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Post by John Nemo on Jan 4, 2013 7:11:33 GMT -8
There were three things a fighter focused on training, focused on building up. Their strength, their speed, and their technique. After watching this female for quite a whil, he knew that ahe completely outclassed him in all three. She was a warrior, trained for who knows how long in various martial arts. Fortifying her body against many enemies with the intent to kill. He knew that, if he played her game, there was no way he would last five minutes.
Still, he had one skill he felt would help him in situations like these.
Guile.
He Was a man on the hunt to kill the most powerful man in the world. He didn't fool himself into thinking he could actually match Barker in a fist fight. But sneak up behind him and stab him in the back? Well, that didn't take too much, physically, and any idiot could wield a knife. Still, though seemingly a farmboy with a cowboy hat and thick accent, he was extremely smart, both book wise and street-wise.
So, when she side-stepped his knee, he didn't bother trying to guess at her next move, as she was too fast for him to follow anyway. He didnt try to counter or power through it- she was too strong and well trained. Instead, he would attempt to keep the heat and pressure on her by destabilizing her center of mass.
As her knee came up, he used his right leg, which was still planted on the ground, to bend and jump backward. He kept his hands clasped behind her neck, intent on forcing her to stumble forward while her leg was still in the air, or just before it was replanted on the ground. His left leg, which had been up at the time off the jump, would plant first. As he landed, she would probablu stumble toward/into him. He would let her, lifting his left arm with the hope of pulling her into a headlock. If it worked, he would start raining right-armed elbows down on her back.
He was grinning as he did this.
She might win, but he would make sure she paid for the victory in blood and bruises.
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Post by Delilah A. Black on Jan 4, 2013 18:36:05 GMT -8
If there was one thing Delilah was not known for, it would have to be 'underestimating her opponent'.
She was all too aware that a single mistake would be the end of her life. One of the principles of her extensive training that continued to resonate with her was this: 'Everyone is stronger, better, faster than you are'. To think otherwise bred arrogance, and arrogance was the death of awareness. The end of awareness was always lethal.
Because of that mentality, Delilah always ensured she was prepared. She had made combat and fighting her way of living, dedicating body, mind and soul to it. It helped that she had her home with the Crows, her little family, group of friends and her honour to fight for, to drive her to make sure she made it home every night...but in truth, there was little else the mechanic was suited for. Extensive training aside, she was born to fight and give it her everything.
To do otherwise was an insult to all she sought to protect.
Relying on her senses, her intuition and just letting her technique flow from her was the greatest gift of her art, and it was because of it that she was so formidable. It was the same as playing the piano or the violin for her: it wasn't about playing the song, you had to FEEL IT.
Thus, it was nice to see that John had the wherewithal to sense (probably through their physical connection and the shift in her weight) to get out of the way of her strike, jumping away and forcing her to follow him. She did so without resistance and as he regained his footing, before he could cinch the headlock, Delilah went where the hold was weakest, which was down.
If he released her or just bent down slightly, Delilah's hands would lash out, connecting on the side of his thigh. Strong hands would grasp the flesh, rolling it against the ball of her palm in a flesh-tear. Her other hand would come up and slam into the side of his knee, meaning to break the line of stability between his knee ankle and hip, thus forcing him to fall if successful.
If it was, Delilah would leap into the air from her crouch, aiming to land with both feet high up on his chest.
If for some reason John didn't fall, she would start shredding and slashing his leg with nothing but her hands, tearing holes in his pants with her vise-like fingers until she bailed to the side in a quick roll, coming up to her feet with a wild grin on her face.
Oh, yes. This was fun.
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Post by John Nemo on Jan 4, 2013 19:02:28 GMT -8
'Gah, shit.'
Of course she countered. She had just as much intuition as him, he was sure. Still, she was dropping to a lower altitude. She was too fast for him to stop her grabbing his leg- but he sure as hell wasn't gonna stand there and let her fuck him up. He would, as she tore at him, use gravity and his falling weight to try and add force to the right punch he throw at the top of her head. With her grip and gaze on his leg, it was unlikely she would see it. He would drop to that knee as he struck at her, growling in pain but still grinning, bloody leg and all.
Ignoring the pain, he needed to strike before she recovered. So a second after he struck, he would lunge forward and attempt to tackle her, and pin her arms. He would look down At her face before letting his eyes trail down a little, breathing heavy as he returned his eyes to hers.
"I think i like this better."
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Post by Delilah A. Black on Jan 4, 2013 19:26:23 GMT -8
John's belief that her gaze was directed solely on his leg was misguided. Part of Delilah's natural awareness was her spatial acuity: she was looking everywhere and nowhere in particular all at once, using her peripheral vision to see everything without directly looking at something.
So the reason John's powerful right hand met it's target?
She wanted to gauge his strength.
The blow connected and a shock coursed down her spine. The effect wouldn't have bothered her so much if it hadn't been for John putting all of his weight behind the blow as he took a knee. Slightly reeling from the attack, Delilah only had time enough to draw a leg up protectively to her chest as he tackled her into the sand.
She gave her head a shake, looking to the side at her pinned right arm and then back up at him. The roaming and suggestiveness of his gaze earned him another wide eyed look of surprise and a blush.
GODDAMMITGETAHOLDOFYOURSELF
"I think i like this better."
She let out a slightly breathy laugh (strange as she was nowhere near winded), "Mercy me, it seems you might have mistaken me for the kind of girl who's EASY!"
On her last word, Delilah would perform a slightly modified backroll that involved her throwing the leg she had pulled up to her chest (and John by default) up and over her head as the momentum from the throw brought her up to her feet.
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Post by John Nemo on Jan 4, 2013 21:42:56 GMT -8
He grunted as the wind left his lungs, his back making rough contact with the sand. He chuckled, though it sounded a bit strained, and made no move to stand or shift from his position.
"Why is it yeh gotta be easy teh enjoy the physicaliteh of someone yeh find stunnin'?"
He rolled over onto his stomach, coming to his hands and knees.
"What can't two people jus' enjoy themselves?"
He would fling his hand upward scattering sand into her face before jumping forward, intent to superkick her in the chest while she was distracted, and send HER ass to the dirt as payback.
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Post by Delilah A. Black on Jan 4, 2013 22:15:14 GMT -8
"Why is it yeh gotta be easy teh enjoy the physicaliteh of someone yeh find stunnin'?"
Her stomach flipped over. Oh dear God, now she was 'stunning'. She scowled at herself, trying to gain a hold of her logic before flustered girly-emotions invaded her mind.
She almost didn't even see him flip over and rise to his hands and knees.
"What can't two people jus' enjoy themselves?"
His hand came up and she saw the sand coming up to obscure her vision. Instead of blocking it or trying to roll out of the way, she laughed instead. It was nice to have her own methods thrown back in her face every now and again...literally.
"Oof--!!"
His kick connected and she flew back, shot through the air by the force of his kick. Still, she'd felt worse. As she neared her descent, Delilah twisted in the air like a cat, hitting the sand with her palms and using the momentum to spring back up into the air to land on her feet. Even after all that, she skidded back a few paces as her feet dug into the sand and crouched.
She launched herself at him, shooting out from her perch as if it were spring loaded. Hovering at his mid chest height, she would twist, aiming a high kick for his temple before coming back down on her feet and throwing well placed hits into the vitals of his torso.
"I'm enjoying myself right now," she said in a sing song voice, aiming a pin point strike for his liver, and then a raised palm to his jaw. "And I'm certainly enjoying your physicality."
She raised her left leg, aiming to shove-kick him in the chest. If it worked, she would stand back and laugh in delight.
"And lo' and behold, your pants are still on!"
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Post by John Nemo on Jan 24, 2013 13:57:33 GMT -8
(I forgot to post here last night- my apologies!)
John bent his knees slightly as the woman attacked- he had no hope of standing toe to toe with her, obviously. So, he would have to be slick, controlled. More cunning than a powerhouse, which for the massive male was difficult to say the least. But as she took to the air, his hopes were kindled. Taking to the air was something only done if you were confident in victory- he wasn't beaten nearly enough to not notice the opening.
As her foot lashed out, he raised the arm closest to her attacking leg and jumped, so her kick would land high in his ribs, just below the armpit. He would wrap his arm around her leg and step backward several paces, so her body would go to the ground limply. Then, using his other hand, he would pretend to stab her repeatedly in the thigh, right where the main artery flowed, and then he would stare in her face and grin.
"Yeh got a dead-wound here, lady. Migh' wanna get thah looked at."
He would release her leg and step away, to allow her to stand, if she would. His point was that, just because you were stronger, faster, smarter- didn't mean you could take overconfident steps such as launching to the air. He would spread his arms wide for her to attack, though, as he walked backward toward the ocean.
"Come and get meh, then."
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Post by Delilah A. Black on Jan 24, 2013 14:52:27 GMT -8
One thing about Delilah was every one of her attacks was calculated to a minute detail. There were no reckless attacks; everything had a purpose.
Still, when John grabbed her leg, it was something of a surprise that he knew what to do about it. But once he grabbed a hold of the leg, her hips twisted in the opposite direction, aiming a knee for the side of his head.
But the momentum carried over from her attempted strike would have essentially flipped her over until she was face down, thus still forcing her to fall and take the pain from the strikes to her inner thigh. They did hurt, and left her wincing. It was a pressure point strike; she would have to be made of steel not to feel it.
The thought struck her that she could use her Qi, just to teach him a lesson, but thought the better of it.
As he went to pull away from Delilah, she had her chance: slipping her leg out of his grip and braving her hands beneath her, she went to kick him in the chest with the balls of her feet like a donkey kick, sending him further backward than he intended if successful. Coming out of the brief handstand, Delilah's feet would touch down on the sand and she would draw the rest of herself up, grinning broadly.
She reached down her leg on the opposite side and gave it a hard 'thwack' with the side of her hand, right on the spot that would normally give her a Charlie horse, and she cringed at the pain. The muscle seized, then relaxed, and just like that her leg was back to normal.
"Actually, sugar, I think it's your turn to try and hit me." she chimed with a playful wink.
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Post by John Nemo on Feb 1, 2013 15:12:22 GMT -8
John "Oofed" as she kicked him, causing him to stumble.
He grinned.
He could have pursued the attack, but instead ignored the attack, the wind smashing from his lungs. He fell back into the ocean, lay there, floating. He didn't move, eyes closed, pretending to be unconscious.
If she risked getting close, or bending down to check him, he would grab her and barrel-role, so she would be in the water, him on top. He would be laughing, striking manly poses.
"I am the great Champion of the Tengu! I have even conquered the first Crow! Listen to my roar!"
God...he was cheesy.
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Post by Delilah A. Black on Feb 1, 2013 21:35:49 GMT -8
The raven haired woman would watch the prone looking man with suspicion. She hadn't kicked him that hard. And he shouldn't be unconscious from where she kicked him...unless she dislodged his aorta. In which case, he was very much dead.
But he didn't look or act dead. She approached with caution, slipping her feet into the sand as she neared where he lay in the surf. Looking down at him, he seemed to be alive, at least, so she would go to give him a prodding kick with her toe--
Fuck.
Too late she would try to dance just out of his reach as he grabbed her and pulled her underwater, rolling himself on top.
The poses he struck and the words he said went unheeded by Delilah. She could not hear him clearly or see properly (OR BREATHE, THAT'S KIND OF IMPORTANT) and on top of that was her innate fear of water. Pinned underwater as she was, the mechanic immediately went into panic-mode, resorting to more unorthodox methods to get him off of her. Grabbing at the skin of his legs through his jeans with strong hands, lifting her knees to hit him in the kidneys as she thrashed and, if these things didn't work, she would go so far as to bite the inside of his thigh to remove him from her.
If this worked, she would sit up immediately, black hair dislodged from the clip in the back of her head and flung back over her head as she coughed, taking a moment to regain herself.
If NOT or if for some reason he continued to hold her underwater...well, this put her in the predicament of a fight for her life. Her Qi would activate, and now clawing at his flesh would be metal talons, the teeth sinking into his leg enhanced with the strong metal coating and sharpness. Anywhere he touched would suddenly erupt with spikes in an effort to remove the obstruction. If it wasn't enough, Delilah would probably pass out in a few minutes. And begin drowning.
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Post by John Nemo on Feb 6, 2013 9:53:44 GMT -8
John would, as soon as Delilah was below him, roll off into the ocean when she started thrashing, laughing a little at how wet she was, not to mention to look of irritation she had. He would be sitting beside her, giggling as the water came up around them. He would use a finger to push aside her hair and tuck the wetness behind her ear before leaning on one knee and combing his fingers through his hair.
"Well, alrigh'. We'll call ituh draw, if you insist."
A smirk and a wink, followed by him pushing himself to his feet and extending a hand for her to follow.
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Post by Delilah A. Black on Feb 6, 2013 10:20:12 GMT -8
He lowered at him through her sheaf of black hair, somewhat amused at the situation. Being taken out so easily hurt her pride a little, but that was minor. No more fighting near water.
.
No more taking it easy on John.
Delilah looked at the hand he extended her for a moment with a look of temptation. It WOULD be soooo easy to give him a taste of what he just gave her. But the fight was over, so she took his hand and hauled herself up out of the water with his help. Besides he would probably make a sex joke, and 'accidentally' cop a few not-so-discreet feels. But now she knew more about him, at least. Hewwas a good fighter in that he was smart. An opportunistic man, though as far as combat went, this was actually a good trait. And he was a gracious winner. Seemed to embody the "san-shin" even though he probably jaded no idea what that meant.
But that darkness was still there. She could feel it looming over him like an angry cloud.
The mechanic looked down at herself with a sigh. She looked like a wet cat, what with her clothes shopping wet and hanging off her body. SO glad she had removed her knives. She would have spent all night oiling them otherwise. Delilah would tilt her head to the side, gathering her hair and wringing it out while she looked up at John.
"I don't think I'll be fighting you near water anytime soon," she said with a small smile, moving on to wringing out her shirt without taking it off (though the long scar that biseccted her body, newer than the others on her arms, would be easily visible now). "Did you have any formal training?"
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Post by John Nemo on Apr 3, 2013 23:36:52 GMT -8
John smirked.
"Don' blame theh water. Theh sun was in yer eyes mos' theh time, and I got lucky mor'n once. Plus I get theh feelin' if yeh really wanted to give meh a bruisin', you'da done so, right?"
He would walk ahead of her out of the water, toward his shoes as she asked if he had any formal training. He gave a short laugh, groaning as he sat and started putting on his shoes.
"Nah,not training- not unless yeh count beatin' up kids in school or the occassional barfight. I understand pain, though, and the human body so I guess that helps some."
He would begin pulling on his boots and shoes, having wiped sand from his feet borehand.
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Post by Delilah A. Black on Apr 4, 2013 0:16:05 GMT -8
She just hummed at that, declining to confirm or deny his suspicion. she couldn't even go all out with the toughest people she knew; they might not DIE but they certainly might wind up maimed.
"Pain is a good base, though," she would agree as she watched him put on his shoes, having left hers on the whole time to make movement a bit tougher. "Did you go to school? College, I mean."
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Post by John Nemo on Apr 4, 2013 1:46:22 GMT -8
He nodded.
"I guess. I'd prefer hard trainin' but it gets hard teh find places when yer movin' all the time."
He would stand and shake out his hat, brushing off some of the healthier applications of sand that refused to be moved by a simple brushing. He would stick it back on his head as he lifted his jacket. The girl was curious about him- he wondered how much, exactly, she planned on trying to make him reveal. He decided to give her some information she would probably have been able to uncover herself with a little digging. The rest would stay with him.
"Yeah, I've had mah share of schoolin'. When to theh University of Washington, graduated withuh PHD in physics and a minir in applied sciences. Worked fer Barker for a few years before theh bombs fell. Research and development. After that I stayed with mah cousin in Ohio fer six months, killin'. He's ex-special forces, taught me how to get theh job done, but never got round to helpin' me fight- just how teh stay silent and take lives. Now, If you'd like I can talk all day or we can grab some dinner. Hows that sound?"
He would, towards the end of the last sentence, walk slowly toward her and grin, waiting- he didn't care that he said he worked for Barker at one point. He did and he wasnt ashamed of it. He didn't even know who the man was at the time- the position was prestigous and the money astronomical. Though he was sure he would need to answer questions about it later.
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