Description: Brazil versus Germany, Part Three?! Luc is just trying to enjoy a slushie when SUDDENLY, Pas comes by to step all up in his grill! To prove she ain't frontin', she even goes so far as to lay the smackdown!? Will Luc tolerate the Brazillian's shenanigans?! Why was the author of this description using largely random rap phrasings?! WILL LUC SUFFER A TRAGIC FATE?! The answer to all these questions, IS--*
"This food sucks," Luc Schroedinger announces to no one. It's okay that nobody can hear him -- it's okay that the auditorium is vacant.
He just feels the need to affirm how much he despises the food he's eating.
Just for the record.
It's two o'clock in the afternoon in Southtown, with only an hour or so left to the school day. The air outside is crisp, perfect for those who enjoy taking breaks from class in order to enjoy nature. Luc Schroedinger is not one of those people, which is likely why he finds himself constrained indoors instead of out, -not- in class. As he had told his algebra instructor shortly before he had deigned fit to headbutt with all his righteous fury,
'Math is for chumps, like I'm gonna need to know the square root of sixteen is six.'
Insistence that he was wrong is what earned the headbutt. After all--
--It just helped to further prove Luc's point.
So here Luc now finds himself. The German is nestled comfortably into the abandoned auditorium, an expansive chamber largely kept vacant save for important announcements. It's his preferred hiding spot; here, he can just nap if he so feels it, or eat, or even train. There's no one to bother him. And that's just the way he prefers it.
At the moment, he seems to be indulging the first two options, leaning back against one of the many comfortable seats lining the aisles of plush carpet. Eyes half-lidded in a lazy, almost tired boredom, he peers at the remnants of the half-finished sandwich he holds in hand. In his other, he nurses a cherry slushie, the straw perilously hanging from the corner of his mouth. He squints at his sandwich in a scrutinizing expression. "... yeah. Complete shit." Luc elects to forget the fact that he had made the sandwich himself before leaving the dorm rooms.
"Idiots need to learn how to make some goddamn food right." It's a convenient oversight.
And up, way, way up, far up into the shadowy rafters of the auditorium, a pair of eyes shine cat amber when they turn down on Luc. They crease with a secret delight. Slowly creeping forward, hooking both ankles on her perch to lean forward, the interloper's grinning face surfaces into the light. A sharp grin cuts across familiar lips.
The real question to ask is not how Pás got up there, crouched among the ceiling rafters. It's not how long she's been waiting there, whether it had been all day or the last few minutes. And, most certainly, it is not why she appears to be stalking a fellow student, coiling in wait as her anticipating eyes fix down on him. For the learned mind, the proper question is to ask is how she's managed to remain clothed for an hour so late in the day.
The rest of those superficial questions need no answers, but a little Descartes. Pás lurks within the darkened ceiling of an auditorium hanging strategically over her most bloodthirstily bad-tempered teammate therefore she is.
But, her predatory moment is never for long. Whatever kind of madness that strange girl possesses, it's not a very patient one. When Luc declares again that something is rotten in the state of his sandwich, she hoods her eyes, loosens her hands, and unhooks her feet. And she falls.
Suddenly, soundlessly, hands catch Luc by both his shoulders. One pinky finger taps imploringly. Then long, dark hair tumbles down, draping over his head in a heavy wave. It all belongs to the same, smiling Brazilian, who handstands off of him, her long body held stiffly in the air. Her upside-down face comes close, one ambery eye winking before she leans forward to steal his remaining sandwich in a declarative bite.
Then, quickly, as though already expecting swift reprisal, she swings herself around like gymnast over a vault horse, letting go to land in a happy, girly heap right in his lap. And, like a true lazy master, she relaxes straight on the spot. With all those long, dark limbs, her eternal expanse of skin barely checked by a pair of bikini shorts and a too-small shirt that says FO SHO!, with the way she's already leaning in to drape over and hug against the German boy with unmatched affection, there is also no need to wonder just who this is. Only one person in the entire world would do this.
"Cavalo!" Pás declares upon finishing his sandwich, hugging close so she can rub her cheek against his neck like a happy cat. She purrs in appreciation and delight, "You brought food, and atmosphere, and sexy time mood! You are perfect wonderful! This is best date ever. Let's do love." She's already grabbing at his shirt.
Apparently she's out to set record time on pissing Luc off.
There are few things that Luc Schroedinger asks in life. One of them is that people make his sandwiches so that they don't taste like crap (nevermind he made the sandwich, that's not the point). Two, that teachers not correct him when he obviously does not care about learning how to divide the mass of an elephant and then square it. And three...
... That crazy stalker girls -stop the stalking-.
They're simple requests. Sadly, no one seems to keep them in mind. Especially disturbed Brazillian girls that don't know how to dress for the season.
Being that this is Luc's alone time, and being that he assumes that, during alone time, he will be left alone, he does not notice the creeping approach of his terrible stalker in the background. As she observes from afar, he crinkles the bridge of his nose, furrows his brows, and twists his lips in an expression that says 'I am disgusted with this sandwich and everything it stands for.' Still, Luc's mouth opens, apparently intent to finish the thing off in an act of needless self-sacrifice to be used for further complaint. He leans in, green eyes focused on the concoction of bread and meat --
-- and then his mouth nearly smacks up against another.
"-WHAT- --"
With a chomp of pearly white teeth and a disarmingly fast blur of motion, Luc's would-be assailant and sandwich thief is already taking -his food-. Luc only now registers the feeling of hands pressing down against his shoulders and weighing him down. He looks up. Emerald eyes stare in a mixture of annoyance and disbelief.
"Oh, no," he whispers out in one might consider fear, if it weren't so plagued with irritation.
"... -Fuck that-!"
The declaration is made in an exhasperated huff the moment that his assailant lands in his lap, as if he could will the person away by just swearing angrily. He knows who it is. Even if he hadn't seen her face, no one -sits in his lap and eats his damn sandwich-. Similarly, no one -wears so little clothing during winter-. Green eyes swerve to rest their focus on his stalker as she devours his sandwich like a swarm of scantily clad locusts demolishing fields of life-saving grain.
"Crazy bitch!!" Alternatively,
Pás.
That's the last real coherent word that Luc manages to strangle out before the Brazillian is upon him in a mess of limbs and garbled English. He can feel her -rubbing against his neck-. He's flustered, but more than that, the flustering is leading to anger. "Wh-what?!" he chokes, "I didn't -- hey, stop eating that! I didn't bring you -crap-! What is wrong with you!? Are you some kind of messed up psycho?1 I didn't--"
'Let's do love.'
"... wha--"
There's only one response to that, and it comes purely from instinct. It starts out like a common reaction. The German's right hand snake out rapidly, a bit awkwardly. But it comes too fast, too strong, to bury itself into Pás' gut with as much force as Luc can muster.
"GET THE FUCK OFF ME!!"
Instinct for Luc dictates that he drive his palm into the girl's abdomen to shove her -off-. It's complemented by a concussive blaze of black-blue chi that explodes from his hand in a spherical formation. It's an action that woul likely grievously harm a normal person.
Luc isn't worried about hurting Pás, though. He knows she can take it.
Since he's convinced that she is, in fact, Satan.
COMBATSYS: Luc has started a fight here.
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Luc 0/-------/-------|
COMBATSYS: Pas has joined the fight here.
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Luc 0/-------/-------|-------\-------\0 Pas
COMBATSYS: Pas dodges Luc's Quick Throw.
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Luc 0/-------/-------|-------\-------\0 Pas
Luc's new Brazilian import tapestry happily drapes all over him, all soft skin and supple curves, imparting a thousand little touches that all work together to achieve the same goal: creating the first German atomic bomb.
The nuclear test seems to be a success.
As fast as Luc moves, this time Pás is just a little faster. Maybe she's been training. Maybe it's the burst of energy from eating his stolen sandwich. Maybe she was just entirely expecting him to do this. Either way, one moment she is carpeted across him and hugging close, turning the blitzkrieg back on the Germans with this sudden, horrific onslaught of affection, and the next, she is freely twisting away, turning shoulder and having his fist miss her middle by inches. A sudden laugh carves free of her throat, and leaning forward, she tries to steal a crushing kiss good-bye before taking flight.
The Brazilian throws herself into a backwards somersault, catching herself by the armrest of the seat next to his and pulling her lean body back into a deft handstand.
Turning on Luc, even upside-down, Pás still looks cheeky. "Oh, Cavalo!" she replies in a breathless way, a swooning woman undone by so much ardour. She tells him emphatically, as though entirely understanding his sudden upset, "It is OK! We are all alones here! There is no more hidings! You can let it all go! You... can tell me you are in love with me. I know you are. Come on, even if we don't do love, I bet you can still tire me out."
Upside-down, she frees one hand to blow Luc a kiss. Then, turning, she cracks out one leg, trying to clip him across the face with a bare heel.
COMBATSYS: Luc blocks Pas' Short Kick.
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Luc 0/-------/-------|-------\-------\0 Pas
One of these days, he's going to kill her.
And it's going to make a big mess he's probably going to have to clean up afterwards.
One might wonder if that's the -only- reason Luc hasn't decided to just try to burn Pás alive and be done with it, if they didn't know him better. His terrible reputation speaks for itself. But it isn't sheer, violent anger that he's showing -- not entirely. He's flustered, he's annoyed, but there's certainly nothing to suggest he wants her -dead- as she manages to skirt his abuse.
Not that, with the press of lips against his own, he doesn't fancy the notion.
Fancy it hard.
The nonconsensual kiss catches the German by surprise, as if he couldn't have anticipated the Brazillian's teasing antics from a mile away. It's still unsettling and as she does kiss him, his eyes are wide, a momentary flush forming. He only has time to spit out one furious statement as he explodes out of his seat, twisting to face the flipping fighter.
"-I HATE GIRLS-!"
And then she decides to talk again. Claiming he's in love with her. In response, he spits out to the side, as if he could just spit away the meet and greet of lips he was just forced to experience. "Wh-what?! You're an idiot! I don't l-- whatever!" He can't even bring himself to finish the word, too awkward is it for him. Instead, his right arm tenses. His left hand grips more securely onto his slushie. "Tch!! I'll kick your ass to prove it, too!"
This conclusion is entirely logical in Luc's mind.
There is a leg to distract him, though, in the sense that the angry German can appreciate. With the whipcrack of muscle through the air, Luc is there to greet the inverted thrust with his right arm. The kinetic force shudders across his forearm, sending a dull ache throughout... but little more. His fingers twist around his drink. "Here," he begins.
"HAVE MY DRINK, TOO!"
Which is about when Luc blurs in a distressingly fast series of afterimages, pushing himself harder than he should...
... all for the purpose of slinging his slushie downwards against the Brazillian's torso like a beverage-based missile.
COMBATSYS: Luc successfully hits Pas with Thrown Object.
- Power hit! -
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Luc 0/-------/------=|==-----\-------\0 Pas
There the Brazilian waits, upside-down as she usually prefers to be, balanced by the arm of an auditorium seat. She balances there precariously with that impeccable balance of hers, her other leg bending in to wiggle her toes playfully Luc's way. Her grin is unmoveable. There's no earthly measurement to weigh the sheer amount of fun she gets out of annoying him. If there's any cure to a boring day, it's making Luc angry. And then trying to beat the last record. It seems she's managed to beat her last time by a good second and a half. She's got him from 0 to nukesville in under a milli.
Pás has a job ahead of her for next time.
Her smile widens when Luc blocks her first strike, only getting all that brighter, all that more tinged with mania when he recoils to return the favour. And, tightening her hands down where she balances, she makes no move to escape him this time. Upside-down, Pás looks all too prepared to take it.
Even, in the end, Luc's delicious slushie puts a Soviet Russia and takes her. The drink hits her solidly, and her foolish perch doesn't need much to be jenga'd over. Clipped hard, she loses her balance and falls hard, her back hitting the carpeted aisle, the drink soaking her from head to bare toes.
But does Pás look put out? She props herself up on one elbow and gives her head a toss, lolling her head back as one hand smears pearling droplets of slushie along her skin. Her hair hangs in a heavy, wet wave. Her tiny tee-shirt looks only tinier. He's gotten her wet. And that makes Pás all the more powerful. She looks back up at Luc, her eyelids drooping in a sleepy, promising way. "Che, Cavalo," she intones wryly, her voice matted with an impish laugh. "If you wanted me to get wetness, you could have asked~"
Rolling back up to a crouch, she bites her lip as she theatrically coils, her face darkened with a predatory kind of play. With an anticipatory wiggle, she lunges forward, catching herself with her hands and clearing the aisle with a sharp handspring. There, the girl turns in midair, seeming to angle both legs toward Luc in a brutal dropkick -- which never gets to happen. Her attack falls from the air within seconds of striking, and instead she's playing a trick, twisting to catch herself by one foot, aiming to land inches from the boy. There she tries to meet him with another taunting kiss -- and an elbow in the gut.
COMBATSYS: Luc endures Pas' Eshu's Hat.
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Luc 0/-------/----===|===----\-------\0 Pas
For a moment, Luc Schroedinger mourns the loss of his slushie.
He -really- wanted it, too.
The resultant impact is more in his favor than he would have thought, though. At least, in the initial phases. Luc is a poor boy not blessed with the gift of foresight save for very specific thing; dealing with flirtatious creepy girls is not one of those things. The slushie hits home with the explosion of plastic and icy-cold beverage, with enough force to deny the Brazillian her perch any longer. There's a split moment where he grins. "Che!," he grunts out, wiping his mouth as if trying to remove any lingering traces of that kiss. "Idiot. Stealing my sandwich." He forgets that the sandwich tasted bad.
He made it with his -own two hands- after all.
But whatever advantage he might have held is lost the moment that Pás starts to talk again. He blinks, staring with a look that hardly hides his confusion. "Get you -wet-?" he asks incredulously. "That's a stupid thing to say. Why would I want to get you wet!? Moron!" Ah, the things that escape Luc's attention.
It's probably for the best that he doesn't understand complex things like innuendo, however, because it allows him to focus on the swift retaliation that his teammate provides. He sees the drop kick, but also sees it for the feint it is; if anything, the German boy is good at fighting. "TOO OBVIOU--" he begins. At the same time, he rushes forward...
... right into the kiss.
"SMRPHMLK?!"
Fortunately, he's prepared for the elbow. However startling the kiss is, it just helps to ignite his rage. Green eyes burst into an inferno of passion -- of -anger-, more appropriately. As soon as Pás elbow buries itself into his abdomen, he moves -with- it. In part, it's to better establish himself for a follow up. More importantly--
--it gets Pás' -lips- away from -his-.
"ASS!!" With that bellowing roar of a warcry, Luc instantly drops -down-, PUNCHING the ground with his right fist. Instantly, a series of geysers erupt from the very flooring beneath them, exploding in a progression of blue-black fiery pillars -- straight towards the Brazillian, seeking to do nothing more than just -explode- the ground underneath her in a fiery gout of pain... if anything, to keep her -away- from him.
COMBATSYS: Pas blocks Luc's Aufruhr Gemetzel.
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Luc 0/-------/----===|====---\-------\0 Pas
Pás tastes like cherry slushie.
When he breaks free from the next but not last of her relentless kisses, she breaks into hard laughter, unable to help herself but get treated by the look on the German's face. He's priceless. She can't help but adore every last bit of him. Because, if there's any real constant in Pás' life, it's Luc and his ability to supply endless amusement.
Leaning forward, possessing all audacity and no sense of personal space, the Brazilian gets up close and personal following her elbow, pressing her slushie-wet body up against poor Luc's.
"Shiuu, Cavalo," she asks in a whisper, as though this were a secret to keep from an empty auditorium, "is that a weinerschnitzel in your pocket, or you just make happy to see me?" Pás winks with a click of her tongue.
Then Luc pretty much nukes the floor out from under her. He gets his desired space, her attention turned, her grin serrated, and her eyes so happy they seem to border madness. The girl tenses, her own chi igniting from her hands in fistfuls of sparks. She seems to fall silent, paused through the approaching geysers, waiting for the right second to move. Now. She tenses, suddenly pushing off and leaping the instant the carpet and floor rips up under her feet, her own chi sputtering off the soles of her feet as it brushes against that of Luc's as it tides toward her. But her timing serves her well; instead of getting levelled by the brunt of the chi geysers, the force of it propels her escape upward.
She nearly loses control of her trajectory, sent barrelling towards rows upon rows of seats; the Brazilian manages to twist in time, pushing off the top of one seat with her hands and turning, catching another with both feet and bending her knees. The seat leans with her momentum, then fires her back, and running the tops of a row of seats, she arrows back at Luc, bearing the gift of a wild grin. Leaping free, she descends for him, crazed and reckless, looking all too apt to meet him with a vicious headbutt.
COMBATSYS: Luc endures Pas' Zidane's Revenge.
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Luc 0/-------/--=====|====---\-------\0 Pas
Luc wanted a cherry slushie.
He didn't want a psycho girl who -tastes- like cherry slushie.
There's a subtle difference there that's hard to notice sometimes.
So one can only imagine the relief he feels when he manages to blow up the ground beneath the Brazillian and force her into a controlled dive -away-, accompanied with the deafening roar of, "Weinerschnitzel... WHAT THE HELL IS THAT SUPPOSED TO MEAN?!" Even in his own native language, Luc does not grasp double entendre well. His hand snaps up, reddened at the knuckles from the force of his ground-aimed punch. But he knows this isn't the last of his teammate. She's tenacious. Like a cockroach.
Or Godzilla.
So as the Brazillian equivalent of a radiation-infused hulking monstrosity comes barrelling towards him, what is Schroedinger to do... but -meet her half way-? Even as Pás barrels forward over the top of those audience seatings, the German is rushing down the aisle to greet her. Halfway through his run, his feet leave the floor in a sudden, blurring leap. An -explosion- of black-blue fire erupts from the soles of his shoes, propelling him ever-faster towards his target. Brazillian skull meets face with a crack and the sickening sound of twisting cartelidge...
"GONNA HAVE TO DO -BETTER THAN THAT-!!"
And Luc just -powers through-.
No doubt the damage is there; his nose is bleeding trails of dark red as his hands snap out, seeking to grip Pás by the shoulders. He just -doesn't register it-. He uses her positioning to his advantage, seeking to lift her up high overhead. And as gravity takes hold, and they descend... he'll just DRIVE her back-first into the ground in an earth-shattering powerbomb, accompanied by the distinct -FWOOOOSH- of flames as the space between them is overcome in a violent explosion of black-blue power, like a firestorm of chi. "HRAAAAAAAAAAAGH!!"
COMBATSYS: Pas endures Luc's Riot Breaker.
[ \\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\ < > ///////////////// ]
Luc 0/-------/-======|=======\-------\1 Pas
The Brazilian fighter recovers from her headbutt, her ambery eyes bright, her grin as sharp as scissors, and her temple wet with a new smear of blood. Her face is captured in a dangerous look of delight, the way a cat looks when it's decided it's going to play with its food. There's nothing she enjoys more than an opponent who takes her attacks without flinching.
When he steals her shoulders, her grin only widens, and she makes no move to squirm away. Whatever Luc has in store for her, Pás seems intent on suffering it out. She's masochistic like that. Lifted into the air, it becomes apparent that this fighter weighs rather little, her body designed to be light and aerodynamic than heavy with muscle. It takes little effort whatsoever to send her flying.
But, as Luc dismissively casts her down, the Brazilian provides little resistance against it, all for her own reasons that soon become apparent. She plummets, breakneck, toward the ground the instant it opens, receiving her with a new detonating blast of dark chi. She is quickly lost in it. By all means, the girl seems to entirely disappear.
But never for long. Like a resurrection, she lunges free from the chi storm at an entirely different angle, attempting to try to greet Luc's turned back with a double-footed kick. Landing, she's begun to wear the signs of their battle, her clothes tattered, her shirt soldiering onward in its effort to proclaim FO SHO!, and her dark skin burnt and bloody in too many places. But, beyond any measure of blood and battery, Pás wears her telltale grin, one that always seems to be wanting more. Her attack continues fiercely, as she whips one leg around in a fierce roundhouse, twisting as she does so, catching herself gracefully with that kicking foot and immediately cracking the other, dancing leg over leg as she cuts roundhouses out at Luc so quickly and so continuously one might wonder how the hell she's not getting dizzy.
Instead of tiring, her speed only seems to double. Pushing off from her last strike, Pás makes her finale as she goes airborne, her torso parallel to the ground and her legs opening, spinning sharply to try to slam both circling heels downward at Luc's head.
COMBATSYS: Luc endures Pas' Dama Branco.
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Luc 1/-----==/=======|-------\-------\0 Pas
The explosion of fire and impact of bodies against the ground rocks the flooring of the auditorium. The janitors are going to have a lot to clean up today -- not that they're not used to it.
This is a highschool in Southtown, after all. Certain rules apply.
Ripping upwards from the ground, Luc's feet squeal across the smooth floor beneath him. His legs give a dull ache from the amount of activity they've been forced to perform; he ignores it. He's gotten used to it, by now, and his built up tolerance for pain over the years only helps to ignore the warning signs his nerves flare out. The German snorts indignantly, a short spurt of blood flinging from his nostrils as he does so. His poor face has seen a lot of abuse of late -- his jaw is still lined with bruises from when Marisol deigned to pound into it repeatedly. It's likely because of the shit-eating grin he sports.
Or the spiteful words constantly flowing from his mouth.
"SHOW ME SOMETHING THAT ISN'T -WEAK- ALREADY!!"
The reason for their fight is relatively forgotten for now since Luc is lost in the heat of the moment. Likely he'll be reminded soon enough and go back into that sour state of his, but for now, he's in the moment. He's feeling the fight, and he knows exactly what to do. Like a rocket, Pás is propelling out of the flames of black and blue only scant moments after Luc recovers himself. She allows no time for proper defense. Which is likely a good thing...
... because Luc hadn't planned on 'proper defense' anyway.
Grin is met with grin as the debatably crazy Brazillian introduces her foot to Luc's back in a -WHUD- of impact. It causes him to stagger, twist around and greet his opponent... just in time to catch a roundhouse across the jaw. There's a sickening crack as the German's face snaps out towards the side, saliva and blood forcefully ejected from his mouth. And yet, as those roundhouses batter his body, striking shoulder and chest and punishing flesh with the sheer physical might of the girl's legs... Luc laughs. It hurts. It hurts -so much-. But he laughs.
Because he's in -exactly- the position he wants to be.
The moment that Pás is introducing herself to the auditorium air, Luc is already on the move. In a rapid increase of speed, his right hand -juts- out. Even as she descends, black chi sparks like lightning around his palm, twisting and twining across his fingers. It all converges to form one oddly small lance of energy, snapping and crackling with untold degrees of compressed power. The Brazillian's heels swerve down. The German's hand thrusts forward. That lance slings out, strikes the ground, and is absorbed into it in an odd moment of silence.
It's only as Pás' feet dig into the back of Luc's head with the snap of heel meeting skull that the energy reintroduces itself in a brilliant eruption of black-blue chi, forming an absolutely massive lance of power that seeks to intercept the airborne girl, gobble her up in its burning fury, and spit her out an a convulsing explosion of power.
"... heh... heh... that's better."
COMBATSYS: Luc successfully hits Pas with Uberlastung Lanze.
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Luc 0/-------/-----==|=======\-------\0 Pas
Pás never even had a chance. And that's the way she likes it. Spinning sideways through the air, the turn of her body only grants her an eyeblink's time to see the telltale crackle of chi. Unable to help her dizzying momentum, her back turns on it the second it unleashes. She can do little but smile.
The explosion hits true, sending her bulleting across the length of the auditorium, skirting rows upon rows of seats in a flailing tangle of limbs. She slams against one auditorium seat, and rips it as her velocity vaults her over the top of it, sent tumbling and landing in a heap into the next seat behind it. Sprawled across it, her legs draped across an armrest, her head lolled onto the other, Pás can do little but just sag. Her clothes are little more than burnt tatters, threads holding them together. Her skin is steaming. She has to turn her head to cough up some blood.
One bleary eye finally turns to peek up at Luc.
That hurt. Bless him.
"Cavalo," she is rumbling, her voice heavy and wet with blood, but still managing to keep its humour, "are you holding back because have in love with me?" She grins rakishly, pulling herself weakly out of the auditorium seat, leaving smearing handprints of blood behind. She coughs heavily, her lungs rattling in a way that doesn't sound right. She looks as though she could care less. Her same right eye winks. "That is very hero, but you must hit me harder."
Her grin doubles, and she is suddenly moving again, leaping up to the backs of seats, walking on her toes as she begins to jump row after row, breaking into a balance-beamed run that darts back at Luc. "HARDER!" Pás echoes, her voice mantled by the acoustics of the towering room. Racing from chair to chair with a frightening, unconscious ease, she mantles momentarily on the last and allows herself a moment of recoil. Then, she leaps violently from her perch, one leg swung upwards, and her lean body cuts a sharp, aerial flip from her kick up. She descends recklessly upon Luc, righting herself in time to pull her other leg around, all her momentum narrowed into the dropping heel she carves down at his chest.
COMBATSYS: Luc blocks Pas' Medium Kick.
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Luc 0/-------/----===|=======\-------\0 Pas
Energy seeps out of Luc Schroedinger's palm in a heaving crackle, excess power from the assault shunted out between his fingers in arches of black and blue. He's struck ground by the time that his Brazillian teammate is wrapped up in the cacophony of fury that he has mustered up. The burning embrace that he's given her alots him time to recover himself -- if only barely. He gives a hacking cough, blood splattering across the auditorium floor. His right hand gingerly presses against the back of his head, eliciting a wince thanks to the tender wound there. He pulls his hand away, stares at the blood tinging his fingertips.
He grins.
It's clear just how much force and power Luc put out from that attack alone from how electrical-like arches of chi sputter across his right arm, twisting and wrapping around his limb in briefly-lived crackles of power. But she says that he's holding back. For a moment, Luc might seem -wounded-. He drags himself back up from his kneeling position, gathering his breath. '... holding back because have in love with me?' He blinks. He squints. He frowns.
"What the hell are you -talking about-..." the German boy rumbles out. She lashes out with all the speed of a snake, and his right arm tenses, still sparking with excess chi and passion.
"... I'm not gonna go all out..."
Her heel drops first in a downwards arch aimed at exploding pain across Luc's torso. What it greets, however, is not the more vulnerable flesh of his chest, but the prepared guard of a palm snapping out to impact her foot with a deadened thud of impact. His right leg drags across the ground from the force. Chi sputters into existence in brief, minor shocks that lance from his palm to her sole. And all Luc can do is give a bloodied, furious grin.
"... WHEN YOU CAN'T HIT ME FOR SHIT!"
He gives a single push, the force that Pás has offered being countered and overrode in an attempt to launch her back into the air. He follows with an upwards hop, accentuated by an explosive burst of chi against the ground. It strains every muscle in his body as he propels himself far too fast to be normal. But he can't do anything but -roar-. His body twists. His right leg, encased in a spiral of black-blue flames, lashes out in a snapping kick focused towards the dead-center of the Brazillian's chest. Polished shoe will dig in before those flames are all unleashed like an explosive spring-load of power, meant to just propel his teammate even further into the air.
"C'MON!!!"
COMBATSYS: Luc successfully hits Pas with Tyrant Strike.
[ \\\\\\\\ < > /// ]
Luc 0/-------/---====|=======\==-----\1 Pas
Her eyes have only the time to widen a bit, in mid-air. Oh shit.
But she doesn't even try to miss him. She doesn't even try to redirect his strike. Pás doesn't seem apt to be going anywhere. At least until Luc's foot gives her some directions.
His foot hits home. Chi explodes. And she goes on a little vacation. Straight up into the air.
The ceiling comes close, fast. With quick, snatching hands, she manages to grab the rafter in time, nearly bowling over it like an olympic gymnast on the unevens. Up there, the Brazilian girl merely dangles, giving her head a quick shake to clear it, blinking her eyes and looking down. The floor is so very far away. She looks impressed.
Hanging there almost casually, she peeks down, her dark eyes squinting to find Luc way down below. She finally calls back to him, "You want me to hit you with /what?!/" Her face scrunches comically, her eyes creasing in theatrical horror. "Euh.. that not very nice. Oh no." One eye squints. "...Did Marisolas show you the one cup?"
Pás shakes her head sadly, making a windy noise and clucking her tongue. No, she's not angry. Just disappointed.
Her grin then resurfaces, the instant she switches grips on the rafter. She suddenly swings her legs, gaining momentum, turning her body at the apex and pulling up her legs, skinning the cat and bracing her feet for purchase. She can't be that suicidal. "Ha ha! Catch me, Cavalo!" comes the Brazilian's whoop, suddenly kicking free. She is.
She rocketeers down straight at him, tucking her body in her fall and suddenly twisting, feet-first as sparks begin to hiss from the soles of her feet. There, she tries to meet him with a dual side kick, seeking to attempt to ricochet free from her own impact and grab her first treacherous handhold. The rows of auditorium seating have become very handy for the acrobatic Brazilian, and finding herself back inverted where she belongs, her body balanced in the air. A familiar attack comes into play, and even if she has no room this time to execute her signiture headspin, she's anything if not adaptable. Grinning, Pás begins crossing handhold over handhold on the backs of seats, twisting her body, lunging from row to row, trying to meet the German with a new series of kicks with each switch. Chi spits hotly from her feet, fiery explosions detonating if she makes a successful strike. There, she tries to circle him with her continuous strikes, until her finale comes with a sudden handspring, circling head over feet in the air until both legs lash out, her two feet aiming to try to impart Luc a blast of chi straight to the kisser.
COMBATSYS: Pas can no longer fight.
[ \\\\\\\\ <
Luc 0/-------/---====|
COMBATSYS: Pas successfully hits Luc with Catherine Wheel.
[ <
Luc 1/------=/=======|
COMBATSYS: Luc takes no action.
COMBATSYS: Luc can no longer fight.
She can't be that suicidal?
Luc knows she is. You know how?
Because she's -fucking crazy-.
For a moment, it seems like Cavalo might not catch Crazy Bitch. He gives a confused stare as he lands, eyes squinting towards the Brazillian and her disappointed words. "Whu--" he starts, sentence breaking in the midst of his confusion, "--what the hell is a one cup? Is that some sort of joke? It sounds -stupid-." And to accentuate this clear fact, the German spits at the ground. One cup. What does that even mean.
She descends towards him. Feet first. Sparking. If she hits the ground, she'd likely die, fighter or not. For a moment, there is contemplation there in Luc's eyes. Time almost seems to freeze. He looks towards the hard ground beneath him. He looks up at Pás. Back down again. His brows furrow.
"You -son of a whore-."
WHAM.
Any other curses that Luc might have are spared the moment that the Brazillian reintroduces herself to the German, feet first. There is an attempt to stop here, there -- even to catch her, maybe, and keep her from breaking every bone in her body. Likely, this would have been followed by beaning her into the ground like a basketball before she got the wrong idea. This does not happen, though. Instead, spitting chi crushes into him time after time; the physical blows make their mark moreso than the sparkler fury of the chi she brings to bear, feet cracking into him time and again. He can't count the blows. He might have tried, if he could keep up. Instead, he finds himself bruised and battered beyond all repair, blood dripping from his chin and his right arm hanging a little bit limply. He spits to the side. He grunts.
"... Tha...That's a bit... bette--"
-THOOM-.
Burning chi strikes the German in his poor, abused face, frying the air in the space between his flesh and Pás' feet. The concussive force is enough to launch him right off his feet, spinning out of control until he strikes the front row of seating in the auditorium with such force it rips one or two chairs out of their welded bindings. Conveniently enough, he lands against the cushion of one of those dislodged seats, his head striking against the back with a bloodied -thunk- of impact. Silence. His body smokes. He grins.
"Next time... for sure..."
Crazy Brazillians and their making him try to make sure they don't commit suicide.
That's cheating.
One good turn deserves another.
And, if one were to ask the crazy bitch Brazilian, she would feel that Luc entirely deserves this.
He gets maybe a moment's peace to himself, sagging into the auditorium seat, before his lap gains an old friend. Suddenly, triumphantly, she plops down onto him as though she fell into the spot, straddling his legs and facing the poor German in a decided way. Cornering him. She's bruised, burnt, and bloody, and barely clothed, but she's still grinning ear-to-ear, beaming a few thousand intoxicating watts. Then she leans right on in, bringing her face so close their noses touch.
"Why, Cavalo Luc," Pás intones wryly, tongue-to-cheek. "Did you just try saving my life? I think you did. Did you have worries about little me? I did not think you cared." She leans back, her eyelids drooping, biting down on her bottom lip. "You are always so angrys," she continues, mischevious. But her eyes seize with seriousness. She doesn't grin. She doesn't laugh. She just smiles. "But now I know... it is hidings the love inside!!
Then she just slips a hand behind his neck to shove his face into her chest. Pás cages Luc in a mighty hug!!
"I love you too! We are best friends... forever!"
Log created on 19:12:15 11/16/2007 by Luc, and last modified on 03:51:05 11/25/2007.