Jerry rubbed his mouth and cheek with his forearm, trying not to make direct eye contact with Trav. He really hoped Trav didn't consider this a real fight or anything. Sure, had Jerry won, that was obviously indicative of the fact that he was the greatest MMA brawler in all of Kingman and, by interpolation, all of Cochise. The situation had been turned around, reversing all expectations, though. It shouldn't have ended that fast... no, it shouldn't have ended with him on the mat at all! He had trained more than that. It's all about who wanted it more, right? Well, Jerry could ascertain that nobody wanted it more than Jerry. Jerry goddamn motherfuckin' Fury. Shit, it's right there in the name.
"Yeah... yeah, I'll hold you to that!" Jerry shot a grin. Well, he tried to shoot a grin, but his jaw was still a little numb, causing it to look more like he was having a stroke. His mouth guard was still clenched between his teeth sideways, so when he attempted to do anything and his jaw loosened, it tumbled from his lips and splatted onto the mat. Muttering a silent curse, Jerry bent down, scooped up his belonging and stood back up to touch a knuckle to Trav's fist with all the enthusiasm of a dog going to the vet to get neutered.
He had the flu. He had polio. The sun was in his eyes, regardless of the fact they were indoors. He was thinking about homework. Just... there had to be SOME validation for making an ass out of himself, but Jerry was at a loss to think of any excuse. Instead, he managed a weird sort of half-wave, turned, and headed for the locker room to change.
((Jerry Fury's pride: DECEASED.
Jerry Fury himself continued in Jawbreakers