Tension Rookie Tournament: Harper Williams vs Drake Fond

Drake was still cursing after having been out done by some loathsome newcomer. Normally he was on the watch for low blows like that, after all they were practically a hallmark of his style. To think that this doe eyes southern hick had actually slipped one past him hurt his odd sense of ego. Even as she slowly began to stand, he wanted to simply spew more venom. What was she going to do? Cry like a poor little whelp? Scream like an insolent four-year-old throwing a fit? He didn’t doubt that se would fall into one of those totally immature categories. She didn’t have the spine to do anything else! He didn’t need his analytical eye to see that Harper was a softie in a toned body, and the only thing those types are good for are building up debts you can exploit them on, or using them as stepping stones to an easier future.

Drake firmly believed all of that about his blonde-haired opponent, even as she began to walk towards him with a menacing purpose. If he feared her, perhaps he would beg. If he respected her, perhaps he would submit. The fact was, Drake didn’t feel anything towards Harper other than momentary spite and a small joy in toying with her. The blood on her face was interesting when it began to spout from her head like a small faucet, but now it was just a color on her face. The only reason he continued to fight was a cancerous reason to any real fighter watching. He wasn’t finished teasing and cheating yet!

Harper stood above him like some looming shadow…so? He had sat in front of men whose entire purpose for being there was to cut off his hands and ship them to someone else…and he was still there. This southern belle, this child and her annoying attitude were a pet that had gotten too rowdy and was fighting back. But then Drake did something he usually didn’t do. He looked into Harper’s eyes.

They were just like his, all those years ago.

The belle grabbed a handful of his hair, forcing out a growl of annoyance before Drake found his face getting rammed by her Knee! The pain was explosive, with Drake all but certain that either one of his teeth were gone, or at the very least loosened. The man brought up his arm to try and block the next knee, but the strike was still just as painful on his arm as it was his face. The third knee strike hit the same place, making his limp feel as though it was broken! Shards of pointed agony were stabbing through his forearm as he bit down on a scream.

The golden iris that was hissing in his head eyed Harper’s malevolent gaze with a small glimmer of distain. Somehow, he was still thinking! It was as if the very look Harper have him egged him on to go even further.

A few small streams of blood rolled out of Drake’s fang’s as Harper went for yet another strike. This time, Drake moved to catch it! The frustration and anger had made Harper much more brutal, but now she was becoming predictable. Her strategic mind gone in the flames of her own rage, leaving her ripe for exploitation.

Drake held Harper’s knee close, before copying her own strategy from earlier. Now it was the Belle’s turn to feel a low blow, but this time it was from someone who had mastered the technique. Drake’s arm shot up between her legs just as he pushed off his feet to knock her off balance! Drake’s teeth were covered in crimson as he scowled at Harper, his eye still calculating even to that moment.

Should his vile strike find its mark, he would do a far more underhanded addition. His gloved hand would claw Harper’s nether regions, in order to inflict the most damage he could in such a short amount of time, and to subtly get back at her for what she did!

There was an awful lot of cheering going on around the ring since this far-from-friendly bout had gotten underway. Seeing the villain cloaked in red and malice finally getting his comeuppance after tearing the gentle belle’s heart from its tender place of rest and spitting at it upon the ground had nurtured seeds of empathy throughout the audience. Some were there to see blood and violence, more than satisfied to be getting their share as Harper’s knee busted the viscous rewards free from Drake’s lip. Some were cheering for the rookie and underdog, already aware of her vile opponent’s reputation from his own debut and none too appalled by the tactics they were seeing in play now. The majority of them were in Harper’s corner, backing her all the way to victory.

The southern belle couldn’t see them, couldn’t hear them, couldn’t care for much that was occurring outside her immediate field of vision. Her conscious mind was remotely aware of the sensations and sentiments shouted into the air around her. Even the tournament itself had begun to fade from her lingering memories.

And that was fine by her. If the wicked scowl transfiguring her soft and radiant countenance was anything to go by, Harper had no more reservations about bringing the pain train down on this man. He was clearly ready to make full use of the hardcore stipulations. Well, two could play at that game. And she’d been playing dirty her whole life.

Just as she was readying another strike, fully ready to cave his face in with one final blow, an arm snagged her leg out from under her. Before she could even react, a blow between her legs knocked the wind out of her. Her eyes were wide and white with shock before she was suddenly pushed violently away, stumbling back quickly two steps before she toppled over and gave in to the force of the world.

Her back smacked to the floor and, instantly, a horrible cry of pain surged out from her lungs. Her back arched away from the sharp pain of several razor-point needles stabbing her exposed flesh. Her body erupted into a few spasms as her mouth hung open all at once. Her cry died into a silent, wordless scream. The pain was so overwhelming that she’d tried to scream too hard, pushing out more air than she could spare and constricting her lungs. She was left to writhe for only a couple seconds before another bolt of searing pain from her between her legs distracted her from the agony piercing her back.

Scraping. Tearing.

“What tha fuck?!” Harper grabbed at Drake’s wrist and pushed at his fingers, kicking violently and thrashing on the floor as he clawed at her nethers. She threw her head back and wailed as he doubled on the pressure, rending her crotch with ever-growing ferocity, searing pain and stabbing daggers into her most sacred area. “Leggo! Lemme the hell go, you sick som’bitch!”

Harper’s rage had blinded her. Where she able to think clearly, to see Drake clearly and what he was doing, then he may likely have never gotten her into such a precarious situation. While no one doubted that the knee strikes to the face were rather satisfying at the time, many would have agreed it was not worth the situation the sweet but scary belle had found herself in. Drake had managed to turn the tide yet again, and while it was questionable how long he may hold on to his advantage, he was certainly making Harper pay for those earlier attacks. The one eye man’s tacks and pins had served him well, many of them piercing and biting Harper's silky, delicate flesh as she fell upon them with a terrible fall! Her silent scream still somehow radiated throughout the audience. Really her expression did all of the work. The agony, the pain. That very subtle hint of primal fear flashing through her eyes was captured perfectly on the big jumbo screen near the entrances.

Drake had very little interest in any of that. Some divulged in sick pleasures but at the moment he had a plan that he wasn’t finished with yet. The tacks and pins were a happy coincidence, but the true pain had yet to come.

Harper registered Drake’s claw immediately. She only had enough time to scream out a question that would go unanswered as she began to try and pry the man’s hand away from her delicate area. Sadly, she wouldn’t be able to restrain him in time. Pain would shoot up in between her legs as she constantly tried to pull Drake off of her! The blonde woman kicked and screamed, thrashing about furiously in an attempt to free herself.

In response to her demands, Drake would only glare down at her as he continued to put pressure on the hold. He was frequented low blows, and it was though he were trying to not be out done in a surprisingly petty manner. His experience in dirty tactics truly showed, as Drake was utterly merciless towards his opponents’ weaknesses, making sure he had done all he could do before retracting his hand.

“Stop your whining.” He muttered, shaking his gloved hand as though it was tainted, “You’re not exactly my type either…”

The crowd erupted like it never had before. People were throwing all sorts of insults and threats at Drake ...one even threatened the man’s life, surprisingly. That earned the audience member a side glance, as drake plucked a pin from his sleeve before casually tossing it onto Harper’s limp body. If Drake didn’t know better, he might have guessed one of Harper's many siblings was somewhere in the crowd.

They could be watching. Perhaps over some internet show or even a live television feed. How delectable. Perhaps this could be something he could use against them in the future. The father may not like it, but he obviously would bend to a contract and the fine print hidden underneath it. Maybe he would send someone over…see if a deal could be struck. Harper's local image for his cooperation. How far would daddy go to keep his daughter safe?

As Drake continued to scheme, his boot would swing by, looking to crack Harper right across the jaw!

“Ms. Harper…you look as though you’re about to cry.”

Drake’s tone had gone cold, nearly frigid in its cadence as the man started to pace around his foe. He would sweep whatever pins were in his way closer towards Harper, but otherwise he would quite literally look down on her. Occasionally, his tongue would glide across his lip and teeth in an attempt to rid himself of the crimson hue from his blood before spitting it on the ground.

“Why not just give up? You are far and away from your natural element. Daddy taught you too well about your little [i]home grown values/i] or whatever the hell you call it…now you’re playing a city game. No backyard barns anywhere near here. Only field you will find is that of concrete and metal! The only cattle are those under contract, tending the fields or being led to the slaughter! You are out of your league here, Harper! If you really cared for your family, you would just quit while you haven’t sustained anything permanent, right? That darling little face already has so many scars…”

Should the poor woman still be recovering, Drake would make it a point to accelerate her decision-making process by stepping down on her chest. The treads of his shoe making a small imprint on her skin as his weight drove the painful pins in her back further into the flesh and muscle beneath. Nerves would scream and flair up as the pointed mettle severed and cut into the woman’s ores and flesh, earning her multiple streams of blood to pool onto the once white canvas of the ring.

The tone in the arena had shifted drastically. Spectators tuned in tonight knowing what to expect. It was a hardcore match, hardly something clean and easy. Things would get dirty, maybe a little unpleasant, but if they wanted something soft that would come later in the itinerary. Tonight was about letting loose, indulging that primal spirit to their heart’s content.

But there was no proper way to prepare for the sight in front of them now. It was hard to even call it fighting. The youthful southern belle and her sunshine smile were still such recent images in their minds, fleeing in the face of the chilling cries and bloodied marks lining her physique. People leaned back in their chairs and covered their mouths.

It was clear as day that Harper had little to give. No concentrated effort, no silent pleas. Harper just struggled and struggled and couldn’t get anywhere. Her legs were moving without her, her body twitching and turning at every angle possible, desperate for relief. Heavy, rapid breaths and a thick sheen of sweat left her body to add to the stains of blood and far less holy fluids on the floor. The blonde’s head curled back and let out another scream. “AHHHH! I don't care! Jus’ leggo you damn scraggly cottonmouth!!”

Drake let her go, but it was hardly a blessing. Her hands cupped her mawed crotched, clenching her legs together with a slight whimper. The pleas for the southern belle to stand and fight went unheard and inevitably deafened when the red-tipped gangster kicked her straight across the jaw. An audible smack and whip of her bangs were all anyone had to see to know the extent of the damage. Her head shot straight back to the floor and her arms splayed to either side. The perfect blue sky of her eyes turned cloudy.

“Helpless” was too small a word to imagine the torment swirling through her aching head, tearing her body asunder from the inside out and shutting her nervous system down one painful ache at a time. Whenever she tried to move so much as a finger, even twitch one digit on her useless body, it either didn’t respond or a muscle somewhere else would convulse in response. It was like her wires were all mixed together as if she had no control over herself whatsoever.

It definitely didn’t feel that way. It didn’t feel like much of anything. She was far from lucid, the world hazy and formless around her as her eyes lulled from one side of the room to the other. Her back was simmering with irreverent pulses like she was being seared on one side, slowly but surely beneath these awful lights. Everything was numb, even sound escaped her in this nearly-comatose state Drake’s boot had sent her into. She was lucid enough to hear bits and pieces of Drake’s words, but not enough to make out their meaning. The only life that was visible to everyone was the line of blood from the side of her busted lip where her fang had pierced. For a time, even the match escaped her thoughts.

That was right up until a heavy boot slammed down on her left breast. Her body flopped like a bolt of lightning had staked through her. The cry that came from her lips was unlike anything else that had been heard in the Tension arena for some time. It was the sound of a dying animal, a cub desperately crying out in distress. The tacks embedded in her back went even deeper, a few of them starting to bleed little viscous pools under her back. Her feet kicked, her arms flailed, her eyes swelled with tears.

“Wait! Stop stop stop! God Almighty, jus’ STOP!” In a desperate bid, her shaky hands pushed at his ankle but were barely able to summon the strength to wriggle free. In a matter of seconds, her struggles gave way to a mad pounding at his leg, punching and throwing whatever she had with her left fist as her body bucked and kicked against the canvas. There was nothing she could do. Nothing but scream.

The discomfort of the audience meant very little to the main culprit behind it all. Drake’s attention was still focused on his foe, the man not yet punch drunk enough to ignore her or the possibility of a comeback. His mind and his cunning were his greatest strength. So long as he had those and kept his wits about him, then everything would go to plan and he would likely get out of this hole with relative damage done to him. Even though Drake’s verbal lashing had done a number on Harper’s once cheery state of mind, she had still managed to draw blood and nail a few good shots on him. Any amount of risk could ruin a plan, and indecision destroys a deal. That’s what his Father used to say to his business associates. Fine words, in the right context.

In a way, that was what Drake saw himself doing. He was minimizing risk by puncturing more and more holes into Harper’s back. Her screams were loud, and her body’s flailing was violent and sharp, but Drake ignored it. He ignored the pleading, the insults, the blood curdling screams with such an empty expression, that many in the audience thought of him as insane. How he could look at such misery, such a heart aching sight and just stare down at a woman in pain without so much as a flicker of emotion seemed to speak volumes about his character.

The truth was, Drake was just tired. He was bleeding, his arms were sore, and a few pins were poking his back right through his jacket, giving him a strange itching sensation.  

His tactic of using his Pins and needles was starting to pay off. Harper's howl was certainly unique, and the crowd seemed to double its efforts in cursing him and wish harm against him. It was even getting to the point where young Ms. Harper actually was starting to spout some waterworks in those pretty sapphire eyes of her. No one thought that something as pure and sweet as Harper should ever have to plead with a disgusting snake like her foe, but that was precisely what happened. Her words rang out through the crowd as she shouted at him to stop! Yelling at the top of her lungs as she tried to push his foot off of her chest. She pushed and pulled, eventually falling back to simply pounding at the limb that kept her trapped against the angry steel teeth below her body.

Her efforts were rewarded, as Drake did actually remove his foot from its place on her chest. The man would shake his foot gently, her strikes apparently hurting his ankle even when she was running on fumes. Half the audience was attempting to throw miscellaneous items at Drake, while the other half was cheering the belle on to get up and show her competition who was boss.

With another heavy sigh, Drake leaned over Harper’s bleeding, sweaty form. His cheek muscles contracting so that his busted lips curled into a smile, his pearly white teeth now covered with a small layer of crimson as his hellish eye stared down at her. That was the only thing that hadn’t changed since the start of the match. His eye was still weighing her worth, still calculating his every step like this were all just a game.

“Truce, Ms. Williams?” He said, his tone once again soft, comforting even. “I am beginning to think we want the same thing…I just want this to be over. What about you?”

With a sudden THUNK! Drake would fall to his knees next to Harper. He winced as a pin went through his pant leg and jabbed his knee, but ignored the pain in order to reach over and hook Harper’s leg as he laid across her chest. Strangely, he shuddered as he initiated the pin, his expression souring into something like discomfort as the referee dropped to the floor to initiate the count.

The average needle on a push pin was about half an inch long. Just a little over a centimeter. That was all that was pushing into her back right now. That length wouldn’t even go across her fingertip. So small and barely noticed.

But when that tiny little length was honed to a razor’s point and hitting her at fifty different points all at once, what was happening in actuality didn’t matter all that much. Intense pain had this funny way of distorting the mind, making it seem more intense than it actually was. Harper felt that in every moment she couldn’t get Drake’s boot off of her chest. She pounded away like her life depended on it. Hell, it very well may have for all she knew. She didn’t know this man, what he could do, why he was doing this or seemed to know so much about her.

Questions piled on questions. Things just stopped making sense.

When he finally stepped off, her body flopped back like a dead seal. The vile words spoken down at her only made the suffering worse. It sounded like he was making things square between them, but that tone on his tongue said it all for her. As if knowing how much Drake was enjoying the sight of her in pitiful agony just aggravated the wounds all over. Paralyzing her from the outside in.

When Drake draped his body over hers, she felt rooted into the ground under the lean weight of his slimmer, solid frame. The count was the last thing on her mind as one second ticked away. All she could think about was the pain paralyzing her, eating her alive from the inside out. Tears flowing from the corners of her eyes rolled down her cheeks and touched her ears in a steady stream before staining the canvas, molding itself within a worthless union of sweat and blotches of blood scattered along the floor. She’d been in tough spots before, but nothing like this. She just wanted to give up. She just wanted this to end.

“ONE!”

“TWO!”

“TH-!”

Harper bucked in one wild flail, kicking her leg out and flattening on her side. No one was more surprised by the action than herself. Her eyes of sky blue grew wide and wild with every hefty breath that filled her lungs. She went to roll onto her front, taking a couple pricks in the process if she did so, and tried to stand up, not out of any conscious effort, but solely because of a burning fire inside of her gut.

What was it?

Why didn't she lose?

While Drake was nowhere near a germaphobe, he had this nervous tic ever since he was a kid regarding prolonged physical contact. As long as he could remember, being in close proximity with others always made his skin crawl, no matter the person. Friend or foe, it chipped away at his mental state of mind. What was once a sharp mind constantly thinking of different vile strategies became one that wandered about. Was that warmth from the other person, or simply his imagination? It was another reason he wore a smartly pressed suit jacket wherever he went; A physical barrier between himself and other people...amongst the various other traps he had stashed in his pockets.

Which made the accompanying pin with Harper just a little bit strange. At first, there was no hesitation. Just a quick and easy pin to wrap this long, bloody match up and they could go on their merry way! It would not be accurate to say he felt remorseful for what he did to the poor belle, but the fun he got from tormenting her seemed to finally disappear from his eye. Drake genuinely seemed ready to put this match away.

But contact with Harper was in no means comfortable. Her warmth invaded Drake’s clothes, made him aware how close he was to her. The sweat on her body made his clothes dampen even more so than before, and her shaky breath made her body gently push against his own form. That small, involuntary resistance made Drake heartbeat just a bit faster. His eye turned to focus on the nearby corner post, hoping that the blasted count would hurry up and count her out.

The referee dropped to the floor, checked the pin, and began to slap the mat.

“One!”

“Two!”

“Thre-”

The referee’s hand was so close to the mat! Just a split second more and the victory would have gone to Drake! But somehow, someway, Harper pulled it together just in time to quickly throw her shoulder off the mat and successfully break the pin! The sudden spasm from the woman actually made Drake roll off of her form, the man glaring in disbelief as the blonde bombshell rolled over into a patch of pins and needles!

It seemed no one was expecting such a last second recovery! The majority of people gasped in surprise, thinking the silver tongued snake had won. But, no there was a chance that the favorite of the match could turn things around! There became a divide in the audience between those who thought Harper could still pull through with some support, and those that wrote it all off as the woman getting herself into even worse trouble.

Drake simply sat there, watching Harper crawl and try to stand in the disgustingly large pile of pointed metal and pins with a mixture of bewilderment as well as frustration. He seemed as though he was about to complain. His mouth opened as he took in a breath of air, but stopped himself. At this point, there was nothing he could say to make himself feel any better about this situation. His attempt to wrap things up cleanly failed, and now Harper was crawling back off the floor.

As if to emphasize Harper’s struggle, Drake stood back up before Harper did. His gaze on her bleeding back had grown empty once again. Without a sound, he began to approach her. He watched his steps carefully, watching to make sure he didn’t step on any of his own pins and tacks. No matter what willed Harper to stand, she was running on fumes. Should he get close enough, Drake would simply lunge for the nape of the woman’s neck! A silent death striking out to finish the blonde by attempting to viciously throw her to the floor!