He's... full of bravado, but Goro's right in a lot of ways. The alleyway is tight- tight enough for him, if he really wanted, to extend his upper arms and touch each wall. The dirt pathway between them is mostly viable purchase- though the fights beforehand (most notably close to the walls) is slippery with old blood, brain matter, vomit, and who knew what else.
Winning's still a possibility, if only in Cloud's mind. It's a dogged one- stubborn to leave- but thankfully (for him) a strategy of survival isn't absent. It mostly revolves around not allowing Goro a chance to get hold of him. Small strikes. Nothing flashy. Getting clear. Another one. Getting clear.
It's endurance more than power. And-
The crowd, heckler and all, by now have moved up two flights of stairs onto balconies which, more than likely, were designed for drying clothes, but repurposed by an enterprising bar owner to serve as viewing platforms. Cloud's only really aware of the fact the match should be underway by a shout from above- of Just get on with it! and a glass shattering, thrown from above, at the wall behind him.
He inhales. And he turns the scimitar in his hand.
How long has it been since he used anything singlehanded?
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He's... full of bravado, but Goro's right in a lot of ways. The alleyway is tight- tight enough for him, if he really wanted, to extend his upper arms and touch each wall. The dirt pathway between them is mostly viable purchase- though the fights beforehand (most notably close to the walls) is slippery with old blood, brain matter, vomit, and who knew what else.
Winning's still a possibility, if only in Cloud's mind. It's a dogged one- stubborn to leave- but thankfully (for him) a strategy of survival isn't absent. It mostly revolves around not allowing Goro a chance to get hold of him. Small strikes. Nothing flashy. Getting clear. Another one. Getting clear.
It's endurance more than power. And-
The crowd, heckler and all, by now have moved up two flights of stairs onto balconies which, more than likely, were designed for drying clothes, but repurposed by an enterprising bar owner to serve as viewing platforms. Cloud's only really aware of the fact the match should be underway by a shout from above- of Just get on with it! and a glass shattering, thrown from above, at the wall behind him.
He inhales.
And he turns the scimitar in his hand.
How long has it been since he used anything singlehanded?
Just fucking fiiiiight!
Another glass.