The scent of blood filled his nostrils as Thane threw his head back downing his shot before looking over at the makeshift cage ring. His opponent was being dragged out of it, a path of blood trailing behind them. It was just another typical night in 'The Pits' with Thane walking away with enough money to pay for his rent for another month. The illegal fights payed for most his expenses due to the few job opportunities a werewolf had. It didn't help that his handsome mug was mired with a rather unsightly scar that didn't give a friendly look to him. After shifting back from the fight, his attire consisted of a plain white shirt, or what use to be just white as a few drops of blood trickled onto it, a leather jacket, and an old pair of work jeans. Most day jobs took a look at his appearance and clothing and turned him away. He had managed to get a night job as a bouncer but you could only do so much to a rowdy customer that needed to get tossed out. In 'The Pits' he could at least cut loose and show what it meant to be a Whitlock.
Thane's bloodline could be traced centuries back, a rare occurrence for most werewolves since getting into unnecessary fights a lot of the time could mean an early grave. The first of his line was a fellow named by Bartholomew Whitlock, an unfortunate fellow to manage to survive a werewolf attack and be given the curse that found him to be part of a group called The Red Hoods. In the family he was a legend for being the first of the bloodline, that and managing to still fight in the final battle after having his arm removed by a silver blade. After the disbanding of the group he had settled down and despite his age produced a child that eventually lead to the current day Thane.
"Another round their alpha?" the gruff bar keep asked to which Thane gave a small nod, waiting for the amber liquid to fill the shot-glass before swiftly taking it and downing it again. He doubted anyone else would challenge him tonight, not after the last guy was not left a bleeding mess. Not to say that Thane was any better, he definitely could feel ribs trying to mend and the smell of blood was partially due to his nose being broken. He'd be sore but what mattered was that he was still standing while his opponent was not. That's all that mattered in the end of the fight, to show that you could take a beating and still remain tall. It was liberating to take a days of frustration out in a good fight, though he wasn't sure if there many that could challenge him. He stood at the top of 'The Pit' ranks, and had been for months and fewer were daring to the challenge him into a fight. At least the few that did gave out a decent reward amount.
After a few more rounds, Thane payed and made his leave, drifting out of the underbelly of the city into the cold night air, making his way to his den to sleep off the oncoming hangover and healing scars.