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Punchclock
Topic Started: Oct 25 2012, 05:02 PM (531 Views)
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Madoka would be in trouble. Probably. It usually went that way.

A boy thought that Madoka looked at him funny, so the brawler wanted to sock it to him. Madoka wasn't really picking a fight though. It was just how his face looked all the time. Normally, Madoka would leap at the opportunity to fight, but ever since his run-in with his shadow, it had seemed to be less and less fun to cut class to fight.

Still, he considered it a routine. The guy swung towards him for a headbutt, but Madoka released the delinquent's fist and twisted to the side. Madoka grunted as the headbutt connected with his shoulder. It was a dull pain. But a good pain. It reminded him that he was alive. He started to smile, slightly. Finally, it seemed that he could get back int-

What are you doing?

Madoka stiffened as his shadow's words flashed through his head like thunder. The other boy saw his chance and punched Madoka in the gut. Without even thinking, Madoka launched a punch of his own. With a soft crunch, the boy's nose collapsed on itself. Blood spurted out as he slammed against the wall. Madoka glanced at the blood on his knuckles apathetically.

Maybe he had ended it a bit early. People tended to freak at seeing their own blood.
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Dante
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WHERE THE FUCK IS MARIO
Clapping rang out from behind the two fighters as a boy walked into view. A loose fitting school shirt and trousers garbed his rough frame as he looked on, his face hidden by the way he stood, his head tilted downwards. "Bravo. Bravo. You've managed to take a fight and make it more boring than I've ever seen." The wild card sighed, throwing a hand through his hair.

He shrugged, giving a smirk. "I suppose I couldn't expect much from the usual dregs. Ah, oh well. I'll entertain you I suppose." He raised his hands in a boxing stance, beckoning to the other fighter. A nod was given to Madoka as he stepped up to fight.
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Madoka glanced numbly at the mocking boy. Treo Ashdown. Persona User, Wild Card, and, apparently, brawler. He turned his eyes to the man with the bloody nose and felt the blood dripping off his hand. The fist wasn't stained red. A consequence of nulling water.

"Hey..." Madoka said, maintaining a sidelong glance.

The boy looked up now with simmering eyes set on a peaceful face. A small, understanding smile came to his face. "I heard that you were having spiritual trouble. Can't find an answer to a question that you don't even know. That's what people say about you, right?"

He stepped forward and assumed a fighting stance. "But I think you're just as bored as I am. I think that's your problem. So let's enjoy the moment."
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Dante
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WHERE THE FUCK IS MARIO
Treo chuckled.

"Oh, is that what they're saying? They're right, but I threw myself off the school, for a little experiment." He raised his hands up again and chuckled. "You'd be right. I can't find the answer, but I'm not looking anymore."

Running a hand through his hair he cracked a smirk. "Lets just enjoy this. You can go first." The teen lowered his arms and smiled, almost inviting the first move.
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"Thanks."

Madoka threw the force of his weight behind a rapid straight punch as he stepped towards Treo. It was a punch that Madoka knew well, one that he had built up over years of fighting. There was no clever trick behind it, nor any specific intent. Incapacitate, maim, kill, who cared? There was only blinding speed and sheer power. Break through the guard and hit its mark. That's all there was to the punch.
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Dante
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Treo saw it coming, it was a fast punch, he pulled his head back, trying to avoid the punch, before ducking down low, Queensbury rules, still above the belt as he brought his own fist forward towards the boy's torso. A strong punch meant to explode the air out of his lungs. He didn't follow it up with anything, waiting for Madoka's next move.

Hand to hand wasn't his forte, but there was a certain visceral quality. He wanted to keep fighting.
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Madoka felt his arm snap straight and his fist swishing through air when Treo twisted out of the way of his blow. He pulled his arm back and began to backpedal, but he wasn't quick enough to avoid a blow to the diaphragm. The silver-hair boy might not have shared Madoka's level of brawn, but it was strong enough to force the air out of his lungs. Due to his backwards movement, he was able to minimize the damage. No fractures or ruptures.

Reacting instinctively, Madoka reached to lock Treo's punching arm in an iron grip and tried to reel him in as he dealt another punch, this time aimed for Treo's face. "You a boxer or a mixed martial artist?"
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Dante
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WHERE THE FUCK IS MARIO
Treo felt his arm snag as he tried to pull it back, feeling a small amount of give but not enough, then Madoka's fist, his arm was already gripping Treo's so the boy raised his second hand, meeting fist with palm.

The blow shattered against his hand, the shock travelling through his arm. Constant shaking until he brought his fingers around the fist. "I'm a little of both. Queensbury with a hint of Kune do. You use your brawn to your advantage, overpowering foes with your strength, correct?"

He grinned. "I've never fought someone this strong before. But you're not stupid. You grabbed my arm quickly. You focus on the moment, which is why me doing this is probably really annoying, right? I'm slowing down the pace." He grinned, before rising his right leg, aiming for the side of Madoka's head. It would force him to release.
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"Brute strength? If you're talking about something that basic, then you should be able to tell, fighting me and all," Madoka said, returning the grin. He anticipated the kick; it was one of the most basic ways to break a deadlock. Madoka could shove Treo back to avoid the kick. The taller teen would go crashing into a wall or stagger back long enough to get a good shot in. But where was the fun in that?

Madoka took a large step backwards, using the movement to dislodge his punching arm from Treo's guarding hand. Immediately after they broke contact, he grabbed forward again, trying to get a hold of both of the boy's arms. Afterwards, he pulled forward. It didn't matter how precise Treo was at kicking. Unless he had amazing balance, he'd have to put that leg down to regain his balance.
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Dante
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Treo's kick was more of a test, than a true impact. He felt his arm freed and then as Madoka moved forward he felt a grip on his arms. Then a pull. The boy felt his entire body move forward, so he aimed a kick for Madoka's midsection, pressing against it if he struck to push himself backwards, arcing in a backflip and resetting his position. "Of course, neither of us are your average fighter, that's for sure."
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