Description:
Oh, sure. Since the debacle with Geese and his illegal dealings, the once-loved 'sport' of betting on fights hasn't been looked upon /quite/ as favorably lately...at least not in Southtown. This has pushed such events into late-night venues, cages set up in basements and the like where men and women may come and drink to their hearts' desires, throwing down wads of bills on whoever they think looks stronger.
Being free from the public eye means that regulations are rather...lax. Injuries have become far more common, many fighters broken outright in the throes of bloodlust. Off near the less reputable area of the harbor, one of these matches is in full swing! A giant chain link fence stretches from the floor to the high ceiling in a sort of hexagonal pattern, two of the walls set with similar metal-framed doors and chained shut. High circular tables are bolted into the floor, each with tall stools for fans in messy suits and slovenly, tattered clothing to relax and watch the blood fly. All the while, nubile little things clad in little more than hot pants and bustiers run around, selling all manner of vices while taking in bets and payments.
It's at this point, the end of the tournament, that Hakan's come to see! A giant of a man, his pressed white shirt fits him well enough to have been made just for him, perhaps. His nose wrinkles in disgust at the smoke permeating every inch of the air. Great. This is going to be a miserable experience! Why can't questionably legal activies be, you know.../cleaner/?
Southtown, in the past, was something of a land of promise of fame and fortune to fighters. It'd break you if you aren't careful. The toughest live there... but for those who come out on top, the untold riches and glory await! All of which translates to, in the mind of someone who knows very little other than poverty, 'sustenance.'
She is not living the Southtown dream. It is arguable that the Southtown dream is as good as dead with the passing of Geese Howard and his grand empire in ruins. She's still living one mugging or trash can digging at a time, and even then only just. That Domino guy's staff must have convinced him not to consider what is effectively a hobo to be /the/ representative for her nation in his grand world tour.
Opportunity comes in a moment of weakness - of extreme hunger. 'Come fight for people who have nothing better to do than throw away money on watching you get scarred and hurt!' She loathes them. She's also hungry. So very hungry. Hungry enough she might even eat the prize money the moment she gets it... if she does.
The ugly young woman unmistakable as anything other than dumb muscle going between jobs, by her stubbornness - not luck, she would insist with a glare, outright stubbornness - punches, kicks, chokes, and otherwise dominates her opposition all the way to the very end of the finals of this underground tournament. She scowls every so often at the crowd while wiping blood off her hands with her own shirt as some poor sap falls into unconsciousness... or possibly worse. She has a couple scuffs about her. She has an open wound in her side from an earlier knife strike that doesn't seem to be bothering her too much.
Hurry up and send in the last man already, her stomach growls. Her mind is thinking the same thing. She typically does not think entirely with her mind in these matters. There's no friendly waves to the crowd or even all that much attention given to anything other than 'person I'm fighting' or 'person that says I should stop and is responsible for giving me money.'
What a terrible sight! People are having to fight while wounded, without given any dressing or salves?! It's barbaric? Hakan only has to watch one round of this to find a foul taste in his mouth. Why, he'd been told that this was a fun event, a chance to see warriors battle it out in a ring of glory! Not...not /this/. This is just sickening.
While the previous fight had gone on, the giant red Turk had been talking. To servers, to bartenders, working his way up to whomever may be in charge of this thing. Oh, he knows better than to demand it be shut down; there are far too many people here, and besides, such tasks are for proper law enforcement, people trained to do this sort of thing! Instead, and with the help of a modest bundle of bills, he enrolls in the event himself. It's an easy choice for the ringmaster; after all, this man is massive, and the person that's won so far is just this ugly sort-of-girl! What bastards wouldn't want to see a big guy beat up someone like that
As the last man falls and the door to the 'ring' is opened, two people enter. The first is the man in charge of declaring Varvara's victory, grabbing her wrist and holding it high, injuries be damned. He's also the one responsible for pulling out the poor, abused bastard she'd beaten to hell before Hakan can join in. His nice, clean shirt is off as well as his shoes, leaving the slightly demonic figure in naught but his leather pants and various metalworked links. He has to duck in and turn to get into the door, which is pulled and fastened shut behind him.
"You poor little girl," he says, already reaching back with one of his hands. From the back of his belt, presumably, he pulls out a thick glass bottle. Though this is often allowed, bringing in light weaponry, all he does is unscrew the top and turn it over his head! The bright turquoise of his hair is muted by the oil that flows over it, the bottle making odd 'glurp' noises as its contents are dispensed and rubbed into...god, into every square inch of his body that he can. Is that legal? Can he DO that?
Am I being paid for you people to raise my wrist, Varvara thinks as she takes the symbolic gesture of victory declaration with a sort of apathy as opposed to her usual view of 'okay can I have the money so I can eat now?' If she doesn't get her pay soon she's just going to walk out and maybe just grab food and drink off peoples' tables. If they have money to throw away watching her get beaten up, they have more than enough money to buy more of their own damned food and drink!!
Her world comes to a complete standstill when an unmistakable man enters the ring. It's a name she herself knows well - the pride of Turkey's fighting world. Her eyes narrow as he addresses her. Though of a strong frame, she is miniscule in comparison to this large man of great power, both physical and economical. He is a world-class fighter and the champion of his country. She's a hungry woman who only has this one means to get food to eat.
For being just a simple means of grabbing money, it takes a turn for the more serious. Her stomach growls louder than she herself can manage, dropping into her usual stance as the man oils up - arms raised, hands pointed down, one leg leading clearly in front of the other. Her currently accumulated injuries fall further back in her mind.
"Erroso," a word with positive connotations becomes purely venomous through her hissing, the glistening and oily form of Hakan the only thing she puts her mind on, away from the lights and sounds of cheering patrons and scantily clad waitresses.
This would be the single truly intense fight within this hexagonal, blood-stained cage.
COMBATSYS: Varvara has started a fight here.
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Varvara 0/-------/-------|
COMBATSYS: Hakan has joined the fight here.
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Hakan 0/-------/-------|-------\-------\0 Varvara
Wet slaps of Hakan's palms against his pecs bring smatterings of the transparent fluid onto the ground before him. He looks so big that this can't possibly be fair, but such are the rules of prohibited betting sports!
"/Iyi geceler/," he answers in kind, spreading both of his legs and lifting his heels. His weight is on the balls of his feet, both knees bent and arms out ahead and slightly to each side. "(Please fall down quickly,)" he adds in his heavily-accented Greek, or at least what he can gather from his limited experience with his neighboring country. Is it concern, however, or is it just bravado? The red-skinned wrestler may not exactly wish a world of warm upon the poor girl...at least, it could be a girl. It's sort of hard to tell. He stands where he is, his bottle thrown on the ground and rattling across until it stops with a clink against the fence.
COMBATSYS: Hakan gathers his will.
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Hakan 0/-------/---====|-------\-------\0 Varvara
The crowd surrounding them would not know the weight of their little exchange of tongues rarely ever spoken in English-heavy Southtown. Just as well, on the surface it is what it is - the beginnings of the next brutal fight. Some might think that ugly woman right there has a chance in spite of the great difference in size... considering her current streak.
The bottle clinking against the fence serves largely as the signal to 'go' in spirit, the Greek Cypirot all but throwing herself onto him in a forward dive, chancing her smaller mass against his rock-solid stance in an attempt to bowl him over and - the amount of space in the ring willing - carry him along in a wheel throw before unceremoniously tossing him away with a strength typically uncommon to one so short of height.
COMBATSYS: Varvara successfully hits Hakan with Fleeing Musician.
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Hakan 0/-------/---====|-------\-------\0 Varvara
There is little to no resistance given, by the feel of it! Hakan even squats down a little more as if to catch the brutish woman...but she apparently has other plans. The chain across his chest is all she'll need to maintain her grip, to fling the big man smack into the chain-link barrier with a powerful, loud rattle. Greek fighers are always so impressive, how tough people they can be! Only by constantly getting one's face smashed in like the tiniest pug can such a (comparatively) little thing toss someone so heavy.
Hakan glides down the cage and lands on his head, the metal glistening with oil in his wake. His lips bear a mild frown as he's seated upside-down, his arms folded across his chest. He appears to be in thought, or even taken aback. He'd thought that this would be a little more...well...he was hoping that the girl would take his advice to heart and just fall right over.
No matter! The man's legs bend and his feet kick against the fence. All of a sudden, his body flops onto the ground and heads toward Varvara like some sort of ground missile, aiming to trip the poor girl up.
COMBATSYS: Hakan successfully hits Varvara with Oil Slide.
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Hakan 0/-------/---====|===----\-------\0 Varvara
That ride in itself is none too pleasant for her either, that sensation of heavy weight bearing down upon her a few times in mid-rotation. Tossing the Turkish oil wrestling champ a safe distance away, she doesn't seem content to want to keep that advantage of distance. If 'distance' can ever truly be considered an advantage for grapplers. She is the smaller of the two, she needs to be in closer to this man than he does to her.
Going down to a low crouch with a glare, she's ready to take off running when Hakan demonstrates one of the many advantages of his approach - how quick /he/ can close the distance. So fast, so sure, her shins are thrust into the air into a mid-air flip and a rough landing onto her back, her shirt stained with the oily trail Hakan's slide leaves behind.
So slick that she has some trouble pulling herself up, her palm slipping against the ground and leaving her prone again with a proper swear word component and another bit of pain shooting through her left elbow as it hits the ring harder than is comfortable.
She doesn't stop to nurse the wound or otherwise wait for the sensation to pass, pushing herself up with her hands just quick enough to try and throw a low leg sweep with her left leg a ways to Hakan without even taking much stock as to whether or not he'd have since slid out of her reach.
She might not be back up, but unlike his polite suggestion she's certainly not taking being down lying down.
COMBATSYS: Hakan interrupts Heavy Kick from Varvara with Body Press.
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Hakan 0/-------/=======|======-\-------\0 Varvara
Hakan, as he is, is some sort of unstoppable force. He clears through Varvara's feet and seems to be intent on crashing into the far wall of the ring, and yet...
He slides up the thing.
His neck bends, then his back. To everyone watching, he just appears like somebody had just slouched against something and fallen to the ground, only in reverse! The cage only rattles slightly with the muted impact. The Turkish man's momentum continues unabated, however, as he pushes off of the corner where the 'wall' meets the floor, spinning around with arms wide open! Flying through the air, time slows down for him once he sees that foot coming up to greet him. His eyes widen, mouth starting to open with a panicked "aaAAAAAH!" Were this a movie, one would see the smattering of oil flying in every direction as foot meets face, compressing his cheek and turning his head to the side...
And then, the high-pitched 'vwip!' sound of heel simply sliding off and away.
Hakan's perception returns to normal with the danger gone, letting his full weight fall upon the girl. It's something to see, how the only indication that he's not alone on the floor is a flailing limb here and there. "(Get ready to run,) he says in a low voice, now that he's close enough and the opportunity has presented itself!
Varvara only comes to understand how much pain she is in some moments after Hakan's full weight comes down upon her and the difficulty she has breathing from underneath him while that foul oily residue leaves its mark. For her part, she flails underneath him - not helplessly, angrily, just trying to push him off, just trying to /get him off/. With both of them on the ring floor, it becomes a matter of who can submit the other sooner.
It's even more difficult navigating the slippery oil left behind wherever Hakan goes, but that not-so-pretty lady stops at nothing to try and pull herself out and atop the burly (...okay, burl/ier/) wrestler.
"(Shut up and submit,)" she makes this unreasonable demand on her own native Greek even with Hakan holding the clear advantage, trying to wrap her arms around one of his - a feat in itself not just for the size, but how /slick/ they are. Channeling what she can for such an effort, albeit over a greater area than normally capable, air rushes out of her grip in her attempt to simply crush his far bigger arm underneath her grip. Her strength may exceed her peers, but can her two arms match Hakan's /one/?
COMBATSYS: Hakan endures Varvara's Lion Crush.
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Hakan 1/------=/=======|=======\-------\1 Varvara
"(I'm trying to /help/ you here, listen to mmm) ooaaaaaAAWOWOW!"
The girl's reach is apparently /quite/ enough to get even Hakan's mighty, slippery arm in a pinch! The big man rolls over onto his back and slams his free fist into the concrete floor, back arched with a very real grimace of pain clear upon his face. His eyes are screwed shut, lips spread to reveal clenched teeth. All the while, his trapped hand twists and turns, trying to find something to hold on: some bit of clothing, perhaps. Yet he can't turn it enough to grip anything.
"What is wrong with you, crazy girl?!" he yells out in his own, weird little rumbly way. As he starts to feel his fingertips tingle from the lack of flowing blood to them, he kicks and slips on the ground in an attempt to get himself back up. God help her if he can get to his feet, because there's going to be a whole lot of his free hand digging around by her unmentionables, trying to get a good, firm grip so he can toss her over his back and into the cage-wall behind him!
COMBATSYS: Varvara blocks Hakan's Hakan Throw.
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Hakan 1/-----==/=======|=======\=------\1 Varvara
There's nothing wrong with her, she'd protest if she wasn't all but claiming Hakan's arm for her own. She doesn't want /his/ help, she wants him good and beaten for something above and beyond the already almighty pursuit for the thing that likes to keep escaping her - a good meal.
No, this whole experience is entirely for her own satisfaction of destroying Turkey's very best, teeth gritting as she still fights even with Hakan prying her away. In a sense, for those precious few moments, she is a bear trap that is ensnaring Hakan's arm.
Her eyes widen when he takes hold of certain places - not so much the sensation of being touched in sensitive areas (when you're a wrestler, EVERYTHING gets grabbed at some point) - but more how solid his own grip is, the slipperiness of his own arm seeing her lose her grip when this sensation loosens her concetration. At last, she flies away like a wet rag.
She catches herself against the chain-link fence as it groans and bends under the force of which she meets it, the rusty chain scraping against her forearms and face as she slides down to a crouch. The knife wound in her side reopens. It brings to question as to whether or not she's had her shots lately. Given her attitude thus far, it may already be, in fact, much too late for any sort of shots. She sees the faces of those cheering, hooting, and hollering while wearing way too many symbols of disposable wealth and other jealousy- and rage-inducing trinkets. She growls and pulls herself away from the cage wall to come face to face with that big red man that's got her all red in anger.
With a hiss, she leaps towards the man leading with the foot she didn't try and kick him with earlier - that one more than a little sore after his weight forced it to bend inwards - bringing up both hands above her in clenched fists in what is a mid-air hammer punch down upon him and that bizarrely styled turquoise shower cap-like hair.
The line blurs further as to whether or not she is really a user of the ancient Greek wrestling style of Pankration, or just yet another brawler with enough talent to reinforce bad habits.
COMBATSYS: Hakan interrupts Strong Punch from Varvara with Flying Oil Spin.
*KNOCKED AWAY*
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Hakan 0/-------/------=|=======\=======\1 Varvara
A moment is given as Hakan shakes his poor hand. Bits of oil come flying off, some of it even clearing through the fence and smattering on some of the well-dressed onlookers! "That really hurt!" he proclaims, turning around to see...oh. To see the girl coming at him once again! "Oooh no you don't!" Once more, he springs forward, somehow managing to push off from the ground with all the oil he'd streaked everywhere! His suction cup head dives clear in between Varvara's arms, catching the elbows on his shoulders. His arms clamp around her like big red robot vices, one hand gripping the other's wrist. There's no getting out of this one. There just isn't. "This is gonna hurt!" Face to face, she can see his face grow stern and grim...and then the world begins to spin.
Have you ever seen a crowded pinball machine? Not the people playing--INSIDE of it. Bumpers upon bumpers, flippers in constant motion, lights and tabs flashing and popping out everywhere? That is what the fighting pit becomes. Hakan's body spins at utterly insane revolutions like some sort of power drill, the sheen of oil on his skin making contact with the ground a very rare, tenuous thing indeed. He slams head-first into one of the six 'walls' of the cage, bouncing off and screaming toward another...and another...and another. Each impact only increases his speed, sending more bits of oil flying positively /everywhere/, leaning the floor completely and utterly covers. This only helps, of course, to speed him up even further!
With a powerful, ear-splitting yell, the oil wrestler's body flies head-on with one of the chain-wrapped metal doors leading out of the pit with such force that it flies clear off the hinges! His path (and incidentally, Varvara's path as well, given how tightly he's holding onto the poor girl) leads him right across the better floor, between tables, up small stairs--nothing stops him. NOTHING. He leaves behind this path of slickness in his wake even long after he's busted through the exit. The bouncers outside don't even know what to do with themselves. How does one stop a greasy red rocket from flying away at mach two?
...If only that door didn't lead straight down the pier. "What the--?!" His eyes widen, but there's nothing that he can do to stop himself! Bits of wood splinter free as he clears the end of the wooden slats, airborne for a while...
And then he just starts to skid on top of the water like a skipped stone. This is just ridiculous.
"Nnggh!" Varvara wheezes with the catch, the clamping arms doing to her what /she/ did to his arm just some moments back - she can't struggle free. That warning is putting what comes to happen lightly when her world literally spins. Any sensation of balance or even location simply goes right out the window.
More specifically, right out the cage, across the floor, into tables, up the stairs (in one instance against, she's the one who soaks the impact against the hard steps in that one), through the door. Her consciousness grows fainter and fainter with every hard impact against anything capable of withstanding their collective momentum and mass to bounce them somewhere else if not simply /through/ entirely.
She only stays awake out of sheer stubbornness, the hard splash against the water no softer than any strike against a solid floor or wall, gagging every so often as water rushes into her mouth and nose.
Somewhere along this water skipping, she flies free of Hakan's grip at long last to leave behind a trail of water herself, torpedoing a ways into the ocean before the submerging successfully slows down any further momentum.
Gagging, choking, and screaming bloody murder every time when she is not doing any of the former two things as she surfaces, she doesn't have great sight of Hakan aside from the splashes and ripples of water wherever he might be bouncing. For all intents and purposes, the little pit fight is over.
She's not done.
Not what one would call a trained swimmer, she flails at the water inefficiently in Hakan's vague direction, soaked head to toe in lightly polluted seawater and olive oil alike after him. It would prove quite the task to catch up, let alone continue to try and subdue one another in the water.
COMBATSYS: Varvara takes no action.
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Hakan 0/-------/------=|=======\======-\1 Varvara
Some short amount of time afterward, Hakan notices that his charge has escaped! His head tucks in to look down, and no, all he's hugging is himself! "Wait! Waighgbrble!!" As he thrusts out his arms and legs, those limbs catch the water. The drag is immense, flipping him right over lengthwise, setting him tumbling and crashing in a similar fashion to Varvara...only on a much larger scale.
Though submerged at first, he pops out of the water with flailing arms and gasping lungs, coughing up seawater that had crept down the pipes. Water just streaks off of him in admittedly nasty lines, the oil separating and keeping him from being washed off cleanly.
"Giiiiiirl!" He yells out, trying to look off in the direction he'd come from. Man, he really did get way out here! At least he knows how to swim and is in much better condition than the poor, overburdened Greek girl. "Don't die, there is so much to live fooooor!"
COMBATSYS: Hakan takes no action.
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Hakan 0/-------/------=|=======\======-\1 Varvara
"Glagbrgh!" A wave of water washes over her face again. The difficulty of breathing increases with the water's turbulence, no doubt partially caused by how hard she slaps her limbs against it just to stay afloat or move anywhere. She may very well still be among the living simply from the power of... determination?
"Shut up!" She coughs out weakly but with clear anger, locating him by voice as she paddles about closer and closer in his direction. Her eyes aren't pleading for help or for any sort of assistance, teeth bared as she yells again in her attempt to keep reaching ever closer, ever /nearer/. Her stomach growls again as a reminder that it is hungry, not so much... thirsty.
Seawater tastes awful anyway.
COMBATSYS: Varvara takes no action.
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Hakan 0/-------/------=|=======\======-\1 Varvara
Well of /course/ she'd be angry with him! He'd just intended to abscond with the poor thing, get her taken to a hospital or something instead of having to fight opponent after opponent in that awful place. There's no way he could have busted out otherwise; the people in there had guns, after all! So scary!
As he gets closer, the sound of his arms churning through the water grows louder. Is he...is he doing the breast stroke? Whatever, it gets him to her, and it gets him there quickly. "Are you all right??" he asks, totally serious with his concern while he tries to grab her arms. "Are you hurt? Did I break anything??"
COMBATSYS: Hakan takes no action.
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Hakan 0/-------/------=|=======\======-\1 Varvara
It's easy enough to grab her arms. What's worse is that she is trying to grab onto him in much less friendly ways, but finds it difficult to find purchase on that slick body as she coughs up a lot more seawater.
She hates this man. She hates this man so very much, the way he throws /pity/ on her, that almost leisurely air. How does someone like that get so strong, so rich, so... well-fed?! So able to be so care-free about the only means she really has to support herself? As if the completely ineffectual way she still tries to wrestle him in the water while he tries to cart the two to safety.
"Let GO!" She demands, her fury more than overtaking her better judgment with the man that is effectively saving her life.
COMBATSYS: Varvara takes no action.
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Hakan 0/-------/------=|=======\======-\1 Varvara
...It's incredibly hard to SAVE somebody when they're trying to bind and pull him underwater! His legs kick and he manages to stay afloat despite it all! "Stop that, will you? I'm trying to help!!" If only he knew the effect that his altruism was having on the skill-limited girl. How was /he/ supposed to know that she's dumber than a sack of camel dung, as sharp as a tub full of water? And here he thought that she might have had her face broken this very night. See what happens when one tries to help?
"Rgglghk-!" He's really taking on water now! Is this how it's going to end? Will his beautiful wife and adorable daughters have to bear the news of his demise?! Will they have to have their luxurious breakfast alone in some dingy four-star hotel room, having to settle for a queen-size bed?! No! No, his daughters! They need him! Nothing will keep him from them! When he finally manages to cough out a gout of seawater, he starts wailing something about his babies and how daddy is coming for them. In the struggle, he tries to sling his big-ass arm around Varvara's neck, fully willing to just drag her back to shore, kicking and screaming if he has to!
COMBATSYS: Varvara fails to interrupt Choke Hold from Hakan with Strong Throw.
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Hakan 0/-------/------=|=======\=======\1 Varvara
That face has been broken and scarred many times over long before this evening - something she's come to accept as a necessity in her line of work. If 'beating the hell out of people' can even be considered a legitimate line of work in the post-Geese world any more.
"I don't care, SHUT--" She doesn't get to finish her protest to his wailing and whining about /his/ family. What about hers? She's been in Southtown this long and she's nothing to show for it to send back home. They probably think she's as good as dead!
It's too late to stop Hakan's grip around her neck, but she makes a hell of a show out of it, arms flexing to their strongest in her attempt to reach around that arm and get something on the back of his head. Oh, she tries. Oh, she very much tries, more than once, alternating arms and even trying to get both before she runs out of oxygen to grunt, groan, and otherwise posture about uselessly to attempt to persuade his grip off through an awkward reach-around choke that just never finds any sort of purchase.
She gags and coughs, still squirming with her legs every so often in the big red man's big red grip whose sole concern seems to be to ensure she's not left in some big red pool of her own in the gutter one day.
Log created on 18:03:24 10/21/2010 by Hakan, and last modified on 09:35:01 10/26/2010.