Dumb Luck [Imuka]

[puck]

Mission #34: Participate in the underground fight club tournament on Eldoran Island. Of course there is no proof that such a fight club even exists. Along with the rumor is that recently there has been a Zoan user fighting in the tournament. So watch out, for the zoan user and the Marines on the island who have banned such events.

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Well...this sucked.

Somehow, when he sent her out on this journey, Puck doubted very much that her father had situations like this in mind. But, then again, maybe he did. Her father, though stern and strict, always did have a kind of twisted sense of humor, and seeing her like she was now might have made him somewhat amused. And, despite the nature of her being right now, Puck was amused, for several reasons. One, yeah...she could have used her new found powers to get out of this situation...or, well, try. But her life out of her house had taught her to keep an ace up her sleeve, and the consumption of whatever Devil Fruit it was that had given her those powers was it.

The second reason why she was amused was because of how she got into this situation in the first place. Her father (and all her friends she ever gambled with) had always said she was protected by the goddess of Dumb Luck. Gambling with Puck was a sure way to lose your money, they would always say, so do it at your own risk. Unfortunately for the rest of the world, they didn't know that. To them, Puck was a crazy, flirty chick with a tendency to grope barmaids, and she looked like such an easy mark with the way she drank and threw her money around. Inviting her to a game of...whatever, was so easy!! Half explain the rules, halfway show her how it's done and they might even have a wench who'd pay them back by laying on her back.

Well...things didn't go quite as planned.

Several hours later, Puck was on the verge of breaking a whole crew of their winnings. She had Beri, clothes, jewelery, weapons and tools, more then she knew what to do with. And the whole time, she did what she always did; smack talked and drank. She barley noticed that the crew of people she was playing against were pirates, barley noticed their anger at her words or how well she was doing. She barley noticed the captain of said crew when he put up the ship!! She went about her business of barley paying attention to the game and instead focusing on the barmaid she had on her lap (who was lavished on the jewelery Puck had been winning) and drinking more of whatever the sweet, somewhat fruity drink she had been consuming the whole night.

So when the crew all ganged up on her, that was when she started to pay attention.

But not much. The crew and the captain took back their belongings (even from the protesting barmaid) and shackled up Puck, thinking on what to do with her. Even in her intoxicated state, Puck figured if they got too “hands on” or violent, she'd show them what she was really about. But a day later she was thrust into another experience she knew she could and would come to love – the fight pits. Or whatever they called them.

Two days later she was still fighting, the pirate crew that had “captured” her still betting on her as she tore through the competition. Some won, some lost but they all had a good time, which Puck appreciated since, after awhile, she was starting to get a little tired. Also beat up. While she prided herself on her martial arts abilities and was confident she could rip apart any fighter she was put up against, that didn't mean she couldn't get hurt. Or punched/kicked in the face really hard. Getting hit was inevitable, and she didn't want to disappoint the crowd. They loved her!! She put on a good show.

So yes. Now, sitting in what she considered a cozy cell, she drank some of the water that was given to her and poured it over her head. The water cascaded down her burning brown skin and settled comfortably down her shirt, which was quite dirty by now, and she sighed heavily. At least they allowed her showers. Women were, anyways, the guys just rotted in their stench. They didn't seem to mind though, but Puck would have murdered for a hot bath instead of a five minute shower in which she was leered at by whatever guard was on duty.

Feh. Modesty wasn't her thing anyways.

Another sigh escaped her lips as she touched the tender part under her right eye, feeling how swollen it was becoming and estimating how long it was going to be before it closed shut completely. The last guy got in a good shot, and the result was that she was probably going to fight mostly blind on her right side. It was a handicap that would have crippled most...and for Puck it was no different. She fell back on the “cot” that served as her bed and forced herself to breath evenly. There was no use in worrying, and as per usual, she had her ace up her sleeve. If things got too out of hand, a well timed explosion usually solved many a problem.

So, Puck thanked the goddess of Dumb Luck, wherever she was, that she was being shown such a good time. And yeah, she missed home and her father and her horde of tentative, yet willing to please maids, but this...this was fun, she had to admit. Gambling, winning, fighting...yeah. This was how one took their minds off a tortured past and how one lived in the moment. Because without this, Puck would be trying to find the next step above sleeping with the various women back on Viktas, and seeing how much trouble she could get into in various other ways.

Now, at least she had an excuse.

“Yer up again, Puck.”

No rest for the wicked, as they say, and Puck slowly stood, stretching hugely before patting the guard on the shoulder.

“Ara, ara, so soon Benjamin?” she smiled brightly, flashing her perfect white teeth which contrasted starkly on her dark and somewhat bruised face. “I am beginning to think they like seeing me suffer.”

The guard shook his head as he closed the cell door and escorted Puck to the arena. He'd never seen a fighter like Puck, and doubted he ever would again. But if he didn't know any better, he would swear up and down that the brown skinned woman wanted to die.

[Die]

How long had she been running? What felt like just yesterday had actually been several days. Those memories burned brightly in her mind, and it pained her greatly. She wished she didn't run. She wished she ignored their orders. She wished she had died alongside them, fighting against the very Marines they had served under in their final stand. But no. When he shouted his final orders to her, her body seemed to develop a mind of its own, listening to him and running away as they held off the pursuing Marines.

Imuka had arrived on El Doran Island a few days after her escape. She had paid the Captain of a cargo vessel to smuggle her away to the nearest island. She had to keep off the radar. The Marines were still looking for her after she and her Division mutinied after having received orders to saturate a small civilian town with cannonballs on some shoddy suspicion that they were harboring Poneglyph researchers. She had assumed a hasty disguise, a simple cloak to keep her outward appearance hidden and a tarp draped and tied around the Var to keep her signature weapon hidden. For all intents and purposes, it now just resembled and oversized sword, some of which other fighters in the tournament used.

Upon reaching the island, she realized she no longer had any money. Even worse, the Marine presence on the island had been increased due to the recent events. Luckily enough for her, they were too stupid to notice the simple cloak she wore. But the problem remained, she still needed money to get off the island. One night in a dim, dingy, and small pub, she overheard two men talking about an underground fight club. Eager to avoid the Marines and hoping that they would leave while she fought in the tournament, she asked the men, who promptly pointed her off in the right direction. That was three days ago.

"Hey. You're up," said the gruff voice of a guard as he opened her cage. For most of the other fighters. The cages were an insurance policy to keep them there until the actual tournament was over. The girl grabbed her massive weapon, and was escorted to the rather large gladiator-style arena that had been build underground amidst a series of confusing and twisting catacombs. After several minutes of walking, the sound of the audience could be heard through the tunnel. As soon as they exited the tunnel and out into the arena, Imuka was greeted by blinding bright lights. She looked down, allowing the hood of the cloak to help keep some of the light out until her eyes adjusted. The gate to the tunnel behind her came down, blocking off that exit.

She squinted through to the other end of the large arena. A rather large man wielding a massive blade slightly larger than her Var approached fast. The only pieces of armor he wore was a masked, gladiator-style helmet, metal cestuses over his hands and his forearm, and a shoulder guard over his right shoulder. His brisk paced walk quickly broke out into a run as he jogged towards her, holding the massive blade to his side. Imuka too broke out into a run towards him, albeit at a faster pace, as though the armor and the weapon did not weigh her down. Within seconds, they converged at the center of the arena. Her opponent's muscles rippled as he roared during the swing of his massive weapon. Imuka too shouted as she swung hers. Both blade clashed with a resounding clang as dirt and dust were thrown up and around from the force of the clash. Both fighters drew their blades back for a second strike, but Imuka was quicker on the draw. Her blade met his before he could put more strength and momentum, upsetting his balance and causing him to stumble to the side. The girl swung one more time, further upsetting his balance before drawing the Var back and spinning in the opposite direction. She twisted the weapon around and struck at her opponent as he stumbled into the path of her strike.

The blade of the Var slashed across the man's arm and chest, leaving a bloody gash as it struck against his blade, causing him to suddenly release hold on his weapon. It tumbled onto the ground with a metal clang as Imuka moved in towards it. With a single kick, she knocked the blade far back. However, her opponent wasted no tie in recovering and striking back with a flurry of punches. His fighting style had changed drastically as he had picked up quite a bit of speed. It seemed as boxing was a natural fighting form for him. The worst part about it was his strength. Combined with his speed, it forced her to maintain a defensive position. The first strike hit her in the shoulder, forcing her to the side. Metal on metal resounded as his cestus hit her shoulder armor. Quickly she held up the Var in front of her, absorbing the rest of the strikes. She had to do something quick. At this rate, he'd wear her down to nothing and then finish her off.

Imuka decided to take a big risk by fighting fire with fire. She plunged the Var into the ground and held her armored and spiked fists up to guard her face and chest. The two combatants met once again, exchanging armored punches. While Imuka had the advantage due to much of her armor covering her vitals, her head was still unprotected. She was counting on him to go for her head. This was where Krav Maga would come in handy. As her opponent threw a right hook, she punched upward with her left hand, puncturing his skin with the spiked gauntlet and forcing his arm up and over her head. She grabbed the arm with her right hand, and struck again with her left right at his elbow. With a loud cry, she poured an inordinate amount strength into her strike. A sickening crack echoed through the arena as the man's arm essentially inverted, broken right at the joint. The man screamed out loud in pain, but quickly retaliated with a left jab at her head, connecting with her cheek. She grunted loudly in pain as she quickly responded by punching hard at his helmet. With a resounding clang, the spiked gauntlet punctured through the thin metal and dented the face mask. A bit of blood spurted from holes in the mask as the man groaned softly, wobbling around before falling onto his back and tossing up dust, battered and broken.

Lucky for Imuka, he hadn't broken anything, not even her teeth. She spat out blood on him as the crowd roared and cheered. She would be getting paid tonight. The gate to the tunnel she came through lifted up as a guard came to retrieve her while two others dragged her opponent's limp body away. As she entered the tunnel, she saw another guard escorting a dark-skinned, purple-haired female fighter out into the ring. She looked at her from under the hood of her cloak as they passed each other. Imuka was to be brought back to the cells, and most likely awarded a 5 minute cold shower.

[puck]

It was about ten minutes into the match that Puck felt the first blow.

In truth, Puck wasn't confident about many things. Fighting, drinking, women...that was about it. She didn't believe herself smart, didn't think herself talented and really didn't mind that a lot of what she did and how she acted was completely out of the ordinary for most women. But the things she did feel confident about, like her fighting...well. It was at moments like these that her ego could barley be contained and her mind would wander, as if to even the match she was currently in.

And her opponent had no qualms taking advantage of said mind wandering.

Her jaw would be bruised for quite awhile, no doubt. She stumbled back, her eyes widening a bit before her head got back into the game. The roar of the crowd came rushing back, and Puck shook her head to clear the cobwebs. Her opponent, a smallish man with a runner's body, tight and muscular, looked surprised as well. For the past ten minutes he hadn't been able to land a single blow on the purplette, and when he did he was far to shocked to follow up. The shock, however, didn't last long. He may not have landed a blow, but this insolent woman hadn't even attempted one.

Puck dodged and weaves out of the quick man's jabs and punches, smiling as she did so. There was nothing really like the thrill of the fight. It wasn't something she did often while under the perceptive gaze of her father, but every now again, when she was at school, she took up a defense on those being picked on. Her father, ever the defender, never punished her for these “crimes”, and instead better prepared her for such actions in the future. And while she enjoyed defending her friends, she enjoyed the fighting better (as much as she hated to admit it).

A sudden 'whoosh' that blew past her ear told her that her opponent was dangerously close to hitting her again, so Puck decided that paying attention would be a good thing. Luckily he wasn't a weapons user, otherwise Puck wouldn't have been able to slack off as she had been. She hopped back a step and waited, arms and fists up as she blocked a kick by jutting her foot out, kicking the man's ankle hard enough to send him to a knee. A knee up into his jaw and a follow up elbow to the face send him sprawling to the floor.

The fight had hit the fifteen minute mark and, if Puck was correct, those few hits would be enough to end the fight. He would simply be too tired to get back up. His legs would feel like jelly and his brain would be telling him to star down. The hit with her elbow had hit his temple, so his reactions would be delayed, and even though his body was pumping with adrenaline the migraine would soon be too overpowering to ignore. Plus, his sight was no doubt swimming with bright spots dancing around his line of vision.

Yup. Totally gone.

Another fight, another bruise. She smiled brightly at the crowd, waving as they chanted her name. 'The Panther' they called, her, due to her dark skin and yellow eyes. The named amused her, so she didn't mind. A few more rounds of waving and mock bowing and Puck was grabbed up by a guard and sent back to her cell. She sighed, thinking back to probably the most interesting part of this particular fight. The beginning, before it even started.

When the pretty girl under that cloak eyed her. Puck licked her lips. What she wouldn't give to bed someone that feisty.

At least her bed would be warmer for a night.