Description: The venue might scream "Vintage 80's", but the young fighters that take the stage are definitely current generation. Neither young woman has been in the spotlight for a while but that doesn't imply that they're rusty in the slightest. Hotaru is forced to adapt to an unfamiliar style while Whip is faced with an opponent that just won't quit! ( DKO )
The Dream Amusement Park has been kitted out in a vast multitude of colours-- all the colours of the rainbow, if rainbows contained dayglo green, pink and orange. For tonight is no ordinary night; no, mere mortals, tonight is perhaps the largest and most fabulous eighties night ever assembled upon the face of this trembling earth. Synth blares, overweight women prance about in pop-socks, their hair huge and their dignity non-existent, as their partners stand about pouting and preening in jackets with titanic shoulder pads.
The usual sideshows and retail booths have been switched about to match the theme, selling luminous hairbands and deely boppers, along with the traditional snacks given a vivid overhaul. Never has mustard been so yellow nor candy floss so stomach-twistingly pink. The area set aside for the Saturday Night Fight forming the focal point for all this throwback merriment is adorned as might be expected, an over-arching stage roof dotted with lights burning like stars in the black, an array of multi-coloured spotlights throwing beams throughout, and seemingly controlled by a rogues' gallery of epileptic chimpanzees.
Basically, if either of these combatants don't like the 80s, this is their worst nightmare.
Fortunately, the Ikari Warriors have given Whip a few ideas on how best to embrace the horror, and discovering a way to break in and make her own 80s-tastic impact upon the disturbingly energetic crowd. As the announcements roll in, doing the usual 'mysterious bondage queen' nonsense that she at least hasn't heard peddled for quite a few years now, she's taking one last jello shot backstage as she adjusts the metal-studded leather bodice keeping her torso in check. The good news: for this fight she doesn't even /need/ a bra!
The bad news: basically, she's come as Doro Pesch.
Poppy synthesizers give way for the hair metal onslaught of Warlock's 'East Meet West', the opening power chords and thunderous kick drum leading into a searing guitar solo that brings Whip - usually so conservatively dressed - striding out onto the stage in black platform heels, garish spandex tights adorned with thunderbolts, and a ripped purple mesh top underneath the aforementioned 'rock goddess' top. Lacking the long blonde mane of the metal queen herself, Whip has taken a different route, her brunette locks darkened to black, with bleached blonde streaks at the front and an underlay of hot pink, the whole teased and crimped to be as ridiculous as possible with the material she has to work with. She'll be looking like this for weeks... but it beats a wig!
o/~ Killing time,
Watching signs,
I'm waitin' o/~
As the lyrics start, the transformed soldier girl snaps Voodoo out before her, the bright blue coils fitting perfectly with the attire - after all, it's the most important thing about her - as she simpers and postures for the crowd, the not-inconsequential amount of alcohol she's consumed to get in the mood for this buoying her showboating as she totters about on those heels. She's graceful in spite of the booze; she's an Ikari, dammit.
o/~ On the other side of town,
I've seen the walls come tumblin' down,
So I've come here to make you shake it! o/~
At which point she's actually /shaking that ass/, which looks fantastic in spandex, though Whip by this point carries a certain flush in her cheeks as somewhere along the line the brain registers what she's doing. A bunch of boisterous shouts to one side indicate the Ikari contingent. This was a collaborative effort, though let's face it; Ralf is probably the most to blame, but none of them are going to miss it for the world.
o/~ So get up get up, get up get up!
Oh come on, come on, come on,
Why don't you come on? o/~
Spinning into a spandex-stretching high kick, then lashing out across the stage for a screaming slash from Voodoo as the song's chorus hits, Whip comes to a stop finally at roughly the appointed place. She's breathing a little hard from all her efforts, a devil-may-care grin overpowering the embarassment as she slings her beloved weapon back into both hands and stretches it across her body, coils entwining her.
o/~ When East meets West,
It's gonna be one hell of a mess! o/~
She can't keep her head from bobbing as she poses, waiting for Hotaru's own entrance to kick in over the top of her own. All the glamour of the event aside, she's heard a lot about the girl; and read a lot too. There's quite the file on Ms. Futaba, and Whip knows this is going to be far from a dull affair. Something in the back of her mind can't help but remind her maybe that last jello shot wasn't the best idea...
But she's a professional. Even without her newfound METAL power, she'll deal. It's go time.
Saturday Night Fights haven't changed a lot since passing out of control of Howard Industry. Bringing the world a weekly buffet of fighting action, the event organizers are always busy coming up with something new to put on the screen. Some matches are solemn affairs, giving respect to the lives dedicated to honing skills necessary to compete with the top echelons the world has to offer.
The chance to star in those matches were an inspiration to a younger Hotaru Futaba. When her devotion to fighting was driven largely out of a desire to impress her older brother. 'If only he could see me now', she would think, when stepping into the impressive arenas around the world, a diminutive figure in the center of such amazing stages such as Howard Arena.
And then there's the /other/ kind of matches. The venues where participating fighters are asked to abandon all sense of dignity for the sake of a gimmick designed to mix things up a little for the viewing audience: costumes, strange stages that make it almost impossible to focus on pure martial arts, and outlandish themes to which the fighters are expected to pay homage. Her fight card featured one of those, Hotaru would often mentally fret 'I really hope he doesn't see me now.'
This match is one of the second type. Though the brother-adoring girl may have grown up a little from those days, she can't help but feel a touch sheepish about fights that seem more preposterous stage show than a serious match of skill between capable fighters. But let it never be said that she isn't a good sport when it comes to these things. She rather has to be... it seems the event organizers love putting the teenaged Kenpo artist in these kinds of ridiculous setups. All she has to do is, with a touch of concerted effort, force herself to let go a little and just try to have fun.
She isn't technically old enough for jello shots. Those might help too.
While Whip has embraced (willingly or otherwise) the '80's Rock' image to an admirable degree, there is another great legacy of that decade. 80's Pop.
o/~I think we're alone now...o/~
The familiar old song broadcasts over the speakers. Off stage, Hotaru sucks in a breath, puts on a smile, exhales, and then skips out onto the stage in time with the beat, a blissfully cheerful display of violets and pinks.
Her naturally black hair has been pulled together tightly into a pony tail that's sprouting out of the side of her head, defying gravity by a good four inches thanks entirely to several violet scrunchies. The violet eyeshadow is laid on thick enough to immediately give her face that 80's look. Hotaru proves that she's in with the hip kids immediately with her unzipped violet Member's Only jacket (replica) worn over a pink, sleeveless tunic-styled top.
A blue denim, thigh-lengthed miniskirt is worn over pink tights and bunched up at about halfway up her shins are not one, but TWO legwarmers, a violet one worn over a blue one, for twice the authenticity (And doubly warm ankles, presumably). Violet sneakers complete the look as she steps into place with light, bouncing steps, her ponytail flopping up and down on the side of her head. She kicks her right leg up into her hands and pulls back a little before letting it drop then repeats with her left leg, demonstrating significant flexibility.
Her expression is chipper and she didn't have to get buzzed to fake it. She's done enough of these events now to at least /pretend/ to be enough of an extrovert to enjoy them.
Of Whip, she knows very little. Someone helpfully suggested before the match that she fights with a whip. She'll figure things out as they go. That's usually the way of these matches.
Never let it be said that Whip isn't willing to be eclectic in her appreciations-- her head keeps a'bopping as the beat dramatically shifts and Hotaru's rather less provocative entrance is made. There may not be too many years between them, but the contrast between the rocked-out Ikari dominatrix and the bubblegum schoolgirl turns that small gap into a vast one. It doesn't help that the younger girl gives up over half a foot in height... Whip tends to fight a lot of men, it's unusual for her to feel so Amazonian.
It doesn't bother her, though, so much as she breaks out with the biggest, most pleasant smile.
She might even 'aww' a little. Well! Her opponent is adorable!
Charmed pleasantry twists to a ready half-grin as Hotaru begins to shape herself up for the battle. Both of them surely knows why they're here - Whip, for her part, had heard about some of the more ludicrous matchups and had the odd drunken chortle over a few of them, but mostly she's here to see what all the fuss is about. Leona likes to test herself under Masters' auspicious banner, and they're close and competitive enough that the idea of falling behind isn't one the younger Ikari relishes. This is fun, sure, but it's about /fighting/.
"Pleased to meet you," murmurs Whip, beneath the din as Hotaru's own music fades to give way to the crowd. They're really getting into it-- it seems the Southtown native has a lot of fans on this side of the pond, while her foe has... well, a lot of pissed-up soldiers and maybe one stoically frowning best friend. Yet another difference between them, but there's something about Futaba-- it's noticeable even outside of her files, that she's been through a life best by struggles. She has the air of a much older, wiser person about her, doubled legwarmers notwithstanding. "Why don't you get us started, okay?"
A swift, cheeky wink is sent to the shorter girl before the metal queen disengages a step, retreating into a high stance, both arms lifting to keep the taut line of Voodoo above her head. This has the crowd-pleasing side effect of hefting up her breasts within that leather bodice, and showing off her lower half perfectly.
No harm in being practical AND sexy. Though the less said about those heels the better.
Her piece said, Whip waits for the inevitable cry of, "FIIIIGHT!", and then remains absolutely still. Warily watching with eyes that gleam with an analytical intelligence behind the gleam of merriment and the rather duller effects of jello shots, she waits for Tiffany-chan to make the first move. If Hotaru is any kind of a fighter - and reports suggest that she is - she'll know it's not just a kindness.
Sometimes, it's best to observe before rushing in. To act and react only with foreknowledge.
Other times, Ralf cuffs her upside the head and tells her to be more direct. It's about fifty-fifty.
COMBATSYS: Whip has started a fight here.
[\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\ <
Whip 0/-------/-------|
"An honor," Hotaru replies with a side-tail bobbing dip of her head in response to the friendly greeting from Whip. There's a certain chagrin to her expression as she says it though. Her words are absolutely sincere, to be certain. But Whip's attire and that party-girl demeanor that she's managing to front so effectively makes the young martial artist feel a moment of passing amusement to address her opponent so formally.
She can't help but wonder what Whip is like outside of this venue. In a match of costumes, loud noises, theme appropriate decorations, it's hard for her to get a real sense of what kind of person she is. That she's close in age she's sure about. But beyond that? She seems friendly enough. In the world of competative fighting, that's an appreciated virtue.
Off stage on Hotaru's side are a number of similiarly aged school girls from Seijyun High, a few YFCC co-volunteers, and a couple students from her own dojo. Just those who are with her speak to the busy life she leads as student, altruist, and teacher, let alone the time she must spend on her own training to be qualified for such solemn events like this one. The crowd sounds equally excited to see either opponent in action. Hotaru has the homecourt advantage, a lot of fans, and natural appeal. But for many, that can take a backseat to the alluring figure Whip cuts on stage with her namesake weapon in hand. She wonders if Kentou is watching this. The spunky little kid doesn't really like her entering these. Where she sees 'somewhat silly but harmless fun', he sees 'disgrace to the art'. Ah well. Can't please them all.
Another nod is offered as Whip encourages her to get things going. Breathing in then exhaling again, getting the pre-match jitters out of the way, Hotaru adjusts her posture, turning to the side, left shoulder closer to Whip. Her hands are raised, palms open, held at the ready. Her feet are a little bit apart, but not so far as to sacrifice being able to move quickly in any direction in response to what might come her way. Throughout it all, though, is how relaxed she seems in her stance. This - the opening seconds of a match before all her training is put to the test - is a place she has been often. It would be easy to see that she feels more at ease in her fighting stance than when she skipped onto the stage only half a minute before.
Hotaru has faced hundreds of opponents and seen many styles. But never before has she seen a stance like Whip's. This will be an educational experience, to say the least.
A breath is taken, blue eyes searching Whip. The time for thinking this through is past though - she'll have to let instinct honed by training guide the way now.
When she moves from her spot it is with remarkable speed. The girl is no slouch, able to bolt from standing to closing distance quickly. It may even seem like she intends to just barrel into Whip with some kind of reckless charge.
The beauty - and the detail - of her style becomes apparent when she's five steps out. Her right comes down and her whole body twists around her center of mass, shoulders turning, arms leading. For a split second, her stance has changed. Her back is toward Whip, her feet sliding over the ground quickly as she maintains her balance without the slightest mistep.
Another step and she's closer now, back still toward Whip, looking over her shoulder. Then another.
A fourth step and she spins out of her stance, right foot swinging, aiming for a solid kick toward Whip's side, her body moving to the left as she does so. The purpose of the movement becomes clear in the execution of it - if Whip were to lash out straight forward, Hotaru has moved herself completely out of the anticipated cone of effect for that coiled weapon. "KYA!"
Her foot moves fiercely, she strikes with certain power. Small in stature she may be, but Hotaru knows how to put all her strength into her strikes.
COMBATSYS: Hotaru has joined the fight here.
[\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\ < > //////////////////////////////]
Hotaru 0/-------/-------|-------\-------\0 Whip
COMBATSYS: Hotaru successfully hits Whip with Medium Kick.
Grazing Hit
[\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\ < > //////////////////////////// ]
Hotaru 0/-------/-------|=------\-------\0 Whip
An attitude like Kentou's would be seen as mightily unproductive by Whip and her military colleagues; it's not about the window dressing, not about how shiny your boots are or how crisp the lines of your uniform. Martial arts are a functional thing, remaining the same in principle and direction no matter where they're brought to the fore. A punch is a punch. It may be thrown to tag, injure, or kill, but the ultimate purpose remains the same-- the causing of pain, requiring the honing of mind and body to strike with effectiveness. Even clad in spandex and leather, surrounded by roaring fools, there's no shame to be found in the fight.
That Hotaru can embrace this so openly speaks a great deal about her. Her motions tell even more, her momentary calm surging into an effort of beauteous grace, her movement tracked keenly by Whip and those in the crowd who have eyes for more than impacts alone. If Futaba has been out of the spotlight a long time... it doesn't show. Her action is relatively linear, simple and effective, thrown with technique and wisdom both.
"There!" It's all Whip can do to lean back as it comes in, the additional movement by Hotaru throwing off her own projections as to the attack's angle, just faintly. It's enough to matter-- she's forced to skid abruptly back upon her ludicrous platforms, the blade of Hotaru's foot jarring off taut abdominals. They'll be bruised.
But it could have been worse. Still, she's lost initiative and range.
Which matters not to someone like the Ikari. Mouth drawing to a focused line, gaze hard, she swings her right arm out and down, bringing Voodoo forward in a slashing motion that appears almost lazy but for the deft twitch of her wrist, turning a languid sweep into an ear-splitting crack. The snaking blue tip darts forth, covering the distance in an instant not so much to /strike/ as to ensnare, wrapping about the girl's throat.
It's a brutal style-- designed for killing more than sparring, but Whip's sadism knows its limits. As gentle as such a strike can be, it is, pulled taut only for just enough momentum to send her into the follow-up, a tight forward leap from those lofty heels that leads into an equally well-controlled front flip. When Whip comes around, she's almost directly above Hotaru, left foot driving downward for the top of her skull.
"You move beautifully!" She calls from above, the compliment forceful by necessity as she drops her weight.
And perhaps, Hotaru, crashing her down to the unyielding stage surface below.
COMBATSYS: Whip successfully hits Hotaru with Strength Shot - Yuuetsu.
[ \\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\ < > /////////////////////////// ]
Hotaru 0/-------/----===|===----\-------\0 Whip
Time and time again, Hotaru has found herself in need of being saved by others and needing to save others. Those moments where she couldn't defend herself from living monsters were a secret shame that she had never spoken of out loud. Those moments where she was able to put her skills to use in rescuing others from the clutches of evil men were followed by a whispered prayer in gratitude that all her hard work had paid off. The stakes for SNF matches are no where nearly as extreme. She isn't even in them for the money, having been left the sole heiress of the Futaba fortune. And the popularity she commands is more an unanticipated byproduct of her success rather than the motivation for it. But they are a chance to challenge herself. As well as to learn.
Case in point - she's learning about whips in a very direct, unmistakeable way. Her kick doesn't land solidly but such near-hits are to be expected in any fight. Bending her leg at the knee, she snaps her foot back down to the ground. Her hands are back in position and she's standing such that much of her back is toward Whip. She seems grounded, wound up tightly, ready to spring into a strike with every muscle in her body acting in perfect coordination. But for that to work, she needs to be close enough to her opponent.
She sees Whip's arm move but she isn't sure how to deal with the lash of a weapon moving too fast to see with her eyes. She is woefully uninformed and inexperienced in how to deal with something like this, not even really knowing the ranges and angles a weapon like that can utilize. She raises her hands, trying to think this through. Will it wrap around her arms? Should she try to grab it like they always do in the movies? What SHOULD she do about this?
Those thoughts and more go through in the microsecond it takes for Voodoo to seize hold around her skinny neck. The sting of contact is one thing but it's the alarm of being ensnared that really sets her off. Hands go up to grab hold of the length of whip, expecting perhaps, to be pulled forward hard by it, bracing herself to try and contend with such an event.
It is thus that as Whip pulls Voodoo tightly enough to produce a thrum along its taut length, she'll probably notice that Hotaru seems surprisingly rooted to where she's standing, not so easily moved in spite her small stature. Of course, for her part, Hotaru had no idea that Whip was going to close distance to immediately follow up either.
She's too focused on the wrong 'whip', however. Only when Voodoo goes slack in her hands does she snap her attention up to see the incoming flip kick.
The heel of Whip's foot collides solidly with the top of her head, driving Hotaru down out of her stance toward the ground. But she isn't dropped, feet slipping apart into wide splits, her left hand slamming against the stage floor to catch herself, right hand busy at finally freeing herself from the coils. Her head is ringing from that impact, but she isn't slowed.
"Thank you... I have never seen a style like yours," she states quietly, her tone thoughtful. "I would love to know what you call it!"
Her second statement is punctuated by a flurry of motion and raise in voice. She hasn't actually changed stance at all from when she caught herself, feet still far apart, body bent at the waist. And from that low stance she springs, kicking off the ground with enough force to send her into a low hop, her arms, extended as wings one moment, whirlwinding in to clobber Whip with a series of windmill-style palm strikes. Given the chance, her feet will touch back down gracefully, the girl coming to a landing on the opposite side of Whip from where she launched.
There would be the slightest window of opportunity as she recovers, but Hotaru will already be moving to close that moment as quickly as possible.
COMBATSYS: Whip interrupts Enryuu Banda from Hotaru with Boomerang Shot.
[ \\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\ < > /////////////////////// ]
Hotaru 0/-------/=======|====---\-------\0 Whip
There's a lot of talk about terrorists, these days, and in the wake of Shadaloo's near-successful invasion of the entire world mere paranoia has turned to a very legitimate requirement for alertness and preventative action. But people forget-- terrorism works both ways, and though Whip is far from a 'hero' in any sense - there's a book sitting on store shelves right now that attests to the horrors she and her comrades have wreaked - she isn't fundamentally a bad person, nor even really on the 'wrong' side of conflict...
She does, however, employ terror tactics. The tightening coils of Voodoo, aimed for a sensitive and potentially fatal location, scream bloody murder in the minds of those ill-suited to a creature like she. Her attacks can be so difficult to defend not just for their speed, but for that very reason. Panic is the obvious reaction. It's the instinctive reaction. As much as a survivor as the human being is, they've grown soft, and weak. While she'd presume to label a warrior like Hotaru Futaba with no such tag, it's true of almost everyone.
Of course she hits. Psychology was on her side.
She rebounds from the strike into a secondary flip, made as she plummets toward the ground, accompanied with a twisting wrench upon Voodoo to bring the weapon back under her control. Hotaru's efforts only assist this-- and the girl is free at the moment Whip lands in a crouch, one platform raised behind her as she sinks upon the other. For someone who was tottering about during her entrance, she seems to be much more graceful now. Her heart is beating fast, adrenaline floods her veins, and she's smiling, just faintly...
"Why don't I show you /more/!" Comes the quick reply as Hotaru streams toward her, that smile vanishing to be replaced once more by the mien of deep focus, as the assassin sways before the incoming strike. The first blow hammers against her shoulder as she twists away from it, the strike finding but glancing purchase - as did the opener. The second catches her brow, forces her to snap her face to one side-- but she's seen enough, and she's already tracking what follows. Sliding backward, away from harm, she tenses up and then lunges from her crouch.
"Soubenjutsu!" She replies in somewhat halting Japanese as she strikes heavenward with her namesake, the blue coils once more ensaring Hotaru as she whirls overhead. This time, about the waist, that same stinging crush tightening about her before a second flick of the wrist and an one-eighty turn from the crouching Ikari sends her thundering toward the stage floor once more. Releasing a breath, free hand rising to push back her teased, bleached and dyed hair, Whip rises to her feet, coiling Voodoo beside her.
"It... sounds more impressive in Japanese," she explains with a gentle shrug, "'Whipping stuff' just doesn't have the same ring to it."
When she pushed off from the stage, everything seemed all right. Sure, her head was ringing a little, her neck a touch sore, but she wasn't doing too bad. Her palm strikes connect. Not cleanly as she would like, but she got a few in. Things were mostly going how she expected she could manage at this point, still trying to understand how Whip's unique set of skills worked.
Somewhere in the space of landing her first palm strike and when she thought she would be touching down on the stage, everything goes horribly wrong. Hotaru sees Whip move, but thinks it's simply in a bid to scramble out of the way of her attack. She'll land in a split second, spin into a ready guard just in case a counter attack is coming and, then, if not pressured, spring into another attack to keep momentum going! At least, that was the thought.
She feels Voodoo snap around her waist before she even registers the audible sound of its supersonic flight through the air. Mid-air as she is, she can't do anything to correct for it either. She may have been suprisingly rooted when on the ground, but right now she's a flying featherweight and yoinking her out of her arc with a pull on that whip wouldn't seem particularly hard at all.
This time, Hotaru hits the stage hard, thudding against it as she's pulled out of the air, the breath knocked from her from the impact.
Hotaru lies there for a second, not out of any ploy or deliberate attempt to buy time, but rather because she's feeling rather disoriented. But she has to do something about. No time to think deeply on the pain she's been put through so far. She goes from still to moving, rolling into her back, bending her knees up to her chest, then kicking out to spring lightly back onto her feet. She allows herself a soft grunt of amusement as she considers the alternative name Whip suggests. 'Whipping stuff' might not sound as cool, but it's what she feels like she's on the receiving end of so far.
"I must say - going against it is a unique experience." Trying to fight Whip in close hasn't been working well for her. Maybe she would be better off trying to buy time from distance? Her right arm draws back, a surge of deep blue azure surging over her limb. It isn't without some effort that she exercises this technique. Some may find chi manifestation to be a trivial endeavor, but for her it has always required significant exertion. Her father never did train her in the intricacies of chi flow.
Her arm snaps forward as if pitching a ball, but it isn't sports equipment that flies Whip's way. "YA!" A sphere of chi with the same intense blue as her eyes surges from her fingertips. It threatens to strike with strong, concussive force, should it not be avoided. Hotaru may not be a natural with flinging chi based attacks around, but that doesn't mean the ones she can manage won't pack a punch.
COMBATSYS: Hotaru successfully hits Whip with Hakki Shou.
[ \\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\ < > ////////////////// ]
Hotaru 0/-------/=======|=======\-------\1 Whip
In theory, Whip's style is most at home with the long and middle ranges-- but she was trained to use stealth and skill to nullify targets, so experience and training sees her adjust smoothly to close proximity. Covering so many bases does give her a weakness in the same area she has a strength; adaptibility requires versing in every facet of combat that must be adapted /to/. And yet, the teenage Ikari rarely seems to have spread herself too thin. Strategic if a natural risk-taker, she's a handful for anyone...
At least on a battlefield. This is Futaba's arena as it is her home, and the bristling of her aura attests to why. The former NESTS assassin watches her with that same distant wariness as she stands still, once more allowing the younger woman to lead in-- almost baiting her with that stare, asking her to attack again. But she's less prepared than she believes, cerulean blaze erupting bright before her to draw an intake of breath.
There's no words in response to Hotaru, because Whip is busy /moving/, the forceful jolt of an arm warning her in the microsecond before that energy is truly visible, but it's fast enough that it doesn't matter; the Ikari is twisting, stepping in toward it and then springing from her feet, back bending lithely-- but she misjudges the full extent of the apparition, its outer edge catching and dragging her in toward the brunt. That drawn breath explodes outward as she's flung platform heels over flamboyantly styled head, slamming into the stage a moment later to rebound clumsily off a shoulder. She reaches her feet with a stagger and a stumble, but she appears dazed; twisting to face Hotaru too quickly, recoiling Voodoo with a rushed motion.
"Didn't expect that," she admits breathlessly, giving a brisk shake of her head as she keeps pushing against the ungainly momentum she's gathered, breaking into a short dash to cover the ground. Sticking and moving served her well, briefly; but the same rule, once broken, will rarely serve anew. Eyes gaining a hint of the wild, Whip throws a wide swagger into her headlong step, duking left and then right as she approaches. Her hair's in disarray, her impractical bodice cinching in uncomfortably where it's been shunted about.
But Whip isn't going to be put off by a single good hit.
"You're good!" She offers as she closes the last in a springing lunge, twisting as she enters a horizontal leap past the younger girl. If all goes to plan, their eyes may just lock for a fleeting instant - during which Whip appears to look all the deeper into her opponent, as if gauging her very soul - before she once more misshapes her spandex, left leg chambering and striking in the same flawless motion to direct a rapid kick to the temple. It's a little ungainly, what with those boots, and it's telegraphed by nature of the approach...
But her power and skill can't be counted out. When competitors are this close, it only takes a single mistake.
"Don't usually say this," Whip adds with a smile as she comes in to land, "But I'm not sure who's better."
COMBATSYS: Whip successfully hits Hotaru with Light Kick.
Grazing Hit
[ \\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\ < > ////////////////// ]
Hotaru 1/------=/=======|=======\=------\1 Whip
Trying to figure out the most effective zone of Whip's style of fighting has been vexing Hotaru throughout the match. She expected her to be a threat from range so fought hard to stay in close, risking the demands of hectic melee combat in favor of nullifying the advantage that she figures the strengths of using a whip in a fight are. But being in close didn't give her the advantage she had hoped for against her uncanny opponent.
In her mind, she's already identified that Whip is dangerous at all ranges. The dead zone she hoped to find in her opponent's style just flat out doesn't exist. She's going to have to settle for attacking directly and match speed with speed, strength with strength, and grit with grit. She can deal with that. The Futaba Heiress is no quitter. She hasn't survived this long by giving up.
Hotaru doesn't charge right in after her well known projectile finds its mark though the window of opportunity was there. The attack was highly effective, she notes - but she can't machinegun those things like some fighters are capable of. She'll have to return to hand to hand combat. Or, as it appears, wait for her opponent to bring the fight back to her. Hands raised, stance returned to, she's standing upright the same way she did at the very start of the fight - nimble and ready to respond to attacks from any direction.
Whip's somewhat uncertain staggering attack unexpectedly helps her here. In all her attempts to predict the Ikari soldier's next strike, Hotaru is actually thrown off by the uncharacteristically uncertain steps, her brow furrowing for a fleeting moment as that distance she gained is closed in an instant. If her course had been more sure, Hotaru might have been able to accurately read her steps and know with a fair degree of accuracy where the next strike would come from. But instead Whip doesn't demonstrate her precision until the last moment, when she takes to the air, a strong kick readied for the Futaba girl's head.
They exchange looks. To those not in the midst of the fight, the two young women may seem to move impossibly fast for something like that. But in the heat of battle, a moment can feel like an eternity. Her thoughts move even faster than her ability to react. Beneath the demeanor of her opponent, beneath the garish getup paying homage to the theme of this fight, there is a kernal of something so gravely serious as to cross over into darkness. She couldn't see it until that instant. The girl hides it sell, she would mull later; a silent struggle buried deep within.
She's already moving her head and instead of a clean blow against her temple, Whip's foot crashes into that egregiously elongated side-tail, the scrunchie-shaped hair providing surprisingly good shock absorption. It's still enough that Hotaru's footing slips a little and she'll be feeling it later, but not enough to slow her counter attack.
"Thank you," she states. Whip's landing won't take her far away, and Hotaru is already there by the time her heeled feet hit the stage. "You are remarkably well trained!" Too well trained to be a relative unknown in the fighting circuits. She's right there on Whip's left side, hands snapping out to try and get a hold of the other girl's left arm.
If she gets her hands on her, she'll use the limb as leverage to spring from off the ground, leaping up from behind Whip in a flip, using the weight of her body to try and bend the other girl forward. Her arm would stay hooked under Whip's and - should she pull the acrobatic technique off correctly - the instant Hotaru's feet hit the ground, she'll pull hard on that arm. If she managed to upset the Ikari Warrior's balance, Hotaru should be able to finish that pull on her arm to roll Whip right over her own back and slam her opponent face forward toward the stage floor. "HYA!"
COMBATSYS: Hotaru successfully hits Whip with Medium Throw.
- Power hit! -
[ \\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\ < > ////////////// ]
Hotaru 1/------=/=======|=======\====---\1 Whip
That flash of insight, stolen from the pulsating rhythm of battle, speaks volumes to Whip. Her own eyes even widen with the revelation, pupils dilating as she lands with the admission of uncertainty-- the way Hotaru moves, the inherent aggression behind her comely technique, was an indicator, along with the apparent echelon she occupies amongst fighters. It takes more than hard work and determination to become so good; there has to be a drive, created or realized, a propulsive force denying the body's every urge to quit. The mind's to settle.
It's almost funny, the delicate and polite nuance of the younger girl's manner as she surges in to capitalize on a perceived weakness. A kind, gentle predator. A considerate beast. Were the Ikari any less focused herself, she'd laugh as her arm is seized-- as it is, numbed by alcohol but bolstered by adrenaline and the unwavering power of instinct, she simply reacts. Her right leg slides outward, to leading the way across the stage, as she sinks her posture, allowing the fluid opening steps of that assault to progress. Giving up her arm...
Rooting would normally prevent the follow-up, but as she feels her elbow wrench it doesn't lock as it should. For a moment it's actually less painful than she intended, and that's when she knows; in this exchange at least, Futaba has proven very much the better. Mentally, she congratulates her, a stern warrior's nod rather than the cheery well-wishes of teenage girls, while outwardly it's all she can do to keep a grip on her weapon as she's launched into an unwitting roll n' slam, striking the floor with an incredible impact.
"Ngh!" Teeth gritting, the assassin does her best to keep moving in spite of it, stars exploding in the dark spaces around her eyes as she slides onto her uninjured right arm - the coils of Voodoo slapping heavily against the hard surface - and bends off that side of her body to slam her left foot down. It's tricky to manouevre like this, the leather of those ridiculous boots creaking as she rights into a half-crouch, threatening to give way; as one already did, betraying what otherwise would have been a keen defence.
Her calculations were off. Leona will probably have a good laugh-- well, wry stare, about that one.
But Whip is in the now, and remains in proximity, suppressing the throbbing pain in her left arm as she darts out a swift-jabbing palm, feinting and leaving that hand extended for a moment. It's part ward, and partly designed to create a hole in her opponent's defenses. Behind it, the Ikari draws a quick, steadying breath, and then begins to press the attack, a second feint coming in the form of a snakelike roundhouse from the right foot. The edge of the stage isn't too far away-- if Hotaru moves too far to evade the convincing combination, she'll end up hard-pressed, and if she's smart, moves to the side or even ignores them to maintain a guard...
It might make it easier, regardless. Whip's right hand remains unused, the lashing blue coils of Voodoo turned slightly up and outward as the forearm hovers across her breast. As she turns into the roundhouse kick, she chambers the power and momentum she needs to bring the weapon into play on the rebound, striking wide at stomach height primarily to unfurl her namesake, a stinging lash accompanying the motion almost like an iaido strike. But it's the final section of a three-part build, and at the moment it should land there's a sudden surge of native energy, chi not manifesting in the manner that it does under the sway of the kenpo-ka...
But it's there, all the same. Instinctive.
"Haaaaa--!!"
Winds batter the stage from ankle-height, creating a corona of surging air that might seem natural, so fast and furious do Whip's sudden follow-up slashes come. Her arm frames a delirious figure-eight, her hips rotating with sharp motions almost lost in the fury, as the trained and honed attack is unleashed. At each full rotation, a twist of her wrist drives the whip against Hotaru, blue tip striving to raise myriad welts from neck to thigh. All the while she's shifting forward, not even needing to step as the assault itself propels her, that raised gust carrying her almost to the stage's end herself, with or without her opponent.
"NANANANANANANANANANA!"
If all goes to plan, her cry is punctuated with a final, sharp backlash of her weapon, injured arm coming across to control the unleashed coils as Hotaru is sent spinning away. Without that, she's left open-- it's hard to easily cease such momentum. It's a risky thing; as her most dangerous moments almost invariably are. All that training, and all that instinct, buoyed by the fearsome duality that lurked in Whip's eyes, in that moment they shared. At once a cold, almost sinister creature - hardened and capable of great cruelty - there's also something else inside her, a desire and passion for life that just might transcend everything else even as it bolsters and empowers. It's in those dizzying ululations too, far more than any sadism or bloodlust.
Whip's not just a soldier. Not just a weapon. She's a seeker.
All the training in the world can't truly hide that.
[ \\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\ < > ////////////// ]
Hotaru 1/------=/=======|-------\-------\0 Whip
COMBATSYS: Hotaru blocks Whip's Sonic Slaughter.
[ \\\\\\\\\\\\\\ < > ////////////// ]
Hotaru 1/----===/=======|-------\-------\0 Whip
Somewhere along her path through life, Hotaru discovered that being gentle does not necessitate being weak. It was easy to make that mistake early on in her training. Her father had drilled that concept into her as a child; saying she didn't have the heart of a fighter - that raw, fierce determination to grind an opponent into the dirt in order to establish, beyond all doubt, the superiority of one's skill. It was a lesson her brother understood so well. And back then, before her mother died, before her father vanished, before her brother walked away from their front door and never looked back, he might have been right.
But that was before life decided to see what it would take to break Hotaru Futaba. One after another, harsh lessons were heaped upon the girl. Lessons about dominating will from one claw-wielding Justice High student. Lessons about corruption and the soul crushing costs of taking shortcuts to power from a she-devil of the past. Lessons about control, endurance, and discipline from a kind Kyokugen mentor who gave the frail seeming fighter a chance. Through wars, fights, sieges, kidnappings, assaults in her home, the Futaba girl has survived. All of those harsh lessons, those life altering experiences, have made her into the fighter she is at this very moment. Fierce, determined, yet somehow able to temper that spirit with control and restraint.
As she finishes rolling her opponent to the ground, she straightens up, hands raised, expression somber, azure eyes intensely focused on every move Whip makes as the Ikari recovers from the girl's aggressive slam. Her head is ringing from the few strikes she's taken to her skull, but the violet and pink decorated fighter is tougher than one would expect by looking at her. Her lips are pressed into a straight line yet in spite such a serious, focused expression, she never betrays the softness of her nature.
Her steps become slower as she advances on Whip. She's rooted now, as if taking her off her feet would require a contest of sheer will power rather than physical forces. At first her intent seems to be to follow up her attack with another, but the battle-trained soldier in Whip doesn't give her that chance.
The opening strike puts Hotaru immediately on the defensive, hands shifting a little to react to it but without committing more than to a simple deflection. The kick is similiarly handled with a deftness that leaves Hotaru giving up no ground, her nimble body weaving low and under the roundhouse as she slips closer still rather than backing away. Maybe she sees the feints for what they are. Or maybe she's just that determined to get in close enough to strike Whip again.
Either way, nothing would prepare her for the storm unleashed in the next instant. She senses the surge instinctively. There may not be a visible flash of light or blastwave of resonating energy, but the explosion of potential is there all the same. Perhaps it's those instincts that allow her to defend herself against the maelstrom of strikes that come next. Little else feasibly could.
The lashes come too fast to see as Hotaru bunkers down, bracing on the spot, weathering the storm rather than escaping it. Protecting her body from any harm is impossible. She would challenge any fighter to demonstrate the kind of superhuman speed it would take to weave through those lashes. But she can mitigate the damage, hunkering down, protecting her head, deflecting what strikes she can. Pink and purple scraps of cloth fill the air as too do shards of wood, splinters of the stage scattered before the storm whenever that beloved weapon hits low.
Hotaru loses ground as the attack advances, her feet slipping back across the stage. Whether the individual lashes are from the whip or merely shockwaves caused by the near proximity thereof, she can't be sure. But she knows she can't last forever. Even the most deeply rooted tree will bow before the storm eventually.
Her ears ringing, her blood pumping with adrenaline, Hotaru attacks back. It might be sheer luck that she acts in the very moment that the Ikari Warrior winds back her arm for that final, savage backlash that would have been enough to bowl even the stalwart Futaba girl over. But she's there, closer to Whip than the girl might have expected, already in a low crouch, arms out at her sides, entire body tightly wound into the strike that comes next - a surge of cerulean energy, a powerful backflip, every iota of her strength poured into a single, devastating, two-legged kick that pack more than enough force to launch her and Whip into the air... "Tenshou-!"
COMBATSYS: Whip parries Hotaru's Ten-shou Ranki EX!
[ \\\\\\\\\\\\\\ < > ////////////// ]
Hotaru 0/-------/-------|=------\-------\0 Whip
The seeker doesn't always find, and in this case Whip's hard-pressing attack finds only slim purchase, relative to the sum of its myriad parts. As she comes in for the final slash, there's an instant where she peers through the blinding flurry of her own devising, through the blood-tinged smog of furious effort, to see the turtled Futaba directly before her. Voodoo rings a screaming clarion before it's caught in her opposite hand, coils quickly and easily furled in the same instant that Hotaru mounts her dynamic counter-assault.
They've no time for pleasantries, least of all verbal ones, the attack comes so fast in the wake of her own that the Ikari shouldn't be able to do a single cursed thing. But in the heat of battle, a honed and resolute mind can find those moments where time seems to stand still; where a single instant becomes a lazy afternoon, becomes a decade of planning of progress, where anything is possible. Or at least, something.
Whip isn't lost in the illusion-- she doesn't miss that moment, before she's already acting. Her knees rise, a deft spring off platform heels carrying her into an unorthodox acceptance of Hotaru's double-footed strike. Her own boots come into contact with the concealed base of those amazing legwarmers, and the taller woman unfolds in mid-air, drawing to her full height as she emerges for a picturesque instant mounted upon her opponent. Eyes gleaming, she glances downward, bracing her entire body for what follows, as Hotaru continues her flip...
Until she moves, for that half-second Whip seems weightless, but then she's pressing down upon Hotaru's limbs, forcing her to a possibly ungainly end on the stage below as she uses the girl's incredible momentum for her own purposes. "HAAAAA--!!" Her cry is a mirror of the one before, at first, as Voodoo again strikes upward, her abruptly raised arm sending the blue tip to lash about one of the girders holding the covered stage. She misses her target-- but she seizes the base of a rainbow spotlight, sends it whipping downward to focus upon her foe.
The Ikari herself carries on into the air, tugging upon her namesake to aid her vertical leap.
...and then, even faster, she's coming down, falling with the cry finishing upon her lips.
"--AAAAYAAAAA~!"
It's almost ear-splitting, but it's her feet that carry the pain, both of them aimed into the front of Hotaru's torso with crushing force, enough to crack the ribcage of a lesser fighter, or kill any normal being. She's been holding back to a small extent, saving her brutality, until she's certain that the younger girl could handle it. Hotaru's proven herself time and again, in her own life, and now here in this garish setting...
She's earned the right to be mortally mule-kicked by an insane heavy metal bondage queen.
COMBATSYS: Whip successfully hits Hotaru with Assassin Strike EX.
[ \\\\\\\\\\ < > ////////////// ]
Hotaru 0/-------/----===|===----\-------\0 Whip
Too fast to be avoided, striking too hard to be guarded against - that was the secret to Hotaru's technique. Whip opts for neither of those - she accepts the unescapable... but she accepts on her terms. The Kenpo artist realizes the nature of her opponent's defense in the course of exercising the maneuver. If she had time to admire the sheer timing and precision required to move with her without suffering harm, she would. But she has bigger problems on her mind for the immediate moment. The two rise into the air like she had intended from the onset. But rather than a vulnerable target, the Futaba girl finds a predator hawk ready to sweep right back down and catch her.
The font of azure chi scatters, energy returned to the earth for now, and the end result of the mid-air collision has the younger fighter plummeting out of the sky. She recovers though, flipping in that space of microseconds to land on her feet, crashing down on a particularly fragile portion of the stage already damaged by the hurricane of Voodoo lashes unleashed just seconds ago. The wood splinters more as Hotaru catches the rest of her fall by slamming her palm against the surface, transfering that downward kinetic force into the stage and sparing herself a nasty faceplant.
Her jacket and tights suffered the most from the super-sonic strikes of Whip's technique, small rips and tears revealing reddening welts in her skin on her arms and legs - lasting evidence of what she's been through so far this match. Even her sidetail has lost a touch of its spunk as two of the scrunchies holding it out were lost somewhere in the fray. But as she pushes up out of that landing, it's clear that she's not finished, sucking in her breath, steadying herself.
But recovering from that landing took precious slices of time and the Ikari Warrior's battle cry is the only warning she gets to prepare herself before both feet crush into her torso. The impact sends the smaller fighter reeling, arms failing, feet slipping several yards, the very breath forced from her lungs. She felt that one, looking for a moment as ungainly as her opponent did after being struck by that deep blue chi missile earlier.
Her hand goes to her sternum as she sucks in a breath. But that's all the respite she allows herself before going immediately back on the offensive. She bolts back after Whip. Her speed is still there, and she's no less determined. But she's a bit more reckless now, it would seem. She can't set aside the energy necessary to more cleanly avoid any attacks that might come her way.
She drops into a slide, her stance once again low, perhaps attempting to slip under any defense or counter-measures. The lunging palm strike that follows is backed by equal parts muscle power and momentum from her forward attack. Her right hand leads, slamming out from her low stance for Whip's torso. She shifts, her left hand following suit, though the secondary hit is less strike and more pushing, as if aiming to place more distance between her and Whip after her combination of strikes. She opens her mouth to shout, but the breath just isn't there to do so - the only voice Hotaru has right now is in her strikes!
COMBATSYS: Hotaru successfully hits Whip with Medium Punch.
-* CRITICAL HIT! *-
[ \\\\\\\\\\ < > ///////// ]
Hotaru 0/-------/----===|=======\-------\0 Whip
Unlike her earlier flippity-floppity display, after nailing this technique Whip doesn't immediately spring into another flip - the assault is too harsh to so easily rebound, and as Hotaru is sent bolting and bruised, the genetically modified assassin simply continues through her absence. The impact with the ground sends a double jolt through her legs, and she wavers dangerously on those lofty platforms, sucking in a breath of her own as she slips Voodoo's coils to her side and raises her still-sore left arm to push damp fronds of black, blonde and hot pink hair from her face. She's smiling beneath a veneer of moisture, though.
"Come on," she urges in a murmur, more for her own benefit than Hotaru's, gaze showing a certain competitive hunger as it settles upon the younger girl. "Don't quit. Don't hold back." As if she's expecting anything less, even if battles have been won so decisively before; Futaba has the eyes of somebody better than that. It's almost a shame they've met here, away from a real battlefield, locked up for the entertainment of the crowds.
The fans couldn't be further from Whip's thoughts, however, once Hotaru is closing in again. A rigorous outbreath sinks her chest and settles her tightened shoulders, the NESTS-trained warrior relaxing into the rejoined rhythm. The striking palm is met with a forearm, the left almost gently guided into position with what might normally be solid, impenetrable expertise... but that earlier twisting of the joint has done the job well, and it only exacerbates what occurs. The arm is thrust against her midsection, striking her along with Hotaru's palm and eliciting a sharp hiss of pain. Instinct leads to panic, and she has to suppress it.
It costs her.
The kenpo-ka may not have the breath to shout, but she certainly has the power and will to strike. Her second blow is devastating, blowing Whip's already-crumpled guard to pieces and sending her twisting wildly, Voodoo uncoiling, a bright blue tail following her into an unruly spin that culminates in a hearty crash to the stage. But like Hotaru, there's too much willpower there - and too much remaining energy - to allow the Ikari to stay down. In almost the same instant that she falls, her left palm slaps down, a pure and heartfelt /scream/ leaving her lips as she brutally embraces the resulting agony. Her teeth grit, a few flecks of saliva flying into the air as she practically soars to her feet, swaying low and bent-backed as she focuses upon Hotaru.
Whip doesn't say anything else, not because she can't; but because she, too, knows a better way.
With a sharp, jagged roar she throws her right arm out, her namesake taking a moment to regather before the snap of her wrist carries it forth. The deep blue line seems to shine as it flies this time, crossing the expanse in a snaking instant to latch once more for the throat, this time without the playful element; they're fighting seriously now, they're giving each other their best, and Whip obliges. If she can find purchase, the subsequent hauling is just a step shy of murderous, she seeking to haul Hotaru from her feet and then toward her-- both hands flying to drag her palm over rapidly-flying palm across the stage.
And then, when she's close, the prodigious schoolgirl will find a boot clamped firmly against her windpipe.
"/Submit/," seethes Whip from behind a wild grin, giving Voodoo another tug.
It's one more technique designed to be fatal, and if she's measured her opponent's physique right...
Without her admission of defeat, and without the respect between them, it very well could be.
COMBATSYS: Hotaru dodges Whip's Strength Shot - Shouri.
[ \\\\\\\\\\ < > //////// ]
Hotaru 0/-------/----===|=======\-------\0 Whip
It's fucking garish. That's what K' said, when he showed up with his sister. When he saw the fight, when he heard the throbbing 80's pop. He even started in (for the third or fourth time) on how corrupt and fixed the whole system is, how it's just a freaking show, not a real sport. She gave him /that look/ /again/, though. No respect at all. We could specify that this put K' in a sour mood, but that might be redundant. At least, he's certainly acting particularly edgy and bitchy all the way up to the start of the show.
It could be the transportation, alongside a bunch of stinky Ikari 'fans' of his sister. He's got his eyes on those damn mercs!! It could be the participants of the battle. He's always protective of his sister, and K' likely finds it pretty damn cool that everyone around him chalks up his bitchy attitude to that. Not too many people know that the unassuming girl facing off against Whip saved his life, and vice-versa, more than freaking once. Not too many people know that K' hasn't visited in years of nomadic soul-searching and vengeance-questing.
Near-death experiences can change a man, and the prototype weapon of a man in question has a great deal of purpose to find in his profound, unnatural ability. Partly because the world isn't exactly getting /better/ fast, now is it, K'? To his credit, once they do arrive, the Kusanagi-attuned bioweapon stays out of the way. He's back behind the other Ikari, towards the wings on Whip's 'side' of the raised arena. Back in the shadows, near a second set of retracted curtains and rigging mounts. He can see them, but no one in that pitched battle is going to be looking at him, seeing him at a glance... no distractions, and time to think.
Now and then in the darkness to the side of the stage, a cigarette illuminates, bright relative to the shadows concealing the white-haired firebrand's expression... but barely noticeable next to the extravagant (some might say garish) illumination that tracks the intense battle between two of the young women who could be said to have the most sway over where his life is, now. If one leaves out Igniz, anyway. Even stoic, emotions unseen, it's safe to say that K' remains a bit conflicted. It's also safe to say he's holding his god damn breath.
The impact of the second strike was greater than Hotaru had anticipated, but the purpose behind it doesn't change in the slightest. With that exchange of forces, she has pushed back, kicking off with her forward, right foot into a graceful backflip. She takes to the air like she was born there, descending to a soft landing on her feet, hands raised, standing up straight. Maybe she heard Whip's urging over the rush adrenaline pounding at her ears. Her hand goes to her stomach again and only then does she finally manage to take a breath, having fought against spasming lungs throughout her previous attack.
She stands up straight then, assuming the same stance she had at the start of the fight. Her demeanor has become no less intense, but there's something more now. A flicker of a smile for her opponent. Fights this intense, where every flinch of muscle matters, are invigorating. To be able to share the moment with a kindred spirit who she can tell understands exactly what she's feeling... well, moments like that, she can't help but smile. It's a quiet token of gratitude, an expression of thanks for making a moment like this possible. If there was any greater way to step back into the spotlight after months out of the public eye than to experience this match, she can't think of one.
Perspiration rolls down her cheeks. Having her hair pulled back helps, but the combination of windbreaker and double legwarmers in weather that requires neither (And really, what weather WOULD require double legwarmers?) isn't helping a lot. Her hand goes to the lower corner of her damaged coat as if she intends to fan herself with it a little. She's fought in worse conditions and against opponents she would have rather not graced with the honor. By comparison, she wishes every fight could be like this one. Who /is/ this strange girl called Whip? To come out of no where and fight so well?
But the Ikari Warrior leaves no time for contemplation, her arm snapping into motion, Voodoo answering her call. The somewhat haphazardly looking Tiffany-chan becomes a blur of motion, the ruffled sound of clothing moving through the wind.
It no doubt takes the eyes of the audience far longer to figure out what just happened, but Whip will figure it out much faster. Voodoo found /a/ mark, just not the one she intended. Instead, the coils have seized tightly around a target far more pliable than Hotaru Futaba's throat - that purple Member's Only jacket is, for a moment, firmly squeezed within its lengths.
The problem is, Hotaru isn't wearing it anymore. She's already bolting forward, right alongside that outstretched whip, closing that distance between them with her remarkable speed. She takes to the air from six feet away, returning to that element that she seems almost native to, twisting around, right leg bent, muscles tensed. She's trying to strike before Whip can recover her weapon and adopt that dangerous ready stance of hers. The angle of her attack is measured, intentionally difficult to respond to with the techniques Whip has demonstrated this far. She's a quick learner.
The kick for the top of the disguise soldier girl's head would be no more gentle than her previous strike. The double-palm press into her torso that would follow the instant the Kenpo artist's feet touched the ground would not make things any better either. "HAA!"
COMBATSYS: Whip dodges Hotaru's Combo Attack.
[ \\\\\\\\\\\ < > //////// ]
Hotaru 0/-------/-----==|=======\-------\0 Whip
It may be merely subconscious, but there's a reason for the naming of Whip's personal style beyond aural pleasantry; her relationship to the weapon she wields is scant short of symbiotic. Like the ancient samurai, she has been trained alongside it, has eaten and slept with it, has made Voodoo an integral part of her every waking moment. Hotaru's motions are singularly impressive, drawing a chorus of whoops and 'oohs' from the assembled crowd - apart from K', obviously, though SOMEONE is happy he's here - and the quirk of a brow from her opponent. Even in her heightened, aggressive state, Whip knows that was not lacking...
Not in the least. Which means--
"Ha!"
Hotaru Futaba is just that damn good.
Her lips quirking, the Ikari rock goddess shifts her gaze abruptly away from the odd sensation coursing down Voodoo's length, aware immediately that she's caught something less than her intended prey. It's a solid trick, elusive and confounding to most, and not one she's even immediately familiar with - outside of the purely theoretical. Not many soldiers can employ such speed, grace and versatility. Even if some of them can punch you harder than a tac-nuke. It's the whip that saves Whip, in this instance, as it has so many times before.
That sharpened stare finds Hotaru as she leaps, and despite her quick stock of the situation, the heavy metal assassin has her weapon arm still extended, the jacket having slowed her wrist enough at least that she's only just pulling it back toward her when the kick is due to land. It seems for an instant as though this answering blow has struck clean, a sharp clap echoing around the stage, but with similar speed to Hotaru's own, Whip is gone-- in an instant from standing to rolling, her outflung arm making the sound as she springs to her feet a few yards away. The twisting motion that brings her to face Futaba once more also brings her weapon inward...
And then suddenly out, part of the same movement, striking out well beyond where Hotaru should land.
Securing about the butt of a streamer-festooned lamppost, under which a certain leather-clad man stands.
Whip's grin, fleeting as it is, marks this as anything but a coincidence.
And then she's suddenly launching herself up and forward in much the same manner as she ascended for her earlier, two-footed strike-- using the secure point of Voodoo like a grappling hook, swinging upon it as she arcs overhead, swooping like a bat out of hell (HEYOOO~), wordless but enthused, her full body-weight thrown into a second, very similar kick whose impact is only lessened by the lack of such targeting. This one's much faster, aimed only for the approximate location of the torso, designed simply to add further weight to the injuries already sustained, rather than create particularly fresh ones...
She'll rebound with a flick of the wrist that releases her namesake, landing in a deft crouch.
Breathing hard, Whip doesn't think it will be enough, not any more; this one's going to go the distance.
COMBATSYS: Whip successfully hits Hotaru with Hook Shot.
[ \\\\\\\\ < > /////// ]
Hotaru 0/-------/---====|=======\=------\1 Whip
Her foot tears through the space where Whip stood a moment ago, the sound of air being compressed out of the path of her leg an indicator of the force behind that attack. She lands just as lightly as before, pulling back on her momentum before going into the palm press intended to wind her opponent and possibly end the match. It's clear to everyone watching that the fight is coming down to its final moments, both young women giving it their all.
Without her jacket, it becomes more clear just how much weathering the storm of Whip's attacks cost the Futaba girl, her forearms covered with small, lingering traces of lashes she's endured. Another raw rash at the base of her neck is a good reminder of how the fight opened for her. Nothing that won't heal, of course, but to go through all she's been through and stay standing is certainly a testament to the kind of endurance she's learned. Forcing the pain of the attacks she's weathered out of mind must be no small feat.
Still, her opponent proves to be every bit as elusive as she, and maybe even a step beyond. She's grounded again, one with the stage, her stance shifting, the girl turning her body to the side, brow furrowed, eyes locked in concentration on Whip.
Voodoo cracks out and Hotaru doesn't flinch, as if she able to read that swing and know that its target was somewhere behind her. She's always had to learn fast when presented with unknown styles. She can't simply brute force her way through combat. Speed and brains were her greatest strengths.
As Whip swings in, Hotaru thinks herself ready. If she can catch the other girl here, committed to her attack, she can counter strike without her being able to evade. Thus it is that she doesn't budge. At least, not by choice. Arms come up, Hotaru bracing for the impact... But she's too worn out. Maybe fresh into the match she could have withstood the force behind those feet flying her way, but right now it's enough to send her sliding back, eyes widened a little at the sharp pain the heels leave in her chest.
Still, it's not too late. In being knocked back, she ends up closer to where Whip lands than she might have otherwise. It's just a matter of twisting out of her stance, like a corkscrew becoming unwound, springing into a short hop. Thet technique is similiar to one demonstrated earlier in the fight - as well it should be. The windmilling palm strikes she launches as she tries to batter into her opponent are one of the foundational techniques of her style as a whole. Her right hand would lead with one strike, her left hand follow with another...
But while her previous attack seemed aimed to carry her past Whip, this one is driving right at the heart of the matter. She's aiming to land right in front of and within the defenses of the Ikari Warrior and, should she find her opponent's guard down, deliver a devastatingly strong palm strike into her abdomen. "YAA" The power behind the strike is one that can only be understood by experiencing. All of her forward momentum, every muscle in her body are poured into that single blow. To simply observe second hand the kind of power the Futaba girl can pour into her hand strikes would leave one a skeptic. If Whip is not fortunate enough to escape it, however, she'll understand completely.
COMBATSYS: Whip interrupts Soushou Shin from Hotaru with Strength Shot - Chikara.
[ \\\\ < > /// ]
Hotaru 0/-------/=======|=======\===----\1 Whip
It's almost eerie, to watch. He's been operating underground with Maxima for awhile now, and while half a shit might occasionally be given for the fight scene, Hotaru and Whip haven't exactly been in the spotlight either. So the way they're fighting, now, this battle unfolding on the stage that's not nearly good enough for it, how fucking /good/ they've both gotten... it's a good thing no one is really paying attention to K', because he's pretty much locked in silence regardless. If this were a JRPG KoF adaption interacting with him would return "..." round after round, the cigarette and shades doing a sizeable amount to conceal the intent focus on every exchange.
It's a battle that's down to the wire, from the very first moments... the movements like sides of a coin, reading and adapting in tandem, ever-shifting and chaotic despite its sheer precision. To say it's not what K' remembers is different than K' remembers, it's understating the situation. Then again, is it any different for his sister? With his own crusade, his arguably paranoid fixation, these past years? Will it hit Hotaru, as well? There are a million questions, and no time to think too heavily on them as amber eyes are drawn from violent motion to violent motion, reading it with instinct and skill of his own.
The only time the renegade bioweapon moves from his perch backstage is when the Ikari crew spreads out a little too far towards 'zig', as Hotaru and Whip's battle moves towards 'zag', obscuring his damn view. K' fixes that real fast, and even politely (by Ikari standards!) with a thwump on the dude's shoulder and a forceful, but non-violent shove back the other way. The prototype also /eyes/ his sister's comrade, tilting his head down to look at him over the shades. Then, he's back to profusely pensive puffing on his cig, at least until the thing runs out too soon, and he's left free to emit a low whistle, here and there. Daaaaaamn, girls.
Back and forth, forth and back; this coin may even have landed several times upon the very edge, gleaming in the garish light of the Dream Amusement Park's gargantuan, marathonic Eighties Night. Even the most seasoned warriors cannot stave off fatigue forever, cannot ignore the stinging and bruising, the aching muscle and sorely tested bone beneath. As Whip lands, watching Hotaru now with the alcohol almost fully washed from her system, at least lapsed into insignificance by the adrenaline and instinct burning above it, she's aware that her left arm is barely responding to her commands, and her chest...
For a moment she wonders why she's still breathing, causing a flutter that almost births a cough.
But there's no time to hurt, or feel pain. No time to recover. There's only time to fight. It's a privilege to fight against someone who realizes the same truth - there's no hesitance in either of these young women, their gazes alighting on one another with matched fire, and a wealth of experience that belies their age. Even clad in the gimmicky garb of nostalgia, there's no getting past how this is a clash of warriors and wills.
Whip's thoughts don't wander as Hotaru enters her graceful pirouette once more, the sidetail and legwarmers not mattering one jot to the skill and beauty of her technique - made, to the Ikari, all the more pronounced by her sweat-soaked, rash-ridden body - because there's nothing except the fight. Not a thing.
Rising smoothly, almost too slowly to be mounting a legitimate defensive, the girl assassin holds Voodoo just behind her, the massed coils tilted outward as her injured arm flies forth-- it seems almost a mirror to her earlier, painfully unsuccessful attempt at a guard, until her fingertips brush past Hotaru's own. The striking palm fires through, and impacts; striking the leather bodice, jarring off a metal stud and forcing the older fighter back a step. Or so it seems. But she's not forcing; she's allowing herself to be driven, loose and relaxed even as her chambered forearm quite literally whips around, bringing Voodoo up in a quick, deft slash.
The first of her blows strikes directly alongside Hotaru's second, hammering against her torn garment to sting at the belly, as Whip twists behind her namesake, sliding into another step back. This one is longer, deeper, and the final palmstrike hammers forth with force that seems equal to it; indeed, for a moment it seems that this too will hit, its extension coming as the Ikari lands a second blow, an underhand lash to the same spot as the first, softening Hotaru's approach-- removing her power base, forcing the hip to twist away.
It's just enough, the brutal blow merely skimming Whip. She continues into the momentum of it, biting down with a hiss, staving the stars from her vision and the throbbing from her skull for just an instant more as she steps around. Concealed in this evasion is her own, third and final attack, a scatching forehand flick that brings her weapon's snaking blue length across Futaba's stalwart back, forcing her into the spot vacated by her opponent, and beyond it, if she stumbles; there's nothing fancy there, just a straightforward attempt to bring her to her knees and out of the fight. Once more not a word is uttered. What more could they say?
The first counter strike isn't going to be enough to slow her attack. Hotaru is too committed; has too much momentum behind her for that. The crack across her stomach certainly is felt, but it won't stop her. The second one is precise in its dismantling of her attack, however. Executing the technique with the kind of force it is intended to possess requires flawless coordination. Getting her students to understand the difference between a useless extention of the arm and a powerful palm strike was one of the trickier things to get through. As such, having her balance disrupted by the brutally swift underanded strike is just enough to soften her own attack to a whimper of its intended power.
Hotaru is experienced enough to know the precarious situation she's in, having already extended herself so far in executing the attack in the first place. Her arm pulls back, the girl trying to correct mid-step, hoping to turn her guard toward Whip in a desperate bid to fend off any further attacks. But she isn't in position to do so. If the Ikari Warrior attacked with more standard punches and kicks, she would have likely found her third attack narrowly deflected. But there is nothing normal about Whip's training.
The snap against her back sends Hotaru staggering, sucking in her breath as she stumbles a second step, wobbling down to one knee, hand against the stage. The cry in her head to stop fighting now. She's not in it for the money or the fame. Any unhappiness her fans or friends feel at her defeat will be fleeting. No one can say she didn't do well - a fight this close - it could have turned out either way in the end. Any further action on her part is just going to make her endure more pain, either from injuries already sustained or additional ones that may come.
After all, she was just in this for the fight, wasn't she? The experience, the practice, the chance to learn... She can already walk away from this match with confidence that she learned a lot about a style she'd never faced before. But that's just the thing. With motivations that run far deeper than superficial fame and wealth, it's a lot harder to get her to surrender when there is still will within her to continue. Another breath is inhaled through grit teeth. Her back is toward Whip but her senses are not dulled. A third breath and the decision is made.
There was a technique in her art for situations like this - for trying to catch even the craftiest, most experienced opponents faster than they can respond, to strike them below their guard. And, digging deeper than she has in a long time, finding that personal diamond of resolve that has always been hidden within her, she attacks back. Hands press against the floor, launching her backward toward Whip, her trajectory just over the surface of the stage. She twists mid-route, kicking out with her right foot into a wide sweep. She'll land on her back just in front of Whip, but that's where the second strike comes from, pressing off with her hands to launch into a second, more directed kick with her left foot... The momentum would take her to standing once more should she pull it off She hasn't the breath to cry out, every last ounce of strength is dedicated to simply keeping the Futaba girl going, even if just a little bit longer!
COMBATSYS: Hotaru keeps on fighting!
[ \\\\\\ < > /// ]
Hotaru 0/-------/-------|=======\===----\1 Whip
COMBATSYS: Hotaru successfully hits Whip with En Un Kasou EX.
[ \\\\\\ < > ]
Hotaru 0/-------/-----==|=======\====---\1 Whip
Despite her intended attempt to force a surrender from Futaba earlier in this match - though not much earlier, outside of the laboured motions of battle, scarcely a minute or two for the onlookers - Whip's own grit forces her to echo the same sentiment. To the bitter end. This isn't a fight to the death, and there's nothing to risk but a slightly smaller paycheck, nothing to gain except a better education. A sharpening of the dual blade formed by body and mind. Why not stand, if one's able? Why not strike? Why not fight?
Perhaps the darkness they share is similar, even. Would either woman retreat even it were for their very life?
Whip is close to exhaustion, or as near as she can come in a single bout, her chest heaving beneath the restrictive bodice, a shiver threatening the length of her spine as sweat courses from the nape of her neck to the pit of her lower back. Recoiling her weapon, she scuffs a platform across the stage, slipping to a lower and wider stance that takes some of the immediate strain from bearing her tall figure aloft. Bright eyes watch Hotaru with a distant and wary alertness, seeing her hands clap to the floor, seeing her body arc once more...
It's beautiful. Were she an onlooker, she wouldn't be able to take her eyes away.
As the younger girl's opponent, she /cannot/.
The sweeping leg catches her in mid-evasion, the width of its arc sufficient to catch Whip in her attempted sidestep, her arms going high with Voodoo as she aims to pirouette out and then evolve the motion into a countering assault-- but she's slowed by the dawning tiredness, judgement threatened by the very nature of the circumstance they're both in. It's not just luck - it's never that - but they're so closely matched that were it any closer, they'd both be stumbling and falling. The second, vaulting kick blasts the Ikari into exactly that state, a tumble over those ridiculous heels sending her crashing to a shoulder, dropping against her injured arm and then flopping onto her front, damp, dyed hair falling about her face.
Formerly cheering people hold their breath. A single count passes, then two...
And then there's a flash of motion, a flash of white as Whip bares her teeth from a suddenly found crouch. If instinct has been assisting her throughout, it's now all she has, her gaze sweeping up to find Hotaru; but alighting, en route, upon a figure amidst the gathered throng. Shades, leather, a mop of stark hair. For all that Whip has an aura, it flares for an instant, the chi she cannot help but naturally utilize roiling through her hunkered form as she begins to rise, back arched, coils of the whip dragging before her, almost an animal.
"/Sssyah/!" It's nearly a snarl, that hissing expletive made as Whip... vanishes from view. A dim after-image, shadowy and quickly evaporating, remains in her wake, and to the keen-eyed - the keen-sensed - there's the faintest of echoing sparks in the air nearby, forming a loose and uneasy trail toward the younger girl. The seeming victor. There's a second flash, this one more literal, and unaffected nor aided by the spotlights rotating overhead. Looming from behind like the assassin she was trained to be; and still is, Whip appears behind her opponent just lifted enough from her former crouch to slip blue coils about her throat.
Almost falling as she does it, it seems to take the last of her energy, but if she find that grip--
Voodoo is pulled taut, and a brisk, perfectly practiced rotation of Whip's form carries Hotaru overhead, the soldier's back bending as she aims to slam her with forceful precision into the stage just before her feet. The first brutal toss leads into a second, less focused, but no less painful, as she spins about a second time and snaps one hand away, dragging her namesake clear at the apex. In near-tandem, her right leg chambers and unleashes a kick, striking toward the spine, seeking to propel Hotaru off toward the stage edge.
...and then, Whip sinks to a knee, then a three-point crouch, gasping as hair falls once more to cover her face.
COMBATSYS: Whip can no longer fight.
[ \\\\\\ <
Hotaru 0/-------/-----==|
COMBATSYS: Hotaru fails to interrupt Forbidden Engage Code from Whip with En Bi Kyaku.
COMBATSYS: Hotaru can no longer fight.
The attack was graceful and the descent back onto her feet handled with the alacrity Hotaru has demonstrated throughout the fight. She's winded, yes, soaked with evidence of extreme exertion, and biting back the pain of so many suffered strikes. But she's still moving. She has the vague notion that her attack connected as intended against her target, but the details are a blur. The mind can only keep track of so much and right now hers is furiously occupied with thoughts of how much she aches. She won't last much longer, she knows. But she can hold her head proud for having given it everything she has.
She starts to stand up straight when alarm bells go off in her head - a surge of energy, a twang in her mind - warns her that Whip has summoned another attack from that seemingly limitless reserve. How she keeps managing to fight so relentlessly is a bit of a mystery to the girl. Few fighters in the world can keep going non-stop with that degree of intensity. She's only starting to look over her shoulder when suddenly the Ikari Warrior is everywhere. She's back where she left her, she's three meters away, she's right behind her!
Eyes widen as the girl adjusts her stance in a fraction of a second. She wants to turn, to intercept with open palm the raised coils of Voodoo, to knock Whip away and protect herself. But she isn't fast enough this time. The coils drop over her head, the loops drawing tight, the trap secured. The featherweight is pulled off her feet, flipped over the back of Whip, hands at her neck in a vain attempt to get free. She isn't going down without a struggle, however, and out of that first flip, Hotaru lands hard on her feet, the wooden stage reveberating from the impact. She has trained to deal with attacks from behind, utilizing her flexability to execute one hell of a backward kick with enough force to quickly teach would-be attackers that she isn't so easily caught as that.
And so she demonstrates, twisting her hips, pivoting on her left foot, her right leg swinging forward a little then violently thrusting backward in a somewhat hooked motion. She narrowly misses, the uncanny soldier's use of a whip affords her enough range of movement to not be in the path of the powerful kick. If she had simply been choking the girl with her arm from behind, the outcome would have likely been quite different. A rush of wind blasts right past Whip's ear as Hotaru's leg goes wide, and then the smaller fighter is pulled up off her foot into another slam.
This time she hasn't the strength to recover out of it though her fingers continue to pry at the whip, face flushed with exhaustion. The painful kick to her upper back is more than she can take. The release from the coils of the whip is too small a mercy to notice against the blinding pain in her back as she goes flying. Even after all that, it seems like the young fighter going to catch herself, going into a tumble at the edge of the stage, hands snapping out to try and gain control... before she slides right off and crashes to the ground four feet below it.
She lies there for a second, staring up at the night sky, eyes unfocused and unblinking, arms sprawled out at her sides. When she goes to try and sit up, teeth grit, it finally proves to be too much. The pain her stomach forbids further action. Hotaru flops back down, panting for breath, allowing her eyes to close. "Wow." she finally breathes out between gasps for air. Someone will likely step forward before too long to give the Southtown heroine a helping hand, but in the meantime she can simply appreciate the experience of the fight. The full extent of post-fight aches she's in for will definitely register once the pain-dulling adrenaline rush wears off, but for now, all she can do is grin.
It's true, Whip is absolutely right. It's impossible to take one's eyes off. In fact, when his Ikari-lovin' sibling looks back to him for that moment of moral support, his eyes are locked on Hotaru. The shades probably do a good job of making this difficult to read, but as Futaba keeps.. on... fighting... well; K' lets out one of those low whistles we were talking about, before. He knows Whip is pushed to the point of exhaustion.. they both are. Bodies bruised but fervent to the last. The Kusanagi-attuned prototype can sure as shit appreciate /that/ sentiment.
One minute, he's admiring the grace and urgency of a last-ditch recovery. An instant later, and he's jerking his head back to track Hotaru as the young fighter is yanked out of frame like a failing comic of olde by his brother-in-law, Voodoo. It's strangely appropriate that the last instants of the battle are a refracted mirror of each other, to the wire from start to finish after all - and then pushing a ways past /that/ for both warriors, from where K' is standing.
Fairly quickly, rather than standing, the not-so-errant experiment is moving forward towards the fallen fighters, along with the Ikari's own medic and whatever crew that corrupt swindler, Ken Masters, spares from his own pocket to protect his media puppets!! ... ahem. One bare hand drops to tousle the fallen Whip's hair all-too-roughly as the announcer plays it up for the crowd, and displays all over the park glow with epilepsy-inducing graphics and combat highlights. Not to mention some very, very loud music.
"Hahah." K''s chuckle is genuine, if a little bit mocking, "You thought she might /give up/?" the renegade prototype asks of Whip rather incredulously indeed. Dumbass sister. Even if Hotaru had wavered for a moment, as far as the firebrand is concerned, this could only have ended one way. It's the details that are all shaken around - and leaving both girls on the ground, at this point, from said tumbling current.
K''s own trip offstage is decidedly less abrupt and painful than Hotaru's, simply dropping, legs bending to absorb the impact into a perfect, unnaturally graceful three-point crouch of his own near where Futaba landed. Once he rises in the next smooth motion, that hand rises to pluck crimson shades from his eyes, slipping them in the pocket of the black military BDUs he's wearing with equally black (fuck yea, black) shirt. No leather to be seen. It's likely because this shit was supposed to be 80's themed. Stick it to the man. The other sturdy arm is offered to Hotaru, along with a too-wry smirk, and a murmured, "You look like shit."
It's hard to see, hear or think right now; where there was only the fight, now there's a quickly emergent void rushing to replace it. Hotaru's collision with the stage and subsequent impact upon the festival ground registers upon Whip as she's sinking to support her body, adrenaline giving way to shuddering and shaking as though it was never so buoying the young woman to keep fighting. While it's a state of relief, ultimately...
That doesn't make it any easier to endure. Her brother's descending hand doesn't shock her because she's too busy attempting to simply keep her eyes open, registering as a dull and distant thump against the invisible walls boxing her in. Glazing eyes run sidelong, still carrying a faint gleam as they pick out the familiar form, and her gasping mouth quirks to something approaching the sardonic. His words would make her laugh, but she can't manage that much, all she can do is work up the breath to pour out a simple reply:
"Thought, yes. Hoped? No."
Her head shakes, droplets of sweat flickering through the air, catching in the bright lights pulsating from above, singing with the roar of the crowd and the hammy cheese of the announcer. Whip casts her head up for as long as she can, squinting as she watches K' slink from her to the younger girl, a puzzled frown creasing her brow at the look he gives her - his body language clear to one who's spent so long studying it - along with the words. They really should talk more, about their lives and and what they've done, who they /know/.
Because this is the first that Whip's heard she has any kind of connection to the tenacious kenpo-ka.
"You..." She begins, only to fall at the second hurdle. "She--? Huh."
Literally. A split-second later, she faceplants into the stage with a perplexed gurgle.
Though, like Hotaru, somewhere along the line a smile manages to touch her lips. This rest is well and happily earned.
Log created on 16:25:17 05/26/2012 by Hotaru, and last modified on 09:38:14 05/28/2012.