Description: [Aislinn vs Preston] The Round 3 Jinchuu match between Aislinn and Preston Alistair Wellington II is a nasty, brutish, and short affair, much like Thomas Hobbes' view on men in the state of war. Somehow, someway, Aislinn is the last man(?) standing... [Winner: Aislinn]
The tournament continues. That's really the best way to put it, once one looks beyond the mysterious events that are going on, and the participants who are taking it upon themselves to investigate those events and the ship itself.
On the flipside of such open concern, others just don't care. Preston Alistair Wellington the II is one of them. For the Round 3 Bout, they've come up with a rather amusing concept; strap the combatants with a ton of little sensors, then shove them into a special room within the hold to fight it out. Within that room itself, data is already being displayed. The Brit is already strapped. He's just not in the room yet.
The LCD monitors sprawl data on just about everything concerning him. And for the moment, one is dipping downwards. Urine Level.
Invasive to say the least, it isn't long until the Brit actually enters the specialized room. He pauses there at the door, clad in little save a pair of pants and a lot of visible sensors, staring at the walls and all the data present there. "Well that's just fucked up," he comments, as is his wont, striding further in with that massive oar of his slung over his shoulders. Those hazel eyes fail to turn away from the walls, shifting from one facet of data to the next.
Fortunately, Aislinn was released from the brig at least six hours before her fight... though she's certainly still under observation, so she's done nothing untoward, simply went to her cabin, and then, before the match, to the sickbay to have these sensors attached and all that. It makes her uncomfortable, sure--all 'medical' procedures do. But the end result should be very interesting because--in truth--this is how she sees the world when she fights.
Aislinn is already waiting in the room in the hold, decked out in her usual gear--black leather, lavender piping, heavy combat boots, gloves, the whole deal, and the influx of data doesn't seem to bother her much, if at all. It might be a little disorienting for some, but... Ais is used to this kind of thing. She is actually sitting crosslegged when Preston walks in, but unfolds herself to a standing position.
"Preston Alistair Wellington the Second," she states, as she rises. And... well, that's about it. It's clear he knows why he's here and she knows why -she's- here. And she has no compunction about starting the fight off.. but she doesn't really come at Preston, first off--instead she just calls on her chi, the ship be damned, that yellow meter rising as electricity crackles up and down her form.
COMBATSYS: Aislinn has started a fight here.
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Aislinn 0/-------/-------|
COMBATSYS: Aislinn gathers her will.
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Aislinn 0/-------/---====|
COMBATSYS: Preston has joined the fight here.
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Aislinn 0/-------/---====|-------\-------\0 Preston
It's the sound of another person's voice, let alone it speaking his name, that draws Preston's attention over to the rising Aislinn. Immediately, that gaze of his narrows to a squint -- and it seems the girl isn't missing a beat. A sideways glance is given towards the rising yellow meter on the monitors, and a heavy, thoughtful sound is grunted out of the brute.
The oar comes off his shoulder, swung about to be brandished in front of him. A moment later, he twirls it defensively, his background as a staff-fighter coming to the fore. "Can't remember your name from the announcement," he replies with an off-hand shrug, searching the monitors to see what other information it reveals to him about his opponent.
From what he can gather, attacking right now seems like a bad idea. So he doesn't. Instead he turns his hazel gaze onto Aislinn and delivers one hell of a squint. Various indicators pertaining to his concentration levels spike. "You gonna stand there and crackle all day, luv?"
COMBATSYS: Preston focuses on his next action.
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Aislinn 0/-------/---====|-------\-------\0 Preston
Oh no, no she isn't. But she ignores the jibe--not one to let someone's talking put her off her gameplan. The electricity snaps off, abruptly, and Aislinn considers her options--there are any number of things she could be doing right now. But really, in the end, it comes down to this--she just needs to beat Preston. Her right lip curls upwards in a little half-smirk and she seems to shrug her head a little, right before she lunges.
Her forward lunge is pretty fast, taking her the length of the room from her standing point to Preston, and as she plants her feet, she uses the point of contact with the deck to transfer momentum from her forward momentum into her right leg, which whips up high in a roundhouse snap kick aimed for Preston's head.
COMBATSYS: Aislinn successfully hits Preston with Light Kick.
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Aislinn 0/-------/---====|==-----\-------\0 Preston
The fight starts with a lunge, and as Aislinn approaches the Brit rather purposely holds his oar to the side. A tell-tale smirk plays on his own features, as he waits to see just what the girl has going for her. That leg comes up -- and he fails to move, welcoming the strike across the side of his head.
Two steps to the right, and he retaliates. The butt of the oar is thrust backwards; a spear-like thrust with intent to simply keep his opponent back from capitalizing on what may be an opening. It's swiftly followed as he twists on a heel to bring the broad flat of the oar about, whistling through the air with a simple intent to clobber Aislinn about the neck or head region.
COMBATSYS: Aislinn fails to interrupt Medium Strike from Preston with Brutal Hammer.
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Aislinn 0/-------/--=====|==-----\-------\0 Preston
And fail to capitalize she does; intent on Preston, she surges forward--right into that strike, which staggers her to -her- left. Her head whips down, and around, and back up as she regains her footing--with a little smirk. Preston hits hard, that's for sure--she'll have to remember it. He wonldn't've gotten this far in the tournament without being able to do so.
Steadying herself, Aislinn backhops once, giving herself room to manuever as she awaits the big man's next move. While timing her surge would have been better, she hasn't sustained anything close to disabling damage yet.
That smirk is mirrored as the Brit draws himself up to his full height. A single glance is given towards the more obvious monitors, those regarding their respective health levels. "Makes for an interestin' fight, doesn't it?" he makes light conversation, that oar once again brought into a defensive twirl.
Preston is a brute, most simply. He towers over the diminutive Aislinn, and likely weighs at least twice as much as she does. The defensive posture breaks as he takes a step forward, the oar shifting in his grip to thrust it forward as a spear once more.
It's aimed for her belly, and if he catches her, she's going for a ride; he'll hoist with all of those brutish muscles of his, exerting a grunt as he hoists into the air -- only to slam her back into the ground!
COMBATSYS: Preston successfully hits Aislinn with Bunting Tosser.
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Aislinn 0/-------/=======|===----\-------\0 Preston
This is going badly; Aislinn was prepared to take the move, but something about the way Preston swung pretty much ended that. She's thrust into the belly, then lifted up and slammed, rolling away shortly thereafter. But she doesn't seem disturbed at all; she simply rises to her feet, and even though the various meters around the hold tell the harsh tale, she herself seems unbothered in the least. Instead, her eyes narrow and something changes, minutely.
Energy crackles around her hands and feet and she lunges forward again, seeking to bury her right fist into Preston's stomach. Should that happen, she'll follow up with a left cross to his jaw. Both attacks crackle with her red-white electrical chi, flaring bright around the striking limbs.
COMBATSYS: Aislinn successfully hits Preston with Medium Punch.
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Aislinn 0/-------/=======|======-\-------\0 Preston
After dispensing with the girl, Preston's attention shifts as the monitors alert him of a change in his opponent. He doesn't have time to read into what; he just decides against his gut reaction. An attempt is made to block the assault, but she seems a bit faster now -- and her strikes certainly have an added edge, as that chi lashes out across his body with both successful hits.
Grunting as he takes a step or two back, he holds off on further talk for the moment. The oar threatens, coming up and slashing -- but it's purposefully wide, the strike whistling through air.
It's a feint, one meant to drive Aislinn sideways -- right into the Brit's massive hand, so that he may hoist her up. If it gets that far, a smirk will paint his face as a series of white-blue chi strikes materialize from behind him, thrusting forward past the burly brute to stab at his victim.
COMBATSYS: Preston successfully hits Aislinn with Cape Horn Fever.
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Aislinn 1/------=/=======|=======\-------\1 Preston
Again, there's no sign of pain from the girl, even as she's hoisted and stabbed by her opponent's chi. Surely, it hurts--it has to hurt. But as much as it hurts, once Aislinn drops, she's springing back into action... or at least, springing, rising to her feet and backflipping away from Preston. Seems like now, she wants him to come to her; that is what her expression says, her concentration going up as she studies the young man. No, she hasn't underestimated him... but she's definitely expecting something big from him, now... If this -is- one of 'those' fights, then, it will be very brutal and very short, one way or the other.
COMBATSYS: Aislinn focuses on her next action.
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Aislinn 1/------=/=======|=======\-------\1 Preston
That smirk remains on Preston's face as Aislinn springs back. Again, those hazel eyes take a sideways glance at the monitors nearby, particularly as it becomes clear that the opponent is waiting on him. "Very interesting," he intones noncommittally, attention shifting back to her.
Something big comes; the Brit steps close, a measured approach. That oar of his, such a potent weapon, is spun about him in a very precise, very expert manner. The revolutions speed up the closer he gets, as he draws into range.
The strike comes -- slower than expected. It's another feint, a high strike whistling through the air OVER Aislinn's head, as his massive, bare foot comes hurtling in to try and catch her right in the chest.
COMBATSYS: Aislinn counters Light Kick from Preston with Plasma Reverse.
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Aislinn 0/-------/-------|=======\======-\1 Preston
Preston's been -wrecking- her with feints--causing her carefully controlled gameplan to go out the window. But finally she just stops looking for the feints and looks for the -attacks-. So that high strike is ignored, completely, Aislinn not even flinching as the oar practically gives her a Guile haircut--and that foot is not only stopped, it's caught in her hands.
And then she lets go, completely, all that stored up energy flaring into her hands and then into Preston, red-white lightning zapping across the circuit made by her grip on his hands to surge through Preston in painful waves, blasting through him for at least ten seconds before Aislinn releases his foot and lets him drop.
Rather than remain at the young man's feet, once again, she draws back a few yards, and... waits.
Suffice it to say, that was not the outcome that Preston was anticipating. His foot caught, pain blooms thereafter, narrowing his vision down as he most definitely finds himself seeing red. He'd dub that the 'Sizzler,' if the name weren't so heavily trademarked. Ultimately released, he issues a rather heavy grunt, one glance spared towards the monitors that display just how bad a state he's in now.
His mouth opens, and smoke exits it.
"Oh, that was cute," he sarcastically compliments, giving his shoulders a quick shrug as he puts aside the pain. Yes, this is definitely turning into a short and brutal affair; so the Brit decides to hasten the ship towards its destination.
With an abrupt burst of speed, he leaps at Aislinn with an aim to land in front of her. As he moves, he twists in the air, that oar whistling through the air with the blade held flat. It's a very linear strike -- but it's a ridiculously fast attack, for someone the size of Preston. Upon landing, he completes the revolution, snapping the blade out to bring the broad expanse through for a very specific purpose.
It's time for a paddling. The kind that sends people into last week.
COMBATSYS: Preston successfully hits Aislinn with Man Overboard!.
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Aislinn 0/-------/--=====|==-----\-------\0 Preston
Yes, it is very fast. Too fast for Aislinn to think about doing anything -other- than bracing for the strike. But she's completely unprepared--just didn't expect him to be that fast. She's.. paddled, and man, does it hurt. Once again, the meters tell what she won't; as Aislinn recovers from the attack, still standing...
...she comes up 'swinging', as it were... her arms snapping out to try and find Preston's head. The goal--the only goal--is to find his head and smash it with a headbutt--he's taller than she is so she'd have to jump to make the headbutt... but if that's what she has to do, she will.
COMBATSYS: Aislinn successfully hits Preston with Brutal Hammer.
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Aislinn 0/-------/--=====|=======\-------\0 Preston
After such a tremendous exertion, the Brit is somewhat slower than he should be -- and he pays for utilizing that ultimate strike, as Aislinn zips in and delivers what most would consider a rather devastating headbutt. He stumbles back, reeling. This fight has been remarkably draining, the additional insights leading to a very brutal encounter between the two.
Blood trickles down his forehead. The monitors say it all; he's practically on his last legs. Gritting his teeth, he turns savage in his final moments. A meaty hand lashes out with a simple goal; grab her hair, and slam her down into the floor.
COMBATSYS: Aislinn counters Quick Throw from Preston with Lightning Reverse.
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Aislinn 0/-------/=======|=======\==-----\1 Preston
She doesn't have much hair but... she doesn't like having it grabbed, either. And despite her own fatigue, and the pain undeniably coursing through her body--pain as evil and acid as Alien blood--she's still swift to react. It costs her in energy--in personal reserves--but it's more than worth it, as she grabs Preston's hand as he reaches out.
Grabs, and releases another shock of chi into him--not much, really, far less than the amount she poured through him just moments ago--but enough, perhaps, to put him down... or so she hopes, because now she's truly exhausted, her muscles feeling rather like lead.
Thwarted again by the plucky little Aislinn, Preston is again sent for a bit of a stumble, his flesh steaming from the energy that's sent cascading into him. Those teeth of his threaten to grind to dust as he gathers himself. For but a brief moment, his thoughts turn inwards;
You're done, Preston.
Then he puts the thought aside in favor of another one; let's fuck this bitch up.
Mustering his resolve for one final strike, he offers Aislinn a slight smirk; "You're not a big talker, are ya, luv? Nice change of pace. Most of the fucks I ran into are a little too talkative." Even as he himself talks, he lifts the oar overhead, giving it a lazy twirl. "And a little too flippant. But not you, huh? The silent type.
"I could almost like that."
But the monitors in the room flash red, a warning that structural integrity is about to be threatened. From beneath Aislinn, a massive swell of chi abruptly manifests, an explosion of water rocketing upwards with intent to knock her sky-high--!!
COMBATSYS: Preston can no longer fight.
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Aislinn 0/-------/=======|
COMBATSYS: Preston successfully hits Aislinn with Azimuth Circle.
Glancing Blow
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Aislinn 1/-------/=======|
He could almost like that? It's true the girls Preston usually encounters are precocious, talkative, and oddly social--more so than Aislinn would -ever- be. But... he could almost like that? It's not like Aislinn cares. Sensing that Preston has just a little bit left to give, Aislinn is prepared for that surge of energy--indicators going off on the various monitors, and her own personal alarm senses going off--
--and still she's clipped by the blast, sent spinning away as she lunges away from it, slamming hard into the hull... but still standing, for all that. He could almost like that.
Finally, Aislinn speaks, gazing at the downed body of Preston. "'I could almost like that?'" she echoes, softly, as she turns to limp her way out of the hold, "... I don't really care." All she cares about--is she survived. Is it a win? Most would say so--Aislinn stopped thinking about the fight in those terms roughly about two exchanges in. Not a tournament fight--a fight for her life.
Log created on 22:30:51 09/16/2007 by Aislinn, and last modified on 06:30:36 09/17/2007.