Board Thread:Roleplay/@comment-69.31.217.91-20141120035513/@comment-25686329-20141211050553

"He ain't." said a bitter, southern voice from the doorway.

Plutarch Cavendish. Son of a man who ate hearts and shot heroes in his spare time.

"I'm next." He spat... literally leaning over and shooting a wad of saliva onto the floor.

"Plutarch, you weren't invited..." Quinn started, but was cut off.

"Shoot, heck, I don't care. I came here ta scrap! And my first order o' business is fightin' Lizard Skin over there." He jerked his head towards the boy that had just brutalized Sob.

Sob tried to speak. "Cavendish, this boy isn't--"

"Dang, you people don't listen, do you? I. DON'T. CARE." Plutarch said. He had watched the fight, only missing a few moves at the beginning, and knew that he could beat someone with technique as sloppy as that.

"Get back in that ring, Lizard Boy and we'll settle this like..." he gave a throaty laugh that was sure to make anyone in the room uncomfortable. "Well, a man and an animal."

Plutarch lept stiffly into the ring and waited.