Archetype

[Deryk Bayard]

He'd gone through a whole day without being noticed. It was actually pretty sad. New blood must not have really mattered anymore. There were a lot of feuds going on already. Maybe they just didn't want to start another. Maybe they thought a kid with glasses wasn't worth the time. Maybe, just maybe, nobody cared. He was a long way from home, and had no friends, so he spoke as little as possible, and made no great impact. It was a time for him to observe, not to be observed. And even in one day, he'd been able to observe a lot.

People fit into categories at this school. There were three kinds. Heroes, the good guys, who tried to be valiant and protective. Villains, who were out for themselves and for infamy. And the third were the mobs, people who were there to get smacked around by the heroes and villains. And the whole school was a big, open PVP zone. Among the heroes was primarily one kind of player; the Scrapper. They fought at their best right off the bat and through sheer determination made it through any challenge. On the villain side, there were the Brutes. They fought with fury in their hearts, only getting stronger as a fight went on. Some on each side were built more as Tankers, made to take the damage and eventually give it all back with little more than a few scratches, if that.

As he walked through the halls after-hours, with little purpose until he could get a solid internet connection set up in his apartment, he pondered what role he'd play. If anything, he couldn't allow himself to be a mere mob for the beating. But for sure, he was at a far lower level than the other players. It was all about choosing the right archetype for the metagame when it came to PVP though. And there was one easy way to make any melee class cry: Control.

His concern though, was how he'd establish that control.

["Unfettered"]

OOC: Looks like you need someone to mess around with... apologies for the shortness. Also, if its okay with you, this storyline will be before the 'End Of The Enforcers' thread.

Enter The Gray Area

The German went about, walking in a hurried manner. Not with anything in particular to go towards. Black heavy coat covering his body, scarf around his neck... and on a hot day like this, in California. As explained before, this was to cover up his gear, as well as to protect himself against the elements of his own Qi...

But why the rush?

He was looking for the next thing.

What, though? Transfer, enforcer, pillar, new guy, teacher? Granted, his gang could hardly be called a gang, yet. Just himself and Emily... bah.---

*WHOMP*

Bumping into someone, he didn't move.

In normal society, the general move would be to apologize immediatly in passing, but continue walking. Or be an ass, and just keep walking. But this was Public High School #259. There were risks in possibly offending someone, and the German had grown cautious, so he stayed there for a moment, shoulder embedded in the stranger, before gently backing away. A neutral look on his face.

Watching the next few movements very, very carefully. Looking at the boy with his remaining right eye, his Nazi eye-patch covered up by a few strands of his hair, barely visible.

[Deryk Bayard]

((Call me an ass for noticing this, but your sig's eyepatch is incorrect for indicating a Nazi mindset. If the prongs are facing the way they are, it's the Hindu and Buddhist symbol for life. You need to merely mirror them to get an image befitting the Nazi beliefs.))

Weren't the halls empty? They had been, right? So why had, out of nowhere, he felt the blunt disruption that came with the shoulder-to-shoulder bump? It took him by surprise, but he didn't budge much at all. He did rotate his body away from the blow instinctively though, twisting past the blow to continue his forward momentum. A typical street response to impact, really. But considering this was school, he did want to pay a little more courtesy to a potential fellow classmate. So while he had taken a few steps past the man, he twisted his body around to face the guy and stopped, an uncaring smile on his face.

"Hey man! Better keep an eye out when-" His words died pretty quickly when he saw the guy's face. A grimace hit his face, like he'd just banged his elbow on the edge of a table or something. His left hand covered the majority of his face as he sighed. "Shit..." He'd noticed the eyepatch too late to stop his mouth, and now the guy had complete license to take offense. Hopefully though, the guy was a decent sort, and would take Deryk's own discomfort as punishment enough for such a transgression as to bring up the whole eye thing.

But... This was PHS #259... A place where emotional explosions were much harder to avoid than anywhere else. Plus... This guy had a curious symbol on that eyepatch. It had taken him a moment to decipher past the hair, but anybody who'd taken fourth grade history would very likely know exactly what it was. And it didn't make for the friendliest of appearances.

["Unfettered"]

OOC: Many of the mistakes that you pointed out, including in my RPing and my detail (which I humbly apologize for) was mostly because I was typing this out at school. I'd noticed your thread was left alone, so, decided to give you someone to 'play' with. And aye... you are very much right about the Nazi symbol/Hindu symbol---But it all is in the mind of the perceiver, no? And maybe... it works out either way? I'll let you decide. ^_~

Bad Humor

"Hey man! Better keep an eye out when-"

---...

At that instant, the German couldn't tell whether he wanted to laugh or immediately slug the guy. "Shit..." Kek. Looks like this guy just realized it too. "Unfettered" laughed, his body shaking a little, but not exaggeratedly so.

"'Done zat already, zanks."

...

Options:
1. Beat the guy down anyways.
2. Introduce himself.
3. Attempt to mentally mess with the guy.
4. Ignore.
5. Threaten (Verbally).
6. Demonstrate (Version 2 Of Threaten).

...

A step in closer, already invading his personal room, eyeing the guy. Giving the guy a sigh, as if it were the most obvious thing, he was half-tempted to put his hand on the guy's shoulder, but, instead, pocketed the tips of both his hands, only by a finger.

"Ven you bump into zomeone, you zay 'Sorry'..."

Just another asshole, huh? Obviously, the German was the one who---

"Sorry." Even bowing slightly, with a nod of his head, acknowledging his own fault... But the flicker in his eye was evidentally still there, as the German looked up.

"...Vell, vile ve're at it, care for a quick match, stranger?"

[Deryk Bayard]

The apology was simple. And very, very, German. Still, he felt the need to say something. "Well," He grinned, despite the violation of personal space. "It takes to to bump into each other, no?" Deryk asked before immediately dropping the word "Sorry," into the equation. And the challenge had been a little odd.

But then again, it was 259. Fights happened everyday. "At least my first fight is going to be on friendly terms, yeah?" He took two quick steps back, his second step turning into a little hop as he got a proper distance away from his adversary. And then he quickly dropped into his fighting stance as if he were used to the awkward position. His right foot was forward, while his right arm was perpendicular to the ground in front of his body. His left foot was pointed forty-five degrees away from forward, but his left hand was parallel to the ground in front of his shoulders, forming something of a cross with his arms. It seemed most uncomfortable because of how his wrists were nearly touching, and not protecting the left side of his torso.

He brought both hands up to his face, as if his wrists were linked. Only his right hand grabbed his glasses, folding them up. He crouched down and slid them along the ground until they came to rest under a water fountain, where neither of them were likely to step. Again, his arms moved as one as he slid them along the ground, the wrists as a focal point for the attachment. His body assumed the stance again without him showing the faintest sign of being awkward about it. "Forgive me if I don't make the first move. It's not my style."

["Unfettered"]

On Build-Up

"Forgive me if I don't make the first move. It's not my style."

All in all, the proceedings were going in a rather amusing way. In fact, "Unfettered" hadn't moved a single step from where he was, allowing the five-foot distance to build, smiling and hands pocketed. The kid was definetely going all out, attempting to impress or to show he wasn't like the other pieces of trash. And, taking that into account, "Unfettered" was impressed, though obviously not showing it. After all, he had a number of unfair advantages:

1. He'd been here longer.
2. He had his 'gear'.
3. ---...Well, he'd have to see for himself to be sure if he really had a third advantage. If anything, that was just him getting cocky.

"..Virst vight, ja? I'll hold back... a bit." Basically, fight like an idiot, try to 'play by the book style. Sort of. However, to offset that, he was already walking forward. Casually. Taking note of the glasses, making a mental note of what and what not to do. "...Zo, I must admit, zat almost looked like a zouthpaw boxing stance." But obviously, not quite. At first glance, the awkward position might look a bit unstable. And in fact, "Unfettered" was uncertain. By the time he got within the three-foot range, however, he took a slide-step with his left, winding up slowly to give the new guy some time, before he'd bring his twisted body back into a left-elbow into the guy's 'cross-guard', speeding up slightly with an obvious right-straight, in one fluid motion.

...That is, unless the guy had side-stepped or something, or attempted to interrupt this combo.

Slow and easy... let the guy figure out his weakpoints, then change it up---

"..Zis isn't a spar, comrade. I really do intend on beating you down, eventually."

Eventually.

[Deryk Bayard]

"Well, admittedly, part of my style does involve boxing, but I like to think of it as a bit more unique. I suppose you'll see..." The German made his way in, not seeming too amazingly hasty at this point. More of a confident march. The march of one who knows victory was his already. It'll be nice to see that confidence take a little dive... He grinned, as if he had a secret that the big boy didn't know.

The elbow was slow and more than weak when used as an opening move. As it came in towards the cross guard he'd set up, his left elbow came up under his, pushing straight up and over his head. Then, as the easy follow-up right jab came in, Deryk closed his hand together to use both his arms as a block. Both arms blocked along the blade of "Unfettred's" forearm, pushing down and away to divert the attack's energy. With his left arm off to the side after the elbowing, and his right freshly diverted, there was an easy opening to take. Deryk's arms made a small half-circle on their route to turn around and come across his adversary's nose. Immediately after, they made a decent to his hips before lunging out to directly strike at his kidney with another double-fisted attack.

When the blows had been exchanged, he took a quick backwards lunge, ending up near the fountain again. Both his hands swept down, picking up his glasses and sliding them back over his eyes.

"Well then... If that's your plan..." His sentence didn't finish, as he began to think, beginning the furious cycling of strategies through his head.

["Unfettered"]

Terrible Disappointment

As persay, the opponent blocked up the German's slow elbow attack, which was already weak, but with this, further messed up the equally slow (then slower) straight-punch. But his eye wasn't lazing about, waiting to give the boy a little bit of respite. His movements began to hasten up, about equal to that of his opponents, bringing up his blocked up elbow into an odd angle, his fist banging slightly with his war glove on, a little bit before the nose, making it a barely glancing blow. Still, blood began to leak out from the force of the punch out of the right nostril.

Still, this stunned him a bit... but when the punk lunged with both punches at his kidne---Aimed at his chest? That just about gave the German some time to recover. Instead of doubling over like a normal person, the German 'stumbled' forward...

"Well then... If that's your plan..."

"---Zo cocky zat you zink you have a moment of respite!? Mighty rude!" would be the increasingly faster "Unfettered", as he didn't wait for the boy to even finish up putting his glasses on his face, his stumble turning into a football lineman's charge, both of his long arms out, head at a low angle, but feet nimble with his Artemis' Hunting Boots, ready to divert, as usual, his eye watching, the rush of air blowing the hair out of the way, revealing again his Nazi eye-patch.

If the boy tried straying from the left or the right, one of the arms would ultimately catch him, as "Unfettered" quickly noticed he had a slight speed advantage here, it appeared. Sliding below or jumping above however, might be more successful... or perhaps a counter?---If it could hit the veteren fighter.

...Cocky never mixed well with cocky, the German thought darkly to himself.

Two fat cocks, with a little oil, however...

Well, he was slightly curious as to how roosters tasted. Ya sick bastard.

OOC Notes:
-"Unfettered's" 'Poseidon's Chest Plate' Has Completely Absorbed 1/2 Hits!

[Deryk Bayard]

As he had his hands up in his face, he could smell a single drop of blood in his moment of clarity. But they also felt like they'd punched solid steel. Like the German was wearing armor or something ridiculous like that. He thought he'd maybe busted open his knuckle on the guy somehow. But when he gained his full vision, he saw the trickle from "Unfettered's" nose. If only it had been a first blood fight. It'd be over and he'd be able to leave. But now. Now he'd likely to have pissed off the big boy. And it showed when he let out his full speed. It was just a smidgeon faster than his own, but it still was clumsy-looking in his eyes. Perhaps it was because he'd seen stronger, faster, and ever far more graceful from his own teacher. But wasn't that always the case?

As the big boy came in, Deryk moved his hands from his glasses, letting them sit on the tip of his nose as he moved to act against the charge. His whole body dropped into a low crouch, and his right hand lashed out. The left arm followed, but had nothing to do with the attack. His right fist would slam into the German's left ankle, causing him to trip up mid-step. During that opening, he would roll forward past the German's legs, springing to his feet immediately. His left leg would extend into the air above his head, before falling down on the German's back. The vicious heel drop was aimed for the small of the back. If he was hunched over, the drop would bring him down towards the ground. But if his back was straight, Deryk would add some outward thrust to his drop in order to get "Unfettered" to be pushed toward the wall.

If anything, he'd been walking on dirty floors all day. It's probably leave a nice black footprint.

["Unfettered"]

Changing It Up Again

As expected... the boy's ability to counter was impeccable. Dropping right below in terms of view, "Unfettered" kept his head upright, grinning a smile. Technically, this was a situation that wouldn't be comfortable for most. But this punk was green, though his ambition to defeat the German burned strongly.

...So as to punch the ankle of "Unfettered" was definetely possible, and the German then put his hands in front of himself, grinning, but wincing with his eye as he took the pain. Was necessary to fully understand. And besides... it's not like it hurt that bad.---*WHUMP*

The foot slammed into "Unfettered's" Hades Coat. Which was already black as it was... just slightly dirtier. But that was what came with fighting a lot, wasn't it? Fortunately, however, the German's prepared arms caught hold of the wall. Next came the strange part...

He simultaneously slammed his forehead against the wall... Very hard. So much as to imprint his head there, and to keep him in place.---Loosening up his arms. A trickle of blood flowed from his forehead, but it was part of this. The flow... his flow.

"Gut... you have a keen sense of self-preservation..." the words would say, as his hands would quickly and roughly reach for the water fountain---*RIIPPRARRARRPPP*

Whirling around, a flood of water began to gush out.

A grin, as the water began to soak past their feet, flooding into the hallway, slowly but surely.

A confident grin.

"...Ze question is... how hard iz ze mettle of your offensive capabilities... versus my defensive abilities?"

Holding up the metal water-fountain dispenser in his left hand, his right arm went up in an 'orthodox' boxing style... His left hand however... appeared weighed down. Key word being 'appeared'... in fact, he was actually straining himself to make it look realistic. Panting... a certain amount of pain at the edges of his fingers, from having clawed inside his Ares War Gloves to pull out the water fountain. Aye... felt uncomfortable. Good. Good. Overall this scenario was, at first glance, equally disadvantageous to "Unfettered", and possibly even more so, if the punk knew how to use his momentum correctly. But nonetheless...

This was "Unfettered's" environment now. How? More importantly, the question was 'Could his opponent push him to that brink?'

[Deryk Bayard]

((OOC: Damned good onomatopoeia there... --golf claps--))

Current Song: Maximum the Hormone: Shimi

"Well... Isn't that a typical impressive display of strength?" Deryk stood up completely from his fighting stance, watching the stripped pipe fitting in the wall spew out water. It was a nice gushing rate, but it wasn't that amazing. The halls were big, so it wasn't like any real flooding would occur within the hour. Even if the flooding went on for a while, there were drains in the bathrooms and under water fountains. The only thing that accomplished was to make the floor wet. It was a problem for high-mobility fighters, with all the slipping potential. Deryk himself was only wearing sneakers, so it could become a slight hindrance if he didn't take the water into effect. Of course, his opposition would be affected as well.

Of more concern was the large chunk of potential pain held in the hands of the German. It looked like he had trouble ripping it out, but that was to expected of a fixed item. Perhaps the man had a lack of stamina? It didn't matter. He already had his tactics in mind. Water had no effect on those tactics. The fountain though, if it hit him, would. As in, "Game over, get more quarters, bitch!"

Both hand came up, only the left one grasping the edge of his glasses to slide them up closer to his eyes. "You've got a lot of chutzpah tearing up school property like that. I'm sure the staff won't be very pleased. And the poor janitor is going to want you dead." Yes, he had used the word chutzpah. Yes, he was sinking that low. Yes, he knew exactly what he was doing still.

["Unfettered"]

OOC: Oh, heavens, you're simply too kind. *Bows*

The Thing About Being A Junior

"Well... Isn't that a typical impressive display of strength?"

"Vy jes... zank you for noticing, darkling..." throwing out his right hand in an imitatively 'flirting' gay-mockery pose at him.

In a dramatic show, his opponent threw up both his arms, and slid his glasses closer to his nose. "You've got a lot of chutzpah tearing up school property like that. I'm sure the staff won't be very pleased. And the poor janitor is going to want you dead."

"Oh... zem? Ja... but I fight to earn my keep around here, for what my title's worth zese days..." Knowing where this punk was trying to head this conversation, being a former weakling himself in the yesteryears, but instead throwing a little bit of hints and tips about himself, let his opponent's imagination take over... and also counter-mess with him, since the boy had decided to give the German some time to rest. "And I'm zorry... but your seductive attempts von't vork on me... I just don't sving zat vay."

Leaning back, but keeping his eye on his opponent. But soaking wet himself from the immediate blast, he was just waiting at this point to see what would go on. And ready to react when needed, in spite of his abilities showed, up to this point.

He'd been good enough to go on the offensive first, after all. And if his opponent wasn't kind enough to return the usual courtesies of combat... well, he'd just give the German more time to rest, since he took most of the damage anyways, or they could end this now, each other's prides still intact.

Or... if the boy proved himself... the German could show exactly why he'd gone through the trouble of getting himself soaked with cold, disgusting drinking water.

And to emphasize, once more, he was indeed letting the sores on his body wave out in their pain, letting his body adjust, catching his breath.

[Deryk Bayard]

Deryk had no offense. He didn't need it. His primary goal was that of survival, whether or not it had come from winning or just making his opponent lose interest. So as the man held that water fountain, he had to wonder; just how long did he plan on holding that thing up? He obviously wasn't feeling so aggressive that he should be throwing random objects around. And the use of the Jewish word hadn't sparked any response. Aside from the gay jokes. Unexpected, but completely meaningless in a battle. It just meant both of them were smart enough to let words be nothing more than words.

"Well... You're a smart guy... I'm sure you know that by now, I'm not inclined to attack you. And as long as I'm playing absolute defense, you're going to have a hell of a time fighting me. I could propose a truce, in order to keep this standstill from going on longer. Of course, you could attack me now as well. This fight is truly in your hands." He looked at the man as if he were impatiently waiting, though every moment he got to avoid the onslaught was another moment he got to relax his mind. With the relaxed feeling, he got a more stable grasp on the situation.

"So... What's it gonna be?"

["Unfettered"]

Counter-Proposal

"Well... You're a smart guy... I'm sure you know that by now, I'm not inclined to attack you. And as long as I'm playing absolute defense, you're going to have a hell of a time fighting me. I could propose a truce, in order to keep this standstill from going on longer. Of course, you could attack me now as well. This fight is truly in your hands."

Kek. The mind began whirring.

"So... What's it gonna be?"

"Vell..." stretching, almost to the verge of yawning, he grinned, eye partially closed. "..While I am inclined to refer to you as a coward, your mentality could potentially prove to be useful." Paused a moment, for emphasis. "...I am interezted in your capabilities, but zere is ze matter of you not knowing who I currently am, und vat I intend to do at zis school, az vell az me needing to zee more your own abilities."

Whisking up a bit of a smile... he cocked his head to the side, hefting the heavy thing onto his shoulder.

"Of courze... if your mildly interezted in hearing more... I'll have to fight you for real for three rounds. Survive or defeat me... or ve end zis az ze truce you describe. I'm fine vith any turn out, at zis point."

Information was collected. Psychologically comparing the fight with a war, as with any offensive attack, it usually required excessive force, and resulted in more casualties in war, but that depended on how strong the defense was. Getting hurt, in general, in life, was unavoidable.

But, to see if this boy was politically inclined at all, or at least was purpose driven...

Well, this could only go a number of ways.