking points, even the guys who don't really pay attention are gonna start getting deja vu. It's not a ding against her, I promise, but… trust me, you wanna get someone else in the rotation, have them change up the pitch a little." He glances over at the others in vague recognition - he's seen Ophelia before, at least, though he looks a lot more tired now than he did back then.

Walking around with a stack of papers tucked into his left jacket pocket and some tape in his right, Tyson wanders into Kirby Plaza not only looking for place to post them but also for people to hand them out to. Spying some potentials, he made his way towards a pair on a bench with a guy that looked like he might enjoy watching a good brawl. With music blaring in his ears he was all ready disconnected from what was going on, but he figured they'd either take it or not. "Hey," he said approaching, noticing that there was now an older guy around, still he went on. "Take this." He more or less shoved it onto him, but still, the guy sitting down could still not take it.

It reads: The Brawler's HQ - The place to go if you want a show. The Bronx.

Well, it is true. He's gotten that far with his education. The artist just doesn't know what to say about it.

And then, another distraction. His ears aren't deceiving him. Mikhail blinks as he glances over at the man on the phone. Something wrong? The guy sounds stressed. However, Tyson walks up to the bench, making him move his attention from George. "Ah?" The paper is taken with a nod, eyes reading over the words. Eyebrow raise. "Huh. Interesting," he comments, eyes flicking back at Ty.

Ophelia's gaze shifts about, noticing George for a moment. It's rare that something escapes her like that, especially when she's alert and always on the lookout for people of interest. After a moment, though, she looks away as soon as Tyson approaches, her gaze flickering towards the flyer, catching the words before looking back to Tyson. There's a second, a moment of clarity before she turns a little towards him. "Does it pay well?" She asks, suddenly.

George winds up the phone call, slipping it into his pocket, then - clearly needing a break from whatever it is - wanders over to take a peek at the flyers as well. "The heck is this?" he asks out loud. "Sounds like a strip club for guys with a foxy boxing fetish." And then takes a closer look, figuring out what it really is. "Oh— wait, I thought the first rule was /not/ to advertise it?"

Tyson expected the guy to respond, but not for the girl next of him to as well. More than that, he was just plain surprised when she asked about the pay. "Yeah… It can… especially if you don't lose, but…" He eyed the girl carefully, really not certain how she expected to do that. "I don't think it's your kind of scene unless you want to ruin that face of yours…" Then he turned to the older guy whom he hadn't wanted to notice in the first place, luckily, such information had been impressed upon him about the question in question. "Actually, this isn't that fight club. These people want you there, cuz that's money." Looking back at the girl because she had posed the question, Tyson nodded, "A lot of money, /if/ you can win."

Buh. That's one way to flat-out describe things. Mikhail's gaze falls back on George, his expression blank. Yet, he still finds something interesting about this now that these two guys are close up. And with Tyson now expanding on what he's trying to 'sell' more or less, Miki can't help but nod. Hey, if he ever felt like doing something like that, he would. The pencil starts sketching again, getting facial structures of George, Tyson, and Ophelia. Why not, they're all busy.

"A punch or two hasn't ruined my face before." Ophelia comments, eyeing Tyson. "What kind of money are we talking about? A month's rent for a fight? Less? More?" The question doesn't seem to bother her much at all. She's genuinely interested, it seems.

It's perhaps foolish of him to move so openly out of the Kirby Building, really. But Stan's already tagged him, so some of his reflexive paranoia can be abandoned. Fel comes out in his suit and overcoat, pausing to hold the door for Mariska with a gloved hand.

And, sure enough, there she is… the unspoken yet aforementioned wife in tow. Mariska's tucked into a cozy, fitted peacoat coupled with a burgundy scarf but her hands are bare and exposed to the chilly air for a few moments before one retreats into a pocket while the other seeks out one of Felix's gloves. She survey's the plaza for familiar faces but isn't on a 'seek and destroy' mission for the moment, so there's no need for anyone like, oh, say, GEORGE to go running off. He's the only one she'll recognize, after all.

Tyson looks from Mikhail and Ophelia sitting on the bench before him, then at George just off to his side, before talking about the fiscal fun to be had at the BHQ. "It's fine, the longer you fight the more you make; but having only fought once, I made two-hundo after they took out the club dues. Frankly I don't think the people who make bets really make any money, I just think they're there to see people get beasty." He shrugged, keeping an eye on Ophelia to see if her apparent hard features would falter.

Oh dang, now he has to start over. Mikhail frowns, drawing another light circle below the first George head. Getting this angle helps, but he really wanted to finish the other one. Oh well. Even when he's doing this, there's more movement from his current subjects. "Agh," he says under his breath. The word 'two-hundo' makes him perk, however, looking back up at Tyson who is busy looking at Phi. Of course, this gives more of a chance for Mikhail to look around the plaza again, catching a brief glimpse of Felix and Mariska leaving the building. Huh. Not sure what's going on there.

"Two for just one fight?" Ophelia gives a nod. "I suppose that's not so bad at all. Pretty easy money, if you can stand it." She looks Tyson over, as if appraising him for his fight-worthiness. "Done it once yourself then?" Her gaze misses Felix and Mariska for the moment, mostly as she's not really trying to pay extra attention to anyone at the moment. She's trying to decide if this would be a lucrative business arrangement, and right now having money to pay bills happens to be priority over people-watching.

No fighter himself, George hangs back and lets Tyson talk shop with Ophelia. He glances over to the side now, noticing Mikhail and what he's up to, then turns the other way: the sketchwork will probably turn out better if he avoids being self-conscious about it. In turn, this leads him to catch sight of Felix and Mariska, which does garner an involuntary twinge. At least this time there aren't any cabs for them to share and get crashed into.

That's Felix. A walking car-wreck, in more ways than one. But he notes George, and waves to him, politely, even as he offers Mariska his arm. A deliberately old-fashioned gesture, as he ambles towards the sketcher. Hand-drawing is a pretty silly means of possible surveillance, but….

Mariska's a little bit startled by the 'here, take my elbow' moment and, yet, it prompts a little sliver of a smile to peek out from the corners of her mouth. This Ivanov guy? Full of surprises. And, hey, shockingly… some of them are actually good. (Or, at the very least, not terrible.) As the dynamic (and possibly Communist) duo approaches Mikhail, dark-haired Mariska puts only a little more of a practiced smile.

Tyson shrugs, "I said I've only fought once. Usually you've got to become a favorite before you start making any /real/ money, although…" He examined the girl once again, "… you being a girl means they'll probably put more money against you. You could probably make a good sweep if you don't end up getting killed." He smirks, just waiting for her to decide against it, but then a couple makes their way closer and he simply nods in acknowledgement, not knowing who they are but being polite.

What. Why are those two coming over? Maybe he shouldn't have made eye contact.

Well, he wasn't trying to. Mikhail swallows, not sure where that lump in his throat came from. Not knowing what else to do, he just nods, managing a simple smile. "Hey," he says softly, looking them over as the other conversation continues. Yes, he's still sketching. Don't worry about your looks, all of you.

"Oh, it takes a lot more than a few punches to kill a girl." Ophelia smirks, not seeming phased in the slightest. "Well, if they'll bet against me, then great. More money for me. Who knows? Either way, I win a match, I make at least two. I say that's more than worth the effort." She eyes Felix and Mariska cautiously for a moment, glancing back to Mikhail. While she doesn't know him well, there's something odd about the couple that sets her a little ill-at-ease.

George is too old for this. He shoots Ophelia a concerned glance as she casually discusses the possibility of exposing herself to assault— but then something suggests that she really does know what she's talking about. Whatever the case, he chooses to address Tyson instead. "I assume they're lawyered up pretty heavy? I'm guessing most guys would be too proud to sue if they got hurt, but all it takes is one bad apple…"

Well, he is working on it, really. Fel's at least feigning interest in Mikhail's work, leaning a bit over the artist's shoulder, blinking curiously at the sketch he's working on. "Not bad," he approves, before gesturing at it with his free hand. "Misha, look,"

Look, honey. An Asian. You know… just in case Mariska hadn't ever laid eyes on one before. Aw. Thanks, Fel… best tour guide ever. Mariska all but clings to Felix's side but offers Mikhail a little bare-handed wave and a thickly accent, "Hello. We not in your way, hm?"

"You seem sure of yourself…" Tyson said, more than a little curious why she was so certain, only to have the old guy ask about the legallity of it all. "Yeah it's all straight. You get a license and your fights pay it off, along with putting money in your pocket. That way no one needs to get messed up over suing over getting messed up." The irony was apparent but could not be expounded on because the couple had actually interacted with them within the group. He in particular wasn't bothered, but did feel like he needed to be on his way, eventually, he got the feeling of actually liking being around these people.

The sketchpad is tilted a little so that Felix and Mariska can see it better. It's not like it hasn't happened before - random people looking at his art stuff happens on ocassion. Good thing he isn't completely overwhelmed by the fact they're focusing on his work. Or him, for that matter. Mikhail looks at the couple, and then back over at the other three. And then back to Mariska when she speaks. That accent. Blue gray eyes flicker as he tilts his head. "Uh…no. No, it's cool," the young man replies softly.

There's a shrug from Ophelia. "I might be. I just happen to be able to hold up well in a fight, that's all. I can't say for sure that I'd win, but I'm more than willing to try, for the money." Her gaze shifts back to Felix and Mariska, but she says nothing to them. Instead, she just keeps an eye on their presense.

George blinks, trying to follow Tyson's logic, and failing utterly to do so. Does a license pay your hospital bills if you suck? Rather than press the issue, though, he just shrugs and nods. "Might come have a look, I guess." Folding up the flyer and pocketing it, he pulls his phone out and checks it again, only to put it back with a shrug.

"Very good," Felix approves. "Wish I could draw," he adds, a touch wistfully. And then he's blinking at the flyers. "What's this?"

What was that? Mariska suddenly inclines her head to favor Felix and she gives him a look that comes complete with pitched eyebrows and a slightly baffled stare. News to her, or so it seems. To Mikhail, she offers, "It is a little cold to be drawing outside, da? Your fingers will freeze." Yeah. Sage observation from the woman with no gloves.

Tyson nods slowly looking at the old guy, "Right… come on down sometime, if nothing else, you'll feel glad you aren't the guy getting beat." He chuckled before quieting down and looking back at the girl, "With you, though… they'll probably make you do an audition fight to see if you're even worth putting you up. I mean, chicks that can fight are awesome, but nobody wants to see one get beat up…" He thinks about that for a moment before deciding that somebody probably did get off to something like that. Then one of the new people starts examining the flyer. "That's just a little information about the BHQ in the Bronx… Brawlertainment." He offers simply to explain it.

"Thanks," Mikhail chuckles, shrugging. He draws a little more. He thinks most people have wished for such talents as well. Felix, you're not the only one. Back to Mariska. "Ah, well," he hits a mental block, getting over it quickly, "it's harder to draw with extra fabric bunching up in between….I mean, I have fingerless gloves, but…yeah. I forgot them today." No wonder his hands are cold. He blinks, eyes darting about for a moment. "But…you don't have any gloves either." Oh, so he does notice.

"I figured it'd be something like that. I don't think I'll have a problem passing the audition." Ophelia crosses her arms, then glances back to the Russian woman and her husband as they comment over the drawings.. as well as the flyer. She shifts a little, perhaps uncomfortable.

"Well, if all else fails," George offers, looking Ophelia up and down, "you can always push your chest up in his face. Then, while he's trying to figure out if he's allowed to punch you there, you can go for his gut."

Which, of course, Fel notices. "Something wrong?" he asks, tone perhaps a hair too bright, as he eyes Ophelia. Magical Guilty Conscience Manifestation Power, go, right?

"I am not trying to draw," says Mariska, cracking even more of a smile, almost showing teeth. "Besides… any excuse he has to hold my hand, he takes." Right. It's all Felix's fault. Misha pays little mind to whomever else might be in the vicinity beyond the periphery that includes her husband and the sketch artist; she can only handle so much stimulation at one time, after all. However, she universal woman's hearing kicks in when George somehow manages to make a comment about some young woman's chest and the Russian's attention abruptly shifts, head turning slightly to allow for optimum eavesdropping.

"It could definitely work…" Tyson imagines, not going too far with the visuals. "Frankly, I'd check if you could get some female fighters…" He eyes the man making suggestions about her fighting style when he speaks up again, "… cuz a lot of guys are creeps, turns out. What's your name, anyway?" He asked, not particularly caring about the couple and the artist. They weren't impeding on what he was doing… which he felt he should be getting back to… in a while, though…

Makes sense. "…I see," Mikhail says after two beats, unblinking as Mariska smiles. Well, a man does do what he can when he has the advantage, right? See, he can understand it. Totally normal. And yet, he can't pretend he didn't overhear George's statement. He ducks his head, sort of placing a hand over his face. That deserves a punch. Tyson's comment also seems to turn that way. Two punches? "Oh boy."

Ophelia eyes George, and not in the 'You're Cute I'm Checking You Out' manner. She stares at him for a moment, letting her gaze shift to Tyson for a moment. He seems to agree. "I don't expect any special favors, nor do I expect to be paired up with anyone of the same sex simply because I'm a woman. I can handle the creeps, thanks." She looks between Tyson and George for a long moment. "Ophelia." George gets another look. One that might be an 'I Aught To Hit You' look.

"George," the punching bag offers at about the same time, on the off chance that Flyer Boy was addressing him and not her. Faced with the special glare unique to angry teenagers with nothing else to distract them, he decides to leave it at that.

Felix just looks very wry at that comment. "That seems rather dirty pool," he notes.

Tyson shrugs in every case and decides that he's best to be on his way. "Well, not that I don't like debating whether or not you could take a beating from creepy guys trying to cop feels, but I need to be on my way." He hands out a couple more flyers, specifically to the two new arrivals, before hearing the apparent creepy old guy introduce himself. "Um… I wasn't-… Nevermind, I'm Tyson." He then looks over at the girl, having intended for her to answer the question, but figuring she'll show up at the HQ soon enough. "That said, I'm gonna go ahead and go." Nodding at everyone, he saunters off, handing out some more flyers as he goes. Kind of hoping the girl did show up, but at the same time, wishing for the opposite to come true…

The pencil wiggles between his fingers, the artist's gaze flicking over toward each person present. "Mikhail." That's all that's needed. No more. Instead, he watches.

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