Hit Me...

Provoked.

Shayde

"Are we going to fight or am I wasting my time?" I impatiently cross my arms. My hood still shields my eyes, but underneath they show a coldness that most don't necessarily have to see to know exists.  

"what's is this? A joke?" Really. Of all things? Ouch.
"Oh yeah. I am so sorry. I'm laughing inside. Honestly." Oh sarcasm. My first in five languages. Followed by english, spanish, french and russian. The last one I can translate barely.
"What? Are you scared? Not going to hit a woman? And yet I doubt you haven't before." The wedding ring on his finger shows he is in fact married. However from the hesitation to fight me, the lack of alcohol on his breath, the way he stands in a confident but not cocky stance and even the way he fights as I saw him do not twenty minutes before he re-entered the ring. These all point to an honourable man in a higher position than most. I'd say Delta. People don't get that position if they beat their families. It's against Council regulations. Unfortunately there are a few packs that ignore these regulations and are too powerful to bring down but my gut says he isn't a bad guy. Unluckily for him, I like to push people's buttons. It works. He turns and starts to walk away, thinking he is unpredictable. He really isn't. He stops abruptly as predicted then turns and swings his fist in a fluid-like movement. As predicted. I dodge easily. He gets into a decent enough stance whilst my own is almost flawless. He seems a little thrown off at how easily I missed his punch.
"How about we make a deal?" I sigh.
"I'm listening."
"You go against someone a little... smaller and then if you win, you'll get one victory tonight and I won't feel so bad when I knock you out." I chuckle.
"Sure. If it helps you sleep at night."
He leaves the 'ring' outlined by bodies and is quickly lost in the crowd. A 'smaller' opponent enters and immediately takes a poor stance.

He practically wreaks of financial problems. He is nervous judging by the fact he is tense, twitching and shaking his fists; he has yet to look up from the floor and hasn't looked me in the eye so he is deep in thought, most likely trying to figure out how to feed his little girl at home, whose name is tattooed above his heart. Not married, most likely single dad in serious debt problems. He came here because it's his last resort. No job. No money. Poor guy. Let's help him out.
"If I win," when "you can keep your money." I talk loud enough for him to hear but not enough to attract attention from the roaring crowd. At my words, the unlucky sod looks up at me. He discreetly nods in gratitude and relief spreads his features. I'm in a good mood despite my current situation.

His posture relaxes a little but he corrects his stance slightly so it's not entirely bad. He holds up his fists and squares his feet. By the way his watch is on his right wrist, he is left handed so he is probably going to punch with that hand first.

He does.

When the ref signals, I dodge his fist easily and swipe his feet from under him. He lands on his back. I quickly grab one of his arms and, using it as leverage, get him on his back. I twist the arm until it's only got one direction to go in and not a natural one at that. "Submit." I whisper in his ear. He hesitates at first but with a little added pressure he submits, knowing he's not winning or losing any money on this fight.

"Do yourself a favour and find a job for your daughter. She probably misses you at night." I whisper to him when he stands. He looks at me bewildered but before he says anything I'm brought back to the centre of the ring.
"We have a winner. This means we have another fight!" The ref calls out to the 'arena' just before the first guy comes waltzing back into the ring. He gets into a well trained stance. Few weaknesses. He's probably been training about three times a week for the past decade roughly. He would probably win against someone else but he's got me. A girl who has trained every spare minute of everyday since she could walk. Even when my parents were alive they trained me, to prepare me for my future. One I never got to live. One they most likely planned to be apart of. This definitely wasn't what they had in store for me.

I refocus on his weaknesses. His shoulders are too tense, he leans forward a little too much and his left foot is taking most of his weight. His shoulders mean slower punches. His posture means he'll be easier to pull off balance. His feet mean he will most likely kick with his right foot most and if you take out his left foot his entire stance will crumble like sand between my fingers.

The ref shouts. I raise my fists.