Round Two: (13) Kitty Pimps v (20) A Few Good Men

[Max Dirks]

Round two will begin Friday, May 19th at 12 AM EST. Good Luck!

[Bohemia]

The pink and red sky of Lornius at twilight passed over the milling crowd's head quickly on the speed of a brisk late day wind, snapping banners and flags that touted the public's support for the remaining teams in the Championship. Jon almost managed to blend in with the crowd, his steps across the cracked maroon cobblestones slow and careful to keep that air of importance, had it not been the fact that everyone in that crowd recognized him as 'The Half That Shouldn't Be'. A lot of people had lost money due to the odd choice of the judges for the Kitty Pimps to move on, and in the past few days of rest, Jon had hopped a lot of fences and done a lot of running from too many people holding a grudge. Now, it was about that time to see if Lady Luck would kiss his knives and see him through again.

"What a shame... a King cursed."

The boy froze in his tracks. Those words could have been directed towards anyone in the crowd, especially wiithout a name attached, but it struck his soul somehow. Each held a weight that sunk heavily to the bottom of his stomach. A glance over his shoulder brought him the visage of an elderly hunched woman, face mostly masked with the same purple and lavender silks she was dressed in, tiny coins dangling from the gold hemmed fringes of the wrap. Turning slowly, he glanced up at the old time carved wooden shop sign, painted black with gold lettering, scarred here and there by the young and the reckless, that she stood under.


Mysticisms And Magics

The plate glass window showed nothing beyond, covered with a thin black sheet, glowing in the middle with some warm, flickering amber glow. "You talking to me?" The old woman's head raised from it's stare at the ground. "Hm?"

"I don't see no one else around you could be talking to. You talking...to me?"

"There is an entire crowd behind you, young man. There are plenty I could have spoke to, but yes, I was talking to you. Please, come in. I have a special today..." Jon stared at her dumbly as the shuffled back into her shop, shrugged, and complied. Inside, the air was thick, hot, and cloying with several stomach turning scents of burning incense, mixed with another choking draft of smoke, pouring from a little gold colored ball. He wiped at his tearing eyes, and squinted; partly from the acrid atmosphbere, but partly because he could barely see. the only light came from a score of small tea candles swpread over a table covered with a violet velvet cloth. The walls were little more than shelves littered with leather bound books and jars of all sizes occupied by things the boy didn't bother to wonder about.

"Doubt clouds your eyes. You doubt yourself, no?"

"Well, yeah, but I think everyone does. It's perfectly healthy, like a spell of paranoia," he replied, shivering at the cold spell that ran up the channel of his spine, zipping up his sweatshirt and crossing his arms tiightly across his chest. It had been so hot in her seconds ago...now, a vacation in the sun in Salvar sounded more relaxing than staying here. "No. Your doubt is greater than that. You doubt yourself. Your abilities. You doubt the girl, Abbie. And that doubt slowly translates to fear." Jon's lips bent into a deep scowl. "What the fuck do you know? You're not the one risking life and limb in this fucking thing!" Her own lips; crooked, void of color, bent into a smile. "Then comes the anger. Careful child, these things feed it."

He felt it maybe once before, half a year ago, and here it was again. Like a knife taken fresh from the fires of the forge and driven into his heart. He clamped his teeth shut, managing to somewhat ignore it, until something rose up from his gullet, a taste akin to mixture of his own bitter and stinging stomach acid and the hot, syrupy pre-vomit one gets when smelling trash left in the summer sun. His lips sprang open and from them spewed a disgusting black ichor, striking the old woman's carpet with a hiss and a puff of steam. "Your time is running out. Like an old clock with worn gears. Tick tock. Tick tock!" The boy sprinted out of the gloomy shop, hands clapped over his stained mouth.
_____

The horizon's flushed colors had began to give into a more suitable, cool dark blue as night steadily marched closer, the minutes ticking by like a clock.

Tick, tock. Tick, tock.

He struck the side of his hooded head with the heel of his hand. Out with the bad thoughts, and in with the situation currently at hand. Here he stood in Derius Public Park, by the old cracked carved stone fountain in the middle of it all, the pots which the mermaids held tipped to the breeze still babbling and gurgling quietly wiith running water. Punishment was slung over his shoulder in it's little makeshift holster, and a second belt, hanging loosely about his waist and cocked at a loose angle, held two new weapons; long and wicked knives, the steel brushed and biting with crooked teeth. "C'mon, sugartits," he mumbled, completing his thirty seventh, slow, sloping, and meandering lap around the fountain, eyes to the beaten concrete. "We meet at the park on sunset, you do what you want, I take care of what I need...c'mon don't be late on me, damn it..."

[Ayithe Solete]

((Since my partner cannot post i shall do my best.))

A single drop of sweat fell from her forehead and tainted the parched surface which had become their battle ground. Ayithe knelt down on one knee as she caught her breath, only now would she carelessly turn her back on her opponents who had failed to impress in combat. Her deep breathing was the only sound to break into the midnight air, she stared into the ground while clipping her blood stained weapons back onto her attire. Ayithe closed her eyes briefly as she took to moment to commend her partner who was unable to continue at the current moment in time. Standing back up Ayithe’s legs ached, she hadn’t stopped moving the entire battle, Dan and Luc had proved to be move than worthy as Ayithe never had a moment to pause or catch her breath. She almost panted like a dog trying to get a hold of herself, almost completely exhausted from the battle. She ground was almost as bruised as the sky after Luc had finished with it, the torment it had received throughout the battle was unbearable and Ayithe counted herself lucky she had managed to avoid the deformation of the ground.

Three bodies lay motionless, void of the waking world, be it dead of unconscious the battle was over. Ayithe gritted her teeth as she walked past her lifeless partner, his own courage and determination wasn’t enough to keep himself going but enough to keep Ayithe on the right track. If it wasn’t for him she wouldn’t of entered, it was always the first step she struggled to take, he took her the first step and once again Ayithe excelled into her own mode and took control over the battle. Once again she stood victorious and was proud to be standing where she was even if blood had been shed.

Thank you Gwydion…I shall continue…for my sake…

Pausing she lean over his body and took a torn rag from his pocket, taking one of her disk blades into her right hand she began to wipe it clean from the blood it had taken. Ayithe didn’t want her weapons to be tainted with blood, she may have been a fighter but she wasn’t blood thirsty and keeping her weapons clean and shinny was a priority. She would clean herself at the nearest spring or bath, appearing well and healthy before her next opponents was a must need since her own partner wasn’t going to be by her side. She didn’t believe there was any point in quitting, she wasn’t a quitter and she would pursue victory on her own if she had too. She couldn’t help feeling a little down hearted, but the urge to carry on and not be a failer wrote over the top of any disheartening feeling.

-The next day –

Ayithe slid her top back on and quickly adjusted herself as she rushed to get ready. It had been make do dash to her next location, taking a majority of the morning to travel Ayithe had washed quickly in the lake along side the near by old town. Her clothing was clean and her weapons shined like they were brand new, blood did not tarnish them anymore and their memories remained in Ayithe’s mind rather than in marks. Splashing her face one last time she closed her eyes and let the water run down her face, the cold drips refreshed her mind and somehow helped steady herself before battle. She sat back and slipped her boots on, not really having much to dry herself off with her remained rather damp and relied on the prevailing wind to dry her as she made haste through the trees and into the town. She shivered violently as the wind failed to bring a warm current to her, the cool air brushed along her cold wet skin and made her shudder as she slowed her paced run to a casual walk. Trying to keep a positive attitude she approached what was going to be her next duelling arena, a small park, surrounded by large steel railings and having a rather large stone fountain with various features sat as the point of origin. Ayithe peered through the rails at her first opponent who circled rather bizarrely around the fountain.

Nervous are we…At least that’s something for me to look forward to…

Ayithe stood there for a few moments, unable to see anyone who may have been his partner. It appeared as though he may have been on his own as well, she smiled at the thought, maybe she had some good luck after having seemingly none from the last round. Various people now stood about the park, waiting for the battle to start, and Ayithe wasn’t going to disappoint by not showing. There had been no viewers of her last battle and it would show as Ayithe managed to stand against the railings without anyone giving her a second thought. Stepping forward, Ayithe moved to the gate, still shivering slightly from the cold she hadn’t had time to warm up and felt rather stiff as she stopped at the main gate.

Ayithe looked straight across at her opponent who still circled the fountain unaware of her presence. Running her hand through her soaked hair she knocked it behind her, the cold was now giving her a headache and she rubbed her forehead in frustration. Irritated by her ability to arrive in a rush and not be ready for her battle, yet with the few minuets to spare before battle Ayithe took the time to try forget about her now banging headache.

[Bohemia]

Electrical copper veins broke open and bled stark white light from the street lamps as it's vessels into the smooth dark blue of the night. It spurted into the very nooks and crannies of the public park, and Jon immediately ground to a halt, his shoes squeaking on the old worn concrete of the walk. A few bugs skittered out of his way as he walked further out into his suroundings, head swiveling top the left and the right curiously and cautiously, errant twigs snapping under foot, pebbles and acorns skittering off into the great blind beyond. Sure, maybe the lamps had been tripped by anh automatic breaker, but something inside of him told him that to think like that would earn him the most uncoveted and unwelcome reward of a sword plunged through the back of his throat.

Blinking irritably, his strained eyes still struggling to adjust to the sudden harsh light, the boy shivered violently, a chill spell tearing up the length of his spine and pulling the hairs on the back of his neck to stand full on at attention. Icy phantom fingers lingered up his back, slowly twisting and weaving over his flinching flesh; the touch of some long past ghost turning his lips to a light blue, finally urged him to turn around, hazel eyes gazing out from beneath the hem of his hood.

There she was, some warrior princess come from a battleground maybe miles away, staring at him with squinted emerald eyes behind a damp cluttered curtain of dripping soaked brown hair. She was dressed like most women on Althanas, minimal, tight clothing, to give some degree of ease to movement, the cleft of cleave or the curve of her butt under the tight hide a pants a distraction for any man. One could have called her beautiful had it not been for the sharp, hard look in her beryl eyes that spoke volumes for what she intended on doing with the rounded blades clutched in her hands. Gravel crunched underfoot as he took a single step forward, and seemed to hesitate, his lips, one of the few visible portion of his face from beneath the hood, twisting in a scowl.

Part of him, of course wanted to see her naked. Strut on over like Rudolph Valentino himself, grab her hand and spin her around and say the dumbest things that a man could say and "accidentally" trip and cut the straps to that vest of hers in two. Being clumsy had it's advantages, specifically the excuses it could provide for such a thing. 'I got a sword I wanna put in your holster' was onen thing that came to mind that he could happily say without thinking twice about for even a second.

Then, another part of him, the part that drove him on through those three months of training and observed the beating of his heart like the ticks of a wound clock, painted a fresco of shattered glistening bone and mottled scarlet blood across the inside of his mind. It remembered the feeling of fresh blood on it's hands and it wanted more. The smell and color of it stole it away in a joyless euphoria. He was unaware of the thin trickle of black ichor that broke through his bottom lip and trickled down his chin as his hands went to Gnash and Scrtatch's wire bound leather hilts.

The steel of the long knives shined in the unforgiving glare of the streetlamps, the weapons like the jagged fangs of a snake. Jon spun them into a reverse grip and dropped closer to the ground in a crouch, one leg skirtting the ground and whipping out the side before he lunged forward, hopping onto the base of the nearest lamp to Ayithe and leaping through the air at her, hitting the beaten down soil with a thud, falling in low beneath her waist. He stabbed both knives upwards simultaneously and the drove at her stomach with his shoulder, intent on knocking her to the ground where she'd be easier to work on.

[Thoracis]

The Kitty Pimps advance!