The X-men run missions and work together with the NYPD, striving to maintain a peaceful balance between humans and mutants. When it comes to a fight, they won't back down from protecting those who need their help.
Haven presents itself as a humanitarian organization for activists, leaders, and high society, yet mutants are the secret leaders working to protect and serve their kind. Behind the scenes they bring their goals into reality.
From the time when mutants became known to the world, SUPER was founded as a black-ops division of the CIA in an attempt to classify, observe, and learn more about this new and rising threat.
The Syndicate works to help bring mutantkind to the forefront of the world. They work from the shadows, a beacon of hope for mutants, but a bane to mankind. With their guiding hand, humanity will finally find extinction.
Since the existence of mutants was first revealed in the nineties, the world has become a changed place. Whether they're genetic misfits or the next stage in humanity's evolution, there's no denying their growing numbers, especially in hubs like New York City. The NYPD has a division devoted to mutant related crimes. Super-powered vigilantes help to maintain the peace. Those who style themselves as Homo Superior work to tear society apart for rebuilding in their own image.
MRO is an intermediate to advanced writing level original character, original plot X-Men RPG. We've been open and active since October of 2005. You can play as a mutant, human, or Adapted— one of the rare humans who nullify mutant powers by their very existence. Goodies, baddies, and neutrals are all welcome.
Short Term Plots:Are They Coming for You?
There have been whispers on the streets lately of a boogeyman... mutant and humans, young and old, all have been targets of trafficking.
The Fountain of Youth
A chemical serum has been released that's shaving a few years off of the population. In some cases, found to be temporary, and in others...?
MRO MOVES WITH CURRENT TIME: What month and year it is now in real life, it's the same for MRO, too.
Fuegogrande: "Fuegogrande" player of The Ranger, Ion, Rhia, and Null
Neopolitan: "Aly" player of Rebecca Grey, Stephanie Graves, Marisol Cervantes, Vanessa Bookman, Chrysanthemum Van Hart, Sabine Sang, Eupraxia
Ongoing Plots
Magic and Mystics
After the events of the 2020 Harvest Moon and the following Winter Solstice, magic has started manifesting in the MROvere! With the efforts of the Welldrinker Cult, people are being converted into Mystics, a species of people genetically disposed to be great conduits for magical energy.
The Pharoah Dynasty
An ancient sorceress is on a quest to bring her long-lost warrior-king to the modern era in a bid for global domination. Can the heroes of the modern world stop her before all is lost?
Are They Coming for You?
There have been whispers on the streets lately of a boogeyman... mutant and humans, young and old, all have been targets of trafficking.
Adapteds
What if the human race began to adapt to the mutant threat? What if the human race changed ever so subtly... without the x-gene.
Atlanteans
The lost city of Atlantis has been found! Refugees from this undersea mutant dystopia have started to filter in to New York as citizens and businessfolk. You may make one as a player character of run into one on the street.
Got a plot in mind?
MRO plots are player-created the Mods facilitate and organize the big ones, but we get the ideas from you. Do you have a plot in mind, and want to know whether it needs Mod approval? Check out our plot guidelines.
Posted by Sledgehammer on Nov 26, 2011 13:54:03 GMT -6
Gamma Mutant
277
4
Jul 29, 2017 19:06:43 GMT -6
A small girl was staring at Sledge and asking if he were alright. Something about this struck him as queer. Was it that of all the people who had been around to bare witness to what had to look like a car accident, she, this little thing, had been the only one to question why he was still standing? No. It was the fact that he was facing a little girl in the early afternoon that was unattended. "Shouldn't you be at your studies?" he asked the little girl. Her question was being ignored on purpose. It was easier to convince a little kid that they did not see something than it was to explain how a man can crash into a car and be able to flip off the driver afterwords. "Or with your mum and da?"
What time is it? Sledge wondered, glancing at his watch, Do they let out kids at this hour?. Kaitlyn being alone didn't bother him in the parental sense, nor did the fact that she might very well be missing school. He learned more important lessons about life than he ever did in a structured building. The information that is printed up in books was meant to be drilled into your memory only long enough to spout it off at exams. Let the little girl learn how to survive on the sidewalks of New York City.
He frowned and stopped rubbing his knuckles. The punch hadn't been nearly as damaging as it could have been, but the cold of the car had not been the most pleasing sensation on his bare knuckles. This was a little girl, and he really couldn't just leave her alone. "Just sounded bad is all. No 'arm done."
Posted by Sledgehammer on Nov 25, 2011 18:35:07 GMT -6
Gamma Mutant
277
4
Jul 29, 2017 19:06:43 GMT -6
Hunger was nothing new to Sledgehammer. His mum and da worked everyday to do their best to provide, and Charlie had carried his weight before he got married and moved out. Still there were plenty of days growing up when Sledge would have only one meal to eat, and it wasn't necessarily the most filling. He could deal with hunger, especially if he wasn't seasick. You get use to ignoring that gnawing pit in your stomach. As long as you don't bother to think of food, the lack of it isn't as big a deal. Yes, hunger was an old familiar friend of Sledge's, one that he could deal with.
He had money, considerably more than he had upon arriving in America. New York City was as full of gulible sods as Bradford. Actually it was better here, people were less willing to accept a loss, and their losses tended to be substantially larger. There were things that he easily obtained with his new currency. More clothing, meals at Mickey D's, a few bribes... yet what he wanted the most he could not buy. Sledge wanted a meal that didn't come in a paper bag, something that wasn't ladden with grease or came with a serving of chips.
Homecooked meals weren't possible to make in hotel rooms.
This was Sledge's least favorite scam. Unless he timed things perfectly he could very well end up in hospital or worse, dead. He'd only ever attempted it twice before, with mixed results. The one time it worked he got a tidy amount of hush money which he put into a savings account back in England. On the other hand the time that it went wrong he wound up in hospital needing stitches in his head and with his side badly bruised.
He watched the traffic carefully, seeking out a car approaching the red light just a touch too quickly. The key was to go for a driver who looked only slightly distracted. Find one that is enraptured in their cell phone conversation and you get the failed attempt. You need one who is glancing up at their mirror, checking for something. Someone who is aware of the red light and is stopping, their attention on what is going on either directly above them There, he thought, not giving himself a chance to think things through.
To the driver it seemed as though they had suddenly hit a man with their car. They felt the seat belt tighten as the car did a small lurch. They heard the sound of impact. They saw the man collapse against the roof. What they missed was the man had purposely stepped in front of the car once it had stopped. Sledge had bent himself over, throwing a powerful punch into the bumper, and allowing the momentum from his punch to let him collapse on the hood. His arm that hadn't been used to punch was used to catch the fall. It worked. Two out of three wasn't half bad.
What he hadn't anticipated was the driver to move his car after he had successfully damaged it. "Wanker!" he shouted as the car went off. What he hadn't counted on was the rudeness of New York drivers. Having failed Sledge was left standing half on the curb and rubbing his knuckles.
Posted by Sledgehammer on Nov 22, 2011 21:15:18 GMT -6
Gamma Mutant
277
4
Jul 29, 2017 19:06:43 GMT -6
Why complicate things? Sledge mused as he flipped the cardboard box over, providing him a flat surface. A tenner wasn’t going to go far in America, not with the current exchange rate anyways. Acting as though someone had stolen his wallet earlier he had managed to make a little bit of money already. It was time to build up a nice amount of funding, and the easiest way to do that was the quick money fix. People always knew that the dealer cheats at three card monte, yet that was what made people always try it. They always thought that they could win, especially since they would see someone win. What Sledge didn’t understand was why people never seemed to think that the people who won were in cahoots with the dealer. No conman ever wanted to let the mark win. The second you let a mark realize that you aren’t in control you won’t get what you are aiming for.
One by one Sledge cracked the knuckles of his fingers loosening them up. He hadn’t gone punch crazy today, so his fingers felt nimble and light. For added comfort he had on a pair of fingerless gloves. Today was one of those days in which he had dressed down, choosing a pair of his jeans and a bright yellow t-shirt. Most of his clothes that he had brought with him had gotten horribly wrinkled inside of his duffle bag and needed to be ironed. Already he was plotting out how to get that rectified. Stopping into a hotel and saying that he had an important business meeting perhaps? It would work best if he were to wear one of his dress shirts and a sharp pair of trousers, he decided, pulling out from his back pocket a deck of cards and shuffling them absentmindedly. His eyes roamed about the street, looking for a suitable mark. For now he was safe from police. Three card monte was only illegal if you were playing for money. Yes he was going to make some money from it, but what offense could he be causing by right now by simply sitting against a building and shuffling a deck of cards?
Someone approached his box and Sledge looked up. “Righ’ then,” he greeted them and set down three cards. “Fancy a game?”
Posted by Sledgehammer on Nov 22, 2011 16:50:16 GMT -6
Gamma Mutant
277
4
Jul 29, 2017 19:06:43 GMT -6
"Just in," Sledge offered. Aedus's question had confused him. What had he meant by "Are ya back? Or just in?". The nearest that he could figure was that Aedus wanted to know if he had been in the states before. With an accent as thick as his he would have thought that it would be obvious he hadn't been here long. Had he lived here before surely Sledge would have returned to his hypothetical home and be sick there. Nobody wants to vomit in a bar, or at least have dry heaves there. For one there's the humiliation of being caught doing a disgusting, though natural, human behavior. Next nobody wanted to face the humiliation of being kicked out of a bar. Who in their right mind would want to be booted out of a bar? Sledge spent a good portion of his life trying to get into one. A young round face like his was great at getting people to trust you he discovered. Rounded things were more comforting, more trustworthy. Angles put people on edge, they are exotic yes, but unfamiliar and unfamiliar meant dangerous. Young and rounded face meant that nobody believed him when he claimed to be older in his teen years.
"Your round then?" Sledge asked Aedus. He noticed the flirtatious waitress and offered her an apologetic smile. "Well, the birds here are a fair might better than the ones back 'ome." This was Aedus's territory, he had to respect that, but it didn't mean that he couldn't offer a little bit of flirting to the waitress. Besides he had never had the fortune of hooking up with a ginger. "Best to keep away from the hardstuff until my stomach is less wobbly eh? Very well might 'ave lost the last bit of nosh along with the rest of me luggage on the boat over." As easily as one might talk of the weather Sledge began to weave the truth with falsehoods. If he played his cards right, and he was confident that he could do so, Aedus would be paying for the soda water, and heaven willing, a meal.
"Your handle then?" Sledge took a sip of his soda water, feeling his stomach protest at being empty. The ice cube had helped more than he thought. Now his stomach was just hurting him with hunger. It was to be expected after a few days with no food and emptying what little there had still been in it. All that was left was the stomach acid and it was giving him such a pain.
Posted by Sledgehammer on Nov 21, 2011 11:08:00 GMT -6
Gamma Mutant
277
4
Jul 29, 2017 19:06:43 GMT -6
So I have this shiny new character to play with. See? He's a new arrival to America and I would like to get him into some minor mischief, or major. Anything really. Do I have any takers?
Posted by Sledgehammer on Nov 21, 2011 10:56:46 GMT -6
Gamma Mutant
277
4
Jul 29, 2017 19:06:43 GMT -6
A whiskey sour. That’s what the newcomer described a pickleback as. Sledge didn’t even care for a whiskey sour. He would much rather have plain whiskey on the rocks. Why should you ruin perfectly good whiskey by mixing it with anything? Or bad whiskey, whatever was available, Sledge wasn’t picky. He had downed many a beer that tasted like petrol, and some wines that were the drinks of the gods. What was important was how buzzed you got at the end of the night. It wasn’t what Aedus was drinking that made Sledge heave like a cat trying to get rid of a hairball. The smell, dear Lord the smell.
“That’s not it,” he mumbled once he could breath without his stomach trying to force itself out of his mouth. He looked at the bartender, knowing that vomiting in a bar was a surefire way to get kicked out. “’ad a rough time crossing the pond ‘sall.” David pointed to his soda water. “’aven’t had anything to drink other than this, an’ that was only a sip.” Surely his accent, always more profound when he was utterly miserable, would back up his story.
Sledge dipped his fingers into his glass and pulled out an ice cube. Without the fresh source of pickle juice he could feel himself returning to the halfway state, that awkward position where you don’t know if you are going to vomit, but are wanting it to happen. The ice cube was pressed against the back of his neck. The coolness helped him feel less nauseous.
Posted by Sledgehammer on Nov 20, 2011 22:05:38 GMT -6
Gamma Mutant
277
4
Jul 29, 2017 19:06:43 GMT -6
Now that he no longer had to walk and had his head resting on something cool, Sledge no longer felt the pull of the ocean. His body was starting to adjust to being stationary. Hopefully soon Sledge would be able to think about food without having to worry that it wouldn’t even rest in his stomach. So far the acid was still churning as badly as the ocean did when the storm hit. “Easy now, you don’t get owt for nowt if you chuck up,” he whispered hoarsely to himself. Activities such as the one he was warning himself against had left his throat raw. No voice would mean no talking his way into a free meal or cheating someone out of their money. Sledge had the kicked puppy look down, and with as miserable as he felt at the moment it wouldn’t require much acting. The problem was just looking utterly dejected wasn’t enough. You had to make people feel that it was their responsibility to take care of you. A few slow and deep breaths helped to fight off the sudden onslaught of nausea that threatened to throw off his tenuous hold of his stomach.
He was going to have to get food soon, something that he hadn’t been presented with on the ship, and preferably something hot. With a bit of food settled into his stomach he would be able to process things better. After that I should get some funds. The Consumers Product Safety should work. There’s enough street venders with knockoff products that at least one will believe it, and iffin they don’t then I just need to ‘negotiate’ a deal with them.
Now that he had been able to rest briefly Sledge lifted his head off the bar. His skin still had a green tint to it that would make the Statue of Liberty jealous, but he felt confident that the worse was behind him. A glass was placed before him and Sledge took a tentative sip. The soda water was flat thankfully. He didn’t need the carbonation to upset his stomach anymore than it already was. Out of the corner of his eye David watched the new arrival come in with the confidence of a man in his territory. Pickleback? What the bloody hell is that? he wondered, and continued to watch without purposefully turning to watch Aedus’s drink be prepared.
It was the smell of the pickle juice that set him off. Sledge gagged, trying hard not to let anything else happen.
Posted by Sledgehammer on Nov 19, 2011 22:18:20 GMT -6
Gamma Mutant
277
4
Jul 29, 2017 19:06:43 GMT -6
With every step he took David could feel the ocean’s tide throwing his stomach up into the air while dragging his legs down. Unfortunately neither leg felt as though it was moving in the right direction and the sidewalk had different heights depending upon which foot he moved. Hangovers he could deal with. He’d gotten quite good at walking in a (semi) straight line after a few good brews. His skin, which was pale enough, was a light shade of green. As much as he wanted a sarnie he doubted it would stay in his stomach where he needed it the most.
For someone who had never traveled before Sledge was surprised to find out that he had sea legs. The ocean hadn’t bothered him, though he kept well away from anything that smelled fishy in the galley. He only had one EpiPen and a few corticosteroids to get him through the long voyage across the ocean. A storm had delayed a stop into a port, so in the last few days more and more fish was on the menu. It was the lack of food in his stomach, rather than the bouncing movement of the ship on the waves that put him in this sorry state. Weak with hunger, but still too sea sick David staggered his way through New York City. Let those who came to the country legally be in awe of the landmarks. They probably had a stomach that wasn’t out to kill them.
After several dry heaves in an ally that only made Sledge wish all the more that this torture and pain would end he had to rest against a building. America was suppose to be this land of great opportunity. That whole American Dream and the chance for anyone to make a name for themselves. With nothing but a tenner in his wallet as far as cash went, Sledge was already starting out in a worse position than he had been back in England. His eyes glossed over as he stared dumbly ahead of him. A group of ladies carrying shopping bags walked towards him, and Sledge straightened himself up. Not so bad, he thought, giving them a smile that showed his dimple off. A lingering gaze from one of the girls did not go unnoticed, but once the girls had passed he resumed holding onto his stomach and leaning against the nice building.
A situation such as this called for one solution. New York City, he noticed had plenty of places where a bloke could go to get bladdered. Heading into a bar Sledge could tell relief was on its way.
He took his fedora off as he entered, and slung his duffle bag off his shoulder. With a stool taken right at the bar he gave a weak smile. "'ave a cuppa soda water if you have it," he requested. The bar was cool underneath his hands. Holding onto his fedora David rested his head. Should he worry about the grossness of it? He hadn't gone on pub crawls for nothing. This was not nearly as bad as some of the dives he'd been in before.
Posted by Sledgehammer on Nov 19, 2011 21:10:21 GMT -6
Gamma Mutant
277
4
Jul 29, 2017 19:06:43 GMT -6
Individual
Character's full name: David Maxwell Duckland Alias/ Nickname/ Code name: Davie (he hates this), Dave, David Maxwell, Sledgehammer, Sledge, Baby Face Gender: Male Age: Twenty-nine Date of Birth: 03/19/1983 Nationality/ Ethnicity: English Birthplace/ Home/ Place of origin: Bradford, West Yorkshire England
Appearance
Hair color and style: Brown, usually short and spiked, though on occasion Sledge grows it out. Eyes: Brown Height: Five foot nine inches Build: Sledge, despite his best efforts in the gym, is not muscular. One could even say that he is scrawny. His friends have been able to carry him around easily enough and compared him to a girl. Visible mutation: Not applicable Scars/ Tattoos/ Piercings: Small scar in his right eyebrow Other features:
Everyday clothing style: Sledge has always been particular about clothing. Generally speaking he wears trousers instead of jeans. To him a pair of jeans is the same as a pair of sweatpants. If he has any cloths that show distress, it is not because he wore them out, it’s because they are designer. He is fond of fine shirts, vests, and is not afraid of a little color. Raised to be a proper gentleman Sledge doesn’t leave the flat without a hat on his head. That and a hat can be a very useful distraction. Sledge wears three rings, two silver ones (one on each hand) and one gold one (on a chain around his neck). Uniform: Not applicable Sleepwear: For colder weather Sledge wears a t-shirt and sweatpants to bed. Warmer weather is just a simple pair of flannel pants. Miscellaneous clothing: Has a preference for fedoras.
Character
Personality: One of the most positive things about Sledge’s personality is that he is very driven. Once he has decided on a task he will pour all his focus and energy into it, so much so that he, sadly, fails to notice anything that does not have to do with his current obsession. He also has a strict moral code that he adheres to. Morals not necessarily meaning following legal activities. Sledge has manipulated people in the past to get what he wanted, and has no issues with taking advantage of others. He knows that he has an innocent look about him and will use it. Lying is a habit of his, as is cheating. His temper can be brief, and unless he has a job to do it will escape him.
And yet Sledge has boundaries. He cannot stand to see a lady or girl cry, and will cave in to them. Short tempered and dangerous as he is, Sledge frowns upon killing. For one thing corpses are terribly inconvenient. He doesn’t want the guilt, or have to deal with the aftermath of such an act. A large part of him is addicted to his work, but there is still that part that knows he’s young and wants to act that way. Hobbies/ Interests: Give Sledge an atlas and he will be occupied for the rest of the day. He also will play with a Rubik’s cube, though it’s more for the clicking sensation of moving the pieces than trying to solve it. Job or part time job and description: Does pretending to be a member of the Consumer Product Safety Commission to get bribes from people selling knockoff toys count? No? Well, then how about three card monte? No? Sledge is a workaholic, but only at conning people and other illegal methods of money procurement. Fears/ phobias/ concerns: Highly allergic to seafood. Not just shellfish but most fish as well. Special talents: Sledge can make his eyes water up at will. His hands also are rather nimble and he’s great at slight of hand. Hat juggling is something he’s picked up to both pass time and to serve as a distraction.
Morality
Good/ bad/ neutral/ other: Something between neutral and bad. Sledge wants what’s due to him and more, and unless it compromises his moral restrictions, he will lie, cheat and steal.
Mutations
Mutation description: The simple act of making a fist allows Sledge to accelerate his punches. The farther he has to throw his punch, the more it can accelerate, and the faster it goes, the harder it hits Strengths: Faster speed means a more powerful punch. A grazing blow can actually be pretty painful if he has enough distance. The most powerful punch is equivalent to a swing from a sledgehammer (hence the name), and the average is like a trained boxer. Weaknesses: Does not have enhanced speed (outside the punch) or reflexes. He runs at the same rate as a human, his legs do not have a faster or more powerful kick. The increased speed is only brought upon by making a fist, and lasts the length of the punch. Although his mutation serves best in a melee situation, the closer he is to what he’s punching, the less damage Sledge can do. Repetitive use makes his hands stiffen up, which is painful and he can barely hold onto things. He also looses touch in his fingertips at this point, and is unable to detect heat, or cold, and differences in texture. After ten punches he has exhausted the power of his mutation and must recharge.
Secondary mutation description: Sledge’s arms (from the wrist to the trapezius) become harder and sturdier when he punches Strengths: Doesn’t break his arms when a punch makes contact with something Weaknesses: Only activates when throwing a punch. The rest of the time his arms are simple flesh and blood, able to be broken and wounded. Does not make a punch do more damage, simply keeps him from breaking all the bones in his arm. The more he punches, the less effective this mutation is, so if caught in a long fight, he does wear down and can be broken. Does not protect against any cuts or scrapes, simply impact.
Fighting Style
Explanation: Sledge punches. Other then a possible distraction with his hat, that’s it. No need to complicate things. Pros for fighting style: Allows him to use his mutation
Cons for fighting style: Predictable and only good for melee. Often leaves himself open, given that he needs to have a longer strike distance to do more damage
Faction Allegiance Unaffiliated
History Of Your Character David was born in Bradford, West Yorkshire, to a lower class family. At a young age he watched his parents struggle financially, which taught him his first important lesson. There isn't enough to go around, take all that you can. As a young teen David and his "friends" ran small cons and scams, doing whatever it took to get what they wanted. His older brother Charlie was frequently the one to have to bail David out. It proved to be something that bonded the two, who due to a large age difference, had been practically strangers.
One day when David was nineteen, a scam went horribly wrong. The mark had police connections and they were promptly brought in. David blamed it on his friend Briggs, who was suppose to be keeping watch, Briggs blamed David for not doing the research. He hadn't been feeling right that day, and Briggs' accusation made him loose his temper. A fight broke out between the two. It's one thing to find out you are a mutant, quite another to find out in a holding cell by punching a hole in the wall. David went into hiding, knowing that breaking out of custody was stepping past a boundary line. Thanks to his age he could no longer slip through the cracks as easily.
Although he managed to get by with his charms and wit, David saw plenty other mutants having problems worse then his. Charlie was willing to cover for him, though the details of David’s escape from prison wasn’t made clear to him. David knew that telling his family, he was mutant would isolate him.
Lesson number two, people are even less fair than life, screw them over.
Around this time David started calling himself Sledgehammer. Since he could no longer run with the same gang, since they could easily turn him in, Sledge started up a new criminal gang, determined to take whatever he could from the wealthy, and especially those that spoke out against mutants. It was difficult, since still hadn’t gotten use to his powers. Something as simple as a handshake seemed out of reach to him, and after trying to get some level of control, he would often wear himself out until his arms felt like useless sacks of pudding.
Clearly things weren’t going well in England. Sledge was drawing too much attention to him and running out of people who could hide him. It was time for him to move on and away. Sledge hopped onto a cargo ship bound for the United States. Roleplay Where did you learn about this site?: Lord Google Do you have any other characters on MRO, if so who: Locke Sample RP: ”How the hell did you miss the fact they were in with the coppers?”
“Shove it,” David snapped back. As far as a holding cell went, this one wasn’t so bad. The ‘bed’ could only fit one of them and there was no way in hell that he was going to let Briggs take it. What difference did it make if David knew if the mark was in with the police? It was Briggs’ job to keep his eyes open and his mouth shut. Today his ‘friend’ couldn’t do either. Too late for them to avoid being brought in, and David did have to admit that he and his mates had gotten away with entirely too much as of late, David would be content if Briggs would just stuff his gob and let him wait until he could get a hold of Charlie.
Maybe greed was a little to blame for this, David thought as he massaged his arms. His hands felt heavy that morning, not the usual light touch. The cards were slipping too easily from his fingers for the quick money fix. David had a new con idea, but had doubted that it would work. Well, it wasn’t that he doubted the idea. Of course it works, he corrected himself. His plans (nearly) always worked. But something was off with him today. He wasn’t sure what, but there was something wrong.
“You’re suppose to be the brains, and you didn’t think ‘Oh maybe I should find out who the bloody hell I’m trying to liberate their paycheck from’”
“I said shove it Briggs.” Honestly couldn’t Briggs just give him five minutes peace? What was it that had gone wrong? More importantly what was going to happen when Charlie arrived? Nineteen meant no more light treatment for being caught with his hands in someone else’s wallets. “The plan would have worked if you could have just kept your eyes off the birds.” David opened an eye and saw the shocked and peeved look on Briggs face. Good, David wanted him to know he was an idiot and that he couldn’t get away with staring at ladies when they were on the job. “Doesn’t make a difference who the mark is. Blimey, why do I bother with you? You bunk off whenever I give you a job.”
The words had set Briggs off. David had to admit his friend was lousy at keeping his nerves in check. Really, why did he keep Briggs around? It was amazing that he was even thinking of this as Briggs forcibly pulled him up and off the bed. Fist fights frequently broke out in his gang. He wasn’t the strongest of them and when there was a row it usually was David who ended up in the worst condition. Briggs released David’s shirt with one hand. David could see the fist coming at him, but he had grabbed onto Briggs’ arms out of instinct and was thrown off balance. Not surprisingly the first hit was aimed straight at David’s mouth. The hit was solid and reminded David why he bothered to keep Briggs around.
One good hit deserved another. Finding his balance once again David lunged at Briggs stomach, forcing the two of them onto the ground. He pulled his arm back for his own punch, but Briggs shoved him off. The two grappled, each one trying to gain the advantage. David had never been the best at controlling his temper, and a hit to his face was a good way to ensure he was going to fight. Poisonous barbs poured from their mouths amidst strings of cursing that would make a sailor blush. The more that they moved about, the heavier David’s arms felt. They started aching as though he had spent the day rowing a boat, and the worst thing was he hadn’t really been able to get a blow on Briggs. Finally an opening presented itself. David pulled his arm back and let it rip.
The noise inside the small cell was stupendous and reverberated through his bones. David’s ears were ringing and there was so much dust that he failed to notice at first the gaping hole where his missed punch landed. Briggs held his head as though a bomb had been dropped in the room. To be honest David thought that was what had happened. At the time it didn’t occur to him that maybe he was the reason for the hole in the wall. It just presented him with an option out and he took it.
