Tresshk cheered and hollered with little care for his boisterous nature. The crowd was packed for the venue, as a dowutan and bulky cathar went at each other in the ring at the middle of the hazy cantina. Poor lighting, deathsticks, and alcohol hazed the senses of many in the crowd, but still most seemed smart enough to keep their distances. Though the place was packed and cheering with credits being waved around to each punch...the trandoshan found himself being the only one at his -albeit small- four seater table. If one wanted to catch a look at the fight, and from a pretty damned good seat, they’d have to have the guts and care to find themself in his company.
It didn’t help that the large male had already downed half a flagon of corellian ale, or that his razor-sharp teeth glinted in the low light of the shotty divebar. But no one came here for the atmosphere or mediocre drinks. They came here to see good, clean bloodsport. Anyone could step in the ring, and anyone could watch overconfident and perhaps a little too tipsy of their fellow patrons get the ever-living snot beaten out of them by a real fighter. It all made for good fun and big bets...and hey, the drinks weren’t half bad. That’s why they called this place the Fighting Chance. Cheesy, but it hd its charm. More simple-minded being could have their fun here as spectator or contenders, and the wiser of the crowd could at least enjoy a little action and wagering around said idiots.
“Come on, what’s the ooint of those claws if ya ain’t gonna use ‘em, kitty! Krssk...you’re losing me money!” Tresshk hollered, nearly knocking over his drink as the cathar ran into the slav of pure meat that was dowutan. He didn’t notice, nor did most anyone but the barkeep, as another figure made her way in through the door.
@Tulos
It didn’t help that the large male had already downed half a flagon of corellian ale, or that his razor-sharp teeth glinted in the low light of the shotty divebar. But no one came here for the atmosphere or mediocre drinks. They came here to see good, clean bloodsport. Anyone could step in the ring, and anyone could watch overconfident and perhaps a little too tipsy of their fellow patrons get the ever-living snot beaten out of them by a real fighter. It all made for good fun and big bets...and hey, the drinks weren’t half bad. That’s why they called this place the Fighting Chance. Cheesy, but it hd its charm. More simple-minded being could have their fun here as spectator or contenders, and the wiser of the crowd could at least enjoy a little action and wagering around said idiots.
“Come on, what’s the ooint of those claws if ya ain’t gonna use ‘em, kitty! Krssk...you’re losing me money!” Tresshk hollered, nearly knocking over his drink as the cathar ran into the slav of pure meat that was dowutan. He didn’t notice, nor did most anyone but the barkeep, as another figure made her way in through the door.
@Tulos