Raul Tejada vs Drake Fond: No Rules? No Problem!

Rules: No Holds Barred
Winning Conditions: 10 Second K.O., Submission or Pin

"Santo infierno... It's about time..." Raul sighed, rolling his shoulders. He'd signed onto this league weeks ago and it was only just now the powers-that-be decided to give him a match! He couldn't really blame them though... With so little to observe, no gather information from, they had to be cautious with who they let fight, hmm? The Mexican fighter, slipped on his jacket over his white T-shirt, running his eyes along to the dragon that coiled around his arm before slipping on his thin, black gloves. Ah, it had been a while since he'd roughed someone up... Granted, he wouldn't have his hermanos to help him this time but it mattered not. He just needed to get back into the swing of things again.

Appearance:

Spoiler:

It had been some kind of difficult to learn Japanese compared to his native Spanish, the man barely able to speak fluently in his time here! Have the time he had to use gestures and tone to assert his needs but now...? Now he might not look like some paciente mental con muerte cerebral... In fact, he might even make an impression tonight. T'was his goal anyway... He needed a new line of work and if his old one had taught him anything, it was to impress the boss.

Raul was the first to step out, the man appearing from back stage before the crowd, a small... slightly nervous smile upon his lips as the audience cheered the newcomer! He waved briefly in each direction, acknowledging their praise before walking down the ramp towards the arena, running his fingers through his hair.

"Oh chico, aquí vamos...." He muttered under his breath before slipping into the ring, the Mexican fighter crossing his arms casually across his chest as he waited for his rival! He didn't expect this to be anything like the fights he had to take on in the past, the jobs he had to do for the family but hey... Here he was in Japan eating sushi and reading manga... Anything was possible, he supposed.

Drake rarely ever used the locker rooms at AFW. He never changed clothes, never showered or needed an empty space to clear his head. At most, the locker room was a last resort meeting place, somewhere to entrap a possible employee or partner and keep them in place. The last thing Drake was interested in seeing was a bunch of weird guys strip and change into next to nothing, and even if others used it for more then that, he didn’t think of it as anything more than a high school gym class locker room. A place where jocks hazed each other and yammered about their previous lays.

Instead, Drake was inside a completely different room. The tech room was small, slightly cramped, but was perfect for what Drake often used his time for. As usual, he received a notification about the fight three days previously, and as usual he went to work digging into his opponent’s background. What he found was…interesting~

Raul Tejada, Age 25. Born somewhere in Mexico City, resided in the united states before traveling over to Japan. Within a few weeks, he joined the AFW and tonight would be his first match…

And that was it. No previous work history, no associates to speak of. There was not a single person he could find that even knew who Mr. Tejada even was. This man left no friends behind in the states, no coworkers could recall working with him. He had plenty of documents describing the schools he went to, the places he lived in, Drake even found his birth certificate and drivers license, but no one had ever seen this man. Normally, this severe lack of information would frustrate Drake. He enjoyed using his opponents past against them, to reopen any old wounds he could find just so he could get an edge in the fight, but this strange lack of information was actually rather telling in its own way.

For the first time in a long time, Drake was very much interested in seeing who his opponent really was.

Appearance:

Soon it was time for Drake to enter, his cold music began playing over the speakers as he emerged from the entrance arena dressed in his normal black and red suit. Surprisingly, he had earned himself a few fans, some going so far as to chant his name. He gave them little attention, walking down the ramp with his hands in his pockets, his cruel eye simply observing a couple of odd faces with an uncaring glare. Rather then roll into the ring, Drake actually decided to take the stairs, moving through the ropes like they were simply an inconvenience.

His one eye quickly flashed over towards his foe for the night. Drakes expression was a neutral mask, only his eye giving away any kind of intent or emotion. The eye was quick and efficient, moving up and down Raul’s body, assessing the possibilities that this man was anything more than a violent punk. He looked like a rather…interesting, individual. Drake’s eye lingered on Raul’s tattoo…a flash of familiarity lingering in the man's eye before he smiled a false smile, stepping forward to introduce himself.

“You must be my opponent for the night. How refreshing.” Drake made no attempts to physically greet his foe, keeping his posture erect and his hand in his suit pockets. “My name is Drake Fond…or would you prefer Me llamo es Drake? Como te llamas?”

And here came his opponent, a rather interesting person to say the least. He wondered if this man was going to strip down right here on stage because... actually fighting in a suit was next to impossible. The Mexican fighter stood there, head cocked slightly as his one-eyed rival approached (as if he didn't need any more handicaps), contemplating why they let such a man fight under their lease... It was akin to putting a cripple in a hot, restrictive straight-jacket or something...

Masochist...? Perhaps. All that meant was that this wasn't going to be a difficult man to put down.

The smile the man had put on for him was one Raul had seen enough to know it was all for show. It was something higher-ups tended to do, to give the targets of said smirk a false sense of security while implanting a seed of unease. The Mexican merely smiled back, however, a grin of pleasantness... or perhaps one which reflected a greater effort to simulate such pleasantness. What was more, the man tried to speak Raul's native tongue, a language that sounded off from the lips of foreigner... but was it meant as some sign of respect that this guy tried to speak Spanish...?

...Probably not. The look in this guy's eyes made it clear he didn't want to be friends. STILL, Raul smiled at the man, chuckling softly as the man spoke to him.

"Hey, uh... we can keep to Japanese. I need to get better at it so... don't strain yourself too much, hm?" He responded catching Drake's eyes running up his tattooed arm! Oh, so he noticed!

"Yeah, it's a dragon. Supposed to bring good luck. Hasn't let me down yet." Raul joked, glancing off to the side slightly... "Name's Raul. Good luck and all that jazz. I'm not going to be pulling any punches."

Drake stared at his foe with his one fiery eye. He recognized all the key traits all of his foes seemed to exude upon meeting him. There was the funny look his outfit always got, the disbelief in his eye, and the overconfidence that his opponent didn’t even try to hide. Drake was a handicapped weirdo in people’s eyes, with hardly any clue what he was in for. He hated being looked at like he was inferior just because of his eye…but he knew the advantages of being underestimated…The deadliest blade was the one that was left unseen, ready to bury itself in the closest back.

The man seemed to catch Drake’s eyeline, and began to brag about his tattoo. Apparently, it was supposed to bring luck or some such nonsense. Drake was never one to believe that sort of thing. No, he stared at the tattoo for a much more… professional reason. Drake had made all sorts of deals from across a multitude of countries. He had shipped weapon parts over to Mexico, stolen art to Italy, illegal contraband to so many places he didn’t even bother keeping track anymore. One such gang he had dealt with on occasion seemed to fancy that very tattoo. Most of the underlings wore it, and when one of Drake’s men asked the reasoning as to why, they said it was in respect for one of their leaders.

Hell, they even said how it was supposed to bring good luck.

“Very well, but if you need me to repeat myself, please don’t hesitate to ask. It’s a pleasure to meet you Raul, but I hope you don’t think less of me for my eye. It might come back to bite you if you do.”

The bell would ring, but Drake kept smiling. He kept his hands firmly in his pockets, but stood absolutely still. He did not approach Raul, and his eye stared at him, waiting and wanting. Drake may as well have been a snake ready to strike, just needing his prey to step on up and get into striking distance.

Overconfidence? ...Perhaps that was an appropriate assessment. After all, Raul had come across many-a-tough guy trying to emulate the over-romanticized idea of the Mafia combatant... only to end up with a few shattered bones. On top of that, this guy fought with a glaring and unnatural blindspot, a place easily avoided... but it was only just now, the mexican was realizing, that this guy must've shown off quite a bit to get into this ring with half his vision... It wasn't uncommon for handicapped folks to still be effective fighters, even in Mexico where health-care isn't nearly what it is in Japan. All it took was a will and the right motivation for one to learn to live with a battered body.

...He had seen it enough among his family to know this... So he wouldn't count that lost eye as an obvious disadvantage...

"You're probably right!" Raul chuckled, his casual, easy-going personality reflected in the rubbing of the back of his head! "Forgive me if I looked like I thought such things... I don't see people with your particular handicap around much, let alone in a ring! I can promise you, I will fight you as if you had two eyes in your skull!" Raul winked playfully... all the while driving home an insult he had been building up from the moment he had opened his mouth.

...It was a subtle dagger he had intended to poke into Drake's brain right at the start, seeing that there were no rules to restrict him. Jabbing at his disability, hinting at a lack of respect for the man... it was all there just to make him mad, manipulate him into a more easily controllable mindset...

...And yet, when the bell rang, the other man did not bolt at him like the bull he had intended to make of him. Much to his surprise, Drake seemed perfectly calm and content to stand in his spot, smiling, not even raising his hand defensively and leaving his body COMPLETELY open.

Ooooooooooooooooooookay..... Raul thought to himself, cocking an eyebrow as he lifted his hands up into firm fists, his feet shifting into a solid but mobile stance. ...Guy's sure of himself... Pretty confident I can work with that...
Raul approached the man (seeing as they would stand there all day if he didn't), his movements slow but deliberate, an uneventful start to the fight! As soon as he got in range, however, the mexican wrestler would suddenly LASH out, attempting to make a grab for Drake's head and WRENCH it under his arm to control his opponent! With Drake's hands still firmly tucked away, Raul couldn't imagine he could get them out fast enough to bat his own away!

In Drake’s experience, one of those most essential things a man can have in his life is a decent poker face. A thin mask that hides any emotion, be it negative or positive, and keeps the person in a strong negotiating position.it was something Drake had thought he mastered long ago, but there was an easy tick that usually gave his stronger emotions away. His greatest tool was also one of his biggest weaknesses, and that was his one window to the soul.

Raul’s taunts had hit their mark dead on, and while Drake gave no obvious reaction, there was still small subtle things a trained fighter might recognize. Drake’s eye narrowed ever so slightly for a split second before returning to the business glare it seemed comfortable in. The man also shifted his weight to his other leg unconsciously, breaking his stoic posture for a moment before returning like it once was. Then Raul winked…Something Drake couldn’t ever really pull off unless he wore that stupid glass eye of his. That simple gesture brought up a whole new wave of negative emotions that the businessman tried to hide. Drake didn’t realize just how much of his anger he gave away with those small, subtle movements, and neither would most others. To the audience, Drake seemed calm and collected, unaware of the burning need inside him to make Raul take back what he said.

It was all Drake could do to stay still and not try to pull off his trap right at the sound of the bell, but he knew that would be a terrible idea. He didn’t have his group with him, so there was no one around to tank hits for him or distract Raul so h could sneak around and hit him from behind. As if that wasn’t bad enough, Drake already felt at a disadvantage not knowing what made Raul tick. He had ideas, of course, but nothing concreates. Pissing someone off was like an artform, you have to make sure the first one really stings, or else the other insults you come up with lose impact, or seem pathetic. The best thing to do was to simply sit tight and wait for his foe to approach him.

And approach Raul did. Drake kept up his smiling mask, tilting his head curiously at Raul’s stance. Was it kickboxing? Normal boxing? His stance didn’t seem so stiff…perhaps something else? The eye in Drake’s skull was observing ever bit of Raul, from his footwork, to what could be seen of his musculature. It was taking in all sorts of quick information, planning something savage and unkind.

Raul stepped forward once again, but his leg was different then before, so was his shoulders. He had stepped into range, and was about to pull something. Sadly, Drake was as well.

The moment Drake even thought Raul steeped into range, his hands came out of his pockets clenched into tight fists. Both hands were clenching tight onto something, and just as Raul lunged to grasp onto Drake’s skull, Drake moved to initiate his plan.

Drake swung both arms in an arc, tossing the contents of his fists to spread out and fly towards Raul. One fist seemed to have contained a powdery sand, exploding into a cloud in a cruel attempt to rob the Mexican fighter of his eye sight and healthy lungs. The other had tacks and pins flying towards the man, likely doing minimal damage, but insuring his fall would be a nasty one, should it ever come.

Both initiated their attack, and both were likely too far in to back out of their offense. The very second Drake felt Raul touch him, he pushed forward, looking to try and take Raul down to the floor, likely trying to get those tacks sticking to his jacket to work against his foe.

Christ almighty... He should have been prepared for that... He SHOULD have seen something like this coming. Why else would Drake have his hands in his pockets BESIDES being foolishly reckless?? Why else would he expose himself?

...To lure him into a trap, that's why... And it worked!... to an extent.

First came the sand which SPATTERED across Raul's face like it was intended to, the man's eyes shutting a moment too late before it all got into every inconvenient crevas it could find! Eyes, mouth, in his hair too, that sand FORCED the Mexican's attention inward instead of out, attending to himself instead of paying attention to his opponent! Second came the tacks, but this one Raul was ready for, whether he knew it or not! Already, his arms were reflexively shooting up to cover his face, the metal barbs of the tacks RIPPING at the wrestler's darker skin. They bit and scratched at him but eventually fell away to the floor, a place where they were arguably just as dangerous if not more!

Left stinging inside and out, Raul coughed and gagged as his hands wiped at his eyes and lips in an attempt to clear his vision... But not enough for his opponent to capitalize on his distraction!

Drake charged the mexican fighter, intent on KNOCKING him to the floor where he had laid all his tacks... It was a simple strategy, an effective one that Raul recognized... There were things you picked up in your line of work, either watching them happen, doing it or feeling it done to you... This kind of thing...? He'd observed all 3.

...When Drake made a move to SLAM into Raul, the Mexican was ready... somewhat. Reflexively, he crouched lower, shifting his center of gravity closer to the ground, making himself harder to topple! It was then Drake RAMMED into his target, Raul grunted loudly, his boots grinding against the floor as the two collided!

Urgh... He got me good... Raul thought as he struggled against his opponent, his compromised airway and his temporary blindness!

It was always a treat when a plan went over so very well. Raul had no idea what Drake had planned, and it made him totally vulnerable to Drake had sitting in his pockets. The man promised not to underestimate Drake, but what else could his actions have been other than an underestimation of the one-eyed man? As if someone like Drake would just stand there and be beaten so easily. Drake had no clue where Raul was really from, or what his fighting style was…But Drake was willing to show this new comer how low he was willing to go to get even the slightest touch of an edge in this fight.

Case in point, blinding the young man. Perhaps it was a bit annoying to attack with a trick Drake had used in his own debut, back when he had a street fight with an Olympic boxer, but that was why he had also thrown tacks at his foe. Variety was the spice of life, and if anyone ever decided to try and track Drake and his tricks for a fight, he preferred to keep them guessing as to what he might pull next. Although Drake had to admit…Sand in the face was his absolute favorite of them all. Cheap, easy, and adorably poetic. Raul was desperately wiping away the small pieces of gravel, but that what was so effective about using sand. If it gets in the eyes or mouth, it sticks and stays there. Raul would need a through scrub before he could get any of that stuff out, but Drake would never give him the chance.

Drake moved in for his own tackle, looking to smash his foe down onto the floor that had tacks and pins all ready to bite into the Mexicans broad backside. Drake’s shoulder SMASHED into Raul…but he didn’t even come close to toppling over. His balance was immaculate, only getting pushed back just a little bit before coming to a dead stop. Most fighters Drake met were never used to fighting blind or dirty…and Raul was able to keep his calm and get a good defense in.

Strange, but nothing concrete just yet.

“Enjoying my view of things, Raul? The world is a pretty dark place when someone robs you of your sight, isn’t it?”

Drake pushed forward, moving to the right so his eye could keep a bead on his foe while his leg swung around to smash into Raul’s rib cage.

“So where did you train? I dug around your file, but I didn’t see anything about a self-defense class or military background. In fact, there was a few things I couldn’t fine in there…Makes me wonder a bit.”

"Nngh... Sorry bro. I don't swing that way." Raul tossed back as Drake inquired about the view! It was even more awkward as the other man continued to push against him but despite all of that, the Mexican refused to budge! It was like pushing against a wall or against the ground itself fore Raul would not move an inch, pushing back with a near-equal amount of force to keep his opponent at bay! Over the course of the next couple seconds, he blinked and spat out the remaining sand, his vision returning to him, if poorly at first. His eyes were red, his breathing somewhat heavy but if Drake did anything to reinforce the detriments placed upon his opponent, Raul would be back in full working order in no-time!

Drake would comment how he'd been doing some stalking and noticed how he couldn't find anything that would indicate WHY Raul was able to defend himself against such underhanded moves, the mexican fighter blinking in mild surprise... then flashing his rival a small humble grin. SO, that's how this was, huh? Sounds like this guy's into some underground activity himself... There was no way he'd be able to get into his personal files unless he was A. Part of the local government (which was more than unlikely) or B. part of some well-organized undergound... Not just anybody could get a hold of someone's most personal information...

...Which sadly for Drake, wasn't abundant of riches...

"I was a bouncer at a local bar once-upon-a-time. Had to learn a few things to deal with a buncha nasty drunks." What kind of tricks, might one ask... Well... like this one! Raul shifted his hands so that they GRABBED onto one of Drake's arms as the man himself whirled around, the mexican placing his back against his opponent's front as he attempted his signature Tirón de la Gravedad, a Judo-throw RIGHT over his shoulder... and onto the spikes Drake had laid himself!

Drake genuinely seemed stunned at Raul’s retort, implying that Drake had just made a pass at the man with his previous “view” comment. Did Raul mean that as a genuine misunderstanding? Or was this simply another taunt meant to dig at Drake? Either way, it was successful in making him rather uncomfortable, more so then he already was, one of drake’s pet peeves being physical contact for any extended period of time.

“I was referring to your lack of sight. I really don’t swing, period. Sorry.”

The two continued to clash, Drake lightly peppering Raul with jabs and kicks to keep him on the defensive, never staying in one place for too long. The two were not yet at the point of fighting all out, both of them easily conversing with one another as Drake continued to attack and Raul simply blocked with his strong defenses.

Raul would then reveal how he had learned his fighting background, fighting drunks in a bar as a bouncer. It was a believable enough story, though he seemed a little too good at brawling to simply have fought drunks. Still, the story earned a foul natured smile from the eye patched man.

“Oh really? Well that checks out with what I read. Must have been an interesting job, filled with all sorts of crazy days and hectic events. I bet you met all sorts of people there, didn’t you? Friends, co workers, regular bar flies…” One of Drake’s kicks smashed into Raul’s arms, but the Drake continued to put pressure on it, pushing Raul slowly as Drake growled in a proud tone, “Yet no one who was asked in that shitshow of a town could recall you ever being there. No one remembers working with you, no one remembers seeing you…makes me think something isn’t right. Like you aren’t what you see-“

Drake was rudely interrupted when Raul suddenly grabbed him by his sleeve and quickly tossed him over his shoulder. The impact would probably have been painful, but nothing Drake couldn’t handle. It only hit him a split second before impact that he had laced the floor with spiked pieces of metal that would insure a far more painful outcome.

Dozens of metal slivers dug and bit into Drake’s back, making the already intense pain excruciating! His thick jacket protected him from the smaller tacks, but only served to help keep the larger tacks in place. He was quick to retreat, already undoing the buttons to his jacket and shedding it, revealing a compress shirt that held a body with a surprising amount of musculature. Drake was definitely stronger then he looked at first glance, and judging by how conniving he had been, that was by design.

The man with the patch stood his full height, the curvature of his abdominal muscles hugged snuggly by the black and red compress. His eye stared at Raul with intense apathy, like he was already planning three steps ahead. Drake still held onto his jacket, perhaps due to a fondness of it…or because it possibly harbored more traps inside its folds.