Description: While out on a field trip at the local Southtown Museum of History and Fine Arts for their History class, Marisol and Pás are, as one would expect, bored out of their minds. However, with a little creativity and a pinch of enthusiasm, these two girls soon discover that history CAN be exciting and fun--when you're destroying it!! (With a special guest appearance from Preston!)
Southtown's Museum of History and Fine Arts, a place with millions - if not billions - of dollars (or is that yen?) invested into its construction. A massive, imposing structure nestled on multiple acres of lush green, the museum attracts all persons from all walks of life. Young and old, rich and lower-middle class for its wide-variety of exhibits, often displayed in the most lavish and elaborate of fashions.
But perhaps the most frequent visitors of the Museum of History and Fine Arts are the numerous schools dotting Southtown. From Gedo to Taiyo, every notable school in Southtown pays visit to the museum on a regular basis, tours for students of all kinds.
The only thing is... most students would prefer to be anywhere BUT at the museum.
Today, Pacific High has claim of the Southtown Museum. Particularly, Misses Johnson's forth period class has been sentenced to a day's worth of punishment in the "Mysteries of the Inca" exhibit, expected to take notes, attentively listen and, of course, write a four-page, double-spaced report on what they learned. It is due on Monday, first of class.
The group moves like a school of fish, Misses Johnson just behind the tour guide as he slowly moves through the exhibit. An older man - likely in his eighties and a volunteer no less - the South American zombie shuffles forward, speaking in barely-coherent English to the gathered throng of students. At the back, Marisol stands with her arms up and behind her head, folded neatly as she pays attention to everything but the exhibit being lectured over.
"Geez," the half-Spaniard girl complains in a hushed tone. "I could seriously go for something to eat right about now." Pausing, she glances around, looking for her teammate and cohort in crime, the dusky-skinned Brazilian girl, and dream girl of many a lonely Gedo boy.
"Pas? Pas? Where are you? Think we could sneak away for an hour and find something to eat? I'm going to die if I don't have a slice of pizza. Did you smell that in the parlor across the street??"
A young boy turns around and promptly "SHHH"'s at Marisol, who jerks her chest forward and threatens him with her presence. He cows away almost immediately.
On their journey to the museum, Pás had found herself cornered.
"Estella, did you know that while planning this class trip, I thought of you!" Mrs. Johnson gushed down at her.
Not a good sign.
The professor continued on chirpily, "After all, since we're visiting an exhibit about the history of the Incas, what better treat is it for me than to have a student who hails all the way from South America?! This all must be so fascinating for you! I can tell you're very excited. I'll be looking forward to reading your report most of all!"
At that point, Pás was starting to glaze over.
She came to, about two and a half hours later, shaking her head a little and realizing she was standing in the middle of a museum while an old man droned on and on about ancient farming techniques. The Brazilian scrunched up her face and immediately sagged. It wasn't just a nightmare. It was real. And she was stuck in it.
Within moments, her eyelids were drooping once more. She couldn't stop herself. It was torture. It was witchcraft medicine, evoked to dry out her very soul!! It was /so incredibly boring./
Her eyes turned then, glancing absently at Marisol, who was being the more respectable student of the two and paying attention to the lecture. Pás looked away, back at the tour guide, willing to give it a shot. Mrs. Johnson gave her an emphatic thumbs-up!
Pás withered.
And then, summoning last bit of energy, the last little bit of heart left in her rotting shell of a human body, she decided to give one good, real inspection of the entire exhibit.
That's when she saw it.
Out in the open in frightening detail, two lifesize models garb and play the two opposing sides of the fierce and bloody War of Succession, as an exotic Inca warrior, clad in his ceremonial garb, stands deadlock with a stern and sneering Spanish Conquistador, his heavy sword clutched in hand.
Pás just smiled.
And that's when she knew what she had to do.
And now, when Marisol turns, her friend has mysteriously vanished. But not for long.
"Pssssst."
"Psssss pssssst Marisolas!!"
"Nao -- over here! Look up!"
The dueling warriors exhibit remains hushed in a fixed, elaborate display of ancient hatred. The opposing sides hold their poses and their bloodthirst in abject stillness for the rest of the world to witness. But something doesn't seem all right.
Especially because the Inca statue looks a lot like a girl, a teen one, dressed scandalously in the littlest shreds of fabric, holding a severe, aggressive position and a spear above her head.
The statue comes to life, winking one dark eye at Marisol. Then it tips its head toward the silent Conquistador, or rather... his armor.
Pás needs to words to say what she wants right now. Her eyes hood. She nods knowingly.
The moment smoky gray eyes turn, in hopes of finding the one person in this god-awful mess to sneak away with, they find...not a damn thing. Briefly, the redheaded half-Spaniard girl appears crestfallen and disheartened. Where did her friend go? Has she abandoned Marisol for her own endeavors? Pas was always the sort to spirit away when she so fancied it, after all. Has she, Marisol wonders.
Pursing full pink lips, the redhead stands there, looking uncertain and confused.
But just when all seems lost, and that Marisol is doomed to a fate of boring lectures on crusty, ancient Incan culture, her savior comes in the most peculiar of fashions. Currently, it is dressed strangely, much like the exhibit she was looking at. In fact, it happens to BE the exhibit.
This, of course, causes the half-Spaniard girl to blink once, slowly. Almost uncertain, Marisol peers intently at the exhibition, even as the old tour guide drones on and guides the school of students further away. Clearly intrigued, Marisol steps forward, hesitant. Surely not. There's just no way.
Oh how wrong she is!
When Pas winks and reveals herself to be none other than the savage Inca warrior, the redhead nearly barks a laugh. But she's swift to catch herself, hands pressing over her mouth before gray eyes flicker aside. Misses Johnson is intently listening to the tour guide as he continues to prattle on, occasionally snapping photos with her cheap disposable camera.
The nod says it all. She wants Marisol to play dress-up.
Those full lips suddenly split into a toothy grin.
The girl glances left. No one.
The girl glances right. No one.
The smile broadens, and Marisol tears forward toward the exhibition. Like a lion on its prey, the half-Spaniard girl tears the Conquistador's costume off, starting with the helmet, which goes immediately atop her red mane. The rest follows swiftly, the half-Spaniard shamelessly tearing off her school uniform to squeeze into the poofy blouse, pants and spandex before attempting to put the chest armor on as noiselessly as possible.
Then comes the last and final - and arguably most important piece: the sword. Holding the rapier aloft like the legendary Excalibur, Marisol sports a stern, confident expression as she stands there.
The expression falters.
"These pants are so gay," she complains with a pout.
"Yea, Spanish is pretty gay," the Inca warrior concurs cockily.
Meanwhile, across the domed exhibit room, the tour guide talks on and on in his toneless way. His voice never changes for a single word. You'd probably wring more emotion out of drywall.
"Unlike the Aztecs, the Incas employed sophisticated military strategy that was less stratisfied in religious ceremony. They were highly organized and efficient, however, their shortcomings were made soon obvious by the...? Anyone? Anyone? Anyone?" He pauses for half a second. Not a single one of the milling students raises a hand. He goes on, more than used to it. "By the Inca War of Succession, otherwise commonly called...? Anyone? Anyone? The War of two Brothers. The ongoing civil strife that plagued the Incan Empire at that time coincided with unfortunate timing to the subsequent Spanish invision, who were already taken to the land and were searching for lost cities of gold. Now, led by...? Anyone? Anyone?"
Nothing. "--Francisco Pizarro, they took siege when Atahualpa dismissed the Catholic church and faced the Inca armies in the Battle of--"
A sudden shout cracks off the walls of the museum. "You inferior, white-bearded pig!!"
The tour guide stops. Startled, students turn wide-eyed glances. They look up in time to see a battle-poised Inca statue suddenly come to life, all scraps of heavy cloth and leather barely concealing yards of dusky skin, her crown mantled with a sweeping headdress, her four limbs anointed with heavy jewellery. Muscles flex in her legs. Toes splay against the earth. Her fist grits down on her weapon, a vicious-looking spear with a bronzed scythe curving dangerously, the blade looking to be reaching for human flesh.
Stepping slowly, the warrior sneers, her teeth bared with a vicious edge. Ignorant to the rest of the world, she faces her sworn enemy, the armored Spaniard fixed in her sights as she begins to circle, crossing ankle over ankle. Soon, her voice hisses back to life. "...You slaughter my people. You defecate on my land. You spit on my gods. You waste your breath on your meaningless Bible, and you embarrass yourself by trying to spread it as you do your diseases. We gave you a time to flee. You could have left with your lives. Now I want nothing more than to take that for myself."
Eyes flaring, the Inca warrior suddenly stands tall, bracing her spear in both hands, the blade pointing invitingly at the Conquistador. With spitting hatred, she SNARLS her promise: "I am going to leave with your head, Spaniard. Your blood will be my next drink; it will quench me until I can find your next brother!!"
Silence.
Pás really likes to act.
[OOC] Pas says, "after this, their teacher is going to take them aside and :| over a desk "you destroyed thousands worth of private property" teacher pauses "but.. you both get a+ on the report" pas and marisol highfive freeze in midair"
[OOC] Marisol ROFL!!!!!!
The Conquistador looks upon the Inca warrior with an incredulous expression.
"what??" she responds, her words a strained whisper. Did she just insult her heritage? Maybe so, but the redhead donning that god-awful pointed helmet does not seem too bothered by it. She can't help it if half of her ancestors had piss-poor taste in costuming.
So instead, Marisol pouts.
"why couldn't i be the inca warrior??" she strains once more.
Meanwhile, the zombie employed by the Southtown Museum, whose awful monotony could likely outrival Ben Stein, continues to ramble on about culture and history that, frankly, ninety-nine percent of the gathered students could care less about. The remaining one percent are currently ruining private property.
Unexpectedly, Pas' voice is booming off the walls and ceiling of the museum. It startles Marisol, who jumps lightly in her costume in response. Gray eyes briefly bug, widened in disbelief before she bites a lip, desperately struggling not to burst out laughing. Initially, however. It falters a bit, as the Brazilian girl suddenly finds herself getting very much into character.
And she's approaching. Sort of. When in Rome...
The lavishly-dressed Conquistadora sports a too-amused smirk, oozing confidence as hazy gray eyes hood, looking down upon the Inca warrior - figuratively. Turning her head, the young woman spits at the very Earth on which the Inca treads. The angry warrior's words seem to fall upon deaf ears, her threats empty at best.
With a swipe of the rapier through the empty air in front of her, the Conquistadora lifts her chin confidently, high into the air. "You worship false Gods. In the eyes of the Lord, your people are heathens, unfit to tread these lands of riches. You practice heathen rituals, and you continually reject our generosity. So long as you continue to reject us, you and your people will continue to die like the swine they are."
The rapier is thrust forward, singling out the Inca warrior as she circles.
The Conquistadora is not cowed by her fearsome stance and weaponry.
"En los ojos de Dios, ¡usted es no apto andas la tierra!"
With those words, the Conquistadora suddenly plants her foot and twists her torso, swinging the blade for the Inca's throat--!!
Until her arm briefly swings back before it jerks forward, attempting to bluntly strike Pas against her forehead with the hilt of her costume's weapon.
"For glorious Espana and God!" she cries confidently.
COMBATSYS: Marisol has started a fight here.
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Marisol 0/-------/-------|
COMBATSYS: Pas has joined the fight here.
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Marisol 0/-------/-------|-------\-------\0 Pas
COMBATSYS: Pas blocks Marisol's Light Punch.
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Marisol 0/-------/-------|-------\-------\0 Pas
[OOC] Pas says, "meanwhike preston is at the dinosaur exhibit of the museum, staring at a wall that describes the k/t metoer extiniction event. "fookin kidding me""
[OOC] Marisol says, "ROFL!!!"
As the stoic Inca warrior listens to the declarations of her sworn enemy, absorbing them with glaring eyes and grit, Pás determines that she loves Marisol all the more. Would it be possible for her to meet another person this wonderful? Even were she living lucky in a merciful world, probably not.
But she doesn't let her gushing heart get confused with her theatrics. They have a history lesson to impart.
The warrior plants one end of her spear to the ground, the gesture loud and decided. She is staking her territory. She is declaring that she will not give it up until the last breath is ripped from her lungs with bloody fingers. She is here in the name of vengeance. She wants blood.
Her ambery eyes meet those stormy greys. Hers slowly narrow. She is waiting.
"Um," Mrs. Johnson is whispering aside to the tour guide, biting her lip as she digs into her purse for her glasses, busily squinting at the two performers in ancient warrior garb. "Is this... something the museum put on? I wasn't told about this. It's... pretty intense."
The tour guide just scratches uselessly at his ear.
The Pacific High class is a sea of gaping mouths.
Then the Conquistadora makes the first move. Spanish steel drives at the Inca's tender, unarmored throat. The warrior, however noticing and glancing back playfully when the attack is pulled, plants her feet and widens her stance, suddenly kicking at the braced staff of her spear to baton it through her fingers. The blade swings up and around in time to catch the hilt of the sword, and with a push of the Inca's shoulder, holds the attack at bay.
"--Can anyone notice the easiest disparity between the two's choice of weapons? Anyone? Anyone?" The tour guide's voice strikes back. "You'll notice that iron and the introduction of alloys was available to the Spanish Empire, while the Incas were reliant still on bronze--"
Meanwhile, the Inca warrior is hissing, "Che, and is your whitebeard God as ugly as you?!"
Thrusting backward to detangle their weapons, she casts her spear in a showy swipe, passing it between hands as the replica blade whispers through the air. Then, as the Inca's eyes fiercely darken, she announces her attack with a furious yell. She swings her weapon suddenly at the Conquistadora, the curved scythe trying to catch against her armored side -- there's not enough force there to cut the steel, but there's enough to try to hold her there. Without warning, she slips in, one leg swung up to try to catch the Spaniard across the face.
COMBATSYS: Pas successfully hits Marisol with Short Kick.
- Power hit! -
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Marisol 0/-------/-----==|=------\-------\0 Pas
[OOC] Pas says, "meanwhile preston is looking at models of ancient roman galley ships "now there's a fookin good row""
[OOC] Marisol ROFL!!!
[OOC] Pas says, "you can pose in here durp"
[OOC] Pas says, "if you want"
[OOC] Preston says, "no i don't want to intrude"
[OOC] Preston says, "if i pose in it will be jokey poses of what preston's doing in the meanwhile"
[OOC] Pas says, "it's not intruding god"
[OOC] Pas says, "ROFL"
[OOC] Pas says, "do it do it"
[OOC] Marisol says, "pas and marisol are larping in expensive costumes in the middle of a museum JOKEY POSES WON'T RUIN IT"
[OOC] Pas says, "preston at a t-rex skeleton "look at the fookin mouth on this fookin piece of shit! yeaaah you're a right cunt you are, cheeky fooker""
This...is better than skipping the tour for pizza.
In fact, this is probably the most fun Marisol has had on a field trip EVER. Clealry, the redhead owes Pas a lot. But she'll gush enthusiastically after they're done performing for their classmates in expensive and ancient artifacts.
With a cry for glory, the Conquistadora swings the hilt of her steel blade at the throat of the Inca warrior, but much to her surprise, the warrior proves wily. Briefly, those hazy gray eyes widen in disbelief. Then, dangerously, they narrow. Arms strain, desperately seeking to overpower the Incan and break through, pearly white teeth bared.
"Do not mock my God, you unholy heathen!" the Conquistadora bellows, snarling at the proud warrior as the two square off. But soon they untangle, the Incan parting ways briefly with the Conquistadora. She recovers swiftly enough, the rapier dropping with a sudden whisk downward as she straightens her back. A scoff parts her full lips.
The incoming blade noted, the Conquistadora attempts to simply intercept the incoming attack with a twist of her arm, the rapier moving inwards to intersect the scythe. It is a ruse, however; that foot swings up rather suddenly and, expected, that foot cuts cleanly across Marisol's cheek. Harshly, her head jerks to one side, gray eyes wide with disbelief.
Then they hood, lips slowly curving into a Cheshire's grin.
"For my king and for my queen, your peoples' bodies will pave a glorious road for my peoples' empire!"
Snarling like a savage creature, the Conquistadora lunges in at the Incan, attempting to seize her by her throat. Her other arm twists harshly, the tip of her rapier stabbed into the dry earth and parted with, allowing said arm to then jerk forward and drive her palm's heel toward her midsection, a blossom of dandelion-yellow energy erupting to blast the Inca warrior back as she's released!
COMBATSYS: Marisol successfully hits Pas with Moon Sling.
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Marisol 0/-------/----===|=====--\-------\0 Pas
An expensive car, an ancient antique from the '70s, slides to a halt. Within it, a safety clicks. The order that follows is preemptive, unyielding, backed by the confidence that only cold steel and a barrel provides;
"Get the fook out! Ya little fanny…"
Not long after, Preston Alistair Wellington the II finds himself staring at where the patriarchs of his family all end up; the sea, a watery grave the reward for service for each Admiral of the line -- up until him. A disappointment to his father… is this what the disapproval has led to, being marched to his doom by two henchmen?
"Listen, ya given us the fookin' runaround ya have, ya brawny fat cunt. How'd ya like it if me and me mate spit-roasted that Marisol? Go on! Jump or ya fookin' dead!"
The words, the threat, they draw ire from the cornered Brit. Drawing up to his full height, he glares over his shoulder. "I'm dead anyway, ya stupid cunts. If ya didn't have the fookin' gun I'd knock them fookin' specs straight off ya fookin' face. I'd knock ya fookin' mate out and go 'round and bang his fookin' lass.
"So get on that, ya pair of stupid scruffy twats."
The spectacle-wearing gunman seems taken aback by the ferocity displayed there. "Ok, can I stop ya there Wellington, ya language is atrocious. Me and my mate don't need to hear that; we don't appreciate foul languag--"
"Fuck off." Preston interrupts.
"Nah, fook you."
"Fook you."
"Fook you."
"Fook you!"
"Fook--"
Preston awakens from where he stands in line, waiting for his museum-sized hot dog. He rubs at his eyes, grousing about the craziest dream as he wonders where those two girls and their cup got to.
And blasted back, she goes.
Set to the surprised gasps and squeaks of classmates, the yellow burn of chi suddenly ignites the room, and the Inca warrior gets swatted by the blast as though she weighed feathers. Thrown backward, she takes out an exhibit, wood splintering and glass shattering under the impact.
When she comes to, turning burning eyes straight on the Spaniard, she looks almost a doppelganger of the sleepy and friendly Pás, who receives the worst of pain with no less than grinning encouragement. The look of mad hate looks alien on her face. Something best saved for the Bizarro world.
Pás is just that good of an actress!
"I am going to bleed you," she is promising on a low, airy tone as she pulls free from the wreckage, her voice tightened by rage until it is no more than a whisper. "I will flay you and wear your skins."
...Maybe a little too good of one. How does she even know half these words?
Then, baring her grit teeth, the Inca warrior hurtles back into the fray. In mid-step, she switches to a reverse grip on her spear, and then with a sudden flex of her arm... she hurls it straight at the Conquistadora's head.
COMBATSYS: Pas successfully hits Marisol with Zidane's Revenge.
-* CRITICAL HIT! *-
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Marisol 0/-------/-======|=====--\-------\0 Pas
The moment the Inca warrior is set free of her sure hand, the Conquistadora eyes her palm before she lifts her nose arrogantly, scoffing. Promptly she rubs her hand off on her poofy red pantaloons and reaches again for her forgotten rapier at her side. "Filthy creature," she muses aloud, loud enough for the Incan - and the learning class! - to hear.
The crash of glass and wood splintering does not stir Marisol or worry her. Pas is a particularly strong girl. She can take worse than this and still chug along nicely. Besides, they're actresses! They have a part to play.
As she rises from the mess, full lips ease into a confident sneer. "Such is expected of such a savage beast! Your customs are a shame to the glory of God and His light. Your soul is lost; Hell awaits you. However."
The redheaded Conquistadora meets the sneer with one of her own. She offers a harsh whisper.
"Aún infierno es demasiado bueno para usted," she surmises. The rapier cuts empty air in front of her before she barks a demeaning laugh toward the Inca warrior. The spear is hurled, barely missing the bared throat of the Conquistadora. She briefly seems startled. Stunned even; but this serves the dark skinned girl well.
Because that befeathered skull crashes soundly into the Spaniard's throat, causing her to offer little more than a dry croak in response as she's sent staggering backwards - right into a display of ancient Incan pottery that is very likely priceless and expensive.
With gray eyes wide in a look of horror, the girl stares at the Inca warrior in sheer surprise. How...how DARE she!
In abject horror, the Conquistadora peels herself from the mess and charges forth, attempting to sock the Incan with a fierce hook right to her jaw.
"Your head will roll for your insolence, savage!"
COMBATSYS: Pas blocks Marisol's Hook Punch.
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Marisol 0/-------/-======|======-\-------\0 Pas
[OOC] Pas says, "meanwhile in the museum, preston is engaged in war against tiny cowboy"
[OOC] Marisol ROFL!!!! YES
"Maybe that will shut you up," the Inca warrior sneers as she staggers back from her blow, severity cutting angry lines across her face, her hatred mixing with specks of her own blood.
"Hmmmmm," the tour guide is meanwhile saying, at great length, "I'm not too sure if that's an appropriate thirteenth century colloquialism."
Mrs. Johnson is beginning to suspect something is amiss. "You think?"
He pauses. "--Let me reread the exhibit plaque."
One classmate murmurs, "You think we're gonna get tested on this?"
"I hope so... you see the armor on the redhead? It's really pushing up her tits!!"
A moment later, the Inca warrior widens her stance, reading the incoming movement of her hated enemy, bracing at the last moment and crossing up her arms to stop the blow. Behind them, her dark eyes taunt. "You speak like a man, but your hands feel like a woman's."
With a dismissive push, she suddenly curls backwards, arching her back and planting both palms on the floor. With a fierce twist, the Inca inverts herself into a handstand, switching from arm to arm and turning over, bracing herself as she attempts to land a heavy, double-footed mule kick straight at the Spaniard's gut.
COMBATSYS: Marisol endures Pas' Medium Kick.
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Marisol 1/-------/=======|=======\-------\0 Pas
Indeed; it does the trick, albeit briefly so. The tinkle of shattered shards of glass and broken pottery litter the marble floor, but that remains the least of the Conquistadora's concerns - instead, those angry gray eyes only see one thing: her enemy, the Incan who dare defies her will.
Meanwhile, the Southtown Museum is more or less caught in a cloud of uncertainty. Is it a part of the trip, or merely two delinquent student girls with nothing better to do than destroy private property?
More over, will anyone really care, what with them swinging weapons and fists?
Probably not.
The attack comes swiftly, but the Inca warrior is swift in response. Shielding her face from the savage blow, a sneer passes over the redheaded Conquistadora's lips, gray eyes narrowed sharply. "And you continue to disappointment with your skill. Truly, you are a savage. You fight without honor!"
Shoved back, she can only observe as the Inca warrior inverts and sends a double-footed kick aimed for her stomach. Accepting the blow with a harsh expunge of air from her lungs, the Spaniard grits her teeth tightly before she widens her eyes. A loud, guttural roar erupts from full lips as she suddenly charges forth, casting her sword aside with a noisy clatter.
She has one goal in mind: to grab the Inca warrior by that feathery headpiece and headbutt her. But it is merely prelude to a truly savage finale...
COMBATSYS: Marisol successfully hits Pas with Red Clover.
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Marisol 1/-----==/=======|=======\===----\1 Pas
Their skulls meet, forehead to forehead with a harsh CRACK.
This is only the beginning.
Shoving the Inca warrior back, the Conquistadora's fists suddenly erupt with chi energy, flames hungrily licking at her arms as those long fingers curl into tight fists. With two distinct hooks, she swings her fists one after the other. But the Conquistadora with red hair knows no mercy; instead, she swings her right fist for one last, final blow, impact erupting with raw energy - and enough force to send the Inca warrior sailing from the blow, if her footing betrays her.
"I told you!!" the Conquistadora bellows. "It is futile! Surrender and submit, you uncivilized cur!"
One entire wall of the exhibition is ground into paste as the Inca warrior slams into it, her warrior's tunic torn, blood leaking out of many shallow cuts.
For the longest of times, she gives no rebuttal to her undying enemy. She says nothing. She doesn't even move.
The entire class is reduced to about forty gaping mouths and eighty staring eyes.
The Inca warrior, strewn amidst rubble and broken bits of precious artifacts, seems fallen.
This is what they call a dramatic pause.
With a crunch of glass and a weighted hiss, she moves, slowly, labourously, pushing her weary body up to one knee. Her proud headdress hangs now in tatters, its many features broken, its hide ripped. She tears it free, shaking out her long, dark hair, breathing in before her eyes lift to meet those of the Spanish Conquistadora.
And with a heavy voice, she replies, "...Never."
(It's also at this point Mrs. Johnson can finally recognize the first warrior. A familiar headache returns to her left temple. She should have known. And that means the other one is... of course.
She's already mentally writing up the notes to send back to their families.)
Shrugging off debris, the mighty Inca stands, looking down as she notices just what managed to break her trajectory. A display of ancient weapons. A big one. All around her are fallen spears, bows, bolas, and angry, ripping scythes, a vast and delicious array of weapons that... she seems to casually dismiss, taking off straight for the Spaniard.
"Prepare for your God to receive you!!" arrives her hot, hateful shout in mid-run, as she grimaces and suddenly pivots off her last step, attempting to cut a swift roundhouse at her enemy. But something doesn't seem right. There's a strange glint against her kicking foot.
Stopped, braced with one arm, the Inca warrior is smug enough to allow her foot a moment's display. There is the tiniest of bronze knives... slipped in between her toes. It gleams no small amount of sharpness.
And she, quite emphatically, goes on to prove that someone can knife fight with their foot.
In the next beating moments, the Inca warrior is a flurry of limbs, kicking out at all angles and all degrees, trying to dent her enemy with that blade she has among her toes. Some strikes are likely to be dodged and missed, and others come close -- but never so close it breaches stinging scratches, choosing show over real physical harm.
The attacks get faster. They get firmer. And she seems to be made from liquid, bending in impossible ways and darting in impossible directions, weaving all through the defensive maneuvres of the Conquistadora until she practically blurs. And, finally, when her dance seems to get its worst, the Inca hugs her toes over the blade to cover it as she launches into a two-footed spinkick, something with enough power to either drop a person and send them off. Far.
COMBATSYS: Marisol fails to interrupt Dama Branco EX from Pas with Bee Sting.
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Marisol 0/-------/---====|====---\-------\0 Pas
The Inca warrior, fallen.
"A victory!" the Conquistadora cries. The rapier is thrust skyward, toward the heavens from which her God smiles down upon her. "A victory for God. A victory for my Queen and Espana!" The rapier descends once more, its sharp steel tip aimed toward the felled warrior's body strewn upon the rubble.
"And now," the redheaded agent states. "I will take your head!"
But...what's this? The warrior stirs, pushing herself from the rubble and gradually rising to her feet once again. Furrowing her brows in response, the redheaded Conquistadora squints, observing as the headdress is torn free. "Why do you insist on standing?!" she exclaims. "This fight is over! Your people are fighting a war without victory!"
Ms. Johnson and some of their classmates are probably ashamed to be associated with these two delinquent girls at this point. Overhead, the PA speaker mumbles incoherent something about trouble in the Incas exhibit. The tour guide remains otherwise oblivious.
"You will not defeat me!" the girl hollers back, eyes widening and spittle flying as a hand snatches the helmet free from her red mane. Long wavy locks spill free, her rapier cast to the ground with a noisy clatter. Her hand curls into a fist, viciously yellow flames erupting around her knuckles, forming a katar-like shape around her hand as she prepares for the incoming strike.
The Inca warrior is, however, far too swift. The flurry of kicks come swiftly, the dull bronze knife scratching and leaving angry welts across what unarmored pieces of her body - particularly everywhere but her chest - are struck. It stings and it hurts, and in response the Conquistadora offers a yelp and grits her teeth. Over and over the furious Inca warrior spins, the Spaniard caught in the furious blows before, almost abruptly, she's struck fiercely and sent flying back. Right into another display, in fact. This time she has made a mess of old jewelry.
A jade necklace falls, landing in a heap atop her head.
Now it is the Conquistadora who does not stir or move. For a long moment, the Spaniard does not rise from her felled position. But just as whispers begin to erupt from the school of classmates, a racking cough escapes her lungs. Slowly, but surely and most determined, the Conquistadora rises from her fall.
Thrusting a finger forward, she scowls at the Inca warrior.
"That was your best? I am offended. Prepare yourself! I will show no more mercy!!"
Standing tall, the Inca warrior stands in the wake of her attack, balanced on one foot as the other rolls the bronzed knife expertly between her flexible toes. Her eyelids fall, drooping in a superior way, chin hoisted as she enjoys looking down on her hated enemy. But, ever so contrary to the peaceful actress who plays her, this cold warrior never smiles. Her face is frozen of anything but pure fury.
Dismissively, her outstretched foot tosses aside its tiny weapon. The knife clatters violently against the ground.
"I'd like to point out that the blade, in particular, is not a replica," the tour guide finds it timely to explain. "All that you find on display in this exhibit are thirteeneth century artifacts."
Mrs. Johnson pales.
Meanwhile, the Inca's next screaming shout reverberates off every eardrum: "I WILL SPREAD YOUR INSIDES!"
With that, the half-naked warrior thrusts herself forward, twisting and catching herself into a quick front flip. She repeats the motion until she is nearly fluid, flipping end over end, clearing representing less of a savage's anger and more of a silly Brazilian girl happy to show off. She flies at her immortal enemy, lunging free of her last handspring and spiralling weightlessly through the air, her trajectory aiming to put her within inches of the fire-haired Spaniard.
One palm hits the ground. And, upside-down, she cracks both legs forward, but this time not to kick, but attempting to catch her by the neck. If she succeeds, a hail of sparks firecracker into life from her heels.
COMBATSYS: Marisol dodges Pas' Sanduich de Calabresa.
[ \\\\\\\\\\ < > ////////////// ]
Marisol 0/-------/---====|====---\-------\0 Pas
And like the oft-sleepy-eyed Pas, Marisol too has a role to play, and is more than enthusiastic to accompany her Brazilian friend in doing so. Who cares about the consequences? Consequences be damned! Noble Spanish Conquistadoras fight for their queen, their country and their God. This Inca warrior will fall by her hand!
"Your primitive weaponry," she growls, idly rubbing a few scratched marks across her now-tattered and slightly torn garments. "Has minimal effect. Pathetic!" The rapier in her hand is held aloft once more, but swiftly it descends, stabbing its point toward the marble floor. Fortunately, the girl isn't strong enough to actually PIERCE the floor. She scoffs, regardless, her head turning as she mockingly spits in disgust.
"You must first kill me!" she bellows, the threat of the Inca warrior having no effect on the proud Conquistadora. "But your head - I shall take it! By my God I swear you shall die a slow and honorless death!" Never once do those eyes leave the girl; she leaps and twists, ultimately landing near the redhead with the greatest of ease. She scoffs, tossing her head briefly.
When those legs shoot out for the redheaded Spaniard's neck, she's not there. Instead, she has woven aside, her rapier discarded to the marble floor in favor of her bare hands. With one, particularly slow but mighty swing at the Incan, the Conquistadora attempts to sock her in the head. Very hard.
"Too SLOW!"
COMBATSYS: Pas counters Fierce Punch from Marisol with Branded Mule.
[ \\\\\\\ < > ///////////// ]
Marisol 0/-------/-======|====---\-------\0 Pas
Those swiping feet catch only but air, sparks sputtering helplessly from their calloused soles. Upon her enemy's successful dodge -- one which Pás feels a swell of pride -- she spins off the palm of her hand and flips back to her feet, already bridging an offense because she's sure, straight down into the gut, that something is coming.
And it does. One of those lethal fists come careening in, and the Inca warrior turns shoulder, catching it with one blocked forearm. But she does worse -- trying to hook her arm through the Spaniard's, tangling them briefly like two swordfighters and pushing closer. Their faces come within inches. Within a breath.
(Half of the boys in their class will never forget this.)
And slowly, darkly, the Inca reveals her secret: "...I can smell your fear."
Without warning, her arm tightens and she springs, and in a display of exquisite balance, flips her own body over the Conquistadora's shoulder. Her arm lets go with the momentum and both hands catch her, as both legs coil in and shoot out at the center of the Spaniard's turned back. Sparks hiss from her heels. An explosion detonates into the kick.
Something is coming--
--and it isn't from the Spanish Conquistadora.
Her swinging fist, intercepted by the steady arm of the Inca warrior earns the dark-skinned native a cursory expression of surprised - followed by a cold glare of disgust. How dare this savage! The two, so close, gaze angrily at one another. Distantly, boys watch with baited breath. Distantly, girls roll their eyes - some even covering their boyfriends' gaze, receiving protest. But their captive audience isn't left hanging.
With an explosion of movement, the warrior moves swiftly again, over the armored shoulders of the Conquistadora. A split-second later and no moment's notice, those harsh feet plant firmly into the center of her backside, a spray of explosive chi erupting from impact. The steel chestplate warms briefly, hot, before it cools.
Regardless, the Spaniard stumbles clumsily forward, clearly on her last proverbial leg. Breathing heavily, those gray eyes angrily glare toward the proud warrior. She dares to defy her God and queen! Gritting her teeth behind full lips, the woman is positively livid. This is a shame, an utter shame!
With a ferocious bellow like some wild and untamed creature, the redhead jerks to life, her sword forgotten still. She swings her fists twice - once, a savage downward hook, the second a fierce hook across the face. But she ceases briefly; twisting her body, both fists swing forward and outward, aimed for the Inca's chest and coupled with a furious burst of dandelion-yellow chi to rock her to the very core.
COMBATSYS: Marisol successfully hits Pas with El Matador.
[ \\\\\\ < > //////// ]
Marisol 0/-------/=======|=======\-------\0 Pas
Without warning, the Inca warrior matches the bellow of her enemy with a similar scream, baring her teeth and panting like a rabid animal. Their exhaustion is mutual. Both know this will be ending soon... and these last strikes will be the most important.
It will determine life and death.
Flipping up again from her inverted stance, the Inca warrior finds herself, this time, without the speed to stay her enemy's attacks. Her failed attempt to block it comes a second too slow. And her consolation prize is a hard fist straight into the face. Her head cracks to one side, and fiercely, with a wild snarl, she whips it back to face the Spaniard on with glaring eyes. Her sneer does not even linger a moment, because those punches follow up, hitting bullseye on her chest and throwing her backward with an explosion of chi.
Miraculously, the Inca warrior remains on her feet, skidding along the floor by her heels as the detonation throws her backwards. Another display catches her body, glass spidering as her elbows crack clean holes through it. Supporting her weight, the case tips dangerously... its interior looking to be housing ancient pottery and priceless textiles.
Mrs. Johnson holds her breath and covers her eyes. She can't look.
But there's no crash. The case stands, supporting both itself and that wayward Inca, who leans against it, giving her head a fierce shake to flick blood from her nose and mouth. Her dark eyes open, immediately fixed on the Conquistadora.
Then she just pushes off with a dramatic flair. The case falls with a crunch of broken bits.
Mrs. Johnson is weeping inside.
The Inca breaks into a run, keeping herself low, vaulting over exhibits and pushing over ancient antiquities in her wake in her mad rush towards her opponent. Her face is fixed with rage. Her black eyes are seeing blood. And she, on her last legs, has only the mind left to voice an animal yell.
"ARRRRRRRRGH!" she announces herself as she flips over the glass enhousing of mummified remains, the push of her weight shattering it in her wake. She spirals through the air, twisting to ricochet off one palm and hook one spinning leg at the Spaniard's face. The other leg follows. And, as she turns hand over hand, she follows kick after kick in a spinning torrent of strikes.
Within moments, the Inca has dropped herself to the drop of her head, spinning off her very crown as those pinwheeling kicks suddenly light with sparks. If not stopped in their very wake, the kicks keep getting harder and hotter -- until it all ends in a violent explosion.
COMBATSYS: Marisol fails to interrupt Catherine Wheel from Pas with Snap Wind.
[ \\\\\\\ <
Pas 0/-------/-------|
COMBATSYS: Marisol can no longer fight.
[ \\\\\\\ <
Pas 0/-------/-------|
With the end inevitable, nearing fast, the Conquistadora knows one thing:
This will be determined in one strike. No more, no less.
Her country and her pride resides in this final strike. She has to give it her best, no matter what. No matter the feeling of exhaustion, or the way her body burns and bones ache - she must press through and persevere. Not once do smoky gray eyes leave the Inca warrior, as her body reacts to the brutal strike, her feet skidding against cold marble floor. Grinning a toothy, nigh-manic and insane toothy smirk, the ceramics and their fate matter little.
Meanwhile, Ms. Johnson aches for the ancient pots as they ultimately crash to the ground. The entirety of the class just looks on with mixed expressions; some are aghast that their own classmates would destroy pieces of priceless history, while some are thrilled the girls are fighting. Some have even whipped out their cellular cameras, furiously clicking and snapping photos and video footage. This is so going on YouTube!
The guttural, primal roar of the Inca does not startle the Conquistadora; instead, her gray eyes widen as broad as can be, lips peeling over her pearly whites, lightly stained red with blood. Here comes the Inca, leaping over the mummy and swinging her foot at her face. Immediately, the redheaded Conquistadora jerks forward, to meet her halfway, a fist aimed to strike her in the stomach.
Too little, too soon.
Struck savagely in the face, it heralds the beginning of furious kicks. Caught in the momentary flurry, she staggers before she collides into a display of Spanish pottery, which rocks violently side to side, front to back before, like the majority of the museum and its priceless collectables, falls to the ground in a mess of splintered wood and shattered glass.
For a moment, the Conquistadora staggers, barely clutching to consciousness, eyes glazed over with a mix of fatigue and pain. Clutching her bruised face, the redhead stares forward, trying to focus on the two Inca warriors, who briefly become three, before turning back into a set of twins. Frowning harshly, a shaky finger points toward her enemy.
"I will see you...in...H-hell!" Her head turns, and she spits blood.
With her morbid promise, the Conquistadora departs consciousness, falling in a heap atop the splintered mess of a display cabinet. First, there's awkward silence. From the ground, a single gray eye cautiously opens, to peer toward their breathless audience.
Then the museum explodes in a roar of cheer and applause.
The last surviving ancient pot gets crunched underfoot by the bleeding but triumphant Inca Warrior as she advances on her fallen enemy. Despite appearing to be the victor, she looks like shambles. Despite how her warrior's tunic is shredded, how her long hair waves in a wild, tangled wing, how her dark flesh is cut and abraised in a hundred places, her many wounds and limping step are only tiny gems mantling the crown of her face, and its fixed, empty-eyed look of cold rage.
Through the applause, she walks, breaking neither stride nor character. And, swiftly, declaratively, she falls to one knee at her enemy's side. Their audience slowly quiets at this, surprised and realizing that the performance is still not over.
Her eyelids drooping, the Inca Warrior stares icily down at the Conquistadora, absorbing that last threat delivered from her bloody lips. She then watches her enemy sag, falling silent. And now, and only now, does she respond to the world with a slow and vicious smile. Reaching down, she grabs a fistful of the Spaniard's collar, muscle tightening in her arm as the Inca lifts her to bring their faces close.
And, in a dark, slithery voice, the victor imparts the unconscious warrior her promise. "Your Hell has only begun. Before I take your head, whitebeard, before I bleed you on the spot for my land to drink, before I open you up to show you every last one of your blackened innards, it is time...!" She leans back, her voice growing louder and more dramatic, her vengeful eyes turned on the audience. "...For the ceremonial rape--"
"OK!" Mrs. Johnson has had enough. "I'VE HAD ENOUGH. IT'S DONE. YOU TWO HAVE NO IDEA WHAT KIND OF TROUBLE YOU'RE IN. NOW, ON THE COUNT OF THREE, YOU TWO GET UP AND TAKE OFF THOSE COSTUMES AND--
--NO, ESTELLA!! STOP THAT! I DIDN'T SAY RIGHT HERE!"
Log created on 19:03:35 11/09/2007 by Marisol, and last modified on 20:45:03 11/17/2007.