Survival Of The Fittest

Trav's right hand shot down and across his body to catch the kick. He raised Jerry's leg up and scythed out his left leg to kick Jerry's standing leg out from under him.

Who the fuck threw out a side kick anyway? From punching distance no less. Trav would have questioned if Jerry thought he was Saenchai but well...yeah Jerry.

Dumping Jerry on his ass wasn't the friendliest thing to do (it was a Saenchai favorite though), but at the same time they were kickboxing and that could happen. It would be better for him in the long run, a lesson he would be able to apply to his next-ah who was he kidding. Jerry probably wasn't going to learn shit.

As Trav stepped back to let Jerry stand he considered whether or not he was being too harsh on the other boy. He didn't want to make him feel bad; Trav was just disappointed. He had heard all Jerry's talk and had expected something a bit more than he was being given. Jerry seemed able to match him in speed and reflexes but in terms of technique and fight IQ? Trav appeared to have a sizable advantage there. It was an important thing to consider as well. If everything was relatively even then the more thoughtful fighter was more likely to win.

They weren't fighting though, so Trav was more than happy to step back and let Jerry get up.

He held out his fist for a glove touch before they resumed.

Proper etiquette and all that shit.

The right leg was caught.

Awwwwwww nuts.

The left leg was pulled out from under him.

AWWWWWWWWWWWWW BALLS.

Jerry landed hard on his backside and yanked his legs inward in an effort to free himself. This came all too easily, almost as if Trav had simply wanted to let him go. Or maybe he just wasn't ready for such an awesome maneuver! Either way, all was going according to keikaku. Jerry rolled his weight back to his shoulders and threw his heels over his head in a backroll, pushing up to his knees and guarding the kick to his head he thought was coming.

He realized about then that Trav really wasn't following up with an attack. Why, was it pity? Jerry scowled past his mouthguard at the thought, but stood up and touched a glove before backing up a few steps.

Gotta collect himself. Gotta think of a way to totally wow this guy. Too early to throw a roundhouse. It'd be a terrible tactical decision to throw a roundhouse anyway.

Damn it, he REALLY wanted to throw a roundhouse.

Jerry raised his knee then lowered it, repeating with the other knee. He gestured a quick 'come on' and waited.

There was something to be said for the persistence Jerry was showing. Trav would have guessed from the tough talk that Jerry would have buckled quickly under pressure, he was being proved wrong. He hadn't really shown anything amazing but Trav knew you could far off pure stubbornness and a desire to be the best.

Jerry was waiting for him to make the next move. Made sense, when you fight a counter-fighter you could either try and draw out shots with footwork and feints or you could force them to lead. Shaking his head slightly and grinning at Jerry's gesture for him to bring it. Having loosened up enough Trav decided to give Jerry what he wanted, he'd just have some fun at the same time.

He switched stances to orthodox as he moved forward with a stepping left hook. His left leg and arm moving at almost the same time. As the distance was closed he faked throwing a right front kick, raising the knee only to quickly lift his left leg up into a flying head kick.

Who said you couldn't put on a show when you fought?

Jerry's eyes floated down to Trav's feet. He had switched stances... so that was a thing. Fighting a 'righty' shouldn't be so hard, but he had to admit it scared him a little. Was Trav pulling a... what was it, Indigo Montalban from that movie? That stupid whole 'I am not left handed' thing where he suddenly got better? If so, that could spell very bad news.

Jerry figured that maybe he was just overthinking it, that letting Trav lead was still a good idea. Left hook. Jerry just backpedaled away from that one, but he was running out of room to play with and the mat was about to end just a couple of feet behind him. After hitting his head on the cage twice... thrice... whatever the hell came after 'thrice' (quarice?), he had at least learned to have some awareness.

The hook was just a set-up, though, and Jerry knew it. He watched Trav's foot, and there came a right kick. From an orthodox stance, something like that took a while to throw. Not the sort of thing you'd fake. Jerry would block that, trap it, prepare for an awesome take-

Was that Trav's left leg?

CRACK

Jerry's arms dropped and his left knee buckled. Funny. The mat seemed to be getting a lot closer to his face.

Aw shit.

Trav watched as Jerry fell to the floor in a heap.

So he may have just knocked the guy out...not a great thing to do in sparring.

Some people had looked over at the sound of the kick connecting and there had been some cries of 'Ooohhh' that always happened when a big shot was landed.

Trav sheepishly scratched the back of his head as he looked around. As cool as that whole combination was, and he was so going to use it in a fight, it landing that cleanly was an accident. On the other hand though, Jerry probably deserved it a little. Just as a wake up call.

Crouching down next to Jerry, Trav rested his hands over his thighs and waited to see if Jerry was alive. He seemed to be conscious so that was a good sign.

"You OK dude?"

There was a pointed trail of drool leading from the corner of Jerry's mouth to a puddle that met his cheek. A few streams of pink joined the river of spit, no doubt caused by a small cut on the inside of the cheek closest to the focal point of the kick. Jerry's mouthguard did well to protect his teeth. Now, though, it laid half-protruding from his lips, puffy from exertion and maybe just a little bit from also catching a part of Trav's foot.

He was only out for a moment or ten; they often say that when you get knocked unconscious, you're usually only knocked out for a few seconds. Anything longer than a minute or two is a sign that something is seriously wrong. Nothing was seriously wrong with Jerry, not so much more than a case of a bottle of pride being emptied down a sink.

Jerry refused to directly answer Trav as he sucked his knees under himself, and slowly pushed up. "I think... I think I'll skip rounds two and three..." he finally managed to croak. "Musta... lost focus, or somethin'..."

Toby shouldn't have found it funny.

She absolutely shouldn't have smiled, smirked, or allowed a little snort of laughter to escape.

But when Trav tagged Jerry hard in the head with a beautiful kick...

She definitely might have done all of those things.

"Yeah, probably a good idea man." Trav stood back up and stretched his back out. "You hit hard, I think you may have been out for a moment there."

Trav knew Jerry's pain. He'd been caught once or twice in a sparring session. You always knew about it and it happened to everyone. You just had to get up and keep pushing on. Judging by how Jerry had been, to put it bluntly, getting his ass kicked, but still kept fighting Trav didn't really doubt he'd be back to full force in a day or two.

In the mean time if Jerry was going to leave Trav was just going to get some cardio done. He was already at the gym so it would be a waste not the use the equipment he had access to.

"Just let me know if you ever want to go again bro. I'll be here, it's where I am most of the time anyway."

Trav extended his fist out for Jerry to bump, show there were no hard feelings.

Jerry rubbed his mouth and cheek with his forearm, trying not to make direct eye contact with Trav. He really hoped Trav didn't consider this a real fight or anything. Sure, had Jerry won, that was obviously indicative of the fact that he was the greatest MMA brawler in all of Kingman and, by interpolation, all of Cochise. The situation had been turned around, reversing all expectations, though. It shouldn't have ended that fast... no, it shouldn't have ended with him on the mat at all! He had trained more than that. It's all about who wanted it more, right? Well, Jerry could ascertain that nobody wanted it more than Jerry. Jerry goddamn motherfuckin' Fury. Shit, it's right there in the name.

"Yeah... yeah, I'll hold you to that!" Jerry shot a grin. Well, he tried to shoot a grin, but his jaw was still a little numb, causing it to look more like he was having a stroke. His mouth guard was still clenched between his teeth sideways, so when he attempted to do anything and his jaw loosened, it tumbled from his lips and splatted onto the mat. Muttering a silent curse, Jerry bent down, scooped up his belonging and stood back up to touch a knuckle to Trav's fist with all the enthusiasm of a dog going to the vet to get neutered.

He had the flu. He had polio. The sun was in his eyes, regardless of the fact they were indoors. He was thinking about homework. Just... there had to be SOME validation for making an ass out of himself, but Jerry was at a loss to think of any excuse. Instead, he managed a weird sort of half-wave, turned, and headed for the locker room to change.

((Jerry Fury's pride: DECEASED.

Jerry Fury himself continued in Jawbreakers.))

Trav thought he may have broken Jerry. All the attitude and swagger had disappeared. Regardless Jerry had bolted out of the cage about as fast as one would expect given what had happened. Getting caught like that had to be hell for someone as loud-mouthed as Jerry was.

Now though Trav was left with nothing to do, he was in the mood for some form of training though. Turning towards Toby, Trav leaned forward and rested his hands on the cage.

"Hey Noodle, you up for some circuits?"

May as well kill his body.

Train hard, fight easy.

((Travis Lynch continued elsewhere...))