Description: The nights of Paris are hot with the desperation of the damned. The unsolved disappearances plaguing the city cause the streets to empty during the day and the bars and clubs to fill in the evening with people feasting and dancing on the eve of the apocalypse. Alma observes this manic energy, searching for answers, not knowing that a dangerous young woman is searching in turn for him. When angels collide, the mortals enjoy the show.
There are always some who welcome the night.
Shadows have fallen over Paris, the city's nostalgic streets dyed in loneliness as the unsolved mass disappearances send tourists fleeing and citizens indoors. But the youth of the city fear no evil, or choose to either revel in that fear or drown it out with drink and sound. Although Paris is eeriely silent by day, when evening falls the noise return, bars and clubs filling with those prepared to party until the end of time.
One of the city's popular new spots is a bar near the Arc de Triomphe with a large backyard styled as an elaborate gazebo, various intimate pockets of it shrouded by ivy, the center of it a stage for music performances. The air is lightened with chatter, though the sensitive will detect a manic quality to the festivities.
"Still," Alma murmurs to himself, "they cope how they can."
One such sensitive fellow sits alone at a side table, visible from the central area of the backyard but comfortably tucked aside from the most chaotic parts. The psychic is nattily dressed as ever, what appears to be a martini -- but is in fact a refreshing non-alcoholic cocktail -- in one hand as he observes the crowd with gentle eyes. Alma is here to take in the atmosphere. He can feel that some of his friends and rivals are in this city, but does not yet know where to look. He has elected to acquire a deeper understanding of how the people of Paris fare, to ascertain the full effects of the strange phenomena that wrack the world. He quietly bides his time.
Sometimes, in these sorts of situations, what he seeks will come to him.
For Angel the end of the world is something that looms on the horizon every day, a subtle but ever-present threat kept at bay by little more than the whims of madmen and sociopaths with grandiose plans of world domination. All throughout her life it has been made abundantly clear to her, through direct words and through the examples of other agents who failed to live up to the expectations of her masters, that her continued existence rests firmly within their hands. Most people might be sobered by knowing that their life could end at the press of a button.
Most people are not Angel.
"Woooo! Aww yeah, this is more like it!" Amidst the crowd of youthful defiance and drunken debauchery the young Mexican fits right in. She is dressed in her usual overtly risque fashion, a leather half-jacket hanging loosely from her shoulders in an almost accidental, and mostly futile, attempt to conceal her ample curves. Her pale legs spills out of what looks like the bottom half of a two-piece swimsuit cut to be about as revealing as can be legal while a belt encircles her waist, holding up a pair of leather chaps that do nothing to address the matter of her modesty.
As might be expected, her attire has drawn attention her way as if she were a neon lightbulb in a field of moths and she does little to discourage the leering stares and catcalls as she dances with reckless abandon to the thumping beat of the generic techno music. Unlike the majority of the people here, who despite their best efforts still bear the signs of those desparately trying to forget their troubles, Angel appears to be completely at ease, her smile genuine and her movements carefree. She glides between various partners from moment to moment, dancing back to back with a small teenage girl for a few beats before spinning away to rub sensously against a man in a business suit which is met by a round of whoops from the onlookers.
Every so often, however, Angel's attention subtley wanders from her group of admirers towards a figure resting in the outer fringes of the bar. Her eyes dance across Alma's features in those brief moments as she moves between dance partners or when the crowd parts to give her a clear view, absorbing everything about his attire and appearance as he in turn observes the crowd around him. He might even manage to catch the sultry glances that she is throwing him, earning him a wink and an enticing smile.
Alma loves dancing.
In its passion and pure physicality, raw and revealing, he finds it the only peer to combat, and even better for those who thrive on collaboration over competition. His tall and slender frame is poised but relaxed, in conspicuous contrast to the other denizens of the night, yet his foot silently taps out the rhythms and counterrhythms of the beat. His gaze is drawn to the central stage as the festivities heighten with a new dancer's debut. The student of Rose is ever seeing with two sets of eyes, vivid auras inextricably intertwined with earthly hues.
In body and in spirit, Angel stands out.
A psychic is not a mindreader, and Alma couldn't say why her mental state seems so radically different than the others. But her confidence in her body and movements is matched by a casual joy that transcends the air of desperation that subtly pervades this place. He cannot help but smile upon seeing her, and when she looks his way, his smile broadens with delight.
She seems fun.
More importantly, she seems different, and difference is always interesting. Alma sips his drink while watching her, in no hurry, as though her sensual display is for him and him alone. In fact, he is, as always, entirely focused on examining her aura, which is a splash of truly lively colors; whoever she is, she is strong, strong enough to remain herself in an inhospitable world. But what he is looking at or not makes no difference in the end. He leaves his empty glass at the table and rises.
Polished shoes gleaming as they tap along the gazebo floor, Alma shrugs off his tailored jacket and drapes it over an unoccupied chair before stepping onto the dance floor, his arrival too drawing eyes to his fine features, his scars, the cut of his clothes. He smiles at Angel again, then neatly executes a complex series of steps and a tight spin, eliciting some hoots and cheers of approval from the men and entertained laughter from the women.
"Let's dance," he suggests.
Angel's smiles widens imperceptably as she sees the hint of movement from the corner of her eye in the direction of the man she's been teasing with her attention for the last few minutes, her expression registering no surprise when the crowd parts to allow him entry onto the dance floor. And who could resist such an alluring invitation from a beauty like her? Clearly Alma either cannot or has no desire to do so, either way suits her just fine.
As her gaggle of groupies peel away in the presence of the classy newcomer, the young woman rests her hands on her slender hips, grinning in a goofy lopsided manner as he tries to win her over with an impressive display of personal skill. It certainly seems to be effective on the crowd but Angel's playful demeanor makes her hard to read, her aura a mixture of languid detachment and cheerful amusement.
"Thought you'd never ask."
Leaning forward in a purposefully enticing pose, she slowly draws the flat of her palms up from her waist, dragging them against her smooth skin and over the contour of her leather jacket in a steamy display, all the while giving Alma a sultry smirk. Her hands encircle the edges of her chest, lingering only a moment longer than necessary as if to draw attention to her already prominent cleavage. Up the go, around her neck, playfully weaving into the mess of loose white hair that drapes down around her face until they finally come to a halt at the sides of her head.
Angel's sexy smile slowly shifts into a mischievious grin as the index fingers on each hand slowly extend from her fists, pointing up into the air above her temples like little devil horns. She wiggles the fingers foward a few times in an obviously taunting fashion and sticks her tongue out at him. And then she disappears.
Angel's body shifts and blurs becoming little more than a streak of black color as she translocates the short distance between herself and Alma, her body moving so fast that it utterly defies normal human senses. She reappears at his feet, one hand planted on the ground, her legs already scissoring out to lance between his own in a sweeping trip kick that attempts to fling him bodily across the room with its sheer ferocity.
COMBATSYS: Angel has started a fight here.
[\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\ <
Angel 0/-------/-------|
COMBATSYS: Alma has joined the fight here.
[\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\ < > //////////////////////////////]
Alma 0/-------/-------|-------\-------\0 Angel
COMBATSYS: Alma blocks Angel's Red Sky of Japonesia.
[ \\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\ < > ///////////////////////////// ]
Alma 0/-------/-------|-------\-------\0 Angel
Dancing and fighting have even more in common than he thought.
Alma watches intently as Angel glides her hands up her enviable figure, subtly maintaining his own rhythm as he patiently awaits her approach. She is indeed difficult to read, one of the few here who is not transparent. All that he can sense is her depth and her intensity, and that is enough for him to know that he wants to know more.
He is used to paying a price for his curiosity.
He blinks with an air of innocence at her playful taunt, as his intuition blares a warning the moment before her image blurs, eliciting cries of astonishment and hearty cheers from the inebriated onlookers. He spins again, but this time it is to do a 180 so that he is prepared to lift his own leg in a parry of her explosive kick, deflecting one-half of the trap so that he can elude the other, sweeping to the side. He aims to approach while she is still rising, feinting with his own dancelike rhythm as the music proceeds unabated.
"I presume you know who I am."
Alma's voice is calm as he steps in, moving deliberately and without haste, light on his feet and poised to act at any moment.
"But who, may I ask, are you?"
He kicks then, a hooking strike that, unless it is a trick of the light, leaves faint afterimages its wake and arcs down suddenly, with the intent to impact against Angel's bare side.
"I have caused no offense," he adds, "I hope."
COMBATSYS: Angel blocks Alma's Autumn Rain.
[ \\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\ < > /////////////////////////// ]
Alma 0/-------/------=|=------\-------\0 Angel
Angel's legs are powerful and her movements swift so when she feels resistance to the sweep, she alters her plan mid-swing, sweeping her missed kick up towards her body so that the leg is folded against her chest. She turns it upwards, leaving her in an awkward one-handed push-up position with her other leg stretched to its limit but Alma's retalitory strike meets the front of her hard shin instead of her soft ribs, deflecting the brunt of the attack.
The girl gives out a soft oof as the downward impact drives her arched back into the floor but she scrambles quickly, rolling nimbly backwards into a reverse handstand that sees her safely back to her feet. Rather than immediately striking again, Angel gives another cocky sideways grin at her opponent and puts her hands on her hips, leaning forward in her alluring fashion.
"Well, duh, I don't just go around punching people in clubs, jeez." She pauses and puts a finger on her chin thoughtfully. "I mean, /usually/ I don't, unless I've had a lot to drink... b-but it was just that one time! Or was it two..."
The girl just shrugs and gives a carefree grin. "Ah who the hell cares! It's not important! Let bygones be bygones! What /is/ important, however-" Angel vanishes again, zipping past Alma in a flutter of wind and color to reappear on the stage behind him. She snatches a microphone from a stand, tapping the top with her hand. "Testing, testing, ahhh, ahhh... awwww yeah!"
Satisfied that her voice will carry over the entirity of the bar and thus make herself the center of attention, Angel thrusts a finger into the air and lets out a wild cry.
"Alright, ladies and gents, tonight is your lucky night! Good for one night only, you've all been given free front row seats to a spectacle of epic proportions, a dazzling display of talent that will leave you amazed and bewildered, a battle that will go down in the history books as the night Angel gives this nancy boy his first taste of her extraordinary skill!"
Angel sways back and forth as she gets into the groove of her announcer bit, grinning like an idiot as she rambles on like something out of a professional wrestling re-run. Though many people had becomed somewhat alarmed and panicked by the sudden attack on the dance floor her obviously exaggerated performance has mostly dispelled the rumbling of fear which are quickly replaced with a slowly mounting din of cheers and hoots.
"So with that in mind there's just ONE thing you all have to ask yourself, one BURNING question that lingers in the air:" She thrusts her hand into the air yet again, pumping her fist with each enthusiastic word. "Are? You? REAAAAAADY?!"
COMBATSYS: Angel unzips her top and gets nice and limber.
[ \\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\ < > //////////////////////////// ]
Alma 0/-------/------=|=======\-------\0 Angel
Alma didn't expect she'd be so talkative.
He turns as she zips away, his expression remaining calm but brow slightly furrowed with what looks less like worry and more like concern. Not only is she unusual for a club patron, she's not your typical assailant, either. He listens as she announces herself, drawing all eyes to her, though in all fairness, people were already staring when Alma and Angel started kicking each other in the middle of their dance. But she's as talented an MC as she is a dancer. Gazes return to him at her high-spirited taunt, at which Alma smiles.
"More than a taste, I hope," is his mild reply.
He has her name, at any rate, or at least a pseudonym. He couldn't say whether she's an angel or a devil, but she's surely no ordinary human, and whoever in this city transcends the crowd is more like than not to have some sort of answers. Now that the crowd is alerted to the coming fight, the psychic sees no reason to hold back. He raises his hand to his face and allows ethereal flame to ignite about his fingertips, cherry-blossom pink and rich indigo mingling with pearlescent white.
"I'm ready," he says, likely inaudible under the roar of the crowd.
But he is assuredly visible when he leaps, drifting preternaturally through the air by the influence of Psycho Power, and releases the dart of flame he's cultivated as though it were a bird returning to the wild, soon after settling his feet upon the stage.
"Are you?"
Alma's smile returns. Whoever this woman is, whatever her purpose here, however he might gain from this, and whyever the world is ending, he will savor this clash of vibrant spirits, as he always does.
"Do your best."
COMBATSYS: Alma successfully hits Angel with Sacred Wave.
[ \\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\ < > //////////////////////// ]
Alma 0/-------/----===|=======\=------\1 Angel
Alma's response is drowned out in the uproarous cheer of the crowd as the scantily clad vixen plays up their impromptu brawl as some sort of secret event, simultaneously ensuring that he won't be able to use a sudden panicked riot to escape her and hopefully preventing the arrival of the police. Not that she can't handle a few boys in blue but their interference would just complicate things and there's little that annoys her more than having to deal with unexpected variables. Gambling is for suckers.
Unfortunately, Angel is so busy soaking up the crowd's adulation that she forgets she was just taunting some dude to fight her. Alma's sudden leap onto the stage earns him a look of surprise from the young woman and she hastily throws her arms up to ward off his flaming projectile but it catches her in the midriff instead. She bows forward, folding at the waist from the searing impact and staggers backwards several steps before catching herself, almost going over the edge of the stage in the process.
"Ahdadada...! Not cool!" Angel rubs at her skin and the soft red welt already forming on her toned stomach but she doesn't linger on the injury too long. Instead, she looks up at him again, her cocky grin unshaken and takes off at a dead run. Two steps across the stage she blitzes yet again, streaking in towards her target like a missile engaging its afterburners. Her fist flies out as she comes back into focus before him, a low powerful punch aimed at his midsection but it isn't the only threat. Even as she swing her foot comes down on the floor and an explosion of golden ki rises up to engulf her and everything around her for a brief moment.
"I waassnnnn't reaaaady!"
COMBATSYS: Angel successfully hits Alma with Reppun Kamui.
- CRAZY Hit! -
[ \\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\ < > /////////////////////// ]
Alma 0/-------/--=====|=======\=------\1 Angel
"I thought it was cool," Alma murmurs, perplexed.
Hearing the shouts of the crowd, the psychic briefly takes a moment to scan his surroundings and ensure that this duel will be able to proceed relatively understood. The police are highly occupied with the hundreds of disappearances, and although that has not yet produced an upsurge in crime, it's unlikely that their breaking of the public peace is to be punished, particularly given the leeway allowed for street fights among professionals. The bigger concern is the overenthused audience members, some of whom are getting very worked up indeed. At first Alma thinks he has antagonized some of them by taking the initiative with his fireball, only to find that he is being cheered for getting Angel to bend over.
He doesn't quite get it.
It's a little troubling how close some of them are to the stage, but he doesn't have time to worry about that now. He turns back as Angel approaches, senses attuned to the fluctuations of her aura, prepared to deflect the first punch she aims. But he reacts to quickly to the raising of her foot, assuming another elaborate kick. The great splash of chi knocks Alma's footing out from under him and sends him hurling back--
"Gahh!"
--directly into an audience member who is drunkenly clambering up on stage, sending them both collapsing into the crowd. Cheers go up everywhere as the partygoers mass closer to the edge.
"Ah, no, sorry, but if you would kindly unhand me, I--"
Alma's polite requests go unheard as he finds himself falling onto not the ground but the upraised hands of a laughing and cheering throng, who pass him along for a little while as he gazes bemused up at the night sky, finally returning him to the edge of the stage, whereupon he smoothly rises back to his feet and regards Angel.
"Surprisingly fun," he admits at last, to more cheers.
He advances then, leading with a hand as though to jab and reestablishing his rhythm, matching it to the music with subtle but significant variations as he half-lifts a leg in a feint. He soon becomes a blur as he sweeps low, attempting to scythe her own legs out from under her with a swift kick.
"But perhaps not advisable for a young lady."
Disappointed men boo.
COMBATSYS: Angel endures Alma's Light Kick.
[ \\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\ < > //////////////////// ]
Alma 0/-------/-======|=======\==-----\1 Angel
As Alma goes flying into the crowd to a chorus of cheers and laughs, Angel immediately shifts into a mocking pose, throwing both hands up into the air and spinning about with a little jaunty hop. "Yeeeeeah, that's right!"
She circles the edge of the stage, coyly slapping away the hands of overenthusiastic audience members as they try to cop a feel. The young woman even pauses to grab a particularly drunken man by his tie, pulling him up towards her face as she bends over again as if to give him a kiss, giving the people on both sides of her a great view in the process. At the last moment, however, she turns her face away and pushes him back into the crowd earning yet another wave of laughter at the poor sod's expense.
Almost as if she planned it, Angel circles back towards the far side just as Alma gets his free lift back onto the stage. She leans towards him with a smirk and puts her hands beside her ears, wiggling her fingers at him again in response to his chastisement.
"What's the matter, pretty boy, do I make you hard?"
The psychic fighter's feint turns out to be useless against such an opponent, her reactions to his assaults seemingly completely random. Rather than dodge or block, she merely holds her arms out as if to embrace him, putting no effort into avoiding the hit. His low sweep seems to catch her off guard but when she tips over it is her fist that leads the way, lashing out at his face even as she tumbles his way in what could end up as a rather awkward position.
COMBATSYS: Alma interrupts Medium Punch from Angel with Divine Intervention EX.
[ \\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\ < > /////////////// ]
Alma 1/-------/=======|=======\=====--\1 Angel
Alma frowns slightly at Angel's jibe.
"I don't understand that sentence."
Neither idioms nor intentional innuendo are his strong suits.
But the saintly psychic has his own ways of appealing to the masses. He may not know how a person is 'made hard,' save perhaps through rigorous training, but he does know a little about working a crowd. Whereas Angel's ebullient energy and teasing ways stoke flames of admiration and desire, the dignified stance Alma has adopt suggests that of a supernatural being, one who has descended from the heavens to be worshipped and praised. He can be quite playful himself, but he seems to minimize that image in favor of a sterner look, instinctively providing contrast with his foe.
It's a fight, but it's also a show.
"Eh?"
And Angel has plenty to show him.
Alma falters slightly when his kick connects too easily, eyes widening as he finds that Angel is already upon him. He manages to tilt his head in the nick of time so that her punch grazes him, glancing off his skull, but she is falling forward nevertheless and threatening to bear him to the ground. There's no hope of evasion or defense. He must strike now.
"Haa!"
Hastily summoning his soulful flames, Alma thrusts out his palm before looking, intent on making contact with Angel before she can collide with him bodily.
~ Bo~oing~
A beam of ethereal light perceives through her, leaving body intact but striking at her will to fight, its sole physical effect to fling her away from him and back to the end of the stage. There Alma stands, taking deep steadying breaths, his open palm still outstretched, a warm sensation imprinted upon it.
The crowd stares in uncharacteristic silence.
Alma turns his own palm toward him, regarding it inscrutably, before clenching it in a victorious fist and nodding once in satisfaction.
The men burst into exultant roars and cheers.
"Hm," Alma murmurs with a slight smile, "they too are impressed by my keen aim."
Yes, Alma, in a manner of speaking.
"Gotcha nooo-aaah, bad toooooouch!"
Angel vents her pain in another euphamism as she flies through the air, her heart and soul aflame with desire! No wait, that's indigestion. Damn French can't make a decent taco to save their lives. She lands in a messy heap at the far side of the stage, bouncing off her back a few times before skidding to a halt, her impressively bouyant chest following suit a few moments later. The girl spryly pops up into a sitting position, rubbing the back of her head with a pouty look.
"Didn't even buy me a drink first!"
For some reason, a few of the people near the stage see her snarky comment as a form of request and suddenly there is a bottle of unidentified liquor rolling across the stage towards her. Angel perks up immediately and snatches the bottle up, flipping the lid off with her thumb effortlessly and downing atleast a quarter of the contents in about half a dozen seconds.
"Pthh! What is this nancy watered down crap? Eh, whatever, free." She takes another swig and then tosses the rest over her shoulder, followed by a cry of surprise a few moments later as it bounces off someone's dome. "Yeah, now I'm all fueled up! You're in trouble now, son!"
COMBATSYS: Angel gains composure.
[ \\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\ < > ////////////////// ]
Alma 1/-------/=======|=======\====---\1 Angel
"You didn't give me the chance," Alma gently reminds her.
Still, why would he have to purchase someone a beverage before commencing battle? The world remains full of fascinating cultures the depths of which Alma has yet to plumb. He waits patiently as Angel, now at a distance, takes a moment to refresh herself, though his eyebrows slowly lift as he observes just how efficiently she /does/ refresh herself. But when she rounds on him defiantly, a smile once again graces Alma's lips.
"Very well."
That glimmering bad-touching hand is raised once more.
"Then show me how your fueled-up self--"
With another spin, as though they dance still, Alma sinks to a crouch and pounds the stage floor with his palm, his eyes flashing bright with intensity and phantasmal light.
"--withstands my unyielding will!"
The palmprint he lays upon the ground darts forward, a white inkblot streaking forth, zigging and zagging back and forth until it approaches Angel's feet and erupts into what can only be called a geyser of raw Soul Power, scintillating pinks and purples coiling in on themselves and threatening to consume her in his overpowering release.
Alma gets hard metaphorically.
COMBATSYS: Alma successfully hits Angel with Full Confession EX.
[ \\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\ < > //////// ]
Alma 0/-------/-------|>>>>>>>\>>>>>>>\2 Angel
Not very well apparently.
Angel frowns across the stage at her opponent, his naivety taking some of the fun out of her usual flamboyant teasing. What's worse is his come backs are even cheesier than hers but he doesn't seem to realize it. She lifts her hands to mock him yet again but the flare of energy cuts her short, a pillar of pink light erupting from the stage beneath her in a spiraling tower of pain.
The crowd gasps loudly at once at the incredible display of raw power, thankfully drowning out Angel's muffled cry of anguish as her unprotected body is ravaged by Alma's attack. She's used to being violated by people's minds but this gives it a little too literal of a spin for her tastes.
When the psycho power receeds, Angel is still standing there, hands atop her head, fingers pointed towards the sky in her iconic taunting pose. The look on her face, however, does not bear the typical playful smirk. No it has morphed into something between pissed and really pissed.
"Nnnnnrghhhh.... AAAAAH!"
Angel lets out a sudden shout, throwing her head back in a dramatic display of outrage. Her fists clench into tight balls of apparent fury, ignoring the searing pain that shoots through her body for such continued defiance after taking that doozy of a hit. But she's not about to let that go unanswered! Her pride is on the line here! Without further warning, the girl takes off at a run, dashing across the stage in a frenzied rush towards the well-dressed man.
"My name is Angel," she yells, leaping foward with a spin that brings her trailing leg down in a powerful whirling kick.
"Ninteen years old!" She follows through with a frenzy of strikes that literally blur together into a dizzying smear of knuckles and elbows, each one hitting like she has sledgehammers hidden underneath her gloves.
"A naughty girl with dirty secrets!" Her attack grows even faster as if her strange declaration of personal information is some sort of empowering mantra. Her entire body becomes a whirling dervish of pain, knees, fists, elbows, and feet wailing away at Alma from all directions until finally she teleports behind him in a burst of speed, drawing her fist back as she pauses long enough to give a final indignant cry.
"And you touch my BOOOOB!!!"
COMBATSYS: Angel successfully hits Alma with Loyalty Test for the Liberalists.
- CRAZY Hit! -
[ \\\\\\\\\\\\\ < > //////// ]
Alma 1/-------/=======|>>>>---\-------\0 Angel
The clash of souls is always satisfying.
Alma rises from his crouch with the faint smile of one absolutely certain his comebacks are great. Once again he glances down at his open palm and then clenches it into a fist, most likely to compose himself after the visceral impact of projecting his will against another's and not, say, to relive groping Angel or imply that doing so was the source of all that power. But you never know.
The men in the audience, reminded of that moment regardless, cheer louder.
He can sense that he hasn't subdued her fighting spirit yet, but he pushed himself to this limit knowing that she would reel from the power of the blow. By the time she is able to gather herself and approach, he will be ready to--
The kick catches him right in the face.
This time when Alma spins, it is unintentional. The crowd roars again at the turnabout, Angel's announcements echoing over their shouts as her strikes become a blur, the stunned psychic unable to defend himself as her fists and elbows hammer home. Each of her limbs is a weapon, and each one causes pain to explode through Alma's body. Each time he attempts to react or get a read on Angel's location, she has reappeared on another side of him and attacked again. Unable to defend against a single one of her attacks, swaying unsteadily on his feet, Alma takes the final hit, a devastating blowto the back of his head, and sinks to his knees before collapsing on the ground.
The audience cheers wildly for Angel as for several moments he lies still.
Alma's will still burns. IF anything, the passion she has displayed excites him all the more. But his body, normally so in tune with his spirit, cannot obey. His vision is blurred, and he still cannot quite fathom what just occurred, the first time in a while he has encountered an attack beyond his comprehension. He could muster his powers if only he knew where to direct them.
Slowly, achingly, he begins to push himself up to a kneeling position, the crowd chanting and shouting, some for him to rise, some for him to stay down. Blinking repeatedly, Alma manages to elevate his gaze enough to find Angel standing over him. He could just kneel here before her for a while and clear his head. He's not too proud for that.
But even though his body is unprepared to channel his gathered energies, Alma's soul ever yearns for contact. He cannot simply be still while his adversary is before him. So with a sudden burst of speed, uncoordinated but unhesitating, Alma lunges upward toward Angel, aiming to wrap his arms about her and press his body against her and tackle her down to the floor.
If he can succeed and stun her, maybe he can rest a bit more afterward.
COMBATSYS: Angel fails to counter Medium Throw from Alma with Blue Monday Parade.
[ \\\\\\\\\\\\\ <
Alma 1/----===/=======|
COMBATSYS: Angel can no longer fight.
[ \\\\\\\\\\\\\ <
Alma 1/----===/=======|
The feel of her fists impacting against the supple flesh of her opponent is one that is beyond compare. Angel revels in the glory of the pain that she unleashes upon him, revels in the sensation of exhilaration that fills her to her core as she moves with speed that few in the entire world could hope to match, wielding the powerful gifts bestowed upon her by NESTS to their utmost potential. Though she is often friendly and outgoing, cheerful and exuberant, Angel has her own dark side as well and she's putting her life on the line by failing to achieve the goal of getting the information she wants.
The final blow sends a jarring recoil through her body and even though she manages to supress the pain to managable levels it still earns a wince from the girl reminding her that she just got plowed herself. Hopefully, that put this guy down for the count.
The cheers of the crowd do much to lift her spirit and she turns to give them some fan service, squeezing her arms together as she leans forward to push her melons nearly to the point of popping out of the thin layer of fabric that conceals them. She goes through a few more poses before turning to check on Alma - just in time to see him dive straight for her.
"Wha-?"
She moves on instinct, lifting her knee up to deflect the tackle, but he's too fast or she's too slow - either way, his shoulder slams into her gut and she crumples like a paper doll against him as both of them get taken to the mat.
Her head hits the hard wood of the stage sending a burst of stars that dance across her vision. Angel lets out a soft groan and tries to sit up but there's something on top of her...
Ah, it's soft.
Alma inhales deeply of a pleasant and soothing aroma as his senses gradually return to him. It can be dangerous when he allows his will to fight to overpower his physical limitations. Strategically, he would have preferred to take some time to master himself instead of throwing himself at her prematurely, but he is nothing if not resolute, and relying on pure resolve can sometimes carry him through. It has tonight, and thanks to that, his opponent lies stunned beneath him, giving him the time to sink his face deeper into these soft pillows.
Shrieks, laughter, hoots and hollers. Alma squints slightly, though all he can dimly see is a tan color. "Just five more minutes," he murmurs into the warm home he's made for himself.
Ah, it's not an alarm clock, it's an audience. --Right!
Lifting his head and raising himself up all at once, Alma finds himself straddling Angel's pelvis and looking down into her blue eyes, beneath of which lies an expanse of skin. The impact pulled her zipper down and free, popping open her jacket completely, the leather fortunately falling to cover just barely enough to keep her PG-13, probably, maybe. But then, it's the French. They're used to this sort of thing.
Though the men are still cheering /really/ loud.
Alma gazes down at his mysterious assailant. He does not know why she attacked him, or what she was after, or why she chose to pursue him in public. He does not quite know what smells so good. But he does know one thing.
"A good fight," he says with a smile.
COMBATSYS: Alma has ended the fight here.
Squish. Squish.
She knows that feeling. She's just not sure why she's feeling it right this moment. Generally it is nothing something that accompanies getting power dunked. Not that it's unpleasant. "A little to the left..."
The hazy mist in her mind slowly starts to recede and the surroundings come into focus bit by bit, the wash of neon lights and dark star-lit sky unblending like a tie-dye t-shirt being created in reverse. Again she tries to sit up and again she fails but this time her eyes flutter open to reveal the reason why.
Peering up at Alma momentarily, Angel's gaze slowly drifts down to her own body and the predicament that she finds herself in. Most women might explode with embarrasment or fury upon discovering their body on display for public viewing but that is basically Angel's entire MO. Instead, she just gives her goofy lop-sided grin and tucks her hands behind her head.
"This isn't the kind of wrestling I usually do with a crowd but if you insist..."
What a mysterious woman.
Alma is beginning to suspect that there are hidden meanings to Angel's words that he cannot fathom, and yet has the sense that to inquire about her statements straightforwardly would be to miss the point somehow. Regardless, she is right to bring up the presence of the crowd. Their spectacular combat avoided drawing the ire of the employees of this bar and by extension the police, but the audience looks ready to riot after soaking in the exultation of battle among other things. He has tarried here too long.
"Then let us duel in private," Alma says firmly, rising to his feet and reaching into his pocket to produce a business card -- Alma Towazu, Chief Executive of the Young Fighters' Community Center -- complete with cell phone number. "You may challenge me at any time."
With her skill, she has surely earned that privilege.
"I shall be in Paris for some time longer," he says, smiling as he turns away. He would offer her a hand, but she's folded her arms behind her head, and honestly looks rather comforrable that way. "I hope we'll meet again."
He doesn't get her, but he likes her, whoever she is.
And, he reflects as he takes his suit jacket from the chair where he left it and sweeps it back on with a flourish before striding toward the exit, she's quite comfortable to nap upon, too.
"Jeez, your brain must be made of rocks to be this dense," Angel says, rolling her eyes. She takes the business card and peers at it, even though she already knows what it says. NESTS has this and about a hundred other documents on record that give essential information about her target, from his birth records and personal identification numbers down to the last time he checked out a book from the library and how many frequent flier miles he's saved up. They kind of go overboard with this stuff, it must be a scientist thing.
Angel purses her lips thoughtfully but tucks the card into her tights. No reason to let on just how much she knows yet since he seems not to understand just what would have happened if she'd won this little brawl. "I think that can be arranged." Later, though. Right now she needs a hot bath and a bottle of tequila.
Once Alma turns to leave, she plants her hands on the stage and slowly climbs back to her feet, earning yet more praise from the crowd for her apparent disinterest in fixing her wardrobe malfuction. She watches him go for a few moments before finally hooking the two halves of her jacket back together and yanking the zipper up to her neck, essentially declaring the peep show closed for the night.
"Alright, show's over, ya creeps~."
Log created on 23:26:36 08/28/2014 by Alma, and last modified on 23:43:28 08/29/2014.