You quickly give a "come over here" gesture as a smug smirk crosses your face. "Y-yeah, that's all you got, yelling? C'mon, meet like a real man." You focus your mind and body to prepare for the incoming assault. You're as hard as steel right now.
"You asked for it." Almost automatically, he cocks the (thankfully empty) bolt action pistol. What is normally a satisfying click is now...how's to best describe it? You don't know if your exhaustion is kicking in but it feels <span class="mu-b">cheeky</span>, almost.
Behind the wood and mechanisms, you can feel someone cocking a smug, cheeky grin. A similar grin is on Presley's face. You feel like you recognize that smirk from those invaders you had a few hours ago...
His posture changes a bit before he charges in to close the gap.
[HOPELESS WRECK] SHIT YOU'RE OUTNUMBERED TWO AGAINST-
<span class="mu-i">Sorry, sir, you did ask for it. No harsh feelings.</span>
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GJNpFLlaJ7U - An Old Cowboy's themeYou raise up your arms to block the incoming assault. You grit your teeth as wood is harshly swung down onto your forearms but you grit through with sheer focus. Each one is harder and faster than the last, leaving nasty bruises on your arms that are quickly healing from the coat around your body...but it can only work so fast.
He stops his swinging for a moment, which gives you a chance to throw that game winning punch right at him. It lands! Presley stumbles back from the impact, clearly feeling the blow...but he doesn't fall down. You swear you hear him hissing something about some components being jostled around.
With a quick flick of the wrist and a spin of the pistol, he smashes you in the stomach with it while your guard was lowered. "GH!" Thin, watery spit stained with red and black sprays onto the floor. You absolutely did feel that, Father ABOVE FUCK
You take in a deep breath before trying to go in for a chokehold. Presley's arm moves automatically to grab your bruised arm and to push you to the side. You manage to wrap your other arm around him and you try your best to put in a chokehold. The crowd watches on with an energy you haven't seen from any of them, trying to see who'll win.
"H-haha...h-help me out, wouldn't you?" Presley mutters to himself as you put more pressure onto his neck. Hoping that he'll concede. With a strength that you did not expect outta him, he manages to put his body weight into a shove, making you lose your grip around his neck.
You stumble backwards. You grind your heels into the floor to stop yourself from falling over. Your vision is getting fuzzy. The back of your throat tastes like cigarette ash and death. And even with your watery eyes, you can tell Presley isn't doing too hot either.
He's rubbing his neck, either out of some weird human-mimicking...thing...okay, deep breaths. He's not doing too hot, you almost had him there if he didn't suddenly gain that sudden burst of strength.
