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

Drake pushed against Raul's defenses cautiously, his little punches and kicks poking here or there like a constructionist tapping each brick of a wall to see where the masonry was lacking. A little jab here... a little kick there, each one deflected or taken head-on unbothered to show that it wouldn't QUITE be so easy to get through to him! Drake would have to move past this tutorial-level of combat if he intended to get much of anywhere... and that included talking while fighting! Before the other man could even complete his thought, Raul TOOK him to the floor with a powerful Judo-throw, multiple caltrop-like spikes DIGGING into his jacket and back as mercilessly to him as they were supposed to be for the Mexican!

"You really should focus on the battle instead of talking to me." Raul advised, taking a step back and allowing Drake to right himself. "Multi-tasking isn't something most people are good at, you know?" Playing fair wasn't something was renowned for... if he was renowned for anything down here. He would've just stomped those spikes into the guy's back, let them bite and rip into his skin good and proper...

...But hey, it was his first match. He was feeling generous, even if Drake was not. Speaking of him, the suited man began RIPPING off his jacket to escape the stinging bites of his own trap, revealing a tight shirt-like top that revealed the man's true physique! Hmph... Well, he looked fit enough, he supposed. Did that mean he was getting serious, finally?

"Bro, just told you. I don't swing that way." Raul reminded him coyly, poking him with the assumption of his sexuality once again! Granted, there wasn't much of an obvious reaction, what with that dead, apathetic stare which had more personality than what could never be expressed in his wardrobe. Pity. Might've been fun to see him squirm a little bit... Raul raised his hands again, keeping his fingers loose and ready for a grapple... Most likely the spikes along the floor would hurt him even MORE now that jacket was gone... Less in the way to keep them from biting into him some more...

Raul once again made an annoying observation towards Drake’s sexuality as the one-eyed man tore off his stinging jacket. Only a few pins fell to the floor, the rest poked all throughout the jacket. What little time Drake had to recuperate he spent picking the more obvious spikes out of the thick material and flicking them away. It was sick to say, but that jacket was one of few things Drake seemed to genuinely care about in the world, and when his calculating eye was not watching Raul for an attack, he was inspecting the jacket, looking for anything that could turn into a hole or damage it further.

After tossing a few more pins to the floor, Drake finally focused on Raul. He had to hand it to the man…he was the fastest person to ever make Drake stop his fake smiling, besides his Father, of course. His face finally matched his eye, cold and apathetic. Usually, Drake was the one pushing buttons and keeping himself distant from his foe, but he found himself lusting for the chance to seriously hurt Raul and force him to howl in pain.

For now, he would have to wait and bide his time…

“You seem to have your mind set on relationships, Mr. Tejada…Are you a family man?” There was nothing more disgusting to Drake, but that wouldn’t show up on his face. “As I said, I’m not interested at all, but I am sure some women out there find you very attractive. Surely, someone like you has a significant other, someone you care about…a mother, a father…brother?”

Raul raised his hands, ready to grapple with Drake already. He was taller, and judging by his judo throw, far more combat capable than Drake. The red and black attired man didn’t like his chances going head to head with a still fresh-faced Raul, especially after losing his jacket. It helped him take body blows just a little bit easier, kept his tricks and weapons nice and tidy, and generally helped cushion Drake with any type of slam or body blow. Losing such a personal shield was already a pretty big blow for him. But there was so much more he could do with his jacket.

Drake darted towards Raul, flicking his wrists so that his jacket sprung towards Raul’s face like a snake, drawing his attention towards the outstretched cloth as the man behind it reared his fist back to slam right across Raul’s jaw in a vicious, street wise hook!

OH BOY and there went Drake's 'I'mbetterthanyou' smile faster than a sinking ship! He supposed getting thrown on his ass in his own butt-biting trap would do that, but also the proverbial salt-in-the-wound being his continued jabs at who he favors! He need not bring in metal tacks or sand to get the upper hand... All it took was perseverance, observation... and a few callow jokes here or there to get opponents all riled up and stupid. ...While Drake certainly wasn't the fuming epitome of his namesake right now, his smile WAS gone... and that meant he was making progress.

What the man said next, however, make Raul pause for a split second, tilting his head in somewhat bewilderment as Drake made a connection that was... tenuous at best. Apparently an advocate for armchair psychology, the darker wrestler guessed that Raul MUST be a family guy based on his jokes at Drake's expense, emphasizing the BROTHER as a significant other he might have! ...Well... in truth, he had all of those, he had no idea why this guy would put emphasis on his bro... Most people had kin in this way so... He had NO idea what this guy was getting at.

"Well, their loss then." Raul chuckled at Drake trying to be Mr. Matchmaker. "Not the kinda guy for love... or whatever passes for it here."

...This guy was something of a fruitcake, wasn't he? Trying to make jabs at weakspots he seemed SURE were there. A response to this guy's remarks would do very little, Raul figured and instead favored silence, anticipating an attack coming very soon!

...And he was right!

Apparently favoring blinding over crippling opponents, Drake HURLED his jacket at Raul, the Mexican wrestler shooting out a hand to grab it and toss it to the side LONG before it could connect with his face! With a quick jab of one hand and an arc to the right, the coat was sent flying wide of it's target... but the fist right behind it certainly did not!

Raul's eyes widened in surprise as he caught sight of the incoming fist an instant before it connected, the CRACK across his jaw being solid... and brutal!

...But Raul had taken many-a-punch in his time and such an attack was hardly remarkable. Yeah, it hurt... like a lot and he might have a bruise there for a few days... but it wasn't anything special. Quickly, the Mexican wrestler retaliated, grabbing Drake's punching arm with one hand and reaching out for the back of his neck with the other, attempting to drag him into a knee to his stomach! If it connected, Raul would take the arm in his possession... and try to lock it into a standing Judo Arm-lock!

Drake realized he was stretching for something to exploit, but Raul was giving him nothing. His past was faker then Drake’s smile and he knew it…but had little proof on his side. Sure, no one remembers Raul from any of his places of employment, and the fact that both of his parents had already passed away was a bit…odd for someone so young, but none of these screamed he was guilty of anything. It was that damn tattoo and its connection to that shit eating gang from across the borders! It was too close to theirs to be a coincidence! He had to be a part of it somehow! He had too many scars not to have a record! Something should have happened to him that got him a record of some kind!

But Raul gave him so very little, primarily just jokes about his sexuality and dismissing Drake entirely. It was so very frustrating. Truth be told, if this really were on the streets, Drake would have sicked his men on Raul and be done with it. Either Raul was a branching member of the gang here to establish some sort of trade in Japan…or he was a lone deserter who escaped and was now finding shelter here beyond the gangs reach. Both had their positives, but hardly worth the ridicule Drake kept getting… at least he was laying off the eye.

“There is no love here. You will feel right at home.”

Drake’s attack went over fine, nothing really new there. Often, Drake went for moves that forced human instinct to take over, such as going for the eyes. Raul took the bait hook line and sinker, only to receive a punch across his jaw for the trouble. Drake didn’t think that would keep him down for very long at all, and his prediction turned out to be correct when the Mexican fighter grabbed onto his arm and tugged him hard into what appeared to be a knee to the gut attack. Drake’s eye caught the slight shift in his hips, and only just barley realized what was coming. Rather then the nee slamming into Drake’s abs unimpeded, his free hand moved to block the blow, pushing against his femur to prevent a full forced kick.

Drake was still stuck in Raul’s hold, but rather then stay dormant, he moved to stomp the heel of his shoe into Raul’s foot, looking to cause some damage before trying to bump into the man and knock him off balance.

"Oh, goody. Here I was thinking I offended you." Raul smirked... before getting Drake in a nice little hold! Guy was strong... he could feel it as he locked up the other man in an effort to control him. He grunted softly, cranking back his opponent's arm in an effort to lock it up good and tight... ONLY for his lips to curl into a snarl in pain as the other man STOMPED on his foot with the same amount of force a petulant child would STAMP the floor in anger! Were it not for his boots being there... Raul might've just broken a toe... or two...

DAMN did it hurt... and was utterly surprising1 Drake's plan to escaped worked like a charm, his stomp forcing Raul to release him on reflex, but the Mexican fighter was quick to recover and retaliate with a stomp-like kick of his own! The INSTANT he pulled back, Raul raised his boot to SLAM into his opponent's back and send him face first back into the spike-filled floor... or at least stumbling forward and away from HIM!

...Raul wasn't laughing so much any more.

That fucking stomp HURT and took the jokes RIGHT out of his mouth. Until now, Raul was having a bit of fun at his opponent's expense and was getting away with it, more or less! Sure, his arms were a little cut up and sure, his opponent was probing a bit deeper into his personal affairs than he'd like... but he hadn't been much of a threat thus far...

...But then his foot spoke up about that...

If his kick connected and sent Drake stumbling ahead, Raul would quickly lunge after him, wrapping his arms around his waist... and attempting to lift him up in a suplex to send him back down to the spike-infested floor!

Sometimes, there was advantages to learning to fight on the street. Sure, the attacks were never as effective, controlled, or as fluid as a trained fighter’s…but street fighting let in a certain level of creativity that Drake liked to take advantage of. The most impactful attacks could come from the ones no one was expecting. Keep the enemy guessing, and they are never truly safe.

It quickly became clear that Raul was the better fighter, his techniques close to flawless and his jovial attitude already making a positive impression on the crowd surrounding the fighters. He was a looker with a cool aura around him, someone who had a way with getting people to follow him naturally. Drake was little more than a snake in the grass, waiting to strike at every vulnerability. The one-eyed man had faced all sorts of fighters better then him, but he always survived and learned to overcome his faults.

The violent stomp was one such example of his adaptations. Drake could actually feel the joints underneath the foot wear crack, not quite breaking the foot, but definitely getting a reaction from Raul. No sooner did he let go of Drake’s arm then he kicked his opponent in the back, giving Drake a shaky sense of balance as the red- and black-haired man stumbled forward, barely keeping himself from falling over onto his face.

Sadly, he didn’t get the chance to right himself before getting snatched up in Raul’s embrace, Drake flashing the man an awkward glance.

“I thought you didn’t swing that way, you freak.”

Within seconds, Drake was thrown off his feet and suplexed into the canvas. Much to Drake’s surprise, the needles didn’t hurt as much as they did the first time, but that could be attributed towards the heavy impact against his skull. A hiss of air escape Drake’s clenched teeth, but it was clear as day he was stunned by the sudden shock to his system.

"Now now, mi amigo de un solo ojo... There is no need for name-calling." Raul chastised as Drake threw out a surprisingly heavy-handed insult... especially for someone who was making such subtle jabs at his past before! Was that all some kind of ruse to hide a much more simple man? Was Drake merely just a monkey in a monkey-suit, trying to make himself appear to have more class than he really does...?

...T'was possible, but what did he care? He was there to just beat people up and earn a little money. He didn't need to get into the personal problems and limitations of opponents he'd likely only see once anyway.

Raul landed a HARD suplex upon Drake swiftly and surely, the impact CLEARLY doing some solid damage seeing as how his opponent as no longer swinging around his vitriol!... That and he wasn't getting up quickly either! Excellent... That would leave him open to a follow up attack! Raul took his time sweeping away some of the tacks surrounding their owner with his foot, preferring NOT to have hard, pointy rods of metal sticking into him as he took this man down. He could tell from this guy that the experience was less than pleasant and was content as a cucumber to take his word for it!

...or his facial expression as the situation may be.

Once Raul had cleared away a nice, cozy, non-pointy space, the man would would raise a foot up and STOMP HARD down upon Drake's face, aiming to stamp his shoe-sole RIGHT on his forehead, spend a moment to grind his boot into his pale white skin for good measure... before causally sitting down near the top of his head as if he were preparing for a picnic...

...This was no picnic, however, as Raul would lock his cross his legs around Drake's throat in a head-scissor, aiming to choke the heck out of this man and keep him weak!

Drake couldn’t respond to Raul’s jab, what with his skull just getting smashed into the canvas and his shoulders getting stabbed with his own tacks. Thank god he just got those and made a point to sanitize them, otherwise he would have to start worrying about his blood work…after he dealt with Raul of course.

But that was beginning to look less likely as time went on. Drake’s skull was already pounding from the impact, and though he still has some gas in the tank it was depleting faster then he expected. Drake was used to fighting in a group, and his sneaky, admittedly scummy way of brawling didn’t transition too well with one on one fights. He was a street fighter at best, a style easily adopted but difficult to master. If he was going to best Raul, he would either need to go lower in his morals, or pull his act together and get something done.

A large, worn looking boot interrupted Drake’s thoughts as it came down on him like an anvil. Drake’s body reacted on his own, years of reactionary impulses causing his arm to fling itself in the way of the boot. It was all to protect his good eye, and as he twisted his head away, Raul’s boot crushed against Drake’s limb, driving it into the blind side of his skull. Vertigo hit Drake as much as the boot did, and while Raul was sweeping away the tacks, Drake rolled over and sat up clutching his head. His arm was noticeably protecting his single eye, which looked unfocused and foggy.

“Tacks…whose idea was it to being tacks? Stupid false ID, be doing better if only I only- ACK!”

The fresh sting of the darts in Drake’s shoulders and back brought him back to reality, if only a little. All he could see was that Raul was coming for him again. Not doubt to finish whatever job the boot to the skull was trying to accomplish.

Rather then wait and find out, Drake instead kicked his foot out in the form of a harsh sweep, looking to wound Raul’s ankles and knock him off balance. If he was able to accomplish such a feat, Drake would follow his attack with another kick to the gut, using whatever space he got to recover as quickly as possible.

Raul seemed to hum a simple melody known as "El pop va la Comadreja" in his homeland as he casually swept aside the various sharp objects... you know... after he STAMPED Drake's head into the canvas! Granted, it was more like his forearm and he only got to his head by extension but you know what they say about semantics! Before the man could drop down to start choking Drake out, however, his feet were suddenly met with a swift SWEEPING kick, a kick that sent the mexican wrestler to the floor beside his rival!

"Woaaah!" He cried, landing HARD on his side (thank god he swept those tacks away), sharp pains coming from along his legs! Raul looked down to see some of the metal tacks had pierced his pants (his precious pants...), pinning them against his leg as he felt the warm droplets of blood run down his limb... Oh, those were going to SUUUUUCK to pull out later but he couldn't very well WORRY about them right now because Drake was BACK on the offensive, lashing out with a kick strong enough to send Raul skidding across the ring, stopping about a foot from the ropes...

Thankfully, his jacket had prevented any of the surrounding tacks from piecing his flesh and the skidding he did across the floor pushed a great deal of those tacks behind him off the ring...

...But now he had to stand with fucking TACKS IN HIS LEGS

"Damn it..." He cursed, pushing himself up on one knee, his wounded leg SPURTING RED under his pants as he put weight on it. "Esto pica como una perra ..."

Drake’s kicks purchased him a great amount of ground and time to recover. Before Raul had even sat back up from his forced tumble, Drake was already ascending from his knees. Though, much like his foreign opponent, his clothes were drenched in his blood. The black and red compact shirt hid the wound well, hardly anyone could even see the slightly darker patch around Drake’s neck and shoulders. The only thing that could even give it away was the tacks still stuck in his shirt and skin. Each tack had a small black patch surrounding it, and Drake kept shifting around uncomfortably.

Truth be told, while the tacks still bit and pricked Drake’s skin, that was not the reason why he shifted about so distressingly. The blood on Drake’s shirt was soaking into the material, making his shoulders feel cold and wet. The tacks kept digging and the blood stuck to the skin underneath, making his shirt unfearingly uncomfortable. His collar itched, his back was soaked, and his shoulders stung every time he moved them. Moving one hand back, he gently pulled the back of his collar, a soft shrrrip sound that came from something separating from human skin. The small, sharp noise of metal bouncing off the canvas could be heard, some of the tacks falling from Drake’s shirt and back, leaving only a few of the colorful spikes resting in his shoulders…a bit ironic, due to his jacket possessing larger spikes in the same area.

Drake soon found his footing, trying to adjust his shirt in a way that would be comfortable while Raul pushed himself up on one knee. Drake happened to notice a red splotch on Raul’s pant leg. It seemed Drake’s trap had finally ensnared Raul, but at that point it was clear Drake had received the brunt of his own scheme.

Rather then wait around for Raul to stand up and beat the snot out of him, Drake advance forward, picking up momentum as he went. If Raul was still too hurt to avoid Drake, then the one-eyed man would look to smack the side of Raul’s face with a high knee strike.