Progress Report (for CyanDimitrick)

Carmen held up her hands, going on the defense. "Hey, man, you don't have to convince me. Not judging. We fought, I know you're not a perv. Wouldn't be having this conversation if you were." Touchy subject, it seemed.

She stepped back as Drake got into position, and it only then occurred to her the position she was putting the guy in. Army seemed to be firmly in Dick Mode, for some reason, the same strange little state of mind he got into after her match with Clyde. He was about to be in a position to hurt Drake with a simple movement. But he couldn't be that much of a jerk. Right?

Wrong.

Army moved at the last second with a subtle turn, trying to hide it as he let Drake fall down. "Oh, shit." He bit back a chuckle. "My bad-"

Before he had the chance to continue his bullshit, Carmen gave him a hard slug in the shoulder, right on the muscle. "Army! Quit being an asshole!"

Drake would argue that it's not exactly a big deal - considering the federation and all - but he has a 'wrecking ball' dropkick variant to pull off. Such semantics can wait!

...and whoosh, there he goes, right through the air, only to land hard on his back without the intended bonk against padding. "Augh!" The model quickly sits up, glaring at Army. "Primin' for an ass-kicking, aren't you?," he growls. "You want your sister to get better, or do you wanna waste everyone's time?"

Army smirked with his usual cocky swagger as he turned back to Domino. "Ass-kicking, huh? And who's going to give it to me? You?"

"No. Me." Carmen stepped in between them, glaring back at him with the same eyes that had preceded many a spanking when they were younger. Her mother's eyes. Sure enough, he moved back a little, giving up the staring contest before it would even begin.

"Fine," He dropped the bag and threw his hands up, starting out of the ring. "Fine. I'm out. You two have fun." He made his way out, jumping over the top rope and landing hard.

Carmen relaxed, letting her shoulders slump as she turned around, shaking her head. "Sorry about that, really." She bent down and picked the pad up, holding it tight against her chest. "Army is a good kid, really, just sometimes..."

Drake has a snappy comeback. He has such a snappy comeback, his mouth even opens. The narrowing of his eyes foretells of such a sick burn on the horizon.

And in steps mama bear.

The whole thing is dropped with a blink, and only after Army exits the ring does Drake lift to his feet. Naturally, he does this with a kip-up. "S'alright. He's a fighter. I used to be the same way, before I got into professional wrestling." As he talks, he picks at his shirt to get it to set on him the right way again. Model shenanigans. "Any excuse would do, but all the better if it were for a good cause or somethin'. Now, that doesn't come up quite so much, so it's more about entertaining, putting on a good show, and proving I'm the best."

He slips back a few steps, then charges towards Carmen. Same as before, the teen bounds into the air and tucks into a ball, rotating, aiming his feet at the bag.

"Yeah, he's just tense." She hardened up her stance in preparation, bending her knees to strengthen her base. Even though Drake missed that last shot, she could tell he had some good power behind it. "Back home, he used to hang around with the guys a lot a the gym. Lot of trash-talking, chest-thumping, stuff like that. He's fine here, but he can't really mess around with the girls like he did with his buddies. Think it's starting to get to him, just a little."

Carmen braced as he slammed into her and the hit still managed to knock her a step back, the power slamming in dead-center. "Nice!" She stepped forward, resuming her position. "You pull that off a lot?"

And Drake is thankful the bravado ended with Carmen's brother. A second full-powered flop onto his back would've really started to bug him. Resilient though he is, that kind of thing can add up quickly. So when his feet slam into the mat, bleeding off that momentum, and he drops down to unfurl in a considerably neater, more controlled manner, he's sitting up again in short order.

"Nope! I rarely even dropkick. It's just about momentum. You put enough of it in there, and that's a hundred'n sixty-some pounds of force slamming into ya." His right hand lifts to twiddle in her direction. "Or however much you happen to weigh. Probably less."

He then shifts back up to his feet. Noting her squared stance and readied position, he takes a few steps back. "Did you wanna see it again? Or are you ready to give it another shot, yourself?"

"It's a good move." She gave the pad a strong tap. "Think it'll fit good into my set, you know? The way I work it, I kind of bounce back and forth between boxing and wrestling. Throw a lot of blows, but keep it mixed up, so the guys get thrown off - by the time you get used to the boxer, you're fighting the wrestler, then it's right back to the boxer. This is a good way for me to make the transition. I think."

She took a few step back, until she hit the ropes. "One more. This time, running. Really hard. Full power."

"Shakin' things up is always a good way to go. That's actually a whole part of my philosophy," concurs Drake. It's true. It's what he likes to do. Hell, it's that kind of training that's kept him from becoming one of the bulky hulksters so typical the sport. A blend of aerial finesse, power, and submission; does a body good.

Though at her behest, he backs up a little more. "You sure? Alright~..." The last few backpedaling steps are charged against the ropes, straining them across his back to build up momentum. And then he's launching forward, feet hammering across the mat. His upper-body leans forward, sprinting the short distance towards her. And at the last moment, he bounds into the air and overturns his body, aiming to cannonball into her again. Though this time, the force is definitely ramped up. And if he's being honest, he's hoping to hammer it hard enough to topple the woman over the top rope.

Drake almost got his wish.

The blow slammed into her life rocket fire and knocked her against the pushing her back against it and bringing her feet off the floor. She had to rock forward to keep from going over, and if it wasn't for pad, she would have been flat on the floor. Five feet away.

She fell down to a knee, chuckling. "Very nice! You got legs like a mule." She stood up and dusted off, passing the pad over to him. "What's your story, anyway? How'd a guy like you end up in Tension?"

Drake plunks onto his back and quickly rolls backwards into a crouch. From there, he simply pops back up to his feet. "Y'know, you're the first person to actually ask," he muses. He turns to pace the ring's perimeter, running a hand along the top rope.

"I've always been a fighter. Like I said, reason didn't matter so much. I was always looking for some excuse or another to get into a scrap. All the better if it was because someone needed savin'." He pauses to cast a wry little smile towards Carmen. "Not that there's any shortage of that in the public school system." He continues along, "But it got on the principal's nerves, then my parents' nerves, and eventually everyone's nerves. So they tried to redirect it with a few things. The first thing they tried was modeling."

His free hand lifts with a self-aware grin, "I know, I know. Doesn't seem like the logical choice, right? But hey, when your mom's associated with the biz', some things just click. And I settled into that okay, but it didn't exactly slow down what I was doing. So what finally... worked, I guess, was wrestling."

He stops at the turnbuckle opposite the woman and hops up onto the middle ropes. With a turn, he perches atop the post neatly, hands folded over his lap. "No idea why they didn't think of it sooner. I mean, my dad's a pro wrestler already." His smile grows distant, reflective, "Chet the Chainsaw Vyril. Huge guy. Look nothing like him." The eyes lower again to Carmen. "Anyhoo, I got into the same fed' as him starting off. Local thing in Los Angeles, not quite the big leagues. It's where I picked up the name Domino. But I had this problem of... y'know, coming in as someone's son, being new, being a model, and not being enormous." His hands raise in a modest shrug. "No one took me seriously. So a year later, when I heard they were looking for folks here for a... err... sort'a-gimmicky-but-popular thing, I threw my hat into the ring. And here I am."