Survival Of The Fittest

LET'S GET READY TO RUMBLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLE!

Twenty boxes of pizza.

A weekends worth of Jack Daniels.

Enough cigarettes to give lung cancer to an entire maternity ward.

To say that Paul Smith wanted the two hundred dollars would be the understatement of the year, but to say that the only reason he was at the tournament was to win the money would comparatively be an overstatement. Paul had money, this much was certain. Though has he walked into the Shooters' basement, waving hi to the crowd and up to the DJ's booth some where concerned that Paul himself might not even be fighting today. As he slipped a CD to the DJ and walked towards the ring, it became apparent that Paul had every intention of fighting, but had decided to set the mood by playing loud Death Metal music. The Paul Smith that had lazed about during the entrance was gone and instead replaced by one bouncing around like Ali in anticipation for the upcoming match.

Lighting up a cigarette Paul enjoyed the smoke entering his lungs and coming out as he realized that his match was the first of the night, he didn't pay attention as to who he would fight (confidence on his part?) and he simply closed his one good eye in anticipation before the match. He had never fought in public before. Nobody would've expected the "timid" Paul Smith to be much of a fighter, but underneath his "timid" persona was someone who not only had high pain tolerance and knew how to punch, but also held a special place in his heart for the 1970's kung-fu flick.

As the Wu-Tang clan would say, Paul Smith was all about the Tiger Style.

He snickered as he flicked the cigarette out of the ring and awaited his opponents entrance.

((Eduardo continued from A Favor Repaid))
((Troy continued from Out on the Town and Out of the Closet))

It would have been hard to believe that the African-American high-schooler walking into the ring was the same one who used to be such a nerd nigh a year ago. Then again, said ex-nerd was smart enough to apply the right culture changes in all the right places as he entered the basement with what appeared to be his own gangsta posse.

Troy "Trojan" McCann was coming to the ring dressed in more proper gangsta attire. His hair was cut down to a buzz, he had a plain white tanktop with no bling to get in his way, and his baggy jeans were firmly secured with a plain belt so there was only negligible risk of him getting pants-ed.

Around Troy were a couple of the "lesser" varsity basketballs that he'd managed to bring with him, but weren't really "with" him. They broke off from Troy and took some seats off to the side. However, Eduardo Trinidad-Villa was the highlight of that posse, despite the fact that he'd never even intentionally dressed to "highlight" himself. Of course, Troy had also convinced Eduardo to come along, mostly out of pity and to make his former nerd-in-arms "watch and learn."

To be honest, Troy wasn't quite here for the money, even though he almost leaped when he'd first heard of the event. He already had some power, his parents having required him to take self-defense boxing classes just to "reduce" getting beat up as a nerd, and was thankful for the opportunity to use them now. Most important of all though was the respect. Winning this would move him one step closer to becoming respectable to his fellow 'bruthas.' Yes, there was the risk of physical pain which could endanger his current varsity basketball career, but Troy felt confident enough tonight to put that far from his mind. Of course, given the "level" that he was at right now - which was still fairly low - what did he really have to lose?

As the gangsta stepped into the fighters' area (mentally labeling it the "Pit" despite not actually resembling one) with a street fighter's grimace on his face, Troy expected Paul Smith to be somewhat of a fighter given his constantly disheveled 'rockstar' appearance. The way Paul was bouncing around vaguely reminded him of Bruce Lee, which humored the gangsta(-wannabe) enough to clench his fists. Eduardo leaned on the corner post, smirking at the opponent.

"Heh...rockstar versus rap. You sure you can handle yourself?" Eduardo said to Troy, as he gave Paul the look over. Paul was usually a staple at Shooters...as one of those corner-dwellers. Which fascinated Eddie as to what sort of moves Paul could whip out.
"You say dat like it's a rhetorical question, I'm gonna win this."
"It is, and I know the answer isn't yes."
"Pffft. Just watch me."
"Fine. Good luck..." Eduardo said as he went back toward the crowd, muttering below the din, "...like you'll have any."

Paul Smith noted that his opponent was now reformed nerd (and still loser) Troy "Mac" Whateverthefuck (more commonly addressed as "Wangsta number 5") and he smiled a bit as the boy stepped in the ring and talk the Trinidad boy. The smile still plastered onto Smith's face disappeared when Troy turned to him fist clenched, the time for playing around was over and as his music stopped Paul narrowed his amber eye at Troy before resuming his hopping around and then as quick as a blink Paul was running towards his opponent at a shocking speed. His legs trained muscled due to the countless round-house kicks, many in the audience where left with their jaws on the floor on how impressive Paul's speed was, it was no where near Evelyn Richinson's in proportions, but a couple of the track players in the audience seemed very envious when Paul dashed across the ring towards his opponent.

With his left hand cocked back Paul threw one jab towards his opponents face, the jab was of the snapping variety so it lacked power and made up for that in speed; but the purpose was obvious: temporarily blind your opponent while continuing to move in. As he immediately retracted his left hand (regardless as to whether the blow hit or not), Paul bent his knees and immediately shot up with them (using his knees as a spring board) and aiming his right fist for his opponents chin.

In other words: a jaw shattering uppercut.

Perhaps it was to Troy's advantage that the self-defense classes he'd taken were of the boxing variety, because as soon as he could see Paul's fists of fury flying at him, he quickly moved his arms to block.

Troy was not exactly the weakling he was back during the height of his nerd-dom, but neither was he the Def Jam Icon type he'd struggled to attain. Although he'd managed to save his face and jaw, the force of the uppercut deflecting just above his elbows caused him to shuffle back a few steps. The force of the blows themselves made him grunt in pain (being the first actual physical force he'd received in quite a while), his fists and block opening as the pain transferred itself down the nerves in either direction.

Clearly this so-called "slacker" was no slouch, but Troy realized that he'd really underestimated his opponent. Of course, that didn't mean he'd had a few moves up his sleeve that he'd been dying to use...he just hoped they'd actually cause some damage. As soon as he could see Paul recoiling from his attempted uppercut, he looked Paul in the face and let loose a few straight yet determined "softening" jabs with his fists, directed at the upper torso (but hopefully to the head). These were by no means a starting-finisher attack, but a way to wear Paul down.

He had ten whole minutes, he just hoped he'd last longer than "Slack-o Hong."

Paul was a traditionalist.

Whenever he threw a punch he threw it to knock someone out and whenever said punch didn't knock someone out, Paul had the sense to block. Though for whatever reason, Paul didn't want this to turn into an Irish bare-knuckled boxing tournament and instead found himself moving to the left, grasping Troy's right hand with his left hand and placing his leg behind Troy's he smiled as he cocked his right hand (his most powerful hand) back and sent out a cracking hook to the middle of Troy's face...other wise known as the nose.

Though the moment that the blow connected, Paul would find himself letting go of Troy's hand and it was in this respect that the true point of this maneuver would come in the form of the leg positioned behind Troy's own as the force of Paul's punch -according to his first punch- would send Troy staggering back and most importantly being tripping over Paul's leg. If the wrestler Darnell Butler had been watching this fight he would note that Paul had just adapted one of the most versatile wrestling moves -the backtrip- to his style that consisted of primarily striking.

If Troy fell down -and there really is no reason he shouldn't- he would find the pit monster on top of him raining down hammer-fists onto his face. There was really only one way this whole thing could go for the reformed nerd: people needing dental records to identify him.

Troy probably expected Paul to grab his hand, but he didn't expect the rockstar to trip him backward. Landing on his back knocked the wind out of the gangsta (as well as a very surprised "Awww shit!"), and Troy needed to find his second one before Paul took it from him. Raising both arms to quickly cover his face from the impending rapid strikes, Troy quickly noticed that he still had quite a bit of freedom to move his legs, although he was lying down.

Time to put these sneakers to good use...

His legs weren't strong enough to deliver sufficient kicking force, but hopefully he could at least push or tilt his way out from under Paul Smith. There was no way this gangsta was going down in the first few seconds of this fight, let alone the first round. At least not yet, and this despite the fact that Eduardo had already placed $20 on Troy to lose....though if Eduardo were looking right now, he would be feeling a bit of deja-vu. Still, Troy's arms and whatever portion of the face that he'd allowed Paul to hit were becoming pained and weary...which made Troy angrier and focus his chakras (metaphorical, of course, why Trojan still thought in that old nerd-anime term was beyond him and/or related to listening to too much Wu-Tang) toward his feet.

((Don't expect Paul to fly off though, I know the laws of physics - Ed.))

The kicking was not working, that much was obvious and as Paul grasped at the boys arms and placed them on the ground before moving upward and placing his knees on said arms it became clear that the wangsta had no way to mount a proper defense, Paul could've taken advantage of this and simply hammer-fisted the boy once -causing Montezzo to come in and stop the fight- but instead Paul nodded solemnly before continuing to speak, his voice strangely eloquent as it came out of his gritted teeth.

"Look at my eye-patch, study it, live it, breath it. Because by the end of the fight, you're going to need one to match it."

And with that he brought his left hand to Troy's right eye and spread it open, the force making sure that it would not be able to close for what was coming next, his right hand shooting out quickly and powerfully with one intention.

To remove Troy's eye from it's socket.

The kicking wasn't working, and Trojan was getting in deeper shit. The only reason he wasn't getting in any deeper shit was because he'd used the bathroom before the fight began (meaning he wouldn't be swimming in it either). Paul was too strong for him right now, and now the rockstar was going to emphasize that not only by viciously restraining him...but also by gouging his eye.

As much as he wanted to be gangsta, a permanently-disabling injury was not something he'd wanted to risk until at least after high school.

"Shit, man! Fine! I give!" he shouted out as Paul raised his arm, to disappointed groans from the audience.

===

Eddie sighed as he leaned back against the pool table (which had been turned into a makeshift stool for others to stand on), watching Troy give in. He'd barely estimated the whole thing to have lasted 30 seconds, and was slightly surprised that it was how long he'd bet Troy would last. The so-called gangsta's appearance at the fight had caused a few betters to up their estimates to 2-5 minutes. In fact he'd figured their disappointed groans came from the fact that they now had to pay up, rather than the disappointing show that Troy had put on.

"Okay holmes, pay up," he said, just loud enough to be heard through the din. He'd bet $20 on this and would probably get at least $100 for Troy's troubles. Had he been in the mood to derive some real pleasure from this, he would have laughed at the fact that a good portion of that money would have come from the two varsity basketballers that Troy had brought with him.

((Eduardo continued in Homework Blues))
((Troy continued in Sweet for Some and Painful for Others))

OOC: Paul Smith advances. Wrap it up if you want to.