2019-10-15 - Your place or mine?

Joey sometimes cleans up. Or maybe Byron and Poe gave him some good reasons to stop dressing like a gym escapee. It's jeans, black dress shirt not buttoned all the way up, his leather jacket and a chain still attaching his wallet to his belt and one hand attached to Nichole's taking absolutely zero rush. There's something simple about comfort foods like fish and chips and company that isn't complex to navigate the grizzled yard boss seems to enjoy. Besides the idea was sitting on teh waterfront there's a lot worth taking pictures of. Easy afternoon.

You know something's up.

Nicole had time after hearing from Joey to go home. Now, showered and changed, she no longer smells like hair treatments and nail polish, but more like coconut and sunshine, thanks to her shampoo. Hand in hand with Joey, she walks the boardwalk almost, but not quite, matching him (in that she is wearing jeans and a leather jacket, but there, the similarity stops). She wears white low top converse on her feet, black jeans that are a bit faded, a rose-colored blouse of a fabric like silk, but not quite as expensive. She seems just a touch nervous out here, though that only makes her walk a bit closer to Joey, shoulder to shoulder.

Her free hand holds her phone, ready to power-up and snap photos whenever she finds the inspiration.

Today is a day when Itzhak is not cleaned up. He turned heads at the funeral in the spectacular suit his super-not-a-girlfriend gave him, and now he's back in an NY Excelsior long-sleeved shirt and jeans. The afternoon is crisp and sunny, and really highlights how tired he is behind his mirrored aviator sunglasses. He's sprawled on one of the weathered benches, smoking, long limbs taking up the entire bench like an asshole. Staring out over the autumn ocean and getting a real solid brood on.

:is in rare form where he seems in no rush for much and relents the hand so she doesn't drop her phone in the damn water. Forearms lean on eh railing and a foot comes up on the lowest rung. An eyebrow creeps up and he looks to Itzhak arching an eyebrow and gives the mechanic an upnod. Craning his head back to Nicole he rumbles the question curiously, "This all goin on your online thing?" Looking back to itzhak and then Nicole again he looks at her, though he doesn't smile the boy ain't up to any good when he asks her, "Hey, pretty lady, you wanna meet someone?

"Good ones will," The want-to-be-photographer says as she plays with angle and zoom on certain things, clicking pictures here and there. "I try to choose two or three to post, the rest just hang out in my computer. Sometimes, I'll revisit them and post one if I have nothing else." Nicole turns to look at Joey, smiling and sneaking a photo of him as he leans on the railing before she lowers her phone. Seeing the direction he was looking in, Nicole tilts her head and says, "sure, who's that?"

Itzhak upnods back to Joey, wearily. He seems fine physically, even the muscle that he lost to the flu is back. This is a soul type of weariness and suppressed, seething anger. He glances at Nicole, glances back at Joey, eyebrows quirking like 'hey look at you'.

Joey side nods down the railing and walks, waiting for her to finish up and come with. He might have shaved and cleaned up a bit but that walk still has that 'i will end your ass' quality to it. He holds out a hand to Itzhak greeting him with an unnecessary assortment of gestures that feed a layer of complexity to the familiarity. "Sup, hoss." He looks to the summer blonde next to him and says, "Nicole, Itzhak. Z, this is Nicole." Looking around he asks, "Someone steal your bed?" Which is Joey for What's got you sleeping on a bench?

Next to Joey's 'I will end your ass' swagger, Nicole has a more 'that's one fine ass' saunter. She watches the greeting between Joey and Itzhak, the hand gestures noted and perhaps remembered for another time. Subtly, her own at her side, she mimics a couple. Smiling at Itzhak, she then lifts that hand in a wave. "Nice to meet you... Z?" Her way of asking, perhaps, if it's cool to call him that.

Itzhak returns this ridiculously complicated handshake/secret club gesture nonsense with total nonchalance like he does this every day of his life, ending with a dap. Prison ink on prison ink, baby. He grunts in response to the question. "Broke my violin." Lifting a couple of fingers to Nicole, he says to her, "How's by ya. Yeah you can call me Z if you want. Kelly's making that a thing." Fine ass indeeeed but Itzhak politely keeps his eyes to himself. He's a tall, lanky, rough-looking dude with several big tattoos, the most obvious of which is his sleeve down his entire left arm. Pomegranates with their leaves, branches, and fruits, and olives with the same, all intertwined and full color.

Joey responds smoothly, "I dunno trying't he operative word." He watches the greeting that Nicole picks at and picks up on, "Heh yeah you want we'll show you that one. It's a pain in the ass." He stops though, brow shifting down and one eyebrow going up You fuckign with me right now? "Someone lay hands on your shit?" His stance shifts but he listens. He pauses and looks to Nicole trying to frame up the situation, "He um... he does music. D'good too. Like Jaime good."

"Z it is then. It sounds like a pretty awesome thing to be called." Nicole glances up and down his arm and asks, "violin? Shit... that's not cheap to replace. Sorry to hear that..." Lips curling down into a frown, nodding to Joey. "Violin seems tricky to play too..." She doesn't know a damn thing about music, just how to listen to it.

Itzhak hauls in a long drag off his cigarette. "Broke her myself. Long story." Long story which Joey would probably take in stride, but Itzhak doesn't know Nicole. When she asks him about his violin, though, he looks at her with a certain tired gratitude. "One of the toughest instruments to play out of 'em all. Need a ton of skill, musical theory, hundreds of hours of practice just to get decent. And yeah, they are not cheap. You ever seen ones on like Amazon for sixty bucks? Garbage. Complete trash. Can't tune 'em, the pegs are shit. The bridges are so flat on those things you can't play your A and your D separate, you can't learn like that. You'll wind up figurin' you're just not cut out to be a violin player when a better instrument would let you..." he trails off, realizing he's kind of blathering on about violins to someone he doesn't know. Story of his life! "Anyway, yeah, thanks."

Joey gives Nicole that look and back to Itzhak in a silent, See? He listens though in the best way Joey knows how to: He stays really fucking quiet. He doesn't know shit about art, or music, or maybe even talent. He sure as shit knows what it is to lose something you love. He pauses and leaves his hands where they are. For now. "This that fucking ghost asshole?" Oh he's so casual about it like they're a spectral street gang.

The frown remains on Nicole's lips, even as she loops her arm around one of Joey's. "If I tried, I would sound like nails on chalkboard. It's beautiful to listen to, when played well though. Moving. Cello too, man. Some powerful emotions can come through strings... " Grinning then to Joey she says, "I have eclectic musical tastes." Looking back to Itzhak she asks, "you got the money to replace it? Maybe... start a GoFundMe or something?" When Joey asks about asshole ghosts though, she blinks, looking between the men.

Itzhak snorts smoke, bitterly amused. "Yeah. That ghost asshole. Had to make up for his missing bones. So my violin's in there with him. Along with a bunch of peoples' jewelry and pictures and stuff like that." He lifts his eyebrows at Nicole. "Just let us know when we sound completely fuckin' crazy. 'Course if you're hanging around with this reprobate Kelly, might not be new to ya." He's just sprawled on this bench, but he's got an entire aura of trouble around him that seems to bode ill for the next person to get his temper up. At rest for the moment, he's like a boulder poised at the top of a cliff.

But...Nicole actually wants to talk about strings? That perks him up through his melancholy a little. He taps the air at her with one long calloused finger. "You. I like you. Strings are the most emotive instrument. That's because they operate like ya vocal cords. They sing in a way most other instruments can't. Kelly, I like her."

He shrugs, though, at the question of replacing his violin. "I got a rental. Ain't been able to bring myself to play it yet. Buddy a mine's talking about making me one custom, which I wouldn't turn down, lemme tell ya."

Joey stands perfectly still eyeing Itzhak. There's a very pregnant pause there and with very exacting enunciation repeass, "Fuckin Ghoul." His eyes harden up a bit and there's a slow wince. Dammit there's nothing he can hit. "You need to hit somethin man I'll give you the keys. You can go hit up the gym." He pauses and says tersely, "Don't burn it." His hand slides out of his pocket to rest jsut at Nicole's back with a rub of his thumb. "There's a ghost that apparently hates like... every-fucking-one. Tried to kill me. Super rude." He pauses and adds "Or did. Eh, I at least got to punch him."

"I never thought of that... that they're like vocal chords. That makes sense! They really do sing. I have no shame, sometimes, the right song, the right tone... just.. 'bout rips my heart out and I feel like I could bawl." She perks up a bit at the fact he knows someone that might make one custom for him. "That would be amazing, I bet." Turning to look at Joey again as his hand rests on her back, a brief smile at the touch is replaced by knitting of her brow in a bit of a scowl. Apparently, no one should try to kill Joey Kelly. Not on Nicole's watch. She's got a hairdryer and knows how to use it! "So let's get all like, exorcist on his ghouly ass then. Can't you like, send them off or something? I've seen Ghost Adventures..." She's born and raised in this town. She knows there's some spooky shit sometimes, well, at least, she doesn't question the existence of ghosts much.

Itzhak says, with frank honesty, to Joey, "Rather hit someone." Heavy bags don't fight back or bleed. "But, yeah. Yeah, thanks, could use some time at ya gym." He looks at Joey a little oddly. Like, man, why are you actually good people? Weird. Looking back at Nicole, he lets his eyebrows drift up, and half-smiles at her, wry. "We did. That's why all the stuff we had to give up. Sacrifices. To replace ol' Billy's bones, so he'd fuck off to burn in Hell, hopefully. I gave my violin. Some people gave wedding rings and stuff. Important stuff. Anyway it worked. We think it worked."

Joey blinks at Nicole for a long moment after she's looking for ways to kick some ghost ass and just presses a kiss to her temple. "You surprise the shit outta me, woman." Looking back to Itzhak he says "Well ...I can prolly help you out with that too. I don' mind." Yeha, sometimes he's not a dick. It's one of life's little conundrums. "So you burned more than you could afford to lose to pull out a win... sucks." His eyes look up tiltins his head one way and the other considering, "Might have somethin for you that might let you vent but get your violin sorta back man."

"Oh..." Nicole says eloquently. "Well, I hope it worked. The way you guys talk about him, doesn't exactly sound like Casper.... " She smiles bright at the kiss to her temple. "Good. Keeps you on your toes and keeps guys like him," she upnods towards Itzahak, "saying they like me." Then he's talking about fighting. "Am I going to get to see you shirtless and throwing punches at each other now?" Her brow arches and twitches in a bit of a waggle.

Itzhak smirks a little at Joey. Just a little. One side of his mouth only. "Take ya up on that." Joey's 'might have somethin' makes him lean towards him, something in his hazel eyes sharpening up. "Yeah? You'll have to tell me all about it." He flicks a glance at Nicole and smiles at her full-on, and whether this is charming or troubling or not is up to the viewer. "I really do like you."

Joey looks to the instigator in the sandals and just shakes his head, "Shit if you really want to we can go." Sure he was dressed nicer but when isn't he ready to have a go? There is a pause though and the look isn't quite apologetic to Nicole, and it isn't telling her no so much as it's a very subtle but obvious warning. "It ain't the nicest kind of work, but I'm told I have to wear a suit." Sucksin in his cheeks he gives her waist a squeeze in solidarity letting her say 'no' and opt out rather than some bullshit machismo gesture of ownership. "I got no problem talkin shop later if it bugs you, Nic."

She isn't troubled by Itzhak's smile. She's seen her share of menacing smiles and this is not one of them, not in the moment anyway. "You have to wear a suit to fight?" Nicole asks to Joey. "Seems a bad idea for the poor suit. I mean, I am not complaining about you in a suit, cuz... you make them look good... " She doesn't opt out of the squeeze around her waist at all, leaning into him instead. "It doesn't bug me, Joey. Honest. If you'd rather have some privacy, I can go look for more pictures to take but me?" She shakes her head. "I'm not a delicate flower. I grew up here. Remember. If I am a flower, I am a fucking dandelion, able to blossom out of a crack in concrete."

Itzhak inhales the last of the cigarette, stubs it out in the nearby public ashtray. "Suit, huh," he says. The connection's happened. He's pretty sure he gets what Joey is laying down, via the language of outlaws rather than any body language or expression. Meanwhile he observes Joey being what is, for Joey, downright adorable. He gives Nicole a second look. Tall, fine ass, likes string music, wants to bust ghosts and watch him and Joey scrap with their shirts off and is a dandelion in concrete. Nnnnot bad, Kelly. "I thought when I moved out here there was no way this tiny little town could be as bad as Manhattan. Showed me," he says to her, darkly amused.

Joey says with all certainty and formality, "We are very competitive to achieve the very best in low expectations." There's a pause and he side nods to Nicole, "'Cept her. She's damn near perfect." Criminals need some esprit de corps about their jobs too! As if to answer Nicole and Itzhak in all things not asked he informs her, "Well turns out as a business owner I can't compete in the things I'm hosting. Looks bad. I gotta take my fights where I can get em so I don't rust."

It doesn't take long to get from the bay to Elm St. The city is taller than it is wide in that regard where they stand. Convenient that. Rolling up on the gym Joey parks his biek and hilds it still for Nicole to climb off before walking toward the building. Off hours but, hey the door unlocks and swings open when he gets close enough. His fingers reach out tracing the door what opened to make sure it's not swinging all over and turns the lights on. He doesn't even ask Nicole to verify but tells Itzhak, "She's not gonna send narcs up in here. Maybe never talk to my ass again, sure, but she's cool."

"It's got its bright points," Nicole says to Itzhak about their little piece of heaven called Gray Harbor. 'But yeah... depends which street you grew up on, basically. Or what your Daddy's name was." Joey's words earn him a dimpled smile and she leans in to kiss his cheek. "If that is what you think of me, I sure am not going to correct you." About the suit? "Oh.. right, that makes sense. Hosting, yeah, but otherwise...." She nods.

The ride to the gym was quick. Nicole slides off the back of the bike and starts walking toward the door. When it opens as it does, she looks around, then back to the door. Curious. Walking in anyway, she says over her shoulder, "nah, I'm no narc." Then a look to Joey. "It would take an awful lot for me to not talk to you, Joey. Like, an awful lot...."

Itzhak drove over in a big orange pickup, not his infamous Stingray. The truck is a Tacoma and bright orange with subtle glitter. Looks like Rosencrantz finally got himself a shop truck.

He kinda winces when the door just swings open for Joey. "And people tell me I use it too much," he mutters, following the other two in on his rolling, half-sauntering stride. "Nah, I know she's no narc. I can smell a narc." Oh CAN he. Likely story! "So tell me more about this thing ya doin," he says to Joey.

Joey goes in and pulls off his coat and his suit coat laying them on the back of the bleachers. Because it's habit and like the habit he is a creature of, takes a once over of the room with extra consideration. Yeah it's clear. He doesn't know when Erin's going to pop in with everything and if she is hiding out here the last thing he's inclined to do is complicate her life and also go through a damn dance with de la Vega over it.

His cuffs get unbuttoned idly as he turns around and addresses them both, "There's been a opening in the fighting sports world for a facilitator and some people in teh community," Felix. He means Felix but he's leaving the plausible deniability out there, "Have asked I head up the tournament circuit. Something reputation. My situation is that I got some... unpromoted fights coming up and i'm down a couple contenders."

Looking over her shoulder, Nicole grins crookedly at Itzhak. "I showered the narc off earlier." Dark eyes watch as Joey works at his cuffs, lifting to his as he speaks. "Oh, so... unsanctioned fights?" she asks. Then the realization of what he said at the end dawns on her and her expression falters. She pulls her hands into fists, the leather of her jacket creaking at the elbows as she lifts them just below her face. "You aren't... thinking I am a contender... I imagine." She tosses a couple jabs into the air, totally not in form. There's a reason she's asked Joey for lessons. Lowering her hands back to her sides, she looks at Itzhak. Yeah, he looks like he's seen a fight or two.

Itzhak has his thinky face on, combined with an aggressive scowl. Oh yeah. He wants to hit somebody. The desire has its own aura around him.

He strips off the long sleeve shirt repping his home-town Overwatch team, then the tight tank top he has on under that. Wiry dude, he's got Yet Another Tattoo on his left chest, a circle of bold black calligraphic strokes in a language not English. Also he has taped-down nipple piercings, which isn't immediately obvious, since the tape is almost the same color as his skin. Apparently he's serious about putting a show on for the lady, as much a blue-collar peacock in his way as Joey. (Don't look for him taking it off at the Cabaret, though. Not even for a bet.)

He cocks an eyebrow at Joey as he comes up from pulling his shirt off, his black curls rumpled. "Yeah? The money good?" Then his attention is drawn by Nicole baffing at the air, and he grins sudden and bright at her. "Lemme tell you, I'd rather fight a man than a woman any day. Women are nasty."

Joey smoothly answers Nicole as the buttons get undone with some care to the tank underneath. God the asshole can have some charm to him in as much as an unpolished rock can be considered endearing sometimes. "Nah, Nicole, You're way out of my league. How'd I gonna contend with that?" Side nod to Itzhak, "This asshole however..." The shirt comes off and is draped over the bench and arms arc up pulling his tank with him and adding it to teh pile with his wallet he unhooks from his belt.

Nicole's flinch isn't missed but he doesn't call it out nodding to Itzhak. "No gloves, no hair, o biting, no balls. Pretty much the way it started. Strictly off the books so you don't have to worry about claiming it on your taxes. There's that." He doesn't name names but to say, "My Uncle hooked me up with some interested investors." No, not his uncle, but the euphemism works better.

Taking a seat on the bench, Nicole makes herself comfortable; slipping out of the leather jacket and draping it over the seat beside her. She mostly just follows the conversation for a moment then, nodding to the now shirtless Itzhak. "Women can be nasty, yeah. Most of them don't go in for rules like no biting, no hair pulling. An advantage is an advantage in a catfight. I want to learn though..." She grins and shakes her head. "Not how to catfight, but, how to like, kickbox. MMA training? Not that I'll ever be a 'contendah'," she says, that one word mimicking the famous movie line. "But, you know. It's good exercise and... could come in handy. I am a scrapper, I want to be more."

Then she's watching Joey take his shirts off.

Itzhak is also watching Joey take his shirt off, slyly appreciative, eyes flicking from chest to waist and back up again. Nice. He shoots Nicole a look like 'great job landing that one.' Himself he's no slouch, leanly muscled and long limbed, but Joey has a reputation as a brick for a reason. More than one reason really.

"Women can't afford to have rules. Risks too high," he says to her. To Joey, he spreads his hands. "How you wanna do this?"

Joey is muscle and rage tempered in ink and insolence. Really he hit the marks on what people expected of him were he still alive to be this old. Still the thing wears it well and pauses, all ink and faded scars to look at them and back to Nicole serious as a heart attack. "This ain't the sort of thing you want to get in on. This is the sort of thing you content in because you need the money that damn badly."

His steely green glance shifts to Itzhak and agrees with a murmur, "Yeah they got the right on that one. Your call. Gloves or no gloves man. Just saying if you want to fight next week? Keep your hands in good shape. You'll need em." He murmurs shaking his head informing Nicole, "The circuit always been there. The person who used to run it got a lil crooked so they asked me to help facilitate the chaos. It's that or watch a lot of people get dumb and go into the ground." He's got some reservations about people getting stupid. "Shit it's how I paid off my car." There's that up-to-o-good Kelly grin.

Smiling at the look Itzhak gives her, Nicole gives him one right back, a sly smile that clearly says, 'right?' She does notice the tape over Itzhak's nipples then though. "That seems really dangerous for a fighter... Like, what if the tape slips? Ouch!"

Dark eyes meet Joey's green. His tone and expression have her quietly nodding. "I didn't mean to imply... I was talking about... not this... just.. you know.. learning... outside of.. this." There is a pause before she asks, "does that mean you don't want me to come watch?" It's a hard read sometimes when he gets in Serious Joey mode.

"It's a great car. I am jealous of your car... Think mine's gonna end up in the car graveyard before long."

"Yeah, it is, but I manage," Itzhak says, absently, looking down at the tape. "It ain't like I fight professionally..." except he might start, and that obviously occurs to him with a lift of his eyebrows and a twist to his mouth. "Gloves I guess," he says to Joey. "I always keep my hands in good shape." He smirks a little, holding his hands up with long fingers spread to prove what he says. Which reminds him that his violin is broken. Which just makes him want to hit somebody more. "I'm in," he adds, trying for nonchalance, but it comes out like a threat.

Joey turns and walks with a slow, but purposeful stroll and pauses with one hand catching Nicole at the waist for a moment getting a good look. The faint up-to-no-good grin hand and he corrects, "I never said that." Does he ever explain anything though? Not usually with words. He does go and get the sparring gloves and bring those back for Itzhak. Is he willing to go without? Yes. If he does that it'll compromise Itzhak in the weekend. That's no good. It's maybe a consideration that'll go missed but the man doesn't ask for praise or approval.

Returning back from his office he is fishing his on, fingers hanging out of the ends and throws Itzhak the others; one! two! before hopping up into the ring. "Been too damn broken to really break in the new ring." He squints not unlike a hyena sizing up a giraffe, "Yoooou lemme know when you're done."

Nicole nods to Itzhak and grins, “Invest in good tape then, I guess.” She looks up at Joey when his hand goes to her waist and smiles at him. Maybe she wants to do more, but he’s got a fight on his mind. “Good, cuz I want to watch.” Like she’s about to do now from her spot on the bench.

Itzhak is definitely the giraffe in this scenario. He pulls the gloves on, tugging them tight and wrapping the velcro around his wrists, then joins Joey in the ring, slipping through the ropes. And once he's there, he changes. He drops the veil of required-to-get-along-with-others and he pushes aside the weight of you're-not-in-prison-anymore. Fuck that. For the next few minutes, there's only this: him and Joey Lee Fuckin' Kelly and their fists.

He comes at him, fast, demonstrating that everything Kelly's taught him, he's been working on, infused with his own bitter, brutal experience.

Joey isn't going to look at Nicole that way. One padded finger taps the underside of her chin and points to her, "Never said you couldn't. Maybe we'll have to get you something for it... if Z doesn't break both my legs and make me hide his body." He's joking right? Well yes. We... hope.

Once he turns and steps into the ring? Well it's the same old Joey as it ever was. His neck cracks from one side to the other and wobbles to losen up. For as much as he plants his feet he's fluid on them and asks, "Am I gonna have to tell you to look at me when I'm hitting you or I got your attention this time?

Nicole suddenly thinks she shoulda brought snacks. While the men are busy sizing each other up, she digs in her jacket pocket for a piece of gum. Just what Joey meant by getting her something for the fights, she’d have to ask later. In the meantime, she pulls out her phone. “Is this no pictures time?” She asks. Better to ask first in some situations.

"Ahh fuck you." Itzhak starts to grin. Not because he's happy. Because this is the thing his face does when the adrenaline starts flowing. "No pictures, unless you don't spread 'em around." But he doesn't look at Nicole to say that. Nope, those hazel eyes with the complex striations are on Joey. Really more looking through Joey, not looking at any one part of him, taking in the whole of the action.

Joey wasn't waiting for Itzhak to swing apparently so much as he was laying in wait. There was sparring before. Right now? Right now is not the time to be nice and in pure Joey fashion he escalates immediately with all of the finesse of a sledgehammer through a church window on Easter morning. Itzhak is fast and his limbs have a reach advantage. Joey is far more agile than he lets on, ducks the long reach lucky it's not connecting with his head, and comes in with that heavy left hook right to the ribs with a CRACK. It's going to be like that. His eyes are open, focused and honed in on his target. There's no talking. No banter. There's the battle and making Itzhak take his ground back.

No pictures. Nicole respects that, slipping her phone back into her pocket. She watches, tucking her hands between her knees, grimacing at that crack to the ribs... that had to hurt...

From the sound Itzhak makes, yep that hurts: an awful whoof comes out of him as he tightens up his abdomen under the blow. He pushes back, although it's not him who has the advantage so close. It's Joey, by every measurement. But he's coming back at him anyway with a grimace of pain. It's gonna be like that? Itzhak WANTS it like that. He doesn't have to tell Joey not to hold back. Joey knows.

Joey growls, "Remember.. who the fuck you are, Z." Is he coachin him or taunting him? This might be criticism. As he's ordered lunch in the same tone it's a little blurry sometimes! Is he deliberately poking the bear to get a focused rise out of the New Yorker? Also just as likely.

Biting her lip while she watches, Nicole stays quiet. She doesn't cheer for either man and the punches they land, but her body language speaks volumes. She winces, grimaces, and on occasion, sucks in air between teeth and lip with a near-whistle.

Maybe the coaching/taunting/criticism works. Itzhak whips around, swiveling as neatly as a dancer, and POPS Joey a one-two in the ribs his own self. Thud! Thud! Sounds like someone kicking a side of beef. "I don't know what that fuckin' means," he snarls.

Joey sure as shit isn't going to start complaining now. That pop to the ribs though he can fell something give just a little bit. All the muscle there isn't going to keep those ribs from being tender as hell tomorrow. This is what happens when you put fights in capable hands. They can go either way and really surprise the hell out of you. Hell Joey looks damn alive. Fists are thrown without mercy but there's brutality and then there's fighting smart. And Joey's going bak with making Itzhak pull his guard elsewhere so he can keep working the same damn spot. "It means...Stop tryin to be so damn nice about it and fight. THERE you go."

Nicole has seen Joey training, even seen him in the ring to spar... but seeing him actually fight? It's been a while. Both men are landing punches that thump of with the sound of gloves hitting muscle and bone. Her eyes have a sort of excitement in them as they follow the jabs, the tip of her tongue teasing at the corner of her lip as she focuses.

Itzhak's forced to defend the already-bruising ribs Joey pushes him on, again. Which of course, is the point. Joey can lead him around like this is a dance and he's calling the shots. Itzhak backs off, breathing hard and wincing and grinning for real now, through the pain. "You hit like a freight train, Kelly." His guard's still up though. Joey's made it clear nothing excuses dropping your guard. He communicates in rib-creaking punches so it's in Itzhak's best interest to listen the first time.

Joey is really in his element. There might be in his mind all that's missing is the gravel under his sneakers to go with the copper taste in teh back of his throat. Leave it to Itzhak to be a person who can give as good as they get. It's a different world when he stops pulling his punches. This is what this is, Bicole. Angry, brutal, violent, but agreed upon at the very least

She's watching the exchange of blows with that look in her eye. There's something primal in the act, yes, a baser instinct. But she's not only watching, but she's also studying; paying attention to how they bob and weave, move their feet, watches as they fake only to hit solidly with the other hand.

On occasion, if someone were watching HER watch THEM, they might notice a flicker of something else exhibited with a twitch of her eye or lips or the tension in her shoulders. But no one has eyes on her.

And this... yes, this is agreed upon. This is a release of anger and energy. This is something you go into knowing you'll feel it the next day, and looking forward to it, because THIS makes you feel alive....

Or that's her internal take on it anyway.

Joey has always been unhinged. His OFF button a little broken, and his anger always cresting on now. This is the social system at work: take everything away from a man and see what he fights for. He answer is everything he needs to so it doesn't happen again. This is, for both of them freedom, movement, catharsis, and the reason before hands were thrown the words 'let me know when you're done' were used.

No conversation, no threats, no talking shit. This is focus and living whole or in pieces after this and no one enjoys the latter. It's incentive enough. Flurry of bows are exchanged: That long spidery reach jabbing Joey to keep him at range nickel and diming him like dodging oncoming traffic. It's effective. Joey throws fewer punches, like a hunter picking his target and making it hurt and coming in with that quick right and that heavy left. It's been a pretty fair exchange, and not that the mechanic is done worrying about being nice and everything else Joey's getting honest fighting out of him again! This is good!

Sorry Nicole, he's going to be sore as hell after this. This may require ice cream.

Sweat drips down the long muscles in Itzhak's back, sticks his curly black forelock to his face. His challenge is, like Nicole, he's a lot more of a street fighter than a boxer. Flipping that switch to channel everything into this more formal mode of brawling is surprisingly difficult. Joey's a master of the art and a damn fine coach, though, and Itzhak can follow him even as he lets everything loose on him. Well matched, the pair of them. Focus, pain, violence, nothing but. It's so good.

Nicole is deeply absorbed in watching the fight, her dark eyes shifting from Joey to Itzhak, back to Joey as punches are exchanged and they both lose themselves to the passion of violence for violence sake. Joey seems to have the upper hand, but both men are giving it their all, all it takes is one wrong move, one lucky shot, and the advantage could change.

Not that she wants it to.

Not that she wants Itzhak to 'lose'... but...

Don't worry, Joey. Nicole will give all the ice cream to eat, ice to help swelling and pain, and Tiger's Balm massages needed to feel better.

The fight goes on and on. Joey might be shorter but reliably even though there's sweat running down his back, a couple of bust ribs and a swollen lip he hangs in there. Itzhak needs this fight and he's going to stay until Itzhak calls it. Joey? Well hell Joey is always up for slipping the leash put on him by civilization. Is he worried about breaking Itzhak? Nah. he's not trying to put the man down, it's just a damn fight and one he wants to make sure the man'll still be feeling three days from now but not put him out of business.

On and on until Itzhak takes a left hook that staggers him back for good, hanging him up on the ropes. He lifts a hand in Joey's direction and shakes his head, surrendering. Oh he's a mess, bleeding freely from his mouth and nose, bruises purpling on his ribs and belly. He loses his grasp on the rope and slumps to the ring's floor, gasping, ribcage heaving. Really properly broke in the new ring with his sweat and blood.

Joey looks damn tired but for as much as his fight meter was flashing he pulls off instead of going for the kill. He still respects the sport and his pals. He does have to take that pacing walk in a circle though to burn off that energy and come down off the battle high. Winded, overheating, and exhausted he staves off riding out that second wind by falling back. He's working on catching his breath more than words and points to Itzhak and gives a thumbs up with one eyebrow raised. Looking to Nicole his arms hang on the top rope and he asks between breaths, "Hey, beautiful... grab water... us... please?" There is at least a water cooler and cups stacked by it.

"On it." Nicole jumps out of her seat and heads to the cooler. She fills four cups and carries them over to the ring, two in each hand. Stopping at Itzhak first, she lets him take one and sets the other on the mat beside him then takes the other two to Joey. He's still cooling off, so she doesn't hang around just yet, wandering off to also look for a couple towels. There are towels here, right? She is sure she saw them...

Itzhak takes the water with a hoarse sound that might be thanks or might just be an expression of how much everything fuckin' hurts. He sips at it, taking the advice of his own knuckle tatts and staying down. Joey giving him the thumbs up and the eyebrow makes him laugh wheezily and flip him off.

Oh yeah, he feels better. When his entire body is a throb of pain and exertion, it's tough to brood.

Takes the glass and murmurs a thanks to Nicole. That first drink is a damn swish to try to get the blood out of his teeth. The movies are bullshit. That shit is never attractive. It's even why vampires floss! Now here's that second drink to try to make him feel like a human being again instead of a streaming angry piece of meat. He comes to a slow stop hanging his arms, muscles burning , hang on the ropes. Looking to Itzhak he endures being flipped off. There's no effort left to tell him to get fucked in return. Job well done!His nose wrinkles as he tries to stretch that side out and there's discomfort worn on his face but it's part of life. Eyes track where Nicole wanders off to where the towel stash is looking to Itzhak Right?! and back again holding up a hand. "You are... literally the best right now."

Nicole returns triumphantly with towels! They may not be the softest gym towels, but they are clean... smelling, at least. First stop, Itzhak... he seems the most hurt, after all. She then walks to where Joey is hanging his arms on the ropes, holding a towel up and over her head for him. "Me?" she asks, "for getting you water and towels... or him?" A sideways nod towards Itzhak, "for the fight?" She can see either being the answer, clearly. Joey seems to her untrained eye to be hurting, but generally not 'injured'. Perhaps she'll know more later just how bad. But for now, he seems, okay, so she peeks over to Itzhak and with a tilt of her head asks, "you good? Need anything?" She'll get them what they need, but not fuss about it.

"You," Itzhak rasps at Nicole. "I mean, obviously." He hitches up one side of his bloodied face at her in a lopsided wry grin that's a little more lopsided than usual at the moment. "'m good. Don't need fussing. Water's nice, thanks." He takes the towel so he can mop himself off.

The floor of the ring is where he lives now. He flops backwards and tells the ceiling, "That was so fucking awesome."

Joey is not injured so much she will be unable to find out if she wanted to. The ghetto peacock preens a bit smugly adding, "Well.. could go either way on that. I'm just calling today a win." He looks to Itzhak laying on the floor and flings the last quarter inch of water on him while he grabs glass number two.

"God I needed that... So yeah. Week from now? kinda an underground tournament. It's a lil brutal and a lil ugly but pays back some bank if you're up for it. Street rules. No hair , no balls, no bitin. Fight gets called you fuckin stop or you get to fight me and that's some shit ain't no one wants. I mean you know me. I want to see people walkin so they can come back. No fight? Eeeh means iI go broke and then a lot of fuckin people are going to be very fuckin sad. I like seeing people happy man. But you could be one of those happy people."

Looking to Nicole he bemoans, "You don't think I'll turn into Byron if I let him dress me? You wont lose all respect for me if I start dressing like decent people?"

Nicole winks towards Itzhak and lifts her shoulders. "Never know..." She doesn't fuss. Nicole isn't a fusser. When Joey says that it could go either way regarding who he was referring to, she holds her hand out to gesture towards him and smiles at Itzhak. "See?" Well, if that isn't a smug smile on her lips...

She listens to Joey lay down the upcoming tournament rules and benefits, staying fairly quiet through it all. But when he asks her about dressing she pauses to seemingly give this a lot of consideration, looking him up and down. Crossing her arms over her chest and leaning back to look up at him she wears a lopsided grin and an arched brow. "Joey Lee Kelly... there is no man I know right now that looks finer than you, whether you are cleaning up a burned out gym, taking me out for drinks, stripping on amateur night, fighting til you are bloody... or wearing a suit. Besides..." She stops herself, biting her lip, dimples showing, cheeks getting a bit of color. She'll keep that last thought to herself.

Splat! The water lands on Itzhak's bare torso with a slap. He makes a funny sound, kind of a whiney groan, through his nose. Very Jewish. Then he wipes off and rolls out of the ring, ducking under the rope. He shoots Joey a surprised look that he was calling him the best, and then the grin is real. "Sign me up, pal. I'm in like Flynn." When Nicole starts talking about how very F I N E Joey looks, Itzhak nods along, eyebrows quirking in amusement. Oh yes. He's in total agreement and he doesn't even bother hiding that or the once-over he grants to Joey. He took pains not to look at Nicole like that, but Joey gets the full treatment. "Lucky girl," he says to Nicole, and vigorously towels off his hair. "God damn I need a shower."

"Right?" Nicole asks Itzhak. " I mean..." she looks over to Joey again and nods a few times. "Yes, I am. Not gonna lie. Super damn lucky. Like, I should play the lottery lucky."

Joey is seldom stopping short on things to say or ignore. The high praise from someone who soundly (and justly) dropped his buddy like a hot rock (really no one blames you at the time, Nicole, including Geoff) still sets him back on his heels. He looks back to Itzhak hos opinion weighs more in the category of: has one, but doesn't blow sunshine up his ass, and usually complains.

"Yeah, well good news for you, Z, I got one." Fingers flick in a point off to the side where the ready room is. Truthfully he says to the both of them, "Look I don't want you not walkin out, and it is what it is. That said," He looks to Nicole with that bottle green glance, "You get scared or uncomfortable? I'll make sure you get home. Someone lays a hand on you?" He shrugs, "Fuckin break it. They can complain to me." He has no doubts the woman can take care of herself but at the same time should not have to need to. Also it's important to him for reasons.

"Fuckin' break it." There's an echo in here and it's Itzhak's opinion of what Nicole should do in the event of some guy getting handsy. "More guys oughta get their fingers broke for touchin' a girl, they'd think twice." He tosses the towel to lie across his shoulders and looks at Joey, with a carefully calculated level of seriousness. Not serious enough to alert anybody that he's thinking hard (or so he supposes but he's wrong). Serious enough to show that he gets what Kelly is laying down.

"Hear ya," he says. Points at the ready room, and limps off to wash the blood and sweat from himself.

"At the fight?" Nicole asks, looking up to Joey. "I am sure I will be fine... either way. " She knows better than to assume nothing will happen. She can hope people will be better than that, but... she's definitely not going to assume. "They lay a hand on me, they will regret it. I promise."

Joey grins slowly. Itzhak was wrong,sovery, very wrong. Not lucky Nicole, but lucky Joey. "Oh, I believe you. Hell, it's kinda why iI like ya" which is something given he is generaly rather tight lipped. Casually as he can, because feelings and shit are hard, he declares in his gruff tone, "shower up. Let's hit the pourhouse. I'll take ya both out."