The Rec Room (VWAT Base)

Description:  Basic recreation room you'd see in any up scale hotel or bar.  Pool tables, dart boards, couches, tv, a small bar, and even a punching bag are available.  

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Bang.  

Bang bang.  

Bang bang.  Bang bang.  

Again and again the sharp impacts could be heard from within the recreations room reserved for the field agents of VWAT, predominantly criminals, the setting of a bar was generally a familiar and comfortable sight to them.  For Ladd Russo, the presence of a punching bag was enough.  A shower and visit to the on base doctor after the mission in Chicago had tended to his wounds but he was still feeling antsy.  Being forced to leave his home town after just arriving irked him to the core.  So, freshly dressed in a clean dress shirt and pants, Ladd had decided to pass some time working on the heavy bag.  His sleeves rolled up, Ladd went to town with his warm up session, going through the combinations with practiced ease as the ice cubes in his drink melted at the bar.  It was a good bag, a special bag in fact.  The regular ones filled with sand just didn't do it for him anymore.  They broke too easy.  How luck he was that the boys here had been able to provide him with a stronger bag filled with chunks of gravel and cement.

Sandled steps echoed down the hall as Lordgenome entered the room. A relatively new arrival, he desired to investigate exactly who he'd be forced to cooperate with while he stayed in this place. Walking in on one of the men's workouts, he presumed this to be the "brawler" of the group; he'd have to dethrone him sooner or later. Something about the man seemed familiar -tall, strong, Italian heritage. He gave it little thought, though, making his way towards a the bar. He wasn't intending to drink, just to wait until the other criminal acknowledged his king's presence.

Hearing someone enter the room, Ladd chose to ignore it for a moment and finish one last set of combinations.  Wiping his brow of sweat, he turned to face the visitor and let out an impressed whistle.  Yer a big one ain't cha?  he asked, reaching for his drink and taking a sip despite never taking his eyes off the larger man.  Gradually, recognition began to make its way into the mobster's mind.  Hey, don't I know you from somewhere?  Can't be many guys willing to walk around dressed like that.  Something was familiar about the guy alright but he definitely wasn't military.  Another criminal perhaps? Ladd tried to run down his list of tough guys he'd met in jail but to no avail.

"Amusing. I'd thought the same of you," the king replied. Walking up to the bag, he gave it a grab, noticing the difference in weight and density. "You must be rather strong," he added, taking a swing at it for good measures. He strolled over to the pool table and pulled out a cue, examining the end and rubbing a square of blue chalk onto the end. "What would you say to a game, young man?" He began wracking up the balls as he waited for an answer.

Game of pool eh?  Why not?  I got time.  Ladd shrugged and approached the wrack of cues before selecting one with a red finish.  Reaching into the pockets at the far end of the table, he rolled a few of the balls in the larger man's direction before snatching the chalk to prepare his own stick for the game.  So lemme take a shot at this little mystery we got here.  Ya said I'm familiar and yer stuck here like the rest of us.  I'd say that's enough tah say ya got a hand in one of the crime families.  That about right? he asked, leaning on his cue awaiting an answer.

He sneered, finishing arranging the balls on the table and rolling the white sphere towards Ladd, indicating for him to break. "You'd be right to assume that. I am the king of the Beastmen. I assume you've heard of them." He was prepared for a look of awe, or one of horror. The Beastmen might be a ways away from Virginia, but their name was well known across the country. This man must have either been knowledgeable of the underworld or a member of a gang himself. Northwest, if his pattern of speech indicated well enough.

Snagging the white ball in his left hand, Ladd positioned it just so and took a shooting stance.  Lining up his shot, his ear perked at the word Beastmen.  "Beastmen...Beastmen...definitely rings a bell but I never really bothered with all that politics business." Russo said striking the white ball.  The billiard balls collided with a sharp crack, spreading out across the table chaotically until a green striped sphere finally tumbled into a corner pocket.  "After all, I've killed enough mobsters that most uv em just kinda blurred together after a while." the Chicago born criminal quipped, trying to get a bit of a rise out of the larger prisoner.

The Spiral King chuckled. It seemed his suspicions had been correct; the man was indeed part of some crime family, if he could go about making comments of killing members of other gangs. Putting two and two together, he assumed this man must be part of the Russo family of Chicago. It seemed appropriate, since he'd heard stories of one of them that was a rather dangerous criminal, one that could potentially make it into this prison. What was his name, exactly? Chad? Rad? Tad? It didn't really matter, though.

Moving around the table, he took aim at the white ball, shooting it into a solid red ball, which knocked against the side of the table to position itself between a striped ball and a pocket. His aim must have been a bit off.

Watching the other man's shot with passing interest, Ladd rubbed the bridge of his nose.  Beastmen, he'd definitely done something with the Beastmen before but why had it mattered.  Some guy said something, something promising.  "Charlie! Haha!  That's it, Charlie!" snapping his fingers in celebration then pointed at the Spiral King.  "That was the Beastman guy that tried setting up shop in Chicago a couple years back!  I remember beatin the bastard to death but he said something just before I went." his attention wavering midway through the memory, Ladd lined up another shot since his ball was currently blocked.  Smacking the white ball into a muddled collection of stripes and solids, Ladd induced a bit of chaos to open up more opportunities.  "He started going on about his boss being some divine being.  A real god that'd bring down some heavenly powers on me and the rest of the Russo family.  You wouldn't happen to be the guy he was talkin about...would ya mac?" he asked, a sly smile creeping in.

"Inhibit ya?  Pal I painted the walls with yer boys.  Had it coming to." returning to the table, Ladd shot the que ball across the table to tap in a red striped ball.  However, his return shot at a striped yellow was a bit off, coming dangerously close to knocking in the 8 ball and failing to sink any of Ladd's balls.  "To think they had the nerve to just walk up to Ladd Russo and make demands.  It was like they wanted to die."  Russo made his way over to the bar and reclaimed his drink, finishing off the last sip and exhaling audibly.  "And let's not get cute big guy.  You want a piece a me you go ahead and come get it any time.  I wouldn't mind seeing those "godly" powers up close and personal."

The prospect of revenge excited Lordgenome. "This is a recreation room. Fisticuffs could be a form of recreation." Taking one last shot, it the ball bounced against several solid and striped balls. He didn't really mean anything by it, just wanting to hit the balls once last time. Placing the stick back in the holder, he unclipped his robe, the white fabric falling to the ground around him. "Now, shall we begin?" he asked mockingly, raising his fists in front of his face.

Smiling broadly, Ladd inspected the glass his drink had inhabited as the Spiral King spoke.  A fight so soon?  This guy had some balls alright.  No wonder he'd risen to the top of his criminal environment so quickly.  "Dat's the spirit baldy!" Ladd exclaimed, throwing the glass at Lordgenome's head.  Gripping his pool stick with both hands in a baseball grip, the Chicago born mobster skipped forward with his left foot forward and took a wide swing with the makeshift bat's heavier end aiming at the other man's lower ribs.  If it hit or miss, the return swing would be at Lordgenome's head.  That shiny bald area was just too tempting a target to pass up.

How detestable; a real man wouldn't use weapons let alone wasting perfectly good glassware to create them. Swatting the glass away with ease, the Spiral King was caught off guard by the pool cue bat. Though nothing broke, his side hurt quite a bit. This fight might not be as boring as he'd thought it would be if the Russo could hit like that. He was ready for the second swing, though, and blocked with his forearm further down the stick where it was thinner, hopefully with enough force to snap it. Taking a jab at the mobster's solar plexus with his other hand, he would have an opening to attack his head with several quick blows after.

It was with great satisfaction that Ladd drove the bat into Lordgenome's rib cage but the fun was soon interrupted when the larger man snapped the pool stick with a particularly sharp block.  Rolling with the situation, Ladd intended to simply stab the other man with the barbed piece of wood he still held.  However, a swift punch to the solar plexus caught Ladd squarely and the remains of the stick dropped to the ground.  Pushed back by the force of the punch, Ladd was pleasantly surprised.  This giant was strong enough to hurt him. This was going to be worth the trouble afterall.  As the Beastman moved into a combination aimed at the head, Russo brought up his arms in a tight boxing guard.  Blows banged against his forearms but the mobster's head remained protected as he awaited his chance to turn things around with one big blow.  Finally, such a chance seemed to present itself at the end of Lordgenome's combination.  Feinting with his right hand, Ladd dropped his left fist only to drive it upwards at the larger man's stomach.  The size difference made it a nice target to cut down Beastman.  Honestly, Ladd doubted a single punch would truly finish this but it would be a good chance to measure the Spiral King's durability and potentially open up more aggressive options.

His kingly punch had failed to take the fight out of his opponent as intended. Even with the block, he hoped his blows did some damage to wear on Russo's stamina. Raising a hand to block the punch aimed at his head, he fell for the feint, taking a hit to the stomach and being pushed back. It was surprisingly powerful, stunning him a bit, but he was not discouraged.

Straightening up, Lordgenome cracked his neck to both sides. "I can see now how you caused us so trouble expanding. You're worthy of seeing my true power." A wide smile appeared on his face as a tiny flame appeared at the top of his head, his ocular circles glowing red. The flame soon spread, encompassing the top of his head. "Now, the real battle begins!" he shouted triumphantly, bounding towards Ladd with fists falling in an overhead hammer blow.

"Yer damn right ya bald bastard!  Stop holdin back yer mumbo jumbo and let's go!" the mobster retorted, bouncing his weight back and forth between his feet to allow for quick movement at a moment's notice.  This guy could hit pretty damn hard and Ladd wasn't having quite enough fun to just slug it out yet.  Best to play things a little smarter for now.  At least that was the plan right up until Lordgenome set his own scalp on fire.  "What in the hell?" was all Ladd could really say as the freakish brute rushed him, the hammer blow striking his square on the top of his head.  Caught flat footed, Ladd's eyes went wide and his upper body slumped forward as his vision rapidly blurred and the floor approached him at breakneck speed.  Regaining his senses a moment before his face hit the ground, Ladd's feet had remained square on the ground and he threw his upper body upwards once more with a mighty right uppercut with his full weight behind it.  That last shot royally pissed him off.  Aiming for the same spot on Lordgenome's abdomen as before, Ladd aimed to pile on the damage and make this freak airborne.

The last blow did damage; it exhilarated the king. Taking the blow from Ladd, he stood his ground, having prepared for the incoming fist this time. His stomach stung, making him decide to avoid being hit there much more. Bringing his right knee up to strike Ladd, hopefully in the chest or stomach, he went to grip the mobster's head at the same time to ensure he couldn't escape. If he could find a grip, he'd even go for a few more knee strikes. Though the knees were his strategy, he was more concerned with the grab; if he could get a hold on his opponent, he'd be able to lift him from the ground and throw him at -possible even through- the wall on the other side of the room.

His right fist sunk into the Beastman's stomach but Ladd's blow still did not make the giant buckle.  He had to be hurting now but he was taking it well.  Pulling back his fist to re-establish his guard, the boxer did not expect a knee from his opponent and so Lordgenome's strike slipped underneath Ladd's defenses to strike him in the stomach.  Grunting as a bit of air was knocked out of him, Ladd decided that offense was the best form of defense. Rather than panic when Lordgenome grabbed his head, Russo just kept on hitting, sending liver blows again and again at the flame headed freak.  Lowering his right arm a bit, Ladd was able to cover more of his chest to lessen the damage of the knees that kept on coming.  It was to his benefit in a sense.  Timing the liver blow impacts with the knee strikes, Ladd aimed to hit Lordgenome during the points where the Spiral King only had one foot on the ground.  Without both feet planted, it was doubtful that the giant would be able to fully steel himself against the boxer's blows.  

It was a short lived exchange though, as Ladd soon found himself hurled across the room, crashing into the sofa before bouncing off the piece of furniture and slamming into the wall where the drywall crumbled behind him.  Shaking his head, let out a low growl which quickly grew into a roar.  This guy would be a challenge on a good day but with his wounds from Chicago slowing him down this was getting ridiculous.  Relying on emotion to make up for it, Ladd charged back into the fray with a "peak-a-boo" guard up, indicating his desire to settle this with fisticuffs.  However, at the last moment before entering punching distance, Russo dropped his guard and went lower into a diving tackle at Lordgenome's waist.  With the pool table, the location where their battle had begun, so close to the edge of the room there was a real chance that the rec room would not be able to contain their battle for much longer.

The numerous stomach blows began to build up, his inside aching from the continued pounding. It was a relief when the throw took Russo away from him, allowing him to catch his breath and rub his injured body. Cracking his knuckles in expectation, it wasn't long before the fight picked up again. Though he expected another flurry of fists, Lordgenome was surprised when the man went for a tackle, sending them into the wall and putting into question the structural integrity of the room. Injured and dazed, the king continued fighting, lowering his fists towards Ladd's shoulder blades with all his might.

Down the hall, however, a group of soldiers in riot gear, armed with the most painful non-lethal weaponry they could round up in the short amount of time, was being deployed to stop the fight. Steeler had taken notice and couldn't afford to lose both juggernauts in a meaningless squabble like this. For good measures, he turned their collars to medium strength, hoping the shock would take the fight out of them before the men arrived.

(OOC) Same person as Steeler.

As the two of them tumbled through the wall all concepts of strategy and technique left Ladd Russo's mind.  The new waves of pain and a strong impact indicated that he'd suffered another heavy blow but the mobster was too preoccupied with his desire to inflict pain to stop and assess just how badly he was being injured himself.  Wild punches continued to fly in the chaotic melee unconcerned about the approaching guards.  This was a battle between men, no robots, chickens, or any combination of the two would interfere with that.  Bringing his right arm back for yet another big swing, the blasted shackling presence of the collar around his neck flared to life again and Russo crumpled onto his back, struggling to regain enough muscle control to rip off the damn thing once and for all.  However, it was a wasted effort.  With previous and new injuries building upon one another and now the added force of the collar it was too much for the mobster to overcome.  He was grudgingly disabled as the guards arrived shortly after things were just getting good.

With the worse position of the two, all Lordgenome could do was continue pounding at Russo's back. His head assaulted by the mobster's fist, new pain came from around his neck when the collar sprung to life. Though he tried to resist, the electricity was making his body hard to control. His flames going out, he was an easy catch for the guards to shackle and subdue. As he was led from the room and back to his cell, he turned to Ladd between waves of pain. "We'll finish this later, Russo," he said with a devious smile. This was the first good fight he'd had in years, and he wasn't about to let the stuffy old man sitting in his office take that away from him without a fight.

Enter from the hallways
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Perhaps the thing that surprised him most about this room after he opened the door, was the bar sitting in a lonesome corner. They seriously didn't serve up alcohol in here did they? Shrugging at his mental question, Senka moved through the room, taking care to not touch any of the furniture on his way in. He quickly looked around the room but found no one but a lone guy seemingly painting over the wall on the opposite side of the room. Probably broke or something, Senka couldn't think of why and couldn't think of a reason to care. He moved slowly across to one of the corners where a dart board sat on the wall.

He retrieved some of the darts and looked around the room once more, it seemed like the guy who had been painting was just finishing up. He watched with a bored expression as the painter left without looking back, he shifted his eyes back up to the corners of the room where he saw cameras, oh but of course cameras.

Senka rolled his eyes and turned back to the dartboard, and seemed to focus entirely on the circle in front of him. He kept his ears listening to the door or the bar, which seemed to have a back room and it wouldn't have surprised him if someone was back there. With quick succession and no pause between throws, Senka had one dart hanging out of double twenties another in the middle of the board slightly angled upward hanging out of the bulls eye and another in double threes. There was a slight 'hmpf' from Senka as he appreciated how accurate they had been before he got up from his seat to retrieve them. Within a few moments, he was back in a chair, a bit further away. If he had the whole room to himself, he couldn't really give two fucks as to how he used it.
Roughly 9 metres away now, three more darts thrown and they all went into triple 18, however one fell out and Senka furrowed his brow as it hit the floor.

He sat for a few moments before the bartender came out with a glass in hand, obviously finishing washing it up or some such. If Senka showed any interest, it wasn't evident as he moved back across the room again to retrieve the darts. Proceeding to the far corner on his injured foot, he sat down once more before taking a slow breath and flashing his eyes toward the bartender. The guy seemed to be of average build and looked just like any other man in his occupation, apart from the pistol holstered at his hip. He gave an indifferent shrug and turned his head back to the dart board on the far end of the room from his position. He calmed his breathing and threw the first...

The metal projectile smacked into the board with a little more velocity than shown before. The dart hung out of triple 2's, a slight flick of his wrist and another dart smacked into the board hanging out of double 5's. Senka sighed for no particular reason and walked over to the bar where the tender was rearranging glasses. A small exchange between the two and a quizzical look from the tender and Senka stood at the bench drinking a glass of water.

Ignoring the odd look he was given, Senka placed the glass back down and began walking out. His arm became a blur and the third dart smashed into the center of the board, cracking wood behind it. His never ceased and strolled straight out.
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Exit to halls