fightlikehell | (no subject)

Hearing her prepare is a lot like straining your ears for a dog whistle. It is happening. And she's so very subtle. Like Stick. Like Nobu. Both left him very aware of his short comings. Oh. And one thing he forgot. Glasses. He plops them down on his bag. Fists come up just short of his shoulders and like any fighter of experience he's leading with one foot and the other behind to minimize hit surface area. This might be a scrapping but his fists are relatively passive.

"Ready."

Well?

*With a word, she lays claim to the advantage of the second mover, goading him to act first. She's standing straight-on at the moment, presenting the widest, most inviting target she can. Her hands float down by her hips, open palms turning toward him in prodding expectation.*

Surely this is only the start of her testing. Matt evens out his breathing and gives no count or verbal notification that they're going now. He springs her way and tries to aim a punch, a soft one, to her side with his right hand while the left overs to guard either his face or wherever.

*Oh, yes. His attack prompts a quiet, thoughtful sound from the Hunter. She barely seems to move, leaning just enough for the blow to graze against her side, passing between her arm and body--before that arm cinches in against her to trap him. Fingers curled and hand tilted back to strike with the heel of her palm, her right hand trying to rise inside his guard in a shot at his jaw.*

A trap? This won't do. And because they're not trying to do harm to one another this is where he would start to use his knees to attack, one to the side that cinches on him, the other to try and throw her off balance. Matt chooses to take the hit to the jaw because the full mobility is more important.

*Though her hand rises fast, it delivers only a stern tap--speed and power under exquisite control.*

You're holding back. Hoping to impress me with restraint?

"I'm holding back because--" that's how he'd prefer to do this. Stick wouldn't hesitate for a second to strike Matt no matter what age or skill level. Better me than someone else, kid. And this exchange is hitting strange places in his morality. Buck up, Murdock. She wants you to try, so try. He stalls trying to yank himself loose. Fat chance it does anything, she's solid. "...is that really how you want to do this?"

I asked you to show me what you've got. I imagine if I ask you to stop, you will.

*That said, she kicks out with a foot, sweeping at ankle height as she twists, pulling on his trapped arm to try to drag him off balance.*

Woah. No. He's not going down like that. Two seconds to decide and Matt opts to grab Samus if she won't let him go and use her body to keep the both of them standing. When the full sweep is near complete he tries again with his knees now using her clutch on him to try to bend her at the torso into his blows. And wouldn't you know, her goading has got more solid hits out of him. Still controlled. Sorry, Samus.

*The blows with Matt's knees get a small sound out of Samus, and she releases his trapped arm--whether because he won free or because she's letting him fall is anyone's guess.*

Better.

He falls and is able to use the now free arms to push off the ground to be upright again. No celebration for it, Matt throws himself her way again. Faster now, trying to engage her blow for blow the way a boxer would. Her steady heartbeat and breathing at least tell him where and how she stands. There's no giveaway for what's next.

*She leans to avoid some of his punches, blocks others, but for most she counter-punches at the inside of his elbows, breaking the momentum of his swing.*

Is that your temper showing? Don't tell me that's all it takes to goad you.

*Those words are, of course, another goad. And she still hasn't moved her feet, except to sweep his the once--is she taunting him with her steady stance?*

Breaking but not stopping. That's what matters to him.

"This? No. Not angry." A little insulted though? He would be hard pressed to admit it even though it is the truth. Samus's natural sense of stability is off putting. Paired with her well aimed verbal bars at what he's been working on by himself for years and years, she is making some kind of progress. Matt still keeps consistent and is trying to channel whatever he's feeling into technique.

Taking a gamble and challenging her firm efforts to keep a stance, he springs to try to fit her into a headlock.

Oh Matt.

*Well, he succeeds, in getting her to move a foot, at least--catching his wrist, she half-sidesteps and twists, trying to redirect his momentum and flip him over onto his back. If she can catch him with that, she'll follow up by dropping to pin one side of his neck with her knee.*

You sure?

"Nope!"

The ground doesn't feel great but it's a state he's used to being in. Down, not out. The effort so far has kicked up his heartrate. No real sweat just yet. Matt licks his lips and has to stick out whatever pressure she's got on his neck so he can twist and haul her to the ground.

Whatever it takes.

*She's not pressing on his neck particularly hard, just enough to hold him down and make him aware that she's there. His efforts at a reversal bring a thoughtful, "hm," before she throws herself into his attempt to wrestle her down, using the momentum to bring him past whatever position of advantage he hoped to reach and down again.*

Interesting.

She's up and over him like it's nothing. Matt follows through into a roll and uses his hands to the cold ground to get him back up onto his feet again. A little acrobatic, a little unnecessary but it keeps him moving. Stay moving is important. He's used to targets that are too. Samus keeping still and distant does better for an assessment though, doesn't it?

Fists up again, it's nearly like they had started only their positions switched. "Are you going to even come at me at all?"

*By the time he's found his feet, she's back on hers. She cocks her head to one side a little at his question.*

Are you asking me to? Think you'll do better with countermoves than plain attacks?

*There's that goading again.*

Really? Matt shakes his head and laughs a little breathlessly. "I don't know. I'm sure you'd tell me." Not bothering to wait, he springs her way now opting for more footwork, aiming to swing and jump to lay blows to her shoulders or head. Another notch closer to attempting to do harm.

Christ, does she really want him to hit her?

*She's still leaning aside more often than she blocks, moving only just enough to let him waste his energy in a miss, swatting his fist aside with an open palm when she won't be able to lean far enough without giving up her illusion of not moving at all.*

Good, you use the rhythm of the conversation to distract. But you might--

*She steps in abruptly, ducking under a swing to bring a fist up, hard, into his solar plexus. Hard enough to lift him off the ground a little bit, if he's not ready for it.*

--want to throw your attacks in the middle of a sentence. People expect one at the end.

He grunts and almost doubles over. There's just enough space for him to jump back. "I usually don't talk much doing this." Matt's voice reflects the efficiency of Samus's blow. "In real fast, out real fast."

No, he's not a ninja. A rub and pat to his gut and he breathes his way back into a stance. Accept it and let it go. Besides, he's not bleeding. What a bonus. This time he is going low, sliding for her shins and knees. If she's going to move, he's going to stagger his attacks with punches. Harder, faster.

That's an option.

*She nods just a little, watching him adjust his tactics to her stance. Is he starting to think she isn't light on her feet, that she holds a solid stance because she needs to? She's certainly blocking more than she evades, now, and even letting the occasional blow slip through. She rolls with punches well, twisting to let them glance off, but even a glancing blow will leave a mark, and enough bruises can add up after a while.*

You strike from ambush? Or unnerve with silence?

Samus is lean, muscled and really by all counts what would be considered in a cruiser weight class. She should be light on her feet. Maybe it's different fighting in space. Maybe she's used to other gravities and being weighed down. Maybe there's a suit.

"Uh huh."

The whole mid-rumble dialogue isn't a thing he's had time to cultivate. "Come at me." Because now Matt is the one that's lacking a sense of his opponent. He thinks back to the busted punching bag. "Just no knock outs."

*In this corner, in the snug blue trunks, at six-foot-four and tipping the scales at a little over two hundred pounds--the definitive-article Hunter, Samus Aran! And in the other corner, habitually in red, the devil of Hell's Kitchen, battlin' Matt Murdock!*

Alright.

*There's a quiet sound in her throat, a low, predatory chuckle, as that solid stance melts away, her feet seeming almost to float from place to place. The steady stance from before was to goad him and to test him, and now that she's going on the attack, well, she rarely does things by half-measures. A pair of quick jabs draw his guard, before a roundhouse kick rises toward the side of his head to take advantage of the likely opening. She's fast, faster than someone in her weight class on Earth would be, but always controlled; blows that connect do so only firmly enough to let him know they happened.*

And this would the part where they touch gloves. The bell would sound. The game starts. At least now Matt is getting a sense that whatever she was doing before will not compare to what will happen now.

Swift is an understatement. And boy is she quiet. Matt matches up to most blocks but his timing is just a little off. There was something bigger coming after the jabs. A roundhouse kick wasn't expected. Matt is able to duck but she knocks him on the top most part of his head still. He drops and rolls to get out of the way before getting on is feet again.

"Scared you were gonna hurt me before?"