[center][h1][img]http://txt-dynamic.static.1001fonts.net/txt/dHRmLjcyLmJiYjQxMS5USFZqWVhNZ1RXbHNiR1Z5LjAA/against-myself.regular.png[/img][/h1][@Mr Allen J][/center]
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Lucas lowered his arm and tried putting his hand into his pockets, only to remember that tights generally do not have pockets. He shuffled slightly as he took in their names, though he was quite certain after a few knocks to the head he'd forget them both.

[color=Khaki]"O-oh I'm not a f-fan I'm a..."[/color] Lucas trailed off and looked down, ashamed. With a sigh, as if the idea was just as preposterous to him as everyone else, he continued [color=Khaki]"A fighter."[/color] Lucas expected laughter so he tried to preemptively shut it down by showing he was no headstrong child with delusions of grandeur.

[color=Khaki]"M-my, uh, my dad was kind of i-insistent that I enter this tournament. L-look I'm not t-trying to prove myself here or anything I-I just want to take a q-quick loss and go home."[/color] Lucas stammered, as if he was sure they wouldn't believe him or something. 

Lucas looked at the two of them once more, the machine gun women had lost her match he'd heard and he didn't know for sure about the man, this Brenton guy. Looking at the two of them though Lucas had sort of laid down the stamp of certainty on his prior belief that this would not be a fun experience for him physically.