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The boy doing the falling wouldn't be in very good shape either. Sure he was doing slightly better, having retained consciousness for the whole time, but he was still blinded, with what would amount to unfortunate bruises on his right shoulder and right hip. And while the girl had gone out like a light for only a brief instant, it seemed as though that was enough for his foot to have freed itself and slid out to her right.

The two would now be in almost a crucifix position, except that he would still be laying on her head.

The youth wouldn't wait too long in re-establishing his assault however. First thing would be first, he would need to get off of her. He would log-roll to his left (so he would be going away from her head) in order to free his right arm and reveal for all to see the brass knuckles that he was wearing on that hand. They would be useless in the next few moments, but they were still there.

His right hand would grab towards where he had just left, looking to curl his fingers in some of Rachel's hair around the brass that was already in his grip. He would squeeze tightly there because in his left hand would still be that baton. He was still blind, and rolling around in the mud wasn't the type of place one went to clear that up. That being said the right hand would be used so that he knew where to aim.

His left arm would be what everyone would be watching. Pip would have rolled onto his back, so the audience, now in a frenzy over the mud-wrestling in the arena, would have a great view of Pip lifting Rachel's head as much as he could with his right hand and him simultaneously bringing the butt of his baton in towards her head.

He didn't have the visual reference to aim for something like the temple. All that he really had to go off of was the fact that he was gripping her head and that was what he wanted to hit as well. A crude shot that could land on a cheek, eye, nose, forehead, or even the temple itself (as would be best).

After this strike Pip would do his best to bring his knees up beneath him while also maintaining his grip on his opponent. He just didn't want to have to find her again. He needed to finish this fight fast. He was already succumbing to the bloodlust of the crowd... how much longer could he last in a place like this? Getting to his knees would of course be secondary to actually holding onto Rachel.

How many men had thought it was hot when a girl was mud-wrestling?

Pip was not included in that crowd.

Not in this situation.

The smell was awful.

Pip was blinded, but his mental capacities were still running at full. He wasn't bright, but he could still feel the minds surrounding him to one degree or another (depending on how powerful/ loud they were being of course). This being said Pip could feel the wavering of the closest mind to him. He could feel his opponent wax and wain in and out of consciousness, mostly because she was indeed strong spirited as well as she was the closest person to him at the time (their minds being separated by maybe a foot), so he would have no trouble feeling her slip into oblivion along with the jolt that would run down his left arm from the impact with her skull.

She had really only made the one mistake in the battle. But one mistake in a competition such as this was one too many, and the young psionic had taken the victory because of it.

He would feel her loose consciousness and because of this he would roll so that his back was flat on her own. His eyes would still be squinted as much as could be allowed through the attempted blinks from before to try and clear his eyes. All that this would accomplish would be to reveal a bright blur above him and darker, shifting blurs to all sides.

The noise from the spectators was even worse now, their bloodlust rising at the sight of the girl's face falling to the mud one last time. His right hand would remain on her scalp, but he would no longer be holding it tight. All that he would be truly about would be keeping those voices from taking over. Keeping those instincts from driving him over the edge. Keep himself from killing this girl simply because she couldn't hold her own.

His left hand would slam down into the sand, the baton retracting into it's compacted state as he did so. His right hand would relieve itself of it's weapon too, losing its brass knuckles in his jacket pocket once more. He was still aware of his opponent, both her bodily movements (breathing, heartbeat, etc.) as well as her mental capacities as they wound their way back towards conscious thought.

He was ready for her to jump once again. After all, this was Gaia Primus; people had ridiculous recovery rates, and he was ready for it. He was ready, even if he didn't particularly want to put her down again.

He would...

Even if he wouldn't like in this state of mind.

And with that he would get to his feet, still conscientious of the unconscious woman below him, and with blurry eyes he would begin making his way to the exit of the field. His exit or hers he wouldn't know, but he would be moving. He would be getting away from this crowd, and their bad, mean feelings. He would slip his now blood crusted baton into its holster and bring his gloved hands back to his eyes.

He didn't like this tournament situation already.

It was painful, and mean-spirited.

If only he didn't need the money for a noble cause...

If only...

And Pip would be out of the arena, with the entire crowd booing him for not delivering a death blow. But he would be out, and on his way to a hotel room for a shower.

He was all dusty and bruised and stuff now after all...

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