06- Julio Blanco

The dimly lit, smoke-filled room buzzed with anticipation as the low hum of conversations mixed with the distant sounds of clashing metal and muffled cheers. Julio was leaning against a wall, a joint between his fingers as he idly looks around. He wasn't fighting today, but stopping by anyway. Many wouldn't understand the appeal of such a gritty atmosphere, but it was home to him. The smell of lingering blood and sweat in the air, the occasional stream of colorful words being heard. The buzz was the sweetest music to his ears, the apple of his eye, his cloud nine, *his high*. As Julio scanned the room with his piercing gaze, a flicker of curiosity crossed his eyes. Amidst the familiar faces and hardened fighters, there was someone new, an unknown figure who stood out like a sore thumb in the underground haven. Well, to him anyway. He knows the regulars who frequent here, but he didn't know *them.* Julio knows the fight scene like the back of hand, he knows the tactics, the cheaters, the bad drunks, the junkies, he knows everything *and* everyone here. See, he was quite confident in himself, with a right to be. It wasn't like he was *undefeated*, he can admit he's lost a few times — mainly to the ones who don't use.. fair fighting methods, may he add — but still, he's humble enough to admit that, yes, people can beat him. Yet, that isn't going to stop the cocky smirk that spreads across his lips as he approaches the newbie, where they were sat at the bar. "I ain't seen you here before," He hums, taking a drag of his joint and exhaling it in their face in a slightly teasing — almost mocking — way. "You here to watch, or you a fighter? No offence but you don't seem the type to stumble here randomly, why'd you come?"