Tension Rookie Tournament: Harper Williams vs Drake Fond

Sadly, it was Drakes business to make other fighters see red most of the time.  He knew the power a person could have over someone else when they were able to worm their way into the poor soul’s psyche, and if used properly, that bug in the brain could lead to a massive pay off. It could land a valuable deal, break a person into giving some valuable intel, or in this case, make a very capable fighter get sloppy.

Drake was well aware of his many shortcomings in the brawling area. He had an obvious blind spot, his preferred method of fighting was brutal and unfair, and he himself relied heavily on tricks and reading an opponent in order to get even the slightest bit of an advantage.  In short, he was the type that many would label “Cowardly”. He was just as likely to shake your hand as stab you in the back, and the fact that he dug deep into his targets history only made him and his tactics more effective. His clothes, his mannerisms, even the way he talked all served as a distraction, keeping his foe’s focus away from the cruelest weapon in his arsenal.

His sharp, silver tongue.

And Harper fell for it. Many often did. The young belle had thrown caution to the wind and jumped right into Drake’s web, her rage making her short sighted and impulsive. She packed much more power than he expected, even after his copious amount of research into her fighting background. The hook forced him to stumble, and she had succeeded in removing the smug smile that seemed glues to his pale face, though he quickly recovered and returned the blow. Her anger made her defense close to nonexistent, letting the punch score just fine. His punch was far from that of a trained professional, but underneath his heavy coat hid powerful muscle that helped add to the savagery of the hook. The adorable belle was caught completely unaware, and much like Drake, she stumbled after taking the hit head on. Drake was not one to pass up an opportunity, and quickly moved in looking to capitalize on Harpers stupor.

But Harper was still a rather excitable individual, and she seemed to bounce back from the attack rather quickly, lunging at Drake with a passionate fury in her eyes. The one-eyed man was in the middle of a kick, looking to stomp the once stunned brawler to the ground and mount an early offense, but his raised leg served to give him poor balance, and so Harpers spear was easily enough to take him right down to the ground.

Drake could feel Harper on top of him, even through his thick jacket. Her body was restricting his movements, and with her positioning there was no way to get inside his jacket without sacrificing an arm that would be better used defensing himself or mounting a counter offense. Drake’s face was an irritated but blank mask, but his eye seemed to light up, no longer cold or calculating, but clearly her presence on top oh him got a reaction. Drake stored quite a few of his dirty little tricks in his jacket. Having his easy access taken away from those vile contraptions easily upset the red and black attired man.

“GET OFF OF ME!”

Harper couldn’t sleep. There was just something nagging her in the back of her head, playing at her ears every time she closed her eyes again. Maybe it was the sound of grasshoppers and coyotes just outside. Maybe it was the incredibly rare sound of rain beating against the roof, tapping against her window in the dark of the night. Maybe it was the way the house creaked and settled as the downpour kept coming on, making the whole place seem so unfamiliar. Or maybe it was all the chatter from downstairs.

She didn’t think much about it at first. The house was full of noise back when her brothers were still around. If anything, the silence that filled the place for the past few weeks was what felt out of place. But the voices she was hearing weren’t familiar ones. They were gruff, stern, lacking in tone or color. They echoed through the house like white noise from her television.

Then she heard someone shout, and something fall to the ground.

It forced her eyes open, but this time with a rush of adrenaline in her veins. Her heart beat inside of her chest as she sat up in her bed. She threw the covers off and stepped out of bed. Her baggy shirt draped down past her thighs, covering a little bit from the cool air that drifted between her shins as she walked to the door. She pushed it open with a creak and took careful steps forward to the top of the stairs.

“Daddy?” The chatter stopped. She heard a bit of shuffling, then the sound of a chair screeching made against the floor. “Daddy?”

Her dad rounded the corner. He looked up the stairs, then immediately faced the floor, shaking his head with his hands on his hips. “Ah, hell…” He muttered to himself, walking slowly up the stairs to her. “Did we wake you, sweetpea?”

“Who was yellin’?”

“It was me. Stepped on a tack. Know how it is.” He kneeled down and looked up at her.

Harper sighed with a small smile. “I told you to pull that thing out. S’gonna put you in crutches one day. Wish Felix had done it before he left.”

“Yeah.” He snickered. “But you’re tough. Maybe ya can help me with that soon, alright?”

Her face brightened at that. “Sure, pa.” She said nothing for a moment, tilting her head to the side. “Everything okay, daddy?”

He blinked. “Course. Everything’s going to be fine, sweetpea.” He kissed her on the forehead. “Why don’t you run on to bed, now? Got a long day tomorrow.”

She nodded and walked back to her door, but once she had her hand on the knob, she looked over her shoulder and noticed her dad had already gone back downstairs. She walked back into the room, but kept the door open a crack. Her hands stayed on the knob as she pressed her head against the door, keeping one ear against the opening.

“Is something the matter, Mr. Williams?”

“Nah.” The chair screeched again. “Just hurry this shit up.”

“Now, we can arrange to have your valuables moved next month, but we require a signature soon. We’ll begin by seizure of livestock, then non-essentials-”

“SHUT UP!” Harper’s voice pierced through the arena as she raised her fist high and brought down onto Drake’s face. She dispelled his words with her own, not wanting to hear a single thing that slipped free from that venomous mouth of his. The Arizonan was quick to fix the position she was in, shuffling up to straddle his waist and keep him pinned underneath her. This man was dangerous in his own way. Harper wasn’t the brightest bulb in the box, but she could piece that together at the very least. She’d like to say this was part of some grand strategy. Keep him underneath her where she could keep an eye on him.

That couldn’t be further from the truth, though. She was seeing red everywhere, unable to stop her body from moving on its own, not that she wanted it to. There wasn’t a single thing the young belle cared about tonight more than the man in the center of her gaze. His words still rang in her ear, digging up those recent memories mound by mound, spade by spade. They had to go back where they belong. He had to go back where belonged. Devils didn’t belong on Earth.

The tackle felt good, and this was going to feel even better. She raised one fist and threw a punch towards Drake’s face, not giving a damn whether or not he blocked it before she raised her other fist and threw another punch. Then another. Then another, sending a furious hail his way. “Think you can jus’ do whatever y’all please?! Think I won’t tan your damn hide?!” She doubled on her left stroke, hitting him with a furious double tap. “I’mma make the floor match yer getup, you fuckin’ snake!” Her ground and pound didn’t lose a pace, didn’t miss a beat. Her sole intention was to turn Drake’s arrogant gaze into a pile of mush on the canvas.

Well, what rather delicious turn of fate. For the first time in a long, long time Drake had mistaken the character of his opponent. Harper had exceeded his expectations, proving to him that there was a boiling fury underneath that sweet and small exterior the likes of which could only come through years and years of simmering underneath an emotional lid. Drake had just turned up the heat and tossed that barrier away, and now it was overflowing all over him. The smiling little Harper was gone, now replaced with an emotional brat that sadly still had the cognition to scream out her stupid sayings and throw a wicked punch.

Harpers proximity was rather uncomfortable, Drake preferring to keep his foes at a distance if he could manage, and push them away when they got too close. He couldn’t escape at the moment, not with her straddled on his waist and her blows raining down on him like a mountain of hail. For the moment, he was stuck, with only his arms to protect him from the thunderous strikes meant to turn his face to mush. Naturally, his defense seemed to focus on his eye, his arms constantly shifting around to insure the blows did not reach his only instrument of sight, sacrificing other areas to the beating to insure its safety.

Though Drake’s body was essentially restrained, only a fraction of his attention was given to his defense. Harpers Rage made her punches pack power, but lack subtlety or thought. It seemed to devolve into a simple ground and pound tactic, which was not an uncommon tactic for his style of fighting. His mind was almost completely free to think and plan, looking for a way out of his current predicament. He did not dare go for any of his tricks in his jacket now. Sacrificing an arm to reach into his jacket would be suicidal, his arms stinging from every punch they took in place of his face. Harpers fists were like stone, and she would not give up anytime soon. Not until Drake was hurt, and her hatred satisfied.

The devil had many tactics to seduce a poor soul…namely giving them what they wanted most. Drake would oblige Harper in a similar way.

“Ms. Williams! Stop this!” His tone was sharp, harsh even. His irritation at getting trapped underneath her clawing its way to top that cold, business tone. And yet, at the end was laced with something else. Something so subtle, only ones sub-conscious would even bother to pick it up. It appeared at the first syllable and died as Drake finished his sentence.

More blows came uninterrupted. Harpers blue eyes still glaring down at him like trash as she wailed into him without a second thought. One fist slipped by, smashing into Drakes blind side completely, rocking his head the opposite direction, his defense correcting itself to continue to keep his good eye safe.

“Ms. Williams! Harper, you-! Stop!”

There it was again. Frustration and pain were in those words, certainly. However, something else was laced inside, bubbling about as the Arizonian continued to pound away. More punches slipped in, two hammering his blind side while another snuck underneath and nailed him clean in the jaw. One of Drake’s arms were slipping away from his good eye, like he was reasoning with himself to start defending the other areas of his face, his eye peeking out and becoming more open.

An opening defense. Something he was sure an enrage fighter would take advantage of. It would be a few more seconds that felt like minutes into the pounding before Drake decided to speak again. Right after Harper landed a bunch on the side of his good eye.

“Harper!?!?”

There it was. What those in power always desired to hear from there enemies. Desperation, fear, helplessness all wrapped up into a single word. The eye underneath the defensive arm was wide with fear and concern, watching each of Harpers attacks frantically, as if trying to guess which one will try and come down on it next. His business-like smile was gone, replaced with a tooth bearing frown that seemed to hide behind his arms.

The frown would no last as yet another punch smashed right against his jaw, moving his head to the side again. As discreetly as he could, he bit down on the side of his lip, drawing a fresh stream of blood to roll down his lip before moving his head back to face Harper. His arms were getting bruised and sore, but he needed to keep going a while longer.

The arm that began to slip away from his good eye seemed focused on defending his blind spot, whatever good that did. More punches flew in, his defense taking more of a beating and yet another blow smacking his blindside.

“Harper! Please! Don’t-! I-ah-I was wrong! I shouldn’t have said that! I went too far! Please…DON’T-!!!”

There it was, the punch he was looking for. Specifically, Harpers incoming right. It didn’t matter if it was as forceful s the other punches or weaker. Drake had purposefully moved his arm aside, as if to appeal to the Arizonian, his expression one of a poor, pleading man.

Time slowed down. At least, that’s how it felt. Drake’s eye, which had seen the blow coming since she lifted her arm, turned slowly towards the fist, acting out surprise as it came cascading towards it. Drake’s arms, which were put in front of him as if to both protect himself and plead mercy from harper, retracted back, his left hand open, obscuring Harpers vision…his right hand closed. All the could be inferred was that Harpers fist was about to make contact with Drake’s face, on the side of his good eye and then…

“YAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAARRRRRRRGGGGGGGHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!"”

Drake let out a blood curdling scream that seemed primal in its pain. His hands quickly clasped around his eye as he thrashed about violently underneath Harper. As he thrashed, something rolled away from the fighters about a foot away.

“Holy shit.” The referee could hardly be heard over Drakes whimpers of pain, but she turned a dead white as she stared at what had rolled away.

Staring at Harper and her downed foe was an eye. Cold, lifeless, and familiar, it was small, but immediately recognizable for what it was. It could be nothing else but Drake’s eye.

“I…I-I can’t see?….it’s so black…I can’t see…”

Or…was it really?

The referee turned around, presumably to vomit elsewhere. Hardly anyone outside the ring could see what was going on, and were confused by what exactly just happened. Some audience members Jeered Drake for crying over something like a punch, while others cheered the Arizonian for making a jerk like him holler like that.

But what happened next was quick, fast enough that if one looked away for a second, they would have missed it.

Drake sat up, his eye still very much in his skull, and fired off a powerful cross aimed right for the scar on the bridge of Harper’s nose. His other arm moved to grasp her shoulder and toss her off of him, the eye that was on the floor still staring at both of them as the sudden attack transpired.

Harper didn’t care. She didn’t care to hear any of it. She didn’t care how much he begged, she didn’t care if the referee was telling her to stop, she didn’t care if the crowd thought she was taking things further than they ever needed to go. She didn’t even care if her pop was watching her right now a million miles away on the other side of the world.

All she could see was Drake’s face. His eye staring through her, those words tearing her asunder again and again. But above all was that smile. That smile, that damn smile. Even when it wasn’t there she saw it. She kept pounding away with renewed vigor, her biceps flaring and arms pumping to their full power as one resounding clap after another echoed out from the ring to be met with either roars in applause or reserved winces from the sea of onlookers surrounding the havoc.

And he still begged her to stop. Like some coward.

“Shut up.” She punched him hard. “Shut. Up.” Twice that time, just as hard. “Shut up!” Even harder that time. Harper felt her arm growing stiff and numb, but her body kept moving on its own, striking with every last reserve, moved by every word the man beneath her continued to let free. “Too late fer all that, spineless piece of shi-!”

A blood-curdling shriek stopped her dead in her tracks. “Wha-?” She saw the eye. For one second, her mind refused to accept what she was seeing. It didn’t seem real, outside of reality. But slowly it drew her in, the hollow pupil staring darkness into her and the young belle found herself unable to look away for the longest time. A deathly silence fell on the ring. Even the official beside them stood stalk still and terrified, gazing wide-eyed at Harper with her hands to her mouth. What had she done?

It couldn’t be real.

Had she really just done that? Was this that thing her pa talked about? About ‘not knowing her own strength’? For a moment, for a flash of a second, there was genuine concern. Her eyes turned to Drake, writhing and weak on the floor.

“...h...hey...”

Then a punch knocked all that concern clean out of her, fizzling the distress out as quickly as it came. Unfortunately, she didn’t have room to be angry. Drake’s knuckles dug into her nose, jabbing the sensitive skin and sinew from her scar, her senses leaving her momentarily. One instant she was ramrod stiff, the next Drake had thrown her flat onto her back. Harper probably should have been worried about that, worried he’d take the advantage, maybe return the favor by pounding her into dust this time around. He clearly knew how to use his fists. That would be the last thing she needed.

Too bad that wasn’t where her mind was. The second her back hit the floor, her hands were pressed to her face, kicking her heels against the floor. It was more than just the initial pain, there was phantom pain there too, some old memories of when she’d first lost that skin years ago flooding back into her mind. The experience ran through her head again, like reliving half of a nightmare, and all she could do was whine like a baby on the floor, a lone streak of red running down from her nostril.

Drake’s fist had impacted flesh, and the annoying barrage of fists had finally stopped impacting against him in a stunning moment of peace. Hardly anyone said a thing due to the shock of what just happened, but the quite was a welcome relief for the man who had just taken a violent beatdown. He was used to being the one to kick others while they were down, but he was not unfamiliar with being on the receiving end of a raging fighters seething hate. Years of practice helped him stay at least somewhat calm under pressure, and it had saved him time and time again.

His cold, calculating eye didn’t even spare Harpers body a glance as he tossed her off the top of him and heard her impact against the canvas. It felt nice getting the weight off his chest, able to move freely about once again without the threat of a fist bouncing off his skull. His jaw felt as if it had been wacked with a hammer several times, and the side of his head was pounding…but he would live. His eye was safe and unharmed, his acting ability selling the strikes perfectly while insuring his visions safety. Now a whole new matter was about to begin.

With a hiss of pain, Drake began ascend to his feet. His arms were still sore and there was a slight fog in his head, but nothing he couldn’t think through or hinder his plans. Drake did take the time to scoop up his false eye, one of the many in his collection. This one just so happened to look like his original, a perfect decoy for one of his more sinister tricks that had just gone off perfectly. After finally placing the eye in one of his many pockets, his real optic scrolled over to admire Harpers whining form, kicking and whimpering like a wounded animal.

The calculating eye narrowed inside the hollow mask that was Drake’s expression.

“Y’know, Ms. Harper…I try not to take things personally…the things said and done in here, its all strictly business to me.”

His tone was much like the casual business speak he had at the start of the match, with a nice hint of smug hiding underneath. His sudden shift from scared and pleading to this simply proved it was all a calculated act to pull at Harpers mercy.

“Your Daddy, Pa, or whatever you want to call him with your weird sayings, is a sad, pathetic man, sure…but I don’t care too much about that. I’ll forget all about him. Just like everyone else. He will be a small smear on your family history as he went from living on a wide open and prosperous farm to dying in a small, constraint apartment surrounded by a concrete jungle.”

Drake had found his way over towards Harpers form, and stood over her like a critical demon. His eye stared at her with none of the pity she had for him a moment ago, only a small strand of anticipation and planning could be inferred from the intense gaze.

His leg retreated a few inches, then came rushing in like a freight train, looking to smash right into Harpers ribs as she coddled her bleeding nose, as if Drake was going to wait forever. His kick was cruel, but practiced. It was clear Drake had experience literally kicking foes when they were down. As he did so, that smile began to crawl back from whatever void Harper hoped to banish it to.

“But Daddy isn’t the only one I know about…it takes two, right? Mama didn’t last too long, did she? Not really much to say, but ever since I heard about your family, I wondered if her passing was a blessing to your father, and to you in a way.”

Another swift kick came to punctuate Drake’s cruelty. It was clear that despite the damage to his jaw, his will to speak overpower any discomfort he might be feeling. Even as he spoke, one of the Drake’s hands slipped into his jacket, fishing out something he had been hiding inside since he had walked in. What he retrieved was a simple black bag, held close by a thing piece of thread.

“Your mother never had to deal with the embarrassment of losing her home. Never had to see your father waste away like a dying weed, s complete failure. She doesn’t even have to worry about her small blonde daughter coming home with a fresh set of scars on her face and a bloody nose to attend to… I guess we can just chalk that up as a “win”.”

Without looking away from his foe, he undid the thread, and poured out the contents right on top of Harper. Thumbtacks and pushpins spilled all over the floor as well as her frame. The pointed bits of metal harmlessly bounced around, but the even the slightest amount of pressure would promise a stinging bite. They were new, clean and shining in the arenas lights as dozens of pieces of pointed metal now lay scattered on the floor. Drake’s stared at his trap, kicking a pins to the side to spread them out a bit more efficiently, confident his thick jacket would protect him from his own scheme, while tearing at Harpers bare skin, should she be unfortunate enough to fall again..

This was bad and Harper knew it. She’d been in enough scrapes to know exactly where this was headed. She was on her back and her opponent was bigger, heavier, and had his second wind. Everything he needed was there to pound her while she was on the ground. Only he didn’t. In this moment, in spite of the pain stinging her face, Harper was starting to get a clear image of the kind of person she was up against. She didn’t recognize the look in his eye. It was cold and distant, like that there was barely even a person

She had absolutely no idea what this guy’s problem was. How did he know so much? She wasn’t anything special, some girl from the country. Had they met before? The way he moved and talked...it was like those men in suits. There was the familiar chill in their voices that raised the hairs on the back of her neck. Harper wiped the blood away from her nose. The stream became a faded smear along the top of her lip. It did little to heal the fogginess in her head, to solve the mystery of the jacketed man looking down at her with contempt.

Did she know him?

Another kick to her gut put her on her stomach this time. She coughed and came up to all fours, using on hand to feel out the kink. The more he spoke, the less she seemed able to stomach it. She had a feeling it had very little to do with the injury either, like he was poking at something seeded and buried, letting sprout and grip at her heart and lungs, stabbing her body with thorns from the inside out.

And none of that hurt as much as the words stabbing her in the ear. Over and over…

Harper wanted to keep a calm head. She did. It was the one thing she thought she could reliably promise herself to do this far away from whatever she could call home. A small indication that she was actually an adult that could make her own decisions.

But...this shithead just kept on talking. Her brain fought to deny the words he was weighing down on her. Who was this guy to talk about her life willy nilly like this? They’d never met before today. There’s no way in hell he could know this much. Her heart, however, just seized...almost threatening to stop.

She had to block them out.

Why here? Why now?

Harper grit her teeth, making no attempt to hide the frustration and anger behind her gleaming white mandibles. She felt her eyes turning red in a sinful concoction of rage and sadness, permeating the slight moisture beginning to overflow in her eyes. She gripped her wrapped hand tightly into a balled fist. She didn’t care how much her sides hurt anymore, didn’t care about the bruise that was likely forming right now on her nose or the many bruises that were going to come after. The only question on her mind was whether or not she could break Drake’s jaw with one punch, and if not, how many punches it would take to get to that point.

The tiny gleams of metal caught her eye as they danced across the floor. A second after she became aware of the sensation as the tacks danced across her bare back before finally settling along the canvas. It didn’t take a fancy education to know what his intentions were with this ploy. It would be a lie to say it didn’t send a chill up Harper’s spine. The danger was obvious, but there was something about the suggestion...no, the way he carried himself, that he’d be willing to sink so low…

Harper had never fought a person like this before. It wasn’t far into the match, but she was sure about it now. She was stiff for a second, letting the realization of what she was in for sink in. The next second, she was on the move. Her hand brushed over some of the tacks, catching a clump of them in her hand in one long sweep. In that same motion, the southern belle twisted and threw the tacks up and Drake’s face, hoping the distraction would be enough for her to shoulder charge him from the waist, moving to push him roughly toward the other side of the ring.

Despite the violence…despite the pain…and despite the murderous glare in his opponents’ eyes…Drake felt unusually calm.

The audience jeered and screamed. Like an army of howling hyenas, they shouted cruel obscenities and sweet pleas, forming an endless storm of voices and screams. Their words mixed together into a sickening sludge of noise that washed over the competitors in the arena, but were so easily ignored it was if they weren’t even there. The announcers, the referee, and the medical team outside of the ring all were swept up in the restless sewage of white noise. The world felt empty, but that was all alright. It felt as if it was just the two of them there, in that small little world in the shape of a square. There were no ideas of “winning” or “losing” clouding the cyclops mind. Just the business at hand, and the goal of squeezing as much enjoyment out of it all before it expires.

The black pit in his stomach grew heavier, the blood pumping through his veins in the excitement of what was to come began to build. With but a single tug from the twine, the battle would escalate to a possibly dangerous degree.

The small pointed spikes fell from the bag like a light drizzle of rain. The points, like jaded teeth from a cruel animal continuously rained down as if there was no end, some clinking against the canvas like little mechanical insects. Others bouncing and settling on Harper Williams muscular back, settling and waiting for the time to bite into whichever flesh is unfortunate enough to fall upon them. With a few sweeping motions, Drake spread them around haphazardly. The vile little weapons had encompassed a decent amount of ring space, almost all of their spikes pointed up at the overhead lights, ready to inflict their masters cruel will.

Drake’s eye had noticed the way Harper’s body reacted to his plan. Her back tensed in a noticeable manner, and she froze for a moment, holding her breath as the first few pins fell to the floor surrounding her. The anger in her body language, the fury in the way she held herself all radiated in a manner that it almost seemed as if this was a completely different woman then the one who had walked down the ramp. Every one of her once kind and happy features had been hardened into a disgusting, jagged replacement of rage and regret.

Drake tilted his head, looking down at Harper’s slightly battered body with dry amusement.

“Oh my…Ms. Williams…Why aren’t you smiling anymore?”

Drake’s smile evolved into a sadistic grin. A row of pointed teeth that seemed as though they would only ever belong to a scavenging predator was on full display, only a small hint of red lingering on one of his canines where he bit his own lip interrupted their glistening white color. His eye, that was once so cold and calculating was now glaring down at the belle with amusement. It was if this was all just a game, and Drake had just acquired the means to drag someone down to last place in the most merciless of ways.

“How Exciting! I think I broke that chipper little spirit of yours after all. On your debut no less! Heh heh ha ha ha ha ha…”

--

His Father had finally come home. How long had it been since it was just the two of them? Usually the sitter made the food, left for the day, and the young boy would finish off the night by himself.

His Father was always gone. Business took up most of his time, he said. There was always a project on hold, or an error that needed fixing that would take him past his work hours or to a whole other location entirely. The boy couldn’t go along with his father. He needed to study, get good grades and graduate with high marks. It made sense back then…though as the boy grew older, he questioned his Father’s real motives.

Yet that night, they sat across from one another. His Father was actually in high spirits as he spoke, and the boy ate.

“It’ll take a couple years before its in place, but once everything is set in stone our supply trucks won’t have to take any detours to get to the factories. Production will go up, we can snag more contracts, and everyone on the top floor gets a nice big bonus this Christmas…Carmen will owe me for getting it all set up. It wasn’t easy getting some of those freaks out of their apartments, but once the law got involved…well,” The boys father shrugged, noticing his son seemed to be eyeing him closely, “No one lasts forever.”

A long silence dragged on between them. The two hardly seen each other, but neither had much to say. The boy seemed to watch his father closely, emulating him as much as he could while his Father was still there. It was a coin flip if his phone would ring, and his Father would be gone for another night.

“Drake…I’m not here too often, and I know that. Work can be tough, but that’s the way life out there is. You’re already at a disadvantage, so you have to be smart, or someone else out there will grind up everything you built and take it for themselves.” His Father pushed his finished plate away, leaning back into his chair as he finally began to take off his suit jacket, “Don’t be like those people in the apartments we threw out. I want you to remember that everyone in this world has a weakness and a price. There is no shame in using either in life. Not for you, and not for anyone else. Trick is to make sure your price is too high for them to pay, and your weakness too far buried for them to ever find. Never let your feelings get in the way of what you need to do to get an edge either. Do that…and you will be just fine.”

--

The blood pumping through Drake’s veins boiled in anticipation. Harper was ripped apart, her innocence lost. The world was cruel, and he was more then happy to be the one to teach this girl what it could be like when the hands were down and cards were on the table. His grin made it obvious he was looking forward to setting another one of his tricks in motion. To pry yet another scream of anger from the sweet hearted belle in front of this crowd. There was no better joy in this world then twisting someone’s heart and using it against them…especially when using their loved ones against them.

Poor little Harper. It was about time to give her the beating she seemed to be aching for. Drake began to approach her downed form, his shoes clicking quietly on the ring’s canvas. His eye, burning into her back.

But Harper moved. It was quick, faster than Drake expected her to be after the verbal assault and bruised muscles. With a single sweep, she collected a handful of pins and tacks and threw them directly in Drake’s face. His face turned away to protect his eye, his cheek feeling the small stings of a few of his own instruments. His frustrated growl betrayed his surprise.

“Stupid little-Oof!”

Harper was really pushing through her pain, looking to take the fight to him. It was all drake could do to dig his heels into the floor and keep himself from falling over once again. His teeth gnashed about in anger as his eye glared down at his foe. One of his sleeves sipped around her skull, looking to try and lock her in and punish her for trying to pull one of his favorite tricks on him. As soon as he found his balance, Drake would raise his elbow and drive it right into the center of her spine!

The laughing was what really broke the cattle’s back.

Harper wasn’t a stranger to having insults thrown her way. Even as personal and ruthless as Drake was being, somewhere in the back of her mind she could rationalize it all by knowing she could cave his face in in about two seconds. He was a man digging his own grave and just didn’t know it yet.

But the laughing. The laughing. It flipped a switch that she couldn’t turn off. Set a fire in a forest of thatch. Harper pushed up against him, but it wasn’t like she had any real plan. She just wanted her hands on Drake. She wanted to topple him over, stomp his face into the ground, break his nose, crush his teeth, flatten his face, tear him apart limb from limb.

And none of it would make her feel any better. She was beyond the pale.

His elbow tapped her spine and dropped the southern belle to her knees instantly in front of him. Harper winced at the same time they touched the canvas, feeling a stinger pinch and pierce the underside of her knee that made her face scrunch. She didn’t have to guess that it was one of the loose tacks he’d kicked around. Her farm was full of loose nails, faulty floorboards, discarded tools, enough pointy objects to know the feeling of getting pricked by metal ten times over. Her aching back only distracted her a little bit from it, bringing a hand behind her to keep the pain in check.

But the same couldn’t be said for what she was feeling inside. Wrath, grief, humiliation. It was all a wild dust storm of emotions that she couldn’t make sense of no matter how hard she tried. She kept on all fours, reeling and grunting the unrest away. She needed direction. She needed someone to show her the way. Something to focus on. To remember...

...On your debut no less!...

A droplet of blood fell from her nose and soaked the canvas.

Harper grit her teeth and curled her hand tight, creasing the bandages wrapped tightly around the palm of her hand and her hardening knuckles. With a strong push against the floor with her other hand, the backyard brawler would rise up and shoot a furious uppercut skyward. All she wanted to do was break that arrogant grin off Drake’s face. Hell, maybe she’d get lucky and smack him under the chin while he was too busy jawing on and make him bite his tongue. But she couldn’t do that from the ground with his head so far away. So she went for the next best place.

Right between the legs.

Harper didn’t even react…

How very dull.

The belle simply stayed on the floor, on her knees and staring at the canvas as if it would somehow push her up to her feet. Perhaps Drake had struck her too hard, and know? Now she could be dealing with some sort of memory triggered by such an event. Or maybe her mind went blank from shock. It was far beyond the point Drake cared about any of that. Harper would likely never forgive what was said here, and in a way that was what the business man wanted. A cute southern belle wanting to be friends with all of her opponents was [i]boring.[/b] Having someone broken, lusting for the others destruction? That was far more interesting to the man with the red and black suit.

Yet she seemed so very lifeless. Just staying on the floor like a statue! What pleasure could be derived by such nonsense? If Harper was really this easy to break, then she was far more fragile then Drake had thought.

Drake only sighed, letting his boredom and disappointment leave him in one hefty gust. With Harper so busted up, it was likely he would not get a second chance at such flavorful joy. It would be best for everyone to get this fight over with as soon as possible. Harper’s wounds could heal, and Drake could get back to making his dirty deals.

Just as Drake stepped in to finish Harper off, the scrappy fighter shot up like a rocket and nailed a fist right in between his legs.

The experience was far from pleasant.

Drake was a dirty fighter in any way one could imagine. He preferred to fight a lopsided battle in his favor, he used weapons whenever he could get away with it, and when push came to shove, he would flee a sinking ship if he needed to. After years of striking below the belt, one finds ways to protect themselves from their own tactics. One such tactic was wearing a sports cup, supposedly protecting his nether regions from such violent blows. Sadly, the manufacturers of the product did not plan for Harpers rage in the designing process.

While Drake took only roughly took about half the power of Harpers strike, that was enough for him to grasp his jewels and retreat, hissing and cursing before falling onto his rear, coiled like a venomous snake ready to go on the defense.

Harper used to pick flowers when she was younger. There was a small bed behind their house that her mother left behind that teemed with lilies and roses. Before her dad let her out to the field, Harper would tend to the garden with her delicate fingers and a green thumb. Her father couldn’t remember times when she looked quite so peaceful. Looking after the color and earth with a focus she barely saved for herself. She’d take the best ones and even sell them in town, her little hay basket in hand as she went from door to door, rosy cheeks and smile to rival the sun.

It would be hard to picture that girl now, bloody in the face with frustrated wrinkles pulling and pinching all over her beautiful features. Even as Drake yelped and fumbled his way back, Harper didn’t so much as flinch. Her gaze was forward and burning a perpetual storm through the air between them. The hair standing on the edge of her arms came less from a chill and more a static shock channeling between them.

Her rise was a slow, yet purposeful one. Where Drake stumbled to find his footing, Harper moved with a strong march, her unshakable poise thumping along with each step. The footloose nature of her movement seemed to have left with that last strike the sharp-eyed thug put into her gut. The radiant yellow of her soul had dimmed and the shadow Harper cast over the reeling man as she stood before him perhaps wasn’t purely for intimidation’s sake.

“Fancy that. Yer right, Red.” Her voice was deep, lacking its cheery edge. Like she'd suddenly aged ten years on the back of a carton of cigarettes. The southern belle lashed her hand out and went to grab a clump full of the gangster’s matted hair. “Nice girl’s up and gone now.”

Without a second thought, Harper tugged Drake’s head forward and rammed her knee to his face. First she tried once, then twice, then three times. Again and again in rapid succession. Whatever it took to make an unrecognizable pile of mash where that greedy smile should have been.