Description: Cherise happens across K' and becomes intrigued by him. ...Considering what Cherise is like, this isn't a good thing. Blood and explosions ensue! ...and additionally, on the CSI: Southtown front, Horatio Caine strikes again. (if you don't get the caine jokes, just watch this http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_sarYH0z948)
You'd think that the local petty criminals would have learned to avoid teenagers by now, due to the activities of the students of Gedo High... and you'd think that if any of them had seen the broadcasts of recent televised fights, they might have recognized the kid they're about to try and mug. But apparently they've done neither... and apparently, the temptation of those really expensive designer shades-- the resell value of which would have been huge given how meticulously they appear to be cared for-- was too great a draw.
It was inevitable, really, K' thinks to himself, that someday there would be consequences for essentially walking around with a couple hundred sitting on his face.
So it is that the boy finds himself accosted at five minutes to eleven this clear night, stopped in the middle of cutting down a narrow lane running between Tsuru and Takage streets. Probably easy to mistake him for a civilian punk with dyed hair; K''s dressed down, after all, if still sticking to the dark colors: short black leather jacket and dark blue jeans almost blending him fully into the night. Maybe they're banking on this guy not being one of those crazy Gedo freaks. Maybe the knives they've got embolden them. Whatever the case, they stop him, and they demand everything he's got.
A wry query of ".../everything/?" later, the tranquility of Tsuru Street is broken by the sudden introduction, face-first, of a pair of bewildered young men to it: the knifewielding duo pitching out of the side-street as if from seeming nowhere. The instant they've got their feet back under them, they've split like roaches suddenly exposed to the light. An instant after they've gone, K' slinks out with a distinctly disgruntled air, bitching, "Shouldn't have taken that shortcut."
In this stretch of Chinatown, there's a tourist soaking up all of the lights, culture, and sound. In fact, there's a great deal of them at this hour, even in a city like Southtown-- people from across the country, a few from across the world. But one of them is of any importance right now, for the sole fact she's 'her,' and they are not.
And after a long day of sightseeing, shopping, and carefully tending to her wounds in her hotel, Cherise Bouchard has decided to call it a day-- quietly, tiredly walking back through the lights and the sounds, the smells-- and is that a chicken strung up in the window of a restaurant? A few bags hang from either hand, filled with some of the best clothes that she could get her hands on, as well as shoes, jewelry, and whatever small knick-nacks she would have to try to fit in her small room back home.
And before the toes of her $150 knee-high boots falls bodies, bodies thrown from the alley adjacent to her. The French girl's attention is turned toward the alley and the tanned face of the young man that slinks out after them, a smile creeping across her lips and her posture shifting a little. She hurries ahead to his side, to offer the kindest and friendliest smile she can muster with her lips pulled into a wide, narrow line.
"You should have broken their hands."
Hnnn... he had been hoping to be fortunate enough to avoid having to deal with the shocked reactions of passerby-- expecting the traffic along this stretch to be rather less, especially at this time of night. Even then, he'd supposed he could get away with it even if he'd been seen. It's not as if he'll get taken to task for defending himself... right?
What he -isn't- expecting is the reaction he gets from the Frenchwoman he's inadvertently caught the attention of. About to head off in the opposite direction, disappearing down the street, K' finds himself headed off by Cherise's hurried movement to draw abreast of him. And what she has to say about his action stops him completely, where most things would not have. His steps draw to a halt, and he stands there: a little ahead of her, back turned. And then he glances over his right shoulder at her.
K' looks Cherise up and down, expression unreadable. He is quiet a moment, and then he huffs out an amused breath, a slight glimpse of white teeth flashing as he essays half a sardonic grin. He licks thoughtfully along the edge of a canine in the absent-minded manner of a cat, silent a few moments longer, before he finally replies dryly-- but with an edge in his voice that hints at some level of actual seriousness, "I wasn't in a bad enough mood to..."
Silvery hair cropped to about a boy's length, though it feathers out here and there along the back of her neck, bangs cut just long enough to curve around her face-- some splayed across her forehead. Those notably off-color blues looking up at him, glossed lips in a smile. Her build is trim and strong, though the fading of cuts and scars are visible on her bare (but notably toned) arms and thighs. Fortunately, she heals fast! Especially when she should be only bits of gore in the rubble of what used to be a store in Fukuoka. Simple fashion, but with a stylish asthetic that does seem to suit her, and those gold bracelets around her wrists to draw the eye away from the dominant silver and black scheme of things.
She does look so normal, but if he had bothered to watch the bout in this past weekend's Saturday Night Fight or the show prior, he would come to learn much better, much faster.
Cherise straightens up a little, those sturdy shoulders popping into a shrug. "There's always next time," she says in her accented voice, through the hustle and bustle of Southtown's late-night Chinatown. "But if you beat enough sense into them the first time, there is usually no need for a 'next time'. Don't you agree, mister...?"
It's unfortunate, but K' has missed seeing most of the fights that transpired the past two weeks, busy as he was in his own matches. Some would take him to task for this failure, saying that he should really be studying whoever else is out there... but the only reason he's putting himself through the hassle and annoyance of regularly entering sanctioned fighting at all is so that he can sharpen his own skill and increase his own strength. Part of improving is learning how best to cope and adapt to changing situations-- something he can't practice if he knows everything about everyone before going in.
That and he's lazy. He's never really been a proponent of studying or working out-- the most effective way to improve, he thinks, is to just -do it-. It's not as if he'll have the benefit of such preparation or advantages when he's up against NESTS...
He doesn't recognize her by name or face. But he can recognize that she's one of many fighters that's found themselves drawn to Southtown for whatever reason. The evidence is in the way she carries herself-- the marks on her bare skin. His hidden eyes flick over her, practiced and dispassionate, picking out the signs of recently-healed injuries. Mildly interested, not yet annoyed for whatever cryptic reason, he doesn't immediately leave-- not just yet.
"I think they got the picture well enough this time," he replies smoothly, stepping deftly around the inquiry for a name. "And it doesn't bother me much if they want to make it so there's a 'next time.'" His head tilts, regarding Cherise more closely, an idle touch pawing his shades down a bit. A hint of a single eye is revealed, the color of it a startling wolfish-yellow. "It's their loss if they do."
Her interests may be a little less focused than his; the desire to see the world and see what else is there for her. Sure, she's learned plenty from textbooks and could tell you the intimiate workings of the processes used to craft wine, but there's so much -more-. Though she can't see his eyes in detail, she stays focused on where they should be-- and only as the lenses lower a bit does she seem to pay a little more attention. Evident in her mannerisms, evident in the slight trumpet of glossed lips before they spread into a visceral sort of grin. The way she carries herself changes in the most miniscule of ways, but for the beast of flames it may just be a look he can relate to:
The look of a predator in the presence of another predator.
"You've made it so clear to me now," she says, tongue flecking across her lips. "And what exactly do you do when someone wants to make it the 'first time'?"
One gleaming eye, bared and considering, meets Cherise's gaze as she slants it up to him. He studies her an instant, reading into the sudden change in her expression and the subtle way her stance and carriage shift. A black brow lifts slightly, and K'-- probably against his better judgment-- doesn't just immediately turn and leave right then.
Then, she talks. The insinuation behind her words slowly sinks it. It takes some thinking, but eventually he gets there. Though he has no idea why on earth she's going in this direction. Why does she care to know?
Something about his look shutters. The shades slide back up, and K' turns away. Finally making the rather prudent decision to try and walk away. His mistake, however, is in cracking a sort of humorless, bitter smirk before he does: doubtless an expression Cherise would be quite intrigued by, considering her particular interests. "...I don't think you want to see it," he replies lowly, failing to look back.
He turns away. Her expression falters a little, eyes settling through the sparse curtain of silvery hair that hangs down over her eyebrows.
Should he still be paying enough attention, he'll hear the shifting of shopping bags and other things. Should he turn his head enough to glance, he'll see them put off to the side, the girl back where she was no more than a moment later. The French girl's smile widens, though she does seem to be in a state of utter calm. "I do not think you are the sort of man that is afraid of someone like me," she says, tilting her head a little. "But it would be very rude of you to leave a lady in wait after we've started to get along so well." Her wrist flicks around in a smooth circle, a small crack issuing from it-- but that's not all. Bits of silver light are seen between the wrist that now stays at her side, the length-- wire-- passing out in front of her and along the sidewalk, almost poised to hook around the man's leg with a flick of her arm-- should he decide to depart, anyway.
"My name is Cherise. And you are?"
K' is always paying attention. It's part of the way he was 'built,' repugnant as the word is: part of the way he was engineered. His senses, constantly active, keen in the way a beast's are, catch things that the senses of other people miss. He picks up the slight sound of bags shifting, being shuffled off to the side as if in preparation for something. He hears the small crack and singing hiss of taut wire: and he knows where the silver lines have gone. They're poised to cut him off from leaving.
Already his frame is tensing slightly-- he's come to know, after enough time in this violent town, the patterns that denote when someone is getting ready to pick a fight with him-- and even though he hasn't turned around... he's watching her nonetheless. His gaze has slanted down to a corner of his shades, where a bit of reflectiveness gives him a distorted but decent view of what she's doing.
He is silent in the wake of her initial words, his back remaining turned: his body motionless. Presently, however, when he's asked a direct question, he finally swivels slowly around in place, halting in a steady and relaxed stance facing her. Those shades hide half his expression, but the half that's still visible is somewhat... annoyed.
'And you are?'
"Irritated," is his low reply, the word growled from the back of his throat. Moody son of a bitch, isn't he. He's quiet and still a moment, as if attempting-- feebly-- to reassert some control over his temperamental and admittedly immature emotional state, and then he continues in a somewhat more level, blank tone: "What do you want...?"
He's managed to see exactly where the wires have gone, even on that simple flick of the wrist-- that simple motion that so many end up missing. Yes, she says to herself, this young man -is- a real predator. He -is- the sort of thing she's looked for, beyond the cruel and arrogant men like Rolento or others like herself.
And with that, she shifts closer to the young man, standing and staring straight at his chest. She smells like grapes.
"Violence, of course. That tenth of a second when you bare your fangs at the world. I am no poet, so I won't talk about the beauty or glory of battle. I like hitting people, and I like to be hit. I do so try to keep it in check, but it's so rare I do get to meet someone like you. So even if this isn't the first time I've ever wielded my weapons against another, I would like this to be the 'first time' for us, since I would so like there to be a 'next time.'"
Her foot shifts back, fingers fanning out and palm upturned. As her hand rips up into the air, paper-thin lines of silver cut through the air itself and press forward, looking to shred into the NESTS-runaway's torso and introduce him to a whole new world of pain.
COMBATSYS: Cherise has started a fight here on the left meter side.
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Cherise 0/-------/-------|
COMBATSYS: K' has joined the fight here.
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Cherise 0/-------/-------|-------\-------\0 K'
COMBATSYS: K' auto-guards Cherise's Argent Claw!
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Cherise 0/-------/-------|-------\-------\0 K'
K' remains still and silent as Cherise walks up nice and close. The words she says strike a strange chord in him... because they resonate with his own feelings. Fighting was what he was made to do. Violence is in his blood. He never feels more alive than when he's trading blows, watchful and intent, walking the tightrope between a successful hit and taking a blow, because that life is all he knows: and the only reason he doesn't like those sanctioned fights-- those organized tournaments-- more than he does is because he hates the way they dress it all up.
Fighting's fighting. You hit people, people hit you. You bleed.
That's why, when he slips the shades off to stare more directly down at Cherise, there's some flicker of comprehension in his cool yellow eyes. He wouldn't talk about the 'beauty or glory' of battle, per se... but he can understand -liking- it. He's guilty of it himself.
"Fine..." His armored hand snaps up, fingers coiled into a snaring claw. A rapid swipe catches the incoming wires, tangling them up in his grasp. The wires sing out a high note as they run along his red glove and abruptly snap tight. K''s left standing there with an upraised hand, regarding Cherise neutrally, wire wound about his fingers like one-handed cat's cradle. "Not like I can't understand that."
His wrist abruptly twists. His hand slams shut around the wires, vising tight about those silver lines. "Just try to keep up. I don't have the time to waste dicking around with fights that don't teach me shit..." That warning given, he suddenly pulls hard on the wires themselves: aiming to drag Cherise clear off her feet and towards him.
COMBATSYS: K' successfully hits Cherise with Quick Throw.
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Cherise 0/-------/----===|-------\-------\0 K'
Isn't it nice to meet someone that thinks the same way? Definately not siblings, but kindred spirits? Caught before she can properly react, Cherise's eyebrow lifts, listening to his turn to speak, finding herself dragged off her feet from the strength of his arm. The toes of her boots scuff and rip across the sidewalk as she's brought back to being uncomfortably close to K', landing on her knees. One knee lifts to get proper footing, her wrist flicking gently. The wire that was once at his feet animates suddenly, a few subtle gestures given as she pushes off, pushes to back herself away from the taller man. Should that lone wire hook around his wrist, that is where Cherise grins. "Don't be so arrogant. Even if it's the 'first time' or the 'next time' you're going to learn something from it."
If she manages to snag his wrist, she grips the thin cord and pulls hard-- jerking his arm horizontal, giving her the room to dash back in and punch him in the ribs just below the armpit-- and release a burst of silver energy upon impact. Certainly not electrical, but it has a jolting effect to the nerves... as well as a snapping noise like the worst static shock ever seen.
COMBATSYS: K' endures Cherise's Argent Striker.
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Cherise 0/-------/-----==|=------\-------\0 K'
K''s eyes flick downwards as Cherise skids to an awkward landing at his feet. His hand opens, flexing back to a loose ready even as the silver lines slip from about his fingers, and the moment he spends ridding his hand of that weird and unsettling feeling is time in which Cherise can loop another length of gleaming wire about his wrist.
"We'll see," he replies her lazily, even as she drags his arm forward and strikes straight into the opening she's created. Her blow impacts, cracking with a weird and nervewracking feeling, and for a moment surprise wipes that infuriatingly-bland expression from his face. That felt exactly like the crap that crow girl hit him with.
Shaking off the strange sensation, K''s eyes narrow in mild annoyance at the slight slip in his countenance. He might have taken her blow in full, but the fact he did means he's still up close enough to retaliate immediately. He gives slightly before the strike, but immediately surges back forwards, swiping a kick at her with intent to knock her sideways and away.
COMBATSYS: Cherise endures K''s Medium Kick.
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Cherise 0/-------/=======|==-----\-------\0 K'
The leg crashes hard against Cherise's side, but she doesn't move-- she shifts a short distance, but ultimately stays steady on her feet, arms wrapped around the offending leg and using it to keep her steady. Her right arm hooks out to the side, and another tug may be felt on the red-gloved wrist. The wire snakes away from his wrist and reels back toward the hollows of Cherise's bracelet, though she isn't quite finished herself. Hopping into the air, her legs hook outward and look to snare the flame-user around the waist, holding on with the grip of a vise. Her hands ball into fists, and the outsides of her hands look to smash into either of his temples, trying to unsteady him and-- hopefully-- get him to lose his balance with the added weight.
COMBATSYS: K' endures Cherise's Strong Throw.
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Cherise 0/-------/=======|===----\-------\0 K'
K''s neutral expression folds into something of a frown as Cherise twists and latches to him, effectively negating his intent of knocking her away and getting some distance. Moreover, that wire about his wrist is shifting again. Expecting it to retract only to be issued forth again, K' is taken slightly by surprise when Cherise slinks bodily in close instead, winding her legs shut about his waist and plating against his chest.
K' decides this is a distinctly unwelcome development. Unfortunately, while he's deciding this, Cherise is already fielding her attack... and unable to do much about it this late in the game, K' simply rides with it. She knocks him clear to the ground with a combination of her added weight and those paired blows, and he hits on his back, a snarl kicking out of him even as he braces to take the edge off the impact.
Incidentally, Cherise is still on top of him. This fact causes K' some considerable grievance. His displeasure with this turn of events is expressed clearly enough by the way his lean form flexes into a tensed brace beneath hers, his hands aiming to shut about her arms and peel her forcibly off him in an indignant throw.
"Closer than I wanted to be..." he bitches, largely to himself, even as this transpires.
COMBATSYS: K' successfully hits Cherise with Medium Throw.
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Cherise 1/---====/=======|====---\-------\0 K'
There's a brief, heavy thump as the pair drop to the ground, her legs releasing the lock prior to the impact. Better than having him crush her ankles, anyway.
Straddling the other fighter's abdomen, she sets a hand on his chest and leers a little, her mouth twisting into a wide grin. "Your strikes hurt, but unless you make me bleed a little bit, I will be sorely disappointed."
So he obliges, in a roundabout way. Cherise's arms are suddenly used to pull her off K' and cast her away, landing in an awkward pose on her face. Not as far as he hoped, maybe, and not as hard as she would have liked, but she can still feel the hot scrape of concrete against skin and the harshness of the landing, a few layers of skin stripped away from her cheek.
Setting down the heel of her hand, the French girl uses it as a pivot to whip around in a circle, landing on one knee and slowly rising to her feet, taking a step back and rubbing the welt on her face. "More."
COMBATSYS: Cherise focuses on her next action.
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Cherise 1/---====/=======|====---\-------\0 K'
Staring up at Cherise as she talks, a hint of nonplussed surprise printed evanescently in his wolf-yellow eyes, K' wonders if he's just heard her wrong. It's be hard to mishear her, he's got to admit-- she's so close to him, sitting on his stomach, one hand nailed down onto his chest as she bent down and asked him to make her bleed.
He doesn't rip her off him in order to oblige her-- he's not about to oblige her quite yet. He does it in order to get her the hell off him so he can collect his wits and figure out what the hell's he's going to do in the face of this confusing girl. What is she, masochistic...?
He twists to his feet, swiveling around, starting out warily in a low mantle before slowly rising into his customary loose stance. Narrowed eyes slit further at her assessment of the pain he's already caused her: which is, apparently not enough. She's -asking- for more.
"You want -more-? You even know what you're asking for?" Entirely failing to comprehend Cherise or her weird desire, knowing only that she seems intent on using him to hurt her as much as possible, he's getting somewhat annoyed and unnerved. And thereby... prone to giving her exactly what she wants and seeing how much she -likes it then-.
He doesn't move quite yet, but a slight spark lights and flickers about the slack fingers of his right hand. Soon enough that little spark flares, bursting into a full-bodied flame that winds and twines about his wrist, burning steadily about his hand and licking along his forearm. "Cause I don't make people -bleed-."
COMBATSYS: K' gathers his will.
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Cherise 1/---====/=======|=======\-------\1 K'
Indeed, she is a bit masochistic. It's not that much of a secret, but today's one of her 'better' days. She hasn't beaten people up at random, she hasn't slammed someone up against the wall and stabbed them in the thigh, she hasn't gone off and choked anyone. She's had time to be calm, sort herself out, and then ... meet someone that does, for perhaps the first time, interest her more than anyone else she knows.
Watching the spark of flame burn and ripple around his hand, the blaze that starts rolling up his forearm-- her eyes are simply alight, not often getting the chance to see such a display. Ordinarily, it's just a blast here, a shockwave there. If it's Shihong, her head is being crushed into the sidewalk with enough force to rightly splatter her brains across the concrete. But this, no; this is something different and oddly somewhat... likeable.
Cherise's wrist snaps, the silver wire reeling back toward her wrist and the small gold ornament smacking against it with a metallic *tink*. No, no real wires for this, it'll just get in the way. The French girl's expression twists further, a leering smile that looks much crueler than it probably should. Maybe she should just wake him up to what she really is capable of?
Suddenly, she takes a step-- and slides on her knees, hands slapping the concrete with discernable force.
Suddenly, wires. Everywhere.
Threads of silver energy burst out of the ground at all different angles, wires that stretch to the walls, to the nearby newspaper kiosk, to the streetlamp, even to the sign advertising fine Chinese dining overhead. The wires are thin, but widespread-- and they seem to cling once connected. Those wires look to grip onto K' and hold him standing right where he is-- though it's more the disabling burst of silver energy screaming through every strand at once that'll keep him steady for her.
COMBATSYS: K' endures Cherise's Argent Finale.
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Cherise 0/-------/-------|=======\==-----\1 K'
The rapid series of bursts are more than enough to keep him steadied as Cherise rises from her kneel and charges in at K'. With a wide grin on her face, her arm hooks upward and -strikes-. One per finger, totalling four lengthy lines of silver light. Much like the claw-like swipe, the blow is an angry uppercut of sorts, and the energy does have the ability to cut and shred clothing-- but it seems different this time around. The thin wires break out into cloudy lines of mist, blurring together almost as if it were some sort of unorthodox 'cape'-- and the strike has enough force to rip him free of his 'cell' and send him flying into the air.
Not done with him just yet, she makes a quick hop and flip into the air, beginning with what looks like a harsh axe kick-- but a wave of silver chases her heel, the burst actually making contact with him as she swings. It follows with a second swipe of the energy 'cape', a third as her arm lashes back out to the right, and she starts whipping around horizontally to smack him over and over with the smooth wave of silver light, each strike still sharp enough to cut through clothes and skin, to draw plenty of blood.
Twisting around once more, she ends just barely above him-- and with one last harsh lash of the silver curtain of power, he's sent slamming back down to the ground pretty damn hard.
Cherise lands at his side, each and every wire generated through her powers-- hands and ground-- disappearing just like that. Arms lifting over her head, her fingers weave together and she looks awfully proud of herself, stretching a bit.
To respond to the earlier statement made by K', her voice rings out smoothly, "But I do."
He hasn't missed the way she looks at his Kusanagi fire: that look of admiration for his stolen flames. His expression sours, a bitter note sneaking in his eyes, and his hand twitches shut. The flames quench abruptly. She bolts forwards towards him, that weird energy of hers knitting a thrumming silver cage about him, and he doesn't actually... resist. He simply stands there, now locked in place, watching her carefully with those flat gold eyes as she whips forward and tears into him, learning the way she moves. It seems that she was right. He'll take something out of this after all. Rare the fight that doesn't teach you something new... and this one teaches K' just how hard that strange 'psi' power can hurt. Though he doesn't know it by that name.
And it -does- hurt. Far worse than anything else she's hit him with thus far. He's sort of gratified-- though in a manner different from her-- to feel the solid proof that she hasn't just been a huge waste of his time. But then again, this is probably the best she's got. He's not going to get anything better out of her. Might as well just end it...
Wet, humorless laughter splashes the air as K' pulls himself from the ground, shoulders rolling indolently to settle his slashed clothes back in some semblance of order upon his torso. "...I'm guessing that's what -you- do when you want to make it the first time," he says bloodily, slowly, a lazy smile drawing crookedly across his face as his shredded form resurrects to a kneel. "Pretty persuasive."
He swipes lines of red from his face, rising to his feet slowly. Blood courses freely from the slashes along his arms and down his chest. His jawline's drawn a bit tight, his eyes flat and narrow, but otherwise he's doing a decent job of hiding the pain. NESTS projects almost always do. "So I guess you weren't a total waste of time," he concedes lowly, even as that brilliant fire sparks about his hand again. This time the burst of flame crawls in a rapid lick up his arm, across his shoulder, and straight down his opposite arm in a searing path, burning away the blood splashed there in an instant of light. "But I think we're just about done here."
COMBATSYS: K' gathers his will.
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Cherise 0/-------/-------|=======\======-\1 K'
Standing right there, it's hard for her to miss when he starts to move, when he starts to pull himself out of the concrete and collect his thoughts on the matter. Arms lowering to her sides with a simple drop, Cherise begins to laugh first-- laugh at it not being a waste of time. As the flame burns behind her, the French girl is already moving-- walking, slowly, putting a little distance between herself and the NESTS clone. Tactical at best, more to catch her own breath at the worst.
Turning around, Cherise's glossy lips trumpet out in a troubled stare, but then her brow shifts and she smiles again, mouth pulling wide to expose her pearly white smile. "Are we?"
But something is amiss-- she can't put her finger on it just yet, but ... something just -is-. Her hackles raise, her eyes watching his form carefully-- what is he planning? And why is it so -exciting-?
"Come on, then. Let me see your fangs!"
COMBATSYS: Cherise takes no action.
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Cherise 0/-------/-------|=======\======-\1 K'
Fire plays along K''s right arm, licking as high as his shoulder. The young renegade agent seems entirely unbothered by the fact his arm is alight, treating it with as blase an attitude as another fighter might treat his chi or psi power. It's simply there, controlled and handled with deceptive deftness and command. But at Cherise's abrupt challenge... it quenches. K' glances to one side, head slanting indolently as he lifts and regards his now-empty right hand: a bitter little look twitching his face at the sight of that red glove.
For reasons entirely unrelated to Cherise, his mood sours. His opposite shoulder lifts in a shrug, irritably noncommittal.
"If you want it so badly. You'll get it. But first..." K''s right hand turns over, and dips-- into a pocket. It removes those shades, and a simple flick of the wrist sends the small object arcing at the French girl. "...Catch."
COMBATSYS: K' successfully hits Cherise with Chain Drive.
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Cherise 1/=======/=======|===----\-------\0 K'
K' doesn't even wait for his little projectile to hit. The instant it's left his hand, likely distracting Cherise with its sudden arc towards her, he's winked out of sight in a burst of silent black shadows. A blur of wispy black streaks towards her, and when it resolves again into the ex-NESTS project's lean form he's a mere few inches from Cherise.
"This is what -I- do when I want to make it the 'only time,'" he tells her quietly.
His motions thereafter are so quick they run into one another, melting together into a seamless sequence of punishing, clawing strokes. His first blow is a hard upwards hook-- immediately followed by a downwards smash, immediately followed by a hard rising kick that knocks her right back up to keep her from falling and escaping his assault. The litany goes on. Every time she seems about to fall, spared further attack, K' simply angles a fierce blow upwards to keep her right in range of his bloody knuckles. There is no way to describe it except as a furious, animalistic assault, K' ripping into the girl without compunction and with maximum eye towards painfully inflicting damage. He strikes indiscriminately, not caring where his blows land, and when he's finally spent his bad mood he slips back a couple feet and slams straight back into her with a ripping gout of fire: knocking her clear back with a sharp huff of disgust.
Staring as those shades come reeling in toward her, her hand extends to catch them-- and suddenly, she's virtually nose-to-nose with his speeding form. In the tenth of a second before his fist comes in contact with her jaw, she's run the last few seconds through her mind over and over, like hitting the rewind button. He's there, there's a blur, and then he's in front of her. There, blur... There, blur... was that teleportation, or... speed?
There's no time to think or respond to the moment further, Cherise's body racking every direction possible with each fierce strike, feeling the pain especially in her ribs-- after all, she just bounced back from having a series of strung-together grenades detonate -on- her. Blood whisks away from her mouth, nose, and a few blunt-force gashes to the chin, and finally her rag-doll form is blasted away with a massive burst of flames, smoking at the edges and dress frayed at the point of impact. Cherise reels backwards and starts hitting whatever isn't nailed down along the way, too-- bending backwards over the same newspaper kiosk from moments ago, finally smashing back-first against the streetlamp set near the street.
Cherise drops in dead weight the next moment, landing harshly face-down. Her body spasms a bit, but it could be attributed to nerves-- and she's breathing, so she doesn't seem to be dead... yet. Shuddering, her arm claws out at the ground... and...
"... H-- haha... ha... ha-gh--" Laughter cut off by a harsh cough, blood seeps from her mouth. But somehow, she's starting to -stand up-.
Cherise's arm reels back slowly, knees shaking and body staggering. And with one last, final lash, the wire extends, the reel hissing to find a home around K'-- specifically, his throat. She mutters something in French, too incoherent to properly phrase it in any language K' may understand.
COMBATSYS: Cherise can no longer fight.
[ \\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\ <
K' 0/-------/----===|
COMBATSYS: K' blocks Cherise's Argent Sniper.
[ \\\\\\\\\\\\\\\ <
K' 0/-------/---====|
COMBATSYS: K' has ended the fight here.
K' hisses out a cruel breath as he draws back from his last attack, bloodied knuckles cracking as he flexes his hands open and shut. His expression twitches briefly into a snarl. He can already feel the sting along his knuckles from how hard he's hit her, and knows they'll probably be pretty fucking sore in the morning. Just great.
He turns away, callously putting his back to her even as the sharp sound of her limp form hitting the streetlamp cracks the air. Spitting blood with a look of disgust, he swipes residual streaks of red from just beneath his eye, grimacing as the movement pulls at the raw wounds on his chest. He seems to have forgotten entirely about Cherise... but in truth, he hasn't stopped paying attention.
That slim wire whips out towards him, and K' half-turns towards the assault: a keen eye flicking to the progress of the silver line. His left hand lifts, wrist catching the loop that was intended for his throat. The thin wire cuts into him, part of it having closed about the space between glove and sleeve, but he doesn't seem to care.
He stands there a moment, left shoulder turned to Cherise, one hand shoved moodily in his pocket and the other upraised: that length of wire wrapped around his wrist, cutting into the flesh where it's unprotected by leather. Then, with a heavy sigh of irritation, he finally turns fully to face her, his hand lowering to loosen the wire and shift to attain a better, more protected grasp on it.
"-Happy- now...?" He'll probably regret asking.
Hollow steel against her spine wasn't the greatest of feelings in the world, but she's weathered attacks that should have rightly filled her with enough shrapnel to keep a bullet factory in business. With the wire taken in his grasp, Cherise's body seems to have overriden the power of her will, those shaky legs dropping her to her knees. "Sure... aren't you?"
He may notice her point to her bags sitting to the side, where they stood when this entire ordeal first began. "Don't think... be ... walkin'. ... Mind...?"
But before she can get any further than that, her eyes droop from half-lidded to closed, a hard sigh escaping her bloody mouth. Cherise's arms slack and her head tilts, and she slumps forward and to the side, landing in a pile on the sidewalk. No other crazy talk passes those split lips, no other words that did seem to strike a chord with the violent flame-slinger. Concrete is an uncomfortable bed, but right now she has little other choice.
K' regards Cherise for a few long moments after she's gone to bed on the concrete, half-lidded eyes largely unreadable. Maybe 'aren't you happy' is a simple question for her to answer... but it's not quite as straightforward for him. He says nothing. He doesn't even think much of anything. He hears the question, and the next moment he's put it from his mind. In one ear, out the other.
He looks fairly tempted to simply drop the wire and leave her where she is. Not his business. Not his concern. But presently he finally decides against it-- grudgingly-- heaving a heavy sigh conmingled with a growl of irritation. He pulls slightly on the wire he's got in his grasp, yanking her towards him even as he wanders over to her fallen form. She slides only a short distance before he's drawn abreast of her, leaning down to pick her roughly up. Slinging her across a shoulder haphazardly, he reaches his free hand for the bags she's indicated.
Time to get this crazy bitch to a hospital, before she dies and he becomes liable for something or other. It's either that... or some lingering lick of conscience yet exists in K'.
The wire slips from his wrist as he moves off, the derelict object left as testament to whomever might happen across the scene next.
BONUS JOKE POSE:
[OOC] Pas says, "I--I"
[OOC] Pas says, "I--"
[OOC] Pas says, "I'M SORRY GUYS I HAVE TO"
[OOC] K' C_C
[OOC] K' oh f--
"Sir, I know these are the same marks," the young constable yips eagerly, crouched over scorch prints seared into the dark Chinatown street, the dark message of chi fire that once plumed over grimy asphalt. "I'd bet my new trans am on it. Your suspect was here earlier, but for what reason... I don't know why." His eyebrows knit up. His mouth purses. The rookie pauses a moment, thinking about it, but gives up all too fast. "There's no sign of a struggle, not like last time. Maybe--"
"--Maybe you mustn't always rely on the obvious," a smoother voice cuts in. Detective Horatio Caine removes his sunglasses in a deft, thousand-times-practiced movement. His eyes lidding, trained to squint by years of Miami sun, he gives those burn marks an eyeful. He then quickly looks away. It's all he needs.
Slowly, he speaks again, his voice dragging as if stopping to taste specific words, "Not all wars.... are tomed in blood. You are correct; it was him, and he was here..." He lingers then, as darkness on darkness catches his seasoned eye. Slowly, the detective turns, dropping to a deep kneebend, his precise fingers reaching to pick something so small, so imperceptible, it might as well be invisible against the cement. But not to him.
Horatio Caine slips on his sunglasses.
"As for his motive?" he continues, looking down the line of his arm and at the piece of wire held between his fingers. "Perhaps... someone was stringing him along."
YEAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH
Log created on 17:01:13 10/04/2007 by K', and last modified on 15:28:27 10/05/2007.