Post by Jeff Weston on Jun 24, 2013 21:34:21 GMT -5
The muddy little moon has gotten more dirty since the reworking and reorganizing of the mud workers and their labor union. Many now have money and it is showing in the weekly fights and those betting on the fights. Weston was one of those who were betting but due to the lack of funds he turned to fighting in the MudPit.
Nearly a month since he dropped two fellas on a training world had he seen or even heard from his former Captain. The last he heard was 'see ya later' then without a ship or a direction to run Weston could only just run toward the rim. Many enemies and thugs had always wanted a piece of him and now on Higgin's Moon they were getting their chance.
One by one he beat down to the point of death knowing that if he did not others or they themselves would get the idea that he was going soft. No more! No more kindness for those who could not and would not back down from Jeff Weston, the 'Fourty less one fighter'.
With head bowed low over a sink the dark muddy water ran low over his bloody knuckles. The pain was a quick sting but did not last. Gathering a mouth full of the unfiltered water he swished it around his mouth. Spitting out a mouth full of blood mixed with mud Jeff let the pain subside.
Re-wrapping his knuckles for the next fight he stared off into space not thinking and not caring. Before leaving the room he grabs a bottle of mudder's milk and downed the last few swallows. The pit was loud and noisy. Slugging around in the mud and the few bare dry patches Jeff re-found his footing.
The bell rang and the commenced to beating each other. Jeff's opponent was a larger brute from near the core. What his name was he did not hear nor cared to know. The brute came out hard clocking Jeff hard with a flurry of punches. The final one was an upper cut that lifted him off his feet. Most would thought it well for the mud floor when taking the floor while others found it hard to deal with trying to get a foot hold again. Weston cared neither way, all hurt and only made for those who gave up too early in the fight.
A few minutes Jeff laid there trying to get his barrings. When the brute came to mash him into the mud Jeff swept his foot out and clipped the brutes weakest spot. Down he went not into the comforting arms of the wet mud but upon the sun baked mound set out for fighter to use as starting positions. Rolling back up right Weston went to work pummeling the brutes weakest spots. In a final fury of body strikes and joint dislocations the brute fell once again upon the hard packed mud. Pounding away upon the face and head of the brute Jeff did not look like he was going to stop. But a final roar of the crowd showed that they wanted blood. Was Jeff going to end a life or was he living up to his 'forty less one' nickname. A raised double fist and the cracking sound of a few ribs quieted some of the blood thirsty crowd yet others cheered on. Jeff stood mud and blood dripping from him, not looking up but down at the mess of the human flesh lay at his feet.
Nearly a month since he dropped two fellas on a training world had he seen or even heard from his former Captain. The last he heard was 'see ya later' then without a ship or a direction to run Weston could only just run toward the rim. Many enemies and thugs had always wanted a piece of him and now on Higgin's Moon they were getting their chance.
One by one he beat down to the point of death knowing that if he did not others or they themselves would get the idea that he was going soft. No more! No more kindness for those who could not and would not back down from Jeff Weston, the 'Fourty less one fighter'.
With head bowed low over a sink the dark muddy water ran low over his bloody knuckles. The pain was a quick sting but did not last. Gathering a mouth full of the unfiltered water he swished it around his mouth. Spitting out a mouth full of blood mixed with mud Jeff let the pain subside.
Re-wrapping his knuckles for the next fight he stared off into space not thinking and not caring. Before leaving the room he grabs a bottle of mudder's milk and downed the last few swallows. The pit was loud and noisy. Slugging around in the mud and the few bare dry patches Jeff re-found his footing.
The bell rang and the commenced to beating each other. Jeff's opponent was a larger brute from near the core. What his name was he did not hear nor cared to know. The brute came out hard clocking Jeff hard with a flurry of punches. The final one was an upper cut that lifted him off his feet. Most would thought it well for the mud floor when taking the floor while others found it hard to deal with trying to get a foot hold again. Weston cared neither way, all hurt and only made for those who gave up too early in the fight.
A few minutes Jeff laid there trying to get his barrings. When the brute came to mash him into the mud Jeff swept his foot out and clipped the brutes weakest spot. Down he went not into the comforting arms of the wet mud but upon the sun baked mound set out for fighter to use as starting positions. Rolling back up right Weston went to work pummeling the brutes weakest spots. In a final fury of body strikes and joint dislocations the brute fell once again upon the hard packed mud. Pounding away upon the face and head of the brute Jeff did not look like he was going to stop. But a final roar of the crowd showed that they wanted blood. Was Jeff going to end a life or was he living up to his 'forty less one' nickname. A raised double fist and the cracking sound of a few ribs quieted some of the blood thirsty crowd yet others cheered on. Jeff stood mud and blood dripping from him, not looking up but down at the mess of the human flesh lay at his feet.