From a post on fist fights:
1. I’ve broken a man’s hand out of self defense.
2. I’ve broken a man’s nose out of self defense.
3. I’ve broken a woman’s wrist, or some part of her, in self defense.
4. I’ve put clumps of bloody weave on the principals’ desk.
5. I’ve “ended” fights. Meaning they didn’t get back up.
I’ve done all of these around three times. I live in the ghetto of Sacramento.
I don’t take well to being egged on. I’m one of the “spitting blood, don’t stop until he stops, two older brothers over 6’3″, grit your teeth but take no shit” types. It takes a lot to get me there, but I’m no lady if you rub me the wrong way. And being an INTJ, I find weaknesses in my opponent in a matter of seconds. Not to say I haven’t lost; I’ve lost painfully hard, and many times. But I’ve kept myself from being raped, so I’d say I do a pretty bang up job.
I think this attitude came from getting jumped almost weekly by my peers throughout elementary school. I used to cry, tell the teachers, nothing happened. Came home to my dad one day, he said to me, “Gut up and handle it. Hit ’em back, and don’t stop until they quit hitting you.” So I did. And I think it’s stuck with me ever since.
I don’t go looking for trouble, by when it comes my way, I sure as hell don’t run.
You speak my language! I’ve never met another woman who will admit to curb-stomping someone! I’m Italian, and not even my family will admit to it! We’re best friends.
I know where you’re coming from; I used to wrestle with my uncle who’s ex-military, and it got to the point where I took him down as much as he got me. Glory days… Now I’m much more, “You don’t want to get into this if you value your front teeth.”, which pretty much aces the fighting spirit in all the hot-heads I come across.
I’ve bruised several ribs, and cracked tons, but I’m proud to say, I’ve never “broken” a bone.
It was always funny to hear the people I was with go, “Goddammit, she’s putting her hair up.” That was the sign to take a step back. Just that gesture alone was enough to put wide eyes on the offender.
You’d be surprised, how easy it is to transpose this attitude to the Empty Quarter.
Bad neighbourhoods create hardened men, of both sexes.
Especially in the pre-Hebrin Rebellion Era, when everyone knew that the then Islamic-dominated Imperial Military would’t lift a finger to help an Infidel. Grim lessons learnt then have not been forgotten, a century later…
Even today, few bother to look to the Imperial Navy for help – certainly not in 993, when most of it is busy 200 parsecs away, in a distant war.
More turn to their blood, their kin, their network for support than will ever look to the Emperor. That’s just the way it is, in the Quarter.