There was nothing much for him to do; he hadn't quite packed up his bags and left home yet. His mother was still around and his father was still a drunkard and a coward. Lucky_Lafitte sat on the top of the creaking wooden stairs, listening as his parents turned the air blue as they yelled and fought - only to be cut short with the short, sharp sound of flesh hitting flesh. The household fell quiet, eerily so that Lucky had started down the stairs, only to hear his father's thudding footsteps coming back around to the stairs. He sped up his descent, his jaw locked in bitter anger that he could not release as he walked out the door, grabbing his coat off the railing as he did so.

Lucky_Lafitte was not a violent young man; certainly not when it came to his parents. Their well-being was something that he wanted to keep at the forefront of his mind - even his father. His father was a good man at heart but had turned to the bottle after being sacked from his job, desperately pining after every opportunity he could. Unbeknownst to him, his son had taken up the mantle of providing for the household, sneaking in whatever green he could to his mother from his walks around town.

He didn't exactly do what was legal, but it did not weigh on his mind much. Illegal back alley fights had been going on since he was a young boy, and it was through a friend that he had been recommended and invited to one; on the basis of trust that he wasn't going to snitch them out to the cops. Though, it was through time that he had been roped into doing fights himself. Though he was not one to boast about his own skill-set, Hardman Billy had told him he had talent - that he wanted to utilise and hone to the best of his own ability. And, that was where it all started. He would continue going night after night to fight; coming home all manner of battered and bruised but his mother had simply shrugged it off, his injured state the norm and his father couldn't give a rats-ass about it.

"Oi, you did great back there." Mental Mickey - or Michael Henderson as he knew him as - his childhood best friend had run up to him, a grin on his face as he clapped him on the back.

"Wouldn't call it great, would'ya? Bloody went his way for the first two rounds." Lucky replied, shrugging.

"Annnnnd, there's a reason we call you Lucky, don't we?"

The two young men scoffed some, Lucky turning to him and giving him a light jab in the right arm. To which Mick gave him a glare but, it only lasted a fraction of a second before they were laughing once more, a cigarette hanging from between his lips and the smoke trail a thin wisp of white snaking behind them.