Drake Fond vs. Carmen Rodriguez - A Walk On The Wild Side

Carmen hissed as she stepped back, squinting hard to clear the sand from her eyes. Cheap trick. Predictable trick, really, and she kicked herself for not seeing. Or, at least, she would’ve kicked herself if Drake wasn’t so intent on doing that himself.

Punches were coming now, smashing into her guard, driving her back. Some of them were deflected well enough, but more than a few got past her guard and struck her flat in the face, making her wibble and wobble on her retreat. THe man could hit, she would give him that. Good speed, too.

Bad as it was, it was all prelude. The real attack was the one that struck her hard in the stomach, a powerful kick that knocked the wind clean out of her stomach and nearly knocked her over. It just might have if she hadn’t found her back against a dumpster. Not as bad as being on her back, but not good either.

She wasn’t giving him answer, though. Not right now. Instead, she focused on getting one of her eyes open enough to glare his way, as she waited to see how he’d attempt to capitalize on his advantage.

So far everything was going according to plan. Drake had Carmen right where he wanted her, she was wide open and taking all sorts of hits, and besides a dull throb in his arm Drake had yet to really take a hit. Drake honestly wanted to congratulate himself, but the job wasn’t finished yet.

The kick smashed Carmen against a dumpster, her frame still in a defensive form, but winded, blinded. Drake was a bit surprised she was still willing to hold a defensive stance. Most people he fought either ran away or begged for him to stop at this point, but she hadn’t even made a sound throughout his attack. Drake would wonder if this was a testament to Carmen’s training and strength, or if Drake was just used to fighting trash.

No respect would show on Drake’s face, however. His smile was gone, his face was a blank mask with only his eye showing any inkling of what he was thinking, and all that was in it was calculated hostility.

Drake would suddenly get low then shoot upwards, aiming an uppercut right at Carmen’s jaw. His goal was to launch Carmen into the dumpster, hopefully demoralizing her. Or make her mad, Drake really didn’t care either way.

Drake was confident in his strike, but something caught his eye. It made him hesitate for just a split second, a bit of doubt placed in his mind. Drake was good at spotting small details, but he hoped he was wrong, because it looked like one of Carmen’s eyes were open, just a bit.

Annoyed.

Yes, annoyed would be the operative word for Carmen.

Having sand thrown in her eyes was annoying. Getting forced back like this was annoying. Taking punches that she didn’t have much chance of defending against was annoying. With all those multiples, it would be easy, too easy, to lose her cool and lash out, just for the odd chance to give Drake a sliver of the pain she was feeling.

She didn’t. For the moment, she just endured, weathering the blows, and focusing on getting some of her sight back, just enough to see what was coming her way next, and…

There.

In came an uppercut, swooping low and heading towards her jaw, likely to leave her loopy. Carmen moved her head to the side, just enough to the let the blow pass by, and then she gave Drake some payback for all the pain he’d brought her way, throwing a hard right hook aimed at the side of his face. Nowhere near enough to even things up, but it would be a good start.

It took a moment for Drake to realize that his strike had missed his target. His eye catching that she moved her head just enough to avoid the blow. It was an impressive display of skill and timing, but Drake was too concerned about his position to give it any thought. Things were about to get much harder for him, after all.

He was in a bad spot, and he knew it. He put a lot of power in his uppercut, and now that it missed he was wide open, with a not-so-defenseless opponent in close proximity. He would try to throw up a defense, but it was panicked and ultimately useless.

“Tsk…” Was the only thing Drake could get out before he saw the punch coming.

Carmen’s right hook hit home, her fist smashed into Drake’s face, his head turning with the blow. Pain exploded over his face, to the point he decided to retreat a few steps, hoping to get a little breathing room. The unexpected blow to the head caused his stance to become a bit shakier, something he couldn’t quite fix due to the speed of the counter.

His defense was completely focused on his good eye, fearing that Carmen would aim a follow up strike at it in some form of revenge for what he did to her. He hated how sloppy he had gotten, and now he was on the defensive. Carmen was a seasoned pro at this, and he reminded himself that she wouldn’t be easy to put down. Better to take the rest of this fight with more caution then before.

There was no feeling in the world quite as satisfying as landing a punch - a real, solid punch - on a jerk who seriously deserved it. Carmen would never get tired of that sensation, no matter how long she lived. She was sure of it.

Today would certainly not be the day. Crashing her fist against Drake’s face brought an immense satisfaction, and her only regret was not being able to open her eyes enough to fully drink it in and savor the look on his face when her realized what was about to happen, the moment before impact, but the sound of her fist cracked against his face was more than a passable alternative.

She opened her eye more and soaked in the response, seeing him reeling from the attack, looking wide open. Too good of an opportunity to pass up, and she threw herself forward right away, intent on closing the distance and not giving him a single inch of breathing room. She moved in, planted her feet on the ground, established a base at her optimum range and went to work.

Out came a jab, straight forward enough, aimed at his chest. An easy one, just to keep his focus where she wanted. From there, Carmen quickly juked to the side, moving into his blind spot, trying to make him think she was attempting another shot in the dark.

That punch, however, never came. Instead. Carmen moved the opposite side and lashed out with a hard right cross towards his face, trying to see if he was good enough to react in time to the rapid shift.

Carmen was coming in fast, closing the distance between her and Drake in an instant. She was pressing her advantage, while Drake was trying to figure out a way to get his back.

He was surprised to see her opening shot was a straight forward jab of all things, aimed for the center of his chest. It didn’t look painful, but Drake dodged the attack anyway, looking for the move that would follow and try to defend himself from it. He didn’t have to wait long, as Carmen juked into his blind spot, surely getting ready to throw a hook at his head. Muscle memory from years of street fighting made him raise his arm the same way as he did before, preparing to take the blow and counter the best way he could.

But that isn’t what happened. Instead, Carmen suddenly moved to his other side and launched a right strike at him. Drake’s stance was too shaky to move in time to dodge, so he had to take it. He still had one arm protecting his eye, but that could only mediate so much damage.

The punch connected, Drake barley able to use his arm as a buffer, his own arm pushing his head to the side due to the force of the blow. To retaliate, he brought his arms back, and tried to throw a light right feint, followed by a heavy left curve of his own.

He was losing control and he hated it. The cross blow brought a new wave of pain in his face, giving him trouble when it came to concentrating on Carmen’s movements.

Street-fighting, as Carmen learned from her time as champ, wasn’t too much different from the fighting that she’d grown up employing. Oh, there were some superficial changes, sure. You had to keep the lay of the land in mind, had to watch where your feet fell, had to keep a look out for corners and that sort of thing. But the basics still applied. As punch was a punch was a punch.

So there was some satisfaction when she landed her blow on Drake’s face and started to take back control of things, advancing with her attack. She had this. She could take control.

Carmen stayed the course and focused on driving him back, even as he tried to reassert and push her back. A right came her way, a feint, and a good one that nearly took her off guard. She was just barely able to duck under the real threat, his fist missing by a few inches, whizzing over her head. A good strike, but the best punch in the world didn’t mean much if it couldn’t land. Like so.

She stayed low and threw out her own strikes, coming at him with a low hook meant for his ribs. The second it touched, she drew back, then tried to hammer him with a clone of the same blow, looking to land a swift double hook and really mess his insides up.

Shit, that wasn’t good.

Drake’s feint didn’t work, and his left flew over Carmen’s head, leaving him wide open for the hook aimed at his ribs. The blow was intense, pain and a burning sensation erupted from his side, enough to make him gasp in pain. Even with the padding of his shirt and heavy jacket, nothing seemed to actually cushion the blow. Drake brought his arm down to defend it, the second hook smashing into his defense, the force traveling to his damaged ribs, the pain flaring up again, though not as intense. The burning sensation didn’t stop though.

God that’s hurts. Losing control. Where’s the pipe? I need the pipe. Dammit! It’s still over there. Wait, where’s there? Stop hitting my head!

His thoughts were getting erratic. He wasn’t used to this much pain at once, usually fighting in a group or spacing out the punches a bit better. His eye was trying to predict her moves, but the pain fogged its details, leading to poor blocks or bad calls.

What was he doing? He was a street fighter trying to out-box a professional boxer! This was a street fight, he should be in his element, instead he’s playing by someone else’s rules.

Using what focus he had left, Drake would try to advance on his opponent, his eye looking for any shift in Carmen’s shoulders. He would try and stomp hard on her foot, keeping it in place. If he succeeded he would make it look like he was throwing a punch aimed for the kidneys, but instead fired off a headbutt, trying to smash through Carmen’s defense and get to her face.

Forward, forward, forward.

Keep moving forward. That was Carmen’s dominant mindset with Drake, the way she saw herself controlling this match. The alleyway too narrow to avoid much movement, when made the fight more linear that a real bout in the squared circle. It would all be about controlling the area, advancing and forcing his retreat.

She would give the man credit where it was due, he had a good offense to start up with and she could see a lot of potential in power, even if he liked the style to get the most out of it. His defense, however, needed work. Like a lot of streetbred fighters she crossed, he seemed to think mostly on what to do when he was in control, and less about what to do if - no, when the shoe was on the other foot. She got a good sense that was what he was going through now. She was pouring on the pressure, and he was faltering.

She stepped forward with sure feet, confident she could drive him back, and when he tried to get a blow in, she was ready to counter - or thought she could, anyway. He proved that notion wrong when he came in fast and cut into her offense with a headbutt, crashing hard against her forehead and making her stumble back, dazed.

Nasty move. Cheap. But, damn it, it worked, stopped her momentum dead in its tracks. With her eyes wide open now, she brought up a tight guard and held her position, looking to wait him and see what he would come at her with next.

Drakes cheap headbutt did its job, providing him some respite from Carmen’s onslaught and pushing her back. Drake was far from fine however. Carmen’s strikes still lingered, especially in his ribs, and now both her eyes were open. She was beating Drake pretty well with one eye, he didn’t like his chances now that she had two.

Something tickled Drakes chin, something cold. A quick wipe revealed he was bleeding, a small stream coming from the corner of his bottom lip. Great, Drake scowled, another testament to Carmen’s strikes and his poor defense.

Carmen brought her guard up again but didn’t advance. She was watching him, waiting for his next move. He knew she wouldn’t wait long. Drake didn’t want to just rush in, figuring Carmen could probably counter any of his punches in this situation. He was out of sand, and the only thing he could think of to change up this fight in his favor was a weapon. But Carmen had pushed him back too far, nothing was in reach. Anything useful was behind her, and she wasn’t going to let him just rush past.

Drake’s shoulders slumped, it seemed like the brawl just started and already he had to use his last resort. With a heavy sigh, Drake straightened up, and gave Carmen a sad smile.

“Well, I’m impressed Ms. Rodriguez. Most people don’t adapt to my point of view of the world so effectively.” As he spoke, he unbuttoned his jacket quickly with practiced hands.

Drake shed his jacket in a manner that made it seem like he was, as fighters often put it “getting serious”, his black compression shirt with a red line down the middle clinging to his well-toned body. In reality, Drake was readying a weapon. One that could possible turn the tide, if used right. He watched her expression carefully, looking for any signs of her knowing his true motives, his expensive jacket still gripped in one hand.

“Truly, I can see why your skills awarded you the Silver metal. Your father must be so proud…”, a bit of venom in his words.