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Day 33 [1500 hrs.] - Of Mixed Martial Matters


STARDATE 57639.6
APRIL 12, 2381
1500 HRS

[ Lt. Cmdr. Andrew Fisher | Upper Gymnasium | Deck 06 | Vector 01 | USS Theurgy ] Attn: @Argyros

Surprisingly, and in spite of a somewhat long night before, the Chief Intelligence Officer was feeling rather rejuvenated today. His day seemed brighter, and even tedious acts like reading through progress reports flew by with surprising pace. Next, he put in for a number of engineering requisitions related to an incredible new development for his department, that would lend itself to the success of covert field operations. The prospect was genuinely exciting for him, as it had been a program, he’d explored in previous postings but had never before had the means to fully complete. As he finished the requisition request, he found himself amazed at what one pleasant experience with someone could do for a man’s psyche. He realized what an awesome force Theurgy was, as it was already making a positive difference in a number of aspects related to him, and by extent the mission. Recognizing the need to further capitalize on that energized feeling, otherwise he would lose the initiative, Fisher figured it was time to experience one of the ship’s impressive physical training facilities.

“Thea, I’m leaving the Intelligence Suite early. Please log and close all open files to be re-accessed at a later time. If there are any inquiries relevant to Intelligence, please store them, and I’ll respond tonight from my personal quarters.” Pushing off from his desk, he tossed a PADD onto it before approaching the door that led out of his office.

[Yes, Commander Fisher.] the AI acknowledged.

“Thank you, Thea.” He replied as he stepped out of his office, then into the corridor that led to a nearby gangway he could take down to Deck 06. Rounding a corner, he then re-traced the path that the ship’s AI had taken him on during a guided tour a few days ago, then stepped into the Upper Gymnasium, ready to catch up on a little personal fitness training. Thankfully, there’d been a stacked pile of clean pre-replicated sportswear just inside of the communal locker room, and he was able to retrieve one that appeared to be appropriate for his size. Finding an unclaimed locker proved a little difficult, as evidently this was a popular time for much of the other crew to make exercise. Peering down each of the rows of lockers, he eventually managed to relieve another officer of her locker as she was just about to depart.

“Thank you, Ensign.” he acknowledged in appreciation as she made her way for the exit, regarding him for a moment, no doubt out of curiosity. Afterall, he was still a mostly unknown face among the crew, and the two and a half pips on his neck denoted him as someone with an air of authority.

After stripping away his duty uniform, he cinched up the drawstring on his exercise shorts, and made his way out into the facility proper.

Normally he’d had a routine he’d liked to follow when training, but given the busy state of the gym, that was proving to be a somewhat difficult thing to stick to. He had to go a little out of order here and there; after stretching he’d forgo the requisite ten-mile run due to a lack of available treadmills, instead opting onto free-weight training. Only afterward would he then manage to track down one of the popular machines, so that he could indulge in said run. Still, it felt good to finally exercise in a proper facility again; the mis-filed status listing him as a VIP aboard the IKS Vor’Nak had limited the range of his exercise capabilities to whatever he could manage in his modest quarters. And since coming aboard Theurgy, he simply hadn’t found the time to explore the gym before today.

Winding down from his run, his attention shifted to that of one of the two main sparring rings that dominated much of the facility. Inside the ring, two security officers were circling each other in sparring gear, as another dozen or so cheered them on from ringside. As Fisher approached, he settled in with a group near one corner, and watched as the two combatants came together. One of them had advantage of size, the other of speed and agility; it played out surprisingly well as the smaller officer eluded the slow, yet devastating blows of the bigger officer. He in turn began peppering the bigger officer’s stomach and abdomen with a series of quick successive blows, and kicks to the leg. One kick had even seemingly dropped the bigger officer to a knee, but arrogance got the better of the smaller officer as he turned to the crowd of onlookers and offered a celebration.

Fisher knew it was a mistake the moment it happened, and as if on cue, the bigger man lunged out from behind and tackled the smaller man to the ground, wrapping an arm around and under his right arm and neck, locking in a submissive hold. There was simply nothing more he could do, so the smaller man, despite the cheers of encouragement from some of the onlookers, reluctantly tapped out.

Standing triumphantly, the bigger officer raised the arm of his submitted opponent in a sign of good will, and those watching offered a cheer of approval.

“Who’s next!?!?” he then declared arrogantly, and several of the others scoffed and waved dismissively at him.

“C’mon, Rafe! You had yourself all but beaten by, Thompson there until the very end!” called one of them, identifying the big man. Fisher recognized the name from the ship’s manifest, remembering that he was an Ensign assigned to security. As the others all began to jeer Ensign Rafe, Fisher couldn’t help himself, and so he began to climb up into the ring. Rafe cocked an eyebrow as he hadn’t immediately recognized Fisher, looking to the others for some kind of input, but only one of them had evidently known who Fisher was, and she was decidedly quiet. “Ehh... you sure you know what you’re doing there, buddy?” Rafe asked, a little unsure of his new opponent.

“I’ll be fine, Ensign Rafe.” Fisher reassured him, demonstrating that he’d had the upper-hand in terms of recognition.

With a shrug, Rafe waited for Fisher to finish strapping on a pair of sparring gloves and boots, and before the CIO had finished biting down on a mouthguard, a bell rang, and the big Ensign charged at him. Fisher dropped to the mat of the ring, and rolled out from Rafe’s reach, before pushing back up to his feet. Rafe circled around to him, and Fisher raised his hands before his face to deflect one of the big man’s jabs. From outside the ring, a number of the security team had begun to realize who Fisher was, and had started to cheer Rafe on, with taunts of ‘beat the spy’s ass!’ coming from one of them. With a grin, Fisher appreciated the lack of support, and adopted the underdog role, even if he knew he would make this one quick, since the security team had been equally as quick to resort to name-calling.

Rafe lunged at Fisher in a similar fashion to how he’d gone after the previous opponent, but Fisher spun out of the way, letting the big man clamber to the mat, and before he could recover, Fisher dropped down on top of him, and wrapped his legs around Rafe’s right arm, extending it until he could then pry back on the big man’s neck with clasped hands across his face. Rafe flailed helplessly for a moment as he tried to break free, but soon realized the futility of it, and tapped after just a few seconds. Fisher released the hold, and even helped him back to his feet as the gawkers booed and jeered the result. Rafe nodded to the CIO as he climbed out of the ring, and Fisher went over to a corner to lean against a turnbuckle.

“Who’s next?” he asked softly, taunting the security team with grin, and one by one, they began to throw themselves into the ring with him, only to be outdone, and out-maneuvered at nearly every turn. After the fourth straight opponent tapped, there was a momentary lull in the number of volunteers stepping forward.

“No one else?” Fisher poked.

Re: Day 33 [1500 hrs.] - Of Mixed Martial Matters

Reply #1
[ Lt JG Derik Veradin | Upper Gymnasium | Deck 06 | Vector 01 | USS Theurgy ] Attn: @Swift

Derik’s fist landed on the bag with a resounding blow.

Thud. Thud. Thud.

The gratifying sound of the bag’s chain rattling was music to the Trill’s ears. He’d found his way to the Upper Gymnasium after a particularly tedious morning. Several reports of shuttles having cloaking issues, forcing him to take them off the rotation. Which then screwed up the transport scheduling. Which then left him with little choice but to send out some not-so-fun messages, informing crew members that they needed to find alternative transport or their scheduled times had been changed. So many complaints. So much frustration.

When it was all said and done though, Derik had done the only natural option to him: workout to blow off some steam. He found his way to the upper gymnasium, donned a blue set of sportswear from the locker room, and gone for a run. He didn’t know how long he’d jogged, nor the distance. It didn’t matter. It was all about working up a decent sweat and forgetting the crazy morning he’d had. Of course, mindlessly running only gave him time to think. When he got tired of it however, he moved on to the Sandbags he found himself at now. Part of him had rather been swimming in the pool, but he knew that if he didn’t vary his workouts, he’d never improve. Though the more he worked out, the better a refreshingly cool pool sounded. Perhaps he’d go soak after a shower.

A commotion behind him drew his attention away from the leather bag. “Who’s next!?!?”

Derik took a break, grabbing his towel and water bottle while he watched the next series of events unfold. A pair of security officers, whom the helmsman had noted earlier, had apparently finished their match. Some newcomer was now climbing into the ring while another crewman looked like he was concerned with the man’s choices. Did they know each other? Or was it simply one officer looking out of the wellbeing of another. The Security team didn’t exactly pull punches when they sparred. Torn muscles and broken bones were common. The ring had acquired a couple of bloodstains after a few particularly vigorous mattes.

Despite the size difference between the challenger and the newcomer, Derik knew something was up. The man was too confident, too happy step up to the plate. He had no fear or hesitation. The attitude of an experienced fighter taking on an unknowing aggressor. And just like an ancient oracle predicting the future, Derik was ultimately proven right. The bout played out as expected. The smaller man danced his way around the security officer, letting him expend unnecessary effort for no reward. In moments he had the bigger man in an arm vice, locked down and helpless. A few seconds later the security officer tapped out. Overconfidence is the downfall of many and sadly our Security Team has that in spades sometimes. Nice to see them get taken down a peg from time to time.

One opponent though had not been enough. Like a gladiator of ancient earth, the newcomer had to boast and make his own challenges. Four more opponents stepped up, and each one in turn was knocked down and defeated. The human clearly knew what he was doing. Not a whole lot of wasted movement or expended energy. Efficient. A challenge. The Trill grinned to himself. It had been a long time since his last sparring match. Even longer since his last opportunity to wrestle. It also didn’t help that the man was still hungry for combat, calling out for yet another challenger by poking fun at the remaining security team members.

”I’ll have a go if no one else will.” The Helmsman called out. More than a few turned to see who had accepted the challenge. Taking his towel and bottle with him, he approached the ring, the security officers stepping out of his way. A couple slapped him on the back in encouragement. Derik strapped on some sparing gear of his own and climbed in the ring. ”Derik Veradin. Chief CONN Officer.” He introduced himself. Better to know your opponent. Even one’s name could offer insight.

Re: Day 33 [1500 hrs.] - Of Mixed Martial Matters

Reply #2
[ Lt. Cmdr. Andrew Fisher | Upper Gymnasium | Deck 06 | Vector 01 | USS Theurgy ] Attn: @Argyros

Leaning with his back against the turnbuckle, Fisher couldn’t help but let a wry and smug grin settle on his face as the gathered Security Officers booed and hissed at his taunts of them. Thus far he’d gone four-for-four against the mixed bag of opponents they’d thrown at him, and for the most part, he hadn’t even broken a sweat. It wasn’t their fault, he rationalized. They were all far younger than he was, and thus were far less experienced. Even before going through the rigorous hand-to-hand training program at Camp Peary back on Earth as part of the standard SFI regimen, he had spent nearly a decade in Security, learning most if not all the tricks that they had tried to employ against him. It wasn’t a matter of size or strength either, as had been clearly demonstrated by the failure of their largest and most imposing competitor, Ensign Rafe, who easily had another fifty or so pounds of pure muscle on Fisher.

No, it came down to experience, and thanks to the advanced training that was afforded to Intelligence Operatives like Fisher, he had that over all of them.

He had in fact been somewhat resigned to accept his status as king of the ring, as the bevy of Security Officers had evidently had enough humiliation for one afternoon, only for another voice to call out from somewhere else. Turning his attention, Fisher’s green-eyes trailed over in the same direction as everyone else until he saw the source of the affirmation, a Trill whom he’d met only briefly a few nights earlier during Commander Stark’s impromptu gathering in the ship’s wardroom. With a succinct nod, Fisher pushed off from the turnbuckle with his strong arms and took a step forward as his next opponent received a relatively warm welcome from the other tenured Theurgy personnel. It was the kind of comradery that would set the new proverbial line in the sand for those who would watch. It was to be newcomer vs. one of their own, and again Fisher grinned as he relished in acceptance of the villain’s role.

“Yes, we sort of met in the Officer’s Wardroom a few nights ago. I’m Commander Fisher. Chief Intelligence Officer.” He re-introduced himself, offering the benefit of the doubt. Afterall, it wasn’t Veradin’s duty to literally study the rest of the crew, the way it was Fisher’s. No, Veradin needed only point the ship in whatever direction the Captain ordered, which given Theurgy’s size was probably no small task.

“C’mon Derik! Kick the smug spy’s ass!” called out one of the spectators as the crowd slowly began to increase in scope.

To which Fisher raised one of his thick eyebrows and shook his head in amused sentiment. “Sounds like you’ve got fans.” He remarked as he regarded the spectators with a teasing wave of his gloved hand. There was a playfulness in Fisher’s tone as he gave the Lieutenant a once over appraisal before holding out a pair of outstretched arms in order to touch gloves, as was the general tradition of any pre-match face off. “Pins and or submission.” He likely didn’t need to spell out the general accepted rules of the ring, but as a formality, and in appreciation of the relative respect already shown, Fisher felt it necessary to repay Veradin the same courtesy. “So...” he began, always one to engage in chatter as a friendly competition or bout began, something of a technique aimed at distracting an opponent. “...what’s it like to pilot a ship as grand as... THIS ONE!?” he exclaimed aloud as he went to sweep the Junior Lieutenant’s leg, intending to catch him off guard in the immediate wake of their exchanging of customary pleasantries.

In Fisher’s mind, the fight began the moment those gloves touched, so why delay it? There was no grace period afforded, just as there wasn’t one afford in real life either. Though, there also wasn’t any form of tradition at play when in an actual fight. All of that unnecessary nonsense went right out of the window in those instances. Still, the surprisingly abrupt attack might serve to amplify Veradin’s state of awareness and give the gawkers a better show to enjoy.

It might also make this a more difficult opponent for the CIO to best.

Re: Day 33 [1500 hrs.] - Of Mixed Martial Matters

Reply #3
[ Lt JG Derik Veradin | Upper Gymnasium | Deck 06 | Vector 01 | USS Theurgy ] Attn: @Swift
”So we did. Too brief of a meeting I think.” He replied. The memory of their brief exchange came back, to which the Trill made sure to file away under “people you should know who the fuck they are” category. Even so the reintroduction helped. An intelligence background helped explain how the man had taken apart four security officers in such a short time. If he was a field agent, he’d have superior training to deal with just about any threat he came up against. Starfleet didn’t skimp on their teachings at all. It didn’t matter in what field a person chose to follow. Given how smoothly he had worked his way through the men, Derik surmised he’d been a field agent for a while.

That didn’t make him invincible though. He wasn’t perfect in his movements. Old injuries slowing him down perhaps? Ultimately experience was only superior if you were fast enough to use it effectively. In that respect, Veradin had the advantage. He was younger, no doubt faster, and free from any lingering injuries. Even so it would be an uphill battle for the Trill. He’d have to probe for weaknesses if he could all while tussling. He’d have to be on the lookout for tricks too. Spies did love their distractions. 

So he focused exclusively on Andrew, tuning out the encouragement of the men behind him. ”I don’t know about ‘fans’ per say. More like they just want someone to knock you on your butt.” He smiled. It had been far too long since he’d wrestled. With the rules of bout set, Fisher did exactly what Derik suspected he might: distract and then attack. They bumped fists, Andrew started to ask a friendly question, and made his move. Veradin saw the sweep coming but instead of moving away, he used it to his advantage. Turning with the attack, he fell having been prepared for it, and struck out with his own leg, catching the CIO’s stabilizing leg just above the ankle. The lateral force of the blow would surely knock him off his feet but the Trill didn’t wait for results. He instead rolled away, putting distance between then before nimbly popping back up and shaking his arms out to flex the shoulders from where they had just impacted the platform.

”Like sailing on an open ocean where the rigging takes care of itself and you know you’re one of the biggest fish out on the water. What’s it like being a SPY?” Not wanting to break his initial momentum, Derik stepped close, narrowly avoiding a jab, while his own short upwards punch made contact with the CIO’s stomach. He could already feel the initial excitement as adrenaline started to trickle into his system. My what a fun duel this was going to be.

Re: Day 33 [1500 hrs.] - Of Mixed Martial Matters

Reply #4
[ Lt. Cmdr. Andrew Fisher | Upper Gymnasium | Deck 06 | Vector 01 | USS Theurgy ] Attn: @Argyros

Advantage was everything. Especially when faced with a sparring opponent that was roughly ten-years younger; and the Chief Intelligence Officer sought to take whatever he could get in that regard. He had no illusions to the contrary, that the fit and trim Trill would at least be an equal in terms of physicality, if not an outright superior. It didn’t help that Fisher carried with him the added burden of a somewhat debilitating injury that liked to rear its ugly head at the most inopportune moments. So, as it was, he knew he’d have to rely on that which he did have over the Junior Lieutenant: his practical experience, his cunning nature, and a propensity for cheating. Hence, the surprise leg-sweep. However, he’d clearly underestimated the Trill, who had seen the sneak attack coming, and not only avoided it, but had capitalized on an opportunity to land a blow of his own. A jab to Fisher’s planted leg, that momentarily compromised its stability, his knee bending under his weight and the momentum of his missed strike carrying waywardly, resulted in his feet slipping out from under him. With a thud against the ring mat, the smug spy landed flat on his ass, though he quickly recovered and popped back up to his feet, an amused grin crossing his face as Veradin soon seized the initiative.

Fisher threw a few jabs of his left arm at the Trill as he’d closed the distance, though they were all rather deftly deflected away, which in turn had left a relatively small opening for Derik to land an uppercut against his midsection. A little stunned by the blow, Fisher cinched up his elbows in a defensive manner as he doubled down, taking a more boxer-esque stance to counter at his opponent with. Circling to his right, Veradin’s left, Fisher sought to reset the match before he was too far behind to come back. Momentum mattered in these kinds of engagements, and as of then, it clearly wasn’t in his favor.

“Nice counter.” He complimented, though his words may have been lost as a cheer came up from the peanut gallery posted up on the outside of the ring.

“It’s not so bad, actually.” Purely meant as a boast, as Fisher had in fact rather disliked being a ‘spy’ anymore. True enough, he’d been tired of the job for half a decade at this point, but the opportunity to call it a quits hadn’t yet presented itself. At least, not in a manner that was actually tenable. Still, confidence was another key element of Intelligence work, and so he pretended now, just as he had for years that he’d enjoyed it. With a charmingly sly grin though, he sought to capitalize on the little aspect of his personal life that did help alleviate the stressful position he occupied. Humor. “I mean, you get access to cool cars. Guns. The latest and greatest gadgets.” Closing in on Veradin again, his footwork shuffling carefully so as to not present a window, Fisher felt his instincts taking over, as the fight was really starting to set it. Again, probing at Derik’s defenses with a few jabs, he waited for something that could be countered, or that would reveal itself to him. “Then there’s the license to kill.”

“Best of all though, the women.” He teased, though again it was true enough. There were always parties of the female persuasion that showed an interest, be it from a purely aesthetic approach, or from the mysterious nature that came with the job. It made it easy to find at least temporary companionship, however unfulfilling that was at times. Still, he’d considered it a benefit of the job; one of the few maybe, but a benefit, nonetheless.

“How ‘bout you, Derik? A lot of ladies throwing themselves at a glorified console jockey?” he taunted playfully.

Re: Day 33 [1500 hrs.] - Of Mixed Martial Matters

Reply #5
[ Lt JG Derik Veradin | Upper Gymnasium | Deck 06 | Vector 01 | USS Theurgy ] Attn: @Swift
”Thank you.” The Trill responded after the CIO complimented his capitalization on the man’s attempted sneak attack. ”Would have preferred to continue but you disengaged.” It was a lie, but a relatively smooth one at that. What he didn’t say was that he himself would have disengaged if the exchanged had lasted more than a few seconds longer. Sure, he’d had time on the Resolve to practice, and sure he’d have a couple opportunities since then, but in no way, shape, or form, was he about to engage a more experienced opponent for longer than a few short trades. Keeping too close to an opponent was the downfall of many, and given the man’s no doubt impressive service record, the Trill was not keen to find out if it would be his downfall as well. Better to play it a little safer.

Fisher’s next comments were amusingly corny to Derik. “Cool cars” and “license to kill”? He didn’t know why but despite the human probing his reaction times and searching for a weakness, he couldn’t help but laugh a little. He should have expected it. Should have seen it as a way the man could try to distract him. And yet at the same time it was more or less unexpected. Was he drawing from some old Earth movie? The Trill suspected so but he’d seen so few that he had no real frame of reference to go upon.

”Ladies? No.” The Trill smiled, a sly grin of his own forming upon his lips. ”Guys though? Yes.” He let the notion set in for a moment. It’s not like he kept his preferences secret, but it’s not like he waved them in people’s faces either. Still…you’d think that a spy might look into something so basic, even if it was simply to know as much about the people around him as possible. Trust nothing right? ”Why? Care for a tussle yourself?” His voice was chipper, teasing, for it was in a strange kind of way a genuine offer. The man was fairly good looking, and it didn’t help that they were essentially already all over each other.

No stop. If you get distracted at all you’re going to end up on your ass. He perhaps dropped his guard a little too far for just a moment.

Re: Day 33 [1500 hrs.] - Of Mixed Martial Matters

Reply #6
[ Lt. Cmdr. Andrew Fisher | Upper Gymnasium | Deck 06 | Vector 01 | USS Theurgy ] Attn: @Argyros

Knowing the sexual proclivities of his fellows Officers wasn’t exactly a priority, given the situation unfolding throughout the Galaxy. There were far more pressing matters that needed to be acceded to; however, he did in the moment wish he had at least given it a cursory inspection. It certainly would have lessened the awkward realization that cross his mind, when Veradin made clear his preference for males, over females. Still, Fisher wasn’t the kind of man to be outwardly, or even inwardly uncomfortable engaging in a physical altercation of this sort with another man that professed an interest in men. This was just a friendly competition among members of the Theurgy crew; Senior Staffers at that. If anything, the fact that the Chief CONN Officer preferred men, leant something of an advantage to the sage-eyed spy. It meant there might have been a distracting aspect he could engage in, so as to lessen Derik’s attention and focus. Though, perhaps that would have been a little unfair. It also might have landed him in some other trouble, potentially leading the man on, when there was no real chance of anything unfolding between them.

Better to leave personal proclivities out of this, he decided.

“I’ll take a pass.” Fisher charmingly voiced his refusal of such a ‘tussle’, clearly not having noticed the double-meaning of the words he’d chosen.

Closing the distance between them in the ring, once again circling to his right, Veradin’s left, he probed at the Junior Lieutenant with another quick succession of left-jabs, waiting for an opportune moment to press on the attack. A moment that soon presented itself as Derik seemed to lose his focus for even the faintest of moments, his guard having dropped as a result. It prompted Fisher to lunge forward in a grappling take down around the Trill’s waist, toppling Veradin down unto his back with the spy atop him. As a loud thud permeated from the ring, the group of onlookers outside let up a cheer as the action-packed show had begun to intensify for their viewing pleasure. Immediately drawing upon his initiative, Fisher’s strong arms that had been encircled around Veradin’s trim waist broke free, allowing him to scramble down and take a firm grasp of a decidedly spotted right leg, which he then attempted to contort in a manner that would apply a modest amount of pressure against the joint of a knee. It was a submission hold of sorts, that if he could lock-in, would mean the first fall of their engagement. It all depended on whether or not his Trill partner could find the means to counter or escape from it.

Re: Day 33 [1500 hrs.] - Of Mixed Martial Matters

Reply #7
[ Lt JG Derik Veradin | Upper Gymnasium | Deck 06 | Vector 01 | USS Theurgy ] Attn: @Swift
Derik knew he made a mistake the moment his guard dropped even the slightest. So did Fisher. The man surged forward, a wave of flesh that knocked the Trill clear off his feet. His back slammed into the floor, knocking the wind out of him. Weight pressed upon his chest as he realized that the CIO was on top of him. Just as soon as the weight had landed though it was gone. Derik drew in a breath, refilling his lungs as his right leg was wrenched in attempted hold. It was an awkward grapple though, to which Veradin threw his weight into a roll of the same direction. Having a slender figured aided him. As he rolled he pulled his held leg toward his chest, dragging Andrew with it. Now close enough, Derik’s other leg extended, hooking the human around the upper shoulders/neck to pull him into the roll a swell. Knocked off balance from the momentum, both Andrew and Derik finished the roll on their backs. 

His leg still around the man’s neck, rolled forward into a kneeling position. One hand, grabbed the man’s arm between his legs, wrenching it out of the way, hand turned opposite of his waist. His other gloved fist came down on the man’s stomach, slamming the taunt muscles underneath. He then rolled back, taking the arm he had pinned with him, holding it against his chest while his legs did their best to keep Fisher pinned to the stage.

”And here I was having such a lovely thought!” He announced playfully but half out of breath. ”Here I was asking if you wanted to go for a tussle and you go in for the pin. Don’t you know that wrestling can be a turn on?”

It might have honestly been a bit over the top but given the hilarity of the situation, he could hardly contain himself. Of course, given the awkwardness of his own hold, Derik knew he would likely not be able to keep it if the man resisted. Andrew had an edge on better training, and his legs weren’t exactly the most secure upon his body. He wondered if the man was strong enough to lift him with just his locked arm….

Re: Day 33 [1500 hrs.] - Of Mixed Martial Matters

Reply #8
[ Lt. Cmdr. Andrew Fisher | Upper Gymnasium | Deck 06 | Vector 01 | USS Theurgy ] Attn: @Argyros

Had Fisher not been so out of practice, he might have been able to seize more effectively on the initiative that followed his attack, but it’d been something of a little while since the last time he’d gone one-on-one with someone who had exhibited a moderate level of skill, and who also wasn’t saddled by overconfidence as a result. Derik was going to be something of a challenge in this little match of theirs. A fact that was soon evidenced as rather than trying to pull away from Fisher’s ankle-lock, which would have played into the sage-eyed spy’s advantage, he’d pulled him in closer and wrapped a leg around his back. Naturally reaching out to steady himself, he’d fed an arm to the Trill that was firmly locked between his legs, leaving him in something of an arm bar. Struggling for a moment to break free, Fisher relented to at least catch his breath first, as it had been knocked free during his drop to the mat, and he listened to Veradin teasing him with some flirtatious chatter that was meant to distract. Another man, that was insecure in his sexuality might have reacted exactly as Derik had intended, but that wasn’t Fisher. Instead he grinned broadly, letting a bit of laughter escape from him even.

“Hold fast, Derik!” came a voice from one of the gawkers.

“Yeah, hold fast, Derik!” retorted Fisher, who scrambled to plant his feet, his knees bent as he leveraged the front of his torso against Derik’s own, and with a grunt meant to lock in his breath and tension out the muscles in his powerfully toned legs, he hefted the spotted man a few inches up off of the mat. Gritting his teeth, Fisher then dropped Derik back down, and fell atop of him, the impact affording him a chance to dislodge his arm free. From there, he could sense another attempt to lock in another grapple, so instead he rolled back over his shoulders, and landed on his hands and knees, a good two meters separating them. Carefully so as not to be caught off guard, he took a few deep breaths as he stood, his abdomen pumping heavily. There came a series of jeers from the outside, followed by a few hisses in reaction to Fisher’s retreat from the confrontation. Rolling his eyes as he flicked out his arm in order to restore some feeling to it, he raised the other in a defensive manner.

“Nice moves. I’d say we’re giving all the rabble a pretty decent show so far.” It was clear, that he intended for the show to continue however, by the playfully aggressive grin in his face.

Re: Day 33 [1500 hrs.] - Of Mixed Martial Matters

Reply #9
[ Lt JG Derik Veradin | Upper Gymnasium | Deck 06 | Vector 01 | USS Theurgy ] Attn: @Swift
The moment Andrew imitated the words of their audience, Derik knew he had miscalculated. The man had somehow found his footing, lifting him a good four inches off the mat before slamming him back down. The breath was knocked out his lungs as if he was squeezed in a vice. His grip on Fisher’s arm slipped and he tried to reacquire but the man was too slippery and escaped. Even as Andrew rolled one direction though, Derik rolled the other way. His heart beat like a giant drum in his chest. His first few breaths were painful, forcing him to take smaller ones as he tried to expand his lungs with each inhalation. Fuck that hurt. So much for keeping him pinned. Damn guy has arms like trunks.

”Not bad yourself. Every time I think I have you, you slip away. You’d think with all that bulk you’d be easy to pin down.” Derik tried to run a few scenarios through his head about how he could lock the CIO down. The problem lay exactly where he thought it did: the difference in their strength. If he was to win, he’d have to catch the man out of breath and grapple him into submission. Not matter what he thought though he just couldn’t fine a surefire way of doing so and grappling with him would put Derik on the losing side.

”So are you ready to go again old man or do you just want to surrender?”

Re: Day 33 [1500 hrs.] - Of Mixed Martial Matters

Reply #10
[ Lt. Cmdr. Andrew Fisher | Upper Gymnasium | Deck 06 | Vector 01 | USS Theurgy ] Attn: @Argyros

“I’m a spy, remember? Sneaky, sneaky.” Fisher mused Derik in response to his jibe about having slipped away yet again.

Closing proximity, keeping his guard up as he did, and throwing a few left jabs at the man to deflect, Fisher also offered something of a wry little wink to the fit young Trill. Hoping to again play on that element that presented a compromising aspect that he could exploit. Of course, that gambit depended on Fisher’s allure as a man himself, which only meant he had to further play up his usually disarming charm.

“Old man? That’s hitting below the belt.” He retorted back, grinning broadly at the joke, though of course there was an air of truth to it. Fisher was certainly more senior in age, and in fact was closing in on his 39th Birthday. Granted, these days such a number meant little in the grand scheme of how humans aged, but a few centuries earlier it was considering middle-aged. As such, Fisher was as fit as a man ten-years his younger, as clearly evidenced by the stalemate that had thus far been this little duel; save maybe one aspect of his body. Thankfully, that particular weakness hadn’t yet played into their match, though it was always a matter of when, not if it did. For the sage-eyed spy, it meant he needed to turn the tide of this stalemate sooner, rather than later. Easier said than done, for sure, but had managed to strike a blow here, and there so far. Derik was good, but he wasn’t insurmountable, by any means. Then again, the same was true of Fisher, who knew that one wrong move, or one wrong counter would spell defeat for him.

This had certainly turned out to be a far better altercation, than the others that had proceeded it. The peanut gallery didn’t necessarily care for the fact that he’d yet to lose, but they were definitely enjoying the show all the same. “And I don’t surrender. Not unless I’m in some kind of completely compromised position, and as you pointed out, you’ve been unable to lock that in.” Fisher was circling again, hoping to back Derik into one of the four corners, where he could press in and land a few hay-maker strikes which would lessen his guard again, but as it was, Veradin’s footwork was every bit a match to Fisher’s own, keeping him from being boxed in. “What’s the matter Derik, afraid of making the first move? You going to let me lead the whole way?” It was obvious he was attempting to bait him in, but Fisher was hopeful that it didn’t matter how obvious it was.

“C’mon pilot boy! Show me what you got!” Fisher motioned with his sparring gloves in a mocking way, inviting his opponent into making the next move.

Re: Day 33 [1500 hrs.] - Of Mixed Martial Matters

Reply #11
[ Lt JG Derik Veradin | Upper Gymnasium | Deck 06 | Vector 01 | USS Theurgy ] Attn: @Swift
Okay. Now the Trill was getting perturbed. First the man was teasing him with subtle winks and gestures, playing to Derik’s interested attitude. But as things were going, he could hardly enjoy the view. This little fight of theirs was dragging out and was quickly becoming a war of attrition. Derik was younger and probably had more energy, but probably not as much physical endurance when it came to repeated blows weakening one’s body.

It wasn’t the repeated blows that did him in, It wasn’t the way the man was playing to his preferences despite the fact he was uninterested himself, It wasn’t even the quip about showing the man what the Trill had. It was about Andrew leading the way the whole fight that finally settled Derik’s attitude on the matter. He put his interest aside instead focusing as if this was no longer a friendly bout. 

But like a poker player, sometimes you checked, sometimes you called, sometimes folded, sometimes you bluffed, and sometimes you went all in. The chips were down and Fisher had the advantage. He was slippery, evasive, constantly probing for weaknesses and tells. Ever vigilant without missing a beat. But he had a weakness. He had fought multiple opponents before Derik, and even though he took them down with relative ease, that was still energy he had expended. He would have to reach his limit at some point, make a mistake somewhere. Bluffing at this stage though wouldn’t be enough.

So all in it was. Make or break. He played off his somewhat aching body. Steadily his footwork slowed, his blocks became less and less precise, breathing intentionally harder, all to engorge his opponent’s confidence.  Blow after blow rained down on him and his arms started to hurt from the repeated abuse they were enduring. But eventually his bet paid off.

Andrew threw a punch probably intended to break the Derik’s guard so he could finish the Trill off. But instead of blocking, Veradin let the blow land on his left shoulder, freeing his hands. His left hand grabbed the extended arm’s wrist, his right coming up under Fisher’s elbow. Using the momentum, he flipped the man over his right shoulder, slamming Andrew’s entire weight into the mat with a resounding thud. His left hand tehn released the human’s wrist while his right slid down the man’s arm to take its place. He stepped and turned around the man’s momentarily stunned body, twisting his arm and forcing him onto his stomach with a wrist lock. His knee came down between the man’s shoulder blades, applying firm pressure. He shook his left arm once, banishing the pain for a moment, as his fist came down as hard as it could manage on the man’s left shoulder twice. He hoped it was hard enough to temporarily deaden it but was unsure given how much it hurt. Then he grabbed the back of the man’s neck. He could have been dirty and slammed the man’s head against the mat but that would have cheapened a potential victory.

Derik acutely remembered that the man had just lifted him off the mat with one arm but with the twin blows on his free shoulder, his other wrist yanked awkwardly back and to the side in an active wrist lock, and the pressure between his shoulder blade, the Trill hoped he had finally, blessedly, pined the man.

Re: Day 33 [1500 hrs.] - Of Mixed Martial Matters

Reply #12
[ Lt. Cmdr. Andrew Fisher | Upper Gymnasium | Deck 06 | Vector 01 | USS Theurgy ] Attn: @Argyros

True enough, an ache had only just begun to settle in for the spy as this was the fifth consecutive opponent he’d yet faced, and that was after having already exerted himself rather headily with a bout of strenuous weight-training. All of this had been an effort to try and round himself back into what he considered ‘shape’; clearly however, it wasn’t as if he had been out of it in any realistic way. Maybe a step or to slower than usual, but in comparison to most men his age, he was still far beyond average. Still, all of that didn’t necessarily matter as he was approaching a point in which he would desperately need to take a break and catch his breath. Maybe even a little cold water to drink, and a refreshingly hot shower to sting away the ache in his muscles; it was a wonderous thought, but if anything it was a distraction which would only serve to drop his guard, and allow Veradin the opportunity to seize the initiative.

...and seize the initiative the Trill did...

It was supposed to be a simple wayward jab, meant to further the assault and drive Derik toward a turnbuckle where Fisher could press on with a series of haymakers, but the jab was captured after it had been telegraphed by the spy. What resulted was a flurry of motion that surprised the sage-eyed man and caused him to feel his momentum being used against him. And as the world suddenly spun around him, he was firmly thrown down onto the mat. The heavy impact stunned him momentarily, and a surge of ache ran down the length of his shoulder blades into the base of his surgically repaired back. Before he had any chance, or even any mind to try and recover, Derik had pressed on the attack and flipped Fisher over so that he lay on his ventral side. Worse still, the Junior Lieutenant had locked in a vice which wrenched an arm behind his back and had propped a knee rather convincingly against Fisher’s shoulder blades, pinning him in unmoving in place. Even if Fisher had another hundred-pounds of muscle to him, and he was ten-years younger, he still wouldn’t have been able to escape the sudden blitz-play that Veradin had unleased.

Then came a pair of blows against his left-arm that eliminated every last counter that he could have possibly mustered, leaving his bicep numbed.

On a deep groaning escaped him as the pin was set in. Though, Fisher still wasn’t one to relent so quickly, even if it was an inevitability at this point. He still needed to at least put in a cursory effort in escaping, regardless of the overall futility. Especially now that a chorus of cheers erupted outside of the ring, calling for the spy to give up. To tap. The taunting actually stung worse than the physical pain, even if Fisher knew that he’d already made a good portion of those doing the taunting to submit to him. “Shit!” he exclaimed aloud, his legs bending in an attempt to find some form of leverage beneath him, but there wasn’t enough leeway given to allow such a contortion of his lower-back, even if it hadn’t been so weakened by years of deterioration. Derik had just made something of a perfect move and capitalized on that one little lapse in focus that Fisher had let up. The fight was all but over now, it was just dependent on how utterly stubborn Fisher would be with regards to submitting.

And after a minute, it was reaching the point of absurdity, as even the peanut-gallery had let their jeers die down ever so slightly. Yet Fisher, sensing the pity for him as it began to settle in, hated that sentiment worse than surrender.

“Alright! Alright!” he blurted out, his free-hand pounding awkwardly against the mat so as to signal his acquiescence.

Re: Day 33 [1500 hrs.] - Of Mixed Martial Matters

Reply #13
[ Lt JG Derik Veradin | Upper Gymnasium | Deck 06 | Vector 01 | USS Theurgy ] Attn: @Swift
He gave in! The realization was so shocking, it quite literally paralyzed the Trill for the briefest of moments. He won. He actually pulled it off. He expected Andrew to pull some sort of badass rabbit out of his hat and fuck up the poor helmsman. The accumulated crowd roared in excitement and cheers. Not wanting to be a poor sport however, Veradin released the man under him, standing and moving to the side. He lifted his right hand, signaling the crowd to cut it out. Just because the younger man had won, didn’t mean they needed to be spouting obscenities. ”Alright guys take it down a lot. Ya’ll didn’t jeer like this when each of you lost.” While he could tell the security officers were a little disappointed, they did tone it down.

Veradin took slow deep breaths, trying to move his left shoulder around. Holy Hell did it hurt. Without a doubt there would be one heck of a bruise there tomorrow. A sacrifice to win but at what cost? By accepting the blow, he hadn’t tried to dissipate the force at all, which unfortunately meant his tired muscles took the full, unfiltered, uninhibited, shock. Fuck he needed to spar more.

Before he could offer to assist Andrew however, the man was already on his feet. His rebound time was impressive. Honestly kind of scary too. He was probably sore too but at least he didn’t seem too injured by the exchange. For a moment the Trill was worried he might have gone too far with that double blow.

Still rolling the stiff shoulder, Derik held out a hand. ”Good match sir. Thank you for the bout.”

Re: Day 33 [1500 hrs.] - Of Mixed Martial Matters

Reply #14
[ Lt. Cmdr. Andrew Fisher | Upper Gymnasium | Deck 06 | Vector 01 | USS Theurgy ] Attn: @Argyros

Once his Trill opponent had let up, after Fisher had finally relented that is, the sage-eyed spy found his way back to his feet and likewise went about working out the tension and ache which had settled into his arm. It paled in comparison to the near constant dull ache that emanated throughout his lower-back and at times into his thighs, but it wasn’t as overly familiar to him. To an extent he appreciated the shutdown of their gallery of gossipers, though he still felt a minor pang to his pride in having failed to outduel the Chief Conn Officer. Still, Fisher wasn’t naïve enough to believe that you had to win every battle, just the ones that really matter, and thankfully this had been a friendly competition rather than one which would have merited more dire consequences. There was also an additional consideration that Fisher needed to bone up on his skills, because such a failure was to a degree unacceptable. He’d lost a step during the trip from Starbase-211 to Theurgy, and now he was feeling determined to not only catch it up but surpass it. There would be a lot of sore nights coming to him over the coming few weeks he imagined.

“Ehh... they’ve had their fun.” He expressed between breaths. “We had ours.”

Reaching out to accept Veradin’s extended hand, Fisher gripped it tightly and gave it a hearty shake. “Definitely. Not many have gotten the best of me.” He explained as he brought his hands behind himself, arching a little in an attempt to stretch out the muscles in his lower-back. Knowing that the ring would be taken up by another sparring pair the moment they left it, Fisher knew not to linger within too long. Common courtesy dictated an exit for himself, though it was entirely up to the reigning King of the Ring to decide if whether or not he would accept another opponent. Approaching the nearest turnbuckle, Fisher climbed in between two of the ropes, and felt a modicum of soreness run up his back when he bent down in accordance. “I’m gonna hit the showers.” He genuinely needed the sting of hot water to work out some of the stress he had just put his body through.

“Maybe seek out a protein supplement of some kind afterward.” He remarked.


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