The sun had already set, and a crowd had gathered in the bottom level of an abandoned parking garage. Part of it had been chalked off, and barriers had been moved to accommodate the...event. The crowd was thirsty for blood, as noted by the first few fights of the evening, and even Blaine had bet on some of the previous events and made a little extra cash. Then, he took his winnings and bet them all on the next fight. Who'd he put his money on? Why, himself, of course.

He took his jacket off, handing it to the tall, bald man who was with him, and then taking off his muscle shirt and putting on his black gloves. He took his place in the ring, his long hair hanging down to his shoulders as his intense blue eyes stared down his opponent. Maybe five to ten pounds lighter than himself, buzzed cut, stood about 6'3, so they were the exact same fight. On paper, things looked good. He would have this in the bag, though. After all, he had something the other guy didn't have. It was also the reason he was standing shirtless in a parking garage in New York City in December.

"Alright! It's the fight we've all been waiting for. Over here, we got the Painkiller!" Blaine raised his hand, not really showboating to the crowd, and his eyes stayed fixed on his opponent. "And over here, Rod the Bod! You know the rules fellas. Beat the hell out of each other til someone can't fight anymore or cries uncle."

Blaine nodded, touching gloves with his opponent, and then taking his stance, waiting on the bell like a dog waiting for his leash to be unhooked.

Gwen had been drinking. It was awesome to be able to drink and not get called names, or have rumors about your womanliness. The 21st century was a little better, at least. Of course, she wasn't drunk. Just very tipsy. Tipsy enough to make slightly bad decisions or maybe not enough to slur her words. One good thing of being a woman in 1862 was that she had learned to hide her drunkenness - she might be drunk, but she would never slur a word... Or so she told herself, anyways.

Somehow, she had found herself in a the bottom level of a garage with Michael, her Syndicate buddy. She had chosen to wear a more modest dress this time. She enjoyed the more scandalous clothing sometimes, but she hadn't been in the mood this night. A peach colored dress and a dark, nearly navy blue top. She wasn't really sure what he did there - he wouldn't tell her. In either case, they had hit it off. It had been a few weeks since they had known each other and it was fun doing crazy things with him - like apparently getting drunk at a bar and then going to an illegal? fight in a parking garage. Man, was she living in the 21st century.

Once they were down there, the crowd was... Very large. Large enough that it made Gwen a little nervous, more so since she was nearly as drunk as a skunk. She pulled her cell phone and tried to call Charlie to tell her to pick her up, but her phone had died. D*mnit. She sighed, looking back up. Michael was... Gone. Her eyes widened and she looked around the area, slightly afraid. She heard the announcer tell them that they had to beat the hell out of each other. That didn't sound good. How did Gwen even get here? She stared towards the fight that was about to behold.

Huh, she wondered, what it would be like to see a fight from one of their eyes. Hmmm... Maybe she could slip in. Maybe that was a bad idea, though. She bit her lip, debating before she decided to head over to a car and lean against it, watching the fight unfold.

Blaine stared down his opponent, Rod "the Bod." What a stupid name. If he could fight as well as he could pick a nickname, Blaine figured this guy would probably go down in one punch.

"Too easy..." he murmured under his breath.

DING DING!

The bell rang, and Painkiller sprang into action, taking a stance with his fists in front of his face, and his feet constantly moving. Though in all honesty, he wasn't really protecting his face--no real need to. This position just made it easier for him to land a hit. He approached his opponent and then...he was suddenly bigger....the same height, but he was now thicker and more muscle. Probably close to a hundred pounds heavier.

"Oooooh ****" Blaine murmured, but at the same time an evil smile crossed his face. He ducked a punch before giving a few of his own to the midsection. He caught a kick to the ribs, but he didn't flinch as he stood face to face with the guy, trading punches. Every now and then, Blaine would sidestep and attack from a different angle, then aiming a kick for the back of Rod's left knee.

So he got bigger. That just meant he was harder to miss.

Gwen chuckled at the names. Painkiller? Rod "the bod?" She rolled her eyes. This was probably going to be very uninteresting. But, she had decided what she had to do. It may be stupid, and it may be because she's slightly drunk, but she was going to do it either way. She had already made up her mind. She decided to quickly crawl under the car. It was safe, there, after all.

She took a deep breath and... Boom. She was in his mind. Of course, he had no idea she was in there, at least not yet. It took a moment for her eyes to adjust to his and she the man became... Super hulk. Oh sh*t, this guy was totally screwed. He was totally not going to win. In her drunken stupor, she murmuered, "Oooooh sh*t is right." Her voice probably rang in his mind, a deep British/Bostonian accent with the touch of upper class. Oh fudge sticks, she totally didn't mean to say anything. Maybe he wouldn't notice it. 

She mentally took a deep breath. He was totally screwed, though.

He froze when he heard the voice in his head, and caught a blow right under the eye, it pushed him back, and he saw stars for a second, but his face remained just as stoic, aside from the...New England chick that seemed to inhabit his head. He came back, firing with a kick to the gut to set up for a massive uppercut which staggered the guy.

Then, he went low, hitting the guy's legs and attempting a take-down. It worked, and the guy hit the ground with a loud thud! Then, he was on top of the guy, prepared to deliver punches, but he was thrown off easily as the guy clambered to his feet.

"Now this is what I'm talkin' about. Let's dance, big guy..." He murmured, spitting a little blood on the ground. He landed a few more punches to the face before taking a punch to the stomach. His breath caught in his throat a little, but that was all. "You're gonna leave a pretty streak on the pavement," he taunted with a smirk.

Gwen panicked slightly. He froze. And got decked. Ouch... The sudden slinging made her a little nausea, honestly. How did this not knock this guy out? She mentally shook her head. That was impressive, to take a hit like that. "Sorry," she whispered. She really didn't mean to distract the guy, but she wasn't really able to censor herself. She cheered him on as he took the guy down at least once.

In either case, she knew she had to get out of his head. She took a deep breath and transported back to her body. She opened her eyes but... She was still stuck in the Painkillers head. "Oh sh*t. I'm stuck." She gasped, her eyes wide, "Stomach!" Except... It was too late. He already had a punch to the gut. Ow, ow, ow. That had to hurt. "I hope you don't die from this, by the way," she muttered as she settled into his mind. She was trapped, for whatever reason. It'd probably be a lot more scary if she wasn't drunk.

Okay, for one she wasn't helping. And two, what the hell was she doing in his head? How the hell did she get there? Well...at least he seemed to have a fan. He tried to block her out and focus on the fight. But that was a lot easier when it was a person in the crowd and not his head.

Don't die. That was reassuring. At least he was destined for a painless death no matter what.

He pulled the guy in, giving him a sharp knee to the stomach. But as the guy bent over, he used the momentum to shoulder rush Blaine in the chest and then grab him, squeezing. He heard something cracking, but thankfully felt nothing as he rained blows on Rod's head, back, and shoulders.

Then, he must have hesitated, because before he knew it, a large fist connected with the side of his head, and he was out cold, Rod dropped Blaine onto the pavement, which he hit with a sickening thud as the world around him faded for just a little while. He faintly heard the ding of the bell, signifying his loss.

She nervously, mentally, bit her lip. She had to get out of his head. She was causing more distractions than anything and the poor guy was going to lose. Ugh, that meant she was going to feel bad enough to pony up probably a few hundred dollars for him. She mentally groaned as she watched the scene unfold.

Painkiller did a good job with the knee to the chest, which made her let out a "Yeah!!" She watched as Painkiller kept getting blows, occasionally she'd make a comment about a way he was moving. Her eyes widened, though, as things quickly turned south. "Left! Left! Left!!!" Except, it was going from his right. Oops.

In either case, the sudden jolt and the sudden knocking out of Painkiller threw Gwen into a darkness in his mind for a moment before she was forcibly disconnected. It had even knocked her actual body out, but after a few minutes, she groaned, a large headache. She crawled out from underneath the car and dusted her clothes off. She needed to check on the guy. 

The crowd started to thin, and Joe had dragged Blaine off to a corner to fan him. After a few moments, his eyes opened and he came to.

"****, Blainey, you got your ass kicked back there bro! What the hell happened?" Blaine stood to his feet, shaking his head; he was looking more than a little disgruntled at his loss, but he was glad he couldn't feel.

"There was some...chick in my head. Psychic or some ****. Distracted me. I don't know if it was a mistake like she claimed or if she was trying to sabotage me." He lifted his arms, revealing his scarred and tattooed torso. "Bone check."

Joe walked around, rubbing his bald head as he looked Blaine over. "Nothing's sticking out, man, but you got one hell of a shiner."

"Yeah, I figured; that punch pushed me back a bit. But I gotta visit Marge at the clinic later. I heard something crack that I'm pretty sure was a rib."

"Yeah, but you sit right there and get your wind back first. Not gonna have your ass passing out on me again."

"Fair enough, Jo-Jo," he said with a small sigh as he leaned back against a barricade.

Gwen shook her body off, trying to get herself at least okay. The sudden disconnection really threw her off. In either case, she needed to check on the poor guy. After all, he did probably lose because of her drunk *ss. 

It took her a moment to work through the dispersing crowd, but she finally managed to get to where she could see painkiller and his... Agent? Trainer? She shook her head, that didn't matter. She tried to wave, but was getting knocked around by the crowd that was leaving. Well... Really, she just couldn't walk very well. It wasn't that crowded anymore.

Once she got up there, she waved her hands, "Hello! Sir, hello! I offer my sincerest..." She hiccuped, her eyes wide, "Um... Condolences! I did not mean to get stuck in your mind, I think the liquor I drank messed with my powers. I can reimburse you for your loss." She nearly tripped a little, grabbing onto the ring thing. 

Suddenly a young woman approached, who looked...quite out of place here, honestly. Before she could make it to Blaine, Joe was standing in front of him. "I don't know what your angle is, girlie, but this ain't no place for the likes of you. Especially if you're the one who sabotaged my boy's fight, here."

Blaine chuckled. "Your boy? I'm older than you, bro. Look...she's drunk. I mean, I'm pretty sure the smell of booze on her is what woke me up. You go on home, and I'll babysit."

"Babysit? Who's gonna babysit you?" he teased before handing Blaine his jacket and walking off.

"You don't have to worry about reimbursement," Blaine said dryly. "Between me and Joe, we probably lost about...twelve hundred? But you better stay with me, anyway. At least for a while. This ain't the time or the place to be running around alone and drunk," he replied.

"You can call me Blaine, if that suits you."

Gwen squealed a little as Joe jumped in front of her. She brought her hands up to her face and peeked through her fingers, ready to die. Maybe it was an overreaction, maybe it wasn't. She wasn't exactly in the safest of places, after all. She perked a brow at the Painkiller though. She totally did not smell like booze... Did she? In a slight panic, she quickly tried to smell her breath. It did, indeed, smell like booze. She sighed. 

She frowned as Blaine came over and informed her of how much they lost. She dug in her purse and pulled out 5 100 dollar bills and handed it over to him. "I can deposit the rest on my next pay day," she mumbled. Charlie was probably going to kill her. Granted, there was a million reasons why Charlie might want to kill her now - being here, at night, not having a bank account yet, being babysat by a illegal wrestler dude? Hopefully, she'd be able to slide into the apartment without her knowing... Hopefully, anyways.

She nodded, "I am Gwendolyn Theodosia White." She drunkenly and daintily let her hand out to shake his. "I do apologize. I don't know how I got stuck..."

Blaine took the bills, albeit slowly as he made sure he had a grip on every one of them, and then promptly put them back in her hand, attempting to gently clasp her hand around the bills without hurting her. "I said don't worry about it. We've managed big losses before, we can do it again. Besides, I played it smart and only bet the money I won from other bets on myself."

He shook her hand, trying not to squeeze too hard. "It was probably the booze," he said dryly before motioning her to follow him. "Let's get outta here. And you're in no shape to go out alone, so you're with me for awhile. I can take ya home, but I gotta get this rib looked at first," he instructed; it was more of a command than a suggestion, and he was already in sort of a gruff mood.

Gwen frowned as he slowly took the money and put it back in her hand. She felt terrible, she really wanted to make it up to Painkiller, er Blaine. She didn't want him to lose, in fact, she really was on his side to begin with. She sighed and nodded, although maybe she could slip it into his back pocket or something before they parted ways. 

That idea became a better idea, whether or not it was simply due to her being drunk, when she found out that they were heading to presumably a doctor. Gwen wasn't sure how she felt about having her hand randomly taking by a really strong guy who she just managed to make lose an important match and apparently at least 1200 dollars. Probably wasn't the smartest thing to do, but she nodded and listened to his command. After all, it wasn't like she had much of a choice either way. 

"You... Don't feel pain, right?" She asked quietly as they walked.

He led her out of the parking garage, and down the street, remaining mostly silent. He was usually in a sour mood after losing, but he didn't hold any harsh feelings toward Gwen. He really believed it was an accident, and he also didn't take well to a drunk girl wandering the shady side of town all alone. "What gave it away?" he said with a slight edge of humor to his voice. "Honestly...I don't feel anything. No pain, no temperature, I can't even feel your hand right now. I figured at an early age that it'd make me one hell of a fighter. And you know what?" he looked over at her and winked, "I was right."

They walked a few blocks, before he turned onto another street and into a small clinic. He walked into the door and up to the desk, where a young woman was sitting. "Hey there, Blaine. You know the drill. Sign in and Marge'll get right to you." He let go of Gwen's hand and signed the paperwork before sitting down, keeping an eye on his new...friend.