Description: Having previously been foiled in the nightclubs of Paris, Angel dons a jaunty hat and ambushes Alma in his hotel room, still seeking information on the whereabouts of the Stray Dog and the NESTS property he possesses. It turns out that violence is not the answer, but service is. A negotiated agreement is reached: he will tell her what she wants to know, and she won't mention this incident again. (This scene occurs prior to 'Night at the Museum.')
The hour is late and the sky dark, the sun having long since retreated below the top of the jagged skyline of assorted towers and commericial complexes that compose the core of Paris' urban center. The rest of the city sprawls out around these behemoth structures in a mass of white and grey that looks a great deal like some sort of creeping mold. The only notable exception to this uniformity of color is a large square of lush green that encapsulates the legendary Eiffel Tower, its brilliant lighting casting it in a golden glow like some sort of holy monolith amdist the sea of tiny neon pinpoints that swirl around it.
Angel peers out of the glass-walled elevator with a bored expression on her youthful features as the electrical-powered boxcar ferries her up the exterior of a fancy hotel. The majesty and beauty of such a sight is mostly lost on her simple artistic sensibilities. She never was much for history. That, and her attention is mostly consumed by the small cellphone pressed up against her ear, listening to the rythmic digital tone as she tries for the fourth time in about two minutes to place a call to the number listed on the small card in her hand.
"Did he give me a fake number on a business card? Ugh, what kind of a jerk makes /fake/ business cards?!"
After a few moments the sound of a now familiar computerized voice announces that her call failed to connect, advising her to leave a message to which she responds by angrily smashing the disconnect symbol with her thumb... and then immediately redialing, her foot already tapping impatiently before the first beep even sounds.
A soft chime and a momentary sensation of pressure as the elevator screeches to a halt announces that she's arrived on the designated floor. Angel turns and exits into the plushly carpetted hallway, casually stepping over the unconscious body of the bellhop stretched out on the ground. A thought occurs to her, however, and she turns back to quickly snatch up his narrow pointed valet hat just before the doors slide shut.
Unlike the business card, which is apparently bogus, Angel's information on her target's whereabouts are solid. NESTS has a pretty scary information network which is one of the primary reasons why she's never even considered trying to run away; the only places she could escape would be to some third-world shithole and that would largely defeat the point. She might be a dog on a leash but atleast she's got a fancy collar.
The young woman stalks through the hallway unimpeded by the presence of other people. As before, most of the city's residents are either partying or locked away in their homes which means she shouldn't have any interference with her duty tonight. After a few twists and turns through the odd floor layout she arrives infront of the door with the appropriate number framed up neatly on its surface in golden metal relief.
Plopping the somewhat crushed valet hat atop her head, Angel clears her throat and knocks on the door a few times, still holding the ringing cellphone to her ear with the other hand. "Aaah... room service! Open the door please~"
The shower ends with a squeak of the tap.
Alma brushes the vinyl curtain aside and steps out of the tub, greeted by his own contemplative expression in the steam-fogged mirror. As he vigorously towels off his bronzed body, his gaze drifts to where he has neatly folded his clothes and sees the smartphone half-slipped out of his pants pocket, its screen conspicuously black and lifeless.
"Ah," he murmurs. "I haven't charged it in days."
His assistant at the YFCC is always scolding him for that, but it just never seems important. People connect with their souls, not through phones. Most likely he hasn't missed anything crucial.
Somewhere in Paris, Frei, awaiting a text back from Alma, sneezes.
Just as he finishes drying off his hair, a much easier task now that it is cut professionally short, Alma hears a rapping at the door. Raising an eyebrow slightly, he wraps his towel about his waist, sparing a second glance to the mirror. The seal of the Ryouhara clan is forever branded upon his chest, its burnt tendrils curling along his ribs and up to his face. These marks from when Seishirou cast him from Adelheid's airship with a bomb implanted in his chest will never fade. Even to this day, to see them is to amaze himself at his own survival.
The vision is striking, but not grotesque. He need not worry overmuch about inflicting it on others. Without hesitating he turns and opens the bathroom door, stepping into his well-appointed hotel room, and walks to the door. Behind him, wide windows open onto a balcony and glittering cityscape. "One moment--"
He opens the door wide, and blinks.
"Ah, Angel."
She turned up earlier than he expected.
"Is hospitality your main occupation?"
He glances at the cap jauntily placed on her head.
"Or is room service more of a hobby of yours?"
He's no good at innuendo, but he does deadpan fairly well.
Hearing the shuffling and the muted voice from within, Angel abandons her efforts on the phone and tucks the slender piece of plastic into her jacket... somewhere. Atleast she knows he's here now, that's more progress than she's made all day. Even so, she continues to rap on the door insistantly like some kind of crazed woodpecker until it finally swings open.
The girl stares at the mostly naked man standing before her, sharing his surprise blink in unison. She peers at the scar on his chest as her gaze drifts slowly downward as if drawn by gravity and she makes no attempt to hide her once-over of Alma's body. After a few moments, her hands slide behind her back, clasping together as she leans forward to grin at him with a clearly amused slant to her eyes.
"Well shit, what kind of room service do they offer around here? I'd say I might have bit off more than I can chew but I've yet to let my mouth get me into a situation I can't handle~"
Her tongue flicks out playfully as if to emphasize the innuendo. Maybe if she hits him with it hard enough it'll sink through that thick skull. And if not, the half empty bottle of tequila she has stuffed behind her back might do the job.
"Anyways, I brought you a drink! On the house! DRINK UP, CHUMP."
COMBATSYS: Angel has started a fight here.
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Angel 0/-------/-------|
COMBATSYS: Alma has joined the fight here.
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Alma 0/-------/-------|-------\-------\0 Angel
COMBATSYS: Alma dodges Angel's Light Random Weapon.
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Alma 0/-------/-------|-------\-------\0 Angel
Alma waits patiently as Angel examines him. He's used to being stared at for all kinds of reasons. "I don't know," is his response to her first question. "I've never ordered it."
Yet he opened the door anyway.
The currently half-clothed psychic lifts both eyebrows slightly at her follow-up quip, suggesting that the habitually half-clothed Mexican may have at last gotten through to him. "I believe you," he says, somewhat wryly, and then: "You proved yourself a charismatic speaker before the crowd." False alarm, he didn't get it. Moreover, he thought the crowd was interested in her words.
He tilts his head slightly as Angel sticks out her tongue, and then tilts it much more as he reflexively leans away from the bottle passing a hairsbreadth short of his skull. "How generous," Alma remarks as he retreats several steps, raising his hands in preparation for battle, his voice calm as ever. "But I'm not a drinker." As her swing passes by, he attempts to snatch her arm and wrest the improvised weapon from her grasp, before twisting and hurling her bodily into his room, attempting to keep the ruckus away from the hall where it might disturb other guests and draw unwanted attention.
"Has anyone ever told you you're a bad influence?"
COMBATSYS: Angel blocks Alma's Medium Throw.
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Alma 0/-------/-------|-------\-------\0 Angel
"Ah..! H-hey!?"
Angel staggers forward as her arm is grabbed instinctively letting her grip on the bottle loosen when she starts to feel her wrist twist around. She plants a foot against the floor at the last second and leaps, flipping into the air even as Alma propels her into his room which allows her to aim her landing somewhat more favorably than he intended - right onto the bed.
The girl lands with a dull thump on her back sinking into the mass of cushions and blankets instead of slamming into the floor. She sprawls out in a spread eagle fashion for a moment but eventually rolls onto her side and lifts her head up to pout back at the towel-clad warrior over her shoulder.
"Angel is a naughty girl, it's true. She does bad things aaall the time."
Utilizing her familiar speed, Angel suddenly swings her legs around in a windmilling fashion, flipping herself back into a standing position in a flash. Her feet have barely had time to hit the floor before she's rushing towards Alma, bounding across the small gap between them in a single hop. Her hand reaches out, seeking to find purchase on arm or shoulder which will give her the leverage to plant her feet square into his chest and send them both flying apart again.
COMBATSYS: Alma blocks Angel's Lost Homeland.
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Alma 0/-------/------=|==-----\-------\0 Angel
Alma frowns slightly.
"Waltzing in the front door and assaulting me with a bottle is one thing," he remarks, "but please don't mess up the bed."
Alas, she does not listen, for she is a naughty girl who does bad things all the time. Among the bad things she does is pouncing upon him once again. Alma has no sense of this young woman's true intentions, but her lively fighting spirit is as appealing as ever, and in no time he finds himself attuned to her peculiar rhythm and playful intensity, matched by the fluctuations in her aura he perceives with his second sight. Thus it is that he is prepared for her aggressive rush, and this time it is he who goes with her movements.
When his arm is clasped and her feet brace against his chest, Alma curls forward and flips, grasping her arm in turn and taking Angel with him, preventing her from blasting away from him unless she is prepared to fling herself directly into the ground. The motion sends her hat fluttering away to the other end of the room, and Alma lands still holding to Angel, leaning over her and pushing her back against the floor.
"I suppose you stole that hat, too."
Flames of Soul Power begin to lick up his arms as he twists his weight and aims to swing her around before hurling her into the closet with explosive force, aiming to leave her dazed and entangled in terrycloth robes. One of which he could probably use right now.
"How many other sins have you committed?"
COMBATSYS: Angel counters Sea of Flame from Alma with Winds Fair Ground.
- CRAZY Hit! -
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Alma 0/-------/---====|==-----\-------\0 Angel
Angel's eyes widen as she gets taken for a ride she wasn't expecting. Whatever this guy's deal is he seems to be able to read her moves or just roll with the flow better than most people she's fought. The both of them tumble to the ground ending up with the young Mexican on her back with a half-naked man leaning over her.
"I'm getting the feeling that you like to be on top," she says with a smirk, ignoring his question about the hat. Ofcourse she stole it. Just like the liquor. And the cell phone. And a few other things. That isn't important right now though, as she can sense his power building yet again and she's not in the mood to have a repeat incident from the prior evening."But Angel is not that kind of girl!"
The quirky girl lifts a knee up as she is pulled upwards, slamming it square into Alma's exposed abdomen which loosens his grip enough for her to slide out of it. She wastes no time in capitalizing on this new opening, reaching out to hook her hand around the back of his neck to keep him from falling away as she brings her other fist into his face.
"What's this?! Angel makes a surprising escape!"
She punches him again, relentlessly hammering her impossible strength against his skull. Despite her sleek slender body the girl seems to possess power far beyond what most people should be capable of. The scary part? She's not using chi to do it. A third punch cracks into his cheek and Angel finally lets go, taking a small step back; not to give him time to recover but to wind up for a final dramatic blow, her fist spiraling around in an almost comical fashion before she lays into him with a straight haymaker.
"This is for my haaaat!"
Why do the things this woman says never make any sense?
Alma furrows his brow, making a good faith effort to comprehend her statement about his supposed preference for being 'on top'. To be sure, he is currently physically above her, but it seems highly improbable that the elusive Angel would be so literal. There is surely a deeper shade of meaning here. He wracks his brain for laboriously memorized idioms and phrases, as this sounds familiar, but he still doesn't get it. He considers under what other circumstances an individual such as himself and an individual such as herself might be positioned similarly.
Nope, he's got nothing.
"What kind of girl are you, then?" he asks instead. "Do you prefer to be on top?" Spoken with such composure, Alma almost sounds as though he's replying with his own innuendo, and not politely asking an innocent question. Almost.
He may not get his answer. Alma's eyes widen as his adversary wriggles her way into attacking position, slamming her knee into his gut and then entrapping his head to expose him to a series of fierce punches. Her strength is, once again, shocking. The psychic's senses can follow her unpredictable movements, but when she stuns him with these outrageous attacks, his body becomes unable to keep up. Rendered defenseless, Alma is spun around by her third punch as she releases him, swaying back and forth woozily and giving Angel the time to step back, prepare herself, and punch him so hard he goes flying toward the balcony and crashes through the glass doors with a terrible shattering.
The hat is avenged. Though really, it's just sitting over there.
Alma groggily rises to his feet, bare torso bleeding from several cuts and towel slightly tattered but otherwise intact, wondering how it is that Angel ensnares him in these ridiculous attacks. "It's not your hat, though, is it?" he chides, before stepping forward. She most assuredly stole that hat from someone working here. He wouldn't be surprised if there were an uonconscious bellboy slumped in an elevator right now.
It's like he's psychic or something.
"You will return it to its rightful owner!" he exclaims, eyes flashing, before he leaps towards her, long legs igniting with white flame wreathed in pinks and purples, lashing out with a series of three powerful kicks aimed to carry them both upward, buoyed by the gravity-defying properties of Psycho Power.
It may be a little inadvisable to do this in a towl, but we're fighting here.
COMBATSYS: Alma successfully hits Angel with Rising Fury.
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Alma 0/-------/---====|======-\-------\0 Angel
The hat is intact but clearly forlorn being separated from Angel's soft white locks; she can tell. Garments have feelings too! Fortunately, her brutalizing of the terrible person who callously knocked it to the ground has made it feel better. But now he is trying to insinuate that something she rightfully stole doesn't belong to her! Rude!
"Nuh uh! It's m-gyaaa!"
Alma's ferocious counter attack catches her mid-word and she sails upwards on wings of psychic flame as they hammer her into the air one after another. The last kick sends her flying back but since they are inside and not out in a nice open fighting arena, she plows into the ceiling and ricochets back down the floor, landing roughly on her front. Her natural 'padding' saves her from a few cracked ribs but the stinging bruises left behind by her opponent's kicks are enough to make up for it.
"Urg... Angel thinks she's going to throw up."
The girl pushes herself up, her rear end lifting first as she pulls her knees up towards her chest, face resting on the carpet. She takes a deep breath, letting it out slowly, as if to steady herself. But then she does it again, a rythmic slow inhale and exhale as she climbs first to her knees, then to her feet. When she finally lifts her gaze to peer back at Alma there is a glint of subtle golden energy flickering amidst the amusement in her eyes.
"Not."
COMBATSYS: Angel gathers her will.
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Alma 0/-------/---====|=======\==-----\1 Angel
Alma floats and settles gently upon the ground as Angel sticks her rump in the air, taking a moment to ensure his towel remains tightly secured while she groans piteously. Although he struck her with full intent to incapacitate her, he already knows her strength, and besides can sense that she is not finished yet. So as his shallow cuts bleed, he stands unmoved by her dramatic suffering, and subsequently unsurprised by her recovery.
"Perhaps instead you can cough up the truth."
He advances steadily, scanning for openings.
"Why have you chosen to target me?"
He hasn't bothered to interrogate her up to this point. He doesn't imagine she'll tell him who she really is, who she works for, where she comes from, or any other such things. But she might tell him what her purpose is, if only to serve her own interests. Even if he can't avoid fighting her, the fact that he defeated her last time might make her more forthcoming, if only so that he might willingly reciprocate with information of his own.
"You don't behave like a typical fan."
Alma jabs, his fist trailing faint afterimages, harmless manifestations of internalized Psycho Power, then jabs again, before lifting his knee and aiming a thrust kick toward Angel's bared belly, where her padding is less likely to protect her.
It's not as though he wants to avoid fighting her, anyway.
COMBATSYS: Angel blocks Alma's Autumn Rain.
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Alma 0/-------/---====|=======\====---\1 Angel
"Hey, a girl has to make a living somehow," Angel counters, lifting her arms to ward off the punches one after the other. The power behind the blows is obvious but her body is designed for taking on people like this so she just grins and bears it, pushing the pain into that little place in the back of her mind where serious thoughts go to suffer a sad lonely demise.
"Just following orders! I'm a victim of the system, a hapless drone of the proletariot masses, a cog in the machine, a..."
Angel's grin widens as she lifts her own leg to block the straight kick, catching it neatly on the front of her shin. The faint aura of power that has gathered around her body sends out all sorts of warning alarms as it flares to life within the curvy girl sending an explosive burst of power throughout her form.
"Playful girl with dirty secrets!"
Already at point blank, Angel has no need to resort to her mind-boggling speed bursts to take the offensive which gives the psycho warrior even less than than usual to react to her moves. Pushing back against his leg with her own, she attempts to throw him off balance and lurches forward into an immediate assault, filling the air that his body occupies with a multitude of brutalizing punches, kicks, knees... and is that a knife?!
Zipping behind Alma, his attacker kneels slightly to grab at the handle of a short blade hidden within her oversized boots. "What's this?! Angel is breaking all the rules! She's a low down, cheating..." She stabs upwards, aiming towards his back. "Bad giiiirl!"
COMBATSYS: Alma interrupts Loyalty Test for the Liberalists from Angel with Divine Intervention EX.
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Alma 1/----===/=======|===----\-------\0 Angel
Alma grits his teeth.
His alluring adversary launches into another of her overpowering flurries. Once again, although his advanced psychic training allows him to mentally keep up with her, physically his body is always a moment too slow. When he tries to defend, he finds himself attempting to block attacks that have already hit him, even as she prepares to strike him elsewhere. Her speed is unreal, above and beyond her other capabilities, as though specifically enhanced.
This time, he tries another approach.
Alma endures the series of strikes, grunting and bracing himself in a guard position, twisting to deflect what he can but absorbing more than a few of her blurring strikes. It's when she draws the weapon that his eyebrows twitch.
She'll go behind now--
He has been awaiting this moment. Having bided his time, Alma turns and thrusts out his palm behind him a split-second /before/ Angel moves, timing it perfectly such that she has already committed herself to the movement and so that his strike will arrive right with her. Before her knife can make contact, Alma's palm, imbued with ethereal light born to shatter wills, drives straight toward her heart.
~Booi~ing~
Well, it's inevitable.
A beam of light pierces through Angel and hurls her through the glass doors which Alma previously shattered, giving her a taste of the pleasant night air moments before she slams heavily against the guard rail, denting it precariously. It's a fair way down, but at least there's a swimming pool beneath. So, could be worse.
He doesn't bother with the victorious fist-clenching this time, instead taking a deep breath to try to shake off the damage he took while waiting out her assault. "I don't dislike playing with you," he comments, "but this time, you're going to tell me some of these dirty secrets."
If this isn't going to be a one-off, it behooves him to better grasp the situation.
"Kyaaaaa!"
It's hard to tell if Angel's girlish screech is in response to being groped again or the mind-searing pain that lances through her body as she is flung out the balcony door like a sack of potatoes. The coldness of the wind whipping about above the skyline touches her skin, sending goosebumps all over her body in a not unpleasant fashion... before the impact with the hard iron railing snaps her attention back to the matter at hand in a somewhat more unpleasant fashion.
"Oogh!" Impossibly, Angel's back wins the contest of strength against the metal bar, bending it outwards in a manner that might be rather comical if she wasn't dangling a few hundred feet over an open drop. The pool at the bottom provides a tiny sliver of comfort in knowing she /might/ survive such a fall but, despite her random antics, she's not insane enough to test her chances. Gambling is for suckers.
Carefully, the girl leans forward and zips a few feet away from the damaging guard rail, turning into a familiar blur of black momentarily. She doesn't rush at Alma, however, instead resting her hands against her waist, hips cocking sideways in a sultry fashion as she considers his demand.
"Hmm... well, you have been a pretty good sport so far. I guess I could let you in on -ooone- of my secrets~."
One of her hands drifts upwards, coming to rest against the zipper at the top of her short half-jacket. She winks and slowly starts to pull the tab downwards, filling the room with a sharp *zzzzzpt* as more of her already impressive cleavage begins to spill into view. Down, down, it goes, agonizingly slowly until there is only a few centimeters of metal teeth desparately clinging together like a stoic group of knights attempting to shield her modesty.
At the last second, Angel spins around, turning her back to Alma just as her jacket falls away from her shoulders, resting in the crooks of her elbows. The surface of her back is soft and uniformly tanned like the rest of her body, a fact which someone less naive than Alma might be able to use to infer her swimsuit habits, save for a small curvy tattoo on her left shoulder. Lacking any real form, it appears to be little more than some curvy angled lines woven together in a perhaps tribal fashion.
Angel grins at him over her shoulder in an alluring but playful fashion, sticking her tongue out. "Ja-jyaaan~! This is Angel's first dirty secret. Maybe if you ask nicely she'll show you another one..."
COMBATSYS: Angel unzips her top and gets nice and limber.
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Alma 1/----===/=======|=====--\-------\0 Angel
Alma is strangely entranced.
Even used to her erratic and teasing behavior, he is somewhat bemused as she agrees to share a secret with him only to begin disrobing. Bodies, while informative in their own rights, have never struck him as quite so beautiful or expressive as spirits, encouraging his habitual fixation on the latter. But in something of a first for him, her sensual gesture causes him to smell again a sweet aroma, a sensation called back from the previous night and triggered by the sight of her skin. This time, he is not quite so straight-faced as he watches her zipper descended, half-perplexed, half-nervous.
When she turns away, he's even a little disappointed.
"It suits you."
He compliments her tattoo anyway, composing himself as he regards how her jacket slides back and down her arms, narrowing his eyes slightly. It's nice that they're getting along, but this isn't going to go anywhere unless he can get some real answers out of her. Besides, these poses of hers are starting to unsettle him, which is a bit troubling.
"Under normal circumstances, I would ask politely--"
Alma lunges forward, his horizontal leap carrying him across the hotel room and through the shattered door, rapidly approaching where Angel stands with her back to him.
"But you have a way of making circumstances abnormal."
He attempts to seize her arms before she can clothe herself again or free them, taking advantage of how the leather binds them to wrench them further behind her. If he can successfully grapple her in a painful armbar, the towel-clad psychic will turn and drive her into the exterior wall, pushing against her from behind as the night breeze whispers about them.
"I'll need to know more than one secret."
COMBATSYS: Angel counters Strong Throw from Alma with Blue Monday Parade.
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Alma 2/<<<<<<</<<<<<<<|-------\-------\0 Angel
Well look at that. With persistance even someone like Alma can get the hints she's been dropping like bunker buster bombs over their last couple encounters. Speaking of bunker busters, hers are still hanging out in the breeze which could make her next move a little awkward.
Displaying yet another level of impressive manual dexterity and speed, Angel snaps her arms to the side and the jacket jumps back into place even as she brings her hands foward, fastening the two halves of the zipper together and yanking it up towards her neck in a single smooth motion. In the span of the short few moments it takes Alma to reach her, she's redressed and facing him and his naughty grasping hands find nothing but her well-toned leg in their path.
"Angel doesn't like pushy guys!"
Deflecting the unsuspecting young man's attack to the side with a twist of her hips, Angel takes a step forward and jams her hand against his throat, catching him just under the chin between her thumb and pointing finger in a stunning chop that ends with her fingers wrapped around his neck; but she doesn't stop there. Spinning in place, Angel does a little hop as she whips her hapless victim around, using her body for a fulcrum to drive him into the floor.
Alma's never been called a pushy guy before.
But then, he's also never been thrown off by sex appeal before. Typically he is the one doing the unnerving, passion and physicality and a particular poise blurring together into what Alma thinks of as simply charisma. But Angel once again has a way of catching him up in her own pace and foiling his attempts to establish a rhythm, and Alma is beginning to realize that this is due not only to her eccentricity but something sensual which he typically looks past. He is used to relying on his aura sense and psychic intuition in fights, but the more Angel poses and postures and the more outrageously she does so, the more even he finds himself drawn to focus on his, shall we say, more conventional sight.
It's also a little difficult to fight in a towel.
Alma's attempt to seize the initiative and pressure Angel into revealing her reasons does not go as planned. He's stunned by the sudden blow to his throat, then hurled with a twist of his adversary's limber body to the floor of the veranda, causing the balcony to quiver from the impact. Even as physically he feels the strike sap his strength and his mind races to catch up with events, Alma's will to fight blazes at full strength, yearning to be released and to collide with Angel's inimitable spirit. But once again, Alma restrains himself. His body can't quite keep up. If he unleashes his power prematurely, while he remains stunned, the consequences could be dire.
"Aren't you... the pushy one?"
So Alma remains where he is on the ground, pushing himself up to his knees before Angel as he forces himself to breathe again, quietly gasping and exerting his will to restore his body's functions. It may appear as though Alma is already finished, unable even to rise, but his pain is quickly fading, his concentration sharpening to a cutting edge.
"I don't remember inviting you... into my hotel room."
COMBATSYS: Alma gathers his will.
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Alma 2/<<<<<<</<<<<<<<|-------\-------\0 Angel
To be fair, a lot of the stuff that spews out of Angel's mouth first goes through whatever serves as a filter to her particular brand of crazy and isn't always what most people would consider 'coherent' or 'reasonable'. There is a certain twinge of underlying reason and sense to her commentary but mostly it seems to be whatever random thought came to mind first. She seems to be treating this more like a date than a fight, her faith in her own ability seeming to grant her a level of confidence that most people would associate with sociopaths. The truth, however, is that she's just not the kind of person to take things seriously; life is a game, why sweat the details?
Alma feels two impacts as he is unceremoniously dumped on the floor, first first being his own battered body slamming into the unyielding surface. The second is a great deal less painful, a soft but malleable cushion squishing into his chest as Angel comes down on top of him with her full weight. The scent of something tropical and fruity briefly tickles his nose as the young Mexican's hair drifts across his face and she lingers only a few inches away, practically laying on top of him. She gives him another of her lop-sided grins before placing her hand against his chest and casually shoving him down as she climbs to her feet, moving back into the hotel room as he rises to his knees.
"Details, details! You think Angel is a vampire or something? Besides, Angel came to bring you roomservice, remember?" Her hands run over her tanned skin again as the agent strikes a pose with her back to him, skewing her hips to the side and sticking her tongue out as she peers back over her shoulder. "I guess if you want Angel to leave though... well, then you'll just have to tell her what she wants to know."
Despite the lingering pain of the injuries she's sustained thus far, Angel is still as energetic as always. She may not be the easiest person to motivate into action but once the crazy train leaves the station its hard to slow her down. Whirling about to face the towel-clad Alma, she leans forward and purses her lips thoughtfully. Almost like watching a lightbulb light up over her head, her expression suddenly shifts to undisguised amusement as something occurs to her.
"Eheh...hehehe...Angel has the best idea! You're gonna love it!"
COMBATSYS: Angel is getting serious! Her body is ready!
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Alma 2/<<<<<<</<<<<<<<|=------\-------\0 Angel
It's not usually this difficult to concentrate.
The gathering light in Alma's eyes flickers slightly as Angel splays atop him, but he is shoved down before he can say anything more as she rises and saunters back into his hotel room like she owns the place. Sniffing once of her lingering aroma, somewhat bemused, the psychic feels his energies take a more manageable form, his body recovering enough for him to at last rise to his feet, modestly tightening the towel about his waist as he does so.
"This is the most violent service I've ever received."
Alma blinks as Angel twists her hips again, once again mostly just confounded by her behavior. Did she want revenge for their previous encounter? Did she assume that whatever questions she wants to ask him -- which he still doesn't know -- he won't answer unless she renders him unable to resist? Or is it a mistake to ascribe rational explanations to her behavior except within some very restricted limits?
"It sounds like we both have questions. Angel or vampire, I need to know your goals before I can answer any of yours--"
He steps back into the hotel room, through the shattered door, before pausing, the light of gathered power in his eyes carefully constrained. He's hesitant to press the assault, partly because he has no idea whether he actually has to defeat this woman or not. It's impossible to predict what this new plan of hers will be.
"Okay ... what's your idea?"
So he might as well ask.
Alma keeps his body carefully relaxed, having at last regained an equilibrium of body and mind, preparing himself for whatever Angel has in store-- he hopes.
COMBATSYS: Alma focuses on his next action.
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Alma 2/<<<<<<</<<<<<<<|=------\-------\0 Angel
Everything that Alma says seems to flow right over the bouncy girl's head, her attention focused entirely on receiving the one thing that she wants right now. She says nothing in return to his commentary on her service, nor does she offer him any hint of interest that might show she is prepared to answer his request about her intentions. However, when he finally speaks the words she wants to her, her grin widens from playful to mischievous and she titters yet again.
"Eheheh... you really wanna know? Course ya do." She answers for him, the question being entirely rhetorical or part of her own little self monologue. "Well, since ya asked nicely, Angel's gonna tell ya. Ya see, Angel's looking for somebody; somebody that took something they shouldn't have, and she's pretty sure you know where this person is."
The agent straightens up and clasps her hands behind her back, fidgeting back and forth with a gentle swaying motion that sets her barely restrained cleavage in motion as well. It doesn't look like she's doing it on purpose but then again it's hard to tell how much of her antics are an act and how much is carefully calculated distraction tactics. The truth probably lies somewhere in the middle.
"Problem is, Angel doubts you'll tell her if she just asks nicely. Plus, it's more fun this way! Anywaaaaays," she says, pausing her side-to-side sliding long enough to give Alma a sidelong glance. "Since we're getting all sweaty and stuff, I thought it'd be nice if we both cooled off!" A hand goes to her jacket, once more tugging on the zipper to bring it's already scandalously low-cut halves even further apart, tauntingly revealing her tanned flesh centimeter by centimeter.
Angel leans forward as she does this, emphasizing the thing that most men's eyes are naturally drawn towards to begin with, smiling alluringly as she does so. "Angel can be friendly when she wants to..."
Ziiiiiip.
The jacket is yanked open, revealing the cloth of her thin blue undercup bra. Angel's smirk becomes taunting once again in the brief moment that allows him to peek before she takes off at a dead run, her insane speed carrying her across the carpetted floor in a flash.
"Let's go for a swim!"
The girl reaches out for his arms, aiming for the upper shoulders as she dives into Alma's space. Whatever spurred this particular bout of madness, she seems intent on taking them both over the railing of the balcony to plunge into the only pool present - several stories below at the ground level.
COMBATSYS: Alma interrupts Cosmic Futen Swing from Angel with Absolution.
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Alma 0/-------/---<<<<|=======\-------\0 Angel
Alma knows at last what he must do.
He realizes it as, blank-faced, he watches in silence while Angel unzips her jacket with aching slowness, listening to her idly offer some context for her assaults while steadily increasing the amount of her flesh on display. Alma's gaze obediently goes where it is intended to as Angel bends over, and he no longer displays his previous perplexity. The more of Angel's body he sees, the more his desire grows. The desire--
"Then let's be friends--"
To purify her.
"--after a proper introduction."
His adversary approaches swiftly, tackling him off the ledge with blinding speed. Any witnesses to this confrontation, which hopefully there are none, would see no retaliation on Alma's part, and it would appear as though he had been completely overcome, arms wrapping about her in an impromptu embrace. But a split-second before the impact, Alma's eyes had flared.
And as they spiral through the air, descending to the water below, a bright light bursts around them, the power of Alma's will brought to bear in a sphere surrounding the two, rocketing down like a meteor from the heavens, his conviction brought fully to bear against Angel's spirit. Her will is elusive and difficult to pin down, but when she strikes at him, he has the opportunity to strike at her. It is not that he considers her behavior indecent, conventionally. But he can only interpret the various ways she disrupts his focus as forms of attack, and the only way he can overcome them once and for all is through absolution: the fragmentation of her will and its subsequent renewal.
With a cacophanous splash they crash into the pool below. Bobbing to the surface at last, Alma gasps for breath but keeps his grip on Angel as they float in the shallows near the steps leaping out of the pool, water streaming down from his hair as he blinks before staring intently down at her.
"And this is how," he says, "I express myself."
Whereupon his damp towel bobs to the surface several meters away.
There follows a long silence.
"Not this part now," he continues, expression and tone utterly unchanging. "The part a few seconds ago."
So much for absolution.
Well, this is a new one for her. Sky diving is one thing but jumping out of an open window from... hell, she forgot how high up it was. No parachute, no glider, no real plan except try to aim for the water based off the brief glimpse she got while out on the balcony.
Result? About the same as usual.
Angel lets loose a giddy laugh as the both of them plummet through the cold night air, her arms wrapped around her interrogation subject in a fashion that is a lot more friendly than most inquisitors. Even if he were to try and push out of her grip now, it wouldn't change the outcome. Unless he can fly or something. Shit, she didn't even consider that!
"Hey, you can't like sprout wings or som--ngh?!"
No, but searing light seems to still be on the menu. Angel's eyes widen as the overpowering will hammers against her rebellious spirit. She's never really dealt with this sort of attack before, it's like someone's trying to pick her apart at the seams from the inside out. Not even the shit they did to her as a kid felt like this. Despite the incredible pain, the girl doesn't cry out, not even when they plunge into the water - which a lot less soft than she figured it would be - and slam into the concrete below.
Her vision goes blurry for a moment, her lungs instinctively inhaling fresh air as her scream manages to finally break free of the cage in her throat, thankfully muffled by the water. The only problem is there is no air to be found, just the water. She chokes as the cholrine-treated liquid burns its way through her esophagus, grasping weakly at her neck.
Fortunately, it seems her date for the evening is something of a gentleman. Angel's head breaks the surface of the water as she is pulled up above the surface and she immediately begins to hack and cough. After a few moments she practically vomits a stream of clear liquid directly into Alma's face.
Casually lifting a hand to wipe her matted hair out of her eyes, Angel offers a sheepish grin. "Um... that is how Angel expresses herself most of the time, but there is usually alcohol involved first."
COMBATSYS: Angel takes no action.
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Alma 0/-------/---<<<<|
COMBATSYS: Angel can no longer fight.
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Alma 0/-------/---<<<<|
Alma endures Angel's spout of water straight-faced.
"I see."
Somehow, vaguely, he has the sense that he deserves it.
"Pardon the oversight."
Is the absence of alcohol the problem here?
"If I answer your question about the whereabouts of this person you seek, would you mind overlooking this?" Alma at least knows objectively that this is an inappropriate situation to be in. He can't even separate from her to pick up his towel without exposing himself. Mostly he just feels bad about it, but if she were to cry out for help, considering all the ruckus that has already taken place, the complications would be difficult to resolve. More than anything else, that her first comment after his attack is a joke reminds him of her fundamental persistence. Even if she can no longer fight, her spirit has come back just as it was. There are no further lengths to which he can go to rebuff her. "I would appreciate it."
Still basically embracing her while holding her head above water, Alma ponders for a moment, his expression serious in the manner of someone contemplating a riddle.
"In the meantime-- one moment--"
So saying, he begins to gingerly walk across the pool floor, slowly making his way over to where his sodden towel floats. Obviously, for modesty's sake, just in case someone happens by, he must cover himself with the only available garb: Angel's body.
"Please endure this for now."
As always, Alma's phrasing is impeccable.
COMBATSYS: Alma has ended the fight here.
Angel looks off to the side quietly for a moment, nibbling on her lip as she perhaps seriously contemplates his offer. She can't really fight back any more, atleast not with her fists. Forcing the information out of him has failed and he seems damn near impervious to her particular brand of charm, which would be quite vexxing if he wasn't so adorably naive. Most people who solve their problems with their fists are the proud sort and an offer such as what he has presented to her might be taken as pity or insult.
Fortunately, she's got no shame.
"Kay~"
It isn't until now that Angel's gaze drifts over to the towel. She blinks at it, then looks down to assess the situation, as it were. After a moment, her lop-sided grin returns and she peers back up at Alma with a teasing sultry slant to her eyes.
"Oho... Angel is definately going to expect a drink after this."
Alma's serious expression begins to look slightly dejected.
"...Right."
At least she's easily bribed.
Hopefully once he treats Angel to a drink and informs her of what he knows of Jiro's whereabouts -- the last he heard from his friend, the Stray Dog was briefly suspending his hunt to join his cousin Jira on some sort of expedition in search of treasure -- the Pool Incident will be laid to rest. But then, nothing seems to be simple when Angel is involved. For some reason, Alma briefly has a vision of a drunken Angel snoring and passed out on his bed while he tries, exhausted, to get to sleep on the hotel room floor.
It's not easy being psychic.
With these grim thoughts of his near future, carrying Angel's still mostly exposed flesh cradled next to his very much exposed own, Alma valiantly continues onward, step by step, toward the towel that is only the first solution to a long series of problems to come.
It's a long walk.
Log created on 01:36:52 08/30/2014 by Alma, and last modified on 22:16:52 09/21/2014.