Description: Makari Maksimillian, in his quest to find the promising novices of the fighting world, comes across Farah lingering atop Victoria Falls. He launches into battle, but something is wrong...
The headaches -- mild, but persistent -- started when she got back to her apartment, and since then, Farah has found that they only really seem to go away when she's in battle. The day after it was a simple street fight with someone the local circuits, but it helped a lot. Letting herself drop into a sort of combat trance eased the feeling of pressure she felt behind her eyes... and, though she wouldn't admit it nor have the ability to verbalize it even if she would, the restless blood in her very spirit. But that's why she was on the internet, making phone calls, finding ANYBODY, anywhere, that needed a fighter, or would give her a battle. It's the reason she ended up here in Africa instead of being at home.
The match was local; something for Zambesi television's cut-rate version of SNF. Her opponent was also local, an acrobatic youth who, despite his British-schooled accent, wore tribal leathers like a sort of costume. He wasn't much of a match for Farah, the difference between a "talented fighter-athlete" and a true professional fighter being a thin but obvious line. The money was barely enough to cover her flying out here and back, but the Egyptian doesn't seem to care much.
Wanting the thoughts to stop, occupying her mind by striving to improve... that was worth its weight in gold.
Now she is lingering at the site of the match, the crew and audience having long since fled. Normally, the psychic would feel a sense of wonder, standing atop the world's highest waterfall. As it is now, though, she is restless. The KoF tournament is coming soon. 'A taste of what you are capable of', is what he had said.
In his hunt for strong people, nothing escapes Makari Maksimillian. His strong, callused fingers seem to reach far, his pale blue gaze unending. If someone with potential shows their face, Makari will know about it.
The Russian closes the FightFan app on his smartphone, shoving it in a pocket, and turns around, frowning. He's sure of it - the woman there is Farah, one of the people on his list. An excited grin splits his face, and he shifts from one foot to the other. This is taking too long! But appearances must be kept up. He turns around.
Five workers step away from the enormous catapult they've pushed up onto the rocky plain, sweating and joking. No idea where this guy in armor got his money, but hey, the money's good. The foreman steps up with a clipboard - Makari dashes off a clumsy signature before jumping in the machine's large cup, gripping the lever next to him.
"Whoa, wait, we haven't aimed it right--"
A shape soars through the air, a shadow passing over Farah... and continues on. Something drops down the waterfall, landing below with a loud splash.
ABOUT FIFTEEN MINUTES LATER
--a shape soars through the air, a shadow approaching Farah and growing larger. It lands dead on a large rock hard enough to splash water out from around it in a wave. When the mist clears, a fairly large (soaked) man is there, down in a kneel, a (extremely wet) grey fur cloak covering everything from the neck down, a (dripping) greatsword across his back.
Makari stands with as much gravity as he can manage despite being completely drenched, his face arranged in a grim expression toward Farah. He opens his mouth to speak, and only a coughing fit comes out. He doubles over, hacking, holding a hand to forestall and possible interference, and spits a stream of water from his lungs.
He wipes his fist on the back of his mouth, and realizes that this entrance is all botched up.
She might be a little messed up in the head right now, but...
"Wh--"
...Farah is still Farah.
The whole thing seems to happen in two sweeping, momentary bursts. The first makes her turn and back away from the water, but is over as soon as it started. There's some disorientation and confusion, of course, but for all she knows it might just be a very large bird of some kind, or a cloud passing over the sun, or -- and, in a moment of lucidity -- her mind playing tricks on her, the Egyptian surmises. From there, it's no surprise that she goes back to watching the flow of the falls, and that's the state Makari finds her in when, after 15 minutes or so, he makes a triumphant and dramatic return. On the downside for his dramatic entrance point score, the first one has knocked some of the confusion factor out of Farah's proverbial sails.
So, instead, she's looking at him like he's insane, but with a note of actual concern in it. "Are, ah, you alright?" She takes in the cloak, and the sword, and briefly wonders: did he SWIM back up here? In THAT?
Yes. There was a crocogator, or an allidile. ...water tiger.
Makari charges ahead with his script, short hair plastered to his scalp. "My name is Makari Maksimillian, and you are one with potential. I am hhheauchh--" He coughs again, into his fist, and spits one last stream. His right foot stamps down on his rock in irritation. ".../here/ to test you. Defend yourself!" His hand vanishes under his cloak, and there is a hiss of metal - also, when he disturbs his cloak, water falls out of the many pockets within, drenching his boots. Makari stares down at the rainfall, and looks back up at Farah, mask cracking, looking harried.
"Usually, I am better than this." He rubs at the back of his head, cloak opening, revealing the armor and weapons and saber in his other hand. "Ah, anyone asks, can you just say I didn't... miss? That never happens, usually!" He turns on a bright grin, shameful red rising in his cheeks.
This doesn't happen everyday, and so the dusky-skinned woman listens to everything Makari says with an even expression, considering it carefully. One with potential? Here to test her? That's even more strange than someone just popping out of an alley to assault her in the street... but in Makari's defense, nothing he's done so far suggests he was here to attack her by surprise, or stalk her. His botched entrance was flashy, not antagonistic. That, at least, keeps Farah's emotions on an even keel; had Makari reminded her at all of the brute she recently faced, the result might be considerably less cordial than the way she feels right now.
...and yet...
Some dark voice in the back of her mind is speaking to her. Look at him. Dripping wet, more clown than fighter, for sure. More interested in making a splash than the battle. No... he's no match for you. Just another stepping stone on realizing what you're *REALLY* capable of. Thus she takes a step back from Makari, stepping onto the river bank, and faces him, hands coming up into a fighting stance. "You? Come to test... me." Her faint smile suggests a sort of indifferent incredulity... and if Makari has paid attention at all to Farah's public appearances, one that's quite at odds with her existing public persona. "Alright. Feel free to 'test' me."
Makari's face brightens with a kind of simple joy. "Excellent!" His hand drops, the cloak falls, and his booted foot steps down into the water. At the moment he steps, it has become the legendary 'go time'. Despite the added weight of the soaked fur, he runs right up to Farah with sure steps.
It's completely different. Up on the rock, he had his chest puffed out, shoulders spread, legs wide. Now, every move he makes is absolutely efficient. "Let us see if you can grasp that potential, like the others!" The only thing that hasn't changed is the joy in his face. Combat is Makari's life - from one house of war to another, he's known little else.
He moves past Farah, whipping the sabre out - it has some kind of rubber clipped along its blade, because he's not trying to /kill/ anyone, god. "Falcon!" It looked like he only swung once, but the air is bright with a half-dozen slashes - as he turns around and brings the sword back to his cloak, there are a half-dozen more.
COMBATSYS: Makari has started a fight here.
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Makari 0/-------/-------|
COMBATSYS: Farah has joined the fight here.
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Farah 0/-------/-------|-------\-------\0 Makari
COMBATSYS: Farah blocks Makari's Maksimilian Falcon.
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Farah 0/-------/------=|-------\-------\0 Makari
~ That...! ~
It's as if a switch went off in Makari's head. Even with the muddying of her perception thanks to her altered state, Farah still retains enough of her emapthic abilities to sense that pure, unsullied joy that burns in the Strolheim agent's veins. It takes her by surprise, if only because she had expected so little of someone who appeared to be nothing more than a terrible buffoon. That said, some part of her is also excited when he strikes true and sure, thinking of the battle that is to come... only her goal marks any indicator of the darkness swimming through her. Before she might wish to learn as much as she could from this bizarre but fierce young man. Now?
She wants to tear him apart.
That said, easier said than accomplished. The two different flurries of strikes are difficult indeed to even perceive, let alone defend against. Farah decides to take a comprehensive approach; she pulls back, crosses her arms, and just lets the blows rain on her guard. It stings... quite a bit. She can sense Makari's strength even through her defense.
When he draws back, Farah reaches into her pocket and withdraws a length of cobalt blue ribbon, which she ceremoniously ties around the back of her right hand/wrist, looking at Makari as she does so. "I don't think I've fought many weapon users," she says blithely, finishing the bow. "Interesting, but... the only weapon I need is my mind."
With that, she suddenly shears across the distance between herself and Makari, beribboned fist extended and the two tails billowing out behind her in a bizarrely perfect double helix, both hand and ribbon glowing with an aura of cobalt blue Soul Power... but a power that is tinged, here and there, with obvious patches of dark black. "Spiral!"
COMBATSYS: Farah successfully hits Makari with Spiral Heart.
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Farah 0/-------/-----==|===----\-------\0 Makari
"As good a weapon as any other," Makari grins, setting his stance. In Strolheim, he's encountered everything, even a man who fights only by striking with his elbows. His elbows also happen to be capable of shooting explosions, you work with what you have. His eyes flick to the ribbon, and he keeps his eyes on it, taking a defensive stance. If it's not the ribbon, it's definitely--
Farah charges, Makari snaps to attention, left arm coming up, forearm out - not in time. Farah slips through his guard and slams into his chestplate with a sound like a hammer striking a gong. Makari's feet leave the ground, heels dragging a wake across the water. He halts on a tall rock, back settling against it, and readjusts his cloak.
His brow is furrowed. Makari's mind is bent more toward the physical, but he has had enough experience to know that people that use energy don't normally have that energy appearing so... corrupted. And if anything looks like corruption... "Hmmm," is all Makari has to say on the matter for now, bracing one foot against the rock.
Silently, he takes a step forward, saber out again, swinging in a wide arc. His left hand punches out as well, a dagger held in reverse, pommel smashing forward. "Hmmmm."
COMBATSYS: Farah dodges Makari's Medium Strike.
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Farah 0/-------/-----==|===----\-------\0 Makari
She'd never focused on it before, but as Farah feels her fist connect with Makari, she experiences a certain... exhiliaration. Success should be its own reward, but it's not even some amazing truth she was awakened to. No... it's more the sense that she'd always exulted in knowing she was striking true, but had never let herself open up to it before. It explains the wild-looking smile on her face, at any rate. That, however, doesn't last. Why? She'd expected to make contact with flesh... that metallic sound can only mean that Makari's wearing some sort of body armor. More than that, he's wearing very *old school* body armor.
This makes her cautious, and her sudden caution serves her well. As the rapier swings forward, Farah's eye darts low for a moment and catches the punching-like motion of the dagger pommel. Deciding not to try and deal with both at the same time, she suddenly leaps backwards toward the river bank, clearing the air just moments before both weapons slice through where she just was.
"Weapons *and* armor," Farah murmurs. Despite herself, she's got a little more respect for the man, now. That was a long way back up here if he's wearing antique body armor. "I don't think it's going to help you all that much, however." As if to punctuate what she expects is her greater relative mobility, the girl heads back toward the weaponmaster's position on the rocks, looking to grip one arm, lift it high, then duck beneath it and slam him into what looks like a calm, shallow pool nearby. Even a slightly darker Farah isn't interested in hurling someone to their potential demise at the bottom of Victoria Falls.
COMBATSYS: Makari blocks Farah's Quick Throw.
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Farah 0/-------/-----==|====---\-------\0 Makari
Maksimillian weaponmasters have extremely quick hands. Capable of switching weapons in the blink of an eye, they are capable of doing things like stacking a jenga tower in seconds, catch fifteen thrown plates and stack them neatly on a table in front of them, or in this case, sheathe a sabre and pull a greatsword from their back in the time it takes them to be lifted and thrown. Farah's slam stops cold, the tip of the greatsword biting into the ground, Makari gritting through the pain of wrenching his shoulder as he rips himself free and swings to the other side of the sword.
He throws his cloak behind his shoulders, revealing his platemail breastplate in all its glory. His right hand stabs into the gauntlet at his side, because even Makari isn't retarded enough to grip a sword by the blade unprotected. "The armor, ehhhh... it is more traditional than anything else." He grins, stepping back up out of the water, holding the blade low and forward. "The weapons, less so."
In a quick, darting movement, he lunges forward, jabbing the zweihander between Farah's ankles, hooking one with the flat of the blade, and attempting to dump her unceremoniously on her side with a sharp lift. "Hoh!"
COMBATSYS: Makari successfully hits Farah with Alexei's Sweep.
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Farah 0/-------/--=====|=====--\-------\0 Makari
It's not just successful, it's a little humiliating; Farah's experience dealing with weapon-users has to date been confined with Faolan and, now, Makari; Baguazhang involves some weapon training but it's highly orthodox, rote technique. What the Strolheim battler is deploying is a level quite beyond, someone using a weapon in a new and inventive way. That makes it all the harder to get away from, and moreso, it drives Farah to overcompensate, trying too hard to get out of the way entirely. The result is that she ends up toppling over into the shallow water she intended to send Makari into.
It doesn't take her long to get back on her feet, regarding this curious young man with narrowed eyebrows. He's strong... she's going to admit that one way or the other. Not just physical power, but mentally, both in his quick thinking and his evenness on the battlefield. "Not bad," Farah admits, shaking water off and getting back into stance. "And ceremonial or no, I've got to account for it."
This may be why she suddenly lunges at him, fist extended, right for Makari's jaw. It's obviously the armor, and not in any way a desire to smack someone in the face who just landed a blow on her. Not at all.
COMBATSYS: Makari blocks Farah's Strong Punch.
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Farah 0/-------/-======|=====--\-------\0 Makari
There are many unarmored places to throw a punch at Makari - the masculine Dolph Lundgren jawline may not be one of the best. He tucks his chin against one of his pauldrons to brace himself against the blow, staggers only a step to the side, and straightens, tilting his head to the side with a series of pops. "You know, I think... that is not where your strength lies."
He has to get her to use that power again. Makari may not be a classically /intelligent/ man (his father was less concerned with math and more with juggling fifteen knives at once), but he is surprisingly perceptive and insightful. Something is bothering him. He steps forward, dragging the blade around him in a fast circle, lifting it up to slam it forward at Farah's... well, entire body, with the size of the thing, shoving her back. His eyes glitter. "Fight me with everything! You cannot grow stronger if you hold back!" He tilts his head back, arrogantly challenging.
COMBATSYS: Farah counters Random Strike from Makari with Gensekiju.
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Farah 0/-------/=======|=======\-------\1 Makari
Is he... mocking her?
Farah's eyes narrow at Makari's suggestion that physical strength isn't her forte. It's not necessarily offense that he's wrong; Farah herself would be the first to admit that rather than physical force, her strength is her intuitive ability, and her mobility. Rather, it rankles to have someone say it, as if he is implying that her way of fighting isn't good enough for him, that she should dance to his tune. In a more reflective frame of mind, Farah might not take that bait. As she is now... it works like a charm, the violet eyes narrowing. "Perhaps not, but..."
It shouldn't be able to stop a sword. That alone defies logic, even in a world where the ability to hurl fire from one's fingertips is an accepted, if rare, practice. The greatsword's blade hurls forward, and is then locked into place as Farah twists both arms, wrapping the tails of her ribbon around it and dragging the weapon to a halt. The blade's position obscures her face somewhat from Makari's sight, but her voice drips calm, even as that black-swirled cobalt light flows through the ribbon, giving it the strength of steel.
"I didn't want to end it too fast by showing you my real strength."
With a flick of the wrist, she spins the weapon out of control, using Makari's grip on it against him to hurl him to the ground unless -- or perhaps, even if -- he lets go... and that black-tainted psychic energy flows down to the weapon and into his body as well.
MANY YEARS AGO
Makari Maksimillian, age 5, swings his dagger at his father, who blocks it with a contemptuous snap of his saber. Makari lets it fly away, already getting another from his adorable little belt, and Efim strikes him on the top of the head with the flat of his blade. "A weaponmaster never lets go of his weapon!" Makari holds his head and starts crying, because he is 5. "B-b-but you blocked and I was just gonna-" "A WEAPONMASTER NEVER LETS GO OF HIS WEAPOOOOOOOOOOOOO--" Efim holds the 'o' for a full minute.
NOW
Makari does not let go of his weapon. He flies through the air, still clinging to the blade with both hands, even as the cobalt-and-black spirals up into both arms, sweat standing out on his forehead. He hits with a loud crash, scattering several of his daggers. That's okay - you can let go of your /throwing/ weapons.
After a long moment, Makari rolls backward, coming to his feet, holding the sword across his body with the hand very near the tip. With the way he's crouching, there's almost nothing on him that isn't covered with zweihander. He keeps his head clear, the joy gone from his face, his expression grave. "I do not know you so much, so maybe this is rude, eh? But... I do not think that was your real strength."
Pinning Farah with his gaze, he crouches there, content to turtle for the moment, catching his breath.
COMBATSYS: Makari gains composure.
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Farah 0/-------/=======|=======\-------\0 Makari
*What*.
Now she looks less impassive and more annoyed, the ribbon spiralling in complex and unpredictable patterns as she steps back, gets into stance, and starts reevaluating the situation, keeping track. There's a subtle difference between letting your intuition guide your hand, and letting your emotions dictate your actions. This may in fact be the distinction that Makari is observing; Farah quite obviously did the latter and not the former, though she herself is conveniently blind to that. "Is that right?" she asks, coldly, evaluating the Russian carefully.
He's not going to attack? Well, alright... she'll make the move for him. "Maybe you're just not capable of *perceiving* my true strength." Rushing forward, Farah attempts to vault over the zweihander blade, dragging the (uncharged) ribbon behind her, attempting to hook the taut-pulled tails around Makari's neck and then drag him to the ground, *hard*.
COMBATSYS: Makari fails to interrupt Medium Throw from Farah with Isaak's Step.
- Power fail! -
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Farah 1/-------/=======|=======\-------\1 Makari
Makari's response: "Hmmm."
Once Farah vaults, Makari suddenly stands, aiming to catch Farah with the flat of the sword, and from there... well, who knows. All he manages to do is give her a boost, and is caught by the ribbon and dragged right to the ground.
As he falls, he's moving, seeing just one opportunity. He twists, slipping the zweihander into the harness on his back, and reaching behind him. One arm blurs - something flies up into the air just before Makari hits the ground, the air rushing out of him. As he shoves back to his feet, he settles the cloak back around his body. "Perhaps," he comments, rubbing at his chin, unperturbed by Farah's taunting. "I suppose it is something we'll find out one way, or another." He plants that hand on his shoulder, stretching his arm beneath the cloak.
It's really the worst of any possible outcome; Farah's sudden feelings of superiority are reinforced by success that's as attributable to chance as anything else. It shows on her face with the grim smile she makes as she lands, whipping her hands back into place, ribbon trailing behind her. His response, though, is calm, and it's a calm that she can feel from it. It prompts her to take a moment to really study Makari, and to feel out her perception of his aura... the silver of metal and sword-blades, but with the liquid ripple of quicksilver. Impossible to tell how deep it runs, able to flow easily around any situation.
And, in her current state, infuriating.
"It's a shame," the girl says, not attacking, giving Makari a chance to make the first move once again. Her hands trace lazy circles in the air, somewhat, as she tries to anticipate his next move. "You seem to be more interested in some notion of my strength instead of showing me yours." And here, her eyes narrow. "Or do you think I'm not *worth* your full strength?"
COMBATSYS: Farah focuses on her next action.
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Farah 1/-------/=======|=======\-------\1 Makari
Makari shows his teeth. "Hoooh, be reasonable." He starts to close the distance, Maksimilian's telltale hiss of metal sounding from within the cloak. "As I said, one cannot grow stronger unless you fight at your full strength. But first, I had to see if you could even hope to make me stronger!"
The saber feints, testing at Farah's defenses. "Your emotions are too plain. You are fighting with anger, and frustration." He makes another jabbing feint, keeping his distance, circling. "Hmm, like the short chinese boy." He nods, as though something else came to him, and then appears to launch into his attack, saber sweeping up, cutting through the waterfall's mist--
--along with his foot, the extremely tall man simply stepping one foot out at Farah's face. "Emotions cloud instinct!"
COMBATSYS: Farah dodges Makari's Light Kick.
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Farah 1/-------/=======|=======\-------\1 Makari
Emotions cloud instinct. That's very likely true. But, as Farah is discovering, emotions have their own set of strengths... their own set of powers they can give you. And the real problem is that psychic abilities, be they Shadaloo's dark variant, or the Soul Power of the spirit that is Farah's gift, feed on and even reflect that emotional power. Even as Makari darts toward her, Farah's face goes cold, and that black-limned, starry night sky power seems to suffuse her whole body. When the saber darts her way, she barely moves; just enough so that each probing strike moves within a hair's breadth of connecting, so that when the kick comes it suddenly slices through the air where she used to be, the girl hopping backwards across two smaller rocks.
'Anger and frustration'... 'short Chinese boy'... there's not many people that could be. For a moment, there's a look of shocked surprised on Farah's face, as the images that haunted her about Denji a few days past, suddenly flow into her consciousness with a new target. Wang -- earnest, if slightly crazy, Wang -- lying at her feet, broken. Confused. Farah exulting in her victory over him.
~ No. That's not how... ~
But that inner voice is replaced by another. Silky, dark, sinuous. A serpent curling around her thoughts. Telling her that Makari is mocking her. Making fun of her. She should show him. Don't use some puny physical trick. Lash out at him with your *will alone*.
"You can talk about getting stronger if you survive this," Farah bites out, holding her hands in front of her. That power that faerie fires around her body coalesces, becoming a semi-formless near-sphere floating in the air before her. With one sweep of the arm, the tails of her ribbon arc through the burst, sending it hurtling at her opponent, veins of black coursing through it erratically.
It is Farah's internal conflict made manifest, a hammer of confused thoughts and memories that she intends to simply batter down Makari's defenses with, if necessary.
COMBATSYS: Makari just-defends Farah's Heart and Soul!
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Farah 0/-------/-------|=======\-------\1 Makari
Makari is not without internal conflicts of his own, but he's come to accept them. He's locked it down with structure and confidence. When the time comes, he'll know what's right. This is something he is as certain of as his own ability.
The thing about Psycho Power? It's all in the mindset, whether you can conciously command it or not. Makari's foot stabs through empty space - he accepts this, foot slamming down to the ground, saber vanishing under his cloak. His right hand - gauntleted again - starts to come up for the sword, but Makari doesn't have time.
He grins. He grins like he's god damn Dee Jay.
Makari closes his steel-gauntleted fist, and does what his gut tells him - he drives it into the sphere with absolute certainty that this will work. His own total lack of confusion is like a steel wall against Farah's conflicted mind. Energy spirals up the red gauntlet, holes ripping open in the glowing burst, the black energy flowing out first, leaving the blue for an instant before the entire thing collapses, leaving Makari's hand smoking. "Hooooh." He takes a single, gusty breath.
"Good. Good!" He finishes the reach, taking hold of the zweihander. "If only your technique didn't have those cracks in it!" And with that, he takes a few steps forward, as though kicking aside what's left of Farah's attack, striding right through the mist that remains, and hurls himself forward and down. The sword spins out as he falls with tremendous momentum, coming down at her, thrumming through the air.
COMBATSYS: Farah interrupts The Bird Falls from Makari with Strong Throw.
- Power hit! -
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Farah 0/-------/----===|=======\==-----\1 Makari
A psychic battle is, in many ways, a tug of war. You need confidence. That's something Makari has, and that is the core of why he can make this amazing defense that obliterates Farah's attack. But in many ways that war of confidence is a zero-sum endeavor. You can't totally obliterate an attack formed entirely by your opponent's will without that opponent suddenly being assaulted by cracking, nagging doubt. Farah's violet eyes go wide indeed as Makari effectively punches her attack aside, her expression briefly wild. And perhaps, in that split second, a bit of the old Farah comes back, horrified at the feelings deep within her heart. It's a pause that almost costs her dearly.
At the last second, she sees Makari leaping at her, and images overlay him in her mind's eye. Wang leaping at her with a kick, eyes gleaming with maniacal chauvenistic pride. Denji's careless smile as he sweeps through the air, sleeves billowing, expression unreadable. ~ Why do I keep seeing them...? ~
At the last possible second she reaches out and clamps both hands around the blade when it is millimeters from her body.
This is not her normal reversal technique; it has costs. Muscles burn and tendons ache as she fights a more physical tug of war with both Makari and gravity itself, sending waves of pain down her arms. He's got strength and physics on his side, but there is something in Farah's movements that comes from a place of intuition, as Makari had said before. She didn't think, or feel; she reacted. With a sudden shout, she thrusts the sword out of her hands and away from her, letting Makari's body follow along and landing where it may.
If it weren't for the rubber, that would've been a terrible idea, but luckily for Farah, Makari never goes up to a lady without protection. The strength of this technique is that it uses all of the sword's weight /and/ all of the wielder's weight, so that's a whole goddamn lot of weight, with more besides from the force of Makari's muscular arms. But... Farah manages it, the sword driving down into fast-flowing water, Makari following right behind, because a weaponmaster never lets go of his weapon.
When the water erupts, and Makari leaps out of it onto yet another rocky outcropping, he's laughing. "Hahaha! Well done!" Few fighters seem so... /happy/ to be stymied. "You keep fighting like that and I'll be staring at your back soon enough!" He rolls his neck, and re-centers himself, sword held mid and forward, gauntleted hand at the base of the blade.
Two axes drop from the sky directly where Farah is standing. Makari looks surprised, as though he forgot about them.
COMBATSYS: Farah fails to reflect Thrown Weapon from Makari with Soul Reflect.
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Farah 0/-------/--=====|=======\==-----\1 Makari
She's just a mess, now. How succeeding at defending herself could make Farah a mess is a mystery, but it really does. She's not even looking in Makari's direction when he speaks, let alone when he hurls axes at her (apparently by accident?). The Egyptian looks up at the approaching weapons with confused surprise, and then -- again acting on instinct -- sweeps her ribbon through the air in a wide arc, attempting to intercept the thrown weapons. The problem is that this technique requires her to charge that cloth with Soul Power to give it the resilience and power to work in the first place, and in her inner turmoil it fails to happen. Thankfully, she ALSO misses the axes just barely, so the ribbon itself isn't cut to pieces.
That said, one axe's blunt edge and haft rebound off an arm, and another bites unpleasantly into her shoulder, so it's perhaps not that thankful an outcome.
That pain is sharp and unpleasant, and it does bring her back to her senses, the girl's violet gaze tracking the Strolheim agent, locking on to him. But whenever her senses pick up that sense of joy and focus, she grimaces, a hand coming up to her forehead. It doesn't help that images of Denji and Wang keep superimposing themselves on top of Makari.
"Did... they put you up to this?" she bites out, trying to make sense of it all. "My teammates, that is."
Confusion. "Teammates? Haha, no! No, I fight for no will but my own, and no ideal but Strolheim's." Strolheim's, not Krauser's. Important distinction. One axe bounced onto his rock - he stoops and picks it up, twirling it in his hand, the etched bear face staring out at Farah. This one is Viktor - Nikita is caught in a crack in another rock, the wolf's head shining in the mist. Makari returns the axe behind his belt.
"I think..." he begins, slowly, "I have it now. Something has you confused." He nods, certain of it now. "At first, still you were confused, but not aware, perhaps. You were fighting on emotion, but you were sure of it, at least! But just before, that was pure talent! And now, you are caught." He crouches, lowering his sword, just like his sweeping move from before.
"So, perhaps this will give you something to focus on! No teammates, no confusion! Only the fight!" He steps to the edge of his rock, thrusting the sword again, trying to catch Farah's ankle and tug her up. "Alexei Sweeps Aside the Wheat--"
But after the motion, he shifts his hand, bring the sword straight up, holding the zweihander by its grip, like a regular sword. "--to--"
He explodes into motion, spinning like a top, whipping the blade around himself like a tornado of steel. The sudden speed is such that he lifts off the ground, soaring right to where Farah /should/ still be in the air from the sweep, trying to catch her up into it, rising a few feet in the ground. "Makari Glides Across The Ocean!"
COMBATSYS: Farah fails to counter Alexei's Sweep to Makari's Glide from Makari with Gensekiju EX.
[ \\\\\\\ < > ////////////// ]
Farah 1/----===/=======|-------\-------\0 Makari
None of that makes sense to Farah, but in the end she has much greater things to worry about than a somewhat confusing description of the fight's events. Again, her opponent is trying that unorthodox sweeping technique. This time, however, Farah knows the signs, and is ready for it, spinning in place, twisting her body low to knock the sword aside. However, again her power fails her, and instead she simply spins INTO the blow, the motion of her intended deflection actually helping to let the rest of Makari's flowing combination go off without a hitch. When the girl finally descends from the sky, she lands heavily in the water with a loud *splash*. Amazingly, she lands in one of the bizarre eddies and pools that, despite the current, won't take her over the edge thanks to rock formations and other quirks of geology.
She isn't out, when she surfaces in the water; it's clear that she could keep going. Yet something inside Farah knows that Makari has beaten her, and it isn't entirely to do with their actual physical fight. Her inner voices are discordant, one shouting to be heard, the other quiet... but the quiet one, the one that felt he may have snuffed out, is *insidious*. Under the water, Farah's fingers twitch, clenching and unclenching. Makari may be strong, but she's stronger than he is. The urge to show him burns hot in her spirit, but her body wins out. And an idea comes into her head, unbidden, that for some reason the quiet voice, the shoulder angel, doesn't protest. Happy to finally be without that inner conflict, she glances up at Makari, not getting out of the water.
"Southtown," she bites out, trying to sound bland. "In the park. Young man with long hair and monk's robes named Denji. If you want to get an opportunity to see my true strength, then bother him," the girl says, before leaning back against the rocks, breathing slowly. "But next time, don't expect me to be so conflicted."
That's right. She just needs time. Time to practice and improve. Time to bring that potential out, judgmental eastern Europeans be damned.
It doesn't help that his smile is the same as Denji's.
Makari's english, not the best. Still! He tries. He comes out of the spiralling attack smoothly, zweihander in both hands, held up and away as he comes to a surprisingly gentle landing.
That joy spikes. This is actually the first time Makari's managed to land the move he developed cleanly. He knew Alexei's Sweep could be more than a standalone form, they kept saying he should be praticing the principles behind Wolf Creeping Into The Camp--
ahem
Makari assumes the fool's guard after landing, expecting whatever Farah does after that to be slow, but decisive - the sword is held across his back, an almost defenseless stance - but that's not what he gets. He can tell when a fight is over - it's just a small shift to harness the blade, and lower his arms. He's won this one, but...
Makari pulls a rolled paper from his cloak (waterproof pocket, of course), smoothing it out and scanning it. "Hooh, Denji Akiyama." He closes the list and returns it to the pocket. "I was going to find him later, but! The order, it is not iron clad." Nikita comes loose from the rock, drifting down the river. He nods, grinning again. "Hahaha, excellent! Yes, become stronger! Don't let me leave you behind, Farah."
He's puffed his chest again, and looks ready to make a dramatic speech - a lot of how fighters are 'supposed' to behave, he learned from what TV Krauser allows - but he notices Nikita slip over the waterfall. "Whoops!"
Without further ado, he turns and dives down one of the world's largest waterfalls, cloak, weapons, armor and all.
COMBATSYS: Makari has left the fight here.
[ \\\\\\\ <
Farah 1/----===/=======|
COMBATSYS: Farah has ended the fight here.
Log created on 16:46:06 12/12/2010 by Makari, and last modified on 23:21:50 12/12/2010.