Description: Pás climbs up to the Gedo rooftop looking for a certain someone, and finds Stasya instead. A bit of a friendly clash ensues. Being thoroughly challenged and teased by Pás, Stasya decides to try turning the Brazilian's own game of teasing back on her... and to her surprise, she manages to do something very few have done before. She manages to fluster the Brazilian girl.
The weather is rapidly chilling, the days shortening and the hours of sun growing less and less. Given the time of year, it's quite an amazing fluke-- or perhaps just a result of global warming-- how warm it is today: the temperature hovering just shy of sixty degrees. A nice 15 C. There's not a cloud in the sky, either, the sun smiling down unhindered from its place midway to the horizon.
Recently afforded the privilege of spending her free time in the area designated by Guardian Kings as its 'hideout,' Stasya Voronkova is enjoying what may be the last day of temperate weather Southtown sees this waning year. Curled up on one of those jutting windowtops with her books and a thermos of tea, the girl had originally been doing some of her reading; but, lulled by the relative peacefulness of the roof compared to the rest of Gedo High-- and likely, by the dryness of the subject matter she's holding-- she's on the verge of dozing off.
Book held in place in her lap with a slack and slender hand, wavy hair loose about her shoulders, Stasya certainly doesn't look like anyone a person might -expect- to see in the place designated as a GK Hangout. For one, she's a very blonde girl. For another, she actually looks like she was being productive.
Pás is spending the day out. It's for the best, especially considering the little show she and Marisol had put on, rather emphatically, for the rest of their class on a field trip -- that pretty much left Southtown Museum without half of its Inca exhibit. And thousands' of dollars worth of damage and an ominous telegram from her father left unread later, she's decided it's probably best to spend some time away from her school.
Unable to find any of her teammates to bother, and facing the impending threat of boredom -- or even worse, letting herself wonder what her father had written her -- Pás found herself thinking more and more about the Gedo school. More than she should.
That decision made on the fly, a lot like all Pás decisions are, has lead her back up here to the rival school's towering roof, a place that is by no means random. Though she would never admit it, and she's barely trying not to even to herself, she's scaled all the way back up here looking for a certain person. She found Tenma up here once before. She's hoping he'll be here again.
And it seems today she's out of luck, as, in his place, there's some strange blond white girl looking to be having a nap. And Pás' little pinch of disappointment, something else she'll never admit to, gets slowly exchanged for a slow and unfurling curiousity.
Stasya's senses should be quick to warn that she's not alone. On the contrary, she's seemed to gain a new friend, a curvy Brazilian who dresses like autumn doesn't exist, wearing the teeniest pair of boyshorts and a midtriff top that declares: LET'S JAM.
She's standing over the Russian, both hands perched on her hips, her dark eyes sly as a thoughtful smile haunts her full lips. In a determined way, she leans down, about as respectful of personal space as she is modest. Her face comes in close. And if there's anything that can disrupt a nice nap, it's some crazy Brazilian inquiring, wryly, "Who are you?"
It's not the soft cat's step that first alerts Stasya to the fact she's no longer alone. The Brazilian girl walks too quiet for that. Neither is it, really, the 'greeting' Pás chooses to level at her; she's not quite so imperceptive as not to notice until the very last. No, it's the sudden way the sun's warmth trades itself for a different kind of heat when Pás leans in close that rouses Stasya out of her drowse. A pair of grey eyes open at that warm, spiced aura: one she feels both physically, and emotionally in her empathic sense. She finds herself staring at a complete stranger.
To her credit, the Russian doesn't immediately start backwards: though the brief twitch that goes through her body sure makes it look like such was her first impulse. Resolutely, Stasya holds her ground even in the face of this new and unknown threat. Her grey eyes half-lid as she stares Pás down, the look in them cool: but no less curious, somewhere beneath all that blandness.
"Who is asking?" she replies in that accented voice of hers, frostily aloof-- and yet, with a slight hint of archness to her voice. Though she looks like she desperately wants to get distance-- Pás /is/ awfully close-- she stays right where she is: stubbornness causing her to commit something of a fatal error in not getting out of range of the Brazilian, stat. That, and she's learned that most people of this ilk only tend to get encouraged by signs of retreat.
"Tenma did not tell me about any other girls he was allowing up here." Uh oh. Pás doesn't have competition, does she...? ... ...No, of course not. It couldn't be. How on earth could Tenma Kiryuu get the attention of multiple girls? Already incredible enough there's -one- he hasn't scared off by now.
Despite the sleepy slant of her eyelids and her easy-going smile, there is something very distinctly predatory about the Brazilian's staring. She has a tendency to look at people like she is begging them to run, only so she can chase after.
Otherwise, the strange intruder's body language, however up-close-and-personal, is far from aggressive. She seems little more than intensely curious. But even the most harmless of housecats can get a little forceful in their curiousity.
"But I asked first."
Then, the mention of Tenma only seems to amplify that. Dark eyes blink. In that moment, Stasya has earned Pás' full attention, her eyebrows raising, her mouth pursing momentarily with deliberation. She tilts her head, as if forced to examine this girl in a new light.
Then her smile returns, slowly, steathily, seeking to capure her entire mouth like an infection. Without warning, she moves one hand off her hip. It reaches out, not to strike, but with gentle fingers, to try to take Stasya by the chin so she can point the blond's face directly at her own, to await inspection. "Hummmm," the Brazilian murmurs as she appraises, leaning in closer. "You are very pretty. Are you his girlfriend?"
Stasya doesn't really have to look Pás in the eye to feel that predatory cant to her gaze. It's there, strung finely through her warm personality, the edge of it resting on the Russian's senses like a knife balanced on her nerves. The girl exhales a breath, her eyes slanting away from Pás's, the look in them going distant a moment. She listens, briefly, to something a little more obscure than simple body language. The look on her face gentles down into a sort of knowing craftiness.
She has the measure of the Brazilian now-- or so she thinks. In the midst of all that feedback her acute extrasensory perception can give, she's forgotten that her empathy is far from omnipotent. There are things it won't tell her.
Like the fact that the Brazilian has no compunction about just out and out touching her.
Stasya, at first, seems entirely unresponsive to Pás's insistence that she asked first. Her grey eyes move back to the other girl's slowly, but she does not seem about to speak. When Pás's hand suddenly claims her jaw, however, Stasya goes stiff: her eyes half-lidding in warning. She reaches up, a hand lightly pushing Pás's aside at the wrist. The blonde stands up, taking a pace back, her hackles up and bristling. Clearly, she is taken aback by such forwardness.
"No," she is quick to reply, her voice gone flat as day-old soda. "I am his teammate. And now I have answered your question, I think you should be answering mine."
Though she smiles ever so pleasantly, her striking features emanating nothing but a friendly warmth, Pás' eyes are staring straight into Stasya's as she awaits her response. She's intense. A little too intense.
Wily as she is, Pás is about as hard to read as sanskrit. There's something very simple and genuine about the way about her, her slow and lazy movements, her sleepy smiling, so much so that it's all too easy to dismiss her entirely that way. But to someone like Stasya, who is bestowed with a gift that lets her glimpse at the fine print of things, there's a lot more past that Brazilian's happy smiling. But just what is the question.
Her sleepy eyelids lifting with interest, the Brazilian's hand lets go without any resistance when the Russian pushes her off and says no, seeming to go on the immediate defense as she stands up and steps back. Pás doesn't need to be an empath to read that.
This girl admits to not being a girlfriend, but a teammate?
For a moment, the strange girl is quiet and deliberating. The next, she just beams! Grinning crookedly, she looks down and up again, visibly tonguing one of her molars, looking very much like a cat whose prey drive has just been ignited. She can feel her boredom slip up as easily as most clothes. This is going to be fun.
"Ayyy, I shoulds be?" she echoes, her voice bridged with innocence. The Brazilian suddenly steps closer to the Russian, killing the distance she claimed. She bites down on her lip, her expression impish, her hands clasping behind her back. "What if I am not want to?"
Stasya can feel that. A split betwen Pás's outward demeanor and inward nature almost as pronounced as her own father's. It's striking, to say the least. But Stasya's perceptions aren't quite capable of digging right to the heart of things. What empathy picks up doesn't speak in plain language. Her senses are sufficient to discern that there's more past that happy exterior, yes... but they're not sufficient to read exactly what that something is. She can tell there's some edge to the girl, but she can't tell what caused it or even what it substantively is. Pás will get to keep some of her secrets, yet.
Moreover, the time Stasya spends distracted by the swirling current beneath Pás's millpond exterior is just time in which the Brazilian can plot just what she wants to do.
The surplus of information also means Stasya is slower to know how to react to people than others are. Not so blessed as other people as to be able to simply go off the simple facts which her eyes tell her, she finds herself wondering which facet to address first. Her eyes flicker as Pás closes the distance yet again, the two girls standing nearly nose-to-nose as the Brazilian delivers that little bit of teasing defiance. Stasya's own mouth pulls upwards at the corner-- a rueful half-smile describing a wry, arch curve. Pás doesn't want to play fair? Well, if this is how she wants to be, then so be it.
"If you are not wanting to..." Suddenly bold, the Russian leans in even closer, electing to try playing Pás's little game. Whatever initial skittish balking she had shown is slowly eroding, her receptive and empathic nature making her a veritable mirror of the Pacific student. But more than that, sudden freedom from seventeen years of repression make for a girl prone to wild impulse: and Pás is certainly the type to encourage a bit of daring. Even the most shy of girls do some crazy things, sometimes, particularly if in good company. "...do you fight?" Nearly cheekbone to cheekbone, Stasya asks her question warmly, straight to Pás's ear: some distant part of her surprised at herself. Maybe this'll scare Pás away? (hahaha.) "If I am winning, I get your name. If you are... you get mine."
Something new happens. Something that very rarely happens to Pás on Japanese soil. Someone comes up and physically gets in her face about it, letting etiquette and personal space and cold respect go out the window. And if the Brazilian student has any reaction to this sudden change in events, it's her overwhelming delight.
Pás does not scare away. Instead, she seems all the more encouraged when Stasya switches feet and comes close, that rakish smile growing along her lips. This is something she doesn't see every day, and honestly, it's about time. She meets and holds the other girl's eyes, not near close to letting her off the hook now that she's made a stand for dominance, the eager side of the Brazilian getting twitchy with hope that she'll be seeing a demonstration. After all, if she's truly a member of Tenma's team, then she should be able to give a girl a good time.
Or possibly a great time, as Stasya suddenly speaks up and asks them to make a game out of this. Pás can't stop herself from laughing loudly, affectionately in response. "Ha ha! Shiu," she exclaims, snapping the fingers of one hand and pointing at the Russian, "you have the deal, Cotonete!"
One happy brown eye winks. And not even a breath later, the Brazilian is already making the first move. She recoils and twists backwards, her spine suddenly curling, one foot suddenly thrusting up at Stasya's jaw as Pás executes a sharp back handspring.
COMBATSYS: Pas has started a fight here.
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Pas 0/-------/-------|
COMBATSYS: Stasya has joined the fight here.
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Pas 0/-------/-------|-------\-------\0 Stasya
COMBATSYS: Stasya blocks Pas' Short Kick.
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Pas 0/-------/-------|-------\-------\0 Stasya
It's pretty new to Stasya as well. The girl has spent a lifetime holding the world at arm's length, and it's only recently she's learning to relax and let her guard down. She wants to do things she wouldn't necessarily have let herself do before... things like get back in the face of somebody who's up in hers. And she's finding that... playing Pás at her own game is a little more fun than it should be. It helps that she was already a competitive sort.
Still, old habits die hard. Stasya quickly steps back a little as Pás bursts into laughter, mildly startled at the boisterously delighted reaction. She recognizes the words the Brazilian speaks, however: she's spent time in Brazil, lived there a couple years picking up capoeira while her father... probably sold the military government scads of weapons. And that momentary startlement soon fades into the relieved pleasure of a worldly girl who likes displaying her cultural adeptness.
"Vocę é brasileira?" she asks, her Portuguese sadly accented but passable, even as she snaps an arm out in a guard that stops the kick short of her vulnerable jaw. She shoves back with a hint of an arch grin, pushing away from Pás to get some distance, before coming right back at the other girl in a sliding sweep kick to take Pás off her feet. Red energy sparks along her leg, the psi describing a worryingly keen edge along the striking surface of it.
COMBATSYS: Pas endures Stasya's Cortana.
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Pas 0/-------/-----==|=------\-------\0 Stasya
Balanced by the palms of her hands, her outstretched leg stopped by the Russian's block, Pás even manages to look pleased while upside-down. When her strange opponent then surprises her by speaking in her native tongue, something she hasn't heard from others since her arrival to Southtown, that delighted grin flares to unforeseen wattage. "Saúde!" she blurts back, laughing loudly, moving to flip back to her feet when Stasya pushes free.
Guard up, body tense, it's by no means does Pás miss the attack directed her way. But she makes no move to try to escape it. Either fearless or mad, she holds her spot, feeling inclined to test this girl's strength the best way she knows how.
And it hurts. The sweep hits, mysteriously drawing blood along her bare skin. The Brazilian falls, but manages to twist, her quick limbs working with the advantage of an expected blow. She softens her landing into a controlled roll, and crouches, allowing only a moment's assessment of blood drawn against her leg. Eyebrows raise. That's new. "Hum," she says absently to it, lazily grinning.
And Pás forgets her injury a heartbeat later, surging forward with little warning, barrelling dead straight for Stasya. There's rules in capoeira against using hands to strike, but there's nothing against grabbing. And that's what the Brazilian does, attempting to snatch a fistful of the Russian's shirt to pull her closer. There she tries to greet her with a vicious headbutt.
COMBATSYS: Pas successfully hits Stasya with Zidane's Revenge.
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Pas 0/-------/-----==|=====--\-------\0 Stasya
Stasya's grey eyes half-shutter in interest to see Pás balanced so precariously on her hands, leg thrown out in a kick. The style, the girl's nationality... she's making her guesses as to the other girl's chosen discipline, even as she whips out that quick sweep and knocks the other girl away.
Rising out of her sweep, the girl lingers where she's skidded: perhaps foolishly bold in not trying to clear distance. That failure soon proves painful, the Brazilian arrowing in quick. Pás's quick hands get under Stasya's guard, snatching the blonde's shirt and anchoring her in place for that headbutt. Stasya stumbles a few paces back, shaking her head, spitting blood once she's got her wits back about her.
That technique, coupled with the style of that opening kick... yes, she can essay a guess now. "Ehh... a capoeirista? I did like capoeira very much." The girl grins, the expression laced with red, her stance steadying. She turns slightly, her hands lifting loosely before her, her body shifting side-to-side lightly in readiness as if she's switched her own style: falling into boxing. There is a pause of a few moments, and then abruptly the girl whips a high hook kick at Pás's shoulder: a revers lateral.
Nope, not boxing. Savate.
COMBATSYS: Pas blocks Stasya's Light Kick.
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Pas 0/-------/----===|=====--\-------\0 Stasya
Stepping back from her attack, her eyelids drooping, her body returning to its noncommittal sleepiness, the Brazilian seems to allow the Russian her time to center. As hard as she hits, she's not especially ruthless about it, a strange patience mixing through all her quick attacks. Maybe she's just a genuinely nice opponent to have.
Or maybe she's just standing back so she can learn more about how Stasya moves.
Pás circles the Gedo student slowly, crossing ankle over ankle, her guard never lowering despite the casual way about her. And she reveals that with the speed she employs to intercept Stasya's next attack, twisting and lifting one arm to block the kick with one forearm.
Then her arm twists, quick and determined as a snake bite, to try to snatch the Russian by the ankle. Pás leans forward, her eyes fixed, teeth baring into her taunting grint. Finally, she replies: "Then prove it! Show me a real kick!"
If her hold does not falter, she tries to yank forward on the Russian's tethered leg, attempting to draw her in for a painful spinning heel kick straight at the abdomen.
COMBATSYS: Stasya blocks Pas' Medium Kick.
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Pas 0/-------/----===|======-\-------\0 Stasya
Her kick stopped on the Brazilian's forearm, Stasya finds her ankle snared: the capoeirista leaning in soon after with that grinning taunt. Stasya pants an amused breath, holding her reply for the moment, unresisting as Pás draws her forward in an attempt to snap a heel straight into her torso. That lack of resistance soon shows itself to have purpose, the girl using that forward momentum to fall into a bastardized version of a capoeira defense move. Stasya's left hand smacks into the ground and her body goes horizontal as her right arm crosses her torso and face in a block: a bastardized version of esquiva.
A snap of her leg afterwards rips her ankle clear of that hold, the girl righting herself with a swinging fall of blonde hair. She levels an amused look at Pás, the expression in her eyes watchful, calm, and waiting; the girl backs up a few circling steps, her gaze never leaving the other girl. She heard Pás, yes, but it is a moment before she responds.
Stasya is too deliberate, watchful, and canny in a fight to let herself be easily provoked or stung to attack. If she is to 'show a real kick,' it will rarely be without preparation. "In time," the girl promises, grey eyes showing a patience to match Pás's: though beneath that simple propensity to wait is a focused cunning. "We will see how well it does against real capoeirista."
COMBATSYS: Stasya focuses on her next action.
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Pas 0/-------/----===|======-\-------\0 Stasya
As her testing kick finds itself stopped short, traces of frustration are the furthest things to cross the Brazilian's face; she looks all the more delighted to be finding herself having crossed a fighter who is more than worth her weight. As that leg is snatched away, she steps back, her guard closing her against the prospect of quick retaliation.
But it does not come, Pás receiving this with the slightest of pouts. She huffs theatrically, propping one hand on her hip and leaning forward, head tilted. "In time? Psiiiiu, Cotonete, but I will be /old lady/ then! And you will end up kicking wrinkles! And that's not very sexy."
She bites down on her tongue through sudden, crooked grinning, the same right eye drawn into a familiar wink. "Che, then I will have to make you." And, whippet-quick, Pás goes from lazy-to-aerial in under a heartbeat, pushing off her powerful legs and closing her distance with the Russian with a couple flips. Her trajectory pivots, and her wayward movements make it hard to tell where she wants to land.
But she stops quick and close, happily inverted as those legs of hers scissor in, attempting to hook Stasya by the neck between her ankles. If she manages to connect... the skin on her dusty soles begins to heat up. Uncomfortably. Her heels start to spark like firecrackers. It's chi. And it's exploding.
COMBATSYS: Stasya interrupts Sanduich de Calabresa from Pas with Angurva'del.
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Pas 1/-------/=======|=======\=------\1 Stasya
Stasya finds herself likewise impressed by this mystery girl. Impressed, and bemused. The Brazilian clearly doesn't attend Gedo-- she would have heard, by now, of such a rare thing as a foreign girl like herself within the walls of this school-- and yet, she seems to know Tenma well enough to expect to be able to enter his territory unmauled. Stasya finds her curiosity mildly piqued as to just who the girl is.
However, she doesn't precisely have time to be sitting about thinking about such questions. Especially given that the Brazilian is getting impatient, dancing in quick with a rapid scissoring that snares the blonde about her neck.
Hooked, about to receive a faceful of extremely painful chi, Stasya can only grin with a sudden wildness, as though taken leave of her senses. Perhaps she has, judging by what she does next. "So you cannot wait? You will make me? Then I must consider myself forced." With that, she slams clear through that sparking explosion of chi, reckless to the damage she takes from it, her hands sparking with bladed red psi. She weaves in close to Pás, smashing a series of rapidfire spiked strikes into the other girl, blows of the hand traded equally with scything (rather literally) kicks.
Well, you can't say Pás wasn't asking for it. Because she was. And now she's just gotten it.
She regrets nothing.
Moments later, they both roll free from their exchange, the plume of fiery chi exhaling to reveal both fighters to each other. The Brazilian is a lot more bloody than moments ago. She backsteps, and with a sharp breath, stumbles down to one knee, crushed under a wave of pain that seems to strike slower than those psi blades did. Deep cuts groove up her body in countless places, her blood looking bright against her dark skin. Holding her side, Pás whuffs out a heavy breath, giving her head a toss. Her dark eyes arrow back up on the Russian, and her grin returns, this time with less its cutting edge and more warmth.
Normal fighters would be focusing on trying to breathe through the stinging pain. Mentally unhinged fighters, such as this certain Brazilian, is merely wondering if she can get any more.
"I liked that," she reveals in a low, satisfied sigh. The tips of her teeth flare as her sleepy smile Hydes back into her mad grinning. "You do that again!!"
And a whoop of mad laughter, Pás launches herself back into action, blood and all. For all her tricky footwork, she takes a blind, running lunge straight toward Stasya, her face fixed with a strange sort of joy, like a bloodlust that kept its sense of humour. She pushes herself through her pain, launching off one leg and twisting horizontally, pushing herself into a spinning au batido. She lands on a one-armed handstand and curls, her legs closing just in time to try to careen a double-footed kick at the Russian's middle.
COMBATSYS: Pas successfully hits Stasya with Change-Up Kick.
- Power hit! -
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Pas 1/-------/=======|=======\=====--\1 Stasya
Brazilian and Russian tangle briefly in a flurry of pale and dark hair and limbs. Once the dust clears, so to speak, Stasya goes skidding back in an evasive leap, regarding her own handiwork with no seeming compunction. Pás, for her part, doesn't seem to be complaining at all. In fact, she seems to have liked what Stasya had to give in response to that subtle egging.
"Nezachto," the girl murmurs, a matching smile curving bloodily about that gracious bit of Russian. No explanation or translations given, she straightens up, swiping blood from her mouth and watching Pás carefully.
Not carefully enough, however.
Still winded from her previous efforts, the blonde is a little slow reacting to this attack. Pás's kick slams home and then some, the girl thrown clear back by the force of the blow: Stasya twists instinctively just before she pitches clear off the roof, landing hard and skidding to a shaky halt on the edge of that curved rooftop. Teeth part slightly in a pant as she takes a second to simply catch her breath. That -hurt-.
Presently, the girl recovers enough to straighten to a stand. The air between them spikes, humming with that weird not-chi energy, and as Stasya starts to close the distance between them psi energy starts to bleed in stabbing points and keen edges from her body, fanning out from her skin: the overflow of fluttering red energy resembling nothing so much as a display of razorlike feathers. "...You know, I was not even showing Tenma or Hakuya this. I think you would appreciate, though."
It's about the only warning Stasya gives before she slams clear forward in an attempt to simply run clear into Pás: piercing psi and all. If she can connect, she'll follow up with a flash kick to send Pás straight up, and land from her backflip on all fours. All that psi'll get forced clear into the floor, channeling off Stasya's skin until it disappears into the rooftop. A pause, and then that concentrated energy will make its reappearance, spearing upwards to rake at the capoeirista.
COMBATSYS: Pas endures Stasya's Alkonost!!
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Pas 1/-======/=======|=------\-------\0 Stasya
That brutal kick served out like the last appetizer, the Brazilian lands soundlessly from its execution, standing her full height and absently shaking her wavy hair free from her face. Eyelids drooped, she watches her opponent skid the length of the rooftop, playing audience with a sleepy indifference -- her uncaring face belying the certain way her legs tense when Stasya slides dangerously close to the edge.
Pás is the type to brutalize people unconscious, but she won't let them fall.
Thankfully, the Russian girl collects herself in time, and with a slow, crooked smile, the Brazilian relaxes herself, otherwise waiting with a certain politeness for the other to fully recover. Because all good things come to those that wait.
And she is about to be treated very well for it.
As Stasya picks herself up and reveals to Pás that she is going to perform something not yet even displayed for her own teammates, enthusiasm brightens the Brazilian's face. "Ha ha! You are givings me the geesebumps," she chortles back, grinning jack-o-lanterns in response, dramatically fanning herself belle-like with one bloody hand.
Then, the moment passes, and the Pacific Resistance member grows serious. Stasya starts running. And Pás... in a very steady, very determined way, flexes the toes on one foot and slowly widens her stance. She fixes her balance on both heels. And, head lowered, chin tucked, and eyes aimed like gun barrels, she just stays put.
She's going to take every last bit of it.
They collide viciously, blood drawn from the Brazilian in a sudden spray. She does nothing except grit her teeth against the pain, her grin unfaltering, her dark eyes never closing. The kick takes her high and far, and she hits the roof skidding, leaving a dark smear of blood in her wake.
But it's not over. Pás has barely the time to plant her hands against the roof, to grate out a rough breath, before the psi returns in its last, and most ruthless act. So little of her flesh is left untouched, grooves upon grooves of cuts, both achingly deep and stingingly shallow, tear along her dark skin and making tatters of her clothes, rending the Brazilian to little more than a sagging tangle of limbs, strewn brokenly over Gedo's rooftop and leaving a growing pool of blood. For a long time, she is quiet and unmoving.
But this is Pás; the moment passes, and then she's just laughing. Her laugh is wet with blood, coughing out of her as a wave of pain curls her back. But it's pain that she welcomes, pain that is helping to teach her become the better fighter. She makes herself stand back up, staggering on the spot, one eye closed, blood drooling out of her grinning mouth. Holding her side with one arm, leaning over briefly to spit out a mouthful of blood, the Brazilian allows herself one last moment to get her breathing back before her one eye fixes on Stasya.
Her grin goes Grinch-like. And Pás, in her response, simply lifts one hand. She points at her own chest, where the words on her tattered shirt still try to manage to express: LET'S JAM.
"--What that says," she confirms.
And then, with every last bit of her strength, Pás jams. She grits her teeth together, and grinning madly, throws herself back toward the Russian, leaving behind footprints of blood. One minute, she's charging like a bull, and the next she's aerial, flipping herself head over heels to try to smash her feet against her face. But she's not done. Ricocheting off one arm, she turns on a handstand, a leg arching back to deliver another strike, followed by its sister. She walks palm over palm, turning unstoppingly, handing out kick after kick until the speed picks up so much she's spinning, laughing as she lets herself execute it from the top of her head. Those sparks flicker back to life, and suddenly they are infusing with each spiralling strike like little fiery bursts.
When it seems the attack may never stop, it does, and bracing her headstand with both palms, her legs curl in and thrust out, attempting to deal Stasya with a fierce mule kick that detonates with chi.
COMBATSYS: Pas successfully hits Stasya with Catherine Wheel.
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Pas 0/-------/-======|=======\-------\0 Stasya
COMBATSYS: Stasya can no longer fight.
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Pas 0/-------/-======|
COMBATSYS: Pas dodges Stasya's Halteclere.
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Pas 0/-------/-======|
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Pas 0/-------/-======|
Too busy keeping herself from flopping right off the roof like a flung cat, Stasya doesn't notice the way Pás tenses to catch her in case she falls. Neither does she notice the little spark of concern, well-hidden and brief as it is. The blonde picks herself up slowly, deliberately gathering her breath, her eyes fixing back on Pás with a watchful calm. The girl essays a crooked smile to see Pás waiting there, gracious as ever, patient in her wait.
And then she gives the other girl the privilege of seeing that which even the rest of Guardian Kings hasn't.
Dimly, Stasya is faintly surprised when Pás settles in instead of backing out: digging her heels in to take the hit. She's impressed too, in some distant corner of her mind that isn't focusing on controlling the profuse amounts of psi that stream off her shoulders and spike along her skin. Stasya finishes up the attack, standing slowly out of her deep crouch, her grey eyes grimly intent as she focuses hard on keeping those spearing blades from piercing anywhere lethal or impaling the other girl. Alkonost can achieve any number of effects ranging from 'painful' to 'utterly lethal,' and Stasya has elected to keep the setting low on this one. Like Pás, she has no compunctions about tearing others up... but she won't critically hurt them.
Quiet, Stasya keeps her eyes on Pás, watching not only for a projected retaliation... but for any sign that she's okay. It's very hard to kill fighters, true, their constitutions being greater than those of other people, but still even the best have their limits. However, it seems the Brazilian hasn't reached hers. Stasya's grey eyes settle on those two simple words on command, an amused breath huffing out of the girl as she tries to slide to a ready. She knows what's coming next. It's fair trade.
Pás launches into that whirling, spinning tirade of sparking kicks, and Stasya gets caught dead-on by the twisting and unpredictable assault. In the teeth of the attack, she moves with the blows when she can, dampening the amount of damage she takes, reaching back into everything she's ever learned about capoeira-- experience garnered from every capoeirista she's sparred-- to know how and where to move to reduce injury from such fierce kicks. But even given that attempt to guard, it still hurts like hell-- and that final kick still blasts her back.
She lands in a tumble of limbs and long hair, skidding some distance away and remaining quite still a few moments. A few slow breaths go in and out, the Russian having taken enough hard falls in her life to know that getting up in a rush just means aggravated pain and injury. When she does roll to a stand, resurrecting from her prone position, it's with a hint of a rueful look patterning across her amused mouth. She steps slowly back towards Pás, shaking her head, her movements halting as those of a bird faking a limp to lead a cat from its hidden nest.
"You are good. Da. I think I am knowing why Tenma would let you come here. Since you win, you get my name. You can call me Stasya. And now, if you are wanting to keep yours--" A briliant flash of light sparks abruptly from Stasya's arm, another of those damnable blades plating down its length. The psi swipes forwards suddenly, the girl's feigned defeat transmuting suddenly into a last bite. "--think fast."
The Brazilian rises in the wake of her attack, standing to her full height and bracing her wobbling weight with both heels against the ground. She turns on the fallen Russian, her single working eye creased in a sly way. Then she grins at her, sharply, through the blood smeared across her face, making no move to wipe it away with her hands. It is a trophy to her.
Breathing slowly, smiling impishly, Pás' good spirits bely the watchful set of her left eye, which never leaves Stasya as the girl manages to stand back up. She was hoping she would. It's very encouraging. She has very high hopes of any teammate of Tenma's. And that's why she doesn't trust the limping act for a second.
Afterall, it's not often someone can outtrick a trickster. And Pás, not yet blinded enough by her own blood to carefully read body language, sees it coming. The attack comes rippingly fast, but this time, the Brazilian is faster. Stasya's bladed arm misses her by a breath, the Brazilian's head leaning back suddenly to save her face from those psi blades. Her back curls, and she falls backward into a controlled fall, her dodge leaving her with her palms braced against the dirt against her own heels, her spine so flexible it nearly looks like it's been doubled.
Then, in a powerful display of her abdominal muscles, the Brazilian uncurls herself back up, straightening her back and leering forward, getting right in the Russian's face, greeting her again with her perpetual grin. Staring, Pás holds her place, unretaliating but refusing to back down. She's asserting her dominance, and she's waiting to see if this time it will go uncontested.
The girl's arm snaps back to her side once it's clear the stroke is a whiff. Red psi winks back into nonexistence as Stasya simply stands there, holding her ground, her chin lifting slightly and eyes half-lidding until she looks like some aloof statue of a Russian princess. A veritable Anastasia. Though Anastasiya would be rather put out to hear the comparison drawn.
She remains that way, head lifted, even as Pás rockets right back into her face in a pushy bid for dominance. The Brazilian's raw, edgy manner of displaying her force of will finds itself met by the Russian's own version of those unbending tendencies: statuesque, cool, and unmoving. The blonde is as frozen and chill as Siberia mid-winter.
Then she thaws a little. It must be all Pás's spiced, South American heat. Stasya slackens a bit, the loosening of her stance either an acquiescence to the other girl's show... or something else entirely. "You seem... little ruffled," she observes, leaning forwards slightly. Recalling the way Pás paused at mention of Tenma just gets the Russian to grinning again, the look a little bit sly. Impulse lifts her hand to Pás's face, the turnabout-is-fair-play theme to their entire encounter rearing its head again as Stasya imitates the girl's earlier actions. A fingertip looks-- quite boldly-- to swipe blood from the Brazilian's lip. "Why are you wanting Tenma, anyway? Perhaps I will carry message." Stasya's sleek little grin just widens.
Despite how badly she is bleeding, despite the rapid, dizzying way her left eye keeps blinking, Pás holds her ground. She knows she still has some fight left in her. She knows she could keep going. And she wants that strange Russian girl to either keep hitting her or go down and confirm that she's lost.
The Brazilian really cares less whether she wins or loses the fights she starts. But she likes to have an ending to them. She wants to know where she stands with her skill. So she'll know what more needs to be done.
So count Pás relieved when she sees Stasya relax a little, deciding to take that as letting go of her guard. That tempting grin of hers mollifies into her original, lazy smiling. Confirming herself as the winner of this little fight, she lets that eerie intensity exhale out of her, her own joints loosening, moving to finally allow the Russian girl some deserving personal space.
That Stasya, this time, seems to utterly ignore. When it's the Russian girl's turn to step closer and reach out, the Brazilian goes oddly still, allowing it with a certain curiousity, her bottom lip bowing against the sudden touch. Her eyebrows knot with the unspoken reaction of: what?
Then Stasya speaks. And something very strange, very unusual happens to Pás. The Pacific Resistance member is built on the foundation of teasing, so much so it seems her entire personality seems devoted to infuriating others as quickly as possible. When she is really intent on it, she has a supernatural power when it comes to getting under skins. And, worst of all, she never knows when to quit.
But as skilled as Pás is at dishing it out, she really doesn't know how to take it. In response to Stasya's teasing little threat, the Brazilian flusters. She stiffens, her eyes a little wider than before, and her face colours where it's not smeared with blood. She stares at Stasya, almost incredulously, effectively silenced for a whole five beats before she gets back the breath to reply, coughing sharply in disdain.
Swiftly, she pulls away, muttering to herself, "Che, crazy white people."
There, the Brazilian turns, quick to hold her side again as she takes her first step, feeling more and more of her pain as her adrenaline fades. She looks apt to leave, just like that, but after the second step, she pauses again in a decided way. Pás turns back on Stasya, staggering but facing her sharply, breathing harshly and looking firm. Far be her from appearing actually angry with the Russian; on the contrary, she's back to smiling again, even if her expression looks a little put out.
"Cotonete," she begins to say, "I tell you this. I do not come here for his -- anyone's sake! No one 'lets me' be anywhere." She emphasizes this with a poke against her own chest, before pointing a finger out at the Russian, even if her left eye is still blinking a little too hard. "I... go where I want. I do what I want. And right now? I am -- euh, I am..." Pás squints. "...little dizzy."
Having lost just a bit too much blood for dramatic monologues, the Brazilian collapses on the spot.
Pride is a powerful motivator in Stasya's personality. The only reason she's still standing, quietly turning Pás's teasing antics right back on her like a mirror, is because the other girl challenged her with that bid for dominance. Not one to readily submit or bend before such shows, the Russian refused to let herself fall. Even though she looks just as bad-- if not worse-- than Pás does right now.
Still, Stasya never... expected her actions to actually be effective in shutting Pás down. The blonde looks as surprised as anyone that her daring actions and words-- ones she'd never have considered doing, years ago-- actually hit home. From what she'd seen so far of the laughing, carefree Brazilian, she had expected Pás, really, to just laugh off her attempts to return the teasing that she was throwing. The fact that the Brazilian seems a bit bad at taking her own medicine gives Stasya pause, derailing the blonde's momentum. The Russian blinks and steps back, her demeanor careening straight back into a bemused uncertainty.
Still, she's not certain as she would have done anything else. She's not a passive sort, for all her fumblings when it comes to interactions. If she gets teased, like hell she won't try reflecting it right back at the culprit. Or just punch them, as she was rather more prone to doing in her less impulsive days. Punching was more familiar, more easy, than trading verbal sallies.
Stasya stands there a bit uncertainly as Pás haughtily makes to stalk off, and almost seems about to step after-- at least, up until the other girl rounds on her abruptly with that puzzling smile and those sharp words. Stasya stops in her tracks, looking rather bemused as she's berated. "...OK," is her surprisingly unquestioning reply to Pás's insistences, her brows lifting and one shoulder shrugging in a noncommittal manner. No real point in pushing the envelope further, is there? The Russian seems fine with letting up on Pás.
Though she won't easily forget the girl's oddly defensive reaction, that's to be certain.
Besides, Stasya's starting to feel the pull of exhaustion herself. Being arch takes energy, and now that she's coming down off the adrenaline rush and the challenge Pás had leveled at her has passed, there's no reason left for her to be on edge: no reason for her to be anything but desirous of a long rest. Pás's collapse, however, causes some concern to rise in the back of Stasya's mind. She moves towards the Brazilian, kneeling by her side, intent on seeing if she's all right, but her own injuries catch up with her in a sudden rush of fatigue. She slumps right there next to Pás.
No doubt Tenma will have a bit of a surprise if he comes up here anytime soon.
Log created on 17:27:47 11/12/2007 by Stasya, and last modified on 19:47:08 11/17/2007.