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That would certainly be difficult, considering that she was more or less pinned in this situation as long as she kept her limbs positioned as she did. The only thing that she really had as a means to change her orientation was one leg with no real leverage, and an ankle... her shoulders, too, if she twisted hard enough. But as it was, one leg was tied up, one was more or less useless for attempting a roll, and her arms were doing little more than bracing.

There was no way that she would be able to get a roll going quickly enough to toss him off before anything connected, hell, it was a little hard to believe that she could get a roll going at all if he did anything to resist it.

She could turn her head to the left... but that wouldn't really do all too much to stop his face smash.

Damn... face smashes were like the most unblockable types of smashes; usually because there's no way to get a guard up in between those few inches of face on face action.


He held on, if for no reason other than ensuring his control over the situation. Without hesitation he moved his body slightly to take advantage of this. He bent his back slightly to accomodate her knee, only to then adjust his position slightly 'down' and proceed to put his weight on it, right there. The knee didn't hurt much at all, except for the lingering pain from when it had struck, because she had no momentum to strike with. By putting his weight there, he was intending to force her knee up to her chest and pin it there with his own body.

His grip on his collar still disrupted the use of her left arm; not entirely, but it would certainly put a damper on a lot of things. His left arm was up behind her head, reaching over her shoulder. While this wouldn't stop her from using her right arm, it would provide good cover in case she decided to try and hit him, rather than simply pushing against him. As for his legs... Well, the first thing that he did as soon as he shifted his weight was to quickly swap his right leg over to the inside of her left, and then press his knee down against the ground while sliding it up against the back of her thigh. This would more or less leave her leg useless to do anything constructive.

All in all?

This fight went straight from 'I'll whup-a joo a**' to 'some ******** up variant on the missionary position' real fast.

But that was okay. Tommy liked it rough.

With a lurch, the mercenary came to his feet proper; exhaling once to regain his calm. And truthfully, he didn't seem to be sweating.. breathing heavily, even. Instead of showing such fatigues, he merely stroked along the wrist of his right arm. Oddly, despite the damage dealt, he seemed to be analyzing the damage with his eyes as though expecting something else.. or, rather, thinking of some other element to add in. It as almost as though, Omi felt the blow to be lacking in some manner.. yet, practice would make perfect, in this case.

Spinning around on one foot in a second wind & a tired yawn, he kicked one gauntlet off the ground; slipping his left arm into it as it fell, before repeating the act with the other. As his fingertips strewn the clasps tightly, both of his amber-brown eyes fell upon the man whom had entered.. well, honestly, Omi hadn't noticed this specific person enter. That alone made him feel a tad 'off'. Regardless, the mercenary noted that, this man seemed rather.. rigid. Keeping to himself & with a veil of silence. Doing no repetitions, no exercises, no training regiments..

Sighing inwardly at what he was about to do, the mercenary thought, "Maybe the guy's just shy? Ah, I'll offer him a quick little "spar"; if he accepts, nice - if he declines, to Hell with it." Chuckling inwardly, with another couple of redirected steps, Omi had came before this odd man; offering his right hand, gauntlent encovered save the fingertips, in a casual greeting. And, in a suitingly casual voice, "Hey there. Name's Omi - you looking for someone to test out in the dojo, by chance?"

Eyes narrowing in a comical manner, as the man turned his back to Omi- he seemed to have a serious look of irritation. "What what what- alright, ignore that comment." Finally drooping his shoulders with an outward sigh, the mercenary turned his body towards the Gym room, and followed suit; a sweatdrop formed at his brow. "Dammit, why do odd-a** situations like this always.."

Stepping into the front section of the gym in a casual sort of walk- almost lofty- the mercenary flicked his right hand's thumb upward to a sheathed blade hanging over his right shoulder-blade. In response to the man's earlier comment, "This'll be my weapon, than. Looking forward to a good match." Friendly enough of a tone of voice, though he was already slipping the fingertips of his left hand about the wrist of his right - then vice versa, rotating and stretching out his arms before following suit with his legs. Finally, his right hand flicked upward- and it's palm found the handle just beneath the hilt, slowly drawing his own weapon from it's scabbard.

Perhaps, it was a bit unwise to use such a weapon in weapon-play. (.22) centimeter hilt. Blade length from the hilt itself: 40 centimeters. A sword guard made of the same material as the blade lays at the junction between the cutting edge & it's handle, round in shape. The metal itself giving off a rather fierce, translucent light; white with traces of blue in hue. As the weapon arched off from his body, and was swung in front of he- Omi grasped another section of the handle with his remaining, left hand; the blade held center in front of his body. Fingertips digging into the soft, dark-blue cotton lacing and black, leather strips lining the handle of this fine weapon.

Light. Perhaps, 1/5th of the weight of common steel, yet with exceptionally more cutting power. Not to mention, thanks to the straight-forward design of the blade, albeit the curved edge some 10 centimeters from the tip, provided for an extremely wide range of motion with this weapon. And thanks to the absurdly light weight in comparison to even the norm light-weighted foil, this was truly something to set the eyes upon..

Although, the mercenary had already squared his left foot some three inches back from the right, right shoulder now turned forward - holding the blade with only his right hand & vertically parallel to his face, the left hand jutting forward in it's own reach with a rather lofty, open palm. As the light emanating from his blade played a bit of a light show on his skin and clothing, the latter so dark in comparison to the luminosity of the weapon whilst his gauntlets' metal handplates reflected the light a tad- the mercenary seemed prepared to begin this practice clash. Then, the words were given: "You may strike first, if you wish."

Rather hefty staff.. needless to say, range would be an issue on Omi's approach, as he was, to his disappeasement, told to go first. However, again, his eyes narrowed in annoyance at the comments this man made; yet another sweatdrop forming upon his expression. "Er, name's Omi. Very well," his response began, shifting his bodyweight forward, "But if you keep taking the time to continue that sort of banter, you may lose your grounding."

At this last word, a smirk lining his lips- the mercenary bound forward. His movement could be described as a mixture of a shuffle and a dash; keeping, relatively, in his former position. Were the staff to just dart forward, chances are, it would be caught by the free hand- and present a rather daft opening for Arcanine's opponent to take. However, Omi was fully expecting something of a melee orientation to occur - perhaps, to set him off outright- and thus, as he closed in at a rapid pace, he seemed to charge forward. A feint of movement, designed to make his opponent react prematurely by the bull-rush charge - falling into a barrage of strikes, were it. Yet, his right hand had stopped holding the blade in such a manner as before- beginning to casually, yet slowly, weave the blade back and fourth in place, some two inches apart in each direction..

Oh, but who could say, Omi couldn't make a feint out of a feint? Chaining the abrupt movement into a sudden lunge, instead of moving away from the spot he was at as one would have assumed- for that looked to be what his original feint was intending for - he dashed right on forward, using his legs & shifting knees to propel him. And, as Arcanine had not adjusted his position to reflect the oncoming mercenary.. well, the two were now quite close. Omi, standing perhaps an inch or so less than a foot to the man's left; though, since the man was considerably low to the floor, Omi by all means towered over him a tad.

"I told you. Waste your time.."

For, with one's right foot forward, left leg back, left hand placed down.. it would be decidedly harder to hit an opponent to one's left side, than the right. Merely due to range of motion. Yet, there was a problem to be addressed: Arcanine's staff, held over the man's back. Which is why, in an abrupt motion, the Caladbolg Omi wielded was swung up horizontally- just high enough to shield him from the staff being swung down. Meanwhile, the boot-clad left foot of this mercenary swung upward, in a sort of "sickle kick"- rising up swiftly, curving sharply to the right, then back to the left, building up more momentum.. and, making it more difficult to grab or block. If this was not attended to, Arcanine would have a rather sharp kick delve into his chin & upper-neck. Nothing pleasant.

Unfortunately.. in his time spent dealing with the kick, Arcanine spent no time at all attending to the mercenary's blade. This would prove a mistake- for before the man could ever make use of his staff, Omi shifted Caladbolg past those odd robes, and with a quick swing- planted an edge against the admantium metal. Would it wound the weapon? No.

Would it keep the man's right arm in place, lest he wished to drop the weapon entirely, which would make him quite open? Quite so. In fact, both of Arcanine's arms were attended to. One was holding the staff, the other hadst grabbed ahold of his kick; and thanks to how low the man was to the ground, a counter-kick was out of the question.

However, Omi's left palm, loosely hanging out as before, was a limb he did have use of. And in a rapid motion, it cut forward directly into the direction of the unguarded man's face. Much faster than his earlier kick, with a sharper degree of thrust; this punch, at the range they were, would probably cause a suiting degree of harm. The left hand of Arcanine was too low to retract from Omi's leg & try to stop this, and the swordsman well made sure, the right hand would not join in an attempt to end the rapid punch. Furthermore, it was likely that if the first blow connected, a sequence of rapid, retracting punches would follow. Unpleasant situation, no doubt.

The feints from earlier had worked. Just by making Arcanine keep where he was, by allowing him to believe Omi was attempting to goad him away- in truth, the staff man had played right into this mercenary's hand.