D7 Finch vs D1 Gingham [89th Spar]

[pearl mcclain d4 [ryan]]

d a n n y .

"you are weak
but not foolish
you have learned
how to die."

Danny couldnt help but feel some sort of wonder when he walked into the private screening for the spar matches that he had created himself. He was pretty gleeful when he realized that most of the tributes wanted to participate. He already knew that he was making a mark on the capitol this games. He made it his mission to revitalize and create something new so his games would stand out from the others. He did hide behind a reinforced glass that was blacked out on the other side so tributes could not see that they had an audience. The people that got a chance to see this first hand were few, but Danny knew that this would be another good way for people to see what the tributes had to offer. Of course, Sponsorship was more important than ever.

The cheers in the room had been deafening. Danny was lucky to know that they were in a soundproof room. He didnt want there to be any surprises. He continued to converse as most of the capitolites had talked about how much they were enjoying themselves. Everyone ceased talking when the boy from seven Whiskey Finch had walked through the doors. He seemed tall and brooding, from what Danny had observed as he watched the tributes closely The tributes from seven had all been more animated than the next, and a part of Danny wondered why his district partner didnt sign up. He digressed as the girl from one Nylon Gingham had made her presence known. Sure, she wasnt a Le Roux, or a Fray, but Danny knew that it was never wise to judge a book by its cover. Pairing these two districts together always seemed to divide people. The capitolites loyalty had always been put to the test, so why would this be any different.

The trainer told them where to stand, an x marked the spot. He explained the parameters to the tributes. That they would go hand to hand until one of them is incapacitated. (OOC: 15 Damage) "And remember, you never know who might be watching. Good luck, and may the odds be ever in your favor!" Danny listened to the trainer and then focused on the fight forward. He was excited to see what was to come.

elegant

pogue & charade

[charade]

I’m not sure why they decided to have us spar, but I’m not going to complain. Any chance to show off and any chance to put a beat down on a non-career is a good time. It’s my birthday come early, only there’s not enough dancing and drinks with tiny umbrellas. It’s kind of weird that there’s no audience though.

Oh well.

I’m up against a boy named after a drink, and I have to wonder he’s got siblings named crème de menthe and vodka. Of course, his last name is a bird, so it’s not like I’m going to run out of material to work with here.

But he’s got tired eyes and that bothers me.

I’m me.

He should be looking a bit perkier because of that. I give him a small wave and flutter my eyelashes. “C’mon Whiskey,” I say playfully as I stretch my back out like a cat. “Give me a taste.”

I blow a kiss in his direction and then I move fast, spinning around and around to close the distance as I bring up my leg for a roundhouse kick.

I’m going to knock his block off.

8RjE51jCntunarmed
miss

My foot hits the mat on the other side of him and I twist around to face him with an eyebrow raised,my tongue sticking out the side of my mouth.

"Oh, so you're gonna play hard to get are you?"

unarmed

[pogue]

Whiskey's got a bad taste in his mouth as he steps into the ring, halfway between sour and steel and he wonders what the reason behind it could be. Way he sees it, still scuffed up and bruised from the reaping, the causes could be any one of the following:

One: the bottle of rum he'd swiped from an avox's cart the night before, still hanging on the tip of his tongue.

Two: the split lip a Peacekeeper had left him with when he'd tried to steal the bottle the first time the night prior.

Three: the fact that he's looking Nylon Gingham dead in the eyes, and she's from One.

Career, he thinks to himself, tasting the steel on his tongue. Of course they'd put him against a person like her, what with the way Seven had climbed up the ranks and taken down every Career in their path in the recent games. He snickers when she calls his name and laces elementary insults along with it, stepping back and dropping his stance as her fist swings over his head. 

"Oh, so you're gonna play hard to get are you?"

He bites his lip and feels blood. "What can I say, we Finch's have always been elusive."

Hands turn to fists turn to white-knuckles raised and Wiz fights back the curse words that sit on his lips, a million and a half back alley fights in Seven leading up to this moment.

"I seen rocks with bird shit on 'em more threatening than you."

6O7HbTw|1junarmed

[[Crushed skull except not really - 10]

unarmed

[charade]

His insult doesn’t make any sense. Why would that even be a threat in the first place? Is there an epidemic of shit-covered rocks in district seven that routinely kill people? I suppose its too much to ask for, for someone of his ilk to be able to match wits with me.

And I wink, which is a mistake, because he swings for that side and—

I—
                                dodge?
                fist
                what                                         stars

        think

It takes a moment for the room to stop spinning and when it does I can feel something wet on the side of my face.

Blood.

Out of the corner of my eye I can see the peacekeepers in the room stepping forward, but I wave them off. I don’t need them to intervene.

My hand comes away from the side of my head with crimson and my ear is ringing. I’ve had worse. Try sparring with Corduroy when he’s in one of his moods, or mom when she’s had a little too much to drink.

I regain my balance and settle back into a stance, a feral grin twisting my features. I won’t lie. It’s exhilarating. I can feel the adrenaline pumping. Haven’t felt a surge like this since the last time I tried morphling. I'm getting a migraine though, and the light hurts. Fuck, did he give me a concussion? My hands curl into fists. I’m not going to try to kick him again; time for something more direct.

“You hit like my little sister, bitch.”

And then I charge him, the smile never leaving my lips.

83n3f5_7oKunarmed
5017 -- Broken Nose -- 5.5 damage

I punch him right in his stupid face, hearing a welcome crunch as his nose collapses beneath my fist.

unarmed

[pogue]

Fist to skull and Whiskey smirks as he wipes the wink off Nylon's face, relaxing his form as she stumbles backwards. There's blood dripping from white knuckled hands as he cocks his head, watching Nylon's staggering form in between his own pounding heartbeats.

He'd dropped grown men with a punch like that, Peacekeepers too, back alley deals gone wrong and playground arguments turned fist fights. It's something between pride and cockiness, the way he expects her to fall any moment now and for the Peacekeepers to swoop in to protect their precious Career.

So, when Nylon waves away the men in white and remains standing it takes Wiz for half a ride. He cocks his head to the side, narrows his gaze and looks his opponent up and down before letting out a small laugh. "Seeing stars, One?" He taunts, licking his lips.

"You hit like my little sister, bitch."

"Maybe she should be here instead of you, then. Seems like she'd do a lot better eh?"

He blinks and she's charging, fists raised and feral grin painted on her face. He moves to dodge the punch at first, muscles tense and fists raised but Nylon Gingham is nothing but a fast learner. She feints, and it's between the shadows of his own vision that he feels her fist connect with his nose with full force, pulling a sickening crunch along in its wake. 

It's his turn to stumble backwards now and he falls right in line, lengthening the distance between them before bringing his hand softly up to what's left of his nose. Red paints his fingertips in a crimson glove, spilling out from the wound and dripping down to his lips. Iron and salt, red and black, he huffs and puffs as he focuses back onto Nylon, hacking out a bloodied glob of spit onto the ground beneath him.

"I'd say ya hit like my little sister, too, but she throws a much harder punch than you." 

CM56z8KEgfunarmed

[Bruised left forearm - 2]

unarmed

[charade]

Oh pleez, he really thinks he’d fare better against Silk or Satin? Any one of us could beat him; my mistake was playing the ingénue when he wanted to start the fight playing for keeps. I won’t make that mistake again.

He’s right though, I am seeing stars, blotches of light at the corners of my vision, reminders that I’m going to see my name in neon lights. It all bleeds away, because I don’t have to pretend here. Here in the heat of the moment, unsteady on my feet because the room just started to spin and I feel nauseous, oh gawd.

Where is my train of thought? I don’t have to keep the mind games going, not with someone like Whiskey. I can just let my instincts take over, honed by hundreds of hours of training and a thirst to prove myself. To be the best and have fun doing so.

He throws another haymaker but I block it just in time. He still hits like a truck, and I call tell from the sting in my forearm that it’s going to leave a bruise.

I need to end this.

Blood’s dripping from the mess I’ve made of his face and while I can feel myself going cross-eyed from the pain in the side of my head, I’m ready to keep going. And he thinks it's an insult that his little sister hits harder? 

“Oh, so you’re used to getting beat by girls then.” I retort, sticking my tongue out.

I swing, and pivot, grabbing his shoulders and chucking him to the floor with a flip and putting one foot on his chest when he lands on the mat.

"Sit."

AhrnRALpSLunarmed

5098 -- Thrown to Ground -- 0.5

unarmed

[pogue]

She dances away from his fist, his knuckles slamming into her arm and feeling the skin buckle beneath the blow. She's underestimated him, he can see it in the way she sways as she stares at him, the way her vision flickers as she fights off a concussion.

He's been there, done that, felt the worst of a person's knuckle and watched himself break in the mirror.

Blood arcs down his cheek and hangs desperately from his chin, clinging to flesh before he feels it softly patter against his shoe as he stands just feet away from a girl who'd probably looked at him as nothing more than trash a few minutes ago.

Girls from One weren't meant to talk to boys from Seven, much less fight them. The only thing they have in common is that they bleed the same.

They're worse for wear and wearing it well, but that doesn't stop a chuckle from breaking between split lips as Nylon taunts him once more. "Ha, sure." He says softly, blood dribbling out between the words. "Only thing is, the girls from Seven are a whole lot tougher than you are."

She meets his insult with a leg sweep that his reactions are too slow to fight against, and it's in the span of a heartbeat and a half that he feels his back slam against the harsh rubber of the mat, pain rippling out in a shallow wave as he stares up at his opponent.

"Sit." She commands, slamming a foot down onto his chest.

He coughs up blood and spit and every swear word he's had in the back of his mind for the last few minutes, smirking. "Or what? You gonna make me?"

k5g4Z73aD6unarmed

[Result]

unarmed

[charade]

Make him?

Oh, Whiskey has no idea about the things I’d make him do.

But he catches me off guard again, and before I know it, I’ve hit the mat and my head is ringing. I’m not sure whether I want to strangle him or furiously make out with him. I’m panting, and sweaty, and I feel like I’m about to do something fun yet stupid—

Match concluded. D7M, Whiskey Finch, Wins.

Wait what?

No. Omigawd, it’s not my head ringing, it’s the buzzer.

NO!

Fuck’s sake, things were just starting to get interesting.

“Come onnnn,” I say with a pout to the nearest peacekeeper. “Best two out of three? I was just getting warmed up!” His faceshield is blank as he ushers us out so the next pair can spar and I make a mental note to get his ass fired when I come back here with a crown.

I’ll find out his name, bet on it.

I’m still fuming as we leave. I mean, I’ve only spent my whole training career learning hand to hand combat.

I’m built for speed, not power. They should have put me up against a klutz like Sinead, not a rock with hammers for fists. It’s hard not to let out a sigh of frustration as I hold my head. Other peacekeepers are escorting us to the first aid station to patch us up, I mean I guess they can’t have us underperforming come the bloodbath.

I’ve still flushed though, and I cannot let Whiskey get away with the last taunt. I’ve got to say something wild and throw him off. I glare at him for a moment, before letting my gaze soften. 

“So,” I say slyly in Whiskey’s direction as we walk. I can feel a headache coming on, but I never let anyone have the last word. “Round two in my room? We can find out whether your strength or my stamina lasts longer...."

The cherry on top is the smooch I make towards him.