Blue Thunder Mask vs. Makoto Takeda II - Beat It

Everything about Makoto’s attack worked like she’d expected. Her boots hit straight on, and even though he had a distinct weight advantage, it turned out to not mean much when she had momentum and gravity on her side. It was enough to send Blue Thunder Mask off his feet, and with his back being all bare and uncovered, that was going to suck.

There was a downside, however - gravity was kind of a bitch. While it helped her send Blue Thunder Mask reeling, it was also not going to let her get away without paying a hefty price. She came down hard on her back, hitting her tailbone on the asphalt for some time.

But, hey, fuck it. It worked. No complaints on her end, really.

”Okay, okay. I’m...geez.” She started to sit up, only to fumble and fall back down a second time. It worked on the second try, however, and she was able to plant two solid feet on the ground. She’d dealt a good blow to Blue Thunder Mask, but it wasn’t enough in her book, and she was already looking around for something to use. That trashcan? No, it was on of those plastic kinds, and it was too big for her to use properly, anyway. Her motorcycle had some stuff in it, she was having trouble remembering where she parked the damned thing right now.

She needed something quick, something immediate, something she could use a good striking weapon, and...hello.

Makoto turned her attention the cameraman, stomping his way and making him step back, confused and worried. He didn’t need to be. She wasn’t interested in him one bit. No, what she had an eye on was his camera, which she promptly yanked out of his hands, spun about, and attempted to use it as a blugeon, slamming it down on Blue Thunder Mask’s back.

His back screamed at him, feeling as if someone have just dragged a sheet of coarse sandpaper down how back. The feeling was fleeting as the heat of the injury started to bite at him. Blue Thunder Mask slowly rolled onto his front, propping himself on his forearms. His skin looked raw in some places, a hue of reddish pink. It was impossible to tell where, but the pavement had rubbed up hard enough against him to grind down his skin leaving a few deep crimson splotches along his body, smeared among his back.

His hands were shaking as he tried to manage it all, flexing his fingers into clenched fists, resisting the urge to punch the ground to cope with it. He lifted his head, looking towards the van Makoto had descended from, starting to crawl his way over. His balled fist pushed up against the van siding as he dragged himself to a knee, stopping to take a moment. He was still lightheaded, perhaps more so now.

The camera got an extreme close up, even going so far as to allow the audience to participate in the carnage. The camera wasn't going to see any more use for its original purpose as pieces of it broke away, bits of plastic flying off around them. He let out another scream as the makeshift weapon dug into his raw and blooded back, doing far more damage than it had any right to. He fell up against the side of the van slowly sliding back down along the body of the vehicle.

Before he could descend all the way down the van, he brought himself to a stop, hunched over breathing in a long low growl. He snapped back, twisting on his knees to bring his elbow back around, trying to catch Makoto in the knees to blast her leg backwards against the grain.

The camera made for a surprisingly effective weapon, even with its limited usability. Yes, Makoto only got one shot out of it before the equipment shattered into a thousand pieces, but it was well worth the effort, dealing out some decent damage to her foe and getting that lovely cry of pain from him. It helped her get back in control, and now she was in the driver’s seat. All that she wanted.

”Hey!” The camera-less cameraman stepped her way, displaying a clear temporary lapse of sanity. ”That’s company property, you can’t just-”

A quick turn his way and a single step forward was enough to force some sanity into the man’s head, and he promptly backed away from the pint-sized terror. Makoto only spared a snort his way, before she refocused on her task, limping over to where Blue Thunder Mask was attempting to rise. She reached over to grab his hair, intending to ram his head against the van.

Instead, she got a lot more pain than she bargained for in her legs, as a wild strike hit right on the bone. She yelped and leaped back, take a moment to lift her leg and hop, trying to keep balance while she rubbed feeling back into it.

It hurt, but Makoto was getting pissed more than anything. Blue Thunder Mask should’ve been spent. He should’ve been done. There shouldnt have been anything left in the tank, but somehow, someway, he just kept getting back up.

Blue Thunder Mask failed to catch her knee quite as hard as he wanted, the attempt to cave her leg inward was met with a more cartoony response as if she had stepped on a bunch of legos. It served the purpose of buying him time, enough to mount an actual assault against her.

After throwing on his elbow he had fallen back to the pavement on his hands and boot toes, crouched low and ready. He was hunched forward like a wild animal, taking raw labored breaths. The flaming pain enveloping his back wasn't going to go away anytime soon.

His fingers tensed as he pushed himself up, legs kicking off the pavement as he charged her full on. Sticking low, he aimed to skirt just past her before rising up, attempting hook an arm up and around her chest. If he managed to snag her in passing, he would throw his weight forward, twisting to try an rip Makoto up off the ground, spinning with her airborne before trying to plant her into a handicap parking space with a uranage!

Stone and Devine had been watching the match on a monitor backstage, looking on as the fight that would determine their futures raged. Stone said little, staying true to her namesake, and even Devine - who was the sort of woman to never let a minute go without getting a word in - kept her lips shut tight, especially now that the fight spilled out into the parking lot. One of their favorite little haunts, as luck would have it.

And then Makoto had to go and trash the camera. Because of course she did.

”Come on, really?” Stone groaned and walked past the monitor, storming her way through the halls as the crew hurried to get out of her way. Devine followed right behind, daintily keeping up with a skip. There was no way the two of them were missing this.

By the time they arrived, however, things might’ve been over in one way or another, as the action was reaching a crescendo, and it seemed they were both reaching limits. Makoto was aching, taking a moment to soothe her battered knee, and that turned out to be just the exact moment that Blue Thunder Mask needed for his next strike.

She didn’t know what he was up to when he grabbed her by the chest, but she’d pieced it together as she was lifted up, hence the horrified expression she wore. It was too late to stop it, though. Too late to slow it. All she could do was wait half a second for the inevitable impact and the pain that followed.

It came. Fuck, did it come. Makoto’s back hit the concrete and she immediately went rolling away, bouncing about like she’d touched a live wire, crying out and screaming and hissing all the way. She wound up stopping a few feet away from a set off motorcycles - her and her fellow Valkyrie’s, as it turned out. That gave her some ideas, but she wouldn’t be able to act on them until her body resumed normal functions.

There was no hesitation in ripping Makoto off the ground, even knowing what he was about to do to her. He took no real satisfaction in her pain despite their bad blood, but by the very same token he felt no real remorse for putting her to the asphalt. He may have cringed at the sound of her smacking against the pavement or grimaced at the thought of how she was feeling, but right now he didn't have any empathy. His back felt like fire, red and raw, caked in his own blood with bits of parking lot debris and bits of plastic sticking to the moist crimson surface.

Once she had rolled from his grasp he was left on his hands and knees panting as he watched her leaving his range. One eye was closed, burning from from a trickle of sweat that had run down into it. His boots scraped along the ground as he staggered to his feet, stalking after Makoto. Fatigue mixed with his injured leg was buying her time, but would it be enough?

Once he had neared, his pace would quicken, having reserved his energy until this point. He would awkwardly charge hop the rest of the distance between them, throwing up a boot to try and plant it on her chest to try and knock her into the parked motorcycles.

It wasn’t easy to make her way back up to her feet, but thankfully she had Stone’s motorcycle to lean on. It was a nice, sturdy machine, one she’d worked on quite a few times herself, mostly whenever the blonde got pissed off at her about something and she needed to make amends. She knew its make, knew its upgrades, knew the best sort of oil to refill it with.

Most importantly, she knew there was compartment underneath the seat with some choice items that she could use right now. She’d just started to pick herself up and open the compartment, when Blue Thunder Mask came over and put a stop to it with his foot.

The blow hit her chest, dead center, and was enough to knock her over to the other side, coming down hard on the small of her back. A nasty landing, but it wasn’t all bad - she’d managed to reach into the compartment as she tumbled, and now she had a little something else to play with. Something she’d gladly show him the first chance she got.

Of all the move he could have done, perhaps a big kick wasn't the wisest move. Almost immediately after cracking her in the chest with the sole of his boot, his bad leg gave out from supporting his weight. He stumbled, dropping down to one knee, grasping at the handlebar of one of the motorcycles for support. He huffed loudly, struggling back to his feet to make his way around the bike.

Slowly he made his way around the parked bikes. Had she been knocked down behind her own, he likely would have shoved the bike over on her. While he didn't put to much thought into whose bikes they were, part of him recalled this particular one was Stone’s. He reached down, trying to grab for Makoto’s head and shoulder to drag her upright, seemingly unaware she had armed herself in the scuffle.

Where was it, where was it, where was it…there.

There was a small toolkit in Stone’s compartment, something that Makoto had pushed her to buy. It wasn’t much, just a few tools to help her out on the road. Her chopper was a bit older than Makoto and Devine’s and every so often it needed a few quick tweaks, a little tightening in the spokes. She kept pushing the American to get a new ride, but she was devoted to the damn thing. Once Stone found something she liked, it took a lot to make her let go of the damned thing.

But that worked in Makoto’s favor today, as her fingers wrapped around a small wrench, barely bigger than her fist. She had it ready when he lifted her up, hauling her to feet, and when the time was right, she put it into.

”Got you.”

With the tip sticking out of her fist, she jabbed it hard into his bad leg, looking to exacerbate the pain even further and cut him down to size.

Blue Thunder Mask raked his fingers through Makoto's hair, opting to grasp at the back of her head and neck rather than go for the easier target that was a simple handful of her hair. He had to lean in close to hook a hand under her arm, grunting as he began to drag her up to her feet. He wasn't sure how much more she had left in her, or himself for that matter. Out here in the parking lot, it wouldn't take much more to put her down though, he just needed to get her up. He squinted at her words, finding them rather misplaced given the circumstances until he felt something hard jamming into his leg. The wrench might as well have been a knife for all the pain it caused on the already damaged limb. His immediate reaction was to shove at his opponent, trying to distance the two of them.

Staggering back, his leg wobbles before it buckled under his own weight, muscles screaming in protest as the newest point of pain grew in size and heat to cripple his ability to control it. He went down to a knee, the flexing of his leg and his own weight only making the pain worse. His jaw clenched and neck tensed, a hissed Japanese swear slipping out from in between his grit teeth as he awkwardly hobbled back. One of his hands held tight to the motorcycle's handlebars, pulling a bit of his weight off his leg as he tried with everything he had to keep from falling completely. He wasn't sure he would be able to fend her off on the ground, not with one of his legs almost completely out of commission.

The twist and sway of the bike as he held on tight suddenly reminded him of his earlier plans that had been cast aside out of concern for property... that was out the window now. This was a moment that could potentially lose him everything if he held back. He raised his other arm, grabbing hold firmly of the front light of the bike as he pulled hard, leaning to the side to try and drop the motorcycle over onto Makoto. If anything it would buy him time and space, both things were greatly needed right this instant.