Description: There's a tournament being held in Metro City, purportedly sponsored by the infamous Duke. Round One of this seedy, and definitely illegal, tournament gets started between a batshit crazy Brazilian woman and the Head Waiter of Creep Eats: Callman. <Winner: Layla>
Metro City. 10 PM. 19th Street. The Slums. The creatively named 19th Street Bar.
And a wretched hive of scum and villainry.
The entrance to the bar is tucked away off the street, and in the graffeti-marked alleyway. The local riffraff didn't need the bar's real services. Booze is for the common people. For the uncommonly low, the back alley was the way. Where the most desperate of wants replace the most necessary of needs. A place where people go to be forgotton, who want to be forgotton. A place where the skulking Mad Gear gang members roam and control. There are no chances for a new life here, no opportunities to be found here.
Unless, of course, your opportunity is blood.
Blood was what was promised tonight. The Duke, as he is known, had sent word under the skin of the seedy underworld. A tournament was to be held. The prize to be offered was money and status, as these tournaments were known to offer. Bets could be made with the officials. The purse was a mere $200, more than what many of these riffraffs could muster in legitimate work. But legitimate work was rarely the drive for these tournaments. The mystery of the alleyway was dispelled, thanks to this tournament: What was once an alleyway filled with low-lifes and bums, merely consisted of a line of low-lifes. Howling. Sneering. Showboating. But no fighting, not yet.
The 7 feet of curly-haired, former wrestling doorman made sure of that.
It's loud up in here. From practically everywhere in this area, the almost thunderous roar of the blood thirsty crowd of spectators and participants can be heard. ... The air is likewise thick with the stench of sweat... and pretty soon... blood. As if the smell of alleyway filth and alchohol wasn't bad enough. Desperation, the kind of desperation common to the slums of Metro City, will drive a man to do some crazy things... like risking his life for a green piece of paper...
...Women too, apparently. One woman in particular, a female whose rough and callous dark skin bore the reminders of countless battles, really seemed to be a standout amongst the mostly male gathering. Clad in torn and tattered denims, her brown eyes were not focused upon the event presently... but the glove she happened to be adjusting on her right hand. ... Pulling the glove several times, forcefully, before finally getting it to fit like she wanted... she then reached around with the very same gloved hand to grasp at her tightly braided, streaked, brown hair and push it off her shoulder. It might seem detrimental, for a serious fighter to have such long hair... but hey... anyone who's ever actually tried to grab that hair has paid dearly for it!
As for alchohol, well, it was practically this girl's perfume. Tonight and every night when she could afford it. It might as well have been a critical component of her bloodstream. "...Geez... let's get this over with." She mumbles to herself.
And steadily, the line moves.
Layla's company in the line initially are happy for the presence of the fairer sex. Unfortunately for them, Layla's presence make it difficult for them to appreciate it in the way they expect. It's almost uncanny how Layla has so much space around in the line, while the men are packed like sardines around the filthy dumpsters and stacks of crates. Not everyone makes the cut for the line, of course. Plenty of black eyes and bloody noses are forced out of the line, the doorman deeming them unworthy. Soon, it is Layla's own turn to be judged. And for a moment, it seems she is free to enter the padded door, where the distant sounds of shouting can be heard within.
But then, a fat hand comes out.
"Whoa there." Comes the deep, booming German accent. The curly hair-ed giant, clad in a leopard print muscle shirt, looks down at Layla with dull-witted eyes. Rumbling in the same thick accent, the doorman explains the interruption. "We ah only looking for da tough types, ja." Comes the groan. "Little pretty girls ah better for dance night. You got way of proving you ah tough, ja?" The 400 lb worth of muscle asks, looking over her with a slack jaw.
Naturally, Layla will be a gentlelady.
A vicious, animalistic, grin creeps across the brazilian's face as her eyes slowly make their way up the much taller man's frame. Not even a flinch, or a moment of hesitation, precedes her taking a bold step toward him and cocking her head in a very arrogant fashion, "I can prove it, yeah... by permenantly relieving you of your job! I've bent bigger men over my knee than you, and I ain't talkin' about foreplay buddy."
...Apparently, these comments were not well received... because within mere moments there's an increase in the noise from outside followed shortly by the fat man coming back in the door the way he came! Rather than walk through it, however, he instead practically flies through the air backward into a number of bar stools... and possibly their occupants as well! Unconscious or no, he's gonna have to pull his head out of the bar's siding before he can retaliate.
Thereafter, the sound of snakeskin boots tapping against the wood of the bar floor lightly comes as the brazilian woman casually enters with her hands in her pockets. Whether it can be heard or not, at this point, is questionable - but given her entrance she would be very visible to anyone near the door. "Alright, alright... who am I supposed to hospitalize? Let's try to get this thing done before my dinner catches up with me!" ... And by dinner, she means a half bottle of Jack Daniels.
'Course, she knows who is running this gig. EVERYBODY who has ever been a criminal has probably at least heard whispers about the Duke. But... this one was never quite bright enough to weigh risks well. Or mind her manners besides.
That was one way to make an entrance.
Layla passes the toughness test as the doorman is sent hurtling through the door. As the poor giant is sent flying, the the interior of the 'back alley' bar revealed in the dim lights of within. It was clear that the bar was furnished less for booze, and more for entertainment. The kinds of entertainments, however, seem to vary with the senses. A hookah stands in the corner, where a circle of deadheads stare ideally between puffs. Mostly naked dancers writhe on top of tables, where filthy men stare lustfully. The bar itself sits towards the right of the interior, stocked with far more than liquor. And in the middle of the whole get up was a mesh of wire fencing around a raised wooden platform, overhead lighting illuminating brightly.
An arena.
The doorman interrupts the dancing and booze, and even gains a twitch from the stoned fools in the corner. People scatter, a table flips, and a poor dancer falls victim to gravity as she falls to the floor. The brute smashes right through the barstools (and a good chunk of the bar), rolling aside right at the base of the center ring, and the feet of a crazed-looking man sitting behind a heavy wooden table.
A crazed-looking man with a money box.
Armed with a meat cleaver, this well-built asian man bears a long ponytail stretching past his back, tied up with a bright red bow. The man's face bears a burgundy scar on his left eye, and a sneering grin between his lips. Topless for now, his eyes inspects the groaning form of the doorman... before casting a gaze towards the Brazilian coming in. Like so many others, his expression read 'meat.' But unlike the others, he seems equipped for the job as he slams his meat cleaver into the table, letting loose a laugh.
'"Hah hah hah! This is what we want!"
Kicking the giant, the man points a finger towards the door. "Andore, get back to work, you lazy bum!" As Andore struggles to rise up, the table man motions for Layla to approach, rubbing his chin. He speaks fast, he speaks intensely... and he speaks with utter greed. "Heeeey tough lady! You got money? You wanna fight in big tournament? Purse is 200 dollars! You pay up, you win, and you get the whole pot, plus something very special! Floor is open for fight if you are interested!"
The man pulls up the moneybox, as if he already can guess the answer.
And money she had. Though, it wasn't hers! She made money fightin', pretty much every week, but it often was barely enough to feed herself. So, tonight, she had to 'borrow' it from that brute she had just tossed in as well as a couple of the chumps in the alley. Walking at a measured pace toward the psychotic-looking organizer with the money box, the brazilian woman removes her hand from her right pocket. That hand is full of green paper. "Sure, whatever..." She then throws in the money she'd snatched from their wallets, probably including the brute's entire pay for doing this job, and there may be a bit more than two hundred there. She wasn't just a thug, those years spent practicing pick pocketing in her youth were worth something: it left her hands as swift as they are hardened.
Walking past the crazed-looking guy at the table, not even concerned enough about his sanity to keep her frontside to him, she lets out a bored yawn and casts her gaze all around the bar. "Nice setup, I guess..." It was, at least, better than the warehouse she'd been sleeping in. "The floor is open, huh...?", she parrots before starting toward that wire fenced and platform in the center of the establishment. "I'll bite."
...And bite she does. Right down on her own teeth, grinding them together in slight frustration at the time this was taking. It might not be immediately apparent to most, if not all, of the spectators but... her eyes were slowly becoming a bit unfocused due to the alchohol setting in. "Shit... this fight better be good."
Round 1 of Eliminations.
As the money goes down, the asian man nods. "Not bad. Maybe I buy you drink after!" Laughing at his flirting, he clutches his cleaver, and jerks it out. Biting down on the blade, he whistles out to the crowd, standing up before tearing the cleaver from his teeth. Finally, he shouts out, getting the crowds attention.
"Hey! Hey! We got live one!"
The man paces like a caged beast outside the fenced ring, yammering on towards the somewhat disinterested crowd. "We got ourself Brazilian Bombshell here. No name? Or maybe we just need to earn it before we earn name and number." From the bar, a tall man finishes his drink, shoving away from the counter and towards the arena. The director of the fight continues to shout out, as the stranger walks towards the opposite corner of Layla. "And for challenger, we got the so-called head waiter from Creep Eats, that barbacue out on 9th street. You know, the place where there are no cats or dogs. We don't care, I'd eat there anyways. He paid the piper, and now he is gonna take his shot for the pot-"
"The Callman!"
Stepping up into the arena is six feet of no-nonsense, a big, bald caucasion man in a button up white shirt with the sleeves rolled back, highlighted by a red bow-tie. The shirt is tucked into soft blue jeans, and his feet are decked out with a pair of white spats. Cracking his gloved knuckles, the mustached man grits his teeth right back. "Alright, sunshine. I'll make this quick, I need to get up in the morning for the morning shift." The brute of a man pauses, before looking out at the mess of an audience.
"And don't forget to try the fine high quality pulled-pork sandwiches, right from Creep Eats. Now with whole-wheat bread!"
"Tch...", the brazilian woman practically spits as her opponent suggest he'll make quick work of her. "...In your wildest, buddy..." Her tone's pretty low at this point, the alchohol and boredom both working against her energy level for the moment. "...I hope you can at least provide me with some amusement though... I need the adrenaline..." Just to fucking get going, really!
When he calls out his little advertisement, and the living portion of the crowd nearby roars, she looks a little disgusted. "...Guess I won't ever take Perro by that place again..."
Lifting her thick, black, gloves with studded knuckles to just above chest level, just sightly higher than the bold yellow "Bite Me" enblazoned across the red T-shirt covering her fair-sized bossom, the tanned thug swings her braided hair back again before darting toward the chrome dome standing opposite of her. "I hope you have insurance! Here I come!"
Just about a half a foot or so from him, she suddenly turns on the brakes... skidding into his territory before raising her left leg, turning on her right, and attempting to place a snakeskin boot directly into his solar plexus! "RRRRRRAAAGH!!!"
COMBATSYS: Layla has started a fight here.
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Layla 0/-------/-------|
COMBATSYS: Callman has joined the fight here.
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Callman 0/-------/-------|-------\-------\0 Layla
COMBATSYS: Callman blocks Layla's Light Kick.
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Callman 0/-------/-------|-------\-------\0 Layla
Laughter.
That was what comes as Callman sends out his pitch. The whole of the man turns bright red, the man grabbing the fencing. "You shut up, Won!! We use real cow meat, goddamn it!" Shaking a fist, he begins to turn away from the snickering crowd. Just in time, of course, to see a single boot come flying in with the first move. Callman's eyes go wide for a moment, shocked to see the woman come in with such bloodlust.
And the man suddenly catches the kick with his left forearm.
"Come on, Callman, stop shilling your damn resteraunt and fight!" Comes the cry from the asian organizer, so called Won, waving his cleaver in the air as he heads to the bar. Callman just grunts, his form shifting steadily into a tight boxing stance. Arm already bruised, it is clear that it is not badly bruised. His forehead furrows, his attention pinpointing on Layla. "Excuse me, ma'am, but can you wait one goddamn second!" Was the lead in, as he steps forward. His right hand begins to hook, swinging around hard and downwards, the bald man throwing the full force right for the woman's body, as he finishes with a bark.
"Some of us have -day jobs!-"
COMBATSYS: Layla endures Callman's Hook Punch.
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Callman 0/-------/-------|=------\-------\0 Layla
"WAIT?!" The hot-headed brazilian woman practically shrieks, even as Callman's fist speeds toward her body... and finds purchase against her sternum due to her own movements. The force of the blow is sufficient to nearly knock the air from her lungs, but it isn't enough to halt her aggression for more than a moment! "I don't...!" She pauses to draw breath before continuing, even as she's attempting to slip past his fist and into his guard, "...WAIT FOR NOBODY!!!"
As she's slipping into his guard, or attempting to, she's also simultaneously dropping that heavy Harley Davidson jacket to the floor... shrugging it off her shoulders in an attempt to gain just a little more maneuverability. Not one to heed the old adage about insanity, and trying the same thing multiple times and expecting different results, she once again whirls on her right leg whilst bringing her left boot to bear. No sooner does she do this, and she's already trying once again to shove her foot into him recklessly... anywhere it will go and even harder than before!
As for Won, or anything the crowd is doing at this point, it's all slowly becoming lost to her as her aggressive desire to build her adrenaline and shake off her drunkeness lends itself to a bad case of tunnel vision.
COMBATSYS: Callman blocks Layla's Gut Buster.
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Callman 0/-------/------=|=------\-------\0 Layla
"I guess you would hit chick!"
Such is the call from Won from the bar, as he takes up a bottle of beer. Slamming the blade into the counter, he hoots out to an increasingly focused Callman. As the hook lands, his teeth grits. The woman takes the hit cleanly, and rewards him slipping into his guard. A crazed, drunk Brazillian was not what he was expecting in the ring.
Callman, however, is not drunk.
Instinctively, Callman begins to clinch with Layla, forcing himself to keep close. As the second foot comes flying in, Callman keeps in close-quarters, bringing a forearm down to catch her thigh. His face turns red, and the kick does come. But it doesn't come hard. The impact is slowed, the body is twisted, and what would be a crushing slam right in the gut (or worse), comes to a grazing blow to the side and arm.
But damn does it hurt.
Grunts come. Terse words come, the words of a man that learns only the roughest of manners, but manners nevertheless. "Lady, maybe you should learn to goddamn wait!" The man barks with gritted teeth, his arm and body beginning to grow sore. While he wasn't much taller than Layla, he was a bit taller, and his range advantage was becoming for naught as long as she kept in that clinch. A quick jab with the left comes, a test of her defenses straight for the gut. Something to draw out her guard. Callman wasn't drunk, and while stupid is questionable, he wasn't completely out of practice as a boxer. Should Layla take the jab bait and block low, his simple mind figures, it would open up the true assault when he right hand comes up and over...
And dives down with an overhead for the base of her neck.
COMBATSYS: Layla blocks Callman's Rabbit Punch.
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Callman 0/-------/------=|==-----\-------\0 Layla
"Tch...", the brunette practically spits as her kick fails to connect again like she intended for it. This guy had skill, she had to give him that much. The average person would panic and slip-up in the face of such dauntless agression.
As she retracts her kicking leg, bringing it under her and beginning to move again, he hits her with another call for patience. A call she promptly responds to in typical fashion, "You deaf, man?? I SAID, I don't wait!" And with that said, she does indeed proceed to take the bait... but not exactly as he intended for her to. Instead of blocking it, she uses the body size differences to her advantage and sidesteps it instead. Out of sheer serendipity, this maneuver which was intended to allow her to slip back inside his defenses intead puts her in a position to see the real hit incoming just an instant before it connects!
She responds to the maneuver by throwing up her own arms to block the punch. Emitting an audible smacking of skin against skin, it is strong enough to push her back out of his territory and seriously her hurt right forearm. ... Now it was her turn to bruise.
"Alright..." she grumbles, dropping her guard again and dropping her right hand close to the lip of her jeans... and the gleaming, silver, weighted nine section whip coiled there. Now that her coat is off, it's as obvious as an elephant in the room when compared with her worn and shabby clothing. "...I'm done messing around now!" Grabbing it off of her belt and proceeding to swing it rapidly in excessively fast orbit about her right hand, she rushes him again with all the speed she can muster before lashing out and attempting to snare his right arm with that whip and jerk him off-balance. If she succeeds, she'll then begin to pummel him with a pair of kicks to the midsection followed shortly by a spinning backhand!
COMBATSYS: Callman blocks Layla's Nine Section Shuffle.
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Callman 0/-------/----===|==-----\-------\0 Layla
Callman was keeping steady.
The jab is evaded instead of blocked, and the overhead is caught instead. But the bald man doesn't look shocked or upset. Just focused. The insult, however, makes his face flush. "Ladies should behave like ladies!" He sputters. Fortunately for him, he wasn't shifting from his defense. He wasn't unnerved by the whip.... chain.... thingie that was coming out. While he was a dedicated boxer, he had lived on the streets long enough to know to prepare for all kinds of weapons.
Unfortunately, his friends were there to back him up.
"Another BLOCK!?" Was the exasperated shout from Won at the side of the bar. "You are boring! Stop being boring Callman!" The asian mocks, pounding a fist on the counter. The waiter tries hard to focus on the brazillian, his face gradually turning more and more red as the catcalls come. The audience seems to be enjoying Layla, for certain. But this boxer was playing it safe, playing it conservative... and being remarkably boring, because of it. AS the whip hisses around, he throws up his right arm to block... giving her exactly what she wants. As the jerk comes, though, his stance keeps firm, the boxer keeping his footing. The kicks come back, and at further cost of them, he brings his side and left to block the kicks. The two kicks are taken, and as the backhand comes... he jerks his right free, catching it cleanly.
And with it, comes the cleaver.
The knife hits the fencing, missing Callman by mere inches. That is what makes his eyes go wide. Standing at the bar, recovering from the hurl, is Won, his cleaver now in the arena, the organizer's face contorted in a wild sneer. Won breaks the ice, it seems, and with it, comes more grumbling, more boos, more hisses... and more debris. Bottles are thrown up, boards are tossed up, and even a chair or two is heaved over. Callman's focus returns back to the Brazillian, his arm starting to turn purple as his face grow even more red. As the intereference rains in, the man resurges back towards Layla. "I'll show them boring!" He mutters as his fists begin to roll. A jab with the left, a jab with the right, a jab with the left. The boxer was giving a quick combination, to regain his footing, to pick up an offensive momentum. He was being safe, he was being careful.
But that's not what the audience wanted.
COMBATSYS: Layla interrupts In-Fight Combo from Callman with Gut Buster.
- Power hit! -
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Callman 0/-------/--=====|==-----\-------\0 Layla
Even despite the drunkeness, and bloodlust... the crowd's booing and Won's incessant shit giving was beginning to penetrate Layla's mental haze. Slowly, but surely, her focus was becoming less laser-like... that is, until that meat cleaver comes flying toward the ring and splits the air between her and Callman. As it richochets off the wire fence, and clatters to the floor, her eyes widen a bit. "...God damn." She's been in some rough matches before, but rarely ever did the audience chuck potentially life-threatening objects at the fighters!
Looking away from Callman, just briefly, she shouts toward the lunatic director over the howling spectators, "HEY! That shit's dangerous!" Yeah, and her wielding a weighted chain against an unarmed man wasn't?
Before there's time to catch his response, however, the thunder of Callman's approach sounds against the platform and catches her attention again. ... Now the shoe was on the other foot! "...can't wait to get hurt, huh?"
In response to his somewhat predictable combo, Layla sidesteps the first hit... followed by the second... and then leans away from his somewhat repetitive last, with the punch /just/ skirting her smallish nose! And whilst she's leaning away from the last punch, she takes advantage of her positioning and his aggression to plant her right boot somewhere firmly between his lungs and colon! It's not without serious effort though, by this point her body is aching about as much as his.
A scoff escapes her as she narrows her brown eyes, just slightly, at her opponent, "..I almost feel sorry for you." ... Almost.
Cheers.
Those are what Callman hears as his balance is broken. Won was hooting and a hollaring, shouting on as Layla complains about the interferance. "That's the POINT babe bee!" The asian cries out. But the cries weren't for her complaining. It was for her technique as she gets only a graze on the nose... and responds with a kick right in the torso. Callman chokes. He sputters. And finally, he grunts out a response as he finally realizes what just happened.
"COLE SLAW!"
Those were the words that erupt from his mouth, face bright red, as he hurls out a single punch with the right. His entire body wrenches, his entire body stiffens, everything comes out as he attempts to send Layla right back. He was beginning to lose the appeal of being safe, being cautious, being conservative. And with it, he was going through the one thing that can keep his focus through the cheers, through beautiful crazy latinos assaulting him, and through the debris.
Taking orders.
COMBATSYS: Layla endures Callman's Straight Punch.
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Callman 0/-------/--=====|====---\-------\0 Layla
Layla groans with annoyance as she hears Won call at her again from somewhere in the background over the Crowd's continuous roaring and whistling. Also, over the din of glass bottles shattering and chairs hitting the wooden floor. "Man, I've been in some messed up fights before...", she speaks mostly to herself, "...but this one definitely gets some kind of fucked up award." This is all said, basically, whilst she's removing her foot from the poor waiter's body and placing it back on the floor.
Taking a moment to kick a couple of half-broken glass bottles, and a chair, out of the area she's standing in... the brazilian brunette swings that long, tightly braided, ponytail that had made its way around her left shoulder to her backside. She then puts her focus back on Callman, eyes drawn by his curious warcry, complete with a slow raising of her right eyebrow, "Wha..."
The sound of his knuckles making solid contact with her face follows, with her head snapping away in the direction of his punch's momentum accompanied by a spray of blood from her bottom lip.
..It strains hair neck severely, and leaves her with a stinging sensation all too familiar to her by now, but despite the punch's force - it does not knock her down. In fact, despite the size difference, it barely causes her to stumble... a thing quickly rectified by firmly digging her left foot in.
"...COLE SLAW?!" She practically screams to no one in particular, before turning to face him again and swinging that weighted whip around in a tight orbit. "COLE SLAW?! I'LL GIVE YOU COLE SLAW!" Without even a moment's hesitation, she looses that chain and swings it in a wide arc... straight for his legs. Intent to try and coil it around his right leg, if she succeeds she'll then give it a vicious tug in an attempt to ground him before charging like a madwoman again! "RRRRRRRRRRRRRR...!!!"
COMBATSYS: Callman blocks Layla's Tangle Whip.
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Callman 0/-------/=======|=====--\-------\0 Layla
"BEEF BRISKET!"
Such is the shout, as he continues to burn bright red, face utterly flushed and sweating as he recovers from the bone-shattering straight. A howl comes from the audience, starting to get exciting. Callman was still being boring, but seeing a mad-woman go berserk against a regular was a riot. As Layla roars back in, Callman's guard returns. Arms down, he just hunkers behind his limbs, shifting them to take the initial whip. Catching it up, he lets it wrap around his arm... and goes to one knee, bracing himself down as she rips into him like a wildcat. The onslaught comes, his teeth are gritted.
But his guard doesn't break.
As the assault ebbs, his form flows. He brings his kneeling leg back forward, rising up as Won screams out. "Come on! We throw all that shit there, and you don't do damn thing! Throw him in fence! Tie him up! If you are boring, be sexy boring!" Callman visibly rolls his eyes as he surges a fist straight up to stop the rampage. A single, smooth uppercut, attempting to knock her flat back.. and to let him get just a bit of breathing room. All while he continues to rattle off the menu.
"P-P-PULLED PORK SANDWICH!"
COMBATSYS: Layla interrupts Uppercut Punch from Callman with Chain Strangle.
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Callman 0/-------/=======|=======\-------\0 Layla
The boring, but massive, wall of muscle further frustrates the slightly crazy brazilian female even further as he mounts an extremely effective defense against her onslaught. All of this constant turtling was even beginning to piss her off finally! Coupled with the spectators traitorous howling, it only served to drive her deeper into that sudden blood rage, making her want to... to...
...That heavy weighted chain is yanked back, after her assult is through, and caught in her gloved grip. With more than a touch of insanity in her deep brown eyes, the brunette pulls it taut and waits in quiet fury for the retaliation.
With her teeth bared like an angry dog.
The uppercut the Callman throws connects solidly, smashing her chin and knocking her head back and forcing her to stumble once more. That already busted lip is profusely bleeding, and now her jaw feels as if it got smashed with a hammer, but despite the impact she still stubbornly refuses to give him any room! Coming right out of that stumble, she just charges right back in and leaps at him with furious speed - attempting to pin him against the barbed ropes, wrap her chain around his throat, and strangle him until his last breathe escapes him! "I'MMA PULL YOUR PORK, YOU STUPID MEATSACK!"
Oh dear.
The entire bar breaks into cheers again. And once again, it is out of Callman's favor. As he rises up, his uppercut connects. But it is like stepping on a land mine. The woman hurls on him like a rabid wolf, slipping behind him as he is smashed against the fencing, strangled. Eyes bulging out, the bald man struggles at his throat, trying to breath, fighting to breath. His fat tongue lolled out, Won Won claps his hands. "That's it! Hey! Hey! You win this, Callman! I will buy all your menu!" Was the cry as people chuck bottles at the strangled waiter. Finally, the man sputters "B... B...."
"B-BAKED BEAN SPECIAL!"
Working his way around, twisting in pain, he attempting to grab Layla by her arms. Should he get a grip, he will attempt to break the hold by seizing her in place... and smashing those spats into her body, to launch her away across the arena with a bone breaking kick. He couldn't afford this anymore. He was on the rope.
And she was about to seal the deal.
COMBATSYS: Layla dodges Callman's Violent Clinching.
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Callman 0/-------/=======|=======\-------\0 Layla
"SHUT THE FUCK UP!" The brunette shouts at the top of her lungs, even as the Callman is attempting to seize her in a serious clench. The stupid, relentless, calling out of menu items - never mind his near futile attempts at resistance at this point - were just making her angrier and angrier! Further, the shouting and howling of the crowd too was beginning to get on her nerves. She had to put this guy down soon, and win this, before she went completely apeshit!
His massive hands do manage to ensnare her comparitively tiny arms, clutching them and holding them firmly in place. She even lets the chain go slack, giving him the precious air his brain needed.
But it wasn't because she pitied him.
It was because she didn't want break his neck with her next maneuver. Callman was about to learn: when you're dancing with a lady, you'd best grab her waist! Rocketing up off the floor with a jump, even as he continues to hold her arms fast, Layla swings her right knee up towards his face viciously in an attempt to knock him unconscious and end his struggle for good!
COMBATSYS: Callman fails to interrupt Heavy Kick from Layla with Cross Counter.
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Callman 0/-------/=======|=======\-------\0 Layla
And a round of applause for Layla.
Chants and cheers come from the lowlifes as not only does she back Callman in a corner, not only does she slip out of Callman's counter attack, but she even manages to shout him down like a dog. As she wrenches free from his grip and takes to the air, Callman ignores the cheers. Ignores the crowd. Ignores the grey clouds at the edge of his vision. He just cared about the girl. And the menu. As she shoots back to earth, he winds back a punch, drawing up an arm to block the full impact... and reads the cross punch to stop it.
"FILET MI-Oooooahn."
The groan comes as he fails to come out first with the punch, shut down with a violent kick straight to the head. His throat was purple, and now his face was swelling; one eye was closed up from the fresh new bruise. It almost was like he was flashing now, how the red came and went. Landing right on his back, Callman slowly rises up, his mind in a daze. He wasn't out. But Layla just smashed her way into an opening.
It was time to see if she could Coup De Grace that shit.
Upon the successful landing of her knee, and the ever so lovely cracking of bone that came with it (including her own knee possibly), the brunette lands gracefully on the raised platform like a cat. A cat that had been locked in a washing mashine for thirty minutes with the clothes probably.
Stumbling backward a little after what looked to be the beginnings of a graceful landing, she scoffs... breathing heavily... and wipes her still bleeding mouth on the back of her already stained black gloves. ... It was beginning to look like she had won, what with the Callman practically on the brink of unconsciousness. But she knew better than to count an opponent out before they were thoroughly disabled.
Suddenly, the obnoxiously loud sound of glass breaking pierces her concentration and breaks her blood haze enough for the crowd's roaring to penetrate. Someone had thrown another glass bottle into the ring again and nearly hit her. It is then she realizes they were beginning to piss her off too...
And she had a solution to both problems.
Suddenly, she attempts to lash out and strike at Callman again with that whip. If she succeeds, she's going to wrap it around his neck and attempt to drag him to his feet. From there, she'll kick him into the wire fence... then drag him to her, backhand him across the face, then with one last toss attempt to use every last bit of her strength to hurl him. She'll hurl him through the air, over the fence, and straight into the audience and the FUCK WHO THREW THAT BOTTLE!
COMBATSYS: Callman blocks Layla's Beat Yo' Ass!.
[ \\ < > ////////// ]
Callman 1/------=/=======|=======\-------\0 Layla
Sometimes you just shouldn't quit your day job.
Callman just manages to get himself together, rising up to a stand still, rising up with that blasted boxing stance.... or he would have, if the whip didn't grab his neck. A hand guard rises up, his fist catching the whip. Pulling back at the whip, he challenges' Layla's own pull. His eyes are swollen, his face is swollen. But through those fat lips under the messed up mustache, he calls out.
"BABY BACK RIBS!"
As she comes near, the kick comes, caught with one, painful hand. Then the wildcat unleashes another strike, met with a deflection with his own backhand, refusing to go down smooth. Tough as nails, he grits his teeth as he tries to make an opening. Instead, he is thrown through the air, over the fence.
And right into Won Won.
Won catches the bald man, stumbling back into a chair. "Hah! What bum!" He exclaims, cradling the well-dressed goon a bit... Despite the abuse, it seems that Callman gurgles a bit. "Let me back in there Won, I'm gonna-" Before Callman finishes, the asian rolls his eyes. "Like I said! You boring!" And with that, he grabs a nearby bottle of Jack...
And smashes it over his bald head.
Callman's eyes bug out a second, before shutting tight. The asian releases the man, who slumps to the ground, unconscious. Won begins to applaud, with the whole of the goons ranting and cheering, and.... throwing bottles into the arena. Won shrugs. "It looks like we got winner! It fair win, I judge it so!" Waggling his eyebrows at Layla, he finally decides to ask the pressing question,
"What's you name, toots?!"
COMBATSYS: Callman takes no action.
[ \\\\\\\\\\ <
Layla 0/-------/=======|
COMBATSYS: Callman can no longer fight.
[ \\\\\\\\\\ <
Layla 0/-------/=======|
...And after that backbreaking throw, which took a large potion of the energy she had left, Layla just collapses to the raised platform. Sitting there, attempting to catch her breath, she watches as Won effectively puts an end to Callman himself. And she winces, almost feeling sorry for the touchy feely dope. But shit... he really should have left his honor and manners at the door. "...This kind of fighting game isn't the place for that shit."
But shit... these guys were criminals alright. Just like home practically...
She does frown a bit with disappointment, but isn't because Won stole her kill. ... More because she missed the losers throwing those damn bottles!
"...I need a fuckin' drink...", she mumbles to herself quietly under the roar of the spectators. And, actually, probably the very LAST thing she needed right now was a drink. But old habits die hard indeed! Won, over the rowdy gathering, asks for her name... and she briefly considers her options... before deciding she's too damn tired to be spiteful at this point. "...You ever hear of Eric Clapton?"
Log created on 13:37:41 04/28/2013 by Layla, and last modified on 22:26:21 04/29/2013.