View Full Version : The Ol' One-Two

09-14-2017, 11:33 AM
A bit of sparring practice with Dante.
Wrote this up in a couple of hours, no edits, it's real short, just trying to get back in the swing of it.
Story takes place in Marcus' Gym, which I invented an hour ago. The gym is housing three people.

Passive aggressive stance; body facing forward, arms up, palms facing out, legs in line.
Step forward; left leg. Incoming haymaker; block with left, move in, watch for secondary.
Incoming secondary; uppercut -- opponent’s left. Deflect with elbow?
Movement; opponent to right. Guard up. Uppercut’s a hook now.
Right knee, you’re taking it.
Get them in the throat.
Done, push them back.

Keep it southpaw. Go for a roundhouse.
That’ll teach em. Back up.

Don’t like that look. Don’t like that walk. Jab?
Jab. Keep em at range.

They’re thinking legs. They know you know you’re thinking legs. They’re running in. Straight punch inbound-- probably a one two. Slip the jab. Lean in. Left hook around their right cross.

Not a cross, lower your center or you’re going to the ground. Watch the clinch. Hold, and… get em with the left elbow. Don’t stop there, uppercut with the right, right knee, keep a grip on the shoulders, move like you’re going for a second knee, and…

Take em to the mat, get out of the way and stomp on the face real soft. Move like you’re gonna make a soccer ball outta their skull. Don’t actually. You like Randy. Help him up.

Heart’s pumping, brain’s going, take a sec.
Dante breathed.
Randy heaved.

“You okay, man?” Dante laughed. “Aw hell,” he redacted, seeing the poor man’s face.

Full gear or not, Randy’s nose was looking a little off and his blood was showing here and there. Black eye, bruises, voice box seemed intact, but- aw shit; right hook, he’s pissed.

Ducked, guard up, step back into orthodox, straight punch for the forehead, watch that nose. Paf -- gottem, get low. Do some capoeira shit.

Dante couldn’t remember for the life of him what that kick was called, but was by no means startled to find a cold turkey lying on the floor Randy’d just been standing on, with no real sign of Randy.

“Awwwwwww hhhhhhelllllllllllllll,” Dante groaned, turning to Marcus. “I apologise, Marc. With every fiber in my being, I mean it, he just came at me, and-”

“Shots on you when he’s up?” Marcus insisted, tending to his felled student.

“Yeah, and-” Dante interjected, “-his nose should be fine, but the bill’s on me if there is one, and-”

“Healing Hands?” Marcus pressed.

“Yeah, yeah, whats’ername’ll look at him, she’s a good lady y’know, he’ll like her.”

“Dante…” Marcus sighed. “I’m going to be frank with you, this is the third kid you’ve floored in as many days.”

“I know Marc, I know!” Dante pleaded. “And I bought em all shots except for uh-”

“Timothy.” Marcus groaned.

“Yeah, yeah, Timmy- and I offered y’know, it’s just with the drinking laws and all that y’know and him being seventee-”

“Nineteen.” Marcus corrected.

“Yeah sorry,” Dante chortled, “Had it confused with fucking Amsterdam or wherever, point being Sara-”

“What about Sara?” Marcus leered.

“I didn’t say nothing!” Dante continued laughing, “Just that if we’re doing the whole ‘three strikes, you’re out’ thing, she was more of like a…”

“A..?” Marcus snickered.

“A uh-” Dante motioned, gulping inwardly, “Y’know, like when the pitcher throws the thing but they can’t hit it, so it doesn’t count, so it’s not a strike?”

“A... ball?”

Dante attempted to snap his fingers and point through a boxing glove, which didn’t work out all that well at all really.

“Shouldn’t you be..?” Dante pondered.

“He’s fine. Breathing. Should be conscious before long. Eh? Randy?” Marcus cackled, tapping Randy’s cheek a bit to no avail. “Who even taught you to kick somebody in the teeth like that? Christ. You’re lucky I made him put the mouthguard in or you’d be covering dental too. Shit, might have to as is.”

“Shit. His mouth bleeding?” Dante winced.

“Yeah, just the cheek though- you kinda popped it.” Marc noted.

“Popped? Whaddaya mean, like..?” Dante inquired.

“Cold sore.” Marcus responded. “Small one, but think like a grapefruit or something, y’know? Hit one of those with your palm, and-”

“Squssh,” Dante mimed. “Damn.”

The room was silent for a bit, with the two waking men waiting for an interjection from a third that wasn’t to be heard from yet.

“Yeah I ain’t gonna kick you out or nothing,” Marcus waived, “Hell, you’re good for business 2/3rds of the time, just putting it out there- we’d like it if ya loosened up a bit.”

“Yeah thanks, Chief.” Dante grimaced. “No promises.”