Match of the Millennium

Description: Senna gained some rare intel and parlayed it into another job for herself. In search of profit, Senna makes her way to one of the closest threats to Syndicate territory, a a Japanese-style inn in Kasukabe which has been closed for years -- despite the number of late-model cars parked outside. Indeed, the series of deathtraps Bulleta has planted around the ryokan would probably keep it out of the latest Zagat tourism guide. Senna's mission -- subdue the ryokan's defender and raze the inn to the ground!

[BULLETA]
Dahlia said no land mines, so the little metal discs Senna had to contend with - scattered through lightly touched earth - on her quest to burn a supposedly abandoned ryokan to the ground are not land mines; they're triggers.

Triggers belonging to rifles mounted in distant branches, loaded for bear and just smart enough to aim wherever she might tread. A touch brings a beep; the beep, a salvo of potentially bone-crushing *KRAK!*s, after a hair's breadth of delay. The trigger-mines come after what might've felt like miles of dangerously subtle, high-tension wire strung all through the trees and brush to cut careless visitors to shreds and funnel conscientious ones along a narrow path lined with more primitive snares and inconveniently timed treefalls. Roads barricaded for construction that'll never come are meant to force those visitors to approach on foot-- through the killing arms of the forest, across the lead-kissed field just beyond the brush line separating forest from the gently tended and borrowed land upon which the ryokan proper sits.

Like the wire, the guns are meant to slow interlopers to a crawl if they're careful and tear them to pieces if they aren't-- and like the wire, it's one of multiple measures for a very good reason: what might stop petty criminals and low-ranking thugs dead would be lucky to slow a truly skilled, strong, or just plain stubborn invader like Senna down, and Bulleta's expecting big game-- even if she wasn't expecting anyone quite like /Senna/. The trigger-mines dot open fields and line a path between ponds - one tranquil and teeming with toxic life; one empty and electrified - until finally giving way to a brief, blessedly open stretch of land leading to a sliding door.

Somewhere past those doors - well past the small, square room buffering outside and inn set up to give visitors one last chance to avoid tracking filth across straw - Bulleta's whistling 'Billionaire' and loading her basket. Her eyes are glued to a tablet playing Senna's trek across the perimeter across multiple view.

[SENNA]
Lugging along two five-gallon cans of gasoline wasn't particularly fun. Hell, she'll probably have to do some extra work anyways--use the cars? She's no fucking demolitionist, after all. She only knows what she's seen on TV and movies, and they suggest a lot of gasoline and a few lit matches. Easy enough to come by. She'd left the gas cans by the gate, inconspicuous enough--the plan is to bust through whatever's here, then raze the place afterwards. And a good thing, too.

Stealth has never been Senna's strong. Stealth, subtlety, nothing like that. She's bold, brassy, punchy. Harsh. So when she steps on the first plate, she freezes for a half-second, and only an instinctive dodge leaves her with a red furrow across her right flank and a hole in her shirt. And once it's on, it's on. A broken-field run, because she doesn't know if there's snipers or what, straight up the middle. No time for stopping, no time for thinking, just run. Let the adrenaline pump through her body. Get mad.

She takes a few more grazes by the time she reaches the sliding door, slamming through it bodily, roaring in truly righteous anger. "ALRIGHT YOU FUCKERS, IT'S TIME TO FUCKIN' PAY THE PIPER!" She's already in fight mode, fists clenched, breathing heavily but evenly, trained to supply the maximum amount of oxygen to her muscles as she can.

[BULLETA]
*KRASH!*

Bulleta yanks an earbud out and snaps her gaze from the tablet when Senna gets close enough to disturb her. The rest of the song is swallowed along with a deep, steadying breath.

Places.
Think of Granny.

*SHNK!*

The buffer room also seems to be a bayonet room: just opening the door would've brough the knife tucked over the threshold crashing down in greeting after a brief delay; breaking through brings the blade down immediately, but luckily for Senna, there's-- /another/ door just a few feet ahead for her to escape through, leading to a kitchen. Luckier still, that one isn't trapped; it just sends a tremor through a narrow line strung through the inn, filling beautifully simple space with chimes. Soft, tranquil, ubiquitous chimes, shuddering gently around the rampaging arsonist and her echoing challenge.

There's no answer; it's an abandoned ryokan. The Akatsuki-gumi who aren't supposed to be holed up here are hidden throughout the inn's rooms, loading gear and supplies up in case of a hasty retreat. /Any/ intrusion has the potential to be the last before they're forced to a new hiding place, as long as the bugs swimming invisibly in Bulleta's bloodstream are talking to Kira Volkov. They've expected an army - of men, monsters, or both - for weeks, now, but that they seem to 'only' have one intensely driven woman to contend with makes little difference. Protocols are protocols.

It's an abandoned ryokan, and sob-laced sniffling drifts into the kitchen from somewhere deeper inside, mingled with the muffled and fervent prayers of a young girl who is, perhaps, not prepared to make any piper payments just yet.

[SENNA]
"The fuck is this?" Senna mutters to herself, after just... bashing through. She was expecting a -fight-. Are these fuckers that cowardly? No wonder they're apparently getting their asses kicked. She's got no time or inclination for this. She's tripped all the traps so far, hasn't she? This place is nice and central, or as close as it can get, can't it? Shaking her head, she half-turns, raising her voice once more.

"Alright, fuckers. You don't wanna come out and meet me? I'll just go get my gas cans and you can all fuckin' _FRY_ in here when the place goes up. Or you can scatter like the cockroaches you are!! But you better leave your cars, I'm gonna need 'em to make the place light up real nice!"

Now she does turn, back towards the entrance, but she's alert. Aware. They might still shy away from confrontation now, but she's not bluffing. If no one comes out.. she will just burn the place down and anyone who doesn't get out? Their own damn fault for not listening.

She's got her ears and senses open, though, because she expects a response now, whether it's a bunch of men in cheap suits or something else. That crying girl? If they haven't spirited her away by now, well...

[BULLETA]
"N-no, wait, please--!"

A crash sounds from one of the ryokan's halls, then a slip of a girl comes barreling into view, towing a picnic basket. There's another crash when she bounces off of a wall in her haste to approach Senna, but she spins out of it and winds up braking a ways away from the intruder. A wide, central area sits between the kitchen adjoining Senna's entry point, the hallway leading towards private rooms that girl's careening out of, the ryokan's front entrance, and a few of other paths and corridors leading to other sections of the inn. Hardwood floors and masterfully carved wooden walls abound, along with a selection of new-looking antique furniture.

"They were gonna KILL me if my parents didn't-- I, I came to Japan for a school-sponsored trip and I was with all my classmates and-- a-and-- I g-got-- lost..." Bulleta rattles off in a teary, trembling fusillade. The girl's wearing a black, hooded cloak over a shin-length red and white dress with a flared skirt and showing Senna her empty palms as she slooooowly backs into her hall..

"I--" she murmurs, "I thought I could poison one of them, and..." trailing off, she slowly turns out of wincing away from Senna to look the woman more or less in the eye and dares to exhale, "Then... /you/... wh-who ARE you? Why are you here-- god. ... god, just-- just, please-- whoever you are, please, please, PLEASE don't kill me..."

[SENNA]
This is... incongrous. Yeah, okay. She heard a girl crying. But... this blonde-haired, blue-eyed girl? Carrying... a picnic basket? In a ryokan in Southtown? This kind of... breaks Senna's rage, or cracks it at least.

"What the -fuck-?" she says--no nominee for Highlights for Parents she--as the blonde pops out of nowhere and bounces down the hallway towards her. The words from the girl don't even really -register-, at least not immediately, as Senna stares. "Look, girl," she says, regaining some of her composure, "I dunno who you are or what you're here for, maybe they wanted to sell you or whatever, but my advice is, get the fuck out of here before I'm done, because I'm here to burn this shithole to the ground." If Bulleta was hoping to appeal to Senna's softer, more feminine nature, well... good luck?

But at the least, Senna's dismissed the girl, who has set off exactly zero of her warnings. "Don't go that way," she says, pointing the way she came, "some absolute fucknut set a bunch of traps that way." Also it's the way she's going to get her goddamn gas cans.

That someone who trapped the front would ALSO trap the back does not really appear to enter into Senna's mind, nor does the possibility that Bulleta is the one who set the traps, as she sets off back towards the front--leaving her back open to Bulleta.

[BULLETA]
Once upon a time, Bulleta and her grandmother played a game called 'I Know What This Looks Like, But...'. Incongruity can be a useful weapon for disrupting raging Darkstalkers with a spark of humanity left in them, and pissed off firebugs alike; but if that initial ambush of meeting a pitiful creature in an unexpected place isn't capitalized on /immediately/, it needs to be built upon.

Even if it winds up meeting a stone heart, the odds of being ignored in favor of more interesting - more threatening - presences aren't so bad, as Senna demonstrates. "Take me /with/ you," the girl begs while briskly closing on the intruder. "If there're /traps/, there's no /way/ I can get out of here by my/self/-- you could help me, and /I/ could help /you/ burn these son of a bitches to a crisp...!"

Beneath her desperate, vengeful pleas, metal softly scrapes against leather as she closes in on Senna's back. /Every/ door between the ryokan and the world is trapped; the one Senna's going for is rigged with taser lines ready to lash out of the jamb at whoever means to open and cross through it.

There are multiple layers of security protecting the ryokan, and one of them has a hand beneath her cloak as she creeps within inches of whipping it free to drive tempered steel into the woman's body.

"I'm s-so-- /SO/ glad you came," she whispers, grateful and sniffling. "Everything's gonna be okay, now..."

COMBATSYS: Bulleta has started a fight here.

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Bulleta          0/-------/-======|

COMBATSYS: Senna has joined the fight here.

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Senna            0/-------/------=|======-\-------\0          Bulleta

[SENNA]
Suddenly, the words echo through her head. "<I thought I could maybe poison one of them...>" Words from mere seconds ago. That saves Senna, quite literally, stopping her hand just as she reaches for a door--and as she turns around, to see Bulleta with a hand in her cloak. A gesture that is intimately familiar to anyone who's spent time on the streets of Metro City. A sign that someone has a weapon that they intend to do you harm with. But even as she's turning, she's speaking. "Wait, did you say--" The word poison never comes out of her mouth because by the time she would've said it, she's turned around, and the sight registers real quick.

"Oh you little -bitch-," snarls Senna, and it's a good thing she's so jaded because, honestly? It looks bad. Taking a swing at a kid. I mean, in her defense, the kid is gonna SHANK her. It's self-defense. But it still looks bad. A little part of Senna winces, glad that this isn't being filmed or televised or anything like that. Bulleta would probably win SNF matches outright due to forfeit, as long as the cameras don't focus on her scheming face.

Speaking of that face, Senna snaps her left fist out for it, an instinctive left jab that, as per her training, she follows up with a second jab.

COMBATSYS: Bulleta dodges Senna's Cross Punch.

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Senna            0/-------/-------|======-\-------\0          Bulleta

[BULLETA]
That face disappears and the stiff breeze from Senna's jabs shoves the hood from the ducking girl's head. Evasion is closely followed by a series of backflips that leaves her crouched beside a simple, wood-framed sofa. As her fluttering cloak settles, both brows are arched and a curious smile touches the girl's lips. The hand wrapped near her ribs flicks out and gives that wooden frame a couple sharp raps.

"... shoulda gone with 'drug'," she lowly muses as machinery whirrs and cushions lift to make room for the table hidden beneath them. Hydraulics push it up and out, angling it just so to make its contents - an M16 and a sawed off shotgun, framed by uzis at the far ends - readily available. "I'm a rich white girl - /school-sponsored trip to Japan/ - from America; 'poison'... weird choice of words, right?" The girl doesn't read minds - a last second bolt of instinct prompting a fortuitous response is a perfectly reasonable explanation for the woman's show of paranoid reflexes. She's simply taking a somewhat rare opportunity to get notes while she still can, before things get too loud and violent. Vaulting back over the arm of the couch, she snags the shotgun and an uzi.

"Seriously," she continues before breaking into a zig-zagging sprint across hardwood flooring, "who /sent/ you, lady? This doesn't /have/ to be bad, you know!" After a couple feet, she drops into a roll, intent on swarming the boxer with buckshot from close-range when she eventually comes up on a knee.

"You can surrender and talk, and /not/ get an innsworth of gas dumped on you!"

COMBATSYS: Senna blocks Bulleta's Crushing Strike.

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Senna            0/-------/-----==|=======\-------\0          Bulleta

[SENNA]
Fighters are tough. Even the wispiest of fighters can endure the kind of punishment that non-fighters think ought to be fatal. In this case, a shotgun blast. A curse is cut off from Senna's lips as she twists, and leaps backwards and to her left. It doesn't avoid all of the blast, but it keeps her from experiencing the full brunt of the buckshot; she slams into the corner, but it appears to have been a planned movement, as she braces with an arm and a leg and pushes off, springing back towards Bulleta.

"Sorry, I'm not getting paid to reveal any information," she replies, ignoring, for now, the streaks of blood coming from the grooves created along her body by the lead shot that did dig into her body. As she springs forward, she cocks her right hand back, keeping her left up for defense, then hammers her right hand around in a short hook punch aimed for Bulleta's left temple, a swift, tightly-arced punch that Senna immediately follows up with a longer hook punch, twisting her shoulders to put more power into it.

"How 'bout you? You gettin' paid enough to do this shit? Getting into fistfights in an abandoned inn that's gonna get torn down one way or the other?" she asks. It's not really great diplomacy, but, well... maybe one will convince the other? "Shit, you don't even have to surrender, just walk away."

COMBATSYS: Bulleta blocks Senna's Double Hammer.

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Senna            0/-------/-----==|=======\-------\0          Bulleta

[BULLETA]
A wrist-flick turns the shotgun into a club. A steady hand around the pistol grip snaps the weapon between Bulleta and the rapid one-two from Senna. Gunmetal warps and whines, then clatters to the ground while the force of Senna's punches screams through the Huntress' arm and shoulder.

"I'm getting paid a /lot/," she easily replies. "It's--" A hitch, then her light smile wavers.

"-- it's-- some things are bigger than money, though, they--"

The girl's stance slackens and her lips fall into a tight line.

"I-I was in Southtown Village, stalking this, this... vampire... /thing/, okay?" she quietly recalls as her eyes drift down from Senna's and she absently shakes her right arm out. "And when I got home, I-- it-- it was on /fire/. So there I am, screaming, crying, being held back by firefighters-- Henri was in there, see? Henri was-- she was-- she was /such/ a good girl..."

A shudder briefly wracks the petite teen's body. After a sniffle, she barely meets the boxer's gaze.

"When I turned around, there was a man in a suit," she softly continues. "He told me I could have a new place to live for a while, and a job protecting it, if I wanted... and made sure I knew what'd happen if I decided to try my luck somewhere /else/."

The story's punctuated with a sudden, lunging hop forward meant to drive her right knee into Senna's gut.

"They MADE me set those traps, I-- I don't know what they'll DO to me if I let something happen to this place...! If-- if it's just about /money/ for you, I can /GET/ that; the inn doesn't have to suffer, does it?!"

COMBATSYS: Senna endures Bulleta's Surprise & Hop.

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Senna            0/-------/---====|=======\-------\1          Bulleta

[SENNA]
Senna would have had more sympathy if Bulleta hadn't tried to SHANK her. Still, it's a nice story, isn't it? It's too bad that Bulleta abused whatever sense of trust Senna had before this, she might've actually felt a spark of something. I mean, she does, if it's true, but even so. Bulleta's lunging knee impacts solidly against Senna's stomach, but instead of doubling over and gagging, Senna doubles over--

And reaches for Bulleta's head with her left arm, looking to encircle it with that strong limb. Her voice is a little strained--she did just take a knee to the gut, after all--as she prepares to do something most un-boxerly. Probably something she learned from fighting some kickboxer, or watching one, because using elbows definitely ain't Marquis of Queensbury rules, and slamming her right elbow in for Bulleta's cheekbone certainly isn't the sweet science--though if she hits it might be a sweet sound of cracking bone against bone.

"Sorry kid. I don't wanna cross the people I'm workin' for either." At least, not yet. Not for some mere promise of money from a girl who is looking to kill her. If she gets that elbow in, she'll follow it up with a twist, hurling Bulleta towards the wall she just came from moments ago.

COMBATSYS: Bulleta full-parries Senna's Violent Clinching!!

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Senna            0/-------/---====|=======\==-----\1          Bulleta

[BULLETA]
Just as a fighter can be far hardier than appearances might suggest, the right training can give a girl of Bulleta's stature the ability to throw deceptively forceful blows. Senna's tough, but Bulleta could feel her body give a little beneath that explosive knee; when the boxer doubles over in silence, it triggers a warning in the young Huntress' mind--

-- and after a quick reach beneath the cloak, Senna's left clutching white smoke and a little, red-hooded doll.

"What do they /have/ on you?" she lowly wonders amidst a pop of compressed air that sends an RPG hurtling into the smoke. Rapid foot-falls post-smoke bomb left her a few feet away from Senna's flank, and now there's more smoke curling up from one end of her basket. The tip of the warhead's been decorated with a big, beaming smile and bright eyes, just to keep things light.

"Who ARE you?"

Dahlia said no land mines because she didn't want to draw too much attention to an abandoned inn or disturb the locals too severely. In the spirit of her edict, the rocket screaming Senna-wards carries a concussive, non-thermal payload; the *BOOM!* and the *BANG!* have been tempered in favor of trying to provide a satisfyingly bone-stirring *POW!*, a dulled roar that could readily be chalked up to renovation.

COMBATSYS: Bulleta successfully hits Senna with Smiling Missile EX.

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Senna            0/-------/=======|=======\=====--\1          Bulleta

[SENNA]
The boom might sound like renovation. The screaming missile that Senna becomes--as the concussive explosion hurls her through a weak wall section and into another room--is another thing altogether. Bulleta's questions are forgotten entirely, as the boxer picks herself up off the ground. And snarls.

She's used to being beat. She is, and has been, ever since she fell off the path to being a pro boxer, a perennial loser. But...

Even perennial losers don't _like_ losing. Senna is no different. Her ears are popped, blood trickling out of them, her hair even wilder, her clothes practically shredded--save for the black sports bra she's wearing, and her tattered pants. And she looks fairly wild-eyed.

She doesn't say anything; she bullrushes out of the hole, hands up, looking for a moment very much like another boxer, one nicknamed at times the Raging Buffalo, though of course her build is nothing like his; she charges in, going from a full run to a wide-footed slide as she -reaches- for Bulleta, snapping out a left-right combination for the girl's face, intended to be a stunning blow--

--to open her up for another right hook, once again Senna twisting her shoulders into it, giving a little more follow-through.

COMBATSYS: Senna blitzes into action and acts again!

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Senna            0/-------/=======|=======\=====--\1          Bulleta

COMBATSYS: Bulleta dodges Senna's Dash Punch.

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Senna            0/-------/=======|=======\=====--\1          Bulleta

COMBATSYS: Senna successfully hits Bulleta with Hook Punch.

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Senna            1/-------/=======|=======\=====--\1          Bulleta

[BULLETA]
Avoiding a quarry's raging, stampeding charge after she's suffered her first real wound is never /easy/, but it's doable. Manageable-- Bulleta has practiced for moments just like this one on numerous occasions. The dust and debris kicked up from that broken wall gives Senna a little cover, but the boxer's sheer, blistering speed is most of what makes the hunter's evasive backwards roll so lucky: a hair too late, and Bulleta would've surely been sent on her /own/ wallward journey.

Coming up to her feet, she allows herself a precious moment of br

The ryokan's ceiling is a marvel of traditional woodworking techniques, a fact which Bulleta's only had so many chances to appreciate since holing up in Kasukabe. Right now, as she sucks in rapid, shallow breaths and forces her left eye to open all the way, is one of them. It's a pity all those stars are in the way...

"Nnnh--"

She registered Senna's movement - barely - but little else of her shockingly immediate follow-up. She manages to sit up without much delay, but wobbles unsteadily once there while the boxer and her twin sisters waver in and out of one another. The Uzi's locked in a death grip at her side-- a fact which, once noted, speeds her rise somewhat, prompting a brisk hop up. Weaving on her feet, she sweeps the weapon up in a diagonal arc, filling the air with lead-- and a few glowing red streaks. Tracer rounds mixed into the magazine?

"Why's /this/ worth it to /you/?!" she presses over the sound of gunfire.

COMBATSYS: Senna blocks Bulleta's Medium Strike.

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Senna            1/------=/=======|=======\======-\1          Bulleta

[SENNA]
A quick sidestep--but one of the bullets drills through the meat of Senna's left shoulder as she goes right, earning a hiss of pain from the would-be arsonist, a fresh spill of blood washing down her arm, staining her already-dirtied handwraps. Her lips curl into a sneer, and she, despite all her injuries--mostly internal, thanks to the godforsaken -concussion missile- Bulleta tossed into the mix--becoming more apparent if Bulleta bothers to take a closer look--a fine trembling throughout her body, fists clenched tighter than they should be, things like that.

A laugh, though. "C'mon, you're workin' for these Akatsuki punks and you don't even know who they're up against?!?" Fine. This is free information, the only thing Bulleta'll get now.

"I'm workin' for the Syndicate. They want back in. And they want the Akatsuki out." DRiving forward again, Senna ignores the pain--and the fresh blood that spurts from her shoulder wound--to continue to press Bulleta, despite being disadvantaged, closing the gap to fire another round of jabs--from both hands this time, a shotgun-welter pattern of rapidfire punches ending with a right straight punch.

Maybe she just really wants to knock Bulleta on her ass--maybe the truth is they're both stuck in obligations that are too expensive to get out of? Who knows. Whatever relationship there could've been is right now tainted by all that.

COMBATSYS: Bulleta blocks Senna's Shotgun Driver.

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Senna            1/-----==/=======|=======\======-\1          Bulleta

[BULLETA]
The Syndicate

Just the Syndicate.

('Just' the Syndicate.)

Relief flickers over Bulleta's face, then a salvo of punches demands that she hide it behind a quickly raised picnic basket. Blow after powerful, driving blow explodes across wicker, summoning dull and metallic *THNK!*s as they leave shallow dents across its surface. It's enough to rattle the girl on the other end of the weirdly sturdy-- and dense container as violence freely flows through its solid construction to coil around bones and joints. Every few blows pushes the girl back another step until she manages to hop free of the onslaught.

"A group of Yakuza taking orders from a woman...? They must have all /kinds/ of enemies!" she remarks as the basket falls to her side. "Knowing which one's which matters."

To and fro, the basket swings through a gradually arc at the girl's side as blue eyes ever so carefully roam the boxer's battered form. The signs of those internal wounds /certainly/ don't go missed, but the fact that Senna's attacks are actually getting /faster/ doesn't, either. She's quick and stubborn, judging from her approach to the ryokan and what's transpired sense; strong, to boot, as Bulleta's swollen jaw and the hideously colored blooms around her eye can attest to.

"People who think they're weak, easily preyed upon... but the Syndicate's the /loudest/, definitely. The biggest, the meanest--"

High-speed revolutions have turned the basket into a blur at her side, and when she finally terminates them with a forward, right-leaning lunge, the basket almost seems to be pulling /her/ along with /it/ as it hurtles towards Senna's gut.

It's weirdly /heavy/, too, whatever it's made of.

COMBATSYS: Senna fails to interrupt Shyness & Strike from Bulleta with Anvil Breaker.
-*- DEVASTATING HIT! -*-

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Bulleta          2/<<<<<<</<<<<<<<|

COMBATSYS: Senna can no longer fight.

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Bulleta          2/<<<<<<</<<<<<<<|

[SENNA]
Something fails. In Senna. Is it her body? Her mind? A momentary weakness or something else coming to light? Too philosophical for her, and, besides, there's no time. She lunges, intending to intercept that attack, to just... just -smash- that goddamn teen's face in! And... she slips. Or her leg goes out, a knee, her hip. Something. It makes her falter, her arm drops.

And that basket just crunches into the side of her head, more effective by far than any punch she'd laid on Bulleta. She drops.

Like a stone, right into the polished wood flooring of the ryokan, hitting nose-first--almost certainly broken (again). At least she doesn't snore. But she doesn't look peaceful in sleep, either, doesn't really look like the kind of person who ever really knows peace. Maybe doesn't want to know it. Philosophizing she'll never remember, buried deep in her subconscious, she's just bleeding ontot he floor now--from her ears, her shoulder, the various other bullet wounds and grazes.

[BULLETA]
Just past the wicker edge, Bulleta sees shifting feet and fists heralding trouble and tenses, ready to suffer for the crime of having dared such closeness to a rampaging boxer--

-- but after the expected *KRNCH!* she's still on her feet... and Senna, miraculously, is /not/. The timing couldn't have been much better: Senna was only going to buy whatever she had to say less and less as time wore on, and taking more of those door-crushing blows to the skull would've made any further efforts to aim dangerously fraught. The Huntress slowly exhales while Senna falls, gives herself a few seconds more to catch her breath, then starts rummaging through her basket.

Once she finds the handcuffs, it's just a matter of snapping them into place so she can haul the interloper into one of the tranquil inn's rooms, where she can sleep it off and wait for Dahlia in relative comfort.

And binds. But at least there'll be a futon for her; Bulleta isn't a /monster/.

COMBATSYS: Bulleta has ended the fight here.

Log created on 22:38:49 08/25/2018 by Bulleta, and last modified on 18:51:32 08/26/2018.