Raul Tejada vs Drake Fond: No Rules? No Problem!

"Oh, mi amigo..." Raul sighed sadly, watching as ALL that tough-guyness melted away from Drake, the man practically begging and crying for the Mexican to stop his attack! "¿Por qué lloras ...?" He asked softly, as if consoling a child. As he approached, the (self-proclaimed) gangster simply scooted back, his eyes full of mad terror. How the mighty have fallen, eh? Raul was over here, putting weight on a bleeding, cut-up, stabbed foot... and Drake was practically begging for mercy with a dislocated shoulder? Poor guy should really work on his pain tolerance or no-holds-barred just wasn't for him.

Raul didn't respond immediately to Drake's cries and pleading, instead simply walking up to him... but staying JUST out of arm/leg's reach in case he was pulling some kind of trick. His yellow eyes simply stared down upon him with a very minor lick of distaste within them, his smile... somewhat forced at the edges. Here he was, expecting someone he could REALLY throw down with... Drake had started off so strong and full of promise and now...? look at him now! He was pathetic! It was really kinda disappointing, really. What a way to come off to your opponent, let alone the crowd. Geez, and now he was spilling his guts about his OWN criminal attachments...? Guy must really think he's about to die over here...

"Joven... silencio..." Raul whispered as if talking to a sobbing child! "It is not proper to exclaim your questionable background to everyone within earshot... There are some things better left unsaid, no...?" His voice was soft, gentle, smooth as silk... his grin as such... but it was as if a steel frame hid behind it... "As for me... Let us not delve into idle speculation and assumptions. I am just plain, simple Raul... hm?" He knelt down, gently lowering himself down on one knee, draping an arm across his thigh.

"You may surrender, if you wish... There is no shame in calling it quits now. I will not respect you any less... nor will any of them..." Raul glanced over his shoulder at the crowd, their agast expressions... fitting right in with what the Mexican was feeling internally. God, Drake really couldn't sink any lower... but that was fine... It meant his opinion of him could not either. "Here's my first proposal... You may walk out of here... and I will not kick you in your shoulder again... I believe it's a mutually beneficial arrangement... Do you not?"

Drake continued to shudder and shake as Raul drew closer towards him. Drake’s eye seemed mostly keen on Raul’s shoe’s, as if he was waiting for them to suddenly lash out at his shoulder. He spoke quickly, almost to the point of incoherency, his feet constantly pushing his body further and further against the post in a sense of dread and panic as the Mexican brawler kept inching his way closer. From the way Drake was acting, Raul may as well have been the grim reaper himself, come to collect his soul, and what does anyone try to do when that time comes?

They plead, beg, and try to bargain with the cold spirit. Much like Drake did now. He was fine spilling his guts on his nefarious activities. Unknown to Raul, Drake did indeed have some very powerful friends, and on the off chance that he ever saw a courtroom for any of his crimes, he knew the charges would never stick. Drake had too many lawyers and too many seedy employees to ever be taken down with anything other then tax evasion, which he paid regularly to avoid. It was all something he implied and offered to Raul in the sad hopes the man would spare his arm and damaged shoulder.

The look of disgust was plain on Raul’s face, and yet the man spoke softly to Drake, who knew it was best to shut his mouth when Raul was talking. So long as he spoke, the likely hood of getting hit would drastically be reduced. Drake accidentally interrupted the man, seemingly unable to hear Raul’s whispers over the crowd. The one-eyed man quickly bit his tongue and appeared to listen intently. Every time Raul paused to let a point set in, Drake’s eye darted to Either Raul’s fists or his feet, like he was expecting an attack that never came.

Finally, Raul would drop down to Drake’s level, staring him in the eye with a calming smile. He even went so far as to drop to one knee and drape his arm over his leg, like a father encouraging his son. No matter how soft his tone was, there was a biting feeling at the end, a subtle hint of violence promised as Raul laid out his terms. Drake seemed to cower in the corner brining his legs closer, getting them underneath himself as if he was already preparing to run out of the stadium. Raul punctuated his statement by looking over his shoulder at the crowd, telling him there was no shame in quitting now, and that he nor the audience would think any less of him.

Sweet words that would have been extremely kind in any other context. Raul seemed to have an odd dignity about him, someone who could cut down the problem to its core and fix it within minutes. He was cool calm and collected, someone people could depend upon and maybe even look up to. These were things Drake could see in the man as he fought with him, but he could see other things too.

Raul’s head turned to survey the audience, appreciating their disgusted and aghast faces at the sudden turn of the fight. He seemed relieved that they all agreed with him that the display Drake had just shown was pathetic and sad. Only one person in the crowd seemed to be looking at Drake at that very moment…

Drake was grinning ear to ear.:

The jacket would fling forward once again, but rather then attempt to blind Raul, Drake’s jacket looked to go around Raul’s head and envelop it. If there was success, Raul would be practically blind, and his head under Drake’s control. With one violent tug, he would knock Raul off balance from his kneeling position, his bad leg unable to save him from falling forward onto Drake knee strike that was aimed right for his face. The attack would have double the force any of Drake’s hooks had, and the look of satisfaction on Drake’s face revealed his true nature to many who noticed it.

Drake had put on a show not for the audience, but for Raul. Already, the tears were gone, and though he still seemed to wince, his body was far more under control then previously seen. The businessman had put on another face, and used Raul’s pity against him…and that drew Drake’s biggest smile of the night!

...How very sad...

Raul's arms SHOT out, quick as lightning, grabbing onto Drake's wrist the instant he attempted to throw his jacket at him AGAIN, attempting to HALT his attempt once more and holding his arm still. Without a word, the man rose to his full height, a look of sheer disappointment in his eyes as he JERKED Drake up by his good arm... into a waiting knee that was looking to impact RIGHT on the man's bad shoulder! Did he think Raul was so short-minded that he couldn't SEE the possibility of trickery? Did Drake think himself soooo sly, his begging and pleading would fool the Mexican into thinking he was REALLY on the verge of a mental breakdown? Did he think his opponent so gulible and stupid that such a trick would work... and his jacket-trick would work TWICE!?

If Raul managed to catch Drake's wrist, the Jacket would fall over their hands... a perfect little matador's cape that hid Raul's oncoming fist RIGHT into Drake's face!

"What a fool you are." He would criticize harshly, stepping back and WRENCHING that jacket out of Drake's grasp. "To think you could fool me twice with this little trick... It is a wonder how you are able to sign your name on a contract if you thought THIS would be your go-to..." Without a word, he tossed the article of clothing over his shoulder before walking RIGHT back up to the downed man... STAMPING his heel right onto that dislocated, wounded shoulder... grinding it in as hard as he could.

"I made you an offer... It would seem you have refused... Bottom line...? I hope you know a good surgeon."

Drake had completely intended to ensnare Raul with his jacket, but would find his good arm ensnared not by the arm draped across Raul’s leg, but the one opposite. Drake hadn’t thought that Raul could react that fast…but his expression wasn’t panicked. His eye stared back and Raul’s disapproving gaze with something close to indifference, a chilling reminder what he could do when putting on a show for others. Drake wouldn’t let Raul move so freely, his own hand snagging Raul’s wrist and standing up alongside him.

“Tsk…so you knew? How droll…”

The eye that had seemed manic and scared mere seconds ago looked at Raul as if he was nothing more then paper work. As Raul moved to deliver a knee strike towards Drake’s bad shoulder, the eye quickly darted towards Raul’s moving hips, knowing full well what was coming. Rather than try to avoid the knee strike, Drake simply stepped into the strike and turned, letting the knee impact against his back. The blow was violent, and the sudden shift certainly hurt his shoulder, but the sacrifice was well worth the payoff. Raul was now only on one leg, his balance easily shifted thanks to Drake’s grip on his wrist. As quick as a flash, Drake pushed against Raul, looking to take him down to the floor. Almost as soon as the two men began to tumble over, Raul threw a wild punch towards Drake's face. the blow would have likely knocked out a tooth, but Drake managed to move his head to the side just enough that the fist simply grazed his cheek and ear, creating a burning streak of pain where Raul's knuckle made contact and dragged across his skin.

Drake didn’t think Raul would fall so…limply to the floor, and the brash fighter would doubtlessly drag Drake along with him. Probably try to go for his shoulder as well. Drake didn’t doubt the ruthlessness of his foe, and if he was indeed drug along with the fall, he would lead the fall with his knee, planning on driving it hard into Raul’s form. The Mexican was clearly not used to fighting with a damaged leg, and that was serving as Drake’s best advantage at the moment.

“I didn’t refuse anything. This is simply my counter offer, Mr. Tejada.” Drake spoke in a bored, business like manner, perhaps the closest thing to his real voice he would portray, “Please think it over carefully. Negotiations are now at play.”

Drake was beginning to hatch thought on resetting his shoulder. He knew of a few different ways to do so by himself, always fearing this would happen at some point. If Raul was foolish enough to give him the time, Drake would set out to do just that, returning his right arm to him and removing a blaringly large target for Raul to pick at.

Well, Raul wasn't all too impressed to discover that Drake's little emotional stroke was an act... God might've just forgiven him. Lets just say that in his line of work (and apparently now this one as well), there were quite a number of people that tried to get the drop on others using pity tactics. Look weak? curl up in a little ball and try to appeal to someone's humanity? It leaves them so deliciously vulnerable to a knife in the back... or stomach if you're in front of them. Drake wasn't much of an exception apparently, using tactics easily readable but, unknowing or not, playing on Raul's hopes that perhaps he had some ounce of original emotional drive instead of this dead-faced persona that had now taken him over.

Goody, goody. Just another sociopath... Say what one will about Mexico, what with it's blatant cartels, drug-smuggling rings and political/economic corruption... but at least people prayed after they killed people there... Japan? He doubted he could walk into a bar-fight and find someone that regretted it an hour later. Drake was just another version of them...

Disappointing. Humanity went out with the trash.

Drake's hand caught Raul's before he could toss away the rogue jacket, the Mexican merely staring down at his fallen opponent with sheer disappointment, his golden eyes staring down into the confessed gang-member's with simple displeasure... Teeth. Gnawing. Displeasure. Perhaps frustration would've been a better word because at least Raul could've felt something later after this fight... maybe regretted going to far or something...  

Noooooot today. Nope. He'll probably go home, have a drink and go to bed, the same as every other day... minus the leg of course. One might think that was something to be blessed with... No. It was empty. And boring. No emotional or psychological impact whatsoever.

Raul's knee strike hit... Drake's back, his punch missing by only an inch. By now, the man simply ripped his hand away, giving Drake the least amount of courtesy he could think to give, leaving the man in the corner to fall down alone. Hitting the ground with a dislocated shoulder didn't even make Drake blink, much to Raul's chagrin, the man simply musing how this was a "negotiation" as if Raul hadn't turned him down just now.

AH! Another one of his favorite customers! The kind that thought they could still obtain their desired good despite it being snatched away FAR out of their reach. As if the act alone wasn't enough of a hint... and it was almost as if Drake's remarkable levels of charisma (which, again, were beyond reproach) couldn't persuade even the most desperate and downtrodden of people who's luck had just withered and died. Intimidation...? Perhaps the one eye was interesting... something to poke at for fun... His tools? Annoying. Painful. Not scary. Let him bring a gun or a small knife... then he might become more... stimulating.

What attribute about himself was he using to gain ANY ground in this negotiation...? Raul was at a loss and yet Drake remained confident. Goons perhaps...? Maybe he was just that overconfident... Perhaps both. Raul simply said nothing, trying to get his thoughts together... for a time, at least.

"Might I presume to say you are the leader of your... banda de proscritos...?" He asked politely, his temporary bout of frustration disappearing behind his grin. "Tu carisma no hace justicia tu posición, amigo mío. To deal with me... or anyone, you must seem... auténtico. Gah... what's the japanese word for it.... True? In one aspect or another... but really, all you have been up until now is... deshonesto."

Raul tilted his head, doing his best to keep weight off his foot... and slow his heart-rate.

"Las negociaciones no parecen ser lo tuyo, señor proscrito... Sin embargo, podrías tener mejor suerte intimidando a la gente sencilla..."

Hilariously, Drake was growing just as disappointed in Raul as Raul was with Drake. He was a good enough fighter, sure but Drake saw those all of the time. Drake had grown up around rough-n-tough individuals for about two thirds of his life, and the “I’m tough, so I’m going to start a fight” attitude bored him after the first year of sitting around with it. Raul’s candid indifference to everything Drake pulled was also incredibly boring. It was as each had seen the other hundreds of times before through the faces of different people, and they were only just another one to stare at and eventually be forgotten.

Even Drake’s emotional manipulation wasn’t working, Raul’s yellow eyes cutting right through to the truth and not even pretending to be surprised in anyway. In fact, he showed little emotion to the reveal other then disappointment and it was all so dull. Raul’s knowledge of Drake’s tactics and Drake’s knowledge of Raul’s dragged this down into a strange level of indifference that Drake no longer bothered to hide.

No, Drake did not care about Raul. Not in the slightest. Life was like a business deal to the one-eyed man, and sometimes they fell through. The Mexican fighter dislocated his shoulder, which may have gotten other fighters hungry for revenge, but to Drake it was the cost of doing business. Raul paid for it with his damaged leg, and if he wanted to take things personal and go for Drake outside of the ring…the Drake will respond in kind.

But he was willing to bet quite a lot of money that would never happen.

Some space had been made between the two, with Drake’s eye looking at Raul for about a minute, then beginning to wander around the man. Raul was starting to speak, and though Drake wasn’t looking directly at him, he listened to the man swap between Japanese, to Spanish, then back. As he spoke, Drake began to reset his arm, bending the arm upwards and slowly lifting it up towards the sky as if he were stretching. He went a bit slow, making sure there was no resistance as the bone found the spot it had been pulled from. Three distinct and wet Cracks would be audible, and Drake winced at each one until his entire shoulder seemed to move. Drake let it drop, looking as if he had reset the wounded shoulder, touching his other shoulder to insure it was set properly.

Raul had finished saying…whatever it was he was saying. That going to need to be an issue that needs addressing.

“Mr. Tejada, I have a confession to make.” Drake said, his tone implying that it was nothing really important, “I’m not incredibly fluent in Spanish, only so much as to hold a basic conversation and order something from a restaurant. I only caught about…half of what you said, so if you wouldn’t mind could you please speak slower and a bit more clearly?”

Drake wasn’t entirely lying. He caught everything Raul had said to him and understood him just fine…but Drake knew if the man spoke too fast or began speaking in mixed language again and again, he was going to struggle clinging onto and deciphering each word, and it would soon devolve into gibberish. Neither Japanese nor Spanish were Drake’s native language, but he figured his Japanese was much better than his Spanish.

“[Do you speak English?]”

The reflection of Raul's frustration in his two eyes seemed to appear in Drake's one as well, the two men sharing quite a bit... and hating it all. Both of questionable pasts, both trying to deliver messages to the other under quite a bit of wrapping... both not afraid to deliver agonizing damage to their opponents under these circumstances... and both having secrets they would protect. With emotions obscured and their tactics of probing merely bouncing off one another, the meaning, the.... spice of their fight was simply... not there...? Each one so heavily guarded themselves, it was like a pair of children going at it head-to-toe in home-made pillow-armor. One might as well not fight at all if such cautions were being taken!

Raul's upper lip raised slightly in a cringe at the sound Drake's shoulder made as he set it back into place... and quite expertly, he might add! It was quite impressive, actually given how HARD it was to do without assistance! Ignoring the pain that came with resetting a limb, doing it one-handed from across one's body couldn't have been something an amateur student of medicine could do... Perhaps Drake had more skills than he let on...? What other little trixies did he have in store?

Raul merely cocked an eyebrow as the man made yet another confession of dishonesty, remarking how he actually didn't know all that much Spanish and that he would need a translation! AH, see, now Raul could go ham on Drake, remarking how he had just said at the start of this fight that he was proficient in the Mexican's language... and just a few moments later he was criticizing Raul about HIS inconsistencies?

Aie-yie-yie...

"[English...? So you speak a third language as well...?]" Raul remarked, genuinely impressed. "[Of course, you must learn this language to deal with anyone in the west. But then... I never liked how it tasted on my tongue.]" Raul cringed again, as if he had tasted something bitter... This felt NOW like it was a big churro -measuring contest.... if you know what that means... Look at them, speaking in 3 languages for the crowd... now all one of them needed to do was start spouting ancient yittish and they could declare a winner already. Raul tugged on his gloves tightly before curling his fingers into fists, tucking himself firmly behind his guard...

"[Perhaps we should focus less on the talking and more of the fighting, friend. That is what the good people have come to see.]"

Drake only blinked towards Raul’s strange compliment. Raul was a weird man, stranger then many of the oddballs Drake had to deal with in his line of work. He seemed to flip emotions a bit too easy, going from irritated, to cringing, to impressed in quick transitions that happened so fast normal people would have missed at least one of them. The only reason Drake noticed them was because he was looking for them specifically. Perhaps it was because they were from totally different cultures, but Drake was not quite as expressive as the man that stood across from him.

So when Raul made a strange face after revealing he spoke three languages as well, Drake simply tilted his head. His face was unreadable, even his eye glared at Raul with a questioning look. Did he really not like speaking English that much? The man in red was slightly curious as to why Raul disliked English so much…but found it funny in a cosmic sort of way. Drake actually didn’t like speaking Spanish, though that came more from his hatred of the teacher rather then the language. Yet another contrast between the two.

It felt as if there was already a very long list of things Drake and Raul had in common, with similar but different experiences in just about everything. It may have been interesting in a life where they were friends, but they were far from that at this point. At best, they might have seen each other as potential buyer for their goods…if that was the scam ring they ran. Drake ran a myriad of services, but was unsure of what Raul would even be interested in, though at this rate he was quickly losing interest in the man who claimed to be normal when clearly, he wasn’t.

Drake’s bored eye flicked back towards Raul curiously. He knew it was just a saying, but Drake found it odd the man would use the word “friend” out of all of the other words in the human language. It was not the word Drake would have used if he had the choice, that was certain.

“[I do a bit of Latin too…do you know the phrase Quid Pro Quo? It means Something for something else, something you want for something I want. A lovely concept, honestly. One I enjoy more then most would think. I don’t hold grudges and I am happy to provide someone with something they need if they are capable of returning the favor…but at this rate, I don’t think you will break your story…so there is nothing I want. This fight has begun to cost more than it is worth.]”

Drake collected his jacket, and without even glancing at Raul, slid both of his arm through the sleeves. The constant throwing and tossing around of the heavy garment knocked all of the tacks and pins loose from the material. Drake still had a few stuck in his good shoulder, but he could endure it.

“[If you are ever ready to…talk shop, feel free to give me a call. Otherwise, enjoy your stay here in Japan. May we meet again under better circumstances.]”  

With that, Drake simply got up and left. The referee warned Drake that if he left, he would lose via count out, but Drake simply brushed him aside, telling him how he didn’t really care. Strangely, the overhead lights flickered out as Drake hit the concreate floor, concealing the entire arena in darkness as Drake casually escaped up the ramp.

Ah…didn’t Stella do something like this on her debut? I suppose we really are similar…

Winner by Count Out: Raul Tejada