larrup
\ LAR-uhp \ , verb;
1. To beat or thrash.
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He hadn’t signed up of this. Well, had he needed to sign up for anything, this certainly wouldn’t have been it. The pit reeked of blood, bile, and numerous other remnants of human waste that he didn’t care to think about too much. The crowd looked down on him and the man standing opposite him, screaming, taunting, and letting out some of the most colorful and creative swears he had ever hear. Which was quite a feat, given all that he had heard in his lifetime.
What
did I do to deserve this? Was the thought that went through his mind.
Maybe it was the poker he had played the night before. Well, playing
was being polite, given his performance. Even with the amount he
cheated during the game, he still managed to lose every hand. Then he
had accused others of cheating as well. They hadn’t taken too kindly to
that, but still. He had racked up an impressive debt though.
Could
it have been the drinks he had last night? He had only had a few,
after all, he could still stand at the end. Usually he needed to be
dragged out onto the street once the bar closed, so he considered it a
night of light drinking. He didn’t even want to think about his tab at
the moment.
Or
perhaps it was the...fun he had with that working girl after his
drinking. Was was quite a girl. And indeed, a girl she was. Just
turned 18 a few nights before. Or at least, she had claimed she was
that age. Well, either way, he might have been a bit...rough...with
her, but he paid her, so it was fine. At least, he thought he paid her.
Well,
whatever the reason, he was there, and nothing could change that. All
he had to do was beat the guy in front of him, and he would be home free
with enough cold, hard cash to solve his more immediate money problems.
The fact that his opponent was at least twice his size probably didn’t
matter much. Or that fact his nickname happened to be “Pit Bull”, but
that must have been a coincidence, right? And the fact that the odds
were 1:2 for the guy surely wasn’t anything to go by. it just meant his
winning would be all the better once he got out.
Pit
Bull did have one obvious weakness though, his left eye was partially
closed from a very nasty looking scare that looked as if it hadn’t
healed quite right. He tried to hide with a large tattoo of someone
being forcibly smashed into a wall, but it didn’t work as well as was
probably intended. he would rush in and hit the big man for all he was
worth, sticking to the left side, where it would be harder to see where
he was.
While he was musing over all this, someone apparently gave the signal
for the fight to begin, since Pit Bull rushed forwards with long,
lumbering strides. He tried to duck away to the left side, but was far
too slow, instead receiving Pit Bull’s large fist to the gut. He
staggered back, trying to regain his breath.Again, Pit Bull rushed in. But this time, he was more prepared for the straight forward attack, he managed to avoid the blow, and duck away to Pit Bull’s left side, lading a quick jab as he did. It hadn’t done much. Pit Bull’s large, meaty frame simply absorbed his much smaller, weaker fist, and had the unpleasant side effect of letting the brawler know exactly where he was.
He
was immediately struck by a furious backhanded blow that sent him
reeling across the pit floor. Before he could recover, Pit Bull threw
his shoulder into his chest, putting him squarely on the wet, sticky
dirt floor. Pit Bull was on him before he could even blink away the
stars, pummeling his head and shoulders with a continuous rain of
powerful blows.
He
was being beaten so hard, there was only one thing he could think to
do. He jurked his knee up into Pit Bull’s back, hoping to throw his
assailant off balance, even for a second. It worked a bit. He managed
to continue to though his opponent off, by using the oldest trick in the
book. A handful of the wet dirt to the eyes. Pit Bull staggered off
him, just long enough for him to continue his own counter attack. He
put all the strength he could possibly muster in his injured body into
his leg, and drove his boot into Pit Bull’s groin. The expected result
never came though. It seemed that Pit Bull was smarter than he looked.
He had worn a cup, just in case someone had attacked him in such a
vulnerable area. Pit Bull wiped the dirt off his face, looking at his
opponent with new rage.
The
smaller man had only one option left if wanted to walk out of the pit
in one piece. He had come prepared as well. Pit Bull rose and charged
again, barreling down with surprising speed for such a large man. But
he was ready this time. He reached down into a concealed pocket, and
brought it back out just before Pit Bull reached him, swinging his hand
across the scarred face. Pit Bull’s momentum still carried him into his
opponent, but it was a much weaker attack than it otherwise would have
been. A thick stream of red joined the colors of the big mans tattoos.
It was the others turn to grin now, as he raised the small razor blade
he had snuck into the pit.
He rushed at his larger opponent, swinging the tiny blade with renewed
strength. He knew it probably wouldn’t last long before it was knocked
out of his hand, or it broke, so he would use it as long as he had it.
Pit Bull was still reeling from the cut on his face when he was again
attacked by the blade, this time adding a new wound to the chest. He
relentlessly attacked with the blade, hoping that Pit Bull would give in
under the weight of numerous cuts. The two men continuously moved
back, until the larger man’s back was against the rough walls of the
pit. The blade was starting to dull now, as he was having to apply more
and more force to each swing to get the desired result. He would have
to deal the finishing blow soon, otherwise it wouldn’t come at all. He tucked the blade between his pointer and middle fingers, with all but the very edge of the blade sticking out the back. He rushed in and wrapped his small hands around the other’s large neck. Even though he couldn’t reach all the way around, he still accomplished his goal. Pit Bull started to gasp for breath, not finding enough to sustain him. The big man’s fists beat against his assailant, but, because of the blade biting into his neck he was unable to move enough to use his full strength.
Eventually, Pit Bull collapsed, his eyes rolled up into his head, showing only the whites and reds, like some kind of freakish doll. The now victor released his grip, and looked up to the spectators. The was greeted by a mix of elated cheers, and outraged yells and curses. But he didn’t care very much. He won, he could now claim his money and get on with his life. Finally, something was going his way.
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Please note that the term protagonist does not necessarily mean "good guy". Well, enjoy.
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