Description: [Riko vs. Marisol] For most people, being ambushed by ninja is a bad thing. For Marisol, it's a lifesaver. Any longer, and she'd have lapsed into a coma. Because in Pacific High, classes can be boring. But you know? School can be fun. Especially in a chemistry lab. There's so many things that can explode.
It's one of /those/ afternoons.
Where classes seem to drag on forever and ever. Where the world has entered an academic abyss where no time passes, where the weight of the world hangs upon your shoulders.
Sun comes through window shutters, illuminating the room with a dim dusty haze. Fans rotate slowly overhead, not doing much at all to ease the summer heat, just moving the air around.
A chemistry lab, in Pacific High. Bunsen burners beneath tripod stands, flames and crucibles, steaming beakers and flasks. All adding to the warmth.
Chemistry can be a fun subject. Especially when taught by Mr. Tanaka, one of the youngest and most popular science teachers in Pacific High. Not today, though. Not today. It's the kind of day where many students are no doubt wishing they'd cut class. After all, it's what their -teacher- did. Oh, officially, Mr. Tanaka is out with the flu. Unofficially, many students suspect he's just at home sleeping off a night of alcohol-soaked recreation - because part of the reason Mr. Tanaka's lessons are fun is because he's a wild and crazy guy. The downside is, of course, he's a wild and crazy guy.
Replacing him is a much older teacher, a matronly woman, one Ms. Chan, or as she prefers to be called, /Madam Chan/. She sits at the teacher's desk, staring at her charges round the rims of big chunky glasses.
Hmph. Students.
It's one of those RARE afternoons that Marisol isn't skipping class, but wishes she WAS.
Unlike her compatriots in Pacific Resistance, she's likely THE most responsible of the four. Attending class far more than and likely being less of a delinquent than the rest, Marisol finds herself grouped with three other people she has no interest in being with. A nerd of a boy with painfully dorky glasses, a Miss Morals cheerleader and her boyfriend jock are her lab partners today, no thanks to this Madam Chan stand-in.
Laid out atop the lab table, Marisol's gray eyes watch the Bunsen burner flicker before her, long arms laid out on the table's surface. Some would presume the girl was trying to fall asleep, and likely would, if not for the fact the cheerleader pokes her into doing something, and quite frequently. Take notes, hold this, watch that, let's get an A!
The room is awfully warm. It's really like being in Hell.
Groaning audibly, Marisol leans to one side, her back to the front of the room and, more appropriately, to Ms. Chan. It also lets her bask in what sunlight decides to peek through the windows, and for the moment Marisol looks more like a sunbathing cat than she does a 'prestigious' Pacific High student.
Why, she even begins to doze off. Chemistry was never her favorite subject.
The yawn and motion does not go unnoticed by the teacher. Like many educators, Ms. Chan has finely honed senses, developed through years of detecting delinquents. Her mouth shifts into a thin disapproving line. She begins to rise from her chair, her long nose twitching, ready to deliver a scathing admonishing lecture about the importance of diligence and laboratory safety...
The teacher opens her mouth...
...and then her jaw drops all the way open. She swings her head round, staring.
There's a stir from the other side of the room. from one of the lab benches alongside the windows. A student gives a yelp of shock, toppling off his stool. His partners shriek as well. The reason for their distress soon becomes evident - the flame from their bunsen burner flickers, flares, flashing into light as it consumes oxygen. Glass breaks, a shattering cascade. And then there's the smoke, thick and acrid, billowing out like a living thing.
For some reason, though, the fire alarms don't go off. Thankfully, there isn't really any fire - the flare from the burner diminishes, fades. The smoke begins to clear.
But there's now a new reason for teacher and students to be peturbed, for there's a human figure atop the table surface, a figure that wasn't there before. A small, lithe shape, clad in t-shirt, shorts, and in-line skates. A pair of stereo headphones round its neck.
A little female gargoyle, crouched on the lab bench.
"Hi," she says, brightly, "I'm looking for Marisol O'Connell, is she here?"
Ms. Chan and her disapproving glares go unnoticed as the sleepy-eyed redhead turns her back to the woman. Tucking an arm underneath her head for a makeshift cushion, the half-Spaniard has already begun to find herself enjoying that basking glow of the sun. Her lab partners pause, looking from their work toward the redhead before they look between one another. Then they sigh in defeat. This girl is hopeless.
At least she looks comfy.
Just when she's about to drift off into deep dreams of punching people in the face and defeating powerful fighters and making a name for herself, the sudden crash and squeals of distress stir her. Slowly rising up from the table's surface, Marisol blinks slowly, lifting a hand up to idly rub the back of her head. "Wha?" she mumbles, likely to herself. The nerd, the jock and the cheerleader have since skittered back and away from their table, in fear of their beakers and Bunsen burners doing the same.
Marisol seems ignorantly blissful, even as she turns her head toward the choking smoke that rolls from the nearby lab table. If anything, the girl seems mildly confused. And a touch annoyed. This ruined her noon-day nap?
But, oddly enough, the smoke begins to subside and, in its wake, a young girl is crouched there atop the table. For the longest moment - even as she speaks up, her intentions made clear - there is an odd silence hovering over the chemistry lab. It's so thick you could cut it with a knife.
Then, laughter. Not from the entire class, mind, but from Marisol herself. Rising up from her seat, the girl lifts her arms high overhead, stretching them lazily before she folds them behind her head. Shifting her weight from one foot to the other, she lifts the toe of her non-supporting sneaker and rests it against the floor.
"I sure am," the redhead confidently replies. "What's your business?" Chemistry just got interesting again.
As more of the smoke clears, it becomes apparent that the mysterious new arrival near the window...isn't simply standing on the tabletop. No, she's actually balanced in the centre of the lab bench...on the narrow faucet over the sink. It's a precarious, impossible perch. By all laws of logic, she should be falling over by now. Or the water tap should be snapping beneath her weight. But no. She just squats there, grinning broadly.
Perhaps the reason why might be summed up in the t-shirt she's wearing. It's a black baby-doll, with the phrase 'DAMN NINJA' emblazoned in white.
She looks up at Marisol, blinking once, twice, three times.
"Oh," she says, "good."
The girl reaches behind her back, pulling a tiny clipboard from apparently nowhere. She makes a little satisfied tick with a pencil stub.
"Bareknuckle boxing, right? Amateur fighter, two SNF appearances, two Neo League fights, two official wins, two losses, no ties?"
Squinting, the strange girl's appearance becomes a bit more apparent, and even earns the girl odd looks from...well, just about everyone. Marisol? Not so much, but the faintest lift of her thin red brow suggest she might just very well be impressed. It's a miracle she hasn't broken the sink. Tilting her head just a faint bit, the redhead looks intrigued.
Then the shirt is noted. It all clicks into place, and the smile on Marisol's lips widens all the more. Damn ninja...she's heard of them being in Southtown, but hasn't MET any yet. Congratulations, Riko! You're her first; will her first impression of ninjas be a good one?
Contemplation is cast to the wayside as the girl speaks up, clearly pleased to see that Marisol is, in fact, in class today. Regardless, Marisol herself simply stands there, rather lax and quite comfortable, contented enough to just observe the odd, gargoyle-like ninja girl - even as she procures a clipboard.
"Technically three wins," she corrects, lips slicing into a huge, toothy smile. "Last weekend me and some other weirdos beat up on Geese Howard." She won't say what happened to her near the end of the fight, however. Those are embarrassing, unimportant details. "But yeah. That's me."
She pauses, brows furrowing just a bit. She seems faintly bemused.
"Why am I being hunted by ninja? I'm afraid didn't get the memo."
And neither did the rest of the class, apparently. Most of the students are watching in sheer bewilderment. Some are shocked, some aghast, some amazed. There's a low sound of murmuring in the air as students begin to speak to each other.
At the front of the chemistry lab, the teacher, one Ms. Chan, sits like a poleaxed bull, slammed solidly between the horns. Her face is a rigid unmoving mask, frozen in a total lack of comprehension. For the moment, at least, she's mercifully quiet, her capacity for rational thought completely overloaded by this turn of events.
Meanwhile, the ninja girl on the table grins at Marisol. She beams, a glowing smile of sunshine, rainbows, and other such things. Eyes alight, she responds in a cheerful soprano, "Oh, we ninja don't send memos. We break into your bathroom and write messages on the mirror with your lipstick. Professional standards, you know."
She pauses. The pencil stub in her hand flickers as she spins it back and forth, twirling it with her fingers.
"Not that I actually did that," she says, hastily, "though I might have if I hadn't been able to find you. You're quite elusive, you know. All that class-skipping is very hard to catagorize in a statistically predictable fashion."
And all the while, Marisol remains calm and cool, albeit a little confused. And really, it's for good reason: it's not every day your boring chemistry lab is interrupted by a tiny ninja girl in inline skates who knows things about you. Fighty things about you, no less. She doesn't even know who this is or where she is from, but likely it's a strange ninja village nestled in the depths of a forest somewhere.
At least that's what those kung-fu movies in her childhood TOLD her.
Everyone else is forgotten. As far as the redhead is concerned, it's just her and the ninja girl now. And she smirks in response, Riko's sass enough to pique her interests more. "Woops, my bad," she replies. "And really, lipstick? Whatever happened to notes tied to shinai or arrows?" Pausing, Marisol seems contemplative. "Though I guess that might be outdated?" She doesn't know; she isn't precisely informed or educated in the ninja arts and traditions.
Dropping her arms from behind her head, Marisol rolls her shoulders a bit ."Ahh, I hope not. It's hard to scrub lipstick off of mirrors. And, well...sorry. It's a bad habit I've picked up from my lazy friends." Tilting her head and chin just a bit, the half-Spaniard's gray eyes lock on the ninja perched a short ways away. She seems a bit uncertain.
"Why am I being hunted down by ninja, anyway?" She doesn't THINK she dishonored anyone's clan recently...did one of her teammates? Man, she'll kill them if they did.
The girl consults her clipboard once again. She flips through the pieces of paper pinned to it, making an exaggerated show of searching for something.
She's still balanced on the lab bench. The blades and wheels of her in-line skates resting directly, in defiance of physics...on the thin length of the sink's water tap. No, the unusual location doesn't seem to bother her, not in the slightest.
She's probably doing that on purpose.
"Well," the teenage ninja replies, "I wouldn't call it being /hunted down/ per-se... if so we'd probably really be going after you with throwing weapons and arrows. Which aren't really suitable for the whole message thing, by the way, since Seishirou-sama tends to make them with excessive gunpowder charges and a rather large tendency to explode and that's sorta detrimental to clear and effective communication unless it's percussion and Morse code."
She pauses her verbal deluge long enough to smile, again.
"Oh, I'm Riko Koganei, by the way, and we just wanna see how you fight and react and adapt to weird situations and stuff, that's all."
She says this like it's a perfectly everyday thing.
After a while, Marisol begins to wonder if, yes, Riko is doing this on purpose, trying to impress...well, everyone. Part of the redhead is beginning to find herself less impressed and more concerned. Really - what business would a ninja have with the likes of her? Maybe, if she plays her cards right, she'll find out?
She hopes, anyway.
"Oh," comes Marisol's reply thereafter, a fingertip lifting, pressing idly against her bottom lip. "I guess you have a point there. And who is a 'Seishirou-sama?'" Pausing, those smoky gray eyes settle right on Riko. "Is he like...your clan leader or something? Or is the whole 'clan' thing outdated?" Really, all she learned about the ninja way was from the movies.
Really, really bad and cheesy movies.
Then, finally, a name with which to address the 'mysterious ninja girl.' "Riko, huh?" Lifting her arms again, she rolls her head on her shoulders before she idly runs the top of her thumb across the bridge of her nose. "And you and your colleagues want to see how I 'fight' and 'react and react to weird situations?'" For a moment, Marisol considers this.
Then she smirks.
"Well, I don't think it can get any weirder than this." A shrug follows before Marisol shifts her weight. "I guess this makes you the poor sucker left in charge of evaluating me?" Likely to the dismay of the class AND Ms. Chan, Marisol seems to ease herself into a stance.
COMBATSYS: Marisol has started a fight here.
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Marisol 0/-------/-------|
COMBATSYS: Riko has joined the fight here.
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Riko 0/-------/-------|-------\-------\0 Marisol
COMBATSYS: Marisol takes no action.
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Riko 0/-------/-------|-------\-------\0 Marisol
"I'm Seishirou-sama's number-one student," Riko says, mock-huffily, "that other...person...isn't even a /real/ ninja. She's just like a quantum metaphysical conceptual ninja at most."
She pouts at Marisol, feigning indignation.
The scowl lasts for all of a second, before her expression flows seamlessly into a grin, her lips curving. Riko leans forward. She slips her pencil stub into a pocket, tucks the clipboard under her arm. Then, very deliberately, lifts the stereo headphones hanging round her neck. They settle firmly in place round her ears. She tilts her head at Marisol, looking directly at the older girl, eyes shining.
Like Marisol, she ignores the other kids in the room.
She remains crouched atop the lab bench.
The message is clear.
Come on, then.
COMBATSYS: Riko focuses on her next action.
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Riko 0/-------/-------|-------\-------\0 Marisol
She's 'Seishirou-sama's' number-one student, huh? There's the faintest flicker of delight in the girl's eye, her interests piqued at the idea of being hunted down by this ninja-sensei's disciple. Her ho-hum, boring day just got a hundred times more interesting. Why? Because she gets to fight.
And she's been itchin' for a fight.
"I see," she replies, quite simply. Can Riko really blame her for not precisely following her verbal train of thought? She doesn't even know this kid, after all! But see, that's alright with her. Because it would seem that Riko is more than willing to oblige her in a bit of fist-swinging. The grin on the redhead's lips widens a touch.
Tilting her head a bit, the girl's hands clench into tightly-coiled fists. For the longest moment she stands, observing Riko carefully. She's perched precarious on the water tap.
One wrong movement, and Riko's likely to fall.
With that in mind Marisol charges forth, closing in before she swings a fist toward Riko's inline skates. It's not precisely strong, but really; how much effort would it take to unbalance the ninja girl?
COMBATSYS: Riko dodges Marisol's Light Punch.
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Riko 0/-------/-------|-------\-------\0 Marisol
Quite a lot of effort, apparently.
Or maybe that isn't fair. Certainly, Riko doesn't evade Marisol's attack by a wide margin. But a dodge is a dodge. And in this case, a spectacular one. She hops as the punch rockets in. Marisol's knuckles brush against the blue plastic of her skate boots, sliding across the polyurethane wheels. But by that point, Riko's already airborne - aiming a quick STOMP at the other girl's head as she leaps upwards, flying towards the ceiling.
Riko returns Marisol's grin.
"Excellent!"
COMBATSYS: Riko successfully hits Marisol with Improvised Tactics.
- Power hit! -
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Riko 0/-------/------=|===----\-------\0 Marisol
Not fast enough.
Marisol lashes out, swinging her tight fist rather swiftly toward the sink and those precariously-perched inlines, but Riko proves the faster here. Avoiding it outright, those calloused knuckles graze the wheels, and as the ninja girl takes to the skies, Marisol follows, watching her closely. That may have been a bad idea. Why?
Because Riko stomps not on her head, but on her face.
Staggering back from the impact, the redhead lifts a hand, clutching at her face for the moment. Frowning to herself, she simply brushes a hand across her busted lip, tossing her hand about to flick off the drops of blood. Then it's business as usual.
"Alright," she says. "We got off to a bad start I see." Furrowing those thin red brows, the boxer-girl's expression is fiercely determined as she observes the odd ninja girl. "Let's try that again."
COMBATSYS: Marisol focuses on her next action.
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Riko 0/-------/------=|===----\-------\0 Marisol
"Okie," Riko replies. It's an offhand kind of reply. Not dismissive, not exactly...but still a terribly casual answer.
Which is all the more remarkable, because she's saying that while standing upside down.
She's balanced on the ceiling, on one of those structural baffles that laboratory classrooms often have. Once again, the ninja girl appears to be violating basic principles of gravity. It's like her skate wheels are sticking firmly to the inverted surface.
Riko pulls out the clipboard from beneath her arm, squinting at the page.
"So," Riko says, conversationally, "would you consider yourself an adaptable and quick-thinking fighter?"
She sounds like she's reading a survey.
Maybe she is.
As she speaks, Riko's left foot slides an inch or two to the side. Then it -whips round-, as she smashes a heavy skate boot into the blades of a nearby ceiling fan. With a terrible sound of tearing metal, the fan comes loose from the ceiling, speeding down...
...at Marisol.
COMBATSYS: Marisol fails to interrupt Large Thrown Object from Riko with Red Clover.
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Riko 0/-------/-----==|======-\-------\0 Marisol
Well, at least Riko's a little understanding. Marisol's off to a bad start, and it doesn't seem to bode well with the Pacific High girl. No matter, no matter. She'll make up for it in a bit. Just give her some time.
Watching as Riko hangs like a bat from the ceiling of the classroom, Marisol furrows her brows. This is a strange kid, she'll give her that. How the hell is she hanging from the ceiling like that, anyway? It's got to be magnets. Or...something. People can't do that. Right?
"Huh?" Marisol's reply is less-than eloquent. For the moment, she is confused. Why is she being asked such questions, anyway?
But there's precious little time to think or dwell on it. Quit suddenly the ceiling fan itself crashes free of its perch, sailing toward Marisol. For the moment she frowns. Then she attempts to sweep a foot up and kick the ceiling fan away. It doesn't quite pan OUT that way, however.
As result, Marisol is sent stumbling back, her backside crashing against the edge of the lab table. "Ugh," is her incoherent reply, a hand lifting up and pressing against her forehead. Come ON Marisol. Get your head in the game already.
By now, the classroom's in a veritable uproar. The voices of students, sounds of consternation. At the front of the room, the teacher's snapped out of her stunned fugue, and is trying to regain control of the situation, flapping her arms, shouting shrilly till she's red in the face. She looks, in fact, rather like a wrinkled tomato with arms and legs. A wrinkled tomato trying to fly. To no avail. The students ignore her.
They're watching the fight.
Riko looks down from above, from her place over Marisol's head. She's still holding the clipboard, still reading from it calmly, totally oblivious to the fact she's standing upside-down on the ceiling.
"Well," Riko asks, again, making a little wave of the hand, "y'know, are you good at dealing with weird situations?"
Or maybe she /does/ know how strange this whole picture is.
Maybe that's the point.
COMBATSYS: Riko takes no action.
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Riko 0/-------/-----==|======-\-------\0 Marisol
The class might be alive and abuzz around her, but Marisol is focused only one thing: the fight before her. Sure, she provoked it, in a sense, but this is utterly embarrassing. Clearly this ninja girl is more than she expected of her; and that's the problem. She's underestimated Riko. Even the stand-in teacher goes ignored. The old tomato is the least of Marisol's concerns.
"Am I good at dealing with weird situations?" Furrowing her brows, Marisol casts her gaze toward the ceiling above, still a touch baffled by the question. She considers it for a moment, before those gray eyes snap shut.
"I do, yeah." It's just this is a bit too weird.
"Let me show you!"
Dropping her hand to her side, those eyes hood as she peers up at Riko, her expression stern as a flame of yellow whips to life in her palm. It grows, coalescing and forming into a sphere of lively energy - before Marisol suddenly throws her arm up, tossing that sphere right at upside-down Riko!
COMBATSYS: Riko dodges Marisol's Rolling Star.
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Riko 0/-------/-----==|=====--\-------\0 Marisol
Riko's eyes widen, fractionally. She blinks, once, her entire head and upper body drawing back a little. She seems surprised, almost, as the ball of spiritual energy speeds towards her.
And then, calmly, without missing a beat, Riko drops.
Abruptly, the suspended laws of gravity once more take notice of the little ninja girl. Her feet come away from the ceiling. She falls, straight down. Her sudden movement means the sphere of chi misses her by just a hair. It smashes into the ceiling panels with a thunderous boom, sending a cloud of debris and plaster dust raining down from above. It showers Riko with flecks of white, but she's otherwise largely unharmed. Riko spins in mid-air. She lands, right-side-up, on the laboratory floor, her legs flexing at the knees, skate wheels upon the ground.
"Not bad," Riko shouts, "now...NEXT QUESTION!"
She keeps the clipboard clutched in one hand. But with her other arm, she sweeps the surface of the nearest lab bench. Her fingers close round a tripod stand, resting atop a live bunsen burner and flame. She grabs that, -yanks-.
The tripod stand was supporting a beaker. Of hot bubbling chemicals.
All that now flies at Marisol.
COMBATSYS: Marisol blocks Riko's Thrown Object.
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Riko 0/-------/-----==|=====--\-------\0 Marisol
Slung high, the sphere of yellow sails in a clean arc toward the upside-down ninja, but quick thinking spares her from being smacked in the face by it. Dropping freely, Marisol's gray eyes follow her as she descends, her attention only fixed on Riko. Even the loud, roaring boom and impact of her blast does not cause her attention to stray.
Behind full lips, Marisol's teeth are tightly clenched. She's mildly annoyed, obviously. Not precisely at the ninja, but rather, how slow she appears to be in response. Did she get that beat up at her SNF she's suffering because of it? Part of her almost thinks maybe she shouldn't be fighting again so soon.
But it's too late for regrets.
Next question? Blinking once, those gray eyes hood at Riko, watching as she snares the nearby tripod and everything connected. In one effortless motion it's thrown at her. Jerking her arms up, Marisol blocks the attack, though the chemicals sting and burn. Ow, ow, OW.
"D-damnit!" she hisses through her teeth, shaking her arms out thereafter. Brows knit, her expression irritable before she pushes off, right for Riko. With a fist clenched at her side she draws near and swings a fist out, attempting to sock the poor ninja girl right across the jaw.
COMBATSYS: Riko dodges Marisol's Medium Punch.
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Riko 0/-------/-----==|=====--\-------\0 Marisol
However...Riko isn't there. She moves like smoke, flowing out of the way of the punch. Make no mistake, Marisol -is- fast. But Riko's just a little faster. The older girl's punch slams through the space the little ninja occupied just an instant ago, the air stirred by its passage sending Riko's hair aflutter. A near miss.
But a miss all the same.
Riko rolls backward, skate wheels sliding over the lab floor. She ends up at the edge of the impromptu crowd, beside where a couple of boys are taking cover behind one of the lab benches.
"Hi," she says, to them, "do you mind if..."
They nod, dumbly.
Riko beams. "Thanks!"
Deftly, she reaches out, opening all the gas taps on the bench - the valves controling the fuel for the bunsen burners. A distinct /hiss/ fills the air.
COMBATSYS: Riko focuses on her next action.
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Riko 0/-------/-----==|=====--\-------\0 Marisol
Another miss?
Her fist cuts through empty air, the girl's expression another mix of annoyance and disbelief as the scrawny little ninja girl slides out of harm's way. On SKATES no less. On linoleum. How is this all even possible? Marisol just stands there as Riko slides back, nearing the huddled crowd. Even as she reaches for the valves, Marisol doesn't move.
She's trying to make things more difficult for her?
A distinctively predatory smirk cuts its way over her lips.
"Oh come on," she remarks, "Is this another test?" Those eyes of Marisol's stare long and hard at Riko, desperately trying to keep a bearing on little miss ninja girl - she's fast, you know. Lord knows where she's going to skate to next. "You've been lucky, but your luck can only take you so far!"
COMBATSYS: Marisol focuses on her next action.
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Riko 0/-------/-----==|=====--\-------\0 Marisol
"Well, yeah," Riko answers, glibly, "it's luck..."
She lifts her clipboard, pulls out her pencil stub, and scrawls something in shorthand. Then she looks over the top of the plastic board, her eyes meeting Marisol's.
Behind Riko, the bench taps continue to hiss. Connected to the laboratory fuel supply, each tap is /meant/ to be linked to a bunsen burner. Now that Riko's yanked the hoses out, the taps are instead spewing liquified petroleum gas directly into the air. That's a dangerous thing, considering the number of open flames inside the chemistry lab.
But it's all according to plan.
The ninja girl smiles.
"...but, see, is luck something that just happens..."
She snaps her fingers.
"Or is it something you make?"
A -spark- leaps from her hand, a blue pinprick of chi. But it's a literal spark as well, one that has all the properties of genuine electricity. Enough to /ignite/ the gas coming from the tap. A tongue of dirty blue-red flame shoots from behind Riko, stretching across the lab. A display that draws shrieks of alarm from the students.
Impressive as it is, though, hot as it is... it isn't /quite/ furious enough to reach Marisol. No, it's what we, in the business, call a distraction.
Riko leaps, flipping over the blast of gas-powered flame, aiming to smack Marisol upside the head with the edge of her clipboard.
COMBATSYS: Marisol interrupts Improvised Tactics EX from Riko with Iron Butterfly.
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Riko 0/-------/---====|=======\-------\0 Marisol
The longer this fight lasts, the more Marisol finds herself beginning to feel that this fight is hopeless for her. But that just means the stakes are higher. It means she has to push herself a bit further to succeed. She might not be a ninja, but even she's aware luck is only good for so much.
Then, and only then, do the tables find themselves turning.
For now, the hissing and spitting of gas is ignored, while the majority of students seem frightened by it. In fact, a good portion of the sane student body hurriedly file out of the chemistry lab. With all these flames and chi energy and sparks flying, the room itself is a practically a bomb waiting to explode.
Marisol does not care. She can't care - not when she's so focused on this fight.
"Dunno," she replies, watching those fingers carefully. She doesn't flinch; instead, the girl holds her ground, even as the spark of chi ignites the gas, that tongue of flame daring to hit Marisol. "But, honestly, I never really believed in it all that much!"
Here comes the ninja. Following Riko's ascent, the redhead lets that clipboard smack her head - but it doesn't really phase her; instead, she LASHES out with a hand afire with chi. The flames of yellow expand wildly, wrapping her in a cocoon of energy before they inwardly spike, piercing her with that unearthly energy every which way. A second later the sphere itself explodes, motes of butterfly-like energy fluttering up toward the ceiling as they flicker out and disappear.
"But if I had to give an honest reply, I'd say it's what you make of it."
"Good answer," Riko manages, while gasping for breath.
She lies across the lab, rammed halfway through a paper-mache model of an oxygen molecule. Somewhat ironic, really, considering how much her lungs are labouring for precious air. She gives a spluttered cough, prying herself free. Her skate wheels hit the floor. Riko stands. She shakes her head, trying to clear the fuzziness from her head and the spots from her eyes.
Amazingly, despite the fact she's been swatted halfway across the room, Riko's still holding her clipboard. Remarkable tenacity, that. She hasn't dropped it. Nor has she dropped her pencil stub. She makes /another/ brief note, nodding to herself.
Then her eyes flash back to Marisol.
And she moves. Fast, fast, polyurethane wheels slashing across the smooth floor. Once more the clipboard flicks forward. But this time, Riko attempts to ram the bit at the end into Marisol's ribs. The bit with the clip and spring. It's made of metal.
And it's crackling with chi-forged electricity.
COMBATSYS: Riko successfully hits Marisol with Light Fantastic.
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Riko 0/-------/-======|=======\==-----\1 Marisol
"Thanks," she swiftly retorts, offering a lopsided grin in response. But her sentiments are brief; narrowing those gray eyes, she continues to watch the tiny ninja girl as she recovers. The situation is almost comical, what with the ninja girl stuck in that molecule. The grin that haunts her tanned features should be clue enough she's a little amused.
And really, it's not fun if you take things too seriously, right?
Hopping in place, Marisol tries to enthuse herself a bit. C'mon Marisol, let's get our head in the game. Yeah, the ninja girl is doing a helluva lot better, but that doesn't mean you can't do better yourself! Grinning wide now, she continues to keep her eye on Riko. Even as she moves fast, right at her. What does Marisol DO? She doesn't move.
But, again, she's underestimated the ninja. Struck by that metal end, the electrical chi ZAPS through the redhead, jolting her violently and causing her to stagger back, winded. That hurt. It smarted a lot. She's on her last leg here, while the ninja is barely sweating.
These really are good odds.
"Hey, watch this." She lifts her hand from her side, her fist in a tight fist. She holds it at shoulder level, grinning broadly. Like a match tip, her fist flares to life with energy, flaming wildly. Fortunately, with all the gas in the air, she doesn't cause the room to blow up. Yet, anyway.
"You watchin' closely?" she asks. Then, moving swiftly, the girl kneels and punches the ground. The impact is sudden, but violent - the earth roars to life, a burst of yellow fire shooting up and at Riko, chunks of the very laboratory floor flying up and daring to rock the skater around and about if she's not swift enough!
COMBATSYS: Riko blocks Marisol's Shoot the Moon.
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Riko 0/-------/=======|=------\-------\0 Marisol
"V--v--very!"
Riko sounds a bit rattled. That's because she -is-. Her arms are crossed in front of her face - her trusty clipboard held protectively like a shield. Her whole form is curled, spine bent, feet apart, braced against the firestorm. She's some distance from where she was, having been -blown backwards- by the blast. Amazingly, she's still standing, if barely. She sways as she lowers her arms, wobbling on her skates. It's clear that she didn't escape the maelstrom unscathed.
She gives a low whistle, apparently impressed by the devastation wrought.
Then, in a single fluid motion, she swoops an arm towards ground level, scoops up a chunk of broken flooring, and sends it whizzing at Marisol.
COMBATSYS: Marisol interrupts Thrown Object from Riko with Chain Reaction.
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Riko 1/------=/=======|===----\-------\0 Marisol
Very?
"Excellent!"
Then the ground erupts in chi and debris. Fortunately, little Riko is more than capable of holding herself off from the blast of yellow energy, avoiding being utterly ravaged by the burst. Not a clean hit, but hey; it's put some distance between the girl and Marisol at this point. Not bad, if she may say so herself.
Rising up from that kneeling position, Marisol offers a toothy smile. She pauses only to let her tongue flicker out, licking at the numb spot where Riko's skate busted her lip open. "I'll hand it to you," she remarks, almost sounding arrogant, despite the obvious advantage Riko has here. "You're damn frustrating. But see, that's not a problem!" She pauses a beat.
"I like a challenge!"
When Riko swoops down to scoop up some ground, Marisol's already begun charging forward. Even as it's chucked at her the redhead pushes through it, lifting an arm up to swat it aside. Only when she nears does that same arm swing, a hard fist punching her in the gut, to stun. She pauses then, grabbing Riko's head and introducing it to the redhead's knee before, in an unorthodox fashion and display, brings the heel of her shoe up and sends it crashing into the girl's jaw in a vertical kick.
Oh. Wow.
That hurts.
That's the foremost thought in Riko's mind. The pain. The /pain/. That really, really hurts.
Hell, she's not even sure her skull's fully intact. Or even if all her teeth are still there.
Riko hits the ground, and for a heartbeat, she lies on her back, stunned. It's quite clear that Marisol's stronger than her...at least in a literal sense, in terms of muscle mass and sheer physical prowess. That last exchange was proof positive. No question about it.
Well, that's good to know.
Every piece of data is valuable, after all.
She springs back to her feet. Going from horizontal to vertical in the blink of an eye. The rearmost wheels of her skates spin seemingly of their own accord - Riko rises on them, rocks on her heels for a moment, then slams fully back to earth.
She grins at Marisol, across the ruined expanse of the chemistry lab. By now, they're the only two in it, students and teacher having fled the scene. The place is a complete mess. Broken glassware, open flames, hissing gas taps. Plaster crumbling from the ceiling. Flooring ripped apart. A disaster area. A war zone.
"Cool," Riko replies, brightly, "so do I!"
Then she flings the clipboard at Marisol.
She's been jotting notes on it all this while. She's been reading from it.
The thing is, all of that?
Pure misdirection.
Pages flutter. Paper comes free.
Each piece covered in spidery tracing, ideograms, runic inscriptions. Seal formations written in blood, meant to contain and focus spiritual. In Riko's case, they let her form a circuit through the air. A pathway for her lightning-element chi. Blue light arcs from page to page to page. Cascading in forks of brilliant eye-burning blue.
COMBATSYS: Marisol endures Riko's Level 360.
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Riko 0/-------/------=|=======\-------\0 Marisol
Part of Marisol worries if, maybe, she went a little overboard there. But another part of her is focused on the fight and, more importantly, having a good time doing it. After Riko falls, she takes a step back and watches the girl closely. Just when she wonders if the ninja is going to get back up at all she's not disappointed. In fact, the redhead grins, meeting Riko's own.
At least she knows this ninja has a sense of humor and enthusiasm. So maybe those old kung-fu ninja flicks weren't COMPLETELY accurate after all. All in all, it would seem Riko's leaving a pretty good impression on the redhead.
She's also pretty damn tricky.
Suddenly the papers are scattered, flying around the ruins of the chemistry lab. Yeah, Marisol's probably going to suffer detention for this, but who CARES? This is fun - and it sure beats sleeping through the actual class!
The air is alive with electrical chi, but Marisol just stands there. Her feet planted, the girl holds her ground, but attempts to walk THROUGH that burst of sudden spiritual energy. Gritting her teeth, the girl tries desperately to persevere through that awful but fantastic display of lights. It's impressive, but at the moment, she's unable to really appreciate it.
Still, Marisol is coming through, pushing herself further and further. Struggling, she attempts to lash out at Riko by the neck, grabbing her before she'll swing a fist forward, toward her gut. Should it land? The impact of her knuckles will cause a burst of chi to erupt and send her flying again!
tr But no matter what, Marisol is spent. She's not fighting anymore, that's for sure. Instead she sags a bit, breathing heavily and grinning like mad.
COMBATSYS: Marisol can no longer fight.
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Riko 0/-------/------=|
COMBATSYS: Riko dodges Marisol's Moon Sling.
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Riko 0/-------/------=|
Grabbed by the neck. Punched in the gut. Riko is helpless as the burst of chi crashes through her body. She flies backwards...
...and as she does, she comes apart.
Vanishing in a flash of electric blue light.
There's another flash, a half-second later, a swirling mass of sparks. Riko's at the other end of the lab, perched on the teacher's table. Her legs hang over the edge, swinging slightly, her heels rapping against the front of the desk.
It's almost like she teleported.
Riko raises a hand to her head, wiping sweat from her brow.
"Whoooooo," she exclaims, in a breathless voice, "yeah, definitely awesome."
She gives a satisfied nod, the happy look of someone pleased with a job well done.
Tilting her head, she grins at Marisol.
"You got a pretty good sheer energy thing going there, that's kinda cool."
Nod. Nod.
"Soooooo, how long have you been doing the whole random martial violence thing? Do you fight people often? Has it been rewarding? Do you see a future in this?"
COMBATSYS: Riko has ended the fight here.
Riko's shirt is definitely apt. Damn ninja, indeed.
When the fake Riko vanishes in a burst of electricity, the now thoroughly-winded Marisol just offers a laugh and shakes her head. Slowly and carefully does she stand upright, her chest still heaving, trying desperately to get a solid breath into her winded lungs. It takes a bit, but the girl is recovering easily enough.
Awesome? She blinks once, quite obviously. She does not respond, however; is Riko talking about herself, or complimenting Marisol? These ninja types are deceptively sneaky. Instead, she just opts to smirk.
"Thanks," she ultimately replies, as she's being directly complimented now. "I try."
Pausing a moment, she excuses herself from the conversation, dusting off her uniform and attempting to fix her hair up a bit. How long has she been doing it? "A while. I lost count, honestly." Does she fight often? Gray eyes snap toward the girl, hooding in obvious amusement.
"Yes, to all three. I'd like to think - someday - I'll go somewhere with all of this." But she has to wonder, and the bemusement is obvious on her face. "Why're you askin' all of this anyway, if I might ask?"
"Oh," Riko replies, glibly, "professional curiousity."
She waves a hand, pivoting at the elbow and wrist, fingers splayed. Gesturing expansively.
Then she frowns, brows knitting.
"Oh, almost forgot!"
Riko dips into the left pocket of her shorts, and pulls out a small wad of bills secured with a rubber band. Carefully, she thumbs through the money.
"Hmn," she says, nose wrinkling in consternation as she surveys the wrecked school lab, "prrrrrobably not enough for all the damages, especially given that all this chemistry stuff is kinda expensive. Hum. Oh well."
She tosses the wad of bills to Marisol.
"Nevermind! Maybe keep it or whatever, I'm sure any half-decent school in Southtown /must/ have random fighter insurance coverage, right?"
Riko raises a hand in salute.
Then there's -another- brilliant flash of light. When it fades, she's nowhere to be seen.
Log created on 17:10:53 06/06/2007 by Riko, and last modified on 02:21:35 07/27/2007.