Description: In romantic Paris, France, the XX half of Pacific Resistance faces a daunting task: participate in the Derelicte fashion show, and tame the Beast of Prey on the catwalk. Yeah on the catwalk. They do their little turn on the catwalk. (Winners: Marisol and Pás)
Considering the theme of the event, the SNF staff had feared pyrotechnics, explosive rages, massive collateral damage to the set, and grievous injury to their fragile persons upon the arrival of a certain young fighter at this weekend's... unusual setup. But to their uniform shock, none of the above had transpired. K' had shown up without comment, thrown his fight card (read only so far as it didn't have the name 'Kyo' on it) at the flabbergasted staff, and allowed himself to be led away. His unusual subdued silence, however, just succeeded in making those forced to deal with him even more nervous. Nobody could even REMOTELY guess at what was going through his mind, but everyone knew his silence was just a sign he was waiting for the right time to go off.
He sat through the preparations in stone silence, tightlipped and expressionless as makeup artists and clothing designers and various other USELESS personnel ran about doing their USELESS tasks that would all be ruined in fire in about an hour. He'd barely even responded when one of the managers flitting about 'backstage' had seen him, done a doubletake, and come up and tried to strike up conversation with him. Giorgio, he called himself; K' knew Alma Towazu, didn't he? Alma had told Giorgio a little about K'! Giorgio hadn't known Alma had had such an attractive f--
K' cut him off there with a snapped "Yeah I know him," and a glare, but the man-- undeterred-- had already decided he was going to take this sulky young man under his wing and personally supervise him. Disgruntled, K' thusly found himself followed by the shadow of Alma Towazu, even so far from home as Paris.
They let him keep his leathers to some degree, fitting him into belted leather pants and-- upon his snarling bristle-- not touching his gloves. But upon seeing his odd white-haired, yellow-eyed colorations and hearing the nickname the press and public liked to pin on him, they'd decided to turn him out appropriately. The rest of the outfit-- as much as a single stiff, black, knee-length coat, which they refused to let him button or pull closed over his torso (models don't button up over their lovingly-detailed abs, -ever-), could be called an outfit-- involved fur. A lot of wolf fur trim, right around the shoulders and the ludicrously high collar. It's guaranteed the SPCA is lurking outside by now, ready for blood.
He's still waiting in the back even now, his tall frame draped negligently in a spindly folding chair, his head dipped so low his chin nearly touches his chest. The high collar of his coat virtually obscures the lower half of his face, but somehow he still finds enough room between his mouth and the fabric to fit a carefully-placed cigarette. Yellow eyes regard their surroundings with a blank and piercing irritation, half-narrowed and mostly obscured by the regular streams of smoke that coil up with every exhale. He is waiting for what he came here to do-- to -fight-. But first...
K' lifts a brow in thought as he touches the fabric of his coat. He tilts his head over to a nearby girl working the fashion show, his voice coming out of that collar in a raspy aside.
"Hey. This outfit. Cost a lot to make, didn't it?"
"Y...yes, I think-- a few thousand, all told--"
"Somebody put a lot of thought into this shit?"
"Well-- yes..."
His mysterious curiosity mollified, K' cuts a hidden grin and leans back in his seat. He's only still managing to feel pleased with himself because he hasn't realized quite yet he looks a lot like Krizalid.
Meanwhile, on the opposite side of the backstage changing area, Pacific Resistance's female members are being ushered about and dolled up at the mercy of the stylists and designers alike. Fortunately for this particular crew, their victims weren't nearly as surly and angry as K'. In fact, Marisol was delighted to be pampered like this, treated like some VIP in such a rich city. Good old Gay Paris!
So backstage on the girls' side, hairdressers flitter to and fro, wielding combs and all degrees of hair product, followed closely behind by make-up artists. Already they've been put into their respective garments for the fashion show, and all that remained for them was to be dolled up and shooed out onto the stage when the time was right.
Unlike K' and his CLEARLY offensive wolf fur trim attire, Marisol O'Connell is clad tonight in some weird long-sleeved silver dress that looks like Jiffypop foil, wrapped around the front and tied in some mess of stringy bows. The dress cuts off just at her thighs, and beneath it is a suitably tacky set of black stretch pants that vanish into a pair of awful silver Go Go boots. To top the weird marriage of vintage popcorn and disco, her hair is piled fashionably awry atop her head, her makeup akin to...well, 80's heroin chic, complete with ridiculous (and probably illegal) amounts of eye liner and shock red lipstick.
Oh, and the massive silver hoop earrings. Don't forget those.
"ACH! HOLD STILL VON'T YOU!?" a German stylist in loud pink barks, as Marisol squirms in an attempt to get the attention of her teammate. But upon being scolded the girl reclines back into her seat and puckers her lips, gray eyes hooded in annoyance.
"Damn it, I've been in this chair for hours!" the girl gripes at the feminine stylist. "When can I go!? When will you finish!?"
"VEN I AM DONE!" He slaps her hand with a comb. The girl's eyes go wide.
Minutes later, a few SNF officials run past K', hurrying to the girls' dressing room. Apparently a fight broke out backstage, moments before the actual show is to begin. They can only pray that it starts soon enough to keep everyone occupied and not murder innocent bystanders and crew.
If there's one think Pás likes to do, and often, for as long as she can, it's sleeping. And she's one of those sleepers who'd snooze right on through a storm. Submachinegun fire. The second coming of Christ.
But, in a place like the blackstage of a Parisian fashion show, such an incredible feat can only be considered a curse.
Pás wakes up from an especially restful nap to realize this. Five hours ago, she was sitting backstage in a stylist's chair, awaiting her intensive primping session for a runway fight. The make-up artists were preparing like the front lines of a world war. This was going to be a massively-televised event, viewed live by millions of people. Far more than the fluffy types that tune in to Fashion TV. These fighters were going to look their best.
Whether or not they liked it.
And, so very unfortunate to the poor little Brazilian... her personal stylist had finally cornered her to find the girl fast asleep. Unable to disagree. Unable to resist. Unable to refuse. Something terrible lit in his eyes. His grin grew and became something awful.
A sleeping, prone girl. The essence of fashion.
But now she's awake to the strange sensations of reefing and tugging, five hours later, opening her eyes and looking straight into a mirror and, for the first time in her life, regretting that she loves to sleep so damn much.
Pás is wearing bones. And only bones. Inspired by "some silly Japanese comic," she's been outfitted in long, streamline, and macabre portions of the human skeleton, her only covering in the form of a twisting ribcage, which curls back into a jagged spine that follows the curve of her back, leading into some bleached, misshapen pelvic bones shaped into a bikini. Her face, painted elaborately, her eyes almost ringed in heavy, smoky black, is ensconced with a strange, ornamental bone jaw, which connects into a strange knotted array of bones that circlets her head and weaves through the straightened mass of her inky hair.
She just squints at this display in the mirror, blinking repeatedly, not quite sure if she's still asleep. But if it's not her reflection that wakes Pás up, it's pretty much what happens next.
Someone swats her angrily right on the butt.
"Look at this ass! It's a monstrousity! Sister, how the hell do you live life with a tumour hanging off your back?! I can't do a thing with it. This is impossible. How old are you? Hmmmmf! Too old! I REFUSE to work with a seventeen-year-old's ass! I have a mind to chew out Mr. Caprarelli about this! I requested no older than thirteen for my show! This silly little fight is testing my nerves. Oh, I give up! Alcatraz couldn't cage this ass...!"
The stylist storms off.
Pás curiously peeks down at herself, poking out her bottom lip in consideration. She shrugs. She doesn't see anything wrong.
In surprisingly cooperative silence, K' just waits for the bullshit to stop and the fight to start. The reason for his even BEING here at all? Well-- he had originally reentered this week, even despite the events of the last, in the hope of meeting Kyo again. That aspiration had quickly been dashed when he got his fight card, neither name opposing his one he recognized. But the mere fact he wasn't going to see Kyo didn't stop him from coming, even where some might have expected it would. Why?
The principle of the thing was... K' has got complacent, and he knows it. He had got comfortable with being so fucking ELITIST about fighting. He thought he could afford to stand apart and sneer at the professional fighters monkeying in the ring for the arbitrary approval of bloodthirsty onlookers. But in the past week he'd come to the realization that those same audience-pandering, ego-tripping apes flexing for the camera were also the best fighters on the planet. He'd realized he'd be making a mistake by not using their talents as a grindstone to sharpen his.
He hated whoring his stolen talents for the camera, for everyone to see. He hated being stared at, talked about, hated being a public figure. He hated the emptiness of it all, retreated to the most mundane life possible whenever he could. But he also knows this one fact; he won't get anywhere if he scorns the ring and sticks to beating the blood out of the 95% of the world's population that -can't- stand against him longer than five seconds. He certainly won't get the skill to match Kyo by dicking around being a stuck-up ass. Kusanagi had said it himself; K' needed some god damn practice. And where else is it going to be this easy to regularly find people who're a real challenge.
It'll hurt his principles and hurt his pride. But his life has pounded in this one fact. You do what you have to do to get what you want. And you don't get anywhere unless you suffer. He has to keep reminding himself of that, over and over, with a grit and bare of his teeth, because right now... he is suffering quite a lot. He's hiding it pretty well though, affecting an air of supreme calm even as he placidly smokes his way towards the end of his cigarette. For now, that pride will not allow him to break in front of a camera and lose his cool.
His head lolls back lazily, turning slightly in curious regard, as the officials blast past him to quell Marisol's tantrum. With a roll of the eyes, K' eventually peels himself out of his dinky little folding chair and starts strolling off towards the actual 'fight' area, shoving his hands in his pockets as he goes. His weird coat flutters open as he meanders along, baring his dark-skinned torso to the world even as that wraparound high collar conceals his throat and half his face. A series of strange rattling necklaces reveal themselves, swinging against his chest and across his stomach in a tinkling refrain. On closer inspection, one realizes they're just made up of shreds of detritus, strung together in a manner those at 'Derelicte' doubtless thought to be edgily trashy.
Prowling around the periphery of the lit area, K' turns his yellow eyes-- heavily lined in black, corners drawn up sharply in the manner of a wolf's-- towards the din unimpressedly, blowing a harsh breath around his nearly-spent cigarette. The huffed plume of smoke steams out of his collar like dragon's breath, the resultant image almost making him look like he actually belongs in this line of business. Impatiently, he waits-- but he can only wait so long before he loses it, storms right on back there, and drags those girls out.
He might not be so quick about it if he knew just who 'Pás' was.
"I'LL KILL HIM! OH I'LL KILL HIM!"
Held in check by a large burly bald man in a black t-shirt, Marisol O'Connell is positively LIVID as she swings her arms, fingers crooked like ferocious claws as she tries to get to the hairstylist. As for the German stylist light in his loafers, well, he too is held back by security personnel, brandishing both comb and hairdryer menacingly with the occasional swipe in desperate attempt to get back at the girl, spouting curses in German tongue.
Meanwhile, aside, the coordinator of this event sighs into his hand, while a strange white-haired man in trashy attire holds his poodle close and stares with aghast as things already begin to take a turn for the inevitable worse. But he's distracted, as someone with a clipboard taps his shoulder and whispers to him.
"Girls, girls, girls!!" Lifting a hand, the man snaps his fingers repeatedly, to distract Marisol and get the bone-clad Pás' attentions. It works on the former, fortunately, the irate half-Spaniard swiveling her head fiercely to one side and peering at the man who seems to be wearing something with 'MUGATU' written on it.
"Show's starting!" He claps three times. "Get out there and make Derelicte a success!"
Released, Marisol delivers a half-hearted attempt to kick security in the shins before she throws the stylist a finger, who throws his hairdryer at her. Marisol bellows in response, causing the man to rip a loud scream and run off to safety. The redhead dusts her hands and chuckles to herself before she turns to exit the dressing room. But...
"Hey, Pás! Let's get this over with!" the girl calls over a shoulder. That's when she finally sees the girl in all her glory.
And laughs.
Pitching forward, Marisol holds her stomach as she laughs and laughs, earning her strange looks from not only both directors, but all personnel on hand too. She tries to catch her breath, but fails, sounding like a thoroughly amused fish out of water as she gasps between laughs.
"Oh man, what did they do to you!?" she cries. That's when the man wielding his poodle shoves the girl out of the dressing area and into the hall, where K' prowls. Briefly the girl shoots the dark-skinned wolf fur-wearing fighter a look, still grinning like a fiend from laughter.
The director emerges, shooing everyone toward the stage, just as the bass in the house begins to thump loudly, and, beyond the thick black trashy curtains hung, Franky tells everyone in the audience to relax.
"Looks like it's time," the redhead offers to the dark-skinned Kusanagi experiment, lips slicing into a wolfish smirk. "I just hope you can keep up."
"Oi, Marisolas?" the Brazilian fighter is calling as she steps into the main area of the dressing room, seemingly ignorant (or perhaps just really habituated) to the scene of the redhead declaring bloody murder against her stylist. "Do you thinkings I--"
Her question gets cut off when Marisol looks over. And starts laughing. And keeps laughing. And doesn't stop laughing.
The Brazilian's eyelids droop in a long-suffering way.
"Oh shut up." Pás grumps bonily, crossing her arms self-consciously. She looks away, turning her nose up at her laughing teammate. "Hmmf. And you look like Robotcop."
She pops a dark eye open a heartbeat later, realizing Marisol has already starting moving off, out of the dressing room and to the runway, where the show -- and more importantly, the fight -- are poised to begin.
She moves after, brushing past a man who immediately squeals.
"Oh my god!! I think a truck just hit me! Who the HELL put a boulder in the middle of my Derelicte?!" Mugatu demands, grasping vindictively to his poodle. He doubletakes a moment later. "Oh, it's just someone's INCREDIBLY FAT ASS. It's like a solar eclipse. If I look at it, I'm going to go blind. Someone get it out of my sight! Get it out of my sight!!!"
"It not that big," Pás is replying, in a very small voice, one that doesn't sound so certain. "Maybe I am eatings too much pie."
A couple moments later, the Brazilian is frowning as she enters after the Spaniard, asking her friend half-heartedly, "Marisolas? Do you thinks I have the huge garbage truck as--"
Dressed entirely in bone, Pás stops in her tracks. She freezes right on the spot. Her eyes arrow straight on K', straight through the coat, straight through the fruity get-up, and right on a face that she could never forget. Her bemused look exchanges for a bright grin, her eyes lighting up, her face electric.
"It is you!! Marisolas!! This is my boyfriend! We have been datings for a month! He is very hot kisser! Hallo boyfriend! Look!" Pás gestures at herself. "I have boner!"
Out now on the stage, letting his eyes adjust to the lower light, K' reaches up briefly to pick his cigarette clear, snuffing the smoldering tip against his gloved hand and discarding it carelessly. And when Marisol addresses him, he slants baleful yellow eyes in a cold regard at her over the rim of his ridiculous high collar. For a few odd instants, he looks almost exactly like Krizalid.
He's about to snap some kind of sharp reply about how it's rather bold of her to shoot her mouth when it's her slow ass that's held up this fight, but then the other combatant comes out and K' immediately shuts up. The look in his eyes transforms instantly from irritation to a rough approximation of '...fuck!!'
There's no doubt K' knows Pás, just as she knows him. His eyes narrow on her face like sniper sights, locking dead on with a grim sort of promise. "...pfeh. Dating? Don't delude yourself. You can lie all you want," he shoots back immediately, "but it'll just convince me on who to burn first." A slight flutter seizes the edges of his coat as his right hand tenses. A hint of a spark kindles about his fingers, a sense of energy building--
--and then K' just cuts into a blurred advance, his form streaking into shadow. His right hand claws sharply upwards, a lash of spinning flames raking outwards towards the girl. "You also," he adds, regardless of the result of his attack, "still have something of mine!"
COMBATSYS: K' has started a fight here.
[\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\ <
K' 0/-------/-------|
COMBATSYS: Marisol has joined the fight here.
[\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\ < > //////////////////////////////]
K' 0/-------/-------|-------\-------\0 Marisol
COMBATSYS: Pas has joined the fight here on the right meter side.
[\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\ < > //////////////////////////////]
Marisol 0/-------/-------|-------\-------\0 Pas
[\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\ <
K' 0/-------/-------|
COMBATSYS: Marisol has joined the fight here on the right meter side.
[ \\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\ < > //////////////////////////////]
K' 0/-------/-------|-------\-------\0 Marisol
> //////////////////////////////]
|-------\-------\0 Pas
Recovering from laughter, Marisol wipes a tear from her eye and takes in deep breaths. Calmer now, she exhales loudly and pats her stomach, shoulders sagging as she continues to offer Pás a broad grin. But before she can open her mouth and reply to the girl's comment on HER attire, 'Mugatu' barks about bumping into the Brazilian girl's hind end. Thin red brows furrow in response.
He's off instantly after throwing a fit, and that's fine with Marisol! So, with that, the girl moves for the stage beyond the dressing room door, offering over her shoulder, "Your ass is nice, Pás! Don't worry! I think it's nice." Out the door Marisol goes, sparing the dark-skinned clone a glance before she's forced to slow down and ultimately cease.
"Pás?" Go Go boots cease, as the girl shoots a glance over a silvery shoulder. It would appear the girl is much like a deer in headlights. Eyes shift immediately after, settling on K', before they drift back onto Pás. A moment later the girl is being introduced to Pás boyfriend.
Marisol smiles brightly. "Oh Pás I am so proud of you!" the girl chimes, folding her hands together as she beams for her friend. "He's quite a catch, you know! I am so jealous of you! Congratulations Pás! Please invite me to the wedding, okay?" Marisol nods hopefully to her Brazilian friend. K''s objections otherwise go ignored, naturally!
--at least until he's cutting right for Pás.
"LOOK OUT!" the girl belts, warning her friend. A split-second later the girl tears forward, a fist clenched tightly as she charges in, attempting to sock K' across the face in hopes of thwarting his advance on her friend. "Don't hit your girlfriend!!"
COMBATSYS: Pas blocks K''s Eins Trigger.
[ \\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\ < > ///////////////////////////// ]
K' 0/-------/------=|-------\-------\0 Marisol
> /////////////////////////// ]
|==-----\-------\0 Pas
Pás beams in response to Marisol's words. It is every girl's dream to have your best friend approve of your boyfriend. Her eyes never leave K' as she does so, no doubt in something of a guarded way, even as she gives the left a playful little wink.
Just a little gesture to help piss him off.
And that he is, the boy beelining directly towards her, moving with that familiar violence that gives no preamble. Hearing Marisol's warning shout, the Brazilian girl decked out in bone widens her stance, her muscle memory already homed on the sort of power and strength that K' is willing to bring to the table. This is going to be a lot of fun.
He rushes forward, gesturing out a brilliant plume of fire, but Pás seems ready for it, twisting suddenly aside to escape the intensity of it, thrusting out her arms and opening her hands -- her fingers jeweled with strange twists and pieces of bone -- letting her own sparking, cracking chi burn out against the blaze, energy pushing energy backwards and saving her body from the thick of it. When it ends, she remains standing, only seared around the edges, her bone bikini charred in places.
Pás grins widely at K'. "Are you talkings about your virginity? Psiu, I cannot give /that/ back, sillies!"
Then Marisol moves, ready to defend her best friend against domestic violence! The Brazilian dashes forward at that instant, coordinating herself with her teammate, verging on K' from his other side as the two Pacific girls close like a pair of scissors. The redhead goes for the face and Pás goes for the gut, her weight freeing to one leg as the other thrusts out, her foot ensconced with sharpened bone, to try to meet him solidly.
COMBATSYS: K' blocks Marisol's Medium Punch.
[ \\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\ < > ///////////////////////////// ]
K' 0/-------/------=|-------\-------\0 Marisol
> /////////////////////////// ]
|==-----\-------\0 Pas
COMBATSYS: K' interrupts Medium Kick from Pas with Crow Bite.
[ \\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\ < > ///////////////////////////// ]
K' 0/-------/----===|-------\-------\0 Marisol
> /////////////////// ]
|=======\=------\1 Pas
K''s eyes narrow more and more the longer Marisol and Pás talk between themselves. Unseen lips harden into a thin, displeased line. K' does not take jokes well unless he's the one behind them. The evidence of that lies in how quick he is to scythe a sudden conversation-stopper at Pás in the form of a whirl of punishing flames. K' slams into her with brute force, his full damaging intent deterred only by Pás' skillful defense.
K' looks at Pás over the quench of his thwarted flames. His eyes slit further as they meet hers, a sneer flashing white teeth against his dark skin. It's an instant of regard that quickly breaks off as Marisol comes lancing in. 'Don't hit your girlfriend'? "Lucky thing nobody here's my girlfriend," he retorts lowly, swiveling to catch her thrown punch in his hand with a loud crack of impact. Almost immediately, he shoves back against his block, spurning Marisol's assault.
He twists back to a ready in time to see Pás approaching from his other side; he turns fully to face her attack and her amused question, bracing to meet her kick. "Keh," he scoffs derisively, even as his entire right side abruptly chambers back like a crossbow loading. "You only wish you could've gotten -that-."
That... rather ambiguous statement delivered, his entire lithe frame uncoils and whips into a rising, fire-lacing uppercut: a sharp blow that intercepts Pás' body even as her kick meets his chest. K' claws into her hard enough to send her some fair distance back, the flames about his wrist and hand shortly quenching thereafter as he tries to recover back into a more defensible position before they come back at him again.
If there's one thing the Marisol is almost certain of, it is that Pás can handle herself just fine. So there is precious little worry from the girl aside from her initial warning to the Brazilian adorned in bone. Instead, the half-Spaniard makes her move, pushing off the thick soles of her boots and drives right for the dark-skinned experiment. And then she swings her fist..!
But he catches it in one of those hard red gloves. The girl scoffs in response.
"Don't be so shy!" the half-Spaniard replies, hopping back as Pás makes her move for the wanna-be Kusanagi, just moments after her attack. "I think it's a beautiful thing! You two will live such rich, fulfilling lives together! Right P--?!"
Cut short, Marisol can only watch in abject horror as her best friend is suddenly set ablaze AND punches brutally by this weird guy in leather and wolf fur. Moments later it causes the girl to scowl fiercely, calloused hands pulling into tight fists as she seethes. No one hits her friend like that!
So when K' recovers from his flight the girl charges forward, attempting to seize the man by his throat and, with one glowing fist, drive it straight into his gut. Impact results in a massive burst of chi that will send the sullen young man flying into the nearest structure, should she get her hands on him.
"Spousal abuse isn't tolerated!!"
Pás never even had a chance. And she wouldn't have it any other way.
The only defense the Brazilian gives to K''s onslaught is the sudden widening of her eyes. Her pupils shrink into foreshadowing pinpoints. She seems to know what's going to happen next.
One instant and an EXPLOSION later, Pás is blasted down the length of the runway, as skinny models shriek left and right, jumping into the audience pit to avoid the Brazilian missile. She skids along the polished floor and flops, left a smoking, bone-covered heap of burnt limbs, twitching fingers, and the biggest grin of her life.
What a man.
As she struggles to sit up, the peanut gallery fashionistas applaud her eccentric choice of wear. The Prime Minister of Malaysia nods his approval.
"I designed everything but the ass," Mugatu is busily telling a celebrity off to the side.
"Aieeee," Pás is just saying, earning another wave of applause as she creakily stands up, giving her head a shake to clear it. Quite by accident, her dizzy, shaky steps do her a little turn on the catwalk. She splays her toes and tosses her arms, her body beginning to prepare itself for retaliation. "Ufa, but I suppose they say... the one who loves you hurts the most."
COMBATSYS: Pas focuses on her next action.
[ \\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\ < > //////////////////////////// ]
K' 0/-------/----===|-------\-------\0 Marisol
> /////////////////// ]
|=======\=------\1 Pas
COMBATSYS: K' dodges Marisol's Moon Sling.
[ \\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\ < > //////////////////////////// ]
K' 0/-------/----===|-------\-------\0 Marisol
> /////////////////// ]
|=======\=------\1 Pas
K' would take a moment to survey his handiwork-- no doubt, in some small measure, amused by the chaos created by the skittish models jumping ship-- but he simply isn't given any time to breathe in between the fierce assaults from both girls. He only has enough time to note that it's really kind of creepy, how the audience just blandly golf claps that show of violence, before Marisol is coming at him again.
Landing from his attack, K' retreats in defense, his gaze switching to Marisol. That immediate attentiveness is what lets him avoid her sudden attack. With a slight tense, K' slips away from her seeking grasp quick enough to register as a streak of shadow again, his pitiful native chi good for nothing really except those bursts of speed.
"Good thing nobody here's my wife either," K' tells Marisol as he resolves back into sight at her left side. He steps immediately out of his evasion into a full-on attack, slinging a sharp aerial snapkick straight towards the girl's jaw.
COMBATSYS: K' successfully hits Marisol with Minutes Spike.
- Power hit! -
[ \\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\ < > /////////////////////// ]
K' 0/-------/---====|====---\-------\0 Marisol
> /////////////////// ]
|=======\=------\1 Pas
Despite the lackluster clapping, or Pás' predicament, from which she slowly recovers, Marisol moves in with every intention of getting her hands on her best friend's man. But for all the effort she's invested in trying to land a solid blow on the Kusanagi...whatever he is, the wiry young man proves himself all the faster. Leaping out of harm's way, there's a certain look of irritation on the half-Spaniard's sun-kissed face as he lands a short distance back.
"Not yet, anyway," the girl swiftly retorts, as the young man then lunges forward. But for all her efforts to just weather the blow and seek out a golden opportunity to punch the young man soundly, he breeches her attempts and sends the poor girl flying back, landing with a thud as she slides across the catwalk, just past Pás.
A loud groan follows.
Pulling herself off the catwalk, Marisol absently rubs her head, gray eyes blearily lifting and seeking out her friend. Spotting the other girl a short distance away, she lets a smirk edge over her full lips, eyes half-lidded in amusement. "Hey, Pás," the girl begins, as she starts to stand upright once more. "I--"
From the side, near the catwalk, a brown-eyed man with full lips and stubble and short-cropped hair, surrounded by a few good-looking ladies. He's dressed casually and comfortably, and he's looking right at K'.
"Hey man, I don't know if you should be beating up on girls. Who knows? They might wind up kicking your ass in the long run. And then what would you have?"
Marisol grins in response, eyes drifting from the strangely familiar man toward the NESTS experiment.
"Hey... yeah! He's right. Listen to your friend, Billy Zane, he's a cool dude."
Gray eyes then drift to her Brazilian teammate.
"We can't lose now. Do your best! Go get 'em tiger!! Show him your love!!"
And with that the redhead gives her friend a shove forward, right for K'--!
COMBATSYS: Marisol assists Pas.
[ \\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\ < > /////////////////////// ]
K' 0/-------/---====|====---\-------\0 Marisol
> /////////////////// ]
|=======\=------\1 Pas
As Marisol rises back to her feet and steps toward her teammate, Pás reaches out to helpfully brush a bit of dust off her friend's back, fussing over her in that petulant way girls do.
Then she pauses, also humbled by the sudden and infallible Gospel of Zane. As her best friend appends to it, the Brazilian just laughs sharply, covering her mouth with a hand. But, under her friend's encouragement, she guesses she ought not to waste more time. Pás rolls her shoulders. Flexes her legs. Fists her hands. Adjusts her ribcage bra.
And aims a hundred-watt grin straight on K'. "Baby," she calls generously to him, "shiu, why you so angrys? We make up now, yea?" Her grin goes deadly. "Let's cuddle."
And as Marisol shouts and gives a helpful shove, ordering her teammate to prove her love, Pás does just that. She takes a sudden running start, dashing down the length of the long runway. Camera flashes follow her at either sides as she inverts herself up and over, her sprinting mutating into a fast, fierce series of front flips that pull her, whiplash-quick, towards the ex-NESTS runaway. The last pump of her arms throws her high into the air, and twisting sharply, the girl swings one leg overhead, her foot bursting to light like a firecracker before it cracks down straight at K'.
Pás catches herself swiftly with both hands, her momentum spiking her into a sudden, reckless spin. And that's how she wants it.
"OH MY GOD!" someone yells suddenly from the audience. "SHE'S BREAKDANCE FIGHTING!"
And as Pás spins wildly off the palms of her hands, upside-down, her legs open and her burning feet come whipping in, trying to pelt the boy in a tilt-a-wheeling round of kicks that burn with hot, blinding, crackling bursts of chi.
COMBATSYS: Pas successfully hits K' with Catherine Wheel.
[ \\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\ < > /////////////////////// ]
K' 0/-------/=======|====---\-------\0 Marisol
> ////////////////// ]
|=------\-------\0 Pas
The gratifying crack of impact greets K' as he slams his kick home. Landing agilely, he straightens up and regards the heaped girls neutrally, as if just waiting for them to get back up and take another shot at him. This soon proves to be something of a tactical error, as it opens him up to attack from a totally unexpected corner.
At the sudden comment from the peanut gallery, K''s eyes twitch to fix on the culprit, instantly angry, instantly ready to fire back a sharp retort-- but he pauses once he sees who's talking. Oh shit, it's Billy Zane. He totally knows WHO THAT GUY IS. But even getting talked to by /Billy Zane/ can't stop the irascible young man for long. Zane doesn't think he should be beating on girls? Like HELL. If he doesn't beat them first they'll beat on him. Eyes narrowing, K' surls back unimpressedly, "Do I -look- like I -have- much of a CHOICE here--"
Wait. There's no time to banter with Billy Zane!! Pás is getting shoved straight towards him, and rapidly starting to build an advancing, aggressive speed of her own.
With a last grim glare shot off at Zane, K' tries to focus back on the incoming whirl of fire-sparking kicks and sharp blows. But he recovers to attempt a defensive just a little too late. The wild sequence of sparking attacks sears into him, hitting him dead-on, and finally knocking him back in a long and stumbling skid. Momentarily dazed, smarting from the battering of sharp blows, he shakes his head once to clear it.
Then, before the element of surprise can entirely be lost, his arms alight with fire. Much to the horror of the designers, much of the sleeves of his outfit gets immediately torched, dropping away in cinders. K' swipes a ring of flames before him, letting the fire hang in the air, and then he whips around in a sharp whirl and kicks the gathered fire straight for Pás.
It would seem that the fruits of Zane's words of wisdom have paid off in the girls' favor: Pás, encouraged by the star, as well as he friend, makes her move after the former NESTS, chi crackling as she moves. Behind her, the half-Spaniard girl is still grinning, sporting a very pleased look on her tanned face. Arms lift, that awful foil-like material of her dress shimmering in the light as she folds her arms over her chest and nods sternly.
Then her eyes drift to the man at the side of the stage. She gives him a thumb's up. He returns it.
"Cuddle him good, Pás!!" the girl cries, thrusting an arm into the air.
Only after K' recovers from being pummeled by chi-laced legs does the girl gather her wits and get herself back in the game. Narrowing gray eyes, the half-Spaniard lets a sly grin edge over her lips, hands clenching into tight fists. Despite the flames that roar to life on his arms, or the ring he creates before him, Marisol doesn't care; instead, she weaves aside as the kick sweeps up and drives that chi at the Brazilian girl, heavy Go Go boots carrying the girl right for K'.
She doesn't stop nor hesitate; instead the girl swings a fist wide, knuckles aimed for K''s jaw as she delivers a sweeping hook from the right.
COMBATSYS: Pas blocks K''s Second Shoot.
[ \\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\ < > //////////////////////// ]
K' 1/------=/=======|====---\-------\0 Marisol
> //////////////// ]
|===----\-------\0 Pas
Still lost in a half-crazed, half-cackling handspin, much too drunk off her small victory, Pás catches K''s fierce retaliation before she can even push herself upright.
Guess she's gotta do what she's gotta do.
Despite being as inverted as ever, Pás forces herself to respond, her eyes widening to the upside-down image of that fiery chi that is all but kicked towards her. She bends her arms and pushes violently off, sending her body in an aerial twist, her bone clothing blurring white at the edges. And, in a display of her ridiculous flexibility, she curls her back and seems to loop parallel to the blaze like a backwards limbo, escaping the lethal eye of its legendary heat. Again, falling mid-air, she thrusts out her arms, her own crackling fire shot back against it, paling in comparison against K''s inferno... yet serving just enough to save her from the jaws of the flames. Energy repels energy long enough to let her fall straight through the fiery wall... and land flat on her back.
Her bone bodice crisped, her body singed around the corners, Pás weakly coughs out a ring of smoke. She grins a little loopily. That was so amazing.
But the Brazilian doesn't stay down for long. A heartbeat later, Marisol is surging forward to try to meet K' with another of her famous punches... and Pás doesn't lag far behind. Dashing forward for the boy, she tries to catch him off the ricochet of Marisol's attack -- whether it lands or not -- reaching out one bone-laden hand to try to fist a handful of that crazy coat and smash her forehead against his.
COMBATSYS: Marisol has saved the state of this fight.
[ \\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\ < > //////////////////////// ]
K' 1/------=/=======|====---\-------\0 Marisol
> /////////////// ]
|==-----\-------\0 Pas
COMBATSYS: K' endures Marisol's Hook Punch.
COMBATSYS: K' fails to interrupt Zidane's Revenge from Pas with Heaven Drive.
Landing and skidding back, K' turns his gaze on Marisol as she comes rushing right in. Half his face still lies hidden, so little of his grin shows; but it glints in his eyes when-- feeling Pás' own approach angling in from his other side-- he just takes Marisol's hook straight across the jaw and lets the momentum of it twist him back at the Brazilian.
Pás seizes his jacket-- but in the next instant, what she has ahold of is just ash. A flare of flames bursts in the scant space between them as K''s right arm alights, and the fire sears away the front of the coat. It shoots straight up, ruining most of the collar, wilting the cloth, searing the bone that adorns Pás; it finally exposes his face fully, baring its grim look and the unamused line of his jaw.
The fire focuses sharply as K' tries to intercept and decisively knock Pás clear out of the fight-- but she gets in before his searing attack on her can connect. Struck hard in the face, K' goes out like a candle under a glass, skidding backwards some distance and shaking his head like a dog to regain his focus.
Driving her calloused knuckles into the face of poor K', Marisol harbors no regrets as the angry young man is sent reeling to one side, body twisting. At first the half-Spaniard arrogantly smirks, a soft 'tch' slipping past full lips as she shoots a half-lidded glare at the dark-skinned man. But the moment the Brazilian girl seizes his coat and it disintegrates into ash...
The girl's face flushes.
"Oh shi--!"
It's all the girl can manage to belt out as Pás drives forward with every intention of crashing her bone-laden forehead into his. Time moves slowly, gray eyes wide with disbelief as flames shoot up around the NESTS experiment. Pás is going to die..!
But she doesn't. Her assault connects, forehead beating genetically-altered flames. It sends poor K' stumbling back, disoriented as he swiftly recovers from Pás' attack. Immediately after Marisol shoots her partner another thumb's up and a grin in a gesture that would put Mentos commercials to shame, calling out with, "Good job! Cuddle him hard, Pás!"
Lips pull swiftly into a wolfish grin, eyes widening briefly before they sharply narrow. "My turn," the girl mutters under her breath, pushing off the thick soles of her black Go Go boots as she charges forward. Closing in on the clone, the redhead attempts to sock him hard in the stomach with a gut punch, followed by a swift grab of ...well, whatever is left of his outfit and headbutting the man before she shoves back and drives a vertical kick right into his jaw.
It becomes too obvious that the two girls are good friends and better teammates. They coordinate impeccably, reading and weaving through each other's movement in a way that transcends mere skill: they are totally familiar with each other as fighters. This fact makes Marisol and Pás merely dangerous alone but deadly in pairs.
As the Brazilian half of the duo steals a handful of K''s fashionable coat, the fabric tearing under her bone finger claws, her flaring eyes refract the billowing shapes of the boy's killing fire. Its presence does not pause her in the least. Reckless, crazed, or maybe just a little bit bloodthirsty, Pás' grin takes on an edge of the maniacal as she thrusts forward, her head smashing directly against his.
It's probably her sheer masochism that wins the girl her hit. A moment's worth of reconsideration would have otherwise slowed her enough for K''s reprisal.
As he's knocked back, she lets go, stepping smoothly back with a new line of blood oozing from her opened temple and a new set of scorch marks on her bone-clothing, the ribcage bondice alre ady sweat with black marks and the headpiece jaw fractured from the fight. Quickly, Pás backs up the instant Marisol moves forward, giving her teammate a replying wink and a wide berth to make her move. She uses the split-second to steal a quick breather. "Oi, Marisolas. Don't hurt his pretty faces too much, yea?"
COMBATSYS: Pas gains composure.
[ \\\\\\\\\\\\ < > /////////////////////// ]
K' 0/-------/------=|====---\-------\0 Marisol
> ////////////////// ]
|==-----\-------\0 Pas
COMBATSYS: K' blocks Marisol's Chain Reaction.
[ \\\\\\\\\\\ < > /////////////////////// ]
K' 0/-------/-----==|====---\-------\0 Marisol
> ////////////////// ]
|==-----\-------\0 Pas
It doesn't take K' long to shake off the disorientation and focus back on the fight. When he does, it's with a hard and wary yellow eye. He can already tell these girls have considerable experience fighting together. Perhaps they haven't worked together quite as long as he has with Maxima, but he can already feel they're on their way to that level of synchronicity. Blowing an annoyed breath, K' steals one of the first unhassled inhales he's managed all fight.
And moments later, Marisol is charging him. K' huffs a sharp sound of scorn as he just watches her run in. Again, he catches her assault before it has a chance to come completely to fruition, snaring her first attack and killing off its momentum, letting the force transfer down his arm.
In the next instant, his block shifts, his hand twisting and attempting to seize her by the wrist. If he can get a grip he'll drag her -into- him, closing the distance. His other hand, initially motionless, abruptly shuts into a fist and twitches forwards in that moment, the infinitesimal movement seeming almost harmless; but the force behind it should it connect is enough to knock her a fair distance back and away.
COMBATSYS: Marisol endures K''s One Inch.
[ \\\\\\\\\\ < > /////////////// ]
K' 0/-------/----===|=======\===----\1 Marisol
> ////////////////// ]
|==-----\-------\0 Pas
Don't hurt his pretty face too much, Pás says.
"I make no promises!" the girl calls as she rushes forward. With hands clenched tightly she closes in, planting her feet as she skids a few inches and swings for K'. But the young man is swifter; snaring the girl by the arm, the half-Spaniard's gray eyes widen, before they swivel up and meet the yellow-eyed stare of the rogue NESTS experiment.
"Uh...hi?" is all she can muster in that fateful moment.
The next moment Marisol is being pulled inwards, earning the dark-skinned young man a strangled yelp from the redhead. He moves the other arm and, in one fierce motion, drives a seemingly effortless strike for her abdomen that drives the half-Spaniard girl off her feet as it impacts. Lips part and spittle flies, followed by a particularly pained expression on her heroin chic-painted face.
But she doesn't fly back. Rather, the girl holds onto the leather-clad man, long digits curled tightly against his wrist as she sports a wide, too-toothy smile. "Ohh...Th-that hurt," the girl murmurs, for K''s ears alone. Gray eyes stare at the young man's amber gaze, the corners of her lips twitching in a nigh-maniac fashion. "I s-see why Pás...likes you so much."
Twisting her arm almost instantly, the girl releases K'. But she does not relent; instead, she pushes off her feet and swings her fists repeatedly, attempting to deliver four harsh hooks to stun the young man. And should she accomplish precisely that, the half-Spaniard recoils briefly, a fist tensed painfully-tight at her chest...before she thrusts forward and unleashes it, driving a solid, body-jarring blow right for the center of K''s chest.
And, the instant after Marisol lets loose her final strike, there's a whoop of laughter and Pás is back in the picture, taking a running start and jumping, momentarily grasping both hands down on her teammate's shoulders as she literally leapfrogs straight over the redhead, sailing overhead and down, twisting to try to meet K' with a doublefooted kick straight at his chest.
It's a half-mad, tricky attack, but should it manage to hit, the bone-studded Brazilian reveals she's far from over. Before she hits the ground, she tries to grab onto one of his shoulders, this time attempting to vault him like the second bar on a set of unevens, curling her back and trying to snake quickly around to deliver a second hooking kick right at his spine.
COMBATSYS: K' just-defends Marisol's Atom Smasher!
[ \\\\\\\\\\\\\ < > ////////////// ]
K' 0/-------/----===|==-----\-------\0 Marisol
> //////////////// ]
|==-----\-------\0 Pas
COMBATSYS: Pas successfully hits K' with Devil's Crossroads.
-* CRITICAL HIT! *-
[ \\\\\\\ < > ////////////// ]
K' 0/-------/--=====|==-----\-------\0 Marisol
> //////////////// ]
|====---\-------\0 Pas
K' meets Marisol's eyes with his own. For a moment that stare holds, piercing and grim-- and then K' cuts a sharp, wolfish grin and reels the girl in to virtually snap her in half with that deceptively unelaborate blow. But the manner in which the girl takes his attack is slightly unexpected; her snared hand twists in his grip, latching to his wrist, and her other hand whips around to cling onto him, keeping her in close. Aggravation writes itself into his expression as Marisol stays stuck to him-- especially when she whispers him that sotto-voce response.
"You girls," he answers unimpressedly, in possibly the most hypocritical statement of the entire fight, "need therapy."
K' has had it just about up to here with people he can't intimidate with threat and violence. Those masochistic tendencies made his tactics backfire on him earlier, when his attempt to quail Pás with fire just ended with her charging even faster towards the pain. It almost costs him again now-- except this time he's a little bit faster about reacting to Marisol's sudden reprisal. He stop-hits each of her four initial punches, striking them and driving them wide-- the last he catches two-handed, completely killing her momentum and force.
But in order to slake away that energy, he's forced to slide back a little, opening a little gap between him and Marisol-- and that's where Pás comes in. She's on him before he's even aware of her, jumping out of nowhere from over Marisol and slamming into him before he can put up a proper defense. His shoulder proves a pretty steady perch for the second part of her attack, holding her weight as she vaults and coils impossibly to slam his back: he stumbles and a hand hits the ground. Swiveling instantly in that low three-point, unwilling to keep his back to either of the girls, he hisses a disgusted breath. That -hurt-.
And K' tries to return Pás the favor. He tries to take advantage of the aftermath of her attack, attempting to intercept her before she can touch the ground again. Lunging clear of the ground, he attempts to tangle with the girl midair like a hawk slamming talons into another bird. If he can get close enough, he's firing his knee up at her in a sharp attempt to simply break her in half over the blow.
"We don't need therapy," the half-Spaniard swiftly remarks.
"We just need love! And you need a hug!"
And so, the girl makes her move. It was a worthwhile endeavor, but all was clearly for naught. The young man suddenly and abruptly ceases her arms, stopping her hooks in the palms of his hands before he simply grabs her arm and cuts it short. Gray eyes narrow dangerously, her lips pulling into a tight line across her tanned face. She's losing her nerve and patience here, evident by the slow scowl that darkens her expression.
But Pás--she saves the day. Just as the half-Spaniard recoils from the grasp of K', the girl leaps in and strikes the experiment fiercely. It sends him flying as result. Marisol's face lights up, her dark look vanished as she glances toward her Brazilian teammate. And moments later K' is all over the girl again.
Marisol sighs breathlessly.
"Such true love."
But there's no time to swoon over her friend's romance. Biting her bottom lip, the girl moves in after K' and, in an attempt to weave around him, drives a straight punch, followed by a cross with the right. And should both swiftly clip the rouge NESTS boy, both fists ignite with yellow chi and, with a twist of her torso, both fists aim to slam straight into the trunk of K''s body.
COMBATSYS: Pas endures K''s Knee Strike!
[ \\\\\\ < > ////////////// ]
K' 0/-------/=======|=------\-------\0 Marisol
> ///////// ]
|=======\==-----\1 Pas
One pinioning hand still gripping K''s shoulder, Pás turns her head and angles a narrowed glance back at the fire-wielding NESTS experiment. Her eyelids droop. A crazed grin plays along her lips. Already she can read, in his face, in his movement, what he's got planned.
Funny, she doesn't even try to do a thing about it. Her feet don't even get to touch the ground. They don't even want to. As K' swoops in and tangles violently with her, the Brazilian strangely goes as pliant as a pillow, allowing every movement, every degree of closeness.
This is what they call a trap.
That grin of hers suddenly flares into an obscene intensity, and reaching one hand to rip away the bone coverings from her face, she leans forward to try to crush her lips possessively against K''s, stealing a kiss on the Parisian runways on live TV.
The subsequent knee to her gut is totally worth it. A second later, he connects cleanly and she buckles against the blow, ribs of her bone bodice crunching and breaking away, her tightening muscles possibly the only thing saving Pás from ginsued innards or a broken back. The ground finally receives her again, her body skidding along it, heaped with an airy little cough.
A moment later, her reckless grinning has returned, the Brazilian lifting a hand to lazily smear blood off her mouth. What a man.
What a man.
A moment later, following Marisol's last devastating double-punch by mere heartbeats, not one to let K' roam too far away. She tries to catch him with an immediate aerial kick, her heel hooking down and around to try clip the boy upside the jaw. She catches herself with one hand on a spin, then switches and twists violently upright, following up with a fast, tight circular kick. Then, weaving legs in and out like the links of a chain, Pás starts turning and turning, cutting roundhouse after roundhouse on switching feet, the last snapped suddenly and scarily high as she throws herself back into the air, both legs coming together and coming straight down like the head of an axe.
COMBATSYS: Marisol successfully hits K' with El Matador.
- Power hit! -
[ \\\ < > ////////////// ]
K' 1/-------/=======|==-----\-------\0 Marisol
> //////// ]
|==-----\-------\0 Pas
COMBATSYS: K' endures Pas' Dama Branco.
[ < > ////////////// ]
K' 1/-----==/=======|==-----\-------\0 Marisol
> //////// ]
|==-----\-------\0 Pas
K' slams into Pás in the air, hitting her hard and seizing her to draw her in, but as he winds up to snap her in two, she preempts him. He sees what's coming about two seconds before it happens, and his yellow eyes immediately flick wide in mingled disbelief and warning.
"...oh no you fucking d--" K' starts. The time would probably have been better used trying to get away. She gets him right in the middle of his last word, shutting him up pretty handily, and K' completely loses his temper mid-kiss. "If you would just ASK for once!" K' objects as soon as he manages to pull away, throwing his attack a hell of a lot harder than he originally intended in order to punctuate those words; and then, for good measure, pitching her as FAR AWAY AS HE POSSIBLY CAN.
THERE ISN'T ANY TRUE LOVE HERE. That's roughly K''s mental state as he lands again, panting hard, utterly disgusted. Annoyed by the girls' continual banter, that aggravation mingles with the lingering pain of having heels slammed dead-on into his spine. That and the encroaching exhaustion born of dealing with two attackers at a time distracts him pretty handily, making him slow to react when Marisol comes rocketing in. Those two blows slam home, stunning him briefly and slashing a crescent of blood across the floor. The last blast of chi knocks him back a few unsteady steps.
With a red-lined snarl, he spits blood and slants Marisol a malevolent glare from the corner of a yellow eye, but he hasn't got the time to deal with her quite yet. Pás has already recovered and is coming right back at him. With a sneered look he just meets her assault dead-on, letting her heap that abuse on him, holding rock solid through her attacks and letting them bring her closer and closer. The final blow slams into his right shoulder, bursting a bloom of abrupt pain from the point of contact; K' ignores it, simply trying to take advantage of Pás' aerial position yet again and shoving her bodily back towards Marisol. The intent is not to HIT Marisol with Pás, really, it's just to get Pás away from him.
"You have GOT TO STOP DOING THAT," he declares, having completely lost it, before his right arm lights in a sudden and intense fire. The flames scorch away what little of his jacket remains, obliterating the right side of it and leaving little more than shreds that stream off his shoulders; somewhere, the designer responsible sobs anew, having been forced to watch the piecemeal destruction of his work of art(?) over the course of this entire fight. For a few instants K' just coils there like a snake, the blazing inferno about his arm and wrist burning loudly in the quiet, and then he slams forwards in a straight line in a blind attempt to run over the girls, all that gathered fire haloed about him. A long blackened line scorches into the floor in his wake.
COMBATSYS: K' can no longer fight.
> ////////////// ]
|==-----\-------\0 Marisol
> //////// ]
|==-----\-------\0 Pas
COMBATSYS: Marisol interrupts Heat Drive from K' with Snap Wind.
> ///////////// ]
|=------\-------\0 Marisol
> //////// ]
|==-----\-------\0 Pas
Her stolen kiss won, her attacks weathered, Pás replies K''s expected venom with rough laughter.
His reactions only encourage her all the more.
"Shiiiiiu, askings? But you would jes say me no! And your mouth, he say no, but whatever they stuff down your pants? It sayings yea yea yea!" She grins violently, flaring teeth, sneaking in a playful wink before K' punts her away like a pillow.
The Brazilian girl rolls, twisting despite the pulsing pain in her abdomen, landing in a skidding roll at Marisol's feet. Crouched there, she veers a look up at her friend, her eyes creasing with amusement. She sighs gustily, satisfied like a woman on her honeymoon night. "Did you see that?! He is sexplosions. Aiiii, to be in Paris and in the loves.
"Humm..." Pás is intoning a moment later, her left eye squinting thoughtfully as she peeks up at her best friend. "You know, Solavanco, if we jes get that sexy Shenwoo you like so much, with enough rope I think we can have makings of double dates. Good idea? Yea? No?--"
Voice cut off, her attention veers back down when, down the runway, K' rages against happy endings!! As he throws himself into a run, going like a full-tilt locamotive straight at the two Pacific Resistance girls, that lethal fire of his heralding him like an avenging angel, Pás just falls a little more in puppy love.
Grinning widely, she flips back up to her feet, making no move, no desire to escape him. Instead, she seems to run straight back at K', skipping the frying pan and getting a front seat ticket straight into the fire. She meets the boy head on, trying to reach for his shoulder once more, trying to sequel her previous vault over his body -- but he's too fast and she's too late.
BOOOOOOOM. The Brazilian gets stampeded in his wake, blasted violently to one side by the fury concealed in his chi. Battered and smoking, she skids painfully to one side, coming within inches against falling straight off the side of the runway. Bruised, bleeding, but beaming like a girl in love, Pás teeters in bliss. She exhales a satisfied breath of fire smoke.
Jean Claude Van Damme that boy is fine.
With three vicious strikes, Marisol makes her move, driving the poor NESTS experiment back and away from her person. Grinning a toothy, too amused smile, the redhead just watches the angry man as he sports a menacing glare her way. If anything she seeks to aggravate it more with a lift of her hand and a gentle fingerwave sent the white-haired man's way. That's when Pás makes her move, repeatedly slamming the young fighter with her long, lethal bone-clad legs.
From behind, Marisol just thrusts her arms up and cheers her friend on with a cry of:
"NO PURER A LOVE THAN THIS!"
Billy Zane nods his head once in agreement.
As Pás skids to a halt at her feet, the half-Spaniard drops her gaze, gray eyes peering down at the dusky Brazilian girl as she smiles. "I am so jealous, Pás," the redhead replies to her teammate. "And only the best idea ever! Oh, but if only that amazing Shenwoo were here," the girl echoes, offering a soft, dreamy sigh in response.
"If only."
But the girl loses her voice as the young man ignites with chi energies, flaring up menacingly as he coils. Marisol purses her lips lightly, gently gnawing on her bottom lip as she considers the situation unfolding before her. Eyes drift, peering at her leggy Brazilian friend as she gets to her feet and moves FOR the man of her dreams, before Marisol's gray eyes look back to a very, very angry K'.
"Hmn," she muses aloud.
"Pás!" the girl cries, just as the fire around K' builds up to overwhelming proportions, as her friend charges forward with every intention of intercepting the man. "I'll help you!" Or she'll die trying.
Proverbially speaking.
Right?
A split-second later the stage erupts in fire and smoke, as the NESTS escapee blazes forward. Pás is an unfortunate casualty, despite her best attempts to catch the young man and stop him. One down, Marisol to go...and she's not worried. Instead, the girl is smiling big. Almost TOO big.
"I said I'd help her," the girl offers, as K' zeroes in.
And then, just before he can hit the girl a fist thrusts out, punching K' right in the face to stop him cold.
The other hand snaps up like a snake, wrangling the young man by whatever of his furry collar remains. Snaring him, she makes her way - with K' - back to her fallen and lovesick comrade, where the girl then dumps the dark-skinned man.
On top of Pás.
"Feliz Cumpleańos!" the girl offers cheerfully with a lopsided grin.
"Hurry and unwrap your present!"
COMBATSYS: Marisol has ended the fight here.
Mid-attack, K' sees-- in the indistinct way somebody in a burning train might see some bit of shrapnel rocketing at the window-- Pás essaying an attempt to intercept his momentum. He reacts about the same that doomed passenger might; he just keeps on going. His blazing, sliding rush flattens whatever she'd had in mind, and then her; K' continues on, but Marisol is just that much more successful at finding the weak point in his attack, and sliding her stunning blow into it.
Already having started to slow down, losing force, the attack knocks K' sideways out of his momentum, putting him into a stumble. Shocked at being so quickly countered by somebody he'd been writing off all fight, half-stunned and exhausted and off-balance, he's already been dragged off to some unknown location before he can even collect his thoughts. When he finds out the location he's been taken is 'atop Pás,' well, that just puts him right in range to expend all his bad mood, even though the target is-- this time-- not exactly deserving.
He twists instantly, pulling away from her like contact with her burns-- but he stays kind of half-mantled, close enough he can talk without the cameras picking it up. "You," he starts lowly, his oddly-controlled tone just another indication of his lost temper, "are pushing it. You don't have the first idea what I am. I don't think you'd be so happy getting close if you did." He straightens with a grimace, yanking a cigarette from the battered pack that inhabits his front pocket; he lights it with a flick of fingers, hissing the first breath of smoke, moving to scorn her body with a slight push of a heel: not hard enough she'll fall, but hard enough she'll come close and cause a few heartrates to go up.
With a disgusted grunt, he pries himself to move, forcing himself to walk despite the pain and stiffness that's already setting in. The next few moments take him into Marisol's personal space; he stares holes in her eyes, making sure she gets the point. "You touch me again like that," he informs her around the cigarette, smoke shredding past his teeth with every word like dragon steam, "I'll kill you."
A moment or two passes; then, a twitch of a smile crosses his face, his head tilting a mock farewell, the cold and threatening expression a seeming afterthought. Thereafter, he just makes his slow and hitched way off, seeming to find such behavior mere par for the course.
Log created on 19:39:06 03/07/2008 by Marisol, and last modified on 19:04:43 03/12/2008.