Description: A drunken Whip and Faolan stumble upon a listless Freeman, having an itch he wants to get scratched. It turns out that he finds a kindred soul in the brutal femme Ikari, although their sordid affair is interrupted. By horrible, bloody violence. WARNING: Explicit content. You have been warned!
Even before the fierce gang war currently consuming the devastated streets of Outer Sunshine, the savvy knew not to venture out after dark; at least, certainly not alone or in a vulnerable state. Like being blind drunk. Of course, most people aren't elite mercenaries trained to resolve conflict through both direct and stealthy intervention, capable of placing a bullet clean through a skull at a hundred yards or fight all but the best of fighters to a standstill individually - even while somewhat tanked on alcohol. Hell, the runner-up team of King of Fighters 2005 was at least fifty percent wasted off their honed pecs, but there's drunk and then there's...
Really fucking drunk.
"You shouldn't've done that, Faaaaaaaaolan," slurs Whip as she stumbles away from her compatriot for about the fifty seventh time in five minutes, arms swaying as she almost drops the two-litre bottle of gold-label tequila clutched in her bangle-laden hand. Catching it with a snatching motion and successfully only slopping a little all over the filthy tarmac underfoot, she lets out a hiccupping giggle before upending the bottle for a triple slug of the stuff, gulping it down without even properly registering that she /has/. This heralds a frown as she squints at the upraised bottle, using her other hand to line up a finger against the line of unquaffed booze - her short-term memory clearly, obviously, good enough right now that she can recall where it was.
Apparently she has moderate success, nodding to herself and straightening up irrespective of the slightly greasy brown bangs that fall across her flushed cheeks and partly obscure her vision. Stretching the bottle out toward Faolan (with only one 'a'), she resumes her protest.
"He wash a really nice guy! Only wanted-- wanted to buy me shome drinksh... to shelebrate my-- my bruffa winning, y'know?" Blinking, she pauses to let out a reasonably quiet, but highly gaseous belch, and also to adjust the strap of her blue crop-top, which has fallen well past the reasonable limit of her shoulder. Fortunately this dimly lit street, surrounded by pitch-dark back alleys and tumbled trashcans, is not remotely the sort of place where unsavoury individuals might lurk. And she has a stalwart protector with her who's probably not even a bit drunk himself. Sheehan's a responsible, disciplined soldier. An elite operative.
"I SAID..." Whip repeats because she doesn't get an answer in .05 seconds. "Y'--" *hic* "Know!?"
Just like she is.
There is partying and then there is partying the Ikari way. For those who didn't know the Ikari way is the proper way, but many people just don't have the dedication and fortitude to do so. Of course even then there is sometimes going too far over the top and Whip may have actually found that zone where she maybe should have stopped after the tenth or so shot that was offered to her when at the bar. Many of the other Ikari in town were still lingering there, but someone had to make sure Whip made it back to the hotel the group was staying at. Faolan just happened to get the short straw.
The man is inebriated himself, but not near as bad as the young woman is at this point. He can at least for the most part walk straight and if anything he is just easily distracted and well....damn he could go for some nachos right now. Something nice and greasy to help deal with the inevitable hangover he is going to have in the morning. "And he did buy you plenty. I think when you offered to take off your shirt for the next round was a good place to stop you." he says while mumbling a bit. He is using his free hand to grab Whip by the shoulder every so often to make sure she doesn't go stumbling into something or just fall right over while the other hand is more holding his bata to let him use it as a walking stick to help maintain his own balance.
"Ya still got your own fight. Gonna....gonna be late if you kept sitting there and drinking." Unlike her he could have stayed, but nooooooo. Someone has to be responsible. Last thing Heidern wants to see is a story about a naked Whip running about through Sunshine City. The Irishman continues to attempt to direct Whip about, turning her about a corner as they make their way towards the hotel. "Come on....just a few more blocks."
"Pfff!" The genetically-perfect assassin waves her bottle dismissively in the air, sending another sloshing spray of heady liquid flying toward Faolan's feet. He's used to it, it's fine. "Who needsh a /ssshhirt/, they just weigh you down, man! They're like, a... icon of the shyshtem or shomething..." She lets out another giggle as that ebbs away, as if it was oh-so-hilarious that a mercenary-for-hire on the lam from a criminal cartel were doing something so terribly scandalous as bucking the system. And then she abruptly thrusts her bottle against the Irishman's chest, giving him all of half a second to grab hold of it before she's left it in his care and is attempting to remove her shirt with all the manual dexterity of a paraplegic donkey.
This could go on for some time - it's a good thirty seconds before she even gets one arm free, and then she seems stuck, making pathetic little grunts and flailing about as she keeps trying to get the article off. The most shocking thing she's managed to do is bare her usually well-toned, but alcohol-swollen midriff and flash a bit of bra-encased (she remembered!) underboob. Nothing her fellow Ikari hasn't seen a million times.
She favours Faolan's further LOGICKING with the occasional 'pff' and 'whateverrrr' while busying herself in her Herculean trial, stumbling along simultaneously. It actually helps her walk, inexplicably. Nonetheless: "Thish ish hard," she grumbles after approximately two minutes have passed, letting her arms drop and blowing some of the hair from her face, then pursing her lips to one side as she builds up fresh momentum.
DRUNKYSYS: Whip gathers her will.
Her face pales somewhat, and she glances toward a nearby alleyway, wobbling in mid-stride. Her eyes narrow.
DRUNKYSYS: Whip calculates her next move.
"...I feel shick...!!" And then she's taking off, pulling away from Faolan, arms still half-constricted by the awkward semi-nakedness of her torso as she winds and staggers toward the black alley, cheeks puffing out once she's two thirds of the way there, stomach rumbling and eyes wide with the expectation of a suddenly empty stomach. Conveniently placed underneath a deceased streetlamp and consequently nothing more than a scattered shadow to her left-behind colleague, she doubles over just as she reaches 'safe distance', horfing up a half dozen litres of yellowy, bile-drenched water. It's really best not to describe the sound she makes. A few moments later, she's on one knee and dragging in deep breaths, but feels the need to distantly murmur:
"'m okay..."
The bottle is thrust at Faolan and he fumbles with it with his free hand and manages to grasp it without it falling to the ground to shatter. He then quickly has to set it down as he reaches to try and fumble to keep Whip from removing her top fully. Thankfully for once it seems like she actually took the time to put on a bra, but even so going topless in the outer parts of Sunshine isn't probably the best of ideas. Sure both Whip and Faolan are Ikari, but they are a bit on the inebriated side, 'a bit', and if a group of gangers came around they might be in for some trouble.
His struggle to try and keep Whip clothed helps somewhat, but she stumbles away and he knows that face. He has seen several Ikari make tha face before. He has made that face before. "Oh come on! Can't you at......" he just looks away and he shakes his head when he starts to hear the young woman horf up all the alcohol she had been ingesting the past few hours. "Man, what a waste." He knows better not to see the result. He has been drinking enough that if he saw things he might find his own stomach weakened.
"Come on soldier, we gotta get you to bed." He says as he goes to reach to grasp her and help heft her back to her feet and begin leading her again. At least with a drunk Whip he can handle unlike some of the other women he has met. Maybe because she is more like family than some crazy floozy that throws themself at him. He slips an arm around her waist and lets her lean up against to help stay upright and he prays she is at least done with her horfing so he doesn't get it all over himself.
Gangers might be a preferrable outcome to the specter that has been haunting Sunshine City in the last weeks. The loud, listless sort of noises coming from Whip as she struggles against the considerable bondage of confining clothing reaches the ears of a wayward Freeman. He is in a state most dangerous to the more mundane masses... listless, between the strong tides of impulse that drive his bloodlust like a focused laser. Looking at him wrong can trigger a fixation, which escalates into an inevitable crescendo of death. Like an addict who keeps snorting coke, then poking at the bag remaining and wondering if it'll kick in this time or not.
Distracted as they are, it is likely easy to miss the tall figure who has interposed himself upon the sidewalk ahead. Freeman is not that intimidating physically; not quite tall, thin of shoulder and narrow of limb, trenchcoat hanging from his form like he were a scarecrow lacking little more substance then sticks. But there's something about this percieved vulnerability that's... appealing. A young, nubile fighter in a position to be taken advantage of. The struggles of a lesser beside, trying to navigate her to safety.
Instinct dominates the beast and monster he has become. Like a fattened cat coming upon an injured mouse, his driving urge now is to... play.
In a sort of lazy walk, Freeman begins to walk towards the pair, only about ten meters away. He begins to sing, voice chillingly beautiful; an opera of some sort, Latin words lost to translation and instead ringing out only emotion. The chorus continues as he raises his right hand idly towards the adjacent brick wall passing by. When they touch, rigid scratches are left behind in a long trail, soundless...
"'m not going to /bed/ with you," protests Whip as she's lifted from the floor, head lolling and generally looking absolutely, one-hundred-per-frickin'-percent fuckable as a line of something foul dribbles out from one side of her mouth. "No' after lasht time..." To be fair, she'd lift a hand to wipe it away if said hand weren't still waving about in the air like one of those tiny crippled crabhands that people can't stop staring at. Or you know, a T-Rex. Both thoughts occur to her a minute later as she's half-dragged, half-slithering along, and she suddenly lets out the crudest, most ridiculous guffaw, spraying vom-flecked spittle into the air.
"Dinoshaursh're /aweshome/," she decides with an attempt a firm nod, managing one last titter before another, highly-important thought distracts. Her bleary brown eyes ping-pong sidelong to Faolan and back toward the recently vacated alleyway. "Wait, did you...?" That comes out almost coherent, a bat of heavy lids sending her gaze slipping back to her fellow Ikari - or so she intends, as they stop halfway upon distraction.
Freeman may be a raggedy bundle of twigs, and he's not the sort to intimidate Whip even were that any easier to do than it is; it takes a great deal of psychological grief to really bust through to the deadly brunette. The insidious claws of NESTS are a hard act to follow, her troubles running so deep as to be a sanctuary for the bulk of her negative feeling - she rarely worries, or gets scared. But she's human, and there's something so intensely creepy about this apparition that she at least has to stop and stare.
Scratching nails barely register over the immediate disruption of song, the Ikari's brow and nose crinkling.
"Ugh!" She finally grunts out, still half out of her top and being supported by Sheehan as she attempts to draw herself up with empassioned dignity. "Y'should, like, sing /metal/, man. That shtuff's fer-- fer shtuffy old guysh." One eye slips shut as her limp neck muscles betray another loll of her head, sending smoke-stained hair across one half of her face, and she disengages with Faolan in her attempt to bring it back, veering several feet away from him and several feet toward Freeman, stumbling up in front of the other, still squinting.
"'ello," she says in sudden surprise as she realizes where she is, pushing back her hair and - in the process - finally succeeding in getting her top over her breasts, now offering up a fair expanse of lightly tanned flesh. Momentarily caught in the moonlight, getting past the dribble on her face and the haze over her gaze, she's the sort of morsel not many stalkers would pass up... though she ruins it a moment later by giving another gassy belch and breaking out in delirious laughter, slapping her raised arm down toward Freeman's narrow shoulder.
"Oop!" If he doesn't a) push her off or b) murderize her, she proceeds to fall heavily against him. "Bahahaha!"
There is a bit of a smirk that forms on Faolan's lips at the response he gets. "Last time happened because you should know better than to sleep in another Ikari's bed when they are out training. You have only yourself to blame on that one." he tells her before he finds out Whip fucking loves dinosaurs apparently. Yeah, she seems a bit too far gone and getting her to the hotel will be a nice burden lifted off his shoulders. If he is lucky he can make it back to the bar before the rest of the guys drink themselves under. It is much less fun to party with Ikari when you are the most sober one of the group. Maybe if he is smart he will remember a camera so he can have good comedy material once everyone sobers up.
His thoughts are disrupted when he hears the voice approaching, His gaze shifting some as he watches Freeman with a bit of a raised brow. Where Whip is much more talkative and the like he remains back as he is unsure what to make of the man that approaches. He stumbles some when Whip pulls away and he almost grabs for her, but she is already out of arm's reach by the time he starts to move. "Don't mind her, she has had a long night." he tells Freeman as he gives a bit of a grimace.
This guy doesn't look like he is a member of the gangs that have been causing trouble, but at the same time something just feels off to Faolan. Perhaps he is just feeling a bit paranoid? That hand tightens on the bata he carries as he moves towards Whip and Freeman. In case she gets clingy or decides to try and remove the rest of her shirt he best pull her away and let both parties go about their own business.
It is not often that a fluffy prey animal will so thoroughly throw herself into the embrace of a predator. At the moment, Freeman is still not exuding much of a threatening aura. Were that not the case, it is likely Faolan would be much less accomodating the sudden intimacy between the pair. The lazy sort of singing drifts off when the mention about music is said, and Freeman inclines his head to the side, suddenly curious. "...Metal? I love metal... the intensity of music must shake the very core of your soul..." Little social faux pas have no negative influence on a creature with none. In fact, they might be much more compatible then many would think humanly possible. Neither, after all, have the slightest concept of being a good person. Instead he begins to belt out the famous chorus to Bohemian Rhapsody, given the lyrics of heavy metal are somewhat inappropriate without the accompanying music. Arms spread wide to faciliate it, and a small ripple of crimson energy might be caught by Faolan's gaze. The longer Freeman is absorbed, the more he seems dangerous. And not in the somewhat uncomfortable manner; for someone on a battlefield, it is like the oppressive feel of silence before a bloody battle you know is taking place in seconds, and you may not survive. Whip thumps against his body, causing Freeman to wobble backwards and cease his courting song. Slowly his head dips down, bangs shifting away. His features are thoroughly attractive, lean and sharp. Something few are ever given opportunity to appreciate. "You are an interesting woman..." Eyes are upon Whip's throat, slowly brushing the back of his fingers up her jugular. Feeling the warm, lazy pulse of her heartbeat. A single drop of blood would run down, when his affection got too deep.
Unlike her better-prepared colleague, Whip isn't armed to the teeth tonight; in her cute blue top, half-removed, her flared jeans and fuck-me boots, there aren't many places to secrete weapons without raising alarm. Voodoo has been carefully tucked into her hotel bed, the television left on - and extra services paid for - to ensure he doesn't get bored and start missing his errant partner. A blade rides against her ankle though, concealed by the slick leather of her right boot, and her 'belt' is a spare bullwhip tied off above the crotch. She'd never put a knot in her beloved, of course, hence the need for a change in armament.
Anyway, it's all a bit moot when she collapses against Freeman, blithely singing along to the ceased lyrics - and getting most of the words wrong - as she leans into his chest. The first thing to register on the back of her numbed brain is that he's strong enough not to just collapse under her weight; she's not a slip of a thing, and with that much muscle in her movements, most people wouldn't just /stand there/. The second is his scent, the usually-subtle if heady musk of a human being intensifying under the influence. Particularly on a stranger; and that's the third thought, a flash of danger as she looks up, kindling a grin on her moist lips.
"Y'don't know the halff of it," she assures Freeman, head tipping to one side - rather less seductively than she might usually manage - as his hand runs along her warm, flushed skin, brushing back strands of hair that fall almost artfully loose against the side of her face and neck. For all she's in a state most (or at least many) sober men would find faintly repulsive, she wears the scruffy look well, and her eyes shine in the moonlight as they meet Freeman's. That heartbeat is slightly quickened even before the drawing of blood, and that only makes her grin all the wider, baring her teeth in an almost feral gesture as she thrusts forward.
"/Naughty/," she hisses in a brusque whisper, her face suddenly perilously close to his, lips curling with the added pain as she pulls against his razorblade touch. "Why don't you shing s'more, mmm?" With one hand still trapped, her movements are clumsy, but she runs her supporting hand down his front, clutching briefly around his right pectoral before she pinches him hard, at the most tender point. Too hard, even, her own short nails digging into his nipple with a brutal enough twist that she draws countering blood.
Things going violent is something Faolan rather not have. He might be able to handle things somewhat, but he is just unsure how much Whip might be able to defend herself if things go south. If he only know who the man before them really was he would be acting alot more quickly than he is at the moment. Instead he starts to move in close, but not in a quick manner. A hand is reaching out to grasp for the back of Whip's shirt as he starts to raise up his bata. He isn't liking this one bit. Looks like the gangers aren't the only trouble that are roaming the streets of Sunshine City this night.
"He tugs at the shirt with enough force to try and get Whip to pull away from Freeman while the bata moves to push the man's hand away from Whip's throat. "I believe that is enough." Surprisingly it seems like he is talking to Whip just as much as Freeman. He isn't sure what to make of the man and having Whip get aggressive might just set the stranger off in a bad way. A few steps are taken back, but Faolan seems at least ready enough to leap into action if need be. Right now he is more intent on putting some seperation between Freeman and Whip.
"Enough playing around you two. We will just be on our way." he says as he looks at Whip. His expression is on the serious side as shifts to sort of put himself between the two as he motions for his fellow Ikari to follow him as he looks to go a bit wide and walk around Freeman, his stance shifting to where he remains facing the strange man instead of putting his back to him at any point."
"..." Freeman is having fun with this prey. After all, he was in a playful mood from the onset. There is something comforting about Whip, as if she were a big piece of cake that is sinfully delicious to consume. He had intended to take his time to enjoy this unique opportunity thoroughly before killing Whip. But it seems that there is a third wheel that the pair will mutually believe is simply getting in the way. Content enough to begin some Rammstein lyrics, with a sort of purr to it that makes it sound more like a ballade then angry shrieking, a finger presses the dab of blood into Freeman's mouth. Yet Faolan wouldn't get very far. When he tries to tug away Whip, it is resisted. And what's shocking is the utter ease in which it is done. Like he were somehow tethered to the concrete, Whip is the only one to get tugged about as a result. Feeling possessive of his toy, Freeman somewhat casually reaches out his hand in Faolan's direction. "Go away." Suddenly his arm slithers into a blur of speed, trying to grasp the least Ikari by the face. Were it successful, a wrenching motion would /slam/ his face into the adjacent newspaper vending machine's glass front, hard enough to probably send it's steel anchored bolts popping out of the ground.
COMBATSYS: Freeman has started a fight here.
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Freeman 0/-------/-------|
COMBATSYS: Faolan has joined the fight here.
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Freeman 0/-------/-------|-------\-------\0 Faolan
COMBATSYS: Whip has joined the fight here on the right meter side.
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Faolan 0/-------/-------|-------\-------\0 Whip
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Freeman 0/-------/-------|
COMBATSYS: Whip has joined the fight here on the left meter side.
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Faolan 0/-------/-------|-------\-------\0 Freeman
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Whip 0/-------/-------|
COMBATSYS: Freeman has joined the fight here on the right meter side.
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Faolan 0/-------/-------|-------\-------\0 Freeman
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Whip 0/-------/-------|
COMBATSYS: Freeman has joined the fight here on the left meter side.
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Whip 0/-------/-------|-------\-------\0 Faolan
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Freeman 0/-------/-------|
COMBATSYS: Geese has joined the fight here as a boss! You cannot escape wrong death.
GEESE
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0|---------------|------------===
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Whip 0/-------/-------|-------\-------\0 Faolan
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Freeman 0/-------/-------|
COMBATSYS: Geese has left the fight here.
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Whip 0/-------/-------|-------\-------\0 Faolan
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Freeman 0/-------/-------|
Trouble comes in many forms. This dark, alluring creature might take any one of them, but all the drunken Ikari sees through her stuporous daze is a chance to enjoy herself for a few minutes - all but completely fazing out Faolan's presence as she revels in the excitement, adrenaline pulsing through her veins forming a heady cocktail with the... many heady cocktails she's consumed prior. In her eyes is none of the fear or trepidation Freeman might be used to, nor the submissive stare of a lost lamb playing at being a wolf; it's almost as though something in Whip would compel her toward this entanglement even were she at her full faculties.
Just how black a thrill the former assassin is willing to derive becomes a question lost to anticipation as she's hauled back and forth, all her gathered poise lost as she flails to an uncertain standstill, stomping those over-sexed boots in a playful faux-tantrum as she directs a pout toward Faolan.
"Y'just-- hate it when I'm happy..." She demurs demurely, before deciding that - if enough is enough - then it's probably high time she rid herself of that pesky shirt, wriggling about for a few seconds to free herself and finally send the poor, abused garment fluttering into the nearby gutter. "Hmph!" Drawing herself up as best she can, she stretches her arms upward and to the sides, revelling in the newfound freedom. "Naked time!"
Unfortunately, someone appears to be ruining the sanctity of Naked Time with violence.
"Um?" She leans forward to squint at Freeman for a moment, then flicks her stare down to his abused nipple. There's one thing that the lapsed NESTS operative has come to value more than the darkness to which she flutters like a reverse-moth, and that's the friends she's made during her escape to reality-- an escape which is still ever ongoing, to judge by her constant alcoholic twist-turns... and the fact she was well on her way to falling into a fetid back alley and nastily riding Freeman's raggedy bones until he'd had his fill.
"Bad doggy." But she does know which side her bread is buttered, ultimately, and proves this by suddenly slamming a fist forward to collide with some considerable force against the stranger's right breast. "No bishcuit." Or she tries, at least, with all the grace and tact of a menstrual rhinocerous.
COMBATSYS: Faolan blocks Freeman's Strong Throw.
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Whip 0/-------/-------|==-----\-------\0 Faolan
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Freeman 0/-------/-------|
He wasn't sure when the strike would happen or where, but there was a deep down feeling this wasn't going to end well. If anything at least he managed to get Whip away from Freeman and he is at least hoping he is sober enough to deal with the stranger if things do get violent. It seems that being prepared is a good thing too because when Freeman does make the move to attack it is so damn quick. Faolan is lucky to get his feet planted firmly as he feels his face grabbed. It ends up being alot harder to toss him in this case. The Ikari finds himself being moved, but he isn't rammed head first into that machine, but instead he shifts to where he hits it hard with his shoulder. It is still with a quite a bit of force, but dealing with a sore shoulder is alot easier than dealing with busted up face.
He draws himself back up to full height as he rolls his shoulders a few times to try and ease the soreness out of the one. "Whip, be careful. This one ain't one of the street punks." he barks at her and it is a bit too late. It seems like she is already leaping into action which makes the Irishman curse a bit under his breath. She is a tough girl, but she probably isn't in any real shape to fight.
That is why he will just have to try and keep Freeman's attention instead. Barreling forward the Irishman looks to come right back at Freeman as he grips that bata tight with both hands. At the last moment he releases with his left hand and then lunges forward, a thrusting motion made with the bata aimed to jab it into the side of Freeman, black energy forming at the tip that gives an almost electrical shock if it connects with the side of the crazed fighter.
COMBATSYS: Freeman dodges Whip's Strong Punch.
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Whip 0/-------/-------|==-----\-------\0 Faolan
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Freeman 0/-------/-------|
COMBATSYS: Faolan successfully hits Freeman with Bata Thrust.
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Whip 0/-------/-------|===----\-------\0 Faolan
[ \\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\ <
Freeman 0/-------/------=|
It takes a rather significant amount of effort to slug Freeman in the face, really. He is an insanely flexible individual with reflexes well past the prodigal. A sort of careless weave takes him to the side, the first missing cleanly despite getting rather close... brushing against the side of his trenchcoat, but with no ill effect. "...?" He doesn't really seem surprised by the fighting Whip, although the fact that Faolan was not, in fact, dead with his face shoved through the front of a newspaper vending machine is a bit bothersome. The jab has insane speed even for him, and an arm only barely lifts before striking true against his ribs with a sharp crackle of lightning. But there's no heavy damage, as he finally fully extricates himself from Whip. "Ah... fine. I'll play with you too. You do not have to be jealous!!" Freeman then whips forward, snapping his hand up in a crimson flare. A burst of chi attempts to tear into Faolan's shoulder, flowing in a fluid, serpentine manner to unleash a second blow before a last, brutal strike aiming to sink into his stomach... Aiming to bury it deep, before moving to literally kick the Ikari off.
"I know that, c'mon," mumbles the drunkest of the Ikari as she retracts her fist with an irritable frown, lifting it to her face to stare at it for several moments-- so many, in fact, that her eyes begin to cross and she's quite literally swaying about on the spot, almost like a charmed snake as Freeman lurches beyond her to take the assault to her stalwart fellow soldier. "Shings too good to be, y'know... a thing..."
Her other hand waves vaguely, and she stifles another belch, releasing air with a puff of her cheeks as she swings around to face the action. Watching the killer in motion - even in the finality of it, his dissipating bloody chi following the upward swathe of a thin, but brutally powerful arm - is a lesson in a whole new form of movement. In a more formidable state, she'd find it utterly fascinating but now, like this, it's just incredibly confusing. Wobbling to and fro again, she flexes her hand a couple of times.
"Watch out," she urges way, way too late, considering what to do next. Such a shame she puked already.
COMBATSYS: Whip focuses on her next action.
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Whip 0/-------/-------|===----\-------\0 Faolan
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Freeman 0/-------/-======|
COMBATSYS: Faolan fails to interrupt EX Vision of Death from Freeman with Jig Kick.
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Whip 0/-------/-------|=====--\-------\0 Faolan
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Freeman 1/-------/=======|
Play? It seems like he and Whip really ran into a winner thsi evening. If anything the Ikari may be glad to get out of this with their lives by the time all is said and done. He kind of wishes they had stayed at the bar now or at least had a few other mercs come along with them. Really the only threat they had considered was just the gang members which wasn't a huge deal. This is a moment where the Ikari are forced to prepare for something that was unexpected. A good thing they excel at that for the most part. Usually it helps when they haven't been hitting the bottle so hard as Whip's attempt at a punch is proof enough of that.
The Irishman grimaces a bit. He at least got the attention of the crazed fighter. He at least probably has a better chance at properly defending himself. He tries to keep up with the movements of Freeman, but the man is much quicker. There is a grunt and he grits his teeth as he feels his shoulder being torn into by the crimson energy that Freeman wields. The pain is enough that it further dulls his reflexes to where he is left with just a feeble attempt at throwing a kick at Freeman when that second hand buries itself in his stomach.
"Hnnng, Whip....perhaps you should get....help." the Ikari manages to say as he staggers back and sinks to a knee. His free hand comes to rest on the wound that was opened up and he tries to make sure nothing is falling out or the like. That other hand remains firmly gripping his bata as he sort of keeps it held up in a defensive manner.
Freeman yanks his hand out almost casually, with a rather sickening noise. His hand is caked in blood, looked at with some manner of fascination. Whip's little drunken attempt at focusing her thoughts and actions remains ignored for the time being. Oh, the serial killer still plans to have his way with her. Slow penetration and such is in the cards, if not in the manner she might have been wriggling towards. "Help...? There is no help in a city such as this." It is clear that the murderer does not recognize either of them. That these are Heidern's children does not even register, and would not be a determent even were that the case. "But please... do not die yet..." Whirling forward in a billow of trenchcoat, Freeman twists out and attempts to press his fingertips to the top of Faolan's forehead. "I'd like to savor these moments...!!" And then his hand brutally rakes down, an explosion of red chi attempting to rip open his face in a manner better suited to the likes of slasher films.
Intense situations such as these are what the Ikari have been trained for-- under more auspicious circumstance, they'd likely have been despatched to deal with Freeman following his antics, though as yet his public awareness isn't so high to attract their well-paid ministrations. It's part of why Whip doesn't register the import of the situation, though the high volume of alcohol and her adrenalized heartrate account further. Even watching Faolan apparently torn asunder in record time, crumpled with unusual lack of gaelic-spirited vim and vigour, doesn't push it all the way home. But it awakens her own beast a little.
"Help?" She scoffs, correcting the backward lolling of her head with a sudden forward tip that almost sends her toppling over her own toes. There's a scuffing from her fuck-me boots as she corrects posture, then scoffing again for good measure. "Help? Pffff!!" Spraying some still-slightly bile-y foam into the air, she reclenches her raised fist and cocks it back before jolting forward through the chilly night, flesh goose-pimpling about her naked torso and modest chest bouncing within its remaining restraint - which is quite nice, for what it's worth, a lacey peach that would nicely complement the crop top she just discarded.
As it happens, it would look exceedingly good with blood spattered over it.
"HEY!" That last is for Freeman's benefit rather than the thoroughly distracted reader (take that fourth wall!), because as sudden as she's able Whip is /right the hell there/, spreading her legs to drop low and hard beside the giddy killer. That hazy stare is far more intense than it was a moment or three before, her eyes meeting his with a ready animal instinct more vengeful than lusty. Her torso twists, body following through from the hip to send a second, almost incredibly heightened punch straight between the killer's eyes. She throws her weight into the blow, breathing out as she extends her arm to throw him back across the street.
If she makes it, she even keeps her balance, standing there like some glorious, dirty valkyrie.
"That's /my/ Irishman, /bitch/."
*hic*
Okay, that kind of ruins it. Dumb Whip.
COMBATSYS: Faolan endures Freeman's Strong Punch.
[\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\ < > ///////////////// ]
Whip 0/-------/-------|=======\-------\1 Faolan
[ \\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\ <
Freeman 1/------=/=======|
Don't die? Pfft, while Faolan has some worry about the situation it is less for his own safety and more for his fellow Ikari in this case. He is fine with holding the line while Whip could go out and get some help to properly give this guy the message that he should mess with an Ikari. It seems like his request is rather ignored by his drunken friend and it seems he may just have to shoulder the load a bit more and hope somehow Whip might become useful this fight instead of getting her sorry ass killed.
His jaw is set and the Ikari rises up onto both feet again as Freeman comes in with a slash. The way he barrels forward he tilts his head to the side to where the slash itself comes down across cheek and chest, the shirt he is wearing pretty much becoming tatters combined with the previous attack. He is bleeding rather heavily at this point as well, but there is something of a grin on his face even as the gashed created from the attack leak blood rather heavily. "Ikari don't die, buddy. We might get our ass kicked, but I think being run over by a tank is worse than any of your pussyfooting, schoolgirl nail slashing, strikes can do." He brings the bata high over his head as he aims to bring it right the hell down on the crown of Freeman as hard as he can. "If you are sticking around you better not be useless, Whip!"
COMBATSYS: Freeman dodges Faolan's Fierce Strike.
[\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\ < > /////////////// ]
Whip 0/-------/-------|=======\=------\1 Faolan
[ \\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\ <
Freeman 1/------=/=======|
COMBATSYS: Whip successfully hits Freeman with Strong Punch.
[\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\ < > /////////////// ]
Whip 0/-------/-------|=======\=------\1 Faolan
[ \\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\ <
Freeman 1/-----==/=======|
Eyes close as if in quiet exasperation. He truly hates things such as alcohol. It muddies one's perception, and blinds them to the gift he offers. It is like showing riches to the blind. Even were he to try his hardest to describe it, such would remain only a distant and alien concept. He can feel the fun quickly rushing out of the occasion, although that also brings to bear the morbid fact that his killing grace will only get sharper and higher. The brutal strike from Faolan's bata misses cleanly, although he evades right into the line of Whip's punch. It strikes true, although the report from her knuckles isn't the dull pain of something solid. It was like punching a nerf doll, or Clark. He does go staggering backwards, yet this seems an issue of balance more then anything else. "I asked you to go away...!!" An impatient Freeman brutally leverages his foot, striking out towards Faolan. A shimmer of red energy summons up as he attempts to send the Ikari hurtling away, with no small amount of excessive effort. "Only the girl... might be fun... You can simply *bleed* for me..."
That palpable hit is satisfying - more than her flirtation with brutal back-alley sex or even the usual satisfaction derived from battle. The weapon-slinging Ikari is an odd beast, to say the least, but in this area at least she's reasonably easy to understand - she's a murderous creature conditioned to enjoy danger and violence, to derive pleasure from the art of war, to accept it and even seek it out because it's what she does best. It's all she's really capable of doing. It's why she both embraces it and turns tail to run, but now - with the pulse of drugs through her system, staring death in its quite literal face - the latter is gone.
In this moment, despite her state and lack of arms, NESTS' escaped pet may well have never flown the coop.
"Y'r the one who'sh /dying/," Whip asides to Faolan with what she imagines is a firmly sisterly sternness, coupled with the darkly playful air of a comrade, but it comes across more like precisely what it is; a sloppy drunk chick nagging her battered, bleeding friend when anyone half-decent would be concentrating on getting them both the hell out of Dodge. Or at least doing something to stop the incoming kick from Freeman, which gets past her vision before she's managed to reach her next, decisive action. "H-Hey! You assshhhole!!"
Fortunately for the Ikari duo, insulting a girl's ability to make with the fun is guaranteed to draw ire. She may be forgetting where she is and what she's supposed to be doing minute by minute, but she can't ignore that, her mouth downturning into what would be almost adorable - her face carrying an injured youthful innocence in her inebriated state - if she weren't cursing and reaching to remove her jeans with the sort of desperate speed only teenagers in love normally manage when faced with the tantalizing prospect of a quickie.
"I'll show you fun!" She promises as she stumbles forward once more, having very little ground to cover in a burst of activity as she whips her improvised belt from its hooks with a rush, jeans immediately loosening to fall halfway down her hips as she twists and extends her arms, bearing between two hands the looped form of that bullwhip. The coils are destined to fall over the top of Freeman's head, seeking to drag him in close with a sudden, brutal inward jerk, snapping against the back of his neck and forcing that skinny frame against Whip's surprisingly solid torso - or at least, it is beyond the soft padding of bra and breasts.
"Happy fffuckin' Funday, loverboy," she attempts to whisper seductively into the killer's ear before bending like a reed, lifting him from contact with her goosepimpled flesh to send him toppling over her back and into the filthy pavement with devastating efficiency even in her semi-coherent state.
COMBATSYS: Faolan blocks Freeman's Heavy Kick.
[\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\ < > ///////////// ]
Whip 0/-------/-------|=======\===----\1 Faolan
[ \\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\ <
Freeman 1/----===/=======|
Well Faolan is certainly bleeding so he is doing a good job there. If that is what Freeman was wanting he certainly has that request fullfilled at the moment. It isn't making it easy to keep moving either for the Irishman. The loss of blood combined with the fact he had already been drinking has made him start to feel more light headed. Trying to keep his focus isn't the easiest of things. At the same time he has his wits about him enough to keep standing. He rather not leave a drunken Whip to fight this guy on her own. This is why he has to keep going and try his best to ignore the pain as best he can.
The powerful kick is delivered, but Fao manages to grip the bata firmly with both hands and bring it up to where the foot impacts against it. It is still forceful enough to push him back, but at least he isn't having to deal with broken ribs on top of the gashes and the nice little puncture in his stomach. "I guess I am not very good at taking orders from people that aren't Ikari." he admits to Freeman when told he should have gone away. Really, does anyone ever really listen to those kinda requests?
He takes a deep breath and his eyes narrow a bit. One hand releases the bata as he watches Whip and Freeman momentarily. He concentrates during that time to focus his energy into the fighting stick he carries. A large, blackish orb forming at the end of it and growing large by the moment as the chi snakes around the gnotted up wood. Be brings the bata back one more time then trusts forward, this time not looking to jab it into Freeman, but to unleash that rather slow moving ball of energy that rolls forward and looks to roll right over Freeman and give him another electrical jolt.
COMBATSYS: Faolan successfully hits Freeman with Black Friday Rule.
-* CRITICAL HIT! *-
[\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\ < > /////////// ]
Whip 0/-------/-------|>>>>>--\-------\0 Faolan
[ \\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\ <
Freeman 1/--=====/=======|
COMBATSYS: Whip successfully hits Freeman with Zed.
[\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\ < > /////////// ]
Whip 0/-------/------=|>>>>>--\-------\0 Faolan
[ \\\\\\\\\\\\\\\ <
Freeman 1/=======/=======|
Faolan has been dismissed readily since the start of the battle. Freeman does not consider him to be a threat, and in a direct confrontation alone with no other factors that might very well be the case. However, he is still an Ikari. One of those can only drop off the radar to a certain extent before it is irrelevant the gulf in skill. They will travel it with raw brutality. When the ball of energy is launched out, Freeman takes a moment to look at it. Oh. That? It's so slow, there's not really any point in giving it any heed. Then he notices Whip's pants being settled around her thighs. Normally in his long, twisted life, this doesn't matter in the slightest. Gender. Size. Shape. These are all like the different shapes of gummy bears when you devour them all the same. Yet she managed to twinge some thread of shattered soul while he was being playful. It may be an echoed ghost, but it does cause a second of genuine pause where he realizes certain fundamental physical truths. Of course, then her bullwhip is whisking out, and wraps tightly around his neck. "..." He looks over again. Faolan's aggressive ball is closer, but he still has time. Yanked forward, his face thumps right into Whip's breasts. He finds it warm and comforting, like being covered in the blood of the recently deceased. While he is being hauled over her frame, he whirls in a sideways manner. The air explodes with violent crimson chi, like some kind of horrible wheel of cutting, before he whisks off and lands with a thump on the sidewalk.
It is only then that Freeman looks a final time at Faolan's attack. As it makes contact with his form. His inner focus had been shattered for myriad reasons, and the normally thick layer of chi-dampening aura is completely gone. It explodes with ferocious force, and sends him flying backwards. He explodes through the window of the pornography shop behind, impacting a shelf of lube and sending it crashing over. He simply lays there, a battered heap.
Slowly he rises up, although something feels different. Danger. Massive danger. "...I'm... no longer having fun..."
COMBATSYS: Freeman successfully hits Whip with Crow.
[ \\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\ < > /////////// ]
Whip 0/-------/--=====|>>>>>--\-------\0 Faolan
[ \\\\\\\\\\\\\\ <
Freeman 2/<<<<<<</<<<<<<<|
Whip's burst of punitive effort was never destined to last long; the inebriated brain focuses slowly and in short, opportune bursts, though it takes on a firm consistency in those few moments that at times may surpass normal human expectation. Consequently, Freeman may be left with little choice but to take her assault, snapped back by the punch and then drawn in by a combination of unlikely wiles and preposterously well-refined technique-- everything the young woman is doing is instinctive, even the messy, ludicrous slurring upon her lips as she rolls through, commits herself so heavily into what may become her doom.
Happy fucking Funday indeed.
That virulent, terrifying slash of spirit-searing energy cuts deep, drawing a gouge in the woman's body from the upper curve of her right cheekbone, across her face, past her lip and down - through - as she turns away. She's far too late to do anything more than keep her visage relatively well-kempt, though fronds of brown hair shear clean away and flutter into a few dozen falling strands, a delicate rain tumbling about the storm below. And what a storm; Freeman's energies cleave near clear through her collarbone, the rippling wave continuing down across the hump of her breast, angled to swing between the right and left, cutting away pleasantly soft material and warm, goosepimpled flesh. That restraining garment falls into two halves with an explosive gout of thickly pumping blood, the former assassin thrown back with a grunting hiss, her teeth clenched against it.
Yet her eyes remain bright, widening rather than closing as they remain fixated through energy and blood upon the rebounding, skeletal figure of her aggressor. Plasma runs down her torso, flooding into the lowered waistline of her jeans, turning her slick with gore. But it just heightens her senses further. There's a similarity between two of the creatures gathered here, between the two that might be called such; beasts.
Predators.
Where Freeman chooses to savour the hunt, seeking to embrace others in death by way of enhancing his otherwise hollow existence, Whip has been structured and conditioned to do the same. As she stands stripped to the waist, wearing only the seep of her own ravaged innards, the escaped huntress - NESTS' attack dog turned Ikari stray - isn't having fun either. It's deeper than that. Far, far deeper. This screams to her every instinct, this drives her to fight harder and better. Even through the pounding thrum of alcohol, even lessened, she is simultaneously heightened. There is no drug greater than that which men and women find in themselves. No wonder Freeman so despises it. Without the drink holding her back, what would Whip be now? How bright would she shine?
"He's mine."
They're such simple words, spoken with astonishing clarity to Faolan even as the woman reaches up to wipe away bile-flecked saliva from her lips, a shudder wracking her frame as fresh adrenaline explodes to counteract the dizzying, delirium-inducing effects of so much blood loss in so little time. Before the Irishman can object further, she's surging into a headlong dash, and a beat later she's screaming with feral, soulbound vigour. An animal lunging through the night, a predator defending its territory, she covers the pavement in a rush-- with so much ground to cover, the assault that follows can hardly be called fast. Bent almost double, the bullwhip dragging behind her but otherwise forgotten, she leaps and soars through the shop window.
It's simple and it's ugly, but as she snaps a boot up to cleave through Freeman's skull...
There's beauty in it. It doesn't get much dirtier or more primal.
That went rather well. Alot better than Faolan could have hoped. The fact he managed to blast Freeman away with hopes that he may have made the killer think twice about continuing his attack was a nice thing. The fact he is climing back out and claiming he is no longer having fun is not so good. It just makes Faolan tch lightly as he realizes he will just have to tend to his wounds later. At least the bleeding coming from his shoulder and stomach seems to be easing up now. Might be too little too late for the fact He has already lost more than enough. "Not having fun? Too bad....I think I am finally starting to have some..." he says while trying to keep his focus on Freeman. Things are starting to get a bit fuzzy now.
He doesn't seem to listen to Whip when she claims that Freeman is all hers. The damn woman is drunk and this is no fun and games. One slip up here could be a very bad thing for either of the Ikari right now. He isn't as fast as his partner in crime right now, but he does push himself to rush forward. It is a bit of a hobble as he closes the distance between him and Freeman. He grips the bata on one end with both hands while rearing back and then giving a baseball swing right into the back of the crazed fighter. For as lanky as Freeman is the guy seems built to withstand punishment so he is just going to have to put all his damn strength into each strike from here on out.
COMBATSYS: Freeman blocks Faolan's Power Strike.
[ \\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\ < > ///////// ]
Whip 0/-------/--=====|>>>>>>>\-------\0 Faolan
[ \\\\\\\\\\\\\ <
Freeman 2/<<<<<<</<<<<<<<|
COMBATSYS: Freeman counters Heavy Kick from Whip with Creeping Death+.
[ \\\\\\\\\\\ < > ///////// ]
Whip 1/-======/=======|>>>>>>>\-------\0 Faolan
[ \\\\\\\\\\\\\ <
Freeman 0/-------/--=====|
Casually, Freeman brings up a forearm, intercepting the brutal impact from Faolan; it leaves a heavy bruise where it struck, but such minor scuffs will do little against the serial killer as he is now. Right now, he is deep within the shadowed embrace of his purpose. Blackness floods out from his feet, the interior of the shop seeming to darken. A cold, oppressive feel that would resonate clearly with something both Ikari have likely felt before. Death. Arms open invitingly when Whip throws herself full on into this. It is like the jagged shards of glass are the teeth of some monster, and she has decided going directly into the maw was the most direct approach.
"Come to me... we'll have one last dance..."
He slowly walks forward, a stream of echoed images behind, seeming to have completely dropped his guard. Faolan could only watch, with a front row view of what takes place. Whip's kick hits him in the face, but... Freeman flows past it like water. Both of his hands move up, cupping the Ikari's face with affection.
Darkness explodes out. Faolan would suddenly see nothing. Feel nothing. It would take effort to even confirm there is ground that can still be stepped on. And then, the peculiar sound of sharp impacts. Faolan would feel something warm and wet splattering upon him... Whip's blood, kicked up as if in a frenzy. Relentless slashing is leveled into her body, before with a sharp cry Freeman crosses his arms and lurches backwards.
A great crescent moon of crimson chi hangs heavy. Even it cannot pierce the blackness summoned forth, showing only the mad silhouette of the serial killer, and Whip's brutalized body being sent flying backwards, cut from hip to shoulder. An audible hiss, like rushing water, as the Sunshine City night flows back into view. Before Freeman there is a morbid spatter of blood, painting the walls and ceiling, the aftereffects of him playing with Whip a little too aggressively.
Lidded eyes turn to look towards Faolan. "...are you next?"
Nature does not play games. The fittest survive not because they move their pieces more quickly or with greater cunning; the stark and chilling truth about mankind, about animals, is that only death decides the victor. Whip's faced it before, the ever-lasting black behind the giddy veil of life, hawking and spitting defiantly into the promise of eternal void even as she's raised her weapon to fight it. Tooth and claw. Gun and knife. Bullwhip. It doesn't matter-- the minutiae change, but the crux of the issue is always the same. It's not about how big you are, or how evolved, it's about the brutality you can take and deal in your turn.
The murderous exchange seems brief in hindsight; to any on-looker, it's barely a few blinks of the eye between the young, drunken women erupting passionately through the shattered portal, and then flying back out in a lapsing cascade of gore. Like the fierce and fatal battle between would-be Alphas at the head of a pack, all that matters is who strikes first and most ferocious-- and Whip does not strike, her blow averted by the sheer unreal, horrible nature of her opponent. But as he grips her in his dread clutch, she doesn't see him as a monster, because she understands. She /knows/. They're kindred, two sides of the same harrowing coin. In another life, at another time, it could be she eviscerating him... for 'him' indeed, he is human.
Human is the worst thing anybody can be.
Reality may seem to return, but for she it was never gone, the transition from entrapped prey to demolished, devastated former predator absolutely, almost gloriously seamless. The cocktail of previously dormant chemicals unleashed within brain and vein drive Whip to some morbid appreciation of the moment as she spirals, ragdolling through the broken window, shards of glass scraping against flesh already flapping loose about her torso, only adding to the nauseating crimson trail left in her wake. When she strikes the ground, she doesn't even notice, not on the second or even the third bounce, not as she rolls about to flop like a gutted fish upon the street. Her eyes, turned heavenward, remain gleaming - albeit now with the distance of one who has been taught their place, reminded of the fugue state which all men and women occupy. Death is never far away...
As her hand clutches toward the moon, dripping with her own gore, she feels as though she could reach out and take it; because she could, by the rhythm of her breathing and the palpitation of her heart she knows it, that she's been presented with a gift so simple to unwrap. So tempting. Freeman's seductive caress, the air of lascivious danger emanating from him, it all led irrevocably to this moment...
For one so bound in their mortality, and that of others, it remains hard to resist.
Somehow, despite it all, as Whip lies there she begins to laugh, choking up blood through ravaged lungs.
COMBATSYS: Whip takes no action.
[ \\\\\\\\\\\ < > ///////// ]
Whip 1/-======/=======|>>>>>>>\-------\0 Faolan
[ \\\\\\\\\\\\\ <
Freeman 0/-------/--=====|
That is exactly what Faolan had feared. Whip was going to get herself hurt because she isn't thinking straight. All it took was one wrong move and that is all that Freeman needed to capitalize. That fatal mistake that has left Whip a battered, bloody mess withing a blink of an eye. It barely registers to the Irishman what exactly happened as he reaches up to wipe at the fresh blood on his face that was mixing with the blood still coming from the open wound on his cheek. Eyes dart about where he sees Whip's body laying with arm outstretched, less of a laugh heard by him and more of a gurgling to the ears of the Ikari that is still standing. A night of celebration might just have turned into a night where both these Ikari don't make it out alive.
His heart races as he looks from Whip then to Freeman, eyes narrow a bit as he shifts his stance some. "Damn right I am." he says in response to the question. He isn't even sure if Whip will be able to move at all after such an assault. He has to assume it is just him now left to deal with this freak of nature. Even then he isn't sure his body can hold out. He feels his legs wanting to give out from under him, his arms starting to feel numb in places. The wounds are just affecting him too much.
He grips the bata once more at both ends and holds it out in front of him, the blackish energy he wields starting to snake over his arms and into the wooden fighting stick as he just stares down the deranged fighter. He tries to keep his focus on Freeman as he takes a deep breath and waits. There is no charging in. He is going to see if the madman comes at him instead. He can just hope he is quick enough to intercept him in case he wishes to go after Whip.
COMBATSYS: Faolan gathers his will.
[ \\\\\\\\\\\ < > ///////// ]
Whip 1/-======/=======|>>>>>>>\>>>>---\1 Faolan
[ \\\\\\\\\\\\\ <
Freeman 0/-------/--=====|
"I am not quite done with her..." Freeman states, endlessly patient. "I believe she can see the beauty I have to offer... but you would interrupt." Despite the bloodied beating, Freeman visibly looking no better then the other two, he moves with the same grace and ease he held at the onset. It is as if he is immune to things like pain and injury. Fingers splay, lifted up to cross before his face as a long stare offers. Whip would be allowed to enjoy the coppery taste of her own blood for some long seconds before Freeman finally moves. It is an odd, loping advance, lacking any haste. Once he gets close, however, his upper body lags behind, leaning away majorly. It is a completely baffling and disorienting maneuver, made all the worse when he snaps back towards Faolan like some kind of rubber band. Trying to slash him up the stomach and chest, intently enough to send him a good meter in the air to listlessly fall backwards to the ground.
COMBATSYS: Faolan fails to interrupt Nightmare from Freeman with One for the Road.
- Power fail! -
[ \\\\\\\\\\\ <
Whip 1/-======/=======|
[ \\\\\\\\\\\\\ <
Freeman 0/-------/--=====|
COMBATSYS: Faolan can no longer fight.
[ \\\\\\\\\\\ <
Whip 1/-======/=======|
[ \\\\\\\\\\\\\ <
Freeman 0/-------/--=====|
Trying to track the movements of Freeman is bad enough to begin with. Even at the start of this fight it took alot of concentration to keep up with the man that moves in such a swift and unorthodox manner. When on the brink of passing out due to blood loss it is almost impossible even if Faolan is doing his best to do so. He was just wanting to help his comrade. One that is perhaps in worse shape than he is at the moment. In the end as he extends his bata after a quick release with one hand he finds the end of the stick hitting air as he feels another wound being torn into him.
Eyes widen and things almost feel as if they are in slow motion as he is tossed into the air from the sheer force. More blood splatters around both walls and sidewalk as the Ikari is knocked up and away before falling into a heap not too far off from Freeman. A hand grips the bata tightly while one eye is squinted open. The Irishman can't get his body to respond. He can feel himself starting to black out as his free hand reaches up and out some. There is just a bit of a gurgling sound as he tries to say something and the hand grasps the ground and he tries to drag himself towards Freeman.
He only manages to move his limp body maybe two inches at best before the last of his strength gives way. He goes limp aside from some wheezing, the ground under him becoming more stained with blood as it pours from open wounds. His attempt to try and get to Freeman and keep him from Whip is futile. This night there was no luck of the Irish to help Faolan.
Lazy footsteps walk past Faolan, still in no rush. It is impossible to tell now which blood upon the serial killer is his, Faolan's, or Whips. He looks as if a couple buckets of crimson paint were splashed upon his tattered outfit. A moment is spent peering down at the male Ikari, before he wanders past. Stepping through the broken window, the gutted Whip would see his face hover into view. A slight tilt of the head to the side, something seeming expectant now. "Are you done?" There's something within his smooth tone. Disappointment, perhaps. Or a distant hope. But it would be obvious that were she unable to do anything but bleed... her fellow predator would certainly look down on her!
COMBATSYS: Freeman gains composure.
[ \\\\\\\\\\\ <
Whip 1/-======/=======|
[ \\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\ <
Freeman 0/-------/---====|
Waiting. That's all many ever do, lurk in the light as far from the encroaching shadow as their circumstance renders them able - though Faolan knows what comes creeping, he's tasted it in the air and on his very lips just as Whip has. Freeman may not personally stalk the raging battlefields of war, slipping between bullets and through choking smoke, but mankind reaps the wage of conflict in all possible walks; war is just an excuse they make, a sport played on a vast and bloody stage to justify feeding that hunger. The lank, red-haired creature leaping to tear the Irishman asunder simply does not concede to etiquette-- he knows, like the Ikari know...
Death lurks around every corner, always watching, always waiting.
Expectation does not always lead to salvation, and fearlessness in the face of that drawing curtain sometimes only lays the welcome mat. Every day of their lives, they tread a narrow peak - upon either side, a fall into death or glory. Freeman is merely the one carrying it forth today, as they have on so many others. Lying upon her back in the gutter, feeling night air chilling the blood upon her skin, Whip doesn't see what ensues between the battling pair; but a part of her has always been ready for the worst. As the bubbling, insidious laughter stops, diminishing with the last spray of blood from her upturned mouth, she hears the impact of talons in malleable, yielding flesh. The serial murderer is right, as all his kind are; it's beautiful.
There was never any chance for Whip or Faolan to 'keep up' with Freeman-- their guard was down, their preparation non-existent, and one cannot hope to face death without doing so on its own terms. Like heading into the wilderness without food or warmth, to do so is to submit to the pure and savage fury of nature. At once peaceful and raging, in these moments - close to the end - there's real life. Real feeling.
As if sensing her comrade's desperate failure to either yield or continue, Whip lowers her hand, digits resting just beneath her heaving breast, lying in the warm river streaming across her lightly tanned body. Bright in the moonlight, breath shiveringly cold in her lungs, she keeps her eyes open until Freeman hovers into view. Her lips curl upward, and then her teeth bare, stained with bile and blood, as she offers him a grin. It's no rictus though; it's the expression of one who doesn't fear death, but knows what it means.
She's silent a moment, meeting his fearsome gaze as steadily as she can with such dilated pupils. Nothing else feels like it can move, the last of her strength ebbing out with the lowering of her hand, all systems focused solely upon sustaining through the shock and the pain. It's immense.
And then she manages a single, gruff but surprisingly clear, word: "No."
Only one who fails to understand could ever be 'done' with life. Even dying, she'll cling to the bitter last.
COMBATSYS: Whip takes no action.
[ \\\\\\\\\\\ <
Whip 1/-======/=======|
[ \\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\ <
Freeman 0/-------/---====|
"...You could stand." Freeman offers, almost as if sympathetic of your plight. "Or perhaps not. Maybe the spark of life I see in you... is that easy to extinguish after all." Slowly he raises an outstretched hand towards the fallen Whip, fingers splaying out. A shimmer of crimson runs over it, and a sense as if a sword were being pointed likely hangs over. "You have until the count of three... to get up...!" Slowly he leans backwards, still keeping that ominous hand leveled at the broken Ikari.
"One."
His other hand lifts up, trembling slightly as if in anticipation. His upper body is now so far back he cannot see Whip any longer, regardless of if she stirs or stays quiet.
"Two...!"
And then he hurtles himself back upwards, flowing both hands into a sudden, jagged onslaught. The air itself seems to bleed in the wake of that chi, tainting it red. It would impact with maximum cutting force... there is no attempt at aim here, or even speed. The resultant expectation is simple, but clear. If it hits, Whip will die. There is no question of that. She would cease being a cohesive person, and live out her remaining time as a few broken pieces in the most literal fashion.
Freeman does not play games when it comes to getting what he wants. "THREE...!!"
COMBATSYS: Whip interrupts Phobia from Freeman with Forbidden Engage Code.
- Power hit! -
[ \\\\\\\\ <
Whip 0/-------/--=====|
[ \\\\\\\\ <
Freeman 0/-------/-======|
Being strong means never giving up. Being strong means never being done.
With death always so near, to relent for even a moment is to hammer the final nail through yielding wood-- and to deserve that coffin. An elite operative knows when to retreat, but when backed into a corner or lying upon one's back beneath the cold unrelenting judgement of the stars, there can only be one choice. Stand. Freeman says it, even before he begins goading he's done enough, the resonance of a thousand morning drills exploding through the downed girl's head. Suddenly she's back in the clinical steel of the NESTS base where she was manufactured, honed and polished, a forgotten instructor's words exploding through her skull.
Give me twenty. Back on your feet. Run. Fight. One, two, three. Kill, kill, kill!
"...ngh!!" Her teeth clench hard enough that enamel shudders and shakes, emitting a dire creak in the instant that the seemingly dying young woman suddenly discovers that reserve of unrelenting, unyielding strength. There's not a single fibre of her being that is singularly aware of what it must do-- or why it does it. Rather, the whole moves in perfection, operating to parameters beyond anything a normal girl could achieve. In terms of martial skill alone she's got hundreds of peers, but there are scant few on the face of this earth who can boast the pure staying power that Whip's doctored genes give her, that her unending hours of training have taught her to use no matter how bad the situation may be. No matter if her brain is functioning, her body able.
There's always, /always/ a hidden reserve. Suddenly all the drunken cavorting means nothing, as she's bending her back, almost slingshotted from the ground in a single powerful flexion of every muscle in her back and legs, a reflexive twitch that sends her into a heavenward leap. Alongside Freeman she arcs, his energies driving fresh wounds along the unruined flank of her torso as she bypasses the worst of the assault on instinct alone. Her eyes find his for just a gleaming of a moment as she passes him by, taking his back in mid-air. Somehow, through it all, one hand has clung determinedly to that bullwhip, and it's looped now about his neck from behind. As she did earlier, she constricts it and hauls tight, dragging him close and hard.
They share her flesh and blood for the time it takes to repeat that earlier motion, only this time the resulting impact is far more brutal, Whip dropping to a crouch as she /hauls/ on the deathly scarecrow form of Freeman. He's pitched violently to the street, hard enough to rebound as she comes in to land beneath him, eyes flashing past the tangled mess of bloodied brown bangs as she takes sight and immediately follows up...
Twice her namesake weapon lashes forth, striking him at the dead centre of the spine and then securing about his chest, tight enough to crack ribs and crush lungs beneath them. The drawing of her forearm back over her shoulder comes with such a forceful snap that the killer is sent hurtling down the street, far from Whip and the downed Faolan, as she remains behind, heaving in breath after agonizing breath. Everything hurts.
But that's how she knows she's alive. "How's that," she hisses, sobered beyond all reason and doubt, turning back to glare over her shoulder, gaze narrow and brilliant beneath the moonlight. "For a spark?"
Freeman is caught within the dervish of Whip's assault, exactly as he desired. He is struck clean in the midst of his finishing blow... one that could have been avoided and intercepted by anyone with the tenacity to dive headlong into danger. However, individually the blows are not particularly damaging... although piled on thicker then Leona's makeup in her vain attempts at feminity, such is far less of a concern. The intense squeeze that would break a lesser man instead simply squishes him, that inhuman flexibility lending his bones a rugged durability his lean flesh does not. He is sent like a ragdoll, crashing on his shoulder and bouncing four times before skidding to a stop on his back. That is one more bounce then HIS ultimate technique managed, giving Whip the win where it's most important.
Three long seconds follow. Before Freeman's legs spread wide, ankles stiffening and clamping heels and toes upon the asphalt. Muscles tense up his calves, up his thighs, drawing him in a rising manner back to his feet as both arms dangle limply. His head lolls as if broken, and when back to his feet, the entirety of his form shifts forward like a Jenga tower of meat on the precipice of tumbling over. Blood drips heavily, spattering on the ground.
But then his head lifts, and he has a somewhat distant expression. "Ah... not enough. Not enough. But your heart reached me..." Footsteps take him forward, crimson prints left behind. Lazily he swishes up a hand against an adjacent parked car. The window suddenly tumbles out in three pieces, shattering on the ground. "Not enough... not enough...!!" Something manic seems to bloom within him, and the last distance Freeman runs. "NOT ENOUGH!!"
He descends, whipping down his leg, trying to crack it with sheer force into Whip's shoulder and drive her straight down into the ground, a blooming arc of crimson energy trailing behind in it's wake!
COMBATSYS: Whip fails to interrupt Heavy Kick from Freeman with Hook Shot.
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Freeman 0/-------/=======|
COMBATSYS: Whip can no longer fight.
[ \\\\\\\\\\ <
Freeman 0/-------/=======|
Not enough.
She's heard that before too; NESTS subjects aren't all so treasured and cherished as Kula, driven to the point of breaking and then forced to continue until they've either shattered completely or reached the desired 'perfection' sought by the teams of cold, professional scientists. An organization with such dreams and ambitions, to create a whole new future and bring about their own perceived utopia, does not stop at merely 'good'. Whip remembers through the adrenaline-fuelled haze, wavering upon her feet, dripping her life force freely into the street as Freeman winds up and leaps. She moves in the same instant.
But she moves too slow, her shoulder winding about and forearm carrying a crack of the bullwhip straight past him, toward the broken frame of that car; though the coils pull taut, her subsequent use of that momentum to hurl herself bodily, desperately into him is thwarted through her devastated state. She's so close to broken, that ridden peak now narrow as a tightrope and billowing in the breath of a galeforce wind. His leg isn't weathered-- it can't be, it simply forces her over that edge. There's a wet squelch as it impacts, ripping the blood-slick shoulder from its socket, her arm breaking as she's forced back to the filthy street.
Her eyes remain open even as the back of her head hits the ground, limbs abruptly seizing anything but a last, ragdoll flop as the consciousness leaves her body. Her namesake is discarded and she lies there a discarded doll, a warrior emptied of their ability to fight; and that's all a person is, at the end. A vessel for what used to throb and thrum within. A fire, extinguished, is only ash and coal. A human being is just flesh.
"..." Oops. Freeman broke his toy. He carefully walks towards Whip, reaching down to grasp her by the shoulders. A sort of violent shake is offered, with all the intensity of one attempting to quiet a crying baby. "...!!" He's frustrated. So close to something special and poignant, only for her to collapse at the end and fall asleep. Such is a common problem for him. Balancing the need for pleasure with the need for duration is ever a complexity when it comes to murder. Hefting her overhead, the mostly naked Ikari is hurled directly at Faolan, doubtlessly going to impact him given his minimal ability to move. "I AM DONE WITH HER!!" Who dies at this point is irrelevant. He has already become frustrated, and that means the beauty of death is beyond him. He grasps an adjacent parking meter and gives it a strangling sort of shake, before beginning to wander down the street. The sound of him kicking and breaking things echoes long after. Whip... is such a tease.
COMBATSYS: Freeman has ended the fight here.
Log created on 19:02:56 06/28/2012 by Freeman, and last modified on 20:19:15 06/30/2012.