Stancil 'Storm' Jordan vs. Luong Chun - He Who Hesitates

[BlackAkuma]

Try as she might, Luong couldn't resist the urge to laugh as Storm darted away from her, put into full retreat by a couple of kicks. She brought a hand to her mouth, covering her expression, but the smile was all too obvious. He was an amusing toy, if nothing else.

In truth, he might as well have stayed where he was. Luong had no intention of following up - she kept her leg raised after the second kick, lifting her leg upwards in a display of her perfect balance.

She brought her foot to the floor as he rose, this time showing an acceptable amount of caution. His words brought a frown to her lips, however - her actions seemed to have left the impression that she would only be countering his attacks in this battle, that she was avoiding him out of necessity. A foolish notion, easily disabused.

Storm had only inched his way in a couple of feet before she leaned forward and dashed towards him in a blur, closing the gap in an instant. She brought her left leg up, as if attempting to strike at his face once again, but that was a feint - the real attack came from below, a sweeping roundhouse that crashed into the side of his knee. She leaped back after connecting, moving out of his range, only to jump back in with her foot raised and extended, coming at his chest with a stiff push kick to drive him away.

Impertinence had a price. He would learn.

[Crossedes]

Laughing. And... posing? Had Storm been set up as the butt of some bad joke by someone in administration? What had been described to him as a debut wrestling match with a similarly skilled opponent felt more like something that belonged in a circus. His back felt like it belonged in a brace even if he put on a brave face, but whatever her kicking prowess, this exchange didn't seem legitimate in some way, even if he knew enough about martial arts to recognize some of the kicks and stances associated with taekwondo. But he had seen taekwondo for show and he had seen taekwondo tournaments. Maybe her antics were all for show, and if he could get one paw on her, he would have his advantage for the rest of the match.

With his plan made, he eyed her, stepped forward, expecting a retreat- nope. She rushed him. He threw the idea out almost as quickly as he threw himself onto the back foot to protect himself. He watched her foot fly high, but with an unknowing wisdom, he protected his entire side. When her foot connected with his knee, he had prepared himself well enough that his leg did not entirely collapse - and he could tell by the force that it would have without him turtling. He fell onto the knee, straightened it, stomped it to compel it to keep him standing despite the ache. It just responded by freezing up. "Urgh... this is-" he muttered to himself. For all his effort just to save face by staying upright, she kicked him in the chest.

That part could have been worse. He fell back into the ropes, but he bounced back, pointedly using the knee that wasn't stiffening and turning to liquid at the same time to take one step toward her and stretch his arm out for an attempted clothesline.

He didn't have high hopes.

[BlackAkuma]

Luong couldn't read minds, but she had been doing this long enough and fought enough opponents to guess what was going through Storm’s mind with a substantial degree of certainty. He was certainly noting how beautiful she was and found himself astonished that someone like her, so graceful, could generate such devastating power—probably rethinking his decision now to kiss her foot, realizing how outclassed she was. Without a doubt, he was formulating the germ of a plan - she was fast but frail, and he banked out a strong strike to take her down. Shattering the glass cannon.

He wasn’t wrong about any of it. But if he thought it would be as simple as landing a single lucky blow and calling it a day, then she eagerly awaited the chance to prove him wrong. If he had any chance of striking her, he would need to come with something clever, inventive, unpredictable.

In other words, something other than a clothesline.

And yet, that was precisely what he attempted, coming at her with one of the most basic wrestling moves. There were a thousand ways she could have countered such a move, and she opted for something a little more spectacular than another kick. This was her debut, too, and she wanted to give LAW a proper taste of all her abilities.

She ducked under the clothesline and grabbed his arm as it passed overhead, pulling it to her chest. At the same time, she threw her legs up and wrapped them around his other arm, securing it between her thighs. From there, she let gravity do all the work - her weight would bring him down on his shoulders into a crucifix pin. She doubted it would get the victory - he couldn't be that pathetic. But she hoped it would put a little fear in him.

The referee moved over and started up the count, slapping the mat beside them. ”1…!”

[Crossedes]

Storm could remember one of his coaches, Coach Moldgill, trying to tell Storm about women like Luong. The man couldn't be called anything but a pure misogynist, and an unabashed one, but as he swung out with the clothesline, Storm could almost hear some of his nuggets of "wisdom." One particular "golden" nugget was that there existed some sort of correlating ratio between a woman finding a man attractive but acting aloof and "hard to get" and how badly that woman wanted to treat that man as her toy. It flashed through his mind as the clothesline whiffed, and he used the opportunity to curse Coach Moldgill as much as he cursed Luong for dodging yet another of his attacks.

He could also hear Coach Moldgill once more as he strained to pull his arm back from Luong's grip, only for her legs to fly up and wrap around his other arm to remove his ability to defend himself - "Don't let her get her legs around you, you fucking dumbass!" Storm strained with all his might to stay standing, but he couldn't do much against her weight and momentum and flopped over onto his shoulders, looking like he was upside-down in the stocks. Except the stocks were just her hands and a pair of thighs that felt strong enough to crush metal beams.

With his back still sore and the awkward position getting the best of him, Storm had to wriggle past the one and right before the two, grunting all the while, to get his shoulders off the mat. Desperation forced him to show a bit of his own prowess with him thrusting his legs hard enough that he rolled out of the pin in the other direction, almost onto his own head, to drop a leg against the middle rope. And he still had to rumble and grumble until he popped free and fell onto his back. He held the bottom rope for a breather.

This was ridiculous. No one had ever trained him for this madness.

[BlackAkuma]

Despite putting him in this hold, Luong had little hope of it succeeding. Quite the opposite - she wanted things to continue, giving her more opportunities to show off her myriad of abilities. If it had worked? She would’ve been irate and visited that fury on him for however long it took for the officials to make their way down to the ring and save him.

Luckily for Storm, he proved to be not wholly incompetent and managed to get the ropes before the count could be finished, securing his freedom. Luong rolled away from him while he recovered, flopped over to her back, threw both her legs up, and shot to her feet with a kip up, rising with a deft ease that earned applause from the crowd. Most of all, Lee.

”거룩한” Her servant’s frenetic claps rang in from the ringside. ”단순히 영광스러운”

Luong nodded her way, acknowledging her greatness, before she recentered on her rising opponent. As tempting as it was to continue to toy with him, she felt they had gone down that road enough. While she could still use him as an unwilling assistant, it was time to apply pressure and begin setting the pace toward victory, undeniable and unmistakable.

As soon as Storm began to rise, she moved in, going back on the attack, and he could likely guess what part of her body she would be yelling him with. Her leg shot out, a stiff roundhouse kick aimed at his chest, then pulled back and fired again, a swift strike going for his face, delivering with devastating accuracy and blinding speed. She kept moving on her heel, wary of his reach, maintaining the sweet spot - the golden distance where she was close enough to kick him but not so close that he could quickly grab her.

[Crossedes]

Storm bothered why he considered getting up. The strange opening offer had become a memory - one that did occasionally rear its head on occasion - but the circumstances left him much more concerned with how long this absurd dance would continue. She had skills, that he did not doubt despite his internal accusation that she was a circus act, but he thought those skills belonged in a room full of people wearing doboks, not facing off with a man who had expected a wrestling match. He also didn't think anyone cared about his complaint. He wouldn't whine - whining was not in his blood - but he tried to use his frustrations as fuel. He added an eye-roll at the translator as he started to carefully rise.

His care was warranted. She had switched gears, going from playing keep away to getting in his face - or at least in kicking range - with abandon. Storm shot up the rest of the way, glad his knee only throbbed under his weight, and did his best imitation of a boxer pushed up against the ropes. He had boxed, too. Wouldn't help him to do anything but defend himself here, but after this start, defending himself equated to victory. He got just enough of the roundhouse aimed at his chest that his elbow took most of the brunt. It bounced his back off the ropes.

That bounce made defending against the higher kick harder. He got part of it with his wrist, but a stretch of her foot still swept across his sinuses, forcing his head to the side. A glancing blow was still enough to make his nose want to abandon the rest of his face, and Storm, willing himself to stay patient even if he hated how little he had accomplished, rolled to the side before facing up with her again further down the ropes. Better to live and look for the counter than play to her strengths. Maybe she would get frustrated, but he made it clear with his tucked-in stance that he had his plan and would stick to it. She couldn't keep kicking forever, could she?

He did readjust the cartilage in his nose, however. "Damn."

[BlackAkuma]

Hm. Storm managed to block her kicks. That was troublesome.

Luong couldn't resist a slight grimace as he managed to his arm up in time to keep her kick from connecting flush, and that grimace only grew more prominent when he could avoid the other one altogether, save for a little scrape on the nose. It wasn’t dumb luck, and her form was, as always, flawless. No, the problem was in the man - he was wisening up to her maneuvers, learning through experience. Many of her opponents, especially men, would have flown into a blind rage by now, but he was keeping his wits about him.

Smart man. Annoying man. ”가만히 서있다” She spat as she came after him. What was it he’d said before? Oh, yes. She could even do a decent job mimicking his voice for it. ”’You just gonna run?’”

Perhaps she was letting her irritation get to her ever-so-slightly. She was still in control, after all, and Storm was nothing but a fly to be swatted, but his stance was so guarded and protected. She needed him open, needed to strike at those tender bits with something punishing. A good kick in the head would put him down, and then they could get a little more personal on the mats. But what to use?

Luong made her decision as she closed in on him, bouncing from heel to heel as she darted in and out of range. She leaped it with a low roundhouse - or what would’ve seemed like one to an untrained eye. She didn't extend it all the way, however, instead letting come just shy of hitting his midsection. A feint.

The leg kept moving as she turned around and built up more momentum, whipping about in a full circle, until she came around and lashed out with the real attack: a powerful tornado kick, slicing through the air for a date with the side of his head.

[Crossedes]

Ugh. Coach Moldgill rang through his head again. "A woman will always use your own words against you, Jordan! Don't give her the fuel!" The words he had stated earlier coming back to bite him did sting his ego. He could justify it - say at least he could take her hits - but something else about her finally saying something he could understand mattered more to him. "So you can speak English." Enough to understand what he had said earlier and to know when to throw it back at him, anyway. He had his confirmation that his words had gotten through to her, and maybe he could use a few more to take her off her guard. Blabbering in a match didn't suit him, but nothing about this match suited him.

The revelation didn't matter in the immediate - she pressed him again. He hoped her choice to spout at him in English was a revelation that she had an inkling to start beating his way through him if he stayed bottled up. He couldn't read people well enough to tell, but maybe he had frustrated her. Frustrated fighters became predictable fighters... not least of all the ones who had done almost nothing but kick him for the couple of minutes they had been battling each other.

Storm didn't need to get hit again to know she was shifty, and from behind his defenses, he watched her bouncing. She liked her feints. Back when Storm had boxed, he had fought smaller guys who loved feints. It got them knocked out more often than not because they relied on their cleverness too much and not on taking the obvious opportunity in front of them. When she wound into a kick, he resisted every instinct in him to drop his elbows down to block it. Were... her legs that long? She seemed an eternity from him.

No, they weren't. He watched her spin, refusing to bite on the fake, and he stepped forward with his arms already open by the time her foot came swinging around again. The arm caught her momentum against the bicep, and his hand came up to grip her around the angle and force her to turn around again. When she did, Storm was on her, clutching her around the waist and willing his sore back to allow him to suplex her overhead, directly toward the corner.

[BlackAkuma]

”Better than you, pigdog.” Those were the words she wanted to throw back at Storm, but she found her focus and kept those thoughts reigned in, not wanting to give him the satisfaction of hearing her speak in English again. Aside from that, she hated the language - learning it had been one of her life's most unpleasant experiences. So many asinine rules, so many arcane eccentricities, so many obscure exceptions. It was a pain, from start to finish, so she could learn to speak with people she didn’t want to speak with in the first place.

She tabled her irritation for now, knowing it would not serve her. She would give him an extra kick for that at some point, though.

That was the final thought that crossed her mind as her leg swung around, going for his head, only for things to go wrong. So very wrong.

An undignified squawk escaped her lips as her kick was inexplicably caught, and she got yanked forward and trapped in his clutches. His arms wrapped around her, and she pressed against his body. Her chest to his, their legs tangling, his hot breath pouring over her face. It was…not altogether unpleasing, if she were honest. He did have an acceptable, muscular frame, and she would have enjoyed it had she done so on her terms. But not like this. Never like this.

However, she would not have to endure it for long as his next move was to lift her up and send her flying overhead, launching her through the air with frightening ease. She came down on her back, rolled once, nearly wound up tumbling straight into the pads before she came to a stop. Disheveled and disrupted, she scrambled to get back on her feet with the turnbuckle’s aid, hoping she could stand and make an escape before he capitalized on his lucky break.

[Crossedes]

Forget the English. The best thing Storm would hear all night was the indescribable noise she made when he caught and grabbed her. It made that cocky look on her face during all their previous exchange that much sweeter to see and hear her react to her plans finally going awry. Running on thin strategy and desperation, he didn't entirely think about how tightly he hugged her until he had already sent her flying, and at that point, he could block it out. He had his window to wriggle his way back into his match, and he would be damned if he let it shut.

He was getting up, he could see over his head, but she was in the corner and staggered. He rolled onto his chest and pushed up on his fists with urgency. Having her isolated near the turnbuckle didn't amount to much if he let her slip past him again, but thankfully, he had already thought ahead if he got her where he wanted her. The Highlander cut toward the middle of the ring, blocking her biggest escape route, and made himself a goalie, his stance wide, as he rushed her. It left precious little space to either side for her to slip away. At least he could thank Coach for his ring awareness.

Only once he filled most of the space in the corner with her did he try to strike - a quick knee jutting toward her side, just below the ribs.