Description: At a dead end pool hall in the western outskirts of Southtown, the weapons prodigy Ayame tries to distract herself from the troubles of her work. Unfortunately, things don't always go as planned, and soon meets with the surly Russian Grigori, who seems to take a 'liking' to the petite young woman. Naturally, a bar fight ensues.
The Western Outskirts of Southtown, Japan. Ayame has had cause to be in the vicinity lately. It was only three blocks from this cozy bar that she had participated in abducting some poor girl from Gedo who's only mistake was being born with the curse of being able to control psycho power and trusting Ayame. The fight was eventful and intense, but Ayame fared rather well all things considered and made it out without too much in the way of injury. Marise bid her to take off for a while and wait for her call to meet her at the air port for their private plane back to Metro city and the towering casino the devil woman runs there.
With time to kill, Ayame walked the streets alone for a while, wandering in circles. Thoughts filled her mind of the girls and boys she had been turning over to Marise. Some of them she ambushed in the street, others she tricked and cajoled into walking right into the spider's web right alongside her. She remembers what the vile creature did to the boy child Jesen not so long ago... and imagines that Shurui, Zach, and Stasya's fates will not be too different. Except they might not be able to disappear out of their plight like the Shadaloo doll. There's a chance their ultimate fate is death at the hands of the creature of Koga. And for once, Ayame isn't sure how she feels about that. It was nice to feel needed - Stasya trusted her, and that was her undoing.
Closing her eyes, the sounds of a bar reach her ears. Promising distraction and a chance to, perhaps, get her mind on other things, Ayame had rounded the corner and ventured within the joint. The bar itself was ignored. She has fake ID, of course, but she just isn't in the mood to play the games with the bartender as to whether or not she can drink anything. Instead she loses herself in game of pickup pool in one of the back, smoke filled corners. A pretty thing, she was able to work her way into a round before too long, teaming up with some guy she'll probably pick pocket before the night's out for a team match.
A natural with numbers, angles, figures, and trajectories, acing suckers at pool comes easily to the girl. But for this game she seem content to screw up every couple of pocketed balls, just to keep the game moving and to avoid wearing out her welcome too fast... For once in her life, a bit of company feels like a good thing to the girl.
's it seems"
Grigori Yakushevic has a problem.
"What do you mean?! Bullshit! Bull-SHIT! My hand--it was three of a kind! And fuckwit here--look! His hand, it has same card!"
Someone is trying to cheat him at poker...and it isn't going very well.
At the opposite end of the bar sits a tall and rather imposing Russian man at a table with three other men, equally imposing and twice as shady. They hunch over the table for their game of cards, every man greedily hugging onto his respective hand. And while the game was going well for a while and the bar was relatively quiet...
"ARRRGH! SUKA!!"
Things have since become a bit more animated.
The vocal Russian man shoots up from his chair, causing it to clatter noisily to the ground while pointing a most accusing digit right into the face of the man opposite him. A rat-bastard-looking fellow with dirty hair and a horrible beard shrugs his shoulders helplessly before he leans forward.
"Hey, maybe it was YOU who was cheatin', eh buddy?" he offers in his defense, drawing a mildly bemused and puzzled look from the two men sitting on either side of the arguing pair. The Russian's response is a slow, gradual build up of anger that's nearly palpable through the smoky bar. The exchange between both men have since garnered the eyes of nearly everyone in the bar. Even the pool tables have screeched to a morbidly-curious halt as they look on.
With a loud bellow and a grunt the man's hands grip the table. Immediately the two men on either side rise swiftly and scramble aside--and for good reason. For a moment thereafter the Russian slings the table to the right, sending the thing slamming noisily into the nearest wall in a spat of unchecked anger.
"Sh-shit man, calm the hell down!" the accused exclaims, scrambling from his chair. Grigori does not listen, however; instead he stomps forward, heavy heels of his expensive Italian boots thumping noisily against the bar's wooden floor. Like some monster from the man's worst nightmare, he snaps a hand out and throws the man halfway across the bar.
It earns him a very cross look from the bartender.
Grigori begins to turn, to give pursuit of the accused, who struggles to rise off the ground. Frightened and worried for his health, he whimpers like a child as he fishes his wallet out...and throws it at Grigori's feet.
"F-f-fine you freak! I cheated! I cheated! Take my damn money! God! Just don't fucking murder me, you psychopath!"
It stills the Russian. A moment later he stoops and picks it up, thumbing casually through the billfold with a blank look on his stern features. Will it appease the angry man? Or merely upset him? The bar looks on...
"Ah, works for me."
Tossing the wallet over his shoulder, Grigori tucks the bills he otherwise rightfully strong-armed into his jeans' back pocket with a cold smirk. But it falters slightly, as he notices the entirety of the bar staring at him with a surprised look. It draws a scowl over his face.
"What!? Show is over!" Arms fly up dismissively, and people seem to accept it.
So, with a newfound pocket full of change, Grigori Yakushevic opts to take his leave.
Ayame's team is winning in pool. It's a given. Just because she doesn't sweep the table doesn't mean she's giving her opponents easy shots when they get their turns. She plays off any compliments or teasing from the other teans easily enough, a fake but convincing grin and shrug, an occasional toss of her head, brushing her hair back over her ears from time to time. She can put on a show when she wants to, and it's doing a lot to keep her mind off her 'work', which is what she thinks she needed just now.
What she /didn't/ need was some moron making a scene. Ayame pauses along with the rest of the players, scooting around the table to stand next of the boy who's team she's on to get a better look at the exchange between players. A cheater, huh? Well, the mistake he made was getting caught. Sucks to be him. She rests her hands at her hips, huffing a little, wondering if a full on bar fight will break out. That sounds kind of fun. She's feeling a bit punchy, a bit tense.
But the accused surrenders his wallet, knowing when to fold it seems, in light of an inevitable, savage beating coming his way, and Ayame frowns faintly. That's not as fun. Sharp eyes observe the Russian folding the money away and the girl rolls her eyes toward the ceiling of the bar, silent as Grigori heads for the exit. She really shouldn't... she really... really shouldn't. Oh, like she can help it.
Reaching behind her, the girl takes hold of the pool stick and holds it out in front of her, snapping it across her knee and then hurling one end of it toward the door of the bar where the half-pool-stick strikes with enough force to imbed itself into the wall directly in front of Grigori's path, wobbling slightly in place but holding tight.
"Hey!" Ayame points toward Grigori with the remaining half of the pool stick. "That's a real good trick there. Having your buddy over there," a nod is cast toward the bearded Scummy McGee before the teen snaps her focus back to the Russian, "do all the cheating to get the money, then you calling him on it so that he forks it over... Just so you two can split it up later. So what was his cut, eh? That's such an obvious trick I'm surprised those two suckers didn't see right through it," she finishes with a nod toward the blankly staring extra two players that had been at the table.
Oh yeah. She can't help herself.
Much to Ayame's dismay, there is no punching spectacle to be had here. The cheating weasel wisely hands over his wallet in hopes that Grigori will simply leave him BE. It's an offering to the savage, unruly beast of the bar after the poker game has gone awry...and it works in his favor. The Russian will leave a richer man tonight, and foresees many a bottle of vodka in his near-future.
With a pat of his back pocket, the man secures his newfound earnings in place as he saunters most casually and comfortably toward the exit of the bar. A clean getaway if ever there was one, the man has no worries; why should he? Who would mess with a man six-five with a frame as broad and bulky as his..?
Thunk.
Pale blue eyes lift from the ground before him, slowly rising up to regard the sight that now awaits him in the door. He recognizes it almost instantly: a pool cue. He's used them numerous times on numerous occasions to bust peoples' faces in. And it would seem someone chooses to use it in a fashion that is...well, refreshingly new. A distantly appreciative expression passes over his cold features.
But the shout...oh. It's a female voice--and young, no less. Slowly still, the man turns away from the door, crystal-blue eyes scanning over the bar to pinpoint the source of the shrill, accusing shout thrown his way. And when he spies the very petite and VERY short blonde...well.
He stares long and hard at her without a single word.
A minute after she finishes, the bar is filled with an uncomfortable silence. And still does the Russian stare at the petite young woman, his lips pulled tightly across his sharp face. Transfixed on her, it seems, the man's feet slowly move, boots scuffling against aged old wooden floors as he wanders toward her, with every intention of approaching her. His intentions for the moment don't SEEM harmful.
For the moment, anyway.
At a casual distance, the man inclines slightly, literally looming over the strawberry-blonde. Pale blues still eye her closely, an eye of scrutiny employed. Like David and Goliath, the two are absolute opposites--it makes for a humorous sight. Or would, were this any situation but.
"Buddy?" the man finally replies, staring down at the young blonde. "Buddy? Bwahaha, you're funny. Funny little devochka." Standing upright once more, a thumb casually jerks over his shoulder, toward the scrawny, scraggily man licking his proverbial wounds with a complimentary scotch at the bar. "Is not. I don't keep friends. I've learned long since they are nothing but trouble. This money?" Lifting a hand, he pats his back pocket twice, securely. "Mine. Now,"
Lifting a large hand, he does the unthinkable. He reaches out...
And around. He pats her on the ass three times.
"Run along, devochka. I think I heard your mommy calling."
Yeah, /that/ got his attention. The brown eyed, petite teen stares back at the Russian as he turns his attention toward her. The youths she was playing pool with all slowly edge away from the girl, trying not to be conspicuous about it, but not moving all that SLOWLY either, but Ayame doesn't seem to mind. She's looking to cause trouble now, not make friends that she'll inevitably betray in the end anyway.
Then the man begins to advance on her and it becomes quite clear just how much of a discrepancy in stature exists between the two. The two poker players she was hoping to goad into jumping the foreigner have instead retreated back even further. Even if she MIGHT be right, they don't want a piece fo this guy after his little demonstration that lead to the pile of splinters, all that's left of the 'once-table'. Disappointing, the girl ponders internally. It looks like there isn't going to be a giant brawl after all. And if this guy is smart, he'll just go on his way with his fat winnings too. Che. Boring.
Griogori laughs off the idea of her theory about being in cohorts with the poker cheater and Ayame merely offers him a faint smile and half shrug in return, tapping the remaining half of the pool stick against her shoulder. She looks unintimidated, at least. Maybe it's an Asian thing. "Perhaps. Perhaps not." Friends are trouble. "Yeah? Tell me about it. Actually, don't. I don't want to hear your sob story, you-"
And then he reaches around and pats her and Ayame's eyes widen. "Oh! You svoloch'!" Ayame spits back. Did she just call Grigori a bastard in Russian? She sure did. That half pool stick is swung down off her should and upward, threatening to slam the older man directly in the chest with a lot of force from so small a girl, "Otebis'!" Yeah, she's still cussing him out. Ayame knows all the best words.
Of Ayame's group of friends, Grigori surmises the ones who back off are the smart ones. Pale blue eyes drift aside as the youths pull back from the girl, knowing damn well the best course of action here is...well, not to piss the Russian off. They've seen what he's done, and, likely, they don't want to be next.
But Ayame. Well...if she's looking for trouble...she's found it.
However, the trouble he chooses to bring is a curious one. The girl does not intimidate him, and for good reason: in comparison, the two are of drastically varying height, weight and width. To Grigori, her bold and brave attitude is pure comedy. There is nothing frightening about a little blonde girl with half a pool cue calling him a scheming cheat.
"Worry not, devochka," the Russian assures her, after invading her comfort zone with a large hand. After the three distinct pats his hand recoils to his side, sliding easily into his pocket. The other is swift to follow, finding residency in the opposite. He's lax and comfortable, evident by the slightest of slouches his broad shoulders employ thereafter.
And the cocky grin...oh.
"I know better than to waste my time."
When she slings insults, however, the man just cuts a loud laugh, eyes pinching shut as he pitches his head back. It's raucous and purposefully obnoxious, executed with every intention of possibly irritating the irate young woman even more. But the moment that pool cue thumps against his chest--hard--the man's laughter cuts off, blue eyes snapping open as he glares down at Ayame.
"What a mouth you have. I take it you fancy yourself a smart girl?" he asks of her, a black brow lifting slowly. If she's uncertain of what he intends for an answer, the Russian is swift to clarify, adding with a lifeless, wretched smirk:
"Because if you are, you will stop poking me in the chest. Yah? I give you three seconds, and if you do not oblige...well..."
The Russian taps his temple with his index finger. "Surely you can figure it out. Right, devochka?"
The broken pool stick doesn't really seem to have quite the impact the girl was looking for as his expression shifts from amused to a glare. Okay, now she's getting somewhere. Irate people make mistakes, lose their focus, become distracted easier... at least, that's the usual rule of thumb. As he issues the three second ultimatum, Ayame's shoulders sink just a little, the girl looking a tad bit kowtowed in the face of certain pain.
"Che," she mutters, face lowered, no longer visible from Grigori's altitude. "Three seconds," she repeats back as if she wasn't sure she heard him clearly, her tone thoughful. Looking up, Ayame leans forward just a little, responding to his invasion of her personal space with narrowing the gap even further, not that there was much room to move to begin with.
"Very well," she continues, lowering the broken stick in her hand, raising her empty hand, finger forward, reaching out to poke Grigori in the chest, "One." Her hand is drawn back then comes forward again, "Two." And then Ayame takes a step backward, as if finally relenting after getting her 'jabs' in. Her hands come up, the very sign of complacency, palms forward, the half-stick falling toward the ground with a rattle at her feet, a minor distraction at best.
"Three." She steps back into Grigori, arms coming forward as if intending to literally glom onto the Russian. And glom she does, leaning into him, both hands reaching around behind him, her cheek against his chest. And... much like he did to her, one hand pats the foreigner on the ass, her other hand going straight for his wallet.
The gesture is nearly instant, a quick pat, a quick grab for the billfold, and then Ayame will be backing up rapidly, intending to roll herself up onto the pool table and to the other side with Grigori's now well padded wallet if she can pull it off!
When Ayame drops her head before the burly Russian, the man's dry lips slowly edge into the makings of a cocky smirk. Has he scared the girl into submitting to him? Is little Ayame worried for her safety in the presence of the scary Russian man with a foul temperament? If her gesture and demeanor are any indication, then it would seem Grigori has his way.
His lips edge a bit further up his cold face, pale blue eyes lidded in morbid amusement. This is how it should be.
"Da, three seconds. I can count, if you need me to. I thought you were smarter devochka than that," the man replies, tipping his sharp chin up a touch as he looks down at the blonde from his nose. A moment later the girl is looking up at him in kind. And then, perhaps unexpectedly...
She's in his personal space. The Russian thinks he might like that.
But he finds himself confused, as the girl lifts a finger and pokes him in the chest. Pale eyes narrow, watching her as her hand withdraws, before it comes forward again. "Devochka, what is wrong with you?" he inquires, as her hand comes back again. Eye shift to the floor, only as the rattle of the half-broken pool cue clatters noisily nearby. Well...at least she disposed of it, he figures.
Three.
Before he knows it, Ayame is suddenly holding ONTO Grigori, arms wrapped around his bulky frame like some long-forgotten lover who just returned. It startles the man, so much he barks out with a strange noise of confusion and annoyance as he just stares down at the girl. "What is...are you mad??" he asks, incredulous. That's when he feels it. She...
Touched his ass?
Despite his pilfered wallet, the man just watches as she backs up rapidly and onto the pool table. His face is seized in a distant expression of surprise, as those pale eyes stare for what feels like an eternity at the blonde. When she reaches the other side of the table, the soldier shakes his head lightly.
"If...you wanted to touch me, devochka, you could ask. I am not a modest man."
A smirk crawls slowly over Grigori's weathered face, dry lips pulling back over white teeth like the Big Bad Wolf finding Little Red in the woods. Moving forward, the Russian's bulky frame edges closer to the table, opposite of Ayame before he rests his hands on either side of the table's edge, before Grigori leans forward and levels his gaze.
"Are you shy? Come over, give me kiss? I don't bite, devochka!!"
With a guttural holler, Grigori then LIFTS the table and tosses it, attempting to smash poor little Ayame--and whatever poor sap is near her--in the process.
COMBATSYS: Grigori has started a fight here.
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Grigori 0/-------/-------|
COMBATSYS: Ayame has joined the fight here.
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Ayame 0/-------/-------|-------\-------\0 Grigori
COMBATSYS: Ayame dodges Grigori's Large Thrown Object.
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Ayame 0/-------/-------|-------\-------\0 Grigori
COMBATSYS: Grigori has saved the state of this fight.
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Ayame 0/-------/-------|-------\-------\0 Grigori
The tension of the room only seems to increase, all eyes in the building on the small, long haired local clearly goading on the large foreigner as if she was quite serious about dying sometime really soon. Rolling over the table to land on the other side, wallet in hand, Ayame beams back at Grigori as if frightfully amused with herself. On some level she's accomplished what she wanted. Made a ruckus, scored a nice billfold of poker winnings, and got the Russian riled up for her own amusement. At least, that's how she sees it.
Her stolen Doc Martins clad feet touch down on the other side of the table and the girl takes a moment to smile at the other youths. They were content with cowering there in hopes that by being on that side they could avoid any blood splatters that would be spraying around when Grigori inevitably flipped out on the brazen teen. But now that Ayame is on the same side as them, that no longer seems like a safe place to be and they scatter in both directions!
"Hm, hm, no, not shy. Just no more time for you!" she grins back, her left hand coming up to brush her hair back behind her ear, her right hand clutching the wallet. Grigori reaches for the table and Ayame watches him warily... only to be rather amazed at the ease with which the entire pool table comes flying her way! A low crouch spares her the impact as the table smashes against the wall, wooden boards raining down around her as she rises back up to standing. "Sou, sou, I take it you want this back then?"
Her right hand holds up his wallet, though the billfold looks distressingly thinner all the sudden as the girl starts slipping to the side as if to start making progress toward the bar's exit. "All you had to do was ask nicely!" And with that she flings the wallet toward Grigori's chest, now bereft of the cash that padded it only moments ago.
What he might want to watch out for, however, is the pool ball she hurls with her other hand almost immediately following the emptied wallet, the black eight-ball on direct collision for Grigori at about face level. "So busy that I have to get going!" she chirps, stepping over shattered table parts on her way to slipping around the edge of the room. As far as where the cash went, it must be stuffed away somewhere because she sure isn't holding it at the moment!
COMBATSYS: Grigori blocks Ayame's Sudden Fling.
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Ayame 0/-------/-------|-------\-------\0 Grigori
His wallet, stolen.
His ass, grabbed.
The girl, fleeing.
All in all, things are a mix of good and bad for the Russian as he sees it, evident by the odd, almost lopsided smirk that lingers eerily over his dry lips. Even as she backpedals from him and ultimately takes cover on the opposite side of the large pool table, Grigori just watches her closely, pale blue eyes fixed on the girl's small frame as she smiles. He doesn't bother to notice her former 'colleagues' running like cowards. He sees only Ayame.
"Aww, pretty devochka, you break heart." Large hands press over his chest. "Really."
He just wants a kiss, and punctuates it by throwing the table up and shoving it forward, to allow the heavy thing to fall back like a cut tree with a bit more speed. Fortunately for the tiny blonde, ducking out of the way avoids being smashed flat like a pancake...and draws a loud, guttural laugh from the man.
When she rises and offers his wallet, the man's hands ease into his pockets. "Da, would be nice. If devochka gives me it back, I might be inclined to buy her something nice. Would devochka like that? How about a ride to my place?"
He pauses, blue eyes narrowing sharply as he studies her closely.
"Uhh, you are of legal ages, right?"
Moments later his wallet flies, followed in close pursuit by a pool ball. He moves his hand, catching his wallet out of the air with one hand, while the other lifts up and swats the eight ball out of the air carelessly with the faintest of grunts. He pockets his wallet with a frown.
"What? Aw, devochka, don't leave me!" the man calls out, arms spreading wide as he follows after. He'll pursue her wherever she flees, only hurrying to speed up a few paces and catch by driving a fist swiftly toward the center of her chest.
"You still haven't given me kiss! Gya ha ha ha!"
COMBATSYS: Ayame dodges Grigori's Quick Punch.
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Ayame 0/-------/-------|-------\-------\0 Grigori
He's fast, but Ayame had a head start and the girl has already proven herself to be frightfully quick on her feet. She is only watching out of the corner of her eye to see if she managed to pluck him with the pool ball. Nothing serious, but it might leave a little bruise or something, right? "Haha, as if!" she remarks, "I've got standards to uphold and you're in violation of every last one of them!" Instead of a solid plunk, she notices him swat her little projectile aside without much trouble, proving his reflexes to be honed a lot better than she had anticipated. "Ja, ja, you already had your chance, gaijin! Gotta run!" Ayame calls mid-stride
Grigori closes the distance quickly, forcing the girl to slide to a stop just before she would have charged right into his punch. Arms out at her sides for balance, she leans back, his knuckles just barely stopping shy of hitting her. Okay, time to put this guy down, she decides, one foot sliding backward on the floor to brace herself, both of her outstretched arms coming in fast in an attempt to clamp hold of Grigori's arm.
One hand guns for his wrist, the other higher up to grasp hold of his bicep. If she gets a grip, it's in that moment that she pushes forward with her back foot, attempting to use speed and strength to twist his arm out to the side as she tries to slip around him in the same motion.
If successful, she'll have Grigori's right arm twisted behind his back with her in tight behind him. Her arm on his bicep would release then and he might hear the metallic ringing of a knife flicked open, a cool blade pressed against his lower back.
COMBATSYS: Grigori counters Medium Throw from Ayame with Haures.
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Ayame 0/-------/-----==|==-----\-------\0 Grigori
He has not had his chance? How can Grigori have a chance if she keeps slipping through his hands?
In lieu of such thoughts the broad Russian charges after the girl as she seeks to escape, booted heels thudding loudly as he gives pursuit, an odd smirk lingering on his sharp features. "Standards??" he calls as he chases, eyes widening with delight. "Oh, devochka! You are mistaken! I am great man--really!" A hand lifts briefly, thudding against his chest.
"Devochka just don't know it yet."
As he closes in the gap he swings...but that huge fist meets nothing at all. It draws a bemused look over his face, pale eyes widening as she leans just out of harm's way. A split-second later Ayame is coming right for the man, her arms attempting to snare his beefy arm.
"Oh! I knew you would change mind, devochka!"
He plants a foot and legs his body move and, at the same time, hefts an arm up high, letting her hands grip emptiness. But rather than merely avoid her assault, that large arm suddenly falls- -and hard, clamping down around her arm and pinning it close to his side. He pauses briefly afterwards, swiveling his head around to give the girl a broad, wolfish smile.
"You still are owing me kiss," he warns, just before a fist strikes out and punches poor Ayame in the throat, a neutralizing strike meant to stun the girl at best. That's when the Russian moves, reeling his head back before he drives it forward...headbutting the girl in her forehead harshly with a savage smirk, blue eyes wide.
And then? Then..?
He releases her arm and drives his head forward again--but not to headbutt her. Instead, he places a big kiss right on the poor weapons master's lips before he gives the girl a fierce shove back and away, to let her spill back as she please. As for Grigori? He laughs a roaring laugh, hands easing into his pockets.
"There, devochka. We are equals." The Russian winks, offering a soft click to the girl.
Her right arm caught, Ayame seems ready to handle it, not acting surprised for there's precious little time for that. He reminds her she's still owing him a kiss but her free hand is already in the act of slipping down to her belt, drawing a closed butterfly knife from a hidden sheath in the leather, just about to flick it open and use it to 'free' herself with a timely bar fight stabbing when the foreigner's punch catches her in the soft tissue of her throat, provoking a startled gurgle.
Trapped still, she's an easy target for the headbutt that comes next, the impact enough to send her reeling backward a couple of steps, her vision stars for a moment, the rattle of the knife hitting the floor at her feet audible at the same time as she just barely manages to catch her balance before she would have fallen over.
That balance is found at the same moment that Grigori comes at her a second time, Ayame pulling her arms up desperately seeking to stop his approach as she's lost control of the scuffle for a moment. But defending against a strike is a lot different than blocking a kiss. Brown eyes widen with abject surprise, readily visible as she's sent stumbling backward from his shove and landing seated on the floor with a grunt.
Grigori's final 'attack' of the combination seems to disrupt some of the heavy tension in the air, evidenced by the number of patrons that begin to laugh at the brash girl who appears to have been rather upstaged thus far. Sitting on the floor, her legs out in front of her, her arms behind her to keep from falling flat on her back, Ayame shakes her head, grimacing, a faint blush just barely visible in the bar's dim lighting. Resting on the floor at her side are a few of the bills pilfered from Grigori's wallet, having been jarred loose from wherever Ayame is hiding the money now.
"Oh," she snaps back, her right hand coming up to rub at her throat, ignoring the small mark on her forehead from the headbutt for the moment, "We are most decidedly NOT even now!" Tucking her legs in under her in order to shift into a crouch, the girl pauses for only a moment, eyes narrowing. "And stop calling me that!" She springs back for Grigori immediately after, apparently not having had her fill of the Russian man yet! The knife that fell to the floor is scooped up in the process, a second blade drawn from her belt for her other hand to wield. Given she already dropped the one knife on the floor, she tipped her hand as to being armed, but just carrying knives and knowing what to /do/ with them are two different things.
She attempts to prove the latter fact with a quick blitz of rapid strikes, giving Grigori's poor shirt no break as she aims a lateral slash across it with her right hand, the attack acting as cover for a more direct shiving with the knife in her left hand. If she gets in close, she'll finish with a raised knee into his stomach before trying to shove him backward - though the shove might be trying to dislodge an immovable object if she can't quite stagger him enough with the knee!
COMBATSYS: Ayame successfully hits Grigori with Assault and Battery.
- Power hit! -
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Ayame 0/-------/----===|====---\-------\0 Grigori
The Russian, now content that he'd gotten out of Ayame precisely what he initially set out to do, broad shoulders easing into a casual shrug. Pale eyes drift down, eyeing the now-grounded thief girl closely with black brows knitted. But, slowly, that expression gives way to a wide smirk, lips pulling back over white teeth as he begins to stir, turning to face the girl more properly. Only then does he bend at the waist.
"Was it good for you? Your face, is red," he notes, a hand drifting from his pocket to brush over his own cheek with a rough finger as he lightly smirks. "Ah, I was not devochka's first, was I?" The comment alone draws a few loud belts of laughter from nearby patrons at their tables. What was once a potentially heated exchange of blows now seems like innocent toying around at best, no thanks to the Russian.
He begins to turn away, presuming that the girl is all but done with him. Leaving behind his scattered earnings, he wanders toward the exit of the bar with a casual, confident gait, pale eyes hooded in smug amusement. But when the girl snaps at him...he stops and turns to face her, feigning confusion.
"Aww, what is matter devochka? You don't like that name? How about eblivaja? Do you like 'sexy' instead?" Laughing, the man just observes Ayame, even as she leaps from the ground and charges in for the man once more. It only gives him reason to laugh all the more.
"Oh! You have not had your fill? There is plenty of me to go a-round! I gladly give!"
As she swings the blade the Russian lifts an arm, but miscalculates; she beats him, the man having underestimated Ayame's swiftness and precision with her blade. As result the man exhales loudly, pale eyes opening wide as a wide gash cuts over his shirt, staining it red, while the second blade drives in, shivving the large man in his sides before he's so cruelly kneed in the stomach and shoved.
Rather than fall, however, the large man just staggers back on his heels, a hand clutched to his side as he stares with mild disbelief. Did he...just get into a knife fight with a girl half his size..?
"If you wanted me shirtless so badly, you could have asked! I am not shy," is ultimately his reply with a loud laugh, as hands grip the shirt in his palms and RIP it from his body. Casually he simply casts the stained shirt to the ground, leaving only the silk button down on his broad shoulders. Still bleeding, Grigori simply ignores it and instead lunges forward, attempting to seize Ayame tightly by her throat and heft her up...before he slams her back-first into the pool hall floor.
COMBATSYS: Ayame fails to counter Medium Throw from Grigori with Random Strike.
[ \\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\ < > //////////////////////// ]
Ayame 0/-------/-----==|=====--\-------\0 Grigori
Her three strike combo is a success, even if the shove at the end produces less than impressive results. Taking a step back and freezing, the girl seems to not take the opportunity to put further distance between them, as if intentionally baiting him into taking another shot at her. The confusion on his face is satisfying to the little trouble maker, her expression shifting into a smirk. Flicking her knives closed, she slides them back into their sheaths on her belt. "Yeah, see? You made me do that. With all your bluster and and kis-"
Her voice cuts off as Grigori grabs hold of his shirt and with a single exhertion of his muscles, rips the slashed and stained article of clothing clean off him effortlessly, dropping it to the floor. Brown eyes follow the shirt's trajectory before shifting back to Grigori. Okay, that wasn't really the reaction she was expecting, having anticipated that he'd spend a while ranting and raving about how dare she stab him and how dare she use weapons against an unarmed opponent and what the hell is she doing attacking him in the first place... like... almost everyone else always seems to react with when she busts out the knives.
That isn't to say she has completely forgotten her plan though, "You know, maybe you SHOULD be shy, you're like what, ten times older than me?!" she exclaims, waiting for his incoming lunge. In that instant she takes a step backward, intending to put herself just shy of his reach, left hand snapping out to the side, plucking the splintered pool stick she had skewered into the wall to stop Grigori from leaving earlier.
And while she does get her hands on it, an error in judgement has her still in range of Grigori's grasp. An attempt is made to swing the weapon back at him but being lifted up off the floor leaves her unable to really do more than smack it lightly against his shoulder ineffectively. Not one to hold still for an instant, she flails with her feet, one thick sole covered shoe coming precariously close to making an errant groin strike in hopes of forcing him to let go...
But Grigori is quick to slam the girl down to the floor on her back before she can land anything remotely punishing. Dropping the pool stick, the girl's right hand slips down to the hem of her skirt, slipping a small needle out of a hidden sheath there, just in case Grigori doesn't do the smart thing and let go of her neck promptly!
Despite the gashes and wounds haunting the man's torso, his spirits remain unharmed in the process of dealing with Ayame's abuse. If anything, her reluctance only humors him further, and as result he simply rids himself of the bloodied undershirt with a laugh. Grigori Yakushevic is hardly 'everyone else;' he's in his own league as far as he's concerned. Getting stabbed was one of many training regimens he'd endured in his tenure as a Spetznas.
He's just getting warmed up.
"All I see," he begins, hands easing into the pockets of his jeans briefly, "is one cute little devochka trying to get big Russian man out of shirt. Next it will be pants, da?" To emphasize the possibility, those hands ease out and gesture toward his jeans--expectedly, the thigh region. Black brows lift up, eyes widening a touch as he offers an expectant smile.
And then he lashes out at the poor weapons-toting girl, despite her efforts to stave off the man's massive incoming hand. Hefting her up, a wide, toothy smirk cuts its way dangerously over his dry lips, pale blue eyes as wide as saucers as he smirks at the girl...before he slams the blonde down onto the dirty pool hall floor.
Despite the hand that drifts toward her skirt to discreetly snare a needle from its hidden sheath, the man looms over her, one hand still clamped at her throat. "What is fun in being shy? Is only boring, makes people uninteresting. You are not shy, and I find you very interesting, devochka." He pauses briefly, pondering the 'age' comment...before he just tips his head back and laughs.
"Not old. I am like fine wine, devochka!" he declares, letting the girl's neck go as he stands upright. "Aged to perfection and smooth, and leave good taste in mouth." A few women in the bar look to one another before they make odd faces and shrug helplessly. Eyes immediately turn back onto the Russian as he stands there, smirking.
"But, ah, let me not get ahead of self. We are still not finished, yes?"
The pool cue she once discarded is snared by the man and, lifting it overhead, brings it down swiftly with the blunt, unbroken end to strike Ayame square in the stomach and fiercely wind her.
"Ha ha ha!! Let us continue! If you want, I can take pants off and save you troubles, yes?"
COMBATSYS: Ayame dodges Grigori's Random Weapon.
[ \\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\ < > //////////////////////// ]
Ayame 0/-------/-----==|=====--\-------\0 Grigori
Held in place by her neck for a moment, a small needle is slipped into her hand. Laced with a mild nerve toxin, it's strong enough to slow down most people with a fighter's constitution for a little bit... if getting herself free out of desperation is important, it's not bad in a pinch. As he continues to pin her there, she gets ready to strike, intending to shove it into his bicep...
But Grigori stands up, sounding amused, his head leaning back in laughter, letting Ayame go free. Wow did she pick the wrong fight, the girl begins to chide herself silently. She took him for a bit off kilter, but this guy is a maniac! "What?! Keep your pants on, pal!" she snaps back, rolling sideways out of the way of the crashing pool stick, allowing it to strike the ground fiercely instead of her stomach. Tumbling over onto her hands and knees, she's back on her feet a split second later. She doesn't even want to /think/ about what kind of gunk her hair has just picked up off the filthy floor!
The girl looks mildly flustered now. Normally it's her role to toy with her victims, playing word and mind games to keep them guessing, throwing off their ability to fight coherently. She never thought someone would turn the tables on her and give her the same problem right back. Just pull yourself together, she tells herself. She can do the same thing right back to him, just have to figure out what might throw him off...
Age jabs did nothing but make him laugh. Stabbing him only made him laugh. That's kind of a problem. Maybe going the racial route is best. "Look, old Vodkalky, you better not lay another hand on me, or I'll scream real loud and get a whole mob on your Ruskie butt. You'll be sent packing in seconds. I mean, who're the cops going to believe? You, some gaijin bruiser just looking to cause trouble in our fair land who's already ripped off his shirt like some kind of savage, or me, a lovely native without any sign of being a trouble maker at all?"
She pauses, her hands coming to rest at her waist for a moment, tossing her hair over her shoulder with a practiced shake of her head. "Then again, I can't leave you rampaging around stripping your clothes off, you're a menace to the good people here," she continues with a nod toward the patrons in general, many of whom could care less which of the two fighters actually win here - all they know is they're getting a free exhibition!
Reaching over her shoulder, the girl slips her hand beneath her hair, slipping out a set of four, long blades, linked by an iron ring in the center. A flick of her wrist and the blades slide quickly into ninety-degree angles of each other, forming a large, bladed throwing star of sorts. A throwing star that the girl sends hurtling back toward Grigori, "You seemed to like sharp objects, try this one out!" she calls out. Spinning so fast that it appears more like a black metal discus than 4 linked blades, the heavy 'throwing star' is the sort that will pack a real punch!
COMBATSYS: Grigori fails to interrupt Power Fling from Ayame with Andromalius.
[ \\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\ < > ////////////////// ]
Ayame 0/-------/-----==|=======\-------\0 Grigori
"What? Why keep pants on?" the man replies, glancing down at his jeans before hands reach up and grip testingly at the hem. "They are so constricting! Binding! They do nothing better than get in way." A wolfish smirk edges over the man's lips, blue eyes narrowed as he peers directly at the girl before him, now on her feet after having avoided getting her stomach bludgeoned in.
"Besides, devochka, you have been trying so hard to undress me up until now. I would not want to make you wait long time. Or maybe you are a girl all about the businesses?" A cursory look of thoughtfulness edges over Grigori's face, his brow knitting gently as dry lips purse. Deciding she probably is, he nods to himself as his hands drop from his jeans' waistline.
The grin lingers, even as she warns him not to lay a hand on her. "Scream loud? Oh, devochka, you are too generous!" the man laughs as a thumb loops through a belt loop. "You know what I like. Even if girlie gets help from 'ment,' I'm not worried." Peelings his lips back over his teeth, that predatory smile only grows more bold.
"It is just more people to hurt!"
And then, perhaps unexpectedly, the girl produces an oddly-shaped weapon, certainly one he's never seen before. Peering at it, he observes as she flicks her wrist and unsheathes the four blades into an iron star. And when she winds her hands back and readies to throw the thing at him, the man just looks angry, drawing his hands together in front of him.
He's going to try to run right through it.
When it's thrown he does precisely that; charging, he barrels for the star with every intention of having it cut or lodge or whatever else into his trunk-like body, but clearly underestimates the girl. As a result the edge lodges deeply into his stomach, sticking out and giving him the appearance of a Russian pincushion, a loud grunt slipping past gritted teeth as he staggers back.
A moment after, a hand lifts and clutches onto one of the protrusions, holding tightly onto it...before he simply tears it out and casts it to the ground with a visible wince of pain.
"Oh, there you go again with the knives," he idly remarks. "See? What I tell you, devochka? You are just dying to get me out of my clothes! Here--"
Broad shoulders shrug immediately, the black silk shirt easing off his body before he simply casts it aside with little thought or care. And once he's freed of his last remaining shirt, the man's arms open wide, despite the huge bleeding gash on his muscled trunk, a bold smirk residing on his face.
"Just for you! Are you flattered?"
"What kind of..." Ayame mutters as Grigori plays at the hem of his pants. She's never, ever had anyone take this tactic with her before, and it leaves her without any prior experience to draw upon in order to understand how best to act. Her right arm comes up, wiping at her mouth, the strawberry-blonde making a distasteful face before looking to the side and spitting on the floor, convinced she still tastes the Russian's kiss upon her lips even now. "About the business?! I'm not interested in getting your slashed and torn clothes off you, unless you're hiding something worthwhi-..." She catches herself, mouth twitching as she lowers her arm, "Okay, let's not follow that thought through." *THROW*
Ayame's throwing arm proves to be a lot better than it might seem at first glance, the girl having a way with manipulating weapons to get a lot more momentum out of them than her spindly body should seem capable of. There might be a bit about drawing upon inner reserves of chi to power such a throw like that, but she doesn't think about it too hard. What she does think about is how Grigori is charging her all the same at first, up until the giant shuriken catches him in the torso.
She caught sight of the wince. Yeah, he felt that one. So he isn't made of pure steel, he's just ripped like he is! Oh jeez, and now off goes the shirt. Ayame stares, her cool cockiness thwarted by the seemingly unabashed Russian. Nothing she says seems to phase him much at all! Calling him a drunk pinko doesn't seem to have provoked him like she had hoped. Age wasn't a hot button issue. He really isn't that old anyway, which means she's sort've digging when she falls back on that anyway. Maybe another tact will be better.
For a moment he might think Ayame has decided on playing a game of doing what he's doing as her hand drops to her waist, fingers opening a clasp of one of the multiple belts hanging there. Drawing the length of the belt off, it reveals itself to have been a coiled, leather whip that Ayame now cracks at her side. "Time to show you just want kind of girl I am," Ayame smirks, feeling more confident now that she's got the whip in her right hand.
"But seriously, you'll want to keep your pants on for this one!" she adds as she charges toward Grigori, closing the distance until she's within the range her yard and a half long whip affords her. Lashing out with the weapon, she's going for his neck, hoping to coil it. If successful, Ayame will pull on Grigori hard, trying to get him to stumble toward her and allow her to dart in behind him... If she gets into position, the Russian will be faced with the very unpleasant prospect of being choked by the small Asian as Ayame pulls back hard on the whip around his neck while also planting her foot against his lower back to wrench him back even harder while staying just out of range of easy retaliation!
COMBATSYS: Grigori blocks Ayame's Blackmail.
[ \\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\ < > //////////////// ]
Ayame 0/-------/----===|=======\=------\1 Grigori
"Are you sure?" the man asks in response, tugging idly once again at the waist of his jeans and continuing to sport a broad, too toothy smile on his face. "I mean, you do not sound too terribly sures of yourself, devochka. I know, I know," Despite the blood that oozes from the fresh wound on his stomach, Grigori remains frighteningly delighted by the blonde's reactions, far from bothered by a mere stab wound.
In fact, it seems like it takes a miracle of God to really push Grigori's buttons.
"I know. I can be very intimidating. Is not every day you get a chance to be in such great presence, devochka. If you are curious about what is in pants, I can gladly show you..?"
Then her hand drops to her waist, removing the belt that's looped around her skirt. A brow lifts.
"Uhh, well, devochka," the man begins, even as she cracks what really appears to be a whip without flinching. Slowly his lips twitch, blue eyes widening a fraction as he smiles even broader than before, his interests piqued. "I am curious now, what kind of girl you are. I can guess, da? Dirty girl? You like rough play? I can do that!"
With a charge she moves for the man, her words earning her a loud laugh from the Russian. "What? Is no fun! Let me just loosen them up a bit..." Loosen what? Judging by the way his hands begin to move for his waist once more, it would obviously mean his pants. But just as she lashes out with the whip a hand shoots up, intercepting the whip at his throat. It wraps around his neck, but the bulk of suffocation is spared by his leverage.
As she dangles off his back and tries to strangle him to death, Grigori's teeth clench, muscles bulging as he strains...before he lets out a loud bellow and lashes out behind, attempting to pluck the girl off of his backside by whatever he can snare and throw her into the nearest wall.
Very, very hard.
COMBATSYS: Grigori successfully hits Ayame with Strong Throw.
[ \\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\ < > //////////////// ]
Ayame 0/-------/-======|=======\=------\1 Grigori
"Gotcha now," Ayame remarks from behind Grigori. "No more talking about what's in your pants. I already scored the only noteworthy thing you had in there," she remarks. Er, referring to the money, of course! "And I'm not a dirty girl. I just do whatever it takes to get my way, and right now that seems to be choking the breath out of you to teach you a lesson in manners!"
It's only after a few seconds pass that she notices that one of his arms is up around his neck, and it's not because it's straining to get the whip off but rather that it's beneath the entangling coil... preventing it from doing its worst. Erk. Realizing he isn't as captured as she thought, Ayame begins to consider backing off and trying another approach to get a better hold. But in the moment she's thinking that, she finds herself caught by something no fighter had ever grabbed hold of before. Her tie.
Ripped out from behind Grigori as he yanks back on the red tie she has on, the whip falls limp around his neck as Ayame is forced to release her hold on it all together. Plucked from off his back, the girl gets flung hard against the wall to his side, crashing flat against it with jarring force as she slides slowly down, the wind knocked out of her a bit.
Her feet touch the ground and the girl shakes her head, trying to clear her vision after such a stunning impact, brown eyes coming back to focus on Grigori after a moment. Gritting her teeth, the girl clenches her fists, falling back on a technique she's picked up in recent months. In the dim light of the bar energy begins whipping up around the girl, touselling loose bits of clothing and playing with her hair.
Jaw clenched with concentration, she's still got the strength to carry on, "All right, that does it. I'm through toying around with you! This is your last chance to walk away before I get serious. You've got ten seconds to decide. Ten... nine..." The energy shifts from a calming blue to a more vibrant, energetic red, reflecting, perhaps, the girl's fiery personality or increased temper with the foreigner! "...eight... seven..."
COMBATSYS: Ayame gathers her will.
[ \\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\ < > //////////////// ]
Ayame 1/-----==/=======|=======\=------\1 Grigori
Fortunately for Ayame, her grip around his neck with the whip and her leverage keeps the broad Russian quiet, save for the sounds of grunting and strain beneath her vise-like snare. Oh, how Grigori would LOVE to seize the chance and comment on that remark...but he's busy. Too busy, plotting how to get himself out of this minor mess he's facing.
...even if he is enjoying it.
His solution is violent and simple. Whipping a hand back and around, the man snags something--anything--on the girl. Getting grip of her tie, a large hand suddenly clamps down, holding tight to the fabric in his calloused palm. A savage sneer cuts sharply over his features, as blue eyes go wide; moments later he roars, ripping the girl from his back and swings her by the tie right for the wall.
Rather than immediately comment or even laugh at the girl, Grigori instead rubs at his thick neck, blue eyes half-lidded in mild irritation as he tries to get a full breath in his lungs. Despite the leverage, the girl still put quite the strain on his neck, leaving a nasty sting in the wake of her leather whip. Those eyes never once leave the girl, as she touches ground and stands her ground.
The hairs on the back of his neck stand on end, as the energy of the bar begins picking up. Almost immediately does his jaw set, blue eyes hardened as he just observes the girl closely as she focuses and threatens him. Blue shifts to a hue of red, and in response the man's eye lid ticks slightly, lips pulling slowly over his mouth like that of an angry animal.
But. ..it fades. Instead, his posture loosens a bit, pale eyes fixed on the girl still as she glows as he stretches his arms out at his sides. "Oh, for me? You put on a pretty show for me? I am most flattered by your generosity, devochka! Is not every days I have a pretty girl flashing different color...and...more importantly..."
The man leans slowly to one side as he purses his lips tightly, as if he were trying to sneak a peek under her skirt as the air whips around her lithe frame. Chances are...he probably is.
COMBATSYS: Grigori focuses on his next action.
[ \\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\ < > //////////////// ]
Ayame 1/-----==/=======|=======\=------\1 Grigori
"...six...five..." The energy around the girl is vibrant, full of life, strangely out of place in the dingy pool hall. How the girl could draw something so bright from such a dim interior is almost a bit of a mystery. Hands clenched tightly in front of her, it's clear that the build up of chi takes a concentrated effort from the mouthy teen as it's the first time she's fallen relatively quiet in some time since this altercation got started.
Never had she ever had her build up of power called a pretty show though. It was supposed to be intimidating! "...four...thr-" the girl blinks, her voice cutting off as it becomes quite clear what Grigori is intimating at. Normally it wouldn't even bother her, the young con having used her appearance and borderline risque clothing to distract or manipulate in the past, but that's when /she's/ in control. Being a tease is a weapon that she uses when she's figured out the right buttons to push, but right now the Russian is pushing /her/ buttons and while she's conscious of it, it doesn't make it any less irritating. Does he practice being this unnerving or something!? "Oh, that does it, you had your warning!!"
It's hard to say what he might get a glimpse at in the fraction of time before Ayame reacts, as what she has on underneath her skirt is the same black color as the inner layer of the frilly lace fringed garment. But there isn't much time to give it thought as the girl advances swiftly, drawing her left hand back... and then slamming it forward, palm out, unleashing a sudden surge of that bright red energy she had been building up around her all the while, aiming the near point-blank chi blast toward Grigori's face.
COMBATSYS: Ayame successfully hits Grigori with Midsummer Fantasy.
[ \\\\\\\\\\\\\\\ < > //////////// ]
Ayame 1/----===/=======|=======\====---\1 Grigori
"What happens at zero?" the man asks, cutting into the girl's countdown rather boldly as he cranes his neck. Casual and collected again, the man's hands just ease back into his pockets as he lingers there, the corners of his lips pulled into a humored smirk over his weathered features. "Oh, is it more knives? I hope so. I am eager to see what you take off me next." Nevermind he was the one shedding his clothes.
When she finally reacts and flusters he laughs, bare, broad shoulders shuddering as he chortles with delight. Poor Ayame; it would seem that the tables have otherwise turned on the poor girl, and control has otherwise slipped from her dainty fingers. Despite how slippery and difficult this endeavor in punching her has been, he enjoys the modicum of control he has here.
"Good! I was getting tired of light show!" he barks in response, as the girl's energy subsides. Despite his attempts to catch her by the wrist and deflect that incoming palm, she sneaks through like a slippery snake, that palm closing in and delivering a fierce burst of red energy that sends the man staggering back a few feet, his booted feet nearly slipping out from under him.
Fortunately he catches himself, hands clenching into tight fists as he secures his footing.
That stuff. Again?
Breathing in deeply, his shoulders tense, the tightly corded muscles along his arms tensing, flexing beneath his skin as he continues to smirk at the poor blonde. "Devochka," he states, the endearing term almost threatening as those pale eyes fix entirely on her brown eyes.
"Ohhh. That was...big mistake."
Rather suddenly the Russian jerks to life, Grigori's form shockingly fast despite his bulk. Right for the Japanese girl he charges with every intention of SLAMMING his fist into her throat as a foot shoots outwards, to sweep her off her feet, literally so. And if the girl's back hits the ground, those pale blue eyes widen, eyes dilated as he sneers and leaps UP...before he comes down, with every cruel intention of landing on the girl's chest and sternum with those nasty boot heels.
COMBATSYS: Grigori successfully hits Ayame with Asmodeus.
[ \\\\\\\\ < > //////////// ]
Ayame 2/<<<<<<</<<<<<<<|=------\-------\0 Grigori
In the midst of darting forward, Grigori gets no reply from Ayame, her palm slamming forward, a small but potent surge of chi striking him, just as intended, the flare of red reflecting her irritated deameanor at Grigori's taunting attitude. The chi pulse seems to have done its job well, just as she expected it would, and Ayame draws her arm back, in a hurry to regain her stance as quickly as possible.
But Grigori comes back at her, incensed it seems. Declaring it a mistake, Ayame merely smirks back. "There's more where that came-" she starts to retort, but he isn't really leaving her time to speak, his charge forward /mandating/ immediate defensive action. Not trusting her own limbs to weather the blow, Ayame's right hand slips into the top of her blouse, producing in the blink of an eye a solid, iron, bladed war fan. Swinging it up in an attempt to get it between his fist and her neck, she doesn't quite pull it off, struck hard, choking almost immediately.
Swept off her feet, Ayame hits the floor with a pained gasp. Eyes widen as she realizes he isn't finished, his foot coming up over the fallen girl before he /jumps/ up into the air. Too stunned to move, all she can manage is slipping that war fan between the dropping boots and her fragile frame, letting the sturdy, cast iron fan absorb a fraction of the impact as he drills his feet into her upper torso. Without that metal brace the girl would've been injured too bad to retaliate, easily.
But as is, the tenacious girl has her own tricks. The odds are bad, she's not feeling too hot right now, and she's really convinced that she has no place trying to beat the rugged Russian. And given his whimsical, disturbing remarks, she really doesn't want to be left to his mercy, or lack thereof, at any cost!
Dropping her metal fan, the girl reaches to her pouch in the very moment Grigori is stomping on her. Into her palm she slips her collapsed, trusty metal staff, bringing the weapon to life in an instant with the press of a button, a hydraulic hiss punctuating it going from a mere half foot long to a full, six foot long pole. Grunting, Ayame presses another trigger on the weapon, and in the next instant, an explosion of smoke conceals both the Asian teen and Russian.
He'll have a chance to feel her squirming out from beneath him for a moment before he'll be forced to defend himself in the vision blocking smoke cover... Attacks from all directions come flying in, visible only as brief glints of red chi swinging through the mist, as Ayame targets joints and limbs, finishing with a bash or two targeting his torso and one final downward strike toward his neck!
COMBATSYS: Ayame successfully hits Grigori with Final Solstice.
[ \\\\\\\\ < > /// ]
Ayame 0/-------/-----==|=======\-------\0 Grigori
For once, Grigori does not offer a witty or perverse retort to the girl. Instead he just barrels forward with unbelievable swiftness, his size considered. And though she presents a fan of metal from her blouse with which to hopefully stave off the assault...that giant fist slams into her throat before it's even into proper position.
It brings a horribly smirk to his face as blue eyes widen, pupils dilated in delight.
The motions are brutal and painful, the sweep ending with a horrible stomp to her chest with all his weight and his reinforced boot heel that would and could very well crush a lesser woman. Fortunately, and to Grigori's sheer delight, the girl is made of much tougher stuff, and somehow weathers the awful blow. The Russian's smirk broadens as she sticks a hand into a pouch, a laugh escaping him. She's still moving..!
It falters just a bit when the staff opens.
"Oh, now I know you are dirty girl," he remarks, just before the bar is cloaked in a horrible plume of choking smoke that disorients not only the surly Russian, but everyone else as well.
"Devochka! Don't hide from me!" the man roars, hints of amusement clear on his voice as he swivels his eyes around and about. What the hell is she planning to do, he wonders, as he struggles to listen through the smoke for something--anything--to give away her position as she weasels out from his footing. He only becomes aware of her position when a chi-laden pole smacks the man over and over in the body before the final strike at his throat earns her a weird 'hrrk' noise, and the man falls to the ground with a heavy, meaty thud.
When the smoke clears, Grigori is struggling to get himself to his feet, sporting a bloody smile as those pale eyes fix on the blonde. "D-devochka, you hit hard," he compliments, a brow twitching ever so slightly as he rubs at his thick neck, gasping for breath. "I think I like you...but...really, I am tired...here, a parting...gifts for you."
That's when Grigori dashes in toward Ayame, a hand sweeping outward in an attempt to knife-hand strike her in the neck before he draws the same arm back, before driving it forward, elbow-first at her face. Following that, the Russian lifts a leg up and snaps it out, intending to strike her in the sternum and send her tumbling backwards and drop her off her feet.
But hit or miss, the Russian exhales loudly thereafter, eyes wide before they pinch shut and he collapses to one knee. Clutching his bloody wound, the man grits his teeth, privately cursing himself for losing to another girl that is likely half his age. Are his skills dulling?
No way. Never. He got careless!
COMBATSYS: Grigori can no longer fight.
[ \\\\\\\\ <
Ayame 0/-------/-----==|
COMBATSYS: Grigori successfully hits Ayame with Cimejes.
[ \\\\ <
Ayame 0/-------/---====|
"Now who's in control?" the girl's voice comes from within the fog just before she starts tearing into Grigori with the series of rapid, imposible to predict strikes, taking advantage of the total concealment offered by the obscurring cover. The last hit is meant to take the fight out of him, and get him back for all those neck strikes to boot!!
At about that time, the fog parts, leaving the small local teen staring at the large Russian, the staff she produced from nowhere grasped tightly in her hands. "As I said before, I already got what I want from you, so you can just-" Grigori lunges, closing distance with surprising speed.
The polearm is hefted up but fails to get in the way of yet another strike against her neck. She's really going to have a sore throat when this is all said and done!! The elbow catches the girl in the forehead, staggering her back a step as she shakes her head, trying to anticipate the next attack so that she can fend it off with her staff.
But Grigori's powerful kick takes Ayame clean off her feet, sending the smaller fighter crashing to the floor and sliding along several yards, her staff rolling off to the side out of her hand. Coughing, the girl lies there for several long moments, rolling onto her side and curling up a bit, the pain in her chest and neck debilitating.
Reaching out to the side the girl grasps hold of her staff, rolling it back into her hold, before rolling up to her knees, still coughing violently, propping herself up with the weapon pushing against the floor for her support. "You must really have a kink for necks, can't seem to keep your hands off mine," the girl snaps, her voice scratchy and a lot of the venom gone now that she's barely keeping herself up.
Smiling faintly, the girl wipes her bleeding mouth with her right arm before she leans her head to the side, noticing a sound outside that's got her attention. Uh oh, police. Looks like the bar owner wasn't too keen on the scuffle going on in here. Ayame pushes herself up to standing, coughing again, before she smirks in Grigori's direction, "You had best be on your way, don't want to have to explain this mess to those guys," she notes with a nod toward the front door. And... that's when she bolts for the back door, an adrenaline boosted surge of energy. Nothing says 'Time to be gone' like the arrival of the fuzz when it comes to Ayame!
COMBATSYS: Ayame takes no action.
COMBATSYS: Ayame can no longer fight.
Log created on 00:25:51 03/16/2008 by Grigori, and last modified on 18:18:11 04/04/2008.