Everyone knows that Decklyn isn't a fighter.

Physically speaking, she has the qualifications to be one. Her speed and stamina are sorely lacking, but she makes up for that with a ridiculous amount of raw strength. She doesn't have the nerves or reflexes to put that power to good use, though. She's too jittery, too afraid. It doesn't help that she's a pacifist either. No, Decklyn isn't a fighter; if anything, she is a target.

Ironically, that is exactly why she is heading for the Arena today. She had been stalling this for as long as she could, but after a week of being in this hellish school, she knows that she has no other option. Just a couple days ago, she would have ended up with an impromptu haircut and a bloody stump where an ear used to be if Jonathan hadn't saved her. Knights in shining armor are in short supply here. Somehow, she's going to have to fend for herself. She isn't going to last long as a victim here; something needs to change.

It's a sunny day, but the beauty of the afternoon is lost on her. She's all too aware that she's in the favorite haunt, aside from the forest, of the most vicious students in the world. (She wishes she could say that was an exaggeration.) Nervously twirling a lock of pale hair around her finger, Decklyn stares down into the Arena, her fingers drumming against the topmost bleacher lining the concrete pit. There's a girl standing in the middle of the Arena, waiting for an opponent. She looks... brutal.

There are many, many brutal people in this school. If she can't defend herself against one of them, then she has no chance of surviving for longer than she already has.

She descends, timidly entering through the opening that leads into the battlefield. The violent expression on her soon-to-be opponent's face causes her to flinch, all teeth and snarls and wild, wild eyes. She gets the distinct, sinking feeling in her chest that she's about to be torn apart. "L-let's have a good fight," she stammers, balling some of the coarse fabric of her black skirt into her fist.

She tips her face towards the too-bright sky, already overcome with resignation to her gory fate. Well, today's a good day to die as any.

Samantha Lobo
a wild punching bag with literally 1 hp appears!! put her in the ground

Embarrassment floods her reddening face as the other girl begins to laugh. She wishes she still has the floppy sun hat she likes to wear so much, so she could poll the brim of it down to cover some of her face, something she often did back home. Along with many of her treasured possessions, though, she had been forced to leave it at home. She makes a mental note to herself to save up Cash and buy one just like it as soon as she can.

When the girl stops laughing, she snarls an insult out through gritted teeth. Before she can so much as flinch, Samantha comes shooting towards her, fast and deadly as a bullet. She only has time to widen her eyes, which glint like emeralds in the harsh morning sun, before the girl barrels into her. Dashed to the ground, she gasps sharply as the wind is knocked out of her. That's going to bruise.

She realizes, belatedly, that perhaps her original plan of flailing until either of the two drop down might not work out so well in this case.

Going off of pure instinct, her hands lunge for Samatha's wrists. Coughing as dust fills her lungs, she attempts to tug sharply and pull the girl down onto the ground with her, hopefully head first. She certainly as the strength to accomplish this, provided that she succeeds in grabbing her to begin with. She doesn't mean to be this harsh, but the pain from her hit and the panic beginning to build in her throat does little to clear her senses. It isn't as if the girl gives her room to be more passive, that's for sure.

Samantha Lobo

She allows herself a moment of elation as her attempt succeeds, only to be replaced by terror as her opponent leers down at her. Now the girl might stop underestimating her, but that isn't necessarily a welcome development. Her only trick up her sleeve is frantically throwing punches and hoping that they connect. It isn't going to take long for the girl to figure that out, now that she's starting to take Decklyn seriously. She might be ludicrously strong, but it isn't going to be long before she is defeated unless she can finish this up quick.

She yelps in pain as the girl rakes her nails down Decklyn's cheeks, leaving tiny trails of blood in their wake. Though they hardly count as weapons, they seem to be tearing her face apart with how much force and brutality the girl is applying to them. She throws her arms over her face in an attempt to shield them.

What little strategy she might have formulated before goes out the window. She figures it's time to bring out her greatest weapon: flailing.

Her knee shoots up and attempts to jam the girl square in the center of her stomach. Rolling to the side and scrambling to her feet, she falters for a moment as the spot her girl had hit her in redoubles in its pain, but she grits her teeth and lunges for her opponent in a clumsy tackle. She's slow and blind in her attack, but the brute power behind the impact would surely hurt. A 675-pound maximum of force is a lot, after all.

Samantha Lobo