KOF 2016 - KOF: KOFallout

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Description: The Seekers of Mysteries team faces a grim reality; already eliminated from the King of Fighters in their first round match and still feeling the shocking amount of damage. All however is not restful and facilitating of recovery as there's not much time to sit still. Some sinister plot at a fighting tournament!?

It was over all too quickly for belief. Far removed from the sounds of the crowd and arena floor the Seekers of Mysteries dressing room made for a rather solemn and quiet place to contemplate the events that played out minutes earlier. With Ayame still to recover from the effects of her fight she is laid out as comfortably as possible on the cushioned bench seating.

Trish focusing all of her attention on their mighty miko while attempting to diagnose the extent of the injury before performing unnecessary or harmful aid. All of her attention was required; there was none to spare for Brandon and how he would be taking this. Ayame's breathing was more than a little ragged and she was surely less comfortable than Brandon at present. Mouth pressed into a firm disapproving line, her eyes are sharp and clinical despite how gently she slips a hand in to cradle and tip Ayame's neck back. It was just enough to aid her breathing before that same complex glyph adorning the back of her hands flares back to life; the use this time is much brighter than when used while they were exposed to the public.

"Brandon. ...Please bring me a bucket."

Coming across as authoritative she fond was just the right mix of being succinct and using enough volume in your delivery, Firm of tone and purpose yet leaving no reason for doubt in what you were saying.

"The one in the corner over there will do."

Whatever it was intended for there was no guarantee the poor girl wouldn't still be seeing stars or feel she was going to need a bucket as soon as she was back up under her own power.

When Brandon was watching Ayame fight, it was silence and for just a moment he believed that Ayame would be able to pull it off. And while he hadn't faced Munin before, he figured that if Yuri came in, Ayame would have a decent chance against her due to his own experience. But then as that combination landed, Brandon's morale dropped.

As the team headed back to the locker room, the arcane investigator was dead silent. His eyes had no life to them and it was if his body was on automatic, doing what it needed to do and going where it needed to go. And thanks to Trish's treatment after his fight, his body was in much better condition. Especially the hands. So if he wasn't in the midst of his emotional meltdown he'd probably verbally agree that Ayame at this point needed the attention.

All of a sudden, Trish's voice breaks the silence and yanks him out of the mental torture chamber he placed himself in. It was probably exactly what the mystical detective needed. It gave him purpose. It gave something to do which at least for those short moments wouldn't be automatic and it took him out of his mind.

Brandon moves towards the indicated basket and picks it up handing it towards Trish and then watching.

Content to let the girl settle back down to rest Trish lets the silence draw out for a moment so she can listen to the natural breathing. Leaving Brandon hanging a moment while wondering how Ayame's body will react or prove compatible with her arts. Fine enough!

Drawing a forearm across her brow she pauses momentarily before twisting to acknowledge and look up at Brandon. A modest smile whilst she rises to take the bucket from their leader, setting it on the floor next to the Miko. Her bedside manner was rather rough after all these years but she was making an effort.

"Thank you. Now sit over there."

Gesturing to take a seat on one of the other benches she makes a show of reaching up and gathering the mane of thick blonde hair and throwing it back over her shoulders, wishing she'd thought to bring a hair tie of some kind. With Ayame seen to the next thing to focus on were those hands and what had become of their team after that. Injured people weren't to be blamed for letting their emotions go wild and despair to run riot. How much of that was the pain and shock clouding someone's actual opinion or insight she was never sure.

"Put your hands like this as best as you are able."

She mimes a clamshell formation with palms held together and waits for Brandon to submit to her command.

Of the three people in the room she was the one who was possibly the most out of their depth, was that it? One loss was it took to be removed from the tournament? She didn't know, but the look in Brandon's eyes was telling and there was nothing to be done about it right here and now.

The instruction to sit in the indicated seat but with him finally in the here and now, he can focus on what Trish was doing and be available for whatever she needed as far as helping her with Ayame. Even now, Brandon isn't concerned with the status of his hands let alone what channeling his power directly has done to the rest of his body. But rather his team mates, their morale, their health.

He watches in silence as Trish throws back the blond hair, it's a testament to how out of it the investigator is. With more clarity of thought, he would've offered his tie or handkerchief to let her tie off her hair. Instead, he watches in silence.

When she indicates that he should cup his hands he does so, not sure what it will do for Ayame but he complies. Triage and medical treatent both of medical and arcane kind was Trish's wheelhouse, not his.

In a way, Brandon was just as out of his element as Trish was. Tournament fighting and street fighting in general was familiar to him. It was however the first time he's ever taken on a leadership role. He was either a subordinate in his time of interning, or he went it alone.

Trish's patient was already bandaged up some by the staff medics prior to being transported to the back room. The right side of her head and face is entombed in white wrappings at an angle, concealing her right eye where undoubtedly some severe bruising has settled in. The crown of her head is also well wrapped, with her long hair sticking out the back of it down at the top of her neck - no doubt dealing with broken skin from the first punch that sent the combat priestess reeling.

She's still as Trish tends to her, out completely cold from her brutal experience in the arena. Only Trish's assurances that she could be of some assistance kept her from being taken to a hospital all together to make sure whatever head trauma she suffered didn't result in more severe, lasting problems. It is hard to tell what effect the woman's talent is having at first given that most of what the girl suffered was likely below the surface of the skin, but it certainly isn't making anything worse.

Finally, as Trish's attention turns to Brandon's condition, the unconscious fighter stirs, left eye blinking open with a wince. Her left hand lifts to rest over her right eye as she sits up slightly, bracing herself with her right hand. Opening her eye again, she glances over the other two, finally pushing herself to sitting the rest of the way up, her back propped against the cushions.

"Well, that was enlightening," she offers by way of observation. "I cannot believe I let him land that punch." The dazing blow had left her struggling and vulnerable even after striking out against him and the clearly veteran fighter had left no opportunity to recover before following up with his brutal combinations.

Turning to the side to rest her feet on the floor, she remains seated, hand still resting over the right side of her bandaged face. "But it was worth it," she continues, her eye settling on Brandon, "To see what price you would pay to win." A slight nod is offered, a quick glance at his hands now receiving attentive care.

Placing her own hands on either side of Brandon's she completes the circuit. Passing power back and forth between both her hands maintains the wavelike flow through the wounded extremities. The heavy sleeves of the black kimono she's wearing obscuring the thing line running down the back of her arm to where it makes contact with the glyph symbol at a similar brightness.

"You can help, try sending a little energy to your hands, One alone or both as though you were ~very slowly~ charging a card."

She tries to keep her voice low. It'd help some with the demands on her if he could supplement some of the energy required with his own. The wounds were encouraged to close and heal naturally but it was an effort to deal with burns, cuts and try to minimise scarring.

She'd been fascinated by the scars on his hands at one time, figured it was a price for learning to use some kind of martial art or the 'magic' sleight of hand he practiced. Such damage being self-inflicted out of ignorance or lack of training on one so young; mages and witches tended to live very long and productive lives. Natural recovery could only do so much.

"It will probably itch."

Her mood sours despite their precious third teammate timely recovery. In response to Ayame's waking and pressing thoughts Trish bites her tongue, voicing her opinion on what just might be 'enlightening' about all this wouldn't be productive. Continuing to minister to the task at hand rather than let herself get too distracted she instead offers advice to the Miko.

"Girl, If you start moving about too soon or seeing stars there's a bucket at your feet... -If you need it."

It's one of those cases where Trish's advice in the first place helped him devise a path to using magic by charging up his cards and so she has more familiarity with it than most, however, Brandon's dealt with it on a regular basis. He shakes his at that suggestion.

"No. Because the energy is coming directly from me, it'll undo anything you do at least until I'm close to recovery. The energy will have to come from my cards. I apologize for having to temporarily break the circuit."

He reaches for pouch and pulls a Four of Cups and a Six of Pentacles from the deck. He then returns to cupping his hands as before however with the new additions held in his hands contributing energy via those two specific cards. And then he turns.

"I normally try to forgo using my power directly for obvious reasons. I guess I let the responsibilities of having people dependent on me get to me."

"Mn," Ayame offers by way of acknowledgement about the bucket. The pallor of her complexion reveals clearly enough that she is feeling the aftereffects of being struck out in three brutal blows. Instead, she contents herself with sitting quietly and watching what the other two are doing, piecing together the gist of it quickly enough.

"Those glyphs," she observes after a long moment of silence, "A special focus?" She ponders, finally lowing her hand from her right eye to rest in her lap, leaning forward a little to ponder further on the abilities of her teammates. Brandon certainly gathered himself an interesting trio, each of them with their own unique ties to chi manipulation, from her talismans, Trish's glyphs, and his own cards. But while she used talismans to store chi for later, the team leader himself seemed to, perhaps, need them in a way... to somehow focus what appeared to be a phenomenal amount of chi in a way that doesn't destroy his own body. Learning more about that level of channeling could be put to use somehow, she's certain.

Inhaling then exhaling softly, she is quiet as Brandon speaks, responding to the offered aid with comments about how best to manage his own recovery and provides further insight into the nature of his cards. "There was no predicting what we were going up against. That man does not have much of a track record to gauge by." Grunting, she lifts her hand to the side of her head again, shifting forward as if trying to see about standing up, eager to be moving again, only to decide staying put for a little longer might be necessary.

"I suppose that is it for our team as far as the competition itself. But..." she focuses on Brandon with her uncovered eye, "If you think there is anything further to find out about this event, I will help if possible."

And the sound of a crash echos throughout the halls of G-King.

It comes as a burst, only a single crash, almost to answer Ayame's comment. Maybe it was an accident; maybe a technician was just a mite too clumsy. But then there was a second crash. And a third. A fight? The sounds of metal smashing against metal could be heard in the distance, away from the locker room, all the way back to the arena. For a moment, the crashes halt. Hammering crashes, hammering blows. Strange sounds, as there was nothing scheduled to come after the Keepers of Secrets' match. Brandon and Trish may have not heard those sounds before.

But Ayame has.

Very recently, in fact.

Just like in her last tournament.

Trish breaks the circuit and cuts the flow of power when the explanation that was delivered beggars all belief. That wasn't someone going all out and bordering on destroying themselves at the same time- it was how he used his power. Period.

When the cards are set comfortably in his grasp she starts to re-establish the minor ritual, more complexity need to be added to attach to and regulate power drawn from the cards, it's unfortunately far more visible and the complex latticework between cards and her hands begins to fill as the golden coloured light bleeds away from the arcane tools. Her features twist in pain and brow furrows as she attempts to regulate as her own circular glyphs animate slowly.

"Ghn.. Trickier than I thought it would be."

The entirety of Virgo lighting up to expose the framework of lines built up and around her body. Lines running over bare skin wherever it's exposed; it trails around her limbs and up her body, the flicker of colour and visibility dies down as she adequately compensates.

Listening to Ayame's speech throughout she can acutely feel some relief in that this is over. She had gotten to see just what she needed to of Brandon's arts. Fighting at least, and she personally hadn't emerged with as much as a bruise. A good deal all round.

"The fruit of many years of work."

She leaves Ayame that as an answer to her question regarding the inscribed glyphs with the vast majority of her attention focused on the space between her hands and Brandon's own. Not being a native to this kind of environment she only bats an eye at the out of place noises not viewing them as unnatural for the goings on here.

It was a tad irritating was all.

Brandon's skin returns to somewhere closer to it's normal state thanks to the jumpstart on healing in the arena itself plus the boosted healing back in locker rooms thanks to her power enhanced by his minor arcana cards.

Then the crash happens. His natural instinct is to move towards the sound as he slips the two minor arcana cards back into the deck. Even if his deck wasn't recharged, he still had a responsibility to see to the safety of his team mates, personal condition be damned.

Brandon moves towards the noise while in the same motion reclips his pouch to his belt. He glances around...

It seems she will have to content herself with the answer proffered by Trish. Ayame looks none too put out by the vague response, understanding quite well the need for keeping secrets. It has only been in recent months that she finally began to test her talents in the public fighting world at the risk of allowing her ever growing list of enemies to see what, exactly it is, she is capable of. In the end, the new experiences have been worth it, while the risks she was concerned about have yet to be proven out - at least as far as she knew thus far.

The cacophony above gets a reaction from Ayame at the same time Brandon notices it. Only, she knows full well exactly what it sounds like. Grimacing, she edges herself off the edge of the cushion to test her feet before rising up cautiously. Extending her hand behind herself as if to catch herself if she falls again, she turns her head hesitantly to find her staff. Each step seems questionably unsteady, her other hand brushing against the wall for support until she finally gets a hold of her weapon.

Inhaling then sighing softly, she waits for a moment, eye closed in hopes that the room will stop spinning long enough for her to move about. "Come on, I... think I know what we will find above. Be ready for anything though," she cautions as she takes a tentative step forward. Using her staff as a walking stick, the battle weary fighter heads through the exit leading back up to the arena where their match had taken place. By now, the audience would be cleared out and only cleanup crews should be around. But that is not what she expects to find above.

What would /he/ have to do with this event?

The main arena was empty.

The massive crowd that had been there earlier had finally filed out. The messes they had left at their seats were not even cleaned up yet; the area around the edge of the arena still had the litter by it. The arena itself was currently in 'technician' mode; all the features and styles of the ring was partially executed and exposed; barriers partially out, the various environmental nozzles ready to act. It seemed like the arena should be, and would be abandoned. All evidence would point, maybe this was just the sounds of the arena being worked upon.

Except, of course, the two figures fighting in the ring.

Two combots, the titanium framed robots. Each one the size of a man, with metal bodies and red lamps for eyes. The first was unarmed, fighting only with its pincher claws, swinging them like fists. The second? It was dropping a pouch to the sidelines. Unarmed now, the first combot surges in, hurling out a backfist to hit the second squarely in. Another crashing sound comes, as the second Combot stumbles backwards.

And standing at the ringside, was Lee Chaolan.

The silver-haired executive was dressed in a stunning white tuxedo. Bearing a black bowtie with it, he idly tugs at a rose in his front pocket. With him? Two gentlemen, somewhat obscured in the low lighting. The executive was holding a tablet computer, watching the fight idly. The second Combot, the one who had the pouch, raises his hand in the air. The first Combot raises its arm up, and suddenly spasms. The second collapses, while the first, steadily adjusting its form, pounds a fist into its hand. Lee Chaolan did not seem to notice the members of Seekers of Mysteries, being more focused on flourishing a gesture to the combots, frozen in action, turning to his guests. "So you see, gentlemen, with the seats still warm from the fight, the live data we've capture can replicate the pivotal match in real time."

"Impressive, is it not?"

The black business cards offered to Lee Chaolan were, in all actuality, fairly expensive to produce: The red print was raised off the surface of the card, forming intricate frames with Gothic accents. And while the cards could have been easily been designed by and procured from a hoodie-clad goth with multiple piercings in an attempt to be 'brooding' and 'edgy'... in all actuality, the raised print is the result of a special type of ink.
The type is O Negative.

In the subdued lighting, it is hard to tell exactly what nationality the two gentlemen are, but one thing is clear: their skin is a pale grey, which is brought into stark contrast by their dark clothing.

Artur Ioveanu is the name of the taller man. Clean-shaven and broad-shouldered, he wears an impressively long leather coat, black with crimson trim. In contrast with his shorter companion, he moves at a glacial pace, thoroughly unfazed by the chaos taking place upon the G-King Arena floor.

His partner, identified as Valentin Vladu, is lanky and thin as a rail, a fact made all the more notable by the fact that he couldn't possibly have his double-breasted suit tailored any closer to his form. A razor-sharp goatee chisels his chin out of the subdued lighting. He moves with casual grace, the slick and engaging counterpart to his statuesque companion.
"So these are robots, yes? So you're using, what, video capture to, um, overlay the live performance data onto these, whatd you call 'em, Com... bots?" Valentin looks skeptical for a moment, an eyebrow raising as he flicks a borderline condescending grin back at Mr. Chaolan. "This is all... impressive, to be sure, but any moron can make a bunch of puppets dance in a copy of something they just saw. Where's the intelligence? Where's the -soul?-"

While Valentin's rapid-fire questions continue, Artur's nostrils flare as he absorbs the new information without any real sign of judgment or even acknowledgment. For now, his eyes are focused upon the battle unfolding before him. Though, with his high vantage point and commanding view of the G-King Arena, his crimson eyes wouldn't need to move very far to catch sight of movement. His ears, though...

Valentin seems unconcerned with the possibility of interlopers hearing his treble-toned chatter. "Listen, Lee, I don't mean to give you a hard time, but like... boss-man's really looking for ways to test 'is army. To give 'em real threats. Not just run through the paces of some intricate dance number, y'know?"

Trailing along behind her teammates for their first few hesitant moments of walking, as Ayame is still finding her feet Trish keeps scrubbing and hand through her hair obviously frustrated as to being interrupted by something that seemed unimportant. Eventually folding her arms crossly while they walked to openly demonstrate her levels of disapproval. If Ayame were to stumble as unsteady as she appeared in this condition; she would be in no state to run away from whatever 'anything' they needed to be ready for. What was there to get worked up about ahead?

The messages were a little mixed and such she was content to be quiet and sneak up on whatever was making such a din. By the time they actually make it to a place where they can spy on the goings on she's actually more intrigued by what she can overhead of the negotiations than the now visible robot's themselves, still identifiable as such even with the lights dimmed as they were. Clanking noisome things but there were certain keywords causing her ears to perk up at. Most especially the notion of an 'army' someone was selling.

"Was this what you were expecting?"

Her subdued hiss of a whisper to Ayame a little louder than necessary since she appeared to be on the bandaged side of the young girls head.

Brandon turns pale, being forced to relive his defeat once more passively and from a distance. He clutches his fist so tightly that his knuckles go even paler than normally would be. It's fortunate that Brandon is meticulous about keeping his nails trimmed and filed or else he would've undone all the work that Trish had done in healing his hands.

After a few moments, the investigator forces himself to take a few cleansing breaths. He then pinches the bridge of his nose but the look of anger doesn't fade away. As he watches his counter part get smacked up he remains quiet since he doesn't trust himself to speak. On the other hand, there's also a part of him that wonders how that robot would duplicate his Astral Swords of Death spell.

He folds his arms and stares at the three men. He doesn't look too pleased.

Some elements of the scene are exactly as Ayame expected. The debris of a packed stadium now emptied, the source of the metallic clanging as two combat robots bash each other senseless, and of course, the entrepreneur who she would naturally associate with the advanced fighting constructs. The miko says nothing as she sets eyes upon the scene, but there is a visible tug of a frown at her lips. How much time passed since the bout is a fuzzy concept to her at the moment, not having had the opportunity to check a clock since coming to, but she knows it can't be /that/ long. And yet... in that short amount of time, they found a way to program the Combots with battle data directly from the match?

"I have seen one before," she grunts, the tone of her voice suggesting a certain annoyed impatience. It must not be a fond memory. She turns her head so that she can look toward Brandon with her one uncovered eye, reading the emotions playing out on his face. That he remains quiet in the face of what he is seeing is a clue to the type of man he is - introverted, perhaps. She looks away from him, perhaps sparing him the focused attention as she continues. "They can be programmed to emulate a fighter's style... with obvious limitations. But I had imagined it would be a much longer process than this."

Her ears are still ringing, and the clanging collisions of the robots are only making her headache worse, but she can make out Lee Chaolan himself conducting some kind of business with two other executives. The CEO of Violet Industries has a voice that carries well and she's able to understand that he is brokering a deal, showing off the robotic merchandise, but what the other two men say in return is outside her ability to hear for now.

She turns her head to look at Trish for a moment, then toward Brandon. "Careful with this man," she whispers in addition, no doubt recalling her own encounter with him before. "He is immensely powerful. We are not in any condition to face him right now." Even with Trish unharmed by the match, the girl seems confident in her assessment. "But... it still might make sense to confront him about this." The last remark is made toward Brandon, though her tone suggests she finds the display offensive as well even if it isn't her match on display!

Lee Chaolan remains patient, that thin smile on his lips. He was keeping his gaze on Artur, trying to read him as his partner banters on with question after question. Second-guessing -his- creation, his pride and joy. And yet, Lee Chaolan doesn't even show a hint of awareness, a hint of fury. As the last question comes, he just shrugs. And with that, he returns back to his tablet.

"Let me show you one of more developed models."

The clang, clang, clang comes of heavy footsteps, opposite of the trio spying in. Another Combot, this one being far more familiar. The silver-skinned robot was clad in a white haori and red hakama... in a mirror style to one of the members of Seekers of Mysteries. Clutched in one of its pincher claw hands was a metal staff, in reflection to Ayame's own. In the other? A single strip of paper, pinched securely. While the robot has no hair, a great, red and white ribbon was done up behind its head, to mirror the style of the miko. The robot stares blankly ahead, coming to a rest right before the first Combot.

Lee continues, his dramatic presence building.

"And before you start asking again, let me show you where your army begins." A few more button presses... and another combot arrives. Same hakama, same haori. And another. And another. A formation of four other Combots arrive, armed with steel staves and strips of paper, marching in unison. "A lifetime of martial training, able to be mass-produced and replicated. You ask for soul? I give you a replication. And while we could... replay this particular's model failure again, I think she would learn from her mistakes, wouldn't you? They may not have heart, but they have a brain.

"And with the knowledge they have of that one opponent, they can think."

He presses a single button, and that is all; he stops touching the tablet, as the Combots play out their pantomime. The first AY4M3 charges in, flinging out a stream of binding papers and wires, ensnaring and entangling the first robo as it brings its arms up, fighting back with synthetic manliness. It hurls out a counter bunch, which was deftly evaded. A slight of hand comes, and it -slams- a metal icon into its chest. A flash of energy comes, and electricity, stunning the Combot. And yet, a laugh comes. A staccato laughter, jarring and sharp. And with that, he hurls out a stunning blow with its claw...

That AY4M3 interrupts.

The nimbleness comes, as the burly combot is suddenly and swiftly caught in the chest by the staff. Digging in deep, the AY4M3 swings it around, slamming it HARD on his back. The first combot struggles to rise, hurling out another flailing punch... which is deftly evaded, arching high over the flailing Miguel with the edge of the staff. With that, the first lays down. The AY4M3 stands fast, clutching its staff. And Lee Chaolan stares fiercesly at the perfect execution. "You saw the original fight, gentlemen. AY4M3 can do what the original can do... and avoid the same mistakes she made." And Lee Chaolan looks right back at Valentin. "Now, if you want a demonstration, I am sure between all of us, there is a suitable opportunity to test." He gives a playful wink, before sweeping his arms about.

"Are there any volunteers?!"

Valentin is a fast talker who asks for -way- more than he actually cares about. He wants to push Lee's buttons; putting the seller on the defensive often has the added benefit of driving the cost down in exchange for missing the mark. Had anyone else given him the same thin smile Mr Chaolan did just now, Valentin would just assume they were trying to pull the wool over on his eyes.

It is much more difficult to question evidence seen with his own two eyes, however. The wiry executive folds his arms upon his chest, focusing upon the newcomers. Another haori, another hakama. And yet... even more of those. "... Damn. -Damn-, Chaolan. -Costumes?!- You got these things all dolled up, what the hell kinda people you have working on this? Ahahaha..." He laughs, but he's actually impressed at the lengths to which his incredulous request has been accomodated. They move like their namesakes, they fight like their namesakes -- and they even adapt, like he's sure their namesakes would. He's impressed, alright.

But Artur is impressed by something else. He says nothing, simply resting his hand on Valentin's shoulder, with the result of the mousey man falling into silence.

And then Lee confirms it, with an apparent non-sequitur. Maybe it was... but he and Artur don't seem to think so. "Volunteers? Tch, not us. These toys are nice, but we'd still tear 'em to shreds, and I'm sure you'd find some way to bill us for 'em. No t'anks. My bro here, though..."
Valentin jerks his head towards his statesque companion. "Artur says you got an infestation in here. Thought you said we had this place all to ourselves." His hands motion outwards to represent a clear and open plane. "Deserted. Mano e mano e mano e comboto, however the hell y'say it. No little rats to start spreadin' secrets everywhere."
He cracks his neck from side to side, and fixes his gaze firmly upon Lee. "So you tell me, Chaolan... We got a problem here?"

Artur, meanwhile, calmly places his hands into the pockets of his longcoat, quietly listening on the off chance he can pick up voices again. Perhaps it was just someone leaving a TV on.

Someone stole her line, that (volunteering) definitely wasn't for us either. This place was giving her bad vibes right about now she wished to be elsewhere. Withdrawing quietly from view she raises her finger to her throat and makes a quick slicing gesture leaving her thumb pointing back the way they had come.

The fact the machines had seemed to be so good at copying Ayame's movements and style was almost a cute gag. A crude angular parody of the pretty young miko but the way that robot one other one to the ground could well have been how the fight should have ended earlier.

Ayame was some kind of champion so there was merit to emulating her, even in this unflattering way. These things however were copying everyone who'd fought in the arena this very day. That was bad news as she might've been one of those people.

She'd have objected most adamantly to any of these abominable things using her likeness at the least. She wasn't about to be used as part of a glorified crash test dummy.

She's the first one to try slipping away going so far as to turn and start very carefully sneaking away without even another word.

Nuts to this!

He turns to Ayame in a low volume voice when he finally trusts himself to speak without going into an obscenity laced tirade and says, "Now I really regret not using my power directly through the whole fight. I would've programmed my bot to self-destruct."

He moves forward arms stills crossed and a deep frown etched upon his face. And then he hears the clank he turns towards it, and then to Ayame. He's about to open his mouth to say something to confront them but Trish catches his eye. Her gesturing makes her thought processes quite clear. He glances at Ayame's bandages and then his itch and sore hands.

"We're not in any condition to confront them right now on this, but we /will/ confront them on this. Be it with lawyers or otherwise."

He looks at Ayame then tilts his head towards Trish's direction and followed Trish back the way they came.

One eye blinks slowly as the additional decorated robots saunter into the arena to demonstrate more of their capacity for fighting evolution. Ayame Ichijo, scion of the proud family lineage of generations of monster hunters, freezes completely solid. She had seen the first of the monstrosities on the barge at the end of the Rumble tournament... and she had naively assumed it was a one of a kind construct, something made for the specific event and nothing else. Instead, there's several of them? W-why her?

Events play out, a pantomime of her brief, violent battle, but a timely correction is made that shifts the entire momentum of the exchange. Much of what had transpired in the match had actually been knocked clean out of her head by the blows she suffered, but in seeing the moment to moment live action replay, she can see quite clearly what she should have done differently. Swallowing, her one unbandaged cheek turning a faint blush, there is no way she can deny that the correct course of action was just demonstrated. Did it really learn? Or was it all scripted? The showman putting on the display suggests the former, but... is that really possible?

Gritting her teeth, her right hand clenches. But even blind on her right side, she is completely aware of Trish's backing away. Turning her head to the side to better see Brandon, she listens to the mystic investigator's thoughts and prudent observation. Sucking in her breath, Ayame casts one last look at the four AY4M3's, grimacing beneath her bandages, and finally turns to follow after Brandon.

But who were the two men Lee was conversing with? Maybe Brandon or Trish was able to hear better what was said between them... she'll have to ask them later.

Without a fight, the trio retreats.

Yes, there -was- someone still here.

At least one, Lee Chaolan hoped. But he would tolerate all three, if need be. It was perfect, a perfect chance for a... disappointing incident to reverse itself. She had proven herself the best, she had proven herself worthy. This was the chance for her to prove just how strong she was. This was an insult, and she would see it. Lee Chaolan holds, ignoring the men for a moment, to just let them come forward. Let them be outraged.

And nobody steps forward

There is a flicker of anger that passes over the man. Lee Chaolan lowers his hands, tightening them into fists. She failed again. She was failing over, and over, and over again, right on the most public of forums. She was a champion. And what was she now? A coward and a loser. Taking in a deep breath, the executive returns to the tablet, and taps some buttons. His voice was sweet, and concealed the vengeful anger running through him. "I was hoping we'd have a problem. But it seems that I am the only one with a problem." He scans his eyes across the arena edge one more time, hoping. And nothing. "Well gentlemen." He states dryly, the combots leaving the arena. "I had hoped. We would have a demonstration. It seems my expectations were once against unfounded." Lee Chaolon looks back at his two guests, a coy smile on his lips. He gives a wink. "We should meet again another time, gentlemen."

"I can assure you, you will have a demonstration -most- excellent~"

As Lee Chaolan continues talking, Artur draws in his breath, eyes falling a bit more narrowly closed.

While his buddy seems to be zoned out at best and asleep at worst, Valentin's attention is affixed solidly upon Lee Chaolan. He studies the minutiae of expressions upon the executive's face -- particularly the arteries and veins that might reveal subtle clues that a practiced negotiator like Chaolan would have more difficulty concealing. The Romanian businessman's lips press into a firm line as he lowers his chin -- Doubt. Uncertainty in Lee Chaolan's value proposition is most evident.

His lips curl into a shallow smile as Lee Chaolan's masterful command of social graces reaches an uptick. The 'volunteers' he spoke of are not stepping forward, this much is clear.

Artur's eyes open once again, causing Valentin to look back at him. But the taller of the two Romanians slowly begins walking for the exit, back the way they came, without a word.

"Yeah," assents Valentin, a practiced edge of condescension sliding into his tone. "Talk is cheap, Chaolan. What you shown us today, that's good stuff. But it's missing that spark -- I wanna see folks get wrecked."

Valentin pulls gloves out of his pocket, and starts following along behind Artur. Sure -- he's fairly certain there are people still about in the G-King Arena. But three mere humans haven't posed problems for him and Artur in the past...

"Then we'll see just how 'excellent' this stuff really is, eh?"

Log created on 20:06:26 06/10/2016 by Trish, and last modified on 22:15:05 06/13/2016.