Amy Poford vs. Makoto Takeda - 24/7 at the 7-Eleven

It had been a good, long time since Mako had played baseball, but apparently she still had a few good throws left in her. At least, if Amy's busted up lip was any indication.

Her Valkyries winced and broke into a set of hisses and sympathetic Ooos at the sight, and Mako didn't blame any of them. It had been a nasty, point blank hit, and Amy had taken it full on. She could only hope the little cunt had broken a tooth, too - whatever the case, she doubted there would be any more smiles in this match.

Mako watched Amy reel from the blow and reached behind her, grabbing another can - Chicken Noodle, large and chunky. If it worked well one time, why not try it again?

The referee, who'd been rounding the corner to get a better look at the fight, backed off as Mako tossed another can at Amy's face the moment she turned around. A little cheap, yeah, but you didn't get points in a street fight for playing things the hard way. Mako was looking to make the most out of her long-distance advantage for as long as she could.

The second can would have certainly busted her nose if not for the forearms she’d set up in front of it. Which isn’t to say that it didn’t hurt; these cans weren’t exactly glancing off, here. No, the can drilled in like it hated her, knocking her step back, and stayed suspended mid-air for nearly a full second before it finally gave up and joined its brother on the tile floor. Amy was going to be sporting big ugly bruises on her arms for the foreseeable future, but, more immediately, every block she made from here on out was going to hurt as though she hadn’t blocked.

Amy was getting mad; these cans were way too big to be sold in a Japanese convenience store. If they weren’t designed to meet the Japanese serving size, then somebody else was buying and eating them, and Amy made a hasty, peeved leap of logic: fucking Americans and their big-ass appetites.

Amy had several avenues of proceeding here. Amy had cans, too- tunafish, it looked like, of every imaginable flavor, packed in tins of all colors; the Japanese could market like nobody’s business,- so she could retaliate. She could also retreat; the refrigerator doors were not far behind her, and Amy realized that beer bottles would make for a very nice rebuttal. Or she could attack, surge forward, bring the fight back into a range where Amy lived and breathed. Each option had its own merits and demerits, and Amy considered them all thoroughly and evenly.

Ha, no.

Amy threw herself forward before the second can had finished settling on the floor. Amy needed to get in close before Mako had the chance to grab and throw another can; if she could, she’d celebrate with a nice, heavy fist to Mako’s gut.

Mako was a little disappointed to see Amy block her second salvo, but only a little. Even if you managed to block a heavy, metal can getting thrown at you, you weren't really blocking it, were you? She was taking damage. Good damage. Mako felt the score starting to even up, and she was all too glad to continue the trend.

She'd started to reach back for another can, preparing to launch it at Amy while she retreated. She had to retreat. Mako would tear her up with the cans if she had half a chance, and there were still plenty left of them to throw. The smart thing for Amy to do would be to back off and take cover.

Well, Mako had never accused Amy of being too smart, so maybe she shouldn't have been surprised when the brawling blonde tossed caution to the wind and barreled straight for her. Regardless, she was surprised. Stupid her.

She squawked as Amy's fist sank into her gut and folded her in half, bringing all of that momentum with her for a devastating effect. It was a fierce blow that forced all the air out of Mako's lungs, and she desperately through a wild hook in retaliation, just trying to push the bitch back while she took a moment to stagger away

Amy would have liked to follow up her punch with a snap kick to Mako’s side- actually, she’d brought her leg up for that very purpose- but Mako swung out with a fist of her own before Amy could deliver. Mako’s hook caught her in the ribs, making Amy grunt and cave in toward the punch, and Amy was forced back yet again. By the time she’d put her foot down and regained her balance, Mako had slunk away from the shelf from which she had been arming herself.

The fresh soreness in Amy’s side proved that Mako still had plenty of power left. But that punch just reeked of desperation; Mako was running scared, and Amy found that absolutely delightful. Despite the sting from her bruised lips, Amy smiled a slightly bloody smile.

Amy had long stopped worrying that Mako would call down the full fury of her gang on her; they’d come much too far for that. No, Mako was stuck fighting Amy one-on-one to the bitter end, else risk crumbling the respect from her underlings. That, and how the fight seemed to be going well in Amy's favor, gave Amy the confidence to push her.

Amy followed slowly behind, stopping briefly to pick up a hefty can of minestrone. She gripped her can hard, like a cavewoman would grip a stone hand-axe, and shouted after her, loud enough for the whole store to hear.

“Don’t run; fight me! Kick me, punch me, hell, hit me with another low blow, but don’t fucking run!”

Okay, even with all of Mako's pride and hubris, she was smart enough to admit that this was really not going over very well. It had a lot to do with the way she'd entered the fight, not taking Amy as seriously as she really should have. She was confident that she could've won this fight easy if she'd been going all out from the beginning, but instead she'd given away too much ground, and now she was paying the price. With interest.

Too late. Couldn't back down. That wasn't what Valkyries did. Had to fight all the way, damn the consequences. Even the referee seemed to be getting nearer and nearer, like she expected a pinfall any moment now, and Mako wasn't 100% sure she could disappoint her.

"Fuck it." Mako muttered a curse under her breath and planted her foot down with a defiant stomp, halting the retreat. Amy wasn't pressing her advantage, and she banked on that giving her just enough leeway to work with. Mako whipped around, brought her leg up and swung it out, hard and low, putting some of her waning reserves into a vicious low roundhouse kick that was made to strike right in the thigh. It was a rushed, inelegant, brutish sort of attack, but that was pretty much all Mako had left in her toolkit right now. "Not going anywhere!"

When Mako stopped walking, Amy shot her armed fist forward, looking to end the game by smashing the can into the side of Mako's face. And again, if need be. Maybe even a third time; Amy was feeling generous. But Mako, stubborn as ever, whipped around and kicked her but good in the leg, sending her strike careening off course and loosening her fingers around her weapon, which flew out of her grip.

Amy winced; the kick had turned her leg some and nearly buckled her knee, but Amy kept her balance by taking a step back. But she moved forward again not a second later with a hook aimed at Mako’s gradually swelling eye. Never mind the can; this is what she’d wanted from the beginning, anyway.

Mako wasn't even twenty years old, but she'd fought more people and taken downmore people than she ever cared to count. She'd beaten the ones they said she couldn't beat, won the impossible fights. Everyone kept underestimating her, and she prided herself on proving them wrong. She'd withstood some of the absolute worst that Japan could throw at her, and she hadn't just taken  it...she'd thrived.

But not this time. This time, she was circling the drain.

She tried to move after Amy and followup, but her body was failing her. Too many things ached. Too sluggish. She reeled back when she saw Amy going for a hook and threw one of her own at the same time, but the blonde's blow connected first and did the lion's share of the damage. Mako was knocked back, and if wasn't for a stack of beer cases behind her, she just might have crashed to the floor. Not good.

In contrast, Amy was feeling more energized with each passing second. Amy burst forward after Mako, shrugging off Mako's interrupted hook and giving Mako hardly any respite after crashing into the beer case tower. Amy grabbed Mako roughly by the shoulders and slammed her back into the stack of twelve packs, making the bottles rattle around inside. Then she pulled her close so that their heads were over each other's shoulders, their ears staring each other down. Amy began to speak in a low hiss.

"This can stop whenever you like. Just say the word and I'll call up Blaise; tell him that you're a bitch, and that you're going to stop barking at him, and I'll back off." Mako couldn't see, but Amy was grinning. "I'll even submit and let you have this match. I think that sounds more than fair." Then Amy grabbed an arm, turned on her heel, and tried to throw Mako over her shoulder and onto the floor in a judo hip toss. Amy didn't expect Mako to accept, but god damn did that feel good to say.

Getting slammed into the bottles was bad enough by itself - not the most forgiving surface to have her back pressed against. That wasn't the worse part of it, though. Not even close. Not, the absolute worst thing about this situation was having to deal with Amy Fuckin' Poford all in her face, breathing down her neck, threatening her. Amy was actually threatening her. It was like the concept didn't even register properly, and she responded to it appropriately: by spitting in Amy's face.

That did nothing to stop the toss, though, and Mako found herself getting flopped down hard on her ass, narrowly avoiding the referee as she crashed into the floor. Not the most elegant landing by a long mile, and the best she could do was swivel around and shoot her leg up in retaliation, trying desperately to hit Amy with a wild blow. Not likely, and it wouldn't even hurt that much if it did hit.

Yup, that seemed about right. Didn't make the spit any less gross though. Amy wiped Mako's saliva off of her face with the bottom of her tank top. Ugh. Smelled like beer.

Amy hopped over Mako's kick and reached down to pull her to her feet by the arms. Then she pulled Mako in close, one arm under hers, the other around the shoulder, a hug to limit mobility. Amy was going to be nice. She was going to drop a twelve-pack on Mako's face, knock her out that way; maybe not the most dignified way to go, but it would have been quick. Maybe. Amy didn't actually care.

But Mako was defiantly proving that she was yet full of fight, that she'd need something special to be put down for the count. Amy’s eyes darted around, an idea forming in her head. A bad idea.

Amy liked bearhugs, but she had no idea if liking them was enough for her to pull one off. She did her best, though, wrenching down on Mako's small frame with all the force she could muster. But the goal here wasn't really to submit Mako anyway; it was just to get a good grip.

"Hrraaahhh!" Amy grit her teeth and lifted Mako up. She would take a step, then another, and then another still. She'd take step after step after step, steadily picking up speed until she was close enough to jump up and crash into the shelf, one last 'fuck you' to Mako's back. Time to see if their combined weight would be enough to knock one of these bad boys over.