Description: Barring a small cover up operation we had to run, the results from the cartel assessment protocols were as expected. The boy is a renegade, and still young yet in both mind and talent. The fire he wields is potentially devastating, but he chooses to remain isolated with great fervor. In my estimation, this means that there is no great impetus to take advantage of his situation, and it may be more productive to our interests to leave him at large. We can always re-assess later and enact involuntary protocols as deemed required.
On occasion, a wanted criminal has to concern themselves with basic needs. Preferably away from the likes of prying eyes, or with an ability to blend into a crowd; excursions to obtain food, hunt down some throw-away job, or take care of small personal errands is the standard for a person who is on the run, and the stolen flame-bearer is no different. After all, bad hygiene and an empty stomach are not things to be compromised on, and as much as he hates freakin' working, it satisfies the necessities enough for him and Maxima to get by on a day-to-day basis.
However... of all the important, yet incredibly mundane, things he could be doing, laundry is not the one he is most keen on. In fact, it proooobably has to be one of K''s least favourite activities to do. Not like he gives a shit whether he is clean or not!
In case you didn't know, leather is an absolute pain to maintain; such an expensive material requires special polish and meticulous cleaning in order to sustain the glossy sheen and the general integrity of the fabric itself. One would think that if he hated the lengthy process of the upkeep so much, he'd stop wearing it.
Just one of those weird things he does, if only to up the practicality in a fight. The last thing he'd want is to lose his insides jumping out of a car or something.
Not to mention the fact he'd rather not endure any badgering on behalf of his companion at this particular moment in time, regardless if Maxima felt so inclined to do so. The guy isn't responsible for him by any means, but even if they obviously aren't strangers to being tussled about or dirtied up, there is SOME standards in place when the radar on them is low.
So here he is, in a place where most citizens tend to go when they don't own their own laundry machines: The Southtown Laundromat. Staring at the frontward window of the dryer. Scowling. Just waiting for his not-leather clothes. Which isn't many, but enough to cause a slight inconvenience in his day.
Is this thing not done yet?!
An hour is way too fucking long for clothes to dry, god dammit!
Did I mention that K' is pacing the length of the Laundromat? No? Well, he is, and thankfully it's mostly empty otherwise he would be drawing attention to himself with his goblin-like skulking. What an impatient guy! But, naturally, the sooner he can get the hell out of here, the better.
It wouldn't be too good if he caught anyone's attention. For him, or otherwise.
"Wait. Don't tell me: You forgot the fabric softener."
His voice has a strange effect on those who hear it.
The Ultratech executive arrives like a sidewinder, all sly and shifting as he steps into the laundromat easily, as if he owned it. Not that it's really easy to tell who he is. Though not entirely improbable, it's unlikely he makes his money in the cleaning industry, as he's dressed to the nines in a suit that looks like it, item-for-item, costs more than the whole laundromat put together. Immaculate, with none of that long black hair out of place, the frames of his dark teashades perched with exactness on his sharp features.
"Kay... dash," the man pronounces mildly, the vague accent in his voice inexplicably chilling. "Is that right?" he asks, as he looks over the young man at least twenty years his junior. There is an electric sensation somewhere in the new arrival, and most annoying of all it's not at all clear where it's coming from, the braid of bridling energy that he grips to strangle off all the nervous energy in the room. While it's easy to say it's something about the way he walks or talks, the sensation is broad even when he is quiet and still. And he is quiet and still often. So often, it's a surprise when he speaks again.
"That's what we have for you, anyway. I've got some people who are going to want to talk to you. So ... you'll have to come with me," the man asks, not without a measure of pleasantry and invitation in his otherwise-sly voice. To hear him talk, there is nothing to fear.
Of course, he seems rich and impressive at first blush, but then you can get an opportunity to look at him, when the unnamed man steps out from behind a row of washers, revealing the dirt caked in his monkstrap boots, and the fighting gloves he wears plainly on his hands, to offset the expensive merino wools he wears. He is not the man to take 'no' for an answer, and he makes no secret of the fact. 'You want to come with me,' he writes somewhere on some part of you that you'll never be able to see, hear or know.
"Don't worry. You can leave the whites," the man indicates, opening a hand.
"You won't need them."
The thing about K' is he doesn't really like unexpected visitors. Not especially ones that decide to creep on him or insert themselves unwantedly into his business. Even more so from the front entrance of a fucking laundromat.
The uninvited statement immediately grates on his nerves, which doesn't help ease his already irritated demeanour and further serves to fuel the future rude garbage that will come tumbling out his mouth. The flame-bearer spins about to shoot daggers through tinted shades in the direction of where that voice comes from, despite being well aware that baby-blues wouldn't be seen. At least pale eyebrows arching above the frames communicate the message he's trying to convey here.
Basically, it's a huge metaphorical sign that could be read as 'Fuck you.'
It's not unusual for people to know him, or at least OF him. Meeting people who approach him in search of something - usually a fight - is not strange by any means, even if K' wants nothing to do with it himself. Once again, he is stuck enduring some annoying-ass business-looking man gabbing at him. Cool. Worth noting is the fact that the stranger doesn't look at all familiar, nor does he lend any indications that he is representative of NESTs, which may or may not be a good thing.
Likely unfavourable for him regardless, he surmises.
At first, the wayward fighter says nothing by way of words. Any language to impart upon the gentleman is broadcast through his body language. Originally not at his full height, thanks to the hunched skulking he'd previously been doing, K' straightens upright and turns, with hands shoved loosely in his front pockets. He is the embodiment of pure defiance, as his top lip curls up in a silent snarl. Vaguely, he wonders who this moron is.
Shit. He doesn't care!
Besides, this intruder may give off this vibe of no-shit-will-be-taken, alongside pleasantries and polite wordage, or whatever, but there's no way the agitated criminal is going to willingly go along with whatever crap is apparently wanted of him.
Instead, he grumbles out this: "There's no way in hell I am going anywhere with you. Piss off before I make you regret wasting my time by opening your mouth."
Well spoken, K'.
Well. Let's not get too ahead of ourselves. The unnamed man -- Magi, though he may never mention it to K', who almost assuredly doesn't care -- returns to a noble stance while the surly teenager grouses. One hand folded in another at his waist, he watches K' closely, with the sort of quiet, corvid-like curiosity that marks a man accustomed to telling people what to do and not being told what to do in return. So, when the boy straightens to his full height and gives him a look that would have reduced him to a smouldering pile on the aseptic linoleum, the executive's expression takes a comparably mild tilt in response.
A note on mien. The elaborate, but boringly dressed corporate officer doesn't seem to be overtly offended, at least not by anything that K' does, and furthermore, does not actually keep in rein the overall accomodating personality he initially takes with the boy, whom at full height has no trouble matching him. However, this is not to be mistaken for hospitality, by any measure. The detachment he takes with K' has nothing to do with the politeness of his words, and everything to do with the soul-crushing ennui that is as yet an unspoken thread in the room. Though he may look at K' pleasantly, and may even furnish him with the politeness of a word or two, there is a chisel in his otherwise unyieldingly invasive presence. Despite everything, it is quite plain that as far as the executive is concerned, whatever K' thinks of him might as well be nothing at all.
As a result, movement comes slowly to the older man, a slow tilt of the head as K' finally tells him exactly where he's going, which is to say 'nowhere with you.' He pauses for a moment as K' is talking, thoughtful and uttering the quietest 'I see.' as K' refuses him. So, we enter 'now.' And, to the credit of the defiant boy, Magi lets him get roughly seventy-two percent of the way through telling him off, somewhere between pissing off and making him regret something something, before he's decided he's heard about enough of the way the conversation is going to go.
Then the executive hauls off and punches K' right in the mouth.
Well, let's be fair. Magi doesn't exactly .. punch K' instantly. There is still a breath of a warning, somewhere between where the executive is quietly nodding along with K' and the moment his patience promptly ends. If K' isn't too attached to telling him off, he might be able to pick up on it, right before the man's hands blur. If he doesn't, well -- that's probably not the only blur he'll be seeing.
COMBATSYS: Magi has started a fight here.
COMBATSYS: K' has joined the fight here.
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K' 0/-------/-------|======-\-------\0 Magi
COMBATSYS: K' dodges Magi's Medium Punch.
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K' 0/-------/-------|======-\-------\0 Magi
So K' sees this momentary breath, right? He stares it right in the face, so to speak, even if it is for a fraction of a second. Despite being a somewhat careless fighter, with his usual inclination towards violent means of retreating from a scrap at all costs, he is still by all accounts considered relatively seasoned. Even if he doesn't want to be.
After all, most of the brawling he's endured as of late is all a result of being thrown into unnecessary (this being exclusively self-declared) scenarios he can't seem to avoid.
Even though he intends to follow through with his abrasive words - if only to get the hell off his guy's radar - there is pretty well zero personal desire to engage in a spar. There also is no want for a punch to the face, regardless if it is warranted or not. Since that mild loathing coincides with the lack of interest in participating in a fight, buttressed right up against the fact that there would be no way to escape it without raising fists, he relents.
... All he wanted to do was his damn laundry. Why does shit like this /always/ gotta happen to /him/?!
Smoothly and with relative finesse the flamewielder escapes the incoming blur of a punch, dodging clear out of its aimed direction by a simple side-step. Handsome features contort with absolute vexation as K' maneuvers himself so that he lingers with the intention of being on the outside of Magi's peripherals, hands retreating from their cozy haven of his pockets so that they may coil at his sides.
"Really, old man?" he spits. "You wanna start a fight with me? You're gonna regret it when I knock your sorry ass down!" Big tough words from the rebellious wayward criminal.
He has no reservations held as he raises his singularly gloved hand. The centre of his palm crackles, igniting with the stolen flames of the Kusanagi bloodline. It radiates an intense heat, and with a forceful 'whoosh' of swirling fire by way of a frontward thrust of his hand, it manipulates into a burning circle that aims to hit squarely against Magi's midrib area.
Leave it to K' to turn the heat up!
COMBATSYS: K' successfully hits Magi with Eins Trigger.
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K' 0/-------/------=|======-\-------\0 Magi
Magi makes a face as he is forced to remove his jacket.
A moment ago, he was burning alive. Or well, at the least, he was ignited. His quick lip-check does not catch K' off-guard, and Magi pulls it; his punch never fully committed, the agent holds his arm out in the air, two fingers curled tightly and two extended in a sketched mock-up of a loose knuckle punch. Slowly his arm raises as K' bitches him out. Ever so slightly, the executive inclines his head. It's a matter of degrees.
And a matter of degrees. The conflagration crawls into a whirling flourish as a wall of flame splits the two, the searing blast cutting into the executive and driving him bck on his expensive shoes. Limbs dancing as he rolls back on his heels, there is a scattering sensation through the laundromat as the executive barks, snapping away the flame tongues lapping at his arms as he beats just the barest two-step of a retreat, breathing out in a slow, restrained hiss a he stretches, smouldering.
"...Mm," Magi vocalizes sharply, now stripping off his scorched jacket. There is an arc of mottled black across his dress shirt's chest, but the leather harnessing that links aross his front seems none the worse for wear. He quietly folds his suit jacket, with crisp whip folds, before depositing the expensive garment in a nearby laundry basket. "...That's the flame I've been told so much about," Magi compliments K', in that imperious sort of way. He rolls up his sleeves pointedly before he continues. "Just checking," he explains, raising a finger. "I'm sure you wouldn't begrudge me that."
In the next instant, he's inside of K's space. He moves swiftly and without delay, and will in a single step in fact, take up all the space in K's stance until by some measure there simply is no more room for him to stand or really mount a good defense or offense, finally whipping an arm out into the teen's core to try and knock him into the dirt in an overhanded blow.
COMBATSYS: K' interrupts Devil District from Magi with Blackout EX.
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K' 0/-------/------=|=======\-------\1 Magi
Hot flames find their mark, and K' watches through tinted shades at the expensive fabric of the suit jacket ignites, much to his pleasure. As he'd hoped, the assault creates some distance between them, which he utilises the moment to drag his feet back a short meter away. His stance relaxes, with the crimson-cladded glove settling over the opening to a pocket in which his thumb has tucked itself into. Shoulders roll back just so, the broad of his chest pushing outwards despite the slack in his posture.
No fucks given here, even if he wants nothing more than to get the hell out of here.
Through his recovery, Magi gabs, and honestly? The flamewielder normally wouldn't care less what he has to say, but the mere indication that some information regarding him has been given piques his interest. Another gloss over by shrouded baby-blues doesn't inform him of what company or business the executive hails from, which frustrates him that much more.
While K' is no stranger to being persecuted, it helps to know what he is up against, even if only slightly. With NESTs, there is a level of expectation that he'd be fighting clones or some other super-powered being created and manipulated to fulfill their mission. For a moment, he is reminded briefly of his own past, even of a certain cyromancer that... he actually hasn't seen in quite some time, though may still serve under that horrendous organization. Really, he shouldn't be entertaining these thoughts since they fuel his anger that much more, but combining it with this stupid situation he's in right now? It's a recipe for disaster.
Debatable regarding whether that disaster will turn in his favour or not. Guess we'll see how impatient and angry he gets.
"What in the fresh fuck are you going off about?" The stolen flame-bearer practically snarls these words out, maintaining the rather unfriendly tone he pretty well always carries when addressing others. Even though I said he is quite used to being sought out by the powers that be, it does strike him as odd that there may be another institution interested in him or his power. The mere thought of that absolutely sets him on edge.
But. Maybe he is too impatient to give a damn.
"I don't give a shit about what you want. Just shut the fuck up already and leave me the hell alone!"
Yeah, definitely not patient whatsoever.
And also, much to his chagrin, Magi does not leave him alone as requested.
In fact, the executive draws in, hoping to erase any opportunity of attack or defense by encroaching quite close in his personal space. K', of course, doesn't like this one bit, so as that fist comes flying in, aiming right for his gut... well, it meets with the space where he once stood, because suddenly he is nowhere to be seen. In a subtle shift, the wayward criminal disappears into nothingness, only to apparate a few seconds later entirely out of his opponent's peripherals. That is to say, he is behind Magi, and in a position to absolutely knock a blow right into the back of his skull.
And that is just what he does!
Knuckles drive into the head honcho's cranium, batting him away towards the nearby folding tables. It is a fast movement, and certainly enough to obtain his goal of getting Magi far from him and out of his bubble. With the technique complete, his stance returns to that of the lackadaisical posture, finished off by a simple rotation of his neck that earns him a relieving crack at the base of his nape.
The executive's body crashes into the cheap folding tables, propelled by a star-gazer of a club punch to the back of the head. The man scatters plastic and cheap aluminum in every direction as he makes landfall, cutting a somewhat inglorious figure as he barely manages to keep his legs under him, crashing into and through the furniture. Interestingly, it's only out of a sense of aesthetics that the man kicks the tables aside with a long, extended leg as he recovers, clearing the way between them with a surprisingly reserved annoyance.
"--mm," the older man comments absently, wiping a bit of blood away from the back of his head and then his eyebrow, first with the back of his hand, then with the small finger, sniffing as if he were suffering particularly acute allergies. Daubing away the blood on his hands on a handkerchief produced for just this sort of thing, Magi seems sanguine enough as he continues. "Stronger than initial projections," he admits.
"Maybe I should use you to train instead," Magi thinks aloud.
The peculiar part is that even though there is a clear first blood between them, Magi shows remarkable restraint. As if getting beat was all part of some story he looks to write. Instead, he reaches to the holster at the side of the otherwise-ornamental-seeming harness he wears, and clips open a long baseball bat of a collapsing baton, each steel section unfolding with a sharp series of clacks, the weight of his movement causing the agent to settle down into a traditional fighting stance. "Well.. mister 'dash,'" Magi minds, looking up to K'.
"Perhaps you will continue to perform. Let us see how you do with being crushed."
He lifts the baton warningly at K'. Or at least, such is how it seems, before Magi promptly triggers some sort of -- noise --
It's a wordless, toneless feeling, the sort of noise that causes the ears to bleed and the room to go quiet. Visualizers at the edge of Magi's baton rise ever briefly, and then without any further action, Magi flattens the washers, causing several of the standing units to crack and spray water at the seals as he crushes 'space itself' with something that cannot be heard, only felt. It's a powerful soundwave, at a wavelength too broad to fully hear. At least, such is now it seems. As the feeling itself is a beam of force, enough to crush the air in K's lungs without any further ado, and enough to visibly see as Magi triggers it.
COMBATSYS: K' endures Magi's Witch Noise ES.
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K' 0/-------/---====|=======\==-----\1 Magi
Yeah. How did you like that? Happy birthday to the folding tables!
That being said, it is quite obvious this older man has no ears for the words K' has for him. Continuing to gab, unconcerned with the insults and spit-fire, serves to further annoy the hell out of the youthful aggressor.
Just what is he to this guy, anyway? Some test subject?!
An uninterested scoff gruffs out from his throat, a gutteral sort of noise that goes with another roll of his neck. There is no way he will play along with being someone strangers sparring partner, regardless if the issue itself is further perpetuated by the fact that they are still fighting right now. Even in his attempts to get away, he'd be putting up fists. Likely, whatever his opponent is observing will be reported elsewhere, possibly to some superior officer or some shit. Threatened by the prospect of his freedom being eradicated for the sake of whatever objectives the executive has for him today, while also entirely believing that the old man is a complete joke in his ability to uphold himself thus far, the flame-thief crouches low. Regardless of the aim, he will respond without kindness.
So naturally, he extends an unabashed middle finger right at Magi. Outright making his purpose clear.
No stranger to fighting weaponless, K' barely bats an eye at the appearance of the baton. It's technology he hasn't beheld before, but that does not intimidate him. Whatever it has to throw at him by way of this supposed 'crushing' the director is alluding to, he will take it without hesitation.
If only to try and dish an attack in the immediate aftermath.
What emits from the baton is not what the flamewielder anticipates. A resounding wave of sound transmits across the room, deafening him with a pressure so intense, his eardrums feel as though they are being squashed inside the canals. In tandem, each organ feels as though a hand has slipped underneath the surface of his skin, wrapping tight digits around so they may squeeze the ever living life out of them. His lungs, suppressed and empty of air, causes K' to curl in on himself, uncomfortable and gasping for breath in the moments during the invasively penetrating damage.
It is only when it subsides that the raging Beast of Prey shoots daggers with piercing blue irises that peek out from above the frame of tinted shades. "Oh, /fuck you!/"
Enough of this riff-raff!
A kick off from the polished floor signals movement. Heavy-set boots beat against the ground as he encloses in on his adversary until he becomes airborne. Right leg shot out, K' aims a heel straight for the junction between neck and shoulder, intent on driving Magi to his knees and possibly even earthward entirely, should it succeed.
COMBATSYS: Magi blocks K''s Diving Kick.
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K' 0/-------/---====|=======\==-----\1 Magi
"You're thinking about this a little too lazily."
The executive straightens up in the aftermath of the bass blast, unbuttoning the ivory french cuffs of his dress sleeves absently for mobility. As K' recovers, Magi watches the delinquent evenly, with all of the interest of a lion in the savannah. Once his wrists are free to breathe, the executive hitches the rod over his shoulder with a relaxed stance, waiting for the youth to swear himself back to normal again. Interestingly, he doesn't move to press the advantage, doesn't move for better positioning, doesn't even take so much as a step towards K' until the boy moves.
And then K' runs into the brick wall.
All seems mostly well, with K' lining up an axe of a kick that should knock Magi into a dryer for a spincycle or two, save that the executive simply blocks. And by 'blocks,' it's really overselling exactly what happens. Magi's arm moves, K' meets some resistance slinging that heavy boot in mid-air, and then his forward momentum is arrested with no more advanced motion than if the older agent had simply decided to take a sip of coffee mid-fight. As if he's had enough of K' in that exact moment, Magi deflects him towards the ground, takes one quick step forward..
And promptly begins to beat K' with the baton as if he were owed money.
Well. Again. That's an unfair comparison to make, since Magi's opening blow packs enough of an infused punch to it that it will crack the lens of K's shades if it comes anywhere close to hitting him, and in truth, successive blows from the bass-charged baton seem more than capable of hitting through K' as if they were full-body car impacts more than discrete strikes. But the first shot, at least if it lands, seems to be honest and instructive. It's just everything after it that promises to be of the home-wrecking, kick-to-the-jaw-at-the-end type that bookies trend towards with such fervor. If K' has ever been beaten by the police, it'll be similar to that.
Except kinda worse.
COMBATSYS: Magi successfully hits K' with Code Sphinx.
- Power hit! -
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K' 1/-------/=======|=======\====---\1 Magi
Whatever the fuck that is supposed to mean.
Honestly, K' doesn't care for the feedback, nor for any of this tomfoolery, to the point that he outright casts away the comment with a rather gruff, "Yeah? How about go fuck yourself? That suit your tastes better?" while his foot flies forth to nudge itself right into the executive's shoulder joint.
Not that he gives a damn.
%However, his adversary is so lax, his block simply batting his foot away as though it is some annoying little fly buzzing about the airspace. No matter. Despite being a violent fighter, perhaps considered reckless in his approach by others, he is well-honed in his craft. The years in NESTs taught him much of what he knows through instinct, which underlies every bit of his personalised fighting style and allows him to act quickly without much conscious thought.
Therefore, through the shades he sees Magi moving in the moments between, providing K' with very little opportunity to land swiftly and without disgrace on the polished floor. His boots squeak a little across tile while he shifts defensively and fully prepares to block the baton swinging through the air...
And he does.
At first, anyway. The first blow glides along his forearm, somewhat sufficiently knocked away, but it is the following volley that serves to disarm him.
t is an onslaught that drives hit after hit into arms, shoulders, and slowly forces his arms down along his torso from the stacked impact alone. That is when the baton starts assaulting the neck and cranium, which the flame-thief is able to take somewhat gracefully, but that doesn't mean it hurts any less. One such attack knocks into his shades, probably as originally intended, but instead of cracking them, a lens outright shatters from sheer force. The thin glass slices into his handsome features, drawing crimson that dribbles a tear, and as he stumbles back a few paces, the sunglasses tumble off his face and to the floor, further smashing the frames.
Probably already heavily bruised yet still standing, The Beast of Prey straightens. Glove-cladded digits press up along the stinging cut, swiping blood onto a finger pad, permitting eyes the colour of the sky gloss over the substance. Right then, a rise of rage akin to an overspilling volcano lurches straight to his throat, so violent that it seeps all through his veins, from head to toe, igniting him with a fervor not unfamiliar to him. Jaw clenches tight.
If one is paying attention, they would be able to see the blood evaporating off his glove, though it doesn't disappear entirely. Instead, the remaining fluid ashens into crisp flames that radiate the destructive power bestowed upon him that could easily harm him just as much as they could anyone else they touch.
His stolen power.
Such power will now recoil around his tightly balled fist. Initially, K' is wordless as he retracts said fist, tucking it in tight to his torso. With that pent up rage fueling him, he flies forwards, but Magi will only see him for a fraction of a second before his body phases out of sight. The only remaining signal that he remains where he'd been is the glowing fire emitting from his right hand, which soars towards his opponent. Backed by a fierce force of energy, the ball of flame will aim right for Magi's sternum, intent on setting clothes ablaze and searing into any exposed skin within vicinity of the attack.
COMBATSYS: Magi blocks K''s Heat Drive.
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K' 0/-------/-------|=======\====---\1 Magi
The world reaches a chilling quiet as the executive completes the brutal hackjob of a beating. Past a certain point, the 'correction' trends beyond pain compliance - between the inside-shattering blasts of contact soundwaves and the impact of a length of metal, there exists a strange soul-stilling calm, the one that is decisively removed from the pain, the agony. The sensation is not, itself, empowering. To the contrary, even in the midst of a fight, it feels like a leash slowly being tightened around the neck.
There is something -- something -- about the businessman that isn't immediately apparent as he leaps away, the authority in his movements passing beyond the simplistic and into the fey. It seems to take him one less step than is physically possible to move. It's a hard sensation to describe, as if he were taking heartbeats and footsteps out of the reel entirely. What part, if any of this, is real, and which is simple euphoria?
Magi lingers overlong on his back foot as K' recovers, watching him from just over the rims of his own teashades. The flame curls around the beast's fist, and the agent whistles, light and low. "Those looked expensive," he says of the shades. "Sure you don't want to come with yet?"
Then K' disappears entirely, slipping beyond the phase that human eyes can see.
A finger of the director's free hand twitches.
There really is something to be said about the resilency of a fighter. At one point, the engineering department measured it. On average, it takes something like 2.367 times the penetrative force for a motive actor to do roughly the same material damage to a class C fighter as that compared on ballistics gel duplicates. He, admittedly, may have misplaced a digit or two. What is, however, immediately more salient is the sensation of cold water on the hand and the jangling of an electric motor's balance sensors going mad.
Magi's fingers are wrapped around K's wrist, his sleeve scorched and bloody as he bleeds off the momentum in K's drive. While his arm is pretty dinged up, the upshot of all this idle thought is such: K' has absolutely gutted the washing machine that Magi decided to put his fist through. The executive has far, far faster hands than most give him credit for, and with one swift motion, redirected K' away from his vulnerable chest and put him elbow-deep into a Hitachi on wash cycle. The damage, while a minor annoyance to Magi, is more cataclysmic on the machine, a gutted twist of metal and water that gently bathes the two of them. Magi stands there for a moment, humming rod on his shoulder as he sniffs.
"..guess not." Charged.
In the next instant, Magi lowers the rod to his hip, flipping the thing to the reverse side and setting his boots in the pooled water. K' has a moment before Magi's grip tightens on his wrist, and the executive generates a wall of bass force againt the bank of machines behind them. It compresses the air enough that Magi can, in a flicker of motion, take advantage of the latent energy in the air to simply -- move. And Magi can, in fact, move.
K' is not a willing participant. That's okay. Magi will drag him as needed in the eyeblink-wide movement all the way to the far end of the laundromat. K' has only that breath of a moment to react, that breath of a moment to recover before Magi pins him by the thieving arm to the glass. "All you schoolkids are the same, aren't you? All 'fuck this, and fuck that...'" He smirks, rotating his wrist slightly.
"You'd need to practice a hundred years, just to manage."
As said. K' has only a breath to recover and worm away from him. Only that space of time before Magi blows out the entire storefront with his off-hand. There's comparably little opportunity to crack back after that, as the effect is generated by the exec focusing a hidden bass blast right through K's body as he releases. It's force enough to pitch him bodily through what's left of the window, generating a wall of force with his grip on the youth's wrist at the epicentre.
COMBATSYS: K' blocks Magi's Ride Cracker Shadow ES.
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K' 0/-------/-----==|=====--\-------\0 Magi
You know what would be awesome?
Not punching a washing machine.
But also, not punching the specific machine that has your clothes in it. Yet, thanks to Magi's swift and fluid motions, K' is elbow-deep in his own soiled laundry, practically having to crane his neck from the flood of water that comes pouring out the gaping hole he's made in the glass panel.
Whatever injuries he could have sustained from this type of impact are pointedly ignored. Mostly because the beast doesn't give two shits through the blinding anger, but also because his opponent is tugging his wrist to drag him along for a joy ride. Involuntarily, his lean form is yanked out and away from the obstruction with surprising strength, for he is not somebody to just lightly lug about. The executive manages to reef him through the air, assisted by an energetic force that rebounds them from the wall of battered machinery towards the front of the laundromat.
However, there is a split moment where the hand unjoined from the wrist, leaving him subject to the momentum of the previous compression. In that brief pause, the flame-thief twists his body round, letting his left arm rise to the occasion of deflecting Magi's intended grip away. The motion is so quick that it may appear as a blur to onlookers, and it happens with the incredible finesse that comes with a trained fighter. I say this because as the director decides to take action, K' steals the opportunity left open and manages to block not only the steadfast grip, but also the residual effects of the storefront explosion that follows.
Though, certainly not without some casualties, for shards of glass embed along leather and exposed skin; his cheek ends up being another victim, in which he receives some surface-cuts along the soft tissue. It stings, but is otherwise shrug-worthy. Around him, bits of the window panel tumble to the ground, splashing water up on either side of him.
The poor owner is going to have a real mess to clean up, no thanks to these two!
Finding purchase on the puddled and glass-laden floor (one has to honestly thank relatively heavy-set footwear for providing the grip and weight needed to do such), the Beast of Prey swivels into the narrow space that lingers between them, attempting to take advantage of the prone position Magi has left himself in. Another burning fist flies, shaped into an uppercut intent on sending his adversary airborne, should it land in the mid-rib area. Following this is K' himself, who leaps up and spins mid-air to drive the sole of his boot straight for Magi's centre mass.
What he hopes to accomplish in doing this is to send the older man away like a human projectile, creating distance between them. In spite of his slowly creeping exhaustion, the once-weapon will then try to land some feet back, with shoulders rolling back slightly. His posture will return to something lackadaisical for a moment or two before he falls into the tell-tale Jeet Kune Do defensive stance.
COMBATSYS: Magi blocks K''s Crow Bite.
[ \\\\\\\\\\\\ < > //////////// ]
K' 0/-------/------=|======-\-------\0 Magi
The next moments seem to pass in slow motion.
The hidden bass woofer in Magi's glove shatters the glass ahead of K' just as Magi snaps the baton shut, a two-step movement stowing the baton in his pocket while his hand is still at his hip. The momentary distraction gives K' the advantage, allowing him to worm out of the director's grip, knocking his hand away just as the reverberations from the bass blast would have otherwise shattered the small bones in the delinquent's wrist, the finesse extending all the way to being able to stay in the air just long enough to reorient, putting the beast on the ground in front of him, a fist whipping around with burning flame aimed directly down Magi's centerline and keyed into his middle.
While the director would seem in that moment to be overextended and ripe for the picking, the exchange is not yet over. The older man does not, truthfully, need to move much. He slips around the angle of attack, catching again that stolen flame. It would see that the director is 'once bitten, twice shy' of the powerful blasts the youth is capable of levelling, and is not foolish enough to let himself get hit a second time. Instead, he tries to pull K' off course, only by a centimeter or so, before he looses his deflecting hand in a backhand jab across the bloodied part of K's face, to start the blood flowing anew. The jab itself is relatively inocuous, but even for a quick check, it is made to reopen wounds and blind the youth. If it lands, it will give Magi the opportunity to stow the flames of the beast with a timed hook from the outside to K's side, right about where a glass shard has stuck him. This will serve to get his attention. Fast, seamless, and professional, Magi doesn't cede an inch of ground to the pressured rogue, even though much of the movements are too fast to track with a naked eye.
Give him the opening? Then and only then, Magi will get to work.
COMBATSYS: Magi successfully hits K' with Later Heaven v.2.
[ \\\\\\ < > //////////// ]
K' 0/-------/--=====|===----\-------\0 Magi
At this point, Magi goes to the office.
Certainly, though the deceptively young director does have a high degree of technical expertise, something K' would be increasingly familiar with as he tries to sneak a hit past the spindly executive's deceptively impenetrable defense, at times he is increasingly simple. He doesn't fight as if he were classically trained, not with the reach of any sport fighting curriculum that K' would be familiar with. Instead, the moment Magi slams a fist into K's weak spot, he doesn't hesitate in pressing the advantage.
Magi hits K' as if he were trying to make him forget how to breathe.
The executive's fists are broadsides from the streets on K', and the instant K' ironically gives him even an inch of space to work with, Magi's fist cannons into the man's ribs, his sides, finally kicking him loose on the end of his monkstrap boot, wheeling forward and knocking him into the dust with a hammerblow that is meant to - finally - give the boy the space he's been looking for, aiming to knock him into the pooled glass and water.
But the director leaves him just a breath of room. Just enough space to see if he can still stand.
"Should have come with me when you had the chance," Magi advises politely. "Want to run yet?"
Another blow misses its mark, finding purchase in a blocking formation that effectively stops him short of pursuing anything further. Surprised by this older fellow's tenacity, he nearly misses the flicker of movement in his peripherals which alerts him to an incoming attack.
Naturally, K' attempts to dodge at this close range, but he finds no success in doing so, for Magi is much quicker than anticipated for a gentleman of his apparent stature.
The first jab lands square on his cheek, impacting the previously earned cuts and splitting them deeper across sensitive skin. Blood fires up from the wound, splattering over baby-blues and forcing one eye to shut tightly from the invasion. That alone is an unpleasant sensation, but what sucks more is the following onslaught, in which a driving punch launches right into his side, just below his ribs. A residual piece of glass embedded quaintly in his leather is pushed in, penetrating through and digging into soft skin underneath. It is lucky that he has muscle padding the area there, but that doesn't mean it doesn't hurt anyone. It is enough to drive a pained grunt from his throat, guttural and raw.
And, unfortunately, Magi is not finished.
There is more to this attack, which serves to batter into every inch of his torso. Unseen glass shards are beaten into his clothes, or into exposed skin, and bruises surely will show up all over his midsection tomorrow. In truth, it is only when he is sent earthbound by way of a tripping kick that the air leaves his lungs, winding him as he collides with water and more broken glass. The puddle splashes up with his bodily impact, eventually settling into a lightly crimson-stained ripple.
Sprawled on his back, the young Beast of Prey grimaces in the aftermath of the assault. All energy is spent, with uncomfortable wounds that would be an absolute /bitch/ to clean up, he recognises one thing: this asshat has been requesting him to follow along to whatever destination it is he is desired to go. In no way does he have intention to concede with this plan, but if his opponent doesn't give him the choice and knocks him out cold here?
Wayward by choice, K' would do anything to permit the ability for him to roam free of any higher authority that beckons him to act as a weapon or an experiment. Having no clue what lingers behind the executive's goals, and recognising that he is in bad shape to continue defending himself... fuck. It's a tough spot.
In spite of his discomfort, the flame-thief rises to a slow stand. A hand clutches over his side while he steadies himself, and just when he thinks to turn and unleash an attack... Magi speaks. With only one eye open, K' shoots a glare over to the older man, understanding what it is that is being proposed, which is... the chance to flee? Of course, in most circumstances, he wouldn't run. He is no coward.
But if the only way to secure his freedom would be to do just that...?
Fuck it. He is going to take one last shot.
"Fuck you," he also says, while igniting hot flames in the palm of his right hand. With a roll of his shoulder, he sends that fire off, much like he'd done earlier, but instead of letting it burn away in midair, his leg begins to move into it. A kick flies upwards in a quickened blur of motion, setting it off like some sort of ignition that would burst and sear into Magi's chest should it land. It is then, in the seconds after he has released this assault, that K' turns quickly on his heel and shoots off out of the storefront, attempting to get the fresh hell out of there while Magi is distracted!
COMBATSYS: Magi blocks K''s Second Shell EX.
[ \\\\\ < > ////////// ]
K' 0/-------/---====|===----\-------\0 Magi
Admittedly, Magi had left a little in the gas tank, but even he's surprised to see the kid get up after the beating he just threw him. The man in the white dress shirt ejects the spent bass membrane cartridge from his glove with a hiss and a pop. That very same dress shirt is now stained with whipping arcs of blood, the aftereffects of trading so many rough hits. He stands over K', as collected as he'll ever be, his mouth a thin pressed line, quiet and discreet. The water that pools around his monkstrap boots shifts slightly, ripples lapping at the waterproof stitching as the beast disturbs the pool by getting to his feet.
"This isn't Neo League," the director reminds him, warns him.
"A boy can get killed for not watching his mouth on the streets."
And truthfully, it was poor form amongst most fighting aficionados to go killing eachother wantonly, even in unsanctioned bouts. But on the streets -- the real ones, that is -- it's a different story. It's a hard task to actually kill a fighter, but still achievable. Who was that serial killer awhile back who cut up a bunch of no-names? Freeman, or something like that. The world gets stranger and stranger. And we stay the same.
The angular features of the well dressed man incline ever slightly as K' spits one last expletive-laden curse in his direction. "Well, good to know you're committed," he remarks drily.
Then K' tries to cut him down with an arc of fire. To the point, the attack offends Magi more than anything else, driving the headhunter back until he can dissolve the blistering firewave with another wall of bass force, emanated from his other glove. The sound knocks the tongues of flame flat across the water, and the water splashes across the walls and what's left of the glass outside. Of course, by then, K' is somewhere down the street, running like he really does owe the man money. Obviously, now is when the sprinkler system inside the laundromat decides to go off.
A few moments later, a damp Magi appears from the storefront, annoyedly shaking out one of his boots as he hikes one leg over the glass fron, then the other. Leaning against the pony wall that once supported the glass, he hikes his suit jacket over his shoulders, which has been remarkably left pristine in all the fighting and water. He sniffs, taking his phone out of the inner jacket pocket, dialing a few digits and lifting the speaker to his ear, watching absently the direction K' left in. "It's me. We've captured all the data we need for this phase."
He pauses thoughtfully. "No, there's no need. Let's close the file for now, until we're ready to take advantage of the aberrant flame."
COMBATSYS: Magi has left the fight here.
[ \\\\\ <
COMBATSYS: K' has ended the fight here.
Log created on 18:00:21 05/24/2021 by Magi, and last modified on 03:50:55 06/14/2021.