[WRESTLING] Abaddon vs Vesuvianite T-One

The bull stumbled into the arena again, looking around for his opponent with dull eyes. He took a moment to stretch, to roll his shoulders: and when his opponent appeared, he offered nothing short of a puzzled double-take.

It was...

...a giant... something. A huge beast, speckled with bright colors and a smattering of feathers. Abaddon didn't know what else to make of it.

He pawed the ground, lowering his head, and waited for Vesuvianite T-One to make the first move.

Abaddon wasn't sure what to do about this. He was blinking in some confusion: Vesuvianite had started to charge, and then sort of... stopped.

While generally aggressive, Abaddon wasn't a complete asshole, and he also knew he was really, really not up-to-date on social norms. Was this some sort of... mutually respectful opening? Was he meant to meet Vesuvianite halfway, headbutt-to-headbutt? Was it supposed to be violent, or-?

He started at a trundle, then moved to a trot, and in the last few paces broke into a bounding run. Then he aimed to clap head-to-head skulls with Vesuvianite, which honestly was not the best idea. His skull wasn't made for that. It was made for ripping and tearing. But he assumed this was what he was supposed to do, and he didn't want to be rude.

Despite the nature of the proceedings he overlooked, not once so far had East bothered using a booming announcer's voice, smooth unruffled narration stuck to over the expected rabble-rousing. Of course, the bird couldn't resist when the opportunity presented itself for snark to worm into his discussion of the events below, but that wasn't what was unique about the current turn his observations had taken at this moment. No, the noteworthy change upon watching these beasts clash was the hushed tone he'd affected for the occasion. False reverence dripped from every drawled syllable.

"Looks like we're in for a real treat here," he informed the audience. "Don't blink, or you'll surely miss the show. Only in this arena can you catch a fantastic glimpse of such remarkable behavior. What you're witnessing is a common greeting amongst the hardheaded, a rarity for those of us more fond of keeping our brains unmushed. Watch as they test the strength of their skulls and see which is more liable to crack."

Vesuvianite swivelled, and all Abaddon could think as he recognized the incoming attack was Not again! He'd spent a good portion of his first fight on his side, kicking blindly. He attempted to sidestep and hop, a fast but distinctly shuffle out of the way to, if not avoid the impact altogether, at least keep his feet.

He still got hit, but it was a slight stagger, rather than a real stumble or a topple.

To stick with his theme (read: because he was just like this) he pawed at the ground and snorted as he turned back toward his opponent.

Abaddon found himself confused. Again: not a high bar to pass, with the bull, but suspicion rose in him. His opponent was doing something, but hadn't hit him, and his first assumption was that Vesuvianite had cast some form of magic.

That prickled the hairs along his spine. It was--was it against the rules?--he couldn't really remember but he THOUGHT so, and a sudden fear that he'd be outclassed by a rulebreaker gripped him. He hastened to charge in, and so it was clumsier than it should have been, a mix of wariness and hastiness that left little precision or technique to it.

He just ran at Vesuvianite, aiming to leap up and come crashing in at the last second, careful not to gouge with his horns.

He leapt up at the last second, came crashing down, and--slammed knee-first into the dirt. Abaddon scrambled up quickly, looking around and snorting in confused irritation. He's missed? He'd missed! And he was half-blinded by the cloud of dust rising around him.

He backed up, tail switching rapidly, head swinging to and fro as he looked for his opponent.

The bull's head lowered, and he walked slowly backwards through the dust, doing his best to keep an eye out--if Vesuvianite came for him, he wanted to be ready.

He wasn't, of course. The dust plumed up around him and the end result was just a big, spiky cow blinking stupidly at nothing.