Third Annual BF betleH Tournament

Third Annual BF betleH Tournament (http://www.betleh.com/cgi-bin/b3/YaBB.pl)

Day 1 - Opening Matches >> After morning rounds >> Tauvits vs. Graves
(Message started by: Falco_Tauvits on Feb 13^th, 2005, 10:45am)

Title: Tauvits vs. Graves
Post by Falco_Tauvits on Feb 13^th, 2005, 10:45am

Yes, it's the return of Sergeant Graves, for anyone who might have paid attention the last two years. I do wonder why the poor woman keeps coming back year after year to be knocked out in the first round every time...

ON:

"Oh, no. Not you again. Uh, sir."

Tauvits couldn't help but grin as he stepped up to the arena and saw his opponent for the very first round. Sergeant Ellie Graves was tall, with a build that was slender yet strong - and he knew the strength from personal experience - and, in his humble estimation, drop-dead gorgeous.

"Yep. It's me." Tauvits' grin widened. "And it's no 'sir' anymore, Sergeant, because I'm a civilian these days. You can insult me all you like without any consequences."

Graves hesitated as she turned to step up into the arena, fiddling with a loose strand of hair the tight braid she wore hadn't caught before she glanced over her shoulder at him. "I did read about your court martial. Saw holo-recordings of it, actually," she said quietly.

Tauvits' grin faded a little. Staged or not, his court martial was rather embarrassing, to say the very least. He gave her a short nod as he stepped up alongside her, ducking into the arena. In these early matches, where there were many indeed to watch, the crowds weren't thick. There were many here than he'd have thought, mind.

"I guess they want to see how the man who came third place last year will perform," Graves said as he finished the thought, following him into the ring. "After all, you were quite good to watch once you removed your head from your backside."

Tauvits couldn't help but grin a little as he stepped about the ring, twirling his betleH lightly in his hands to adjust to the weight. "Taking credit for my performance, sergeant?"

Graves grinned a feral, faintly mocking grin. "Still have my sword, Mister Tauvits?"

"Oh, I've got it with me. Once I beat you, we must have another sparring match." Most of Tauvits' words came from bravado. Graves was a fine swordswoman who had mostly encountered bad luck in the tournaments of the past. He felt a little bad that he'd have to walk over her to proceed in the competition, but not so bad that he'd accept losing.

He wouldn't underestimate her, though, as he had two years ago, back on the Saturn. Last year, when they'd sparred away from the arena, she'd bested him with a rapier, clearly a weapon she was more talented with than a betleH. But it had been a year. He'd improved, granted, and had gained experience, but if a fighter of her skill had become more comfortable with a betleH, he didn't doubt that she could be formidable.

It was just bad luck for her she was fighting the man who'd come in third place last year.

The judge for the match called to verify they were both ready and, with flourishes of their weapons, they declared that they were indeed ready to begin the match. Then the bell went, and the fight was on.

Tauvits adopted his defensive stance, as was traditional for him, and waited for Graves to come to him. She did so, charging forwards aggressively and landing down blows that he parried rapidly but not with ease. He didn't lose ground, but spent time fending off her blows and trying to analyse her attacks.

She had improved since last time they'd fought with a betleH. She was evidently more comfortable with the weapon itself, but her noticing of openings and lunging for them, and her footwork, both spoke of a fighter who was very comfortable in combat. Unsurprising for one as skilled in fencing as her, and a marine to boot.

Finally, Tauvits allowed himself to step back from the onslaught, still blocking blows, but as she moved in for a more aggressive attack he sidestepped, swinging his betleH in a one handed sideways swipe aimed at her ribs. It was a heavy, fairly lazy blow, but it forced her to jump back to dodge it.

And as she dodged, her betleH left its aggressive position, mostly as she focused on her body over her blade, and once Tauvits had his own sword back within his grip he stepped forward, raining down heavy blows upon her as quickly and as forcefully as possible. He had the advantage over her of size - quite a novelty in an art which brought in massive Klingons over his decidedly average build - and strength, and used the latter to keep her moving, forcing her back as he pressed forwards.

Still, she parried his blows effectively, even though he could see the strain in her face from the effort. Finally, however, she regained control, deflecting one of his parries downwards and locking blades with him, both of their swords trapped in a moment as, for that long second, their eyes met in a sharp battle of wills and strength.

Then Graves' elbow jerked forwards and up, the shift in hold making the resistance below his betleH lesser and forcing him to stumble forwards. This was rather unfortunate, from his perspective, though perfect from hers, as it meant that it brought him in for his nose to collide perfectly with the sharp jab of her elbow.

He jerked back immediately, instinctively keeping a hold on his betleH as he felt the pain explode in the middle of his face. Within seconds he could feel the blood dripping down from his nose, and his eyes were streaming from the pain and the impact. Still, he could see the blurred shape of Graves before him, hesitant and uncertain.

"That was... a little harder than I'd expected..." she stammered, clearly now not so gung-ho with this interruption of the match.

Tauvits took a moment, trying to clear his vision, and spat out a mouthful of purpleish-blue blood that had streamed in from his nose. "Fair's fair," he managed to state, shaking his head to try and clear it. His instincts were demanding he just give up, but he wasn't going to give her that satisfaction as he straightened up, strengthening his grip on his betleH. "Come on. Fight's not over." His face was beginning to now go numb, which was a faint improvement.

But Graves was clearly not in the fight properly as she stepped forwards, attacking him in a half-hearted way. He parried the blow neatly, not alien to the notion of fighting even through intense pain, and retaliated with a sharp attack that she only just blocked in time. "Don't darn well hold back," he said savagely, striking forwards again.

But she did, only parrying his blows, not taking openings he knew were there in his pain, and leaving openings of her own he was certain she was leaving either on purpose or through distress.

And then, finally, their blades locked again, and this time he could see the ending clearly. He shoved back, pushing her away and swinging again, catching her betleH in a position where her grip could be firmer, yet jarring it further.

It took only a sharp twist, a technique he'd practiced many times for this competition, to send her betleH spinning across the arena, to the roars of the audience. And then, just then, he allowed himself to flop to the floor, blood still streaming liberally from his nose and on to the ground of the arena.

"Why'd you do that?" Tauvits snapped at last, ignoring the declaration of the judge that he was the victor, and the roars of the crowd that greeted this statement. "You should have beaten me."

Graves stepped over to pick up her betleH, then walked back to him. "Go to sickbay. Right now. You look like hell."

"Thanks," Tauvits said wryly, as he stood, a sleeve gingerly pressed to his nose, delicate so as to stop the flow of blood yet not touch the sensitive area. "But you still should have beaten me back there."

"I didn't want to win through a tactic like that. It's not how these things should be done," Graves said simply, turning to go. "Get to sickbay, Mister Tauvits."

Tauvits couldn't quite argue through the pain, but as he allowed himself to be ushered out of the arena and towards a medic who could at least deal with the blood flowing liberally, he couldn't help but remember two things. The first was that him getting his nose broken was quite fair, considering that he'd done it to her the first time they'd fought. The second was that he'd happily taken victory for that match... and it wasn't the first time he'd fought in such a disgraceful manner in the arena.

Even though his pledge to fight in a respectful manner was ever-present, it seemed as if the marks of dishonourable combat would at least remain for a long time.

darn Klingons, influencing him to think like that.

OFF:

Title: Re: Tauvits vs. Graves
Post by Doc_Meadow on Feb 13^th, 2005, 9:55pm

OFF:

Brought to you by Tauvits and Meadow.

ON:

The long strip of cloth Tauvits had pressed to his nose all the way down to sickbay was finally beginning to soak through with blood. It was just as well his combat suit was black, to minimise stains, but by the time he did stagger into Xavier's sickbay, he was finally beginning to make a mess everywhere he went.

"Uh... doctor? Anyone?" His voice was muffled by the cloth, the injured nose, and sheer pain as he leaned forward, blood now dripping onto the floor. It was clean now, but this probably wasn't anything it hadn't seen before.

A short nurse approached, took one look at him, then shook her head. “Follow me,” she lead him to an exam room. “The doctor will be with you in a moment.” She left for just a second and returned with a clean towel.

"Thank you." It came out more muffled and generally more nasal, but Tauvits was happy to press the towel to his nose, tilting his head back this time as he perched gingerly on the biobed.

The nurse was gone, barely hearing his thanks as she carried on with her duties, ever increasing due to the tournament. “Lean forward, head between the knees,” Doctor Meadow corrected as she entered the small room. “Just a bloody nose,” she queried as she pulled a stool over to the bed and took a seat.

"Right." Tauvits complied without complaint, still not entirely coherent. "Not broken, then? It hurts like buggery..."

“Haven’t quite had a chance to look at it yet; just walked through the door a second ago,” she grinned, pulling out her tricorder. She’d need a new one soon, the power cell in the one she currently held wouldn’t last much longer. “What caused this?” she rested a hand on his shoulder, easing him to an upright position.

"First round in the tournament. Specifically, a marine's elbow," Tauvits mumbled in reply, not resisting. He'd had far too much experience in the past with trying to defy doctors to be foolish enough to make the attempt now. Granted, he doubted anyone's wrath would be as terrible as Tilia's, but that still left a lot of ground to be covered. "I guess it was only fair, I broke her nose last time we fought in the arena two years ago..."

“Lovely story,” Meadow inputted as she scanned the man’s nose. “Bad news, it’s broken. But you knew that. Good news, I can fix it.” She hopped down from the stool to gather supplies.

Tauvits nodded faintly. "Always good to hear. I'll try to not get myself injured in the next round. I guess you've got enough hassle with Klingons as it is..."

She nodded, “I’m fairly sure the bruises will start showing up soon.” She returned to his side, “But a little adventure is better than…” she trailed off. “Not sure, really.” The bleeding had slowed considerably. She made sure it was stopped before having him lay back on the bed.

"Better than boredom?" Tauvits asked, smirking a little as he lay back, then wincing at the expression. "Got to have some adventure, doc, otherwise how do you know you're alive?"

“The last time I was bored… was before my residency at the Academy,” she smiled. “I wish I had time to be bored.”

"So every single doctor out there really does have their job suck up their life, huh," Tauvits mused. He knew he shouldn't have been surprised, with the work they all did.

“Depends on the job description. I just happen to be in a very busy line of work, and have been for quite a while.” She gently tested the tenderness of his nose after having given him an injection to numb it. “This will feel strange, a little pressure, but it shouldn’t hurt. If it does, let me know.”

"Oh, don't worry, I will. And I hear you when it comes down to busy work..." Tauvits shifted a little to nod, then thought better of it and instead attempted a thin, agreeable smile which wouldn't stretch muscles that could prompt pain.

“What kind line of work are you in?” she asked, switching tools.

"Used to be in the fleet," Tauvits said, shrugging. "Until about a year ago. Had a little trouble with Command, and some pirates. I've got my own ship these days. Doing odd jobs for people. Trading, that sort."

“Sounds unassuming enough.” She nodded, sitting back and setting her instruments back on the tray. “Done. You’ll want to take it easy for the next few hours. Plenty of fluids and you should eat something fairly soon. The numbness will wear away within the next thirty minutes. If there’s any pain,” she handed him an hypospray, “5 cc’s every four hours. Do not exceed that. There may be minor bruising, but I took care of the majority. Any questions?”

Tauvits gingerly touched his nose, testing it for a few seconds. "darn good work, doc." He sat up, still prodding lightly, before taking the hypospray. "If there's still pain, is there a point when I should be coming back here instead of just waiting for it to pass?"

“If there’s any swelling tomorrow, come back. The hypo will run out in two days; come back. Otherwise, no swelling, no pain, you’re a free man. And better luck in the tournament.”

"Well, I won, so there's still that bit of good luck. But thanks; I do endeavour to not try and land myself in sickbay on a regular basis. I've got a Doctor who'd probably kick me out if I injured myself through stupidity ever again." Tauvits sprang to his feet, finding a pocket for the hypo. "Right. I think I've got laundry to do," he declared, eyeing his clothing critically. "Thank you, doctor...?"

“Meadow,” she answered.

"Right. The name's Tauvits, on the off-chance you care." He gave her a half-grin and a thumbs-up. "So, thanks again, and I'll try to not get underfoot. I'm sure you'll have a mad few days with the tournament. Good luck with all that mess."

“The mess, fortunately, is not my job.” She smiled, “Get out.”

"Gotcha." Another thumbs-up, another grin, and then he stepped out in a much more sprightly fashion than he'd entered.