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Pip wasn't composed. His clothing and weaponry was in order, but he himself wasn't really ready for what he had to do. His hair was as disheveled as usual, blond locks hanging down his back as much as possible. He still hadn't shaved since arriving, and his blue gaze was as scattered as ever. He was wearing his leather jacket, with only the bottom button done up, so that it would be hanging open without being able to flair out when he spun and interrupt his arms. His jeans were old, but whole as well, and the boots that peeked from the bottom were anything but polished. His belt was fairly nondescript as well. Cracked leather holding a few hand-sized pouches on it as well as a small cylinder on his left hip.

He stood beneath the stands and shook his head, trying to clear it of the voices. They were disrupting his calm. Closing his eyes and mashing the heels of his palms into them was an effort to keep all of the swirling emotions from taking over.

"I need to do this...

They're counting on me."

A single tear would escape from each eye before he finally let his hands fall to his sides. He would blink a few times and make sure that the voices around him were going to be shut out enough that he would be able to fight.

The door would open and he would step forwards, hands sliding into their respective pockets on his jacket long enough to pull out two tight leather gloves. These he would pull on while he moved forwards and kept trying to keep the voices of the crowd from his mind. He didn't care much about the noise that they were audibly making, but the noise that they were mentally making?

It was incredible.

Pip would move forwards, his head hung down with his bangs framing his face and by the time he had gotten to the center his hands would be back in their pockets. He was hunching in on himself in every way imaginable, though his eyes would still be on his opponent coming from the other side.

He had hoped to be able to talk his opponent from fighting, telling them about his reasons for needing to win, but with the noise around them he knew that the only way he was going to get past was to beat this girl down. That in mind he would begin drawing up his powers, gathering what strengths he could before she attacked. He would wait, because the longer it took her to react the more prepared he would be for her.

It was too bad.

He had wanted to be peaceful.

Now?

He could be mean too...

His opponent entering the ring wouldn't really cause a reaction in the teenager. Her mean words wouldn't reach him over the crowd's roar either which was a good thing. Hurt feelings wouldn't exactly change his outlook on his fight. Especially since his concentration would be strained enough as it was with the crowd surrounding. That was the reason that her surface emotions of contempt and disgust wouldn't be registered by him either.

Instead he would simply stare at her for a few seconds before removing his left hand from his jacket pocket and wave it at her. It wasn't a small fighter-to-fighter sort of wave. This was a small-child going-to-school-for-the-first-time-waving-to-their-parents-from-the-bus sort of wave. He would have a huge grin on his face to go with it, but other then those two changed elements he still looked the same.

Inversive.

Closed off.

And while that happened he would continue to draw up energy. Build on his reservoir of power. Wait while she took her sweet time walking the thirty-five yards that still separated the two fighters.

The smile and the waving would continue until Pip was certain that his opponent wasn't going to grace him with the same response. He couldn't read people all that well, and he couldn't hear either voice or her thoughts amongst the noise surrounding them. It would seem to him that she would just stand there.

This was a fighting tournament.

Wasn't it?

He was a little confused. Maybe he was in the wrong place?

He would slide his left hand back into its pocket while he began to look around the stadium at all of the people. Many were laughing at his antics and throwing jeers his way. He could ignore them while he made sure that he hadn't come to the wrong place or anything.

But no.

He had seen situations like this in Vegas too. Those were for fighting. So he must be right.

His eyes would dash back to his opponent to see if she had moved in his second or two of looking away. He wasn't ashamed of looking away for even the briefest of moments.

He didn't know that he was supposed to be ashamed.

He wasn't a fighter in the same respects as the people that he would face in this tournament.

He was better.

Because even though he lost his awareness of his opponent with his eyes he had still kept up with his charging. He had built up quite a bit of energy so far, but wasn't about to stop until she stopped him, or he was forced to use it on her.

Hopefully he could put her down without too much pain.

She looked like she would be as nice as some of those nurses at that nice hospital. The one that needed the money from this tournament.

Oh yeah!

That's Why he was here too!

To help his home.

And with that thought his face would slide into the shape of determination. He was here to win. Even if he looked like the biggest underdog of the tournament.

Ah.

So he was in the right place.

While she had made her slow walk he had still been charging up an attack for her. She had no clue what she was about to be walking into. She would stop three meters away and speak to him, and he heard her now. Though barely.

Leave?

But he needed to send money back to his Home.

He would smirk once more, now noticing the height difference between the two. She was small. Several inches were between them as a matter of fact. She would be an easy win.

That final thought would not be betrayed by his face. He was going to get her without her suspecting a thing.

Because she had closed to such a close distance before speaking she wouldn't have much (if any) time to react to what he would do. Especially not if she closed her eyes. This technique was invisible to all but those who could control psychokinetic energies, and it would be devastating. What he would do would be to create an invisible extension of his mind that had its own physical properties and thrust it through the gap between them. This extension was much like a spear, and its target would be this woman's right leg, where it connected with the pelvis.

That's right, he was aiming to cleave off her leg with an invisible strike that he didn't even have to shift from his stance to perform. There would be no movements of his arms or body or anything like that to let her know that an attack was underway. There would be only pain as her leg was torn from her body. Even armor would be hard pressed to stop all of the damage that would be put towards rending her to pieces. This was a psychic assault from a psychotic. It would be enough to take her leg from her armor-less. With armor? Damaged nerve endings galore. Enough to put that leg out of the fight completely. Aiming for a joint even had its own purposes. People normally didn't put too much armor over those places so that they wouldn't have to deal with their flexibility and mobility being reduced. It would be as clean a strike as could be expected.

His timing would be immaculate as well. He wouldn't wait for her to end her second sentence. His psychokinetic spear would be taking her limb before she got out the word 'stadium.'

Because of the time that she had given him she would be minus a leg and would have a new idea about humility in battle.

He had wanted to play nice.

Or one of his personalities had.

This one seemed to be fine with winning through blood.

The crowd watching this "fight"would erupt as Pip's opponent went down. It would seem that his aim had been off, but with her pants being as baggy as they were he wouldn't be surprised. He wouldn't be much of anything. She had gone down hard. His head would spin with the eruption of bloodlust that he felt from the crowd. They saw blood spray onto the sand between them and they wanted more.

They were sick, and he could feel it all.

What would Rome have been like if the gladiators could feel what their slavers felt towards them? The gamblers and nobles watching for the sake of watching. Death was what they craved. It was disgusting. As the crowd saw blood and Pip felt the explosion of negative feelings in his mind his stomach would empty itself.

She would fall to a knee in front of him and he would vomit in the same direction. Three meters was enough distance that he probably wouldn't hit her, but a few chunks crossing the span? Possible.

He would remove his gloved left hand from his pocket and wipe his lips as he tried to stop that from happening again. The crowd was laughing, many thinking that this response was due to his attack counter-firing on himself in some way. When it was just his reaction to the swelling hatred of fellow men that was surrounding the two combatants.

As she would look up at him he would look down at her and grab at the cylinder on his left hip with that same gloved hand. He would draw the cylinder from its sheath and flick his wrist, letting the steel baton extend to its full twenty six inches, capped off with a small steel ball. His blue eyes would meet hers and he wouldn't smile. He would touch his baton to the ground in front of her and continue drawing more energy. If she tried something stupid then he would be set to put her down.

The crowd was loud, but he would be close enough for her to hear.

"Leave. Stop fighting.

I need to win to send money to my home.

You don't have to be beaten any worse."

He would say this with his cracking, deep homeless-esque voice. It would be the first time that many people in this tournament had heard his ragged vocal chords vibrating. His explanation of his situation wasn't very convincing, but it was enough for him in this distracted state.

A sweat would break out on his forehead. Ignoring this crowd was getting difficult. His concentration wasn't what it should have been. Which put him more then just a couple steps below the average competitor concentration-wise in this tournament. These "fans" were going to push him over the edge. This was her last chance to get out before he adopted the fan's mentality to this situation. These fans were making him want to see her bleeding more. It wasn't him, but this would bring 'Group-think' to a whole new level.

His energy well that he had all but emptied to cause such damage would be beginning to be filled again while this woman decided if she really wanted to try fighting him when she had not only lost first blood, but had done so in such a spectacular fashion. She would have to be dumber then the mental patient to try and keep fighting.

Pip had indeed been watching her for her to do something dumb. Examples of dumb things that she could do could be found in the file folder cleverly named: Doing anything other then seeking medical help. But she had done something and he had been prepared with his own response. This response would have occurred had she done pretty much anything other then submit.

Planned movements:
His response would be to kick out his left foot in a forward lunge. The kicking of the foot was to send sand spraying up towards his opponent, hoping to get some in her eyes, ironically enough. This wasn't the end of his pre-planned attack.

The next step would be bring his right foot forwards from the rear of the lunge and bring his knee up towards where his blinded opponent should be approaching from. He didn't really care where he hit her, whether it was groin, stomach, arm, or face. It was just a knee in her direction, looking to hurt her enough to stun her.

The final point of his planned response would be to get on top of her, be it her back, her side or her chest, and rain down hurt until she stopped fighting back. He hadn't really wanted to inflict pain, but the plan called for knocking her out and so that was something that he could do.

Complications occurring within the plan/ What would really occur:
Complication number one would be that he was trying to kick sand into her face that he had accidentally recently moistened. This teenager wasn't the brightest under normal circumstances, factor in him trying to ignore a couple thousand minds worth of messages of death and pain and it was no wonder that this fact would slip beyond notice. So as he brought his foot forward to kick sand into her face he would instead be spraying towards her vomit-chunk moistened dirt. Her way of jumping wouldn't help her too much, and so the audience would most likely be treated to Rachel's pretty face being splattered with mud.

Next complication would be that he would be bringing his knee forwards as he would be getting a face full of sand. He already had the momentum built up and he had his knee coming up towards her anyways so it shouldn't have been a problem. It would simply mean that his aim would be even worse then it would have been before. Though with no particular target other then -her- he should have trouble missing. And with her head forwards jump trajectory, chances were that he would still catch her somewhere in the face or shoulder area.

Final complication would be the sand entering his eyes and mouth. He wanted to get on top of her and begin raining down punishment, but how could he do that when he couldn't see her? He knew where she had to have landed though... or near enough at least. People weren't small, and he could track her down. He would begin trying to blink some of the foreign particles out of his eyes while he did so, but for the next few moments all that the crowd would see would be Pip standing very near to Rachel swinging his baton near to the ground in front of him in hopes of hitting her.

Results:
Should Pip hit Rachel in his first couple of swings he wouldn't even pause to wait on orientation. He would simply fall on top of her and try to impose his will. His baton would be thrown away so that it couldn't be used against him and his left hand would be free to pin some part of her body. He wouldn't care about what part of her body he was holding down either, he would only bring his right hand out of his jacket pocket. Finally revealing that second gloved hand, along with the brass knuckles that he held in his grip. And then he would rain down some pain.

Given the knee attempt Pip wouldn't be far from where Rachel had landed, so even in his blinded state it would not take long for him to find her, pin her down with his two hundred and ten pounds, isolate any part of her body, and begin slamming his brass knuckled fist into her.

One thing was going Rachel's way though. She would be blessed in that all of these actions that Pip was doing would stop him from charging up any more energy for his abilities. It would seem he wasn't able to continue adding energy to his reservoir when he had so many other things going on at once.

[/Ooc: This post is weird, I know... Just not sure how else to word it. Any problems understanding it, just IM me. I'll only be on for a half hour or so, but in that time I'll help out as much as possible.]

Well, it would seem for Dear Little Pip that this fight, which had started in his favor, was beginning to turn ugly.

His attempt at kneeing her would meet nothing but air, and with his foot still up there he would feel something gripping around the high leather of his army surplus combat boot. This was not going to be pretty.

Keeping in mind that Pip already had forward momentum from his kneeing attempt chances were that he wasn't going to go down on his a**, but with him traveling forward already, his loss of any support beneath him would result in exactly what Rachel feared.

A stomp.

Pip's right foot would come down in an instinctual effort to catch his descending body. The problem would be that by this time his leather soul would be over top of either the back of her head or else the back of her neck (depending on how far she would have slid in the mud). This would be a punishing blow given the size difference between the two, and seeing as how this would be carrying all of the teen's weight instead of just half (as it would witha regular stomp). Her face would be jammed into the sandy/ vomity arena Hard. The concussive force itself wouldn't be nice to experience, but neither would be the mud that would be caking itself to every part of her face.

This of course was not the type of landing that Pip would have wanted to make either, the surface of the "ground" that he was catching himself on having gotten uneven and circular. His military boot would come crashing down, and then thanks to this traitorous terrain, so would he.

Chances were that Pip's right leg would wind up slipping off of his opponent to his own left, as the angles would dictate, which would result in a fall that would have Pip oriented almost sideways. Right hip downwards, Pip would come crashing down like humpty dumpty. He knew well enough from minds of fighters that he had read that he shouldn't try catching himself with an extended arm, but rather should simply hit the ground with as much surface as possible to avoid injury.

Easy enough.

Except that Pip's right hand was in his pocket still.

As he came tumbling down he wouldn't have the time to remove his gloved hand from his pocket and so he would land flush on mostly two things. The first would be his shoulder (instead of the armpit as would be optimal) and second would be his hip coming down square on where his foot had just left. Be it the back of her head or something else it was about to get struck by his right hip. This was the place on his belt that all of his pouches were kept. Inside of these pouches were tacks, needles, marbles, and a salt-pepper combo.

No matter which pouch struck her straight on, it was not going to be very happy. For either party. And once again she would probably be having her face pushed into the man-made mud.

As for Pip after he landed, well... he wouldn't be in the best spot. Blinded and in a bit of pain from his tumble. And now he too would be covered in his own vomit.

Yum.

[/Edit: Used contents of pouch from Version 1.0.]