Make Tacos not War- Match 4 [Lucas]

[Jonas Kent]

Jonas was not a fighter. Most days he was barely a functional human-being, but he had signed himself up for the tournament anyway. The past few months had been an indisputable hell for the artist. He’d been frozen, singed, bruised, beaten, sexually harassed, and abused in more ways than he could count. In all his time at Ashford Academy the only thing Jonas had learned was to how to hide. But somehow, through it all, he’d survived and that was something he felt almost proud of. Today he would not be hiding.

The artist stood centre-stage in the courtyard. Above him the sun beat mercilessly down and the island humidity was stifling. Sweat formed a salty film on Jonas’s skin and he wiped at his brow with the back of his hand. He was certain that he was about to get his ass kicked, but he couldn’t help the smile that crept onto his face. He was just happy to be doing something for a change. It had been a long time since he last participated in anything and the artist looked rougher than he had on his first walk through the courtyard. His clothes hung a little too loosely around his shoulders and hips. The dark bags under his eyes stood out like targets. Under his hat Jonas’s red hair had lost its luster, but there was a spark in his blue eyes that hadn’t been seen in months.

Maybe he didn’t have a good reason for fighting today. In all honesty, the whole thing seemed like some sort of insane suicide mission. The kid had no real combat powers or defensive powers or even a power that he could use in this tournament given the rules that banned him from bringing in any outside “weapons” (apparently a sharpened pencil was a no-no) and even if he had brought his materials with him, what could he do? Mildly entertain his opponent to death? To any rational person the whole situation was unadulterated stupidity on Jonas’s part. And to that he would have to agree, except it didn’t matter.

Standing in the courtyard Jonas felt powerful just for being there. He would not win, this much was obvious, but he was facing his fears. For maybe the first time in his life Jonas felt brave. He felt like someone who deserved to be fought for, and that feeling was enough to inspire him to put himself out there and try. And so, as the arena gates clanked to a close, sealing him in, Jonas turned and face his opponent with a genuine, warm smile.

“Hey, man,” he greeted Lucas, shaking with nervous excitement, “Good luck.”

[Lucas Moore]

        The last thing on Lucas' mind was fighting. Far from it, in fact. Lucas was never usually one to be aggressive or combative. He preferred manipulating his opponents or irritating them with his wordplay. But the tournament's sudden declaration put everyone on edge, especially the Battlefront. Many rumors spread through the West Tower, plans were strategized, and prayers were said in the following days. The day's leading up to the tourney were spent deciding on how to act. Should he sit by and keep an eye on the action from the dungeon, or participate in the fight himself? He figured he would be better off working on the frontlines himself for once. He needed to make a stand, both for himself and for the Battlefront.

        The day of was stressing to Lucas. He practiced every kind of fighting tactic possible. There was a good reason he was reluctant to fight: Against others, his powers only last just so long. In an extended fight like this one, he couldn't rely on his powers being available all the time. He could only hope he doesn't have a lot of need for them until later in the fights.

        As he waltzed into the arena, a small sigh left his lungs. The design was slightly limiting. No open ground meant using his Garnet's Earth Manipulation would be hindered greatly. Still, he decided to take this match one moment at a time. As the gates closed in behind him, he glanced over to his opponent. Not quite the most threatening person to look at, but he knew better than anyone that looks were deceiving. Still, the guy was acting friendly enough, and he couldn't refuse the same gesture. He waved off once to the boy, smiling lightly as he normally would. "Same to you. Let's do our best." With that, he pulled himself into a fighting stance, eyeing the boy cautiously.

[Jonas Kent]

Jonas almost laughed as his opponent eyed him wearily. He was tempted to speak out and reassure the boy that he was every bit as useless as he appeared, but something told him Lucas wouldn't have believed him anyway. Still, the boy returned Jonas's smile and that was enough to take the edge off the artist's growing anxiety. Lucas didn't strike him as another crazy-- he wasn’t singing any random children’s songs, nor was he making any half-baked Alice in Wonderland references-- and that thought alone provided some small comfort.

The artist nodded his thanks and then watched as Lucas dropped into a ready stance. Jonas had never been in a fight before. Sure, he and his sister had wrestled and play-fought when they were kids but that hardly seemed to count. Swallowing his nerves, Jonas followed his opponent's lead and mimicked his stance without really knowing what he was doing. “Alright,” he said, voice cracking a bit with nerves, “so I guess we’re supposed to attack each other and stuff now, right?” He gave a nervous laugh, unsure if he should strike first or wait or, like, pick his nose or something. Exhaling slowly, the red-head shuffled forward and raised his fists in front of him in a comical attempt to look like he knew what he was doing.

“Alright, all you have to do is hit him,” he muttered to himself as made his way forward, not really sure what to do if he actually made it close enough to take a swing at Lucas. He was starting to have second thoughts about this tournament. The more he thought about it the stupider it felt. He was a stoner from California, for God’s sake, possessing mediocre intelligence and all the natural grace and athleticism as a three-legged baby elephant. Even his power was useless and this whole thing was just stupid stupid stupid. He threw a punch. There was no technique or style. It lacked power, speed, accuracy, and whatever else a punch needed to be good, but he did something and that was a small victory in its own way.

[Lucas Moore]

        Lucas chuckled to himself as the boy started into his stance. It looked as if the boy was just trying to copy him. For all he could tell, the kid joined the tourney on a whim and was fully unprepared for a fight. Still, he was cautious not to let his guard down as the boy approached. All while the kid started up to him, he began to circle the arena. He wanted to make sure the boy was as unfocused as possible, as he could use every advantage possible.

        Part of him wanted very hard not to laugh at the boy's reaction, and he was good enough to keep his face straight. Still, he almost wanted to tell the kid to give up now. Part of him put the thought aside, though. He couldn't afford to be easy on anyone in this kind of environment. As the boy tumbled just in range of him, a minor thought crossed his mind: If he could cripple the boy somehow but make the injury non-permanent, he could force him to give up and still give him the impression he was taken somewhat seriously. Best he could think of was to dislocate the boy's arm, and with that thought came the punch from Jonas. It was perfectly timed and offered him the perfect opportunity. With a swift motion, he moved to shove in close, , grab his arm, and twist it inward to send him towards the ground.

        If he was successful, now came the painful part. With an equally swift jerking motion, he aimed to pull the arm from the socket. Not in a Mortal Kombat-esqe gory finisher move, but a tactical, debilitating blow style. If his arm was pulled from the socket, it should be painful enough to put him out of the fight mentally, not to mention a useless arm to work with. Lucas then hopped backwards from the boy to distance himself, unsure if the boy had any tricks up his sleeve, before speaking to the boy."I don't think you're in a position to fight at this point. Best you gave up now."

[Jonas Kent]

Jonas didn't notice as Lucas pulled him into orbit. The artist was so focused on his target that he simply moved with him as he began to circle. He was oblivious to the kid's plan as his own mind went into nervous overdrive. Before he could stop himself, Jonas threw the punch. It was a mistake, the crowning mistake on the long list of mistakes Jonas had made starting with his decision to participate in the tournament. It took approximately 12 seconds for Lucas to transform Jonas from the world's most useless artist to the world's most useless anything. The now ex-artist cried out in pain as his arm made a clean pop and the joint of his shoulder divorced itself from the socket.

“That’s . . . not cool, man,” he muttered through gritted teeth, “that’s my drawing arm.” Panic was beginning to well up in his chest and he felt rooted to the spot. Lucas was calling out for him to give up and maybe it would be for the best, but Jonas didn’t want to lose this way. Quitting now would make the whole thing meaningless. But, looking at his mangled right arm, the ex-artist considered it. He wasn’t going to win the fight; he would just be prolonging his own agony and embarrassing himself at the same time. Two birds with one stone. His face burned with humiliation and frustration as his arm dangled uselessly at his side.

Shaking his head, Jonas called back, “come on, man, at least knock me out. That’s the rule right? You have to knock me out to win.” He was sure he looked as pathetic as he felt, begging his opponent to beat him unconscious. It almost didn’t seem fair to expect Lucas to further injure his defenseless opponent, but at least it would be an easy win and put Jonas out of his misery. Clutching his dislocated arm, Jonas couldn’t even bring himself to look at Lucas. Whatever spark his eyes had held before was extinguished and the ex-artist felt raw, alone, and defeated.

[Lucas Moore]

        This is nothing like what Lucas wanted. He never wanted to get caught up in a fight against more-or-less innocent students, but that's exactly what was happening, and he hated it. And to top it off, it was for the entertainment and/or viewing pleasure of the very people who blackmailed him into coming to this place to begin with. He honestly wanted to finish this fight and be done with the round. Still, though, it seemed as if Jonas was too stubborn or determined to let him win easy. He honestly hoped he wouldn't have to injure the boy more, but it seemed that there was no other option.

        He took a few moments to approach again, needing the time to calm himself. He wasn't agitated or hyper, but he still needed to focus. With what knowledge he had, he needed to keep in focus to use it effectively. Just a couple steps from the boy, he stopped and let out a heavy sigh. "Sorry it had to come to this, then. Hope there's no hard feelings." those were his last words before he sent his foot flying towards the boy's face, aiming to knock him out in one blow. The less damage he did, the better.

        There would be enough blood shed by the end of this tournament. No need to be eager to cause more than needed.

[Jonas Kent]

Jonas couldn’t bring himself to look up as Lucas approached. It was only when the toes of the boy’s shoes made their way into his frame of vision that he lifted his chin to look at his opponent. Lucas had a gentle face with the kind of brown eyes that made you want to trust him by instinct. There was a hardness to his features as he fortified himself for what he had to do next, but even in his determination there was something like concern lurking not-quite-hidden in Lucas’s face. Jonas wondered what the hell someone like that was doing here of all places. He managed to reassure himself that the blow would be a mercy shot and that at least provided some small comfort.

“No hard feelings,” he nodded, still clutching his injured shoulder. He barely had time to flinch as Lucas’s foot slammed into his temple. The force of the impact snapped his head to the side and he stumbled. It was a clean shot and Jonas’s knees gave out under him. He was out cold before he hit the ground. Curiously enough, the only thing that went through the mind of the bowl of petunias as it fell was ‘Oh no, not again.’ 


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