Description: In a match that would make certain ice-using assassins explode in envy, Masters Stadium's White Arena has been refashioned into some sort of a makeshift candyland, with oversized sweets from chocolates to candy canes bedecking the entire landscape, and flooring made entirely of two feet of all-too soft, all-too sticky marshmallow, Brian Battler and Vyle find themselves forced to face off in this sticky wonderland in an all-out, all-sweet brawl to the finish. But will they, or the candy, be the victors...?! (Winner: Vyle)
'Tis a land of joy and bounty, here in the White Arena of Masters Stadium. The arena's name is coming to life in a completely different way than normal, however, as the joy of the holidays has seen the organizers of the Saturday Night Fight Main Event getting very creative with set decor. The floor is coated with two feet of Marshmallow Fluff, dusted heavily with cornstarch and confectioner's sugar for both a binding and to simulate snow. A forest of candycanes the size of large children has been placed along the periphery of the arena, with a village of large gingerbread houses (with a solid chocolate watertower and scale-model gummi cars) surrounding a central square. In the middle is a non-working water fountain created entirely from fruitcake (likely gathered from the set designers' own gifts), and it is here that a battle is set to begin.
"You have got to be shitting me," says a very large man as he enters the arena proper, his jaw slightly agape as his gaze passes over Hansel and Gretel's mutual wet dream. It's bad enough that he's been forced to wear this horrific sweater; a hand-knitted holiday turtleneck in red with white trim, green trees behind a very prominent, semi-Cubist angel with four fingers on her left hand. The sleeves are long enough that only Dhalsim could ever reach the ends of, and the neck is just tight enough to make the man's face flush. The body of the sweater itself is pulled taut around his chest, and the hem barely reaches past his navel. It's a sweater from hell, handmade by one of the tech's grandmothers, a nearly blind old lady with dementia, and passed on to Brian Battler as it was the only sweater with a holiday theme which remotely fit the huge man.
As he makes his way towards the arena that could kill a diabetic simply by proximity, Brian once again attempts to shove the baggy, unbrushed woolen sleeves up his arm. This is a feat, both in the sweater's construction (his arms are larger than some people's legs) and the effort required to make the material bend to his will. Finally getting them under control for the moment, he bends down and sticks his finger into the fluff. Pulling it back out, he just shakes his head again as he notes it's consistency: Very, very gooey. "This is gonna be messy as f***," he mutters bluntly, straightening himself.
Holy crap...what the hell happened? Vyle is used to gimmick matches...but usually, those matches are meant to make people bleed even more than a normal match would. He's dumbfounded enough at the sight (despite even being forewarned about the stipulations) that he misses his cue for 10 seconds, only just realizing his theme is playing before he storms out toward the marshmallow fluffed arena.
Even then, as "Subculture" blares out over the arena PA, the wrestler lacks his usual...panache and flair. It's like throwing a seasoned soldier into Candy Land and then wondering why he's not taking the trip to Gumdrop Mountain seriously. "Just what the hell...who was on acid when they booked this?" he mutters, introductions made over the PA as he zips up his jacket a bit further. The only thing holiday festive about the poisonous one is the purple-and-green Santa cap he was forced to wear....and the thing droops in front of his face echoing his disbelief.
"Ok, big fella...lets just...I don't know. I'm still f***ing stunned they'd do this ****," Vyle calls over to Brian, raising a sticky foot covered in snow-like marshmallow fluff. "Just...**** it," he mutters reaching out to snap off a giant candy cane, swinging it about like a crowbar.
As Vyle enters, the look on Brian's face is one of surprise and incredulousness. "HEY!" he shouts, whipping his head around towards one of the organizers, before pointing at the wrestler. "What the f*** is up with this, huh? You told me we'd both be in these shitty f***ing sweaters!" Quickly, he pulls at the material on his chest, the fibers straining under the duress. While the organizer herself merely shrugs, it's the reaction of his assistant that really shows the reasoning for the outfit, as the man begins to snicker quietly to himself. Little does he know that, despite the brightness of the lights, the Texan's glare can see exactly what he's doing. And it doesn't make him pleased in the least.
"Fine," he says, eyes looking down and spotting said assistant's backpack. Moving some chaw around in his lips, he hocks a mouthful of tobacco-infused spittle into the open bag before turning back to the arena and slogging through the muck to get to his starting position. And then... the itch takes effect. Unbrushed wool is very, very itchy against bare skin, and even those who can ignore it's irritation eventually find themselves confronting the issue. "F***ing hell," Brian says loudly, starting to scratch for a moment before his anger and irritations have him starting to peel the wool over his eyes and off his body. Which, conveniently, may give Vyle time to strike.
COMBATSYS: Brian has started a fight here on the right meter side.
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|-------\-------\0 Brian
COMBATSYS: Vyle has joined the fight here on the left meter side.
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Vyle 0/-------/-------|-------\-------\0 Brian
Vyle snorts at Brian as he points the finger at him, still swinging his candy cane around with an annoyed look on his face. "I lied," he answers simply. "At least you're not wearing the g*****m poof hat," he follows up, swinging into the fluff like he was swatting a golf ball. Though Vyle is really glad for not having to wear the damned sweater. "Hey, cut out that junkie itch, steroid boy, it's time to get this over with so I can go home and f****** forget I ever did this."
Somewhere between all the arguments and shouting and spitting, the bell rings for their fight. And for Vyle...that means time to strike and knock some sense into the bigass Texan. Hefting his 'candy cane' up, the luchador swings for the fences, trying to slam the giant thing straight into the breadbasket of the corn-fed linebacker.
COMBATSYS: Brian Toughs Out Vyle's Light Random Weapon!!
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Vyle 0/-------/-------|-------\-------\0 Brian
Just as the bell rings, Brian manages to pop his head out of the sweater. Taking a deep breath, he barely has time to react to the incoming blow, and even if he could, his arms are still caught deep within the limitless void which are the arms of this wretched garment. So, instead, he tightens his stomach muscles with a quick grunt, the effect of which is to intercept the incoming candy cane attack, causing the thing to shatter on impact and prevent there from being much damage. Still, there's a red mark across the Texan's bare torso, so it's not like it didn't hurt.
Still, the giant grins. "Nice shot," he says, tossing the woolen sweater atop the solid chocolate water tower. Now that he's taken care of that particular piece of nonsense, his attention can be fully paid to his opponent. And as punctuation to that, the former linebacker decides to dot Vyle's eyes with a pair of quick punches with his off hand. Just to test the waters.
COMBATSYS: Vyle blocks Brian's Jab Punch.
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Vyle 0/-------/-------|=------\-------\0 Brian
Well, crap. That's not what he wanted. Even with the fluff affecting how much traction he had, the damn cane should've done more damage than that. "Well, crap," Vyle mutters, quickly crossing arms over him to take the jabs aimed between his eyes. He stops them, but the force is still enough to push him back, sliding into the snowy fluff.
"Ok, this is just annoying," he grumbles, glowering up to the brutish football player...and snapping a low kick straight for the back of a knee from his grounded position. Even if he has to swing his way through the fluff.
COMBATSYS: Brian endures Vyle's Light Kick.
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Vyle 0/-------/-------|==-----\-------\0 Brian
The waters seem fine, if a little... blocky. No matter. Flesh met flesh and that's good enough for him right now. As he clenches his right fist, he notes the squishy feeling of the goo still attached to his finger, and with a distasteful "Urgh," he wipes it off on his jeans. Good thing he wore the work clothes today. Shame they'll be in the trash tonight. But this pause gives Vyle an opening, which the luchadore exploits. His kick rings true, but it doesn't really seem to shake the mountain of a man. Despite the rather... disturbing nature of the ground, he managed to dig himself in enough that the blow did really very little outwardly. The grunt and partnered wince from the man, however, does betray the attack was successful in moving him inwardly.
"You know what?" the Texan says, shaking his head and raising up a little. "Let's stop pussy-footing around and get down to business already." And with that, he does... attempting to latch his massive hands onto Vyle so he might pull him into a standing headlock... and then deliver him bodily into the fluff. Head first, of course.
COMBATSYS: Vyle dodges Brian's DDT.
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Vyle 0/-------/-------|==-----\-------\0 Brian
Ok, so this isn't going to work either. Looks like Vyle might have to figure out some other ways to get the mountain to move. Pushing himself out of the fluff, the luchadore decides he has to take a different approach. "Yeah, sounds good," he grumbles...and when Brian lunges to grab for the smaller wrestler, the brightly colored rudo ducks down and to the side. No DDT for you.
Instead, he tries to hook his arm into one of Brian's outstretched ones. Even if they're like tree trunks, the rudo's banking on the chance of locking one of those arms into a nasty kimura and maybe take it out of the game for a while.
COMBATSYS: Brian fails to interrupt Improvised Throw from Vyle with Samurai Bomb.
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Vyle 0/-------/------=|==-----\-------\0 Brian
Well, f***. Reaching out and grabbing the little shit apparently was for naught, as his hands instead grasp at open air. But as the smaller man grabs ahold of his arm, though, Brian formulates a plan very quickly. He'll have to take the tumble, because he's already on his way down when he finally finishes his thought... but he can grab ahold of Vyle, roll himself back onto his feet and slam the bugger into the water tower and surrounding gingerbread houses so hard it'll make s'mores. It's a perfect plan.
And, well, it would be, if not for one little element; the fluff. As he hits the ground, he makes a grab at Vyle, but the luchadore's arm squirts out of his now-gooed hand before he can even make purchase... and then his feet also slip out from under him as he tries to get up, wrenching his wrist pretty badly, causing the large man to cry out in pain, cut short simply by forcive will. Son of a bitch. Slowly, the mountainous man gets up, now looking more like Sta-Puft than ever. All he needs is a sailor's cap and he'd be golden.
Maybe he's the Michelin Man.
Now that's what he's looking for.
Having wrenched that arm something good, Vyle pulls back. No submissions after all, and he doubts he could really break that arm off with a kimura even if he put all his strength into it. No, the luchadore's gotta pull some hit and run here. And with Mr. Hindenberg standing up again, the rudo's gotta think quick....
And that's when he sees that cane again, the one he snapped off hitting the Texan's rock hard abs. "...bitch," she says with a sneering smile. Quickly, he hops back, nearly slipping on the fluff. "Time to go down in flames, Dead Zepplin!" he shouts, before booting the cane straight toward Brian, hoping it'll end up punted point first toward the linebacker.
COMBATSYS: Brian fails to slow Thrown Object from Vyle with Large Thrown Object.
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Vyle 0/-------/------=|===----\-------\0 Brian
In the act of getting up, Brian finds himself using the cementlike fruitcake fountain thing as a stabilizer. His hand remains on the top of the solid object as he regains his bearings and tries to work the crink in his wrist out. While he does this, Vyle prepares to impale him upon a thrown spear made of pure sugar. Now, this is unacceptable. It's certainly bad for his diet to be dealing with that much corn syrup. He can almost feel his teeth rotting from sheer proximity to all these sweets. So, as Vyle pitches the sharpened peppermint stick at the Texan, the linebacker in turn attempts to intercept the throw with his own projectile... The fruitcake. Which, sadly, sails past the spear and Vyle harmlessly and instead makes impact against the heavily armored blast shield dome around the arena proper, causing it to unexpectedly spiderweb. In the battle between the very old traditions and the relatively new ones, the new has won, it's sharpened edge slamming against the skin of the Texan and opening up a little gouge to let the sugars all in.
Bingo. Not only did Vyle get to drive a steak into the big Texan bull, but he also managed to avoid getting a fruitcake for Christmas! Score!
"Heh...what's wrong? Bloodsugar levels gone too high?" he asks, taunting as he tries to clear out some space around him from the fluff. Why? Because he needs some purchase on the ground to break into a run. He gets some speed before he hits fluff again...but hopefully by that time he'll have enough speed to take to the air and fly toward Brian. And enough air to fly OVER him, grab at his shoulders...and turn in hopes of bringing him down into a nasty double kneed-backbreaker.
COMBATSYS: Brian endures Vyle's Strong Throw.
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Vyle 0/-------/------=|=====--\-------\0 Brian
Grunting in pain and looking at his wound, Brian scarcely has time to contemplate what's about to happen to him until it's too late, and the smaller, quicker man manages to leap over him. The grabbing and the twisting are pretty bad. But as soon as he realizes what's what, Brian does the one thing he believes he can do to save his spine, and that's a wrestler's arch. As soon as his center of balance is pulled away, he falls back, his head leading the arc as he descends toward Vyle's knees... and he stops just short of them by instead slamming the top of his skull into a segment of minorly-Fluffed flooring. Rolling off the arch and away from Vyle, the Texan ends up in a four-point stance. Digging his toes in for purchase, the former linebacker suddenly explodes off the line, sailing at the luchadore and attempting to drive his shoulder through the pelvis of his opponent.
Just think Lambeau. Just think Lambeau.
COMBATSYS: Brian successfully hits Vyle with Hyper Tackle.
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Vyle 0/-------/---====|=======\-------\1 Brian
Brian thinks Lambeau. Vyle thinks Bambino....rather, he thinks 'This must be what it feels to be hit by the...'
So, Vyle nearly managed to get the Lungblower on the linebacker. He might not have...but it seemed like his opponent's alternative wasn't much better for the guy in the immediate. But...that's before Brian manages to roll off, drop into four-point stance, and drop his shoulder toward the luchadore. The result?
Pardon the mixed sports metaphor, but it's a home run. The only excuse for that metaphor being just how far the tackle sends Vyle flying, the rudo somersaulting end over end before flipping one last time and faceplanting in the fluff. It almost seems like the murderous tackle should be enough....but that's when he finally stands up. "GHhhhhh...." Pain is obvious in the annoying man's face...but he's hardly dead. He's just angry right now. "You...you just bought yourself a whole world of dead."
Rolling forward, he tries to close the distance quickly to get near to the linebacker before seemingly jabbing his throat. "Eat this..." he snaps, before a spray of noxious green mist sprays right toward the hulking Texan's eyes. Bad enough fluff's all around...no need getting poison into your pores too.
COMBATSYS: Brian endures Vyle's Venom Breath.
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Vyle 0/-------/--=====|=======\-------\1 Brian
Sliding to a long stop like a kid on a Slip-n-Slide, the enormous Texan quickly hops to his feet as his momentum ends. His eyes on his opponent the entire time, as he raises to his feet a smile creeps upon his face. It only grows wider as Vyle opens his mouth to complain. "Oh, really now?" he says, turning his head to the side to spit chaw from his mouth, eyes leaving the luchadore for a fleeting moment before the smaller man rolls to his feet. Upon turning his head back to his opponent, he finds himself about to be spat upon. Rather than turn away and attempt to shield his eyes from the noxious burst, Brian instead accepts it, facing it down as if it has no effect upon him. Which it does, of course, blurring his vision a bit and stinging his eyes madly. But, other than a gentle wipe of fingertips across his eyelids, he displays no reaction to the poison being spat into his face. Well, two can play that game. With a deep, gutteral sound, Brian conjures up a load of phlegm, spittle and tobacco... which he then spits directly towards Vyle's eyes.
COMBATSYS: Brian successfully hits Vyle with Small Thrown Object.
Glancing Blow
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Vyle 0/-------/-======|=======\==-----\1 Brian
...ok, now that's just not right. Sure, Vyle's spitting poison, but who spits chaw at a person? That's just plain wrong!!
And that's exactly what Vyle thinks too when he tries to roll away from the snuff spitting, as Brian holds a valiant stand in absorbing the Venom Breath right in his face. "The hell is wrong with y-BPPHHLL...." He's hit in the cheek, rather than the eyes, but the damage is done...not in a literal sense, considering it doesn't quite blind him, but it sends him on a nice tirade, taking him out of his game. "You disgusting steer q****, who the f*** spits tobacco in someone's face, gahh! I'd rather be covered in marshmallow s*** instead, in fact, watch!" he snaps, trying to rub the fluff on the spot where his cheek was struck with the chaw.
Somehow, he forgets that he should be fighting Brian at this point, but....
COMBATSYS: Vyle takes no action.
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Vyle 0/-------/-======|=======\==-----\1 Brian
While Vyle's rubbing his face clean, the Texan backs up and hunkers down. He's got something up his sleeve here. He waits a moment, dropping like a cat ready to pounce before he suddenly makes his move. Off in a flash, the giant man drops his shoulder, bathing his entire right arm in a ghostly blue light as it swings upward, attempting with the arcing sweep to take the wrestler completely off his feet and send him flying lazily into the air before descending rapidly and quite harshly upon the chocolate water tower. Of course, that's not quite how this thing is meant to end, and the massive man's momentum carries him out of the ring proper, his feet somehow gaining grip on the slick walls of the dome for a few steps before he launches himself once again at Vyle, attempty to add injury to injury (instead of insult) by spearing himself into the luchadore's back just moments before impact, giving the smaller man a loverly ruptured something to go with the brown stain on his face.
COMBATSYS: Vyle dodges Brian's Big Bang Tackle.
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Vyle 0/-------/-======|=------\-------\0 Brian
...Or he could just go off the side of the wall and slide a while. Whee!
Sometimes, it's a good day to be a snake.
Not that Vyle actually had any trickery in mind in cleaning off his face, like he might usually have. He really was just that disgusted. However, his vision is clear, and Brian's isn't...and he's not about to let himself get barreled into like the big man did to him earlier. So when Brian makes his charge, Vyle runs...and backflips off the water tower, over Brian's head to let the man crash into the damn thing. "Oh hell no, I'm not letting myself get caught in that **** again," he snaps. "Look, Candyland Ass. You hungry enough to try and beat me to death like that? How about I feed you something better, huh?" Leaping into the air, he tries to plow down into the hopefully dazed Brian with stomp upon aerial stomp town toward those massive shoulders of the hulking footballer. "Eat Sole Candy, B****!!"
COMBATSYS: Vyle successfully hits Brian with Riot Stampede.
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Vyle 0/-------/--=====|==-----\-------\0 Brian
Things are not going well for Brian. They haven't since the first step he made onto the Stadium grounds. Clerical errors, accounting errors and the sweater incident are just all accumulating into this one lieel event. His mind's not focused upon the task at hand. He wants this crap over and done with. He wants a shower to get rid of this goop. But he'd prefer to drill his way out of it through the luchadore's stomach, rather than via stretcher.
But yes, Brian's landing is not graceful, and he finds himself slow to stand as the smaller man leaps up and takes up his repeated stompling on his shoulders, which seem to sag a little under the assault. Frankly, Brian's ability to continue this fight is nearly at an end, and he's really getting frustrated. Which is why, the moment the opportunity arises, a hand snakes out and attempts to grip Vyle's trachea... and squeeze. Trying to sever the windpipe is both dangerous and difficult, but Brian's certainly going to try.
COMBATSYS: Vyle dodges Brian's Strong Throw.
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Vyle 0/-------/--=====|==-----\-------\0 Brian
Oh, a choke, have we? That's certainly not going to be a fun thing to get caught in, especially considering the big Texan's strength. Upon landing from the rapid stomps, Vyle isn't about to stay still. He immeditately rolls under Brian's grasp, just like when he avoided the big DDT. "Uh uh, big boy...not now, not ever."
Attempting to turn about and sneak behind Brian's back, the rudo leaps up to grab for the Texan's head. A throw? Neckbreaker? Suplex? Nope...he's aiming for a classic: The good ol' Sleeper Hold.
COMBATSYS: Brian dodges Vyle's Choke Hold.
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Vyle 0/-------/--=====|==-----\-------\0 Brian
It's a no holds barred battle... with no holds being given by either party. As Vyle attempts to leap onto his back, the giant Texan instead slips away... This is certainly not the best fight Brian's ever put up. It might, in fact, be one of the worst. The sugar is to blame, of course, not him. As he slips away, he finds himself in a field of these things which are the cause of his undue suffering today.
With a grunt of dissatisfaction, the former NFL linebacker rears a mighty fist back, apparently throwing all finesse to the wind and hoping that, eventually, he'll land a solid punch on the luchadore's face and turn the man's skull to dust.
COMBATSYS: Vyle counters Strong Punch from Brian with Antidote.
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Vyle 0/-------/-======|======-\-------\0 Brian
Too bad for Brian that his bad day ends up getting worse. Vyle's not exactly small by normal standards, but he seems to know how to lower his profile, especially when it comes to taking a punch. When the big meaty hand flies for his face...all it takes is a quick shunt to the side to avoid it...but that's not the whole shebang.
Swiftly, Vyle reaches under the swinging arm and across the broad chest of the linebacker. "Just a little extra something for your Dentist to work on after this," he says, before clasping his other arm around the back of Brian's neck, and dropping to a sitting position. THe result? A jaw-clattering collision onto the rudo's shoulder. One sure to break off fluff-and-candy-rotted teeth on impact.
Well, luckily, Brian's injuries do not go in the way that Vyle had hoped. Instead, he slams the blow home, but instead of across the mouth, he takes it across the temple. It's enough to daze him, and it causes the giant to fall, once again, into the fluff. He raises, slips a bit, falls on his ass, and it is there that he stays for a few moment. Frustrated, Brian throws his hands into the air, setting his jaw as his apparent rage grows even further. "Okay, fine. Y'know, I humored this stuff for a while," he says towards the SNF organizers, cameramen zooming in to get a good look at the man. "But, y'know, this is f***ing it. I've f***ing had it." Regaining his footing after his vision clears, he begins storming off the marshmallow hill, knocking over a gingerbread bank and several dozen candy cane trees in order to leave the arena. His swearing seems to linger in the air a few minutes before they finally fade away, leaving Vyle alone in the arena, covered in all the goop he could ever not want to eat.
It's enough to make a man swear off sweet foods for quite some time.
COMBATSYS: Brian takes no action.
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Vyle 0/-------/-======|
COMBATSYS: Brian can no longer fight.
[ \\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\ <
Vyle 0/-------/-======|
Well, not the kind of impact he was aiming for...but he'll take it. Watching Brian stumble, and flop over comically in the fluff, the luchadore smirks, taking pride in the rage of the Texan. "Poor baby. Go cry to someone who gives a crap, Michelin Man," he snaps. He may not have wanted to deal with the ridiculous situation himself...but he at least found a way to work past the ridiculousness: styming the rage of a man who by all rights should have force fed him his own spleen. Oh, and got in a few choice insults as well.
Hands raise up to taunt the crowd, even chuckling the fluff in their direction to the sounds of jeers. All in a days work for The Sickness himself, Vyle.
Log created on 18:15:23 12/22/2009 by Vyle, and last modified on 02:18:21 01/03/2010.