Description: Fevrier, the munitions expert of Vega's dolls, is busy teaching some of the Shadaloo rank and file a lesson in target acquisition when Shadaloo agent Lynx arrives in a disruptive capacity. An offer is made to salvage the situation through a combat demonstration. The offer is accepted, and battle is joined.
Night, day -- it doesn't make much of a difference when you're in a secret facility buried hundreds of feet below the surface. The time of day doesn't really matter -- if she's not resting, the gun-bunny of the Shadaloo Dolls can likely be found whiling her time away with her prized firearms. Sometimes she can be found in the Armory, ensuring that the unwashed masses of the Shadaloo rank and file are provided with the best weaponry possible. The only time a weapon isn't close at hand is when she's eating -- and even then, such menial tasks are a necessary burden that she seeks to keep as short as possible.
Now, though? She's putting the weapons to good use in the training room, standing alone against a dozen Shadaloo infantrymen in blue riot armor. Her hands hover near her holsters, fingers splayed out and twitching in anticipation of an... educational moment for the soldiers.
Her voice is that of a harsh drill instructor. "You are not mindless gangsters, cowed by the bluffs and bravado of a lone enemy! What fool can stand against a =dozen= of the mightiest that Shadaloo has to offer? Hesitation on the battlefield gets you injured at best, imprisoned at worse -- and then you will all have truly failed our Master!"
Fevrier looks back and forth at the eyes of the soldiers standing ready for instruction.
They aren't attacking her yet. Disappointment flickers across her features.
"So take me down, if you can!"
With only that one battlecry as warning, Fevrier throws herself to the ground, rolling sideways into a tumble. By the time she rights herself, the armed soldiers have forgotten their firearms, and are starting to move to attack.
That'd be great, and they might have actually succeeded, had Fevrier not already drawn a submachine gun from her holster. Twisting it sideways, a spray of bullets ripples out in a loud BRRRRR. The hailstorm rips into the dozen soldiers, rubber bullets slamming into the knees and thighs of her would-be assailants. Only three of the dozen escape her wrath -- and those, only because they were standing behind the other nine.
"IDIOTS!!" she cries out, vaulting back to her feet, brandishing her weapon at the three remaining soldiers. "Your mission is acquisition, not standing around! You have armor -- open fire!"
Only then, do the soldiers begin to fire their rifles -- to naught, as the nimble Doll flits about like a jackrabbit, neatly evading the storm of bullets with a series of leaps and flips. The soldier closest to her goes down with a scything kick to the back of the helmet -- which the Doll then uses to sail into the air again. Two more left...
The doors to the chamber slide open, and a few wispy trails float in lazily. The source of the smoke is revealed to be the freshly lit cigarette perched between the lips of Agent Lynx as he steps through the open doorway, one hand slipping a lighter into the pocket of his trenchcoat. The man is sporting said trenchcoat, a turtleneck, a red scarf, gloves, and a pair of mirrored sunglasses despite the fact that the underground base is neither especially cold nor excessively well-lit. Of course, it's rumoured that one of Shadaloo's top generals also wears sunglasses at all times, so it could be a point of imitation.
In his other hand, Lynx is carrying a retro-style boom box, from which the bass beat of Ice Ice Baby (or Under Pressure) is playing, not quite loudly enough to be heard over the sounds of combat, but certainly enough so to be noticeable in the silence that's sure to follow.
Observing the exchange between the Doll and Shadaloo's rank-and-file, Lynx meanders over to a spot along the wall, where he sets the outdated portable music player down on the floor before folding his arms across his chest and leans against the wall to watch for the moment. Occasionally, he reaches a gloved hand up to pluck the cigarette from his lips and blow a plume of smoke before replacing it.
Fevrier takes note of -someone- entering, but she doesn't really have her head pointed in the correct direction to determine who it was. It's a short-term problem, though, as her axel into the air allowed the reflection of the trenchcoated man to bounce off the surface of her shooting glasses. Four more shots are fired from the two remaining henchmen before a heavy red gauntlet jackhammers into the ribcage of one, sending him sailing backwards as if he'd been hit by a truck.
The final remaining henchman realizes that gunfire is a liability at this range, and swings the butt of his rifle around at the Doll with an aim to clobber her in the head.
The Doll is much quicker, however, and parries aside the rifle with her gauntlet, while simultaneously drawing up her submachinegun with the other hand. The barrel of the gun teases as if she's ready blast the guy's head off -- even rubber bullets would seriously ruin his day.
It's enough to make the henchman pause.
The fraction of a second given is all the time it takes for her to prove the point. "Tch."
Resuming her paused motion, she lurches forward with her hand, easily snaking beneath the man's arm and grabbing hold. With the arm and rifle as leverage and counterbalance, the agile young woman flicks her legs upwards, scissoring around his neck. Heels locked in place, she quickly twists herself into a backflip, aiming to brign her submachinegun flat against the floor as she lands.
The net result of this all, of course, is the henchman sailing through the air, head over heels, towards Lynx. Whether said henchman impacts the wall or the trenchcoated man in front of it is not a matter she's willing to consider. If he showed up here, he'd damn well better -expect- to fight.
"/Merde/..." she mutters, flipping back to her feet and holstering her firearm. "This area is designated for combat, not for R&R. Explain yourself and this atrocity of soundwaves."
A quick sidestep to the left is enough to get Lynx out of the path of the oncoming hapless henchman. A quick bending at the shoulder is enough to put his arm back into said path. What would have been a collision of evenly distributed force across a large area is instead interrupted by the sharper impact of the henchman's neck against the trenchcoat-wearing agent's forearm. The henchman drops to the floor, gagging behind his helmet, as Lynx sucks his smoke down to a stub. Raising the same arm, he grabs the remainder of his cigarette and flicks it onto the fallen Shadaloo member. He folds both arms behind his back as he steps away from the wall.
"You want me to explain Ice Ice Baby? Man, that's a tough one. Well, I guess the best explanation I can offer is that it's a caucasian rapper using music sampled from Queen and Bowie, which I suppose served as a vehicle to deliver hip-hop at its basic level to the sensibilities of caucasian audiences. I know it's probably hard to appreciate since the rise of Marshall Mathers and cultural dissemination of hip-hop in general."
Lynx steps past the henchman, walking toward the center of the room at a course slightly tangential to Fevrier's direction. "As for myself? Agent Lynx. I don't believe that we've met, but -"
A quick dip of his head allows him to survey the Doll's combat equipment as he comes to a stop across from her. He removes his right hand from behind his back and extends it in invitation. His next words are spoken in French, with the fluency and accent of a native speaker. "<I would be honoured to accept your insistence of combat, if it pleases you,>" he says with a nod, "Mademoiselle Fevrier."
Fevrier is exposed to smoke on the regular, so the smoke itself doesn't bother her, per se. She definitely prefers gunsmoke to the scent of tobacco, as anyone can probably surmise from the brief flicker of displeasure in her blue-veiled eyes, or the light wrinkle of her nose. It's temporary though -- her programming is such that it has stronger rein on the Doll's speech patterns when she is not actually in combat.
... Which means that she doesn't roll her eyes at Lynx's tale, and silently digests the progression of music from Vanilla Ice to Eminem, the only reply being a dull nod of her head.
When Lynx walks towards her, her head does not turn to follow, just her eyes. More of the programming typical of the elite, charcoal-and-black unitard squad -- this behavior allows her to keep focus on her subject without betraying her true intent with superfluous motion. It's only when he reaches the point that she -has- to turn that she actually does so, stepping back and orienting her shoulders towards him. The young woman is much, much more than just another a pretty face, even if she seems more like a deer trapped in the headlights of the mysterious operative's musings.
Her eyes fixate upon his head as it dips, before flickering about to assess him in more detail. As for her: Fevrier's combat equipment is holstered -- two small-caliber handguns tucked away in holsters pressed against her upper ribcage, two submachineguns holstered in belts hung loosely about her hips. And, of course, the bright red gauntlets that all Dolls are provided as standard equipment.
Eyes cross at the extended hand, her heart skipping a beat. Given the topic of her lecture -- and the awareness of twelve men occupying various colors across the spectrum of consciousness nearby -- she is paranoid, expecting a weapon of some sort.
Instead, she receives only words: words that she responds to in kind.
Her response, in French, is precise and mechanical. "<It pleases me.>"
The reinforced knuckles of her gauntlets strike outward at the hand, as if to slapping aside an irritating insect. It will not hurt -- but the message is clear, as she steps back to raise her hands in a defensive stance. As she has already demonstrated, it will be unwise to expect her to wait long.
COMBATSYS: Fevrier has started a fight here.
As the knuckles of Fevrier's gauntlet strike at Lynx's extended hand, a faint white mist starts to rise from the black leather glove worn on it. The shift in temperature might just barely be noticeable before Lynx withdraws his right hand up and into an open-handed guard while his left pushes his scarf up to cover the lower half of his face. At her last words, though, his head tilts just slightly, and he turns his right hand, curling his fingers as more mist rises from them. Within moments, a pointed shaft of what appears to be ice begins to appear from within his grasp, growing rapidly in length as a rounded 'guard' forms over his thumb and forefinger.
The intended form of the frozen creation soon becomes evident: that of a fencing sword.
Shifting into a traditional fencing stance, his left hand held up behind him, he points the tip of his icy epee at Fevrier. "Alors," he says, voice muffled behind his scarf.
Then, in a flash, he lunges forward, aiming a series of quick jabs with the weapon's point toward the Doll's midsection. The combination of strikes ends with a harder thrust of the sword, aimed slightly higher.
COMBATSYS: Lynx has joined the fight here.
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Fevrier 0/-------/-------|-------\-------\0 Lynx
COMBATSYS: Fevrier blocks Lynx's Frozen Armament.
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Fevrier 0/-------/------=|-------\-------\0 Lynx
Fevrier notices the shift in temperature with casual indifference: now that the Shadaloo henchmen are out of the way, she feels as if she has a true opponent now.
One who demands her full attention.
The scarf is noted as well -- but what causes concern to Fevrier is the manifestation of the sword. And that is the motion that has her crossing her right hand across her torso -- the most obvious location for a pointed weapon to strike.
The weapon point scrapes against the metal of her gauntlet as she brings it downward, but just as quickly as the strike lands, a second and third follow along behind it, forcing her to raise her guard again. The markswoman steps backwards, the force of the strikes clear even with her adequate defenses. When the followup strike comes, her right hand is already growing numb from the chilling mist. Two steps backwards, and she is able to raise her left hand to defend instead, forcing the blade to stab into her padded shoulderguard rather than her sternum.
"Adaptation," she murmurs with mechanical accuracy, her left hand quietly reaching for her thigh holster. "Compensating for temperature differential."
The strap is unsnapped with casual grace. And suddenly the semi-automatic machinegun is brought to bear in a horizontal arc, wielded with the dexterity of years of practice. Bullets fan out in a 4-degree arc, with each rubber bullet aimed to land across her attacker's upper torso. The riot control ammunition would not pierce the skin -- but they would leave hellacious bruises.
With the emptying of several rounds of ammo, Fevrier just got a few degrees hotter to compensate for the chill in the room.
COMBATSYS: Lynx blocks Fevrier's Semi-Auto Spray.
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Fevrier 0/-------/------=|=------\-------\0 Lynx
The ice sword, upon being thrust into Fevrier's shoulderguard, proves to be rather brittle. The thrusting tip of the weapon snaps away, the blade lacking the flexibility to bend with the resistance that would be expected of a metallic equivalent. Lynx withdraws a couple of steps, maintaining his fencing stance as he does. After a swift glance to the state of his armament, he simply tosses the uncrowned epee to one side, where it begins to quickly melt against the padded floor.
"Self-narration. I like it," he remarks as he raises his arms in an open-handed defensive guard not dissimilar to a boxer's stance. As the submachine gun is drawn, layers of frost begin to form over his gloves and between the cuffs and elbows of his coat sleeves. When the bullets start to fly, the agent's arms are already rising to catch them with the frozen sections of his forearms. Frost sprays from the struck limbs as the ablative protection is riddled with rubber.
"Rubber bullets. Also appreciated," he adds as he uses the momentary lapse in gunfire to step in closer and advance on Fevrier. A kick is whipped low toward Fevrier's legs with the boot of his leading left foot. While the kick itself is little more than a feint, it's quickly followed with the left hand snapping across to try and grab the back of Fevrier's neck and force her over before delivering a hammer blow with his right fist to drive her to the ground.
COMBATSYS: Fevrier dodges Lynx's Light Kick.
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Fevrier 0/-------/------=|-------\-------\0 Lynx
The Doll acts like a machine, always gauging the opponent for strengths and weaknesses. Fevrier had suspected that the blade might be -stronger- than a typical weapon made of ice, hence her attempts to impart shearing forces upon them. It seems that her analysis was correct, as the blade snaps off just as expected. This point is noted while she's in the midst of her gunfire sweep, but she will gain another reminder of the man's unique abilities as soon as she hears her bullets eroding away at the surface of his improvised armor.
Self-narration? The rubber bullets are appreciated? As with the details about the icy sword and frozen shield, she files these thoughts away for further processing as her body follows its predetermined response patterns. Auburn hair flutters as she deftly backpedals away, denying purchase to the tentative kick. The Doll can also read that the attack was not fully committed; an intense training regimen and complicated fight heuristics suggest that the next attack would come from an entirely different vector. Accordingly, Fevrier drops to a low crouch, making the calculated guess that the next attack woudl come whooshing just overhead.
"Fratricide is counterproductive," she clarifies, in regard to her use of rubber bullets. She would explain more, but she is busy leaping back to her feet at a tangent to her opponent. As she rises, she pivots in a half-circle, making full use of the added momentum of one of her weighted gauntlets. Taking advantage of the close quarters, her fist pivots about to deliver what she hopes is a decisive hammer-blow against Lynx's ribcage -- guns are not her -only- forte in combat, after all.
COMBATSYS: Lynx fails to counter Axle Spin Knuckle from Fevrier with Lynx Claw Takedown.
- Power fail! -
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Fevrier 0/-------/-----==|===----\-------\0 Lynx
As his swiping catches only air, Lynx drops quickly back into a guarded stance, palms raised in defense. In response to Fevrier's comment regarding the subject of fratricide, he fires off a quick reply: "Healthy attitude to have." There's little time for more to be said as the Doll whirls toward him with fist extended.
Icy mist rises from Lynx's gloves as he shifts his stance just slightly to one side. As Fevrier's fist swings toward him, he actually steps in closer rather than away, extending one of his gloved hands with the fingers extended in an open claw style. The intent is to bypass the attack with reach and positioning and apply those frigid digits to the doll's face = a tactic that might have worked much better if he'd fully accounted for the potential of Fevrier's speed.
Instead, the step in only leads Lynx into the gauntlet, which smashes into his unprotected ribs hard enough to rattle the operative's frame and send him sliding on his back across the padded floor.
Lynx rolls to his feet, left hand pressed frostily against his side where the knuckle strike struck and right hand hanging a bit more loosely as he breathes heavily through his scarf, puffs of white mist emerging as he does. "Doesn't tend to resolve succession disputes as efficiently, though," the agent adds as he raises his right hand to push his sunglasses back up into position after the tumble. "Though given our age difference, I feel like patricide might be the appropriate term."
In case there were any concern of pity from the Doll after the attack, Lynx turns the fingers of his right hand up to beckon, inviting continued violence.
Fevrier's face betrays no particular emotion as she steps back and away from Lynx. She raises her gauntlet high, spreading out her fingers -- a strike like that had momentarily halted circulation, after all.
The Doll is cognizant enough of the threat posed by Lynx's ice-based tactics to know that timing may have been the only thing in her favor there. She stares at him, her finger poised on the trigger-guard of her sub-automatic machinegun as she carefully circles closer. The man's words do not seem to have any particular effect on her -- is he joking? Is he making fun of her?
The markswoman shakes her head, at the last statement. "I am aware of your time served with Shadaloo. Records do not suggest parentage, nor does the word 'patricide' have any particular alternate meaning in this context." She smiles tightly, though considering her words, it's clear this is part of her programming and not an actual attempt at levity.
It also should be considered that she's whipping the barrel of her machinegun towards Lynx, stabilizing her wrist with her other hand. When she squeezes the trigger, all the shots would ring out in roughly the same location: the center of his chest.
COMBATSYS: Lynx dodges Fevrier's Strong Shot.
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Fevrier 0/-------/----===|===----\-------\0 Lynx
The combination of sunglasses and scarf leave Lynx's expression all but unreadable as he circles opposite the firearms specialist, his posture straightening as she speaks. His gloves come up again, a thin handprint of rime slowly dissipating on the midsection of his sweater where the blow landed before. When the machine gun comes up again, the operative lunges forward and to one side. A dull and rapid thumping sound fills the chamber as the leather coat tail swirling behind Lynx is peppered with rubber bullets that narrowly miss the agent himself.
"Self-deprecation," Lynx explains as he pushes the frames of his sunglasses up the bridge of his nose with his left hand, a faint layer of ice appearing on the lenses as he does. "But don't mind me, old men do tend to ramble."
Lynx's right hand, extended at an angle that obscured it for a moment from view relative to Fevrier, suddenly whips around as the man pivots. Where it was empty before, the hand is now holding an ice formation shaped like a sharp-edged shuriken - which is loosed almost instantly, flying toward Fevrier's face as Lynx slides toward a stop along the training room floor while Vanilla Ice compares his style to a chemical spill in the background.
COMBATSYS: Lynx successfully hits Fevrier with Thrown Shard.
! VENGEANCE !
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Fevrier 0/-------/--=====|====---\-------\0 Lynx
Fevrier acknowleges the reports of her bullets as they hit -- but a moment's further thought presses her lips into a firm line. She didn't hit what she wanted to hit. And what's more, she takes note of frost being placed in a location for some reason -other- than direct defense.
"... Ah. Humor." Delivered in such a mechanical, atonal voice, her remark could be seen as condescending, though that is more the fault of the Doll programming rather than a girl having fun at the old's expense.
The specialist cants her head to one side, as if she were about to ask a question, but is greeted instead with an icy snowflake of doom! Her mouth hangs open for a moment as she processes the unexpected attack, her arm beginning to lift in programmed self-defense...
But it comes much too fast. Her head ratchets backwards as the snowy star embeds in her cheek, loosing a fine crimson spray as she staggers backwards. Her defending arm whips upward to pull the frostforged weapon out of her cheek. Pressing her palm against the open wound to stem the blood flow, she inadvertently makes use of the cold in the process.
"... And a distraction," she notes: "Apropos."
The firearms specialist realizes that she's been slowed down by the injury, but the henchmen have largely recovered now: she and Lynx have an audience of twelve. With a look to the side, a visible change can be seen -- she looks wounded, vulnerable -- and yet her eyes gleam with dangerous intensity.
"Don't go easy on me just because I'm a woman!" Her French accent starts to shine through with that exclamation, but Lynx may have something else to worry about, for Fevrier has leapt forward to close the gap. She plants one boot about three feet away from the operative, and snaps a high kick at his nose, aiming to knock it clear off! ... Figuratively. It'd be gross if that actually happened.
COMBATSYS: Lynx blocks Fevrier's Light Kick.
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Fevrier 0/-------/--=====|=====--\-------\0 Lynx
Lynx's hands both shoot out as the kick swings up toward his face, redirecting the boot's course such that it barely clips his cheek, jostling the sunglasses as the frame is struck from his ear and briefly revealing the cool blue eyes normally hidden behind them. "Don't worry, Miss Fevrier," he replies as he steps in, not wasting any time before retaliating. His hands are both wreathed in unnaturally cold frost as he shifts toward the doll's side. "Taking it easy on women is a mistake I learned to avoid a long time ago."
The man's right palm presses toward Fevrier's middle as the left hand reaches down to just above the back of her knee, both aiming to apply force simultaneously and in opposite directions to try and send the Doll off-balance and down to the floor - at which point the agent would attempt to take hold of the same targeted leg, step over to lock it against his own, and wrench it painfully to the side.
COMBATSYS: Fevrier interrupts Medium Throw from Lynx with Cannon Spike.
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Fevrier 0/-------/=======|======-\-------\0 Lynx
Many would be off-balance after a high kick like that, but the elite Dolls have a counterweight that many do not: their massive weighted gauntlets. The balance allows Fevrier to hop backwards after her deflected kick with only a minimal loss of stability.
Hopefully Lynx is not -overly- attached to his sunglasses -- though, it bears mentioning that Fevrier seems to show some concern for the accessory, her eyes lingering upon Lynx's blue irises. Perhaps it comes with having her own distinctive eyewear, rather than the ice cold operative.
In response to his rejoinder, Fevrier arches an eyebrow. "Good! Now just try to put on a good show for our trainees!"
When Lynx leaps in to attack, though, she already has a pretty good idea of how she'd like to respond. The markswoman grits her teeth, a potent show of her latent fury that she's been holding back for most of the fight. When he pushes back on her stomach, she...
When he attempts to take hold of her knee, she...
Yields to that gesture, as well, oddly.
It's only when he moves to take advantage of her momentary off-balance state that he may come to realize the insidiousness of the strategy. It wasn't just too easy: It was too -fast-.
For while he may have punched into Fevrier's stomach, she had already started to lean backwards. And while he may have grabbed her knee, she was already trying to slam it into -his- stomach. It's an acceptable trade of blows, but a necessary compromise for her interruption...
For as Fevrier falls backwards to the ground, opening up space between her and Lynx, she twists her upper torso sharply to one side. With a sudden flare of Psycho Power, she erupts -upwards-, her knee unfolding like a jacknife. He will find her foot against his chin, rocketing him into the air, while Fevrier shouts out with her thick accent: "CANNON SPIKE!"
Lynx can sense that something is wrong as Fevrier succumbs more easily than anticipated to his sweep attempt, but he's too busy already calculating the next step in the planned assault to adjust for the kink in the current one - a fact that results in his jaw being slammed forcefully shut as Fevrier drives him into the air, where he turns head over heels before landing prostrate on the padded floor in a heap. The sunglasses are lost in the midst of the arc; as Lynx props himself up to his feet, a little slower for the exchange, the man's icy blue gaze is clearly visible.
"A show, huh?" Lynx muses, his baritone all the more gravelly after the blows to the ribs. As he speaks, he reaches his left hand into one of the pockets of his trenchcoat and withdraws a fresh pair of sunglasses, identical to the last. "Damn. I was never all that good at theatrics," he says as he opens the frames of the new shades and pushes them into his face with an almost certainly practiced single-handed motion. Frozen mist starts to rise from the agent's entire form, partially engulfing him in an icy haze as the temperature around him drops.
"I think I'll cede the entertainment value to you. You've definitely got the elements of a good action movie going on, what with the machine guns and the acrobatics," he asserts with an even tone that leaves just how much irony is intended by his words up to interpretation. His defensive stance looks just a bit less defined as his gloves come up again.
COMBATSYS: Lynx is surrounded by an arctic breeze as he gathers icy energy.
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Fevrier 0/-------/=======|=======\==-----\1 Lynx
The auburn-tressed Doll twists about in midair, her red gauntlets splaying out to either side as she rights herself. She sails back to the padded floor, her shoulders dipping slightly as she lands; acrobatics clearly being something she's practiced for a great deal of time. As she hefts the machine gun in her hand, the violet flames of Psycho Power ripple around herself -- much more faintly than in her Doll Program attack.
She does express some remorse at the pair of sunglasses that go flying away, but her face sets into a lopsided smirk at the operative donning another pair. With her look of judgmental condescension, she calmly places the semi-automatic machinegun into its holster. "You say you've no sense of theatrics, and then proceed to turn this training room into a meat locker."
True to form, the henchmen are already beginning to shiver, curling their arms around themselves for warmth.
"When your opponent roots themselves to the ground, men --"
Her head remains fixed, even as her shoulders twist. In one fluid motion, she draws a handgun from the holster beneath her right arm, takes aim, and squeezes the trigger.
"Capitalize upon it."
The handgun is not of a large caliber, no, but even its nonlethal ammunition will pack more of a punch than any of the individual bullets from her machinegun. And with the direct attack -- it might be inordinately more difficult to miss.
COMBATSYS: Lynx blocks Fevrier's Power Shot.
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Fevrier 0/-------/=======|=======\====---\1 Lynx
The mist parts in a swirling line as the bullet cuts through it, heading directly for Lynx. For his part, the agent's feet remain planted on the floor; however, a twist at the waist puts the ice-wielder's arm into the course of the oncoming projectile.
Ice sprays from Lynx's right forearm as the bullet slams into it hard enough to snap the limb back, shattering the improvised protection once again. Lynx snorts behind his mask as he gives his arm a single shake, allowing his body to turn with the impact. "Tch." The momentum spins Lynx in a circle before he stops himself, the fog around him mostly dissipated but frost still clinging to the surface of his coat, hair, and glasses. "You're making me almost miss carrying a sidearm, myself. Then again, I think this new look is pretty..." Lynx pushes his sunglasses up onto his face once more as 'Ice, Ice, baby' refrains from the boom box, "...Cool."
Swaying forward, Lynx starts in on Fevrier again, hands raising as he adopts a more aggressive posture and closes the gap more quickly. A couple of ice-capped combination jabs are thrown at Fevrier before the operative unloads a more solid right handed blow aimed for the jawline.
COMBATSYS: Lynx successfully hits Fevrier with Medium Punch.
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Fevrier 1/------=/=======|=======\====---\1 Lynx
Fevrier frowns slightly as her bullet slams into the icy guard -- not just because she thought it would be fast enough to defeat Lynx's defenses, but because she hears snickering from the peanut gallery in the wake of her attack. So Lynx would not be the only one saying it: "Tch."
She is, however, glad that the rubber bullet was forceful enough to spin the operative right round (baby). If she detects the pun, she doesn't acknowledge it -- instead, focusing on the ludicrous notion that one would voluntarily choose to go without packing heat. "Why did you even stop?"
She'll have to wait for her answer, though, as the flurry of combination jabs forces her to backpedal rapidly. She is nimble enough to avoid the tentative strikes, but it leads her to a false sense of security -- ensuring that the final strike is enough to send her reeling backwards, her free hand clutching at her jaw.
"... Cool," she muses thoughtfully, rubbing her face as she bounces back to her feet. "I see now."
The firearm specialist steps backwards, opting not to holster her firearm -- but to bring a second one -out-. She smiles, faintly, her jaw turning a sickly shade, to provide company to the cheek reddened earlier. "You're using this... rhythm to fight?"
The two handguns are splayed out to either side. And then Fevrier shifts her weight backwards, her leading leg snapping straight. Her stance resembles Tai Chi more than the stance of a sharpshooter: instead of open palms, she has her handguns.
"And that's when Fevrier cartwheels forward, aiming to drop both feet overhead like a scythe onto Lynx's shoulders, aiming for a nerve strike. She would be able to maintain her equilibrium in such an attack, if it lands as intended -- and she would drive forward with a knee, whirl around for a spin kick, and then slam both palms forward.
But not palms -- the pistol grips of her firearm. The actual -attack- would be a gout of Psycho Power, expanding rapidly like a shockwave of energy, blasting Lynx backward.
And then the guns themselves would be brought to bear, as Fevrier would fire the left handgun, before pivoting in a circle to fire the right from a different angle entirely.
COMBATSYS: Lynx reflects Gun Kata from Fevrier with Glacial Wall.
- Power hit! -
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Fevrier 0/-------/=======|====---\-------\0 Lynx
At first, Lynx doesn't answer the young arsenal expert's question regarding why he no longer carries a firearm. When she posits the notion that he uses the rhythm of the music that's playing in the background to fight, Lynx's head tilts slightly to one side.
Even though it's the second pair of sunglasses Lynx has donned over the course of the fight, the lenses are already starting to frost over from the frigid moisture in the air around them, enough so that one would assume that they would effectively blind the wearer in combat - as if wearing the dark glasses indoors weren't enough of a visual impediment already. As Fevrier cartwheels forward, Lynx dips his head forward slightly, his blue eyes penetrating the fog around him as the doll approaches. And as she whirls into violent motion, so does he.
Ice coats Lynx's gloves as they fly to his defense, discs of ice forming to catch the kicks aimed at his person, shattering, then reforming to intercept the follow-up knee strike with his left hand before he spins to throw his right hand into the path of the spin kick. Both hands meet in front of him, palms toward the ground as he turns to face the pistols levelled in his direction. "This -"
In the same instant that the Psycho Power erupts from the pistols, a massive sheet of ice erupts from the floor, guided by his hands to instantly shoot up and between Lynx and Fevrier, causing the released energy to strike the reflective wall of ice at point blank range - turning the force of the Psycho Power back on the Doll.
As the barrier starts to crumble into ice cubes that rapidly melt, Lynx takes hold of his shades and sets them back fully onto his face. "- is why I don't carry a gun."
Fevrier has a number of advanced techniques which she can unleash in the most dire of circumstances. That particular sequence was one intended to subdue a -number- of hostiles in a minimum of time -- and it's such that even as her kata attacks are parried and countered by the discs of ice, she knows the forms well enough to continue undeterred. This is training, in a sense -- and follow-through is absolutely essential for her mastery of said techniques.
But what she does -not- expect is for her inner power to be reflected in such an absolute and final fashion. Ice erupting from the floor?! The analytical sharpshooter had entertained the notion of him bringing forth ice from his hands, but not from the floor itself.
Fevrier is not quite able to hear the remark that follows. Her eyes wide, her mouth creased in anger at the very -thought- of her attack being bounced back her way, she finds herself at too close a range to really do anything about it. She finds herself enveloped within the roaring maelstrom of energy she had intended for Lynx, the roar of white noise infiltrating her mind with the intensity of gale force winds. She's blasted backwards, her scream resounding throughout the walls of the training facility. Her handguns, forgotten in the confusion, clatter as they land upon the padded floor. She won't be able to hear either those guns, or Lynx's remark, or the disbelieving comments from her henchman, as her red gauntlets are currently pressed to her ears. Psychic feedback loops are a -bitch-.
Panting, she finally reasserts control over mind, pitching forward. She pushes herself back to her feet with a start -- only to double forward and catch herself on the floor with her hands.
Practically kneeling, she lifts her head up. Thoughts of inadequacy dance through her mind, quickly banished by the subservient conditioning from the Doll Program. Tears form at the corners of her eyes -- more from the stress than the disappointment, naturally.
She holds her hands up in the sign of defeat. "I... I yield. Your... battle techniques are impressive. My countermeasures were inadequate. I insist on a rematch -- at a later date."
COMBATSYS: Fevrier takes no action.
[ \\\\\\\\\\\\\\ <
COMBATSYS: Fevrier can no longer fight.
[ \\\\\\\\\\\\\\ <
Lynx's head turns slightly to one side, facing no one in particular - though the fact that he's watching the guns hit the ground out of the corner of his eye might be noticeable, from the right angle. "Damn. They really are cool, though, aren't they?" He trudges over toward the fallen firearms, the thin layer of ice coating most of his person rapidly melting and leaving the agent damp from head to toe. "Still, saves me the trouble of metal detectors. Not to mention the paperwork. Always hated counting bullets. Spoils the mood."
As Fevrier straightens, Lynx slides the weapons across the padded flooring toward her with the side of his boot, turning his shades toward her as he does so. "You keep at it, though, kid. I definitely would've been breaking a major sweat there, except... well, you know." His right hand slips into his trenchcoat to extricate a pack of cigarettes, from which he draws a fresh one and perches it between his lips. He starts to feel inside his pocket with the left hand for a lighter, but pauses. His head turns toward the Shadaloo grunts against the wall. "Oh, right. Learning exercise. Lessons learned... mmm..." He plucks the cigarette from his lips for a moment and gazes off into space thoughtfully. "You win some, you lose some?"
Shrugging his shoulders, Lynx sticks the cigarette back between his lips, fishes out his lighter, and ignites the tip. Tucking the lighter and cigarette pack away in his coat again, Lynx strides toward the door, leaning down to grab the handle of his boom box as the track changes to MC Hammer's 'Can't Touch This.' He pauses at the doorway, turning a glance over his shoulder as he slips back into practised French. "<I accept your rematch whenever it pleases you.> Au revoir, Mademoiselle."
COMBATSYS: Lynx has ended the fight here.
Log created on 20:24:41 07/22/2016 by Lynx, and last modified on 00:56:57 07/24/2016.