Progress Report (for CyanDimitrick)

Good, he was okay. A little rustled, but nothing serious, and she shouldn't have been too surprised - Drake was tough as nails when they fought, and that wasn't going to change in a few months. His sense of humor could use a little work, though.

"Congratulations, you're the first and only man who gets to say that me to and stay conscious." She gave him a little slap upside the top of his head, then rocked back and started to stand up, offering to drag him up with her. "And here's something you'll never hear me say again - want to do me next?"

It was only fair, she'd caused Drake quite a bit of pain since he stepped in with her. She could take some, too.

The whole thing gets a laugh from Drake, despite the pain he was in. It's not like they had to have a lot of back-and-forth verbal play in the ring before. She was all serious business. But now that he's gotten her out of-.. or, well, metaphorically out of the ring, she's pretty fun to play with.

As the hand is offered him, Drake takes it and lifts to his feet. And he then blinks. "You want me to put you through one of my finishers? Like the splash?" The splash is probably the nicest finisher he could do to her, to be fair. He bumps a fist towards her midsection. "Sure you're up for that?" A wry smile edges his lips. "If you are, lay back down. Unless ya want me to put ya down..."

She chuckled and briefly considered dropping him back down for the fun of it. "Like you could. Listillo." She brushed his shoulders off and stepped back, giving him some room. "You got me with wrestling skills, but don't think that means I can't put you down anywhere else. I got a nice list of KOs back home."

She thought about it for a moment, then sat down and quickly fell to her back laying there. "Yeah, go ahead. Probably going to take more than a few attacks from the air if I'm in this sport as long as I plan to be. Might as well get used to it."

She started to tense up, preparing for a professional impact. "Fire when ready."

"Hey. Hey now," Drake says, lifting an index finger. "None of that hibbidy-bibbidy talk. You're in Japan. Learn the language."

Of note, Drake is speaking English currently. And shortly after making his remark, he winks an eye at her, as if just to ensure she understands he's playing around. But when she drops back down, he gives a curt nod. "Your funeral!"

The teen springs past her and latches onto the turnbuckle. He makes short work climbing the ropes, the prospect of showing off one of his finishers putting more than a little pep in his step. The fact that he's about to splash someone and likely make his body ache even more than it already does may or may not have occurred to him in his exuberance. He stands, poised and even graceful, balancing between the top ropes, his back facing the ring.

And suddenly, the young model is airborne, body arcing through the air. His arms stretch out, legs similar, but kept together. He tightens his body for the impact before his six-packed abdominals smash across the girl's stomach.

<"I am going to kick the ass right off you the next time we fight."> The accent made it sound weird, but Carmen's Japanese was passable enough to get her around the city without too much of a hassle, as well as talk the occasional bout of smack. "Did you get that?" She called out as he made his way to the ropes. "Clear enough for you?"

Carmen watched him go up like a hangman getting ready to pull the latch, knowing the pain was coming but not being able to do a damn thing to stop it. Well, that wasn't true - she could move. But that would be the dick move, and she made a promise. Even if she figured it would be a painful one to keep.

She was right.

The impact felt like a grenade in her stomach, just nothing but pain all through her inside. She gasped and gagged, rolling over twice and came to stop on her chest, arms cradling her battered middle. All the punches she'd ever taken, all of the blows, nothing came close to the damage that one had done.

"Ugh..." She groaned, craning her neck his way. "Gotta learn to dodge that sort of thing. Definitely."

Drake might have gone for a pin. But let's be honest. The girl wasn't worn down enough for something like that, even with that finisher. It takes a little more work than that! And also, she immediately went into 'squirm-mode', rolling away. So Drake simply shifts to his knees, arms looping his midsection.

Oof. It's always better to be the one landing than the one receiving, but still. Oof. But at least he no longer appears to be the one getting the worst of it now! ...For as much comfort as that is. "Aheh.. yeah... if you're gonna splash someone, you've gotta get'em stunned, or hurtin' too much to move. If you're receiving... best'a luck. Or if you're desperate, pull your knees up. Knees aren't as soft'n nice to land on as abs."

She started to get back up, but decided against it when she realized she was still sort of in a hell of a lot of pure pain. She'd lay down for now. Rest. Just enjoy the canvas.

"Yeah, that's the trick, isn't it? Lot of risk. Never really can tell if the guy you're flying for is worked over enough not to move, and the audience screaming their heads off doesn't help things." She slowed her breathing down and let her limbs fall to the side, like she was making a snow angel. "Can't imagine how some people make this their entire thing. And they say boxing is bad for your brain."

She rolled her head to the side, looking his way as best she could without moving the rest of her body. "So. Drake. Tournament coming up. You gonna be there?"

Drake, meanwhile, adjusts his position to lean back on the ropes while sitting. More reclined, less pressure. "Payoff's great. Almost definitely puts the match in your favor. And the audience does love it, so there's that. Just don't screw it up, or you'll be someone's Youtube reel of epic fails and turn the tide for the other person." He then blinks. "Another tournament coming up? I was gonna do the last one, but they bumped me out. Didn't even hear about this one."

That was something Carmen knew and knew well - she had never personally been the one taking it in a picture, but she knew many girls that had. No one wants to be 'that girl' when the cameras start flying. The girl getting punched in the face on a front page spread for the girl doing the beating.

"Eh, fuck Youtube." She groaned at the mention. "I had a page once, put some of my fights on it. Got sick of guys complaining the fights weren't sexy enough, like it was supposed to be topless boxing or something. Pigs." She started to get up, rubbing her back and taking it slow. Easy does it, easy does it. "Battle royal, actually, think it's an invite-thing. Nobody's knocked on my door yet, either. You got an eye on the title?"

"Guys can be jerks," agrees Drake matter-of-factly. "And I say this with total self-awareness. Not just that I'm a guy, but... well. C'mon. Look at the Tension league." The teen lifts his arms to fold behind his head. "You know it's trying to cater to a specific type of audience. Which is almost a shame, 'cuz there are actually some decent wrestlers in this roster. Sad to think it gets overlooked."

At the mention of invite-only, the model's face draws into a smirk. "Speaking of overlooked..." He lets that be his sole response to it, figuring the implication would be enough explanation.