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You dart in low, ducking under Capaneus’ swiping right arm, and in a blink, you’ve caught him around the middle from behind – your right hand locked tightly over your left wrist, shackling his muscular torso and preparing to heave him violently in a suplex. Your cushion feint had broken his concentration for just long enough for you take the upper hand – you distantly hear the men in the room shouting in excitement –
<span class="mu-i">“Oh, Capaneus – he’s got you now!”</span> Pronax clamors,
<span class="mu-i">“He’s going to throw!”</span> Parthanopaeus exclaims, in nearly the same instant.
You duck your head close to Capaneus’ midback to protect from thrown elbows, but none are coming – Capaneus is instead violently inserting his thumbs between your locked arms with incredible force. You jockey for footing, the pair of you smashing through Capaneus’ lounge in the process, but Capaneus bucks his hip as he finally draws your hands apart – and then wraps his own hand, iron-strong, about your right wrist, keeping it low and in front of you, preventing you from clambering onto his back for the choke. Whirling, he spins to face you, and he jitters just enough to bait you into going low for his legs, collapsing onto all fours as you dive – but he was ready.
He drops to catch your dive, throwing more lounge fragments against the wall and catches you - with his right shoulder digging between your shoulderblades, right arm threaded under your left, and his right hand with a fistful of your beard (not sporting!). With his left, he hammers your side, punishing your ribs and bruising you heavily with his stony fist - you know he’s got you as he continues to pound.
You breath heavily as he wrenches your head up and forwards – you smell his sour breath as he ceases his assault:
“Hippomedon, you soft bitch – give it up now or I’ll find your wife later and give her a real Argive heir.” Low groans from the audience – Capaneus has now staked your manhood on this meaningless wrestling match in every way that counts, in his all-too-typical crude manner.
Capaneus, apparently not done taunting you, continues:
“You better get used to this – I’m going to take every opportunity to shame you in front of your boy…”
Rage bubbles in your gut – previously, you were just trying to get around him, but now you desperately want to crush him – defend your honor. You don’t answer him outright as you tense and consider your options.
>wat do, /qst/? Double or nothing, or take the L?
>Continue to wrestle, sacrificing your beard, even though you’ve lost the element of surprise, and Capaneus is the superior wrestler. A unexpected reversal here might win you some respect from all present, but a loss would prove you foolish in front of the only men that matter in Argos.
>Swallow your pride and surrender – a galling loss to your boorish cousin, but preserving at least most of your manful dignity, limiting reputational loss to Capaneus alone.
