“Alright, alright. Lower 'em, gents.” Eli barks. “She’s clearly not in the fighting spirit and I won’t christen such an arena with a limp-wristed scuffle. Let someone else take Konstantinopolyska’s place.”
Amelia tosses a bag of rostygold at Eli’s feet with utter disgust. "Ya get yer pretty self outta tha ring. Tha boar be mine," she barks out. "Can’t believe tis…" She mutters out before looking outwardly. "Anyone gots a bloody problem wiff me taken 'em on, speak now or hold yer flaps."
“Again, 5 echoes on the boar’s defeat. Such sadness that the first battle ended with so little. Not even a single shot. Alas, not always do you get what you wish for in this city.” They say, tossing a small bag of money to the Flowerdene Saint.
“Go on then. Syrus. Boar. Make it entertaining.” A man with a broken nose runs around picking bets from Eli’s feet and sectioning them off. “This better be a good match.”
"Eli, it is KONSTANTYNOPOLSKA, and I guess I am insane. I bet… 3000 pieces of rostygold on Amelia!"[li]
"Feckin’ cheap b*stards," Amelia mutters under her breath. She sets her hat outside the ring, along with her boots and knife before she steps in. "Ya don look like tha kind of bloke who’d kno ‘ow ta do moar ‘n throw a punch. So I’m playin’ by yer field." She stretches her arms and cracks her back before rolling up her sleeves. "Ya feel like grantin’ me tha first punch, lad or are ya ready ta go?"
[As I said before, she’s supremely cheap. But this isn’t a Black Ribbon fight and they’re not outside so I assume the only thing she has going for her is agility. In my mind she has a lean/wiry build too. Does this sound fair to you, Professor Sketch?]
Amelia’s eyes light up at the jab her way. Though she side steps quickly, she barely dodges it and feels the sting of his fist on her cheek. She changes her position and uses the bruiser’s momentum to deliver a punch to his rib cage.
"YES! Dodged! Punch him more, Amelia. Don’t let him beat you!" Maria shouted "and can you add another 3000 rostygold to my bet? On Miss Syrus of course. That is 60 £." (OOC:I hope I didn’t annoy with my withdrawal. I will rather watch to learn, firsr[color=rgb(194, 194, 194)]. And why do I always have more rostygold than I ever need. As in 100 £ worth od it on Maria?)[/color]
If there ever was a moment of regret, Amelia would have being having it now. She thought the muscles were just for show. That the boar was tender. But upon connecting her fist to his rib, she felt the hardened, rock like quality of someone that had toned their body for war. She pulls away quickly, a bit staggered and slow from shock-
An uppercut.
She barely dodges it and feels a deep, throng of pain on her shoulder and side of her neck. She starts stepping backwards, trying to reclaim some distance as best as she can. The feeling of limpness on her right shoulder is enough to tell her she can’t use her favorite fist. But she keeps steady, more watchful than she had before and tries to gauge out a better angle of attack.
[My responses are probably going to start becoming slow as I visualize each move. If something sounds off, let me know and I’ll rewrite it.]
Amelia keeps to the defense, her movements more focused on her left than her right as she weaves out of the bruiser’s way. But with each step, she knows the gap is getting closed. The oddity in her mind is with the bruiser’s hopping motion. Is he unbalanced or was he trying to catch her off guard? She’s not sure but the oddity gives her an idea. A rash one at that.
When her back is close to a corner of the ring, she’s forced with a hail of punches. Two are dodged but upon the third she sees the trick in motion and initiates her own.
She drops down, her face brushing against his arm along the way. But once on the ground, she puts all her weight from her left side into her right leg before aiming for the bruiser’s leg.
Amelia’s leg stings when the kick connects. Her mind screaming internally as she questions if the boar was secretly a Clayman in disguise. Though her mind grinds to a halt when she sees him topple towards her.
"Bullocks," she huffs out. She’s practically expecting him to land on her. But the bruiser manages to push himself away. Just enough that he has a clear shot of her mid-section. She doesn’t move, the pain on her left arm keeping her still for the most part. She does raise her right leg and tries to put what’s left of her strength into another kick. It’s wobbly and a bit weakened from before but she aims it as high as she can manage before the elbow lands straight into her stomach.
The wind is knocked out of Amelia and she’s laying there, heaving deeply. She thinks that would be it. There would be a kick or punch to her side and all she can do is take it. But nothing comes. There’s no fist, no kick, nothing.
"Up wi’ ye."
There’s a strained, wheezing sound that comes from her. One that sounds pained until someone sees the deep smile on her face. "Yer a’right," she wheezes out. "Which… which o’… ta isles ya from?" She leans over to her left and curls up for a moment. It would seem as if she’s defeated until she uses her forehead and left arm to push herself upwards. It takes her some time and energy but eventually she’s up again. All of her weight is on her left side now but she’s prepared. She raises her left arm and anticipates the worse from the bruiser.
There’s a tired grin on Amelia’s face as she watches the boxer’s movement. She knew there was some odd familiarity there and she knows why. But she doesn’t let her mind drift on tired, old memories. She watches his movement carefully, painfully shifting her body to anticipate a blow.
Left, right, left…
She leans over to her left side when she sees him coming right. Then she uses the momentum to try to swing a tired fist towards the bruiser. There’s no aim or guide to it. Every last ounce of her drive goes into one last punch.
By the time the hit connects, Amelia has toppled back on the floor. She’s controlling her breathing as best as she can but she’s at her limit. She hasn’t met anyone that threw like there was a boulder in every step. It was a good fight. One she wishes she had enough energy to keep going. She closes her eyes, expecting for the brute to come charging over to her.
"Oi!" he shouts, "Me fockin’ nose!"
What? She looks over in disbelief, catching the stream of red dribbling down his face. He had her on the ropes. How is a little kiss on the nose supposed to send him crying off the ring? Her mouth hangs agape as she looks around, trying to pinpoint what caused him to throw it all. Then she sees it. The dandy that had presented the prized fighter. The dandy seemed pale, almost deadly in a way. Was he like that before?
She curls up for a moment, seemingly wheezing out onto the floor. But in truth, she’s trying her damnest to suppress a laugh. When she finishes, she pushes herself up in the same way as before. But it takes her far longer to stand up.
"Oi," she shouts over to the bruiser. "If’n I see ya by docks, thar be a drink wiff yer name on it." She sluggishly shuffles out of the ring afterwards. Her whole right side feels like she had been rammed hard through a house by a Clayman. But she’s alive and she takes that as good enough for her. She seats herself by her belongings before carefully prodding at her own arm.
edited by Amelia Syrus on 7/7/2016
[ Would you believe me if I said it’s been a few years since I wrote out a fight for an rp? But thank you. I really enjoyed this fight and your writing too. ]
OOC: I knew you were going to let her win, Professor. I should have made Fleshy bet on that :P
“Cease! Amelia Syrus is victorious!” He gazes over to Professor Sketch with a sarcastic shrug. “Bloody shame about that, eh. Alright, victors the spoils and all that… And ready for the next rough! Quick like!”
Elias watches the pair slink away, while giving a half scowl, half smile to The Boar. With surprising discretion, a shadow appears behind him and begins to move into the ring.
“The next fighter shall challenge my champion. The Corpse-Puppeteer, Ezekiel.”
EZ is adorned in heavy robes and a single leather mask that cover it’s entire head. Ezekiel clicks loudly, sitting cross legged in the arena, waiting for someone to come down.
The Euphemian Game-Carver grabs his reward. 1000 Echoes. Just enough to compensate for their earlier loss. “Only a madman would decide to duel with that creature. I think we may even have the right individual for that.” Their next phrase comes out loud, echoing through the Gallery. “Fleshstick! I hope you’re ready to fight the Champion, because I’m not lowering into the same ring with the fungal beast!”
After some prodding of her arm, Amelia takes her hand and puts pressure on her right shoulder. There’s a loud pop that sets in and she releases her hold. She takes the rest of her time to tie a white ribbon about before grabbing her things. The ring is cleared for the next fight and it’s-
"Ezekiel?" Didn’t she owe Ez a fight or something? She looks down at her arm and sighs deeply. It would be bloody murder if she stepped back in. Her shoulder is a bullseye for other fighters to lay claim. Instead she grabs her earnings and seats herself with the audience. An eye glances over to Grim for a moment before she takes out her trusty flask.