Description: Rick Strowd's travels has brought him to Europe where his current stop has him visiting a small town in Romania where his drinking party brings him into meeting the mysterious Amy. A battle between the two soon ensues and ends with more drinking and possibly them waking up in a bed together regretting what they did. OOPS.
Romania is a quirky gem of a country, surrounded by mythos the rest of the world has come to embrace into its art and culture. Doubtless many are enraged by the depiction of the gypsies and vampires so popularly abused by the media; but pride sits deep in the people, nonetheless. The backpacking tourists who make a stop in this land tend toward the more creative and thoughtful... which does not stop them from being ripped off by the entrepreneurial.
At the edge of a great green and twisted forest, the youngest of the Knights Templar comes to the end of her exhaustive trek across the countryside. Dark eyes and dark clothing conceal her well in the dusk, but the canny-eyed men she approaches cannot help but mark the telling sprig of lavender at her breast. No matter how wise one believes they are, there is always a soft point - perhaps lack of genuine knowledge, or simply too much compassion for an old woman's plight.
Despite an apparent veer toward the gullible, Amy seems au fait with local custom. She approaches the nearby building, pausing next to a shaven-headed, moustachioed man in brightly coloured cloths. They exhange words, never maintaining eye contact for more than the briefest instant, and she hands the man something from within her weighty jacket. He appears pleased, and steps toward the building's entrance, swinging the door open to allow the young woman to enter first...
The structure nestles on a rough-hewn base of rock, with wooden rails and pillars rising up toward a steeply sloping slate roof. On one side, a stout tower rises another fifteen feet into the air - a small partly open chamber at it's top proudly furnished with a dull brass bell. The tower's flamboyant spire resembles nothing more than a magician's hat. All in all, it looks like nothing more than a small church or chapel... the sounds of merriment coming from within, and the warm glow coming from shuttered windows, speak far more truth. This is a meeting place for the local Romany, a place of food, drink, and spreading rumours.
Inside, it is much like any rural European bar - barring the expected ethnic decoration. People speak in cosy booths off to one side, or make more boisterous conversation at the bar. Though a humble people, there is even an area set aside for wrestling exhibition, several young men matching their physical skill.
There are many things in life when growing up you wouldn't think would happen. To go to Europe at all seemed just like a fantasy to the young Native American known as Rick Strowd. Getting away from his tribe just to go to the city was a big obstacle and now here he is wandering through the various countries that were home to the white man that stole his people's land. Does he hold a grudge about all of that? Maybe just a little, but right now he is having one hell of a time to really care because of all the bad publicity Romania gets because of movies and other forms of media these people are some fun sons of bitches.
There is a hearty laugh from the Native American who is at the bar with a few of the larger fellows that seem intent on trading shots with one another. No one here might offer him a good fight, but at least he found some men that can hold their liquor. "Don't hold back, fellas. We got the whole night to piss away." he boasts and the group starts laughing again as the shotglasses are hammered on the bartop and then the white-haired man slugs his back and then thrusts the shotglass wielding hand in the air. "Another round for me and the boys!" Oh he is going to regret this when he sees the bill.
Amy's purpose here this evening is far from boisterous - she came to consult a friend on something that bears full and serious discussion. On entering the generally quiet public house, it becomes clear that this is not the night for delicate matters, nor for philosophy and intrigue. Rick's booming voice is impossible to ignore, and initially draws an inadvertent cringe from the woman who has been alone in near-silence for the last eight hours.
"Come!" Declares her gypsy companion, raising his own voice in an enthusiastic laugh and clapping a rough hand to her back, "We have visitor from far away - another like you! He celebrate with us all night. This means you must also celebrate, yes?" Grinning ear to ear, he grabs the astonished Templar and whisks her into a lunging dance toward the bar, one hand at her waist and the other pulling her arm forward. He releases her when they reach the central group of drinkers, leaving her between the sturdy boxer and one of the drunken Romany crew.
"Not.. really my thing. I--" She is cut off promptly by another slap on the back, blinking in astonishment when a drink is thrust between her fingers. "Drink! Round is for boys and also one girl!" A resounding cheer goes up, and Amy seems to relent, a smile pulling itself over previously protesting lips. "Fine. But you wake me up with breakfast, and then we talk, Dusan." Her friend yells and raises his hands before him, seemingly agreeing to the request, before seizing up a drink of his own.
"Then Amy Johnson! Rick Strowd! Let us all drink together!"
Another shot is being poured when the boxer at least seems to have the wits about him to know he is about to be run into when he catches Amy sort of being twirled around in his direction so that there is room for her to come to a stop without crashing into either the Native American or his new drinking buddies. A brow raises at first as he gives Amy the once over then his grin returns as well and he reaches into the pockets of the white jeans he wears and pulls out some more money to put down on the bartop. "Oh why the hell not. One for the lady as well. She looks like she could use it."
He raises his glass in cheers to the declaration of the Romanian man and he pounds it down again. "Might not have a good fight here tonight, but at least they got great booze." he says to Amy while elbowing her perhaps a bit roughly. He often forgets his own strength, doubly so when he has been on the sauce for the better part of a few hours. "You look like a bit of a lightweight, though. What brings you to this bar?" he asks with his attention now almost fully shifted to the woman since she is about the only person around here not sporting facial hair and smelling like they rolled about in the dirt before entering.
Really, you'd think that Amy's attention would already have been on Rick - but he's not quite so unusual a sight in this place as he would be in many others. Most of the bar's patrons are hard working, salt-of-the-earth types who have built up some impressive physiques among themselves. Big, hairy chests are visible in several places, muscles barely restrained by skimpy vests and half unbuttoned shirts. This and their dark skin tone means that the boxer could live here, learn the language, and probably get along as a native after a few more years.
Provided he could get rid of that accent.
And wear something other than white jeans. And remove his dreadlocks.
Oh sod it.
Down goes the drink, and Amy surprises many present by barely registering the sharp kick as it hammers her body and brain. The local liquor is potent - and there really are very few women in here. Ever. There's the obligatory flouncy-dressed barmaid, naturally, but beyond that this is very much a European sausage party. Rick stands out for different reasons, but the Templar really is a stranger in a strange land.
On casually sliding her emptied shotglass onto the knotted wood of the bar, she is immediately caught by that lancing elbow, air leaving her lungs in a sudden whoosh of breath. He just caught her off-guard, though. Seriously. Never mind that it clearly made much more impact than the firewater she just hammered. "Nice to meet you, too," she cracks out, shaking her head and grinning up at the Native American. As to being a lightweight? "Don't judge a book by it's cover. I'm here for my own reasons, but I've earned some respect around here."
"Ha ha!" Dusan chimes in, further adding to the woman's beating by thrusting a chummy fist against her right shoulder. She has prepared a bit better for this, and merely raises an eyebrow as she twitches backward, accounting for the hearty thump. "Amy Johnson is friend to us all - stronger than she look. Many men marry her if allowed, but her heart belong to better man, yes?"
"Something like that..." Amy confirms with a downward glance and a chuckle, "We still drinking or have you boys had enough?"
Rick could probably linger here for longer than expected if he had the choice. The locals are a fun sort of lot, the booze is good and the atmosphere in general is nice and relaxing. The only problem is his wife would probably kill him if he tried staying away for too long. She has come to accept the fact that he is a traveller but that wouldn't stop her from flying to where he is to drag him back home if he didn't return to her every once in awhile. Of course being married doesn't seem to be stopping him from his vague flirting with the ladies here and there during his travels. Old habits are really hard to break.
The Native American turns his head to Dusan when he speaks up and he then glances back towards Amy thoughtfully. "Stronger than she looks. You much of a fighter, miss?" he asks while snapping his fingers to make sure the bartender knows to refill both his glass and the one that belongs to Amy. Drinking is all fine and dandy, but now his mind seems to be drifting to other things at the mention that this girl might be more than meets the eye. "And hell no, have another. I have only begun to defile myself tonight!"
Faith. People come to take the concept far too seriously, turning a subtle and beautiful expression of trust and respect into something weighty and troublesome. In short, a burden. By the rules laid out in her education, Amy should be far from this house of sin. She certainly shouldn't be chucking back throatfuls of alcohol - apparently it diminishes the soul. But equally apparent is that just about /everything/ diminishes the soul. Rick's made his own rules with regard to his wife, and Amy... well, she's made her own rules regarding the 'man' mentioned by Dusan.
Another thing she probably shouldn't do - and hell, the same applies to most marriages - is fight. Let alone for simple pleasure and exercise. But the thing with rules is that, really, they're all more like guidelines. Humanity wouldn't have gotten anywhere without mixing things up a bit.
So, is the Templar 'much of a fighter'?
"Suppose I might be a bit of one. Depends who's asking, and how good /they/ are." Her response is light and casual, though she meets Rick's gaze with a cautious spark of fire in her own. She seems pretty confident; it might be described as a defiant look if it had any reason to be. The Romany at her other flank begins to laugh, the sound building from an amused chuckle to an explosion of mirth.
"Outsiders! Be more direct!" His neighbour states, yellowed teeth bared as he flashes the exaggerated grin so many of those present seem to have in their arsenal of expressions. "Power in both, but hide behind nice words. Is not Romany way - some things say action first, talk second!"
"And drink always!" Quips Dusan, knocking back another drink. Apparently he either owns this place or is the most regular customer - the moment he finishes a drink, another appears without request.
There are a few long moments where his gaze stays locked with Amy without words being exchanged. Is might just be gauging the woman and if she might just be all talk or perhaps someone quite interesting to tussle with. The short silence is broken up by the Romany that decides to speak up. "They locals have a good point. My curiousity is piqued and I like the way the people around here think." he finally says and downs his last shot before reaching for the hem of the blue t-shirt he is wearing to pull it up and off. The warpaint he usually has on is obviously missing since his plans for a good battle were put on hold when it looked like no one was interesting around and while many of the gentleman are hairy enough to possibly pose as a gorilla the Native American pretty much just has the hair on his head and no hair is there to take away from the toned and chiseled body of Rick.
He drops the shirt on the bartop then claps his hands a few times before he starts heading towards the door. "Everyone outside! It's time for a show!" he declares before reaching into the pockets of his jeans to pull free a pair of fingerless gloves that he begins to pull on. His grin cannot get any wider at this point. This is what he was hoping for. Now hopefully this girl is as firey as the gaze she gave when they locked eyes earlier. The adrenaline is already pumping to the point the buzz the man had is already fading some. A battle is about to begin and he is already pumped.
COMBATSYS: Rick has started a fight here.
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Rick 0/-------/------=|
There's something to be said for being direct. Though maintaining eye contact with Rick for the duration of the silence, already one side of Amy's mouth has quirked up despite any control she might be able to exert. Life in this tiny corner of the world is never dull; and these people are responsible for that. Finally she can't suppress a full grin, and when Rick throws back his shot she laughs, shrugs and seizes up her own.
"Not exactly the night I had in mind," she notes, glancing around the gathered men, raising the weighty glass before chucking more of that gypsy flame down her throat, "But if you're going to do something, don't stop halfway. Let's do it." She slams the glass onto the bartop, wipes a hand back across her mouth, and starts to follow the Native American, yanking off her own jacket as she approaches the door. It hits the floor with a *whump*, left to be scooped up by the chivalrous Dusan as he follows at the rear of the group. The other occupants of the bar begin to trickle out shortly after.
On making it outside, Amy begins a quick warm-up, keeping her eyes on Rick as she bounces on the balls of her feet, rolling her shoulders and flicking out her wrists. Long black hair bounces wildly with the motions, and the cross about her neck flashes in the dim light as it does the same. She's been wearing that wide, enthusiastic expression on her lips up until this point, but as she calms down it fades, slipping away to be replaced with a calm intensity that overcomes her visage. She slips into a stance, and as she does so the last of the patrons fall into a semi-circle about the combatants.
The smoky atmosphere from inside the bar seems to have made it outside, but as the door stops swinging on it's hinges it only seems to grow foggier. Gray-white fingers creep through the air, careering about in a graceful and slow manner as Native American and English Rose square off. Amy waits only until the boxer has his own guard up, before lunging toward him. A three-sixty spin carries her just beyond striking distance, where she comes about with feet firmly planted and a hand jabbing forward, open-palmed, toward his broad chest. "Come on!" She freezes in place with the cry, and the flash in her eyes suggests this is her attack.
A heartbeat later, something rears up along the slope leading toward the smoky bar, a dim and faint apparition bearing a loosely human shape. In a land of creepy folklore, it could be almost anything... but it appears to be on Amy's side, hurtling toward Rick with a howl of rushing winds.
COMBATSYS: Amy has joined the fight here.
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Amy 0/-------/-------|=------\-------\0 Rick
COMBATSYS: Rick dodges Amy's Night Errant.
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Amy 0/-------/-------|=------\-------\0 Rick
It is not the kind of night Rick expected either, but he is glad this is how things are turning out. The people are simple and fun, but in the long run the urge for a good battle and seeking self improvement are always there for the young Native American. A fight like this beats anything that he might come across otherwise in this small town. A petty thief was about the extent of what he might have expected to find and now here he is about to be locked into a fight with someone who looks like she has quite a few tricks up her sleeve. That assumption appears to be true too given the strange almost creepy atmosphere that the night offers as Amy exits, the eerie forming mist seeming to side with the woman that he is facing down.
That strike comes fast and even though it might be harmless Rick isn't going to take any chances while leaping back quickly to avoid whatever that thing may be. He sucks in a deep breath and his fists raise up as he bounces from foot to foot. "All right, this certainly will be interesting." he admits after seeing that bit of show from the other fighter. "Here I come!" With that he reals back and plants a foot firmly in the ground before pushing off of it and dashing forward, his left arm extending and his fist aiming to slam right into the chest of the other fight. "Hrrrrnnnnhaaaaah!"
COMBATSYS: Amy endures Rick's Divine Blast.
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Amy 0/-------/---====|==-----\-------\0 Rick
A murmur of recognition runs through the crowd as Amy's unorthodox form of attack emerges from the steadily approaching night - the murmur quickly becoming a startled roar as Rick's evasion proves successful. Apparently they agree with the boxer's comment; this is interesting.
As the ghostly shape sears past Rick, it seems to become more solid for an instant before it erupts into creeping tendrils, forming a thick haze between the combatants. The Templar does not seem cowed by this, eyes not narrowing to squint through the vague barrier. Quite the contrary; she remains in her stance, keeping a steady stare upon her opponent. Her extended fingers twitch and then withdraw, lowering to one side as he lunges forward with a cocky announcement of intent. It's more than enough to warn her, giving her time to prepare for the assault that follows.
But... the woman does not shift, merely seeming to focus intently upon her core, body rigid yet yielding for the incoming fist. It slams into her sternum, driving her backwards across the ground, booted feet shrieking twin gouges through scattering soil. He's strong. She was not sure what to expect; a large man is not necessarily a powerful man, though it said something that such a specimen would make it out here; the absolute middle of nowhere by any standard. Dark eyes narrow, and she again thrusts herself forward, this time with both palms extended, one beside the other.
With the movement, a harsh breath explodes past Amy's lips, and suddenly the gathered smoke all whiplashes through the air, bucking and twisting in the direction of the boxer. The sheer bulk of energies that end up descending upon him is startling in itself, each tendril combining with others and then solidifying to form a hard striking mass. Members of the hairy audience holler, watching the attack set to pummel the boxer first into the ground, and then lift him on a fierce if hazy pillar, battering him twice in rapid succession before the mist rushes outward and settles. It resembles a storm front, caught on camera and time-lapsed, but is also something far more distinctive...
No matter what happens, when the first torrent collapses upon Rick, Amy straightens and begins to circle around, arms windmilling once before they fall into accustomed satellite position about her body. She is breathing hard, feeling the effort in controlling her powers so dramatically, so early.
COMBATSYS: Rick blocks Amy's The Dragon's Breath.
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Amy 0/-------/-------|====---\-------\0 Rick
Something can be said about the way that Amy managed to take that first hit. Rick isn't by far the strongest man around, but his punches have gained him a slight amount of renown in various areas in the United States where he frequents. This is Romania, though. He is about as well known as any other traveler that happens through and in this case much less known than this girl apparently. He falls back into his stance of hopping about and swaying as his focus remains fixated on the woman he is battling. "Nice job. You take a punch well." he praises and doesn't get much more of a say since he finds himself on the defensive once again.
He is still uncertain about how dangerous these tendril like creations truely are, but given the speed they are coming in at him he is about to find out. He uses fancy footwork to avoid most of it, but the initial barrage collides into the Native American and elicits a grunt from him as he has to keep quick on his feet to keep from being fully crushed under the force of it. "Very unique. I must say this is a first." he admits and then he shuffles forward to close in on the other fighter and he feints a quick jab with his right hand and using the momentum of the shift of attack to bring his left hand towards her jaw in a sharp left hook.
COMBATSYS: Amy blocks Rick's Hook Punch.
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Amy 0/-------/-----==|====---\-------\0 Rick
Body-melting punches and startling displays of chi manipulation... normally a good tournament crowd has to wait at least a few minutes to see these things; while fighters hurl about tentative, careful attacks in order to gauge their opponent. Amy may not outwardly seem the pumped, energetic type - but her inner exuberance thus far appears to be matching Rick's.
"Thanks," she fires back to the compliment he offers, tone distant and certainly /not/ showing that exuberance as she continues to circle, feet rapidly crossing one past the other and fingers gripping rhythmically at the cool air. "You're not so bad yourself." 'Not so bad'. She's never seen anybody shrug off that last move so well- excepting one other which is an oddity to itself, it is the very pinnacle of her chosen and trained art. If rather less subtle than many of her techniques. She's impressed, and clearly not bothered in the least at the extent of damage she has already taken. However physically tough she may or may not be, her attitude is clearly solid.
There's not much time to say more, or do more. Rick comes in slower but less direct than last time, and she still proves ready with similarly tight movements of her own. His incoming fist is met with a quick weave to one side, moving Amy's face from the line of fire and allowing an easy response from her left forearm. There's a heavy smack, the sleeve of her leotard rippling from the force, but her arm stays respectably steady. Not wasting the brief opening she has created, Amy makes a slight forward motion, aiming to latch onto his extended shoulder with her right hand. The left darts down to close over his arm as she spins and - in the process - hauls upon the burly Native American, seeking to bring him down to the dew-damp ground.
COMBATSYS: Rick interrupts Medium Throw from Amy with Hellion.
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Amy 0/-------/=======|=====--\-------\0 Rick
The boxer isn't near as good at controlling his emotions in cases like this. Once the fight gets going he feels the adrenaline build and with that the excitement of pummeling and being pummeled. The drink is wearing off quickly too, the exertion and concentration of dealing with this strange fighter is a very sobering experience. He knows a slipup could really throw him off his game and he might not be able to recover. The fact she hasn't even thrown a punch on her own makes him wonder just what other tricks she has up her sleeve. His thoughts are answered too it would seem when she finally does move into action with him close in like this and she begins to try to grapple with the boxer.
It is a tussle where he fights back in an attempt to break free of the grip. The twisting and pulling causes him to grunt when his arm probably gets tugged a bit out of socket. This doesn't seem to stop the boxer from swinging that right fist around in a hook punch aimed low. His hand flashes yellow with an energy of his own he had yet to show that lashes across the waist of Amy before his left comes upwards with a powerful hook to the jaw, it too flashing yellow and erupting with energy as he cries out loudly. "HELLION!" After the powerful blow is delivered he stuttersteps backwards to put some distance between himself and Amy while rolling about his right shoulder to try and get the pain out of it. He didn't expect to have to use one of his big tricks so early either when he wanted to at least keep his style pretty bland to throw the girl off for awhile longer.
For all her outward composure, Amy is feeling the heat from the powerful boxer. Energy rushes from him in torrents - and that says nothing of what it feels like to meet those careering fists. If she has not tasted his most powerful blows yet, she can only imagine what else is to come. She is given another taste here, however.
The very fact that she has to struggle to maintain her grip and complete the takedown speaks volumes about Rick's tenacity, and ability. Given their situation and relative stances, on many lesser fighters it would be a near guarantee of success. Here, she grits her teeth against the sheer effort involved, succeeding only in wrenching his arm and... getting truly pounded by the shattering, energy-soaked fist that answers her efforts. It blows her away at astonishing speed, her form blurring through the mist, limbs flailing backward as she seeks to reverse her momentum. Through the pain, it is almost impossible.
But she manages it, nonetheless. Her breath is coming in gasps as she rises from a desperate crouch and breaks into a dash back toward the boxer - keeping distance, or ensuring proximity, seem to be much the same when dealing with his strikes. She is forced to rely upon deception, to try and throw off his game. To this end, she leaps in, twisting in the air to bring a swinging roundhouse kick down toward his chest. At the same time, her right hand lashes out behind her and then around, coming fully to the fore at the instant her leg retreats beneath her.
By now it is apparent that she cannot be seeking to land the first blow. Instead, with her fingers closing tightly in the air a foot away from Rick, a peal of mist breaks away at his flank, lashing around to seek purchase on his left leg. A boxer's stance is crucial... and this technique could well break it. She lands before him, arm snapping to form a guard. In tandem, the energy bound about his leg will snap away, dragging him on a painful descent to the ground.
Second time lucky.
COMBATSYS: Rick dodges Amy's Quagmire.
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Amy 0/-------/=======|=====--\-------\0 Rick
No words are said after the punishing blow delivered by the boxer. Anything said right now might be considered bragging and as boisterous as Rick can be he has nothing but respect for the woman he is fighting. She has taken a beating yet she continues her assault. The problem is Rick is in a rhythm now and everything is firing on all cylinders. It is only proven further when his footing quickly shifts about and the boxer evades the grasping tendril of mist that seeks to trip him up and throw him off his game. There are two quick steps back and then Rick pushes off his heels to launch himself backwards while his braids flap about and almost come out of the loose ponytail he keeps them in.
He lands with fist clenched and then he takes another deep breath before nodding to Amy. He appreciates the girl's effort to keep pace with him, but he is in the zone and he can feel that if he plays his cards right he can end things right now. With a loud roar the Native American bursts forward again, fists aglow as he comes in with a quick flurry of lefts and rights aimed at the midsection of Amy to try and knock her off balance and then he twists about with a strong left uppercut while launching himself up into the air with his momentum if he manages to land the flurry correctly.
COMBATSYS: Rick successfully hits Amy with Shooting Star EX.
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Amy 1/---====/=======|=======\-------\0 Rick
It's only natural that many of the gypsy observers have placed bets among themselves - whether or not these are backed up by wagers, financial or otherwise. At this point, those who have bet upon the known element are cheering louder, alcohol fuelling desperate desires to see their pick come out on top. But it's obvious enough that the dreadlocked stranger is a worthy warrior in his element. It is no less apparent in the devastating, ravishingly fast technique he now throws himself into.
Amy's responses to Rick have been heavily committed, and though she is not tiring she has begun to enter a sway of her own, moving more rapidly and smoothly as adrenaline overcomes her also. But it does not save her here. After matching the Native American's nod with an inclination of her own head, the Templar moves the very instant he does. /Towards/ him. His first glowing fist is actually evaded by a swift twirl, but the woman steps back in, judging that he might follow her. His assault is unrelenting, though. The second swing strikes true, dragging her into the veritable whirlwind of pain that follows.
When Rick launches his chiselled frame into the air, he carries Amy with him, a bloody streak opening on her chin as his knuckles hammer and scrape with rocketing force. She is thrown into the air with a heavy gasp, spiralling uncontrollably before suddenly - somehow - she reverses momentum in the air, black hair and mist spinning around her as she falls back toward her opponent. She feels this is the last chance; her body screams at her to stop, throw herself down in defeat. Her arms, previously akimbo, swing down toward the man's shoulders. Her right hand seeks to thrust backward, her left pulls forward, and if it works he will immediately enter a spin, leaving the ground again to pirouette about at the Templar's bidding. If she can just pull that off...
COMBATSYS: Amy can no longer fight.
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Rick 0/-------/=======|
COMBATSYS: Amy successfully hits Rick with Wyrm Waker.
-* CRITICAL HIT! *-
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Rick 1/---====/=======|
...the end is spectacular.
"Haaaaah-" Amy lands sharply after hauling the muscular titan up and around. Though watching his whipping form for a half second, she is far from idle. Legs bent from her landing, body actually shaking with the effort, the raven-haired knight errant thrusts both arms into the air, dextrous digits clawing at the mist; which is quick to obey its mistress. All the energy gathered directly above her coalesces, streaming toward her and then whipping forward with the sudden downward motion of her hands.
She ends up on her knees, fingers coming to brace themselves in the grass. But the conclusion is yet more dramatic for Rick, as all that chi /screams/ toward him in a fierce arc, slamming him from the air into the ground with an impact that shakes the very earth.
The feeling of his fist cracking against Amy at full momentum and carrying her into the air with him. A blow that has finished off many people be it fighter or thug. Of course this woman is certainly not a thug and she has proven to be a tough and tested fighter. Despite this Rick is caught off guard enough that she manages to continue fighting after such a powerful blow that there is a bit of hesitance where the boxer is unsure of what to do. The time it finally takes for him to decide to try and avoid whatever Amy has in mind he has already been caught by her. If not for the booze and the 'fighter's high' that he is on Rick may have been in real big trouble which is hard wrap one's brain around given the vicious nature of how he is thrown about and finally slammed into the ground.
The air is knocked right out of Rick when he slams into the ground and leaving a crather in the shape of the Native American who remains downed for a few long moments while he tries to refill his lungs with air. Most lesser men might have stayed down, but after a few moments of trying to shake free the cobwebs the boxer sits up quickly and thrusts his fist in the air. "Don't count me out." he says and then he has enough wits gathered to notice how Amy is on the ground trying to recover as well. This results in him lowering his hand and slowly he gets back to his feet before wandering over and standing over Amy while looking down with a serious expression. It gives away quickly to a grin and a hand reaches out to offer to help Amy to her feet. "I guess next time the drinks can be on you, huh?"
COMBATSYS: Rick has ended the fight here.
By the time Rick rises... Amy has still not moved dramatically, only the rapid rise and fall of her chest particularly apparent to the eye. Her lips are parted, breath gusting out audibly with each strained breath. It's as much to do with her own natural high as with the bruises that swell upon her lithe frame. Her fingers clutch against crumpling blades hard enough that her arms are bulging with sinewy muscle, straining the skintight material around them.
Despite her condition, she notes her opponent's presence above her, smiling wryly inside that he somehow weathered the assault. She is not displeased; on the contrary, to test herself against such an accomplished warrior is an honour and a privilege. But she has most certainly been outmatched this time. His hand hovers before her, and she braces herself for rising - eager to show him the respect he shows her. On being hauled to her feet, she wobbles only faintly in place, knees threatening to buckle, before managing a breathless smile. She loosens from his grip only to quickly turn it into a warrior's handshake, the power behind her subsequent squeeze lacking but apparent. It conveys her emotions well enough.
"Next time is tonight." She finally responds to his words, pulling her hand away and lifting a finger. It quivers in the air, but her eyes are bright as she continues, "You might have knocked me down, but don't count me out either - I can still try and match in you other ways. Let's see if we can't both end up on the floor!" Grinning past all fatigue, she glances toward the audience of Romany folk, many of whom throw fists into the air, some of whom start to run forward, as they raise a cheer. To celebrate a damn good match, and to praise the promise that more drinking will be done. And how better to enforce a new kinship made on the battlefield?
The grip tightens when the offered hand turns to a handshake of respect. Rick releases though he seems ready to catch Amy in case she does start to topple over. Proud she may be, but he isn't going to let her splat down on her face or the like because of that pride. He wipes his brow with a forearm and is glad for the rather cool air of the evening to help with the fatigue he is feeling. His attention turns to those gathered around and he gives a rather big grin before said attention is turned back to Amy. "Tonight? Well I guess that is fine by me. We still got plenty of hours of this evening to waste."
With that being said be gives a perhaps more than hardy pat on the back of Amy and he starts to pull his gloves back off and stuff them into the pack pocket of his dirtied jeans. "More drinks for everyone! Lets party till we pass out!" he declares which is followed by a large cheer from the gathering of burly Romany that had been gathered to watch and start to filter back into the bar to party the rest of the evening away.
Log created on 11:54:39 09/06/2008 by Rick, and last modified on 16:14:48 09/06/2008.