He was laughing. The arrogant son of a bitch was laughing. It took all Elizabeth's effort not to crack a smirk, her determination on keeping up her lopsided stance overpowering the confidence she felt inside. He was arrogant, and she'd been able to play off it perfectly. Granted, she could have walked in their as graceful as ever, and he still wouldn't have taken her seriously. She was a woman. But the drunk bit, with the fogged contacts and everything, made it that much better.

She kept her gig up as the champion fighter approached her, his monologue doing nothing but giving her a reason to look him dead in the eye. She could feel her heart racing, pulsing at the prospect of what was to come. Her prey was getting closer. Pounding, constant and steady, filled her chest, blood rushing everywhere as adrenaline shot through her limbs. He stopped, in perfect reach, but she waited just a bit more, feeling as his hand reached out to toy with her hair. A blink shut her eyes for the smallest of seconds, her head leaning into his touch, almost as if she craved him, wanted his texture. But all he'd done was given her the perfect view of his other hand, her eyes tilting down as if to relish in the moment. A shiver was allowed down her spine. She'd watched him fight. And learned his style. He wanted the big swing; his left hand wasn't the threat. So when the right hand hooked up, she was ready.

All at once, instinct grasped every inch of Elizabeth's body, her heart beating in sync with the jerk of her torso, as her jaw escaped the swing's arc. Before the next beat, her forehead was already whipping forward, and with the momentum of her forward step as well as the muscles in her neck, back, and torso, she made to headbutt him right in the nose, just as the word "gate" let his pretty little mouth.

The hunter was ready to strike. She'd let his own cockiness give her the advantage. The swing he'd made towards her had blocked his left arm from reacting. And with her left hand raised and pushed towards his chest as she moved forward, his right fist would be pinned while she struck. Behind the foggy tinted contacts, a predatory glean shown in her eyes. This was what she lived for, the exhileration, the adrenaline, the plan coming together. She was about to get her revenge, and in just the way she wanted it. 

The headbutt was just an attempt to disorient him, and as her body whipped back again, her left arm pulled away just as her right knee flew up towards his stomach. That was the next heartbeat. And as the striking leg moved to regain footing, two arms shot forward to push the hopefully stunned champion back. That didn't even take a pulse. By the time the flurry was over, distance would be put between Darth and Elizabeth, the entire last second, almost, spent countering his simple swing and setting up the fight.

Meanwhile, with room to breath, Elizabeth would drop in a similar stance to only moments before, this time her arms steady, fists placed correctly as each muscle tensed in preparation. Two eyes, full of energy and fire, glared at the man opposite her, and inside her mind and soul were pumping with life. Outside the cage, any traces of laughter had stopped, muffled by the shocked oohs and cries of surprise as the "drunk bitch" reverted to a whole other woman, whose very being, sarcastic, cold, and taunting, were embodied in the tone of her next words.

"Have I got your attention, baby?"