Colosseum - Round 1, Group B - Adam Gaite vs Ballad

[Roger Smith]

Adam wobbles on his feet, one hand going to his head. "Oh god now please tell me I didn't actually get shot now now oh god...." He trails off, eyes snapping wide open as he sees Ballad roll over onto his back, in a half-sitting posture. Adam is left staring dumbly, and it clicks in his head at the same time as the hammer of that blasted revolver does: I'm going to get shot. He sucked in a breath, gritting his teeth and ducked low, both hands on his head now. "Agh...ggg...." He blinked once. Then again. Mean green was still just sort of laying there like a sack of potatoes.

There was a small, angry little demon flailing around with sledgehammer inside of his skull. That was the only possible explanation.

Chk-clak

Adam hit the dirt, literally on hands and knees, and his eyes darted to Ballad, now holding, in the most literal sense possible, the smoking gun. "Jesus fucking christ, dude, you almost took my head off! Learn when to quit!"

Ballad merely scowled, trying to get up into a sitting position. His thumb went for the hammer of the gun again, readying it for another shot. "Giving up ain't in my vocabulary, ya little runt!"

Adam didn't wait around for the second gunshot. He snatched his lightsaber from his belt with his uninjured hand, and kicked off the ground with his good leg. His hood fell back from his head, finally, after all it had stayed resolutely in place for, and the young Heir of Time twisted into a corkscrew in his low flight, putting all of the momentum and speed he could into the blow, the blade of the lightsaber flaring to life with an angry hiss and proceeding to hum its telltale death song. Sparks flew every which way as red met green.

Adam earned himself a face full of dust and dirt from his low trajectory, but Ballad earned himself a stinging gash on his hand to match the gunshot wound he'd given earlier, his own weapon sailing away well out of reach. A string of respectably sailor-like curses spewed from the green man, his hand curling into a fist. He rolled back over, hands planting themselves into the ground and scrambled back to his feet.

Adam, covered in dust, dirt, and more than what might called a 'minor' amount of blood, stood in front of him. He was leaning rather heavily on one leg, and the former red coloration of anger had faded from his face. His expression still bespoke a strong disapproval, but he just looked...tired, more than anything.

Oh, and the red blade of humming death was currently being held out at Ballad's face, less than half a foot away. "Give it up, man. I'm beat. You're beat. We're both gonna come out of this worse for the wear already. Just let it go."

Both of the green man's hands clenched into fists, his eyebrows knitting together. A low growl rose in his throat and his entire body tensed up, ready to pounce. He rose up and lunged forward -- right onto his injured foot. The growl of probably anger died in his throat and found itself replaced by a grunt of pain and Ballad took a knee. "Shit..."

"We're done here, I think..." Adam said, and let his arm drop. "I'm done. Keep on going if you want, man...but someone's gonna die if this escalates much more. I've been there, done that; it sucks. I'd rather not do it again, and I don't really wanna go killing anybody myself. So just knock it off. This shit was entirely pointless anyway."

"Yeah, yeah, whatever..." Ballad growled. "Just...make it look good for the 'adoring fans'..."

Adam shrugged. "Whatever, man." He took hold of his lightsaber in both hands, raised it overhead, and took a step forward, leading into a heavy, downward strike with the laser sword. It came down and met green skin and white armor with a hissing whine, carving another line of agony over the green man's chest before Adam kicked him over, as if to add that extra 'something special', leaving the angry winter survivalist man-thing to collapse into a heap on one side.

"Shit, man," Adam complained, turning away to limp off and go after his primary weapon. "This blows..."