Description: A magestic cathedral and a promise that she can take whatever she wants if she wins is probably a dream come true for Ayame. A dream that quickly becomes a nightmare as she discovers more and more about the sinister opponent she has been set up to battle. ( Winner: Ayame )
Today was not God's day. There were no parishioners in attendence, no pastor to read His words among the flock, to spread His wisdom to those who would seek it. Today the lecturn stood unattended, the pews unoccupied. Though there were cameras set up in unobtrusive locations, there seemed to be none of the usual crew that would man them. The electronic lenses stare silently outwards, capturing the stillness, the serenity of the cathedral's aged walls. Through the grand stained glass window opposite the main door, the afternoon sun bears its light through, creating ample ambient light that somehow seems muted, as though the very rays of the sun dare not disturb the still air. Yet, as still as the air is, not all is necessarily quiet. Suffusing through the air are gentle strings and soft horns, a rising crescendo of melody that gives the impression of hope, of reaching upwards, of prayer sent above. And then words cut in, spoken by a single man, singing in a fine tenor.
"Ave Maria, maiden mild... listen to a maiden's prayer. Thou canst hear through from the wild, thou canst save amid despair!"
The voice belongs not to a recording, as the strings and horns do. The voice belongs to the man standing alone in the choir behind the lecturn. Though his form is shadowed due to the light streaming in from the window behind him, he nevertheless is the sole human figure in the cathedral, a single dark mar upon the golden light cast across the silver stone walls. His form moves, a cane held in his left hand, gesturing in grand, broad sweeps that cast sinister shadows across the floor, the shade of the man a long spike that reaches towards the door, as though loomly darkly, waiting for something to enter. Though the cathedral was indeed empty beyond this man singing in a peaceful, if pleasant voice, it is unclear whether it was the man's idea to move the usual SNF crew out of the cathedral... or whether the men moved themselves out, leaving remote control cameras behind. Regardless, the room seems to be waiting for something to complete itself, the stillness like a held breath, waiting to be exhaled in a rush of activity.
And still the man sings, "Safe may we sleep beneath thy care, though banish'd, outcast and reviled - Maiden! hear a maiden's prayer; Mother, hear a suppliant child! Oh, Ave Maria!"
The stage is set and simply needs its actors to appear. One is already present, his voice echoing throughout the chapel. The acoustics are incredible, capturing the recorded music and vocal accompaniment and distributing them throughout the great hall. There are no bad seats in this house. But the stained glass list chamber, the haunting tones resonating throughout the cathedral - all this would be going to waste if the other person due to show failed to appear.
No such concerns need linger, however, as the heavy door of the chapel swings open at last and in steps the final participant for this event. At a glance she looks out of place. The sound of chains rattling as she walks pronounce each Doc Martin shoe-clad footstep. Her feet come to rest inside the shadow of the man assigned to protect the relic adorned sanctuary from harm. Her clothing is far from formal - a black blouse offset by a loosely tied red necktie meets a short plaid skirt. Long, strawberry-blonde hair hangs down over her back, kept only barely in place by a black ribbon tied into a large bow behind her head. She appears to be chewing gum at the moment, her mouth busy masticating the rubbery, pink substance as she inspects the goods. Brown eyes glance idly around the interior, looking everywhere but toward its keeper for the moment, her left hand coming to rest at her hip as she shakes her head.
"Hah, well, I didn't get struck dead upon entering, so score for me, I guess." she muses out loud, her tone haughty and reflected in her smirk, attention finally coming to rest on Saint himself. "I like what you've done with the place, pops. I wonder..." she continues, both of her hands slipping to clasp innoculously behind her back as she saunters over to a large oil painting to the side of the entrance. "... how many people selling a piece like that could feed. How many homes could be built. Or, more importantly," she continues, right hand coming up from behind her back to pluck the pink chewing gum out, "How much of its value will be lost when I squish this into it." she muses, eyes narrowing as she leans forward to look at the framed masterpiece a bit closer.
She brings her hand up as if to make good on her threat, but in the end the girl merely backs up, turning toward Saint again, "Just kidding. I haven't decided if I like that one yet. Maybe I'll take it." she remarks, flicking the gum out of her fingers onto the chapel floor at her side. "What do you think? Are the paintings worth more, or maybe one of those nifty figurines you've got on display? I really should have brought a cataloge of boring, old, but stupidly expensive works of art so that I could better pick out my prize for when I finish beating you down."
The teen's left hand slips to her side, opening the top to a pouch affixed to one of her multiple belts. "My name is Ayame, and I'm here to deliver your beating, you religious hypocrite. And then I'm going take something for myself to make this whole charade worth it. Don't worry, you can bill Howard Enterprises... I might even be willing to sell back whatever I take at a fair price," she finishes with a teethy grin.
Whether by chance or by design, as the ancient hinges of the large oak doors creak open, announcing the new arrival, the vocal accompaniment to the music ceases, and the shadowy man on the choir bleachers simply begins to 'direct' the music, his cane bobbing in the air in time to the music's flow, as if the strings and horns weren't being piped through the ancient cathedral's more modern addition of loudspeakers, usually used for weak-voiced pastors to transmit their sermons for all in attendence to hear. Instead of singing, he begins to hum along to the tune, quite involved with the music rolling over the walls. He also begins to step down the tiered steps where the choir would normally stand, until finally he is settled onto the lecturn, and as he does, more of his actual characteristics become visible, stepping out of the light in order to be seen. He wears all black, despite his almost albanisticly pale skin, the clothes after what would be considered a preacher's old fashioned manner of dress, complete with the white collar. A black derby is perched on his head, and a cane of polished mahogony is held in his left hand, which is gloved in black. Though his hair is as pale as his skin, his eyes cannot be seen, too narrow to be viewed. A sharp contrast to the girl who immediately begins to wonder whether she should steal or just ruin everything.
The music abruptly cuts out as Saint reaches behind the lecturn and hits the 'off' switch. Though his line of vision can't be followed, his head does turn to examine the girl as she threatens to put gum on a priceless oil painting. Despite this, the priest doesn't seem all that concerned, and indeed he merely walks in front of the lecturn and leans against it, tucking his cane under his right arm, then clasping his hands in front of him... just, watching Ayame without comment for now, even though he's oddly smiling, just slightly, as she speaks of desecretion of property. Not only that, but of priceless, religious property, which is worth not only legal action, but certainly some kind of damnation in the eyes of God, right? Yet Saint doesn't show the slightest concern for the painting. He doesn't even bat an eye, or let his smile falter for a second as the gum is tossed onto the floor, as well. He just keeps smiling... until she introduces herself. Then? He smiles wider. "Saint Casimir," he responds in kind, and kind is his tone, almost amiable in fact, like he weren't talking to someone threatening threat and descration.
"Your manner is quite interesting... it's as though you actively seek the hatred of others. Do you like it, I wonder? My my, yes, you must... or, perhaps, just maybe, just possibly, you know no other way to act?" Saint cants his head to the side, seeming to regard the blonde haired girl in her Doc Martens without the slightest movement. He doesn't SEEM like a fighter, being all sickly looking and... well, nice. He doesn't have an ounce of what people would call 'killing intent'. He is relaxed. Did they send the wrong priest? "Material possessions, to the truly faithful, have no bearing, my dear. Though we look upon sculptures and paintings to gain, perhaps, ah... what do you say?" He pauses a moment to think. "...Ah, yes, insight. Insight into His world... we mortals only have one way to see it." Straightening up, no longer leaning against the lecturn, Saint takes his cane, and then plants it directly onto the ground, both of his black gloved hands resting upon it. It's then that his eyes open slightly, just enough to notice that their color is red, and despite his smile, it doesn't seem to touch his eyes, not quite. Oh, the jovialness is THERE, but there's something preventing it from being there completely. It isn't anger, or horror at all this talk of theft and the like. Something far more unsettling. "In fact, there is a road one must walk, in order to see Him. It is a long road, but filled with His personal truth."
There's a small clicking noise, and then the top portion of Saint's cane begins to be drawn upwards by one of his hands, t
There's a small clicking noise, and then the top portion of Saint's cane begins to be drawn upwards by one of his hands, the other keeping the cane planted on the ground. The part being drawn up is revealed only to be a handle, as the light from behind Saint glints off a silvery length of a full blade, kept concealed inside of the cane. "Would you care for me to show it to you?"
Truth be told, Ayame doesn't know what to make of Saint's reaction, or, to an extent, the lack thereof. At first glance he fit the description she expected. Older, smiling gentleman. Probably hopes that his faith alone will get him by in a fight, with perhaps some token training to back him up. Well, operation: wipe his smile off his face is an utter failure, and the teen thug frowns just a little as he watches her antics without so much as a startled raise of an eyebrow.
Folding her arms in front of her, Ayame leans her head to the side a little. Maybe his patience is brought about solely due to senility. Maybe he doesn't even understand what she's intimating at, dismissing her threats as purely theatrics. Maybe she needs to break something just to prove that she's a serious rebel and not to be taken lightly!! But he begins to speak after she introduces herself and Ayame listens quietly rather than looking for the nearest soft fabric to slash.
Eyes narrow as he asks if she thrives off getting others to hate her. The answer to that is self-evident to just about anyone /besides/ Ayame herself, the girl dismissing the question with an irritated snort. "Doesn't matter to me what others think." But then he starts talking about one of the more important things on Ayame's list. 'Stuff'. Well, sure, he calls it material possessions. "For not having a bearing on the faithful, you sure have a lot of it here," she remarks, left hand waving around at the cathedrial interior absently, not sounding convinced. She can handle the likes of /him/. Compared to most people she battles wits with, she can't imagine this old man being a challenge.
It's then that his eyes open, just a little, giving her glimpse at something deeper than the surface exterior she was so quick to dismiss, and Ayame falls quiet. "Oh really..." she replies as he speaks of personal truths and the path to be trodden "Save your breath, I don't need to hear the sermon. I'll check out the cliff notes when I start to give half a damn." she remarks, shrugging her right shoulder absently. But then things get interesting, the click heard across the distance that seperates them.
Sharp, brown eyes fixate on the cane itself, having dismissed it as nothing of particular importance at first. Now she has reason to know better as he draws out the blade that was concealed within. Strangely, the action brings a smile to the teen's lips. "Well, well... it seems you have more to you than just being dotting old wind bag." Her left hand slips into the pouch affixed to her belt, drawing out a half-foot metal tube that she flings into the air over her head in a lazy spin.
The tube telescopes out into a six foot long, titanium staff, and Ayame twirls around to catch it on its way back down, ending with the weapon tucked under one arm, facing Saint once more. "You can try to show me whatever you want, old man. Just don't be disappointed if I'm too busy beating the crap out of you to listen."
"Oh, but it's no sermon," Saint says. As the sword finishes withdrawing from the cane, he makes a flourish of it, sweeping it around in an arc to his right, until the point is nearly touching the ground. He then picks the cane up, and less impressively echoes the position of his blade with it, holding the weapons out to either side. He then advances a step, then another and another, slowly moving forward as he speaks again. "Indeed, my method of enlightening souls to the truth of God requires I speak not a single word. I, am but a mere itinerate preacher. I occassionally stop in the house of God, but I do not reside there, for my feet shall take me to where I must attend. I carry no material possession with me but the tools with which to give God's true chosen the insight they truly seek."
The sword is flicked upwards, held vertical over his face, his eyes still visible for now as he steps off the lecturn, walking down the central aisle of the pews. "If the sculptor carves a statue of Jesus out of marble, I carve the word of God into your flesh. If the musician sings the song of praise to uplift the soul, I give your soul the power to fly on the wings of pain. If the artist paints his vision of Heaven with oils, then I shall -show- you Heaven through your blood." His tone changes as he speaks. Though before he spoke amiably, as though a friendly chat about the weather, now his tone is one of business, and a deadly business at that. As his tone changes, his steps quicken. And as his steps quicken, he launches for the attack.
There are no more words, he simply darts forward, moving at a speed that completely belies his frail form and occupation. He moves like a fighter, but with intent to do exactly as he promised; he intends to hurt Ayame, to show her the path to God. Sweeping the blade away from his face, holding both sword and cane to either side of him again, he quickly closes the gap to the blonde girl, bringing his cane up...
COMBATSYS: Saint has started a fight here.
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Saint 0/-------/-------|
COMBATSYS: Ayame has joined the fight here.
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Ayame 0/-------/-------|-------\-------\0 Saint
COMBATSYS: Ayame counters Deep Strike from Saint with Bright Renewal.
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Ayame 0/-------/------=|==-----\-------\0 Saint
Ayame is almost never unnerved. She dismisses angry rants as harmless temper tantrum. She dismisses threats of death or bloody beatings as posturing, often playing the same cards back at those she antagonizes. But as the 'kindly' old man starts waving around that sword of his with control that belies a fair amount of experience behind those red eyes of his, she's... starting to wonder just what the hell she's dealing with here.
"Uh... I'm not really into tats, so I'm inclined to suggest that you find someone else to go carving words onto," she replies, shifting her grip on her staff, pulling it out from under her arm to angle in front of her defensively. He continues, speaking of musicians and artists and Ayame frowns slightly, shaking her head, finding it strangely hard to focus on the fight itself.
Maybe this is how people she fights feels, she muses for a moment, with her propensity to try and throw them off with constant chatter. But if that's his game, he's frightfully good at it. And just as frightfully eager to introduce her to the end of his cane it seems. He moves fast, too fast for his age. It doesn't seem right for the wrinkled old man to be bolting toward her. Where is the attack coming from? The blade? A kick? The cane-sheath? Her eyes dart over him, trying to identify how to defend herself.
She sees it just in time, the cane coming in with the sweep in the end. She almost doesn't make it, the split second shift of the titanium pole in time to intersect the cane and knock it upward, off course rather than connecting as he must have intended.
What comes next is fluid motion, a verse taken from a staff dance ingrained in the girl's head when she was but a young miko only five years ago. The upward motion continues along its course, opening Saint's defenses for the lower end of the staff to come swinging in for a crack at his ribs. Ayame moves with the rebound, spinning around completely, her entire personage a blur of glinting metal, red and black attire, and that red-orange hair of hers as she finishes with a final strike toward his opposite knee.
The girl hops back after the two strikes are delivered, twirling the long staff over her head before planting one end of it down against the stone floor, the weapon chiming with a soft reveberation that is easily heard throughout the hall. She's looking at Saint differently now. At first she was all attitude, not taking him serious in the slightest. And that nearly cost her when he came in for that opening strike. But it's clear that it is with a newfound level of respect that she regards him now. "My soul is busy right now, the big guy's going have to schedule an appointment in advance." she remarks, right hand coming up to flip her hair back over her shoulder. Okay. Maybe she's still working on that respect thing.
While he'd been more intending to strike with his sword, the cane being merely a distraction to keep her attention, Saint was not quite expecting the girl to be so skilled at defensive arts, and the initial crack at his hand to knock the blow wide disrupts his balance, making him hesitate just long enough for the staff to swing back around and crack him in the ribs, twist, then crack him in the knee. It unfortunately doesn't bring him down to the floor, but he does stumble about with a loud wheeze of pain, the breath having been knocked from him from the initial rib crack. Taking two steps back, he stops, stooped over a little with his cane hand raised to hold his side. And then?
Then he laughs.
"Ha ha ha ha ha! Oh my, oh my, and here I was just thinking you were some girl intent on causing trouble. Seems to me not only do you enjoy having others hate you, but you enjoy their advances, their intent to harm you! Does it make you feel alive? Does pain strike your nerve endings and the sharp explosion of sensation merely registers to your body that you are -alive-?" He straightens up then, and throws his arms into the air, an almost happy look on the priest's face. "Yes! I see it, as well! Is the Bible not full of God bringing pain upon his people? The people of Noah's time. Sodom. Gammorah. Job. God's love is PAIN!"
And then he's striking again, not at all disturbed that he just got his attack turned aside and a sound slap to the ribs with a staff for his efforts. This time he makes two sharp thrusts forward with his sword hand, neither meaning to actually strike Ayame, but rather to probe at her guard - and to distract her from his cane, which comes sweeping in from the other side as his sword strikes, intent on slapping, quite roughly, at the backs of her knees, which should on a solid connect drive her footing from her. Saint will then twist on his feet, bring up his sword, and then stab downwards. No matter where the blade connects, the damage it causes will be largely minimal, at least compared with the sudden sensation of pain - impossible phantom pain, the sensation of multitudes of hot pokers being jammed throughout Ayame's body, molten iron stabbing at her flesh and searing and burning and - and then he removes the sword, and the pain is gone, only the lingering memory of it staying with her.
COMBATSYS: Saint successfully hits Ayame with Liber Ivonis.
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Ayame 0/-------/--=====|===----\-------\0 Saint
Having him react with a laugh was not what she was expecting at all. Clearly she didn't hit him hard enough. An oversight she intends to quicky correct. "No," she snaps back as he begins to question her on pain. "The hell would I want people hurting me for. It's my job to do that to them, that's all." she half shrugs, still holding her staff at her side, canting her head a little as he goes on to preach lessons from the Bible. "You know, I don't believe any of that stuff. But I also happen to have read it before."
Her brow furrows, the girl beginning to look skeptical, "You don't sound like any preacher I've heard before. Did you flunk seminary? Pretty sure all they talk about there is lovey dovey stuff about hope, salvation, and peace. And here you are carrying on about pain while swinging around that blade of yours. I'm sure the teachers loved /your/ essays." she snorts.
And then he's advancing, intending to give her one of those very lessons of which he has spoken, and while she watches his hands carefully, she confuses the feints for the real attacks, caught by surprise at the smack to the back of her knees. Her stance is broken, the girl dropped to the floor. But she's a quick one, and in the instant he takes to spin around, raising his sword hand, the girl begins to slip to the side, intending to get out of the way of the expected strike to come.
And she nearly makes it too, a quick lean at the last second that has the blade grazing her shoulder rather than skewering her directly. But in that instant she discovers that shallow graze through her skin was all he needed, her entire body immediately racked with pain. A gasp escapes her lips as she collapses onto her side, following with the momentum she already had going. A tremor spasms, her nerves assaulted by a power she as ill prepared to defend against. She releases her staff in a panic, rolling over quickly, her mind convinced he was stabbing her time and time again, with a smoldering hot iron poker, only to come to rest on her hands and knees several feet away, the sensasion washing over her in its passing.
Mouth agape, Ayame stares back at the clergy man, panting for breath. Shaken at first, but a slow smile works its way into her features. She knows that power of his. She spent months hunting weilders of it before, fighting them one after another, learning to counter their energy with her own talents and quick thinking. "Heh," Ayame spits to the side, rising up slowly, "I've got you figured out now." Her right hand comes up to wipe at her mouth. "Nice trick... you really do know what you're talking about," she winces a little. "But now I know your trick and you don't know any of mine."
Her right hand slips down to her belt to draw a butterfly knife, flicking it open in the process, and then underhand tossing it toward Saint in a lazy, slow arc. She sprints forward immediately behind the twirling weapon, her left hand drawing a second knife as she leaps from a couple yards out. A straight slash across his chest is attempted with the left, before her feet touch down and she spins around, plucking the second knife out of the air on its way down in order to twirl in for a second slash, in the same direction as the first, with her right hand.
COMBATSYS: Saint dodges Ayame's Medium Strike.
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Ayame 0/-------/--=====|===----\-------\0 Saint
Saint's reaction to him striking the girl with his attack isn't necessarily what she might expect either. Maybe some twisted grin of delight as he causes pain to another, maybe more laughing, but no - instead, he staggers a bit, his body becoming wracked with pain itself, a growl of pain accompanying this. After a moment, it subsides, and he straightens up again, panting a little. "Hmph, my 'trick' is it...?" he asks. What does she know...? It's beginning to seem that everyone other than he himself knows about his strange powers. Like that girl at Gedo. But really, he doesn't seem to care at this point. It's not about 'what' his power is... but how it's meant to be used. Or how he thinks it's meant to be used, anyway. And right now, this girl requires his teachings, as brought to her by his touch.
But for now, she's bringing a pair of knives into the equation, and his eyes focus on them intently. As the girl darts in, wielding one knife intending to slash at him, he raises his own blade up, and intercepts the knife in an awkward parry, as though he knew the basic steps of how to do so, but wasn't quite used to it. Parry he does, however, and he tilts his blade downwards to deflect it to the side. At the same time, he brings his cane up, and simply slaps the other knife in the air, likely still so that Ayame can catch it, but badly displacing the second part of her attack, no doubt. "As for my essays... yes, as a matter of fact, they did love them. And why not? I loved -them-. I loved them so much that the entire room forgot all but that love that I showed them. A love you've partly experienced already. Shall I show you more?"
Snapping his cane up, he makes a very simple and straightforward, but nonetheless -speedy- stab of the wood shaft straight for Ayame's forehead. It isn't that he intends for this to hurt - in fact if it does connect with her forehead it'll only feel like a bump. What does hurt? The sudden appearance of ghost-gray little specks... winged specks. Mosquitos. They swarm from out of nowhere, just out of Ayame's vision, materializing in the air and swarming all over her. They peck a thousand times, they bite a million, and each one drains more and more of her blood, until...! He once again removes the cane from her, the phantom mosquitos, as well as the disquiting feeling of having been swarmed and pecked nearly to death by them fading.
COMBATSYS: Saint successfully hits Ayame with The Black Rites.
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Ayame 0/-------/=======|=====--\-------\0 Saint
He handles her deceptive attack rather well. Most of her opponents find the flurry of activity, the thrown knife, the spinning momentum to be overwhelming and end up cleanly struck by the two knife slashes concealed by all that motion. But not Saint. Her first slash is intersected, the second knife wobbled enough to go skipping to the ground as she misses it all together. Landing a bit more awkwardly than she had intended, the girl immediately starts to back up and try a different approach.
She isn't fast enough though as that cane jabs out, catching her in the forehead, and suddenly all of her quick motion comes to a stop. Eyes widen at the swarm of assailants coming in from all directions. A million bites, a million insects that she suddenly tries to start swatting away, flailing frantically for the cameras at horrors unseen. Stumbling backward, the girl gasps as the sensation passes again, leaving in its wake a feeling of weariness.
He has a special insight, she decides, in dealing with her attacks. Though she caught him off guard with her initial defense, she can't seem to catch a break since. All she knows is that the standard SNF stipend doesn't pay nearly enough to put up with this crap. If it wasn't for the promises of scoring something extremely valuable should she win, the girl would probably just turn around and walk right back out the door she came in, telling Howard's people they could give her a call when they were ready to put her against someone who wasn't clearly so deranged.
But... the call of filthy lucre is a strong one with the street rogue and so she skips back in the end, foot kicking down to knock an end of her staff up into the air in order to take hold of it. "Just about had enough of you," she growls, gripping the weapon tightly in front of her in a defensive position. Chi begins to build up around her. Fiery hot as her building temper, it swirls up in visible whisps, reaching up to the level of her shoulders.
"I think I've had enough of the free sample of what you're peddling... Don't worry, I'm going to return that pain with interest," she growls, absorbing the chi from the environment around her, restoring her weakened strength and invigorating her for a bigger attack ahead.
COMBATSYS: Ayame gathers her will.
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Ayame 1/----===/=======|=====--\-------\0 Saint
Insight? To be honest, his defense against her knives was luck, probably. Though he had had a good deal of fencing instruction when he was younger, he'd never really continued it to his present age, and skills had invariably rusted. But it's not like he'd stop to explain that to her - the more disconcerted she was, the better. And of course his attack landing cleanly, as obvious by the fact she flails wildly at the ghost mosquitos, serves to further that little agenda. The mental trauma of the attack, as much psychologically damaging as it is physically painful, also takes its toll on the girl, furthering her wariness of him. But most of all, should she notice in her flailings, is the fact that the attacker seems to experience the same thing as the attacked, in this case - his body writhes a little, and he lets out another choked off howl of pain, staggering backwards away from her as the phantom pain fades. "Hah... ha ha ha! Are you now?" the priest asks, straightening himself up. He sheathes the sword then, slowly shoving it back into the wood case of his cane, making one whole weapon now, and his freed hand is used to steady his derby, tugging it a bit low on his brow.
"The pain you feel is but phantom... every touch I give to another transmits some of the 'love' that I have been shown in this world. Are you enjoying it? Like the hatred you seem to bring upon yourself deliberately? Or do you fail to see yet how God's love is his message of pain? How pain is the highest form of love we can feel?" Bringing his cane back up, not bothering to re-draw his sword, he suddenly lashes out again, intent on striking the girl who seems to be preparing herself for something...
COMBATSYS: Ayame blocks Saint's Heretic's Fork.
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Ayame 1/---====/=======|====---\-------\0 Saint
The cane is brought upwards from low, a kind of vertical thrust meant to impact against Ayame's jaw. While the cane does stop right there, a stiff upwards jab to the chin, the -pain- doesn't, another surge of that psychic energy flowing into the strawberry-blonde, feeling as though the cane is literally continuing upwards, through the girl's chin and up through her head, a spike of pain right through the noggin. Of course, while a shocking bit of pain it is, it undoubtedly would stagger a bit if it hit clean, and Saint, taking advantage of this, grips Ayame by her shirt, then tugs her forward and past himself in a quick hip toss, slamming her against the ground.
She hasn't quite figured out his strange reactions after striking her. The idea that her opponent would share in her misery... deliberately so hasn't crossed her mind yet. The girl is exceptional at reading people, but that applies mostly to /rational/ people. People that make sense, follow patterns, fit normal expectations. This guy though... does none of the above. The built up chi begins to fade, the girl absorbing the last of it into her body
"No, no I am not," she snaps when he asks if she's enjoying it. And then in comes the cane again. This time she has to know if she can fight it, if she can battle back against his ability to strike at her nerves, to get beneath the surface of her skin and completely circumvent her masterful chi defenses. She takes the hit to the jaw, and while the impact connects and his special brand of power blasts into her as a result, Ayame fights it actively. Compared to that strange Elfa girl that tried to fry every last synapsis in her brain, his energy isn't quite so potent. But it still has its effect, in spite her attempts to contend against it with her own willpower.
The experience has her staggered, but she fended off the worst of it - of that she's certain. Saint reaches for the girl then, getting the grip on her black blouse and pulling her forward. She rolls with the attempt easily though, coming up into a crouch on the other side of him, staff in hand, gasping for breath, perspiration rolling down her cheeks after yet another psycho power laced assault. "Heh," teh girl grunts, remaining crouched at first. "Have you ever ASKED if anyone wants your special brand of love? I don't think it's going to have generally high market value, buddy."
She attacks from out of the crouch next, swinging low at first in an attempt to force him backward to avoid being tripped... only to step forward into the momentum and come around for a second swipe, this one more wide-reaching than the first, near the level of his head as Ayame attempts to clock the 'kindly' young man in the temple.
COMBATSYS: Ayame successfully hits Saint with Random Strike.
- Power hit! -
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Ayame 1/--=====/=======|=======\-------\1 Saint
Turning with the momentum of his throw, Saint ends up performing a full 360 spin on his heel, facing away from Ayame's crouched form once the manuever ends. It's almost flashy, the priest tucking his cane under an arm and re-settling his derby onto his head, looking unruffled by his attacking of the younger girl; unruffled by the entire exchange so far, even. He knows his throw wasn't precisely as intended, the girl rolling onto her feet rather than slamming into the stone and being pained, but he seems likewise unruffled by this, exposing his back to his opponent. "Ask? Why would I ask?" He sounds confused as he echoes Ayame's question, his head tilting up so he can examine the ceiling, as if searching for the answer, or more likely, the reason to Ayame's question in the first place. After a moment's deliberation, he turns back around to facing Ayame, and asks in return, "Why would someone deny God's salvation?"
So engaged in thinking up the answer to this question, however, he simply doesn't have the time to react to the attack being launched right then by the strawberry blonde. It's not like he doesn't try to defend, though one would question the intelligence of his defense of standing still and simply waiting for what might come, since that's all he really seems to do - the initial low swing doing not much to his footing, but the subsequent slap across his temple doing quite a bit, as his defense, or maybe more like in this case his readiness for pain, simply fails him. The staff cracks him in the side of the head, and he doesn't simply go down, he literally is knocked off his feet and sent to the side, sprawling into a pew. The impact shatters the wooden bench, breaking it in half. Wooden pieces cave in on him, and for a moment the priest seems quite buried in the pile.
But then the crazy bastard starts laughing.
His rough position can be seen - he landed on his back, with his feet pointed at Ayame's position, legs elevated on a larger broken piece of wood bench, with his upper half being buried under the wood. But as that laugh sounds - a particularly happy laugh at that - he sits up without the use of his hands, merely raising his torso 90 degrees up. "Ha ha ha ha! And yet, the feelings can be returned, can they not? I can show you pain, -you- can show -me- pain! It's a wonderful dance, a back and forth! Come, come, little girl, shall we take the night to get to know God better?" Getting his feet under him, he stands up, picking up his derby from where it had flown off, and settling it back onto his head. "And here I was thinking you were some lost lamb, needing to be shown the way... but you. You are like myself, in a way. You KNOW the way. So come! Come, we will walk that road TOGETHER!"
Shouting the last part, Saint suddenly begins to rush forward, cane in hand. His other hand settles on the front portion of the wood shaft, and as he draws near to the girl, that tell-tale *click* can be heard as the catch is released, and in an awkward, though no less powerful attack, he draws the blade out and swipes at the blonde's collar, drawing the blade out in an almost iaijutsu style, despite the earlier fencing moves he had shown, a sharp 'Hyah!' following it.
COMBATSYS: Ayame counters Medium Strike from Saint with Final Solstice.
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Ayame 0/-------/------=|=======\=------\1 Saint
He takes the staff hit rather... roughly, Ayame spinning out of the strike into a ready stance, her long weapon held at an angle in front of her as she glares toward the shattered pew. He's down for a moment and that gives her all the time she needs to rewind his words and play them again through her mind. Not just his last remarks, but the entirety of her verbal exchanges with him. She thinks about how he reacted when he attacked her, how he seems to laud the glorious pain his power seems to be able to impart upon another.
She's been trying to figure him out this whole time. It's easier for the fairly off-kilter girl to deal with people she can properly categorize. The angry types, the shy types, the timid types, the lonely types, the reckless types... she knows how to deal with and manipulate them once she's profiled them. Saint, however... has eluded her thus far. But she's starting to put it together now. "Pain is God's love, he said," she muses out loud, standing up straight. She doesn't think he's recovering from that nasty spill he took, and as such begins to relax just a little.
"He doesn't just like giving it though... love is intended to be reciprocal or else it isn't love..." She narrows her eyes a little, "What I feel is a phantom of the 'love' he's felt in this world..." Piece by piece, the girl begins to put together the mental profile of one of the craziest bastards she's ever run into. And she's run into a lot of weirdos. Her thoughts are interrupted by the laughter that comes from splintered seating, however, and Ayame blinks, eyes focusing back in his direction.
And then he sits up straight, the motion unnatural... unsettling. He refers to the pain she dished out on him as feelings returned and Ayame grimaces, shaking her head as he speaks of getting to know God better. "I really don't think he's got time for the likes of me. Or you, for that matter." He gets up, straightening his derby and drawing his blade once again and Ayame tenses up. He's still in fighting shape after all.
"Since you like pain so much..." the girl answers with a malevolent smirk, "Let me introduce you to the next level." A button press at the center of her staff has three small blades extending from the top end of it, razor sharp, they slide into position at ninety degrees from each other, forming a small bladed cross on top, convering the staff into more of a lance. As he advances, a firey red chi begins to course over the weapon, spiraling along its length like twisting serpents. The girl watches him carefully now, learning to read his moves accurately or suffer the /very/ painful consequences...
And as he lunges in at her, she retaliates. The unbladed end of her staff swings up, a metallic blur that intersects the incoming slash to parry it aside. And then in the same motion Ayame steps forward, spinning the staff up and around... so that the bladed end comes to bear. And it is with that that the girl spears Saint directly in the torso. All of the chi spiraling around her staff reacts to the contact immediately, convering downt he length of the weapon, blasting directly into Saint's chest. "Sorry," the girl hisses, "I'm not walking any road with anyone." She grins faintly as she pulls the weapon back out and kicks forward to knock him back from the bladed cross, "All that matters is myself."
And the next level is indeed introduced. Though Saint was aware of the girl's defensive capabilities - that staff of hers wasn't just for show - he had yet to encounter a person with such skills, and as such, had little to no understanding of how to cope with it. So the obvious solution was to not care about it, really. And so, he'd made the attack... and suffered the consequences. His blade is parried aside, slapping his guard wide open, which leaves him eminently vulnerable to IMPALING, as Ayame so skillfully does. A loud, and not very pleasant cry of pain is uttered from the priest, the sharp impact driving him back with the motion of the staff-turned-spear, the sharp motion making both his hat and his sword fall from his grasp, falling to the ground some distance away. But it's not done yet, oh no. The red chi blasts forward, slamming into him in a second kind of impalement, the energy ripping into him from the wound in his torso, the priest's body convulsing from the pure pain THAT brings. He would've just collapsed to his knees at that point, but Ayame finishes the move by kicking him back and away, sending him flying a bit like a ragdoll into a column, which he slaps up again and then simply sinks to the floor, only barely managing to catch himself on his hands. In the chaos of that move, he's been divested of both weapons, now only down to his hands.
"Ha... hah hah hah... hahaha..." he gasps out, a laugh that is hard to determine from simple gasping pants until finally he gets enough breath to form a real laugh. This laugh is unlike the others - before merely joyous things, as though he were enjoying the pain inflicted to him. This one is low, drawn out, and somehow... dark. The laugh continues for a few moments, drawn out in length, before suddenly being cut off so that the albino can spit out a gob of blood onto the floor. Once he looks back up to Ayame, his eyes are open, wide open, red eyes blazing. "O, God! Had I but the strength, my Lord, to show her the true light." He shakily gets a foot under him, then half-rises, his torso still crouced over. He looks down at his hands, which he holds up some. "Yes... yes, I see... I see what this feeling is." He then straightens up, casting his arms to either side as he looks upwards. "I understand! It is not God's love... no, this is not God's love." He then looks directly at Ayame, and begins to stalk forward.
"This is -my- love."
The attack is extremely straightforward. As his long legs chew up the distance towards Ayame, he reaches out. He then attempts to palm her face, fingers splayed out. Should this happens, a much sharper image forms in her mind. The surroundings go darker, only Saint being clearly visible. That is, until the four human shapes appear around her. Their faces, twisted and horrible, grin down at her, and lurch towards her, grappling with her arms, her legs... and as their ghost-gray hands settle onto the girl, they twist. The mind-numbing pain of having four limbs shattered simultaneously would erupt into her brain, much stronger than anything ever felt before, as the phantom memory of dozens of broken bones at the hands of bullies transfers from the priest and into his new object of affection. His hand leaves her face a little after the bones 'snap' and he staggers back roughly, nearly falling over but catching himself on a non-shattered pew to support himself. "Ha hahaha... hahaa..."
COMBATSYS: Ayame stops Parade of Ghouls from Saint with Midsummer Fantasy.
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Ayame 0/-------/-----==|=------\-------\0 Saint
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Ayame 0/-------/-----==|=------\-------\0 Saint
The chi driven lance is drawn back, a portion of Saint's blood dripping from the blade she had extended just prior to the attack. The energy coursing over it is gone now, the fiery red chi having blasted directly into the man's chest as the girl tried to give him a taste of that 'love' he claimed to want to enjoy so much. "Che," she grunts as she presses a button and the blades retract back into the hollow titanium pole. She'll clean them later during her routine dismantaling and polishing of her prized weapon.
The sense of victory doesn't last for long, however, as he begins to laugh once more. This time it's different though. A change has come over him... one that makes him even more disturbing than he started out as. Gone is the kindly if creepy expression she saw when first entering... His red eyes blaze as he pulls himself to his feet. "You're mad," she snaps, looking a cross between annoyed and honestly on the edge. Dealing with psychopaths doesn't really fall within the realm of what she expects as acceptable content when she subjects herself to these ridiculous SNFs each week!!
He chants his prayer to a God she's convinced isn't listening to the likes of him... if she believed one existed at all. But then he pronounces his twisted epiphany and Ayame's eyes widen, "Hey, look, I already know love is pain, pain is love, and all that, but you damn sure better not be suggesting what I think you are!" she stammers, backing up a step to shift her staff into position for defending herself. Unarmed, what does he expect to do against her long polearm? It's proven fairly effective thus far at contending with him.
He reaches in and she starts to raise her staff, intending to crack his arm once it gets too far to be drawn back quickly. But then his fingers grasp her face and the girl freezes mid-swing. The cameras would show her arms dropping to rest against her sides, fingers relaxing, the metal staff falling to the floor with a loud ringing noise, and Ayame simply standing still, the clergy man's hand palming her face as intended.
Ayame's version of events would be vastly different. The horrible, twisted faces of monsters join Saint in a chamber of pure darkness. "What is this?" she asks. "Who are they? No-" she gasps as they reach for her limbs, "NO! This isn't real!" she screams. "I know this isn't real!! It's all in your head, not mine. It's your fantasies, your nightmares!" Ghostly hands grasp her tightly, preparing to shatter bone and probably throw her brain into a shut-down spiral that would knock her out for her own good.
But it never comes. A pillar of light pierces through the darkness, bright as the noon-day sun, scattering the spectres and shades in the process, her own will power, her own finely honed control over her thought processes saving her from the unspeakable phantasms. Freed from the torture visible only to her mind's eye, Ayame staggers back from Saint, once again moving, freed from the torment inflicted by his touch alone. Her face pale, perspiration rolling down from her temples, Ayame stares back at Saint as she gasps for breath, looking truly shaken. "They're your experiences... they're the pain 'you've been shown in this world'..." she murmurs, looking aghast at her realization. A hand extends out to the side as the girl utilizes a thick, stone piller for much needed support.
The surprise is dead evident on Saint's face. His eyes widen, looking not only shocked, but almost scared? Something had happened. Something he'd never felt before. He knew little of what his 'power' really was, but he knew how it basically worked... he knew his energy flowed out of him, and into his victims. Yet here, it was being blocked, even... forced out. Had he been using his cane or sword and not his hands, the energy might've flowed back into him. "What...?" he asks, not even realizing he's voiced his shock. The screaming Ayame does to try and force the energy away is largely ignored; he'd heard screams before like that. It was the force of will being exuded from her that had his attention. How was it even possible?
It only interested him in her more.
Stepping backwards a few steps involuntarily, with hand still outstretched, his eyes still widened, he takes just as long of a moment to recover as Ayame does, though for less exhaustive reasons. But after a few moments of this, his shock fades, and he brings his hand up in front of his face, examining the surface of the black leather glove he wears over it. "Never once has my power been repeled. Avoided, guarded against... never repeled. What does this mean, I wonder?" There's a moment of dead silence as he ponders this, his eyes focused solely on his gloved hand. It was a deeply theological question for him, a question of deepest faith. If your power was from God, or so you believed, and someone could reject the power of God, who was supposed to be all-powerful... what did it mean?
"It means that she already knows pain. It means she already knows love. It means that there is only one more step for her to know true salvation," he says to himself. A slow smile spreads upon his lips, his mouth opening partly. "Ha... ha ha ha... I've... I've never felt like this! I'm... excited. Truly, truly excited, and -happy- to be alive! O, God, you've shown me someone I can love freely! Praise God!" He raises his hands into the air a moment, clenching them into fists, and then brings them back down after a moment. "I understand, girl. I've been taking it easy on you, for no one is quite ready to receive all of God's love at first. It must be done slowly. Incrementally. But you... you are -ready-." He brings his left hand up, and begins to slowly peel off his left glove. As it is pulled off his hand, something... grotesque can be seen. Pink skin begins at the wrist, different from the white skin below it. Black lines run through the hand at the wrist, bits of skin that have been burned so badly they will never again regenerate, the rest simply twisted, scar-coated skin, misshapen and horrible. The rest of the hand is not seen, however... as a pleasant little whistling tune comes from Saint's pocket.
The priest pauses in his removal of the glove, and blinks openly. Glancing down at himself, his eyes drop back closed, his normal expression, and he 'ahs'. "One moment, if you would." Reaching into his pocket with his left hand, he takes out a cell phone, and flicks it open, looking over something. There's no voice coming from it, and it seems to be a text message. "...My love is wasted on the inept, hm?" He raises an eyebrow at this description, intrigued. He glances up to Ayame at this point, looking her over, then gives a laugh, this one a short and once again jovial laugh. "Seems we shall need to finish this another time... would you mind terribly? Another seems to wish to experience God's love... and, well, I must admit that while you are highly interesting, I must go where I am needed, and this fellow seems to need me more than you, at the moment."
Replacing his phone, and tugging his glove back down to cover that hideous scarification, he bends over to pick up his sword, then his cane, sheathing the former in the latter, then picks up his derby once more and settles it onto his head. "Well then, I concede defeat to you, I believe I should say in this case. I would've likely lost anyway; you are clearly a skillful fighter. I enjoyed myself immensel
Replacing his phone, and tugging his glove back down to cover that hideous scarification, he bends over to pick up his sword, then his cane, sheathing the former in the latter, then picks up his derby once more and settles it onto his head. "Well then, I concede defeat to you, I believe I should say in this case. I would've likely lost anyway; you are clearly a skillful fighter. I enjoyed myself immensely, I must say... but for now..." he then does something odd. Taking off his hat once more, he sweeps into a bow, low and respectful, then straightens up again. "Farewell... my love." And unless stopped, he will then turn on a heel and simply walk out the front door, humming the remaining lyrics he did not sing to 'Ave Maria' as he goes.
The piller provides much needed support. While she has avoided the last series of Saint's strikes, the attacks he got in early were not trivial for her to cope with even after she began to understand the nature of it. Piece by piece, clue by clue she assembled her profile on the mysterious clergyman, until at last enough of the puzzle was complete for her to draw the shocking conclusions that disturbed her to the core. He's a monster. Every bit as real as the demon she worked for, hidden in the depths of the Metro city casino. Her defense has caught him off guard, and it would seem granted her the opportunity to deal a finishing strike. Given what he's suffered already though, it begs the question of what it would even take. Maybe she should simply run, forgo the fight, rather than contend with this any longer.
Gasping for breath to recover from the effort required to fight him off, Ayame's right hand drops down to her belt, clicking one of the clasps open, readying the disguised whip for use when he inevitabl yadvances again. Her staff lies uselessly on the floor, but that hardly implies she's out of options. Far from it. He begins to muse at what just transpired. Truth is, she's only barely sure herself. She's dealt with more Psycho Power in the last six months than probably anyone outside of Shadaloo, and even she is still learning new things about defending herself from it. All she knows is that when it mattered most, her steel trap of a mind pulled through this time.
As he continues to muse, he draws his own conclusions. The only way she could have repelled his gift would be if she was already intimately familiar with it already. Naturally... Her eyes narrow, brow furrowing slightly. "Just what are you getting at... meh, what a nutjob." He reaches for his glove, saying that she's ready, and Ayame tenses up noticeably, leaning away from the piller and standing up straight, drawing the whip from off her waist, letting it drape against the floor at her side.
Her eyesight is sharp, making it all to easy to see every gross detail of the flesh exposed. "What are yo doing. Stop it. Forget this. I'm-" Screw this, she doesn't have to stay here and put up with this freakshow. They can expect her to make an appearance when this guy is locked up in an asylum and her opponents are back to being super powered killing machines that can destroy her in two hits. That's preferrable to /this/.
But she never finishes her sentence, his phone ringing and drawing his attenton. The revelation of what that black glove conceals is cut short. He asks if she'll give him a moment to answer the call and the girl simply stares blankly, looking... confused for a change. He states that they should finish it another time and the distressed street rogue scowls, waving her empty hand toward him, "Screw off, sicko."
Her words are met with merely a polite analysis of the state of the fight, her skill as a fighter, how much he enjoyed the match, and at last, his parting words: My love. The statement hits the girl like a ton of bricks, her eyes widening as she pales visibly. He didn't just... he did... yeah... okay, that was worse than everything else he said or did throughout the entire fight. She doesn't even have the capacity to speak, the typically loquacious jerk of a girl caught without a snappy retort, a flippant remark, or a sarcastic barb for once.
Where's that piller? Oh yeah, there it is. The girl's back comes to rest against it as Saint takes his leave, making no effort whatsoever to stop him. She's won, and the stipulations of her victory for this particular match played greatly with her well known greed, but while she technically has her pick of anything in the now vacated chapel, all that seems forgotten as she sinks into a seated position against the support, releasing her pent up breath with a long, slow exhale.
It doesn't last forever though. She does recover her composure as the seconds tick past. Pushing herself back up to her feet with a grunt as she fixes the whip back around her waist, the girl collects her staff and knife she dropped earlier, closing and collapsing them and returning them to their places on her personage.
Turning on her heels, she starts toward the exit, pausing halfway there to glance to the side at one of the valuable relics the building houses. Her right hand comes up, reaching out toward the jeweled Crucifix. But before her fingers grasp the silver base, her hand freezes, then retracts slowly. The brown-eyed girl glances up the length of the hall toward the front of the cathedral, then back toward the door leading out of the magnificent structure... and in the end, she lifts her hand up to rest behind her head, joined by her left one as well, the girl sauntering on out of the holy building, a thoughtful expression on her face.
COMBATSYS: Saint has left the fight here.
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Ayame 0/-------/-----==|
Log created on 21:13:56 05/17/2008 by Ayame, and last modified on 17:45:54 05/21/2008.