Description: Luc's weakness exposed?! THIS LOG IS SCANDALOUS!!! D: D: D:
Drake heads to the beach.
Southtown's summers are legendary.
In the late afternoon hours above the sprawling campus of Pacific High, the sun boils in a sky without color. It is a hard white painful boil in the heavens, and down on the city, it makes a heavy, humid heat so formidable that it is like a hands pressing down on your ribcage, like getting a noseful of thickness, like breathing molasses, every time you try to inhale. The coastal moisture is like an extra blanket added down on the world, and as that searing sun brings in the heat, it traps and keeps it there, and anyone who can feel it is left to suffer the daylight hours away.
Or bask in it.
On a Sunday, the campus is generally seen sparse of students, and today is no exception. The stifling heat has relegated the more intelligent to remain indoors, and the courtyard and distant school fields are left vast and empty, only the lone student or two milling about, or reclining somewhere, huddled in the shade.
Few are here, and even fewer would think to look up. If they did, squinting past the glare of the sun crouching lowly in the Western sky, they would see something very curious -- a distant, dark figure sprawled across the roof of one of the campus's buildings. It's a girl, dressed in white, with one arm and one leg hung over the side of the building, dangling down. She's not moving.
The first question would be how she got up there. But the second, and most important question, would be: ...is she asleep?
Marinating in the fierce, ruthless sunlight, lounging precariously like a cat would, Pás most certainly is.
Sweltering heat. Even for those born and raised in Southtown, the sharp contrast of its winters and its summers are still something that is hard to truly adjust to; for those who don't hail from here? It's like some sort of an unexpected hell in more ways than one. Students that patrol the largely empty campus of Pacific High today are either in the process of sweating out the entirety of the water in their bodies, or complaining of the heat, or both. It's a day, combined with the humidity, that favors indoor activities. Well.
For those of the populace of Southtown that are complete wimps, in any case.
Still, for most students, Pacific High is NOT the place they want to be on their day offs; only real go-getters, or nerds, or just plain losers would typically come out here if they could help it. The halls are largely empty, the outdoor courtyards quiet save for the occasional chirpings of birds, the faint rummaging of janitors throughout the area. But still; it's quiet. It's empty. For the most part... except for on a lone rooftop. Typically, only go-getters, nerds, or just plain losers would come out to Pacific High on a weekend if they could help it. So, it begs the question -- which of these is Pás?
Lounging alone in the epitome of languid laziness, the Brazilian seems to be taking her time to enjoy basking in the sun, at school of all places. There are better locations to be. And certain people, certain Germans, would rather be dead than waste away his day at a place he hardly frequents in the first place. So then--
"... hey. Hey, idiot. Wake up."
--Why, exactly, is Luc Schroedinger here on the rooftop that Pás has grown so comfortable on?
Who knows how long he's been there, or even how /he/ managed to get up to the top of the roof. Regardless of these questions, the young German is here now, sitting on the edge of the building opposite from where Pás so precariously dangles. Green eyes are half-lidded in an expression of boredom, his voice an absolute deadpan; but considering he's only one of two people here, it can be no doubt who he's talking to. Whether she knows him or not doesn't matter. Luc isn't here to get friendly.
"You're the new girl, right?" He could mean to the school, but the way Luc speaks the words should make it clear -- 'new girl' to the team. After all.
Who gives a crap about the school?
Heart to hearth she lies along the building's roof, head lolled sideways in rest upon the lip of the edging, that long, raven hair tousled upon her shoulder. An expert sleeper, she's appeared to have found a fantastic pillow even out of stone.
There she naps, limbs thrown every so way and askance, the sun beating down on the long line of her back, the strings of her tied top unknotted emboldenly as not to mottle her tan. Fast asleep, the girl pays the world no further heed, remaining ever so dead to it.
Then someone speaks to her. At those first words, she doesn't even rustle. She doesn't bat an eye. She's a very deep sleeper.
Then that someone speaks again. He is replied with distant snoring.
Considerable time passes, as the alleged new girl seems to find her fitful sleep much more engaging than errant Germans. For the longest of minutes, she doesn't even humour him with a response. It's enough of a time for him to speak again to her. For him to start yelling. For him to start moving towards that lazy girl--
--When Sleeping Brazilian awakens. Her eyelids flutter, lashes winging faintly as consciousness wrenches her from the warm realm of half-sleep her mind had resided in. She voices a murmur, a sound strung together with groggy mumbles of such half-pronounced words that sound of some distant, foreign language that's vaguely Romantic in tongue. She rasps in a breath, her dark eyes creasing against the onslaught of bright daylight.
Shifting drowsily, Pás lifts herself up to one arm, turning to face Luc to squint at him. "Oi?" she yawns thickly. And doesn't seem to notice that, as she stretches, her shirt hasn't joined her since she first moved. Untied, it's still left behind on the roof.
"..."
Luc's right eyebrow twitches as he watches in an almost unusual moment of silence for him, watching the girl as she does little more than sleep. There are few things in life that do not manage to irritate the Schroedinger heir. Being ignored is not one of them, whether the person is sleeping or not. A sneaker'd foot taps against the ground in an impatient gesture. Luc, however, is in a good mood today; where usually he would have just immediaterly picked up anything nearby and chucked it at the Brazillian's head without a second thought, he finds himself waiting without so much as a single violent gesture.
But time passes. "... fucking retard. Are you dead?" He pauses, scratching long fingers against the back of his head. "'Cause that would be really pathetic." The thought of him speaking to a corpse doesn't really evoke much emotion or thought beyond that; someone dying lounging on a rooftop, to Luc, would be the stupidest thing he's ever heard of. He waits longer.
Luc's good mood, however, only extends to about a minute. After that sixty-second mark, it seems that something automatically clicks inside his brain, and he slowly stands, and dusts off his pants. His right hand slipping into his pockets, his left scratches at the inside of his ear in an idle gesture as he strolls over to Pás. When close enough, he looks down at her with a frown. His right foot pulls back. The pose is very reminiscent of a soccer player preparing to punt the ball as hard as he can. Pás should be able to appreciate that much.
It just about when Luc's sneaker starts swinging downward towards the Brazillian's exposed side that it comes to a sudden, screeching halt. She's pulling up--
--and Luc's foot stops just in front of her torso. Where her shirt is not.
"..."
This time, Luc's eyebrow twitches for an entirely different reason. This time, he stares in silence for an entirely different reason. "Wha--" He pauses. His mouth opens. Shuts.
"...You're--you're not wearing a shirt." He notes. There is the slightest of stammers to that statement.
"...
"... What the HELL IS WRONG WITH YOU?!"
And, still balancing on one foot, for the first time in his life Luc topples backwards for reasons OTHER than getting physically knocked down, "Hey--hey! Put your shirt back on, dumbass!" As a tribute, he's not blushing. But he's not feeling very comfortable.
And Luc hates to feel awkward.
Lazily, like she has all the time in the world, and casually, like she owns the place, Pás pulls herself up. She twists and rolls her neck, her back arching as she walks her hands forward and stretches again, her body elongating briefly. She shakes again, like she's shouldering off the last weights of sleep, tossing her long hair away and sitting back, her legs bent away from her at either sides.
And she's also not wearing a shirt.
But the sleepy Brazilian is a picture of innocence, blinking her eyes until the focus comes back to them, and staring those big browns over at Luc when he falls over onto his ass. She seems to notice him then. Her head tilts with lazy half-interest. When he finally shouts his order at her, she squints and purses her full mouth, looking at him with the sincere confusion of the truly ignorance.
"Shirt?" the half-naked girl echoes. She furrows her brow, frowning with contemplation. She taps her bottom lip with a long finger. "Shirt, shirt... that is-- Ahhhhh, I must forget the English!"
Deeply, with profound concentration, Pás considers the foreign meaning of this word he keeps shouting. Shirt, shirt--
With widened eyes, and a little, "Oh!" she reaches across herself to pick up the scant, little piece of material she left behind. Beaming at Luc, expecting praise, she holds it at bay. "Is this shirt?" Then reconsideration fells her. Her face darkens again. "No... it must not be." Dismissively, she casts it aside.
Then, without warning, she veers right on him. In a single, fluid movement, like the sneaky way water gets into things, she leans right into him, all big eyes, big smiles, and bigger -- other things. And still no shirt. Walking forward on her hands, body outstretched, her face close to his, the Brazilian reaches out to twine fingers with the edge of his jacket, giving the material an inquiring tug. "Is this... 'shirt?'"
Any other situation, Luc would be pissed off enough to just punt the Brazillian of the roof. And that is, in fact, his original intention. If she's a fighter, she would be able to survive it, and then Luc would have proper justification to begin the beatdown. He enjoys this plan quite a bit, and there's even a slight spark of black fire that dances along the tip of his shoe as it swings -- but then she has to go and ruin everything.
Pás just HAS to make things awkward.
It's a situation that has the German landing flat on his rear with an unpleasant thud, the result -- fortunately -- keeping him far away from the Brazillian girl. This doesn't make her any less topless, though, and this in the end just distracts him from the reason he came up here in the first place. Entirely violent motivations for the first time in a long time become muddled, and Luc doesn't like it. He doesn't like it one bit.
But that doesn't exactly keep it from stopping. Luc drags backwards a little across the ground, somehow forgetting how to stand up. The girl speaks, but he hardly even registers it, instead staring almost blankly. "... what? Don't you know English, stupid? A SHIRT." Luc's annoyance allows him coherency, and slowly he begins to take control once more, eyes narrowing and lips frowning distinctly -- even if his stare wanders. "S-H-I-R-T. And people call me an idiot. You've got to be some kind of down--"
His words cut off almost instantly as he suddenly finds Pás on top of him, far too close for comfort. She's breached what is normally the Luc Personal Space Bubble and then gone far and beyond that -- daring to even go so far as to TOUCH him and his jacket. He stares blankly at the half-naked girl now so dangerously close. Green eyes are wide and dumbfounded as she grasps his jacket, positions herself so close to him. And then?
In an instant, those eyes narrow. What the hell is wrong with you..." He starts slowly, tearing his eyes AWAY from Pás as his lips peel back in a sneer. At that moment, the Brazillian might see one, distinct thing: Luc's hand lifting. In a fist.
And coming crashing down STRAIGHT for her face, sheathed in explosive black power.
"... PUT ON YOUR SHIRT AND FIGHT ME!!"
Luc won't allow himself to be confused by shirtless girls.
He'd like to think.
COMBATSYS: Luc has started a fight here.
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Luc 0/-------/-------|
COMBATSYS: Pas has joined the fight here.
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Luc 0/-------/-------|-------\-------\0 Pas
COMBATSYS: Pas counters Fierce Punch from Luc with Branded Mule.
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Luc 0/-------/-----==|=------\-------\0 Pas
Their lids heavy and half-hooded, those brown eyes of hers smile lazily up at him. They are glazed over in a frosting of innocence.
And less lazy, and much less innocent, her reaching arm suddenly turns its elbow, moving with sharp, deft speed to block his sudden attack. For half a second, her long fingers press down.
The Brazilian's sleepy frown hasn't changed. She leans in ever closer, her face a breath from his, and she murmurs in a warm, moist voice: "Silly German boy. One needn't a shirt for that."
Her mouth crushes over his, planting down a fierce, taunting kiss. It breaks with a sudden laugh, and not even an instant later, not even an eyeblink, she's moved. In a whirl of movement, she's turned him into a vaulting horse, suddenly leapt over Luc's shoulder and hitting the roof with her hands, landing in a handstand at the sitting boy's turned back.
Her bare feet ensconce with sudden, blinding sparks. Then they bury dead center into his back, to kick him forward -- with that extra dish of concussive chi to try to blast him right off the side of the building.
He's back in control now. He knows what to do, and no girl is going to make him stop. His attack blocked, a wicked grin begins to split Luc's lips in the wake of that traditional Schroedinger madness.
"Whatever!! Shirt or no shirt, I'm going to kick your ass--" Begins his exclamation, preparing his other fist to make a second punch before she can respond in time. But she DOES respond in time. And faster with him, in an action that completely stops his swinging fist, and effectively stops his wild words.
Being kissed against your will has a tendency to do that.
Green eyes snap wide in the wake of feeling a GIRL KISSING HIM. Most are either shying away from him or, much less often, punching him in the face. Not kissing it. The sudden, unexpected action leaves Luc sitting wide-eyed and dumbfounded as he finds himself kissing the Brazillian who has already managed to confuse him to wit's end and anger him faster than most.
She's now officially topped the charts and tipped him over the edge.
Ironically, it's the physical abuse afterwards that brings Luc back to his senses. As he's vaulted over, and the feeling of being struck by sheer physical force registers in his mind, his eyes bulge with the sensation of chi burning and smacking him /forward/, off the ground and, helpfully, back on his feet. The concussive chi hurts, but it doesn't quite send him blasting off the edge of the building; he stops his stumble just in time. His back is smoking. And Luc... is /laughing./
"I'm... GONNA KICK YOUR ASS, SHIRTLESS OR NOT!" One motion and the German's right hand snaps backwards at the end of his stumble, seeking out Pás throat. His momentum does not come to an end. Instead? Instead, he keeps MOVING, hopefully with the Brazillian in tow, to launch both himself /and/ her right off the edge of the roof as seemed to be her original intention. If successful, they'll go flying, and the germ will thrust her in /front/ of him, slamming a hand into her sternum before ushering forth a churning, burning blast of black-blue chi.
Serves her right for kissing him.
COMBATSYS: Pas endures Luc's Medium Throw.
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Luc 0/-------/----===|===----\-------\0 Pas
Landing into a crouch, her long hair tossed, Pás only gets a moment to swipe back her discarded halter top before Luc swipes back her throat. Even with her neck swallowed inside his fist, her face hasn't lost its wily look, and she seems all too casual about it, as if already prepared, as if already read his mind through their liplock to know what's yet to come.
Pás is very ready for Luc to drag her over the side of the building. In fact, she was hoping he would. She wants to see what he's worth.
Pulled off the roof and into the air, she has only a moment's sensation of freefall, the kicked-up wind wonderful against her skin and through her hair. Then the ground, reality with it, comes up hard, and even with her neck grabbed, Pás still twists to catch it under her feet. She has only a moment to get her bearings before Luc finishes his attack, her feet skidding off the grass again as he pitches her away in an open-palmed strike of chi.
The Brazilian girl goes skidding across the earth, falling still in a cloud of earth and dust.
And laughter.
Slowly, coughingly, Pás is pushing herself back up, her almost-forgotten top held clenched between her teeth. She spits it out into her hands and very generously ties it back around her body, finally putting an end to her unlawful exposure. She rubs a hand over the raw, burnt spot on her bare stomach, and through a wild grin, she tells Luc soundly, "You hit as good as you kiss, Cavalo."
She winks. Then she rushes straight at him, kicking off the dirt, all that power in her body narrowed into a fast lunge that drives her forward. She returns his favour with a sudden headbutt aimed right at his ribs.
COMBATSYS: Luc fails to interrupt Zidane's Revenge from Pas with Hellacious Headbutt.
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Luc 0/-------/--=====|===----\-------\0 Pas
If she wants to see what he's worth, she'll be getting a good chance to soon enough. This particular maneuver isn't even remotely his best; it's fairly obvious in how basic and barbaric the toss is, no matter how much power it might have thrown behind it. With the final, churning sphere of power, Luc makes his point known... but he also feels something distinct in his maneuvers. The Brazillian doesn't try a defense. She doesn't; she just takes the whole, savage toss down to the ground floor of the school. Like a man. A man with breasts. It makes Luc's grin widen, and as he lands, he lands with a bark of maddened laughter.
"GREAT!"
He doesn't have time for that, however. As soon as they land, Pás makes her commentary, and instantly his grin is replaced with a frown and a look of irritated confusion, "What? Does that mean--maaan, whatever." He decides ultimately that it doesn't matter. And why? Because she's charging right at him, head-first. So what is Luc's respond?
He ducks down, crouching low to the ground... and rushes FORWARD, straight for Pás. He becomes a blur of motion as he lances out headfirst, intent on slamming HIS head into hers. Instead? He underestimates her speed significantly, and in a sudden twist of his body, he is struck in the shoulder, the counter-force causing his charge to come to an abrupt stop. The force is great enough to push him BACK, thrusting him into the ground with a skidding thud. Still? He grins, nice and wide.
"That's MORE LIKE IT!"
Straightening her back and tightening her neck, Pás absorbs the shock of her head connecting with his shoulder, the recoiled strength in her attack giving both of them a vicious trajectory. She catches herself, curling her spine and handspringing, catching herself into a crouch, her hands on her knees. The position doesn't last for long; she starts to move again, and keeps moving.
Is it her style? Or does she just like to show off? Not a hard choice to make, considering how long she preferred to keep her shirt off. But Pás pushes herself back to a handstand, almost preferring to see the world when it's inverted. Her legs lazily scissoring open, her body turning under her constant, expert direction, she pauses only momentarily, on one hand, when Luc gives his remark.
Her lazy, upside-down smile beams back. "Glad to satisfy you," the Brazilian tells him wryly.
Then again, with that ruthless quickness of hers, she flips off her handstand and pushes herself into the air. With him still on the ground, she arrows down after, those feet of hers aiming to try to slam their dusty heels right into his face.
COMBATSYS: Luc interrupts Change-Up Kick from Pas with Tyrant Strike.
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Luc 0/-------/-======|=====--\-------\0 Pas
See, compliments from Luc don't mean that he's left himself wide open for an attack. No, usually, those kind of vicious, maddened sort of 'praises,' if they can be called that, are just a prelude to one specific thing: pain. And lots of it. Despite his position on the ground, Luc is no less defenseless than any other time. A fact that Pás will get to learn soon enough.
As Pás so elegantly flips backwards and moves into a handstand, Luc's expression dulls again, watching with an unamused expression on his features. Puzzled at first, his expression shifts to one of irritation soon after; not due to the girl's words, but rather, her actions. Watching as she pushes off into the air, he narrows his eyes. Sooner than she might think or expect, he's on his feet... and leaping straight at Pás as she descends down towards him.
"What are you doing..." He starts, as he ascends rapidly. His right foot snaps upward in a lancing kick as his body inverts. And the moment Pás' heel graze the German's face, she'll feel the solid rubber of his sneaker crashing into her unprotected gut.
"This ISN'T A DANCE-OFF, IT'S A FIGHT!! GRAAAAH!!"
In that moment, black chi spirals around his leg before it EXPLODES outward in a miniature tidal wave of power, seeking to knock the Brazillian right out of the sky with the burst of energy as he continues to ascend with a bellowing roar.
Sudden contact breaks through her attack, and Luc is treated to the momentary glimpse of surprise that gives clarity to the Brazilian's otherwise smiling face. It connects soundly, and the subsequent explosion throws her backward, the ground coming up fast and close. She strikes the ground with her shoulder, then immediately twists, catching herself on the second roll with a straightened arm.
Quickly, her body still moving, on a turn Pás catches Luc with her dark eyes. She tightens her limbs and throws herself into a fierce front handspring, arrowing up after the German. One foot tries to catch into one of those straps on his pants. And, like a stirrup, she's going to try to use it to bring that other leg in something fierce, to hook him straight in the side.
If that first attack connects, it won't be the last.
Her voice is quick and airy, but never devoid of its perpetual humour, "They're one and the same, Cavalo. The only difference now is that the man isn't leading."
COMBATSYS: Luc blocks Pas' Devil's Crossroads.
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Luc 1/-------/=======|======-\-------\0 Pas
Satisfying, is a good way to term the feeling of striking the Brazllian solidly, sending her crashing down to the ground below. With a complete look of non-chalance and hardly-restrained enthusiasm, the German lands shortly afterwards in a simple crouch, the black chi around his leg fizzling out almost immediately. "Heh."
Straightening casually, Luc dusts off his shirt, rolls his neck. He looks with an almost bored expression towards Pás, a brow slowly quirking at her words. That curious quirk of his brow becomes a narrowing of eyes. Cave-aa-loo? He doesn't pretend to know what that means. He does know what her next words imply, though, and as she speaks them, his lips turn down into a frown.
"What a fucking joke."
The moment that Pas's foot should strike his pants-straps, Luc's left leg lifts. His foot SLAMS down against her own, stopping her preemptively. The strike to his side is met with only a sudden snap-out of his right hand, intercepting the powerful kick with his palm and a decided grunt of effort. Still, with both her legs caught, and him having a hand free, there's really little more for him to do...
... but sling his left fist out to slug her straight across the face, accompanied by a sudden lancing BURST of power.
"Everyone's so DAMN WITTY."
COMBATSYS: Pas just-defends Luc's Medium Punch!
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Luc 1/-------/=======|======-\-------\0 Pas
Those brown eyes of hers widen momentarily when his fast foot cuts hers short, then, in the same instant, he catches her kick clean out of nowhere. Held there precariously at Luc's whim, with only that astounding flexibility to help her, if Pás were a sane girl, a sensible girl, she would be considering looking just a little uncertain at that moment.
But she is neither.
Caught in mid-attack, Pás only has the sense to look a little demure. Then, after a beat, she amends her own remark amusedly, "Or... perhaps he does lead."
With one leg still tethered to the ground, the other forced high into the air, Pás has only a moment to respond to the sudden attack Luc forces her way. She twists, and blocks it with a forearm, turning her arm neatly, but quickly, to storm off the attack. Still, with both her legs trapped, and her uncompromising rule never to attack with her hands, what is the girl to do?
Pás has already learned of an ace that can trump him.
"German!" she suddenly tells him, thickly, "You have hands like you've handled a woman before. Am I not your first?"
She suddenly veers forward -- not to strike, not to punch. But to kiss him again, harshly, straight on the mouth. It's the moment of distraction she needs from him, one she hopes she surely gets.
If she does, that slippery Brazilian immediately leans right back, those tethered legs of hers suddenly trying to kick free with a renewed power. She bends back, cleanly, deeply, her hands hitting the dirt. Then those legs suddenly come alive once more, scissoring shut, aiming to try to trap his neck between her knotted ankles.
Pás winks. Then, from her feet, lets erupt a fiery blast of chi.
COMBATSYS: Pas successfully hits Luc with Sanduich de Calabresa.
- Power hit! -
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Luc 1/----===/=======|=======\-------\1 Pas
Somehow, some way, this stupid Brazillian girl is getting Luc's thoughts completely out of whack. While usually in his element when fighting, moreso than most, she is completely circumventing all his efforts, and it leaves him confused, angry, and -- in a completely rare event -- flustered.
And that just pisses him off even more, so you can barely imagine how angry he is at this very moment.
Feeling his attack completely nullified, the German snarls, attempting to prepare himself for another assault. Yet, as he does, Pás is already preparing another one of her own. What's his solution? He's going to just charge forward, straight into the attack, power through it and punch this stupid girl straight across the entire campus. And then maybe he'll even staple her shirt to her body. Because clearly, this women has warlock powers that come from her chest.
It's a solid plan, but something happens. She speaks. She speaks, and what she asks completely throws him off once more. Blinking, he pauses completely in his charge, stares, and then begins to reply, "What kind of question is that to ask in a fi--?!" But he's cut off. Her feet catch him in the neck, and then suddenly... he's blasted with an unpleasant /surge/ of power. In truth, it's not extraordinarily painful. But off-guard as he is, it's enough to send him REELING backwards, his head smoking. But even so...? He's grinning. Grinning wide, and grinning in a way that suggests he's completely gone over the edge. Luc, after all, has a positive reaction to getting the crap beat out of him in most cases.
But what is he to do? The answer comes to him before the Brazillian even finishes her attack. As soon as he staggers backwards, he sweeps DOWN, his hands snapping out to grasp the nearest thing he can find -- a trashcan. And in one smooth motion... he rushes FORWARD, intent to slam the entire metal mass downward straight into the source of all his problems--
--Pás' chest.
"GRAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!!!"
COMBATSYS: Pas fails to interrupt Random Weapon from Luc with Thrown Object.
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Luc 1/---====/=======|=======\===----\1 Pas
A sharp flip turns her back up to her feet. Immediately, her weight shifts, going immediately slothful, her hand rested to her hip.
As Luc goes for the trash can, Pás tilts her head. But if she's not anything, she's adaptable. The girl shrugs a bit to herself, and looks for her own object of choice. There, pitted among the grass and gravel, is a small stone that fits easily inside her hand. She gives it a toss and catches it, ready to engage the German's attack on his own ground.
Standing neatly, still with that casual, but steadily defiant attitude of hers, Pás waits for Luc to rush at her. She doesn't need to wait long. Like two cowboys on a high noon, she has to go for the right moment; when he twists and levels the garbage can at her, she recoils back and pelts the tiny stone at his head.
In the end, he's faster.
The source of all his problems gets smashed, good and hard, the smaller girl smoked right off her bare feet. With a light grunt, she goes rolling, skidding painfully across the dirt, catching herself at the last moment with one fast hand. She lets out a sharp, painful breath.
Then, when her senses come back, so does her smile. Pás, still spread-eagled along the earth, decides to forego getting up. She folds her arms behind her head, returning to that lazy manner he had found her in. She remarks, good-humoured, "Ahhhh. No wonder Solavanco likes you."
SLAM.
To be truthful, even the GERMAN is a little bit surprised the moment that his attack strikes so cleanly. Green eyes go wide for a moment, though the surprise is only part of the reason why they snap into life so suddenly; the other part is simple ELATION, the moment that trashcan crashes straight into the Brazillian's torso with no small amount of strength. The effect is like launching a pinball. Pás goes flinging backwards in a most unpleasant display, leaving Luc to stare with a wicked grin as he drops the trash can just as simply as that.
Faster, but by how much? He doesn't bother to think about it, really. Instead, he rubs the back of his neck, holding his free hand, his right hand, off to the side of him. "Maan... you're pretty good, weirdo or not." The events are still clouding his mind, but really -- he's way to into the fight at this point to give them much heed. His head twists to the side, almost as a thoughtful gesture as he considers the girl. It's a look that grows considerably more thoughtful at her next words.
"Sawlahvankoh?" He questions, thoroughly mangling the word, "... who is that supposed to be? I don't know any freaks with stupid names like that." But, simple creature as he is, he disregards it shortly afterwards, lifting his right hand a little bit higher.
"Whatever," He begins, body tensing, "No more being cheap..." As he speaks, a single, small lance of black chi, swirling with tones of blue, begins to crackle to life within his palm. Dark electricity lances all around it, but from how very small it is, it hardly looks like anything special. Still, it is nursed within his grasp for a few moments longer. He stares pointedly at Pás tightens his fingers... and then THROWS the thing straight into the ground.
"... LET'S FINISH THIS THING, HUH?!"
The lance of power strikes no where NEAR the Brazillian as it hits the ground. In fact, it hits about ten feet /away/ from her, absorbing itself straight into the ground. There is nothing but silence for around a single, lingering second. It would appear as if the thing was nothing more than a diversion, save for the fact that Luc doesn't move. But after that single second, the ground beneath Pás' feet crackles...
... and in that split second, a comparatively GIANT lance of burning black chi EXPLODES from the ground beneath her, seeking to stab her in a furious, explosive motion, launch her into the air... and then rupture in a brilliant, painful explosion to send her crashing FAR away.
COMBATSYS: Pas just-defends Luc's Uberlastung Lanze!
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Luc 0/-------/---====|=======\===----\1 Pas
At his misunderstanding, the Brazilian only lets out a half-hearted sigh. Still smiling tightly to herself, she decides begrudgingly to abandon her sleepy sprawl across the ground where his attack left her. Bending her arms, she curls her back and lunges up to a crouch, her body belying that sleepy look in her eyes. She shakes herself out, flexing her toes, rolling her shoulders, and dusting the dirt and smears of blood from her sides.
He's getting serious. Pás decides she should start doing the same.
Maybe.
She grabs those two long, bleached braids that dangle whitely within the mass of her long hair, and with a twist, uses them to tie it back. The playful look in her eyes darkens, the happy-go-lucky crease to her lips turning crooked. "Euh? Already?" She exhales a disappointed sound from the back of her through. "I guess I'm used to a date finishing quickly."
Then he begins to move. Pás uncharacteristically sobers, her eyes intent, her senses on edge. Her eyes fix on his demonstration of chi, immediately given the time and distance now to see it and recognize it for what it is. She's sure he wields it much better than she does. And he has so much more of it. This is going to be very entertaining.
As the lance plunges into the ground, her eyes follow it, her weight balanced to the balls of her feet. She can no longer see it. She can no longer sense where the attack may have gone. It is unpredictable.
But Pás is a master of unpredictability.
The attack ruptures free at the last moment, but Pás is not expecting it with her eyes. Her bare feet feel its imminent arrival by a breath, and she's already moving to receive it, flipping backward with an outward push of her arms. Her hands, sparking with her own hot, crackling chi, thrust to ward the onslaught away from her body. But she doesn't balk against the momentum. Which the chi lance does not pierce her, she uses its upward thrust to suddenly, ruthlessly push her closer to Luc.
She darts through the air, spinning, catching herself with one hand and then scissoring back upwards, immediately hooking a kick up at the teen. The foot burns with hot chi. But it's not ended yet. She twists, and the second foot follows, the chi sparking from her dart skin. Then the third. Then the fourth. And she walks inverted, hand over hand, her twirling feet pinwheeling at his feet, moving like constant, mowing blades of striking chi.
Between those strikes, in a low voice, Pás is promising him, "Olho por olho... dente por dente."
Then she twists her arms, and on her hands, she begins to spin. The twirling kicks get faster and faster. But they don't stop.
The energy crackling off her in wild, sparkling bursts, she pinions off her hands and then that reckless girl is spinning by the top of her head, a tornado of kicking limbs, lost in a blur of white and flint sparks.
COMBATSYS: Pas successfully hits Luc with Catherine Wheel.
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Luc 1/-------/=======|===----\-------\0 Pas
What an off day. Whatever spell this girl has woven to completely confuse and befuddle the German, it is not going to last into the next time they fight. And, rest assured -- they will fight again, and probably very soon. Losing just means that the German will need to fight her again, and again, and again, until he's beaten her into the ground at LEAST three times to make up for all of this. He's going to be looking forward to it.
So should she.
But, slow though Luc may be at times, he's anything /but/ during a fight. He notices the tell-tale signs of a lost battle well before they actually come about. The dark flicker in Pás' eyes, his own rushed movements; maybe he didn't prepare it. And maybe, and considerably likely, he doesn't care. A fight isn't about extensive planning, after all. It's about instinct, the heat of the moment, and the thrill of the battle. And, getting so soundly trounced... well.
It means that Luc is having a REALLY GOOD TIME.
Thus, when Pás uses his own lance of chi as some sort of a makeshift rocket to launch straight /towards/ him, completely negating the burning energy, the German laughs. He laughs loudly, and he laughs with extraordinary /glee/ as the Brazillian lands next to him. He's stopped paying attention to her, or what she says. He barely even registers what happens next.
It might be odd, and it might be considerably unnerving to some, but as Pás begins to batter the young German with kick, adter kick, after kick, all he can do is LAUGH about it, even as his head snaps from side to side, sinewy muscles twisting unpleasantlyevery which way as that strange, inverted sort of dancing ass-kicking pummels into him. Even with those spinning kicks, he still laughs, blood flying from his mouth now as those intense blows rail against him. And with the final kick, Luc goes launching UPWARDS, straight into the sky. As he does, he bellows out one single statement:
"YOU'RE GREAT!!!"
Pain barely registers in his mind as the Pacific student flies into the air. At the apex of his leap, he suddenly swings DOWNWARD, his sneaker'd foot beginning to burn up as if he were entering the atmosphere... save that the fire that licks across his foot is a distinct black-blue in color, and it begins to build up to intense degrees, until he is ultimately sent SLAMMING into the Brazillian foot-first, to collapse her into the ground and land straight on top of her in the wake of a deafening explosion. Regardless, though, despite the repeated blows he's taken, he seems still very much conscious. The beating has only just barely taken the poor boy out of this fight.
"Coulda..." He begins with a mutter, "... coulda... hit a bit harder though... you flashing freak."
COMBATSYS: Luc can no longer fight.
[ \\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\ <
Pas 0/-------/----===|
COMBATSYS: Pas counters Strong Kick from Luc with Branded Mule.
[ \\\\\\\\\\\\\\\ <
Pas 0/-------/---====|
As that spinning handspin finally draws to a finish, Pás catches herself with both hands, remaining casually inverted as she follows the German's ascent with her eyes.
It swiftly turns into a descent.
But Pás is ready. Still upside-down, legs in the air, the last smoking remnants of her chi wisping away from her feet, she suddenly parts them, welcoming him in that double-entendre way she is so very good at.
But, at least for an instant, she seems to be all business. One leg moves, and she blocks the direction of the strike. But she doesn't break Luc's downward momentum... nor does she try to. She only tries to trip him up a little.
Her handstand broken, she hits the ground flat on her back. His kicking leg bites the dirt instead of her body, but he lands on top of her as he had intended, her body warm, inviting, and deceptively dormant. Her brown eyes are bright and mischievious. Her dark hair wings across the earth. And that smile of hers is decidedly impish as she replies him, inquiring innocently:
"Ahhhh. You mean like this?"
Her other foot mashes straight up into his groin.
Apparently the Brazillian doesn't share Luc's fondness for testing the strength of other people by taking their blows head-on. But that's fine. Luc has gotten what he wanted out of this, so that skillful way in which Pas disperses his chi and the physical might of his strike while still positioned in that odd hand-stand, isn't something that concerns him. It really should. It clues into something ominous about to happen, but even so --
Luc crashes with laughter.
And lands right on top of her, though that wasn't really what he wanted; he wanted her to explode in a most painful way and then maybe be knocked out, and then Luc could have conceivably woken up before she did and kick her some while she was down, and then probably go see if there was any cheeseburger joints nearby. That's not what happens, though; instead, he crashes into her WITHOUT the boom, without the the pain, and without the unconsciousness or the potential kicking her while she's down to appease himself.
Needless to say, it's all very sobering.
As is the kick to the crotch. But that's more painful than sobering.
Joy is replaced quickly as the berserker rage swiftly drains from his thoughts, the adrenaline dying off and leaving only... Luc. With the Brazillian below him, not dead or even unable to fight. And then, on top of it, he gets a foot to the family jewels. At the very least, it's not like it hasn't happened to him a hundred times before this. Still, developing a pain threshhold for getting hit in the nads requires at least one hundred and fifty, so he's now officially about forty-nine off from NOT going--
"You BITCH."
SMASH.
He'll promptly roll off her after that, curling up a little and looking rather unpleasantly displeased for at least a few seconds. The pain leaves his face quickly; the annoyance, however, is an entirely different matter. "Not... even close. Stupid Spaniard." Apparently Portuguese and Spaniards are all really the same. They all come from old South America way, anyway. Mind throbbing with pain, the German can only say one thing afterward,
"I guess you're good enough for the team." Next time he's going to kick her in the head /so goddamn hard./
Flat on her back, one arm folded under her head, lolling unscrupulously across the earth, Pás looks aside to Luc. And in a smoky, bedroom voice, she asks of him, "Was it also good for you?" Grinning to herself, she stretches, all lazy insolence, thinking nothing of this fight more than a casual play between two bodies -- the very dance he accused her of.
She feels good. But... that doesn't get to last long.
After all this, Luc finally finds a way to get under her skin. One little remark barbs her. One little word makes her flinch more than any degree of fist swung at her face.
She fixes sudden, outraged eyes on him, her lips parted in a sincere instant of shock.
"Spaniard?! You go take o pinto out your mouth and say that again! Filho da puta," Pás scoffs to herself as she flips up to her feet, that sleepy, happy mood of hers suddenly changed as fast as a slap across the face.
One should learn how quickly and deeply offended a Brazilian gets for being confused with anything Spanish. But as she stands up to her feet, and looks down at him, and considers striking again, the girl already finds herself disenchanted.
Instead, she slowly smiles again, but this time it doesn't reach her eyes, the irritation still cutting into the corners of her face. But she seems very fast, very deliberate to hide any traces of her aggravation.
She shakes her hair out to untie it, her long braids letting free, but otherwise, she makes no move to dust off her body, keeping on its languid curves her second skin of dust and bruising. She looks down at Luc. Her head tilts. "Do you think so, Cavalo? You were a nice ride. Yet I also hope you last longer for the other girls. It's courteous, yes? But I'm bored now.
"Tchau," she imparts suddenly, dismissively, wagging fingers before turning her back on the German. And, slowly, lazily, stretching under the baking heat, Pás walks off.
Log created on 22:44:45 06/01/2007 by Luc, and last modified on 03:59:22 06/04/2007.