Not So Jolly Christmas

Clyde furrowed his brow when he heard Army's stern deceleration and gauntlet throwing words that quickly followed. Clyde stood there, hands in the pocket of his suit jacket clearly frowning at the boxers attitude. Liberty sucked, but it was home. And he never crawled out of that shit hole.

He nodded. "Ok, friend."

Now the gloves were off. Clyde looked down at the floor and his loafers and let out a deep breath before he lifted his head back up and and glared at army.

"So. This is YOUR property, huh? Tell me, friend. Do ya greet everyone who walks in here with, 'what the fuck do you want, gringo?' No? Oh, hah! That's right! I'm white bread! You musta saved that fer me!" And Clyde pointed to himself excitedly with a grin that quickly shifted into a deep scowl soon after.

"I dunno if yer just'a an asshole or on yer period... Or both. But you been given me shit every damn time that fuckin' mouth of yours decides to open. I ain't forgotten how you got in my face after my match with Carmen, I let it go. But it seems pretty damn clear that you... Just don't like me and have a huge fuckin' stick up yer ass that your boyfriend prolly left behind." Said Clyde in a stern manner as he loosened his tie.

"I'ma say this reeeaal nice and slow fer ya, pal. I'm in a real baaad fuckin' mood too. I got so much shit ta' deal with, I don't even see you as worth fightin', 'cause just like in Tension, yer small time. Mid-card. But I ain't nobody's bitch and I really don't like yer attitude. I've let ya talk enough shit to me. So, I suggest you start talkin' ta' me properly..." Clyde muttered, slowly cracking his knuckles.

"'Or else this gringo's gon beat the ever livin' shit outta ya, you Son. Of. A. Bitch."

Army stood and listened, stonefaced, while Clyde went off. He couldn't understand every word the guy said - what with the drunkedness and the accent and all - but he got the gist pretty damn loud and clear. Suddenly, he was presented with two choices.

The mature thing to do would be to just call Carmen, get her down to the gym, and let her and Clyde talk about whatever the hell he wanted to talk about. If she wanted to be his Token Lesbian Friend, fine. None of his business. They'd just part ways, and Army could go back to the pleasant task of trying to pretend Clyde didn't exist. He wouldn't succeed, but it would be worth it. Hell, not fighting Clyde would make him the bigger man, right? His mother was always on him about that sort of thing. Sort of like an honorable victory.

The immature thing to do would be to punch him in this face.

Army thought about it for exactly two seconds after Clyde finished, then walked over and threw a jab right at Clyde's face. Not a word was spoken, not a fuck was given.

Clyde was happy to get some of the crap he had been dealing with off his chest but he was still in a fury. Everything in his life was downright miserable save for his paycheck and even that didn't fill the void. Mercy was gone. He felt empty and angry.

Now Army was approaching. Suddenly he didn't care. He was going to cut loose and waste a motherfucker. Alcohol often made people violent, it was true.  But for better or worse, Clyde wasn't even drunk.

Army got in range and threw his jab, Clyde leaned back and to the right, narrowly avoiding the boxer's jab that grazed his ear, counting with a quick right hook towards Army's face as he stepped to the side, quickly back-stepping to get out of range before he lunged back for him, leaping directly into him and trying to slam his forearm and elbow into the taller boxer's face.

"Ya think ya fuckin' scare me, ya piece of shit!?!?"

Mid-card. Please. Back in Puerto Rico, in a real ring, Clyde wouldn't even get off the ground. Little fucker thought he was such hot shit, acted like he had the whole show under his thumb. It was time for a reality check, and Army was more than happy to do the honors. Maybe losing a couple of teeth would straighten things out.

Of course, that required him to actually hit Clyde first, and that wouldn't be easy. His punch struck nothing but stale air, and he wound up taking a right hook in the side for his troubles - not the worst punch he'd ever taken, not by miles, but just the thought of Clyde getting in the first strike gave him one more reason to put him down.

Army swung out to the side, hard and blind, and missed again as Clyde backstepped. The next thing he knew, Clyde's forearm was cracking him hard in the face and making him stagger. Making him stagger. Army had at least fifty pounds on this guy, and he was the one getting knocked around. "Enough of this shit."

He surged forward and tried to run straight into Clyde like a rampaging bull, looking to grab him and slam him into the nearest wall. "Like I'm gonna get beat by Melissa's whipping boy? Fuck off!"

Clyde knew he wasn't going to take Army out with one or even two punches. The guy was bigger, heavier and stronger than him. The cowboy settled for being as relentless as he could be just so he could take the big man down.

He stuck him twice in the face and wanted to hit him more, every strike held all of Clyde's rage but it wasn't enough to stop Army by a mile.

The blonde's eyes went wide as the boxer rushed him and plowed him hard against the wall. "AAUGH!" Clyde arched against it, feeling a chunk of air leave his lungs as he was flattened against the wall, forced to hear Army's statement that ate at Clyde's pride, still sore from his lose to the Thorns.

"...Nobody's...Bitch...." He gasped, trying to raise his feet and shove them into Army's abs to force the guy off him, if he could even do it.

The wall shook with the impact, as about three-hundred or so pound of pissed-off Tension wrestler crashed into it at ramming speed. It wasn't made of hard stuff, either. Might have caved in. Army couldn't tell from where he was standing and he didn't much care, really. It'd cost, but you couldn't put a price tag on beating the shit out of Clyde Gastin.

Army raised his fist and prepared to lower the boom right on Clyde's face while he was pinned. That was all he needed with a guy like this - one punch. One, good punch, and he'd fold like a bad hand of cards.

"Nobody's-" Army's retort was cut off when Clyde's feet slammed into his stomach, hitting his abs hard. They were rock hard, but even rocks break with enough force, and that just about did it. He was knocked back, right into one of the heavy bags, and he nearly slid off it and fell before he could get his footing back.

"Nobody's bitch, huh?" He managed to get out a little chuckle out through the pain, as he shook his head to clear out the cobwebs and rubbed his stomach. "Hey. Clyde. How does Kelli's ass taste?"

Clyde shoved Army away with a hard double footed kick to his stomach, leaving Clyde to drop from the wall and back to the gym floor, his suit jacket clearly dirtied, Clyde knew and it irked him to no end.

But not as much as what Army had to say his question quickly infuriating Clyde as his eyes went wide before they narrowed into a hateful scowl.

"Why dontcha fuckin' ask her, faggot!?" He spat. "You think its funny what they did ta' me!?" He rushed Army again, throwing a hail of straights towards Army's face, one after the other, left and right frantically.

The first two shots snapped Army's head left and right, before he got a grip and got his defenses up, blocking the rest of the flurry as best as he could. Clyde was a little guy, yeah, but he hit fast, he hit often, and all those punches were starting to add up. Army was getting driven back. Step. By. Step.

"Oh, I think it's a fucking riot!" He growled as one of Clyde's blows found a rib and made it sting. That was his favorite rib, too. "Talk about me, call me mid-card? Well, what's the fucking point of being at the top if it's just so some bitch can push you off? Tell me that shit!"

Army took a deliberate step back and swung out with an overhead right, looking to drop it on Clyde's head and get some weight behind it. He had the reach advantage, might as well use it.

Somewhere in the back of his head, in a serene, calm spot, he had to admit that this was cathartic. Fighting women was fun and all, but sometimes he just needed to beat the shit out of another guy.

Clyde wasn't faliling at all. All of his punches, even if they were wild, were set on a target, each one a hard straight looking to take Army's head off, throwing in a body blow here and there. He had the rush of aggression and adrenaline behind him, striking Army's face twice before his knuckles would pound against his forearms instead.

"A riot!?" Clyde snapped in anger at the thought of someone getting a laugh out of his misery. Not even everyday misery. More like life ruining misery. And the fact he was comfy where he was in Tension, that he wasn't keen on going to the top just because of Melissa, had Clyde in knots.

"You motherf-" Clyde began, only to catch a heavy fist from Army, a 200 pound overhand right to the top of his skull, Clyde was looking up but when the punch hit, his head snapped down, burying his chin into his chest, his body going rigid as he staggered backwards with wobbly legs and a glassy look in his eyes.

Army actually had to pause a moment when Clyde took the punch and didn't drop like a sack of potatoes. That was one of his best shots. He'd knocked down bigger guys with it. Hell, he'd knocked down Ro with it, when just about nothing else had done the trick. Either Clyde was a shit-ton tougher than Army thought, or he was losing his touch.

...yeah, he was losing his touch, that was the only thing that made sense.

Whatever. The guy was seeing stars now. Sure, it took longer than he thought it would, was a little tougher, but he'd gotten the job done. Carmen would give him all sorts of shit for it, but he'd take it. "Tch. Demasiado fácil." He clicked his teeth, raised up his leg and tried to plant his boot right in the middle of Clyde's chest, bring him down hard and make it hurt all the way.