Owner	Pose
Raphael	This island was kinda nice. The sway of the trees, the gentle ocean breeze, the feeling of sand between his two toes. Yeah, Raphael had never been much of a beach guy, but a place like this might just convince him. As he waited for his opponent to show up, he merely paced around the dunes while watching the waves roll in and roll away, every so often bouncing and throwing mock kicks and punches into the air. He adjusted his mask, and felt the weight of his sais in their hilts.     He was ready. He was so ready to do this.
Derek Khanata	It's sunny today on the Greek Island of Kairos, though hundreds of feet below our contestants, the Aegean Sea is crashing dramatically along the rocky shore. A simple black sand circle, some twenty yards across, has been marked off by a ring of stones. Surrounding this circle are several encampments of various martial arts academies, each with their own pavillion tent, flags of origin snapping in the wind, announcing their allegiance. From one such pavillion tent two young women, each ready to try out as extras in a Kardashian spin-off in blocky black sunglasses, gold-plated, and chunky, faux-designer handbags. They each pull back a tent door, and from within steps out a monster. Six and a half feet tall, built like a linebacker or a heavyweight and already oiled for action, the man behind the black leather hood snarls and stretches his neck as he approaches the circle, his two assistants close behind.
Raphael	Raph had to admit, this guy looked like serious business. For his part, Raphael was dressed simply, in his red mask, and with tight wrappings around his hands, wrists, feet and ankles. To help keep his hands and feet straight when he throws punches, to make sure they're the most effective they can be. Along with the elbow and kneepads, around his waist was a curious addition: A pair of red Muay Thai shorts, with white 'sai' patterns across each leg. It was around the waistband of these shorts that his sais were kept, just waiting to be used. For his part, Raphael glared out with white eyes masking his rage(and nervousness), and he threw a few introductory kicks as he danced toward the big man. Not even close to making contact, there was still about twelve feet between them. But as sand flew up from each kick, it would certainly make them look impressive, to anyone looking on.     "Awright, pal, took ya long enough, though I guess that little bondage number is more complicated than a pair of shorts. You ready ta be knocked down by one of the absolute best, huh?!"     He stood ready, in a guarded, defensive kickboxing stance...though the more he looked at this guy...the more he realized that he might need the sais for this one.
Derek Khanata	Razor-Fist steps to the edge of the circle opposite of Raphael as his assistants busy themselves unfolding a picnic blanket beneath a gnarled oak nearby, removing from their oversized handbags what looks like the making of a full meal. As the final arrangements were made by the island's staff before the bout, the giant paces along the edge of the circle, chin lowered, gaze locked onto Raphael. Oddly, his hands seem to be covered in some of black leather casing, extending up to mid-forearms. "I look forward to it, little creature. But first--I dine." The picnic is set--a wooden block, and a hunk of dark, raw red meat is presented neatly on a tamati mat, uncut. Razor-Fist sits easily, and his assistants begin busying themselves with unclasping the leather sheaths mouted around his forearms. He speaks loudly, projecting his voice to be heard by the turtle, "If you are ninja, you certainly must have a familiarity with sashimi. The greatest sushi chefs spend years laboring to master the art of the perfect cut; I am one such master. Dine with me, and judge for yourself!"
Raphael	Raphael was pacing back and forth, looking for the trick, for the trap. He wanted to just go on and pummel this guy already, but it looked like there was more at play here...a demonstration? A picnic?     "Whaddawe, yoga bears?"     Despite his incredulous voice, he came over, and though he was wary, he hunkered down on his haunches, kneeling down with his 'shell' rigid and straight. Whoever taught him, taught him well.     He was increasingly wary of the things on the man's arms, and was wondering what they were. He figured, maybe this guy was just that good a kickboxer, he didn't even need his arms? He doubted it, though. He took one of the meats and, staring at his opponent the entire time, tenderly started eating one. Nibbling. If it was poisoned, he wanted as little of it in his system as possible. But he couldn't just say 'I think this is poisoned', because that wasn't honorable or whatever. He hated games like these.
Derek Khanata	"You honor me by sitting at my table. Please, allow my assistants to pour a cup of sake; it will warm your belly before the match." The tanned brunette, the brim of her sun hat flapping in the breeze, sets out a pair of simple clay cups and pours from a wine bottle. Razor-Fist nods to her and she raises the cup to his lips. He sips, and nods again. Moments later, the second assistant has unlatched the leather sheathes, and she swimgs them open--revealing glittering, razor-edged blades replacing his hands and lower forearms, reinforced by a metal guard set in the stump, each approximately a foot and a half in length. The leather sheathes are lined in a red velvet, and the giant lets out a sigh of relief as they are removed, allowing him to move more freely. "Please observe--my technique is flawless." The cut of crimson flesh, its origin not easily identifiable, is laid on the tatami mat next to several prepared mounds of rice. Razor-Fist easily maneuvers the meat between the flat and the tips of his blades. He cuts smoothly, with a careful eyes, dividing the meat into several thin slices, which he layers atop the rice and sets upon Raphael's prepared square clay dish. The meat is delectible, and Razor-Fist enjoys his portion with relish, being hand-fed by one of the assistants, who has a knowing smirk hidden behind her chunky glasses. "We are enjoying an uncommon dish today, little creature! It is a specialty; served as a type of natural restorative. Perhaps you're familiar with it?"
Raphael	He had the meat, chewing it slowly as he looked around at things more closely. The taste of this, it certainly wasn't beef. He eyed the blades that were now exposed in the light, that were probably being washed and cleaned after his cutting of meat. He eyed the smirking women, looked down at the cup of liquor down on the table, and thought about where he was.     As he chewed, the meat started to lose its flavor, as Raph quickly lost what little appetite he had. When one of the ladies gave him a smirk, he gave one right back, and spat that meat right at her. Moments later he'd lean over that table in a flash, and throw out a hard, fast snapping punch right at the man's crooked, leather hooded face.     "Yeah, I think we had enough picnic time, Slapchop. You got da bill for dis?"
Derek Khanata	The assistant recoils in horror as a thick glob of half-chewed flesh lands on her cream-colored suitjacket. Razor-Fist laughs, a loud, brash, full-bellied roar suitable for the villain of a late '80s anime. When the blow comes, he is caught unawares by the jab, which lands soldily on his nose, leaving a smattering of blood on his upper lip. The giant recovers quickly, rising to his feet nimbly into a wrestlers' crouch. He grins malevolently, arms splayed wide, assessing his opponent. "It was not to your taste, beast? Perhaps a cousin of yours--or a former lover?" "I'll deliver--and collect--the butcher's bill in the arena. I only fear that you will prove too gamey."
Raphael	Raphael watched with his eyes, not moving his head or neck the entire time Razor-Fist was doing his whole song and dance. When he finally stood, it was after a few moments have passed, and he slowly walked away from the table to a more suitable, 'clear' fighting area. Gulls cried in the distance, and the sun was hanging over them in that early morning environment. Raphael was perfectly calm as he took the sais from his sheaths, spinning and twirling them in his hands. Amazing that, for only having two fingers and a thumb, that he was able to wield these weapons so expertly.     "Ok. Let's do this."
Derek Khanata	Razor-Fist strides confidently into the circle, stones crushing under his heavy bootheel. Chin upturned, smirking haughtily at the diminutive mutant, he replies, "Indeed." A referee, swaddled in black cloth, silently motions that the round is about to begin. Razor-Fist adopts a wide-legged crouch, blades crossed in front of him, his corded muscles tensing as he prepared for the signal to begin.
Raphael	And begins, the round does. Raphael began to circle around carefully and cautiously, until the very second he didn't. Having shorter weapons than Razor-fist, he had to get in close where that length wouldn't be such a problem, and where he could work without fear of easy counter-attacks and ripostes. Immediately he brought those sais up in a series of attacks, but really those were made obvious so that Razor would have no choice but to parry, deflect or dodge out of the way. Raphael's real intent came in the way of his leg swinging low, trying to sweep Razor-Fist's feet right out from under him. Just a test, to see just how capable ths guy really was.
Derek Khanata	Razor-Fist matches Raphael pace for pace, and when the flurry of feints come, he's ready for them. Steel clashes once, twice, the larger opponent pressed but not yet concerned, swatting away the blows as they come. Raphael strikes out with a probing kick; Razor-Fist buckles momentarily, but recovers, stepping back several feet to regain traction. His breathing is tense, but not yet labored. Before Raphael can redouble his attack, Razor-Fist goes on the offensive, charging forward with a series of wide, bold swings, forcing his smaller opponent to retreat while maneuvering so as to entrap the mutant along the circle's edge.
Raphael	"Y'know, it's funny, I was all ready ta show the world that I could fight unarmed as well as with weapons, an' then you come along."     A slash across Raphael's bicep and thigh has the turtle dancing backwards with a sneer of pain, red crimson trickling down green, scaled skin. He's backing up until he feels his feet right on the edge of that circle, and sees Razor charging in again. He knew this guy was big, and he knew this guy was strong, but Raphael was a turtle. Unable to do crunches or any abdominal muscles, for him and his brothers it was arms and legs all day. So when Razor next charged in, Raphael's intention was to side-step him at the last minute, hooking his ankle across the psycho's booted feet, while his right hand comes down in a clubbing blow aimed for the back of the man's head, the blunt hilt of his sai aimed right for his skull. That would give him something to think about, and if this worked, he'd go sailing right past the edge as well!     "Well, there's always next fight, I suppose. Unless the next guy has hooks for knees or knives fer eyes or somethin'."
Derek Khanata	With a spurt of crimson as his probing slash connects, Razor-Fist surges forward, a finishing thrust against a pinned opponent--only to have the more agile turtle slip from his grasp. Realizing his error, Razor-Fist swings wildly in his defense, only intercepting the blow by sheer luck. He reels back from the edge, swiping desperately as he works to regain his balance as the turtle moves in for the kill. Only the call of the gong saves him, his upper lip soaked in sweat.. The assistants rush forward with a towel and water bottle, blotting his neck as he greedily slurps at the plastic straw. When, several moments later, they return to their starting positions, Razor-Fist still seems brash, confident. As they await the referee's mark, he nods to his opponent, "You are quite skilled, for a beast."
Raphael	"Yeah, you should meet my brother. He's a real party animal."     For his part, when the gong rang he returned to the starting position in the center of the circle, and merely crouched down to wait. He didn't have assistants, he didn't have water, he didn't bandage his wounds. He just let them sting and bleed slowly, even as he slowed his breathing. Again, not once did he take his eyes off of the bladed warrior, and once the round was started, all he did was quickly hop back up to his feet. Idly he stretched out his legs, stalking around the bigger, leatherclad figure. This time his posture appeared to be more outright defensive, as he waited to see what happened.
Derek Khanata	Razor-Fist doesn't waste the opportunity--he methodically begins putting on the pressure, seeking weakness with a series of feints designed to keep the turtle retreating, wear him out. The two warriors circled once, twice, until-- Raphael's sai skids down Razor-Fist's blade, locking against the guard. The giant smiles through gritted teeth as he turns his wrist, attempting to force the mutant's weapon from his grip.
Raphael	Sais were actually designed with this in mind, and Raphael's mastery of these tools was impressive. Every time a killing or even a set-up stroke was thrown out, it was like the turtle had the answer to it. Of course, Razor-Fist was smart enough to know what he was up against, and Raphael' left weapon was stuck in a guard against two lethal weapons. The ninja grit his teeth, his eyes narrowed in anger under that red mask of his, and feeling his grip weaken, he decided to part with the tool. Though, the way he suddenly twisted the weapon and spun it, the bladed one might or might not have a moment of trouble bringing his weapons out from the guard, particularly if he could get the blades to 'bite' against the metal of his sai.     It would only be one moment, possibly less, before the man was free of his predicament, but that was all the time Raphael needed to run at the villain and leap up. His arms, legs and head all tucked into his shell as it flipped, the hard back of it aiming right for the man's face or skull. Regardless of the impact the ninja would flip and land on his feet, leaving the safety of his home after that hard attempted knockout shot.     "Having fun yet, Edward Scissorhands?!"
Derek Khanata	It only requires a moment to strike--and the blow is clean. Razor-Fist, attention drawn to the spinning sai as it sails off the cliff into the surf below, glinting madly in the morning sun, staggers under the weight of the unexpected attack, defenseless against such an exotic technique. The colossus crashes to the ground, landing hard on his backside. He exclaims an audible, "oof!", face contorted, the wind knocked from him. And the turtle is on him before he can fully recover; his guard's up, but Razor-Fist can't seem to regain the momentum. He's breathing hard now, eyes bloodshot. The mutant closes, and the double amputee throws a powerful kick at his opponent's midsection, hoping to catch him off-guard, buy himself a moment to regain his wits.
Raphael	He leapt up to drive down a punch into the prone man's face, but his eagerness to end the fight got the better of him. In his aggression he didn't see the boots until they were against his midsection, and he was being thrown backwards hard on his shell. Good thing was he rolled to his feet immediately. Bad news, he rolled to his feet outside of the circle. Instantly, the fight was stopped, and Raphael was directed to the center, where he 'patiently' waited for Razor to get back up. Well ok, maybe he was rocking on the balls of his feet, and swaying like an impatient boxer between rounds. And maybe this was all just so he could block the pain of his injuries out of his mind. His bandanna mask was swaying in the breeze, coming down across one shoulder as he tossed his one sai back and forth.     "Yer gonna go get that back fer me, after the fight. You think I just got a closet of sais back home, like Mr. Ninja Monopoly or something?"
Derek Khanata	The larger man groans heavily as he stands, stiff, shoulders heaving. Razors takes the precious moments afforded to him to gasp deeply, steadying himself. He's looking worn, but not out, and rolls his neck from shoulder-to-shoulder, "Your constant patter is like the waves crashing against the coast--all sound and fury, signifying nothing. You will shatter against my final onslaught." When the referee motions, Razor-Fist steps carefully, patiently circling. His left 'hand' is pointed outwards and down, to ward against attack, while his right was arched at the elbow and raised above his brow, poised to strike.
Raphael	When Razor-Fist spoke, suddenly Raphael would spin and pivot, throwing that sai and letting it hurl blade over handle right for the face of Razor-Fist. The good news was, this was slow and obvious enough that it would never tag a master like the armless assassin. Whether he ducked, dodged, or parried it with those incredible blades of his, it was never going to connect. And even if it did? It wasn't going to connect blade-first.     The bad news was that Raphael was charging in behind it, side-stepping and shuffling towards the larger man at the speed of light, this 'side-kick' was taught in karate, kickboxing, Tae Kwon Do and everywhere else, and was an extremely simple and basic technique. It also had a great deal of power behind it, that heel and the hardened sole of Raphael's leathery foot, aiming for the chin, or soft underjaw of the villain. If Spider-Man were here, he as a former wrestler might recognize it as a 'super kick', which would get super results if it super landed right here!
Derek Khanata	PTANG! Razor-Fist deflects the sai with ease, the weapon flying into the trunk of the oak which shades the twin assistants, branches convulsing noisily. "You fool! Don't you know that Razor-Fist is never disarmed? Now--" The larger combatant never gets the chance to finish the thought. He's already stepping forward, eager to press the advantage, to strike the killing blow before the high-flying mutant gets the better of him once and for all--and he walks right into it. That heel connects with his chin and Razor-Fists spins, stunned, barely able to raise a blade to his defense.
Raphael	"Yeah, buddy? Well why don't you go do a handstand!"     His leg is lowered, inwardly in the back of his mind he is exceedingly grateful that he didn't get crazed or nicked along an artery. The man is spun around and Raph had an opportunity to land a death-blow. Feeling the blood along his arms and legs he was tempted, already his handwraps had a sickening crimson color, darker and more 'wet' than his mask or his shorts. He rose his hand up, ready to club down in a chopping motion...but he wasn't going to do that. Splinter raised him better than that.     Instead, that hand came down against both of Razor's 'stumps', the closest to wrists he could get, while his other hand reached down to grasp along the guy's tailbone. Then he launched the guy, using a combination of judo, wrestling and just freakish turtle strength to hurl the man head over heels at that same tree. Where his sai sat plunged? he was aiming both of the man's swordknivehandthings to plunge right below. Wouldn't exactly be a 'knockout' shot, but he figured that would definitely count as a ring-out.     That done, he'd fall backward on his shell, looking up at the sky as he breathed heavily, his skin perspiring in a light sheen of...sweat. Yeah, the Ooze that turned them into more than Turtles, it kind of messed with the whole 'cold-blooded reptile' thing. Truth be told he had no idea what he'd classify as these days, but he definitely knew that he'd classify as tired.     "Razor-Fist. Shredder. What is it with bad guys and cutlery?"     The sky didn't answer.