The first underground werewolf gladiator competition.  Those of a criminal mind are welcome to join this thread - please refer to the plotting thread here[1] for more details.  Thread will start out with the organizers and planners putting in the last few touches as the spectators arrive.

Thick soled boots thudded heavily against the stone floor of the simple, two story farmhouse as Cinaed moved along the ground floor.  It was impossible to tell exactly how long they had before sunlight finally relinquished the day to the full moon; a heavy bank of grey clouds hid the sky from view.  But, given how quickly the shadows were darkening in the house, Cinaed guessed they had no more than an hour before the show would start. 

As the man moved through the first floor, he gave one final check to all the preparations.  All doors and windows on the ground floor were locked and sealed and the windows were charmed to appear darkened from the outside, no matter how bright the fight ring was illuminated.  The muggle was securely restrained inside a bathroom that opened up into the living room and kitchen - she needed some means of escape or the game would be over before it even started.  The werewolf - called himself Timothy Lands when Cinaed had cornered him the previous day - was stashed in a back room.  He was confined to simple, lightweight muggle dog crate - just large and sturdy enough to contain fingers but a hungry werewolf on the hunt would make quick work of the bars once transformed. 

Footsteps were moving upstairs and Cinaed mounted the stairs to the upper floor.  The stairwell would be sealed once they had set the muggle loose. 

"Just got to charm the floor," Cinaed announced as he approached the older woman.  "You've got that covered, I believe.  And a few other preparations - the other planners are coming?"  'Unveiling' the scene below once most of the spectators were gathered seemed the appropriately dramatic route to take.  Set the scene, define the purpose, unveil the stage and set the muggle loose.  "I'll make the announcement, you reveal the scene and we'll see what happens." 

Muggle versus werewolf.  The end result seemed fairly self explanatory.  The bets were, obviously, not going to be on who won or lost.  But, rather, the muggle's resiliency.  Style predictions.  Whether it was Colonel mustard in dining room with the candlestick or Professor Plum in the Ballroom with the dagger. 

1.	Sport of the Least Noble Kind

Punctuality was a quality so lacking in criminal society that it often astounded Ira Almasy when they found themselves in a position of being ahead of time. Not that she could expect any less from the organizers of their little game this evening (for all weighty concerns aside, it was little more than that). There was no room for error. Stood at a corridor window that overlooked the shadowy grounds encircling them, Ira withdrew her timepiece to consult the moon dial. The clouds were fickle and it was sometimes better to confer one's trust to magic rather than sight.

Certainly under the hour before the change. Their audience was eminent.

Clicking the pocket watch close, Ira returned it to the folds of her garb and turned away from the darkening sky to drift down the passageway towards the stairwell. Her heels clicked pointedly and she paused at a railing that gave on to a section of the lower level. The large, burly figure of Cinaéd Tawse could be heard making preparatory movements. He had been more than thorough in their protective measures- an effort Ira could appreciate, or at least she would have expressed as much had that been in her nature.

Rather, she nodded almost genially at the wizard as he made his away up.

"Da, of course. They will arrive with the spectators," she replied vaguely. The other planners were periphery to their present concerns; their roles were relegated to the aftermath. For now she preferred to focus on the event in itself. A success would prove to be most lucrative in the long-term, for all parties... aside from the players if one deigned to count them.

Ira consented to the order of the unveil with an elegant shrug. Cináed was a far more recognizable figure to criminals; they knew her largely as a name. Better to be the silent hand. She folded her arms thoughtfully, on the verge of commending the wizard on the suitability of his choice in their remote surroundings when a jolt of sounds erupted from the floor above- causing Ira's brow to raise thoughtfully.

"It appears that we have company..."

---

You'll enjoy it they said go out and join them.

Hmph, Poppy Crockford and the rest of Vedir's bunch had caught wind of this 'sport' from what appeared to be a muddy trail of names. Even though his hours were full time at the Ministry, Johann's insomniac ways were rife, and his nights were full of working on Vedir's documents and anything else he could consider. A social event wasn't always his thing, but it was useful to put faces to the many names Vedir mentioned. And, any opportunity when the man would turn up and Johann could gaze at him was a good opportunity to the translator.

Arriving with others from Vedir's household and their friends, Johann found himself in a most curious space in dim light, and his companions exclaimed with delight,
"Excellent, I've never actually seen one up close." They clambered to the windows expectantly while Johann took a look around himself at the narrow room which seemed to wrap around a central chamber which the windows looked down upon. Sloping round the back he kept out of the way initially as more figures began to pop into view in the space as others arrived.

Cinaed nodded, pleased with the woman's arrangements.  He meant no offense to her or any of those to whom clean up had been delegated but, as soon as this event was over, Cinaed would be politely excusing himself.  He'd taken every measurable precaution he could think of in the set up - from an entirely secret location to unpublicized arrivals to any number of concealing and protective wards cast on the property.  But, no system was foolproof.  The scene would, eventually, be found.  It was merely a matter of when and after how long.

But, Cinaed would be long gone before any official response descended upon the place.  Clean up and risking playing host to a Ministry investigative team could be delegated to those who had much grayer reputations with Level 2. 

And, he did have a son to get home to.  Taking unnecessary risks that could lead to getting caught was simply irresponsible. 

Those, however, were formalities that could wait for later.  True to Ira's words, they did have company.  Now was the time for casual socialization - an activity Cinaed rarely got enough of these days. 

Most of the arrivals seemed intrigued by the set up and were busy chatting excitedly by themselves.  Cinaed recognized several of the faces in Prideaux' group but one less familiar fellow had broken apart from the crowd and seemed to be doing his best to shuffle out of the way of others.  He seemed almost awkwardly lost. 

The man wasn't exactly short - he was still taller than many around him - but his scrawniness seemed to hide that fact as Cinaed's burly frame approached the fellow and nodded down towards the 'fight stage' below.  "Suppose this'll be the classic fight of brain versus brawn, no?"  Cinaed asked with an excited grin, striking his own particular form of casual conversation.  "The Muggle's apparently some - don't know what they call them.  She's got all these plaques on the wall showing off something.  Think it'll matter against a werewolf?"

James jumped up and down like a child heading into an amusement park. He was waiting for Mark to show up, he hadn't seen him since his drunken episode and he still needed his wand from the Hunter boy. "Come on Mark, where are you?" He repeated to himself.

He hugged his jacket around him, making sure his wallet was tucked into his coat pocket. Dozens of golden galleons sat, dead weight, in his pockets, just begging to used. He wanted his wand, he was tired of walking every where, his broom was back at the Lotusorder House and he refused to take muggle transportation.

He had heard of his event from a guy he met at the pub, not the Leaky Cauldron, he was most defiantly banned from there. He was so excited he worked overtime at work for the past few days to earn a few extra wages for betting. His stubble was itchy on his face and he rubbed his hand over his chin as he stood outside of the 2-story building. The sun was just going down and Mark still wasn't there.

He had told Mark in his owl letter that he wanted to hang out and take him to  guys night poker game, Mark loved games, ever since they were kids, but Mark played to play, Jim played to win. That would lure Hunter in for sure. He had sent him the address.

"Where are you?!" He was distressing as clouds of his own white breath surrounded him.

"Suppose this'll be the classic fight of brain versus brawn, no?" Oh Merlin, this hairy wizard was addressing him directly. Johann decided it was better to pay attention this once, he had a feeling these gatherings could turn nasty if you didn't keep your wits about you. Instead of replying verbally, he tipped his head quizzically.

"The Muggle's apparently some - don't know what they call them.  She's got all these plaques on the wall showing off something.  Think it'll matter against a werewolf?"

"Unless they're for werewolf killing, probably not." Johann replied with an uneasy smile. "Sorry, Johann Storm, I do a bit of work for Prideaux." He offered a hand to shake, "Ever been a... fight like this before?" Johann asked cautiously. One never knew if asking a question arose too much suspicion.

News of this 'sport' had been floating around all the dark and shady places in the wizarding world, so it was to no big surprise at the crowd flocking towards the event. There would be no chance in hell that Aaric would miss an event like this, it was sure to be very entertaining. Arriving by portkey at the two storey farmhouse, Aaric surveyed his surroundings and the others around him with a critical eye. The place looked harmless enough, a simple room in which people were to arrive by portkey.

Reaching into his pocket, Aaric pulled out a lighter and lit a cigarette that hung loosely on his lips. He flicked the lighter a few times out of habit and nodded in greeting at a few wizards. Aaric was a big spender, he was likely to blow big money on bets, especially on something as interesting as a blood sport between were and muggle. Even though it was quite obvious who would win, Aaric had the urge to test his own strength against the were, but, he didn't want to scar his body any more that it already was. He didn't want to look like someone attacked him with a chainsaw.

Moving about the second floor, Aaric rested back on the wall as he waited for the event to begin. He couldn't wait to see what the organisers had in store.

"Ugh, gravity can go suck a slurpee." Dotty was not feeling so hot after the buzz from her wayward billywig sting had worn off. Since way early this morning[1] she had been the trail behind parade balloon for occasional drinking buddy and fellow miscreant Dazmond Wiedman.

Dotty, who wasn't the tallest woman about unless she had half a foot thick platform shoes, was hunched even lower than her usual stature because her limbs were too heavy for her to lift.

Still, she had energy spike imperious to sleep and she wanted some entertainment. "So is this going to be like wrestling? I wanna see someone get smacked in the face with a chair!" Whether or not wrestling was fake it was awesome, like catching the title match that pulled out the electrified cage and the belt hung from the top so the bouters fought over the use of the ladder.

1.	Hand in the Cookie Jar

Once kept up in the alley holding on to Anadotti's shoe as she floated in the air high as a kite, Daz now held Anadotti up as she drooped over like a wilted flower and together they poked around the quiet, barren Black Chimaera looking for Mannie Ashford's ghost.  They'd been together all night being ridiculous, and Daz had brought Anadotti to rest up in her and Nate's flat.  Now it was nearly the next night and they were following after some rumor of a special, black market event.  A Werewolf fight. 

"Just don't arf on me when we get the portkey," said Dazmond.  "Actually, why don't we go separate, yeah?"  She kicked an empty carton that laid across the floor lightly with her boot.  The door to the pub was left open, the last light of the evening sun shining sharply across the floor and stretching inward, illuminating the dust that floated in the air.  Daz called out for, "Mannie?"

He greeted them then, if his rude and gruff response could be considered a greeting.  But he told them the way to the portkey and how to activate an associated code, which was all that they needed to get into the fight.  Daz's portkey was an old, broken watch with a brassy back and foggy, scratched face.  She spoke the incantation to 'unlock' it, so to say.

"I've no idea," said Daz as she let go of Anadotti.  "See you there and we'll find out.  Be bloody violent in any case, at least that's the hope."  Dazmond needed the catharsis, although she honestly didn't know what she was walking into.

With that, she grabbed the watch and disappeared.  Hooked and reeled in, Daz went soaring through the vortex and landed on a dull hardwood floor, a smidgen disoriented.

The scrawny guy, Storm as he identified himself, seemed a tad bit squirrelly.  Nervous.  But, Cinaed took the bloke's hand and gave it a firm grasp and shake with a congenial grin, trying to make him feel comfortable.  So long as the man didn't have the Ministry five steps behind him, Cinaed wasn't too worried.  They were all there to socialize.  Have a good time.  Throw around a little money, watch a little entertainment and help one of Azkaban's most recent releases get back on their feet.

"I don't know," Cinaed said with a laugh, as casual as if they were discussing a pro-Quidditch player's new signature move.  "Never underestimate the power of resourcefulness.  If those fancy picture things are for anything practical, it might buy her ten minutes?  Fifteen maybe?  Especially if she thinks of the 'weaponry' in the kitchen." 

"Daz, my dear!"  Cinaed called out, distracted by one of the recent arrivals.  With a friendly clap on Storm's shoulder, Cinaed crossed the room towards Daz and, after waiting for her to find her feet, extended his arms in greeting.  "How are you?" 

They would, indeed, need to catch up.  Casual chatter while the drama unfolded below - what a way to spend an evening. 

But, first.  It was nearing time.  Cinaed climbed up to perch on a chair.  "Now!  If I can have everyone's attention!"  Cinead gestured to a shorter, gaunt wizard lingering to the side and waited to gain most of the room's attention.

---

We're about to get underway with the fight!  Cin will greet everyone and kick it off in the next post.  Feel free to post more arrivals, if you're wanting to have your character - it'll probably be impractical for there to be late arrivals.  Of course, you can always post later as if your character was already there.  Remember - the scene of the fight is a simple two story muggle farmhouse.  The floor between the levels has been charmed to be transparent - so it's like a cross between watching a mouse in a maze and watching gladiators in a stadium.  The muggle victim has access to whatever might be typically found in a house - doors, tools, etc, to help 'even the fight.'  Once the fight gets underway, anyone is welcome to NPC the werewolf or victim - just bold any actions for them so it's easy for others to follow. 

The crowd's chatter was dying as Darius hobbled in, moving rather slower than usual thanks to the extra weight of a soused and beaten young man he supported with one arm over his shoulders. The boy's name, he assumed from the letter that had brought them here, was Mark Hunter, and Darius was rather looking forward to handing his drunken arse off to whatever fool friend he was supposed to be meeting.[1]

Darius stopped a few feet from the door, huffing for breath and silently cursing himself for taking on the fool's weight. He examined the crowd with disdain, searching for someone who matched the boy's rough age an naivete. Cináed Tawse stood on a chair, summoning everyone's attention, and the crowd had gathered thick. Darius did not have the patience to search them all. Not like this.

"Boy." He elbowed Mark in the side. "Wake up. Find your friend, or I will drop you where you stand."

1.	They're coming straight from a small bar fight, seen here.

The room spun outrageously fast for a few long seconds, and Daz was left off kilter, trying to find her feet on the floor.  One of the first things she heard after the whoosh of being pulled in by portkey was her shortened name from a familiar voice.  She didn't believe her ears until she laid eyes on him, the grizzly Wizard standing before her with wide open arms!  Merlin's beard!  It was Cinaed!

Daz beamed immediately and rushed over to tackle him.  She ran no risk of barreling him over with her five foot, 96 pound frame, so she didn't hold back.  She literally leaped from the floor towards him.

"Cin!  Bloody hell!" 

She grinned enormously as she fell back a step, eyes shining at him. 

"Then this is yours?" she asked, gesturing to the small crowd around them and clearly meaning your pet project rather than your house.  It was hard to imagine Cinaed being at a black market event like this and not having something to do with the organization of it all.  He was the brave and fearless leader in all regards to her. 

Daz fell alongside him and looked up, way up, at him as he addressed them all from atop a chair.  He had her full attention and unconditional endorsement, as well.  What could be wrong with a good gamble on a Werewolf fight when Cinaed Tawse was in charge?

Mark looked up at Darius, his eyes having trouble focusing. He was saying that he'd drop Mark. Mark looked down worriedly, thinking he'd be dropped from a scary height. But no, he was standing, or well, leaning, on the floor. He looked up lazily at Darius again. "Okay, okay. I'll go." He stood up, pulling his shirt straight, before looking back over to him. "You do know that you shouldn't beat the crap out of a guy, then threaten to drop him, and freak him out. You're not even nice."

Mark started to walk away. "We'll meet again, okay? And I'll show you." He said, stumbling. Mark looked around, before seeing his very best friend, James. He stumbled towards him and then into him. Mark looked up to him, a lazy smile on his face. He was having trouble standing still.

"Dude, I got beat up tonight. And James? James? I'm drunk. I can't see straight, and," He put a hand near his mouth. "I think I lost a tooth." Sure enough, follow his finger, and there was a hole, where a tooth used to be.

James had wandered inside after waiting a little bit longer, what he really wanted was a smoke, but he stood and waited, his hands shoved into his jacket. A few minutes later he saw Mark, stumbling and slurring his words like he was talking in slow motion. James ran up to catch him before he tumbled into a group of very good looking ladies. "Sorry" He said, throwing one of Hunter's arms over his shoulder.

"Dude, I got beat up tonight. And James? James? I'm drunk. I can't see straight, and,"... "I think I lost a tooth."

James really had to get Mark home, this wasn't going to be fun if he wasn't buzzed as well. "Who beat you up, and, uh" James looked to where Mark was pointing in his mouth. His left canine was missing. "Oh, I'm sure the tooth fairy will give you a few sickles for your efforts."

He looked for a doorway in the sea of people. "Ugh, dude, did you bathe in moonshine or something, you reek." Jim put his arm around Mark's back. the host of the fight had stood up on a chair and the room went silent. James froze, and turned around. He very couldn't ask anyone where the bloody exit was if they were all listening to the long bearded wizard announce the beginning of the brawl.

He really didn't want to miss this. Mark had to ruin everything. At Hogwarts he had told James not to do stupid shit like hanging a first year by his underpants from the top of the castle, but here was Mark Hunter, completely punch drunk, now Jim had to be the responsible one, and he hated playing this part.

He shuffled through the crowd, still trying to listen to Tawse's announcement, as he 'sorry' and 'excuse me' his way through the hoard of criminals, ruffians, and other undesirables.

"Where are we going, James? I wanna stay here with these fun people." He said, his hand roughly playing with his hair. "Dude, we should just stay here. Hang out. Have fun." Mark smiled. "Hell! I don't even know what's happening tonight! But I do know that you came here for fun, and hey! I like fun!"

Mark put on a distressed look. "If you don't stop, James, if you don't let me stay here, and have fun, I'm gonna tell Tina bout the 7th year. And that really hot one Slytherin, that you," He raised his eyebrows twice. "I wanna stay! I wanna have fun! I'll be good, man! I'm an adult!" He said, pointing to his chest.