Blaise Cameron vs. Nathan Weed - For Amy's Sake

It's an odd evening for everyone involved.

Blaise can't remember the last time he was ever so... harsh with someone. Not physically - it's rough, but not the brand of harshness that feels foreign to him. He's usually the one telling people things will get better, or that they've done the best they can. If he can be cool with Amy after getting beaten unconscious, without a shred of resentment, why should this be so different?

Blaise turns over onto his hands and knees and focuses his eyes on the downed Nathan. He should be thinking about where to go from here, while the audience is still screaming its support from the barrage of hard-hitting maneuvers. But he's paused, worrying his mind over what he's doing. Is it like the thing with Qi again?

'...No. This is different.'

In wrestling, people get beaten up. That's all a part of the contest. He's come to accept that, even if it took him a while as an amateur. But what Nathan did was a sort of betrayal; on someone who was his friend, no less. Someone who risked herself to save him. Who tried to talk him up when things looked their worst. He might have given in to their demands with good, albeit cowardly intentions, but that gave way to him just indulging himself with their tormentor. It was so selfish, so oblivious, it could only Blaise's stomach. And it was made worse by the fact that Amy is his only friend in Japan so far.

Nathan's getting what's coming to him. And with that in mind, Blaise decides he's not ready to end this match yet.

The teen climbs to his feet and leans over him. "What? No more trying to justify yourself?," he demands. "Lemme remind you..." He begins throwing his boot against Nathan's side repeatedly, punctuating each strike with a word. "This! Is! What! Amy! Went! Through!" The next strike is a stomp on the chest. "For!" And then a final, harder kick to his side. "You!"

Nathan's teeth were grit as Blaise's boot rained all over his torso, but Nathan managed to stay quiet while taking his lumps. His side got the worst of it, taking six heavy toe kicks in quick succession. Then an unexpected stomp to his chest drove the air out of his lungs, taking him off guard, which afforded Blaise's final kick to really get in there, finally wrenching a groan from Nathan's mouth, and pushing him over onto his chest. He made another rotation so that he was staring into the harsh arena lights again, and then he opened his mouth.

Nathan's right midsection felt like a bowl of soggy grapes, and it made every word that he spoke agonizing. His voice barely carried past the air just in front of his face, but that didn't matter to him. It was only important that they get said; they weren't for Blaise, not really.

"No, you're right," His voice was like wet gravel. "I'm trash."

He brought an arm up to his face, resting his forearm against his brow. "All I want to do is make things right with Amy. But she won’t talk to me. Will getting beat up like this make her take my calls? Will I get a chance to apologize if you knock me out? I don't know what I'm supposed to do, here. Tell me what I'm supposed to do, Blaise, since you seem to have all the answers."

Then he moved both of his hands to his face and smothered himself in them. Tears were welling up in his eyes, and his voice was threatening to catch. In an even quieter voice, he spoke again. "I hate myself."

Blaise isn't close enough to hear all of it. But when Nathan begins spilling his guts, he leans in closer. His brow furrows, and he hesitates to continue the beration. The thought that this is some kind of trick doesn't even enter his mind.

"You hurt'er, dude," is his response. His tone no longer carries venom, but it's certainly not giving up its assertive, controlled edge. "You can't expect her to take your calls. Bet she doesn't even wanna see your face. This, tonight, ain't about you getting her to like you again. It's about you paying your dues."

He reaches out to grab Nathan by the wrists to drag him up to his feet again. Those dues haven't been paid yet. "If you want her to talk to you again, you're gonna have to work for it."

Nathan let Blaise pull him back up to his feet without a struggle. Even if he had wanted to turn this match around, he was in no shape to do it; his torso in particular had been messed up pretty good, and it was hard for him to inhale without a stabbing pain somewhere on it. His right hand wouldn't be able to do any punching before it could be iced. Somewhere in his subconscious, a brain cell made a note- handwraps. But, most importantly, his heart just wasn't there. He had no fight left in him; it wasn't clear if he'd had any to begin with. Instead, he swallowed Blaise's words. He was grateful for something to do, even if it wouldn't immediately restore his standing with Amy. This was making him feel punished, which was the first step toward redemption, and this was far better than just doing nothing and letting things rot. It felt like progress.

Nathan's eyes were bleary, and his footing was unsteady, but he did his best to remain upright.

With Nathan on his feet again, Blaise can plainly see that there's no longer any kind of fight in him. He took most of the shots to the body and one clonker right to the noggin, but he's pretty much fine, apart from some residual soreness. If this keeps up, this will have absolutely been the gentlest match Blaise has ever been in.

...Well, gentle on his receiving end, anyway. He hasn't been pulling any of his own punches. It's a match - there's going to be a winner, and there's going to be a loser. On top of that, he's got to make his point. ...Or did he do that already? Nathan's no longer denying anything, so... maybe? Maybe it's time to end it?

But not without one last bit.

"Look," he begins, adopting an uncharacteristically solemn expression, "This is about you paying those dues, yeah, but it's also about showing Amy someone out there gives a damn about'er - that she's important enough to go out on a limb for. That's what you screwed up. What you did had to make'er feel worthless; like she ranked way below your friggin' libido. You follow me?"

He takes a step back.

"If you want to try to get on good terms with her again, you're gonna need to prove she matters."

He couldn't, in good conscience, not try to give some advice to help fix the situation. The guy came off super trashy, given the circumstances, but maybe he's selling him short. What he does with the advice would likely reveal his character. So, despite the bleary, watery look in Nathan's eyes, Blaise can feel okay about what he's about to do.

Having taken that step back, Blaise jaunts forward and aims a hard toekick for Nathan's abdomen with the intent to double him over. Flowing seamlessly into the motion, he turns his back and reaches over his shoulder to grab him by the head, dropping to a knee to crash his jaw against his shoulder in a repeated stunner. Immediately following the impact, the teen pops into the air and twists towards Nathan to force him to likewise twist over, and drops to the mat to slam him down on his back in a neckbreaker slam.

Nathan didn't speak. he just silently digested Blaise's words. They made sense, and they gave him a bit of direction. He'd make things right. Once he'd collected his senses from the mat, that is.

Nathan was done; he had been expecting to be finished off, and he wasn't disappointed. Blaise's toe kick easily bent him over, and Blaise was able to knock Nathan's jaw again, no problem. Then, in a harsh departure from the last time, Nathan was twisted bodily in the air and slammed down into the mat, with Blaise's hands never leaving his head. The collision was violent enough to make Nathan bounce up once off the mat once before finally coming to rest. He had landed back first, but, somehow, the pain registered over every hit he had taken over the course of their fight- the impact made his head throb, his right hand shake, his torso spasm. Finally he settled down. His eyes were screwed shut, his arms were spread out, and his mouth hung wide open, gulping in air in noisy, rasping breaths.

Blaise lands on his forearms over his chest, protecting him from the brunt of the impact. And immediately after said impact, Nathan is freed from his grasp and permitted to twitch, spams, and writhe to his heart's content - for a few seconds, at least.

That little combination was something he'd been toying with in spars for a while, but had never gotten to actually pull it off on anyone before. Feeling the mat shake under Nathan's weight was enough to confirm that it was a punishing blow, and the audience was shouting its approval. For all intents and purposes, it looks like it put Nathan out. But people have a nasty habit of kicking out of his pins...

It didn't matter. This was his opportunity, he could all but feel how hard that landing was, and the encouraging roar of the audience was energizing. Blaise outright pounces onto Nathan, pressing his toned chest across the other male's torso. His arms occupy themselves with holding his right arm down while he presses his weight against him.

His head perks to regard the referee girl. "COUNT IT!"

One!

Nathan was barely aware that the match was ending. His consciousness was a mess with pain; Blaise's weight hardly registered, the ref's voice was far away, and the width of the opening in his eyes was just enough that only a sliver of bright light could slip through. Any part of his mind still functioning was occupied by other thoughts. Blaise was a good friend. Nathan had been a good friend once. It was a deep, dark hole that he'd entrenched himself in, and it would not be an easy one to climb out of. But Nathan was a hard worker. An even harder worker with hope.

Two!

With each strike on the mat, the anticipation builds in him. He has high hopes. This could be it. This could be the first win in over a year!

But as the count continues nearing the third strike, Blaise realizes that it feels off. It doesn't feel like victory. Nathan wasn't putting up much of a fight, and it seemed like halfway through it, he'd just... stopped. The pain and punishment he'd dealt is valid enough, but this doesn't feel like a match he can take any sort of competitive pride in. He's confident he's won this, but he's still yet to conquer someone in the squared circle.

'That's fine. It'll happen. Tonight wasn't about that.'

Three!

*DING!* *DING!* *DING!*

The audience erupts into cheer, and he isn't sure whether or not they agree with his assessment. He hasn't been around long enough to be a staple presence in the ring, but those in the crowd who have been watching him since his debut in Japan might see this as an accomplishment. He wishes he could feel the same, but not yet. Not yet.

The teen raises from his dominant position, his head bowed to gather his thoughts and try to focus out the roar of the stadium. The referee takes his wrist to flaunt him as the winner of tonight's match. It takes several more seconds, but Blaise finally lifts his head and meets the magnanimous praise with a warm smile. His energy level doesn't quite match what the audience is putting out, and the more astute observer will catch on quickly.

When his arm is released, he spares a moment to glance back down at Nathan before quietly rolling under the ropes. He walks up the ramp, but at an obviously hastened clip. It just feels uncomfortable, calling something like tonight a "win".

'It'll happen. When it does, it'll feel right. It'll happen.'

It took some time, but slowly Nathan's senses returned to normal. First, he became aware of the buzz that seemed echoed off the walls and high ceilings of the arena. He took it to mean that he had lost the fight. Fine. Next, his eyes fluttered open. The intensity of the lights forced his lids shut soon after, but he opened them again just in time to make brief eye contact with Blaise before he hurried distractedly out of the ring.

Nathan took two moments to steel himself, then forced himself into a sitting position, wincing as a massive headache hit him at the temples and the soreness from the match came crashing down on him all at once. Then, bravely, he got to his feet, one leg at a time- boos bloomed from random points in the crowd, but he simply accepted it. Fine.

Once Blaise had left the arena, he gingerly slipped out of the ring and made his own way backstage. He didn't have a plan, but his mind was clear now. His moral compass had been calibrated, and, while he wouldn't have described the fight as invigorating, the weariness was gone from his eyes, replaced instead by a hopeful energy.

-----

True to her word, Amy had been in attendance at a couple of Blaise's previous matches; neither had turned out well for the teen. But, try as she might, she found it too painful to be in the crowd for this particular fight. So, instead, she opted to watch in one of the many waiting rooms backstage. Once the match was over, Amy smiled to herself. Good for you, Blaise. She flagged down a staff member to learn where Blaise had kept his street clothes and personal belongings. Then, after making a few quick preparations, shouldered her backpack and made her way over.

When Blaise entered the locker room, he'd find Amy there waiting, lounging casually on a bench by a pile of fresh towels, wearing her hair up in her usual ponytail, and dressed in her usual ring attire, save for one big difference- she would have a comfy, oversized college hoodie on over her top.