Description: One of the later fights between Freeman and Vanessa. Returning to a quaint resort on the outskirts of Southtown for a breather, Vanessa finds herself in the presence of the serial killer everyone's come to loathe. Double-KO Happiness.
Unlike the last time a venture has been made to this place... there's something else to it. Either it's a coincidental draw, or simply a means to relax. The park, these days, has been riddled with the possibility of running into undesirables... but an estate like this? With her recent earnings, as well as the lack of need to put any substantail downpayment on the new car, there's more than enough time for Vanessa to make her way back to the grounds where her life had, once again, found itself threatened. The plush hedgerows maintain their beauty from before, encircling the small, nigh-on Christian shrine that was left to devestation.
Having already checked herself in to a particularly posh room within the estate, she makes it a point to wander the grounds again. Specifically, to return to the place that was destroyed the last time she wandered in this direction. The solitude is beautiful, really. Within the circle, surrounded by willows that have finally come into bloom, and evergreens in an outer line that encloses it quite nicely, the four points within the circle hold new statures.
The benevolent Madonna is no longer. Her shining face is replaced by the visage of an angel, its arms lifted towards the heavens, wings lowered down as if to give way to the gravity of his pleas. Across from this avian adonis, another like him to provide contrast. Kneeling on bended knee, his wings extend upwards in the same way his arms do, the glistening marble of his face lit dimly by the silver rays of moonlight that penetrate the enclosure. In the center, a small, marble fountain that's surrounded by four benches, each one facing the marble icons meant to give further solace to the area.
One of the reasons she finds herself so out of place here, having wandered in no more then a few moments ago, eyes alight upon the angel knealt in praise for his unseen benefactor. "Keep prayin'," she murmurs to it. "Maybe you'll make up for all the sermons I missed as a kid." A light smirk is added to the sentiment, her cigarette twirling between middle and forefinger.
Only, Vanessa might find that she's not alone. It would actually be hard to pinpoint the lone figure; For one thing, he's on the opposite side where Vanessa is currently observing. The benches and fountain do much to obscure the hunched form, outside the fact that the shadow from an untouched angel -- the only one -- casts fully over Freeman in something of a blasphemous eclipse. But still she prays herself, but much more soft and sovereign; Head tilted to the heavens, fingers lightly interlaced, and wings folded behind.
Currently the murderer is wearing a fairly subtle ensemble in the first place. A formfitting grey teeshirt has a simple (fashionably torn up) black blazer over it, dark yet still slashed blue jeans worn as well. The red mass of hair is untended as per usual, although a deep enough crimson to not shine like a beacon to any casual observer. One hand is stuffed within his pocket, ignorant of Vanessa's presence for the time being. Either not fully realizing who it is, or not particularly caring for at least the time being.
Yet this angel does ring within Freeman's mand. Slowly, he extends his free hand towards it. A flashback to his severely bloody and beaten body; This simple statue was the last thing he saw before the darkness swallowed him. And in a bizzare twist of fate, it was somehow more comforting then the void of oblivion.
Absently his other hand drifts from the pocket, reaching up over his chest and grasping below his neck. Onto open air; The subconscious gesture is met by sudden tensing, and Freeman's teeth grit in a vicious grimace. Where before he might of been close to tranquility, now there is only the darkness once more inside.
His hand flashes through the air, nails gouging deep canyons in the angel's beautiful face in a loud cracking sound. Pebble tears slowly fall to the ground, but still... the statue appears more beautiful for the hideous injuries, as Freeman stands before it almost offensively. His legs spread, shoulders flowing downwards, and hands clenching tightly as if it just did some great offense against him...
Whipping around at the harsh sound that splinters through the overall serenity of this place, Vanessa is... almost -prepared- for what she sees. After all, this place already has the unwanted energies projected by the last confrontation that was had here; why not add a bit more to it? It seems, however, that ever since the last confrontation, there has been efforts made to obscure the whole of this sanctuary from the watchful eyes of the people within the estate, many of whom have already gone to their respective rooms to sleep. God bless landscaping, or something along those lines. Regardless... -what- the woman sees sets her keenly on edge.
Resentment, first and foremost. That he should even -be- here. That he should once again sully what little tranquility is left in this town. That he, of all people, should destroy the wanting face of an angel. She's hardly -religious-, mind... but even then...
There's a curious resignation to the fury.
"You," is spoken loud enough for the man to hear, even in his reverie. It's just... a statement. Close to weary, all told-- the resentment is there but the fervor, the anger, the sheer unbridled passion in seeing him lain to waste is not. It should be, all told... but at the immediate moment, she doesn't appear to have the reserves forit.
No apparent reaction to that simple phrase. Enough that it's doubtless that Freeman simply was ignoring her; Then again, he has been avoiding her for a good number of weeks regardless. Ever since the time they fought in her apartment, the dynamic appears to have shifted. Whatever the seed between the pair, Freeman obviously loathes it. Enough that he'd rather skitter away like a whipped dog then confront it, and even when he does force himself near it's more as a desperate animal that's both much more dangerous and much less dangerous in an odd amalgamation.
"Go away." This is stated in a low hiss, pure venom in the otherwise disturbingly pleasant baratone. As if this were his claim, and not Vanessa's; That he might of been here first though is undeniable, at least in terms of this particular niche of the estate.
The offensive stance does slowly fade, to hunch forward shoulders and fists tightly clenched, as forearms tremble mildly. His head bows before the angel, not even glancing over his shoulder towards the other girl. Some weight is flitting through his mind right now, and one that Vanessa would likely not be nearly arrogant enough to think is caused by her. Freeman is almost... passive, despite that introspective violence. Likely she could simply walk away, and that would be the end of this encounter.
Mn.
"Not likely," she replies, just as a flatly, her own weariness still projected through the tone of her voice. While Vanessa sees the appeal in leaving the murderer to whatever mental, or even religious, egress he seems intent on, she has no particular wish to give up so-called sacred ground to someone who... truly doesn't deserve the peace of it. Or even the judgement, for that matter. Were she privy to the anguishes...
Then again, that does alight upon a similar idea insofar as conversation is concerned.
"If you're looking for judgement, confess to a priest," she continues, turning her back to him, her own eyes on the opposing angel that faces its now defaced brethren. Funny-- while one weeps pebbles, the other demures to the silent tears of moonlight. There's beauty to that, but she's not about to mention the dichotomy. Or the possible significance. "If you're looking for peace, I hear dying is a pretty decent option."
Couldn't get away from sarcasm, could she?
Taking a long drag off of her cigarette, she flicks it against the ground and stubs it out with her heel, apparently seeing no harm in how this could be seen as defacing the property, much less the atmosphere. Breathing out the remnants of translucent smoke, she places either of her hands in her pockets, surprising herself at how unruffled she is by his presence to begin with. Doesn't stop the fact that she remains rather withdrawn from the uncertainties presented in the here and now. Either they'll fight, or... they'll merely part ways. It's as simple and unconveluted as that.
COMBATSYS: Freeman has started a fight here.
COMBATSYS: Vanessa has joined the fight here.
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Freeman 0/-------/-------|-------\-------\0 Vanessa
At least at the onset, there's no real reaction to Vanessa. Whatever her private thoughts, Freeman obviously believes he is entitled to his own as well. The angel is merely observed, head inclining to either direction as if subtley interpreting some great piece of artwork as opposed to a worldwide embodiment of classical religion. His fingers again raise to the angel's face, feeling the scars he inflicted with what might be personal reflection, before a large chunk sloughs off and clatters to the ground at his feet. The face is completely gone, and only the eyes now peer up recognizable from the ground.
This happens almost exactly as Vanessa tells him the peace of death. For whatever reason, it does finally incite a reaction. One foot raises, and steps upon the stone below, causing a hellish crunch of splintering stone. In the same instance his hand whips out, a momentary arc of crimson fluttering into being before a crescent beam is launched right towards Vanessa's face.
Unlike many other times, this has no real passion to it. None of the focused violence or mindless murder. It's crisp, unusually precise, and doubtlessly dangerous. His arm continues it's own arc, fingers lightly flicking in the air before Freeman turns towards Vanessa, almost curious despite the action just done.
"There is... peace in death." is softly said, with far too much experience. Conversation and a brawl? Peculiar, but that one is almost a given and the other a rarity, one should count their blessings...
CSYS: Freeman has attacked you with Overkill. (#1)
COMBATSYS: Vanessa dodges Freeman's Overkill.
There's a brief glance over her shoulder-- an action in which Vanessa counts herself lucky. Appraising him just in time to see those nigh-on nonchalant motions to drive into her with that scathing energy, the redhead darts out of the way of the incoming slices of red luminescence, the assault pounding straight into the gut of the kneeling angel, chipping away some of the hardened marble. It's made of resilient material, surely... but she can't help smirking at the apt placement.
Even if it's largely subdued to the point of being a grimace. Turning to face the serial killer, she brushes off a stray bit of ash from her blazer, the business attire she wears making her a direct contrast to the man in front of her. "Depends on your religious views," she replies gently, making her way around the fountain to get a better vantage point on the man. "You want peace... you go through purgatory. Hell, according to Christian doctrines..."
She doesn't finish the sentance just yet. Instead, she moves in to enact a swift assault, putting a surprising amount of gusto into a motion that takes her towards Freeman at impossible speeds--
COMBATSYS: Freeman endures Vanessa's Puncher Vision.
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Freeman 0/-------/-----==|=------\-------\0 Vanessa
--her fist smashing against his face as her momentum carries her through to the end of it, the clean hit yielding none of the satisfaction she felt before. Taking a couple steps back, she continues by saying, "--Even Ted Bundy's in Heaven."
"There is no heaven. There is no hell. The only purgatory is this life..." It's actually disturbingly philosophical for Freeman. A man normally wrought only with his insane urges, mindless violence fueled by a complete lack of reflection. He actually spreads his arms upwards, as if he were crucified; And the vicious punch impacts him dead in the face, without him so much as attempting to block. He reels backwards, legs half-buckling beneath and head almost impacting the ground. But both hands flow overhead, claws poising before he then snaps back like a pulled-taut rubberband, unleashing a gargantuan surge of crimson energy towards Vanessa's face in a double-claw gesture. It's enough to likely blow up any normal person's head, and the most deadly assault in the man's possession.
"You..." is stated lowly, almost reverant. "You still smell like me." Whatever that is supposed to mean, but interest shines in an old spark through his black eyes, blood trickling down through his nostril. He is fighting almost impossibly casual, with no real urge to win nor lose. As if it's a handy manner of focusing his thoughts... Through probably far too familiar methods.
COMBATSYS: Vanessa blocks Freeman's Phobia.
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Freeman 0/-------/----===|==-----\-------\0 Vanessa
Bringing either of her arms up, Vanessa can feel those claws slice cleanly through the material of her blazer and dress shirt-- further, to the flesh of her arms beneath. It's a familiar sting, the wrenching sensation that goes with the dermal layers being flayed... exhilerating, in its way. Bringing either of her arms down, the red stains blossoming along the material of the grey blazer in deep tones, there's a trickle of red that worms along her hands, her eyes fixed on Freeman.
There's no immediate response to his words; there's only the swift retaliation that comes against the man, her body gearing up to lay into him with as much force as necessary to put a quick end to this, no matter how 'interesting' the conversation promises to be...
COMBATSYS: Vanessa successfully hits Freeman with Puncher Weaving.
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Freeman 0/-------/=======|====---\-------\0 Vanessa
Instead of using any of the bizarre manner she takes with the move usually, Vanessa merely delivers each and every shot with as much momentum as she can put behind it. Once to his face, another to the side of the head, and one last one that comes in a sharp, -powerful- right hook to his jaw. Easing back, she says, "I don't know what the hell you mean by that," the stinging along her arms only serving to grow more noticable, "But I'm sure there's an explination in there somewhere."
This is already much like most of the pair's fights. Freeman isn't much a match against this particular fighter. She's enormously fast, dominates his weakness, and is difficult to hit let alone hurt. Paper versus scissors, but still that doesn't appear to be nearly why he avoids her. A masochistic man such as him would probably enjoy the perpetual pain that some fighters far greater can inflict. That doesn't mean he doesn't try to dodge; But he's clipped in the face, barely manages to wrench away from the other two, but the underhanded hook strikes him dead in the jaw. He staggers backwards, smearing the blood from his face before spitting to the side almost dismissive. He's fairly noticeably hurt, but other then that his demeanor is unchanged.
"You are marked with death, aren't you?" His eyes fall to Vanessa's hand, insinuating that of her ring. "You were... scarred... by it..." He raises his right hand, digging the fingers into the flesh and raking down. Blood explodes from his cheek, his lips spreading into a warped smile. "Scarred... but not as deep..."
COMBATSYS: Freeman focuses on his next action.
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Freeman 0/-------/=======|====---\-------\0 Vanessa
While she's minorly unnerved by the show Freeman gives of wrenching his own claws down the skin of his face, Vanessa doesn't appear as preturbed by it, or his words, as he could be. Anything he could say or do to her at this point is... overkill, in a sense. Everything between them has been brought to its natural conclusion well before today. For now, all that's left is what they've got; simple conversation.
"You said at one point that I'm dead inside," she replies coldly. "For a second I might have believed you-- might've seen something to it. But you're wrong-- people can be scarred by death but still see it fit to live in some way that's fulfilling. We don't all have to become exactly like you."
This, of course, heralds another quick attack against him, the boxer still as determined as before to see this through without much difficulty. She has no interest in him remaining anywhere near this place-- not when the sole intent is to relax, and find some minor solace.
COMBATSYS: Vanessa successfully hits Freeman with Machine Gun Puncher.
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Freeman 1/----===/=======|======-\-------\0 Vanessa
There it is. The same thing she's pummelled him with every single time they've fought. Six consecutive hits that juggle Freeman's head back and forth, back and forth, back and forth-- it doesn't let up until there's on last shot to his jaw, the intention to send him back and into the outstretched arms of the angel behind him, giving her some distance from the killer in the meantime.
"Don't, for one second, confused hurt with being -permanently deranged-. -You- continue to harm people, -well- beyond what anyone -ever- did to you. And for what purpose? To give them something precious-- or to suit your own aims, to continue the lifelong struggle of getting back at humanity for something that happened -years- ago?"
"You are dead inside." Freeman muses in a sovereign tone, and raises his bloodied hand in the air. Yet the hellish blow impacts him rather easily, and the five followups swiftly pierce his defenses as well. No, this is not really a fight. Was it ever? He's nothing without his passion for sure, and he doesn't appear to have a mote of it. He really does appear more inclined to the conversational part. This might be just as much a formality to him as sipping tea. But still that raised hand lingers, before he strikes out with it and attempts to clench Vanessa deftly by the throat. It's as quick as greased lightning, almost too simple and to the point.
COMBATSYS: Vanessa fails to counter Strong Throw from Freeman with Parrying Puncher.
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Freeman 1/----===/=======|=======\-------\1 Vanessa
And then the hand clenches, cutting off the delicious flow of blood to Vanessa's head in a less then condusive manner to continued consciousness. With almost too much ease he lifts her off the ground, a solid foot of air for her feet to dangle, strangling relentlessly with the stink of his own blood lingering in the air.
"And yet so am I. But do you not think I am jealous?" His eyes narrow dangerously, free hand clenching with a bloody snort. "To see another... able to /live/ after that?" And then he merely lifts Vanessa higher, managing a disturbingly sad grin. "I don't even have memories anymore. Now all I do is walk on the path of death, straddling it until someone sends me to the void..."
She should've seen that coming.
Attempting to lash out once his hand is making its way toward her throat, Vanessa, nonetheless, finds her air supply cut off by the hold she's put into. Coughing audibly as she's held above ground, either of her hands move to clutch at Freeman's wrist, bloodied fingernails digging deep into the flesh that's yielded to her to try and get the chokehold from being -too- brutal-- not to say it does anything. She's still at his mercy, regardless of her attempts to break free-- and this, ladies and gentlemen, makes for a rather disconcerting situation.
Given the lack of air supply, she defers to silence for the immediate moment, the inside of her lower lip caught tightly between her teeth as if to further hold her tongue. She knows what he's saying is far from true-- or at least, would -like- to think so. And that internal struggle is clearly making its way to the foreground of her thoughts, green eyes reflecting a moment of confusion as her nails dig in that much deeper.
And Freeman slowly raises his free hand, tilting his head to the side as if curious. He continues to hold her a few moments, as if to prove that he's still far from helpless. A boxer likely knows how to kick as well as Gen knows how to pick up women -- naught at all, and nothing else can reach his face. Nor would punching his rubber arm do a thing. But at least he lets go. Even though he unleashes a flash of crimson energy right towards Vanessa's face in the interim, attempting to knock her bloodily to the ground during the moment that he releases. But it could be capitalized upon to simply get completely out of the way. But once more, it appears to be at best a technicality.
"You... You stole death from me... That is why!" Freeman points a finger accusingly, and the hatred that he has bottled for weeks surges to the fore. "You made me /live/ in this cursed, painful world! I'll never forgive you... NEVER!" And then, all his cordial air vanishes. He looks to once more become the gibbering mess of an insane psychotic. One likely not much less deadly, however.
COMBATSYS: Freeman successfully hits Vanessa with Overkill.
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Freeman 1/--=====/=======|=======\===----\1 Vanessa
That gouge is driven immediately towards Vanessa's face and neck, the slashwounds digging deep into her despite all attempts made to simply get out of the way. Skidding back a good couple paces, the redhead loosens a light gasp as she blinks, her hand going slowly to her face as she brushes her fingers along the very edge of the serrated wound, her gaze flickering over towards Freeman once the sting rushes through her. There's a vague shudder in her shoulderline from that alone, but the pain isn't nearly as bad as it could be. And bloodloss, such as it is, isn't nearly as profound as it's been in times gone by.
"I -refused- to kill you," Vanessa replies sharply, apparently not making a move to retaliate just yet. "You don't -deserve- that kind of peace. Not -yet-, and not -ever- -- what you -deserve- is to remain -precisely as you are- -- -especially- with all the people you've needlessly -slaughtered-!" It seems now, and only now, some of that old vehemence is returning to the surface. "So -be- jealous, Freeman-- wish to christ and back that you could live on without as much suffering as you put yourself through. It'll never happen. Not even a policeman'd wanna see you killed; just left to -rot-, left -alive-. If you want me to kill you, you'll be -sorely- disappointed."
COMBATSYS: Vanessa focuses on her next action.
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Freeman 1/--=====/=======|=======\===----\1 Vanessa
"Heh."
This particular dismissive sound Freeman only reserves for the most heartfelt statements doen to him, that he really has no care to respond to. Yet regardless of that herald, he still speaks in a much more dark and morbid tone, licking the blood from his fingers in a now quite common gesture while glancing towards the statues around.
"Such sheer malice, girl... That torture is better then death. You do have the heart of a murderer. You only fear the finality of it. Of the change. Yes; There is, at first. It was hard for me. Hard to accept... what I was." Freeman then slides his stance to either side, slowly bringing up his arms. "But it is okay. I don't want you to kill me. You are too weak for that. Too selfish and blind to realize that the deaths of many all lay upon your fear of sending me to oblivion. I killed a girl just a couple days ago... And a stupid little man with tickling electricity begged me not to kill her. Begged me! Ha!"
And then he surges with crimson energy, flaring around Freeman as the world flashes black. It does appear that he's in an offensive state of mind, as he then unleashes a horrendous blast of energy straight towards Vanessa; One that explodes the path towards her, a thin but impossibly sharp crescent aimed right for her... well, tender chest regions. No mercy for him, not in the slightest. His other arm then flashes downwards, aiming to strike her from the head to the hip in a devestating manner.
COMBATSYS: Freeman successfully hits Vanessa with Double Overkill.
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Freeman 0/-------/---====|=======\======-\1 Vanessa
There's one thing Vanessa's learned in her tenure among other fighters within the town. Namely, that no holds are barred-- the outrage she has at what she's told is the first thing that sets her up for the assault, her mouth opening to start shouting back at him-- only to be silenced by the -infinitely- painful gouge that digs into the flesh of her breasts, the material of her shirt splitting open just as nearly. Not enough taht she's rendered indecent, but the show of his handiwork is only crisscrossed by the powerful wave that comes afterwards, throwing her back and to the ground with the force that's put behind it.
To claim there was no sound to come in reaction to the pain would be a lie. THe outcry that got wrenched from her from the first attack is only exacerbated by the second-- and the blood that pours from the wounds are neatly saturating the ground beneath her. A shudder, at first, as she seeks to right herself, to draw herself back to her feet in some meager attempt to regain her lost equilibrium. Nonetheless... that -hurt-. More than it should. In response? ...Well. There's the rush that takes her in close to the man, the rest of the actions dictated by the response time he's got--
COMBATSYS: Freeman endures Vanessa's Dash Puncher.
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Freeman 0/-------/-======|=======\=======\1 Vanessa
Swing and a hit. The usual uppercut meant straight for Freeman's face. No more description necessary, except the words that come from her. "You -sick shit-!" is shouted, the woman enraged all the more by the awful stinging along her chest, which... well, gravity isn't helping. "You think I won't kill you because I'm -afraid-?! -FUCK- you! That's -all- you want! If I wanted you dead I would've let Whip -kill you right then and there- when she had the chance! Just because I want to see someone as -insideous- as you suffer doesn't make me anywhere -near- what you are!"
It seems that conversation is paused for the time being.
And Freeman appears to be making quite the comeback, despite the far from stellar beginning that he had. He actually snaps towards Vanessa as she does the same towards him. The blow impacts him in a tremendous manner, sending him skidding backwards with his claws raking the stone of the path below. But like some sick manner of cat he then hurls himself towards Vanessa, a blur of motion that could be lost in a blink.
One hand flashes out, right towards Vanessa's stomach in a devestating manner meant to disembowel. He then rolls, and attempts to strike the same spot a /second/ time, sheer force towards one of the most vulnerable -- and painful -- parts of the human body most assuredly.
"Why... didn't you let me die?" is asked, almost accusingly, in their obvious pain. He doesn't hide this, but rather then the sort that one would laugh at, it's the manner that's so vulnerable, so genuine, that it is almost sickening.
COMBATSYS: Freeman successfully hits Vanessa with Crow.
[ \\\\\\ < > /// ]
Freeman 1/-------/=======|>>>>>>>\>>>>>>>\2 Vanessa
At this point, there's no real need for Vanessa to register the pain she's enduring. The shots to her stomach, -surprisingly-, don't send her backwards. She stands poised where she is, the damage she takes eating at her all the more. The only thing she wants, and -needs-, is to get off one more devestating assault on him-- and that's really all that matters to her.
"-Because you don't -fucking- deserve it-!" she shouts back at him, and without pomp or ceremony-- or further word for that matter-- she moves towards him with the same speed she's used against him time and time again, praying to feel the give of flesh beneath her fists for another devestating round--
COMBATSYS: Freeman endures Vanessa's Champion Puncher.
[ < > /// ]
Freeman 1/--=====/=======|=======\-------\1 Vanessa
--And once again, here it comes. The bulldozing strength tha the woman holds claim to barreling down on the serial killer with every ounce of it levelled straight at him. Her fatigue, the obvious pain of so much shifting given all of the lacerations she's been subject to since all this began-- everything is filtered into this attack, her fists pummelling into him time and time again in an unholy rain of assaults. She's not about to let him -try- to respond to it-- and the moment she's got him back against that kneeling angel, her fist *SLAMS* against his face to knock his head back against the marble behind him, her breath coming in sharp whuffs as she takes a couple steps back.
"You havn't earned that right. But I'll tell you what-- the moment you start showing so much as an -inch- of regret... that'll be the day I snap your neck without hesitation. But since that's not fucking -likely-, I'll be more than happy to watch you sit through this personal -hell- you've got going."
The angel cracks, splintering from the force shot through Freeman. Almost slowly the cracks spread more, and for a moment the statue remains whole. Before the entirety falls around the man, who manages to grasp the arm long enough to keep from falling down. His right hand flickers with energy, swirling, before he then merely slashes out. The world only flickers in shadows from his fading injuries, and it's lethargic as well.
But the assaults are unusually concentrated. Two explosions of razor chi, one to either side of Vanessa's neck, hard enough to easily cut to the jugular.
Shink. Shink
And then he sinks to his knees, obviously badly injured but likely not half as much as Vanessa, whether she wins or loses. But he manages to brace his hands upon the ground, coughing bloodily. "You think... I don't regret it..." Freeman states with a wry grin. "I do. I hate what I am, you stupid bitch. I feel... like a bloated king, cursed to forever eat delicious food despite the fact it's destroying him due to the insatiable lust from the inside out... Bloating... Bloating... Never to split, never to die!" He then begins to laugh merrily, losing all sense of balance and collapsing on his side. He's still conscious, but obviously has a concussion of some sort. Fun.
COMBATSYS: Freeman can no longer fight.
[ \\\ <
Vanessa 1/-------/=======|
COMBATSYS: Freeman successfully hits Vanessa with Double Overkill.
[ <
Vanessa 1/----===/=======|
There's only one thing that's good about this. And that's the fact that Vanessa's able to move in such a way that gets her neck out of range of that slice, her shoulder caught by the burning energy that slams into her. The second comes with just as much ferocity, targetting the same blood-slickened skin that the first hit, sending her back against the fountain with relative ease. Not -into-.. yet. As is, getting splashed by some cold water would likely feel -good- right now, especially considering the overt amount of bloodloss she's suffering in the meantime.
Everything hurts. And those lacerations continue to sting as though touched by salt along the outer edges of the wounds. Dizzied, blood running from lips and nose as well as numerous other places along her form, the boxer leans against the fountain, gasping plainly at the air around her to try and take the edge off. It's not working, mind...
"You're a liar," she hisses at him. "...a fucking liar... willing to say whatever the hell you can to get what you want..." Breathe. Focus. Try and bring the world to a stop in its attempts to spin wildly. "Not even regret's enough for a shit like you... never will be..." Another heave of her lungs, her arm crossing gingerly over the slice along her chest, attempting to not only stave off the bleeding, but take some of the weight off. "You'll never come close... to earning what you're looking for."
COMBATSYS: Vanessa takes no action.
COMBATSYS: Vanessa can no longer fight.
"You are just afraid. Afraid of killing me..." Freeman mumbles out, trembling and rolling onto his knees. His head took quite a lot of damage; Although nothing was fractured, his brain got the equivalent of a paint mixer treatment through the process. He's durable enough to not have much worry about internal bleeding. Not if Ryu shattered his ribs and his jaw twice as hard as either of those blows earlier. It still hurts to breathe, although the constant pain is almost pleasant.
Freeman tries to raise, but appears to still have absolutely no equilibrium. He collapses backwards, leaning against the remaining stump of the angel behind and coughing rasply, hand very weakly traveling upwards to brush the blood from his eyes and mouth and nose.
And then he begins to laugh, although it hurts him. "This... is kind of funny..." is stated with a grin towards Vanessa, both fighters likely not much able to move for a healthy period of time. The light show was rather dim; People in the Estate might not of noticed, given the muted sounds. "But you... might die..." is mumbled out, as if this might not be something he presently desires.
He's right. As much as she's loathe to admit it, he's right. The injuries sustained could lapse into chronic bloodloss too soon for comfort. So it's in this that she's praying her cellphone still has a charge-- enough of one that she can get a call to the hospital out. Hell, if it's not busted into pieces, even better...
"...Fuck you," she growls, sinking down towards the ground despite all efforts to stay upright. "...you just keep telling yourself that I'm afraid to kill you," is the continuance, her tone still low, biting... venomous. "Besides... what the hell do you care, if I live or die?" she says then to his latter statement. "...jealous?" This is said with a quirky grin, her body leaning back against the fountain as her vision blurs all the more. "You just wish... you were me right now... don't you?" Each of the words are spoken softly through the gentle breaths drawn in, the verbage becoming all the more incoherent as she continues to talk. Consciousness is slipping fast-- the bloodloss getting to her more and more as her adrenaline wanes considerably.
Somewhere, distantly, she knows she's shaking. But there's nothing she can do to stave it off. "...wish you could see... what it was really like..." There's a smile, slow to her lips as her eyes drift to halfmast. "...you wish..." Breathe. "...wish you could see the man you lost..." Eyes drift shut, then. Serenity, perhaps; the relinquishing of consciousness threatening to occur all the more. "...you never will, Freeman," she murmurs, then. "...but I will..."
Spitting to the side, Freeman slowly pushes himself to his feet. First he braces his legs, arms limp and back arched forward. It's almost comical, and twice he almost collapses to his side. But grasping his face, he manages to retain consciousness, and his truly prominent upright position. And then he merely observes Vanessa through lidded eyes, face a mask of red from split skin and severe poundings.
He didn't want to win. He wasn't supposed to. He even stayed away from his strongest technique. Curious. Curious how death always descends unannounced, no matter how familiar one has become with it.
And then Freeman drags his feet towards Vanessa, grasping his aching ribs. A tongue extends from his slicked lips, smacking as if it's a delicious delicacy. He's already more or less recovering; Being punched to the ground is like a massage compared to being peeled to the bone all over one's body. Probably that he could kill her in this state, wait until she passes out, thrust her head into the fountain, hold her there...
But these thoughts flit away as he moves towards Vanessa. She never managed to make a call on her cellphone. A scan to the buildings show empty windows, closed doors, no people having come to investigate in this more remote area. Once more he drops his eyes downwards, apparently apt to see what Vanessa does at a much closer range.
She's still teetering on that edge. She hasn't gone to waste yet...
Vanessa's eyes only open a bit more as Freeman closes in on her, what wafting fear there may have been in concerns to fading out like this having left her completely. Maybe it is the bloodloss-- the last release of dopamines and seratonin, washing away the bitter edge of losing out completely. Or maybe it's just the comforting warmth that comes in direct response to the oxymoronical chill along her limbs. Everything's so faint-- the light shudders, the slowed, shallow sound of her breath.
There are no words that herald the gaze that alights upon the murderer. There's no further quips or attempts to rile him. There's just an odd kind of recognition. An equally silent understanding of what he wanted, and what's been transferred on to her. It's only after a good, long few moments of silence that she loosens a light cough, her eyelids once again growing heavy.
"...what is it those kids are saying these days?" she muses aloud, not even to Freeman specifically. With her own weight seeming lessened, the limb that crosses over her chest sinking down, she adds, "Oh, right..." A light chuckle, faint enough to be a titter. "...'see you on the flipside.'" Breath, a welcome commodity, begins to grow all the more shallow. Eyes finally lapse to shut, expression growing lax, despite the whimsical look that's touched to her features. Cinematic as the last line might be, the complete shut-down of her consciousness is far from it. It simply happens. While it's not likely she'll die with any immediately, if left untended-- it could be a matter of hours.
There's a snort from Vanessa, before Freeman just shakes his head. To nothing but the darkness, that skipped him and grasped Vanessa. It's almost weird, to realize that odd facet of himself. Someone suicidal being a murderer. But he dismisses those thoughts, not enjoying them in the slightest. She found him in a disturbingly insightful mood, and it's already ebbing away. Yet this isn't her time to die, at least as far as Freeman is concerned. His hands grope around her pockets with the gentleness of a man squeezing butter from bricks, but not for her wallet. Instead he yanks out the cellphone, flipping it open and punching in '911'. He waits a moment, pressing it to his ear.
"This is Freeman. If you do not want another body, trace the call." And then he tosses the still-on cellphone onto Vanessa's lap. He begins to turn away, before eyeing her ring. Almost turns back. But then he simply starts to limp away, very slowly and with the strength of a kitten. The simple burst of using a cellphone stripped him away, and the less friendly void is lingering in the fringe of his vision. The irony of saying that to emergency personel then collapsing unconscious near her is not lost to him. But he manages. Vanessa actually helped him, in a way he tried his hardest to avoid. The mirror she raises to his inside self stood clear longer this time then usual -- but still, the inward hope that she'll still die anyway and that reflection forever shattered boils in the back of his mind..
Log created by Vanessa, and last modified on 08:36:30 05/23/2005.