Christie - Hunting small game

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Description: Predator and prey, natures apart. A warm hearted, friendly and ultimately na?ve teenage martial artist runs across a mature and rather cold blooded character in Christie. Can Eliot's innocence and charisma charm the serpent or will he be hypnotised and devoured by her. In any case, Eliot is far more dangerous than he appears at a glance. No easy meal, but that makes for the most fun kinds of hunting.

There was nothing exceptionally different about the nightlife here in Taipei. The same industries drew in the same kinds of marks the world over, tourists whose wallets were plied open with cheap and strong alcohol along with the attentions of whatever glamourous figure; male or female could keep them in their seats and spending. Wagering and ..losing. Businessmen and regulars who plied their crafts and dishonest trades circling and isolating promising targets; taking nibbles here and there they were mostly all bottom feeders and scavengers, hardly worthy of her notice.

The obvious foreigner in the tailored white business suit was drawing drew more than her fair share of interest, and plenty courageous or desperate enough to approach her as she drank on her own. Irritably and rhythmically rapping her finger against the side of her glass so that it chimes; the ice shifts and settles on Cue, she lifts her other arm and makes a point of all-of-a-suddenly ignoring the inquiring man and looking to the watch suspended on the underside of her wrist. She holds the posture coolly and long enough to infuriate. From the way his complexion was rising past shades of courage fortifying drunkenness, to a grander overall red.

It had worked as intended.

Max wouldn't be getting back anytime earlier than about two in the morning, if he didn't get segued himself into some establishment and forget all about the promise of a decent job for a few additional hours. Which meant: Christie had time to kill. She open a wallet fat with bills and overpays for the drinks before rising from her table and making for one of the street exits.

She'd give it about 20 minutes before half the thugs that last guy knew were hitting the streets looking for her. She'd injured his pride, shown herself to be a worthwhile mark to rob, or worse. That elevated the stakes and made the game more fun.

If they thought they were the ones hunting her they'd be gravely mistaken.

Outside the air conditioned hotel the night is warm and humid, enough she skin pricks with sweat but it merely adds to the discomfort. Her shirt collar wide open and clinging to the back of her neck with sweat it's also flaring open to expose a bared abdomen and navel as she walks, fishing her sunglasses out of her pocket she even slips them on to help preserve her night vision. The sudden bump into an obstacle catches her off guard, eyes widen in shock and she stumbles. In trying to glance back over her shoulder she'd made a rookie mistake.

There was no sudden pressure or pain, her first worry was that she might've been stabbed or shivved from out of nowhere. She raises a hand to steady her glasses, stands tall to her full height and draws an arm back across the front of her stomach, checking for injury with as subtle a motion as possible and draws that side of her jacket and shirt back as she slips a hand into her pocket.

Her wallet was still there also. This was a night for events and reality messing with her expectations. Her feathery fringe luminous with the harsh neon's behind and above her she still isn't quite sure how to handle this situation. Go with a classic line when you aren't feeling inspired or inventive. Speed of reaction was more important in giving the appearance of being genuine.

"You all right there?"

Taipei. It is a good choice for starting a warrior's pilgrimage for the young Eliot. It's a big city, with plenty of opportunity, money flowing everywhere, and where the money goes, the fights happen. Sanctioned, unsanctioned, televised, underground. In a financial hub such as this, cash and fists fly freely. It's also domestic enough for Eliot's familiarity with China. Separate, but the same. Even if it isn't, it feels like a safety net.

And so, here Eliot is, on his own for the first time since he came under the tutelage and guardianship of the legendary Gen Fu. Fresh faced, doe eyed, and possessing fists of steel and a heart that burns with a warrior's fire. He's ready to take on the world, testing the might of his fists against others, to prove his strength to himself, and his sifu. Even more importantly, he'll be able to send money back to sifu to help with Mei Lin's surgery!

If only he could get enough money to feed himself first.

Walking down the street, Eliot holds in his hand the fruits of the last of his money after paying for his travel. A small steamed rice ball from a street cart. As he stares, defeated and forlorn, his stomach growls dejectedly.

"Who would have known that traveling would be so expensive?"

He's talking to no one but himself, his face downturned and hidden behind the bill of a black, floppy newsboy cap. The rest of his attire screams tourist, with a t-shirt on his slender, reedy form depicting a Union Jack in grayscale. A wristband bears a similar marking, in glorious red white and blue. His jeans are black, but faded, with signs of distress and wear, and cling tightly to his long, coltish legs and tucked in to a pair of red stained leather Doc Martens. Over his shoulder is slung a traveling pack, along with a rolled up olive green jacket.

Suddenly, he collides with something, spilling him to the floor, and his rice ball to the sidewalk, where it promptly falls apart into a steaming pile of disconjoined rice. He scrambles to his knees, trying to scrape and piece if back together, to no avail. It just isn't sticky enough, and even then, it has grit and dirt from the ground all over it. Completely inedible.

"Oh no..." he says, his voice soft and almost musical in it's tone, even as he whines to himself. "No no no. This isn't fair!"

Sighing, he sits back on his heels, his hands falling to his sides, and his head rolling back to look at the night sky overhead. "Well, I guess this is a test, too. What will I do?"

And then, he notices her. Christie. The one he had bumped into in his carelessness. His long, dark lashes flutter in a rapid series of blinks over sharp, icey blue eyes. His jaw goes slack for a moment, as his gaze wanders upwards from her feet, over her long, shapely legs under those white pants. And finally up the line of flesh in the center of her parted shirt. There, warmth and color flush his cheeks, and his gaze lingers about the chest area for more than a full second, before he peers up at her face. "O-oh! I... I'm alright! I'm very sorry!"

He picks himself up off the ground, dusting off his knees by pulling the cap from his head, spilling layered locks of flaxen hair to frame his youthful, blushing face, and using the hat to beat at his jeans. "I... i should have been paying more attention! Please forgive me. Are you hurt, Miss?"

Her head shifting with a gentle swaying motion as Christie inspects this scenario playing out in front of her. Her mind studying it from angles as well as her eyes were trying to, was it a trap or something else. For the first time in a good long while - she couldn't tell. This fallen youngster, a boy or young girl? They were reaching out for a rice dollop on the sidewalk and halfway trying to gather it back up. Their upset whine about the unfairness of life quiet itself it didn't seem intended for her ears. If it was a hustle trying to take advantage of a stranger's goodwill: It was the best one she'd ever seen.

She waits patiently and unmoving as their attention drifts toward her legs and seems to follow them all the way up her body. One hand in her pocket positioned to guard both her cell and wallet the satisfied smirk growing at her lips as the kid's eyes meet hers own behind shadowy lenses. A beautiful child, this setup was perfect to entrap probably eighty percent of the targets of note around here. Her appearance had an effect on them, that was probably at least some form of honesty, she can play with that.

A boy then. She likewise got to see a hint of the athleticism and muscle as the boy leapt back to his feet. The height and musculature... Spry, with good posture and well balanced. Even if that face was beaming with innocence the movements were still confident, all combined it was very suspicious and ultimately: fascinating!

Lifting and then stretching back and forth with her free arm as though acting out the test to see if she was alright, simply because he asked if she was. What would he do if she intimated she was not and he should take responsibility? Still smiling, Christie finishes her minor aerobic display with a playful squirm of a torso twist and letting her arm fall gently back t her side. Adopting a brighter and more camera friendly smile.

"I'm fine! It was a joke, a shame about your snack."

Pinching some notes between fingers when she withdraws her hand there's two, no three hundred yuan in notes. The third appears as she fans them between her index and middle finger and proffers her hand towards the boy, Already this amount was something of a windfall for these kinds of scams. If he was after even more she'd have some kind of idea of just how elaborate or successful this one was.

He's staring. He notices that he's staring, and those sooty lashes have yet to blink since they've met her gaze. Transfixed, like a cobra before a snake charmer. And, the color that fills his face causes young Eliot to suddenly look away from her, peering out across the street as he dutifully folds his hands behind his back.

That is until she starts moving and twisting. Then, those bright blue eyes swivel in their sockets to peer out at her with equal parts worry and a bit of fascination. That gaze does drift lower than her face again, as she turns her body to the side. The glimpse that he catches makes every muscle in his slender form stiffen to tensile steel, and he stands up straighter, too straight and snaps his eyes back to some non-existent focal point across the street. He clears his throat, and that silvery light voice spills forth once more from Cupid's Bow lips. "Oh. I am grateful that you weren't hurt. I wouldn't be able to forgive myself..."

He looks down at the ruined rice ball, and he sighs deeply. The soft sound of his stomach squirming can be heard, and he puts a hand on it to try and still it. "It's okay..."

Then, she's waving money around, and Eliot's eyes widen as he looks up at her, and then around at the street surrounding them. Instinctively, he lifts his hands, waving off the offer and taking a step back as he shakes his head.

"Oh no, Miss. It was my own fault for not watching where I was going! I... I couldn't possibly take money from a beautiful woman! You shouldn't show that kind of cash around here at this time, either! Someone might get the wrong idea and cause trouble for you!"

Such pandering and a choirboy like response, she pointedly doesn't follow his gaze across the street in case it was toward a handler or someone who would signal an end to the encounter. This one was too good to let away, he flirted with the line between predator and prey. She wasn't certain which he was.

Christie recoils from the remark about her beauty, much like a swoon. There is a sharp exhale like she was snorting at such a cheesy line being used on her. She was actually reeling, her head tipping backwards all a sudden beginning to laugh. Her soft chuckle builds into barks of laugher in the space of a single breath, her body contorting and writhing with the force of just how moved or amused she was by this.

The wave of amusment passes and she reaches up to lift the sunglasses and settle them atop her head.

"I like you, kid. ...Come with me."

Cold silvery grey eyes sparkle with amusement. She was having fun now. With her demand that he follow her she gestured likewise to come to her with the money handling hand and then turns her back to lead the pair of them on a few doors to one of the outdoors eateries. She didn't care which; she was just looking for the one with the cleanest seats (A concession made to the fact she was wearing white.)

If Max and been there he would have been floored. Christie was laughing? And it wasn't in the midst of some crazed or violent situation with their lives on the line or in line with some of the ways she would play with her prey, her bad habits.

Nonchalantly sitting with her back to the counter of the establishment she sets the same notes down on the counter by flipping them over her shoulder, sets and arm on the counter and keeps her body angled towards both the boy and the street.

"Order and eat whatever you want."

Kids had to eat to grow up strong.

As the silver haired beauty kicks back her head and laughs, Eliot really isn't certain what to do. Had he said something funny? He didn't think he had. Still, it makes him nervous and uncomfortable somehow, like he was the butt of a joke that he didn't get. He puts the big, floppy cap back atop his head, smooshing down the silken locks of layered golden hair so that only a sweep of bangs crosses the bridge of a small, slightly upturned nose, and some fringes kiss at his soft cheeks before his ears. Scratching the back of his neck, afterwards, he looks around uncomfortably once more before she speaks.


Now, his head was spinning with ideas. Why did she want him to follow her? Was... was she trying to take him on a date?! But, that wouldn't be proper, would it? He should be the one to ask her. But they didn't even exchange names! He should correct that oversight right away! But, she had just flashed a lot of money on the street, out in the open. So, even if this wasn't a date, he could still follow her to make sure that no unsavory types try to mug her. He is, after all, something of a fighter...

Hefting his backpack more squarely onto his shoulder, Eliot trails slightly behind the tempting woman, trying his best not to stare at her hips along the way. No. Don't be distracted. Be vigilant! There might be criminals waiting to mug her. Be alert and ready. A real martial artist always assumes that there is the next fight just around the corner.

As they stop outside one of the eateries, he looks up, reading the sign overhead, and then turns his attention back down to her. Again, he's not sure what is happening here, so he remains fixed in position for a moment as the gears whir and turn in his brain parts. Suddenly, those delicate, fine boned features of his harden with a look of sheer determination and he steps forward, taking up one of Christie's hands within his own, clasping it gently, yet firm. "My name is Eliot! I cannot let a pretty woman such as yourself pay for my food like this. But, I am a fighter! I'm going to win one of the big tournaments someday! I'll be your bodyguard, and then... then you can buy me food!"


Christie appears to gives the boy's, no - Eliot he said his name was; this proposal warranted some consideration. He was asserting he was a pretty strong fighter that was going to win a big tournament. The promise itself was compelling and earnest enough how should she respond to that.

"I'll accept your offer, on one condition."

Temporarily she turns her contemplative gaze back to Eliot and pointedly meets his eyes. Her own gaze running a little colder than moments before now she was considering it from a business perspective.

"If you're going to be anyone's bodyguard? Then you need to be stronger than they are. Prove that to me!"

Else you were just valuable as arm candy or an opportune distraction. A real bodyguard had the skills to live up to the job title, one that was dangerous and rarely glamourous. This wasn't a fair test in the slightest and she knew it; that was the point of all this. His stomach was already gurgling, was he strong enough that he could afford to be so noble and turn down a free meal.

Christie looses the button on her suit jacket and leans forward off the counter as she shrugs out of it, a white shirt with black buttons warn beneath, fastened only at stomach level. She shrugs out of the jacket wearing it like a shawl around her arms as she gracefully rises and makes a show of taking off and then laying the jacket down where she was sitting.

"How about it? Show me you're strong enough to be a bodyguard and I'll consider the application. If you /aren't/ strong enough..."

Christie gives him a more serious and rather ominous stare down.

"You'd better rethink these plans! One fall, no holds are barred."

She spreads her arms in an appeal to him, and at this stage a gathering crowd of onlookers and rubberneckers pausing to watch. It's also quite clear at this point she wasn't wearing any layers beneath that shirt. If there were any they'd be visible.

"Are you game?"

When Christie's gaze locks onto Eliot's there is something there. A glint of determination. The look of someone with an unshakable resolve. The kind of look that says that, even if he might not be the strongest now, this is a boy who is not going to stop until he is. For a brief second, it is not an effeminate looking young boy she would see before her, but a man, young, yes, but a man with the heart of a warrior, nonetheless.

And then the illusion falters.

The coldness in her gaze was intense! And he instinctively shies away from it, a fresh blush rising on his cheeks as he bites down on one corner of his plump bottom lip.

"Oh... I will find it hard to fight such a beautiful lady..." He says, half muttering. His long, slender arms fold up behind his head, and he peers into the sky for a moment, as his stomach turns in hunger. "I... I suppose it can't be helped."

Eliot lugs the pack off of his shoulder and settles it against the counter by Christie's seat. He takes a few steps back, lazily swinging his arms from out to in and back out, loosening them up. "I'll take your challenge, but... Don't expect me to hold back! I'll defeat anyone, so good luck!!!"

And then, he gets another glimpse at the smooth, creamy flesh under her shirt, and the very real reminder that there is nothing on under that thin veneer of fabric. His heart jumps into his throat, and he feels his knees weakening. He makes a quiet choked sound, and averts his gaze once more, as he adopts the fighting stance of Xingyi quan, with his feet shoulder width apart, hips forward, with one foot positioned behind the other. His hands are left open, with one hovering at waist level, parallel with the ground, and the other upturned, palm facing towards her with his elbow loosely bent.

"Is that so?"

She found that charming and refreshingly honest. Most men would pretend her beauty had no impact, or close themselves off and simply think of an opponent and a puzzle to solve and then crushed or defeated. Someone who flirted with likes and loves, discomfort and desire? They were open to a whole range of experiences. That bravado where he thought he could defeat anyone though? Brash, that attitude was something that could carry someone far. It was also the attitude belonging to someone who hadn't hit the first of life's insurmountable walls.

"Good! I can't believe my luck that I get to play with such a cute boy."

Doubly unfair. Scything a snake hand through the air in front of her she cranes her upper body left with the movement and then strikes forward, both hands held loose but her fingers and thumb gathered like the hood of an angered cobra. A Shequan practitioner, snake specializes in incredibly fast and precise strikes.

The crowd being from the location they are, betting is already going on full force, fists filled with money being waved around and people calling out the odds they were giving on each fighter.

COMBATSYS: Christie has started a fight here.

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Christie         0/-------/-------|

COMBATSYS: Eliot has joined the fight here.

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Christie         0/-------/-------|-------\-------\0            Eliot

Eliot responds to the question with a firm nod of his head, a small "hrmph" sound escaping his closed lips. His brows furrow, creating a tiny crinkle above his button nose. He might have a hard time fighting a woman he found as stunning as this lady before him, but he also knows that if he is to be taking his career as a fighter seriously, he will have to face women as often as men. His chivalrous, old fashioned nature would have to fall to the wayside to more progressive thinking. He's not there, yet, though.

"Oh! Uhm... Thanks." he replies to the compliment of being a "cute boy". Is the ocean nearby? He hears roaring waves. No. It's his blood pumping. He can hear it in his ears. His face must be as red as an apple right now. No matter! He must push on and show her his strength! Or his stomach will never forgive him for his sense of honor!

Those summer sky eyes of his narrow, almost feline in their shape and the keen nature of his gaze, as he tries to discern the openings in her defenses. He's familiar with Shequan, though not intimately so. His sifu, Gen Fu, is a legendary master of many forms of Kung Fu, and often switches things up during his training in order to help Eliot develop strategy against a number of different styles of attack and defense. Shequan is notable for its fast hand strikes, and being deceptive in the way the practioner moves in and out of range. He will have to be very careful!

Or just rush headlong into the fray. Either one works, really.

Choosing to rush headlong, Eliot hops forward, suddenly invading the platinum haired diva's personal bubble like a drunken frat boy. She'll feel the heat and softness of his breath as he expels it, tickling at her collarbone. His eyes still focused on hers, his forward hand losely closes, lowering to his side before barely shifting forward. Unless she evades or defends, his fingers snap shut at the very last moment of impact, clutching his fist tightly as he channels a surprising amount of force into his fist. Force channeled from a subtle, but distinct snap of his body from lose to rigid, from side to forward facing, so that every ounce of strength he has in his body is pushed through a punch that barely moves more than a scant few inches. The desired effect, of course, is to knock her away.

If it lands, it should give her the message that he's no mere "cute boy", despite... well.... being a cute boy. He's more than that, though!


COMBATSYS: Eliot successfully hits Christie with Yakuho Hoken.

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Christie         0/-------/-----==|=------\-------\0            Eliot

Shoulders sagging, upper body lolling forward gently as she does so. Her eyes are and squeezed closed against the sudden pain, lips twisted into a grimace as an eyebrow twitches. Irritating, She had some idea of the power she was dealing with now, some gentle fists power it was not!

Her sway and sidestep to evade had done little more than shift the impact more than evade any of it. This position suited her however and if he thought she was even remotely afraid of infighting she would very quickly put that idea out of his head.

She responds to his attack by striking cross body - at the shoulder of the arm that had struck her, the next hand striking lower at the sternum as she sinks down and lower her posture for a sudden explosion of three blindingly rapid alternating hand strikes at her opponents centreline. Every blow with the tip of her fingers she condenses all that speed into striking power with the smallest possible surface area.

This was not an art for the faint of heart. Given access to the right pressure points she could debilitate and take an opponent apart rather quickly, and at a minimum the blows caused the maximum amount of pain she could inflict with a simple strike.

There was no kiai; no further words at all. Silent. Her gaze was as ice, her strikes sharp.

COMBATSYS: Eliot counters Jakei Renbu from Christie with Jakei Shoda EX.

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Christie         0/-------/---<<<<|==-----\-------\0            Eliot

There's a moment of pure elation that fills him when he feels the way his fist connect with her stomach. Her smooth, taut, and mostly exposed stomach. And then he's thinking about her stomach. And then he's remembering that he just punched a gorgeous woman with almost all of his might. Elation gone.

Still, she seems no worse for wear! She didn't go flying as he had anticipated, and seemed to be able to move in such a way as to not take the hit directly to her solar plexus, thus knocking the wind from her. She's certainly skilled! And very fast! And now, they're in so very close that he moves are like lightning. Eliot's eyes widen in surprise as she proves to be in a position that almost flanks him, which will limit the effectiveness of one half of his body if he doesn't do something about it!


Too late. She's striking, her fingertip attacks like a striking cobra, and Eliot does what his body has now instinctually been trained to do. There is no thought process. No conscious reaction takes place at all. It is like his body moves on autopilot, pure muscle memory kicking in. His hand reaches out, grasping at her wrist as she jabs, and deflecting the blow intended for his shoulder, pulling it wide to the side, and jerking her forward, so that she's off balance and even closer to him.

What perfume is she wearing? It's intoxicating...

He strikes as he ponders, both of his palms crashing into her, one at the center of her chest, and the other at her face. The move both serves as a full on, thunderous strike, as well as a means to push her back, giving a bit of room between the pair of them.


The rap sends Christie stumbling backwards. The glasses atop her head falling to the ground and bouncing and skipping across the pavement as her head whips backward. She takes a couple of quick steps backward and digs in her toe to bring her retreat to a halt. A thin rivulet of red tracing its way down toward her lips while she's she straightens and exhales calmly.

A reflexive and full power slap to the face? She wouldn't have thought the kid had it in him! Standing there so innocently and seemingly horrified and apologizing. Was it all part of the act or was he this.. refreshingly naive?

Without even brushing away the blood she sinks back into that same snake stance, letting the drops fall where they may on that white shirt. She was having fun, pain and blood were just the price of admission and things you had to get over real fast as a professional fighter.

Who drilled these kind of fighting instincts into a kid this young? That's a man she'd like to meet.

She had to retake lost ground and move back into offense. Vaulting forward into a she hops and raises a knee as though she might be leaping into a knee strike only to allow her supporting leg to drop her into a crouch as she turns on her heel. Advancing and stabbing out with a single strike and then while facing backwards lashing out simultaneously with both arms.

COMBATSYS: Eliot just-defends Christie's Fierce Punch!!

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Christie         0/-------/----<<<|==-----\-------\0            Eliot

Judging by the wide eyed look on Eliot's face when he sees that rivulet of blood seeping down her lip, and the way that the color actually does bleed from his face, leaving him as white as her shirt, there's a very good chance that he's not, in fact, faking his apology. Even his stance falters for a moment, his hands lowering a bit, and his knees straightening as if he might stand up and rush to her to ensure that he didn't harm her too much.

But, when she drops back into her stance, Eliot halts in midstep and reclaims his own, just in time for her to make her short leap. The bait of the raised knee isn't taken, though it is unclear whether or not this was his ability to read her intent or if he is still just kind of in horrified shock that he drew blood.

It is only when she actually comes in with those deadly strikes that he turns back on. The single strike is deflected as he twists his arm, his elbow bent, downwards in a fascimile of a wooden dummy exercise technique, simply swatting it away. The double strike comes, and one hand meets his expertly timed shin as he raises his knee to his chest, and the other finds little more than another hand, grasping at her wrist.

He immediately releases, however, and shifts forward, almost as if to bowl her over. His left fist lowers, then snaps inward and up into an uppercut style strike with his fist turned so his palm is up. He follows suit, the right arm similarly lashing out, but extending out further, adding shoving force behind the attack as well as sheer, brutal impact. With a hop forward to keep in close with her, that left fist punches forward like the piston of a machine, trying to drive low into her body with a strength that belies his still unmatured, slender physique.

COMBATSYS: Christie counters Hoken from Eliot with Ryutsui Ren Kyaku EX.

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Christie         0/-------/--<<<<<|======-\-------\0            Eliot

Still facing backwards Christie doesn't so much evade as reposition her striking arm to touch the uppercut strike. Plying her strength against the blow to provide enough resistance to allow his to hurl her away unharmed rather than take the force of the blow head on. She's driven upwards as well as away a turn of momentum she assists with a kick of her heel, it translates into a tuck somersault.

As he steps forward and shoves with both fists in a manner that should send her sailing away she appears to instead explode into a sudden stillness; floating in midair while slowly kicking out in the manner she just used to stops her forward spin, fortunately timed to same moment as Eliot's Lunge, it wasn't planned, just reflexive and lucky. Bent backwards and arched in mid-air she hangs as if time stopped. Her hand reaching back and her body twisting back toward Eliots, winding up all the torgue and explosive power she's going to need. The swell in and momentum tugging and threating to burst the singular shirt button.

The flat palm of her hand closes tightly around the fist of Eliots uppermost arm, giving her more purchase as she scissor the same leg kick which ceased her rolling and tumble abegins whipping back around into a horizontal cartwheel, she was using Eliot himself to support her sudden pivot turn and kick.

When she lands it's with her back toward him once again, shirt flaring behind her grandly. The crowd showing a little more life since those who'd bet on her were finally showing some life and spirit. Chrisite herself was calm and collected on the outside, increasingly frustrated and equal parts amazed. She was confident in her striking power, her speed and precision. This boy was talented enough to make fighting her seem almost a sham. She never pulled her punches, this was her full strength... enough she made the cut and received an invitation to the World Warrior Tournamnet.

This boy -- he was really just starting out?

She turns back to face him not sure of what could happen in the next few seconds. Resume your stance, treasure this thrilling encounter and soak it all in!

Eliot was certain, at this point, that victory was his. Her back was open to him. She was vulnerable. Exposed. He was quick enough to seize the moment and prey upon her folly. This is a fool proof plan of attack. Just give it to her good from behind and this will all be over and he'll have food in his belly.

There's a flash behind his eyelids. Red. Wait. When did he close his eyes? What is that keening sound ringing in his ears? There it is again! Another. Time is moving in slow motion, and Eliot's eyes seem to take centuries to open again, his vision a hazy blur, but still just clear enough to make out the landing of the nimble assassin. He cant still feel her hands around his wrist. Did... did she just use that to flip around and scissor kick him?

That is exactly what she did.

He stumbles back a good distance, perhaps two yards, before he catches his balance by the aid of a streetlamp. Using it, he braces himself for a moment, reclaiming his bearings and clearing his vision, if not the ringing in his head. Those thin, arched brows come crashing down to a pouty brood over his eyes, and he makes a sighing sound as he rises back up to a full stand on his own.

"I'm not done yet!!!"

He pushes forward at her, and then leans in, lunging low with a punch below the waist. He pivots, turning on the heels of his feet, before sweeping out with a backhand leveld at her stomach, while simutaneously stomping his lead foot down to add more force and gravity to the attack.

Instantly, he turns back, in the other direction, coming in with a straight punch delivered with that same thunderous stomping advance. His foot shifts, tracing a half circle inwards, sweeping close to his lead foot and then ahead of it and out, while sending another sidefisted punch directly at her face, and finally, he sweeps down low, in an attempt to send one of his explosive punches directly into her knee to knock her leg out from under her.

COMBATSYS: Christie blocks Eliot's Konpo Hoken EX.

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Christie         0/-------/<<<<<<<|======-\-------\0            Eliot

There was no pause, the teasing smile that was forming as those words flew form his lips.

"I'd be disappointed if you were! Stamina is as important as power or technique."

She crows in response to this self-affirmation of his. Christie would take every chance to erode and slip inside his guard, physical or mental she'd attack and apply pressure on every level. In part she did it to see where the cracks and flaws were, mostly though to explore and savour those reactions. That pouty look just then had been so cute, as was the blushing.

Her own stance naturally being quite low seems to pay off against whatever style the boy was using. She meets the straight punch with a covering hand block. Her palm slapping against the attacking fist, it stung and she had trouble stopping the fist from driving her own arm back into her. The backhand levelled at her stomach fits neatly in an area she can mostly control and easily defend, her forearm thrusts in deeply toward his elbow to begin defending against the attack early. A deflection would be the optimal result but it would soften the blow --!

And suddenly he was spinning back the other way, the half circling foot invades her space and fits in against the inside of her leg.

Her eyes flicker downward to look, that seemed far more threatening than the actual blows thus far. The sidefist meets an inelegant barrier of both her arms as she is already focused more on lifting her leg to retract it and retreat before anything happened. A firm sense for the dangers seemingly in play as Eliot's next move was to strike at her knee. The leg lifted and herself already near unbalanced form the defences she takes that hit to the knee, but with her foot lifted and calf draw back, rather than an all too heavy hit she pirouettes with the hit, turning a heavy strike into a much lesser one.

The chambered leg comes around again and daintily sets the sole of her heels against his forearm and pushes herself away so she can retreat at least the full length of those legs.

Once there instead of regrouping and attacking she takes a moment to tug at the cuff of her shirt and resettle them. She acknowledged this kind of skill and power, she had to. One of her arms being slowed or stopped because of the loose fabric being caught or hooked on one of his thumbs during an exchange of blows could be disastrous. If only she had been wearing some of her work attire; the figure hugging catsuit had no such disadvantages. None for the properly immodest at least.

She was in the zone right now. The challenge itself was great; every little reaction was a reward in of itself. Coaxing a little of the fringe out of her face with a brief combing and flick of her thumb. She was all warmed up, a light sheen of sweat on sweat appearing on her skin.

COMBATSYS: Christie gains composure.

[        \\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\  < >  //////////////////////        ]
Christie         0/-------/-<<<<<<|======-\-------\0            Eliot

Punch after punch, Christie deflects, mitigates and evades with a skill that Eliot would put nearly on par with sifu Gen Fu's own. Just who is this lady? One thing is for certain, though. He's realizing that this woman, for all her beauty, certainly has no need of a bodyguard. She could handle her fair share of Taiwanese muggers.

"I've got stamina for days! If...If I need to, I can go all night!"

Eliot has no idea why the crowd surrounding them starts to laugh in that way people do when someone tells a dirty joke, like it is some sort of conspiracy or something. Not knowing why they're laughing irritates the young fighter, and it shows in the way that winsome countenance twists in on itself, his brows crinkling, and his soft, pliant lips becoming a thin, bloodless line.

He launches forward at her again, since she seems content to stand there. Is she taunting him? Is this not serious for her? He'll just have to show her more of his strength! He lashes out, grasping for her wrist, and trying to encircle long, and slender digits around it. Should his gambit prove successful, the young blonde fighter will wrench her arm up and back, exposing her stomach for him. He'll exploit that by sending an open palmed strike directly into her abdomen with enough force that it should send shockwaves throughout her entire body. As he withdraws that brutal strike, Eliot leans away, only to lunge forward like a striking cobra, tucking down his shoulder and turning his back so that he can slam his body against her side with all the considerable force his small frame can muster.

COMBATSYS: Christie dodges Eliot's Soto Sho.

[        \\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\  < >  ////////////////////          ]
Christie         0/-------/-<<<<<<|=====--\-------\0            Eliot

A bemused smile, he said that purposefully! else he was an adoreable pet. There was a least a little pushback there, and engaging her rather than letting her run all over him verbally. Her obvious amusment at his reponse was the best weapon she could show him.

Christie appears unable to prevent the grabbing of her wrist, too concerned with appearing cool she left a sizeable opening for Eliot to exploit. Tightening that hand she so recently merely combed her fringe with into a closed and trembling fist at his touch. She was neither scared nor really trembling, as Eliot draws her captured arm back toward him she assumes a knifehand, pulling her elbow down sharply and back toward her with just the space differential on her side. She had slipped the hold after he has already committed to the second strike, instead of veering away or nimble ducking aside she stepped inwards.

A thing for the boy to learn, even when striking at the midline and centre on a female opponent. They were probably much more slender and mobile than he seemed used to. The palm strike brushes against feminine curves where it might have slammed home against iron abdominal muscles. Her left hand settles atop Eliots collarbone, a flighty and delicate touch as her right snakes toward the opposing shoulder.

Eyes widen in the crowd at the sudden intimate entwining of bodies, right up until the moment she spears her knee up even in such incredibly tight quarters, there was barely enough room to even attempt it. Aiming at the underside of Eliots chin with a forceful attack fierce enough to lift the boy into the air, she rockets up into this knee with her other leg to strike the same spot and lob him higher into the air.


Her first kiai. She was taking him beyond seriously, her every skillset plied against his martial skills.

COMBATSYS: Christie successfully hits Eliot with Ren Chositsu.

[         \\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\  < >  ////////////                  ]
Christie         1/-------/<<<<<<<|=======\====---\1            Eliot

Eliot's strike seems to glide right along Christie's smooth stomach as she deftly maneuvers, and he's left with nothing more than a fleeting caress of his hand against the seductive curves of the voluptuous assassin. His eyes widen within that very fraction of a second, and instantly, the tinge of pink rushes to his cheeks once more, like a rose blooming.

Her hands fall to his shoulders, and Eliot isn't exactly certain what to do. Some part of his brain takes over in the confusion and he thinks that the proper thing to do with her holding him so would be to slide his arms around her waist, taking her within an embrace. Obviously, the fight was over now, and she wanted to hug him and let him be her bodyguard, even if she didn't really need one, right?


That knee catches him good, rocking his chin hard enough that he actually does lose consciousness for a moment. His head reels back, his slender, swanlike neck seeming to stretch perhaps further than it should. His feet leave the ground, and his limbs go slack, relinquishing his tender embrace as he's sent hurtling upward. Thankfully, he's not conscious to feel the painful force of the second attack, which further propels him heavenward, until at last, he comes crashing back down to earth. A lesson Eliot is certain to learn in the coming years. A beautiful woman will always be able to send you to Heaven, but is also just as likely to dash you on the rocks.

The collision with the sidewalk jolts him back to consciousness, and he immediately curls his legs to his chest and plants his hands on the ground over his head. Kicking out, the boy nimbly kip ups back onto his feet, and no sooner than he lands does he hop forward towards her. His fist rockets forward from a low position, fist turned sideways as his arm extends straight out at chest level. A Northern style punch, with all the kinetic potential of his leaping momentum. And immediately, he follows up with a swift punch from the other hand to try to knock her back.

COMBATSYS: Christie blocks Eliot's Yoho Hoken.

[           \\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\  < >  ///////////                   ]
Christie         1/------</<<<<<<<|=======\===----\1            Eliot

The impulses she had when their bodies were that close were mixed, she didn't dwell but acknowledged there was some kind of attraction. She'd started this course with a clear intent: Knocking the poor boy into the air was a relief as her knee connected. His lack of experience and mixed signals hopefully meant she was crossing wires and paralyzing all those well-honed combat instincts. If this were a contract kill and she intent on killing the boy, she'd have been a hundred yards away and hidden with a high powered rifle. Their strengths were too closely matched.

No, she was lying to herself there. He was better, but inexperienced in a lot of ways she could exploit. That realization kind of pissed her off.

The heel of her palm pressed firmly against his side-turned knuckles, fingers turned upwards and fanning rather than risk being broken by a blow that heavy. It jarred her to the marrow and sent that numbing shock that travelled down her arm, but there was also enough force for the explosive gust to flutter her fringe and force her to blink. She had to defend against this kind of power cautiously, doubly so since she may have just made him angry. The young were usually passionate and quick to rile up.

"Are you... angry?"

The quick successive strike meets her opposing elbow, not as jarring as the first because it lacks the same power but in reverberates through her body all the same, especially while struggling to match strengths with a boy inches shorter, who probably weighed less.

"Are you?'ll have to learn this lesson sooner or later."

Your opponents will use any weapon they have and can get away with, sometimes illegally!! But it was the rules themselves that entrapped the unwary, and what was in good taste or honourable were sometimes just blind spots a fighter assumed a foe could or would not use; in a street fight especially

Christie licks her lip, then she pursing them gently and she then spits vulgarly toward Eliot's face, blood red spittle aiming for his eyes the same time she repositions her foot and draws backwards. If he recoiled out of either disgust or to defence she intended to pluck his leg out from under him and dump him on his backside.

COMBATSYS: Eliot just-defends Christie's Thrown Object!!

[           \\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\  < >  //////////////                ]
Christie         1/------</<<<<<<<|=======\===----\1            Eliot

When she manages to catch his punch in her hand, Eliot is equally as impressed with her as she seems to be of him. She's so fast! Her coordination is uncanny. He's still reeling from that scissor kick she did using his arm as a balancing pole. She's ridiculously skilled, and uncannily able to evade predict and mitigate everything that he's throwing at her now. What can he do? Why does he have butterflies in the pit of his stomach? Why are his knees feeling so weak?


The question of his anger seems to confuse him, causing him to blink wide blue eyes at her as she deflects his followup with her elbow. He shakes his head, sending his blonde locks swaying over his face, kissing at his soft cheeks. "I...I'm not angry at you! I don't... they're all laughing at me!"

She spits, and he just blinks, as the pinkish saliva spatters his cheek. That blink is enough for her to make her move, of course. As she tries to trip him up, he turns his leg and bends his knee, bracing himself against the trick in a manner that looks like it had to be choreographed by a Hong Kong martial arts movie producer.

At the same time, Eliot draws his arms up at either side, lunging upwards from his perfectly executed defense, and drawing the other knee up, and extending his leg to its full length in a blindingly fast snapping front kick, hoping to catch her under the chin, much the same way she had done him moments before.

Coming out of the snap kick, he lands that foot, using it as his lead as he comes pressing in with another similar kick, his arms folded across his midsection, helping to keep his defense solid on the second, as that's when she is the most likely to strike back at him. This second kick, however, is just as powerful as the first, and twice as swift.

COMBATSYS: Christie counters Renkan Tai from Eliot with Dokuja Gakuko EX.

[           \\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\  < >  ///                           ]
Christie         0/-------/------<|>>>>>>>\>>>>>>>\2            Eliot

Well done!

She was impressed he didn't fall for such a backroom brawling tactic. One of them had to blink first -- and in this case it's Christie, she'd overextended to hook his heel with her own, reliant on her trick to force his cooperation in engineering his own fall. Steely grey eyes narrow and that sparkle returns to them. Not just a martial artist, not just moulded into a fighting machine with a thousand times a thousand drills and countless hours of repetition. Once, and she could believed this was luck; twice was talent, or a good indicatior someone possessed the right instincts.

She didn't have all those same years of drills, training and discipline ... but when it came to instinct?

She starts dropping backwards just fast enough the air driven by his snapping foot tickles the inside of her nostrils, even as if flies past her face. She wouldn't let that fly! she'd done something similar to him too recently to not punish this!! Using a tactic your opponent had just used and was probably much more familiar with.

A tiny plastic chip noise, bouncing and rattling across asphalt that goes barely noticed.

The crook of her elbow sweeps around the front of the striking legs shin and she draws it close, wrapping her body around his leg she carries it down. Facing down toward the pavement she catches herself with her free arm and has that half second she need for her legs to settle into the crouch with her one knee down; her thigh resting atop the front of his knee she suddenly explodes upwards into a heel first cannon spike, heels seizing a hold each side of the boys head she propels both of them back through a crescent shaped arc and drives the back of his head into the pavement, sinking down into a crouch over Eliot she compacts his body down into an even neater parcel by folding his still caught leg hard enough to almost his torso, she could have gotten away with 'Stop kicking yourself' with her next breath.

Christie vaults back to her feet and gracefully turns a pirouette, ready to face the boy when he rises.

A wide vertical line of exposed flesh and graphic levels of cleavage turns the watching spectators into a shrieking and hollering mob. The sum total of Christies reaction to being rendered partly exposed and nearly topless is a dismissive snort and hmpf! It must suck to be a man and be manipulated so easily by such things. In the very least most of the cries directed at her seemed to be catcalls or endorsements and thanks directed at Eliot.

"It's easier to ignore them than please them! ...but they'll turn on you sooner if you do."

Christie hooks a thumb into her pocket and leaves the hand still, just to show she indeed has the time to cover herself or do up another button of her shirt but intends not to. If she were taking her own advice and ignoring the crowd... why exactly?

As soon as he feels his leg captured, he knew what was coming. Well, more or less. He expected another of those scissor kicks. But he knows that this is going to hurt, and truly, he's helpless as it unfolds. She launches herself, still holding on to his captive leg, and catches him by the head, as they fall together in a ballistic arc. His skull cracks against the pavement, and immediately, his ears ring and his vision blurs. The backs of his eyelids are flashing red and blue. Did... did someone call an ambulance?

He groans, his hands coming up to cover his face, and his legs instinctively curling up as he rolls onto his side as she performs her flourish. But, as brutal as that was (and it was certainly that. He has a growing patch of hair that's now matted with thick, bright red blood) he's still not quite done. He gets to his hands and knees, and slowly pushes himself up to his feet. His knees visibly wobble, and he sways unsteadily from side to side, like a ship listing on storm ravaged seas. He opens one eye, crystal clear and bright blue, to peer at her. At first, there is nothing in that steely gaze other than fierce willpower to stay in the fight. And then, he sees what has happened to her shirt. His eyes drift down, catching sight of the ample flesh on display, trailing down lower and lower, and his eyes both opening wider and wider.

He snaps his head to the side, wincing his eyes shut tight as he motions with one hand, holding it aloft so that his outstretched palm intercepts the path from his eye to her chest. He doesn't say anything, but the embarrassment is like a palpable miasma radiating out from him, like the curse of a Meet The Parents flick.

"I-I'm so sorry for this, but I cannot lose!"

He ducks down low, his fists clenching tight as he builds his strength up by compressing his body like a tightly coiled spring. Suddenly, he comes undone, lunging forward like a dark, and executing a punch aimed at squarely at her exposed navel in the express hope to have her collapsing around his knuckles.

His other arm rises, the attempt aimed to lift her guard, and expose her to the next attack. That comes in the form of another devastating blow, open palm, this time, to the center of her chest, right over her sternum. The raised arm does give him the benefit of blocking his view of just where he is striking, though. Not to slack off, Eliot's hand immediately sweeps to the inside and lashes back out with a forearm strike at Christie's face.

Provided he has managed to overwhelm her with his oppressive strength and flawless technique, then as she staggers back, he essentially resets himself, his stance low and facing forward at her, with his feet double shoulder width apart, and his center of gravity held low to the ground. He takes a giant step forward, his arms rising and drawing back, with his spine arching. And then he unleashes. Stomping his lead foot on the ground, his body surges forth, his back snapping straight and leaning in at her as his arms piston with all his might to deliver a double barreled shotgun punch to her, one fist aiming for her chest, and the other for her stomach.

COMBATSYS: Christie parries Eliot's Hoheki Soyoku Mokinsho!

[           \\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\  < >  ///                           ]
Christie         0/-------/-----<<|>>>>---\-------\0            Eliot

She was watching intently while he laboriously climbed back to his feet. Wasn't this going a little too far now... What was the point of trying so hard when he was so badly beat up and groggy? In his current state there was no question his battle prowess would be affected. The blank look he gives her for a start ice down her spine. Then, a hollow emptiness replaces it -- If he'd lost his consciousness already, ceased seeing and reacting to her she'd just end this fight with the next blow.

Rigid and sharp she was forcing her free hand into a weapon as deadly as most any knife, if she landed that blow there a better than fair chance she could open a wound. Her hand twitches, flexing and relaxing at his as his eyes start growing wider and he can't help but stare. Ha! Was he raised in a monastery or the backwoods somewhere? A place like Taipei would be an education for such a young man.

When he turns his head away with a snap and raises his hand to obstruct his view of her she fixes him with an incredulous stare. Really!? Was this censorship or chivalry in play now? Perhaps she should take offense to that.

"What foolishness."

Instead she chooses to take offense over his choice of words. When you lose you've only lost a battle. When you risk your life and won't back down at any personal cost you stood to lose everything. The curtain falls closed and the hall darkens, the story ends.

Canting her body to the side about twelve degrees she raises a knee. Her knee pressing outwards she turns that first punch, deflecting the intended strike just enough the power behind it wouldn't reach her. His rising guard contacts the same leg and forces her calf up, the defending limb upthrown meant her stance and balance both were disrupted. The woman was left balancing on one foot.

The whisk of silk and flash of heat across the back of her calf as she slips her leg along the length of his forearm to free it, she has to wrench her pelvis around to open up that angle of movement but it does the job, the freed arm swing wide and then back behind her like a swallowtail. With as much force as she needed to suddenly free it there was no choice but to commit.

The wind up for the open palm strike causes a reflexive ducking of shoulder as she wheels around. The steam piston of an arm grazes across her back and down toward the opposing hip as she coils around underfoot. As the palm strike retracts she begins to rise, rearing back when he strikes at her face she recoils only to swings back and lunge when the threat of that forearm smash begins to withdraw

This wasn't a fair contest, it was never intended to be such. Groggy as he was she could compete fairly equally with Eliot at this level. All it took was a head injury, a little blood spilled and his apparent weakness and inexperience regarding women. But she was also an adult, that had other advantages.

Christie continues her high speed twist, advancing footsteps as she revolves around one more time to swing the side of her hip toward Eliot's. One arm coming up to and snag his smashing forearm, trap and draw him off balance as even further she continues to wind her way past and behind him. From behind she is prepared to throws herself onto his back and circles one arm around his neck, the other around her own wrist then to pull her hold nice and tight. Then pick him up off the ground with said grip.

COMBATSYS: Christie successfully hits Eliot with Combo Grapple EX.

[           \\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\  < >                                ]
Christie         0/-------/----<<<|>>>>>>>\-------\0            Eliot

This is it. Eliot only has one shot. One opportunity to seize everything he ever wanted. One moment. Would he capture it or just let it slip?

His palms are sweaty, knees weak, arms are heavy. Thankfully he's not covered in vomit from mom's spaghetti.

His fists fly, but each one is turned aside, batted away, redirected. Her knee sweeping aside the opening volley, and her spin and duck narrowly avoiding the next. She parries and evades with the serpentine grace of the namesake of her style.

Blood gets in his eye, and he loses sight of her just like that. His balance is rocked by the collision of her hip, and his arm gets wrenched as he releases a strained grunt and stumbles. As he arm winds itself around the achingly slender column of his throat, Eliot visualizes a great white serpent coiling around him. His heart thuds like a war drum, beating so hard that it seems like a prisoner throwing itself against the steel bars of his ribcage. He's lifted up, his heels leaving the pavement, until his toes barely touch.

He opens his mouth but the words won't come out. He's choking. How? Everybody's joking now. The clock's run out. Time's up, over.


Snap back to reality. Oh, there goes gravity. Oh there goes Eliot, he's choked, and he's so mad, but he won't give up that easy. No. He won't have it. He throws his whole back into struggling. It don't matter. He's strong, he knows that. But he's broke. He's so stacked that he knows when he goes back to his ramshackle "home", it's back to training again. Yo, this whole fantasy, he better capture this moment and hope it don't pass him.

He tries, pushing himself back into her and then jerking himself forward, trying to use his hips and back to wrest her from her feet, so that he gain throw her over his shoulder and slam her to the ground, but he's already feeling his consciousness fade. He only had one shot, but it seems he missed his chance to blow, as he falls face first into the sidewalk.

The question is if this opportunity only comes once in a lifetime.

COMBATSYS: Eliot can no longer fight.

[           \\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\  <
Christie         0/-------/----<<<|

COMBATSYS: Christie endures Eliot's Power Throw.

[                \\\\\\\\\\\\\\  <
Christie         0/-------/--<<<<<|

This had become an inelegant and brutal fight. Her arms were locked around Eliot's neck and she won't let the pressure off no matter how the two struggle. They shuffle and throw one another around as this dance continues. His fingers can dig in and bruise her flesh but the easiest ways to break it would be to dislocate her elbow, break a bone or sever her arm.

She draws the line at whispering empty reassurances in his ear, instead she is grave and completely silent. So much so that crowd is growing increasingly uneasy and flighty, now worried they might be witness to a murder a few at the back of the crowds are already hurrying away and pulling hoods up despite the warm night.

The bone rattling crump with which she hits the pavement startles the crowd, almost into flight. To a man they all take a step further in retreat, afraid of what she'll do next? Christie wincing as she lays there was still quite animate, lifting and arm and rolling to favour one of her sides while halting sitting up. She lays her forearm across the back of her raised knee, slaps a palm against the filthy pavement.

"Perhaps you are bodyguard material after all!"

Drawing her extended leg back toward, and under her butt she pivots around on her toes, ready to continue and starts bouncing back to her feet only to collide with Eliot as he falls and catch the boy between her arms.

None are more surprised by this turn of events than she is. She'd killed men before with just a tiny bit more effort and a sudden twist. He'd escaped the hold but it had placed an immense burden on a young body. She should be immensely relieved, she'd won one more time - survived one more fight - and had a night that was fun and memorable to look back on!


What the hell did she do now?

COMBATSYS: Christie has ended the fight here.

Having struggled up and dragged her opponent over toward the side of the street she leans him up against a sign declaring there were 'the best' low priced cocktails and topless as well as playboy bunny waitresses. When Christie emerges a few second slater it's with a bottle in her hand and a bouncer hot on her heels.

Crouching beside Eliot she unceremoniously starts pouring the over large bottle of cheap as shit vodka over his head. She'd glanced at the label, sniffed the contents and decided that even watered down, it was probably still close to 20% alcohol.

It would sting like the Dickins with that head wound. The smell of alcohol would probably help camouflage such a bright little innocent as well.

"Rise and shine."

The bouncer was still hovering behind her, a smart man would obviously think twice about putting his hands on a half-topless woman while there was a strangely large crowd milling around outside.

Chrisite makes for her Jacket and shrugs into it. Her slapping the counter to grab up the three banknotes that were miraculously still there.

"Overpaid and then some for this piss. Get lost."

The bouncer shrewdly ducks his head and heads back inside. The thief probably done got away but that vodka wasn't worth shit or a foot chase. Christie takes a long draw form the bottle before proffering the neck toward Eliot.

"Did you need some more?"

She wasn't sure if she was being considerate or just positioning herself with the best seat in the house to see how this played out.

Of course, after Eliot had tossed Christie unceremoniously to the ground, he didn't have anything left in the tank. Unconsciousness swept in, dragging him under the current of an abyssal ocean, and even as she scrambles back to her feet, he's going under, and the world is turning black.

Comfortable silence. It seems to stretch on for ages. It's cold, but a comforting cold. He has no worries here. No concerns. No thoughts, in fact. Just a blissful state somewhere on the precipice of existence and the void.

And then there is a bright, glaring crack of lightning that splits this dark, cold place open with a flash of blinding light.

It's not light. It's pain. Stinging, unbearable pain and that light is just his visual reaction to it against the back of his eyelids. He snaps to with a start, his ocean blue eyes darting about wildly and unfocused for a few moments, before finally coming to settle on the woman before him. He draws in a sharp, deep breath through his teeth, making an inverted hissing sound, before he winces and reaches up to the back of his head, probing the wound back there that still burns from the cheap booze. Great idea, that. Touching it brings a new wave of agony with his fingertips, and he makes a small sound that's cut off in the back of his throat, before he looks to his bloodied fingers.

"...did I win?"

He asks, before he looks up and sees the offered bottle hovering in front of his face. The smell alone makes his nose crinkle up, and he closes his eyes and shakes his head. His hands rise, curling around both the bottle and her hands, with a touch that is as smooth and soft as silk. A stark contrast to the pure, raw power and brutality that those fragile seeming hands are so very capable of unleashing.

"I can't drink that. Alcohol dehydrates you, and it'll hinder my training. I'll leave that to old men."

He turns that open faced stare back on to Christie, meeting her own with a very, very serious look. "I could use a glass of milk, though."

Throughout each statement made by the young man Christie remains silent. A single eyebrow of hers raising just a fraction with each question and statement made by the young man. If he had won he wouldn't just now be waking up just now would he, if drinking alcohol was for the elderly or 'old men' then how did he expect the white haired beauty to take that, a crude and tasteless bottle of it still in her hand. She retracts the offer and attributes that one to a lack of maturity. Of course alcohol hindered your ability to train, but it also medicated your hurts. In more ways than one.

The bottle back to her lips she makes to take another swig just as the bot adopts the most serious and earnest look she has ever seen, AND ASKS FOR MILK. Her first guffaw is nearly a choke, it burned as the alcohol went down the wrong way but still contributed to a warmth inside, One that made the nights air seem pleasantly cool rather than too warm. Bottle lowering to her lap, a hand seeking to cover her mouth and stifle the mirth falters as her shrieking laugher builds so uncontrollably.

People in the street so clear in their efforts to not look at her they might as well be sating. The way she rocks while shielding her face with her palm does hypnotic things with her still open shirt and jacket. She attempts to compose herself, once managing that she aims the hand carrying the bottle to point toward Elliot, bobbing a single finger pointed his way and shaking the liquid contents of the bottle.

"I like you-- let's go find you some /Milk/ then shall we."

Perhaps in a tall glass! The idea was still ridiculous - But the boy had such cute and innocent ideas in his head. She could just gobble him right up and still savour every bite.

"You'll need your strength."

She stands, while making no move to offer Eliot any help she smirks down at him and then draws at the bottle one last time before they got moving. The bottle easily over half-capacity, it drains quickly, a soft glug occurring regularly as heartbeats. The bottle held vertical and her head tipped back until every last drop is drained.

The drunkard who had approached her earlier in the night was standing a fair distance off, close enough he and his friends probably saw her and Eliot's little street fight. She was watching then carefully as she appeared to be focused on her drink. Her other prey going almost forgotten since she found better, what would they do? she wondered. As if to answer they broke and began to disperse, chasing down an easy mark was one thing... Two foreigners who had shown they were splendid fighters, laughing and drinking together afterwards. They were much too difficult a target, a high wall to climb. That meant her plans for the night were pretty much shot.

The glass parts from her lips with a popping inrush of air.

"My schedule just cleared up."

Eliot certainly doesn't think of how the white haired vixen might take his comments about drinking. He only thinks of the only people he knows he imbibe regularly as Gen Fu and Brad. Gen is old, venerable, and mature enough to drink in moderation, but also already a master of his craft, and doesn't need to concern himself with rigorous training to improve. He is the pinnacle to which others strive to achieve. Brad on the other hand, is a whole other ball game. Drink both limits him and enhances him. It doesn't stop him from being a barely tolerable human being who steals one's food, either way! Or from being a lecherous old man.

Eliot doesn't yet understand the need for mending of hurts with alcohol. His has been a mostly sheltered life, taken under the wing of a lonely old man. He's been treated well, and has far more innocence, perhaps, than he should as a result.

After his request for a glass of milk is met with laughter, Eliot sinks back, resting his weight on his arms outstretched behind him, and watches her with those large, almost doelike eyes of blue. Curious. Confused. What had he said that had been so funny? Should he be offended? He almost feels like he should, but he doesn't know why. It is that same unsettling feeling he had when the crowd was laughing at him during the fight.

all of that, though, sort of slips to the wayside as the shift of her open shirt draws his attention. His gaze is left lingering there for longer than is proper, almost transfixed by the play is creamy soft flesh as it writhes and undulates from her movements. Hypnotic, indeed. He doesn't even notice her finger wagging. It's only her words that make his attention snap back up to her face, accompanied by a growing rosy hue overtaking those soft, delicate cheeks.

"T-that's right. I need to get stronger!"

He pushes himself up to his feet, but almost immediately regrets doing so. His head throbs, and he feels his stomach turning in his gut, like he's about to vomit. The pounding his his temples and sinuses is overwhelming, and all of it makes it seem like the world is trying to tilt on its side like a ship cast in tempestuous seas. His slender form lilts to one side, and he takes a few stumbling steps before catching himself on the counter of the establishment that they were fighting in front of.

It is his first concussion. Many more are sure to follow, but this is his first.

Unaware of the intrigue at play within Christie's cunning mind, Eliot is only able to watch with a look of mild awe as she downs the bottle of cheap booze like it was a bottle of water on a hot summer day filled with training. His only thought is that drinking like that is sure to make it come back up!

Reclaiming his balance and footing, the young kung fu prodigy takes in a deep breath, savoring the crispness of the air in his lungs and trying to let it invigorate him. Focusing on that, rather than the feeling of his pulse driving nails through his brain. Slowly, he reaches down and grabs up his backpack, as well as the floppy, dark hat that had fallen from his head during the opening volley of the battle. He dusts that article off against his thigh before plopping it down on his head. It'll mostly cover the blood matting his hair to the back of his skull. Mostly.

"Uhm. Alright! Where should we go then?"

"I'm considering an animal shelter. It's at least one place we'd find milk and get that head looked at."

Surely the pair of them could get a wound cleaned, perhaps a couple stitches; without denting her walking-around money. It wasn't an entirely empty threat, or bad idea. Not that she knew of any in the area to make good on it. Chances are milk would be chock full of vitamins and marrowbone jelly but she couldn't guarantee it'd be tasty. Good for a growing boy.

A good enough and safe dining establishment would never accept the pair of them dressed as they were. Rough and rolled about in the dust, traces of blood still on her lips and perhaps pink saliva. The types of people who were out and active at the moment would tell at a glance they were more trouble to deal with than normal, thus prices for services always went up. She considers and weight the options.

"Back to the Hotel."

Her voice was almost a purr, her eyes glinting. She could use a change of clothes and a shower, the dining room there was as fine and secure as anywhere else. The empty bottle still clutched in her hand she gestures back the way she had come before bumping into the boy.

"I'm sure they can handle a request like a glass of Milk. If you're going to worry about getting stronger!"

She pauses in the midst of taking a few steps both to ensure he was following and check that he was yet able to move. Until you found your feet and had enough to support yourself, you were vulnerable. Malleable.

"--then you'll need to focus on more immediate problems like having enough to eat and where to sleep. Otherwise you might fall in with a bad crowd trying to 'made do' and pay off your debts."

Content in her assessment Christie starts walking off with a slow and measured pace. No offer to help with Eliot's burdens, a head injury and a pack to carry? Her only concession is that her pace is a little slowed. Arm swinging an empty bottle by its neck at her side and her hips generating more than a little momentum she blazes a trail that leads right back to her hotel room.

"Ah... an animal shelter?" Eliot asks, completely confused. Why would they look at his head at an animal shelter? Is she trying to tease him and say that he's an animal? He doesn't get it. He doesn't have that kind of world experience to think of that as a viable idea for medical treatment. His warrior's journey is still on its first babystep.

And then she mentions going back to the hotel. Long, sooty lashes flutter over azure eyes that are otherwise as wide as saucers. Slowly, a hint of rose tinge starts to rise up on his cheeks, settling in nicely. Is this beautiful older woman really inviting him back to her room? Or... maybe to a love hotel? He had heard about those in comics, but had never seen one in real life. Do they even have those here, in Taiwan? Is she really a cougar, wanting to rob the cradle due to his strong, youthful body?

All of these thoughts are racing through Eliot's head as he looks down with a vacant stare, completely lost in them. His hands are curled up in front of his chest, and he taps the tips of each forefinger together. It isn't until she talks about his immediate problems that he snaps out of it, and looks up with a start.

"Oh! Right! I... I won't let that happen, no matter what!"

With that, Eliot slings his back over his shoulder, and... wincing... tightens his floppy cap atop his head, and trots off after her at a brisk pace to catch up, though he does linger a few paces behind her the entire way. One might think he looks more like a lost puppy than anything, were it not for the way he stares dreamily at her swaying hips.

Log created on 01:44:53 04/30/2018 by Christie, and last modified on 01:21:11 05/24/2018.