Zipper’s the world at large

gray hoodie, black sweats, sneakers
Tw: mentions of addiction

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It was stupid to come back here. It was dumb. He hadn’t had a good experience within the confines of this garage. It was the place that had been the start of a chain reaction that ended with a phone call he hadn’t been able to get out of his head.

The pattern. The cycle he’d been trying to break the moment he stepped foot here and laid eyes upon Newt. No more running, no more lying, no more mistakes. He’d tried to make it right, tried to ask for a chance to show how much he meant it.

But in the end, he was here again, the path forward hazy and uncertain.

Shifting wasn’t working. It never really did. The wolf was just as agitated, listless, angry.

There were things he’d typically turn to for relief that weren’t for him in anymore. They wouldn’t help him either. He’d just undo all of the work he’d put in, he’d just be proving Natalie right.

This wasn’t the same, but it was similar enough. Visiting a place that caused him pain, seeking relief in the form of adrenaline and blood.

At least he wasn’t alone in it. Celeste was somewhere in the crowd, inexplicably supportive of this solution. He’d stopped taking that for granted. He was just thankful he had a safe ride home.

This was his first time in the ring. He’d thought he’d never step foot beyond the ropes, but he ducked beneath them now, knuckles white as he stalked to the center. This wasn’t the same as fight night, he reminded himself. The crowd was mostly drunk humans, and his assigned opponent was likely the same. It would be an easy, harmless fight. Something to absorb some of the pent up anger within him.

Patrick shifted on his feet, watching the edge of the ring, jaw tight as he waited to see what unlucky son of a bitch he would be pulling his punches on for the night.

Fit

---

There were times when the beast demanded violence, and Ronan had gotten pretty good at redirecting that violence towards other things. Food, shifting, hunting, these sorts of things, but sometimes even these things could not quench the beasts thirst.

Sometimes violence needed to be had, and better to do it as a human where there were a lack of claws and teeth.

At least as human there could be some semblance of control.

Number called Ronan would make his way towards the ring knowing that he would have to hold back a great deal. These weren’t other wolverines that he’d be fighting tonight, and he wasn’t looking to end anyone to either infirmary or morgue tonight.

Thoughts and worries that were completely unfounded when he pulled up under the rope to learn that his opponent, while not wolverine, was not entirely human either. A dog of some sort, but not coyote. Free game.

”I’m not holding back.” A widening grin as pushed a palm against each set of fingers.

Yes, Céleste was here. Far enough to not be a distraction, close enough to intervene if needed. Her new and improved first aid kit waited in the car, hopefully not needed.

She didn't shy away from violence. Kitty liked it, in a way. The territorial little cat understood fighting.

And like this? It was... perhaps not fully legal, but consensual. Especially since the other guy, ahem, didn't hold back, apparently.

This was fine. She was stronger than before, and wouldn't miss a second. She had been ride or die so far, she would continue to be so.

---

Skippable but stalking uwu

All his mental preparation went out of the window as the man climbed into the ring. The wolf pinned its ears forward, growl in its throat as it alerted to the preternatural sense about the stranger. Another Were, but not a wolf. Just as strong as he was, though.

And not holding back.

Patrick’s blood heated at the challenge, and he balled his fists tighter, giving the guy a once over before he answered. Looked a little younger, but not a kid either. Probably had a good bit of experience under his belt if he was climbing into a ring and rearing for a fight. Pat, for his part, was rusty. He didn’t do much fighting these days, unless he had to.

Didn’t stop him from saying, “Good.”

Then he stepped in and made the first swing, going for a quick jab at the guy’s gut, mostly testing to see how fast he was.

---

whomp

It was like muscle memory at this point, a fist came for his gut and Ronan’s body would be moving on its own to block that attack. One arm coming down to shove the hand away as his dominant fist move to strike him in the side instead.

The wolverine yowled as the adrenaline began pumping. Growling for more as claws tore at the space that surrounded them.

They’d missed this.

---

Hit

His fist connected with hard bone, knocked away by a swift arm that sent a ripple of pain across his knuckles. Before he could close the gap between his arm and body, the other man’s fist was finding home between his ribs. Patrick grunted at the sharp impact, body recalling the pain like an old friend. It hurt, but the adrenaline shot through his veins in a satisfying wave.

Patrick stepped in close, brought his fist back up vertically, aiming for the side of his opponent’s head. He’d said he wasn’t holding back, so Pat wouldn’t either.

---

Hit

A blow to the head was a good way to start seeing stars, and a really good way to get the beast growling. Black filled the edges of his vision even as his eyes flashed white for a brief moment.

No animals in the ring. The beast knew this, but that didn’t mean he wouldn’t show he was around still.

Aimed to return the favor with a fist to a cheek.

---

Miss

Knuckles met skull, and Pat grit his teeth in satisfaction. This man was a stranger, he’d done nothing to deserve it, but he was a willing target for all of the frustrations that had built up within him over the past year and half. The directionless momentum, the cruel emptiness of loss, the shame and self loathing at his struggle to find the right balance. It all bled out of him through that violent connection.

The wolf pinned a predatory green gaze on their opponent, enjoying the fight it much the same way. This wasn’t a small defenseless animal to chase down and shake the life out of. It was something that would put up a satisfying fight.

Patrick moved in closer and hooked his knee into the man’s inner thigh, aiming to yank his foot out from under him as he pushed into his space. Get him on the ground, where it would be easier to land a few more punches.

---

hit

It seemed the first strike had been a trick, this dog could fight, and Ronan couldn’t bring himself to be upset about it. Just beating on someone wouldn’t sate the beast, if he wanted to do that he would have found some drunk in an alleyway to torment.

They wanted something that could fight back. Something that could present itself as a challenge. And they were getting that tonight.

Hit the mat with a loud thud, teeth barred in an animalistic grin as he pulled a leg back and drove it straight into the dog’s leg.

Come down to his level mutt.

---

Hit

So far, so good. They seemed balanced, and this looked... maybe not fun, at least not with her perspective, but if it helped, she was all for it.

Kitty was giving honks of encourageement that were lost in their lonely metaphysical space.

---

still skippy

He was going down with him regardless, but the kick to the side of his leg expedited the drop, making it clumsy and painful as he landed awkwardly on his knee. Something definitely shifted in a way it wasn’t supposed to, but the pain wasn’t bad enough to stop him yet. He’d feel it later.

For now he focused on righting himself above the man and balling his fist in the front of his shirt. No skillful wrestling moves, no expert pins, just the muscle memory of too many reckless brawls to count. Just a balled fist, meeting a face he didn’t know.

---

hit

It was as dizzying as any punch to the face would be, Ronan blinking hard as his jaw ached and his brain rattled in his head. Anger flared on the animals end, but right alongside that anger was a thrill that Ronan decided to lean into instead.

Hooked an arm around to return the favor, but with stars still dancing within his vision, it wouldn’t connect.

---

Miss

His knuckles ached, probably bruised, but he swallowed the pain down like a swig of burning liquor. Let it fuel a numbness that rippled over his body, adrenaline dulling his thoughts and narrowing them down to the simple task of violence. Maybe it was counterintuitive, after insisting upon self control and non-violence for the past year. But it was a better outlet for it all than ones that wrecked his body and every chance he had at redemption.

He ducked the swing aimed his way, but couldn’t find an opening to return one either. It wasn’t like the guy was lying still beneath him letting him have at it. It was a physical struggle to keep atop him, to not lose balance. A sentiment that echoed on and on through his life, beyond the confines of the ring.

Wild as his fist swung, he hit nothing substantial.

---

Miss

He was at the disadvantage here on the ground, and while he was managing to avoid another strike to the face. He knew that this position would only continue to play against him. Knew he needed to fix this, and so he’d attempt to grab at the other’s shoulders and force him down onto the ground instead.

Wanted to roll so that he’d be the one on top, but apparently months of mourning had taken its toll on his fighting ability.

---

Miss

They were pretty evenly matched. Both in experience as Weres and apparent skill in a brawl. Even as Pat braced his good knee on the mat and kept himself upright, he found resistance as he tried to jam his fist into the man’s ribs. The wolf snarled and snapped, urging him to use his teeth or nails to shred skin, but he held back. Maybe another night, another fight, but not this one.

He was losing steam, aching in various places, but not done yet.

---

miss

The beast was going much of the same in Ronan’s own head, but thankfully he’d had a good amount of time to get used to such snarling. Had shifted a lot in the beginning, especially during fights, but shifts caused damage, and damage always needed to be paid for.

And it would either be with money or fists.

Ronan never had money in the beginning. So he’d learned fast.

Couldn’t twist the guy off, so a hand would grab at the back of the dog’s neck instead and dragged him down into a harsh headbutt.

---

Hit

No one won in a headbutt. That’s the thought that passed his mind as a shockwave of pain splintered the center of his forehead. Pat’s teeth clacked together, and he hoped it hurt just as bad for the other man as it did for him.

Dizzied and slightly blinded by the pain, Pat focused on ducking out of the hold and leaning back, easing off and letting the guy out of his pin.

---

no attack

It did fucking hurt, but unlike doggy over here, he’d been prepared for it. So the second that the weight shifted, Ronan would be rolling himself free, putting distance between himself and his opponent.

Hard shake of his head that did nothing for the dull ache that he’d caused himself, but hey, at least he was free.

She winced at the headbutt. Just, ouch.

Belatedly thought it would have been a good idea to avoid faces? But there was no stopping them now.

Counting hits in her head, counting time. If this was Fight Night, the next hit would call the victor. But it wasn't. Rules didn't exist.

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skippity