While there was an art to the pure interaction of bodies in the pursuit of physical victory, Rarity found herself more captured by the moment-to-moment sensations of the evening than any particular feat or act of prowess. Thunderlane and Bulk would be in a continuous duality for some time, a dance that ended when one of them could no longer keep his footing... Rarity was interested in the bits inbetween the motion, the threads of thought and emotion she could capture just by drinking them in with her senses.

The fight started, as they usually do, with a testing of spaces. Rarity had seen whole matches in amateur brackets revolve around this test, the extending of hooves into open air and seeing how fiercely your opponent would knock them away. It was a chance to examine hoofwork, to gauge preliminary decision making, and, if your opponent made any foolish slips, an easy-to-capitalize extension of your natural curiosity. You simply went from a tap of the hooves into a full-body takedown, and the rest of the match was yours. Like pulling a tablecloth out and leaving the dishes resting perfectly in their place.

With Bulk and Thunderlane, things were certain to be more... up-close. 'Squishy' came to mind, though Rarity didn't imagine there was much give in the tightly taut muscles on display. She watched the two pegasi lock together, circle the arena like a blob of amoeba that had coalesced, then separate again when they were certain neither of them was committed to dragging the other down just yet. Exploratory kicks were traded. Bulk made one brash charge that might have evolved into a takedown, but Thunderlane stepped expertly aside and let his opponent blunder forward a few feet before he realized there was no longer something in front of him worth hitting.

Rarity was all smiles as she watched. Every now and then, when the two fighters had given each other space, she was sure she could catch Thunderlane, searching for her in the crowd out of the corner of his eye.

Tonight was as much her show as his. Better to put herself to work before things drew to a conclusion.

Mostly, outside the specifics of which pony had hit whom whereabouts, and how hard they'd done it, Rarity found herself envisioning the fight as two tractors in a field, meeting at low velocity, and slowly grinding forward until one of them was crushed, like two hard-shell candies you had smooshed together with your hooves. Anything that was a decision or a consequence of training ultimately just came out as 'push', and it all mounded together to equal a chance to success. The higher the prize teetered on the pedestal above the arena, the harder the push was beneath. Rarity was fully aware her variety of 'prize' had tipped more than a single fight in the past. Time to put it to good use.

There was Thunderlane, looking in her direction again. Give him a show.

Rarity flashed her tail again, this time taking time to draw it languidly over the curves of her backside, which was turned squarely in Thunderlane's direction. Nopony in the crowd seemed to notice, all eyes were on the fight... except the eyes in the fight, and then, only Thunderlane's mattered. Bulk Bicep's eyes were tiny and squinty and looked like little black and red water beetles climbing up his face. Rarity wanted to see them squished.

Thunderlane was noticing her, certainly. He stared a little too long when she bounced her butt up and down, and almost caught a haymaker for his troubles. Bulk was one giant walking telegraph, but even he was capable of catching somepony off-guard staring at a prized snatch in the crowd. Rarity allowed herself a grin for gaining her first bona fide distraction.

That was the rest of the progression—grunting grapples and traded blows, a little space to give Thunderlane time to look back into the audience, where Rarity was wandering and would appear in random places, keeping the poor pegasus on his hooves even more than he already was. Sometimes she'd just be there, a smile and a wink before disappearing, other times she lingered longer, got closer to ring side, so close she could practically press her backside up against the side of the cage and give Thunderlane an in-person whiff of the heady scent escaping from her marehood. If somepony in the crowd had tried, they probably could have picked it out, but Rarity's personal perfume was reserved only for one pony that night. Only if he could keep his head in the ring long enough to claim her.

It was the full on flash that did it. Rarity turned one-eighty, spread her legs, lifted her tail, and winked, full-on and purposeful, in Thunderlane's direction. It stopped him dead in his tracks, and whatever strategy he'd been about to employ fell away as he stared, dumbfounded, at the white-and-pink set of lips inviting him over.

It was the perfect time for Bulk Biceps to conk him in the back of the head. Rarity was sure she heard something crack, and her sultry pout quickly turned to a real one.

Oh dear. It wouldn't do if the poor thing was too distracted to claim his prize...

The grapple could have ended it. Bulk was big, and... well, bulky, and he got a good hold of Thunderlane from behind as the night-black pegasus was kneeling and trying to stop his skull from ringing. Even mishandled, that much muscle-mass can really crowd your ability to breathe, and so the two of them wrangled around the arena again, two halves of a cell joined until one of them tumbled mercilessly to the canvas with a thump of finality. Rarity had to do something.

Or did she?

It was only because she'd been staring at him the entire time that she caught it—but it was very certain, a very intentional gesture to match her own, minus the double-entendre that came with her anatomy—Thunderlane winked back at her. The standard usage, mind you.

Something about, the bigger they are, they harder they...?

It was sort of like watching a building collapse—Rarity didn't have a lot of experience seeing towering masses fall to the ground, outside of wrestling, anyway—but if she could have pictured Bulk Biceps as anything else, it would have been a mound of turtles, all hiding in their shells and stack atop one another, with the entire gaggle of reptiles resting precariously on a single chopstick, balancing them against the laws of physics and common sense to keep the entire mound more-or-less aloft.

Watching Thunderlane yank the big dumb blob's leg out from under him was more satisfying than any game of Jenga™ could have ever been.

A wet sack full of old auto parts hitting the pavement. Or a watermelon being squashed in slow motion.

Thunk really wasn't a big enough word to describe it. More of a ka-THOOOMP. Rarity didn't fuss over the particulars of the vocabulary.

There was Thunderlane, lifting his hoof in the air. The stupid look on Bulk's face, staring up at the overhead lights and coming to terms with the fact that he was no longer upright. The crowd, suddenly silent, only for an instant, and then an explosion of cheers and scrabbling to collect bets before the bookies ran off.

Rarity allowed herself a small smile as she wiggled through the crowds to ring-side again.

Thunderlane was sitting, downing a large bottle of water. His head was soaked, from a mix of sweat and water that had been dumped on him, and his coach had given him a towel, which he was running across his forehead every few seconds. The thing was drenched. Rarity smirked.

She hadn't spoken before Thunderlane looked up at her. Sniffing the air, like he'd caught wind of a helpless baby bunny in an open field.

"Like the show?" he asked, giving her his first grin of the night. Rarity felt her legs tingle and then some.

"Funny," she said, smiling even more seductively, "but I was going to ask you the same thing..."

Nopony paid them particular attention as they continued to banter, or as they snuck out together. Only when Thunderlane's coach came back did he realize his fighter was gone, and by that point he was drunk enough that he forgot to worry about it anyway.