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

Drake was a talker. Carmen figured that pretty early on, could see it right away, but the truth of her assumption was only growing strong with each passing moment, and she wasn’t sure whether she found it to be a blessing in disguise or an insult. Her head recognized it as more of the former, while her heart saw more of the latter.

There she was, recoiling from his blows, just trying to get her guard up, an opportunity that she would’ve dove headfirst into if the roles were reversed. What did Drake do? Talk. Good competitor, but the man had some odd priorities in a fight.

She let him go, though, not interrupting him, wanting him to say his peace in full, get it all out to waste as much time as possible. He took a surprising amount of it, too, even bothering to take off his jacket with a flourish. It was all an elaborate show, but one that left her wary. This was a man who loved his tricks, she could guess that much. What was he up to?

Whatever the real goal was, he was leaving a wide spot that was too tempting to ignore. She bit her lip, hesitated for half a second, then charged in regardless, ignoring caution as she lunged. Carmen brought her leg in, tight, then shot it out hard, attempting to drive her boot into the center of chest and knock the wind clean from his sails.

There was a few reasons Drake wore a heavy jacket to every fight. The main reason was style, of course, as well as to hide away any tricks or weapons he may be carrying into a fight. There was also the idea of padding. Although not much, it could cushion a blow slightly, Drake’s idea that any defense is better than none. It even hid his more muscular form from view, giving his opponents a false idea of his striking power.
But the most important reason was because it was a last resort. Another one of his tricks that he so often used. The reason he used this one as a last resort was actually rather petty. His jacket was expensive, and he liked it looking clean.

There! His eye saw it. A slight bop of the head, a forward shift in the shoulders, she was about to try something. She knew something was up but couldn’t figure out the specifics of his plan, making her hesitate. That was fine by him.

She finally made her move, charging him with, for the first time in the match it seemed, little caution or defense. A bit of a surprise, but not an unwelcomed one.

“Gotcha’!”

In response to Carmen’s rush, he tossed his jacket at her head in a way it would expand and possibly cover her head, blinding her for the second time if it succeeded. His body pivoted to the side, narrowly avoiding a kick that would have doubtlessly knocked him on his back.

Drake would attempt to slip behind Carmen, opening taking any ground she had just gained from him, and try to drive an elbow into her back. A petty shot, but a calculated one.

Carmen had the body for a kick, even if she didn’t resort to them too often before she joined the AFW. That just came with the territory of wrestling, adapting her style and widening her range. She’d had to do a lot of weirder things, and it helped that she had a kickboxer like her cousin, Felina, around to help her perfect the lower body stuff.

So she some faith in the strength of her kicks, if she could connect with them. That second part was key. Carmen did everything right, came in quick, lifted her leg for a blow that would’ve sent Drake reeling...and she missed, in part thanks to a jacket being flung over her. ”Shit…”

She cursed quick under her breath, knowing what it would mean and being wholly unable to do anything about it.

Carmen tossed the jacket off, only to be hit with an elbow to the spine before she could spin around, one that made her stumble forward with annoyed grunt, dealing with the sting. She knew she couldn’t afford to give him any bigger of a window than that, though, so she was quick to come back on the offense, jumping back and throwing her own elbow out behind her, attempting to strike him square on the chin.

Drake’s plan was relatively simple. First, hit his opponent in the spine, the sharp blow pushing them away and usually stunning them. Second, dash towards the end of the alley with the most junk, and find a weapon, preferably the pipe. Finally, offer Carmen a chance to surrender, if she says no, try not to hit anything vital. It was a cowardly plan, but Drake never was offended by that word.

The problem was, yet again, Drake failed to take into account that Carmen had likely been hit much harder and much worse in more vulnerable places before. Her recovery speed was far beyond most of Drakes previous opponents.

So, Drakes was surprised when Carmen’s elbow came rocketing towards him. For a moment, everything was black. No pain, no sound. Nothing.
The next moment, Drake was falling. His body wouldn’t respond, he was going down to fast. Yet it was almost like slow motion for Drake, his eye capturing every detail. Carmen’s stance, her elbow, slightly speckled with…. what looked to be his own blood, his jacket on the floor, even a small pile of the sand he threw at the beginning of the fight.

The impact on the floor brought him back to earth, time working normally again. Drake seemed to forget where he was, sitting up to rub his damaged jaw. As soon as he saw Carmen and the position he was in, his eye widened, its cold calculation was replaced with something else.

Panic.

Carmen had more or less swung around blindly, using a combination of her instinct and luck to make a reasonable guess on Drake’s position. It could’ve hit. Couldn’t missed. If the latter occurred, it was likely to result in a painful time for her, as her opponent would almost certainly take advantage of the wide open weakness.

But that didn’t happen. Instead, she scored a solid hit, and she knew it was solid, not because she could see it, but because she could feel. The impact left her arm tingling, but she could tell that he got the worst of it.

As if she needed any confirmation, she turned around just in time to see him flop, withering from the blow she’d dealt. He was a tough guy, taking a hit like that, something that would’ve knocked even bigger men for a loop and left them staring up at the ceiling. She could respect that.

Didn’t mean she wasn’t going to put him into the ground, though. ”Down.”

He’d only just started to sit up when Carmen rushed forward, shot her leg out, and attempted to ram her knee square into face, looking to deal more head trauma right away.

Drake eye saw it coming in like a missile, Carmen’s knee on a way one path towards his face. His mind scrambled, his body acting before his mind could understand what was happening. Both of his hands shot up in a pathetic excuse for a defense, similar to a person protecting their face when they are about to crash into a car. In truth, it mostly protected him from seeing the impact.

Drake had no choice, unintentionally obeying Carmen’q quick command as he the knee drove hard into his defense. His body crashing yet again on the cold hard pavement. He was losing steam, hardly able to keep his eye open. His eye wasn’t even looking around anymore, simply staring into the sky as he tried to catch a breath.

What am I doing? I should just quit before it gets worse. Can’t get the pipe. No reward anyway…

Drake silently pondered the pros and cons of continuing the fight, his focus off Carmen, more from punch drunk than intention.

Down he went.

It wasn’t a pretty sight, not that anyone would’ve expected it to be. She landed her strike, clean and brutal right on his face. To his credit, he managed to stay conscious, despite the serious trauma he was taking. He was surviving, showing how tough he was, but he would have to do better than that if he wanted to pull this match out of the fire.

She fought her initial instinct to keep battering away on him, and gave him a moment to stew below, letting him reel and rock. She didn’t lower her guard, still poised to strike at a moment’s notice, but she’d never been the type to attack a downed opponent and she wasn’t about to get into that habit now.

Instead, she drew her fist back, cocked it, ready to fire if need be as she stared down at him. He was kind of annoying, but she could respect him enough to give him some options. ”Give up, Drake. You’re good, but you’re not beating me today.”

Drake didn’t respond. Not at first.

Drake simply laid there on the ground, waiting for the stomps, the chokes, or the weapon attacks so many of his comrades used on downed opponents to be used on him, but those attacks never came. His eye stared up into the sky, tracking a plane that was flying by high in the air. He used to love watching vapor trails as a kid, where had the time gone?

Upon hearing Carmen speak, Drake seemed to snap out of his thoughts, his eye finally looking around and focusing on her as it had at the beginning of their encounter. She seemed to be standing over him, her fist ready to deliver the finishing blow if he were to deliver any inclination to continue the fight.

“So,” Drake mumbled, “You can speak more than one word during a match.”

He began to sit up, but he made sure to do so slowly, not wanting to be knocked out in a dirty alley. That was another big difference he learned about him and her. She was an awfully good sport. Drake would have kept hitting her had the roles been reversed, the only exception is if it was with a weapon. She hadn’t even thrown a dirty punch or pulled a trick the entire match. That fact ate at him a little, that all of his tricks were beat out by simple training and quick thinking, he hated that.

Despite his frustration, he gave Carmen a smile, his eye still calculating, but softening slightly. His body language was relaxed, it being tense a few moments prior.

“Will you please hand me my Jacket?” he said suddenly, in a tone suggesting his fatigue, but still trying to be friendly.

Whether it was another trick or an odd submission would be up to Carmen to decide.

This was getting weird, but Carmen had thought she was used to ‘weird’ by now. That had been her life’s default since she joined the AFW and entered the wacky world of wrestling. A confusing place where things rarely made as much sense as they did with her boxing career, but where she was never, ever bored.

She’d seen strange things. She’d been apart of said strange things. She’d developed a tolerance for silliness.

But Drake was new. She could safely say that she’d never come across a man like him. For better or worse.

She eased up a little - just a little as he sat up and didn’t make any sudden moves. Carmen made an attempt a reading the man’s face, but it was an odd task, and not simply because he was short an eye. Disappointment? Confusion? Anger? She swore she could see a bit of it all in his expression, but not enough to get a read on him. Frustrating, considering that was something she’d been trained to do for decades.

Cautious, she took steps back, never letting her gaze leave him, only taking the briefest of glances away to grab his jacket. She walked back and handed it to him with an outstretched arm and a balled fist at the hip. She did her best to read the unreadable man, taking note of every inch she could see, ready to switch modes in a heartbeat.

”I only talk when I have something to say.” She tilted her head to the side. ”Are you giving up?”

Drake watched as Carmen retrieved his jacket, neither of their eyes left each other throughout the process. It was an odd situation in Drakes mind. The two were beating on each other moments ago, he had pulled all sorts of nasty tricks on her, she had busted his lip and pounded his ribs, and now she was getting his jacket for him. Sure, he was tired, beaten to the ground, and posed little to no threat in his position, but even he didn’t think she would get it for him. Maybe punch his lights out, or at most tell him to go and do it himself. But there she was, walking over to hand him his jacket.

What’s a girl like her doing in a place like this?

He knew from his research she had a family, a brother and father, though he couldn’t find anything on a mother. It seems like they were obsessed with boxing, the whole family wrapped up in some pathetic excuse for a tradition. The poor girl was probably brainwashed into fighting for her family, perhaps by her father. It was something Drakes father would do, so why not her own father? Her brother probably didn’t help, maybe he unintentionally pushed her into it? Or maybe she was pit up against him, the two of them destined to be rivals?

Isn’t it the Fathers job to protect his children from harm?

Drake’s eye twitched as images of his childhood played out in his head. Countless nights alone with no parents to greet him or say goodnight, months of walking home to an empty house, years of birthday cards from a Father three countries away. Drake hated his Father. It was a simple hatred, but one that had sat with him for years, and one he was sure his Father shared with him for killing his wife.

Drake blinked away the memories. Those days were long since past but he couldn’t help but think if Carmen ever went through anything like he did.

Time was up. Carmen was standing in front of him, his jacket in hand. They were looking into each other’s eyes; hers were full of suspicion. Understandable given the circumstances.  She gave short but sure replies. So much like his father. He looked away, trying to hide the contempt in his face.

“That’s a shame. You seem to have a lovely voice.” He mumbled,

Sadly, Drake had to make a decision. He didn’t have to think long as he reached out slowly to grab his jacket. He gave his answer quickly and quietly.

“I’m sorry.”

With that his hand went pass his jacket and clamped onto her wrist. He pulled her down as hard as he could, firing off a heavy strike straight into any exposed defensive area he could find. In his mind he was not throwing a punch at Carmen, but a faceless depiction of his own father.