Delsin’s hand clenched into a fist at Fetch’s jibe, eyes narrowing on her. “Like you could hit that hard," he retorted, voice cool — which betrayed the expression on his face. His eyes never left her; they followed her as she adjusted herself and hopped into the ring. It wasn’t until then that he got into position. Arms lifted, fists clenched, Delsin bent a knee and leaned back, in the perfect position to begin fighting.
”Whatever. You were just wasting everyone’s time by dragging your feet." He loosened his fist and adjusted his fingers like he was shifting his grip on something, and for a moment, he almost wished that they were fighting with bo staffs. But then, Fetch smirked the most self-satisfied smirk he’d ever seen and made a ‘come hither’ motion with her fingers, and Delsin felt that annoyance bubble up inside him once again, hot and angry and just totally infuriating.
He rolled his weight forward to the foot positioned closer to her and rocketed toward her, fists raised and ready to hit her. Sure, this was just a spar, but that didn’t mean Delsin was going to go easy on her. He hauled his arm back, ready to strike, when she was suddenly… gone. Blinking, mouth opening in surprise, Delsin’s eyes darted to and fro until he felt a sharp, heavy pain at the nape of his neck. Immediately, he collapsed onto the floor, landing hard on his stomach, limbs splayed out around him.
It didn’t take rocket science for him to figure out that she was fast. Really, really fast. So fast that she’d managed to sidestep his attack in time and throttle her elbow back into his neck to bring him to the ground. Head throbbing, Delsin wasted no time in rolling onto his back and jumping back to his feet, fists up again. He was acutely aware of the whispers rising from the spectators in the room, but he refused to let them get to him. He had to focus on her; he was quickly becoming aware that this was not something he could half-ass.
And he’d really been hoping he wouldn’t have to hit her too hard.
Her grin was wider now, her jibes coming like needles under his skin, but he ignored them. Calm down, Delsin, he told himself. Concentrate. Get mad later. You won’t win if you stay mad now. And this time, he paid attention to her — really paid attention. He once more came at her, making like he was going to throw another punch. She jumped away, probably just like she had before, but he quickly shifted his weight, raised the arm closest to her, and checked her with his weight. She stumbled back, a look of surprise crossing her face before she, too, raised her fists in defense.
The room was dead silent now — not a sound as the two fighters slowly circled one another. Delsin knew that she wouldn’t strike first, and this time, he faked her out. He moved forward, feet shuffling against the mat, and just as she feinted to one side, Delsin swept his arm out to clock her on the side of the head. But Fetch reacted just as quickly and raised one of her arms to block it at the last second. For a moment there was a stalemate, and then, Delsin lurched forward, trying to grab her by the arm, by the shoulder, by anything, just so he could pin her down and get her to stop moving for five seconds.
But Fetch managed to evade, ducking around him and giving him a solid shove — enough to stumble him, but not enough to knock him over. They once more turned to face each other again, and the battle began anew.
The fight continued for several minutes, both on equal footing with the other — anticipating moves, blocking, countering, and occasionally getting a hit in. The entire time, there was dead silence — not even the fighters themselves goaded one another anymore, too focused on besting the other to care about such trivialities.
But then Delsin saw his opening; saw the way she left one side completely unguarded while dodging and, without thinking, lunged forward and tackled her down onto the mat. They both hit, hard, and Delsin pinned her, her legs trapped underneath his own, her wrists held down by both of his hands. At last, he grinned triumphantly, taking great pleasure in the annoyed expression on her face. “Finally fucking got you,” he crowed, adjusting his hold slightly on her wrists. “After running away like a coward, I finally pinned you down!” He glanced over at the trainer, who had not yet called the match. Not surprising, considering neither one of them had tapped out. “You should just give up now, Fetch. No way you’re weaseling your way out of this one —”
And here, he made his fatal mistake. His grip on her right wrist loosened — not a lot, but just enough that she wasted no time in yanking her arm from his grasp. Before he could react, could pin her down again, she hauled back and socked him right in the face.
He heard the crunch more than he felt it, and Delsin fell back onto his ass, letting up on Fetch without a second thought. Though she jumped up to her feet, Delsin’s hands launched up to cup his nose, because there were blood splatters on the mat.
When he pulled his hands away, they came away blood, and he knew that she had broken it. It was starting throb now, too, and Delsin couldn’t stop himself from starting, “Sonova —!”
”Delsin!" Reggie yelled, and jumped into the ring. The trainer called the fight shortly after, also climbing in to help assess the damage.
But Delsin looked past both of them to lock eyes with Fetch. “You broke my fucking nose! You — you —" But he couldn’t come up with an insult strong enough to finish that thought.
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