Description: The Terrific Teaparty Turf located in Southtown will never be the same by the time Ayame, Alan, and Trandevere, the Battling Butler, have finished with it. Tea is slurped, chairs misplaced, and table settings disturbed as the trio of civilized? company do battle! ( Winner: Ayame )
Ayame had no idea a place like this existed. Every corner of the room has been decked out with soft pastels - pinks, purples, yellows, with soft, satin table cloths covring the perfectly arranged, square tables, each with seats for four upstanding aristocrats to enjoy fine company with one another over tasty, warm beverage. With crystaline chandeliers hanging overhead set to cast the perfect, soothing ambient light over the room, the curtains and decorated fireplace mantle finish the job of making the Terrific Teaparty Turf shop look like a place better suited to a Disney children's special than a place for adults.
Which is probably why someone decided it needed to be destroyed and arranged for a match amongst the bestest of comrades to take place in it this weekend. Always one to show when the promise of a paycheck is on the table, Ayame even did her best to fit the best she could make of the request to arrive appropriately /dapper/. Having claimed a corner of the room for herself, the teenaged fighter waits patiently, leaning forward against a six foot long metal staff that she's propped against the floor.
A black dress with a white polka-dotted skirt and white high heeled shoes have the girl dressed up about as fancy as she had ever been in her life. A white fedora with a black band just above the brim completes the outfit, worn at a slight angle atop her head. "Charming place," she mutters as she continues to lean lazily, "Anyone has time and money enough to sit around a joint like this deserves to be parted from every cent to their name."
She otherwise seems patient enough. Both of the other combatants are people she's aware of though they're both fairly unpredictable in her mind, which means the fight might be a bit more problematic than most. No sense in rushing things before the hurty part of the afternoon's agenda is reached!
This place is so fancy and filled with such fancy people that when they said 'Hey, rich people, we're about to have a violent fight here, everyone should probably steer clear' they went 'BURRHURRHURRM' and stayed right there with their tea. Many people did in fact leave, but there are some stragglers. There's one, in fact, right in the center of the room.
The young-looking man wears a very fine grey suit with a perfectly white shirt beneath. His tie matches the suit, and two thin gold chains are clipped near its knot - one dips into the suit's breast pocket, while the other presumably leads to a monocle - the top half of his face is shaded by his ostentatious grey top hat.
The man sits with unforgivingly stiff posture, tensed up for some reason. Slowly, he lifts his tea past his handsomely narrow chin to his mouth, sipping delicately.
He pays Ayame no mind at all. Doesn't he know there's a /war on?/
What can a man do when faced with the unrelenting, savage hordes that threaten to overcome the world's last bastions of goodness, politeness, and cleanliness? Who can you turn to to champion the cause of civility and good manners, such essential qualities for the world at large?
There can be only one answer.
MR. RICHARD TRANDEVERE, WANDERING BATTLE BUTLER
Despite having never appeared for a public fighting event, how could Mr. Trandevere refuse an invitation to show the world just what manners really man? Dressed in a classic stark black suit, crisp and clearly well-kept, with a simple gold monocle over one eye, the butler of legend sweeps in through the open door, his top hat /already doffed in respect/.
"Good evening, madam, sir." Mr. Trandevere bows slightly to Ayame and the mysterious tea-sipping gentleman in turn, before neatly depositing his hat on the proper rack. "I trust you're doing well this afternoon?"
At a glance, Ayame had picked out several of the well-to-do in the room that probably deserved a solid thumping. But out of the mix, she wasn't able to pick out the two that deserve a swift thrashing more than any stuffy aristocrat. At least, not until the room's population begins to dwindle, leaving one gentleman to himself near the center. No protruding belly, nor did his coat seem to be carefully concealing love handles grown by years of soft living... No, that one was not like the others. Target one established.
The Battle Butler makes it a lot easier to tell as he strides in with the confidence and etiquette appropriate for a man of his stature. Standing up straight, the brown eyed girl snaps to attention, her expression stern, bordering on a hint of disapproval. "I say," Ayame muses, "It has been entirely too drab for my tastes and, indeed, if I might be so bold, this party was of the most unlively sort."
She twirls her staff once... well, more like half a twirl, because as the back end comes up, it catches on a table corner, knocking it hard enough to send the carefully placed cups rattling, disrupting the calm atomosphere with a burst of unruly din. Wincing, the girl makes note of the challenges of putting a long polearm to use in such a setting as to avoid tripping herself up later. She otherwise recovers without hesitation.
"But it is of no small relief to see that out of the sea of otherwise entirely far too ordinary, this room has been embellished by the presence of two gentlemen that rise above the rest in manners of taste and decorum." Ayame stretches her black-gloved fingers a little before holding her staff out in front of her horizontally, "Of course, the present peace between the gathered company cannot last into perpetuity."
Her mouth never flickers away from her perfectly neutral expression as eager or amused as the girl may actually be to get this under way.
COMBATSYS: Ayame has started a fight here.
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Ayame 0/-------/-------|
COMBATSYS: Ayame takes no action.
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Ayame 0/-------/-------|
The man in the center continues to be unflappable, calmly sipping at his tea, even as Trandevere enters, even as Ayame clatters the table. It's not out of any kind of remarkable calm - a bead of sweat rolls down the side of his head, past his hat. Keeping his entire body tensed requires all of his focus.
Then, partway through Ayame's speech, the man lets out a groan, body relaxing as his face drops down into the table. His hat pops off, revealing slicked back, yellow hair. "Really, SNF crew guys? Really?" Alan R. B. brays loudly right over the end of Ayame's words, slouching back in his chair, electricity crackling on his skin again. "Do we gotta do the whole fancy speech bullshit too? Because, you know, spendin' all that money on this suit dodm
The man in the center continues to be unflappable, calmly sipping at his tea, even as Trandevere enters, even as Ayame clatters the table. It's not out of any kind of remarkable calm - a bead of sweat rolls down the side of his head, past his hat. Keeping his entire body tensed requires all of his focus.
Then, partway through Ayame's speech, the man lets out a groan, body relaxing as his face drops down into the table. His hat pops off, revealing slicked back, yellow hair. "Really, SNF crew guys? Really?" Alan R. B. brays loudly right over the end of Ayame's words, slouching back in his chair, electricity crackling on his skin again. "Do we gotta do the whole fancy speech bullshit too? Because, you know, spendin' all that money on this suit didn't already break my soul." He lurches to his feet, chair falling down behind him, and slugs the last of his tea down like some kind of shot. Then, slowly, deliberately, he holds his tea cup several feet over the platter.
He drops it. Teacup and dish shatter together, and a puffy man in the corner tut-tuts.
Alan reclaims his hat, locking it onto his head. Curiously, his monocle - on the opposite eye as Tran's - is the same pale yellow as his usual sunglasses. His pants - again that grey - feature three more gold chains from belt to pocket for no apparent reason than to have more shiny gold. "Alright, gimme a sec." He looks away, coughs into his fist, and immediately puffs up. His hands lock pompously onto his suit's lapels. "I dare say, it strikes me quite smartly that the decor and arrangement of this room simply will not do! No, not at all. Of course, one could not ask the owners of this fine establishment to simply throw things out! No, my good man-and-lady, we must simply endeavor to damage as much of the environs as possible during our pugilistic encounter, so that the owners may put away these old bedraggled this with no shame - nay, joy, at that! As such." The annoyed look on Alan's face doesn't even waver as he lifts one leg, swishes it to the side, and plows his heel into the table he was just sitting at. The teapot still on it splashes everywhere - as does the rest of the table, cracked in half, flinders flying about and getting in everyone's biscuits.
COMBATSYS: Alan has joined the fight here.
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Alan 0/-------/-------|-------\-------\0 Ayame
Staying at the door, the magnificent Battle Butler continues to discard various accessories in a neat and orderly fashion. First his scarf, which ends up neatly folded and hanging next to the hat, and then a simple, black wooden cane, which Richard deposits in the appropriate container. Finally, the gloves, a pure white affair, come off.
Not that pending fisticuffs are being implied. Heaven forbid.
And yet, as Ayame and Alan go on, Mr. Tranvedere has cause to clear his throat and arch an eyebrow. While Ayame's blunder may be forgiven, her spirit seems to be in the right place. Yet this...this /ruffian/ cannot be forgiven for his grievous trangressions against good manners and the finest time of the day.
"Sir, though it pains me to even call you such, I find your behavior crass and sorely lacking in even the basest etiquette. Were I the only one here, I might have forgiven you like a good Christian man, but I cannot stand by while you make merry and caper like a moonstruck jester." Mr. Tranvedere steps forward and raises his fists, curled inward in what has to be the lamest, most old-fashioned boxing stance seen for decades. "Come, then! Prepare yourself to defend what scant scraps of honor remain to you, scoundrel!"
COMBATSYS: Tran has joined the fight here.
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Ayame 0/-------/-------|-------\-------\0 Alan
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Tran 0/-------/-------|
Ayame doesn't seem bothered by the theatrics the setting would imply in the slightest. Showing off ridiculous manners of speaking assumed by only the most proper of proper and those hoping to mingle with them seems nothing but amusing to her. But it seems one of the trio is not pleased with this arrangment in the slightest. No sir, he doesn't seem happy about it at all. Fanning herself with her right hand and shaking her head with a tsk of disapproval, "Really, it would appear that the caliber of company they permit entrance has seen better days."
"First to complain about the costs associated with appearing as a refined gentleman, and then the willfull destruction of the hosting party's property... uncouth, sir. Uncouth." She twirls her staff again, this time the weapon passing right through the narrow space between two tables rather than disrupting anything at all, "Though it is regrettable to be forced to resort to such, there are means by which rowdy behavior is to be properly punished in polite society such as this."
The girl strides forward at an angle from Trandevere on a vector toward the man in the grey suit. It's only when she's reached the final few feet that Ayame bolts the last few steps, whipping the titanium staff up over her head into a horizontal swipping slam aimed to crash into the side of the tea party crasher!
COMBATSYS: Alan parries Ayame's Medium Strike!
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Ayame 0/-------/-------|-------\-------\0 Alan
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Tran 0/-------/-------|
Alan rolls his neck as Ayame approaches, lifting up his hands, pointedly not taking a hilarious fisticuffs stance. Secretly, he very well would have, but Tran did it first, and there's no way in hell Alan is going to mimic any action of Tran's. "Oh well I /dare say/, pish tosh on all of that-" Ayame's lunge catches him off-guard, and it's a testament to the skills Alan R. B. is developing more and more that he is able to both recover from the surprise /and/ act with alacrity.
Alan takes one step away from the staff's arc, leaning away, holding one hand out. He catches the staff just as he started to fall on his own, twists his hands, and ends up flipping around onto it, stomping down with hands clutching his lapels once again. He sneers. "You call me rude, but look at all this interrupting!"
The boxer stomps down hard on the staff before springing, trying to disarm Ayame before flipping around behind her. "It seems to me you are vastly overstepping your bounds. Who are you to dictate the terms of etiquette? Is it not defined by the situation? The etiquette of a fighting man when enfolded in such outmoded, /cheap/ settings as this..." He lands, hands up, iron rings having found their way on his fingers at some point. "I would say that wonton destruction is in fact the deepest of /favors/ to the hosts, so they may no longer be embarassing themselves!"
Alan is abruptly in front of Ayame, and then behind her again... or...? Two Alans now stand a few feet away from the girl. One of these is real, the other is an afterimage left by the chi constantly crackling within him. Between?
Between is punches. So many punches, from all angles. You can't even /see them./
"Such knavery!" Mr. Trandevere advances, fists swaying lightly, on Alan. Before he can attend to any sort of punching, however, Ayame has to say her fair share, and act, as well. It would be rude to interrupt the fairer sex. Thankfully, she doesn't take that long. "The lady makes a fine point, and yet you scoff!"
And then Alan R.B. goes on the offensive, and it's all the butler of legend can do to keep himself from gasping in shock. "Etiquette is universal! Especially for a man with the pugilistic skill such as you and I command, though you seem quick to misuse it for your own base gains!"
Trandevere ducks and dashes inward as Alan assaults Ayame; he's hard to track, so the only solution is to lash out at /both/ images surrounding the girl, sending a flurry of quick jabs each way, turning the immediate area into some kind of punch /typhoon/. "I shall punish you for your lack of respect toward tradition and the kind hosts of this establishment. Have at you!"
COMBATSYS: Ayame blocks Alan's Storm Front EX.
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Ayame 0/-------/-------|=------\-------\0 Alan
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Tran 0/-------/-------|
Having her staff wiff right past Alan was not too unexpected. She knew him to be swift and avoidance of a punishing metal stick coming one's way is just cause for getting the hell out of the way. But what she hadn't expected was the abrupt, jarring stop that happens when the weapon is caught and then, of all things, /landed/ on. Brown eyes widen just slightly with apparent surprise, "Well, that's just bullsh-"
The stomp against her staff nearly pries the weapon from her grip before Alan bolts forward into the first step of what was about to become a veritable punch storm surrounding her, not from one but two sources! But her grip remains firm and it is thanks to that hold that she manages to not get completely punched to hell a split second later. His punches take their toll, but Ayame's shoulders and staff catch much of them, her own inner aura providing a degree of counter to the powerful flightning answering the boxer's call.
And that's about when she realizes Tran has come into close quarters as well, swinging punches fitting a proper butler with impressive speed toward the grey-suited ne'er-do-well. Naturally, Ayame takes his interference the wrong way. "Have you no shame, sir? Swinging for me the moment I'm distracted!" And with that, the girl snaps her foot up, aiming to deliver a long-heel-first kick into the black-suited man's chest. "Back off!"
COMBATSYS: Tran successfully hits Alan with Dr. Tran's Buttle Punch.
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Ayame 0/-------/-------|===----\-------\0 Alan
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Tran 0/-------/------=|
Afterimages work best on people that don't just punch /everything./ Tran's first Buttle Punch slams right through the head of the Alan in front of Ayame - that grey-suit dissolves into tiny lightnings which pool out along the ground, revealing the real Alan to be the one behind Ayame.
Perhaps he wanted to enjoy the view, and realized to his dismay that puffy fancy rich woman clothes leave way too much to the imagination. Anyway, then Tran punches the boxer right in his grillpiece, establishing him to be there. His hat flies up into the air, Alan's feet slowly leaving the ground. Slow enough for the real flurry of Tranfists to come crushing in.
Alan spirals into an emptied table with a crash, immediately rolling out of the wreckage and springing forward, to catch his hat. A bruise forms along his jaw as he brushes the article off, resting it back onto his head with an affronted air. "Harrrumph!" He sniffs at Trandevere, removing a handkerchief from his pocket and waving it at him dismissively. "Harrrrrumph, harrumph harrumph!" He stuffs it back in in a quite ungentlemanly manner. "Anyway, what were we talking about? Basically what I'm saying here is that the more shit we break here, the more newer, less gaudy and dumb shit these guys can buy. Come on, you can't seriously think this place isn't just..." He gestures, hopping up on and over a table on his way toward the melee. "...a bit much. A hell of a lot much."
Suddenly, Alan weaves to the left and right, covering a deceptive amount of ground to get behind Tran. The boxer still hasn't learned his lesson that the good doctor/butler is basically his kryptonite. Lightning crackles around his right fist as he plows one good close-ranged punch right at Tran's kidney, breaking away and circling around after.
COMBATSYS: Tran endures Ayame's Light Kick.
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Ayame 0/-------/------=|===----\-------\0 Alan
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Tran 0/-------/----===|
COMBATSYS: Tran fails to interrupt Hook Punch from Alan with Dr. Tran Bites the Bullet.
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Ayame 0/-------/------=|====---\-------\0 Alan
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Tran 0/-------/--=====|
Mr. Trandevere's eyes widen slightly as Ayame suggests that he is assaulting her, even after he's leapt in to defend her honor! "Madam, I am wounded by these spurious allegations, but I accept all blame as I failed to make my intentions perfectly clear." He doesn't even move to defend himself from the subsequent kick, taking it full in the chest, which causes his entire torso to bend violently backward. Clearly, that's not all from the impact.
And then, head tilted, Richard espies Alan breaking in toward him. Any moment now... "Behind!" The masterful manservant twists around, hunching over to absorb an incoming blow on his shoulders, but alas! Alan, in an /extremely/ ungentlemanly move, goes straight for the kidneys, the punches eliciting grunts of pain from Trandevere and essentially ruining whatever he was about to do.
Sent reeling, the butler recovers momentarily, shaking his head. "I fail to see your issue with the premesis. Perhaps you simply lack the taste to appreciate such aged, refined pieces?"
In typical fashion, Ayame gasps, her right hand covering her mouth a moment later, eyes widened slightly as Trandevere takes her heeled-kick on without defense, using the opportunity to declare that he had no such untoward intentions in the slightest. Of course, the heel of her shoe is broken in the process - a fact that becomes abundantly clear when she plants her foot against the floor only to have it snap to the side.
"Oh dear," she murmurs, kicking the white shoe off entirely, "It seems the latest in decades old fashions are not quite up to the rigors of such heated battle between the upper crust." She kicks her other shoe off to the side lest she try the impossible act of trying to walk around with one heeled shoe and one bare foot and not look like she might have sampled too much of the spiked tea no one talks about but everyone knows is being passed around!
"But all the same, I am forced to admit that my accusations were made in haste and as such, were completely ill-advised and poorly aimed." Spinning around to face Alan once again, the black-clad girl grips her staff in front of her at an angle. "So it seems that it falls to me to avenge the good butler with a well deserved thrashing, sir!"
And the strawberry-blonde in black seems determined to make good on the threat, whipping her staff up and crashing it through the lower layer of a chandelier overhead, sending a rain of crystal flying everywhere, before stepping forward and attempting to bring that same weapon crashing down on Alan's head.
COMBATSYS: Alan blocks Ayame's Power Strike.
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Ayame 0/-------/------=|=====--\-------\0 Alan
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Tran 0/-------/--=====|
Alan has difficulty maintaining character, and dryly responds to Mr. Trandevere, "Half of this shit is pink."
Then, hey! "Man, you're really getting into this character thing, ain't ya, babe? Too much effort for me, like trying to put a bunch of mud on an Aston Martin - it's still the sexiest of all cars." Alan returns his focus on her, smug over foiling Tran for once, and crosses up his arms. He takes the staff to his forearms, wincing as one of the fine gold buttons on the cuffs pops off, and swiftly crouches to get the staff a little lower. "Ha ha, but look at that! You're breaking all this up and you're /loving it!/"
Suddenly, the boxer springs back, slipping out from under the staff and rolling away. Unceremoniously, a lightning bolt jumps out from the somersaulting Alan, cracking across the air right for Ayame's metal staff. "Strike!" He springs up, the remains of a crackling yellow orb of chi settled in his right palm. He snaps it across with a slashing motion, fingers snapping. "Twice!" A second bolt follows right after the first.
With a gracious half-bow, the greatest butler the world has ever seen accepts Ayame's contrite apology. Almost immediately afterward, he coughs under his breath and averts his eyes, as she has begun to shed clothing. It hardly seems proper, and yet he can hardly fault her, as her predicament was once again caused by him (getting kicked). "If you insist, I shall leave it to you for a time. Should you desire further aid in dealing with this...filth-spattered Volkswagon, you have but to request it."
Upon mentioning Alan, Mr. Tranvedere shoots him an irate glare, while simultaneously stepping back to give the two other combatants some room. A gentleman knows when to hold his tongue, and Richard does so, choosing to take the opportunity to check a small wall mirror to make sure his appearance has not fallen too far in the scuffle. He frowns, and pats his already slicked hair down, a small burst of steam aiding his efforts immensely.
COMBATSYS: Tran gains composure.
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Ayame 0/-------/------=|=====--\-------\0 Alan
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Tran 0/-------/---====|
COMBATSYS: Ayame reflects Lightning Strikes Twice from Alan with Midsummer Fantasy.
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Ayame 0/-------/-----==|=====--\-------\0 Alan
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Tran 0/-------/---====|
With translucent crystal pouring down around it, Ayame's staff slams into Alan with gold-clasp-breaking force but nothing more than that as his forearms absorb the worst of it. Drawing her weapon back before he gets any fancy ideas about tryin gto disarm her again, the girl finds herself scrambling backward quickly.
"Well," she replies, tone level, "It /was/ due for a little redecorating." Alan does have a point. But what he also has is a menacing level of lightning answering his call. A bolt flies toward the girl's weapon but she spins out of the way, letting it go wide. It's the second shot - the menacing orb of potent energy that she handles more directly, for by the time the girl has finished turning around, her right hand is slamming forward directly into the path of the bolt launched her way.
It is into a perfectly flat circle of shimmering pink that the lightning collides. Because the room didn't have enough pink already. "You're right," the girl continues before pushing her right hand a bit further, causing the rose-colored energy to explode, launching what's left of the lightning back at Alan with horrendous speed. "I am loving it." she smirks, standing up straight.
COMBATSYS: Alan fails to slow Reflected Lightning Strikes Twice from Ayame with Lightning Strikes Twice.
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Ayame 0/-------/----===|=======\-------\0 Alan
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Tran 0/-------/---====|
"Attagirl," Alan crows with a grin, even in the face of his own lightning smacking back at him. His hands drop to his sides, relaxing completely, more chi surging through them, gathering down into two more small orbs between thumb and middle finger. "Though I do declare, you should have thought twice before trying to turn my own lightning against me!"
In Alan's mind, he is swearing up a storm. Two people who bounce his shit back in one fight? UNFAIR.
With a smooth, confident motion, Alan pulls his hands up, pointing his index fingers and snapping. "Strike Twice!" Two more bolts of yellow lightning sizzle out, coiling around each other as they smack into the earlier bolt, wrapping around and... nnnnot managing it. Alan goes like this, despite how gauche it is to use emoticons in poses.
( ¤_¤)
...then the lightning smacks into his own chest, his monocle popping right out as he is limned in blinding yellow light for an instant, seizing him in a jerky midair pose before hurling him smoking into the wall.
Eavesdropping is not gentlemanly. Thankfully, Mr. Trandevere still considers himself a part of this conversation, so he isn't the slightest bit out of line when he hears Ayame brazenly admit her love of wanton destruction.
"It seems..." Trandevere turns his full attention away from the mirror, back toward Ayame and Alan. "...that I was once again somewhat mistaken." The butler's eyes are blazing, with an emotion very similar to righteous fury, save for how /refined/ it is.
"You, madam, despite your pretentions, are no lady!" Mr. Trandevere takes a step forward, which quickly turns into a hustle as he rapidly closes the distance between himself and the woman in question. "I see no choice but to include you in the ongoing lesson! Prepare yourself!"
Then he hauls back and tries to punch her in the head. Despite what he's saying, there's really not much grace or refinement in the motion or anything.
COMBATSYS: Tran successfully hits Ayame with Strong Punch.
Grazing Hit
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Ayame 0/-------/--=====|=======\-------\0 Alan
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Tran 0/-------/--=====|
Ayame tucks her staff under her right arm and dusts her hands off as the returned fire does the job of sending Alan flying. "I thought about it more than just twice the first instant I saw you able to use it," the girl states, left hand lifted, finger wagging just a little. "But I needed the right opportunity." All in a fight's work, she ponders to herself. Now, there was something else she needed to keep in mind, she muses. Oh, right, Tranvedere is still on the loose.
A fact that becomes abundantly more clear as the now offended gentleTran comes up behind her to take a swing for the back of her head. "Oh?" the dress-clad girl asks, turning around to meet his challenge with something more impressive than the back of her head. For her trouble, she meets it with the side of her head, where his fist lands a glancing strike that sends her stumbling a step to the side.
"Well, then, /Sir/." the strawberry blonde retorts, her right hand lifting up to flip a length of her hair back over her shoulder with dramatic flair before she pulls her staff back out from under her arm. "If it is lessons that are being doled out this afternoon, then might I take a moment to educate you on the dangers of attacking a woman who is well equipped with the tools to end you by when you have neglected your cane at the door?"
She shakes her head, "It does cause me no amount of undue pain to strike down the unarmed, but I cannot let this challenge go unanswered..." And respond she does, sprinting forward, aiming to slam her staff horizontally up against Tran's neck while simulataneously trying to vault herself up over him in order to land behind the short statured gentleman of the highest order.
The result, should she succeed, won't be gentle as Ayame will try to choke Tran from behind, pulling the metal weapon against his neck and planting her right foot against his lower back. It's terrible, really. No one of any decent mind would even want to see that happen to such a refined individual. But the gloves in fact off.
At length, Alan extracts himself from the gaudy flower bank that he was hurled into by HIS OWN POWERRRRSSSS. Some dirt clings to his very nice grey suit, which he half-heartedly brushes at, hissing under his breath. "The price tag on this thing has /three/ zeroes. It's a god damn Joe Green." He looks more irritated at the damage to his clothes than the sheer audacity of getting slammed with his own electricity.
Curiously, it left the front of the suit completely unharmed. Alan diverted all of it into his intensely attractive body.
While Ayame climbs all over Mr. Trandevere in a most unladylike fashion, Alan replaces his monocle, and begins slapping at his pockets. "Ahh, shit, shit," he mutters under his breath, stepping down from the flower wreckage and walking over to a man with the most ponderous jowls the world has ever seen, who regards the ruffian with a gaze normally reserved for cockroaches.
So Alan slaps him, causing the jowls to swivel left and right like those clacky balls CEOs have in their offices. He holds out his hand. "Gimme a smoke. I see those yellowed teeth, hook me up, stretchmark." Grumbling, the man removes a small case of ivory and ruby, snapping it open and proferring a black and gold cigarette from it with a smug sneer. "Nat Shermans. You're alright, for a tubbs." Alan takes one, lights it with a snap of his fingers, and takes a deep drag.
As he does so, his body relaxes, slumping back, arms slipping into the pockets of his suit pants. His clothes ripple as electricity starts to spiral around him, throwing shockwaves out along the ground, causing the air to buzz and stink of ozone.
COMBATSYS: Alan gathers his will.
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Ayame 0/-------/--=====|=======\===----\1 Alan
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Tran 0/-------/--=====|
COMBATSYS: Ayame successfully hits Tran with Blackmail.
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Ayame 0/-------/=======|=======\===----\1 Alan
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Tran 1/------=/=======|
As Ayame professes regret, Mr. Trandevere remains unswayed. He in face goes so far as to close his eyes and shake his head, showing the full extent of his disbelief. "Your words are empty of sincerity, as is your every action!"
At it turns our, you don't need to be sincere to choke a bitch. Ayame's staff strikes the busy butler right in the adam's apple, knocking him off-balance long enough for her to slip over him and start strangling him. The noises he produces are no doubt quite satisfying, although they do not last forever.
Indeed, after a short time (which feels like forever to the chokee), Mr. Trandevere escapes through the clever scheme of turning his head and pushing the staff upward as hard as he can. It still hurts, but for the moment, at least, he's free.
With a bit of a rasp, he notes, "I should expect nothing less of a woman; indeed, such tools are required to level the field for your weak gender." Biting sexism delivered, Richard's body begins to blur, and he moves toward Ayame once more. Much like Alan before, images trail in his wake; unlike Alan who conjured up a pathetic two, Trandevere conjures up an amazing /three/ as he swiftly strikes, moving around Ayame to maintain an advantage. His voice no longer seems to be coming from any one point. "Shall I show you the power of a true gentleman?"
As he speaks it, all three images shimmer and then strike simultaneously, a trio of forceful punches crashing toward Ayame's midsection.
COMBATSYS: Tran successfully hits Ayame with Dr. Tran 3-D EX.
[ \\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\ < > //////////////////// ]
Ayame 1/-----==/=======|=======\===----\1 Alan
[ \\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\ <
Tran 0/-------/-------|
As Trandevere cleverly slips away by turning his head to free his chin from the hold of Ayame's staff, the girl utters a soft 'Huh', doing nothing to halt his escape or slow him down. Okay, no one she caught before ever did that, which means the man she faces might be some kind of super genius a cut above the rest of most of the fighting population. Or else maybe he just likes breathing a lot more than some.
Twirling her weapon upon onto her left shoulder, gripping it with one hand, the brown-eyed teen fighter keeps the Battling Butler in her focus while sparing a glance to make sure that Alan is indeed, as she thought, wasting time abusing the Tea Party guests some. That's all fine by her in that it lets her stay focused on the more immediate threat... such as the multiple images of the black-suit-clad man whirling around her. What is it with people and their ability to manifest afterimages in this fight anyway?!
"Oh," she replies, tightening her guard up, "So apparently it's a token of weakness to leverage a six foot metal pole for adminstering deserved beatings, but it's not weak to fall back on illusionary deception to hide the angle of your next att-agck!" Okay, so not so illusionary. While she thought it was only necessary to predict an attack from one of the shimmering after images of her Aristocratic Attacker, her defenses fall short when a crushing punch is delivered from all three.
Hit from all directions, Ayame crumples, dropping to a half crouch, right hand resting over her stomach as she gasps a coughing breath for her hubris in not taking the assault seriously enough to begin with. "Ugh," she mutters, pushing herself back up to standing and spinning her staff up over her head in the process like a miniture helicopter blade hellbent on striking Tran back before he might find distance - or at the very least, buy her own space with which to defend herself a bit better.
Alan powerup smokes about half of the cigarette down, releasing a tremendous plume of smoke from his mouth. Most of it gathers around the brim of his top hat, slowly seeping from around it like a crown of cancer. He slides his arms free, rolls his shoulders, and looks remarkably refreshed after letting the chi course through his body. The electricity dancing on his skin is much, much more apparent. "Arright," he says, "Let's pick this one right back up where we left off." He pulls up his hands, takes a step back, and then leaps forward.
Ash drips away from Alan's cigarette as he flips gracefully through the air, making two complete revolutions as he drops into the fight. But with Ayame whirling her stick around like that, that seems to be a really bad idea! Why, the only clear spot to land on is the top of Ayame's head!
Oh. Ohhh.
Sure enough, with her spinning like that, Alan imagines her ability to recognize another threat coming in will be diminished. Electricity flying, he crashes his fist right down at the top of her head, his knuckles bright with sparks. The hit is intended to bounce him up and throw Ayame off just long enough for Alan to then come down on her with a draping, spin, and slam her painfully to the ground, under him. While he /smiles about it./
COMBATSYS: Ayame successfully hits Tran with Random Strike.
[ \\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\ < > /////////////////// ]
Ayame 1/-----==/=======|=======\===----\1 Alan
[ \\\\\\\\\\\\\\\ <
Tran 0/-------/-----==|
It's well known that refinement and sophistication breeds intelligence and skill, all qualities which are clearly possessed in excess by Mr. Trandevere. All three images hold their fingers up in admonishment, waggling them back and forth.
"Every gentleman knows the art of strategy." Unfortunately, not every gentleman knows when to shut his yap and get out of the way. The staff whizzes through the head of one of the duplicates, causing the rest of it to disintegrate momentarily. This gives the real Trandevere all the time he needs to start ducking and get whacked in the head by an overglorified pole.
Suffice to say, the butler goes down. It's purely through force of will that the monocle does not go flying off of of his head. Tumbling to the ground, Richard recovers himself in a crouch, straightening up afterward with an indignant, "I say!"
Slowly straightening, he watches as Alan assaults Ayame, and though he harumphs disapprovingly, Trandevere does not move to intervere just yet. Instead, he opts to reach to the side and take an offered tea cup from a maid, fresh tea steaming inside. "Thank you, miss." The Battling Butler takes a sip, and presumably is fired up anew, as the air around him begins to buckle and waver like a heat mirage. "Quite excellent."
COMBATSYS: Tran gathers his will.
[ \\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\ < > /////////////////// ]
Ayame 1/-----==/=======|=======\===----\1 Alan
[ \\\\\\\\\\\\\\\ <
Tran 0/-------/-======|
COMBATSYS: Ayame counters Charged Combo from Alan with Final Solstice.
[ \\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\ < > /////////// ]
Ayame 0/-------/---====|>>>>>>>\>>>>>>>\2 Alan
[ \\\\\\\\\\\\\\\ <
Tran 0/-------/-======|
Her whirlwind defense works precisely as intended with regards to the Tranest of them all, as Ayame's weapon clocks him one in the head for not ducking under it quite in time. It seems to have just the opposite effect on Alan, who rather than deciding that a spinning staff seems like a good idea to stay away from, concludes that he should leap into the mix, gambling that he might find an angle the weapon user had not anticipated.
"Back where we left off?" she asks, not turning to face the grey-suited gentleman, using the term loosely, as she keeps her eyes on the Butler of Martial Arts and Fine Tea instead. "As I recall, where we left off was-" He makes his move, taking to the air. The swiftly spinning staff is whipped up into an angle to intersect Alan's lightning covered fist in passing while Ayame steps to the side, "You getting your ass beat by me."
She doesn't settle for defense, however, as in the same motion, her staff ignites with a coating of crimson-chi that concentrates at one end of the weapon into a shimmering axe-blade of vorpal-edged energy. Before Alan would even hit the ground, Ayame would tear into him with several seconds of swings from the sharp axe-tipped end of her staff and the less menacing, blunt end. Table clothes, chairs, and cute little place settings go flying out from the center of the storm of attacks as that specific location in the room becomes a complete disaster.
Ayame slides to a stop some seconds later a couple yards later, letting all the debris rain down around her as the energy that powered her attack flickers then fades and she exhales softly. "You finished yet?" she asks, brushing herself while turning back around to face the other two combatants.
The blocked downward punch still has, effectively, the same thing Alan was going for. He pops up and adjusts his drop, preparing to come down and enfold Ayame in a hilarious (and not at all proper) combat hug. He sees the staff light up, though, and doesn't have any time to react, only start, "Are you fucking kidd--"
No she is not. Ayame sets about ruining the hell out of his suit, the axe-tip chopping him up, the blunt end smacking blood out of those very same wounds. In the end, he's left wavering on his feet, head bowed, knees weak. His suit jacket is sliced and left hanging open to expose the pure white shirt beneath - though now it's all getting steadily stained with red. His cigarette burns down to a butt, and drops out of his mouth. His arms are completely relaxed.
...which means electricity suddenly explodes around them.
Alan has had quite enough of Ayame for now, eyes slowly tracking to his more favored target, sitting there sucking tea down like some kind of tea sucker. His eyes narrow, and he suddenly blurs forward. His hat pops off and tumbles away as, with no frames of animation in between, his fist is right at Tran's face. All the electricity in his arm pools down, crackling out around the room, causing everything small and metallic around them to jump around crazily. "STOP SLURPING!"
COMBATSYS: Tran blocks Alan's Overcharge.
[ \\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\ < > ////////// ]
Ayame 0/-------/---====|=======\-------\1 Alan
[ \\\\\\\\\\\\\ <
Tran 0/-------/------=|
Watching Ayame tear Alan apart, Trandevere's brow simply grows more and more furrowed. The destruction. The mayhem! It is almost too much to bear, and yet there is no choice but to endure, to fight onward for the principles that every gentleman should hold dear.
"No restraint. Shameful." Mr. Trandevere shakes his head sadly, before raising his tea to his lips to finish it off. Unfortunately, Alan has other plans. The unruly ruffian comes at the very model of refinement like a bullet, if the bullet were electric and also a man. Double unfortunately, Trandevere has other other plans.
Raising his single free hand with amazing speed, the butler catches Alan's fist. Electricity shoots along the length of his own arm, an unwelcome distraction in the face of already great peril. The maneuver doesn't exactly stop the punch; indeed, the force sends Trandevere skidding backwards across the floor until he comes to a gradual halt. Releasing the hand, he flexes his own slowly, feeling the pain of trying to stop Alan's monster of an attack. A lingering spark of electricity crackles across Richard's hand before he clenches, dispersing it without further incident.
Lowering the teap cup to the side, Trandevere gently sets it down on a table and fixes Mr. R. B. with a stern glare. "I do not slurp, sir. However, you are clearly distraught; I must strike at she who is at true fault, that she-viper who masquerades as a lady. I beg you to excuse me, but rest assured your time shall came."
And then Trandevere is racing toward Ayame's resting point, hand outstretched straight for her neck. "Though I at first thought you innocent, it is clear you are instead an inciter of chaos, delighting in misfortune and misery! I shall stop you here!" Assuming he gets a hold, Mr. Trandevere will lift Ayame off the ground just enough to throw her off-balance, then spin about and kick her right in the center of the chest, retaining perfect balance afterward (of course).
COMBATSYS: Tran successfully hits Ayame with 3 2 1...Dr Tran.
[ \\\\\\\\\\\\\\ < > ////////// ]
Ayame 0/-------/-======|=======\-------\1 Alan
[ \\\\\\\\\\\\ <
Tran 0/-------/----===|
With both of the other participants in her sight, Ayame feels like she has a pretty good handle on being able to defend herself against any attacks that might come her way next. The undistinguished grey-suited party-goer looks worse for wear after the thrashing he unfortunately jumped into and she expects he might be interested in paying her back for that one... But instead he goes after the Courteous Combatant and the girl quietly hopes that the two finish each other off so she can get out of this without too much more in the way of painful bruises or feeling like she stuck her hand in the light socket right outside of a power plant.
Possessing all the scruples of a rat, she makes her way towards Trandevere, skipping around shattered chairs and upturned tables to close distance and attack when he isn't looking. She realizes a step too late that he's on his way to dish out proper retribution for her unrestrained violence and destruction. Trying to skid to a stop, her arms flailing, she all but trips right into the good Doctor's grip at her neck before easily hefting her off her feet.
Dropping her staff to the floor in what seems at first to be a vain struggle for escape. At least, that's what it looks like at first right up to and including when Tran drives his foot into her chest, sending the girl sliding back a couple of steps... The problem is that in the moment Trandevere held her in place, Ayame just might have managed to loop a thin wire around his extended arm; a wire that she would continue to control by manipulating it with her left hand... "You seem like a smart man... you should know better than to play with vipers."
The sound of metal flicking open accompanies the flash of a butterfly knife slipping into her right hand from a sheath hidden in her sleeve. With a yank, the girl would test the wire to see if she can tear Tran's guard wide open and keep him from defending himself, while simultaneously darting forward, aiming to slash at him with the knife and follow up with a crushing knee to his stomach to try and drop the good Medically Licensed?? Butler to the floor!
Alan's left arm continues to hang loosely at his side, chi swirling powerfully around it. "Yerrr just... jealous!" He slurs. "Threatened, that's the one! This fine example of a lady is too much for a thug like you to handle!"
Despite his words of seeming praise for Ayame, he still rounds toward her, pulling that other hand back. His eyes have a little trouble tracking - that previous flurry really seems to have knocked him for a loop. He's not quite feeling himself, either.
The jowly man, seeing this, rumbles a deep laugh. Even a fighter, unprepared, is no match for the powerful genetically treated SHIN NEO TOBACCO his firm grows in a small isolated patch of fertile ground at an oasis in Death Valley!
"Oh, milady, you got one'a them, a fly on your hat. Lemme get that." His left arm swings up abruptly in a vicious uppercut, the other incredible charge exploding out in a classic case of move-spamming, lightning dancing aroudn the entire room once more.
COMBATSYS: Tran fails to interrupt Assault and Battery from Ayame with Dr. Tran Bites the Bullet.
- Power fail! -
-+- CALCULATED HIT -+-
[ \\\\\\\\\\\\\ < > ////////// ]
Ayame 1/-------/=======|-------\-------\0 Alan
[ \\\\\\ <
Tran 0/-------/=======|
COMBATSYS: Tran can no longer fight.
[ \\\\\\\\\\ < > ///////////// ]
Alan 0/-------/-------|=======\-------\1 Ayame
As Trandevere finishes his assault, slowly lowering his leg, he notices a pressure about his wrist. "A wire? Hmph. I should expect no less." Still, Ayame should pose a significantly smaller threat without her staff. Doing his best to ignore what are clearly the punch-drunk ramblings of a man so lost as to be nothing more than pitiable, Mr. Trandevere quickly formulates a plan.
Almost as quickly, it completely falls apart. "What? A concealed weapon?" Ayame produces it and makes with the shivving almost completely unopposed, as the foremost gentleman in the room is simply /so shocked/ by the very concept that he is unable to act. Then, to top it off, he gets a stomach-full of knee.
Trandevere slowly sinks to his knees, clutching at his stomach. At last, the monocle pops off with ponderous gravity.
"I see. It seems the day is yours." The Battle Butler's eyes close, acknowledging his defeat like a real gentleman does. "But...!" And yet, the soul still burns. Trandevere's eyes shoot open. "Don't think this is the end. I have seen your true face, and I shall not be deceived a second time! Hraaagh!" With a magnificent sweep of his coat and a small burst of steam, Mr. Trandevere vanishes, continuing on his eternal journey, searching for the next battlefield slash tea parlor.
COMBATSYS: Ayame blocks Alan's Overcharge.
[ \\\\\\\\\\ < > ////////// ]
Alan 0/-------/-------|=======\==-----\1 Ayame
Her trap and subsequent combination attack against the Battling Butler actually goes... better than Ayame had anticipated. By the time she snaps her knee back and releases the entraping wire all together, Trandevere admits defeat in the fashion of the most upper crust sort and the girl simply nods sharply, "Another time then. I'll be ready."
She opens her mouth to add more, but she's reminded by the subtle increase of static electricity in her hair that Alan is still on the move and getting closer. The knife she produced to deter the Courteous Combatant is dropped immediately as the girl darts to the side and kicks her staff back up off the floor into her hands, whirling around just in time to catch Alan's violently powerful uppercut with an angled slant of her polearm. Lightning explodes, threatening to do just as much harm if not more than the boxer's punch itself, but Ayame holds her ground, her own aura doing its damndest to keep her from being overwhelmed completely.
Driven back several steps, she nearly falls but for the conveniently located bald head of one of the portly patrons. "Thanks," she mutters in a rare expression of gratitude as her hand slaps down atop his head and she recovers her balance. Of course, by the time she steps away, the man has been deprived his gold money clasp, but let's not dwell on that.
Flexing her hands as the last of the muscular spasms caused by a painful encounter with Alan's brand of chi passes, Ayame begins to spin her staff swiftly. "You're good, but not good enough, you know?" she notes with a calm tone as she spins her staff faster and faster until it takes on a metallic blur. Once again chi ignites along its surface in a shade of deep orange that illuminates the already pastel room nicely.
"This is it!" Ayame twists her weapon out into a horizontal swipe through the air and all that pent up chi is sent exploding out toward the electrified boxer in a wide swath. It's either going to catch him before he can recover, or it's going to do a nice number on one of the windows of the tea parlor. To Ayame, either outcome is about as entertaining.
COMBATSYS: Ayame successfully hits Alan with Final Sunset.
-* CRITICAL HIT! *-
[ \\\ < > ///////// ]
Alan 0/-------/---====|-------\-------\0 Ayame
The sight of the whirling staff clears Alan's mind, and he gives himself a shake. When'd she get so much distance on him? On watching the footage later, Alan will loudly protest that without the lightning bolt he always styles into his hair (it didn't sit right under the top hat) there was no way he could've won, that's just science.
Breathing heavy from throwing two Overcharges in a row, drained of built-up chi, he weakly pulls his arms up, waiting for the attack to come so he can try and maneuver out of the way. Won't do to dodge too soon, she'll read the move, gotta focus, gotta get the paycheck--
--the staff comes around, and Alan makes like he's going to duck under it, trying to bait Ayame into throwing it low, then he jumps up and tries to roll over on top of it. The girl is not fooled - the chi slams into Alan, electricity crackling out from him like flour when you drop one of those sacks from a decent height. Alan is sent spiraling away, crashing into the largest table in the whole place, reducing it to shards and paper.
The boxer attempts to sit up, picking one of his arms up. His monocle cracks with symbolism, falling apart as he lifts his hand, pointing one finger. "Not... bad." He lifts it, and flicks it down in a firing motion. A single bolt of lightning cracks out to hassle Ayame before Alan sinks back with finality.
COMBATSYS: Alan can no longer fight.
[ \\\\\\\\\ <
Ayame 0/-------/-------|
COMBATSYS: Ayame blocks Alan's Lightning Strike.
[ \\\\\\\\ <
Ayame 0/-------/------=|
Ayame follows through her horizontal swipe of her staff by spinning back into a ready position, the weapon once again angled in front of her for defensive purposes. Risidual chi crackles around the tips of the pole before fading as the strawberry-blonde is afforded an opportunity to admire the handy work of her destructive attacks. Odds are she won't be invited back for tea time soon, but Alan probably got his wish out of all this too in that the place most definitely will need to redecorate after this battle.
With the span between them, Ayame has time to gauge the incoming attack and with time to spare, bunker down behind her staff. The conductive metal hardly stops the incoming lightning short, but it does difuse it enough that by the time it charges into her fingers and hands, it packs only a fraction of the intended punch.
A soft exhale is how Ayame finishes, standing up straight, twirling the staff once at her side before the weapon collapses down into its much more portable size. "The manners here are wanting, but the competition is great," she declares, taking off the fedora that had managed to stay angled on her head the duration of the fight and flicking it over toward the Alan-shaped pile of table rubble to the side.
"Farewell and best wishes, ladies and gentlemen," the girl declares, whirling on her heel and making her way for the exit, hands clasped behind the back of her head.
COMBATSYS: Ayame has ended the fight here.
Log created on 21:33:33 08/24/2009 by Ayame, and last modified on 05:23:05 08/27/2009.