Description: An ordinary day in Chinatown is turned, by a small act of goodwill from one stranger to another, into a meeting of two warrior souls each burning with their own breed of passion and determination. The future may hold incredible things for this pair... but for now, they will be satisfied with the achievements of today.
It had been way too long since Quon stopped by Chinatown. Truth be told, he kind of missed it here. Especially since it has become his little piece of China, of Hong Kong in Japan. It was where he caught up on all of the DVD releases of Hong Kong cinema, bought all sorts of pastries which one was hard pressed to find in Southtown, even in the Pao Pao Cafe.
It was also here where he could just soak in the sights and hear both Mandarin and Cantonese spoken. Whenever he felt homesick and couldn't just travel to Hong Kong or China, he would go here. And after being couped up in jail, he felt very homesick.
As for what he's doing now, he's sitting on a bus stop bench as he takes bites of one those pastries and people watches.
Stepping into this quarter is like entering a whole new micro-climate. Gone is the heavily western-stylised influence that arguably plagues the city of fighters, replaced by an atmosphere only rivalled by China itself. Vendors hawk their obscure wares upon the crowded streets, entertainers play their games to the joy - and coin - of local and tourist alike, and urchins scrabble to avoid attention between the milling pedestrians. It is worth visiting, and indeed, there are many things in this part of Southtown that are not easily located elsewhere. It is a haven for the bizarre and esoteric.
Amy's step had carried her here for a very specific purpose. She did not come in search of cultural memorabilia, nor for clothing or food - though she would have been spoiled for choice if she had. Rather, she came to seek a particular man. An elderly chef. Not so difficult to find, one would think; and they would be right. The Templar lingered for some time outside the flimsy, highly authentic restaurant doors, drifting back and forth in hesitant paces as she rehearsed the meeting in her head.
An hour later, she finds herself wandering down the street with a paper bag in her arms, filled to bursting with what an assortment of exotic goods. Small, unidentifiable packages stick out here and there in every which direction. Is this why she sought the legendary Chinese cook? In short, no. This is how she has diverted herself, and there is an expression of resigned chagrin upon her face as she meanders through the hubbub, eventually popping out of the mass to appear beside the bus stop where Quon currently sits.
Puffing out her cheeks as she unwinds from the bustle, she moves to set her burden upon the other side of the bench, sparing the man a small, passing smile in greeting - a gesture between strangers, not a cue for conversation. With the bag placed down, she starts to remove her jacket, and then... there is a rustling sound... and the distinctive crinkle of thick, multi-layered paper.
The bag topples off the bench, spilling its contents across the ground. Flustered and exasperated, Amy drops to her knees and begins to hurriedly repack the contents - but there's a lot in there, and it's a losing battle; as roots, vegetables, bottles and sachets have been scattered far and wide, some spilling their contents to create quite the mess...
When the woman sets down her burden, Quon swallows down the bite of the pastry if only making easier to return the smile before he goes back to watching the people go about their business, whatever it may be.
He hears the sounds of the bag being disturbed but by the time he looks to see what's going on, it's already too late. The bag spills and the Templar is already on her knees to collect it.
Quon rises to his feet, and then softly says, "Let me help." He then places the remnants of his snack between his teeth holding it there as he moves to help Amy with her things.
When Quon quietly addresses her, Amy is at first slightly vexed, glancing up with a nervous haste as she pauses in the act of rather brutally shoving a clutch of ginseng root back into the spilled bag. Once she realises it is the young stranger who is addressing her, the response is immediate; she shakes her head, brisk and businesslike as she starts to resume her task without thinking. "No," she says, "No. I'm--" Pride is a funny thing. One can easily scoff, and dismiss it as foolish in others, but when it comes to oneself there is instinctive, reactive need to appear strong at the cost of all reason.
The Templar takes a mental step backward, watching herself through the eyes of another, and suddenly laughs. It's a bright sound, vital and clear despite the self-admonishing nature of it. Glancing up at the helpful youth, she recants her refusal with a warm smile and a grateful nod. Were their situations reversed, she likes to think she would perform the same good deed - and the task is much easier with two. Some of the contents cannot be salvaged, but these she disposes of in a nearby waste bin - an oddly modern-seeming thing to be present in Chinatown, but a necessity.
After she comes back to lift the bag back onto the bench, this time taking a little more in positioning it, she looks to Quon and offers him a native bow, fist in palm. "Thank you." Rising back to her full height, she finally gets around to removing her jacket, draping it over the bench beside her bag. Despite her clumsy mistake, she is clearly built like an athlete - not graceless in the least. Which probably accounts for the embarassed tint in her cheeks. "You know, not many people help each other out these days. We're all so busy moving forward with our lives, never stopping to look around. Barely pausing to say 'hello'..."
She laughs again, cheeks dimpling as she shakes her head. Composing herself, she looks back to Quon and extends a hand. "Hello, by the way. I'm Amy, and I'm not normally such an utter klutz. Sorry to put you to the trouble." It's a western gesture to complement the oriental one she has already given, going a little better with that clipped English accent.
When it sounds like she's about to refuse, he pauses for an instant. After all, he's not the type of person to help if it's not wanted. As a result he's just as capable of letting someone struggle if he feels they could handle it or if they feel that his help isn't needed.
It's when she smiles and nods to accept his help that he continues providing the help he had previously offered. picking things up and discarding as necessary until the spilled contents are taken care of.
While Amy repositions her bag, Quon moves towards his bags and pulls out some napkins wiping his hands off at first and then offering a few unsullied napkins to Amy. After that he takes the bit of pastry he was holding in his teeth out if only so he can return the introduction. "And I'm Quon. Nice to meet you."
After verbally introducing himself he stuffs the treat in his mouth so he can then return the bow and then take her hand and give it a firm shake. He has to admit, the goofy smile on his face as he chews on his food must look hilarious.
The thing about goofy smiles, is they're rarely worn by people who aren't worth bothering with. Quon's generosity has already made a sterling impression upon the rather judgemental Templar, and she is in a positive mood because of it. Which just makes the goofiness infectious, her stormy blue eyes flickering with gentle amusement as she watches him, before she breaks out into a broad, toothy grin. An expression she is clearly not accustomed to making - as she glances away, lifting a hand to cover her mouth until he is done chewing.
"That looked good," she remarks when is done, inflecting the double meaning with a faint hint of sarcasm whilst somehow maintaining an equal portion of friendliness. It must be a British thing. Brushing the hair back from her face, she continues to smile as she drops to the ground and uses those kindly provided napkins to clean some of the mess - spilled sauce, mostly - from the kerbside. It's a task she performs swiftly. As she pops back to her feet, she inclines her head in a third sign of thanks. But catching the young man's eyes is enough to make her laugh again, a faint snicker slipping out before she can dab the crook of a finger against her mouth, bottling any further humour in.
"So," Amy sighs, dropping the dirtied napkins into the waste bin and stepping over to prop herself casually against the upright metal pole marking the bus stop. "When you're not assisting silly, helpless women or eating, do you live around this area? Or just train here?" Her head cants gently to one side, watching Quon with a perceptive gaze. Has she sensed something, or is she merely observing his build and his movements? She doesn't appear to be telling... honestly, she's a little hard to read.
Maybe that's a British thing too.
After a while, Quon finally stops chewing and eventually swallows the treat down before looking at the Brit. He just barely catches a bit of the toothy grin before she covers it and glances away which in turn becomes infectious though Quon doesn't hide his own.
He takes a few moments to watch her work at cleaning the curb spill. And then when she rises again and lets out a laugh he doesn't quite let out a full fledged laugh instead there's a grin on his face. He does however misinterpret the dabbing of the crook of her finger as an indication of a crumb on his lips using his thumb to wipe at his own to get rid of them.
"Well. I don't live in this part of the city, I live closer to the university." By closer he means on the actual campus in the dormitories. "I don't really train in this area either. I'm just here for the food, cinema, and the ability to hear Cantonese and Mandarin again, really." She probably doesn't want to hear his life story.
He pauses for a second and then decides that turnabout is fair play. "What about you? Here for the food as well or is there something else that brings you to this area?"
Funnily enough, the raven-haired Templar would not be in the least disturbed were she to receive a narrative to rival 'David Copperfield'. Though she is a being oft given to the peaceful solitude of her own company, she takes some pleasure in hearing the stories and philosophies of others. It's fascinating, for Amy, to watch and hear other people, to compare and contrast their experiences - their passions and their uncertainties - with her own. Not that this is readily apparent in those dark eyes.
But as far as can be discerned, she seems genuinely interested when Quon speaks. She is not simply passing time as she nods her head slowly, watching the youth as though measuring him somehow. The truth is that she is thinking; how beautifully simple his life sounds, that she must strive to be pleased by similar things. Small things. What would she think if she knew the truth? There is always more to a person than meets the eye. Man is a complex creature, and completing an individual's personal puzzle can take years.
But what about her? What is she here for?
"Not... exactly for the food. Despite appearances." She waves a hand toward the balanced bag - so far, so good - then idly rubs at the back of her neck, glancing off into the slowly dispersing crowd upon the nearby street. "I came here in search of a new path. There's a place known as the Genhanten, and there is a man there who I once called master." Smiling, Amy shifts her attention back to Quon, "I would call him this again, if he'll have me." One might get the sense that she is not training to be a world class chef. She doesn't stand like a gourmand; and how many professions requiring a master are also suited to the habitual wearing of a leotard?
She says nothing more for the moment, though she does wonder... does this young man know of Gen?
Genhaten? Master? Gen?
Quon knows of all of these things but given Amy's particular build, he's more inclined to believe that it was to train under him in fighting. And given that she's waved off the food as her primary reason for being in Chinatown it gives credence to that theory.
And while she doesn't stand like a gourmand, he doesn't know for sure. As a result he uses a tone filled with suspicion that he knows what she's getting at but wants to have things confirmed before he speaks. "Master? A master of a particular discipline?"
That's an interesting trait, the tone yet moreso, and Amy quirks a dark eyebrow as Quon poses his questions in such a manner. Her expression falls just scant of being mocking, really; for all her laughter and her pleasantry, there is a certain haughtiness about the Templar. Whether ill-intentioned or no. She does smile again after a moment, rolling one shoulder up in a loose shrug.
"He taught me little in the time we were together, but it was enough to know that I will find few better masters. Our styles are not the same, though there are similarities I think - fundamentally." Not that parallels do not exist between almost all martial arts, but the Chinaman's manner suggests he is likely aware of this already. "Personally," she continues, lifting a hand and twisting it through the air before her, almost idly gazing at it as a gentle wisp of smokelike energy curls up along her wrist and drifts out through the fingertips. It thickens slightly as it is carried away by an invisible wind.
It seems almost ethereal, a far cry from the bright, impactful manipulation of others.
"I would say my style is unique, though I began in the art of kinomichi. It teaches harmony, and a oneness of being, focused around the centre." An art most perfectly suited to the gifts of a chi prodigy. Lowing her hand, the raven-haired woman turns back to Quon with an inquisitive air, "What about you, Quon? We... do share this in common, don't we?"
"I thought so." He nods as his lips curl into a bit of an easy going smirk as he chooses to ignore the haughtiness of the Templar, preferring to focus more on the pleasantries and the description of the person who she would call master once again.
"I've met him once before when he was doing a demonstration. He's indeed a man who knows his art." He pauses trying to determine whether or not he would call him teacher. He still has a bit of soul searching in regards to his own master before he can make that decision. "As for mine... I wouldn't say my style is unique." After all there are a few others out there using that particular style on the global stage though with Shiden, he's been disguising that fact, and Antoine has yet to make a televised debut. "I would say my personal take on the style is unique. I use Chongquan, a hard striking art." What he doesn't mention is the flair he has added to his own personal style. That's something he rather someone see.
He idly raises a finger of golden flame. "And while the practitioners can usually use chi, their manifestations of it are personal."
"More than that," Amy cuts in rather firmly, though not in anger, shaking her head as the description of the old master is given. "Gen knows more than the art. He knows the artist. I'm far from experienced," a fact that has been difficult to admit until recently, "But I don't believe there can be more than a handful of men in this world who are so insightful. His nature is rough, possibly even cruel, but it's tempered by a wisdom unlike any I have seen." Which is to avoid mention of his rather cantankerous streak.
As Quon moves on to outline his style, the Templar sweeps her gaze across him, examining his form with a warrior's eye. Drawing on the little diverse knowledge she has to place the nuances of his physical form into the style. She has a passing familiarity. Enough to know there is considerable flare involved as-is, though his own elaboration is regrettably left out. He does demonstrate his own power, at least, and the burning candleflame draws another smile from the woman. "I see."
Gently she pushes herself from the bus stop, pulling the beret from her head and strolling back to the bench to set it down atop her shopping bag. "I may be seeking a master," she rejoins, stormy blue eyes drifting over to Quon as she draws herself up, subtly stretching out her body, "But would you do me the honour of a contest between students?" A glance to the side confirms that they have little space to work in - the space around the bus stop is clear, but the road is otherwise still fairly busy. This only makes her smile grow a little wider. It should be interesting to work in such a close environment. "I would welcome a chance to fight a hard style."
Quon shifts over a few steps before takes a hand and runs it through his hair. That grin that was on his face earlier has only gotten bigger. "I would love to." He lets his body relax as he slides into his stance. Which seems a bit more loose, relaxed, and somewhat bouncier than the appearance of a hard style ought to be.
A moment is taken to glance around and he sees a couple of kids watching from the stoop across the street the moment he took his stance. Another few stop to watch and as more eyes are drawn to the two, Quon receives a bit of adrenaline high as the performer within him rejoices and feeds off of it. And yet there's another part of him within telling him to take this fight seriously to ignore all of that. To handle things with maturity. That seems to show mostly in the look in his eyes.
Even with the focused look in his eye, he flashes his pearly whites at Amy once more. "Ready when you are."
COMBATSYS: Quon has started a fight here.
There's nothing like watching the preparations of confident, skilled opponent just prior to the fight. So much suspense, dashed with intrigue and the ever-present lingering doubt that one may be slipping in too deep. But more than this, is the excitement that Quon himself feels; the pure and honest rush of battle, the body's natural chemicals blending with the complementary yet entirely different feel of flowing chi. It's a magnificent thing.
Amy assumes her own stance just a beat behind the Chinese youth, taking a similarly relaxed approach - a guard not fully raised, one hand lingering near the chin but the other just below the level of the chest, joints open. The entire body as loose as it can be whilst remaining rooted into the feet, and set to pounce. Any tension lies within the surreptitious stabilising muscles. Perhaps the only great disparity between these two is that the Templar remains almost completely motionless as she stands ready.
She feels the audience gathering nearby, but pays them little heed. She is not the performer that Quon is, that much is certain. Not quite entirely intense, she does at least return his grin, reaching up to ensure her long hair is tucked behind her ears before favouring the youth with a deep nod. For the moment, she doesn't speak, attesting silently to her readiness before she moves forward. There is not much space to cover, and she turns her few smooth, graceful, almost ghostlike steps into a feint as she twists into her left hip then abruptly into the right.
The lower of her hands extends slightly to slide atop an arm, aiming to crook into the elbow joint - but only for a split second. The intent is for Quon to raise his arm to fend her off. And when he does so, she switches her grip to pull him forward from the shoulder - twisting her own body at the waist and stepping in to bring her left hand into play. It culminates in a simple sweeping motion, using trickery to unbalance him with a rapid shove. The only real pain involved will come if he fails to land properly; this is a display of skill and intelligence more than speed or power.
COMBATSYS: Amy has joined the fight here.
COMBATSYS: Quon blocks Amy's Fast Throw.
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Amy 0/-------/-------|==-----\-------\0 Quon
Quon actually goes for the deception attempting to brush aside the attempt to grab his arm. It's when the grip suddenly changes that he realizes he's been had. He then moves with motions attempting to adjust on the fly, and when he's shoved away, he manages to to barely get his feet under him allowing him to quickly regain his balance.
He lets out a slight laugh and gives Amy a nod and then all of a sudden, he steps right back in snapping out a rapid series of snap kicks with his feet moving quickly enough to look as though there are three feet attacking Amy all at the same time.
COMBATSYS: Amy dodges Quon's Seven Dragon Tails.
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Amy 0/-------/-------|==-----\-------\0 Quon
Releasing a breath as she completes the takedown with rather more resistance than expected, Amy can feel that her motions have not gone entirely as planned. "A large part," she begins to speak distantly, eager to exchange styles with the younger warrior - which extends, apparently, to speaking about them - "Of kinomichi lies in sensing the opponent." Her stormy gaze alights on his incoming feet, and she begins to flow backwards, her paces even to maintain her balance as she weaves in and out of the kicks; escaping unscathed.
"Through touch, you can feel their every intention. Your ultimate aim," she pauses to circle rapidly around Quon, keeping a close awareness of their tight surroundings as she manouevers to his flank and then springs forward. Her left hand snatches at the air, fingers curling to grasp onto some barely visible anomaly. "Is to control them!" It comes out fiercely as she swings her arm outward, bearing a greyish-white tendril of mist in her closed fist. It is brought around in a narrow, elegant slash, a dagger of energy designed to rake across the chest. It strikes more like a whip, however.
"Only through controlling your opponent can you be sure of victory. Of course," she straightens up from the slash and begins to circle once more, moving with short, deft steps as she tries to keep Quon guessing. His own style appears to be rapid and offensive in nature - she cannot sit idle for long without a proper defensive plan. "There are ways to sense a foe without being in /direct/ contact with them." A smile darts across her lips, and the youth may become aware that the air is visibly thickening, the light in the area growing just a touch darker.
COMBATSYS: Quon fails to interrupt Katzbalger from Amy with Moving the Mountain.
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Amy 0/-------/-------|===----\-------\0 Quon
Quon on the other hand doesn't respond. It's taking all of his focus to apply so much pressure with that rapid barrage of kicks. While he has a general idea of where he wants to go with that attack he's guided more by reaction whereas Amy is more proactive in her approach.
When Amy lashes out with tendril of mist like energy, Quon attempts to manuever himself to adjust to Amy's movements and location and he turns attempting to aggressively cut off her avenue of attack. When he lunges, he ends up going head first into it before spinning away.
"You have an interesting approach." Meanwhile he attempts to figure out a way of being a bit less easy to control. Both sides of him are in agreement about that point.
"Thank you."
Dark eyes maintain a level stare upon Quon as Amy replies with a more gentle tone, humility touching her voice despite the rather self-assured speech made moments before. She has a great deal to learn; and that's why she is here. This man may be several years her junior, but he seems to be around her equal, to judge by his motions and his aura. And so she does not lower her guard for a second, her posture relaxed in nature but her mind intent upon the fight. She can only speak her philosophy in combat because it is what consumes her, in combat.
"Although," the Templar cants her head momentarily, stepping through her stance to bring herself into proximity with Quon, feinting again this time with a harder technique - a rapid backfist. "Control is only ever an illusion." It stops far short, the wrist drawing back as the arm tightens into a guard and she steps through a second time, uncoiling her body to unleash a snapping low kick to the shin. She is not imbued with great striking power, but it is designed to distract long enough that she can follow up with a forward-thrusting palm. Another attempt to unbalance.
Unlike the mist that continues to thicken around them, now causing a stir around the outlying area as a simple, common throwdown has seemingly developed into a much more dramatic visual affair. And they have only just begun.
"It can always be broken. The tide can always be turned."
COMBATSYS: Amy successfully hits Quon with Light Kick.
Glancing Blow
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Amy 0/-------/------=|==-----\-------\0 Quon
This time Quon doesn't react to feint staying in place as fist stops short. Taking a deep breath as he watches the woman work preparing for a kick to the leg. He almost doesn't react thinking that attack is a feint as well but as with the boy who cried wolf, there was eventually a real threat there. He draws his leg back but not quickly enough to completely avoid the attack just having it glance off of his shin.
"That reminds me of a Days of Thunder Quote." He swings out a sweeping palm strike across the face. "Control is an illusion, you infantile egomaniac." Then an elbow to the stomach. "Nobody knows what’s gonna happen next:" A snap kick to the leg. "Not on a freeway." Snap kick to the body. "Not in an airplane, not inside our own bodies and certainly not on a racetrack with 40 other infantile egomaniacs." Then he lets loose with a series of rapid fire punches.
COMBATSYS: Quon successfully hits Amy with Strong Kick.
- Power hit! -
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Amy 0/-------/---====|===----\-------\0 Quon
Having the momentum of her attack interrupted does momentarily faze the Templar, whose motions almost continue despite the tactical withdrawal of her opponent. It is just a faint opening, quickly covered, but it does guarantee his dynamic re-entry into the fight, the palm strike that follows his words catching a grazing impact that nonetheless sways the woman noticeably to one side. It presents her flank to him, allowing him to spin her around once more with the elbow strike and then follow up as desired. His words are punctuated most effectively with blow after punishing blow...
And at the last, she is flung away, the flowing machine-gun round from the youth's knuckles setting afire a body already alight by his earlier tenderising shots. It is a combination almost masterful from one so young, and as Amy lands upon her back a short distance away she is notably impressed despite the blaze of pain and the colours swimming frantically in her gaze. She gathers herself well though, turning the nasty collision into a backward somersault, kipping into the full rotation to land upon booted feet.
"Who are you calling infantile?" She calls out with a faint grin, not well-versed enough to say she can recognise the quote, but appreciating the timing and the context well enough. Her heart is racing, and a moment later so is she, lunging through the tendrils of looping mist now surrounding their impromptu battlefield. Her speed is intense, and she seems almost to pass through Quon as she lunges. That eerie energy flows around her, following her into the forward dive. "Though on a bad day," she notes, so suddenly from behind her opponent, as three dozen frenetic lashes of chi impact him from head to toe - an annoyance in themselves, a formidable attack by their powers combined, "I may accept 'egomaniac'."
COMBATSYS: Quon effortlessly blocks Amy's Stormwitch.
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Amy 0/-------/---====|====---\-------\0 Quon
There's a smirk on his face in response to her jeering query. He's almost about ready to verbally respond but she doesn't give him a chance to verbally respond. Quon has to rely instead on his instincts and natural talent as the energy lashes out at him repeatedly as he attempts to cover up.
He takes a step back attempting to gain a little breathing room before he verbally responding with a playful tone in his voice, "I would never dream of calling you infantile, ma'am."
Then his actual physical reply is to flip forward as he brings a heel a light with golden flame down upon the British woman. His flashier modification of one of the moves in Chongquan.
COMBATSYS: Amy interrupts Crossing the Bridge from Quon with Wyrm Waker.
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Amy 0/-------/-======|=======\-------\1 Quon
Feeling Quon out through the manifestation of her aura, as best she can, Amy observes that he seems far more resilient than many she has met - specifically to her own brand of energy. They may be more alike than their differing styles suggest. As he replies to her, she smiles back over her shoulder, raising a palm alongside her face in a guard as she turns, smoothly shifting her stance to meet his incoming kick. It's a beautiful thing, and she can feel it before it even comes near, that flicker of earthly fire upon the edge.
"Glad," she murmurs in a calm, distant tone as her palms suddenly snap out as one, securing a strong yet fleeting grasp upon his ankle, just beyond the flare of chi - which is left to impact against her gut, drawing a hiss from the woman at the transfer of considerable pain. But around the point of impact, the billowing mass of the Dragon's Breath seethes upward in readiness, the movement unnatural and eerily, deceptively slow. "To hear it!" Unlike her own motions, which become a blur as she windmills her arms, using the seized leg as a lever with which she sets the Chinese youth into a sidelong spin. His entire body is whipped around by the surprising strength of the Templar as she harnesses his momentum.
And before he can make it back to the ground, her hands come together before her, palm slamming into palm with considerable force. The slap of her calloused flesh carries with it a sudden, swooping downturn of the mist, which moves so fast as to audibly shriek through the air, a bestial roar harnessed by her spirit as it obeys her command. Twin thick, whiplike tendrils of that mysterious energy strike as one into Quon's airborne form, sending him plummeting to the street.
The moment Quon's leg is seized, he knows he's in trouble. When he's sent into a wild spin, his suspicions are confirmed. His entire world becomes a blur and before he has a chance to regain his bearings let alone refamiliarize himself with the ground, the Templar's misty energy bears down upon him driving him into the ground with a heavy impact.
"Ugh..." The Chinese warrior slowly drags himself back up to his feet with a groan. He stumbles over to the bench for a moment and uses it for support while he clears out the cobwebs and then he takes a deep breath as he slowly eases into his stance.
He makes his approach leading with a kick to the woman's lead leg and then he stomps the ground as he pushes a pair of fiery palms out at her abdomen. Upon full extension, he releases an explosion of fiery chi at her stomach before bringing his his hands back into his stance.
COMBATSYS: Amy blocks Quon's Immovable Mountain.
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Amy 0/-------/=======|=======\=------\1 Quon
Slipping back just a pace, falling into her relaxed and open stance, Amy breathes deep and even as she allows Quon his moment to recover. This is a friendly bout - they are learning about each other's styles and advancing themselves as warriors. She will not lunge in unnecessarily, or strive to cause serious harm, as she is sure he will not. But this is an unconscious decision; instinctive as the faint upturn of her lips that describes her enjoyment of the bout, even as the focus remains in her stormy blue eyes.
"Come on," she urges playfully, raising her arms just faintly as she watches him move back to the offensive. Her own composure has been reset from the exhilaration of one of her most devastating techniques, and she moves with a smooth grace that allows her to check the leading kick with a simple shift of her own leg. It slaps against hardened muscle, causing just a bare string. The incoming palms are harder to deal with, but she settles for deflecting them rather than catching them full on - dropping one forearm across both with insistent force, guiding the blast of energy away and to one side.
"You strike with great power, Quon!" It negates the worst of the force, at least. Following the diminishing of chi, she will not allow him the time to drop back to his stance, immediately countering with an attack of her own as she steps into his guard and sinks low, hammering her free hand forward with a harsh exhalation. In such proximity, much force must come from the sudden tensing of her legs, and it is testament to her training that is able to gather full power - and it even seems fairly effortless in spite of the sound. Her wrist twists as a palm closes in for the youth's centre, grinding forward and then up into his abdomen with a subtle, deadly strength.
As soon as the strike lands, the whirling mists roar to her command, howling in toward her tremoring wrist and soaring up into the focus of her calloused palm. Tendrils spiral outward, drilling into the spiritual centre of her opponent, the effect of the blow spreading out throughout his body even as it drives him back like a blast of concentrated wind. It is an attack that quakes the entire form, and can muddy the mind... and it also leaves the Templar's hand shaking, her other coming across to brace it as she steps back, breathing deep.
COMBATSYS: Amy successfully hits Quon with Trembling Palm.
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Amy 1/-------/=======|=======\===----\1 Quon
As quickly as Quon draws back his hands, he just doesn't seem to be able to get his guard up in time to deal with Amy's own reply. The palm strikes his center completely driving his breath from his lips. The tendrils of energy only serve to exacerbate his breathless state as the effect spreads through his body and then sends him flying backwards and over the bus stop bench.
It takes him awhile but he finally brings himself to his feet. Mind muddled and lungs gasping for air. But then he gathers himself together and throws himself at Amy.
On the surface, this attack should be familiar. He delivers a rapid barrage of snap kicks, with his feet moving so quickly that it seems as though he's kicking three places simultaneously, but he moves faster. Three feet become five. He hops switching legs to continue the barrage. Five feet become seven as he attempts to overwhelm the Templar.
There's a short pause. It's only long enough for Quon to come in with a hard punch to the chin.
COMBATSYS: Quon successfully hits Amy with Wild Dragon.
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Amy 1/---====/=======|-------\-------\0 Quon
When Quon is so suddenly streaming back in towards her, Amy is still shaking out her hand, furtively stepping back and slipping into her stance just barely in time to meet the incoming kick-storm. Her eyes blaze wildly as she attempts to turn through the flurry, finding herself strucky repeatedly before she finally drops low and throws up her forearms, attempting to simply weather the storm. But it overcomes her quickly, and in moments she is staggering hither and thither as the chongquan practicioner shows her the full and furious extent of his art-form. In the lull, she comes to a shaking stop, wavering back and forth as she tries to sight down his arm - seizing the moment at last--
But it is not to be. The punch strikes her jaw with a *crack*.
The Templar spins through one hundred and eighty degrees, tumbling onto one knee and then onto her face just a scant couple of yards from the bench where they first began their exchange of greetings - before the attacks begun. Somehow, the faintest ghost of a smile still lingers upon Amy's lips, and it is this joyful spirit that she channels as her gaze suddenly snaps up. She will not fall! A palm slams down to the floor, and she uses this point of leverage to flip herself forward, rolling and catching both booted heels against the edge of the wooden slats before her. The bench serves its purpose, as she thrusts back with all the might in her legs, slinging herself back toward Quon.
Amy rises to her feet, and beyond, almost flying into the air as she slingshots toward her sparring partner. She gathers momentum with a rapid spin, almost faster than the eye can track, and then comes down toward him with the wide, broad slashing motion of an arm. The lashing tendril of chi between her fingers was snatched so seamlessly that it seems more an extension of her body, designed to drive the young man back - gaining the space she needs to land upon her feet. And then, it is such a natural and fluid process to thrust her entire body forward into a dynamic lunge. Her opposite palm hammers forward, the Dragon's Breath brewing once more at her beckon call.
With a mighty *whoosh* her own storm comes, another twist of the wrist bearing a deeper and yet mightier strike to the abdomen, all but launching her palm under his ribcage toward the heart as she bears a tornado of energy past his spiritual centre into the physical. It is not a blow designed to grievously injure him - she holds back just enough - yet it is easy to see how this technique could be used in the hands of a more wrathful and experienced woman.
As it is, she merely gives an empassioned cry as she unleashes the mists in a focused tempest, tearing body and soul as one and sending Quon spinning away with the explosive culmination of her efforts.
COMBATSYS: Quon just-defends Amy's Hound of Avalon!
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Amy 0/-------/-------|-------\-------\0 Quon
Quon's eyes widen as Amy is suddenly upon him. He reacts instinctively bracing for the powerful assault he knows is coming in, standing his ground instead of moving away. His hands deftly deflect the first palm dispersing the mist originating from that hand. He then shoots out an open hand to deflect away second and mightier strike sending it off target.
As the tempests bear down upon him, Quon utilizes a move he only recently learned thanks to his opportunity to study the scroll his friend Antoine had found. However, he adapts it on the fly to fit this particular situation. He uses the Roaring Guardian technique to draw in the ambient chi, including drawing in some of that mist, however instead of using it that build up energy to release it concussive force, he internalizes it and uses it to ease his breath and energize himself.
He then grins as he looks at the Brit. "That was amazing. I'm going to need to push myself to the limit!"
He suddenly takes to the air and stomps on Amy's head repeatedly, alternating feet and then using his feet to shove her backwards as he flips away, landing on one knee, gasping for air. And just as quickly he absorbed that chi to energize himself he uses it up again.
COMBATSYS: Quon successfully hits Amy with Breaking the Shell.
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Amy 0/-------/----===|-------\-------\0 Quon
The surrounding mists have faded greatly following that last onslaught by the Templar, dissipating in the wake of the exceptional defence mounted by Quon. His chongquan is more refined than her style; there are flaws, she knows, that she work upon. There are strengths she could play to, weaknesses she could cover for, but in order to push her boundaries she must break the training of the past and overcome her fierce pride. All this she is forced to comprehend as she watches her opponent past the over-extension of her arm, past her palm which now burns with the heat of a thousand suns... to no avail.
"Show me your limits," she urges nonetheless, the words coming out in a gasp as she withdraws, starting to step backward and preparing to spring into a leap to carry her away from Quon's own. "And test mine!" That is scarcely out before he does exactly this, driving battle-hardened feet down upon her head, sending raven bangs into a chaotic maelstrom, blurring her mind and watering her vision. She has been hit harder - but in this instance, it is enough.
When the youth flips away, she is sent soaring. It is only through the passion of instinct that she is able to deliver one last attack, siphoning the remainder of that aura-swept fog into a funnel around her. It sweeps majestically to momentarily shroud her, though she can still dimly be seen within, lashing out with a twisting high kick. It sends her already shaken form off-balance; but the effect is achieved, as all of that clinging mist suddenly screams into life, whipping toward Quon in the form of a wide, slashing projectile, feathering at the edges as it flies!
In concession to their audience, it will hardly make it beyond the current position of her opponent; a fact which may also prove a flaw, that will render it easier to evade. It does not matter too much - it is but one final test, and one last show of her abilities.
COMBATSYS: Amy can no longer fight.
COMBATSYS: Amy successfully hits Quon with Raven's Wing.
[ \\\ <
Quon 0/-------/----===|
Quon's body is bruised battered and his lungs struggle to keep air in them. He's near the end of his body's limit. His legs are wobbily and his breaths are labored. He slowly brings himself to his feet and that's when that projectile of misty energy comes in.
The fatigue makes it impossible for the Chongquan fighter to get out of the way and he finds himself stumbling backwards before falling down. The only thing keeping him conscious is that tiny bit remnant chi he drew in before his attack. Otherwise, he would've fallen down with her.
"S... So... Close..." His body buckles and he finds himself leaning against a tree to keep from falling down.
The Templar had no such boost in the last few moments of their fight, and she hits the ground less than a second after that wing of energy is unleashed, not bouncing or rolling - simply smacking into the unyielding surface with a heavy thump. The remnant of her mist is carried away on the breeze as she lies there for several moments, breathing heavy but at least even as she too maintains consciousness. Though only barely. It is some long minutes before she can push herself up to one arm, glancing over to Quon through bleary blue eyes, shaking her head numbly.
"Good--" She is forced to pause, lolling her head back to glance up at the sky, lips parted as she draws in another lungful of air. It feels as though waves of blood were pounding against the inside of her skull. Focusing her every effort upon seeing past the exhaustion that threatens to overwhelm her, she is able to turn her gaze back down, bloodshot but functioning, for now. And she finds her voice, distant as it is. "Good fight, Quon. Do you..."
Amy swallows tightly. Deciding to abandon her attempt to stay upright, she drops from her propping elbow, slumping back against the cool surface of the paving stones. "Do you compete?" She manages a laugh, though it is more of a stuttering out-breath through lips too dry to express it properly, "I think that you should."
His head is practically swimming and he can practically hear the sounds of his own rapidly beating heart in his ears. It's a miracle that he can even hear the question that Amy poses to him.
He doesn't respond immediately. He's using this time to catch his breath so he can have some control over how his words come out. Wait... Weren't they both talking about how control was an illusion? "I was competing for a short while. Ended up taking a break for some time and just returned to the fighting world. Competing in the King of Fighters too. I'd be surprised if you didn't get an invite. Anyway I need head back to my place. Hope to see you in the King of Fighters."
With that he collects his things however he leaves a bag with one pastry left. Did he leave intentionally? Did he forget it? Either way it seems like he's long gone.
Log created on 11:18:05 01/07/2011 by Amy, and last modified on 20:18:06 01/07/2011.