Description: Luc storms the Girl's Dormitories of Pacific High to demand a rematch from his Brazillian teammate, Pas. Luc proves to be capable of overcoming his DETRIMENTAL WEAKNESS. Pas proves that she can kick kind of hard. Also: will Pas' dorm room survive the fight?! You won't believe the answer!! (It doesn't.) (AND PAS DIES. Or does she?! DUN DUN DUNNN.) (No, she doesn't.)
Pacific High is a rich school catering to rich students, so it goes without saying that its domitories would be a little on the large side. But, even with some rooms verging on being studio apartment-sized, it takes a certain amount of patience and compromise within a shared living situation so as one's style does not get quickly cramped.
But Estella de Santo has never really been one for sharing. And that's why, only a few days after she'd moved in, her last roommate had returned to her dormitory to find the new Brazilian, now half-naked, engaging in a game of strip roulette with three boys in various states of undress.
But it wasn't nearly as scandalous as one would think. They weren't entirely indecent. After all, they were all wearing the said last roommate's best panties.
A day later, Estella had found herself with the room entirely to herself. And that is how her living situation continues to this day.
The large, spacious room now redecorated to her personal tastes, it has been transformed. Now it is thick, dense, and impossibly lush, with tall potted plants everywhere and rolling vegetation spilling down walls, the room cushioned in moss and falling floral boughs. The air is about thirty degrees hotter inside, a thick and heavy heat like being forced to breathe into somebody's palm, even with the window left perpetually open.
Despite that, the furniture itself is sparse, verging on barren. Apart from her iron-railed bed, a couple dressers, an envious stereo system, and a chin-up bar clamped near the top of a doorway, there's very little, the room a rustic kind of emptiness. The only personal touch, besides the attempt to match smothering Brazilian heat, is a picture standing on a small desk of a woman who looks an awful lot like the girl herself. Probably her mother.
Today it is Sunday, the afternoon still early, with a gentle wind winding in through that left-open window, and that warm room exudes silence. Ever so contrary to the girl's wild reputation she is slowly building on the grounds of Pacific High, her room is orderly even after a Saturday night. The only traces that someone has even been through are the clothes that have been left strewn over the carpeted floor.
A rich school for rich students, many of them spoiled beyond repair. It can be no wonder that the dorm rooms reflect this fact; the finest of taste for the finest of young snobs. It should be no wonder, though, in an institution filled with said rich snobs, that there would inevitably be conflicts amongst dormmates. Even this is consistent amongst the rich. For some, it's a matter of personal taste; for others, it's a matter of not liking the concept of 'sharing.'
For Luc Schroedinger, his conflicts with roommates has always simply amounted to the fact that he didn't like them.
Inevitably, this led to them being kicked out. Sometimes out the window.
The German boy has been without a roommate for several years now. Eventually, staff at Pacific High clued into the fact that students living with the Schroedinger heir didn't last long before they were running out in fear, or just booted straight out of the dorm room by an irritated Luc. Since his first Sophomore year at the highschool, he's been living alone. He prefers it. The quiet is appreciated, and having an entire room to himself is convenient for when he trains -- something that typically takes up a good bulk of his day.
Today, though, Luc is not holed up in his room. It's a Sunday, and that typically means that the German makes his way out to Southtown to look for someone entertaining to fight, or to train out in the comfort of the surrounding forests. Weekends mean he wants to be no where near the school. And yet, he's here today. He doesn't really want to be, but he is. Because he has something he has to do.
It was about a minute ago that Luc Schroedinger entered the second floor of the dormitories; the girls' dorms. "Hey, you're not supposed to be here--" One of the dorm supervisors had prostested, reaching out to grab for Luc.
It wasn't long afterwards that he found himself meeting the floor face-first, dazed and confused as the German continued a leisurely stroll straight into the girl's dorm hall.
Disregarding odd looks, incredulous, worried and entertained alike from the female students he crosses, Luc only has one goal here: a goal that finds itself towards the end of the hall in the form of a single door. For once in his life, the young man did some research. And stopping at the door before him, he stops, looks at the number, and furrows his brows. His hand lifts, to grab the door handle and twist to see if it will open. If not?
A second later, Luc is lifting his sneakered foot to smash it /forward/, knocking Estella de Santo's door open with a casual force.
"HEY!" He shouts as he enters, disregarding the sweltering heat that blasts across his face and swarms him with an almost palpable density. He's come prepared today. Dressed in his usual, somewhat gaudily monochrome outfit, there is one thing off about the boy; he wears thick, goggle-styled sunglasses, the lenses thick and black. To look at them, one might think they're a fashion statement. They're not. Luc hates them. But they obscure the light of the outside world, and the forms, enough for him to disregard one important thing; the details of a person's clothing, or lack thereof. Hopefully. If not? In his right hand, he clenches a strap of black cloth.
He's going to win this fight today. Even if he has to do it blind.
The door splinters inward, cleaved from the impossible kick. Dust fills the heavy heat of the de Santo dormitory. Then silence.
Then a girl turns a corner, her dark eyes suddenly veered on the sight that has all but Hiroshima'd her room. Were Luc able to see more than faint lines with those dark goggles, he would be treated to a genuine look of surprise waving full mast across Estella's face. She stares at him, like she's unable to decide which one of them has gone suddenly insane, slowly looking the boy down then up again.
Then a grin spreads like infection across her mouth.
"Cavalo!" the Brazilian greets in delight as she tucks in the end of her tiny white towel, the only thing she happens to be wearing -- besides her smile. Looking minutes out of a shower to anyone who can see, her dark skin flushed, she wrings water out of her long hair as she asks, both curious and pleased: "Why are you wearing blinders?"
Smiling along, she doesn't rebuke his hateful entrance. She doesn't even pass a second glimpse to the mess he's made of her door. Instead, with that same insolent laziness of hers, she stretches out her arms and turns, deciding to sit down on the foot of her bed. Those long, bare legs of hers that seem to keep going up to next Thursday move, crossing as she leans back on her hands.
Even if he can't make out the little things, the basic lines of her body are still drawn out with invitation.
Tilting her head like a cat does, her teeth showing momentarily against her bottom lip, plonging on the pliant flesh there, Pás considers her home invasion. And the strap of cloth dangling out of his right hand. She motions it out with a turn of her head. "What is that for?" Then realization crackles darkly inside her flared eyes. With a sudden, fierce eagerness, her grin gone serrated, she inquires hopefully of him, "Oh! Are you here to tie me up? Please do! I can even put on the show for you, the one where no means yes! We can even have... ah, what you say in English? Safe words? It can be..."
Her eyes crease with very serious thought. Pás concentrates on this detail. Then, biting on her lip through her roguish grin, she seems to have come to a decision. Their safe word can be, "Kumquat."
He should have probably brought earplugs.
Luc Schroedinger is here on a mission, and nothing and no one is going to deter him from it. Some people peer into the dorm room, shocked and surprised by the boy's sudden, rude entrance into the world of the Brazillian; they quickly run away, though, knowing well the German's reputation. And likely knowing Pás' reputation as well.
It's like another world that the German enters as soon as he steps through the flung open, splintered door. He only half-thoughtfully swings the door shut behind him; with it splintered as it is, the effect is like flinging it into the open portal, wood crashing noisily against the frame before the door ultimately stops in a lean against the dorm's entrance. Like he needs people storming in to try and interrupt. Green eyes behind those awkward, goofy-looking goggles observe the scenery around him, black brows lifting.
"Maan," He observes, "this looks fucking stupid."
But he's not here to comment on scenery. He's here to find the only person that resides in this dorm room -- the Brazillian that just so happens to be turning around the corner now. Spotting her out of the corner of his eye, the young man turns to stare -- and be thankful he made the wise choice of purchasing the ridiculous goggles now covering his eyes. Lord knows what she's wearing; he can't tell. And he's thankful for it.
Regardless, she seems calm despite his sudden, rude intrusion. Strolling to her bed, she sits down, and he watches with a distinct, sour frown. A hand lifts to his head, his index finger scratching idly at his ear. Why is he wearing blinders? "Why do you think? Don't be stupid." He returns with a grunt of irritation, flicking away invisible dirt from between his fingers. And then... she keeps talking.
He really should have brought earplugs.
But luckily, Luc is typically adept at not listening to things.
When she speaks, he's taken off guard. He blinks. He looks down, to the cloth in his hand, and then to her, and then to the cloth. "... Why the hell would I want to tie you up? I don't get it." He shrugs this off before shoving his hand, cloth and all, into his pocket. "... safe words? What are you talking abou--..." And then, it all dawns on him.
"..." Thankfully, his goggles obscure his eyes.
"NO, YOU IDIOT!" He hollars as he steps forward. Hands still in his pockets, it looks like a casual walk -- except for the fact that his foot is lifting seconds later. "I don't want to do THAT, freak! Shut up! We're GONNA FIGHT!" Black-blue, fiery chi blooms across Luc's foot, and in one smooth movement--
--Luc seeks to boot Pás right in the sternum.
"Kumquat. WHAT DOES THAT EVEN MEAN?!"
COMBATSYS: Luc has started a fight here.
[\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\ <
Luc 0/-------/-------|
COMBATSYS: Pas has joined the fight here.
[\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\ < > //////////////////////////////]
Luc 0/-------/-------|-------\-------\0 Pas
COMBATSYS: Pas endures Luc's Light Kick.
[ \\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\ < > /////////////////////////// ]
Luc 0/-------/-------|=------\-------\0 Pas
"We can do both? I also like it rough, Cavalo--"
He steps closer. She uncrosses her legs, still sitting back, welcoming him in with her bedroom eyes. At his question, her grin takes on an impish edge. "Well, German, there is only one way for you to find out."
She pats her mattress.
But her eyes never once leave him, and for good reason. She can see the unmistakable shift in his stance, the changing of his weight, and she knows the kick is coming. She knows, to deflect it, she would have to move now. But she's got a better plan. As Luc strolls up and recoils for the kick, Pás stays put. She never stops smiling.
He hits her, and she doesn't even try to move. She tenses only minutely before the strike, fully prepared to suffer it out, as it impacts fleshily and catches her straight in the middle. She skids back against her own bed, but not without her own ideas. With one foot, she tries to hook one of those trademark straps hanging off his pants. And, as she's flung back painfully, she tries to use her momentum to pull him forward... right on top of her.
If she does, she is all too ready to be his very pliant mattress. "C-Cavalo!" Pás blurts out, her voice affected with a flighty, gasping outrage. "You are a determined man! But I cannot yield! I will resist your masculine charms, even if you overpower me!"
But she's not the best of actresses; she cannot help her sudden, wild grin as her other leg drives up, trying to plant squarely into his gut.
COMBATSYS: Pas successfully hits Luc with Short Kick.
[ \\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\ < > /////////////////////////// ]
Luc 0/-------/-----==|=------\-------\0 Pas
She probably could have block the attack, but instead, she takes the blow head-on to set herself up into a more advantageous position. It makes Luc grin, just a little. Annoying though she may be, she fights like a crazy person.
The German can appreciate crazy.
What he can't appreciate, however, is her constant talking. It's just enough to throw him off-balance, irritate and distract him long enough for the speed of her backwards momentum to take him by surprise. His intention is to stiffen his footing, to hold fast as he feels her snag one of those straps across his pantslegs. His preparations, however, come a second too late, and soon afterwards he finds a harsh tug throwing him /forward/ with a stumble, striking her bed and tipping over it... right on top of the Brazillian.
It's probably, unlike some, the last place he wants to be. Mainly because Luc knows how disadvantageous it is to be on top of a crazy South American girl with powerful legs. But does he care? Not really; it would be pretty clear in those maddened green eyes, if they were visible. Instead, all Pás gets to see is a distinct frown as she talks.
"Geeze," Luc begins, "you really--"
She strikes. A sudden shot to the gut that kicks him up a few inches into the air. Yet, even as he does, he grips /securely/ onto the Brazillian's shoulders, twisting his body around in mid-air. The strike stings, but little more than that. The soreness in his stomach is overrode by the boy's lust for battle as he shifts his body, intending to land back-first and, with the thrust of his arms, chuck his opponent /straight/ into the air.
"--NEED TO SHUT UP."
Soon afterwards, a sudden, fiery sphere of black-blue chi is SHOT from Luc's right hand, intent on intercepting Pás in the gut in mid-air to send her on an explosive collision-course with the ceiling.
"I'm not interested in /that/, you freak!"
COMBATSYS: Pas just-defends Luc's Quick Throw!
[ \\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\ < > //////////////////////////// ]
Luc 0/-------/-----==|=------\-------\0 Pas
Despite all her quick strength, the Brazilian girl weighs very little. With her shoulders snatched, he easily slings her up into the air. Surprisingly, she goes immediately slack when he does, loosened up, giving no fight for her trajectory. A common preparation for someone whose fighting style is as much aerial as it is on foot. He throws her up, and immediately, like cats do, she's twisted around to keep facing her distant opponent. With that surprising quickness of hers, she reacts to the ball of chi the same instant she sees it. One bare foot suddenly alight with her own sparking energy, she suddenly draws it downward on the ascending attack, chi pushed down against chi.
Then, for half and eyeblink, just a sliver of a moment, she almost seems to be stepping down on his attack like someone would a stone out of a pond, walking... before stepping off, as it detonates a beat later. The momentum catches her, but not upward as he intended. As she intended, Pás goes stright back down. With an unchanged look in her eye, she arrows right back down at Luc, legs first, now her turn to be on top.
Smoothly, she is replying him, "Não, I think you are. See, poor boy, you just need some help--"
One foot tries to slam down onto his arm, to keep him there. The other draws back, as she hikes her towel up enough to let it fly. She recoils and cracks a sharp kick down at Luc, moving in a way now that boasts the par of her accuracy with that sheer power. If it connects, she squarely hits two places on him at the same snap: the first a resounding strike at the same place she hit him just before, and the second right at the face, aiming clearly to kick the goggles right off his face.
And if she does, and if he looks straight up...
He'll see London. He'll see France.
COMBATSYS: Luc endures Pas' Conta e Gorjeta.
[ \\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\ < > /////////////////////////// ]
Luc 0/-------/----===|=------\-------\0 Pas
He probably will not be seeing underpants.
This time around, however, Luc is far more prepared to deal with the Brazillian's attack than he was before. Irritation crosses his eyes at how she expertly deals with his attack, much like she did before -- this time, however, his thoughts don't linger. He immerses himself in his instincts just as Pás begins to descend.
It's as she falls in the wake of that explosion, that she might notice the telltale berserker grin on his lips.
She falls. A foot slams into his wrist, but he doesn't try to stop it; her leg sweeps upward, her towel moving with the motion. It swings downward, and instead of trying to stop the strike, it connects him solidly, first in the gut, and then straight across the face; the force of the blow is just enough to knock the goggles /upwards/. While not off his face, they have been pushed up far enough that Luc squints in a new exposure to bright lights. Bright lights, and--
--Why does this happen /every time he fights her/?
Luc blinks, and stares. But he hasn't paused. In the same motion of that look of dumbfounded, almost confused surprise, his body acts out on instinct to strike out at his attacking opponent. Though his one hand is pinned, the other is not; and in one smooth motion, it swings UPWARDS, index finger and thumb clenched tightly against each other.
"I DON'T NEED ANY HELP FROM YOU!" He roars. And, in one simple gesture... Luc snaps his fingers.
That's it. The German simply snaps his fingers, and in that same moment, a spark erupts from his fingertips. A small, black burst of power that sudden /expands/ into a broiling sphere of black, blue and violet chi, shot out all too suddenly at point-blank range to slam /DIRECTLY/ into the Brazillian's towelled torso in a sudden BOOM of an explosion. %r In the meantime, Luc is going to just spend a moment to stare like a lost and confused child. "What the /hell./"
COMBATSYS: Pas endures Luc's Explosive Round.
[ \\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\ < > ////////////////////// ]
Luc 0/-------/----===|====---\-------\0 Pas
Her toes bend down against the tendons in his wrist, the callused sole of her foot scraping raspily. With one hand on her hip, the towel barely on her body, and that smile pretty much tattooed to her lips, Pás bends at the waist to peer down at Luc. With her same sleepy patience and a curious edge in her gentled eyes, she waits for his to adjust to the light.
Among other things.
She can tell the instant he can see her. There is no mistaking the transparent mutation of his expression. Pás can't help but grin, amused as hell by him, encouraged along by every one of the boy's emphatic reactions. A guy like him is a rarity for her. A real gem. He is just too much fun. She leans in farther, getting in close so she can whisper secretively Luc's way: "Cavalo... you're staring."
Then he reacts. Pás is already accustomed to his usual speed in delivering attacks, already assured in thinking herself just a little bit faster... for the most part. But the sudden sparks she can see crackling off his fingers turns a different eye. She's curious to see how hard that chi of his can hit. She never got much of a chance last time.
So when he fires that thunderous explosion of energy her way, the Brazilian doesn't try to deter it. She accepts it cleanly, without fear or hesitation, and gets thusly educated. The sheer power of it throws her backward, her heels skidding against her own carpet, and her back hits flush against one of her walls, denting the drywall and cracking the rest. Potted vegetation rains down on either sides of her.
She coughs out, her damp hair slung over her shoulder, her towel ripped and smoking from being forced to absorb the vast power of something it's not supposed to.
Rubbing a bit of blood off her lips, Pás suddenly looks down, assessing her state of dress. Or what's left of it. She's on the verge of indecency.
Then she looks back up, fiercely, her eyes sharp, matching the grin scissoring across her mouth. "Ha!" she cracks out, "I think you're trying to get me naked. Don't be modest!"
She peels off from the wall, shaky but still strong, and bending, she widens her stance and crooks a finger. "Well, come finish what you've started."
COMBATSYS: Pas focuses on her next action.
[ \\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\ < > ////////////////////// ]
Luc 0/-------/----===|====---\-------\0 Pas
She accepts the attack. She doesn't try to defend against it, she just... takes it all. The sudden spark issues forth and hits the Brazillian with titanic, explosive force, and yet... she doesn't even try to do so much as move out of the way.
Luc blinks. Noticeably, in fact, as she accepts the blow. Instantly, he's back on his feet, sneakered feet squeaking from the sudden twist across the smooth ground. Usually, after all, when someone attempts to take the full brunt of an attack, they're sacrificing livelyhood for an opportunity to get a clean shot at the enemy. It's a strategy the German has pioneered; and so, as she flings /backwards/, his feet spread, hands lifting and burning with power in preparation. And yet... she skids backwards. She strikes the wall.
She doesn't try to attack him.
Luc pauses in the middle of his fighting stance, the chi surrounding his arms in a halo of black flames suddenly diminishing. They putter out into nothingness the moment that Pás makes it clear that she won't be attacking. Green eyes narrow, the grin fading from his lips. She didn't defend against his blow, and she's not attacking?
If she wasn't naked all the time, Luc could grow to like her.
But she is.
Instead, his grin fades into an impassive look of irritation and boredom, wide eyes almost instantly half-lidding. He lifts a hand and scratches the back of his head in annoyance as he gives a decided, squinted stare. At her face. Her /face./
"Don't be a moron, why would I want you to be naked? That's stupid." The German explains dully, his left hand slipping into his pants pocket. He's not DENSE; but why would he want the Brazillian naked during a /fight/? That's ridiculous.
Still, though. She's stopped attacking, and so, Luc just stands still, staring still. He'd like to think his eyes don't drift down. And if they do, it's instantly erased from his memory.
"How about you try hitting me /harder/ first?!"
COMBATSYS: Luc gains composure.
[ \\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\ < > ////////////////////// ]
Luc 0/-------/------=|====---\-------\0 Pas
When he declines to attack her, the Brazilian just lets go a light, airy little sigh, as though she were suffering the greatest of disappointments. "Now, don't be a bore," she chides him, as though that were the worst trait a person could possess, her smile daring to disappear for a beat or two.
But, with little wonder, it soon returns, especially when she begins moving. Despite all her tricky movement, there are times Pás can be a very direct, earnest fighter. Now is one of these moments, as she strides forward, then picks up speed, beginning to dash directly at Luc.
Could it seem, for once in her life, she is going to deliver him one sincere attack without a trace of deception?
But her hand has strayed to the ripped, burnt fabric barely covering her torso. The instant she gets close, Pás steps in and pulls down one side of her towel. She flashes Luc.
"Boo."
She follows it up with a sudden, crushing kick snapped right at his throat.
COMBATSYS: Luc blocks Pas' Colossal Kick.
[ \\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\ < > /////////////////////// ]
Luc 0/-------/----===|====---\-------\0 Pas
All these cheap tactics. Luc gets used to them /eventually./ Sometimes he has people like Marisol to lend a hand by nearly getting him killed by overprotective, Irish grandfathers. Eventually, though... eventually, he can adjust.
Being able to stay focused in the face of a flashing Brazillian just goes to show how much of a determined fighter Luc Schroedinger really is.
She comes, in a flash of movement that is, perhaps, faster than expected. But what she does preceding the attack SHOULD be expected. It's not, though. With the opening of that towel, Luc is left to stare downward at her chest. He looks almost blank. Her trick must have worked, because even as her foot snaps forward with that titanic thrust, he doesn't respond. It lances forward at impossible speeds--
--and at the last moment, it's stopped by a single hand. Behind that splayed open palm... the German grins.
Pás' upward thrust is all but stopped with a single step backwards on Luc's part. "What are you thinking..." He starts, his free hand clenching. And, keeping a firm grasp onto the Brazillian's foot, he rears his right hand backwards.
"... YOU THINK I'M GONNA FALL FOR THAT TWICE?!"
Disregard the fact that he's still looking. Because a second later, his hand thrusts forward in a body-blow aimed for the tricky South American's gut.
"MORON!" He's the freaking /champ./ This is one giant victory for Luc right here.
COMBATSYS: Luc successfully hits Pas with Jab Punch.
[ \\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\ < > ///////////////////// ]
Luc 0/-------/----===|======-\-------\0 Pas
It seems, by seeing that startled hitch to her face, a crack busted in that proud Brazilian's expression... that she wasn't expecting this.
But there it is, the reality descended upon her that the German is able to snatch her foot clean out of the air. And, held there on the spot, her leg tethered where he keeps it, for those scant few moments, Pás has the mind to do nothing but look completely shocked.
His other hand slams right into her stomach. She curls under the impact, the breath knocked out of her, crumpling a little and upright only because he's still got her foot captive. And bowed, face hidden beneath the dark, wavy wing of her hair, Pás lets a little muffled sigh go.
Then, she rights herself back up, an impossible look burnt across her face. Like a blind man given sight. Like a dying man looking up and upon the face of God. Like life breathed into a corpse. Slowly, but with a hot, searing purpose, Pás grins from ear to ear. She looks almost delirious with delight. Like she was hoping, to every depth of her heart, that this would happen.
"Oh, Cavalo..." she breathes, with the utmost truth hushing her words, "I like you."
Her tethered foot jerks, not to escape his handhold, but to use it. Pás bends her knee to pull herself in, driving forward to ram her head at his.
COMBATSYS: Pas successfully hits Luc with Zidane's Revenge.
[ \\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\ < > /////////////////// ]
Luc 0/-------/-======|=====--\-------\0 Pas
She... likes him, she says. Luc only grins.
Her foot is gripped, and the German holds solidly onto it as his fist makes explosive contact. She staggers, lurches, and then she looks upon him with a grin that almost mirrors his own, and with a look that, were he not lost in the fight, might confuse and annoy the young man. Instead, it's just lost to the maddened green eyes of the German. She speaks. His grin widens.
"Yeah?" He asks simply, "If you like me, then GIVE ME ALL YOU'VE GOT!"
And so she does. Her foot jerks, and though Luc notices it, he can't quite react in time. He moves IN to accept the brunt of the attack. Instead, her skull cracks against his forehead before he can fully prepare himself, and in a sudden flurry of motion he goes scrambling backwards, releasing her leg. Blood streams from his nose, a small trail from his lip. And Luc couldn't be more pleased.
"/THAT'S MORE LIKE IT./" With a roar, the German boy literally /leaps/ forward to close the distance between them once more, his wild black hair brushing across the roof before he lands /directly/ in front of the Brazillian. His right fist rears backwards, and with a blood-curdling bellow he seeks to deliver a brutal haymaker STRAIGHT across her face. It is proceeded by a sparkling, lancing BURST of black-blue chi that will explode across whatever it should connect with, and is all followed up with a backwards flip on Luc's part, seeking to slam his feet into her chin with his two, well-used sneakers. "GRAAAH!!"
COMBATSYS: Pas fails to counter Riot Revolver from Luc with Branded Mule.
[ \\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\ < > ///////////// ]
Luc 0/-------/=======|=======\-------\1 Pas
The instant she is released, the Brazilian drops back down into a crouch, poised on the balls of her feet as her eyes razor into Luc. She follows his vicious movement forward, and taking in that powerful jump of his, she begins to weigh her own response. She is not yet recovered from the pain of his last attack. She could lie in wait, and receive him only when he's gotten close, or...
Smiling fiercely to herself, Pás moves in turn, recklessly lunging forward to try to intercept Luc the moment he's out of the air. It is a seemingly fearless move, with no regard for her own safety. And even as it fails, struck down by the speed and skill of his body, she doesn't look surprised this time, all too aware of the sacrifice she's made. And is going to pay.
He careens into her, the first blow whipping her head to one side. Pás doesn't even get the chance to recover before he's followed it up, that swift series of attacks doing the ruthless job they're intended. With an explosion of chi, she is rocked backwards once more, thrown away from him and backward, her spine cracking against the side of the towering stereo occupying a corner of her room. It snaps to life, playing some raucous, crooning love song in Portuguese, as the Brazilian crumples in its midst, reduced to a tangle of her dark limbs and white towel.
For a moment, no movement comes from her. Then, suddenly, she kicks outward. Her foot strikes her stereo, and it crackles, and the song switches. It begins to drum out a quick, sweaty Samba, the beat pulsing twice the measure of her heart.
Slowly, painfully, Pás picks herself up, spitting blood carelessly on her carpet. She looks up at Luc as she does so, the teasing play momentarily gone from her eyes, that manic grin of hers sobered into a tired, but still unrelenting smile. "Ha... that was good. I'm impressed, Cavalo," she tells him, in a rare moment of seriousness.
He knows that movement. He's seen it at least twice before, after all, and he knows what proceeds it. Still, it's just inspiration for Luc to move faster before she can intercept him and diffuse all the force behind his blow. And so he does, and the end result is clear; with his final, flipping kick, the Brazillian is sent careening backwards, /slamming/ into that massive stereo. Luc lands just as the music begins to play in a sappy love song.
It's as the German lifts that the sour expression on his face is all too apparent, wipping blood from his lips and flicking it to the ground with disdain, and little care of concern over the fact that he is getting his blood all over someone else's apartment. "Tch," he mutters, scratching the inside of his ear with his pinky finger once more,
"This music sucks."
It seems that the German has successfully trampled his weakness and then curbstomped it into submission before blasting it away with a shotgun. He doesn't waste time to revel in the fact; fighting, after all, is a sacred sort of act. His fingers withdraw from his face, just as Pás kicks out. The music changes, to something more fast-paced. He doesn't know the style, he couldn't name the song if he tries. All he knows, is that it's, "... Hmph. Much better."
And now with the pace set, Luc is off his feet once more the moment that compliment slips past Pás' ears. "I haven't EVEN GOT STARTED." The German proclaims in a loud, unpleasant voice as he skids across the ground. What seems to be a straightforward attack to her face is suddenly shifted only feet from the Brazillian as Luc ducks /down/, his right hand bending at the elbow. He seeks for a simple, single blow; to shove his elbow STRAIGHT into Pás' solar plexus, striking the nerve cluster with a vicious physical blow before a sudden, explosive BURST of black chi ruptures from his arm. "AHAHAHAAA!!" He's into his flow, now.
No breasts will screw up his mojo /ever again./
COMBATSYS: Pas blocks Luc's Medium Punch.
[ \\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\ < > /////////// ]
Luc 0/-------/=======|=======\=------\1 Pas
A slight transformation befalls the girl, almost as if she's decided he's earned a sliver of her intensity. As if, before that point, she hadn't engaged him with the least bit of seriousness. Pás shakes herself out, fixes her towel to keep what's left it secured on her body, and ties her long hair back between a knot of her bleached braids. The electric glee of her face is traded back for lazy, noncommittal approval, her take-it-or-leave-it attitude straightened like her decency.
The music also is something she was sorely missing. If not better, this is going to make the rest of the fight a lot more fun. Luc's promise greatly adds to that. Staring at him under the droopy hooding of her eyelids, Pás seems to have no problem believing him. "I love a boy with stamina."
As he thrusts himself forward, despite all her pain, she seems still able to read his movement. Pás steps forward as well, with that same fearless edge, stayed not by any degree of power or ache in her body, widening her stance at the last moment and going to her dance. She whips a hand out to block his strike, giving herself an injection of momentum off his turned arm. With a sharp skid, she tries to duck under his turned shoulder, going down to one hand and tightening her legs. She drives them out, trying to aim a two-footed kick at his side, where it's vulnerable and tender.
COMBATSYS: Luc interrupts Strong Kick from Pas with Tyrant Strike.
[ \\\\\\\\\\\\\\ < > //////// ]
Luc 1/-------/=======|=======\====---\1 Pas
While the Brazillian makes her decided shift into something more seriously, Luc, as usual, begins his rapid decline into an intense berserker rage. If he notices her sudden, slight shift in demeanor and attitude, he doesn't say anything; instead, he just howls with laughter and thrusts forward in an intense charge.
And yet, she predicts his movements, almost perfectly. It hardly deters the young German, though. Instead, he just grins all the wider as his burning elbow strikes her hand with an explosive BURST of power. Black chi just starts to roll off the young boy's body now, reacting to the intensity of his emotional state. Seaping off him in waves that add to the intensity of the heat in the room, his entire body seems to waver from the waves of power that shudder across him. He seems not to notice as Pás ducks underneath him, his green gaze staring straight forward. And then, as she lashes out--
"TOO /SLOW/!!"
The moment that the Brazillian's feet strike at his side, he is already leaping /FORWARD/. Her feet only graze his body for a momentary sting of pain before his right foot snaps out, a vertical jumpkick aimed at slamming into Pás' sternum to send her along for the ride. Black-blue chi flows around his leg in a spiral, and the moment that the Brazillian strikes the nearby wall -- all that chi channels FORWARD out of his leg, and /into/ her in an explosive detonation that sends Luc rocketing backwards.
"HIT ME /HARDER/! COME ON!!"
Looking up fiercely the instant she feels her cracking hit touch more air than yielding flesh, Pás only gets to see Luc's incoming kick. He catches her cleanly, her body folding under the direct hit, half-stepping, half-skidding toward her dormitory wall. She hits it hard with one shoulder, catching herself with one hand in a half-crouch, preparing herself... to get hit again by that sudden storm of chi coming in to rain down on her.
If she had hit hard before, it is nothing like this, her second crushing impact denting the wall bloodily. Again, Pás crumbles instantly, her dark skin burned in places, cut in others. She sprawls against the carpet, breathing shallowly, for the longest of moments only able to move just a few fingers.
But when the feeling comes back to the rest of her, and she finds she can turn her head, she is smiling.
Slowly, ever one to waste time any way she sees it, Pás slowly pushes herself up, her dark eyes anchored across the room onto Luc. She smiles calmly, but crookedly at him, looking every much his foil, matching his hot, urging rage every bit with a tempered, easy laziness. Slowly, the Brazilian stands again, injured but still not finished, one knee shaking a little. The background music plays out her patient revival.
And from a girl who speaks nothing but taunts and tormenting double-entendres, comes something strange and unusual.
Looking straight at Luc, she suddenly asks of him, her voice gentle, inquiring, "Do... you hear this music, Cavalo? Listen. In my language, it tells you... no cabo da minha enxada não conheço coroné. It asks all who hear if they have the soul enough to conquer the land. It's a lesson for us to find power out of all things, or to be destroyed.
"Music like that turns what we do into a dance."
Pás breathes in deeply, rolling her neck and testing her limbs. When she finds herself ready, knows herself able to do this, then returns a familiar grin. He wants harder?
She answers, speaking his name for its first time: "As you wish, Luc."
Stepping forward, Pás flexes her hands, tightening her knuckles and letting them free again. Her fingers crackle with sparks, flinting fire spitting from their tips. It is an unusual display of power coming from her... when has she ever struck anyone with her hands?
Ankles crossed, she smoothly strafes forward, the white towel moving against her thighs. She steps toward Luc, watching him sidelong, out the corners of her wily brown eyes. Sparks hiss from her palms. For an instant, she looks away, around the perimeter of her dormitory room. As if sharing a private joke, the girl suddenly smirks.
The music on her stereo picks up its pace.
Like two stones struck together, her face ignites with hot, fiery mirth, her crooked grin as searingly sharp as her first kick is fast. She suddenly flips, inverted, her back bowed as she slams both heels at his face. And it doesn't stop, as she picks one hand off the ground, twisting then to lash her feet on his knees. Then at his ribs. Then at a kidney. Then for a side. She is a flurry of wild, reckless attacks,
The girl flips, corkscrewing through the air, landing again on her hands in time to try to drive a foot home at his back. Then his other side. Then she switches, cartwheeling, aerial for the graceful moment she knees to slide a knee home at his face. Then his other side again.
Pás is turning circles around Luc, upside-down, lunging and walking on her hands that burst with handfuls of hot sparks, little detonations in miniature. To the pounding drums raging from her stereo, she is fighting in measure, laying kick after kick, landing on her palms that slam into the floor in showers of sparks and distant rumbling.
It gets faster. First the music and then the girl, following it religiously, around him and around him, turning endless loops of those kicking legs that draw in closer and closer, the carpet burning away from beneath her palms, fire catching in little tongues of flames.
The Bahian drums don't stop. The room is beginning to shape. The foundation beneath them groans.
And faster and faster, more pinwheel than young woman, a blur of dusky limbs, white towel, and her staring sunset eyes, Pás-- stops. On both hands, her back curled tightly, her legs pulled in, she stands just before Luc now, her crackling hands humming against the floor, the low, surging pulse of energy timed to the heartbeat of her dance. She looks up at him. Her teeth flare as she gives him her most delicious grin. And with a wink, both feet slam dead toward his chest.
A sudden explosion rips against all four walls of her room. The broken door snaps. The window breaks outward. And the floor craters under his feet.
COMBATSYS: Pas successfully hits Luc with Fevered Earth.
[ \\\\\\ < > /////// ]
Luc 1/--=====/=======|-------\-------\0 Pas
At the very least, Luc Schroedinger tries to endure the storm that comes crashing down onto him.
Trying doesn't really count for much, though.
It's the calm before that storm that probably sets Schroedinger off enough to set him up perfectly for the tirade that is to follow. The actual serious note from the Brazillian causes him to pause, the rolling swell of black chi simmering ever so slightly as his raging passion is broken down, even by a little bit. He listens to her, green eyes squinting.
Lectures, and that just means a prelude to something big. He hopes. Instead of maintaining a solid guard, though, the German slowly rises to a full stand, his hands slipping into his pockets. His head cocks to the side, an small, dry frown slithering its way across his lips.
"... whatever," He says after a long, thoughtful moment, grumbling the words out as a brow lifts. "Just show me how strong your stupid dance is!"
He hates words. Luc is not a man who's overly fond of speaking at length, and so, as Pás finishes, he looks pleased. The usage of his actual name brings a small pause, but little more; that she did so just means she takes the fight seriously enough to come at him with everything she has. And so, he leans forward... and grins.
"SHOW ME WHAT YOU'VE GOT, GIR--"
He's cut off before he can even finish the words. Suddenly, oddly, the Brazillian inverts. Luc doesn't move. One might debate he doesn't have TIME to, but there is an obvious sense that the German WILLINGLY stands absolutely still to accept the full brunt of the attack; the hands in his pockets, the vicious grin, the fact that he doesn't even /attempt/ to move. The intent is clear. He wants to endure every. Last. Second.
And he gets just what he wants, even if it moves too fast for him to use the momentum to his advantage. He endures the sum whole of Pás' attack in all it's brutality. The heels to his face, his knees, his ribs, kidneys... everything. A flurry of blows everywhere that sends him staggering, and the young man doesn't even try to stop it; blood dribbles down his mouth, his pearly white teeth stained with red as he laughs loud and riotously over the entire ordeal. Is he in pain? Words can't describe it.
Which just makes it EVEN BETTER.
The room shakes, and in the last moment, as she stops -- she'll get a good look at the intensity of the boy's stare, the blazing flames of black that sprout around him -- just before a sudden explosion of chi knocks him STRAIGHT off his feet.
Smoke and rubble lift in the aftermath of the blow, obscuring the room in a haze of smoke. There is a silence, for a time... until that laughter cuts through the quiet once more. The Brazillian should be able to see him now. A single hand, his right hand, lifting HIGH into the air, burning with intense, black, blue and violet chi. Heat ripples throughout the room more intensely than before.
"HAAAAAAAAAAH!"
And in one simple and fluid motion, Luc SLAMS his fist into the ground.
The flooring cracks beneath the strength of the shot as almost immediately, four points of violet light stretch out from all around them, reaching out far until their entire expanse covers the entire area of the dorm. The moment they stretch out to their limit, there is a brief pause... and then, from those glowing lines explode giant WALLS of chi that slice through the walls, crash RIGHT against the ceiling. Swirling panels of black, blue and violet encompass Pás' dorm in a cross section, before they begin to swirl... quickly. The walls rotate, threatening to pick up the Brazillian in their wake as they RUSH across the floor, churning it up, ripping the walls to shreds; the outer wall explodes OUTWARD from the force as plaster falls down from the ceiling. Eventually, they move so fast that they become a literal storm of power intent on sending the Brazillian swirling about... until it all detonates in one, glorious explosion, destroying anything it hadn't yet in the process.
And at the epicentre of all this is Luc, letting out a single, blood-curdling yell.
COMBATSYS: Luc successfully hits Pas with Demiurge Trigger.
[ \\\\\\ < > ]
Luc 0/-------/------=|======-\-------\0 Pas
With a fierce turn of her head, staring up down the line of her ceiling, Pás follows the charges of chi as they syringe straight into the foundation. She doesn't frown; such an expression is unthinkable for her, so far from ever considering sich a treat like this to be a terrible thing. There is little to nothing she fears. This is having fun.
But weighted under the growing, curling power of his mounting attack, she is drawn to do only one thing. The Brazilian girl backsteps, all too aware that her room is already forfeit, and she is compelled to protect the only possession that matters to her. Approaching her dresser, she reaches back one foot to hook the handle and open a drawer, and she places inside it the stray, aimless photo of the woman that goes against the rest of her room. Closing it, she seems satisfied.
And ready.
And just in time, because it's pretty much at that moment when all things go straight to hell.
The first bisecting wall of chi catches her soundly, and she skids the full width of her room until her back slams cleanly against the wall, cracks splintering up the broken mortar. Falling on the spot, little strength to keep her upright, the dazed Brazilian can only look up, her eyes catching the instant the second vice of chi comes barreling down. Her eyelids drooped a little, Pás only looks askance.
Her body buries under rubble. The ceiling cleaves in two. The floor splinters upwards, planks of hardwood curling upward like bony fingers. The walls shake once, as if grunting, forced to endure a horrific energy, and then they puncture, exploding outward like busted boils. The furniture topples and rips itself up. The music shrieks, that fierce samba skipping then stopping without warning, when busted bits of mortar shreds the stereo in a shower of electrical sparks.
The last explosion shreds what's left of the de Santo dormitory, and shakes the entire building on its very legs.
Then, in a cloud of clearing dust, it all goes still. It all goes peacefully silent.
The outside wind curls into the room through where one wall used to be, the room ventilated out that dripping, ragged hole. The sun shines in. Birds chirp distantly.
An index finger twitches. Followed by its sisters, as rubble shifts as someone's hand suddenly moves. Slowly, dreamily, Pás opens her eyes. She can see outside. She can feel the mid-afternoon wind, smelling distantly of the sea. She wonders why she can, but then reality answers that for her, when she realizes she's half-hanging out the gaping wall of her dorm.
Oh.
Shaking her head, she tries to get the feeling back into her hands before she moves them. And with the groan of turned debris and broken brick, the dead have arisen, her dusty, bleeding body rising ever so slowly, ever so dizzily to its feet. It stands there a moment, bowed, breathing steadily. Then it turns.
Pás faces Luc with her unspoiled patience. She is a mess, colouring with bruises, smeared with blood in places, her hair fallen out of its braided binds and framing her wildly. And, through the very grace of God above, she's still wearing that damned towel, which has got the Shroud of Turin matched in sheer tenaciousness.
She just stares at him, keeps on staring, as she begins to move forward. She stumbles and limps heavily, no doubt on her last leg, no doubt one push and a breath from a collapse. The girl trips on rubble, catches herself, and keeps on going, walking so very slowly, gingerly toward him with that untouchable patience of hers. In mid-walk, that grin has appeared back on her face, crooking one side of her mouth, and she lifts one hand, curling beckoning fingers. Come on. Come closer. She's not done yet.
Dazed, she rocks to one side, her knee wobbling, but keeps moving on. With that mixture of humoured determination, she closes on Luc, and awards him with her first and only direct, sincere attack.
Fiercely, predictably, and with no preamble, she walks up and just tries to headbutt him right in the face.
COMBATSYS: Pas can no longer fight.
[ \\\\\\ <
Luc 0/-------/------=|
COMBATSYS: Luc fails to interrupt Zidane's Revenge from Pas with Hellacious Headbutt.
- Power fail! -
COMBATSYS: Luc can no longer fight.
The culmination of every little bit of Luc's anger ends in a sudden, beautifully horrific explosion.
The end result has the German standing in the midst of rubble. Clearly exhausted himself, he only wobbles a little as the adrenaline begins a slow drain from his body. Fingers tick, stretching out at either side of him. His body is still smoking in the aftermath of her last attack, but the point is, he's still standing... and she's lost in the midst of rubble. Perhaps later if she hadn't surfaced, he would start to care. Right now, he's too busy still riding on the remnants of his berserker high--
--and besides, she seems to be just fine, if not completely battered.
He hears the shift of rubble before he sees the rise of Pás, green eyes slowly turning to look over his shoulder at the slowly rising form. "... huh. You're not unconscious yet? ... You're pretty tough." Even without those tricks and the ability to use her crazy warlock breasts to confuse him, the Brazillian has proved to be quite skilled. Luc is finally appeased. As appeased as a battle maniac can be, anyway.
Within the hour, you better believe he'll probably be hungering for another fight.
For now, though, at the present -- the German turns to fully regard the rising girl. Calmly, the German slides his hands into his pockets, his expression not even remotely betraying the physical abuse clearly evident on his body. Most of his jacket has been burned off in the wake of Pás' last explosive strike; all that remains is tatters of black leather, white fur, and burned flesh. But still, he observes her with an almost bored expression, his green eyes half-lidding distinctly. "Maaan... that tenacious crap is annoying, you know? Even if you're too dumb to know how to stay down, though..."
She starts to move. Luc starts to run in response, speeding across the ground as she does.
"... I LIKE YOU!"
-CRACK-
Scalp meets scalp in a sudden, simultaneous headbutting, Luc's head snapping /back/ as he reels a single step from the blow. There is a long moment of silence as he stands tall, wobbling. And then:
"God dammit," He mutters as he teeters, and then falls straight forward, liable to take the Brazillian with him from the fall.
"Stupid girls."
Despite all her bruising and battery, her strike hits home. And hits hard. And catching herself into one last stance, her legs shivering, her back aching, Pás looks up the instant after Zidane has his last revenge.
She watches Luc's head snap backward. She watches him stumble. She starts to smirk--
--Then he falls on her.
Eyes widening, Pás doesn't even have a chance. The German boy falls and she goes under, flattened under his larger weight. There she lies, collarbone against his, felled haphazardly, limbs entangled and askance. She would appear dead, if it were not for the throaty breath that escapes her parted lips at the last moment, chest rising and falling with the faintest wisp of motion. Opening her brown eyes, she turns them downward, and her lips can't help but sharpen up with a smirk.
Pás lolls her head back against the broken floor, a scratchy sigh ghosting out of her throat. She finds the energy left to tell the room, on one last breath, "...Kumquat," before her eyes, too, slip shut, her body falling limp beneath his.
Log created on 14:39:59 06/10/2007 by Luc, and last modified on 01:41:56 06/11/2007.