you shook me all night long

[sahara]

[atrb=border,0,true][atrb=style, background-image:url(http://i141.photobucket.com/albums/r71/maggiesrpstuff/BACKGROUNDS/ea5ncojpg.png); width: 450px; padding-top: 10; padding-bottom: 10; border: #363636 solid 2px;] hi tearing love apart, PULLING HER GRAY DRESS ON OVER HER HEAD, SAHARA GLANCED BACK OVER HER SHOULDER TO ASSURE HERSELF HE WAS ASLEEP, AND, WITH A CONFIDENT SMILE TO HERSELF, SHE SLIPPED ACROSS THE ROOM TO HIS DRESSER. SLIDING OPEN THE TOP DRAWER, SHE DUG DOWN TO THE BOTTOM OF THE CLOTHING INSIDE AND WITHDREW HIS WALLET. OPENING THE WALLET, SHE FOUND THE KEYCARD AND DROPPED THE WALLET UNSANCTIMONIOUSLY BACK INTO THE DRAWER, NOT BOTHERING TO CLOSE IT, WALKING OVER TO THE LARGE GAUDY PAINTING ACROSS THE ROOM WHERE SHE KNEW THE SAFE HAD TO BE HIDDEN. RICH BASTARDS REALLY WERE BAD ABOUT BEING CREATIVE ON WHERE THEY HID THE THINGS THEY VALUED. AS SHE PULLED ON THE PAINTING, IT SWUNG OPEN ON HINGES, REVEALING THE CARD READER WHICH WOULD OPEN ANOTHER PANEL IN THE WALL AND REVEAL HER ULTIMATE TARGET: THE SAFE. THE LIGHT ON THE CARD READER FLASHED GREEN, THE SENSOR BEEPED POSITIVE, AND THE SECTION OF THE WALL HISSED AS THE LOCKS RELEASED. SHE SMILED AGAIN; SHE WAS ALMOST THERE. CONTENTED SNORING FROM THE BED REASSURED HER THAT THE BASTARD WAS STILL SLEEPING, SO SHE DIDN'T BOTHER CHECKING ON HIM AGAIN. REACHING DOWN HER CLEAVAGE, SHE RETRIEVED THE KIT SHE KEPT HIDDEN IN A POCKET ON THE INSIDE OF HER DRESS WHERE IT WOULDN'T BE FOUND CONSIDERING SHE DIDN'T USUALLY WEAR HER CLOTHES FOR VERY LONG ON MISSIONS LIKE THIS ONE. STICKING THE MAGNETIC SENSOR ON THE OUTSIDE OF THE SAFE, SHE BEGAN TURNING THE DIAL SLOWLY UNTIL THE SENSOR BLINKED AND TOLD HER WHICH NUMBERS WERE THE CORRECT ONES. WITH THE THREE DIGITS ENTERED, THE CASE CAME OPEN AND SHE HASTILY PULLED OPEN THE DOOR TO REVEAL THE CONTENTS WITHIN. THERE WERE PAPERS AND STACKS OF CASH, BUT SHE HADN'T COME FOR ANY OF THAT. REACHING FARTHER INTO THE BACK, HER FINGERS BRUSHED THE HARD EDGE OF HER TREASURE AND SHE WRAPPED HER SLENDER HAND AROUND IT, PULLING IT FROM THE DARKNESS AND INTO THE LIGHT. A BROAD SMILE SPREAD OVER HER FACE AS SHE LOCKED SIGHT ON THE NECKLACE, SPARKLING IN THE SUNLIGHT POURING IN THROUGH THE WINDOWS, AND SHE TURNED TO EXIT THE ROOM. SHE CAME FACE TO FACE WITH THE BARREL OF A 9MM, A MEAGER WEAPON FOR SURE BUT ONE THAT SHE DIDN'T ENJOY AIMED BETWEEN HER EYES AS THIS ONE HAPPENED TO BE. "GIVE ME THE NECKLACE, AND I'LL LET YOU LIVE," GROWLED THE TARGET, HIS BARE CHEST RISING AND FALLING RAPIDLY FROM THE EXCITEMENT AND NERVOUSNESS WITHIN HIS ACTIONS. SAHARA RAISED HER EYEBROWS AND COCKED HER HEAD TO ONE SIDE, PURSING HER LIPS. "AND THEN WHAT? YOU'LL CALL THE POLICE WHILE YOUR BOYS HOLD ME CAPTIVE? I DON'T PLAN ON SPENDING TONIGHT, OR ANY NIGHT, IN PRISON. BUT THANKS ANYWAY," SHE REPLIED. LIFTING THE NECKLACE TO ADMIRE IT, SHE NOTICED OUT OF THE CORNER OF HER EYE THAT HE FOLLOWED THE JEWELRY, A MISTAKE OF FOCUS. "BESIDES, WHAT KIND OF FAGGOT KEEPS HIS GRANDMOTHER'S NECKLACE LAYING AROUND?" SHE ASKED, EGGING HIM ON, "KEEPING IT IN CASE YOU WANTED TO WEAR IT SOME DAY?" "SHUT UP!" HE SNAPPED, HIS HANDS SHAKING AS HE GRABBED THE GUN WITH BOTH HANDS AND TRAINED IT BETWEEN HER EYES AGAIN, THE BARREL GLANCING ACROSS HER SKIN. "GIVE ME THE NECKLACE! NOW!" NOW HE WAS GETTING DESPERATE. SAHARA KNEW WHY HE HAD THE PIECE OF JEWELRY - IT WAS A PRICELESS FAMILY HEIRLOOM FROM EUROPE PRE-WORLD WAR I - AND THAT WAS PRECISELY WHY SHE MUST TAKE IT. "I'M AFRAID I CAN'T DO THAT." WHIPPING HER FOOT OUT, SHE CAUGHT HIM OFF BALANCE WITH THE SURPRISE ATTACK AND HE TRIPPED BACKWARD, LOSING HIS GRIP ON THE GUN AND SENDING IT FLYING ONTO THE BED BEHIND HIM. BEFORE HE COULD RECOOP AND STAND TO ATTACK HER, SAHARA ADVANCED ON HIM, PLACING A FIRMLY AIMED KICK TO HIS HEAD, KNOCKING HIM OUT. HE'D BE OUT FOR A FEW HOURS, BUT THERE WOULDN'T BE ANY PERMANENT DAMAGE... PROBABLY. "THAT'S WHAT YOU GET FOR POINTING A FUCKING GUN AT ME," SHE COMMENTED AMIABLY AS SHE DEPOSITED THE NECKLACE IN THE HIDING PLACE IN HER CLEAVAGE. "YOU WERE A BAD LAY ANYWAY." SHRUGGING TO HERSELF, SHE STRAIGHTENED HER CLOTHING AND HAIR AND EXITED THE ROOM. OUTSIDE, SHE SMILED SHYLY AT THE BODYGUARDS AS IF SHE WAS DOING A WALK OF SHAME. "HE'S STILL SLEEPING," SHE WHISPERED, PUTTING A FINGER TO HER MOUTH TO SILENCE THEM. THEY BELIEVED HER - THEY USUALLY DID - AND SHE TIPTOED PAST, SMILING TO HERSELF ONCE SHE WAS PAST THEM AND THEY COULD NO LONGER SEE HER FACE. SOON, SHE WAS IN THE ELEVATOR AND ON HER WAY TO FREEDOM. IT WOULD BE A WHILE BEFORE THE GORILLAS AT THE HOTEL ROOM DOOR FIGURED IT ALL OUT. ONE WOULD BELIEVE RICH PEOPLE WERE MUCH MORE INTELLIGENT THAN THEY TRULY WERE. ONCE SHE WAS ON THE STREET, SHE CALLED A TAXI AND ORDERED THE DRIVER TO TAKE HER OUTSIDE OF TOWN TO A SEEMINGLY RUNDOWN HOTEL. SHE EXITED THE VEHICLE AND TOSSED THE MAN A SIGNIFICANT AMOUNT OF CASH SO HE ASKED NO QUESTIONS AND QUICKLY DROVE AWAY, LEAVING HER ALONE OUTSIDE OF THE SANDY DESERTED HOTEL. WHY HER FENCE WANTED HER TO MEET HIM HERE, SHE WOULDN'T KNOW. BEFORE SHE COULD THINK LONG ABOUT IT, THE MEN SHE EXPECTED ARRIVED OUT OF THE AFTERNOON SHADOWS AND SURROUNDED HER, POINTING GUNS. SHE HELD UP HER ARMS AND ALLOWED THE OBLIGATORY PAT DOWN ALTHOUGH SHE MADE SURE TO COMMENT ON HOW INAPPROPRIATE SHE CONSIDERED THE GESTURE. AFTERWARD, SHE WAS ESCORTED INSIDE AND LED DOWNSTAIRS TO THE DARKENED UNDERBELLY WHERE THE IRISH HAD DECIDED TO HOLD THEIR FIGHT RING FOR TONIGHT. IT MOVED AROUND CONSTANTLY, NEVER TO BE TRACKED BY THE POLICE WHO CONSIDERED THEMSELVES SMART ENOUGH TO FIND THE MYSTERIOUS MONEYMAKER, AND TODAY IT HAPPENED TO BE IN THE MOB'S HEADQUARTERS. AS SHE EMERGED FROM THE DARK HALLWAYS AND INTO THE RAUCOUS CROWD SURROUNDING THE FIGHT, SHE FLINCHED AGAINST THE SOUND AND WOUND INTO THE CROWD, GLAD TO BE AWAY FROM THE BURLY BRUTES WHO GUARDED THE PLACE AND SURVEYED EVERYONE UPON ARRIVAL. SHE'D BEEN TO THE IRISH HQ BEFORE ON A SIMILAR VISIT, BUT THAT WAS TO DO A BRIEF, LUCRATIVE TRADE WITH ONE OF THE LOWER DOWNS IN THE BUSINESS. THIS ATMOSPHERE WAS CERTAINLY DIFFERENT THAN THE ONE SHE'D MET BEFORE. THE CROWD WAS CRAZED, WAVING MONEY AND FISTS TOWARD THE RING WHERE TWO MEN THREW THEMSELVES INTO SWEATY, BLOODY COMBAT AND TRIED TO BEAT THE EVERLIVING SHIT OUT OF ONE ANOTHER. SAHARA LIKED GAMBLING, BUT SHE PREFERRED THE KIND RESERVED TO ANIMALS AND OUTDOORS, HOWEVER SHE COULD APPRECIATE THE MUSCULAR BODIES THROWING THEMSELVES AGAINST ONE ANOTHER. WHAT HEALTHY YOUNG WOMAN WOULDN'T? SHE CHUCKLED TO HERSELF JUST AS SHE BODILY RAN INTO SOMEONE. TURNING HASTILY, SHE RECOGNIZED HER FENCE AND FOLLOWED HIM TOWARD THE BACK WALL WHERE THEY COULD BETTER HEAR AND BE AWAY FROM WATCHING EYES. PULLING THE NECKLACE FROM HER BODICE,SHE BRIEFLY SHOWED HIM THE JEWELRY. "IT CAN GET AT LEAST TWO MILLION IN THE RIGHT MARKET, AND YOU'LL GET YOUR USUAL TEN PERCENT." HE SMILED AND NODDED AT THE AFFIRMATION. THEY MADE THE APPROPRIATE ARRANGEMENTS AND THE EXCHANGE WAS MADE. SHE COULD EXPECT HER MONEY WITHIN DAYS, WEEKS IF ANY HANG-UPS SLOWED THEM DOWN. EITHER WAY, HER COFFERS WERE ABOUT TO BE WELL-REPLENISHED. AS THE FENCE DISAPPEARED INTO THE CROWD, SHE DECIDED IT WAS TIME FOR A LITTLE OFF-THE-JOB ENTERTAINMENT. TO HER PLEASURE, THERE WAS A MAKESHIFT BAR SET UP ALONG ONE OF THE WALLS, AND SHE MADE HER WAY TO IT, ORDERED A DRINK, AND THEN SAT WATCHING THE FIGHT. AH, WHAT A LIFE. fight club/irish hq, 1270, outfit, hope it doesn't suck as an intro

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[ryan]

[atrb=border,0,true][atrb=style, background-image:url(http://i53.tinypic.com/288uvba.png); width: 457px; padding-top: 30; padding-bottom: 30; -moz-border-radius: 35 35 35 35; -webkit-border-radius: 35 35 35 35;] hi » TROUBLE AHEAD. blood, sweat, tears...and a little bit of urine. the concrete ryan stood on had seen just about all of it. thankfully it got a good hose-down after every bout night so it wasn't as gross as it seemed when you thought about all the past matches it had seen. still it wasn't any flashy, and cushy, kind of mat like you saw in wrestling arenas. this was after all an underground institution thought up by the irish of all people so ryan really didn't expect that much out of the bunch. that was putting things in the kindest possible terms. did ryan have any respect for the organization that liked to host these little shindigs? no he really didn't. ryan didn't have too much respect for a bunch of wanna-be gangster thugs lead around by the hair by a toddler with a god complex. yes in that statement he was referring to connor selwyn. the man was a joke and ryan wasn't afraid to call him out on his shit. after all, aside from taking a gun to him, ryan overpowered him in just about every way. the only reason why he even hung out around places like this was for the fights and the money. he didn't watch other people fights because he simply didn’t care but what he did care about was getting his money and venting out his frustrations. that didn't mean that he had to be some big huge fan of connor selwyn, which was a good thing because if that was the case then the man wouldn't have a place to fight. ryan didn't have any respect for anyone in the crime business, he simply used them for their venues. for the longest time ryan had been a prize in the eyes of the irish. they wanted him as a workhorse. they wanted him to fight for a living as opposed to fighting when he chose to and that kind of thing just didn't fly with ryan. he wasn't the type to need fighting. the only reason why he ever made it into the ‘ring’ to do what he did was because he needed the outlet. ryan wasn't some permanently angry fuck who just liked to wail on people because it was fun. actually if you took him out of this setting he was the calmest most level-headed bastard you're lucky enough to run into. guys thought it was fun to come up to him after a fight either directly afterwards or a few days later and they liked to try to push his buttons. they liked to egg him on, try and wane on his patience, and it never went anywhere. ryan was a calm guy in most cases. if you looked at the harper in the ring as opposed to the harper on the streets you'd swear ryan had some angry twin running around or he had some kind of multiple personality disorder. in reality, ryan fought because he needed to. when he did get worked up enough to need the outlet, ryan tended to get tense and things tended to rub him the wrong way. the hairs would stand up on his neck like there was electricity in his veins. it was times like that that ryan sought out the fighting rings because he needed to. ryan had never tried to cope with all of this on his own without fighting. he'd never told himself that he might be able to get over it without feeling his fist crunching against someone's face. the truth of the matter was that ryan was a simple guy. he was a straightforward 'if the answer's right in front of your face don't go looking for another way' kinda guy. for him the answer was simple, when he got antsy he fought and the antsy feeling went away. he never tried to wean himself off of fighting because it wasn't hurting anyone. people who he came up against in the ring were people like himself. they wanted the thrill of the fight more than ryan did but in the end they fought because they needed to. ryan was the same way. it didn't make sense to go looking for some other way to calm himself down when fighting worked so well. and it did work. ryan never left a fight feeling underwhelmed. sometimes fights didn't last as long as they'd liked to but as long as he got his hands on someone else the antsy, nervous feeling was dulled. when the fights were shorter than usual ryan was usually back a few days later for another round, but a good clean fist on fist kind of fight where he drew blood or blood was drawn on him usually quenched that feeling for a good week to two weeks, long enough for his body to heal enough to go again. tonight was one of those antsy nights. for a few days now ryan had felt the tingle and the electricity slowly seeping in. it was the kind of feeling that three nights and three different women in his bed couldn't subside. he woke up that morning knowing that he needed a go. after his morning routine of weights in his small, cramped apartment, ryan went out for a jog followed by a simple lunch. anything he could do to past the time until the sun went down, he did. he avoided people as best as possible because it was just one of those days. people tended to just know he was in one of those moods. maybe his brow hung a little lower than usual, maybe he just radiated anger, or hell maybe a neon sign glowed over his head that read don't fuck with me. he wasn't sure but either way people didn't get in his way today. after another round at his place followed by a scalding hot shower, ryan was dressed in his usual ring garb of black wife beater, charcoal grey sweatpants cinched tightly at the waist, and sneakers. he packed up his duffel with any of the usual necessities he might need, patch-up kit for the minor scratches, advil, bottle of water, gauze, band aids, etc. you could never be too prepared right? he made it to the ‘underground’ ring with ease, putting his name into the pot or onto the list or whatever and finding a place behind the crowd to hang out until it was his turn. finally, blessedly, his name was called next. ryan set his things by the wall and kicked off his sneakers, leaving his barefoot on the concrete floor the way he liked best. he ran his fingers through his hair as he did a little stretch of his arms and legs, his opponent doing the same in his own ‘corner’. they were both pros at this. ryan hadn’t fought this guy yet but he’d seen him in action once or twice.he did however make a note on how the guy looked nervous. they turned to one another, nodded, and that was that…the fight was off. they grappled for a minute or two, one trying to overpower the other. ryan grabbed hold of an arm and wrenched it back, kicking the man in the stomach before pushing him away. the man heaved a bit as he stumbled backwards and recovered as the men circling them gave him a push back into the fight. the man then returned with a roundhouse that caught ryan in the thigh which angered ryan to the point where he just lunged and the fight really took off. this was just the usual kind of bout. neither of them were the cocky kind of bastards who needed to win in order to feel righteous and self fulfilled. they were just there to get in their blows and by the time the end of the fight was called it was ryan who was helping up the other guy from the floor. his face was sore from one too many a hard punch to the left half of his face and there was a cut over his eye but this was the game. this was why he was here. at least the other guy looked worse. ryan pushed through the crowd, feeling large hands slapping down on his shoulders in congratulations as he made his way to his stuff. he slid on his sneakers and dug out the advil and bottle of water, downing two pills before the swelling got real bad. of course by that time the next fight had already started and attention was drawn to the new men in the middle of the circle. once he was moderately patched up and medicated ryan made his way to his favorite man, the man who paid him. ”good fight tonight harper.” the guy said as he handed ryan his chunk of change. ”you know what i wanna ask you right?” ryan smirked with a little chuckle. ”no fucking way man and you know it.”

[/b] ryan said as he turned and headed toward the bar. depending on who was behind it ryan could sometimes work out a comped drink or two. he gave a little wave to petite little blond behind the counter, one of the aforementioned barkeeps, who poured him a tall glass of whiskey. ”thank you gorgeous.”[/b] he said with a half smile as he downed the liquid. [/div]

1,565, outfit described, SORRY IT'S LATE.

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