Description: Following up on an invitation she 'acquired', Franziska takes time out for some sight-seeing and gets her first taste of the gangland underculture that lurks in the depths of Metro City.
It is late in the evening when Franziska finally manages to pull herself away from the endless miles of distractions that line the streets of the massive metropolitan core that she has wandered into. Towering sky scrapers of shimmering silver glass reflect the sea neon lights that seem to shine from every surface, countless billboards of advertisments burning brightly in the fading light as the sun slowly vanishes behind the horizon. The sheer number of gaudy establishments in the red light district manage to create a sort of artificial daylight but the dull hum of poorly-maintained electrical wires and the faint haze of phosphorescent illumination paints the evening streets in a very different hue.
The night brings with it all manner of nocturnal creatures, some animal, some human. Despite her unusual attire, the small German spy fits in almost perfectly with the pimps, prostitutes, and gang members that seem to pour out of every dark nook and cranny as if the setting of the sun signaled some sort of mass migration from wherever these sorts kept holed up during the day. Her hawkish gaze takes in the sights with open curiousity, her eyes practically darting about to keep up with the strange menagerie of sights that greet her at every turn.
It takes her roughly an hour to make her way from the bus stop to the address on the small slip of paper she holds in her hand. Checking the directions one last time, she tucks the crude map into her breast pocket and turns into a nearby alleyway, munching casually on the remnants of a cheap burger she picked up from a rather persistant street vendor. Despite the extreme amount of grease and the over-abundance of condiments, she enjoys every bite of it - it's part of the American experience after all!
Just like the underground cage match that she managed to get 'invited' to with a little persuasion. Tales of American gangs have always been a big part of popular culture in the movies she's imported over the years so the chance to finally interact with one is quite exciting. Ducking under a partially concealed hole in a rusty chain-link fence, Franziska slips past the final layer of protection meant to keep the meeting place a secret.
The muted thump of bad rock music blaring from amped up speakers greets her as she pushes through the side door of an abandoned warehouse. The noise quickly grows in intensity as she slips into the secret fighting ring but it is nothing compared to the din of the crowd that has gathered in the musty make-shift arena. Atleast a hundred drunken hooting hooligans line the outer edges of a massive circle that has been painted on the floor, some sitting on old crates or piles of bricks, most just standing wherever there is space.
The small woman pushes her way through the crowd, slipping past more leather and spandex than she saw in all of the clothing stores she frequented this day combined. She earns quite a few nasty looks in the process but something about her just seems to make people want to get out of the way and she eventually reaches the edge of the arena only to be greeting by a wave of enthusiastic shouts.
Two men stand in the ring, facing off in what is obviously some sort of fight or brawl. Smatters of blood dot the floor and their clothes already and both of them look like they've been beat to the hell two or three times. Franziska lets out a thoughtful hum as she scarfs the last of her burger down, watching to see how things turn out.
It's certainly true that Metro City is the typical--some say prototypical--American metropolitan center. That is to say, it's big, it's dirty, it's noisy, it's dangerous, and even the nicer parts aren't all *that* nice... But it's also home to millions, and for most of those millions, they're fierce about the city they've chosen to live in. But they'll admit that the city isn't a place to tread lightly.
It's for that reason, most likely, that in some areas, people just aren't out--at least, not in the sorts of volume that speak to a bustling city. it takes a certain bravado, a certain, well, set of balls to walk the streets of Metro at night. Hell, sometimes it takes that much to walk them during the *day*--and that's if you're a cop with a badge and a gun. Or if you've got the skills to let you survive on the street.
Franziska certainly qualifies for that, so there's the reason she goes unmolested as she walks the streets of Metro on the way to her destination. They're punks, thugs, and criminals, but they can recognize their own, and they recognize, for the most part, when someone's got that ineffable 'it'. The underground matches are the kind that move from underpass to fenced off field, from usurped construction zone to dimly-lit parking garage; it's part of the atmosphere, even if the cops aren't able, or willing, to stop them.
The two men in the middle look like veteran brawlers--relying not so much on skill as dogged relentlessness and cussed stubbornness. Neither would win awards for being pretty, and neither would win praise for being skilled. Eventually, one of them wins, the other dragged out of the ring by his denim jacket. The announcer--a mohawked man on a hastily-constructed wooden pallet platform, lifts a megaphone.
"And that's it for Basher vs. Tiny! Up next, we're lookin' for a challenger for an old favorite, Senna Chaikat!! Taking odds 20 to 1!!" The aforementioned girl saunters out into the circle. She looks just as hard as the men before, maybe even harder, tightening the bandages she wears on her hands. SHe's prettier than those guys but definitely not conventionally pretty, and her build is lean, hard, well-muscled and light on its feet. Her glare is pretty straightforward as she looks around the circle, waiting for someone to have the balls to step out.
She doesn't have to wait long. Almost as if she was waiting for just such a cue, a small blonde woman steps forward into the ring. A mysteriously alluring smile spreads across Franziska's patrician features as she strides confidently into the open, both hands clasped behind her back in a nonchalant fashion.
"I vill fight her."
For a brief moment the droning shouts of the crowd die out completely, though whether it is from the inexplicably powerful presence this complete stranger radiates or due to a bunch of drunken American thugs trying to decipher her thick German accent isn't entirely clear. However, her decision to step into the ring makes her intentions pretty clear and a fresh surge of shouts and catcalls fills the warehouse in a defeaning outpour.
Franziska reaches up and takes her hat by the brim, inclining her head towards one side of the crowd and then the other in a show of appreciation for their enthusiasm. Unlike Senna's rugged features that mark her hardships and effort, her challenger doesn't look like she's worked a day her life. Smooth unblemished skin, soft brushed hair, and a freshly pressed uniform; she'd look more at home in a parade than a fighting ring.
Once she's done pandering to the crowd, Franziska walks to the center of the ring and gives the other woman a once over before nodding and repeating her slight bow.
"Guten Abend, fraulein. From zee odds zey are placink against me it sounds as if you are quite zee fighter, mm? Shall we have a friendly match und find out?"
The accent is almost comical, but the only people laughing are those who are less-trained in spotting fighter's strengths and weaknesses. Those who can are sizing Franziska up, and then, after the brief moment in which her voice cuts into and through silence, the cacophony starts up again, odds being changed and challenged and bets being made. Throughout it all, Senna merely sizes her opponent up, then nods to herself. There's something about the woman... she's a threat. A genuine threat.
The fact of the way Franziska looks doesn't mean anything--a well-trained dilettante is still dangerous. Senna's smile is thin, predatory, and confident, but not cocky, as Fran addresses her. "I've been the reigning champ for the last four weeks," she explains, leaving it simply at that. Confident she may be, but overconfident has never been her, and she's not going to go in cocky and get her head taken off. Ignoring the betting and the shouting, Senna walks forward a few feet, sets her stance, then raises her hands--a classic boxing stance, feet sliding apart into a wide stance and her shoulders starting to hunch in.
"Right, so, let's do it. We're not really all that formal in here," she says, by way of explanation. This is definitely not Queensbury's rules here.
COMBATSYS: Senna has started a fight here.
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Senna 0/-------/------=|
COMBATSYS: Franziska has joined the fight here.
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Senna 0/-------/------=|-------\-------\0 Franziska
"Impressive," Franziska says, being quite honest. She's heard tales of the brutality displayed by the sorts of hoodlums that frequent these illegal betting rings and despite her participation in a handful of the 'official' tournaments in Europe, she's never really had the chance or need to delve into the underground realms of street fighting. The people who make the decisions at MIMIR aren't really familiar with the shadowy underculture that such activities create nor interested in those that participate. They wanted good quality samples from obviously superior specimens and over the years she's provided just that, but Franziska has always suspected that an untapped wealth of genetic gold lies buried beneath the surface of big cities like this.
Tonight is both an experiment and a chance to have some fun without having to report to an oversight committee. Franziska's placid smile remains firmly in place as her opponent readies herself, an almost detached level of calm in her movements and expression. Her eyes tell a different story, however. The small orbs of brilliant sapphire focus on Senna like a hawk through her narrowed eyelids, absorbing every movement she makes with the practiced gaze of an experienced fighter.
The German echoes her movements, sliding over to her place across from the boxer. She falls into a loose combat stance, one hand extended before her with the palm facing outwards while her other is couched at her side.
"Very vell. Zen I vill cast decorum to zee vind!"
Franziska moves without much more of a warning, closing the gap between herself and the other woman in a flash. Her fist shoots forward as she takes the final step, rising up from her side as she puts her weight into a blow aimed at her heart. It is a powerful opener, a show of force meant to shake her opponent up and start the show off with something of a bang.
COMBATSYS: Senna blocks Franziska's Herzschlag.
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Senna 0/-------/-----==|====---\-------\0 Franziska
Impressive? Maybe. For the most part, fighting in this ring is fighting the half-skilled and drunk. Not exactly marquee material. But Senna abandoned her quest for the marquee long ago. Or so she tells herself. Bets are still being made, but to Senna, the noise fades to a blur as she narrows her focus. That focus is all on Franziska now, hard eyes watchint he German fighter as she decides to take the first move. Her eyes flick back and forth, catching every moment of movement.
Fists tighten, muscles tensing and bulging under the strain, and then Franziska is in her face, throwing a blow meant to stun, a shot for the heart. It's a technique that, in essence, Senna's seen before, though not used by many boxers--the heartbreak shot was a pretty famous punch back in the day.
This one doesn't find the mark, however; Senna leans, and brings a forearm to bear, Franziska's punch landing square on Senna's right forearm. She can feel the power inherent in her opponent's punch, and she smiles--just a bit. Certainly, she isn't weak.
Senna's response is swift; she draws back a half-step, then lunges forward, re-closing the distance as she fires off a flurry of left jabs, peppering the area of Franziska's torso, ending the brief flurry with a right straight.
COMBATSYS: Franziska blocks Senna's Shotgun Driver.
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Senna 0/-------/-----==|=====--\-------\0 Franziska
Franziska's smile actually widens when her fist thumps against the woman's muscled arm, a glint of amusement flickering across her eyes. Despite Senna's rugged looks, she had actually expected this fight to be mostly one-sided; partly out of the great faith she has in her own abilities (some people call it arrogance) and partly because stories tend to be just that. The swift response delivered by her opponent does much to dispel her worries.
Tucking her arms against her side, the uniform-clad blonde rides out the flurry of swift punches, casually batting them aside with her forearms. The armored plates underneath her sleeves absorb almost every bit of kinetic force behind the blows but even still she can feel the strength behind them. Franziska bides her time until the final punch comes from the other side. Her left hand snaps out to catch the straight punch in her gloved palm, fingers wrapping around the Senna's fist as she steps to the side, moving off the boxer's direct line of attack as she reaches out with her other hand to put pressure on her elbow in a classic joint-lock.
COMBATSYS: Senna Toughs Out Franziska's Gelenksperre!
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Senna 0/-------/---====|======-\-------\0 Franziska
Senna's right fist gets grabbed, and she can feel those armored plates--not to mention the dull sound made when her fists bounce off of them. Interesting. But that doesn't matter to her--particularly not when Fran is trying to break her elbow, or at least disable it. There's a moment where Senna grimaces, the elbow shrieking in a moment of pain--and then she just fights back. The elbow is bent back to normal shape, the moment of distress over, and Senna steps to remain in line with her opponent, robbing Franziska of the rotational force needed to continue the elbow lock.
But she doesn't retract her right arm--not yet. As she steps around, she steps even -wider-, over-rotating, planting her foot to the outside of Fran's stance and then twisting towards her, hammering her left hand around in a hard, classic hook punch, the act of which will also pull her right hand free from the German's grasp.
COMBATSYS: Franziska endures Senna's Hook Punch.
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Senna 0/-------/--=====|=======\-------\0 Franziska
It would have been easy enough to break the woman's arm if that had been her intention but, despite her shadowy origins, Franziska isn't the sort of person who likes harming others for sport. That's all this fight is to her, a game; a distraction to pass the time while her subordinates and handlers do their work and locate the individuals she needs to find.
When she feels the joint go stiff, Franziska eases up to prevent doing any permanent harm but it almost seems that her leniancy was unnecessary. Senna muscles out of the hold in a surge of power that almost catches her off-guard and she takes an instinctive step back giving the boxer room to manuever in the process. The counter attack that follows is easy to see coming but rather than simply knock it aside the German just braces herself and feigns the attempt. Senna's fist smashes into her face with an audible thud, snapping the haughty woman's head sideway hard enough to spin her around.
But that was all part of the plan. Even as she twists, Franziska pivots on her left leg and brings the other about, snapping her heavy combat boot into the air with a sharp whoosh that brings it crashing in towards Senna's ribcage.
COMBATSYS: Senna parries Franziska's Medium Kick!
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Senna 0/-------/=======|=======\-------\0 Franziska
Senna can feel Fran let up a little. That... that actually makes her frown. Not that she wants to be hurt--she's not a masochist--but she doesn't like the intimation that Fran isn't going all out. That means... she isn't taking this seriously. Senna is. This is the first -real- fight she's had in a while, and she's relishing the idea that she's going to have to work for the win. Withdrawing a half-step just as Franziska pivots, she sees the heavy combat boot snapping around for her ribcage.
Even a cursory look at those boots reveals that they're something that Senna doesn't want to mess with. So she decides to take a different tack; as Franziska pivots, Senna lunges forward and in, cutting that movement short; by the time Fran's boot would be plowing into her side, Senna's up close, robbing the kick of its power, forming a brief fulcrum with her left elbow just above Fran's uprsised knee.
And then her next action is almost completely instinctive. Certainly it's not taught in traditional boxing. That action? A simple headbutt, Senna lunging forward to ram Fran with the boniest, hardest part of her forehead.
COMBATSYS: Franziska blocks Senna's Headbutt EX.
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Senna 0/-------/=======|=======\-------\0 Franziska
Even with her back mostly turned to Senna, the German can feel something go wrong with her carefully laid trap. Maybe she was too slow on the pivot or the other woman just happened to take an aggressive follow up that brought her in too close for it to be effective. Whatever the case, things have gone sideways and that means she has to improvise in a hurry.
As she completes the spin and begins to turn back around, Franziska sees what is about to happen and with few options left to her she does something that most people will probably see as completely crazy. Instead of leaning away from the rapidly approaching smash, she retaliates in kind. There is a sickening thud as both women's heads collide but rather than recoil from the blow, Franziska just grins and presses against her opponent, staring her opponent down from about as close as one can get.
"Vunderbar! You are fearless! I like zat! Show me more of zis spirit!"
Reaching out to grasp at Senna's arms, she takes another powerful step forward and slides her leg between the boxer's to gain leverage, following it up with a quick pivot as she attempts to fling her to the ground.
COMBATSYS: Senna blocks Franziska's Quick Throw.
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Senna 0/-------/=======|=======\-------\0 Franziska
Up close, Senna cannot really avoid Franziska. It's one of the prices she pays for her up-close, in-your-face style of boxing; she has to take a lot more than a more outside-oriented fighter would. When Fran chooses to counter-headbutt, there's a few winces in the crowd--it certainly sounded bad. But Senna isn't put off by Fran's press--and she returns it, her lips curving into a wicked smile. She's starting to enjoy herself a little.
She doesn't seem to resist as the German woman attempts to fling her to the ground--but when she falls free of Franziska's grasp, she turns, spinning. Instead of landing flat on her back, she bounces off her shoulder, using the momentum to pop right back up. Her shoulder will bruise, but she's not caught flat on breath and she's not out of position.
"Nice," she remarks, and she even sounds slightly sincere about it. And she -is- fearless, for sure, darting forward to close with the German again, her fists lashing out in a classic one-two, left jab-right straight, those hammers looking to sound a gong on Fran's face.
COMBATSYS: Franziska interrupts Rapid Combo from Senna with Eisenkorper.
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Senna 1/------=/=======|=======\-------\0 Franziska
"Ach, I am just warmink up, fraulein, but sank you for zee thought."
Franziska's response is cheerful and upbeat, her smile clearly playful but not necessarily mocking. The cheers and jeers of the crowd are an interesting backdrop to the fight, both a mild distraction and an encouraging rush. Every blow landed by either of them is met with a series of over-exaggerated groans and hoots that echo through the warehouse sending a chill down her spine that isn't entirely unpleasant.
That thought is somewhat sobering for a person like Franziska who considers herself to be above the sort of animalistic pleasures that the general populace partakes in; it's one of her dirty little secrets that she likes fighting as much as she does. There's no one but thugs and hoodlums here to judge her now though so she ignores the momentary nagging sensation and gets her head back in the game.
When Senna rushes her Franziska simply braces herself, tilting her body at a slight angle in preparation for her next move. The first punch slams into her shoulder but she simply turns at the exact moment of impact and the strike slides off her without much effect leaving the boxer's torso completely exposed as she brings her other fist up to follow through. There is a sharp popping sound when the German's knuckles collide with Senna's side and a powerful wave of force slams into her body as a small psycho-kinetic explosion detonates at point blank.
Overextended. Senna recognizes the danger, but too late--even as she's pulling back, Franziska is planting that fist in her side. That alone hurts, but that explosion of psychokinetic energy just adds that much more to it. She staggers away with a heavy grunt, resisting the urge to hold her side, though her hand hovers towards it for a moment. So, Franziska can probably tell--that hurt the boxer. Her eyes flash with a combination of pain, anger, and determination, and Fran can probably guess what happens next--
--Senna gets right back in there. She's not moving quite as fluidly--that injury will tell for a bit--but it isn't going to affect her *too* much, not yet, and she restarts the process of establishing her offense, throwing just a pair of quick jabs, using them as much as to establish her range as to actually try for some damage.
COMBATSYS: Senna successfully hits Franziska with Light Punch.
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Senna 1/-----==/=======|=======\-------\1 Franziska
Senna's quick recovery from such a powerful blow manages to surprise the foreign challenger yet again. She moves with the assault, attempting to step back and raise her guard but the boxer's swift jabs dart past her defense and land a pair of solid blows against her face and chest.
Franziska winces and staggers a little but otherwise doesn't seem too badly affected. It was a slight slip in her concentration but it reminds her that her opponent can't be taken too lightly. She's still clearly in the advantage here, however, and it shows in her haughty smirk and the way she casually stalks around the ring, playing for time so as to drag the fight out a little longer.
Her retaliation comes a few moments later. A handful of probing punches designed to draw Senna's attention upwards come first but the real attack comes from belong, Franziska's leg lashing out in a swift strike at the side of her knee.
COMBATSYS: Franziska successfully hits Senna with Light Kick.
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Senna 1/----===/=======|=======\-------\1 Franziska
Impact. Senna's leg twists under the impact; it certainly looks gruesome, the leg hyper-extending on that joint. Senna's teeth clench, her teeth gritting as she absorbs the hit. It doesn't break the joint, but she's dragging the leg a little from the impact on it. But it'll hold up for now. There's a bit of a growl emanating from Senna's throat--kind of low, hard to hear, but a definite growl. Bison is -the- Mad Dog, the Violent Buffalo, and no one can hope to match him--but Senna seems to follow in his footsteps to a degree.
She fades back a half step, and deliberately, lifts the leg that was struck and bends the knee, eliciting a really nasty-sounding pop as she realigns the joint. She's still limping a bit as she stalks forward, but the lean in her stance definitely seems to indicate a desire for renewed hostilities.
There's a moment's silence of movement, and then she's darting forward, looking to snag Franziska by the neck with her left arm--her right being occupied with the throwing of several hammering elbows. If she gets to grab Fran, after the elbows she'll force the German back into a trip, to dump her on her btt.
COMBATSYS: Franziska blocks Senna's Violent Clinching.
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Senna 1/---====/=======|=======\=------\1 Franziska
Franziska's smug grin widens a little at the cracking sound. She didn't even hit the woman that hard. Sometimes she has to remind herself that most fighters don't have her physical traits - but only sometimes; her ego keeps her pretty well up-to-date on how much better she is than the average battler.
And, being the graceful person she is, the German steps back to allow her opponent to deal with the injury. It also gives her more time to react to whatever follow-up will come after. The crowd groans in unison at Senna's hardcore display of toughness but they lean forward on the edge of their seats hungry for more brutal displays of martial might.
And they aren't disappointed. When the boxer rushes in for the clinch, Franziska crosses her arms over her chest, allowing the raging woman to get a weak hold on her neck without actually choking her out. The hammering elbow strikes are blunted against her armored forearms but she plays up every hit for the crowd, wincing and recoiling from each strike.
When Senna goes for the trip, however, Franziska decides to bring an end to the charade. She leaps straight into the air, tucking her legs up over the sweeping strike and extends both of her booted heels towards the boxer's chest, aiming to kick her in an almost pro-wrestling fashion.
COMBATSYS: Senna interrupts Luftangriff from Franziska with Anvil Breaker.
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Senna 0/-------/----===|=======\====---\1 Franziska
Tricky... this will be tricky. Franziska is tough as nails, and she may be tougher than Senna--but Senna's no slouch in that regard, either. She takes the double-booted impact on crossed forearms--but that defense doesn't hold. Or, at least, it doesn't seem to.
The boxer's crossed arms drop, but the rest of her isn't there to receive the blow, and the moment after Franziska passes through the space where she was, Senna bursts into action. First it's a right uppercut, sharp and tight, to rock Fran's jawline; next is a left hook, aimed right for the temple. Another hook, this time from the right, to rock Franziska the other way, and then a left uppercut to send her reeling.
And then the coup de grace, an overhead smashing punch, from the boxer's right hand, aimed to impact square on Franziaka's forehead and send her bouncing into the ground.
To say that the sudden fierce comeback takes Franziska by surprise would be a vast understatement. One moment she is flying through the air in the middle of a well-executed counter attack and the next she's being pummeled back and forth like one of those inflatable clowns that show up at children's birthday parties.
There is no acting in the staggering recoil of each punch that connects with her body this time as Senna takes her for a ride on the end of her fists. Franziska's head snaps from side to side in an excruciating fashion, her usual stoic calm shattered into an expression of pain and surprise. The crowd goes wild at the unexpected turn of events, dozens of betting tickets flying into the air in a mixture of panic and elation that drowns the small ring with noise.
The final blow plants Franziska face-first into the dusty floor and she lets out a muted groan after a few moments, slowly pushing herself up onto her hands and knees. A hand goes to her jaw and there is an audible crack as she wiggles it back and forth, drawing forth a fresh wave of groans from the audience.
Amazingly, however, it takes her only a few seconds to get back to her feet despite the savage beating. The dainty debutante turns her head and spits a wad of blood on the dirty floor, wiping her mouth with the back of her formerly pristine white glove.
"Vell done," she says, grinning at Senna. "Vell done."
COMBATSYS: Franziska gains composure.
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Senna 0/-------/----===|=======\===----\1 Franziska
Oh no. Oh /hell/ no. There are many things Senna has endured. Mostly without complaint. But one thing she doesn't ever take well is patronization. But she doesn't get wild--she doesn't scream and rush in, though Fran can certainly see the tightening around Senna's eyes, the way her eyes sharpen. It's in the way she stalks forward, the almost-audible creaking of her knuckles as her fists seem to tighten just a little more. It's all there for the experienced to read.
Paradoxically it seems to draw Senna's boxing training up--her movements are smoother, more refined. And yet, she's still direct, still herself. Her left hand snaps out a pair of jabs, one high, one low, the air whistling behind those punches, but the snappiness hides the fact that the punches aren't meant to hit. They're a distraction for the right hook that she intends to apply to Franziska's face.
COMBATSYS: Franziska instinctively blocks Senna's Hook Punch.
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Senna 0/-------/----===|=======\===----\1 Franziska
Franziska's grin seems to grow all the more patronizing as the boxer's ire spikes sharply from the compliment. She had not meant it as an insult but that is part of the reason her attitude is so infuriating at times. When one naturally assumes they are better than others then their view on things can get skewed; a causal remark can be seen as derision or arrogance and even gestures of approval can come across the wrong way.
The problem here is obviously that Senna does not understand her place in the greater order of the world. Franziska has seen reactions like hers before and every time they stem from stubborn pride or jealousy, a flawed sense of self-worth that inflates the expectations of the lesser beings around her. Rather than be proud of what they are capable of they want to rise above their station and very rarely does it end in anything but suffering.
Senna's skill is plain to see. Though she has no frame of reference to compare the woman to amid her peers within the underground culture present in the ring, Franziska would mark her as a decent mid-level contender on the world stage; skilled but lacking in something. Experience, natural talent, self control; she can't put her finger on it from just one fight but it's obvious that the woman has a great deal of growing to do.
The punches that come down upon her in a storm of sudden cold fury or batted away with annoying ease, Franziska casually catching them in an open palm and pushing them aside. The hook punch suffers an equally ignominious demise in the slight woman's other palm, but rather than push it away she grabs on tightly, even as the recoil from the blow sends a shock through her bones.
Displaying the same sort of playful showmanship as before, Franziska casually lifts her right foot and pivots, swinging her entire body around to bring the heavy boot crashing into Senna's leg again. This time, however, she puts a great deal more force behind the attack, snapping her kick out with enough force to send an audible whoosh through the arena.
COMBATSYS: Senna dodges Franziska's Knochenbrecher.
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Senna 0/-------/---====|=======\===----\1 Franziska
Senna understands her place--one can't live and fight in Metro City, particularly not the seedier parts of it, and not understand her place. But understanding it is far from -accepting- it. Upward mobility isn't just for the corporate ladder, and recognizing the rung which she's on does not mean staying there. That burns most brightly in her soul, more than the unfocused anger and aggressive attitude.
But that anger is there, too; she can see that Franziska's toying with her, and naturally, she hates that. That boot... but she's already seen that attack. Senna usea a quick burst of speed to fade back, but just as soon as the kick is past, she's using another burst of speed to lunge forward. Her attack is... perhaps a little ill-advised--it's a little wild--but it's certainly showy, as she takes a short hop and twists in midair to slam her left fist down for the top of Franziska's head.
COMBATSYS: Franziska endures Senna's Medium Punch.
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Senna 0/-------/---====|=======\===----\1 Franziska
The whisk of empty air hits her leg instead of flesh and Franziska instinctively shifts gears, her mind already three steps ahead. That natural talent to adjust to the circumstances is one of the things that keeps her at the top of the food chain, atleast among the people who might call themselves her peers. She's met one of the true apex predators that prowls within the world and the experience has left her somewhat haunted ever since; but also inspired. Perhaps a bit hypocritically, she wants to reach that lofty height some day but the path she has to take will be a dangerous one.
By the time her body has completed the spin, Franziska is already assessing the situation as it unfolds around her. The boxer's angry glare meets her in mid-air and there is a fraction of a second where time seems to stand still as their gazes lock with each other. But rather than punish the woman further for her bold effort the German decides to play up the crowd a little more and hopefully in the process let Senna regain some of her dignity in the eyes of her fans.
The punch lands solidly against Franziska's head, crushing her peaked hat down into the top of her skull and she staggers, dropping to one knee to brace herself against the trumped up impact. The fake display flows naturally into her counter strike as she leaps up from the ground, arms reaching out in an attempt to grapple the muscular woman. Despite her size and build, Franziska is insanely strong and the grip will quickly turn into a throw, both contenders falling backwards as she heaves the boxer into a German suplex.
COMBATSYS: Franziska successfully hits Senna with Power Throw.
[ \\\\\\\ < > ////////////////// ]
Senna 0/-------/=======|=======\====---\1 Franziska
And this is where it falls apart--Senna finds herself simply too close to Franziska. She attempts to backpedal, but her heel catches for just a moment, and that spells the end. She's snagged around the waist, and before she can struggle much more than twice, she's going up and over--uncontrolled. She slams into the concrete, bouncing away from Franziska, but if the German is expecting Senna to just... lay down, then she's in for a surprise, if a mild one. After one bounce, Senna lands on her face; for a half-second, she's still.
But then she struggles to her feet. She was out momentarily--and clearly, she isn't going to be fighting after this. But... as futile as it may be, Senna can't just give it up. It's not in her blood. It isn't in the blood of those from Metro City. So she struggles to her feet, and puts her all into a single punch, a massive uppercut--actually, not really an uppercut or a punch, per se, but she is using her fists--clasped together and doubled--to try and bash Franziska right in the chin.
At the end of that, though, she'll stumble, and raise a hand--signalling defeat.
COMBATSYS: Senna can no longer fight.
[ \\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\ <
Franziska 1/---====/=======|
COMBATSYS: Franziska endures Senna's Uppercut Punch.
[ \\\\\\\\\\\\\\\ <
Franziska 1/-======/=======|
A gasp echoes the crowd as Senna rises into the air, an audible intake of air from everyone present in unison that serves as the final herald of the coming apocalypse. Franziska lands hard on her back but, being the one who initiated the fall, she is in control and she tucks her knees into her chest, rocking with the impact and defusing all of its potential energy; the boxer is not so lucky.
She feels the harsh thud through the floorboards of the condemned warehouse and instinctivley she knows the fight is over. No one is getting up from a hit like that. And yet Senna once more displays that, while she might not be her equal in skill, nor possess the special powers that elevate Franziska above the common rabble, she has a true warrior's spirit.
A glint of renewed respect appears in the bright blue depths of her eyes but it likely goes unnoticed by her half-unconscious opponent as the throws one final defiant strike. The German sees it coming miles away; she could have easily avoided it or batted it aside but that wouldn't be a properly dramatic end to this fight.
Instead, Franziska feigns surprise as she turns to face the boxer, dropping into a half-hearted combat stance as the wild punch flies her way. Her fist raises up as if to strike Senna down but the double-fisted uppercut nails her squarely on the chin and she tumbles to the floor in a heap.
For a few moment there is a hushed silence as both competitors lay on the floor in silence but after what she considers an appropriately drawn-out pause, Franziska slowly pushes back to her feet and the audience explodes in a frenzy of shouts and cheers.
In defeat, Senna is not exactly gracious--but she isn't a sore loser, either. She turns and shoulders her way out of the ring--no words for her opponent, no congratulations, nothing like that. This isn't an environment where good sportsmanship is expected, or rewarded. And she would be hard-pressed to be gracious to Franziska, face to face. Not after what she considers a humiliating defeat.
The boxer glares down some of the crowd, fiercely, and though battered and bruised, limping, her glare has enough power in it to force some of these bruisers out of her way. Even if Fran wanted to pursue, she'll have no chance--already the bookies are descending upon her, wanting to celebrate what was an extremely profitable win for them, as well as making sure that a fighter of that caliber doesn't come after them. At the edge of the ring, Senna looks back, her dark eyes shrouded, angry...
...memorizing Franziska's face. She's sure--she'll see her again. Sometime.
Log created on 21:01:41 07/27/2014 by Franziska, and last modified on 11:49:49 07/29/2014.