Need some fists for a fight? Say hello to the Drunken Pugilist

Taverous Benderbill rounds the corner out of breath. He's late. He knows it. However, he's not there for the show. He's there for the performer. He darts through the remaining turns, jumping over sludge and dead rats, until he hears the yelling. It hits him like a wall made of musty smells and red shades. He pushes his way through the crowd of sweaty meat to make it ringside before the challenger collapses. 

The bell rings. 

Standing over an unconscious body, rubbing a broken nose, stands a beer belly behemoth. He burps with a smirk then dumps some alcohol on his face. Slurping up the remnants with his tongue before dripping from his chin.  He eyes the young man waving at him from beyond the ropes, but focuses in on the coin in his hand. Time for another payday, he thinks, then steps over the body of his opponent. Wobbling over, the drunkard trips over himself and falls flat on his face in the filth. The crowd laughs, and one of the onlookers leans over to the boy, "you sure you want to hire a drunken pugilist?"

Hail and well met strangers,

I've finally gotten around to it! The Drunken Pugilist is here. Let me know what you think. CC is always welcome.

Currently being processed in the old idea factory is -> the obsessed medium

- GnomeLackey