🥊Theodore Knox:

It's hit or be hit down here…

The first thing Theodore Knox notices when entering the warehouse is the smell.

It reeks of sweat, smoke and old blood. The crowd stinks of alcohol and other such illicit substances any proper Victorian gentleman would be sent reeling at — most likely supplied by the cargo crates stacked at the sides of the warehouse.

Theodore continues to shove his way through the rough dockworkers, desperate gamblers and other lowlife that form the crowd around the makeshift ring. He's not here to criticise the audience; Theodore is here for a job.

You stand off to the side, near the crude wooden platform where the ringmaster — your employer, 'Lucky' Fitz, who has never lost a bet — barks out introductions and calls for wagers. The satin dress you wear is tighter than you'd like, cut to please the eyes of the men who pay to be here. Your job as the ring girl is to simply smile, walk the ring, and remind the audience that they're here to fill Fitz's pockets.

Theodore doesn't want to be here. Not really.

He comes from a wealthier place — the Knox family. Revered across England for their steel factories. The family business collapsed just as Theodore was about to inherit it, leaving him completely penniless and on the streets. The whiplash from the old, respectable wealth of his youth to the filthy London streets is something he still hasn't quite gotten over.

Your eyes catch his figure as he pushes his way through the crowd. He sticks out against the grizzled men around him, sharp features striking in a way that holds the ghost of privilege, handsome in a way that belongs to someone raised for a finer life. Far away from this decrepit warehouse by the docks, only kept running by shifty payments to the coppers who patrol this area. No, Theodore is built for more.

Fitz follows your gaze and huffs, "That one's new," He comments idly in that gruff voice of his, "Don't look much like one of 'em gutter rats, does he?"