Description: Cherise Bouchard, and the man known only as Remy. A long way from their native France, in the underground urban sprawl of Metro City - deep in the tunnels of a subway station. An ugly place to be. But then, these are ugly people. In soul and mind, if not in form...
The howl of wind, blasting through a long tunnel. A gale-force breeze stirred by the passage of several tons of high-speed metal, screeching to a halt upon the tracks. The noise of a train, as it stops, brakes engaging, coming into place besides the platform. A subway train, boxy cars lit from the inside, packed with people so full they can barely breathe. The doors open, now, clattering apart, and more join the sheer press of humanity, more people boarding than alighting, cramming themselves mercilessly into the narrow spaces. Overhead, a voice blares, crackling through speakers, indistinct. And then another, more clearly, a recorded voice warning to stand clear of closing doors - an almost impossible feat, in this crowd. But one that is managed all the same, for the doors do indeed shut. And the train, once again, is off, racing down the tunnels, swirling wind in its wake. Leaving, still, a great crowd of people waiting on the platform. For it, really, never ends.
Rush hour.
A thing that saps the senses, that drains the mind, the energy, the spirit - the humanity. There's a reason, after all, why /commuter violence/ is an endemic problem among the subway systems of the world. All the more true in a place like Metro City, one of the largest and most densely populated urban centers in the world.
A fist clenches, in irritation. A newspaper crumples beneath clenched fingers, beneath a hand tightened into a white-knuckled grip. Eyes, framed by long green hair, look up at the dully-glowing electronic signs heralding the arrival of the next trains - or their delay, more correctly. A voice swears, long and fluid, in French. Someone jostles him - and he whips round, swearing more.
Remy.
So far, Cherise has enjoyed herself more than she first expected in Metro City-- gathering enough brochures and reading material to keep her entertained on her flight, and all of what had happened just the other day with the strange Chinese woman just outside of city hall.
And she still does look like a bit of a tourist, all things considered.
Her silvery hair washed free of blood and properly styled, her face now only showing a few lingering cuts from what had happened to her, the young Frenchwoman finds herself standing ready at one of the great mass transit systems that stretch across the cities of this country-- and it would be her first time to ride on one, considering most of her travel thusfar has been done by a taxi!
But from the stance she holds and the look on her face, Cherise Bouchard certainly isn't enjoying the smell down here. She stands with her weight shifted to one leg, dress fluttering to either side with each strong gust of wind accompanied by the steel serpents blazing across the tracks every so often. One arm is across her chest, the other elbow sitting on her wrist with her hand held in front of her face, a map folded over many times held to cover her nose and mouth. Icy blue eyes remain locked on the grafitti'd advertisment plastered up on a poster opposite the platform on the station walls, but her ears remain open to all sounds around her. The shifting of feet, the voices that speak. And a voice that speaks a long string of cursing just off to her side.
"How dare you speak in such a tone in the presence of a lady," she remarks in their native tongue, voice obscured only by the folded mass of paper held in her fanned-out hand.
It's hard to catch individual speech in a place like this, so noisy, so full of sounds. And yet, the man called Remy manages all the same. Perhaps that may be due to the raised voice, for Cherise, certainly, was not speaking in hushed and demure tones. Perhaps it's the French, for it has been some time since he has spoken to anyone in the language of his birth. Or maybe, just maybe, it's the sharpness of his senses, the razor edge of his awareness. For not only does he hear, but he immediately zeroes in on the source.
Remy stops, mid-curse, cutting off as the woman interjects. He silently finishes the abbreviated syllable, mouthing it. Before he turns, his eyes piercing through a gap in the crowd. Staring past and through he others on the platform, for they are inconsequential.
He spins on a heel, his boot soles scratching across the stained tiles of the floor. He shoulders forward, roughly, explosively, knocking aside the poor unfortunate that happened to be passing by. Said unfortunate gives a strangled cry as he falls, in a tangle of limbs, briefcase, and cheap faux-Armani suit. Remy pays him no heed.
Remy's eyes rest on Cherise, the woman who addressed him.
"Dare I? Of course not," he replies, "I would not /dream/ of using such language in front of a /lady/."
His mouth curves in a thin line.
"Thankfully, there don't seem to be any present."
Her eyes lid halfway as she carefully listens to what's going on around her. People get shoulder-checked to one side as he pushes himself through others. And the man that fell? Probably hasn't got the backbone to respond to being shoved down, anyway. From where she stands...? Sharp steps-- a bit of weight behind it. He's probably much taller than her, and more muscular to boot. And now he's standing behind her, addressing her now rather than the invisible man or whatever problem seems to plague him.
Turning her head to look over her shoulder, Cherise's eyes shift from down to up-- all the way up. The young woman seems hardly preturbed by the man that stands on the subway platform, the folded map still held lightly to cover the end of her nose and her lips-- which, hidden under the papers, curve as well-- a smooth grin, calm and unfettered with any worry that this man could harm her.
Cherise Bouchard's voice is a little deep, but not unpleasantly so. "I wouldn't say so with such freedom."
Turning her shoulder toward him, she lifts the paper map away and flaps it a little like a fan to shake her bangs with a light breeze and cool off in the depths of Metro's subway. "You look far more feminine than anyone else here! Oh, I see," Cherise says. "You act so angry to cover up..."
As she trails off, her other hand extends out a bit, her wrist falling limp. The map again flutters over her lips, hiding a giggle.
"Really," Remy answers, evenly.
His voice is calm, quiet, and deceptively level. It's a flat voice, carefully pronouncing the syllables. Betraying little emotion, almost no inflection - and, in the process, giving more hints towards his state of mind than any ire would show. He locks eyes with the woman. Around him, behind him, the crowd is beginning to stare. There are eyes being directed in his direction, in Cherise's. Mere inches behind, the businessman that Remy knocked over is now scrabbling to his feet, though the man - as predicted - does not seem inclined to press the issue.
Remy isn't disturbed by the attention. It's something he's used to, after all. They don't matter. No, he just stares at Cherise.
"And what," he asks, "would you have me do? Drop my pants to prove my masculinity, hm? Would you appreciate that so very much?"
Pressing in the back of her mind is a simple thought-- will these people stand there and stare if the two of them come to blows, much like the time with the Chinese woman on the street? Or will they, wisely perhaps, run and leave them to their devices? The thought does roll around in the back of her ruthless mind, while she now turns fully to face him. The gold bracelet around her wrist shifts and rolls around much like the mate on her other arm while her hands come down to her sides. "Oh, wouldn't that be a show. But this country has rules against that sort of thing, no?"
Snapping the folded mass of papers in her wrist, she seeks to lightly rap the man on the chest-- all while being as civil as possible. "No, no. It's quite all right. Someone with your build-- you must be better suited for settling things with your fists. You should find worthy opponents and leave the other peons to mill about like the idiots they are."
Her lips twist into an amused smile, voice dropping in pitch. "Or I could see how quickly I can make you stop breathing."
COMBATSYS: Remy has started a fight here.
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Remy 0/-------/-------|
COMBATSYS: Cherise has joined the fight here.
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Cherise 0/-------/-------|-------\-------\0 Remy
The handful of maps and tourist brochures rustle against Remy's jacket, the paper creasing as it presses into his chest. Sharply, confrontationally ... and taunting. Remy stiffens, his spine straightening, a visible amount of tension running through his lean frame. He stares down at the woman, his eyes cold, pupils shrinking to hard little pinpricks. His mouth twitches, fractionally, muscles moving.
Finally, after a significant pause, he speaks. When he does, his voice is no longer calm. It's more than calm. It's completely, totally, dead.
"I think you'll find, madam," he says, flatly, "that empty threats..."
He moves. Swiftly, suddenly, his leather-clad arm striking with all the force of a hurricane. Fingers and palm blurring towards Cherise's slender neck.
A moment ago, she hinted she could stop his breathing. Now, Remy reaches for her throat. For if he has no sense of humor, then he at least has a well-developed grasp of /irony/. Or dramatic appropriateness.
Aiming to grab, to twist, and finish by slamming her into the dirty litter-strewn ground of the wretched train platform.
"...are unbecoming."
COMBATSYS: Remy successfully hits Cherise with Disturbed Sleep Outline.
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Cherise 0/-------/-----==|=------\-------\0 Remy
Truly appropriate-- appropriate as her rather light frame feels the vice-like grip that now seeks to restrain her ability to breathe-- and then she's brought back down to the ground with a harsh slam to the ground. Her eyes closed, the noise that escapes her lungs is a harsh, "Kuh-!!"
But she does still seem so calm. "I say, that was improper."
Her stomach tightens up, her legs whipping up over her head. Perhaps indecent for a girl wearing a dress, but the speed of her movements gets her back onto her feet in no time-- with her hand quickly, quietly reaching toward Remy's wrist with a flick of her own. The small girl pushes off with a harsh shove at the heel of her stylish boots, getting somewhere a little beyond two arm-lengths away in one hop.
The reason she's flicked her wrist at Remy's own becomes quickly clear-- two thin loops of what looks like wire float in the air just around his wrist. And she's tugging harshly on the line. If the wire does manage to grip his wrist, the tug will have enough force to pull him toward her a step and keep his arm up and horizontal-- while she sprints back in with a harsh lunge, her right arm hooking around to punch at his ribs-- and if successful, a burst of silver light will explode from her knuckles, transmitting a momentary shocking force through him.
COMBATSYS: Remy endures Cherise's Argent Striker.
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Cherise 0/-------/-----==|==-----\-------\0 Remy
Grabbed, snagged, reeled - like a fish on an angler's rod. The proverbial hook, line, and sinker. The harsh light surges through Remy's body, blasting into his torso and form, the glare obscuring him totally from view.
The blast of energy is enough to sear the eyes of the onlookers standing on the subway platform...at least those who aren't already trying to get away or screaming.
Of course, human nature being what it is, there are an equal number of people trying to shove their way to the front of the crowd, to get a better look at what's going on. That flash and the noise of impact reaching the entire station.
For the man at ground zero, though, it's more than a light show, more than a loud sound. It's pain. That much is clear, from the way his eyes are wide and his teeth bared, lips curled back in an agonized snarl. A wordless roar leaps from his throat.
One of his arms is entangled, ensnared by Cherise's line. But he pulls it back all the same, even as, with his other hand, he strikes -once more- for her neck and collarbone. A brutal, swift motion, followed almost immediately by a rising piston-force knee to the gut...and if that connects, then a final rising uppercut with the base of Remy's palm.
COMBATSYS: Remy successfully hits Cherise with Crazed Waltz.
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Cherise 0/-------/=======|====---\-------\0 Remy
Onlookers-- just as she thought. But more importantly, the Frenchman standing before her-- the hulking wall of a man that takes one of her best-practiced techniques is taken head-on and used against her. The wire spools further from the bracelet on her wrist, letting out a hiss of thin, pliable silver light that most of the people that huddle around the pair really can't see. A harsh blow to the neck, a knee to the stomach, despite her hands moving to defend-- and a harsh uppercut that launches her into the air, falling back and colliding with the ground with a heavy crash.
Laying still for a moment, Cherise lets out a bit of a sigh. At least he hasn't gone out of the way to use large, fanciful attacks-- she had to throw out the other dress ruined in her last fight. With a sharp flick of her wrist, the pressure around Remy's arm lessens... and the wires extended shoot back to their spooling in her bracelet. Sitting up, she rolls slightly to let her weight rest on her palm while she stands up, dusting off her backside and remaining rather calm. It'd be almost eerie, if it wasn't for the slightly demented smile on her face. "I liked that. But I know someone like you could do more."
Crossing back into threat range with Remy once more, Cherise's arms lead ahead to provide a moment's distraction while her leg swings up like the crack of a whip, looking to put the length of her shin across his stomach for a quick kick-- decidedly conservative, the tension and poise used suggesting she's keeping herself ready to move at a moment's notice.
COMBATSYS: Remy dodges Cherise's Light Kick.
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Cherise 0/-------/=======|====---\-------\0 Remy
Conservative would be right. Conservative would be wise. For that move, at least, doesn't pay off. Her kick meets air, nothing but empty space. It falls short, coming inches from Remy's midsection. Because in the split-second before impact, the man /moved/. Heels slamming into the station floor, hard enough to shatter tile and concrete. An explosively violent movement, throwing himself backwards - and away from Cherise's attack.
A shout of alarm goes up from the crowd, as his landing almost brings him into painful collision with some of the bystanders, prompting a mad scramble. Remy, though, once again demonstrates a lack of care. He doesn't even look at them. Just Cherise. His eyes narrow, as he straightens, regarding her.
"Do more?"
He echoes the words, in faint mockery of Cherise's tone.
"And what am I to you," he hisses, "a performing animal? Shall I balance a ball on my nose?"
COMBATSYS: Remy takes no action.
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Cherise 0/-------/=======|===----\-------\0 Remy
He's quick for his size, too. It gets marked down mentally-- something to remember in the future, should she have to run or press a harsh attack. Cherise's shin-kick cuts to the side after Remy's made his move, her leg held horizontal briefly while her pivoting foot pushes off to give her a little room as well, landing on the balls of her feet.
"Aren't you?"
Cherise's arms lift to either side, gesturing vaguely in front of her. It's half a shrug, her sturdy shoulders lifting into what seems like a half-hearted shrug. "If that's what you do, then entertain me. You certainly do seem to have skill, though your methods are becoming clear to me. The strikes to vital areas, the apparent emphasis on the throat. What, did a killer train you? Ha ha ha ha ha." One hand settles on her waist, the other crooked in front of her mouth to hide her small outburst of laughter.
"Perhaps I shall have you dance for me!" the Frenchwoman calls next, her right arm moving in a smooth, downward arc. Her wrist snaps, and with an advancing step her arm lashes ahead with a faintly obvious grip of silver between her thumb and forefinger. But from another perspective, the small weight at the end of the wire comes swiftly into Remy's view-- a small, sharp weight that, should he take no action, leave a small gash across his face-- right between the eyes. "More!"
COMBATSYS: Cherise successfully hits Remy with Argent Sting.
- Power hit! -
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Cherise 1/-------/=======|====---\-------\0 Remy
Blood oozes down Remy's face, staining his skin. In a few seconds, it will reach the bridge of his nose, welling from the fresh wound struck by Cherise's attack. He blinks, once, involuntarily - taken aback by the force and fury of the strike. He stumbles, reeling, head falling back. An incoherent gasp escaping his lungs. He turns that into a fluid curse, though, another example of eloquent profanity, even as he brings his eyes back up to glare at the girl.
He tracks the length of whipcord wire. He studies it for a heartbeat, before words, once more, find his lips.
"And you? Trained by a /lion tamer/, girl?"
One foot digs into the platform floor, supporting his weight. The other lashes out, his leg chambering, bending at the knee, before blasting forward, the heel of his boot rocketing towards Cherise's midsection.
"Or a clown?"
COMBATSYS: Remy successfully hits Cherise with Light Kick.
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Cherise 1/----===/=======|=====--\-------\0 Remy
The small golden fleck of light smacks against the ground and hooks in like it were an animal biting it's prey. "Doesn't that pain feel exquisite?" she asks, their natural language flowing so freely from her mouth. Cherise's grip twists and tightens a bit, pulling hard on the wire and freeing it from the subway floor-- the weight reeling back toward her while Remy poises his question, while he closes the gap between them with a forceful kick that causes her to bend forward over his leg a bit whether or not he intended to lay that much force into it.
Cherise staggers back a step, snapping her hands up in front of her. The thin length of wire bridging between the tips of her thumbs is held taut, the young woman slowly lowering her arms to her sides and smile. "Precisely. I grew up with gypsies and a wandering carnival." Of course her tone is mocking, don't be silly!
But her eyes become a little more hungry-- feral. Tongue flicking across her lips, the small weight rolls around between her fingers, the teenage girl standing ready. "More. Please."
COMBATSYS: Cherise focuses on her next action.
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Cherise 1/----===/=======|=====--\-------\0 Remy
Remy scowls, his brows furrowing. He gives Cherise a long look, his eyes piercing the space seperating them - an expanse of subway station floor, unwashed patterns that once formed some kind of mosaic. Whatever it once was, though, it's now a battlefield. He stands just a couple feet away from the girl. But he makes no move to approach her. He just stands there, resting on the platform.
In the background...a cacophony of human voices fills the air, the voices of urban commuters trying to give the combatants a wide berth, the sound of bystanders forced to bear witness to this...this...
This what? Remy himself isn't sure. A fight? A confrontation?
"What is this," he asks, giving voice to the question, "some kind of strange sadomachoistic ritual?"
He lifts a hand. Without turning, he thrusts it to the side, punching his closed fist into the nearest thing - a hapless structural pillar. It gives way with a resounding crash, bolts tearing beneath the force, concrete and plaster crumbling to dust. A few ceiling panels fall from above, giving way under the shock. A light fixture fizzles, dies.
"Do you /like/ pain, hm? Do you think this is /amusing/?"
COMBATSYS: Remy focuses on his next action.
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Cherise 1/----===/=======|=====--\-------\0 Remy
"A fight? A ritual? A test, maybe." You never know. Cherise's hand lifts to her stomach, the site of the last kick and the earlier knee to the gut. "I want to see what the rest of the world has to offer. I want to see what the people here do. I want to try food and drink, sleep comfortable places, and look at the light fade out of someone's eyes after I've bashed their skull against a sidewalk for the fifth time. I wanna see what you have to offer, as well as anyone else down here that wants a shot."
Cherise's forearms cross in front of her, fingers fanning out. "There's more I want you to see, too. I haven't really seen you in pain yet, have I? Not like that cut," the French girl says, "I want to see you hurt and bleed and laugh and cry."
Cherise's hands turn lightly in the air, no length of wire seen in her grasp. But now, her small frame slides down onto her knees, her hands slapping down against the ground in front of her. Someone less experienced would think for a moment that she were about to kowtow to him.
But they'd be wrong.
Silver lines burst out of the floor below him- a complex, tight weave of wires that seek to stick to Remy, some hooking over his shoulder and others making contact and shooting up toward the high ceiling. All of it-- all of it meant to stick to him, and all of those wires clearly not made of any fiber or metal. If he's caught up in those same wires, they'll transmit one fierce, angry burst of silver light at every point they make contact with his body-- and that's just to stun him.
COMBATSYS: Remy counters Argent Finale from Cherise with Blue Nocturne.
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Cherise 0/-------/=======|=------\-------\0 Remy
"You..."
Silver streams. A scintillating network of pure spirit-forged energy, engulfing the man called Remy. His body jerks, as the light takes him, snaring him like a spiderweb.
Then his head moves. And he smiles.
It's not a pleasant smile. Not a nice smile, not at all. Quite the contrary, really. It's a smile whereby the facial muscles tighten, pulling lips back to reveal lines of teeth. A feral expression to match Cherise's own. The same, eeriely similar. And yet...different. While the girl's bestial grin was one of intense and twisted passion, this smile is ice cold.
As is the light that radiates from Remy's body, soaking through his black jacket, his blood red pants, even the green of his hair and the tone of his skin...until his entire outline is awash with the same hue. It isn't the silver illumination of Cherise's web. No, it's something else entirely. An azure light, with Remy's form as the core - a blue blaze of energy erupting as he flares his own aura to life.
"Arrogance," Remy sneers, "is one thing I /cannot/ abide."
He moves, then. The strands of silver snapping, breaking, as he lunges forward, blurring into Cherise. A palm strike, a punch, then another, lifting her up until the Frenchman spins in a powerful double kick, turning a complete backflip - and driving his energy-clad legs into her body. A crescent arc of power trailing his motions, a blast of blue fury that shatters the platform floor as he leaves the ground, and carves a shattered trail of debris all across the station ceiling.
The smooth glide onto her knees despite the age and actual cleanliness of the floor, the hands that smash the ground and the wires come up-- once before it was defeated, and this makes it a second time. The light shown in the midst of her wirework lets her know immediately that something's wrong-- and the light radiating from within lets her know that she needs to get ready to move -immediately-. The strings don't break and fall apart as much as vanishing the moment he tears through them, the energy keeping them strong and ready to recieve the burst of power gone. Cherise hooks one leg forward and moves to stand, her hands reaching out to intercept the fierce kick aimed to plow into her torso.
The smaller Frenchwoman again bends and thrashes like a rag doll, her body rolling back through the air until it collides with one of the concrete support pillars near the edge of the platform. The people watching the battle part like the sea before she lands, letting her crash as hard as someone with no ability to defend themselves can.
Cherise sits still and calm, her breathing done in ragged, deep breaths. With her eyes half-lidded, it looks like she won't be getting back up immediately-- after all, hits like that were much harder and fierce than what she even felt just the other day.
Still... something escapes her lips:
"... heh ... heheh heh... heh heh heheheh..."
COMBATSYS: Cherise takes no action.
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Remy 0/-------/-----==|
COMBATSYS: Cherise can no longer fight.
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Remy 0/-------/-----==|
Remy lands. Soundlessly, smoothly, touching down on the platform. He stands, almost casually - pausing, in fact, to brush stray flecks of plaster dust from his sleeve and shoulder. That done, he returns his attention to the fallen woman. Confident, at least, in his own mind... that the fight's literally been beaten out of her.
His expression, though, isn't one of triumph or victory. But rather, a dark look, speaking of irritation and annoyance. He frowns at her, trying to figure out this puzzle, trying to make some sense...but finding no sense at all. He curls a hand, reflectively, fingers forming back into a fist. He takes one step forward, then another, approaching where she lies. He opens his mouth to speak...
...but it's cut off by a squeal of static from overhead, and a station announcement advising commuters not to panic - and clear the platform in an orderly fashion.
Remy looks up, his scowl deepening. He shakes his head, then glances to the crowd. Not much chance of that. Snorting, he looks down at Cherise. He says nothing.
COMBATSYS: Remy has ended the fight here.
Log created on 18:45:31 09/18/2007 by Remy, and last modified on 10:42:06 09/27/2007.