Description: Ash Crimson is an X Factor. An unknown. And there's nothing worse than the unknown. That's why, as the opportunity arrises, the best way to deal with an unknown... is to eliminate it. Acting on their 'side jobs,' the duo of Vice and Mature come to deal with the unknown variable of Ash personally, fresh off the end of his King of Fighters match. Yet -- he is not alone. And the knight in shining armor come to save the would-be Frenchman in Distress is none other than Rock Howard. Will their combined efforts be enough?
Ah, another day in the life of the one and only enigmatic Frenchman, Ash Crimson.
... What, were you expecting someone else?
At least one week has passed since Ash Team failed to advance to the second round of the King of Fighters tournament. He sulked for a bit, but eventually decided that his time was better spent being somewhat productive. The flamewielder settled a debt, had a chat with Einherjar's Frei and bought some books. Yeah, that's really it. That's 'productive'. Currently, sipping a cherry slushie, he is hanging out by Paris' main bus shelter downtown. Ash is going home, and though he invited Elisabeth along for the trip, he's leaving ahead of her for reasons of his own.
The lean fighter lounges luxuriously on a bench outside. He's got a neat little suitcase with him... and the colour is a bright and blinding pink. This is sadly not the worst of it: Ash also has a purse. A MAN PURSE. Lots of men in France carry purses (I AM ACTUALLY NOT LYING). It's slung over his arm and stuffed full of novels he purchased... They're all trashy French romance novels. What theeeeee?
Swirling the slush around in the cup, the Frenchman takes another few sips, bored and watching people pass. "Must be nice, not having to wait at a bus station for two hours." He whines, complains, and starts slouching. Ash is behaving like a spoiled brat, even though this is his own fault.
Chin resting on his collarbone, black winter jacket bunching awkwardly, he chews on the straw in mouth, lips ruby red. The flamewielder mutters to himself - shame nobody cares to listen! Maybe he shouldn't have gone ahead without Elisabeth. He should have waited... But the heiress has obligations and responsibilities. She does not lead a carefree existence, like him. "This bench is uncomfortable." So he moves, twisting, draping an arm over the back, knee pulled up onto the seat. Ash sets the purse on his lap and idly fiddles with his platinum blonde hair.
He should do something, but the urge to be proactive battles with its greatest foe: Ash's apathy and laziness. Someone else entertain him.
Their orders are clear. Whose orders? Well, it's not really all that important who gave them.
What's more worrying is who they're able to outright command to this end.
By a nearby bus, a dark figure in what is already a dark dress skulks in the shadows "Bastard is /here/. Somewhere." Vice hisses, on all fours while underneath a stationary unmanned bus, largely as a means of staying out of sight of those looking eye level - as if instinctually understanding, deep down, the very need in which to take Ash Crimson by surprise.
Years have passed, but she has not forgotten. The flippant attitude in which he inserts himself into things he seems to have no business in, and yet carefree apathy in things that she feels ought to matter to him. He's impossible to figure out, made all the worse by how, shall we say, resistant he is to getting his face caved in.
It's entirely frustrating and that is probably why it's more likely she dragged a certain someone else out /here/ than the other way around.
Entertain you, Ash?
Can do.
Without her partner's more... animalistic tendencies, Mature tends to adopt a refined stance, by comparison. She's sitting on a nearby bench, legs demurely crossed, a book in one hand and an iced latte in a clear plastic cup in the other, a bizarre mirror to Ash's apathetic lounging. Of course, someone's got to keep watch on things that you can't see from under a damn bus. Her one bow to fashion is a pair of outsize, round sunglasses, the type seen on rich European women the world over. Combined with a black longcoat, there's no immediate evidence that Mature is anything other than a tourist passing by, waiting for her ride to... some destination.
"It's not like you to be so... proactive," the woman says idly, talking to what must seem like the air, but perfectly audible to the nearby Vice. Proactive? No. Aggressive, however... yes. Never mind the fact that underneath her composed exterior, she is subconsciously working hard to keep the Riot of the Blood from overtaking Vice completely... an effort that has, of late, been increasingly difficult. That alone tells her a lot about the state of affairs in the world toda--
And there he is, just sitting on a bus stop bench. Of all the ridiculous luck. Or maybe, something more...
"Mmm, to your right, third bench. I'd go introduce myself, but you do so love to make an entrance more than me..." The intent is clear: go rip his face off. I'll be right behind you.
"I hate him." Is Vice's answer to Mature's suspicions, spoken truly and honestly. Granted, Vice is rarely ever one for deception. She's blunt, she's straightforward, and she should probably at minimum be under the effects of no less than six different sedatives for the safety of the general public.
She's done being underneath this bus. It stinks. It stinks of gasoline and dust, and it'll all be worth it once Ash is nothing more than future fossil fuel and dust, for all she can really reason to herself.
There is no manner of thanks or acknowledgment in verbal terms for Mature's keen observations on Ash's location. Like a coiled serpent with displayed fangs ready to strike, she sprints from right underneath the bus, tossing herself onto a nearby unoccupied bench that shudders underneath her weight (she should really look into dieting a bit, but she can't help these /cravings/ lately) that may cue a bored Ash's attention - an Ash desperate for any and all sorts of excitement, because there's plenty coming his way.
Any eloquent greetings, or pleasant catching up for two individuals with a bad history going back some years? Well, perhaps, depending on how you look at it.
There is a certain amount of elegance and sophistication to the way she just pounces the bench Ash is sitting on, going so far as to try and bring a balled-up fist right to the side of his face with such a speedy blur that her striking arm may very well be perceived, in itself, as a serpent.
"DIE ALREADY! DIE!" She screams in broad daylight, which will almost assuredly not attract any sort of attention that may possibly work against their efforts at all.
COMBATSYS: Vice has started a fight here on the right meter side.
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Vice 0/-------/-------|
COMBATSYS: Ash has joined the fight here on the left meter side.
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Ash 0/-------/-------|-------\-------\0 Vice
COMBATSYS: Ash blocks Vice's Aggressive Strike.
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Ash 0/-------/-------|-------\-------\0 Vice
Hey now. Don't get the wrong idea. When I say 'entertain', that doesn't mean Ash is desperate for just ANY sort of excitement; he isn't in the mood to get his face ripped off, or fight. At all. PERIOD. He wants peaceful entertainment, to avoid missing his bus. The Frenchman hates to waste time, but wasting his own money... The flamewielder will not do it. Do not make him angry!
Position adjusted again, just shuffling around on that bench, the Frenchman keeps on keeping on with his slushie, and it's still quite good, though the cherry-flavoured contents are currently melting. "Mmm!" Obviously he is oblivious to the women in the shadows who wish him ill, who intend on doing him a great disservice. Using his straw as a stirring stick, they could have taken the flamewielder completely by surprise if it weren't for Vice heaving herself onto a nearby bench. That gets his attention right away, long before she strikes.
The platinum blonde-haired head lifts and turns, blue eyes traveling to their limits, nasty, toothy smile stretching across his face. He threatens her pleasantly, "You're going to regret this, you know." And then Vice pounces. His slushie hits the ground, and the berserker's fist crashes into the slender Frenchman's right forearm, snapped up in quick defense. He is still seated, and Ash blinks at her, "Wait a minute, didn't I...?" Beat the crap out of you before? Though she does Crimson the honour of remembering him, it would seem that he does not extend the same courtesy. "Feh, no matter."
Reaching down, his left hand clamps down on the handle of the pink suitcase. It's one of those extremely hard-case ones, packed full and fit to burst, but small enough that Ash can swing it in at close-range, attempting to brutally bash the crazy woman off of him, "GET LOST!" So he does remember!-- Nah.
Aw man, his toiletries and that are going to be everywhere. Hope his hairspray doesn't explode.
Aaaaaaaand there she goes.
Mature's used to this. Usually, the more calm and composed blonde is the one who decides where they're going to go and what they're going to do, but once she takes her hand off the proverbial leash, Vice basically leaps at the first thing she sees like a rabid animal which, let's be fair, she kind of is. Mature gets up off the bench, snaps the sunglasses closed after whipping them off her face, and slips them into the pocket of her coat. The book is left behind, being only camouflage, but she does take one last sip of the latte, then makes a frowning expression as it too gets left on the bench. "Six euros for that? Once our lord awakens, Starbucks is the first to go."
Yeah, you heard her.
She comes up to the fight just as Vice's punch is deflected and a purse goes sailing for the woman in red's face. "Oh, now that's just barbaric," Mature says, falsely aghast, as she slips out of her coat and throws it aside, the chiaroscuro white-black color scheme of her outfit now making her identity plain for all to see. "Still, I really am afraid you're going to have to die for us."
Then she attempts to grip Ash's extended purse-swinging arm and then swing *him* into the ground, hard. "So sorry, my dear!"
COMBATSYS: Mature has joined the fight here on the right meter side.
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Ash 0/-------/-------|-------\-------\0 Mature
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Vice 0/-------/-------|
"Hey. HEY!" Now look. Ash's team and Rock's team were competing a week ago, not-quite-mortal enemies on the battlefield--and they acquitted themselves well. That doesn't mean Rock is down with -this-. After the end of the King of Fighters match, he'd just been tooling around a little--he seems to end up in Europe a lot, but that's alright with him. Chance brings him to Paris... and just in time, apparently.
Rock's voice comes over the roaring, throaty sound of a motorcycle engine--one accelerating to a good clip, that throaty sound becoming a roar as Rock accelerates up the street.
Naturally, he recognizes Vice and Mature. The two distinctive 'ladies' are well-known to Adelheid, and the Einherjar are good about distributing information about potental crazybitches, especially ones of their caliber.
"Dammit, gonna lose the deposit on this bike," he growls... as he accelerates harder, picking up speed--and then leaping off the bike.
Without a rider, the bike veers off quickly--but now Rock is hurtling through the air, bunched up, aiming to throw a knee right into Mature's -ear-.
"This isn't the kind of two-fer he wants, I'm sure!"
COMBATSYS: Rock has joined the fight here.
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Rock 0/-------/-------|-------\-------\0 Mature
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Ash 0/-------/-------|-------\-------\0 Vice
COMBATSYS: Ash successfully hits Vice with Random Weapon.
- CRAZY Hit! -
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Rock 0/-------/-------|-------\-------\0 Mature
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Ash 0/-------/------=|==-----\-------\0 Vice
Ash might be right about regretting this, if it were anyone else but Vice. Her fist strikes forearm, and she thinks about just driving it in there further, as though pretending her fist was a knife she could just stab through this man(?)'s heart.
"Always so friggin' CAREFREE," she froths as she moves the hand to the side of the bench and just leans in closer, as if to speak some incredibly sour nothings. (There is nothing sweet about what Vice does.)
She leans in just a bit forward, as if to open her mouth and just spit out more verbal bile prior to some sort of means of outright murder around the time Mature decides to make her cute little entrance, but that doesn't matter.
It only takes one solid, powerful bash upside her chin to dislodge her from the bench entirely and, hell, a ways into the air at that as she hits the open road on her back, the sky a blur as her shell-shocked system just tries to make out what she just got hit by. One of her legs twitch.
Something starts pooling in her throat. A juicy coughing fit follows as it nearly chokes her to death, desperately rolling face-down to spit up /something/ vile as she peers upwards, wiping blood from her mouth with such speed that some of it is flicked down the street.
Mature's presence is only noted from familiarity. Rock's visage, though famous, is lost in her tunnel vision, a feral growl as she rises up with her head spinning about her neck like she's not really in full control of how to hold her own head.
"So what've you been up to NOT BEING DEAD YET," breaking away from small conversation moments within actually initiating it, fingers twitching with anticipation as she sways about dangerously left to right.
COMBATSYS: Vice focuses on her next action.
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Rock 0/-------/-------|-------\-------\0 Mature
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Ash 0/-------/------=|==-----\-------\0 Vice
COMBATSYS: Mature successfully hits Ash with Quick Throw.
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Rock 0/-------/-------|-------\-------\0 Mature
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Ash 0/-------/------=|==-----\-------\0 Vice
Noooo, Starbucks!
Suitcase colliding with Vice's face (ouch!), it's quite effective in dislodging her from his person. Even moreso than a purse, which sits undisturbed on the bench near his legs, seemingly forgotten. The Frenchman slowly straightens up, eyes narrowing, wrist twisted with the suitcase hovering over the pavement. He drops it, just as Mature's fingers snag him by the arm. Ash doesn't smile, but laughs in his soft, effeminate and most dangerous way, "So she brought a friend, I see how it is."
Two against one.
He is their target, and they obviously want him dead.
Could it be, more servants of Orochi? They're everywhere!
But this is strange... Though he has been able to sense the wrathful god's taint before, it seems non-existent with Vice and Mature. What he can tell, he can't make heads or tails of, and they refuse to allow him time to ponder it further. "Ahhh~hhh." Ash is pulled off his seat and slammed into the ground, chest-down. A rock nicks his freckled cheek. He moves to retaliate, perhaps intending on breaking Mature's kneecap, but things suddenly get confusing all at once.
The berserker's gross blood-vomit sounds are lost to the roar of a motorcycle engine, which skids off and presumably crashes. Someone is yelling - a fourth presence becomes apparent. Ash rolls away, pushes up to his feet and... Huh? Blue eyes fall on Vice. If she hates carefree, then his nonchalant shrug will likely piss her off even more. Energy flares impressively around him... "Perhaps it's just to spite you? Ahaha."
COMBATSYS: Ash focuses on his next action.
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Rock 0/-------/-------|-------\-------\0 Mature
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Ash 0/-------/-======|==-----\-------\0 Vice
COMBATSYS: Mature blocks Rock's Aggressive Strike.
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Rock 0/-------/-------|=------\-------\0 Mature
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Ash 0/-------/-======|==-----\-------\0 Vice
There's a dull *THUD* noise as Rock's knee slams into Mature's upraised hand, the Howard scion's forward momentum coming to a surprisingly arresting halt even as Mature's other hand lets go of Ash's arm, the Frenchman having had a taste of Blonde Ambition. The gesture is lazy, almost bored, but when Mature turns her face to look at the person who's decided to interrupt this little party, her face is actually animated with blithe amusement. "Aah, is that right? Perhaps you're willing to... assist... him in our stead, then?" She means you, Ash, and a tub of whipped cream, Rock. Shaking her hand out idly, the more calm of the secretariat faces off with this new challenge. "I'm sorry, dear, you'll have to play with your food a little longer. I've just been given the most unseemly invitation to dance by our friend, here."
Swaying gently back and forth, more like a parody of a dance than the real thing, Mature chuckles at Rock. "So valiant. I have to say, though, that while his fate is sealed, Mr. Crimson would disdain knock-offs like any *real* lover of fashion might. And I'm sorry to say, young Master Howard, that compared to your 'original'..."
Suddenly, the woman is slicing the distance between herself and Rock, literally in some respects, her arm making an arc parallel to the ground in a slashing motion at shoulder-height, the blow itself compounded by the silver-blue of Mature's slicing chi, the resonating 'blades' looking to draw a nastily bleeding wound on her opponent straight away. "...you are a poor copy indeed!"
COMBATSYS: Rock blocks Mature's Metal Massacre.
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Rock 0/-------/-------|=------\-------\0 Mature
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Ash 0/-------/-======|==-----\-------\0 Vice
The lashing blades of chi and well-filed nails is met by Rock's own forearms, doubled up to take the impacts, pushing off at the last moment to draw a little distance between the blonde secretary and himself. His eyes narrow, that red glare baleful and uncompromising. "Yeah, see, I just happened by, but I know who you are... and I'm not about to let you and your dog over there kill -anybody-... even if it is Ash." He doesn't -really- mean that last part.
"So I guess you could say I *am* here to assist... just not the way you think... and by the way..." Purple windfire flares in his right hand, exploding upwards but not doing a thing to harm the sleeve of his jacket, as he sweeps the arm forward, unleashing a wave of that power, hissing and snapping across the ground, meant to take the blonde out at the knees.
"You got somethin' wrong.. I'm not a -copy-... I'm not tryin' to be my 'dad'. So don't you make the mistake of thinking I'm ANYTHING like him!!!" Ironic, really, given the technique he's using...
"He's MINE!" Vice cries out in seeming protest of Mature's helpful involvement - it may even beg the question as to why she even brought her if she would be so visibly upset into her involvement, something that must have made sense to her when she wasn't quite as, shall we say, worked up.
Let's just say the shout and greedy, id-dominated claim is a brief acknowledgement on Vice's part.
Ash does have a good query on his part - maybe all this is just to spite her? The impressive flares of green energy are little more than big, bright (really big, not so much bright as big but still pretty big) flares of blobby color to her still concussed psyche, the way he simply nonchalantly /stands there/ with that little chuckle of his, where she herself is just a few steps removed from being this shuddering, roving creature of a...
Well, all right, she's probably already there.
"Shut UP!" She commands as she sweeps her sleeve out, extending it - and the hand within - a touch further than ought to be humanly possible as, in a blur, she tries to sweep up Ash by one of his legs through that searing, bright green power that will probably singe her hand just for trying.
She's beyond caring.
She just wants to toss him up and away and maybe into one of those stationary buses nearby or, well, just about anything that looks like a hard surface and cannot be mistaken as merciful thin air.
Which reminds her that she hasn't actually taken a breath in the last couple of seconds, so she does that.
COMBATSYS: Ash just-defends Vice's Deicide!
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Rock 0/-------/-------|=------\-------\0 Mature
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Ash 0/-------/-======|==-----\-------\0 Vice
What the hell is that woman implying? Though he faces Vice, Mature's words make him laugh. A dainty hand covers his mouth - he almost misses Rock's reply, and that confirms the identity of the newest participant... Who is being a little offensive! Young Howard, don't take your anger out on him!
While Ash has nothing to offer to condemn or condone such a statement, the blonde teen knows the score. Any help is appreciated, poor copy or not, regardless of what the secretary thinks. The Frenchman doesn't want to expend more effort than he has to, "You know these two?" His interest is piqued. Here he thought the berserker woman was just a raging psychopath, and now there's suspicions regarding their connections to Orochi... Can Rock confirm it? What part is he playing? Crimson almost feels like the red-headed sage, Frei, brain filled to the brim with more questions than answers.
But now is not the time.
Vice shrieks at him, and he stands as if true to his word: To spite her. The energy shifts around the flamewielder, who petulantly places his hands upon his narrow hips. He leans forwards a bit, "Saa, come play with your food, then." Ash taunts. She is so kind, immediately seizing the opportunity as he parrots the preoccupied Mature.
As her arm reaches - or does it transform? - the violent swipe meets a wall of verdant flames, suddenly collected into an impenetrable wall before him. The Frenchman exhales, safe, slouching, breath disturbing his long fringe of hair, "Is that it?" The wall is suddenly sucked inwards, drawn to his hands, which he lazily extends. He traces a flaming arc through the air, and follows it up with a flick of the wrist. "Better luck next time." The burning conflagration is off, rolling forwards in two bright, fiery crescents.
He pops a bubble of green left behind with a long black fingernail. Tee hee.
COMBATSYS: Mature dodges Rock's Reppuken.
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Rock 0/-------/------=|=------\-------\0 Mature
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Ash 0/-------/-======|==-----\-------\0 Vice
"If that's the best you're capable of, my little carbon copy," Mature says sweetly, twisting to the side as the Reppuken sails by her, slamming into a nearby concrete wall with a crackling *WHAM!*. Birds scatter from the impact, Mature giving them a pointed frown as a few fly overhead, before turning back to Rock, all sweet smiles and pleasantries. "...perhaps you SHOULD be trying to emulate him." Out of the corner of her eye she witnesses Ash handily deflect Vice, and has to carefully consider her options here. The berserker secretary is best to her own de-Vice-s, in Mature's experience. On the other hand, the death of Ash Crimson is their primary concern. The blonde will step in when necessary. For now, though...
For now, she still has time to play.
"Are you sure you won't reconsider your decision?" Mature asks, bringing a hand up to her chin in a thoughtful gesture. "Are you sure Monsieur Crimson would do the same for you in this situation?" The implication, of course, is that there's no chance in hell that he would, a statement Mature feels comfortable making. "Or do you just want to play around with us girls a bit longer...?" With that, she lunges forward, sweeping an arm around like a backhand, looking to slap Rock away from her. All the time, the lilting chorus of her laughter echoes out around the busyard.
COMBATSYS: Rock just-defends Mature's Strong Punch!
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Rock 0/-------/------=|=------\-------\0 Mature
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Ash 0/-------/-======|==-----\-------\0 Vice
Rock shows a touch of dismay as the blonde avoids the slicing projectile--that poor wall! But he hides it after a fraction of a moment, because there's no time to fret--not with Mature bearing down on him. The suggestion that maybe he -should- emulate his father, well... "I'll never be like him," he grates, anger tensing his shoulders, his arms, his hands tightening into... well, tighter fists. "You hear me? /Never!/" The anger, to his shame, probably fuels him some--as that sweeping backhanded arm comes in, he diverts it away, taking a philosophy from aikido--redirect the force, spinning around to face Mature's back.
"Ash? Maybe he would... maybe he wouldn't." He sounds calmer, now that he isn't discussing his father.
"That's not the point. I don't -do- what I do because he would or wouldn't do the same thing for me. I do it only because it is what I would do."
As soon as his feet touch the ground again and he's facing Mature he lunges forward, looking to drive his left elbow into her spine--and follow up with a right palm strike, that purple energy flaring around the striking palm.
"I learned this one from -Terry-!!"
COMBATSYS: Ash successfully hits Vice with Ventose.
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Rock 0/-------/-------|=------\-------\0 Mature
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Ash 1/-------/=======|====---\-------\0 Vice
Given the previous history between Ash and Vice, which the Frenchman is taking his sweet time to recall, Mature might want to consider otherwise... She could be
With /food/, you at least, presumably, want to eat it.
Vice just wants to smash that little toothpick-esque girly boy who has absolutely no reason to ever really put up much of a fight - or look like he's hardly inconvenienced for the effort, a pained hiss as her hand grasps that emerald blaze, paying it only enough mind to shake it out the sting when she just headlong /runs/ at Ash, posture dipped impossibly forward to the point it's a small wonder she just doesn't go flat on her face whenever Earth's gravity decides it has the balls to suggest she shouldn't be able to run like that.
The green crescents she attempts to head-long charge all the way through, but perhaps she should mentally file the color as lime - the painful impact tastes just as bitter, a low scream as it pushes her flat back on her tush against relatively cool concrete.
"There," she hisses as she pulls herself up, stumbling forward on the concrete and swaying a bit side to side, banging up against a bench which suggests maybe she still isn't quite all there after the suitcase strike, "won't,"
She all but dives into Ash almost as much to try and get a crushing bear hug on him as much as she needs some kind of steady support to stand on her legs, "be,"
And if Ash doesn't do something about her attempt to do this, she tries to heft him right up over her head with such effortlessness that suggests far greater strength than her build lets on, turning him upside down so to slam him on his back into the sidewalk before hucking him up and away with one arm - said arm seeming to stretch out a bit with that parting throw, as if maybe a part of her really doesn't want to let him fly away.
"...a. NEXT. TIME."
COMBATSYS: Vice successfully hits Ash with Black End.
- Power hit! -
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Rock 0/-------/-------|=------\-------\0 Mature
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Ash 1/---====/=======|====---\-------\0 Vice
Given the previous history between Ash and Vice, which the Frenchman is taking his sweet time to recall, Mature might want to consider otherwise... She could be making a very grievous mistake, thinking there's time to toy with the Howard scion. The flamewielder sweeps his hair back, sparing a glance back over his shoulder. He wipes dirt from the street off his winter jacket; it's chilly enough to require a coat, in his opinion, but the birds have returned to France. Spring will soon be upon the city of Paris.
One pencil thin eyebrow quirks at the suggestion that he would not offer Rock the same courtesy shown here today. Ash smiles a secretive smile, amused by the teen's retort. Would he or wouldn't he?
But he's lack of focus costs him dearly. Don't get distracted, Ash!
He had dismissed the berserker, thinking his flames were enough to unsettle her, or perhaps even knock the woman unconscious... But Ash's arrogance is his undoing. Her arms lock around him and his head whips back so quickly to Vice that it hurts. A sharp, stinging pain courses up and down his neck, and then he is lifted overhead, sent crashing down onto the unwelcoming pavement on his back. Smacking his head, the effeminate fighter is dazed, and thrown.
He crashes through the window of the bus station, which shatters outwards, bits of glass skittering in all directions, like through the blood that Vice hacked up earlier. Ash almost wants to stay in here... and then he starts to laugh. "Ow, ow..." A woman seated nearby, still in shock, just gawks at him, dumbfounded. "Ahaha, mademoiselle, I didn't mean to frighten you." Then, he is gone.
Leaping through the hole, Ash charges at the woman, "I believe that's the first time you've actually hit me!" He says brightly, and then attempts to kick her in the face with his dress shoe, which has apparently caught... ON FIRE!? This is your reward, Vice! And now he remembers? Jeez, Ash. "There'll be a next time," His momentum continues, the flamewielder lifting off in a backflip, "As long as I'm still standing, cherie!" He hits the ground in a low crouch, pivots, and tries to follow up the first strike with two more, to send the berserker airborne. Let's see how SHE likes it!
COMBATSYS: Rock successfully hits Mature with Hard Edge.
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Rock 0/-------/-----==|=====--\-------\0 Mature
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Ash 0/-------/-----==|====---\-------\0 Vice
Well, that stings a tiny bit. Mature ends up crashing against the same concrete retaining wall that Rock's abortive Reppuken struck before, slamming into it painfully, but even as she slumps forward and then back into a standing stance, she's chuckling at Rock's words. "Hahaha... oh, that's cute. The lady doth protest too much, I think..." Part of her, deep down, wonders if that part of Rock fighting so hard to distance himself from Geese wouldn't have been something that could have been turned to more... lucrative ends, than the pointless altruism that Terry Bogard appears to have instilled in the young prettyboy. She turns around, smirking, to face off with Rock, brushing plaster dust from her jacket. "Such a *waste*, in the long run."
Now she really wants this over with. For all his stupid idealism, Rock has power; it's power she doesn't need interfering with her mission at the moment. Caught between 'getting between Vice and Ash' and 'taking down Rock as fast as possible,' the blonde decides the latter is probably the route of least resistance. "Maybe when you've worked this whole wannabe hero thing out of your system," Mature says pleasantly, "we can have a little... chat. Until then, I really must insist that you take a hike. The adults are trying to settle something important."
With that, she's suddenly lunging at Rock, hand making a sweeping, arc-like motion through the air, trailing that silvery-blue cutting edge of her chi. Once, twice, three times... each slash more vicious than the last and looking to take a chunk out of Rock's hide.
COMBATSYS: Rock fails to counter Death Row from Mature with Gedan Crack Counter.
[ \\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\ < > /////////////////// ]
Rock 0/-------/---====|=======\-------\0 Mature
[ \\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\ < > //////////////// ]
Ash 0/-------/-----==|====---\-------\0 Vice
Rock snorts. "Yeah. Sure. We'll chat. You don't mind if I bring along Adelheid to talk too, do you?" He sounds disdainful. 'Wannabe hero'... she doesn't understand him at all. This isn't -heroism-. This is just doing what's right. There's a subtle difference. Rock isn't emulating anyone but Terry... but he's his own man. He'll /prove/ it.
... but not right now--with Mature bearing down on him, as viciously as advertised. He wants no part of it--and so he moves to intercept that first slash--
--too late. Blood flies in a bright red arc as he is slashed, Mature forcing him to stagger back, that third slash taking him off his feet and almost flipping him over--he lands on his back, bounces up--and has the presence of mind to slap his hands onto the ground, to give him enough energy to flip back up to his feet.
Now his shirt is shredded, his black jeans as well, the wounds stark and still bleeding a little, though the fire in his eyes isn't dimmed.
"I'll keep this 'wannabe hero' stuff up as long as it takes... to wip scum like you off the face of the Earth...!"
COMBATSYS: Vice fails to interrupt Pluviose from Ash with Misanthrope.
- CRAZY Hit! -
[ \\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\ < > /////////////////// ]
Rock 0/-------/---====|=======\-------\0 Mature
[ \\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\ < > // ]
Ash 0/-------/-----==|=======\=------\1 Vice
COMBATSYS: Vice can no longer fight.
[ \\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\ < > /////////////////// ]
Rock 0/-------/---====|=======\-------\0 Mature
[ \\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\ <
Ash 0/-------/-----==|
The apparent reluctance in which Vice lets go of Ash when he sends the Frenchman (who, to her memories to the extent she dwells on them, doesn't even really care so much for the welfare of a French embassy for some reason so why even call him a Frenchman when he cares little of nationality) through the window.
She's actively trying to /chase/ him, running across concrete and some nice set of flowers outside, trampling them into colorful little petals that will probably set off her allergies later today.
"Get. BACK. HERE!!" She yells into the hole. Since she is not civilized enough in the least to think of just going through the door and may be possessed of just enough sense to not toss herself into a dangerously jagged window full of sharp stabby glass edges, she waits. Anticipates. Crouched down, she looks for the sign. From the door? From the window? From the roof, maybe? Or maybe he won't even come out /at all/, just to spite he--
There he is!!
"HYAAH!" She rises up, arm sweeping out like a serpent towards Ash's leg, ensnaring him and pulling him ever closer with a bone-cracking whiplash of her arm - if that's a normal, human arm and not just some stretchy parody of what a limb ought to be.
In her haste and zeal, she snaps it back so hard that she loses hold of his leg and actually boosts his momentum coming back to her, leaving her in the ever-compromised position of a ready and raring Ash to kick her in the face while her side is turned, the empty hand slamming against concrete hard enough to break more than just the cement.
"Geh!!" Her eyes widen in that brief window she has to realize her failure, a flaming kick to the face lifting her up, enveloped in green fire.
She corkscrews between those hits, the very third and last eliciting an echoed scream as she twirls about into the very air, the foundations of foul words on the tip of her blood-coated tongue before she collapses spectacularly, faceplanted into the bench Ash himself was sitting in right at the beginning.
Somehow, the bench holds.
She feels it, more than sees it. Mature is, after all, too busy dealing with Rock Howard -- and purposefully leaving Vice on her own, as she would want. But even as she's drawing her arm back, laughing, from the bloody swath she just cut through Rock Howard, she can sense two things: the buildup of Ash's fiery wrath, and the link between herself and Vice as the trio of fiery kicks sends the berserker into sweet oblivion. "Hmmm. Have you ever considered," she says to Rock, even as she's slowly backing away from him, "that if you were REALLY doing what's 'right', it's actually Ash Crimson you might want to turn your gaze on...?"
She stops only when she is next to the bench where Vice lies. Mature's eyes widen, because she can feel it... the tide of fury that still bubbles deep within Vice somewhere, a tide which Mature herself is blissfully unaffected by yet tied to all the same. If she stays here, and Vice wakes up in its grip, well... cocky as Rock and Ash may be, even Mature isn't 100% sure she'd want to be there when it happens.
Sometimes, you just have to call it a day.
"Rebuffing the advances of a lady so hotly, Ash Crimson?" Mature says to the Frenchman, even as she slings Vice onto her shoulder like so much meat. "Whatever will people say, I wonder. But it shouldn't be said we can't take a hint. You gentlemen have a pleasant day, and all..."
Her arm moves a snakebite speed, one arc toward Ash, another toward Rock; the path of her sweeping movements light up with that knifeblade-like chi of hers, lashing out through the air. If it connects it's no more than a nuisance, like a papercut... but it's enough of a distraction so that Mature's Vice-laden leap to the top of a nearby bus is unimpeded. From there? Well.
From there, to the top of a speeding double-decker tour bus, and away from this place. Ash and Rock are safe from the secretaries of death... for now. The people on their getaway bus?
Best not to ask.
COMBATSYS: Mature has left the fight here.
[ \\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\ < > //////////////////// ]
Ash 0/-------/-----==|====---\-------\0 Rock
COMBATSYS: Ash has left the fight here.
[ \\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\ <
Rock 0/-------/---====|
COMBATSYS: Rock has ended the fight here.
... What?
Shut up, Vice. Patriotism means nothing. Ash is a sassy Frenchman, whether you like it or not. His /heritage/ declares it so. Just because he could not be bothered to care, because wiping out the French Embassy in Southtown did not affect him... It changes nothing.
Vice landing on his purse, however? That affects him. That changes everything.
The handbag spills open and some of the books sport visible cover-bends, while others land unceremoniously in the slushie-muck. Touching down gracefully, not far from, Ash slowly draws up to his full height with a wary eye cast upon the fallen berserker. He soon looks rather... It's not quite rage, but Crimson is definitely unhappy. Vice is down for the count - he's not going to beat up someone who's already unconscious - but the man fully intends on venting his frustration on Mature. Gently massaging his stinging neck, the flamewielder smiles a lopsided grin, turning to the other pair, "Ah, the tables have turned."
Since Rock doesn't strike him as the dishonourable sort, he'll take over from here.
Or will the Howard scion betray him? Probably not.
Ash exhales a snort of laughter, followed by rebuffing the blonde secretary with the wave of his hand, "If you can call that a woman." He shields his face from the incoming chi afterwards, which proves to be no attack, but more a nuisance in order to aid the escape, and then Vice and Mature are gone. "A pleasant day to you, as well." Sigh. Marked by small cuts and dots of blood, the Frenchman passes a hand over his pale face in order to wipe some away. He then bends over, removing his headband, fluffing the platinum blonde hair. Small shards of glass hit the pavement at his feet.
Straightening afterwards, smoothing down the frazzled strands of near-white, blue eyes flicker to Rock, who remains (?), "Merci, mon petite homme. That was a bit unexpected, but your assistance was fantastic." Ash may think he could've handled it all on his own, but he is too polite at present to say so. Even when Rock is a member of Einherjar team, who prevented his own from advancing to the next round.
"I don't tend to ask questions often, and very rarely will I ever repeat myself, but today is a special occasion... Do you know them from somewhere?" A pause, poking his lower lip with a manicured fingernail, "They were trying to kill me, ahaha."
All around, there is a crowd slowly dispersing, and a lady seems to be dialing the police. They broke the window of the bus shelter with their VIOLENCE! Ash may need to rebook his bus for another day.
Mature is gone before Rock can close the deal, so to speak; a look around confirms that the only real casualties are, well, Ash's books. A terrible loss, to be sure, but not the worst that could happen. Satisfied that The Bitches have left the building, he stands down, dropping his arms and unclenching his fists. "Goddamned crazies," he mutters, under his breath, then turns to Ash.
"They are the... 'secretaries'... of the man named Rugal Bernstein. Perhaps you've heard of him?" The question is delivered by sardonically and rhetorically, but also without rancor; Rock runs his left hand through his hair, blowing out a breath.
"Sounded like you had some history with Vice, at least... taht's the brown-haired one... maybe you iddn't know who she was. She has a penchant for random violence, if you couldn't tell. Mature's a little less randomly psycho but I think she loves causing pain even more than Vice does. But why the hell're they after you? Did you start something with 'R'?"
Rock does, at least, help collect the books, at least the books that aren't in the muck. "And you're welcome. We may have been opponents, but we're not enemies. Yet. And right now, those two are -way- more of a problem than you..."
When an answer is delivered, and in detail, the flamewielder's expression and motions suggest that he is nothing more than pleasantly confused. As if he has absolutely no idea... But this is not true at all. Ash knows Rugal Bernstein. In fact, /knowing/ Rugal assisted in recognising his son, who has been named here today, now wasn't he? The Frenchman rolls his shoulders in a shrug of the utmost carefree nonchalance.
Meanwhile, gears are turning in his head. Ash's suspicions are confirmed. First cultists, now the geniunely afflicted... They're all crawling out of the wood-work, like some horrible infestation. Did he attract attention due to assisting Kyo? But such actions were not regrettable. The death of the Kusanagi scion would hinder him greatly. "I gathered that, about that woman, the first time we met..." He reflects, arms crossing over his abdomen, "I have no idea, though. Perhaps her grudge against me just ran that deep?" The Frenchman laughs, but it is no laughing matter. He's a liar. LIAR!
He blinks as the teen starts collecting his books from the pavement, awed by the gesture, but... Rock is a good kid. This likely does not come from his father, but possibly Terry? Ash eventually kneels, lifting the two that landed in the remains of his cherry slushie. He tosses both into the trash; trying to pry those pages apart now will only be a hassle. "'Yet'?" The freckle-faced fighter says, raising an eyebrow, using his black pants like a hand-towel, scrubbing the muck from his fingers. Crimson silently resolves to locate a bathroom in the near future. "I certainly don't think I'm a problem at all, and I hardly foresee any reason for us to become enemies..."
Oh, Ash.
"But, you never know. I can't predict the future." With an air of mystery, he collects his pink suitcase and the purse, gathering the beat-up books Rock had picked up for him, swiftly organizing them and delicately placing all back inside the bag. "That's a strange thing to say, mon petite homme. Don't you think?" The man giggles in his eerie, effeminate way... It's almost unsettling.
Rock isn't revealing anything that is anything other than 'public' knowledge amongst the informed crowd. Rock shrugs. "She's got a grudge against the entire world. I doubt it's really personal with you." At a thought, he offers a bit of a smirk. "She shows her hate to everyone, you're not special." Unfortunately. Closing and stacking the books, he puts them on a nearby table, one that surprisingly survived the fracas.
"Yeah, well. Hard to say what'll happen in the future, as you say. Enemies, friends, enemies... nothing's set in stone. If there's anything I've learned it's to be a lot more careful with my trust." A sad, cynical truth but one that's necessary to operate in the world that they're operating in.
"But I rather suspect that those two will always be my enemies. You?" Rock gives Ash a frank, appraising look. "You I'm not so sure about... I suspect we'll be friends -and- enemies. Seems to happen that way a lot."
Clicking his tongue, he finally looks over at the shredded wreck of his rented bike. "Gonna lose the deposit on that one. Oh well. I'll have to catch a cab back to the airport, I guess. Don't know why they're after you, Crimson, but I'd watch your back. Never can tell where those bad seeds'll pop up again."
"Shame about the deposit, but... I will keep that advice in mind. Merci." What Rock says regarding Vice's motivations, trust and the fact that he may find himself at odds with Ash at some point, but not at others... This is left as it is. What else can he add, save for his peculiar, pleasant smile.
He has parting words, when the teen mentions the airport, replacing the headband upon his head and brushing long fingers through his hair, "Though we do not know one another well, I ask a favour." Blue eyes lose their hard edge, softening, but still empty and unfeeling, "The next time you see your red-headed teammate, would you mind apologising to him for me?" If he had known that these facts, perhaps even the Orochi, were 'public' knowledge, he may not have been so vague with Frei.
What's done is done. There's no point in crying over spilt milk.
With all of his belongings gathered, Ash says with a wave, "Au revoir, then." And sashays off to the bus station. Maybe he won't need to take a different bus - that woman on the phone with the police gives him the evil-eye - but just in case, Ash is prepared to rebook his ticket.
Vice and Mature better hope they never run into him again, if /that/ happens.
Log created on 15:36:53 03/20/2011 by Ash, and last modified on 12:27:58 06/08/2011.