Jack Drummond vs James Mcduffy

[Weonna]

James smirks as he watches Jack hit the mat hard, his clothesline sending the Brit sprawling like a sack of bricks. The impact resonates through the arena, and James takes a moment to crack his neck, rolling his shoulders as he stalks his downed opponent like a predator closing in on its prey.

He notices Jack trying to scoot away, dragging himself back inch by inch to create distance. James scoffs, shaking his head in amusement.

“Oh no ya don’t,—ain’t no runnin’ from this beatin’,”

he growls before lunging forward and grabbing Jack by the arm.

With a firm grip, James yanks Jack up just enough to twist him sideways, expertly locking him into an abdominal stretch. He cranks back hard, pulling at Jack’s midsection with brutal precision, aiming to weaken his core and drain his stamina early on.

"How's that feel, London boy?"

James sneers, wrenching the hold tighter.

"This ain't your friendly little pub brawl—this is Boston wrestling, and I’m gonna stretch ya ‘til you regret steppin’ into my ring!"

With one arm locking in the stretch, James raises his free hand and brings it crashing down with a club-like forearm strike to Jack’s exposed ribs, adding insult to injury as he works over the Brit’s core with methodical cruelty. He knows that if he keeps the pressure on, Jack won’t have enough air left to keep up his fancy footwork later in the match.

[Hexbreaker]

Jack tenses when he feels the large rough hand grab him by the arm and halt his escape. He tries to jerk the arm back to himself, but finds himself jerked instead, right up onto his feet and into the American's brutish grasp. He's twisted to the side as one arm goes behind the man's arm and his torso is stretched out in the good old abdominal stretch. Some fighters might use it as a rest break to regain their stamina while still working their opponent, but James was all fire and fury and putting his all into making sure Jack had the worst time possible.

"Hrghhhh!" came Jack's grunting reply of pain as his torso strains against the force being exerted on it. He wedges his elbow right there against the top of Jack's knee and tries to needle the point into the joint to irritate him and cause some pain in return. The corner of his eyes catch a glint of light as the American raises a hand into the air. He quickly inhales and tries to hold his breath while simultaneously tensing his core and chest at the same time in preparation. If it did anything to protect against the blow it was hard to tell as Jack sputters after the chest-caving forearm club lands in his ribs and causes immense pain. It causes a reflexive jerking of his torso to the side trying to escape, but of course the abdominal stretch was still locked in.

This leaves Jack panting softly with gritted teeth as he was stuck in quite the unfortunate place at the moment. An early submission hold could really set the foundation for a match and he wasn't eager to give this big brute an easy match like that. He clenches his free fist at his side, takes several breaths to ready himself, and then swings for the fences as he tries to slug James right in the jaw.

[Weonna]

James grins wickedly as he feels Jack struggle against the stretch, savoring every second of the Brit’s discomfort. The crowd reacts to Jack’s pain, some rallying behind him, but James doesn’t give a damn. This was his fight, his moment to turn things around, and he was going to make sure Jack regretted stepping into his ring.

He prepares to drive another forearm into Jack’s ribs, ready to break him down piece by piece—until, out of nowhere,

CRACK!

Jack’s fist swings up and smashes right into James’s jaw.

James’s head snaps to the side, his grip loosening just enough from the sudden impact. He staggers, blinking in surprise, his jaw tingling from the stiff shot. His free hand instinctively moves to his face as he grunts in irritation.

“Son of a—”

he mutters under his breath, shaking off the hit. But that split second of hesitation gives Jack just the window he needs.

[Hexbreaker]

Jack's agony in the stretch is brought to a close by a wild swing of a punch he was certainly lucky to land. It clips James jaw at just the right angle to stagger him and interrupt his focus that the Brit can feel the difference in the submission hold. This was his best shot of landing a jailbreak so Jack followed it with a hard elbow to James's chest and then burst forward awkwardly from the man's clutches. He stumbles several paces before catching his balance and righting himself when coming to rest with forearms against the ropes. His lower back in particular was feeling a little sore after that one, nevermind the area of his chest the American had brutishly clobbered with those hammers he called fists.

"Well mate, you've got quite a set on ya, don't ya?" Jack remarks with a small grin as he turns his head round quickly to look at James. He doubted the bigger man was going to leave him alone for long after a cheeky escape like that one. He needed to button down the hatches and prepare for the storm, and not wanting to get trapped against the ropes, he turns fully and presses his back into them to build up elasticity. He then launches himself forward acting as if he's going to try and clothesline James again, but upon getting in range he drops down into a somersault and simply passes James so that he might end up in the center of the ring again with plenty of room to maneuver.

"Come on now, you can't be that slow!" Jack calls out with a taunt trying to lighten the mood with a bit of teasing. He gets his arms back up into the air and waggles his fingers. Given his experience so far he half-expected this might just piss off the American even more, which was a risky gamble that may or may not pay off for him. A pissed off opponent was a reckless opponent, but caught again and he was in for a world of hurt.

[Weonna]

James stumbles back a half-step, shaking off the stiff punch and the elbow to the chest with a frustrated grunt. He watches as Jack slips from his grasp and uses the ropes to reset, the brawler's jaw twitching with irritation. That escape stung more than the punch did—not because of the pain, but because of the nerve of this grinning Brit playing to the crowd like he’s on holiday.

He watches Jack flip forward into a somersault and pop up dead center in the ring like a gymnast, all smiles and taunts. The insult stings worse than any forearm.

James’s eye twitches. The crowd eats it up, and James snarls. The Boston brawler wipes a hand across his mouth and stalks forward like a storm cloud ready to crack thunder.

"You got jokes, huh?"

he growls, voice low and threatening.

"You think this is funny? Dancin’ around like we’re on some West End stage?"

He charges. Not wild, but fast and heavy—like a train with a grudge. James rushes at Jack, looking like he’s going for a big clothesline of his own… but as he closes the gap, he suddenly drops low and aims a brutal shoulder tackle to Jack’s midsection, hoping to spear the breath right out of the cheeky Brit and slam him to the mat with the full force of Boston rage.