Description: THIS IS A LOG THAT INVOLVES CRAZY BITCHES FIGHTING
There's something about Southtown that keeps Cherise out of her ritzy hotel room and out of the hospital, even after the beating she had recieved at the hands of the mystery man whom she still never got the name of. The new clothing did manage to find the way back to the hotel, so perhaps in that much she should be grateful-- she would have been very upset if she had lost that dress...
While in this, the evening hours, the students that filter to and from Gedo Street seem to be the sort on the level and the salarymen and women are on their way home to the apartment buildings in town, one person in particular stands apart from them. Oddly-colored hair isn't exactly uncommon in this part of the world, so it may not be the silvery locks that adorn her head-- but now she's actively playing the role of the tourist, walking up and down the streets and taking photographs every block or so of the taller buildings in the business district. Her fingers dip to the purse hanging at her side every so often for a new roll of film, and for a moment, it comes to mind she'll have to figure out where to -store- all of the clothes, photographs, and other things she's bought since leaving home.
Father's house isn't that large, and storing it in the offices is probably out of the question.
"Hn," she remarks aloud, bringing her thumb up to her glossy lips.
Most townies know better than to deal with some things in Southtown, either out of lack of skill or lack of inclination -- not the least of those things is, of course, organized crime, which seems to be the sprawling metropolis's dirty little secret. Oh, sure, at the upper levels, it's all clean and nice, not a drop of blood spilled -- idle threats are tossed around and occasionally a thumping here or there from the brass happens.
It's so clean at those levels because it's so dirty at the bottom, and there are those at the bottom who have to maintain the organization with blood, sweat, tears, and cruelty. Not always their own.
One of Southtown's numerous thugs seems to have just finished with the usual business -- extortion and 'protection' money, from the looks of it. A short young lady emerges from one of the business district's numerous mid-level office buildings, offering a smirk back into the entryway as she places two things in a massive sheath on her back: a heavy-looking claymore, and a check. "See you next week!" she calls, glancing back and down toward her former 'prey,' a middle-aged man in a stark suit who seems to be much the worse-for-wear thanks to his conversation with the retreating woman. He's not /physically/ hurt, but he certainly /looks/ terrified.
Cherise Bouchard is also a master, you see.
A master of being in the wrong place at just the right time, her timing and luck bringing her to hold the camera while turned around and facing the way that she had come, trying to get a good angle for a photograph that reaches down the streets of the city to show just how disgustingly -large- it is. Certainly her 'father' had been here before, but perhaps he'll be nostalgic if he's seen how much it may've changed in recent years.
And then, enter a short red-haired woman with... a massive sword set across her back? The French tourist finds herself amazingly curious and not the least bit terrified, boldly, confidently striding up to this woman and making it her intent to stand right in her way.
"I like your sword," she says in thickly-accented tones, lips playing into a faint smile.
... curious, Camille thinks to herself, as the grey-haired young woman comes toward her, actually talking to her at that. The door to the building closes behind the young lady, and once she hears it land firm, she finally devotes all of her attention to the younger girl. "... everyone always says it looks ridiculous," she says, her own accent clearly marking her origins in northern England, though hers has just slightly diluted in her time in Southtown.
Still, a compliment is a compliment, and her own lips start to turn upward, if only faintly -- after all, she has to hold out the hope that the only reason this girl is in front of her really is to look at that sword. Her week has been very much 'up and down,' so she doesn't let herself get too excited just yet, but the high hopes she has for the conversation are instantly apparent. "It's sort of a -- nevermind."
She looks down toward the camera of this young lady standing in front of her, saying, "Oh, are you new to Southtown? A tourist, maybe -- or are you considering staying?" She'd have some choice words about that one, considering her own... less than stellar experience.
She can hold that hope as much as she likes-- but there's no telling what exactly lurks in the mind of the silver-haired French girl. Her fingers twist on the lens of the camera, the extended length coiling back into the camera. Letting it hang around her neck by the strap, the new implement of photography is briefly forgotten about.
"I am only visiting. I have lived almost all of my life at home, so I thought it would be an appropriate time to see the world." 'I have the money for it,' she almost says, but that would raise too many flags that she can think of. Usually, going from place to place and getting into all of these fights gathers unwanted attention...
Leaning in a little closer, a devious grin starts to trickle across her face, eyes alight with shenanegans. "But you should not be afraid to show your pride off, no, no." Delivered with a click of her tongue, her hand lowers to the hem of her short black dress, picking up the hem over her right thigh. A few inches higher, and it reveals a thick leather strap fitted around her leg, carrying numerous small throwing knives.
And then she asks, "Why don't you show me yours?"
At first, Camille is (understandably!) a little confused when Cherise starts to move that dress up -- but when she sees those little knives, she understands instantly what's going on. Or, at least, she immediately forms a strong /perception/ of what's going on: she's about to be attacked. Again.
The look in her eyes instantly changes, though it's not to a determined look to counter the deviousness in Bouchard's. No, what Ms. Irvine is feeling is genuine fear -- what if this young lady is from a rival syndicate, or just some concerned 'do-gooder' citizen? The possibilities are endless, and Camille's breathing accelerates a little. For all she knows, she's caught in the middle of a gang war -- but then, she tells herself, if that is the case, whose fault is that?
"... Well, then," she says, her voice now slower, her tone less enthusiastic. "I suppose I can finish what I was about to say... it's sort of a family thing -- my uncle used to fight with a blade like this, before someone made a real hash of his knee... he taught me, though I don't always use it." She ducks down a little, finally asking the question that's no doubt on Cherise's mind. "... why, did you mean you wanted to see it in /action/?" Her tone sounds about as confident, even supercilious, as she /isn't/ feeling.
If only she had known-- if only she knew what drove the tourist, what pushed her on to get into these sorts of fights and situations. Holding the hem of her dress a little longer, it drops with a slight rustle of fabric. The wire-slinging assassin, however, allows the tip of her tongue to part her lips, dragging across from left to right in a smooth motion.
"Yes, I do. I would love to see what your uncle had taught you, even right at this moment. I would love to see what you could do with such a large weapon," she says, eyes flicking left and right. "I bet you people would give us the room. Here, now. Unless you would prefer the seclusion of an alley, but... I don't think you would be able to use your 'claymore' to the fullest in a narrow space like that, mn?"
Her arms lift, spread wide. Inviting, even. "And then, we can be friends."
The way this woman approaches asking for this just weirds Camille out, to put it lightly -- it's almost an invasion of her personal space, right down to that sultry little lick of the lips. Perhaps that's the plan, though; after all, if what Cherise wants is to get Camille simultaneously uneasy and intrigued, she's certainly doing a /spectacular/ job, and the faint wobble in her otherwise fairly grounded, low stance, halfway to a grappler's, makes that much obvious.
"W-well," Camille starts, a little more of her accent coming back into her speech now that the silver-haired girl's got her ill-at-ease. "I suppose I could show you what I know, though I warn you, I know more than just how to swing that thing about..." She takes a deep breath, and then suddenly brings her posture back to a tall one, intentionally puffing her chest out and sticking her head up with pride. "Very well, then. If that's what you want, I suppose I'll humor you!" Her arm goes to the hilt of the weapon as she finishes, "... and then, we can be friends," with no indication of just how strange that statement felt when she heard it.
But if only you could pick her brain, see what she was thinking-- her intentions more pure than that, even if she has the oddest way of showing that sort of thing. Cherise still finds her request fufilled and her prayers answered as Camille reaches her hand up for the weapon across her back, face taking a much kinder, softer sort of smile.
"I would like to add, I promise I won't break your arms if you try your hardest upon me."
As she says this, her right arm hooks back, a silent hiss filling the air. If she's quick to see it, the Englishwoman would be able to see that glint of silver that hooks around in an arc and descends, hard to make out with the ambient light and the streetlamps that start sparking to life. Cherise removes her camera from around her neck and sets it to her side, though her purse still hangs at her side. "Come at me!"
The fact that her arms won't end up broken is a small comfort, but only a small one -- after all, that leaves legs, noses, all manner of body parts. Still, at least there are /some/ guarantees in life, and Camille's expression becomes one of faint relief. "... I'll try to leave you as intact as possible," she replies; that's the easy answer, given she has no idea how tenacious Cherise is or isn't.
That relief drops her guard a little as well, meaning that she misses that glint in the evening light, that fateful length of silver in the air. This is probably a large part of what makes her think that getting in close is a good idea -- all she's thinking about are those throwing knives, which would /certainly/ get much less dangerous if the older woman closed the distance.
This, of course, is precisely what she does, taking her hand off the claymore and hoping that, by not using the weapon at all, she'll have the element of surprise in coming at Cherise. Precisely as ordered, she speeds in, leaping up to the height of Bouchard's head to take hold of it with her legs. If that grip holds true, she'll do a forceful flip using Cherise as a pivot point, flinging her away.
Some of the pedestrians start leaving, not wanting to be caught up in whatever might have just begun; others merely create a respectably-sized buffer zone for the pair.
COMBATSYS: Camille has started a fight here.
[\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\ <
Camille 0/-------/-------|
COMBATSYS: Cherise has joined the fight here.
[\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\ < > //////////////////////////////]
Cherise 0/-------/-------|-------\-------\0 Camille
COMBATSYS: Camille successfully hits Cherise with Frankensteiner.
[ \\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\ < > //////////////////////////// ]
Cherise 0/-------/----===|=------\-------\0 Camille
Suddenly, a young lady is so bold and daring as to wrap her legs around the French assassin's head and throw her.
Yet somehow, it's hard to tell if she minds that much.
Cherise flips through the air and lands with a crash, head and shoulders. But so early in this fight, she's not going to let it get to her, rolling along the ground and letting out loud laughter as she lay flat on her back-- and as she stands up. "Rarely have I met a woman so forward!"
Her grin spreads out into a leering smile that doesn't look entirely right-- and then her arm hooks upward in a fierce clawing motion, lines of silver bursting from the tips of her fingers. Paper thin and swift, it seems like a rush of four silver lines at the start-- but a glance from the side makes it look like thick streaks of that metallic color. Alone or fully, the odd projectile has the strength to shred clothing and cut flesh... although if Camille is lucky, it won't be too horribly deep. "My name is Cherise!"
COMBATSYS: Cherise successfully hits Camille with Argent Claw.
[ \\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\ < > ////////////////////// ]
Cherise 0/-------/--=====|====---\-------\0 Camille
Even though Camille tries to put some distance between herself and her opponent, even going so far as to draw that heavy weapon to discourage her, those slashes of metallic gleam shred clean through her. It's amazing how fast she /draws/ it -- one moment it's not there, the next it's completely at the ready, though Camille gets hurt anyway. ...possibly even moreso than Cherise intended, from the looks of it, as deep gashes cut across the woman's chest and her lifting of that claymore already seems a little strained.
"... 'forward'?" Camille replies, her voice suddenly a strained hiss as she weaves slightly side to side. In an attempt to add a little more normalcy to the fight after the grinning woman's loud laughter, she responds, "And I'm Camille, by the way -- Camille Irvine." An odd situation for an introduction, she thinks to herself, but doesn't bother to vocalize -- after all, this /is/ Southtown. This looks like it's the standard method of greeting, just like she expected when she was making her arrangements to come to the fighters' mecca.
Not wanting to let Bouchard take full control of the offensive, Camille keeps going even though she's hurting and staggered -- she uses the claymore for a remarkably quick feint at her opponent's upper body, trying to get her to go off-balance just long enough to close the distance for a quick kick to the woman's kneecaps. Oddly technical, for a woman who carries an enormous sword.
COMBATSYS: Camille successfully hits Cherise with Light Kick.
[ \\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\ < > ////////////////////// ]
Cherise 0/-------/=======|====---\-------\0 Camille
Simply magnificent, the way she can handle that weapon so quickly. She studies the swordswoman's actions intently, watching how she handles herself-- how she handles the sword. And yet, the shorter of the two sneaks her way in and drives a hard kick to Cherise's knee. The leg bows backwards a bit, but the slender girl's reaction is more like a laugh... or more the noise of someone excited to feel that pain.
Her other leg steps back and bends a little to give her a little room to stand on, though she keeps the close distance at hand and in mind. Stepping ahead in a bit of a lunge, Cherise's legs take their turn to stretch and spread-- looking to wrap firmly around Camille's waist and hold steady with a hard squeeze while she hooks her elbow up in a cutting strike meant to smack the Brit in the throat and knock her over.
COMBATSYS: Camille dodges Cherise's Strong Throw.
[ \\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\ < > ////////////////////// ]
Cherise 1/-------/=======|====---\-------\0 Camille
If there's one thing Camille really knows her way around, no matter what she's using to fight with, it's a grab -- and when Cherise lets out that masochistic little giggle and tries to hook her legs around Irvine's chest, she knows she wants to get out of there. Putting the flat of her blade in front of one of the woman's legs, she uses that to delay the hold long enough to get out, then pulls the claymore back. It once again slides neatly, effortlessly, into its sheath -- if nothing else, she's really good at maneuvering that blade.
"Well!" she says, trying to keep her tone as conversational as possible, "You seem pretty chuffed about this whole business." Finally starting to get herself arund the curious sorts of mental acrobatics Cherise does, or at least /thinking/ she has a handle on them, she gives the woman a coy little smile as she steps in to strike again, with her own grappling talents.
This time, she uses those powerful arms to great effect rather than her legs, trying to move around behind Cherise -- a tricky feat, to be certain -- and then, if she can make it, trying nothing more complex than to wrap her arms forcefully around the woman's entire body, arms included, and applying as much pressure as she can, with a whispered, "Are you /sure/ you're only here to 'see the world'?"
COMBATSYS: Cherise dodges Camille's Strong Throw.
[ \\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\ < > ////////////////////// ]
Cherise 1/-------/=======|====---\-------\0 Camille
Cherise's leg impacts with the steel blade, and-- well, logically, she pulls herself back. While she may be a little off in the head, if not rather masochistic... she's not going to enjoy having her leg accidentally sliced off. Feet touching ground, Camille proves that she can still be quite nimble with the excess of steel weight upon her back.
But nimble is Cherise, also.
Stepping away from the grapple, her hand reaches out toward against Camille's own, voice soft. "Why do you ask? Do I frighten you?"
%Somewhat distracting, it may enable her to move her wrist in a few swift flicks unnoticed before a great lunging step backwards. In those flicks of her wrist, the spool of silver leading away from her bracelet hisses, trying to wrap a few times around the SouthSynd enforcer's wrist. At the end of her hop, Cherise pulls harshly to confirm her attack-- and if she's pulled it off, Camille may find her arm pulled horizontal... before Cherise darts back in, hooking a punch at the swordswoman's ribs. And to top it all off... there's an odd, harsh spark of power bursts out from her knuckles on impact!
COMBATSYS: Camille auto-guards Cherise's Argent Striker!
[ \\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\ < > /////////////////////// ]
Cherise 0/-------/-======|====---\-------\0 Camille
"I wouldn't say I'm frightened, just --" Camille starts, as Cherise starts to flick her wrist, watching her motions as carefully as she's ever watched anything, "-- a little surprised how forward /you/ are!" The second Bouchard tries to wrap the threads, Irvine decides to try something daring and stupid. Tensing her muscles, she moves /into/ the path of the spool of silver, deflecting it just far enough that she can weave harmlessly out of the wrapping threads before they wrap all the way around her, leaving Cherise without that desired opening.
"So, other getting the tar beaten out of you is the dog's bollocks, what do you do for fun?" the enforcer asks, forcing herself to give her opponent a teasing grin. At the very least, it makes her /seem/ like she's more comfortable with her opponent, even though she still thinks the nimble young lady is a little barmy.
Realizing that she'd benefit no small amount from getting some distance between herself and the other woman, Cherise steps back -- and conveniently, finds a fallen letter from the sign of some business or another. Rather than spend any time doubting her luck that it was there, she simply picks the little piece of graphic design up and gives it a fling for Cherise's face, rather unceremoniously.
COMBATSYS: Camille successfully hits Cherise with Thrown Object.
[ \\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\ < > /////////////////////// ]
Cherise 1/-------/=======|====---\-------\0 Camille
COMBATSYS: Camille has saved the state of this fight.
[ \\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\ < > /////////////////////// ]
Cherise 1/-------/=======|====---\-------\0 Camille
COMBATSYS: Camille has left the fight here.
[ \\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\ <
Cherise 1/-------/=======|
A letter fluttering in end over end is more than enough to make her realize that it's hard to see something so thin-- and almost comically, the corner of the envelope smacks her right between the eyes. Recoiling, Cherise grabs at her eyes with a slap of her palm, staggering a few steps while bursting out laughing.
"Ha ha ha ha ha ... hahahaha! Oh my god, I can't believe you did that..."
"I read a great deal. And I find it simply amazing how much television I see here! The only one I saw growing up was the one at a restaurant in town."
Rubbing the small red welt on the bridge of her nose, those ashen bangs shift back down to cover the mark and let her retain the look of someone none the worse for wear. Twisting her fingers around in the air, she mimics the movements of trying to attack with her wire-- but it instead animates, moving with each subtle gesture and flick of her fingers. The level of control and precision with each manuver is nearly unmatched... and yet, she does it so casually as to hold a conversation in the midst of it. "I enjoy touring this world. I hope I can also bring some of our family's wares to this corner of the world someday."
With one more flick of her wrist, the wire snaps away, ending the fluid dance of silver in front of her and between them, the line becoming somewhat obscured once again against the crowd behind her and the glow of the streetlamps. Making two small steps, Cherise hops forward and steps hard with the toe of those expensive knee-high boots, twisting with a well-trained pivot and roll of the hips. Not designed to be the strongest of strikes, it keeps her on her toes and prepared to move-- and her shin prepared to strike Camille in the side.
COMBATSYS: Camille dodges Cherise's Light Kick.
[ \\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\ < > /////////////////////// ]
Cherise 1/-------/=======|====---\-------\0 Camille
Seeing those whirling wires is almost hypnotic, and Camille watches them carefully -- while her fighting style is many things, pretty is hardly one of them, and she does envy the other woman for having such an elegant method of attack. The older woman listens intently to the silver-haired girl as she demonstrates that remarkable casual dexterity, taking note of the very different circumstances the girl is from, all the while trying to keep herself as focused as possible.
"Oh? And just what wares might those be, hm?" she asks of Bouchard, as the wire stops moving, to her mild disappointment -- that was a beautiful show, if nothing else, with a certain elegance to it that she couldn't put her finger on. Her head gets back into the battle, and she whips out that claymore to buy herself a little space -- a good thing, because Cherise's small, fast steps look like they could lead to another catastrophic blow. They don't, though; Cherise's foot finds no purchase, and those thigh high boots catch only empty air -- and for a split second, a minor deflection with the flat of Camille's immense blade.
Not wasting any time, Camille once again gets right back into the thick of the battle, coming in at Bouchard with a very straightforward full-speed tackle, intending to straddle the girl with her legs once she gets her down on the ground. If she gets that opportunity, she'll begin to beat the woman about the head with the hilt of the claymore -- unwieldy, certainly, but crushingly effective.
COMBATSYS: Camille successfully hits Cherise with God Save The Queen.
[ \\\\\\\\\\\\ < > ///////////////////// ]
Cherise 1/---====/=======|======-\-------\0 Camille
Her leg stops short as the kick is clearly avoided-- but her footing isn't light and nimble enough to prevent her from meeting a gristly fate in the form of a tackle, set upon by the redheaded swordswoman. Her head snaps left, right, and back with each strike of the claymore's hilt, head and body clearly going limp on each impact... but yet, she does manage to work her grip in and catch what is now the last strike, mouth twisting again into that leering, utterly disturbing smile.
"This is better done in the hotel, don't you think?"
Pushing hard, she seeks to unsteady Camille and dislodge her from her 'seat,' the French girl hooking her hands behind her head and back arching. Her whole body coils up, knees to her forehead-- and then she snaps like a spring, landing on her feet and rubbing the heel of her hand across her chin. "Magnificent!"
And then that wire again dances. Her fingers move in a subtle way, her eyes narrowing. There's a clear sense of what she's doing, even if things haven't panned out to her liking so far. "But I think I know... just what I need to do."
COMBATSYS: Cherise focuses on her next action.
[ \\\\\\\\\\\\ < > ///////////////////// ]
Cherise 1/---====/=======|======-\-------\0 Camille
'Well,' Camille thinks as Cherise insinuates that this would be more appropriate in a more intimate setting, 'she's certainly got a point.' She doesn't say as much, though, and Cherise pushes off and pulls out of that hard press, she just takes a few steps back. When she hears the words 'just what I need to do,' she instantly knows that something big is coming; to do anything but gear up for the worst would be suicide.
But how to dissuade her from coming in too fast, that's the real question -- and one that, at first, she has no idea of the answer to. However, her gut tells her one thing, and that one thing involves a high-risk maneuver that would probably be described as 'horrifically stupid' by the kind.
She hefts her claymore, looking as if she's going to come in for a vicious, fight-ending hack... but instead, flings it full-bore for Cherise, trying to keep her from coming in.
COMBATSYS: Cherise dodges Camille's Large Thrown Object.
[ \\\\\\\\\\\\ < > ///////////////////// ]
Cherise 1/---====/=======|======-\-------\0 Camille
The problem with using something as thin and pliable as wire is... sometimes, if you're not careful, it can be chopped into shreds with edged weaponry. That teaching was indoctrined with Cherise early in all of her training, spending earliest portions of her training wielding just that-- edged weapons, though she did have a lovely focus on the use of knives.
And knowing so well the damage that can be caused, Cherise casually steps to her left, shoulder rolling back to stand in profile. "Tut, such vicious attempts at my life!"
But where did the wire go?
The French girl's right arm whips back forward, her thumb and forefinger extended as she points at Camille. And like having something as thin as paperwork thrown at you, the impossibly straight throw makes her wire incredibly hard to see, save the golden glint of the tiny weight perched at the wire's tip. Not cast at Camille's arms or legs, the wire shoots just over one shoulder-- and then her wrist hooks, grabbing the wire and giving it a hard tug. Again, her wires seem to animate themselves, hooking around in the air and trying to ensnare the elder woman's throat to an uncomfortably tight measure.
COMBATSYS: Camille auto-guards Cherise's Argent Sniper!
[ \\\\\\\\\\\ < > ////////////////////// ]
Cherise 0/-------/---====|======-\-------\0 Camille
Even though Camille can't quite tell what Cherise is up to, she knows she's up to something -- when the woman flings that tiny golden glint at her, she knows better than to stay where she is. Bringing one of her empty arms up, she uses the full force of it to stagger the length of wire's movements just long enough for her to roll forward, retrieve her fallen claymore, and kip up once again, well past where her opponent aimed that tossed length of wire.
She twirls her claymore with pride, gently putting it back in its sheath and giving her opponent a little smile of her own. Hers does not have that leering, unsettling cast to it -- it is merely intensely prideful. "Excellent shot -- you could've had me there, just like I could've had you with that toss," she notes, her tone lilting and friendly in spite of the high-risk attacks the two of them are trading. "So -- we can be friends, then?" With that smile still plastered across her face, she once again comes in at Cherise, keeping herself in close.
This time, her trick is a quick attempt to snag the back of Cherise's head; the maneuver is a spectacularly simple one, quick and straightforward. Irvine leaps forward once her arm hooks around Bouchard's head, aiming that pretty face straight for the ground in a forceful facebuster.
COMBATSYS: Cherise blocks Camille's British Bulldog.
[ \\\\\\\\\ < > ///////////////////// ]
Cherise 0/-------/--=====|=======\-------\0 Camille
But Cherise is strong-- a little tougher built than she looks, although as-is she does seem pretty fit. The arm hooks around her head, but the French girl's body stands strong, calves and thighs tensing and pushing back against the force. Though she doesn't lose her footing entirely and smash into the ground, it does a good job of wrenching her neck rather hard, almost getting folded in half while she's still standing.
Pushing back, there's a look of irritation hidden away in those blue eyes, the heel of the young woman's hand dragging across her mouth to remove the thin trickle of blood from her lip.
What was it that was going wrong? Why is she dancing around her every move so easily, yet her wires and strikes have such a hard time connecting? Taking a moment to catch her recenter herself, Cherise Bouchard starts revising her strategies, reeling back the wire toward her bracelet with a whistle of wind.
COMBATSYS: Cherise gains composure.
[ \\\\\\\\\\\\ < > ///////////////////// ]
Cherise 0/-------/---====|=======\-------\0 Camille
Watching Cherise take the proverbial step back, Camille seems... surprised, more than anything. Usually, it's her in Cherise's shoes, her getting ripped apart from the bottom up. To be on the other side of it is... curiously unfulfilling. Seeing Bouchard, who's clearly a competent fighter, maybe even moreso than her, bleeding and bruised... it /should/ satisfy her, but as it stands it's sort of disappointing.
She's still going, though -- maybe she can make it interesting, she tells herself, even if she /is/ going to finally take command of a battle for once. Stepping away from Bouchard, Camille seems to go to take a breath... but instead, pulls forth that massive and unwieldy blade. Locking her eyes directly on Cherise's, she feels the faint irritation, the frustration... it's familiar.
Nonetheless, she goes into her typical routine for trying to finish a match, lips no longer turned up into a smile. "... we /can/ be friends, right?" she asks, as she starts to bang that sword firmly against the ground, a distinct clang coming with each forceful hack at the sidewalk.
COMBATSYS: Camille focuses on her next action.
[ \\\\\\\\\\\\ < > ///////////////////// ]
Cherise 0/-------/---====|=======\-------\0 Camille
Familiar, yes. She hasn't found herself in such a battle in awhile-- normally, she has a good time battling with Mao. The man with the sunglasses, or even the two times she's had to face the commando with the grenades... but what was it about this that was driving her so crazy?
Still, Cherise doesn't seem to let her emotions get the better of her. In the end, it boils down to her shoulders shifting and the tension leaving her toned frame, her glossed lips lifting into a smile. "Of course we can."
And then her hand sweeps low, two fingers hooking under the bottom of that one-piece dress, her arm snapping outward in a quick motion. Leaving her fingers, a thin throwing knife-- one that intends on biting into Camille's right arm, should her aim be true.
COMBATSYS: Camille dodges Cherise's Thrown Object.
[ \\\\\\\\\\\\ < > ///////////////////// ]
Cherise 0/-------/---====|=======\-------\0 Camille
"Excellent," Camille says, before bringing her blade up from a hack and batting that knife away just far enough. It's not a particularly aggressive maneuver, and gives her little real advantage -- but it does keep her from taking that knife deep in the arm, for which she seems quite thankful. "I'm glad to have met you, Cherise," she affirms, sounding pleased as punch. "But -- well, let's finish this before we talk much more, hmm?"
Once again spinning the claymore and putting it away, Camille assesses Cherise's wounds. She could put her down hard with what she was planning, a solid kick to the throat. But... she can't do it. She doesn't have that 'killer instinct,' especially not in a fight with a potential friend here in this still-foreign place.
Stepping in, she tries for a maneuver designed not to injure, but to simply cause enough pain that an opponent will simply yield. At first, all she tries for is a simple, forceful grab and toss down, designed to knock Cherise over while at the same time putting Irvine close enough that Cherise won't be able to move out of the way of her followup plan in time...
COMBATSYS: Camille successfully hits Cherise with Strong Throw.
[ \\\\\\\ < > ///////////////////// ]
Cherise 1/-------/=======|=======\-------\0 Camille
Instantly, before Cherise has even fallen all the way, Camille grabs one of her legs, and in turn places one of her own between the younger woman's. Bending that grabbed leg lightning-quick, she places the ankle over the other leg's knee, keeping that leg between the two rooted in -- and then falls backward, placing her free leg over the bent leg's foot and forcing the knee joint of the straight leg in the direction it /doesn't/ bend. It's quite the vicious leg-lock, though what may be more shocking is how fast Camille applies it.
Cherise's attention turns forward, her arms pushing outward to try to break the grab-- but it's far too late for that, only managing that much when she's already falling backwards. Slamming down hard onto her back, she's stunned briefly-- and then her leg is folded, a twisting step, and then the -force- applied to that joint.
It hurts, and Cherise lets out a loud "gah!!" to accompany it, apparently hitting one of those few rare types of pain that isn't exactly the comforting, peaceful sort. Jaw tightening, she sits bolt upright without disturbing the hold, though the leverage applied makes it awfully hard to break the hold.
She can't let her keep this kind of pressure up, or else it'll actually do her harm in the long run. Her hand rakes forward in a horizontal arc, fingers fanning out this time as those silver blades of light burst out of her fingertips and scream towards Camille, trying to use the point-blank distance to guarantee herself a sturdy hit.
COMBATSYS: Camille endures Cherise's Argent Claw.
[ \\\\\ < > ////////////// ]
Cherise 1/-----==/=======|=======\===----\1 Camille
Amazingly, Camille doesn't try to get out of the way, doesn't even break the hold as Cherise rakesthose vicious claws of energy straight across her -- she's certainly staggered, but not quite deterred. Indeed, she only keeps that leg viciously locked within her own forceful grip... for a second. Just long enough that Cherise won't be able to use that forceful blow she just put in to squirm away.
She moves in again, this time going for a less intense hold -- after all, that figure-four no doubt took its toll on the woman with those vicious assassination arts. She moves around behind Cherise, propping her up into a sitting position before applying a forceful chokehold with one bent arm.
"You know, this can end /any/ time," Camille says, her voice a cute, quiet little whisper no doubt trying to 'meet Cherise halfway' on unsettling now that she's finally starting to get used to that kind of behavior. After all, maybe doing that will get her to finally let up. "All you have to do is say it's enough...~" No doubt this is a recently-learned talent, both the hold and the teasing -- a way of teasing money out of people who otherwise wouldn't give Southsynd its due.
COMBATSYS: Camille successfully hits Cherise with Quick Throw.
[ \ < > /////////////// ]
Cherise 1/---====/=======|=======\===----\1 Camille
The hold upon her legs is suddenly released-- and her footing is somewhat unsteady after something like that. But now Camille is set upon her back while she still sits in place, the wind slowly being cut off and reducing her ability to breathe properly. She's suffered chokeholds before, and though her face starts turning red she has the strength of will and stamina to keep her focus and continue to pull and struggle against the hold.
Her hands pull away from the arm choking her, an unseen smile cutting her face into what would best be described as a 'damn psychotic grin.' Fingertips lowering to the ground, they touch lightly before her palms press down with a clap of pavement. The wind in her throat is being cut off, but it doesn't keep her from acting-- and acting strangely.
Silver lines of energy erupt from the ground around the pair, bursting out of the sidewalk at almost every angle. Some pop out of walls, some ricochet off surfaces-- ultimately, these lines fill the air around Camille and have the accuracy to completely bypass Cherise. If those wires stick, a hefty burst of shocking energy accompanies it-- strong enough, perhaps, to shatter the hold and give the French girl one last chance to take the Brit down with her.
COMBATSYS: Cherise can no longer fight.
[ \\\\\\\\\\\\\\\ <
Camille 1/---====/=======|
COMBATSYS: Camille interrupts Argent Finale from Cherise with The Glass Ceiling.
- Power hit! -
[ \\\\\\\\ <
Camille 0/-------/--=====|
Long before she sees those silver lines, she can feel it coming -- there's something off about the air in that instant, and that puts the Brit on-edge. She starts to maneuver to a standing position when she sees Cherise's palms going downward, maintaining the hold as she does so, but just barely finds herself too slow. Those palms, of course, touch the sidewalk neatly... and put Camille in an untenable situation.
The wires come. Camille leaps up, finally breaking the hold and launching herself into the air, dragging Bouchard just barely up to her feet as she flies up. In turn, she points /herself/ down, whirling so that she's facing the opposite direction of Cherise -- and just behind her, passing over on the descent.
She lands on the lines of energy, and a shock issues through her entire body -- but all is not lost, for though many parts of her body get caught on those wires, she lands with her legs just between two fortunate gaps, and scissored neatly around Cherise's head. It feels like an eternity, but with a hard slam of her body downwards and a heroic feat of her fighter's stamina, she plants her feet on the ground -- and keeps the younger girl's head squarely between her knees.
Her maneuvering is sloppy, her motions all slowed by injury and mind-searing pain, but she drags herself through the motions. Irvine's arms grab Cherise's, hooking under them; she doesn't bother with the hop that usually accompanies this particular technique, though, just letting herself fall to her knees and force Cherise's face into the ground, her body falling to the side afterward unceremoniously, breathing heavily and unable to muster any words.
Not just a single shock, but multiple-- vicious, furious blasts that sap stamina and hurt like the world's largest shock after scruffing your feet along a wool carpet in socks. But when the wires are on high and she finds herself pulled partway to her feet, her footing remains staggered, fingers still held in their fanned-out pose. Silver energy still connects her hands to the ground, and the pose locks her in place for what comes next--
Her head once again finds a familiar home between Camille's thighs, her focus cutting on impact and as her arms are hooked up. And-- *SMACK*
Hey, face down in the sidewalk. All she needs now is to have a blast of power through the back of her head that carries enough force to shatter the sidewalk, and it'll be just like all her fights with Mao.
Without rolling or otherwise bouncing around or away, her arms drop limply to her sides, the bracelets offsetting the *thwap* noise of her falling limbs with a metallic clinging noise.
And after a long few moments, her backside lifts into the air, one knee dragging in underneath herself. The other follows, and her head lifts from the ground, a large bloody gash in her forehead turning her hair from grays to a messy red, bangs matted down to her face and with a few excess trickles running down over and around her eyes. Her head rolls back lazily, and she maintains a lulling, half-cocked grin with her eyes closed-- but nevertheless hidden by her messy hair. Words roll past her tongue in a foreign language, and for a moment Cherise reverts to speaking entirely in French: "Aah, I certainly fucked that up."
Otherwise, she makes no efforts to continue her assault or defend herself, hanging between the fuzzy world of consciousness and unconsciousness.
Groaning and rolling to one side, Camille looks over to her opponent as the after-spasms of all those shocks start to subside. Adrenaline took her through that series of jolts, but it's not helping her very much /now/ -- her body is torn up by wires, and her senses are still reeling from the numerous shocks she took not moments ago. Still, she's got enough consciousness to hear Cherise's comment, and though she doesn't have much understanding of the words, she can at least guess at the sentiment behind them. After all, it's one she tends to carry with her rather often herself.
"... you didn't do... so bad..." she hisses, before turning over and spitting up some blood onto the sidewalk. With a harsh, forced laugh, she adds, "... are you okay? It's not... not too bad, right?" Another hard, hacking cough as she rolls over onto her other side, away from Cherise this time. "We... we really have to do that again... some time..." After all, Camille thinks through her haze of pain, they /did/ say after this they could be friends. Hopefully that was literal.
"Heheh... haha... ha ha ha ha ha ha... heh ... hahahahahaha..."
Her tongue finds more familiar languages now, though she's too caught up in her laughter to properly reply to Camille. Hand dragging up to her face, she slicks back her bangs away from her eyes, seeming far too caught up in the flow of endorphins and the stemming adrenaline to find another way to retort.
"I've had so much worse. But my performance was so laughable."
Somehow, -somehow-, Cherise finds the strength in her legs to stand, staggering initially. She walks to her camera and picks it up by the strap, slinging the strap around her neck and letting it hang. Her neck still hurts, too-- she'll probably climb into the tub at the hotel with water as hot as she can possibly make it and just sink in until the pain and tension rolls out of her.
"Find it in yourself to stand. We'll meet again, I am sure of it."
Hand dipping into her purse, a small index card is flicked through the air to Camille's feet-- a card for an obscure wine label in France, though the name 'Bouchard' is clearly written on the corner. Turning around, Cherise manages to give one last look over her shoulder before walking toward the edge of a crowd likely scared, impressed, or somewhere between. "Good-bye, friend."
Log created on 01:36:27 10/08/2007 by Camille, and last modified on 02:31:53 10/09/2007.