Father of the Slain (I)

"-. 15 April, 1989 .-"

It wasn't until Richard and the other guy were in the same cage that Tony realized just how much the fumes, lighting and his own excitement had been messing with his perception. And maybe the strangely ideal proportions of the guy relative to his short height. Though it may also have been that the guy's challengers thought a smaller guy was easier prey – most of the 'small' ones gravitated to him instead of Richard. Joke was on them, though. Wolverine, or whatever his name was, ripped his way through them like a particularly vicious wild animal. Like a badger. Or, well, a wolverine. Only a couple of the mooks made him work for it, but he still knocked them down at least twice before the last three-minute round was over. And now, at the end of the line, he still seemed perfectly fresh.

Of course, it might have been a different situation if the fights weren't all limited to three 3-minute rounds, but Tony wasn't willing to bet on it. Unlike other things which he had been willing to bet on.

And still was. "Loyalty compels me to wager, say, a third of tonight's earnings on Nova," Tony said to the southern bombshell he'd spent the evening charming the coat off. He'd only managed the hood, but that was still fine. Hiding that hair was a crime. "Friendship, however, demands I ask if I should be worried about your plus one trying to bite his throat out."

"Don't you be worrying none, hon," she told him in that southern accent he really should be more familiar with than he was. "Old man Logan's got a lot more self-control than he lets on."

Tony gasped. "You gave me his name! And a rhyme! Is this true love?"

The beauty laughed. Success! "'I'm afraid Logan's not into the home team scene, if you get my drift."

"Oh woe, the fates are cruel!" Tony swooned. "But much as I feel for the poor mancrushes all around us, I entreat that you not lump me with them! I wouldn't ever want to risk implying you're anything close to a consolation prize!" He leaned his hip against the railing and roamed over her with his eyes before settling on hers, very deliberately. "Though I bet the sight has qualified as one many times by now."

"Looks, touches, throes of passion, they're all mighty fine distractions too," she drawled. "That there friend o'yours might not appreciate it, mind."

Glaring ruefully at her for her latest deflection – and determined not to let up unless she rejected him outright – he nonetheless took the hint and refocused on the impending fight.

Richard, in contrast to Logan, had taken down his opponents with a maximum of precision and minimum of motion, getting fewer knockdowns but more knockouts to show for it. Unlike the other guy, though, you could see it on him. While he'd avoided or blocked the nastier hits to his face, he was still bruised in several places along the rest of his body. He also looked to be well past that pumped stage where you started to feel the wear, though thankfully not the point where he started flagging yet.

All in all, very interesting odds.

"So about that bet?' Tony asked.

"… I think I'm gonna let you have this one," she said, surprising him. "If it were to knockout, I'd'a said different. As is, though, I think we can both see where the wind is blowin'."

Which was to say, Tony was not the only one starting to get suspicious about Wolverine's freakish recovery time. And considering how the victor was decided…

It was down to how much of the crowd thought that Wolverine was doped on something.

Tony made quick work of going to the bookie and back, and then the referee (so-called) began the main event.

"Just in case, I'm gonna go over the rules one more time," the man said to the fighters, though the microphone carried his voice to everyone else too. "No biting or dick shots. Sixteen-ounce gloves are still available as an option if either of you've changed your mind?' Head shakes from both. There was much rejoicing. "The fights last three three-minute rounds, and the winners are determined by cheers from the crowd. In the event of a draw, a fourth round is fought. 3! 2! 1! FIGHT!"

To Tony's shock, Richard almost got KO'ed in the first round. Though the running commentary had seeped somewhat between the cages, Richard still wasn't prepared for how fast the little brute could move. Or how far he could jump. Which was understandable, Tony darkly supposed. The only reason he himself could keep up with the fight – without ever having won any – was due to how fast his mind processed things compared to everyone else's. Wolverine's animalistic 'style' also didn't seem to be anything Richard was used to dissecting. The ultimate result was Richard getting punched in the face for the first time that night, right in the left eye. Not counting all the hits he got in many other places. A terrible price to pay for the few body shots and knee to the gut he landed that barely gave Wolverine pause. As for the punch to the jaw that Nova nailed Wolverine with near the three-minute mark, it made him flinch in pain and shake his fist instead. So not just fast recovery but hard head too. The distraction let Wolverine jump and pin him to the ground just as the round was called.

The crowd's cheers at the end of it clearly favoured Wolverine, even if it was with an unmistakable nuance of 'what the hell I don't even.' Richard spent the break sitting in the corner, drinking water and peering intently at the other fighter, who walked back and forth near his corner like… well, like an animal in a cage.

To Tony's only slightly lesser shock, Richard dominated the second round. Wolverine, whose battle blood was clearly up, erupted in the same 'tactics' that had almost given him victory. Only for Richard to throw him bodily clear across the cage. Awkwardly at first, but increasingly easily as the fight went on. Nova proceeded to avoid and reverse the other guy's momentum with increasing success every time he jumped more than a foot. Richard's own attacks also changed, to knuckle strikes against soft tissue and clawing at tendons hard enough to draw blood. It made Wolverine growl and snarl and finally go for a grapple near the three-minute mark. Big mistake.

Richard Rider, it turned out, knew pankration.

Round two ended with Wolverine pinned to the ground. And there was much rejoicing.

Nova spent the break much like the first one and all who came before, even as Wolverine did some more pacing. With one difference. At one point the mutt looked up searchingly, for Rogue. And he found her. And Tony next to her.

He glowered at him.

Tony waved back and smiled brightly. He was living on the edge, dammit!

Then round three started, and Nova surprised everyone again. Which is to say, he was the one who exploded in savage motion before his opponent could. Richard Rider, it turned out, also knew glima. The genuine version. The one where you clinch and wrestle and hit and squeeze and claw at the other guy's most painful bits until one of you falls or breaks from the pain. And then you keep doing it. It was the most unsightly display of clashing masculinity that Tony Stark had ever seen, but hell if it wasn't effective. Even Wolverine with whatever he was on to account for his freakish endurance was grunting and roaring in pain by the end, though he gave as good as he got.

Round three ended to much surprise and confusion on account of nobody expecting the time to have really gone by so quickly when the bell tolled. Not the fighters and not the onlookers either. Of course, the fact that the two spent the last minute rolling on the floor snarling, lunging and clawing at each other's tender spots might also have had something to do with it. There was much fanning happening among the girlfriends of the admittedly few couples attending, that was for sure.

Then the moment of truth arrived, and the crowd was much more decisive than Tony thought was warranted considering the inconclusive outcome. They cheered for Wolverine just fine as he stood there, looking almost the same as when he walked in save for dishevelled hair and a thin coat of sweat. But they roared and applauded twice as loud and three times as long for Nova when all was said and done. Despite that he was sweating buckets and turning black and blue after it all, his eye visibly swelling now.

"Well, guess I won't be making back my investment none," the woman, who still hadn't introduced herself, said as she leaned back from the cage and started making her way out through the crowd. "That friend of yours can sure pack them wallops."

"And yours sure can take'em," Tony said lightly as he walked in step with her. "Under different rules…"

"Different rules these ain't," she said with surprising ease. "'See you 'round, darlin'. Or not."

"Count on it," Tony said as he watched her leave through the crowd. Then he frowned in dismay. "Or not," he groused as he headed for the bookie. She hadn't given him any name in the end. Or her number.

Probably already taken, to blow off his charms so well. Though likely not to the guy in the cage. That glare was more paternal than jealous. Or brotherly, for all that he couldn't imagine them being related. Then again, the night had already messed with him enough that it took him ages to realise how not-tall the guy was, so who knows?