Bringing the Pain: Wyvern vs. Angelina Tarrant

[Hills]

It was rare for Wyvern to be off balance for more than a few instants. The Marauder's unconventional offense had managed to knock her out of it multiple times, but she was recovering fast enough to avoid taking too much damage from any follow-ups. As Wyvern comes off the ropes and regains herself once more, a slight smile graces her face. This was enjoyable. Not in the way she had expected. The match type would usually have been a heavy exchange of blows, and that was indeed why she had originally agreed. Instead, Angelina had (wisely) done everything she could to avoid a straight back-and-forth, using creativity and speed where Wyvern relied on raw power. It was a test of her skill, rather than durability.

Bringing her arm up to defend in the modification of her usual stance she had adopted for use of the flail, Wyvern locks her eyes onto Angelina once more as she begins to spin her weapon's head back up. The bat was the biggest threat. Longer reach, numerous angles of attack. She could expect that Angelina would use it unconventionally, but as long as she stayed focused on it she should be able to react in time no matter what form the attack took. The Irish wrestler makes no effort to move as her opponent closes in. Defense was called for here.

Wyvern's thinking is sound. Logical. But it fundamentally misunderstands her opponent, the gap in their approaches too great for her to properly grasp this early in the match. She's so focused on the flamboyant weapon clutched in her foe's hand that she registers a moment too late when the Marauder leaps to her side, slicing out a kick at head level with enough strength to knock her unconscious in an instant. Training and instinct save her; the raised arm snaps the side as soon as she detects motion, but the awkward angling of the attack means that her guard only shares the force of the blow rather than deflecting it entirely. The strong strike from such a high angle is enough to topple Wyvern, sending her off her feet and to the ground below. Moving with the momentum, she rolls away and tries to put more distance between her and Angelina before the Marauder can follow up.

[Monsy]

This girl made for one hell of an iron dome. Couldn’t really bust her open. She back stepped, knew when to move and how to recoup. And after her kick, Angelina was left to land as she may. Her back leg hit first, delayed by the stiff catch on Wyvern’s guard. She hopped, stumbled, then caught her footing. She pivoted. Her back went into the ropes and she hooked an arm, bouncing twice, but held on.

Angelina wiped her hairline. A small dash of sweat formed. Her tongue poked out the corner, watched them re-coup again and she shook her head slowly.

Now what?
Good fuckin’ question. By the time Angelina was ready to swing again, Wyvern already placed a wedge between them and Angelina wasn’t about to traverse the no man’s land yet. Because there now seemed to be a persistent problem. She can navigate that weapon with her heavier, more well-ranged weapon. More surface meant an easier time landing a blow, but neither were fitted for excellent defence for each other, so she thought. And even if they were, the last minute footing, posture and guard made that null.

Begh.
She needed to know more… of everything. Just couldn’t let them know that. SO, she walked from the ropes, twirling her bat around three times before making a bladed stance. One arm behind her back, the bat’s handle near her hip and the razors were angled forty-five degrees outward. Angelina kept her smile, tilted her head, and from behind her back, she beckoned Wyvern with her index.

Your turn.

[Hills]

A taunt. Her opponent was more cautious than Wyvern expected, letting the match reset to neutral and trying to provoke her into making the first move out of the stalemate. She must be feeling...fear didn't seem right. Caution? Wyvern had stymied a surprise attack without suffering too badly for it. Maybe she wanted to try and get a better grip on Wyvern's capabilites before committing to an attack. Wyvern would certainly like that chance, but it didn't seem to be in the cards this time. She wasn't going to back down from a challenge like that, especially after she'd seen how unpredictable the marauder's offense could be. If Angelina wanted her to go in, she was happy to oblige. She learned more with every exchange. A bit of pain was worth the advantage.

Eyeing her opponent's stance, Wyvern finds herself regretting her lack of knowledge in fencing for the first and possibly last time. She can't tell if Tarrant's stance is a sign of classical training or simply showmanship, and wouldn't be able to use the information even if she had it. She makes a note to read up after the match. It might come in handy next time. For now, though, she begins inching forward. Flipping the flail in her hand into a reversed grip, she assumes her usual combat stance, allowing the dully spiked ball to dangle near her elbow while her arms guard her upper body. The stance is tight, practical, and effective, but it's all a bluff; a cover for what she does next. Once she's ready, Wyvern bursts towards Angelina, apparently attempting a rush as she has before. Her arms widen, her fists angle to lash out. This time, however, the Irishwoman dives down at the last second, flipping her body into a rolling thunder kick in an attempt to take the Marauder off-guard!

[Monsy]

Into the nuggets of Angelina’s head -- her instincts said run. Just avoid that stupid weapon at all damn costs, because while she never felt the thing, there was almost a cosmic force telling her to NOT have a taste test. So wait she did, with unnerved, rattling knees that contrasted to her taunting and her smiling. Come-thefuck-atme, she said without a word, knowing full well, that if push came to shove, she can drop, tuck and roll.

Now -- the most important thing is she kept focusing on them. Their face, their movements, and not eye the sudden reverse grip that stood up her nape hairs. Fuck. Angelina squinted, stood on her toes and calmly applied her second hand to her bat. Her instincts told her something was coming, and soon. Just needed to wait. Five. Four. Three. Two-- shit--.

Wyvern sprinted too fast for comfort. But Angelina pulled her card, stepped forward and drew her Nutcracka high. “HAGH!” And right before the downward slash, Wyvern threaded her arms with a beautifully placed strike. A heel buried into her chin, in the way it shoved it into her spine. Her entire face vibrated, from cheek to ears, and Angelina went stiff and timbered to her back, with her legs kicking up wide before splaying onto the canvas. Both arms were folded over her head and the bat rolled from her hands about half a foot.

“..bbughhhh….” A soft, drawn out groan ushered. Her eyes squeezed into wrinkly grapes, then opened, half-lid, and her maw was stuck ajar from otherwise eating a clean shot.

[Hills]

The rolling thunder kick, particularly at this speed, was generally impractical. While devastating if it connected, it targeted one of the most heavily guarded parts of a fighter's body and, if used while moving, would inevitably send the user to the ground even if it landed properly. After seeing everything Angelina could do, however, Wyvern felt it was her best bet. With weapons on the field and open invitation to attack, the Marauder would be paying attention to the flail. Her approach pays off in spades, nearly knocking the red-haired wrestler unconscious outright and divorcing her from her crudely-named weapon. While Wyvern doesn't get a chance to enjoy the look on her opponent's face after landing flat on her back, she knows what a solid hit feels like. Nobody on earth could take a direct strike like that and stay standing.

Rolling with her momentum to get back to her feet, Wyvern ends up in a crouch next to Angelina's torso. Without hesitating, she seizes the front of her opponent's shirt with her free hand, then pulls roughly, intending to yank Angelina into a sitting position. Releasing and sliding behind her before she can fall back again, Wyvern smoothly slips both arms under the Marauder's armpits and brings her hands together behind her target's neck. Rather than clasping them as usual for a full nelson, Wyvern instead grabs the head of her flail, causing the chain to press down painfully on the back of Angelina's neck. As soon as she's secured her grip Wyvern leaps to her feet, dragging the Marauder with her only long enough to get upright before trying to drive her backwards into the canvas with an assisted dragon suplex!

[Monsy]

It wasn’t JUST a dumb call. She had never seen that shit before. A blip and a skip, where Wyvern was out of view, then her head popped internally and she was down, legs shut off, a dead sac within a living arena. Good shit! Were on the minds of everyone around. It left Angelina grasping at straws to avoid falling asleep. And in the context of MMA, that was enough. But for this match, she was very much still in it — and Wyvern was pressing the advantage faster than Angelina calculated one plus one.

Her shirt collar pulled her up. She sagged. Shoulders forward, head down. Her spine curled back and Angelina was leaning that way. Wyvern came behind and tied up her lithe arms, one and two, up and straight. Her hands slacked in the grip and she had a severe case of drooling sleepy-face. A chain onto her nape, then up she popped — The Marauder’s tiny weight sweeping up, stretching her out like a cat, heels on the ground and extended out. Then a second FWIP, and she flew. Her boots arced, first the left, then followed by her right.

She landed on her neck disc and yelped. It acted as a wedge, so her neck was curling over the chain in this horribly awkward hold. Her feet landed by her head, legs folded so the knees slammed against her face. Skirt flipped up and the Marauder’s back and tummy curled into a near perfect C. Picture perfect. The daze continued.

[Hills]

Wyvern's follow-up goes just as planned. Painful, brutal, and effective, the modified dragon suplex extends Angelina's period of helplessness started by the earlier kick. Neither move was practical as a mainstay; the rolling thunder kick left her too vulnerable if it failed, and the addition of the chain slowed down her otherwise smooth securing of the suplex, not to mentioned the loosening of her grip caused by grabbing the ball of her flail rather than locking her fingers. Against an unsuspecting opponent, however, the kick hit like a mule and the suplex's unusual addition aggravated the damage from an already devastating attack. Angelina could hardly be blamed for her current state of distress.

Unwilling to let up but feeling herself starting to gas out from the continuous, heavy exertion, Wyvern decides to add as much harm as she can before her inevitable need to catch her breath. She reaches out one of her hands, securing a crushing grip around one of the Marauder's exposed ankles and uncurling her. Taking another step forward, Wyvern snaps her entire body like a whip, leveraging all of her strength to hurl Angelina across the ring. If the red-haired wrestler isn't able to to stop her opponent or herself in time, she'll be flung nearly to the far ropes before she even touches the ground!

[Monsy]

In a few motions, Angelina came to swallow a hard-earned pill: Wyvern was fucking dangerous.
She began to be concerned for her neck and face, whether the bones were enough. Or that the discs can hold together in such god awful landings, crooked and with a wedge. She can feel her spine from where it connected to her cranium, down between her shoulder-blades. Muscles squeezing it with a shield of light swelling. Its reddening. Angelina was disoriented. Legs smacked the ground like lifeless meat.

Then by Wyvern’s hand alone, Angelina came off the ground powerfully. She smacked the ground with her back, then bounced. Her body rolled backwards. She landed in a sitting position, legs spread, then hit the middle rope with her head. Being but a slave to the forces, Angelina keeled over and had her face smear the mat between her knees.

Winded twice over, Angelina acted automatically without any mental command. She tipped onto her hip and began to glance. Two options emerged:

-- Leave the ring
-- Go for her weapon.

She saw it in the distance. Not too far. Maybe six feet? God, if she can just think for a second. It was that, or she can leave the ring, get respite, then go underneath the ring to get another weapon of some kind. There was bound to be some shit down there. But. She already loved the weapon she had. So she put her hand forward, then the other. They became the point Angelina put weight on, arching her back up and getting her chest off the ground. Her knees joined, slid underneath, but widely spread and awkward. She began to crawl for it, but it was horribly slow, with one dizzy tumble onto her side by the third pace.

Still. She kept trying.

[Hills]

Wyvern huffs for breath, her posture hunched over and shaking. The fight was going well for her, on the balance, but maintaining control had forced her to push herself to keep going at full force. And while she had trained her stamina as thoroughly as the rest of her body, the Dame of Damnation has always excelled at pushing herself beyond her limits. This is what enables such prodigious feats of strength as sending her opponent clean across the ring as she just did, but also forces her to rest if she isn't able to pace herself. Angelina had not allowed her to exercise that necessary restraint. Knowing that she needs a chance to catch her breath, the Irish wrestler grips one of the ring ropes with her free hand, leaning heavily against it as her eyes track the Marauder's progress towards her fallen weapon.

"Hmhmhm..."

Watching her opponent crawl for her crudely-named weapon, a low, closed-lip chuckle emerges from the grim fighter. An outside observer might mistake it for sadism, or the joy of laying an opponent low. This would be wrong. For Wyvern, there was only the fight. To see her opponent keep fighting so fiercely, pulling herself forward through sheer determination despite her battered body...that was exactly what she wanted. To fight tooth and nail. No limits. No surrender. This was a worthwhile battle. Eagerness spurring her on and her breath recaptured, Wyvern pushes off the rope and presses forward, setting a languid pace to conserve the energy she'll soon need.

"Crawl faster, 'pirate.' Sharks are coming in."

[Monsy]

It wasn’t that she was dwindling in willpower. Moving was simply a fucked up process. She tried to push. Teetered—reset—bumbled. She needed to find a longer reset. Shake this mask over her brain and motor skills. And to think of a wittier quip.

Fuck this

Angelina let herself flop, then she rolled for it. The bat came into her grip with the handle between her chest. The razors below her face, staring up, shiny. She then took on another challenge. One, at least in the context of string theory, was now infinitely harder than the plane of existence she was operating on.

She was going vertical. Three-D.

Rising to one knee, she felt her neck sink initially with lacklustre strength. A mess of hair went over her body. Both hands remained on the ground for a time until she arched up on one knee, putting her back straight and flipping her hair back. Then she snapped a horizontal swing in front of herself at shoulder-height, hoping to ward them back from anything too close.

Her grin was serious as it was determined. Though she wasn’t full of the same exact battlelust that Wyvern had, but instead bloodlust towards someone bigger and badder than herself, giving her purple eyes a sense of glimmering as it stalked the target.

Panting, she replied, “Tell them I’m ready.”