Description: Roland and MURDERHOUSE are scheduled for an Neo League fight. The newly one-armed brawler and wrestler don't even last that long before tearing things apart. Although demolished at the start, Roland's tenacity pays off in the end. They are hit so hard, some say they saw a ghostly image of Geese hovering around and commenting on the fight.
Why did Mick come here? It sure as hell wasn't to "win big", the smokey, dusky atmosphere was just pissing him off, not to mention the general atmosphere. He saw security giving him edgy looks because of the blank white hockey mask covering his face, the way he towered over everyone and the way he glared at everyone unblinkingly with those eyes(no irises, just black pupils to stare at everyone), but he wasn't here to start any shit...of course, knowing Mick, it would probably be started anyway.
In this case, it started with some blonde floozy walking into him, her tray of smokes and drinks clattering and splattering all over the place. And before she can get out a nervous apology, he's swiping it away from her and sending it crashing against a roulette table.
"How about you watch where yer goin', ya slag? Fuckin' idiot..."
The NDP scene in progress wasn't actually slated for another hour. Roland and MURDERHOURSE were not even sure who they were supposed to be fighting. However, the camera crew is milling around, beginning to prepare the cameras. The place isn't cleared out yet, but it was going to be... until things get a touch interrupted. Roland had just bet fifty thousand on Black, and it rattles around and around. He stoicly watches, eyes narrowing as if concentration will affect his odds. And then, just as it settles on Black, a spray of drinks crashes over it. There is a shout of alarm from the observers, and the apologetic dealer says that the roll is invalid.
Slowly he lifts up, pulling down the brim of his hat to cover his eyes. The lean figure wears a tan leather trenchcoat, with jeans and a black muscleshirt beneath. It's not immediately apparent he is missing an arm, the empty sleeve billowing around near his waist.
"Oh. No, you didn't."
The big man heard the voice of someone behind him as he was storming away, and he turned around. Dressed in green camo pants, steel-toed boots and and a sleeveless black shirt(Not to mention fingerless black gloves and elbow pads-the one on his right arm a big monstrous, rubber and metal monstrosity compared to the regular small pad on his left arm), he didn't look like a typical gambler, and he really wasn't. His black hair in his face, he looked the cowboy at the table up and down before scoffing. His voice was more quiet, hushed and subtle, the sort of voice that forced you to lean in to listen.
"Yeah, midnight cowboy, I dare. What are you gonna do, throw your fucking belt buckle at me, huh?"
Instead of continuing to walk away, he merely started stalking toward the sitting man, perhaps unaware just what he was capable of. Or maybe he just didn't care.
Slowly, Roland raises to a full stand. He's not big enough to be intimidating, but he's a far cry from being small; he's got broad shoulders, and the scruffy look of a born scoundrel. "My belt buckle's worth more then you are, chump." He then lifts up his foot, planting it on the roulette table. Before there's a sudden shimmer of green chi; muscles tense and bulge noticeably for a split second, and with that abruptly enhanced strength, he snarls and kicks the entire Roulette table. Right at MURDERHOUSE.
Four people scream and dive to the floor, as chips go flying in all directions. It's a veritable eclipse of polished wood and sleek paneling, but is hardly going fast.
The message is more important. "Let's dance."
COMBATSYS: Roland has started a fight here.
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Roland 0/-------/-======|
COMBATSYS: MURDERHOUSE has joined the fight here.
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MURDERHOUSE 0/-------/-------|======-\-------\0 Roland
COMBATSYS: MURDERHOUSE endures Roland's Huge Thrown Object.
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MURDERHOUSE 0/-------/------=|=======\-------\0 Roland
Mick didn't stop walking, didn't even stop when his sudden opponent surged with power, though his eyes gleamed and he understood what he was getting into. He didn't even stop when that mostly wooden table was hurtling toward him. He merely walked into the impact, bringing his head slightly down as that table smashed and warped around his frame. The impact was all very loud, very chaotic...and after a moment it broke apart in the center.
Out dashed the seven foot Irish Monster, with the actual metal Roulette Wheel gripped in his hand, swinging the base of it down overhead, aimed right at the skull of his opponent!
"Fuck that, let's mosh."
COMBATSYS: Roland fails to interrupt Random Weapon from MURDERHOUSE with Combo Attack.
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MURDERHOUSE 0/-------/------=|=====--\-------\0 Roland
Roland widened his eyes. This is a legitimate reaction, really. He knew how giant MURDERHOUSE was, but when one is that hulking, it's still a tossup whether they would end up a chump or not. Someone all brawn can be dealt with, after all. But hulking through a kicked roulette table and retrieving a weapon in the process? That's a level of serious business he can't just ignore. "You want my buckle?!" He rips it off, shining with faux gold as he rushes headlong towards Mick. "TAKE IT!!" Now, here he finds the loss of his arm annoying. Given he's trying to stab it into one of MURDERHOUSE's eyes, that leaves him with no defense. He has to manage it first. Instead, he is struck in the shoulders, driven into a broken kneel in front of him as a massive dent appears in the rim of the makeshift weapon. "...!!" Holy shit that hurt. But, he's not down and out. Hell, no. This has only JUST BEGUN.
Mick didn't stop after driving the one-armed man to his knees, no he moved immediately. Tossing the dented wheel to the side(hard enough to smash it into a slot machine and cause sparks to fly), he brought his hand around to try and 'slap' it around the throat of his enemy, to try and squeeze the air out of the sucker. It was also here, whether his attack worked or not, that he'd notice the lack of arm of Roland. And it brought a chuckle from beneath that blank white mask...
"Shit, they're sending cripples after me? Well you got balls man, but have a seat!"
He emphasized this by (if the current one-handed chokehold worked) casually tossing Roland away. Mick had him right in his grasp and let him go, it was clear that the big man was toying with his food. That probably wasn't a great idea, but who was gonna tell Mick different?!
COMBATSYS: MURDERHOUSE successfully hits Roland with Choke Hold.
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MURDERHOUSE 0/-------/-----==|=====--\-------\0 Roland
Still reeling from the initial assault, Roland is grasped despite gathering his senses enough to try and lunge backwards. He makes a gurgling noise, grasping the meaty wrist currently making things like breathing and blood reaching the brain difficult. Hurled away with expected ease, the urban cowboy crashes into a row of seats before some slot machines, hat tumbling off and landing beside. His good arm has reached up, catching the side of the closest machine. "...Well. You aren't a chump." he offers, evenly. Slowly getting back upright, before rolling his shoulder. Blood is spit to the ground nearby. "But you're gonna wish you finished squeezing the life from me before this is done..."
Another shimmer of green flowers over him. A look of intent focus, swirling his good arm and then facing MURDERHOURSE. Before he nimbly leaps forward. A sharp snap of the hand is aimed at Mick's face, but it's a feint to make him flinch. The true intent is to catch him by the shoulder.
And then driving a chi-imbued knee right between his legs. A moment after, there's a significant explosion, before he would try to twist and hurl the likely staggered goliath towards a craps table!!
COMBATSYS: MURDERHOUSE blocks Roland's Sleight of Hand.
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MURDERHOUSE 0/-------/----===|=====--\-------\0 Roland
Geese says, "With your ability to project invisible limbs, we're proceeding with a plan to cut your entire body off and make the perfect stealth operative."
While Roland was gathering his senses, Mick was merely rolling his neck around and stretching out his arm after that casual throw. And while bones were creaking, he took his eye off the opponent just long enough to look back to a glowing green jab aimed right for his face!
"Shit!"
Of course, it was a feint, one Mick fell for as he feels the hand grab his shirt, but he's been here before. Grabbing Mick like this there only left a few options for what the cowboy had planned, and with only one arm that only left one real option, one Mick telegraphed with his shin. It was amazing how fast Mick could be sometimes, honestly.
"Good try man. My turn!"
His voice almost sounds amused as he brings his meaty left arm up, to try and break that hold Roland has. If it worked he'd reach out to grab at the man's hair, to steady his skull for a steady forearm sailing right towards his face! If that worked, then it would give Mick all the time in the world to flip Roland hard on his back, take a few steps back...and then fall forward like a cutdown tree, that hardened hockey mask aimed right for the shoulder that he earlier nailed with a roulette wheel. It would no doubt hurt like fuck if it managed to hit!
COMBATSYS: Roland dodges MURDERHOUSE's London Bridge.
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MURDERHOUSE 0/-------/-----==|=====--\-------\0 Roland
Well, the grip is broken with ease. That's not surprising. MURDERHOUSE is significantly stronger then the smaller man; at least, in everyday situations. But a slow exhale of focus leaves him, and that green shimmer manifests yet again. Fingers graze his hair, before he launches backwards with an agile dexterity that completely belies the motions taken before. Sliding to a stop, he then flashes his fingers in a dextrous fashion. A single playing card is visible between each knuckle, clamped firmly. Still glowing, he launches himself forward, and then slashes down towards MURDERHOUSE's chest in two sharp arcs. It might be a touch surprising that they bite deep with a steel edge, however! "Your draw, fucker."
COMBATSYS: MURDERHOUSE counters Power Strike from Roland with Chaos Theory.
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MURDERHOUSE 0/-------/---====|=====--\-------\0 Roland
It could have been surprising, if it hit. As it is, Mick pivots to let that playing card slice through the plain black shirt that caused the big Irishman's eyes to widen slightly...but that was it as his wrist shot out, grabbing at the wrist of his enemy.
"My draw?"
It was almost a rhetorical question...as MURDERHOUSE yanked hard on that arm to try and bring Roland up in the air...a trip Mick himself would interrupt by letting go of the wrist and grabbing at his waist...to bring his back and neck down on the hard floor with authority in a "backdrop"...unfortunate for Roland that Mick immediately rolled to his feet to land a slower, harder backdrop...and rolling to his feet again for another backdrop. For this one however he leaped into the air some, bringing both of them down against a blackjack table, HARD, causing cigarette girls to flee and scurry, not to mention the cardplayers.
Mick didn't move immediately, just grunted. "How was that, fucker?" Before slowly crawling away from the wreckage, crawling to a machine to try and pull himself to his feet...
Well, fuck.
Roland severely underestimated MURDERHOUSE. He's been riding a one-way pain train the entire time, and it doens't seem to have reached the recieving station just yet. Truth is, this is only the second fight he's had since his injuries. But breaking through the sluggish rustiness and dull pain tends to be accelerated best when he's choking on his own blood. The first slam into the ground, Roland's still fighting. The second, he's twitching. When the last one is done, leaving him in a crator of pain and debris, he just lays there broken. It seems clear that MURDERHOUSE has won.
If he was smart enough to lay down.
A clove cigarette is lifted to his lips, bent from squashing the package in the fight. Snapping his fingers in a green spark, he puffs it to life. "...not bad." he states, blood streaming down his face. He gets back up slowly, abandoning his flattened cowboy hat. "I guess..." He raises his hand once more, again assuming a peculiar stance. "I'll show you something nice..."
Green energy this time coalesces into a more uniform covering. He seems to flow into a peculiar limpness... and then erupts forward. A spray of wood and concrete leaves his wake from the ferocity of the approach. He is many levels higher now in this move... for at least a brief window, far escaping his limitations. His hand snaps out, sending a splatter of blood towards MURDERHOUSE's eyes. Before he spirals a card between his fingers, glowing bright green. He attempts to /stab/ it right into Mick's sternum, before blurring into a repeated onslaught of three knee strikes, all aimed to impact the exact same spot on his stomach. Before attempting to grasp his hair and brutally hurl him away, just as the card flashes bright and detonates. Hard.
COMBATSYS: Roland successfully hits MURDERHOUSE with Three Card Monte.
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MURDERHOUSE 0/-------/=======|=======\=------\1 Roland
MURDERHOUSE says, "Oof."
Mick was finally to his feet, and turned around to watch Roland's whole dramatic little show, the puffing of the smoke, the whole shebang and Mick was not impressed. As Roland got to his feet and started on, Mick just rolled his freakish eyes and rolled his fingers in a 'circle', the one you gave to family and friends when you wanted them to get to the point.
"Yeah yeah, you're so big and bad, and this is the moment where the under-"
He never finished, because a razor-sharp card was slicing through his shirt and the skin, blood and meat of his chest. A lesser man might actually get it embedded halfway through his actual bones, but Roland might notice the card bending in resistance to what Mick was made of. However that didn't seem to reduce the pain of it. It also was forgotten, at least to MURDERHOUSE, from the three blows that doubled him over across the knee of the smaller fighter, and caused saliva to spray from the various little mouthholes of that mask. And perhaps surprising to some viewers, Roland found the strength to throw Mick by his hair, almost hitting the ground facedown when the card explodes in brilliant green(?) energy, energy that sent him upwards, and caused him to crash violently through the ceiling. He didn't stop until he was all the way in somebody's office, shirt gone and Mick on his back, groaning. He didn't get up right away, just clawing at nothing, and trying to somehow make it to his feet. Upstairs in an office.
COMBATSYS: MURDERHOUSE focuses on his next action.
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MURDERHOUSE 0/-------/=======|=======\=------\1 Roland
Roland almost casually turns and walks towards the EMPLOYEE ONLY area. He has a heavy limp, but still moves with purpose and speed. The security guards are brushed away, as he quickly ascends the stairs one by one. He pushes into the hallway, brushing past fleeing people. And then kicks the door right off the hinges, probably harmlessly bouncing off MURDERHOUSE.
He got one good hit in. He can live with that.
"C'mon, you piece of shit... I'm... not done yet!!" His hand once more infuses with chi, and he hurtles himself across the intervening distance. He tries to simply grasp whatever part of MURDERHOUSE is available. This time, the green energy would infuse MURDERHOUSE's shirt... as Roland tries to drive his face into a desk, just as the shirt EXPLODES. Yes, he can turn an opponent's clothing into a weapon now.
Ayame, he learned this just for you.
COMBATSYS: MURDERHOUSE blocks Roland's Seven Out.
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MURDERHOUSE 1/-------/=======|=======\=------\1 Roland
It was a good thing that Mick's shirt was mainly just tatters along his chest, with a thin strand across his shoulder. He was to one knee just as Roland grabbed at it, and was brought to his feet as the cowboy tried to send him into a desk maskfirst. It was a good thing that Mick was still aware enough, that he knew enough to walk 'with' Roland's momentum instead of trying to fight it until that crucial moment, and at that moment Mick stepped back abruptly to let his shirt rip off himself, probably explode in the air...
And if Roland turned around to try and face the now alert giant behind him, he'd most likely receive a vicious punch in his face for his troubles...followed by another one, and another one. These were just to daze the man, so that Mick could gingerly place the prone one-armed fighter on that rich thick wooden desk, without too much struggle...so that Mick would walk away from the scene, only to run toward a wall...so that MURDERHOUSE could run off it and spring off, aiming that monstrous looking elbow pad in an elbow drop, aimed right for the general chest area of his opponent. If it hit, the weight of them both and the force of the attack would most likely reduce that desk to pieces, in this tribute to a fallen legend.
OHHH YEAAH!
COMBATSYS: Roland blocks MURDERHOUSE's Big Elbow.
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MURDERHOUSE 0/-------/-------|=======\=------\1 Roland
Well, hell. Roland whirls around, and sees the sheer mass of MURDERHOUSE bearing down at him. He's repeatedly shown himself to be every bit as fast as he is powerful. Bleary eyes look to the left, and to the right. There is no sanctuary against the behemoth right now. He instead brings up his forearm, throwing all his weight into each deflection. The punches may be jabs, but they still have a lot of weight behind them. He's left reeling, but able to react to the true assault. Roland roars, however. He brings up his forearm, green energy pouring out. Muscles bulge outwards, veins ingrained, billow of energy blowing out for a couple meters in all directions. He slides back, crashing through the desk, and then slamming into the wall, leaving a massive hole.
But he stopped it.
Of course, when he stands back upright, his eyes nearly roll back into his head. Too much power drawn up. His limits crossed too far. When the doping of his chi wears off... he's no longer in any condition to fight. Sucking in a breath, it surges back, temporarily allowing him to keep going.
For one more attack.
"Fuck... you..."
And then he rushes forward, five cards sweeping into view. With a snarl he sweeps upwards in a violent arc; aiming to imbed all five of them into MURDERHOUSE's torso in tandem, before they each detonate simultaneously, aiming to send him flying towards the gaping hole in the floor.
Afterwards, as his chi whisks off, Roland slowly teeters backwards... crashing upon the floor unconscious. Assuming he is allowed such a peaceful egress from the fight!
COMBATSYS: Roland can no longer fight.
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MURDERHOUSE 0/-------/-------|
COMBATSYS: Roland successfully hits MURDERHOUSE with All In.
-* CRITICAL HIT! *-
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MURDERHOUSE 0/-------/---====|
Geese says, "Oh lawd"
As he descended down from the heavens and absolutely destroyed his one-armed opponent, MURDERHOUSE was feeling pretty good, as he climbed back to his feet...as five cards were stuck into his chest, and he looked down at the razor-sharp cards and the blood oozing down his pale flesh...he just shook his head, almost annoyed.
"Gotta be fucking kid-"
Well, it looked like he wasn't, and a green explosion knocked the big man right off his damn feet! He traveled upwards in a small arc, going down right through the hole he originally went up through. He fell like a meteor from the sky, arms and legs flailing as he hit the ground hard enough to make a crater, and moments later his arms and legs went limp and collapsed against the ground. His eyes were rolling in the back of his head, and he was only able to say one thing before passing out.
"...Damn."
COMBATSYS: MURDERHOUSE can no longer fight.
Log created on 18:33:42 06/21/2012 by Roland, and last modified on 11:18:25 06/22/2012.