blind date || fight club ? !

Now this was more his style. Arsene watched as buns tackled one another, throwing jabs left and right in their various forms. Those who were in doll form seemed to dance in a way familiar to the pride bun. It was in this cage fighting arena did Arsene find comfort, knowing the ebb and flow of exchanged fists that he could imagine it when his eyes closed. He longed to fight in a crowded arena, fans cheering him, his syndicate supporting him from the sidelines. He longed to fight someone who was *worth* fighting and perhaps, he hoped he too could find worth in himself if he could fight as he used to.

 

Those however, were idly dreams that occupied his straying mind. He watched the buns fight a little more before he flipped a card over, humming out his would-be date's name. "Furi..."

 

Arsene did find it odd that the Church of Sulfur would permit a cage arena as a dating venue but he supposed there were those who enjoyed the thrill of fighting rather than the gooeyness of traditional, romantic endeavors. The pride bun doubted anyone would sign up initially and he put his name down for the fun of it. When he heard back from the dating service that someone else was interested, well, he couldn't very well take it back now could he?

 

He wondered if this bun wanted to just watch or if they wanted to fight. He supposed he would ask them when they showed up-- if they showed up.

 

—

 

Furi entered the door to the back of a brutal cage-fighting arena of some kind. Its dark, grungy interior was illuminated by the glow of faint lights, which drew attention to the silhouettes of fighters he could only barely see through the riotous crowd. The air permeated with the smell of drinks, tears, and sweat, and the room seemed to crackle with an electric anticipation, each whoop and cheer growing louder as fists collided.

 

Unfortunately, the energy the crowd outwardly displayed didn't exactly transfer to Furi, not that he was a very enthusiastic individual to begin with. He grimaced when a bun in a Matentines-themed outfit offered him a very overpriced beer from their 'menu'.

 

The only reason Furi ended up in this arena was because he decided to give in to that matchmaking service from the Church of Sulfur. The whole thing was ludicrous, but after having a back and forth on being able to choose the venue, he suggested a place that only someone like him would pick. Or someone interesting enough to waste his time for a few hours. Needless to say, he was surprised to find it had already been suggested.

 

So, there he was, reminiscent of a standing person emoji for a solid minute as he scanned the crowd.

 

He easily spotted a tall, handsome doll, cyan hellfire flickering from his horns. The shadows hanging over the spectators' stands only heightened the elusive aura of danger that surrounded him. With confidence, he approached, simply stating, "So you're Arsene."

 

—

 

Hearing his name, it was only natural he would look up. His first instinct is to size the other person up, which he does to some degree, and then his next is to act on the defensive, which he does to a lesser degree with arms uncrossing.

 

"Yeah, that's me." He confirms, his tone even and his demeanor unfazed by the newcomer. Arsene figured the other would show up eventually but their appearance was nothing like what he imagined. A good thing, he supposed, but he was never one to judge his opponents so quickly. Well, or dates too, technically speaking. "Furi, I presume."

 

A bell dings, indicating the current fight was over and the fighters would soon be escorted off so they could prepare the cage for them both. They still had some time before the fight started proper and Arsene didn't want to be rude upon first impression. He meets the other bun halfway, turning with an outstretched hand for a handshake.

 

"Honestly, I'm glad someone signed up for this too. It would be a waste of the Church's resources to set this up only to fall through. I'm sure Mercy would be thankful their efforts aren't for nothing." He mused then shrugged. "But I suppose we'll have to report back to the church to let them know our . . . date. Was a success."

 

The very idea amused Arsene though he couldn't place why. Maybe it would bring other fight-oriented buns here for an alternate outing.

 

—

—

"Not as much as I used to, but I was pretty damn good at it when I did. More a trainer now." He omitted the fact he's a recruiter, scouting out talent for the fight club he worked out. Maybe if Furi played his cards right, Arsene would consider inviting them into the fold. For now though, he retracted his hand and rolled his shoulders.

 

"Guess that's our cue though. We should get prepared." And with that, Arsene leaves no room for follow up. He makes his way to his side of the ring, casting his coat aside and hopped easily over the stretchy bars, stretching and warming up as he did so. Given his doll form, he still kept on the bronze choker and accessories. He quickly tied his hair up into a bun, making sure that the braid wouldn't get in the way of their match. The pride bun waits for the other to take his place before turning to the referee bun nearby, nodding that he was ready.

 

—

 

Furi quirks a brow in slight interest at the comment, but doesn't push further. He'd never had any *training* per say, but being tossed into these types of turbulent environments is what Furi is used to. He flexes his arms, unbothered by the more flowy fabrics that drape over him. If it puts him at a disadvantage, so what? It makes the fight much more interesting.

 

He finds solace in the fact that the small talk is over, as it isn't exactly his forte.

 

Furi doesn't usually play fair, and has a feeling his date won't either. Because of this, he's already on the defensive, apprehensive to start throwing hits without gauging how his opponent will move. The fight begins, and he braces himself.

 

—

 

Years of training ensured Arsene's calculated control over himself. It didn't matter if it was a practice match or a real one– he knew what the outcome had to be. He didn’t care what the outcome was, just that he could move in a way that almost came second nature to him. With the referee’s nod and subsequent retreat, the pride bun focused entirely on Furi, not once taking his sight off the other. He circled side to side, watching the other carefully. He saw how the other took a defensive stance almost immediately; perhaps on account of their height difference. He knew he was rather intimidating and relied on such knowledge back in his prime. It was rare to come across another fighter of his size and stature but he never once underestimated his opponents for their size. He would fight with everything he had and hopefully, this newcomer would too.

 

He strafed to the right and immediately went for a jab with his right arm, hoping the sheer force of it was enough to knock the other back even with his arms held up in defense. Despite being rusty, his punch landed and sure enough, the other bun went skidding back just a little due to the sheer force of it.

 

Arsene grunted and kept his arms up, ready to strike again.

 

“One more hit like that and you’ll get knocked out the ring.” The hellfire bun commented calmly and made his approach towards the other, ready to land another blow.

 

—

 

Furi snorts derisively at the other's remark as he staggers back, somehow managing to withstand the impact of the hit. Though he's momentarily dazed, he remains mentally unsurprised. He's just rusty, he thinks, and there's still enough time for him to make a comeback. His eyes narrow with a renewed focus, half fueled out of spite and the quite literal hit to his ego.

 

He side-steps, making sure he isn't entirely being cornered, and sees an opening. A perfect moment to look good for the crowd. He closes the distance between himself and the opponent, throwing a slick jab and a hook to the other's temple, putting his full body into the punch.

 

Relishing his brief triumph, Furi allows his guard to drop. The intoxication of giving his opponent a taste of his own medicine makes him think the odds of this fight are about to be on his side. He can't resist the temptation to make a snide remark, and in that fleeting moment of vulnerability, another fist connects with his forehead.

 

The impact sends him sprawling over the rails and crashing onto the floor, eliciting some sort of collective amusement from the surrounding crowd. As the spectators instinctively make way, a resounding voice echoes through the arena, declaring the outcome of the clash.

 

"KNOCKOUT!"