[ It's the second-to-last hit that gets her, really, drives up into her abdomen and knocks her back off balance. Skye thuds to the floor in a haphazard spill of limbs, one palm slapping against the mat to catch herself and absorb some of the shock as she does. It doesn't help much, because the bruises aren't in her ass from the fall, but in the rest of her from one indisputable truth: Ward still has the upper hand.
She grunts with impact, props herself on her elbows looking up at him, knees bent and bangs pressed flat to her forehead with sweat. There's blood at the corner of her mouth, and she's sure beneath her shirt, bruises have already begun to form in ugly yellow patterns.
She does not move to get back up, breathes heavily as she holds his gaze, then strips off her gloves before she finally holds a hand up and out towards him, palm up, fingers splayed in a motion to 'stop.' ] I'm out.
no subject
She grunts with impact, props herself on her elbows looking up at him, knees bent and bangs pressed flat to her forehead with sweat. There's blood at the corner of her mouth, and she's sure beneath her shirt, bruises have already begun to form in ugly yellow patterns.
She does not move to get back up, breathes heavily as she holds his gaze, then strips off her gloves before she finally holds a hand up and out towards him, palm up, fingers splayed in a motion to 'stop.' ] I'm out.