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

Something was wrong with Drake. Carmen had suspected that strongly from the start, but now, in this moment, she was getting the strongest clues to it, as she stood there and monitored his every reaction. The shifting eyes, the awkward glances, the subtle inclination of his head, the way he spoke, the things he said - it was all off, and it spoke of a man who had some messed up processes underneath the surface. As if his brain was only half in this world, and was submerged into some strange, alien planet for the rest.

In short, she wasn’t sure what to think of Drake, but she wouldn’t trust was entering into the equation at any real point. So what happened next shouldn’t have surprised her all that much. And it didn’t. Not entirely.

She’d been reaching out, handing him his jacket, going nice and slow, when he suddenly reached out and sped up. At first, she thought he was going for a strike alone, trying to hit her in the chest, but instead he grabbed her wrist and pulled her in, yanking her into a solid blow that crashed against her face and left her starry eyed.

A cheap shot, one that brought her to the knees and left her jaw stinging, her head swimming and blood boiling with an unrelenting rage.

Instead of trying to pull her arm away, she gripped his wrists as well, keeping the two of them linked. From there, she swung her fist about to hit him with a hook across the face, looking to give back as good as she was taking, even if she was a bit too groggy to make it one of their better hits.

Cheap shots.

That was what Drake was best at. Delivering a punch or a kick that an opponent would not suspect and capitalizing on there moment of weakness. It’s what he had been doing for the entire fight with Carmen, hitting her when she was vulnerable, kicking her when she was down, using her morals against her to get an advantage. Sportsmanship was not one of Drake’s interests in life.

And yet, when that strike rang against Carmen’s face, he didn’t even register he had hit her. In a way, the blow wasn’t even meant for her, but for his Father. Drake slightly regretted that he had just made Carmen the avatar for his Father, but he couldn’t help himself.

The fight was not over yet, however.

Just as Drake was about to let go of Carmen’s wrist, she locked her own grip around his. He had just enough time to try and tug his arm away before getting smacked by a fist. “Smacked” was an accurate description when compared to the blows he received earlier. His head reeked with the blow, but he was not unconscious. Anger did wonders to dull pain, it seemed.

The fire of hatred started by the memories of his Father roared to life once again as Carmen slugged him in the face. He face her again, the fist glancing just below his good eye, a mixture of fear and anger and what could have just been was in his eye. Rather than deliver a follow up punch, Drake did something low, even for his standards.

He tried to spit in her face.

A mixture of saliva and blood had collected in his mouth, and his anger made him want to get back at her, anyway he could.

“Let go of me!”

Drake began to thrash about, trying to break the hold Carmen had on his wrist. If her grip held true, it would truly devolve into a street scuffle, as Drake would attempt to tackle her down to the ground, not so much as mounting her, but simply  trying to hit her in a more favorable angle.

Drake’s talent was what bothered Carmen the most about him, if she had to pick any singular thing that irked her. Where had this man learned to fight like this? It couldn’t have all been just the street, she could see a veneer of style over everything. There was skill here. Even with the bad eye, he had some real gifts. And he used them for cheap shots.

It just drove her further to put him into the ground and make sure he stayed there, but the man had a stubborn drive to him. Too stubborn. Too crass. Too rude.

At first, she didn’t even register what had just happened. She saw the motion his mouth made, but miss the projectile. Then she fell the wetness on her face. Smelled it in her nose. Saliva, thick, mixed with blood. Not hers. ”You disgusting bastard!”

Those three words were about the best she could think up on short notice, and they’d have to do, because Drake had little interest in letting her get out anymore. He was on her again in the next moment, thrashing about and pushing her to the floor, getting on top as the streets scratched away her back. She had a weight and height advantage, but that wouldn’t mean too much with him on her, pummeling away. Needing to make some space, Carmen pushed at his chest, then drew her leg in and shot it at Drake’s face, aiming to put him on his back before he could take advantage. ”Enough!”

Adrenaline was pumping through Drake, dulling the pain he felt from Carmen’s earlier blows and giving him some respite from his earlier fatigue. His good eye watched his downed opponent carefully, making sure she wasn’t going to swing at it while he tried to free himself of her grasp. It was difficult, but she finally let go of his wrist, the two of them still entwined with Drake in the dominate position.

With his now free hand, Drake began to fire off strikes indiscriminately. While his other hand focused on restraint. The combination only lasted enough for a few strikes before Carmen broke free of his arm, pushing on his chest. In his rage, he hadn’t properly mounted Carmen and was easily pushed back.

Once again, his greatest defense was his eye, spotting a shift in power from Carmen’s upper body to her lower body, her leg slipping out from under him, the muscles beginning to coil in preparation for a powerful release.

“Shit!”

Drake tried to sit up and stand, the power in the kick could be seen just by the wind up, and there was little he could do to stop it. His best bet was to avoid the attack, but his body was still tangled with hers, slowing his actions.

In the end, Drake was able to get just off the ground enough for the kick to devastate his chest rather than his face. He was pushed far back, his back hitting the ground before rolling away in a retreat. The pain in his chest made it a bit hard to breath, and he glanced at his side of the alley. The exit was looking more appealing.

He began to stand, adrenaline being the only thing keeping him from falling flat on his face and passing out. He scooped up his jacket, stumbling a bit as he picked it up. When he straightened, his eye glared at Carmen.

“What’s disgusting,” He said through strained breathes, “Is someone…so brainwashed…they would throw their whole life away…chasing a stupid family tradition. How many years have you shaved off your life…because of your father’s decision? All the beatings you’ve taken? Just for him?”

Drake’s fatigue was coming back, slowly but surely. He could deal with pain, but he tended to speak his mind when tired, as if saying it out loud was less energy than holding it up in his head. Words just spilled out of his head, a bad habit for a fighter, but one Drake had developed early on.

“What a waste.”

Carmen launched Drake away and got the space she was craving, earning the right to rise unmolested. It wasn’t much, but she was all too happy to take it, particularly with the way this match was going so far. She wouldn’t say it was the most physically draining fight she’d had, but she couldn’t remember one that was more mentally exhausted. Drake’s stubborn refusal to stay down was steadily becoming more than a mere irritant. She was beginning to feel a need for it.

And that was before he had his little miniature rant.

Carmen was in the process of getting up to her feet - it wouldn’t have been a pretty process, sure, but she was sure she could manage it. She had to pause, though, when Drake started talking. She could already tell from the tone that she wouldn’t like what came from that mouth of his, and the content shortly confirmed it.

For a short time that felt like a long time, Carmen stared at Drake, sending a fiery glare his way. He was trying to get under her skin, she knew, and she’d tanked far too much taunting in her life to be truly bothered by it...or so she thought. Something about the way this guy came off, though, the way he said what he said, the cocksure nature of it all...it was all a bit more aggravating that the usual fluff that came her way. So he would get a response. A simple one.

”You talk too much.”

With that critique done with, Carmen broke into a charge and headed straight for Drake, dashing hard. The moment she was close enough, she cocked her fist back and hurled her body into a fierce hook, aiming to cave in the side of his face with a looping hook.

Drake never got into wrestling because he respected the sport or liked to win or lose. No, the reason he enjoyed wrestling was because it was a sport that could have little to no rules involved. A contact sport where weapons, tricks, and cheating were all allowed if in the right match. It was the only sport where he could create moments like this. Getting under his opponent’s skin was the real joy Drake got from fights. He liked getting them riled up, hurting them as best he could, then leaving them in whatever state they were in. He never harbored any malice or hatred for his opponents, not before nor after a match. He made it a point not to, bad for business he always said.

But what Drake said to Carmen was how he truly felt, the questions were genuine, his malice for her family was real. Really, he didn’t even hate Carmen at that moment, he just despised how she chose to live her life. He could never understand why someone would live for someone else as he viewed she had. In Drake’s mind, she was a slave to her Father, one that didn’t even know she was one. In a way, he felt bad for her.

Still, Drake would be lying- Again- if he said he didn’t get a little satisfaction out of Carmen’s fiery gaze. Old habits die hard and seeing her finally fired up after a whole fight of taunting, cheating, and cheap shots felt like a fairly petty victory for Drake.

So, rather than give Carmen the same satisfaction she had just given him by acknowledging her statement, he simply spat out some more blood that pooled in his mouth. His face was blank, as if what he had just said to her was something anyone would tell her. His eye was watching her, but it was no longer calculating, it only held disinterest for the woman standing before it.

With her rebuttal out of the way, she charged Drake. Apparently, he had hit quite the nerve, as it looked like she was getting ready to end this. Drake himself didn’t bother running, he was too tired to really do anything, his body ached all over and he had a nasty cut on the side of his mouth. He was running on fumes, and even that was about to give out. He decided to put on his jacket, not wanting it to get stolen if something bad happened to him in the next few seconds. He really liked it after all.

After putting his arms through the sleeves, he got into as best of a defensive position as he could. His arms where completely focused on protecting his eye. Little else mattered to him at that point.

Carmen’s strike was like a culmination of every strength she had pitted against all of Drake’s weaknesses. The height, weight, experience, and technique advantage were all on display in that single cross hook. Drake was practically thrown by the force, his defense crumbling like a sand castle in a storm. No noise came from him as he smashed hard into the alleyway’s walls, destroying one of the cameras that were set up to film the fight.

Drake sat there, not even really conscious, his eye was barely open, but nothing could be seen in it. The lights were on, but nobody was home. He was breathing through clenched teeth, short, ragged breaths. He was down, and it would be a long while before he got back up.

”I’m done.”

Carmen uttered those words not long after her punch connected and sent Drake flying, launching him around the alleyway and destroying a little AFW property in the process. It was a Gazelle Punch, one of her old signatures from her boxing days, and she was at least glad to see that she could still land the move properly. It had gotten her knockouts before, and it seemed this was a similar case.

But was Drake really out? She approached cautiously, half-expecting some kind of surprise from this man, another trick, another tactic. Nothing came. He was out - open eyes, yes, but nothing much beyond that. The only way she could even tell he was alive was from the slow rise of his chest.

She kneeled down, checked on him for a few seconds, and that was when she stood up and said the words, looking up at the remaining camera, making sure the disgust on her face was clearly seen. That wasn’t a match, so much as it was a test of patience, and she wasn’t looking to repeat it any time soon.

She started to walk out, wanting nothing more than to get the stink of this alley off her body with a hot shower, when a stray thought made her pause. She looked back at Drake, staring for a few seconds, then let her gaze shift up towards the camera.

”Fight fair or don’t fight at all, Drake.”

And with that little nugget of wisdom, she was gone.

The feed to the fight continued to broadcast for a moment after Carmen left. Its viewers leaving multiple comments, some praising the fighters, others enjoying the carnage that had past. The fight had attracted quite an online crowd, adding a decent boost to AFW’s Youtube channel. The fight could help boost the channel further once it was posted in earnest.

Soon, the screen would fade to black. The live feed was cut. Some viewers left, others discussed the fight further. Slowly, white text began to appear on the screen, announcing the results.

Drake Fond is unable to continue.
Winner by Knockout: Carmen Rodriguez!
~Congratulations~