Round one, fight two; Lance vs. Jessa
Round one, fight two; Lance vs. Jessa
Fight.
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((Continued from Scapegoat))
Jessa was wound pretty tight, and for good reason. Last week she'd been kind of high and just talking stupid with one of her friends. Less "friends" than "acquaintances", really. In any case, said acquaintance had witnessed a catfight she'd partaken in, and won, and that was great. Except somewhere during the three hours they'd spent just shooting the shit afterwards she'd bragged about the many altercations she'd been through and was invited to an amateur fighting tournament at Shooters. Maybe it was that she'd thought it was a joke, or maybe she'd misunderstood the term "fighting tournament", but no matter the reason she certainly was having second thoughts.
One of her friends had come along with her to cheer her on, but she may as well have stayed home because she really wasn't helping. She couldn't relax, not with Marla all hyper and whacked-out. Was she on something? Sure seemed like it. Jessa hadn't had anything all day, except she was planning on taking a quick nipper of coke to ready herself for a likely beatdown by some guy who had no qualms with hitting a chick.
She'd never been in a fight with a guy. It wasn't that she didn't think she could take anyone of the opposite sex down, but after some deliberation...
'If I were a guy and fighting a chick, I'd probably be determined to win because if I didn't that'd make me a giant pussy. Especially in the first fight.' It hadn't occurred until lately but now it seemed really obvious. Then again she hadn't even been told it was for guys until her acquaintance had called her to confirm the date, and after that it had been a bit hard to concentrate on a fighting strategy. Of course guys were particularly vulnerable below the belt, but she doubted they would allow her to hit him there. Anything to make it "fair"...
Then after the hit was safely up her nose the mentality set in that she'd hoped would: come out swinging like a crazy motherfucker and have some fun. She'd been sure not to overdo it, because she still had to remember not to let pride get her really fucked-up. Fucked-up was pretty much a given now, seeing as how her opponent was a sketchy individual she recognized from a handful of bush parties and cellphone fight videos. He'd seen his share of brawls, and she'd seen them too.
'Who's the dumb faggot who thought it'd be funny to pit this motherfucker against a girl?' she thought, irritated by the amusement of the crowd at her predicament (and accordingly Lance's). She took off her hoody (to more hooting) and threw it to the ground, adjusting the straps on her tanktop and asserting what she hoped registered as aggression as she did a little hyperactive dance. It usually intimidated other girls, and even some boys, but Lance didn't seem like the type to shit his pants over it.
'Fuck it.'
"(sniff) Let's go, bitch!"
Jessa was wound pretty tight, and for good reason. Last week she'd been kind of high and just talking stupid with one of her friends. Less "friends" than "acquaintances", really. In any case, said acquaintance had witnessed a catfight she'd partaken in, and won, and that was great. Except somewhere during the three hours they'd spent just shooting the shit afterwards she'd bragged about the many altercations she'd been through and was invited to an amateur fighting tournament at Shooters. Maybe it was that she'd thought it was a joke, or maybe she'd misunderstood the term "fighting tournament", but no matter the reason she certainly was having second thoughts.
One of her friends had come along with her to cheer her on, but she may as well have stayed home because she really wasn't helping. She couldn't relax, not with Marla all hyper and whacked-out. Was she on something? Sure seemed like it. Jessa hadn't had anything all day, except she was planning on taking a quick nipper of coke to ready herself for a likely beatdown by some guy who had no qualms with hitting a chick.
She'd never been in a fight with a guy. It wasn't that she didn't think she could take anyone of the opposite sex down, but after some deliberation...
'If I were a guy and fighting a chick, I'd probably be determined to win because if I didn't that'd make me a giant pussy. Especially in the first fight.' It hadn't occurred until lately but now it seemed really obvious. Then again she hadn't even been told it was for guys until her acquaintance had called her to confirm the date, and after that it had been a bit hard to concentrate on a fighting strategy. Of course guys were particularly vulnerable below the belt, but she doubted they would allow her to hit him there. Anything to make it "fair"...
Then after the hit was safely up her nose the mentality set in that she'd hoped would: come out swinging like a crazy motherfucker and have some fun. She'd been sure not to overdo it, because she still had to remember not to let pride get her really fucked-up. Fucked-up was pretty much a given now, seeing as how her opponent was a sketchy individual she recognized from a handful of bush parties and cellphone fight videos. He'd seen his share of brawls, and she'd seen them too.
'Who's the dumb faggot who thought it'd be funny to pit this motherfucker against a girl?' she thought, irritated by the amusement of the crowd at her predicament (and accordingly Lance's). She took off her hoody (to more hooting) and threw it to the ground, adjusting the straps on her tanktop and asserting what she hoped registered as aggression as she did a little hyperactive dance. It usually intimidated other girls, and even some boys, but Lance didn't seem like the type to shit his pants over it.
'Fuck it.'
"(sniff) Let's go, bitch!"
This is an archival account used by staff to port posts belonging to the handler Cyco. While this handler hasn't been around in quite a while, should they return and wish to take custody of this account and/or its posts, they are welcome to do so by contacting staff.
God damn... it's been a while.
It had been almost half a year since Lance Barrett had set foot into a place like Shooters. After all, it wasn't exactly known for being a prestigious and wholesome environment, and he'd had a hard enough time keeping on the straight and narrow the past few months anyway. He figured that he definitely didn't need to associate with the seedy and the delinquent that seemed to spawn in a place like this. As he entered the back entrance of the shoddy-looking establishment, he pulled the hood of his oversized navy blue hoodie over his head and stared directly down at the floor.
He could recognize a few of the faces loitering around the nearly empty first floor in his peripheral vision, and honestly, he would rather not be seen by the few thugs that had overtaken the bar. Shooters wasn't an overly large place, and within a moment, he could see the large man standing, arms folded, in front of an ordinary looking door. Except, the door was anything but ordinary. It lead down to the basement of the establishment, where the fighting tournament he had enrolled himself in was to be held.
"Barrett..." he muttered to the giant guarding the door.
The gargantuan simply nodded his head and stepped aside, and Lance eased his way through the door and down the old and somewhat rickety stairwell that lead to the basement of Shooters. Before he reached the end of the stairwell, his nostrils were assaulted by a pungent and putrid mixture of odors. Blood, sweat, body odor, and cologne all mixed and intertwined together in the humid basement. For Lance, it brought back memories of a different time, a different place. But, he didn't have time to dwell on the past right now. His eyes scanned the crowd, picking out a few familiar faces here and there, as well as the faces of a few of the other contestants.
Out of the corner of his eye, he spied Montezzo, who was rather easy to pick out from the crowd by the plush suit he was wearing, and gave the tournament instigator a curt nod. It took a bit of effort to navigate the crowd that had crammed themselves into the basement like sardines, but after a moment, he spied the tournament brackets. His name was on there, just as it should have been, but when he saw his first competitor, he frowned visibly.
A girl, huh...?
Lance sighed aloud as he stared at the name of his opponent. Jessa Vanallen. She was the first in a series of contestants standing between him and the two hundred dollar prize that was being offered to the winner of the tournament. That money was the only reason that Lance Barrett had ever gotten involved in something as shady and under-the-table as something like this.
Before now, it had been months since he would have ever dreamed of doing something this crazy, and money was money. It was true that the prize money for the tournament wasn't all that much, but as he slid his hands into the side pockets of his camouflage cargo pants, he was quickly reminded of the fact that some money was better than no money, and right now, he had nothing. Nothing to lose, and everything to gain.
It's all for you, Abbi.
Abbi. Abbigaiyle. That's what they were going to name the baby. They had decided on the name a while back. It had been a mixture of Heather's mother's name and Lance's grandmother's name. Now that the baby had a name, it solidified the fact that she was coming, and there was no stopping it... and never, not once since Heather had dropped the bombshell on Lance some months ago, had he ever wanted to stop it. From the moment that he found out about Abbi, his life gained a purpose, and he had something to live for, something to love, something to protect.
That was how he found himself here, staring at the face of his first opponent. Lance's dark eyes met Jessa's, and he could tell that something wasn't quite right with her. He'd seen that glazed over look in his own eyes many times, and in Heather's. He knew what it was like to be high off of cocaine, or meth, or whatever this girl's preference was. Somehow, the fact that she was out of her mind made him feel less guilty about pulverizing her to get through the tournament.
"This is nothing personal," he muttered as he removed his hoodie and tossed it to the side before flexing his arms and adjusting the black wifebeater shirt he had adorned underneath the hoodie, "But I can't afford to lose."
Because I'm doing this for you.
It had been almost half a year since Lance Barrett had set foot into a place like Shooters. After all, it wasn't exactly known for being a prestigious and wholesome environment, and he'd had a hard enough time keeping on the straight and narrow the past few months anyway. He figured that he definitely didn't need to associate with the seedy and the delinquent that seemed to spawn in a place like this. As he entered the back entrance of the shoddy-looking establishment, he pulled the hood of his oversized navy blue hoodie over his head and stared directly down at the floor.
He could recognize a few of the faces loitering around the nearly empty first floor in his peripheral vision, and honestly, he would rather not be seen by the few thugs that had overtaken the bar. Shooters wasn't an overly large place, and within a moment, he could see the large man standing, arms folded, in front of an ordinary looking door. Except, the door was anything but ordinary. It lead down to the basement of the establishment, where the fighting tournament he had enrolled himself in was to be held.
"Barrett..." he muttered to the giant guarding the door.
The gargantuan simply nodded his head and stepped aside, and Lance eased his way through the door and down the old and somewhat rickety stairwell that lead to the basement of Shooters. Before he reached the end of the stairwell, his nostrils were assaulted by a pungent and putrid mixture of odors. Blood, sweat, body odor, and cologne all mixed and intertwined together in the humid basement. For Lance, it brought back memories of a different time, a different place. But, he didn't have time to dwell on the past right now. His eyes scanned the crowd, picking out a few familiar faces here and there, as well as the faces of a few of the other contestants.
Out of the corner of his eye, he spied Montezzo, who was rather easy to pick out from the crowd by the plush suit he was wearing, and gave the tournament instigator a curt nod. It took a bit of effort to navigate the crowd that had crammed themselves into the basement like sardines, but after a moment, he spied the tournament brackets. His name was on there, just as it should have been, but when he saw his first competitor, he frowned visibly.
A girl, huh...?
Lance sighed aloud as he stared at the name of his opponent. Jessa Vanallen. She was the first in a series of contestants standing between him and the two hundred dollar prize that was being offered to the winner of the tournament. That money was the only reason that Lance Barrett had ever gotten involved in something as shady and under-the-table as something like this.
Before now, it had been months since he would have ever dreamed of doing something this crazy, and money was money. It was true that the prize money for the tournament wasn't all that much, but as he slid his hands into the side pockets of his camouflage cargo pants, he was quickly reminded of the fact that some money was better than no money, and right now, he had nothing. Nothing to lose, and everything to gain.
It's all for you, Abbi.
Abbi. Abbigaiyle. That's what they were going to name the baby. They had decided on the name a while back. It had been a mixture of Heather's mother's name and Lance's grandmother's name. Now that the baby had a name, it solidified the fact that she was coming, and there was no stopping it... and never, not once since Heather had dropped the bombshell on Lance some months ago, had he ever wanted to stop it. From the moment that he found out about Abbi, his life gained a purpose, and he had something to live for, something to love, something to protect.
That was how he found himself here, staring at the face of his first opponent. Lance's dark eyes met Jessa's, and he could tell that something wasn't quite right with her. He'd seen that glazed over look in his own eyes many times, and in Heather's. He knew what it was like to be high off of cocaine, or meth, or whatever this girl's preference was. Somehow, the fact that she was out of her mind made him feel less guilty about pulverizing her to get through the tournament.
"This is nothing personal," he muttered as he removed his hoodie and tossed it to the side before flexing his arms and adjusting the black wifebeater shirt he had adorned underneath the hoodie, "But I can't afford to lose."
Because I'm doing this for you.
This is an archival account used by staff to port posts belonging to the handler Megami. While this handler hasn't been around in quite a while, should they return and wish to take custody of this account and/or its posts, they are welcome to do so by contacting staff.
It was becoming increasingly evident that her opponent was taking the fight seriously. So much for chivalry.
She circled him for a moment, something she usually only did when she was tired well into the fight. She had her arms raised, mostly just in hopes of protecting her face. Jessa had superior upper body strength compared to most of her previous opponents, except for a certain fat bitch who'd had no real fighting skills to speak of anyway and had been beaten rather easily. Be that as it was, she still had no chance of out-punching Lance, not from what she'd seen on the small grainy screens of assorted mobile phones.
Of course Jessa had never bothered to look for a pattern, although in retrospect it would have been a good idea to run over them and get a better grasp of how Lance usually started off in a brawl (alas, she'd spent most of the past few days trying to get out of this stupid tournament). She hesitated for a second and sniffed again, which was just enough of a stall to decide on an attack. Boot him. Just fuckin' soccer kick him and hope something gets in the way. And if she was disqualified for hitting him in the junk, well then whoopee fucking shit. She'd have lost out on 200 bucks that she wouldn't have been able to win anyway? Nigga, please.
Jessa took a step forward to set up her right leg and made like she was going to punch him. It felt convincing, she just hoped it looked convincing enough. She also hoped he wasn't planning on having any kids in the near future, given that she threw quite a bit into it.
She circled him for a moment, something she usually only did when she was tired well into the fight. She had her arms raised, mostly just in hopes of protecting her face. Jessa had superior upper body strength compared to most of her previous opponents, except for a certain fat bitch who'd had no real fighting skills to speak of anyway and had been beaten rather easily. Be that as it was, she still had no chance of out-punching Lance, not from what she'd seen on the small grainy screens of assorted mobile phones.
Of course Jessa had never bothered to look for a pattern, although in retrospect it would have been a good idea to run over them and get a better grasp of how Lance usually started off in a brawl (alas, she'd spent most of the past few days trying to get out of this stupid tournament). She hesitated for a second and sniffed again, which was just enough of a stall to decide on an attack. Boot him. Just fuckin' soccer kick him and hope something gets in the way. And if she was disqualified for hitting him in the junk, well then whoopee fucking shit. She'd have lost out on 200 bucks that she wouldn't have been able to win anyway? Nigga, please.
Jessa took a step forward to set up her right leg and made like she was going to punch him. It felt convincing, she just hoped it looked convincing enough. She also hoped he wasn't planning on having any kids in the near future, given that she threw quite a bit into it.
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Lance's eyes traced his opponent up and down as she made the first move, circling him slowly, probably sizing him up and, he assumed, looking for the best place to strike. Then again, given the girl's overexaggerated movements and the way that he was presenting herself, Lance couldn't help but think that she couldn't even function, let alone attempt to pinpoint his weaknesses.
He didn't circle around her, simply stood in the middle of the fighting area, his eyes following her. When she moved into his peripheral vision, he turned to face her. There was something morally wrong about swinging the first punch at a girl, and if he'd been as high as she seemed to be, he would've had no problem with it, but having gone cold turkey some months ago, he'd recently found some sense of a conscience, and he simply couldn't bring himself to just slam his fist into her face and knock her out.
C'mon, bitch. Hit me. Make it okay.
But it wasn't okay. Attacking this girl simply wasn't okay. Lance shook his head, trying to clear out the cobwebs that clouded his mind. Whether pummeling Jessa was morally questionable or not, he had to do it. She was standing in between him and the prize money, and he needed that money desperately. This girl, she probably had no reason to ever need that money, or ever want it. What was she going to do with it anyway? Spend it on more ecstacy or something?
Lance needed that money, and he needed it desperately. It was for Abbi. He needed it to by Abbi the good things that fathers were supposed to buy their daughter's. He needed it for toys and clothes and diapers and all the other things babies needed. He didn't know how to be a good father, but he knew that in order to be any kind of father at all, he needed money.
He closed his eyes for just a moment as the girl snorted again. When he opened them, he noticed she had moved forward like she was going to... punch him? She was so strung out that she thought she could actually take him in a fist fight? He couldn't help but scoff at the thought of it. He might not have been the grunt he once was, but he had still seen his fair share of bloodbaths and fights in the past, and he could definitely hold his own in a fight with some of the larger competitors. He could snap this girl in half if he really wanted to. Most importantly, the one thing that Jessa Vanallen did when she stepped toward Lance like she was about to attack was trigger something in Lance. Fear-induced aggression.
Adrenaline.
He couldn't lose. Losing wasn't an option. As the girl moved to attack him, it set in in Lance's mind that perhaps he was being far too overconfident. This girl could be a blackbelt martial artist for all he knew. The fact was, he was fighting an opponent that he knew nothing about and, for the first time since he'd entered the fighting circle, it occurred to him that he might lose this fight. It made him mad. It made him aggitated. As Jessa went for her faux-punch maneuver, Lance let out a yell and charged at the girl with the intention of wrapping his hands around her waist and launching her halfway across the fighting circle.
Can't lose. Won't lose.
He didn't circle around her, simply stood in the middle of the fighting area, his eyes following her. When she moved into his peripheral vision, he turned to face her. There was something morally wrong about swinging the first punch at a girl, and if he'd been as high as she seemed to be, he would've had no problem with it, but having gone cold turkey some months ago, he'd recently found some sense of a conscience, and he simply couldn't bring himself to just slam his fist into her face and knock her out.
C'mon, bitch. Hit me. Make it okay.
But it wasn't okay. Attacking this girl simply wasn't okay. Lance shook his head, trying to clear out the cobwebs that clouded his mind. Whether pummeling Jessa was morally questionable or not, he had to do it. She was standing in between him and the prize money, and he needed that money desperately. This girl, she probably had no reason to ever need that money, or ever want it. What was she going to do with it anyway? Spend it on more ecstacy or something?
Lance needed that money, and he needed it desperately. It was for Abbi. He needed it to by Abbi the good things that fathers were supposed to buy their daughter's. He needed it for toys and clothes and diapers and all the other things babies needed. He didn't know how to be a good father, but he knew that in order to be any kind of father at all, he needed money.
He closed his eyes for just a moment as the girl snorted again. When he opened them, he noticed she had moved forward like she was going to... punch him? She was so strung out that she thought she could actually take him in a fist fight? He couldn't help but scoff at the thought of it. He might not have been the grunt he once was, but he had still seen his fair share of bloodbaths and fights in the past, and he could definitely hold his own in a fight with some of the larger competitors. He could snap this girl in half if he really wanted to. Most importantly, the one thing that Jessa Vanallen did when she stepped toward Lance like she was about to attack was trigger something in Lance. Fear-induced aggression.
Adrenaline.
He couldn't lose. Losing wasn't an option. As the girl moved to attack him, it set in in Lance's mind that perhaps he was being far too overconfident. This girl could be a blackbelt martial artist for all he knew. The fact was, he was fighting an opponent that he knew nothing about and, for the first time since he'd entered the fighting circle, it occurred to him that he might lose this fight. It made him mad. It made him aggitated. As Jessa went for her faux-punch maneuver, Lance let out a yell and charged at the girl with the intention of wrapping his hands around her waist and launching her halfway across the fighting circle.
Can't lose. Won't lose.
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Lance sprang at Jessa liked a bat out of hell and she was suddenly jerked off of her feet. The kick being interrupted was indeed an unpleasant surprise, but even worse was the sickening anticipation of hitting the ground hard, much like teetering precariously before a fall.
And there it was. Jessa let out a grunt of pain as she landed hard on her back, throwing her neck down and smoking her head against the dusty hardwood floor. "Fuck!" she exclaimed upon impact. Physics sucked so much cock it wasn't even funny. Not that she was down for the count, but now her head was throbbing and she was winded. On top of that she had the lingering dread that Lance would follow her to the ground and start wailing on her. That passed momentarily; the yey just had her a little paranoid. Lance had made no effort to pursue her down at all.
"You sure know how to show a girl a good time," Jessa grumbled as she got to her feet, visibly shaking from adrenaline and coughing in discomfort halfway through her sentence. "Maybe," she sniffed, a look of amusement spreading across her features, "you can buy me a drink after--"
The words had barely left her mouth when she darted forward again, trying to take advantage of the apparent lapse in the fight to catch Lance off-guard. She aimed a punch at his throat, for real this time. Maybe he would expect another feint.
And there it was. Jessa let out a grunt of pain as she landed hard on her back, throwing her neck down and smoking her head against the dusty hardwood floor. "Fuck!" she exclaimed upon impact. Physics sucked so much cock it wasn't even funny. Not that she was down for the count, but now her head was throbbing and she was winded. On top of that she had the lingering dread that Lance would follow her to the ground and start wailing on her. That passed momentarily; the yey just had her a little paranoid. Lance had made no effort to pursue her down at all.
"You sure know how to show a girl a good time," Jessa grumbled as she got to her feet, visibly shaking from adrenaline and coughing in discomfort halfway through her sentence. "Maybe," she sniffed, a look of amusement spreading across her features, "you can buy me a drink after--"
The words had barely left her mouth when she darted forward again, trying to take advantage of the apparent lapse in the fight to catch Lance off-guard. She aimed a punch at his throat, for real this time. Maybe he would expect another feint.
This is an archival account used by staff to port posts belonging to the handler Cyco. While this handler hasn't been around in quite a while, should they return and wish to take custody of this account and/or its posts, they are welcome to do so by contacting staff.
((Just letting everyone know that I'm gonna be a hair over the 24 hour deadline with the next post. I've got to get some sleep now, attempting to get up at 2 AM to open a store on Hell Day is exhausting, and I don't get off till 2 PM, so I'll try to get up a post as soon as I can get to the computer. 
))
))This is an archival account used by staff to port posts belonging to the handler Megami. While this handler hasn't been around in quite a while, should they return and wish to take custody of this account and/or its posts, they are welcome to do so by contacting staff.
Lance grinned smugly as he felt his arm wrap around Jessa's waist. From there, it was nothing to throw the girl to the ground with a phenominal amount of momentum. Instead of following her to the ground and barraging her with a series of blows, though, Lance simply backed away ever so slightly, allowing the girl to get up on her own.
If she'd been smart, she would've just stayed down and saved herself from the remainder of the fight. This girl, though, she didn't seem like the type to take things lying down, and Lance's slam into the ground was probably nothing more than provocation for her. Still, if she was swinging at him left and right, it would make him feel just a little less guilty about beating her into the ground.
The words that came out of Jessa's mouth as she staggered to her feet caught Lance offguard, and he found himself grinning at her.
"I do like it rough," he mused with a smile, "Sounds like a date."
He barely got the statement out of his mouth before Jessa sprung forward full-force in an attempt to catch him offguard. It halfway worked, but what really caught him offguard wasn't the attack itself but the fist that was suddenly flying toward his throat. If he hadn't been distracted, he could have easily reached up and held her fist in place. She was much smaller and more frail than him, after all.
Instead, Lance only had time to jerk his head to the side, which wound up placing him in a worse predicament than he'd already been in. The punch connected with his jaw with a sickening thud, and Lance, temporary stunned from the hit, shook his head in an attempt to eliminate the cobwebs once again.
He stepped back from her and ran his arm across his mouth before spitting out a slight amount of blood -- from biting down on his tongue when the punch connected -- to the side. He couldn't let her gloat about her punch too much, though. As far as he was concerned, one was far too many, and he definitely wasn't going to lose this fight to some chick.
Lance immediately reached for Jessa's right arm. The object of his attack was to wrench it down and, hopefully, out of socket. It would be a painful injury if it connected, but nothing life threatening, and probably the easiest and safest way to eliminate her from the competition without really screwing her up.
All she has to do is take it like the bitch she is.
If she'd been smart, she would've just stayed down and saved herself from the remainder of the fight. This girl, though, she didn't seem like the type to take things lying down, and Lance's slam into the ground was probably nothing more than provocation for her. Still, if she was swinging at him left and right, it would make him feel just a little less guilty about beating her into the ground.
The words that came out of Jessa's mouth as she staggered to her feet caught Lance offguard, and he found himself grinning at her.
"I do like it rough," he mused with a smile, "Sounds like a date."
He barely got the statement out of his mouth before Jessa sprung forward full-force in an attempt to catch him offguard. It halfway worked, but what really caught him offguard wasn't the attack itself but the fist that was suddenly flying toward his throat. If he hadn't been distracted, he could have easily reached up and held her fist in place. She was much smaller and more frail than him, after all.
Instead, Lance only had time to jerk his head to the side, which wound up placing him in a worse predicament than he'd already been in. The punch connected with his jaw with a sickening thud, and Lance, temporary stunned from the hit, shook his head in an attempt to eliminate the cobwebs once again.
He stepped back from her and ran his arm across his mouth before spitting out a slight amount of blood -- from biting down on his tongue when the punch connected -- to the side. He couldn't let her gloat about her punch too much, though. As far as he was concerned, one was far too many, and he definitely wasn't going to lose this fight to some chick.
Lance immediately reached for Jessa's right arm. The object of his attack was to wrench it down and, hopefully, out of socket. It would be a painful injury if it connected, but nothing life threatening, and probably the easiest and safest way to eliminate her from the competition without really screwing her up.
All she has to do is take it like the bitch she is.
This is an archival account used by staff to port posts belonging to the handler Megami. While this handler hasn't been around in quite a while, should they return and wish to take custody of this account and/or its posts, they are welcome to do so by contacting staff.
Jessa's attack hadn't gone quite as planned, but a hit was a hit. She was about to follow it up with another when she felt her right arm snagged by her opponent's grasp. The sudden realization that Lance had a hold on her was unpleasant if anything, and she was overcome with a sudden panic.
He was stronger than her, so Jessa sincerely doubted she would be able to pull free, and she certainly was no wrestler. All she could hope to do was stun him again by wailing on his face with her left, which wasn't her power arm or any real specimen of pugilist might for that matter. The strikes were quick in succession, aiming to hit with the first two knuckles around the eye. Jessa was pulling out all the stops now, ignoring that she certainly wasn't a lefty for the mere sake of stopping something awful from happening to her arm.
"Lemme go!" she grunted, doubting he would oblige but feeling that something needed to be said anyway.
He was stronger than her, so Jessa sincerely doubted she would be able to pull free, and she certainly was no wrestler. All she could hope to do was stun him again by wailing on his face with her left, which wasn't her power arm or any real specimen of pugilist might for that matter. The strikes were quick in succession, aiming to hit with the first two knuckles around the eye. Jessa was pulling out all the stops now, ignoring that she certainly wasn't a lefty for the mere sake of stopping something awful from happening to her arm.
"Lemme go!" she grunted, doubting he would oblige but feeling that something needed to be said anyway.
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Lance smiled maliciously as he felt Jessa's tiny arm within his grasp. The girl seemed completely caught offguard, and the sense of panic that was overtaking her was visibly showing on her features. She began flailing around, using her obviously weaker left arm to attempt a series of punches to his face. He couldn't say that it didn't still hurt when her knuckles connected with his eye -- a move he didn't even attempt to block -- but the pain wasn't unbearable, and if he dislocated her shoulder, he'd gain a major advantage for the rest of the fight. He smirked slightly at her feeble attack. If she'd been smart, she would've gouged him in the eyes to make him release her, not simply hit him in an attempt to knock him off of her. He'd withstood a lot more damage than that before.
"Let you go?" Lance chuckled as Jessa pleaded.
His smile vanished immediately and a deep, thinking expression momentarily crossed his features as if he was seriously considering her plea for just a moment. Lance wrenched down hard on her arm one more time before deciding to catch the girl completely offguard -- hopefully. He quickly released his grip on her arm, barely giving her any time at all to react as his hands once again wrapped themselves around her waist and he pulled up. In essence, what he was trying to pull off was a suplex. All he had to do was flip her over his head and allow her to connect, head-first, into the ground.
I have to give her credit. When I looked at her, I figured she'd be down in the first five seconds of the fight, but she's keeping it together. Guess I'll have to get serious now.
"Let you go?" Lance chuckled as Jessa pleaded.
His smile vanished immediately and a deep, thinking expression momentarily crossed his features as if he was seriously considering her plea for just a moment. Lance wrenched down hard on her arm one more time before deciding to catch the girl completely offguard -- hopefully. He quickly released his grip on her arm, barely giving her any time at all to react as his hands once again wrapped themselves around her waist and he pulled up. In essence, what he was trying to pull off was a suplex. All he had to do was flip her over his head and allow her to connect, head-first, into the ground.
I have to give her credit. When I looked at her, I figured she'd be down in the first five seconds of the fight, but she's keeping it together. Guess I'll have to get serious now.
This is an archival account used by staff to port posts belonging to the handler Megami. While this handler hasn't been around in quite a while, should they return and wish to take custody of this account and/or its posts, they are welcome to do so by contacting staff.
Jessa was caught off-guard by Lance's sudden release, and wasn't able to react properly when he moved in to throw her. Whether this was the result of losing her cool or not was debatable, but either way she was definitely going for a ride now. Worse than last time.
She cried out in surprise and alarm as Lance belly-to-belly suplexed her with tremendous force, which of course ended badly for her. Then again, she thought, why wouldn't it? Jessa had become (almost by accident) involved in an amateur fighting tournament and snorted coke before her match with a guy who she knew very well was an experiened brawler. She'd passed up a chance to just throw in the towel with a mere bump on the noggin for the sake of pride...and maybe also because she wasn't in her right mind and had some pent-up energy to release. Give or take a few reasons. Either way, she had a moment of clarity somewhere just after her feet left the ground.
'Ok, proved my point, now m'gonna just stay dow--'
Her skull cracked hard on the floor and Jessa instantly lost consciousness.
She cried out in surprise and alarm as Lance belly-to-belly suplexed her with tremendous force, which of course ended badly for her. Then again, she thought, why wouldn't it? Jessa had become (almost by accident) involved in an amateur fighting tournament and snorted coke before her match with a guy who she knew very well was an experiened brawler. She'd passed up a chance to just throw in the towel with a mere bump on the noggin for the sake of pride...and maybe also because she wasn't in her right mind and had some pent-up energy to release. Give or take a few reasons. Either way, she had a moment of clarity somewhere just after her feet left the ground.
'Ok, proved my point, now m'gonna just stay dow--'
Her skull cracked hard on the floor and Jessa instantly lost consciousness.
This is an archival account used by staff to port posts belonging to the handler Cyco. While this handler hasn't been around in quite a while, should they return and wish to take custody of this account and/or its posts, they are welcome to do so by contacting staff.
OOC: Well there you have it, folks. Lance Barrett wins by knockout. Nice match, both of you.
IC:
A collective gasp seemed to rise from the crowd when Jessa Vanallen's head smashed into the concrete floor of the Shooters basement. The girl had stopped moving, but as soon as she hit the ground Montezzo Valtieri moved in. Standing between Lance and Jessa, he knelt next to the fallen girl (ignoring the dirt that started to get on the pants of his suit) and looked her over. First bringing his middle and index fingers on his right hand to where her carotid artery would be, and then to her wrists, he checked for a pulse. Nodding silently when he found said pulse, he moved his hand up to Jessa's left eye and lightly pinched the top eyelid between his thumb and index finger, lifting it to open the eye. Leaning in closely, he carefully looked into Jessa's eye to check for any signs of consciousness in the young girl.
Nothing. She must've hit her head even harder than it looked.
Thinking this, he closed the girl's eye again and, after lightly slapping her cheek as a last check, slowly got up. While brushing the dirt off of his expensive suit pants, he casually walked over to Lance, who would hopefully still be standing where he was when he originally suplexed Jessa, and closed in on his side before the man could react. Then his left hand lashed out quickly and grabbed Lance's hand by the wrist before jerking both of their arms upward into the air, the typical victory gesture of a referee.
"It's a knockout! Lance Barrett wins!"
After saying this, Montezzo Valtieri detached himself from the victorious combatant, but stopped as he started to walk away, turning around again so he could talk into the former delinquent's ear.
"Nice fight, Barrett," he whispered, "I knew you still had what it takes."
He then briskly walked off into the crowd, and could be heard making orders to get Jessa some smelling salts and have someone check her for a concussion before taking her outside.
IC:
A collective gasp seemed to rise from the crowd when Jessa Vanallen's head smashed into the concrete floor of the Shooters basement. The girl had stopped moving, but as soon as she hit the ground Montezzo Valtieri moved in. Standing between Lance and Jessa, he knelt next to the fallen girl (ignoring the dirt that started to get on the pants of his suit) and looked her over. First bringing his middle and index fingers on his right hand to where her carotid artery would be, and then to her wrists, he checked for a pulse. Nodding silently when he found said pulse, he moved his hand up to Jessa's left eye and lightly pinched the top eyelid between his thumb and index finger, lifting it to open the eye. Leaning in closely, he carefully looked into Jessa's eye to check for any signs of consciousness in the young girl.
Nothing. She must've hit her head even harder than it looked.
Thinking this, he closed the girl's eye again and, after lightly slapping her cheek as a last check, slowly got up. While brushing the dirt off of his expensive suit pants, he casually walked over to Lance, who would hopefully still be standing where he was when he originally suplexed Jessa, and closed in on his side before the man could react. Then his left hand lashed out quickly and grabbed Lance's hand by the wrist before jerking both of their arms upward into the air, the typical victory gesture of a referee.
"It's a knockout! Lance Barrett wins!"
After saying this, Montezzo Valtieri detached himself from the victorious combatant, but stopped as he started to walk away, turning around again so he could talk into the former delinquent's ear.
"Nice fight, Barrett," he whispered, "I knew you still had what it takes."
He then briskly walked off into the crowd, and could be heard making orders to get Jessa some smelling salts and have someone check her for a concussion before taking her outside.
This is an archival account used by staff to port posts belonging to the former handler Slayer.
((*sigh* I'll try to post a wrap-up to this when I'm not totally exhausted.))
This is an archival account used by staff to port posts belonging to the handler Megami. While this handler hasn't been around in quite a while, should they return and wish to take custody of this account and/or its posts, they are welcome to do so by contacting staff.
OOC: There's no rush.
This is an archival account used by staff to port posts belonging to the former handler Slayer.
And just like that, the fight was over. Lance felt himself jerk Jessa off the ground, he felt himself flip over into a suplex position, and he felt Jessa go limp as her head came into contact with the hard, poorly padded floor of the Shooters basement. Lance released the girl's limp body and allowed it to fall to the floor with a light thud. Referee Montezzo Valtieri moved in to check on the girl's conditions, and Lance frowned inwardly. He had planned on eliminating her from the competition, but he hadn't planned on hurting her as bad as he seemed to have.
He barely noticed that he had won the fight until Montezzo made his way over to him and wrenched his arm up in the air in victory. The crowd surrounding the two fighters roared as Montezzo declared Lance victorious, but all Lance could seem to do at the time was stare at the limp body of Jessa Vanallen. Had she really deserved that? He had tried to convince himself that it was just something he had to do throughout the entire fight, but now, he was feeling a little bit remorseful about the whole incident.
"I knew you still had what it takes."
Lance wanted to vomit when Montezzo uttered those words to him, but instead, nodded solemnly in response. He didn't want to have "what it took" anymore. It wasn't him. This wasn't him. Not anymore. But it was him, and the staffers swarming around Jessa to awaken and remove her from the ring were proof enough of that. He watched them hoist the other girl out of the area and ran his arm across his forehead, trying to soak up some of the sweat that had accumulated across the entirety of his body during the fight.
Only two more to go and the prize is mine... is hers. Just gotta stay focused.
((Continued in Round Two, Fight Two; Lance vs. Darnell))
He barely noticed that he had won the fight until Montezzo made his way over to him and wrenched his arm up in the air in victory. The crowd surrounding the two fighters roared as Montezzo declared Lance victorious, but all Lance could seem to do at the time was stare at the limp body of Jessa Vanallen. Had she really deserved that? He had tried to convince himself that it was just something he had to do throughout the entire fight, but now, he was feeling a little bit remorseful about the whole incident.
"I knew you still had what it takes."
Lance wanted to vomit when Montezzo uttered those words to him, but instead, nodded solemnly in response. He didn't want to have "what it took" anymore. It wasn't him. This wasn't him. Not anymore. But it was him, and the staffers swarming around Jessa to awaken and remove her from the ring were proof enough of that. He watched them hoist the other girl out of the area and ran his arm across his forehead, trying to soak up some of the sweat that had accumulated across the entirety of his body during the fight.
Only two more to go and the prize is mine... is hers. Just gotta stay focused.
((Continued in Round Two, Fight Two; Lance vs. Darnell))
This is an archival account used by staff to port posts belonging to the handler Megami. While this handler hasn't been around in quite a while, should they return and wish to take custody of this account and/or its posts, they are welcome to do so by contacting staff.