Description: Two very different warriors meet in Haifa, Israel. After demonstrating their respective skills, they find more common ground than either might have suspected. But where Drake walks in the light, Amy speaks of darkness, conflict and sacrifice beyond estimation. Where she professes to understand the wrestling model, he cannot quite fathom the Templar's nature. They part ways on the understanding that another meeting will come to pass, and deeper truths will be realised... Until then? Onward, to glory, and to Strolheim.
It's getting close. Drake should move on the Korea in just another day or two. So to prepare for the fight in that country, Drake's hit the gym. He's had no chance to really talk with or see Spider since their fight to discuss his style and such more, so he may as well try out the other locals firsthand.
This gym in Haifa is really quite astounding. Absolutely huge, commercialized, and sports all manner of equipment. It's regularly packed with people, and this is no exception. Only now, there's a tiny gathering towards the matted areas, as there is an open invitational for anyone that wants to have a go at the victor from a few days past. Drake, decked out in his typical workout clothes consistent of.. well.. sweatpants and one or two accessories, appears to have been at this for a while, as evidenced by the thin sheen of sweat slickening his upper-body and giving him a sort of shine under the halogen lights. From the looks of things, he's between challengers, weight shifting from foot to foot to keep the adrenaline going and the blood pumping.
Life... has been interesting for Amy Johnson. A long-awaited opportunity has come about, but the nature of its approach has created a wave of uncertainty. Left damaged and broken by the deadly postman chosen to deliver the good news she had hoped for, the youngest of the Knights Templar has been forced into a period of recuperation. Fleeing to a particularly obscure and dusty corner of Europe, she has only in the last twelve hours emerged back into society at large.
It would come as no surprise to Amy's nearest and dearest that she has bounced back from her recovery with fresh resolve, renewed energy driving her back into serious training and back on the path of discovery. To this end she has turned her sights to Israel - a target she should not have forsaken for so long. The pilgrimage to Jerusalem is not one to be taken lightly, particularly if her suspicions are correct regarding who she will find there. A reunion could be in order. And for this purpose, she must be prepared. She has elected to spend some time in Haifa, ensuring full readiness before she continues her journey the way it deserves; on foot.
A strong physicality is a must, and to this end the woman has been frequenting the gym where Drake now hones his skills. She is usually given to training outside, but the heat is stifling - a difficulty she could overcome on a trek, or in short vigorous bursts, but not for the intensity she oft desires. The intensity she desires /today/. Already she has spent several hours on the running machines, in the gymnasium and on the mats, with several short breaks to allow the body time to adjust and recover. No matter which part of the gym she has occupied, faint mutters (at the very least) have reached her ears about the champion wrestler taking on challengers. Drake has made a name for himself on the fighting circuit, and more pertinently he has done so in this very city.
All in all, it's intriguing enough that Amy finally deigns to approach, wandering over as she towels herself down from a bout on the horse. A faint smile is sent Drake's way, dark eyes flickering left and right to check for any others who may be stepping up... before she tosses her towel to one side and steps forward onto the mat. She makes no attempt to introduce herself, and simply flicks out her wrists as she speaks, "I've been hearing the cries of pain for a while now. Are you actually any good, or just picking on those who think they're better than they are?"
Amethyst eyes flit about the small audience, anxiously waiting for one of them to step up. When none do, his shoulders slouch a little and the back-and-forth hopping comes to an end. "Aw, c'mon," Drake says. "No one? Last call?," he offers up.
Lo and behold, a girl appears. It.. has to be a girl, of course. This by itself causes a murmuring, and a broad grin spreads over his lips. "Now how many times have I seen -this- happen?," he muses, primarily to himself.
When she poses her question, Drake's grin turns into a lighthearted, amused smile. "I like to think I'm good, sure. Otherwise, a whole lott'a people would just plain suck. As for these guys? I just take on whoever comes in." His head inclines, obsidian bangs drifting out a little. "You wanna go a round, hon'?" The additional "hon'" shouldn't come off as flirty so much as friendly. The age gap, however, might make it a tad bit awkward. Blame the parents.
Somewhere, in an archaelogical dig site near Jerusalem, Amy's legal guardian feels a surge of righteous indignation and glares at the nearest available male... barely resisting the urge to smack him silly with her shovel. The reaction from Drake's would-be sparring partner is rather less stated, though her eyebrows do /shoot/ upward.
"'Hon'?" Shaking her head, expression relaxing into an easy grin, Amy sinks into a firm stance, knees bent and arms raised. Her fingers flex gently before steadying. Every movement so far is smooth and practiced, her muscles warm and loose from the lengthy workout leading up to this point. Clearly the girl is no slacker herself. "No matter how good you are, I should probably make you pay for that. Are we taking wagers or just grappling for the sheer thrill of it?"
Her tone is relaxed and friendly enough to show that no offence was truly taken. But what kind of self-respecting British woman would fail to bring Drake up on the use of such a nickname? Throwaway as it is, he's thrown down the proverbial gauntlet. Besides, by distracting him with his audacity she might just steer attention away from the odd phenomenon occurring in the well-aired gymnasium as - with the rise in Amy's fighting spirit - faint wisps of greyish mist begin to gather, starting at the floor but gradually wafting into the air. At this stage, nobody seems to take note... but this will rapidly come to change...
Drake blinks at her facial reaction to the title given to her. "Hey, just bein' friendly," he insists. "And -I- have been grappling for the sake of trainin'. Was there a wager you had in mind, Miss..?," he asks, trailing with inflection deliberately to indicate an interest in learning her name.
But while she answers that or not, Drake settles in a typical wrestling stance, himself. Feet separate about a shoulders' width apart, knees bent a little for braced balance. His hands lift to shoulder level, fingers splayed out at the ready. "Any kind'a rules you wanna lay down?"
"Oh, I believe you," Amy is quick to respond when Drake rushes to defend himself, clearly basking a little in the potential fun to be had here. The grin remains on her lips, her eyes sparkle a little as she meets the wrestler's gaze, and she holds it without blinking for just the right amount of time to unnerve the average male. He's a pretty guy; most likely either the type who can take such teasing in their effortless stride, or... the type that really can't. Either way, she's in a light mood today.
The Templar finally allows herself to blink when Drake asks her name, inclining her head in the semblance of a bow, "Amy. Don't worry about the 'miss'." For someone who by rights should think of herself as a Lady or a Dame, she really isn't too keen on titles. "No wager, and no particular rules. I think we both know how this is supposed to go." She pauses to breathe in deeply, releasing the breath as she sinks a little deeper and more comfortably into her stance. It's been a while since she allowed herself to fight without manipulating energy externally, though that inward coiling of strength cannot simply be switched off. It has become instinctive; as much a part of her root style as grappling.
"Shall I start us off, or is 'ladies first' a bit traditional for you?"
Drake has, by this juncture, taken note of the coalescence of fog in the room. That is certainly uncommon for a gym, so he's rather certain Amy is behind it. Besides that, he thinks he can sense a little connection between the two. Sort've. It's just faint enough to be uncertain. So despite her words, Drake is a little more on guard than he otherwise might be in this situation sans chi.
The eye contact, however, is lost because of this notation.
When she gives her name, however, Drake's eyes zip back to her and he inclines his head similarly to her 'bow'. "Pleasure's all mine, I'm sure. The name's Vyril. Drake Vyril. Most know me as Domino, though. And yeah - I get what you mean." About how things are supposed to go, he means. In spite of the fog, he -thinks- she doesn't intend to use chi. And as such, Drake will do likewise. No ultra-flashy suplexes or beams of radiant energy here.
Drake, maintaining his wrestling poise, begins to move around the girl in a slow circle, sizing her up. "I'm classy'n old fashioned enough for that. Come get me," he invites, lips quirking into the tiniest of grins.
COMBATSYS: Amy has started a fight here.
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Amy 0/-------/-------|
COMBATSYS: Drake has joined the fight here.
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Drake 0/-------/-------|-------\-------\0 Amy
So the ploy fails, the plot thickening along with the mist - if a little less gradually. Control over its manifestation is something Amy has been unable to maintain, and it seems the very effort in doing so absorbs her attention enough that other, more mundane abilities begin to suffer. It should at least make their bout somewhat more dramatic, and she believes she can exercise enough control not to go using the misleading visual effect to her advantage.
"Three names for the price of one," Amy responds to Drake's introduction with a soft chuckle, "I'd say I was pleased to meet you, but you went and took all the fun for yourself. Hello, though," she murmurs the last, voice fading as she turns to the doubtless imminent start of their bout. A tight swallow follows the death of conversation from the woman, expression now steadily neutral and dark blue eyes stripped of readable emotion. It looks as though she is taking this seriously.
A moment after this transformation, Drake's gracious offer is taken - nothing more than a nod conveying the Templar's acceptance. The opening move is telegraphed, as she visibly tenses and then springs off her heels, lifting only slightly into the air; the real power in the leap coming on the horizontal axis. Aiming to impact with the toned wrestler in mid-step as he circles, she slaps a palm out toward his right shoulder, gripping with dextrous digits. With the grip secured, she will seek to bear him fiercely to the mat with a minimum of prolonged contact, using the force obtained from her subsequent landing to /thrust/ him onto his back.
COMBATSYS: Drake counters Strong Throw from Amy with Blackout.
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Drake 0/-------/------=|==-----\-------\0 Amy
Drake simply winks one of those dark purple eyes at her bemusement.
He, however, seems to also take on a darker eminence when this are truly underway. The mirth in his smile fades, and the sparkle in his eyes dims, leaving him with nothing more than stoic determination. Pure concentration and methodology has replaced the friendly demeanor of moments ago.
The circling continues, until she makes her move. Drake freezes, analyzes her incoming trajectory... and when the hand shoots out, he springs into action. Her fingers never catch him by the shoulder. Instead, her hand is redirected, limb grabbed by the wrist to twist over and lock behind her back. The momentum of her jump simply feeds to him her body, which he readily accepts in an instant with the other arm locking around her waist. Thus, both of his hands are behind her back, with one of her arms restrained in almost a chicken wing. The other arm? It's left free.
Why? Well, the arms around her waist don't simply hold her there - they begin compressing, and rapidly. The streamlined muscular toning in his sleek body tightens repeatedly, crushing her abdomen and chest to his in ever-intensifying pumps. The two of them are a centimeter or two shy from face to face, Drake's teeth grit and eyes narrowed for the bearhug. So her other arm? It's left free to let her tap out.
Amy knew that her choice was a bold one: to effectively charge headlong into an unknown, but apparently rather skilled, quantity. But where many might choose to lead in with a very fast, basic attack, she would rather see the true calibre of this man. A lesser opponent might have fallen for the gambit and been battered into submission already. Drake's tactic is wise, fast and skilful. If the Templar worked for NESTS, doubtless her bizarre bondage gear would now be registering some useful data.
As it is, she's left to make her own calculations. The counter manuever is exactly that; it leaves no time or space for a defence by its very nature. But Amy tracks each step of the way, maintaining awareness of her limbs and relative placement to the more accomplished wrestler. Her eyes flicker to maintain contact with his own, and as he begins to compress she allows a half breath to escape her lips, holding the rest to harden her body and avoid taking more damage than she must. To become winded is to become weak, easy prey for whatever Drake might follow with. She makes no effort to move for several seconds, knowing that his upper hand will be maintained with upper body strength for at least the first few pumps.
When she judges him exerted enough that she can attempt to escape, Amy suddenly twists at the hip, bringing her right leg between Drake's and using all the strength at her disposal - which is lacking, and yet bolstered with a redirection of those internalised energies - to sweep him down toward the ground. Her positioning is not ideal, but the surprise in the motion might just bring him down and allow her to break the hold with the integrated swaying of her upper body. Provided her improvised takedown is enough, she will end up in a crouch above Drake. Her freed arm has already prepared for the follow-up; a rapid elbow drop to the gut, after which the woman will roll away and spin back to her feet.
COMBATSYS: Amy successfully hits Drake with Combo Throw.
- Power hit! -
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Drake 0/-------/---====|===----\-------\0 Amy
Drake somehow expected her to be done. That determination in her eyes failed to really register for him. So he continues pumping on her body, crushing her upper-body against his own tighter and tighter, waiting for her to fall slack or to tap against his shoulder to submit defeat. It, however, does not come. Instead, he realizes he's underestimated her greatly. She pivots him over and drops him onto his back with a wince, arching upwards - leaving his six-packed region completely vulnerable to her elbow.
Drake folds in the other direction when her elbow crushes in directly, then shifts onto his side facing away from her. It takes him a couple seconds to catch his breath again, but when he does, he shoots her a hardened look...
...Which breaks temporarily into an approving smile.
But then it's right back into the stoicism. Drake springs to his feet and assumes his stance again. He proceeds to stalk around her in a circle once more, sizing her up for an opening. Suddenly, he surges into motion, attempting to feint around her left side to maneuver behind her back. His arms go to lock around her stomach, and he bridges his back to drive her head and shoulders into the mat in a German suplex - which he intends to hold for a pin count.
COMBATSYS: Amy blocks Drake's Medium Throw.
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Drake 0/-------/---====|====---\-------\0 Amy
Rising easily back into her stance a few feet away from Drake, Amy displays no particular after-effects from the initial scuffle. Much like his own battle persona, hers is incredibly difficult to read unless consciously broken, and focus reigns supreme. He has already earned respect as a worthy opponent, however. She felt the harsh impact of her strike- but had already considered it to be another gamble, where he would either thwart her completely or the pain inflicted would be substantial. In kinomichi, as in any 'soft' martial art, it is the instigation that must be flawless. Everything else, flows naturally.
The woman cannot yet make learned observations on Drake's style. Despite the popularity of wrestling, and professional wrestling as a sport, it is not something she has had much experience against. Many principles are likely to be similar to her own form of grappling, particularly with the more derivative form that she was first taught to practice in training - to aid the familiarity with basic concepts, as well as teach the crucial maintenance of stance. As Drake approaches, she is able to read his movements from these early teachings, and begins to turn to evade his feint.
He appears to be a beat quicker, however, and his arms make their desired contact. Something will feel odd, though. Her body is very purposefully tensed, and as the wrestler pulls her backwards his grip may seem to weaken as the Templar arches her back and raises her arms. Collision with the mats does come, an expulsion of breath showing that Amy felt it well enough, but this impact is softened through her arms, both palms slapped to the ground. She is certainly a lot stronger than she looks; keeping her shoulders and head free from the bulk of the damage while /ripping/ free from Drake's clutches into a dynamic roll.
She does not travel far, bringing her legs up and around in a tight arc to eventually land below her. Squatting in a crouch above Drake's head, it is no great effort to bring shaking arms to play, attempting to snare the wrestler as he in turn attempts to make his next move. An unorthodox move for the kinomichi practicioner, if successful she will be able to enforce a reasonable attempt at a sleeper hold.
COMBATSYS: Drake dodges Amy's Medium Throw.
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Drake 0/-------/---====|====---\-------\0 Amy
Drake sits up quickly after the failed pinfall, and it's only with a glance back towards her that he sees her arms closing in. Indeed, she starts to grab him, but he proves much more slippery and technically-skilled than average. He weaves free of the grapple, and he tumbles forward to end in a crouch a little ways off from her.
When Drake hops to his feet again, he pivots around to face her once more and rush in. A firm kick is aimed for her stomach with the intention to stun the girl...
COMBATSYS: Amy interrupts Combo Throw from Drake with Bitter Crusade.
- Power hit! -
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Drake 0/-------/-======|======-\-------\0 Amy
Technical ability is clearly the handsome grappler's forte. His physique is testament to that, and it comes through in the methods he employs when fighting. Amy has some agility and technical expertise herself, though, and she is ready for her attempt to fail, matching Drake's weave with a sudden movement of her own. She is no her feet almost instantly, standing straighter than before in what greatly resembles an aikido stance. Her left hand is held beside the hip, with the right extended a short way before her.
Drake's advance is quick enough, but the Templar is a jot quicker. His foot is met with an open palm, flesh meeting flesh with a solid slap. A shockwave runs up her arm, but Amy holds firm and fast, fingers gripping the outline of Drake's foot as she draws him toward her. The movement is beautifully smooth, akin to that used by a skilled seamstress threading a needle; though very few tailors have ever sidestepped an incoming kick. Nor thrust their left hand out as the woman does now, using the manipulated over-extension of her opponent's blow to punish him with a forceful shove to the chest.
Her arm flies straight and true, launching the model back toward the edge of the mat. He is left free to soar, her other hand loosening it's gentle but firm grip. When he comes in to land, she is back in her initial stance once more, wordless and waiting.
Drake flies, indeed, from the surprising force behind her hand. He hits the mats and bounces once off his back with a sharp 'OOF!', only to land on his front again. He, however, picks himself back up quickly and squints at her. He, likewise, offers no words, no rewarding smile or any such thing. He simply assumes the stance again.
Drake closes in on her, circling steadily... and comes in to lock up with her once more, in the traditional fashion of arms interlocking with arms, hands on shoulders. But it's in this position that Drake attempts to capitalize on a gap in defense. With her midsection ideally undefended, Drake's left knee thrusts up repeatedly to drive into her stomach. The arms remain locked with hers for the trio of strikes to ensure she's softened up, until he goes to lock her head under his left arm. He flings her left arm behind his neck, then grips her at the left hip with his right hand to hoist her body vertically into the air. Indeed, this position would suggest a vertical suplex is about to be delivered.
Only it isn't. Drake instead hops up and twists to the side, bearing her down to the mat underneath him in a suplex powerslam, driving her onto her back while he lands his abdominals across her stomach.
And of course, if landed properly, Drake goes to hook her left leg into his right arm while laying across her for the pin.
COMBATSYS: Amy dodges Drake's Flashbang.
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Drake 0/-------/--=====|=====--\-------\0 Amy
This time, Amy joins Drake in circling, matching him pace for pace around the central portion of the mat. As their eyes lock past the wispy mist hanging in the air, she begins to train her senses once more on reading his intent. Those skilled in strikes and energy attacks move very differently to those of Drake's schooling, and this has already been a worthwhile exercise for that reason. So much more of the body is used, each joint must be tracked and monitored to ensure not only a solid defence but a successful response. At the core it is no different to fighting any opponent, but the nuances are subtle and fresh...
Which means either the Templar is a quick learner, or has a fine memory. Indeed, old lessons at the hands of her master - before his true nature was revealed - come flooding back. She enters the grapple with Drake aware of his placement and her own, aware that his entrance is slightly faster, more skilled. This awareness brings question to the very fact it states. Those knee thrusts come forth, and meet only air as Amy sways around them, feeling the missed impacts through the material of her leotard. Drake's next movements are thwarted as a matter of course, her arms pushing against his and switching control of the grapple. Now, the woman is on top.
Grunting with the effort, Amy leans in to her right side, attempting to bring Drake with her so that his balance is momentarily threatened. This will give her the opening she needs to pull her right arm free, with lightning speed shifting that hand to a tight grip about Drake's right bicep. All that shifted weight is then immediately thrown in the opposite direction, the intent to use the wrestler's limb to bring him to a painful sidelong collision with the floor. From there, she can twist his arm as she steps away, adding a little extra abrasion to the impact.
She does not try for a submission; would he really give in at this stage?
COMBATSYS: Drake dodges Amy's Medium Throw.
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Drake 0/-------/--=====|=====--\-------\0 Amy
Grapple attempt successful, but knee just grazing the material covering her, Drake's attempts are thwarted. Though her attempt at reversal is noteworthy, Drake's technical prowess coms into play again. His arm is grabbed and started to twist with momentum, but he weaves with it rather than against it to hit the mat with a fluidic tumble, drawing his arm right back out of her grasp harmlessly.
The moment Drake's ended on his feet again, he's dashing back towards her. This time, he attempts not to lock up with her, but to hoist her body into a cradled position. His right arm hooks over the chest, left arm under her legs to sweep her up before his chest. If caught, Drake promptly drops, bringing her back down sharply upon an upturned knee in a backbreaker. This is not a merciful ending, however, as the right hand relocates under her chin and the left hand sets to her right leg, both pushing downwards to arch her painfully in a chained submission hold.
COMBATSYS: Amy blocks Drake's Star Breaker.
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Drake 0/-------/-======|======-\-------\0 Amy
Drake is proving to be quite slippery. As he uses his opponent's momentum to carry him gracefully away, Amy places foremost priority not on safeguarding herself from an immediate counterattack but on tracking his movements. Stormy blue eyes follow his graceful motions, while the woman physically remains in much the position he left her in, only having straightened her posture and regained control of her hands. They sit now in typical aikido positions about her lower torso, but Amy's side remains turned, keeping his approach aimed at her flank.
This allows her to easily rotate her hips into the wrestler's cradling arms, gathering torque to the left and then swinging right as he aims to bring her down into his knee. It strikes, meeting soft flesh and drawing a soft grunt of pain from the woman. But it aids her momentum, and that attempted submission is thwarted as she spins out of his grasp, turning through ninety degrees as she drops to her feet.
This places the Templar directly before Drake, close enough that it is no mean feat to reach for a grip on one arm - part and parcel of the escape manuever, the motion effortless. From here it all flows in a similar vein, the response to his powerful grapple a very basic arm takedown, dragging him in and dropping to the ground, simultaneously straining his bicep and gaining a dominant position over his fallen form. Just how slippery can he be?
COMBATSYS: Drake dodges Amy's Fast Throw.
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Drake 0/-------/-======|======-\-------\0 Amy
The girl more or less bouncing out of his grasp has Drake a little stumped. Certainly long enough for her to grab his arm and attempt the takedown, but not long enough for his wits and finesse to leave him completely. At the torque meant to bring him down, Drake performs a single flip to land on his feet instead, arm naturally worked free of the hold in the process.
Once he's backed up a few feet, Drake enters his stance again. "You've got some skill, no doubt," he lauds. "Good training so far." Rare enough that Drake should speak during a fight, but he felt that that was certainly worth saying.
But now he closes back in, and rather swiftly. He weaves around her left side, attempting to catch the arm by the wrist to twist it around behind her back. One hand maintains pressure on her wrist, keeping it tight to her back, while the other sets to her shoulder to ensure she doesn't whirl around on him for the duration of the hammerlock.
COMBATSYS: Amy fails to interrupt Fast Throw from Drake with Bitter Crusade.
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Drake 0/-------/-======|=======\-------\0 Amy
Amy is momentarily alarmed on realising that Drake has again broken free. The downside of such a smooth application of skill lies in the commitment of the follow-through, and most fighters - usually even Amy - would be sent toppling by the sudden reversal. Whether it is due to a particularly focused mindset, her lengthy warm-up prior to the bout, or plain and simple skill, the Templar drops to a low stance the moment realisation dawns.
Twisting to face Drake, she draws in a deep breath, twisting her wrists to keep them loose while he speaks. Though he has broken his meditative battle state, she does not offer similar verbal commitment, simply inclining her head in response. There is genuine gratitude there, and her lips twitch as if at least framing the idea of smile. But her body remains the focal point as she shifts her feet beneath her and gently eases one hand toward the wrestler.
It displays an intent that never reaches its desired conclusion. Drake weaves, and Amy shifts weight off her back foot, left arm flying out to intercept in a counter-capture. But he is faster. From there she reacts in the only way she can, the lithe muscles in her back rippling as she seeks to break the lock with repetitive pressure.
Drake keeps the lock for a few seconds more before attempting to chain it into something else completely. Though the transition is a bit awkward and, admittedly, clumsy, Drake attempts to guide the girl down to the mat on her front. When she touches down is when the submission hold will ideally be released, in favor of him sitting himself atop her lower back. From there, he attempts to grab ahold of her arms to restrain them behind upturned knees. His arms then make to hook under her chin.
Any wrestling enthusiast should see where this is leading.
If the hold is set in place, Drake REARS back, wrenching on the girl's spine and abdominal region in a harsh camel clutch.
COMBATSYS: Amy fails to interrupt Strong Throw from Drake with Rebound Throw.
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Drake 0/-------/=======|=======\-------\1 Amy
Many people in the audience can probably see the nature of what Amy plans well before any attempt is made to place her in pain. Drake? He can probably feel that something is not quite right. His opponent seems too willing to be guided, beginning to sink to the mats without too much effort required on the model's part. The moment of truth comes an instant before he is placed to apply the hold, when her body suddenly straightens and tenses hard. She attempts to break his control with a twist of her wrist, and an unpredictable burst of sheer force.
Doubtless getting free might have cost her - but the toll she would wreak in return cannot be predicted. For she misjudges Drake's awareness, and is lifted into the clutch as he maintains control of the situation. For the first she cries out, sucking in a sharp hiss of breath afterward. This does not help; she loses necessary tension, allowing the powerful hold to inflict it's full wrath. Those watching this mist-wreathed bout begin to mutter... but no sign of surrender comes from the Templar. Fingers dig deep into her palms as she seeks to burst out of the hold.
She may have some skill, she may have surprising strength, but this one could be in Drake's hands.
Literally.
Because, you know, the submission hold. With her held.. and.. bah.
Drake continues wrenching on her, her pained cry every bit as much encouragement to him as it would be alarm to anyone else. He's finally, without doubt or question, got her feeling the effects of his holds.
Though Drake doesn't try to ride this out until the submission. Damage done well enough, Drake releases her and attempts to roll her over onto her back. If successful and she doesn't squiggle away, Drake raises to his full height and hops into the air in a single backflip, executing a standing shooting star press, aimed to slam his abdominals across her stomach. Whereupon he'll simply lay there for a pin count.
COMBATSYS: Drake successfully hits Amy with Medium Throw.
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Drake 0/-------/=======|=======\==-----\1 Amy
Once she is dropped to the mat, there is little doubt that Amy is left in an awkward position. Her body is on FIRE, joints aching from the prolonged clutch, every inch of her begging for a moment's relief. There is a scant period in which she might get away - the opening is there, and at any other time she may have taken it. On this occasion, she remains still, trying to steady her breathing enough that she can break the pin when it assuredly comes. Drake braces, and leaps. She has little time to prepare...
The time is not enough. Her body convulses as he slams down upon her, though no scream issues forth. Whatever she was preparing is not sufficient, though she has enough energy with which to attempt something. A member of the audience has scrambled forward to slap a count onto the mat, and Amy is running out of time as she tenses, forcing her limbs to obey her despite the seeming end to this bout.
"One!" It's all about willpower.
"Two!" She strains, hissing from the effort as she tries to raise her feet.
"Th-" Her legs shoot up and inward, a desperate attempt to slam her knees into Drake's flank all that she can manage. It may buy enough space and hesitation to scramble free, or he may be able to maintain his pin. It's the best option she's got - so it's worth a shot.
COMBATSYS: Amy successfully hits Drake with Light Kick.
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Drake 1/------=/=======|=======\===----\1 Amy
Drake lands across her, and he can just feel the pain this has caused. She's down for the count. He's sure of it. Gotta' be. So he grins at the audience whilest laying across the girl's midsection, just waiting for the third count.. when something completely unexpected happens.
She knees him.
This gets a surprised yelp from Drake, eyes widened and rolling off of her. Now sitting, staring down at her face with a look of disbelief on his own. He finally makes a grab for her shoulders, and he raises to his full height, meaning to draw her along with him - only with her facing the audience, her back to him. Suddenly, Drake is clamping around her body in a coiled, abnormal manner. One of his more dreaded holds, this is. His left leg attempts to set overtop her left leg to set his foot between hers. His upper-body ducks underneath her right arm, where he then extends his left arm to settle along her shoulders behind her neck. His right hand just sets to her stomach.
Once in position, Drake YANKS himself upright, meaning to send a surge of pain throughout her abdomen as her body is wrenched - twisted to the side, then backwards. A very readily recognizable abdominal stretch.. but with a twist. The hand on her stomach suddenly digs into her muscles with the fingertips, cinching in a stomach claw to make matters all the more unbearable.
COMBATSYS: Amy dodges Drake's Sterling Stretch.
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Drake 0/-------/-------|=======\===----\1 Amy
Contact! It yields a surprised /gasp/ from Amy, breath suddenly rushing back into burning lungs as Drake's weight is removed from on top of her. She meets his gaze with adrenaline rushing fast through her veins, causing her lips to whiplash in a sudden grin. She has yet to make any further movement however, and his grasp upon her shoulders is made and maintained until she is presented to the audience. Her vision is hazy at this point, and the mist has begun to deepen and thicken from the comfortable point it has reached. The obscure environment serves only to heighten her other senses, and as fast as Drake is...
This time, she is faster.
Her lips purse as his leg moves, and she spins rapidly around to face him, the burst of movement more than enough to thwart his hold. In fact, it is his manuever that she intends to quite immediately use against him. His raised leg does make contact at around the time it was expected to, but it is the Templar's right arm that darts forward to seize it's own advantage. Continuing forward after her spin, Amy lifts this leg high and brings her left arm forward in an open-fingered thrust to the model's centre. Her palm carries the deceptive force she has already demonstrated once, and if Drake staggers backward under her control... that is all the opening she will need to show the full height of her prowess.
The kinomichi mistress' technique may even throw Drake into the astonished audience.
COMBATSYS: Drake counters Strong Throw from Amy with Solar Eclipse.
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Drake 0/-------/------=|=======\=====--\1 Amy
Drake's koala-esque cling attack is.. failed? His leg is captured, amethyst eyes wide in surprise. But despite this break in stoicism, his mind is rapidly working to analyze and come up with a way out of this predicament.
The leg is drawn higher... and the hand comes out. It's in that instant that Drake acts by pure reflexes alone. His body ducks low, weaving underneath the offending arm to instead tuck in against Amy's torso with his own. His left arm lashes and hooks over her shoulder, and his right arm hooks between her legs. Using the momentum of her intended counter-balancing technique (and, like, the one leg he's left standing with), Drake kicks off the mat and twists through the air with her. The girl is ultimately driven against the mat on her back, along with Drake landing across her torso again. The right arm hooks her left leg into the air, and he bears in tight against her, determined to staple her body to the mat this time.
This may be a simple training match in a gymnasium crowded with people working toward their own goals, but several members of the small audience do raise a ruckus when the trade in reversals occurs. Many more might join in; if they'd even been able to follow the action. It would look fantastic on television with several angles of action replay. Unfortunately Amy, much like Drake, is unable to benefit from even one advantageous angle, her own instincts already leading the way. This ensures she is swept up and brought crashing down, the pin made as easily as, "One!"
"Two!"
"Haaaaaa-"
A half beat away from the critical third count, Amy's hands lift out to either side and fly in toward Drake's ribs. What follows happens instantly, and is pure and simple transferral of force. The mist now flooding the entire main hall of the gym bucks in response to the effort alone, as the metaphorical dynamo deep within the Templar unleashes all it's gathered energy. If it works, Drake may well go hurtling backward at an explosive rate of knots. But either way: "-ah!" "Three!"
The count ends that very instant, and Amy's body loses all tension.
COMBATSYS: Amy can no longer fight.
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Drake 0/-------/------=|
COMBATSYS: Drake dodges Amy's Rebound Throw.
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Drake 0/-------/------=|
Cemented against her as Drake is, when she starts making that noise... there's no way in Hell he's sticking around to see what she's going to do. Seriously. Considering the denseness of the fog, it's unnerving enough. So the moment her hands move, Drake is in motion, springing back off of her.
There is no three-count. Not yet, at least.
With a grunt of frustration, Drake moves around her in a swift circle, then drops down to lay across her stomach again - and once more, hooking her leg, his other arm resting over her shoulder to keep her pinned down. And this time, hopefully keeping one of the two arms stationary and unable to resist.
Now that he faces the raging audience again, the look he gives them is not a happy, carefree one like last time. Instead, he's simply determined, eyes narrowed and all business.
COMBATSYS: Drake has ended the fight here.
This time, there is no resistance. That last desperate swing of Amy's arms is performed almost mechanically, and it shows, as with her faculties under control she is not given to verbally telegraphing her attacks. She slumps regardless, the cries of the flesh finally heeded. Drake is free to make his victory pin.
The first count is barely made when the Templar begins to laugh, the sound faint and breathless but apparent enough to the model atop her. Strained and battered as her toned frame is, she seems to have plenty of mental energy, eyes dim but full of passion as she forces her head around to look at the enthusiastic Domino-fan giving the count for what? The third time?
"Is that really necessary?" Amy gasps out, lolling the back of her head against the mat. But she seems to be in good humour, and after the final "Three!" (cue cheering) she glances down at her pinned torso, and Drake, with an expression that speaks volumes. The amusement is still there, but so is great respect. "Fair and square," she murmurs, lips twitching into a smile, "You're skilled." It's low key, but it's a genuine display... much like the bout itself.
The determination cracks a little. She's.. laughing! Then her remark gets him to crane his neck and look at her inquisitively. "Sure it is. We're wrestling. This is how a wrestling match is ended," he explains helpfully.
Following her compliment, Drake relieves the pressure on her torso to sit on his knees beside her. Just like that, the spunky, lighthearted Drake has returned to his more common self with a smile. "So are you. A lot better than I expected. You gave me a pretty good workout," he notes. "I don't think I even hurt you!" Drake pauses a moment, having said that, and furrows his brow with a thin frown. "Not that I was -trying- to injure you or anything. I just know I wasn't going -easy- on you. Amy, was it? You're a good wrestler."
A gentle 'oof' escapes the smiling woman as Drake again lifts his weight from her. He's not a particularly large man, but the nature of his style and the tone of his body add up to make his holds and pins particularly restricting. There have been some close calls - and earlier attempts would have been closer if she were less able a grappler. While diversifying her own fighting style may ultimately have slowed her progress, this only stands to prove that all training experiences are worthwhile.
Contrary to Drake's belief, however, she does not escape quite so unscathed.
"Oh, you hurt me," she notes as she pushes herself upright, tension overcoming her torso enough that she has to roll the left shoulder up first, followed by the right a moment later. She rolls her neck cautiously before favouring Drake with another smile, "I'll be feeling some of those moves every morning for a week." It's not an exaggeration; the camel clutch in particular felt like it pulled every muscle in her back, and when she finishes speaking Amy places her hands behind her and stretches, wincing as remembered pain sears into being.
"Ouch," she murmurs once she's done, turning her attention back to the finely sculpted young man, "And yes, it's Amy. Amy Johnson. I don't have any special nicknames, and there's no reason you'd have heard of me before now. I do this for life, not for a living."
The little noises she makes as she rights herself - or at least sits up - gets a small cringe from Drake. "Aheh.. sorry. Only.. not really.. I guess? Sorry you're in pain, but not sorry for giving you my best. Anything less, and it probably would've been -you- on top of -me- for the three-count," he muses.
But she says something a little interesting, there. "For life?," he asks. "Whaddaya mean?"
Drake's musing - or more specifically, the emphasis he places - prompts a clearing of Amy's throat, eyes wide and touched with mischief as she quietly quips, "Let's not get too far ahead of ourselves." It's far from real flirting however, and her 'interest' is only held long enough to make the small jibe before she stretches once more and starts to get to her feet, pausing in a loose crouch to respond to Drake's question.
"I mean I don't fight to make money, or gain fame," this is delivered casually enough, with a simple shrug of the shoulders, "My precise goals would be tough to explain, but this is my way of growing stronger so that I can achieve them. I'm sure with all of this," she looks around, lifting a hand to gesture vaguely into the air. She needs be no more precise; the mists continue to drift about, taking far longer to diminish than they did to appear, "I could make a name for myself. But my name is what it is."
It seems like she's meandering, but Amy appears focused enough. She glances back toward Drake, and casts him a deep nod, "I get the feeling we wouldn't have met if we hadn't crossed paths here. But I'm glad we did. It's been too long since I trained like this," again she shrugs, pausing briefly to consider how best to sum up her own personal journey throughout the fight, "It's... easy to lose sight of your roots, sometimes."
Drake raises up to his full height finally, arms folding loosely over his chest. "I can understand that. I love the fame'n money, totally. But.. yeah. A deeper meaning? That's what drives me, too." He tilts his head to study the gathered audience, then looks back to her. "I'd try to talk more, but we have an audience. So.. unless you wanted to stick around here, maybe we can talk over coffee? Or tea? Or whatever the heck they have here?"
Drake breezes past the woman to gesture haphazardly at the swirling fog. "-This- is spiffy. Never seen anything like it. I mean, fog I've seen before, but not.. y'know.. like this. So it makes me curious to hear just what it is you're after."
When Drake rises to his feet, so too does Amy. Slowly, though, taking time to ensure her body is ready and that the blood will not rush to her head. Once she's there she kicks out each leg in turn. She may have admitted to feeling the effects of Drake's techniques but it's barely apparent in her more vigorous movements; she knows her body's limits well.
By now Drake is already making his invitation, and she looks up and toward him as she bounces lightly on her heels, "I'm not much for caffeine, but a drink sounds good. There's a place just by the front entrance." Where they also sell cakes and alcohol for those casual gym-goers who are really only doing it to satisfy some ingrained sense of duty to society. Most of these types are either gawping over at Drake and Amy, or have left, driven to either extreme by the manifested energies. Fireballs and azure flashes are acceptable, but this? It's downright creepy.
"This isn't a choice I made," Amy replies on the same subject, flickering a glance between Drake and a nearby knot of the grayish stuff as it wafts about itself, "It's more like /it/ chose /me/. We have a close relationship now, but I'm not entirely in control." She takes a few steps away, bending down to pick up her discarded towel which is slung casually over one shoulder, then turns back to the fighting model with a smile of some chagrin, "I've been told it reflects a lot about me, though. Make your own assumptions on that one."
"That's.. huh," says the model, clearly unable to draw a conclusion in one direction or another concerning it. He turns from her to the fog again, squints at it, then looks back to her. "I don't like coffee, either. But I'm game for seeing what they've got. Do you need a minute?," he asks.
There's still some commotion going on around then, so Drake turns to face the crowd. "Training's done for me! Nothin' left to see! Later!," he calls cheerfully.
"I don't even need thirty seconds," comes the reply, coupled with a quick shake of the head - a few strands of black hair slipping out from the much loosened ponytail it has been forced into. Amy remedies that situation now, reaching up to pull the dark mess free, fluffing it out with one hand while she starts to wander in the direction of refreshment.
"So, deeper meanings?" She shoots back over her shoulder, running fingers through her damp hair and finally lifting it off the nape of her neck before she lets it be. It's not particularly kempt - if anything, by this point it's worse - but she seems comfortable. Likely she's not too given to vanity. "I'd like to hear what drives somebody like you."
It's plain enough that 'before I share too much of my own lifestyle' is what goes unspoken.
"Good!," chirps Drake as he whirls back around to face her. By now, the crowd has gotten the message and has begun disbursement. So Drake has a fairly easy time making his way towards the gym's entrance again, ideally along with Amy. "Yeah.. deeper meaning," he parrots.
Drake doesn't elaborate immediately, though. Instead, he just walks in silence for a few moments. His right hand runs through his hair, ruffling up his bangs - which simply fall right back into place inexplicably. When their destination is in sight, he turns his head to address her. "You ever consider your talent to be more like a gift?" At face value, it might seem like deflection of the question - but from the look on his face and tone of voice, he's going somewhere with it. Maybe.
Deeper meaning, and deepening curiosity. As able and athletic as Drake Vyril most certainly is, Amy has to admit that part of her is dubious about him. On the surface, he represents the most glamorous and least 'real' side of fighting as a sport. Even without taking into account his career as a professional wrestler, whether he is a model turned warrior or warrior turned model... he's a poster-boy for thousands of teenage girls. Those should be the very people who personify the best in mankind, but how often is that really the case?
Clearly, somebody has never met Alma. 'Lady' Amy Johnson was also once an outcast, rebellious teenager; before she became the rather different creature that she is now. It's clear which persona holds the most truth, as she does not allow harsh judgement of Drake to rule her attitude and actions now. Instead, she turns to listen frankly to his question as she slides onto a comfortable padded stool by the bar-cafe that occupies a large niche in the gym's entrance hallway.
"I.. sometimes see it that way," she responds with feigned caution, tipping her head slightly to one side and maintaining eye contact with the wrestler, "But everything's relative, isn't it? Power shouldn't be considered important, and therefore my talents should not be seen as a personal gain. What I gain or lose, as a warrior second and human being first, lies in the actions I take. The attitude I adopt. There is no absolute meaning in the power I wield; any merit or drawback is created purely through my chosen path, and even that's highly relative."
"I consider power to be very important, and I'll tell you why," Drake says plainly. He takes a moment to seat himself across from her, however, folding his hands atop the table. His amethysts level on her blues, studying them a moment for any telling sign in any direction.
Finally, he elaborates. "Because I think it -is- a gift. But not just a gift to -myself-, but to other people who don't or can't do the things that I do. I believe in helping the people who can't help themselves. The more power I have, as loose a term as that is, the more I can do for everyone else. Sure, it brings in lots of neat perks that aren't exactly philanthropical, and I'm not gonna lie and say I don't savor it like crazy... but I wouldn't call that the -most- important thing I do with my skills. I can win a tournament, or dethrone a champ, and that'd be great. But saving an elderly man or woman from a mugger? That's ultimately better. That's something I can always keep. Don't need praise for it - just need it to be done."
His head tilts aside slightly. "-That- is the deeper meaning behind my fighting. I love people. That's how it is. So with my gift, I do everything I can to share it with those who don't have it. And the more I have, the more that can go around."
The eyes finally break from her, turning aside. "Does that make sense, or do I just sound goofy and crazy-idealistic?"
Scant weeks ago, the Templar sought out a certain jovial monk for an in-depth discussion on this very subject, among others. Amy has been struggling with the ideas presented to her by life, and more specifically by her master. Ideas that paint her in a startingly bright light, the very pinnacle of what 'good men' aspire to reach. Men, perhaps, like Domino. To deal in any kind of absolutes seems at odds with everything she has come to accept and believe, whether through entirely personal invention or through heavy influence by her newfound faith.
But this bright-eyed young man also states the other side. That quest for personal power about which Amy is so uncertain. She watches him intently as he speaks, ignoring the employee who has wandered over on the other side of the counter, looking awkwardly between the two martial artists. When Drake removes his gaze, she leans back against the stool's aluminium support, lounging with her elbows raised and shaking her head. It's not an admonishing gesture, however. Far from it. Her mouth slashes into a wide half-grin, cynical amusement flashing in her eyes along with a far deeper and more meaningful sense of respect for the suddenly bashful youth.
"Are those mutually exclusive?" She shoots back to his question, before her expression relaxes. She lifts her right hand, wrist bending to present the palm up to the ceiling in a loose mime of shrug. "I mean, I've struggled with the same thing myself. The very placing of that expectation on yourself, that you should do good because it's /good to do good/? I always wonder how genuine that can be. There's personal gain in such achievements - take any form of organised religion." Says the woman with a sterling silver cross proudly hanging at her neck. "Where does ambition stop and true concern for humanity begin? You admit that you're aspiring to an ideal, and we as people aspire to ideals because they make us greater. Evolution. Survival of the fittest. Beneath all our philosophies and dreamy soliloquys, where does that figure in?"
She leaves that hanging for a moment, then lowers her head, puffing out her cheeks in a sigh of exasperation. "I suppose, ultimately, I'm not sure how 'good' we can possibly be."
Blinking, Drake looks back to her. A grin lights upon his lips, and he shakes his head. "Guess I can be both. Been called worse plenty'a times."
Though what she says next draws a momentary blank look from him.
Almost awkwardly, he says, "I don't do good because it's 'good to do good', I try to do good because I -can-. That's the whole point. I don't try to make myself stronger just for me, I try to do it for everyone else. Because other people -can't-, I do it because I -can-. It's.. kind'a hard to explain, I guess." His brow furrows again, and his right hand whisks through his bangs - sign of what could be a nervous tick. "I just.. like people. I like seeing people happy and safe. I mean.. if you wanna really look at it iffy-like, I guess you can say I feel I -owe- it to'em for supporting me in matches and in modeling. But I don't think it's that so much. I mean, I was a fighter way before I got any training in it, if ya know what I mean."
Once that's put out there, his head turns just slightly to give the girl a dubious look. "What about -you-, though?"
The poor man, however, is unnoticed.
What about Amy? Really, that question hits the nail on the head. Hauled into an entirely new lifestyle and all but forced to formulate new philosophies, she has been wilfully questioning throughout, believing that she has been in constant control because she has fully intended to be. Listening to someone like Drake makes her realise how much she may have erred from the path she is supposed to be following... but what path does she /want/ to follow? Certainly she has that desire to gain strength, to learn and improve herself. To gain, in short, what may pass for power. But why?
"I identify with a lot of what you're saying," she says quietly, contemplatively, gaze flickering away to focus on an open space across the hallway, "But I've also felt a lot of darkness in people. Even people like you." She looks back toward Drake, tone hardening with the last, and seeks to search his eyes for.. something. Perhaps it's the honesty, or otherwise, in what he says. It may be any hint of anger at what she implies. The path here is uncertain, as all paths must ultimately be. "It makes me question the point and purpose in our beliefs. I've been a very bitter person for much of my life, and though I believe I've found that light, that spark, that makes it all worthwhile... there can be no erasing the doubt that was created in me a long time ago. It grows stronger, always."
Suddenly she looks to the dapper young chap beside the table, and adopts a 'customer service smile', dispelling the rather bleak spell she has just cast. "Hi. Um, orange juice, please. Sorry to keep you waiting." The man turns to Drake, and she allows them a moment to make a similar exchange...
Before opening her mouth and instantly resuming the speech; now leaning slightly across the table, arms moving to rest, crossed, at the edge. The proximity is almost conspiratorial. "I don't mean to judge, but you're young. And I imagine we've led very different lives. I strive toward the same ideal you do, but the course of /my/ life has led me to question everything. Constantly. Sometimes," her lips twitch upward here, into a rather dark smile, "I think I might go insane from the pressure. But ultimately?" She shrugs, leaning back once more, "I'd love to live in your world. If I can guide people even one step closer to that ideal, then I'll do it. Don't you ever suspect that the cost will be ours, though? There's sacrifice in everything."
What she catches in those eyes is curiosity, albeit unspoken. Him? Dark? Beyond the obvious in his 'gimmick', it seems to be lost on him. This is perhaps a hint of some degree of naivity in him. But before anything more can really be ascertained, she's wrenched his attention by breaking the fourth wall!
She's addressing their audience!
Drake, curious look now utterly confused, looks aside. A person! One he hadn't even noticed before! "I, uh.. uhm.." Drake's lips purse a moment in frantic, flat-footed thought. "The same?" Best he could come up with. His mind was rather far removed from drinks right now, despite how rather dehydrated he is in truth.
When his attention returns to Amy, she's leaned in. Eyes widen briefly.. then give her something of a dubious look. "Preaching to the choir. I honestly wasn't sure me'n my team would come back from Thailand when we went to help the resistance. I've had more than my share of injuries and close calls outside of sport. But the trick is to always be just a notch better than the person who -could- take you out."
"That's not necessarily what I meant," Amy replies without trepidation, though her tone is far from blunt and confrontational. It is quiet once more, and frank, showing more of that inner weakness she keeps so well concealed to the vast majority. "Physical injury is nothing. True sacrifice comes from the spirit, from the very soul that maintains the ideal you strive for." Reaching up with her left hand, she presses down against her breast, over the heart. Her fingers dig in momentarily, and then the hand is lowered.
"By fighting against all the wrong in the world, by seeking to stir all that is good within man, you must face the opposite extreme. It affects you. It must; it has affected all who have fought for the same ideal. If you're truly, absolutely, prepared to make an ultimate sacrifice - to see yourself destroyed in the process, then your resolve is pure. But that's the question you need to answer, Drake. 'Am I prepared'?" The last three words are spoken hard and cold, fiercely enunciated.
"If you cannot answer that, then you don't yet understand. The very gaining of strength holds dangers that threaten your ideal, and mine. Steps need to be taken across lines that are frail and unsteady. And you don't walk alone; others follow you, seek to throw you down. It's not easy being a hero." As intense as she has become during delivery, Amy manages a small smile here. Perhaps surprisingly, it even reaches her eyes. "There's a reason the world hasn't been saved yet."
"Guess I just don't get what you're saying..," Drake admits with a minute frown. Seemingly disheartened by this, his left elbow props before him, which in turn props his chin in a haphazard, laxidaisical manner. At her last comment, he smirks wryly at her. "Just give it a while. We'll see what happens."
Not that he'll subscribe to the fantasy of the possibility that there could ever be a utopian earth. He's not -that- far gone. But the smirk will hopefully convey this subtle, jabbing mirth. "Anyway.. it's enough for me to want to help as many people as I can. I'll deal with everything else as it comes."
That wry expression is returned with an inclination of the head, though there is no verbal response to Drake's rather bold statement. They do share a joint goal here; it's just that the thinking differs wildly. Likely the wrestling supermodel has been instilled with this ideal by someone pure of heart themselves... where Amy has inherited it from an organisation long eyed with suspicion, led by a man who seems crazier by the month. Even were she not the type to question incessantly, it would be a vexing situation.
Perhaps Drake's approach is better, though; certainly it allows more room for the little things. Those seeming drips in a pond that can have such personal significance. Speaking of which, Amy swivels in her seat as he finishes speaking, reaching to receive the delivered juice. She nods brief thanks to the busboy, then replies to Drake with a soft laugh, "That's all anyone can do, isn't it? We can have all the dreams and lofty goals we like, but there's only one way forward, and that's to live and act /now/."
Amy pauses to take a sip from her drink, bypassing the straw to take it straight from the cool, frosted glass. Her other hand lifts to pull the intrusive bit of plastic free, and she drops it into an ashtray in the middle of the table. No smoking ban in Israel, it seems. She lifts her eyes back to Drake, a faint frown touching her brow. "Please don't think I don't admire your attitude, by the way. You're right to think the way you do. I wish there were more people like you."
Taking his cue from her, Drake fetches the juice from He Who Delivers, only he pre-emptively pays. For both. Wallet returned to his pocket without hesitation, Drake looks back to Amy. "People like.. -us-.. you mean?," he suggests tentatively. "And until there are, that just means I have to fight harder and push myself more. I'm not against that."
Drake, unlike her, makes use of the straw. The whole image of him with a straw stuck in his mouth, large eyes trained on Amy, likely lends more to his youthful appearance than typical. Perhaps even comically so.
Amy tracks each movement as Drake pays, waiting until his attention is back upon her before lifting a hand and throwing off a casual salute, index and middle fingers pressed together, to indicate her gratitude. It's rather flippant, but her eyes express thanks. What he says next brings back that frown.
"Not like me. Have you been listening?" The query is rhetorical, and contains a faint edge of black humour. It rides well with the image of the young man before her. The Templar would laugh herself were she not involved in the conversation. Instead she gives a single, grave shake of her head. "I'm not what people should aspire to, Drake. You think your goal is a little fluffy? Optimistic? That's what this world /needs/. It might take a handful of people to make a change, but it will certainly take a lot more to keep things right."
Drake blinks at her blunt response, and he settles back in the stool, glass left before him. "You were saying we have a good bit in common. Guess I just really don't understand you at all," he sums. "That and you haven't really told me much about yourself. Tidbits, sure, but nothing really -solid-. All you've really told me is that we share the same ideals, in a roundabouts way, but you're more.. jaded, I guess?" An obsidian eyebrow quirks at that, studying her face for any telltale expressions or subtle shifts.
Jaded. Amy's dark blue eyes bore into Drake while she digests that word, running an idle digit along the rim of her glass. Is that what she is? Perhaps he's again struck a protruding nail. There is nothing easily readable in her gaze now - but it is perhaps more telling that she glances away after a few seconds, a sigh parting her lips. "Maybe. I see a lot in you that echoes what's in me. I wouldn't say I've lost my way, but I think our paths /are/ different despite that."
Slowly she blinks, and looks back. "I.." A hesitation, before she seems to submit to something, shoulders slumping as another sigh escapes. "No, I've not exactly been straight with you. I'm sorry, but I can't be. Not here, and not now. No more than I already have. But does it matter where I come from, what status I've attached to myself?"
"Surely that ideal is the important thing?" Leaving that question hanging, she pushes herself upright in her stool and lifts her glass to her mouth, watching Drake over the rim as she takes a long sip.
A bemused smile touches to Drake's lips, and he cants his head slightly. "Normally I might say no, but I'm still fuzzy on what your ideal really is." After a second or two, he simply bobs his shoulders in a shrug. "You'll tell me eventually, assumin' we run into each other again."
His own glass is lifted, and the straw finds its way back to his lips. He sips on it whilest giving her the once-over he's been withholding all this time. When his eyes come to rest on her face again, the only thing he says is, "Takin' off?"
Despite the seeming lapse in mood, Amy is unperturbed by her own mysterious nature, and laughs as Drake assures her she will be more giving at their next meeting. Her expression brightens after the fact, and she actually nods in response, "I might just do that, assuming I can figure it out myself."
Smiling once more, and without the influence of anything darker, she briefly drains the rest of her drink before moving to stand. Taking off? She is now. "It's probably best I go, yeah. At this point... part of me wants to say a lot more than the rest is prepared to allow. You want to find me?" Her shoulders lift in a brisk shrug, and as part of the movement she whips the towel off her shoulder to leave it over the back of her vacated stool. "Look to the academy at Strolheim."
It sounds as thought it should be a brusque farewell, but she makes no further move to leave yet, extending a hand toward the young superstar, fingers curled for a warrior's grip. "I'll be disappointed if you don't, Drake. You've got some talent, and the right idea on how to use it. Next time, I promise I'll be less vague."
Drake nods stoutly to her, then reaches out to grasp her hand and give it a firm shake. Not his typical mannerisms with a girl, but this one seems a bit different. More.. warrior-like, less girlie. His thinking shouldn't be taken as insult, however. But their next meeting? He might do something more surprising. Who knows?
He certainly doesn't.
"Strolheim, huh? Kay," he replies simply. "And don't doubt that I will, either. I think, if you come to the conclusion that we're -more- alike than different, I might have something a little more interesting to talk to you about." Pause. "And no, don't ask. It's -my- turn to be vague." He shoots her a playful grin, then lifts the juice in a sort of 'toast' to her. "Like I said earlier, the pleasure's mine, Amy."
Strolheim. Prior to this conversation, Amy was unsure on whether or not to accept the offer of training by Herr Krauser. The manner of delivery was unorthodox and harrowing, suggesting darker things about the organisation than she had initially prepared for you. But as she has suggested to Drake... the darkness is inescapable, the line between that and the ideal most assuredly the line that she must walk. She'll go prepared for a glimpse into something gray and shadowy, and perhaps find something as great as she has hoped for.
If nothing else, there will be greater strength. Another lesson learned. Warrior-like, indeed. Drake's thoughts of her would be regarded as far from insult. His vaguary causes pause, though, a small whiplash of a grin shot back toward him as she starts to leave, moving toward the room of lockers located across the hallway. "Turnabout's fair play," she calls back, saying nothing more. She lifts a hand, throwing a last wave-cum-salute toward the model before she disappears.
An intriguing meeting. And now? Now her path turns from Jerusalem for not the first time. The journey she sought to make after Eiji's butchery has been made in full. Fresh pastures await.
Log created on 17:29:22 09/12/2008 by Amy, and last modified on 10:07:58 09/18/2008.