Description: Paris' shocking new Grand Guignol Film Festival brings together horror films from across the world for a festive celebration --- so what better celebrity endorsement than rising internet sensation, "G"! ...but it seems that G is not the only one with an invite, and an indie film crew seems set to use this bloody (?) brawl as footage for their latest film. Heck, the mysterious fighter Gallon already seems to be in costume. _ that is a costume, right?
%First they destroy his home; hired a killer little girl to light his forest aflame. And then they harass with drones and cameras. And though Gallon may be a Darkstalker. He may be locked irrevocably in a lupine state. And he may only wish to focus on his inner rage and beast. To train and to study and to harden his mind and body into something that can quell the monster inside is his only wish. But he is an Englishman, and when harangued he will do what Englishman have done for centuries.
He has sought asylum in France.
On the grounds of an old noble family, Gallon skulks and seeks a refuge to practice his craft. Even in France he seemed dogged still by the strange and unknown figures seemingly bound to filming him. He was unaware that, despite being the wolf in the situation, he was the prey being harried to a particular spot.
In yet another bid to flee from the paparazzi like determination of the film crew, he crashes the back doors of the old chateau and flees through it for sanctuary and a moment of damned peace.
And with a violent throwing of a door, Gallon, Jon Talbain, finds himself confronted with a crowd of monsters and men. All there for film and festivities.
The wolf within Gallon howls in rage. The Englishman within him simply stares with wide eyes and curled fang. "Bloody hell. . ."
If this was another set up for a fight, there really would be bloody hell to pay.
It was a set up for a fight.
Rather, a shameless promotion, shiling not just an internet celebrity, but an estranged werewolf noble as well. IT was the lowest of the low, the shiftiest of the shameless. The crowd was even worse. A blend of rejects that even the Angry Video Game Nerd wouldn't return calls of. Not youtube personalities, but copycats of youtube personalities. The smell of cheese was strong for a dignified chateau; and the mountain dew flowed freely in the punchbowl. IN the haze of awful, there is a suddenly jolt, and a roar from the audience.
G comes at Gallon side.
"Good evening, Citizen of the World!" The man states. There was something... unnatural about his presence. His smile was almost sincere, and his character was overwhelming. Dressed in almost a cross between an old 1800s suit and a magician's outfit, he looked old AMerican. Not good AMerican, old. The bearded man in the stovepipe hat. Stroking his beard, he gives Gallon a good hard look. "Why, you look miserable! Has this very venue been a disappointment for you? As a citizen of this planet, every man, woman, and child needs to feel enjoyment and pleasure in even the most... peculiar of particular parties." HE glances around, before extending his hand. "I apologize, I have not introduced myself!" He drawls, a twinkle in his eye. "My name is G, and I believe that you are my opponent, Gallon. Come!"
"Won't you shake your president's hand?"
The noble werewolf. Naked to the waist, eyes pinpricks of hatred, teeth bared, lip quivering. Each day was a test. Each passing second sandpaper on the nerves of the beast within the man. The lupine form he wears is one that in turn wears its emotions on the sleeves he doesn't have. So long, that is, that the Englishman isn't focused entirely on preserving his state of mind.
His eyes snap shut. His nostrils flare. He breathes deeply and centers himself with visuals inside of his mind. He puts the surrounding stench of the human audience aside. Or he tries to. Desperately tries to. Their voices are terribly loud and drum like hammers in his ears. The wolf within cries for their blood. Cholesterol be damned.
A growl creeps into Gallon's throat when he is directly addressed by one of the mob. But one that stands out as singularly different from the others. This man, loud, boorish, direct. A Yank. The growl subsides. Gallon's arms fall, but his fingers, and long talons make shallow raking motions in a anxious fidget. "You are no leader of mine," he speaks slowly and deliberately.
"If I am harried here for the purposes of being your fighting dog, then let there be blood," he snarls. Dropping to fours, he leaps toward the crowd with a disdainful sneer before whipping his tail toward them and putting his face toward his top hat and tails wearing opponent.
"Do not waste my time any longer. It's not nearly worth enough to restrain my hunger here!" he calls out toward G, rising to the challenge, fury bound tight and muscle wound tighter. The wolf is ready.
COMBATSYS: Gallon has started a fight here.
"You disappoint me."
A sincere twang of disappointment, yes. But despite that insult, he does not lose his stride. G pull saway his hand, as Gallon gets in position. THe audience... starts to murmur and gasp. Something was up with Gallon. What if he wasn't just a fursuiter? What if he is... he is... "But you are no dog, Gallon." G declares, speaking to the audience as much as him. "For I can see that heart of a man, that passion of mankind that unites every person on this planet we call earth. Do not fear, Citizens of the World!" The audience calms down a bit.
As G continues to waste Gallon's time.
"I must inquire, however, how you treat these venues with such contempt!" G says, spinning as he touches on the floor. Drawing up a stream of golden light, he casts it on himself as a veil, surging with molten energy. And there, G brings up his fists in a kind of... archaic boxing stance. Dukes up, he swings them around, pugnacious as he is. "It must be difficult, keeping the balance between man and beast. And with the people here, the faces, the smells... it is wrong for them to trick you into these things. You may have no tolerance for a president like myself, but I have this to declare, Citizen of the World.'" And he tips his hat.
"Gaia is sympathetic to your plight , Gallon."
COMBATSYS: G has joined the fight here.
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Gallon 0/-------/------=|-------\-------\0 G
As the words put themselves in place, the bell rings, the fight begins. A glint comes in G's eyes as he surges with molten energy. G dashes in, trails of magma boiling over his forearms as he slams in with a magma-infused low blow with the left. Ducked in low, he chains along with a driving overhand lariat with the right at Gallon, a fierce combination boiling over with the energy of the earth. ANd yet, as the second blow comes out, the light around G becomes a little dimmer. If the power came from Gaia...
It was used up very quickly.
COMBATSYS: G successfully hits Gallon with G Smash Under ES.
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Gallon 0/-------/---====|==-----\-------\0 G
"Why are you rambling?"
Gallon, harried, harassed, harrumphing, watches the strange and talkative American with a distinct disdain and disregard. It's this moment of weakness, not a weakness in his bestial side but that of his distant noble humanity that proves to be the biggest stumbling block in the fighter's situation.
He underestimates, he stands distracted by the sounds and smells around him. The pugilist he should be focusing on slams into him. Gallon rolls back with a throttled gulp. The heated power of earth crashed back against him, rolls him away, scalds and scorches his pelt. A bright man, the light dims, but Gallon is hurled bodily aside.
Picking himself up, his tail should be between his legs, but a frown is on his canid face. He swings his head from side to side. He clears his mind. This is not the manner in which he should behave. Lowering to the ground, he launches himself forward. Light sparks and glow spirals around his form as the becomes a lupine bullet fired straight for G's chest. His howling echoes off the walls of the old Chateau.
COMBATSYS: G blocks Gallon's Beast Cannon.
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Gallon 0/-------/--=====|====---\-------\0 G
"These words that I say are not just rambling!" %R
G's instistance comes as he unleashes ragged blows from the left and right. Surging with power, he had strength and momentum. But as Gallon gets to his side, the pressure only builds. Grunting in shock, he sweeps his arms around him as the wolfman riots forward. And on impact, a wreath of flames envelope his body. The impact is negated moderately, the shield blocking some of the force. Twisting his arm, he turns to catch the rest of it, taking a staggering impact that sends him crashing into the wall. The shield energy dissolves. But as he hits the house with his back, he suddenly shakes his head.
Something had startled him.
He doesn't hurl the shield at Gallon, but casts his eyes towards the walls of the chateau. "The words that I say are with meaning, with purpose! And they are not my own, but of the world itself! Pardon me!" He tries to break from the clinch by scooping up the wolf. Should he get a grip? He would abruptly slam Gallon across his knee with a frightening backbreaker, before letting him tumble away. ANd yet, even with it, he couldn't help but murmur.
"Why do these halls speak to me?"
COMBATSYS: Gallon interrupts Destroy President ES from G with Climb Razor ES.
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Gallon 1/-----==/=======|=======\===----\1 G
A shield of power, that power pushed outward. This American was a fighter. Much like the girl before him. Gallon's steady, cold, poorly buried rage understands that whatever the individuals coercing him toward these fights are intending, they are sending capable people toward him.
Ones that do not bleed and scream. Ones he may fight and not so readily fear the beast within him taking control.
Close in, clinching, gripping with a profound strength, the forcefulness of G both personality and otherwise, forces Gallon's hand. Or in this case, foot. Lifting upward, Gallon grabs G's wrists. With a full body twist, and a burning cry of chi energy flaring into being, Gallon flips backward to free himself from the backbreaking maneuver. The sharp claws of his feet rake at G's chest and kick as his chin while Gallon himself rotates away into a heavy, four limbed landing on the cold Chateau floor.
Strength against Strength.
Gallon swiftly mauls through G's offense, the president suddenly finding himself badly on the back foot. Groaning in pain as Gallon reverses on his wrist, the raking claws of his feet manage to stop the slam cold. Hurling Gallon back as the kick in the chin comes, he grips his bloodied chest, tightening his grip. The light on him was almost gone now; his energy had flowed out in his attacks. Moaning in pain, he steadies himself out. His attention seemed past the wolf however,as the crowd applauds at the theater. He looks up, eyes far away. And then, he speaks.
"Something -meaningful- is here, Gallon."
There is wordless murmuring, as he steps backwards from the wolf. Lifting a palm up, he slams in down on the floor. His attention was hard on his hand; Gallon had his space. "I hear it, do you?" He says aloud, as he draws energy up from the floor. Tendrils of gold wrap around him, as he gives Gallon his respite. His attention seemed to have drifted from the fight for a moment. "THe world is telling me I must find something, Gallon. I must understand!" He glances up towards the wolfman?
"Do you know anything about this place, Gallon?"
COMBATSYS: G gathers his will.
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Gallon 1/-----==/=======|>>>>>>>\>>>>>>>\2 G
"What meaning could you possibly find in this?"
Snarling, angry, it is a question from a legitimate place. The man once known as Jon Talbain has been alive for longer than his years show. He did not live with his condition foolishly, even if this place and the sordid details of his reasons for being at the Chateau de Colde raised his hackles beyond the pale. And as he paces a predator's circle around the man, he pauses to consider his curious words. For the man seems earnest, and he does possess power. It would be rash to doubt what he has already felt.
"A noble home, kept alive to gawk at." He was alive when the restoration began. He still holds memories of that past. Pained and infuriating though they may be.
Claws click on the polished floors. Gallon walks with a loping gait. He breathes deep, takes his time, concerns his attention on his opponent. His eyes narrow and his ears nock forward. Nostrils flare, to take in the scent, the heated air and the golden glow welling up around his opponent.
Fools rush in, and in this moment, Gallon holds. The injuries he's taken in this fight, the bruises under fur, the rattled bone, begin to set and wick away as though never there before.
"Stand, I won't fight a man on his hands and knees."
COMBATSYS: Gallon gains composure.
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Gallon 1/------=/=======|>>>>>>>\>>>>>>>\2 G
"I won't take long, it's just..."
His eyes were distant, wide, intense. G was drawing up the light, as both him and his opponent get powerful respite. The audience was murmuring, but G was focused hard. He winces. "It's not just to gawk out. You see, Gallon, there are things put upon this earth that only the earth understands." G states solemnly rising up. The man taps his arm. Suddenly, the man's flesh turns gold, as tattoos on his body glow black. "There is purpose, meaning here. A... picture? A portrait. Artwork." He turns his head around. "Why would it..."
And he sees it.
It is framed by embossed pillars bearing the shape of men upon them, with a massive painting stretches across the whole of the room, far on the other side. It was partially covered by red velvet curtains, to protect it from the party. But enough could be seen. The artwork depicts the former lady of the maison, Charlotte Christine de Colde, dressed in breastplate and astride upon a chariot drawn by two horses, leading a charge amongst heavenly clouds with her epee blade. Accompanying her is somewhat concealed. But the opposition is clear: a frightening, skeleton-like figure garbed in robes. "This... this is what she means."
"... But why?"
G was an internet persona, yes. But his actions now showed gravity, and ignorance. "I am not meant to understand these things. I am merely a mouthpiece, a voice for the people of this world. After all, I'm only the President." He raises his fists, clearly ready now to fight. "But past these movie folks, this fight, these people, with you and I. Why do I need to tell you about this? Why do I need to point this to you? I only am a mouthpiece. But you are a Citizen of the World!" G suddenly erupts in molten energy, as he riots at Gallon.
"I'll leave the thinking to you!"
A hand reaches out, to snatch Gallon, to keep the wily wolf in place. Should he get a grip? The strange president would be seizing Gallon, before slamming him in with a burning gut punch, enough to explode out of his own grip. G would continue the chain with a barrage of alternating punches, a combination attempting to overwhelm him, before finishing with a catastrophic uppercut, the fires around him surging with power. The light was only just dying.
But the fires were hotter than ever.
COMBATSYS: Gallon blocks G's G Impact ES.
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Gallon 1/----===/=======|>>>>>>>\-------\1 G
A moment of respite. A moment to gather thoughts and to contain the rage within. Time and precious moments. The ebb and flow of battle like the tides, and for the moment it appears to be waning as the moon outside of the great Chateau. Gallon pauses, watching his opponent, considering him with a stony silence as the curious human spoke and rambled. A troubled man, it seems, one with vision, or visions, either were possible.
His attention tracks up toward the portrait of Madame de Colde herself. A remnant of a bygone age. Something past, but a fighter all the same. A respect is there, the draw of kindred souls in combat stretched beyond the boundaries of time. But it was simply a portrait and nothing more as Gallon considered it. His ear twitches, he looks to the figure and the skeletal figure in robes. The message sent to G? A man claiming to be a president of Earth.
Gallon chuffs. "Darkstalkers have been a part of this world for longer than you know," he chides, "We are not recent phenomena. If this earth speaks to you, that should be obvious." Bitter sounding, yes, but tired and wounded. Humanity has known of their kind of ages, and yet they still will refuse to accept that they are not the soul caretakers of their own planet.
The man called G finally makes his move. He reaches for Gallon. A quick grip of the fur. Gallon rankles, rearing against the grip. His sharp talons come down, catching the grunt of the burning blow. But still the force is enough to shove the wolf away from his opponent. Great toe claws scrap and gouge at the floor. Gallon lurches forward to halt his momentum, landing on all fours like a beast. His teeth bare, he readies and he surges toward his opponent with a wild howl.
But he doesn't fight with a beast's wildness. He twists in the final moment of his rampaging rush. He turns, pivoting on a single foot, and when he comes around he does so with rapidly aimed and practiced nunchaku. A blur of bludgeoning blows whipping around with not a mad intensity, but with a practiced precision.
COMBATSYS: G guards against Gallon's Savage Million Flicker.
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Gallon 1/----===/=======|>>>>>>>\>>-----\1 G
With offense comes equal defense.
Pounding with fiercesome power, the relentless assault of the President of the World are caught by claw after claw. It was just as much to crush the wolf's guard; as the barrage comes, the counter attack flashes with equal muster. "Darkstalkers, men..." G begins, as he slows down. "... All are equal to the World! There are no citizens above any other! All are one to the World, as it should be!" The uppercut finishes, as the counter attack comes. With a flash of fire, he sweeps his arms, a barrier of molten light shielding him. The barrage of nunchucks come, hammering hard with battering blows. The shield is able to disperse the main hits, but the man is forced to block rather brutishly, depending on the shield to disperse. When the shield bursts apart, it is just thankfully as the momentum shifts. "But it is not just that, something else, something..."
"It's not my place to consider such things!"
G hurls himself in amongst the nunchuck assault, attempting to power through by hooking his hand. Burning with molten force, he would try to scoop up the wolfman, and pancake slam him straight down into the ground with an volcanic eruption around them both. At a dire cost, however; it's clear as his skin loses it's golden luster. Drenched in sweat, he would collapse on his bottom afterwards.
"Your president needs... a brief respite..." He wheezes.
COMBATSYS: Gallon dodges G's G Rage ES.
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Gallon 1/----===/=======|=======\-------\0 G
Crashing blows against the gilded man's shield. Until the force finally breaks. But it isn't enough. Not yet. It is not the time to finish such things. He hears the proclamations from the President of Earth. A man who, though a blowhard in the mind Talbain, one that may have some insights yet. It would be foolish to think that there is no chance that such a historical fighter as Madame de Colde may not have something to do with the modern day as much as she did with the past.
But Gallon does not have time to focus on that, he must contain his beast, fight the rage within at the world without and keep his heart on the fight. The president of earth does as many presidents have done, duck their responsibility while shouting to the masses. Gallon must take advantage of this moment.
The tired power of the man comes with a violent grip. Gallon's bestial side comes to the fore. He rolls, leaping backward and high into the air. He lands on all fours, head low, fangs bared. Not a brace of fur out of place.
His claws dig into the stone floor. Gallon fires off. With a wild howl to the sky, he tears into the air. A full rotation as he travels, he turns his taloned paw down toward the so-called President with a well aimed kick. He may appear a beast, but for now he will fight as a man.
COMBATSYS: Gallon successfully hits G with Diving Kick.
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Gallon 1/---====/=======|=======\===----\1 G
He needed to draw more power.
Already, he was beginning to place his palm on the ground. But Gallon would not allow any respite; already the wolf was charging forward. Well, not a wolf, but a man, a precise kick almost taking the fighter off guard. He twists away, attempting to evade as he pulls his hand away. Tendrils of magma pull with him as he rolls, the kick catching him hard on the ground. Groaning in pain, he continues his roll, slamming his back on the pillar. Slowly, too slowly he rises up, a moan on his lips.
"There is a discipline to your style." G murmurs, as he once again brings a palm to the ground. He was breathing hard; fatigue was overtaking him. In a sense his blowhard extended to his fighting style; while he had explosive force with every blow, his pacing was irregular, difficult. For a fighter like Gallon, that was too many opportunities. "This may not be what you want to hear, this may not be what your heart craves. But like the World, I do not see a monster here, a beast, a creature. An equal, a citizen of the world." And he draws forth another surge of energy from below, golden energy spiraling over his body once more. He was moving slower than last time, weaker than last time. Power, yes.
But more a servent than a master to it.
COMBATSYS: G gathers his will.
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Gallon 1/---====/=======|>>>>>>>\>>>>>>>\2 G
The "President" is wounded and weary. He isn't fighting with his all. There is a tired presence there. And the wolf that is Jon Talbain is gnashing its teeth to go for the throat. He has scattered his opponent, cast him down, but it would be that the fight goes on. The man who speaks for the earth is making his stand.
Gallon crouches low, the edges of his claws scrape lightly at the floor as he listens to the strange and offbeat G. A human, possibly crazed, is the one that speaks to him with a tone of respect. The words narrow Gallon's eyes. He goes terribly still.
Golden spirals. Power rising. The last time was dangerous, painful, not to be underestimated. Gallon surges forward, if he can put a stop to it now, before the power is manifest, perhaps he can end this in the moment. His claws snaps out. The beast controls and strikes for the throat with a raging cut.
From himself or from his opponent, Gallon's words will ring true; someone will bleed.
COMBATSYS: Gallon successfully hits G with Moment Slice.
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Gallon 0/-------/----===|>>>>>>>\>>>>>>>\2 G
That someone would be G.
As he desperately struggles to regain his strength, he gambles for another moment of peace. There would be none this time; the werewolf was already going for the throat. There is no shield this time, no barrier, no shield. He was desperate, trying to bring his arm up.
And the lack of shield proves to be his mistake.
"Gargh!" He cries out, as the cut comes. Tearing hard into his throat, the man is forced into a stand. Staggering backwards, he slams into the curtain, juts short of smashing into the artwork. The hand is not on the earth; it is on his bloodied throat. "This is it for your president!" He calls out instinctively. "I regret I have but one life to give... I can breathe!" He gags, as he keeps a hand on his throat. The tendrils of magma still come around, as he swiftly aims a finger at the wolfman. "You got this one! Nothing personal, but I'm on orders!" G rumbles out, as he points a finger at Gallon. "You'll handle this, citizen!" He groans, as he mutters. "Light it... aw hell!" He grits his teeth as he unleashes a blast of fire, hurling a series of bursting flames straight at Gallon, attempting to blast him back. The recoil of the fire sends he reeling, staggering backwards as he grabs the curtains. Entangled in them, he pulls them down as he falls to the ground. And there, he holds up his hand. "Done! Done! I am... I..."
And his eyes cast up to the portrait.
"... Her." He says, eyes wide, pointing at the young woman accompanying the procession. Dressed in priestess robes, accompanied by a hawk. "She is the one. Camera- cameras on me-" One of the crew members complies, before G swoons, blinking hard. "No, not your president, no. On the art... her!" He points harder, and the camera drifts it focus on the figure. "This is... this is why, everyone at home, look at her..." And G gives one last question, before he collapses into pained unconsciousness.
"... But why?"
COMBATSYS: G can no longer fight.
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COMBATSYS: Gallon blocks G's Pangaea Burst ES.
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Blood. Ruby red. The heat. The iron smell and copper taste. Gallon knows it well. Part of his relishes in its release. The power of life ebbing, the rush of it spurs his heart to battle. To fight onward. It sings to him and it promises him greatness in spilling more and more.
Gallon flicks his hand, blood spatters to the stones. He stands, full height, looking at the President in his throes. "You are not yet dead," he growls, low and stoic in his contentment that he hasn't killed the man, but has bested him.
He looks up to the great portrait of the mistress of this home. The former mistress. A fine home of a great warrior that has been twisted for garish purpose by a gawking crowd. How could one of humanity's pride have her territory taken by, and Gallon looks to the slavering herd of horror craving humans gawping, these people? The distraction and disdain almost enough to take his mind off the fight and his mind off of the fact that he may be able to cast the crowd in low esteem, but he cannot ignore G.
"What?" he cries out, head turning sharply while the fires burst toward him. He curls, crouching, keeping his eyes and nose from the heat of the flame. Fire scorches his fur, burns at his shoulder and side. He snarls, enraged at the flaring pain. The fires scattering on the floor, spot flames lighting here and there, threatening the portrait and the finery from ages past.
The wolfman stands. His fur pushing outward, seared flesh shifting to whole and new in the matter of moments. His lip curled in violent disgust. "Get out! All of you!" he rages at the crowd. A lashing claw, and terrifying howl. Lunging and slashing toward the fans, the foolish humans that corralled an angry werewolf. Jon Talbain, Gallon, would drive these humans from their ill considered stage. He will rest here for now, take his time at this Chateau. There is a greater mystery here than the damned harassers who seem driven to occupy his mind with frivolous fighting.
Even if, in his heart of hearts, the son of one of the greatest werewolves to live, he relishes every moment to wet his claws with blood.
COMBATSYS: Gallon has ended the fight here.
Log created on 12:38:30 10/17/2018 by G, and last modified on 23:20:07 10/20/2018.