He was leaning against the far wall, chest heaving as he kept his eyes lowered. He'd long since learned not to engage with the spectators: they weren't dealt with nearly as harshly as he was when he tore through the chain link separating them...and then through them.

He was hoping they'd only send one or two more because he was getting tired, but tonight with this crowd he didn't think they'd stop throwing more at him until he shifted. He spat a globbule of blood to the floor, watching the sawdust slowly absorb it. He hated shifting for them. Shifting meant he was going to kill his opponent, unless they stopped him in time. And he wasn't sure that was such a bad thing anymore: his captors had learned that his lycanthropy could be contagious, and now that was a major bargaining chip for them.

God how he missed stripping. Not that he thought anyone would pay for that these days.

As he caught his breath, a voice trickled through his mind. It wasn't a shock to him: Jean Claude used to do it frequently, and since coming to this shit hole there was often some...thing...in the crowd who tried having some fun poking around his head. He closed his eyes, putting as much irritation into his thoughts as he could. :I think you should leave me alone.: