You should have known from the moment you looked at him that he was a better warrior than you- stronger, more stable, more capable. He has more muscle than you, more age, more scars, more training. Oh, and less drugs. But you’re too arrogant to believe that you can be bested, too stupid to believe that you can be anything but number one in the fighting world. A shame, then, that you have to learn this lesson with one whom you call friend on most days. Will you even want to face him when this is over, as much as he has made every inch of you hurt and bleed or scream with pain from his scorching fire? Your wounded pride might need a few months of nurturing before it is back to normal. Bodies heal much faster than souls.

Your attack is met with much more resistance than you thought it would be, for some reason. You really did think yourself clever at bobbing around that tree, smart for trying to create distraction and work around it, but you’re not really as smart and strong and clever as you think you are. At least not as much as Gaucho is, clearly. You hit the beast, feel the strong reverberation of the attack in your chest, which screams at you that you are a moron- after all, wasn’t the fire enough of an insult? Did you need to go back for more?

Adding more insult to injury are Gaucho’s teeth, which assault you on your side and grow ever nearer to the leather straps that hold your man bag in place. Bruise, bruise, bruise, as Gaucho’s gnashing crawls across your skin; the pain means nothing, but the idea that he dares to tear your bag from your side? You think not! Bellowing in anger at him for even dreaming of assaulting the weathered and cracked leather, you skitter to the side and retweak your already injured leg. Oh, you are a mess, aren’t you? And it goes, and goes, as the beast pushes at you again and again.

You can see from here that you have lost- he remains vigorous while you flounder with your ineptitude. But your wounded pride can’t help but demand you attack one more time. Lowering your head, you fling it upwards with the intent of scraping your horns across… well, anything near you. Gaucho’s face, neck, eye- hell, maybe even his soul so he can feel just how wounded you do. But the attack is an agonal action in the face of impending doom. This spar that was supposed to be training, supposed to be a good friendly fight, has gone beyond that. And certainly you have learned a lot from this man, but you can learn no more while your body aches and oozes, screams and limps across the ground.

“Enough,” you grumble through heaved breaths heading through sweaty lips. What more can this man do to you that he has not already done? “I’ll find you when the time comes,” you gasp again, hoping to get him to stop his incessant assaults. Perhaps in the meantime he can work on figuring out where Ampere is. You’re certainly not going to be able to go on any treasure hunts at this point. A long week in the hospital is about the only thing you have in your future.

That said, you can’t help but give your friend (for you’ve not been offended and certainly you can still count him among your buddies) a complement. It is not so easy to beat you down the way he has. “You’re good.” A man’s complement if you’ve ever given one. The next time you two meet, if indeed you do, you will have to be better. You doubt you can bear to lose to him a second time. Now you just hope he’ll leave you to mope in peace, here in the lover’s woods.


WC| 657
Post| 4/4
@[Gaucho]- I’m literally the worst person ever, I’m so sorry for taking so long ALL the time!