Description: A mysterious French-born transfer arrives on campus and, despite her best attempts to blend in and become one with the Pacific crowd...immediately catches a few sharp eyes. Particularly the eye of Marisol, who immediately takes it upon herself to personally welcome the new "transfer student" in the one way she knows best: with fists. (Fortunately Cherise is crazy and masochistic enough to oblige!)
There are moments in the life of Cherise Bouchard where someone has to wonder, '"What is she thinking?"
And of course, a moment is one of these.
Assmiliating into the crowd as quickly as she could, the French girl, the relative unknown on the better part of the professional fighting circuit, the young woman classified somewhere in the range of 'bugfuck insane' and 'complete masochist' has decided to step back in time, so to speak. Her secluded, home-raised education prevented her from ever really having the social interaction of a school environment, and since coming to Southtown she's been especially curious as to what it would be like on your average campus on your average day.
It isn't like she's expecting a whole lot, but at the very least she'll be able to mark it down on a list of things she's done in her life.
Without the crisp and official jacket but looking the part otherwise-- the blouse, the straight skirt, stockings, and shoes, the silver-haired Frenchwoman strides confidently toward the main hall with her mouth pulled into a grin. 'Maybe,' she wonders to herself, 'I can scrounge up a guitar and blow off some time in the music room, too.'
What the hell is Cherise Bouchard thinking, wasting her time in school?
Not that it matters to Marisol.
Currently seated on a grassy knoll with a few other girls, the redhead currently stares down in an open magazine. The girls nearby chat amongst each other like excited hens, hands moving about as they seem to converse over a newspaper in front of them. When they aren't talking to each other, they're talking to Marisol.
Well, at Marisol. She's half-attentive to their chatter.
"Marisol, Marisol!" A pigtailed brunette softly exclaims, hands clutched to a personalized notebook on her lap. "Did you almost drown on that scary ship? The news said the ship was sinking! We were so worried about you! You are okay, aren't you?"
A calm, composed black-haired girl lifts her brown eyes from the blonde at her side, letting her gaze settle on Marisol. "I also heard the ship got attacked. Were you alright? They didn't shoot you guys, did they?"
Marisol doesn't respond. She just turns the page in her magazine with a bored sigh.
The pigtailed girl pouts. The other two girls exhale. "She must not be happy," the brunette muses aloud, a finger tapping on her chin. "A shame."
Those gray eyes lift as Marisol turns another page, a bored expression on her face. It's in that perhaps fateful moment the young woman spies a new but vaguely familiar face. At least, a part of her thinks she recognizes Cherise. Television, maybe? But in any case, her appearance...it's definitely unique. She doesn't blend in well at all.
"Oh dear," the blonde remarks, before she turns a page in her magazine. "This can't bode well. Just don't get hurt, Marisol."
Marisol grins and quietly rises.
Perhaps unexpected, Marisol all but appears near Cherise, walking in pace with the Frenchwoman. "Hello there," she replies, sounding cheerful. "You don't LOOK familiar. Have we met? I don't think we have." There's a look in the girl's eye. She's itching for something, and it's not friendly formalities. A hand at the half-Spaniard girl's side clenches tightly.
"Maybe we should get to know each other, huh?" A cocky grin blossoms on full lips.
"My name is Marisol. I'm a fighter. And I'm going to wager...you're one too?"
Whether Cherise is or isn't, a fist is coming right for her face.
COMBATSYS: Marisol has started a fight here.
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Marisol 0/-------/-------|
COMBATSYS: Cherise has joined the fight here.
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Marisol 0/-------/-------|-------\-------\0 Cherise
COMBATSYS: Marisol successfully hits Cherise with Hook Punch.
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Marisol 0/-------/-------|==-----\-------\0 Cherise
"Ah, no, no. I'm new to the school. I've travelled further abroad than most, and I wanted to see what Japan had to offer me," she says, letting her accent become thick once more. "My name is Cherise."
And like Marisol, she gets the glint in her eye-- all the way until the fist rocks her in the mouth. "Umph!!"
Stumbling backwards a few steps as her head snaps back, her carefully-styled hair settles back down to reasonably the same position it was in before. Though now as her chin lowers, a fleck of blood sits on her glossed lips, her tongue just barely stuck out. It isn't a form of surprise or anger, nor a childish face to make-- not with the way her eyebrows slope and the corners of her mouth tug upward in the faintest of grins. Her tongue shifts, scooping up the little bit of blood before retreating back into her mouth. "Oooh... I see."
Her weight shifts, legs spreading beyond shoulder width and the expensive shoes on her feet begging for her not to do this-- but Cherise sweeps her hand upward, hand grabbing at thin air as she tries to duck and run just past the redheaded Spaniard. The whistling in Marisol's ears will be the first cue something is wrong-- and her only warning will be the glints of silver that circle around her neck. Cherise pulls hard, and those wires seek to constrict around the student's throat uncomfortably tight.
The rest of the attack happens in what seems like a blur. Fluid, but a blur nonetheless. She'll stand back to back and reach over her shoulder, grabbing the very wire that wraps around the younger girl's neck to Judo throw her right to the ground, and painfully no less.
COMBATSYS: Marisol Toughs Out Cherise's Argent Filament!!
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Marisol 0/-------/----===|==-----\-------\0 Cherise
With a resounding crack, violence breaks out in the middle of Pacific High.
It's just another day on campus.
Recoiling her fist as soon as those calloused knuckles bite the other girl's jaw, Marisol sports a too-confident smirk as she stumbles. Her greetings and introductions seem to fall upon deaf ears - sort of, anyway. For now, the half-Spaniard girl just observes the other girl's behavior as she recovers from the nasty punch to her face. The smile only grows, as Cherise does not seem to freak out or cry; instead, the French girl seems pleased.
"Cherise, eh? A Frenchy, no less?" Gray eyes watch as Cherise shifts her weight beneath her, before suddenly she tears forward. However, Marisol does not move one inch; instead, she holds her ground, eyes stern as the silver-haired young woman seems to just...well, run. But a glint of something on the air - silver, the faintest flicker - alerts Marisol.
Suddenly, a hand thrusts upwards, wedging between her throat and the chord. It tenses, but there is no discomfort, save for the tiniest flecks of blood which blossom against the girl's well-toned hand. Pearly whites glisten, as her full pink lips slowly climb into a smug grin. Cherise tugs, pulling Marisol into a throw. But something isn't right. It's too loose on Cherise's end. There isn't enough tension.
Because rather suddenly, Marisol is spinning on her heel and throwing a punch into the girl's stomach..!
COMBATSYS: Cherise blocks Marisol's Chain Reaction.
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Marisol 0/-------/----===|===----\-------\0 Cherise
Fluid, a blur... and entirely not how she was hoping it would pan out.
Sigh.
The wire fluttering over her shoulder on the final tug, the one meant to bring Marisol over her back, is enough of a signal to Cherise that things haven't panned out the way they should have. Turning hard on her heel, she faces the Pacific student and coils up her side, looking to give Marisol more of her hip and her elbow to strike rather than a direct blow to the stomach. Somewhat hasty, but a practiced motion, pressing hard with her toes and pushing off from the ground to get a back-stepping hop going. It puts a little bit of distance between them, all the better to plan her next move.
"Ha ha ha ha ha~!"
The laughter isn't meant to be taunting, though how Marisol recieves it will be entirely up to her. The laughter is joyous, her eyes wide and alert-- she can see every single one of the Irish-Spaniard's manuvers whether or not she's able to ward it off. And the look in her eyes? Absolutely predatory. Her left foot turns outward, heel striking the ground while her right leg takes a hard stride forward. "I like you!!"
Hooking her arm low and sweeping upward, thin blades of silver extend from her fingertips like an odd, massive claw. Viewed from dead-on, it's hard to see the projections, but seeing it from an angle will reveal four sheets of silver energy that seek to rip up Marisol from knees to shoulders. The force has quite a lot of cutting power behind it, too-- enough to draw blood.
COMBATSYS: Marisol blocks Cherise's Argent Claw.
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Marisol 0/-------/--=====|====---\-------\0 Cherise
Though her punch eats little more than a bony hip and is otherwise deflected, Marisol seems not the least bit bothered by the outcome. Instead, full lips ease into another toothy smirk, smoky depths clearly humored as she meets the French girl's gaze for a fleeting moment. If there's one thing that Marisol enjoys, it's an equally-enthused fighter. Clearly Cherise is glad to humor the anxious bareknuckle boxer.
The laugh all but seals the deal.
Marisol laughs back in kind, eyes widening as she pulls her lips lightly back over her pearly whites. "Ha ha ha, you're crazy!" the girl responds, her observation sounding less like an insult and more like a compliment of sorts. Amused and delighted, the redhead curls her hands into fists at her hips. "I knew there was something about you when I saw you," she remarks, her smirk broadening considerably.
But the conversation is short-lived at best. Rather suddenly, a curious but vaguely familiar energy swells to life. Swiping that odd energy-claw at Marisol, the half-Spaniard girl knows to do only one thing: keep that shit from hitting. And so, with a raise of muscled arms, that energy bites into her forearms, absorbing the blow and sparing Marisol the brunt of Cherise's potent attack. In response, the redhead grunts, arms reddened by the strike.
For a moment, Marisol seems puzzled. But a split-second later, those full lips suddenly slice into a savage smirk. "Ha ha ha! You've got an interesting skill there," she cries as her body jerks to life. Tightly-coiled fists erupt with yellow energy, and as the half-Spaniard girl closes in she swings at Cherise, a one-two attack before she twists her body and seeks to plant both fists into her stomach, an eruption of chi to blast the poor transfer student back and away!
COMBATSYS: Cherise dodges Marisol's El Matador.
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Marisol 0/-------/---====|====---\-------\0 Cherise
She sure is crazy. If only she knew how deep that kind of crazy runs, too-- the company she keeps, the man that raised her, and those that she calls her 'friends.' The latter group is the most diverse, from Mao to that silly girl Hotaru (whether she likes it or not) and that tanned man with the gloves and the excess of leather.
And Cherise is nimble, too. While she hasn't been able to keep up with Marisol as much as she would've liked so far, the French girl has done well to at least do the Pacific student -damage-. As for her agility, this is demonstrated as the two fists are thrust at her stomach. With a harsh step, she moves to the side, behind Marisol, and plants her right leg. The left whips up, quick as can be, and sturdy muscles tighten from thigh to foot. Her toes are set to kick Marisol right in the kidney, and perhaps a little harder than she should for a 'friendly' school match.
COMBATSYS: Marisol interrupts Heavy Kick from Cherise with Red Clover.
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Marisol 0/-------/=======|=======\-------\1 Cherise
Though Marisol flings her fists, her efforts yield no results. Instead, calloused knuckles cut through empty air, drawing the most fleeting expressions of mild disbelief on the redhead's face. No way..!
But disbelief is easily shrugged off in favor of focusing on the fight. Pulling full lips over her teeth once more, she bears a considerably nasty smirk as Cherise sidesteps and plants a foot. Those gray eyes snap to the side, observing Cherise from over her broad shoulder. Any minute her retaliation will come. Any moment..!
Rather suddenly, a heel has planted itself firmly into Marisol's side, but it hardly budges the half-Spaniard. In fact, those gray depths widen in response, her mouth parting as a ghostly breath slides past her lips. "Yeah," she whispers, a fist at her side considerably tight. "That...was a mistake..!"
Like the wrath of God, Marisol swings her body around, a fist aimed for Cherise's skull. But it doesn't end there. Rather sudden is the eruption of flames around her fists, as Marisol steps into Cherise and swings a fist low, aimed for her gut. Curling her lips, those fists move once more, a one-two punch for her jaw. Though the first doesn't necessarily sting, it's the final punch that explodes with violent dandelion-yellow chi, to send the French "transfer student" staggering away.
She senses something's wrong when the toe of her shoe impacts with Marisol's side, the 'perfect' kidneyshot interrupted with a brief moment's dialogue. Cherise turns her foot and starts to pull her leg back, but the moment's passed-- and so Marisol's attack leads into a hard quintet of blows, the gut to stagger, the one-two to smack her silly. And the last one? Well, that's just the icing on the cake.
She sails backwards, arms and legs thrown outward as she slides almost entirely on the heels of her shoes. It comes to an end as Cherise's balance never recovers, and she rolls back on the grounds to lay splayed out on yonder patch of green grass, her head rolled back and stunned briefly.
For a moment, Cherise is nostalgic. From what, she won't say.
Arms lashing out, she gets some leverage with the ground and rolls backwards, knees and ankles together as she executes a sort of acrobatic roll back into a crouch, slowly standing up and ushering in a new grin. "I like the way you punch. It is ... hard, without hesitation. I would say pure, but I don't know if you are so naive."
And while she says all this, her wrist starts moving in a swift circle. The air in front of her starts to whistle, a lazy but practiced technique-- the wire in front of her swishing around in circles like she were some sort of master of rope tricks. Her thumb twitches, it changes patterns. Her index finger taps, it shakes out into another path. It'd be something to admire, if it weren't so damn dangerous-- or if there weren't blood on it now. "But you need to refine yourself a little, yes?"
Stalling for time? Sort of. The silver-haired French girl wants to dig into Marisol's head a little, see how she reacts...
COMBATSYS: Cherise gains composure.
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Marisol 0/-------/=======|=======\-------\0 Cherise
Sent sailing, the half-Spaniard offers a cocky smirk with a widened gaze as she watches the girl roll and tumble like a ragdoll. After all the bullshit she had to endure aboard that stupid Ninja cruise liner, this is a much-needed outlet. And what's better, the crazy French girl actually seem to encourage this awful and clearly delinquent behavior.
Though Cherise lay still, Marisol does not stand her ground. Instead, she slowly paces toward the so-called "transfer student's" felled body, her hands still coiled in tight fists at her side. Is she moving into a crouch? Good. Marisol's grin broadens all the more, as Cherise speaks. Is that a compliment?
"Thanks," she responds, her words cool and calm. "I understand what you mean." She pauses, however, as the wire begins to stir, twirling in an almost menacing fashion. Furrowing her brows, the redhead stands there, and almost instantly a dark expression crosses her face. Did she...did Cherise just say she needed to refine herself?
"Hold your tongue!" she barks, suddenly breaking into a sprint right for the French woman. Closing in, she swings a fist down in an attempt to plant her knuckles hard against the top of her skull. "I think you should heed your own words, before you go around slinging advice!"
COMBATSYS: Cherise endures Marisol's Medium Punch.
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Marisol 0/-------/=======|=======\=------\1 Cherise
It seems the reaction she wanted is gained-- the look on Marisol's face and the dead lunge into the thrall of combat was more than enough to indicate it. As Marisol's fist wracks down atop her head, Cherise coils into the blow. Bending at the knees and hips to keep her body steady while she drops down into a squat, the French girl springs backwards at a rather odd, dangerously low angle-- bringing her nose to inches from the ground. Her body twists, tightens, and compensates-- and Cherise lands again in a squat, facing Marisol still and with that same feral, delighted look in her eye.
Her arm reels backward, air whistling as the glint of silver moves behind her in an arc-- and then her hand shoots forward, pointing at Marisol O'Connell. The wire shoots ahead like a missile, the golden weight at the tip shimmering as the wire seeks to wrap snugly around the Pacific student's throat and cut off her air supply.
COMBATSYS: Marisol endures Cherise's Argent Sniper.
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Marisol 1/---====/=======|=------\-------\0 Cherise
Closing her hand around the wire and pulling harshly, Cherise's stance shifts, bringing her left arm out in front. Gripping the wire in both hands, her left hand starts plucking the wire like it were some sort of guitar string, bolts of silver energy shooting down the length and to Marisol's throat. One, two, three...
And she's grinning.
Four, five, six...
And laughing.
Cherise drops to one knee, pulling -hard- on the wire. Grabbing it with two fingers, she gives one last hard pluck of the wire, letting one last burst of silver rocket along the length and blast Marisol in the face.
"I'm aware of my own flaws, I just don't care as much as you do."
Whether she is aware of it or not, Marisol has played right into Cherise's capable hands. But there is not a shred of concern or wariness as she reacts so vividly; instead, Marisol just charges forth, merciless in her endeavor to close in on the French girl and introduce her skull to her knuckles. And, perhaps as expected, Cherise crumples with the ferocity.
Or has she..?
Without any real warning, the French "transfer student" twists her body and she ultimately lands in a crouch. The expression is noted, but the half-Spaniard girl does not respond. Not immediately, at least. Instead, Marisol bides her time, patient as she is simply content to observe the girl's next attack, if any. That arm reels back, another flash of that curious silver energy. But still, Marisol does not move.
Snared by the throat, the girl suddenly digs her heels down, holding her place as those strings are plucked like some morbid guitar. Six times those weird threads are plucked, and every strike sends a surge of pain through Marisol's body. But the girl does not fall. She endures the grief, teeth clenched oh so tightly behind those full lips, her expression borderline vicious.
The final burst comes, and it jars Marisol's entire body - particularly the face. But rather than fly back and land on her back...
Marisol is suddenly bursting forward with newfound vigor and zeal.
Laughing all the while, as her fist suddenly glows with chi. Like a katar of pure energy, she seeks to plunge the pointed tip of those fiercely glowing flames straight into Cherise's chest.
"IT IS OVER RIGHT NOW!!"
COMBATSYS: Marisol successfully hits Cherise with Bee Sting.
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Marisol 0/-------/-----==|======-\-------\0 Cherise
"Hurrgh-!!"
The punch heard 'round the world as Marisol exceeds all of Cherise's expectations, blazing on ahead through the forceful attack and leaving her open and primed for retaliation. As the fist collides with her chest, the French girl's arms throw ahead forward as her body flies backward.
Sailing backwards has it's flaws, but also it's benefits. Benefits like getting distance, range. It may be over, what with the pain in her chest that feels, quite literally, like her lungs and spine are on fire. But her wires have something to say about it.
And how.
Wire seeks to ensnare that extended fist around the wrist, to keep it steady and pull Marisol from her pose and right off her footing. One of Cherise's legs sweeps out behind her as the other thrusts forward, landing on her feet and in a rather haphazard pose, the spread of her legs and the severity of her needing to hold her pose ripping the seam along the right thigh.
"Ha hahahahaha ha ha hehehah ha ha ha--"
If she can get Marisol off her footing, all the better-- all the better as the grey-haired French girl rockets back in at Marisol, her fingers thrust out like a knife-- looking to drive themselves not into the Pacific student's chest, but nail her right in the throat as hard as she can.
COMBATSYS: Cherise can no longer fight.
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Marisol 0/-------/-----==|
COMBATSYS: Marisol dodges Cherise's Argent Striker.
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Marisol 0/-------/-----==|
Distance and range seem to be the name of Cherise's game...
...but the half-Spaniard girl is beginning to catch on.
Case in point: as she repositions herself and regains her otherwise disturbed footing, and appears to be setting herself up for yet another retaliation against the redhead. Again, Marisol clenches her teeth behind her lips, eyes hooded as she focuses entirely on Cherise. What is she planning..? Marisol is sure she'll find out shortly.
She just hopes she's fast enough not to.
Jerking sharply aside, the half-Spaniard girl outright avoids the flurry of wires, avoiding the French "transfer" entirely. Moving behind, she offers a cocky smirk, gray depths narrowed in obvious delight as she simply observes the girl.
Then, a breath slips past her lips, those gray eyes widening all the more.
"Welcome to Pacific High, Cherise. It was great to meet you."
COMBATSYS: Marisol takes no action.
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Marisol 0/-------/-----==|
COMBATSYS: Marisol has ended the fight here.
The wires dodged, the lunge rendered useless-- and now the younger of the pair is standing behind her, all faster than she could snap her fingers. In a dead stop and arms hanging, her shoulders sag and head hangs. Letting out a long sigh, she straightens up. "Yes, yes, I get the point."
She can't win. For now.
Turning around to face Marisol, there's something on Cherise's face that shows a degree of dissatisfaction. Not about 'losing' this exchange of blows, no, she could care less. She didn't get to bleed! Not like Marisol has, with the cuts and lashes from the wire at her disposal. Her wrists flick like she were conducting a symphony, and wires hiss as they reel back to the gold bracelets around her wrists. After an audible *tink!*, her weight shifts, one hand on her hip and her other leg cocked a little. Though the look in her eyes -screams- she wants more, she shows a degree of restraint.
For now.
"Thank you, Marisol. If all the students are as invigorating as you are, I may have to make my transfer official."
Log created on 20:33:42 11/02/2007 by Marisol, and last modified on 03:44:24 11/16/2007.