[Log] Challenge for Nine
BACKDATED TO FRIDAY.
Five rounds.
Five rounds of three minutes, with a two-minute pause between each - she would need at least three rounds in order to win.
Four would be nice but she was realistic.
Mikhail was strong, was counting on that strength to win, but he was also impatient, wanting to end this as quickly as possible.
But by the third round his impatience had shifted to desperation - his opponent, while smaller, moved with the quick sure step of someone with years of training. She dodged his attacks, blocking when she could not, and landing several stinging blows that if anything only seemed to infuriate him more.
Two rounds were already hers; one more and this would all be over.
Except.
Except that there was a flash of white-hot pain - her ankle, she realized, had been broken though the how of it seemed to have eluded her - and a fist swinging toward her throat.
She reacted almost on instinct, sidestepping the blow despite the terrible pain, and countering with one of her own - a hard jab to the ribs, meant to stun, followed by a second to his face.
And just like that it was over, with the tell-tale crunch of bone followed by her opponent crumpling like a rag-doll at her feet.
She had won, she realized, dazed. She was Nine.
[[ooc: Not quite what I’d expected but Tegan, despite her doubts, manages to defeat her opponent without killing or maiming him. Her ankle, unfortunately, is broken; she has several bruised ribs and her shoulder is probably going to be aching for a good long while. Her opponent is out cold and will be nursing a broken nose and wounded pride.]]
Five rounds.
Five rounds of three minutes, with a two-minute pause between each - she would need at least three rounds in order to win.
Four would be nice but she was realistic.
Mikhail was strong, was counting on that strength to win, but he was also impatient, wanting to end this as quickly as possible.
But by the third round his impatience had shifted to desperation - his opponent, while smaller, moved with the quick sure step of someone with years of training. She dodged his attacks, blocking when she could not, and landing several stinging blows that if anything only seemed to infuriate him more.
Two rounds were already hers; one more and this would all be over.
Except.
Except that there was a flash of white-hot pain - her ankle, she realized, had been broken though the how of it seemed to have eluded her - and a fist swinging toward her throat.
She reacted almost on instinct, sidestepping the blow despite the terrible pain, and countering with one of her own - a hard jab to the ribs, meant to stun, followed by a second to his face.
And just like that it was over, with the tell-tale crunch of bone followed by her opponent crumpling like a rag-doll at her feet.
She had won, she realized, dazed. She was Nine.
[[ooc: Not quite what I’d expected but Tegan, despite her doubts, manages to defeat her opponent without killing or maiming him. Her ankle, unfortunately, is broken; she has several bruised ribs and her shoulder is probably going to be aching for a good long while. Her opponent is out cold and will be nursing a broken nose and wounded pride.]]