"Who? SullivanBlack?"

The faceless enforcer nodded with a sick grin on his face. An effortless elbow forced Thomas toward Mr. Black who, like him, had been enjoying what the pair believed was a social experience with their new Chicago counterparts. A 'get to know you' session with some of the local street gangs across the cities' territories was slowly turning into a baying crowd. A circle soon closed around the pair in a loading bay serving an abattoir in the north, a significant location in the Poultry Boy's supply chain.

"I..." 

He wasn't against the idea, and though never having been in a fight before, figured it would have to happen at some point. He closed his mouth and forced back the protest, taking a moment to recall the events of the last 24 hours. His emergence into the world of crime came as a indifferent eventuality, a path he accepted was likely the only one available to him. Now here he was, about to get his ass kicked.

Sullivan looked to be given the same instruction, as Mezzo soon found himself looking into the eyes of a man he had only just recently met. A lock of his disorderly black hair fell across his left eye, Tommy was quick to force it back into place. His feet shifted into a more secure position, despite the poor quality of the soles on his shoes. Hazel eyes looked out from still developing features, terrified and excited.

There were no words, but the pair were clearly hesitant. After a moment, the tension suddenly peaked as their mutual understanding of what needed to happen materialized in a blur of motion.

Tommy raised his right fist, advanced, and roared, a slight break in his voice telling of the immaturity of his years. 

Sullivan looked on as the group closed in around him and the young Mezzo. Just like for Tommy, another brute gave the order.

"Time to see who's got a better swing, you, or the other new kid." Shoving Sullivan further into the center of the ring, the man cheered and got the group started yelling. Sullivan looked left, then right, his blue eyes scanning over those in the crowd that watched them. Fixing his own raven black hair that had fallen over his face, the slender male stood straight and looked at TommyMezzo with a grin.

Silence between the two, neither really ready to jump into the fray... But silence turned to anxious waiting, and eventually Tommy started. Roaring and charging, Sullivan had mere seconds before impact. Just long enough to turn his head with the blow to lessen it's impact. Which he did.

Tommy had one thing easily going for him, his youth. It made up for the lack of discipline in his fighting style. Even though Sully had spun with it, the force of the blow staggered the man backward. Three steps he faltered before planting his right foot and reversing his direction, swinging with a closed right fist in a backhanded blow.

His head wasn't really in the fight, but he knew the two of them had to at least take a few rounds at each other to make the rank and file happy. Pulling his punches was a sure way to make sure he didn't end up hurting Tommy too bad... And absorbing as much of the impact as he could from Tommy's blows, insured less damage to himself. In the end, he knew they'd both be bloody... They both knew it. Sullivan smirked as his eyes met Tommy's hazel glare.

"Well c'mon then, let's give them a show."

Stepping back and falling into an odd stance, Sully waved a hand at Tommy, encouraging him to press the attack.

He hadn't expected a return, though knew it would have come. The backhanded swing rattled knuckles off his skull and he paced backward, wary. His forearms met as he braced, approaching again and peering from behind his guard. If this was to be a novelty scrap then he'd at least try and make an impression. He just hoped that there would be something left of his relationship with Sullivan once it was over. 

A probing jab landed just below his jaw, a swing that he could have easily shouldered had experience been on his side. By the time he recovered another had broken his guard and his arms fell away. He feared another attack and swung blindly in response, stumbling in an arc to find some space again. As he rose once more, Sullivan was already on him. 

Tommy grabbed at the advancing swings, eventually finding his grip on his opponents forearm. The brawl turned to a scuffle, Mezzo pulled at Black's shirt, the pair spiraled as their combined center of gravity shifted. Whenever he found his fist was freed, Tommy drove it into the body of Sullivan.

Eventually they parted. Despite his best efforts, Thomas lost his footing and landed on his side, the concrete welcoming him with all the comfort of a hammer blow. He lifted himself with purpose, a flash of red had smeared his shirt having been smeared from a broken lip. The encouragement continued, a barbaric chant from the easily amused. Thomas eyed up his man and advanced once more.

New in Chicago and with nothing else to do, Lily had left her small apartment during dusk. Guido-Trabotti's love of the Cafe' Americano had spread to her, and now, hopped up on caffeine, she needed to get out and move.

"Here, girlie, you looking for some action?" ​​​​​​Lily jumped at the voice even as a flyer was stuffed into her hand.

"Huh? Oh, no no, I don't-" Didn't what, exactly? She had no idea what the shady man was hawking. Drugs? Prostitutes? She looked down at the paper, the streetlamp above her shining down to illuminate the words better than it did the man's face.

Poultry Boys

Don't be a chickin!

Lily giggled at the misspelling, and looked up to say something that might get her into some real trouble, but the man was already gone. Shrugging, she checked the address at the bottom and glanced up at the intersection signs. The 'chikin' challenge was near, in fact, she could hear the sounds of raised voices and whistling not even half a block away. Fights? Is that what they were doing? Fights weren't her thing, but maybe they could be. Lily had never actually seen one before. Walking slowly, she headed towards the meat plant, where she was stopped from entering by a meaty hand on her shoulder. 

"Can't let you in, sorry, Miss." Lily handed him the paper, which drug all kinds of obscenities from his mouth. 

"Fucking Eddie, he just passing these out to anyone?"

"Well I don't kn-"

"Just go in. Fuck sake," he grumbled. Lily was shoved forward, and the crowd's momentum sucked her in even further. 

"WHO'S FIGHTING?" She yelled at the boy smashed up to her on her right. 

"KID NAMED TOMMY, AGAINST SULLY. SULLIVAN BLACK."

Lily paled, pushing herself backwards until the crowd's grip released her. Black was a common name. It didn't mean anything. Just because she'd stolen it from Anthony after they'd gotten separated three years ago and she couldn't find him anymore.. the newspapers said.. but the newspapers said she was dead too, what did newspapers know?

Sullivan Black. 

Lily turned and pushed past the meat at the door and dragged in a great big lungful of Chicago's chilly night air. 

And then she ran.

Doubling over as Tommy's fist buried into his solar plexus, Sully coughed and spat... He felt the air rush from his lungs. The kid had caught him good, and he hadn't been able to absorb that blow. Staggering backward from their grapple, Sullivan lost his balance and fell to his bottom, continuing in a roll over his own shoulder and winding up face down on the ground.

As Tommy gathered himself and stood, Sullivan too pushed himself slowly back to his feet. Blood stained both of their shirts, and the sleeves were ripped on Sully's. Wiping his bleeding nose on what was left of his dress shirt, Sullivan chuckled. The laugh was dark, somewhere lost inside the man's mind. When he smiled, the blood red outlines that ran along the edges of his teeth gave way to a trickling of blood from the corners of his mouth. He spat once more and wiped his mouth again.

Yelling, he shook his head and flexed his arms back, stretching the lean muscle that had been hiding beneath the shirt. Stalling... He was stalling, giving both of them a moment to catch some breath. More him than Tommy. The breather was short lived, though, as the crowd began their war cry. The boy rushed back in landing a few hard blows; Sully blocking as many as he could. Seemed Tommy had gotten a second wind.

Using Mezzo's own weight against him, Sullivan pressed the attack and snagged Tommy's shoulder as he overreached. Able to slip behind the boy, he got an arm around Tommy's throat and held tight... Or at least it looked like he did.

Whispering quietly with a sneer on his face so it appeared he was talking shit to everyone else, Sullivan calmly explained to Tommy, "I'm gonna throw this, so you'll need to toss your head back into my nose to 'break out' of this hold, and then turn and catch me in the jaw with a hard right hook. I'll soften the blow by being ready for it, but you'll knock me out... Stomp on my foot if you agree..."

With his last comment, he jerked hard on his own arm, lifting Tommy to his tip-toes and bending back so it looked as if he had him tightly in his grasp... In reality, aside from perhaps panic, nothing was hindering Tommy's ability to breath. The show had to look good, right?

The thoughts flickered in Tommy's mind for a moment, a brief moment, before he decided on a course of action. There seemed to be no point in drawing out the scrap. It was likely so that the mob would lose interest once it was over, anyway. For the sake of the crowd, he writhed a little longer, refusing to lift his foot as suggested by Sullivan. After a momentary tussle he feigned a dramatic restriction to his throat. A feeble elbow aimed for Black's gut, the charade reaching its dramatic climax. Then, submission. He tapped furiously on the arm around his neck and, after a moment, was released.

Jeering followed, and a chorus of applause. There was no clear stake in the fight at all, from any party. Just a moment of excitement which was forgotten soon after it ended.

Thomas was hoisted to his feet and commendation for their efforts was distributed by claps on the back. All the boy could see though was the quizzical look on Sullivan's face. Once the enforcers had dispersed, they approached each other.

"You were willing to throw it for me..." He found his breath. "...only fair I do the same for you."

They stood for a moment, adrenaline subsiding and the flush from their cheeks receding. Tommy arched his back and drew breath again, his chest visibly rising and falling. He flashed a smile.

"Not the worst introduction I've had, though..."

Sullivan chuckled, shaking his head. "You're an enigma in this world, TommyMezzo . We need more people like you." Brushing his hair back from his face, he took a moment to stretch tall and take in a deep breath as well. Holding it for a moment, he exhaled slowly and then rested his hands on his knees as he looked at Mezzo.

"So, what's the plan from here? I've got my family here in Chicago, so if you need a place to stay, I can have that arranged for you. Otherwise, I think we just got the jump into the group here, and that'll open plenty of doors."

"Speaking of doors," Sullivan added with a huff. "I've got a few leads in the city if you want some work. It's not exactly boxing like tonight, but I got a lead on some boxes that could probably use a good cleaning if you follow... You won't meet many a peterman better than myself." He winked with a smirk.

He took another deep breath and exhaled slowly as his breathing regulated, "Anyway... If you have some leads to follow yourself, that's fine, but I'm going to put together a small group to go and clean the boxes. We split even. Let me know if you're interested. We came here together, least we can do is extend a hand when there's work to be done."

Clapping a hand on Tommy's back, Sully smiled. "Now, let's go enjoy the rest of this party. I'm sure there's plenty of booze to get us muddled, and I feel like we've earned it." He guided Tommy toward the group of rowdy men and man-children.

Cupping his hands around his mouth, he inhaled deep and yelled over the loud crowd, "HEY! ANY CHANCE WE COULD GET A COUPLE OF DRINKS FOR THE ENTERTAINMENT OVER HERE?!"

Short after, Tommy and Sully both found themselves with their own bottle of booze and surrounded by a few men who wanted to talk about the fight.

"Kid caught ya pretty good, aye?" one of them chuckled out as he examined Sullivan's face. Nodding, Sully smirked and took a sip from his bottle. "Gave me a pretty sock to the jaw, rattled me more than I expected. He's got some scrap to him, don't let him fool you," he commented pointedly as he tapped his bottle against Mezzo's.