Post by "Unfettered" on Sept 12, 2013 0:41:52 GMT -8
[7/16/2013 1:53:40 AM] Michael De Vera: Perhaps this was becoming more commonplace, but Delilah would find a small note slipped underneath her door, followed by the sound of boots walking away with a distinct staccato...
[7/16/2013 2:00:00 AM] Gemmy/Delilah: ...Several minutes later...
Arriving home after the usual early morning training session with Tengu, cup of coffee in hand, Delilah stepped through the door of her quarters and into her living room...when she heard a light crinkle as her boot touched down on the floor.
Peering down, she noticed the corner of a paper sticking out from underneath her boot. With a sigh, she bent to pick up the note and read what little was scrawled there.
Another sigh, "Fuck meeee."
Setting her cup down on the shelf near the door, Delilah stepped back out and shut it behind her, towards Warehouse #17.
With a creak of the rusty metal doors, Delilah stepped through the threshold of Warehouse #17. It took a minute for her eyes to properly adjust, but what she saw--
[7/16/2013 2:10:34 AM] Michael De Vera: ---Was a mostly cleared out room. One of the older safe houses with the windows all boarded up from back when the borders of Crows territory still wasn't as solidified. There were a few lanterns that swung eeriely above by about ten feet, with stairs that led upwards on both sides, but the rest of the room had been "redecorated." Hay was strewn across the floor, whatever loose nails that would be sticking out had been painstakingly pulled out. It distinctly smelled of almost a barnyard atmosphere.
Standing across the rather wide room was the familiar stand-in, in his S.S.-esque uniform, his teal hair having grown out some. It had only been several weeks after Kiyoshi's funeral still. His eye wasn't visibly seen as his cap shadowed over it, though he wore a fairly grim look on his face.
...What was odd was that a certain fellow was sitting cross-legged next to him. His light blond hair was tied up nicely in a ponytail behind him, his sharp eyes staring on down at a certain magazine that featured scantily clad women over each page. Without any look of disgust or lust, the man went neutrally from page to page, viewing the old Maxim magazine in the dim light. He stared upwards in acknowledgement before staring down---
"Lady Black," "Teal's" gravelly voice interrupted.
"A surprise sparring partner. Ich trust du remember Herr Stock slightly?"
Richard Stock, one of the original Militia, continued to stare at the lovely women posing themselves sexually for the viewer. The old English bartender had never been much for words.
[7/16/2013 2:20:16 AM | Edited 2:26:39 AM] Gemmy/Delilah: Delilah blinked at her surroundings. Not the lack of stored goods, not the state of disrepair the exterior was in, not the two men standing on one end of the room, not the lanterns swinging gently from the rafters, but the hay.
It might have seemed odd for anyone other than herself, but Delilah had never so much had ever seen an actual barn in real life. It was even more strange to know that this hay was in what used to be an industrial centre.
She shook away her look of surprise and turned her attention back to 'Teal', striding towards them...briefly meeting eyes with the gentleman flipping through...a skin rag?
If his appearance hadn't rung any bells for the mechanic, the seemingly random introduction of the magazine certainly reminded her of someone...
"Lady Black,"
"Herr Krickente"
"A surprise sparring partner. Ich trust du remember Herr Stock slightly?"
Blue eyes returned to the gentleman sitting at the chair studying the pictures of the naked women as though he were reading the weather out of the "Times". A smile graced her lips.
"Hard to forget a dead man." she turned her gaze pointedly back to 'Teal'. "Also, 'sparring partner'?"
[7/16/2013 2:20:23 AM] Gemmy/Delilah: ((SHIT editing))
[7/16/2013 2:40:54 AM] Michael De Vera: Of course the hay didn't belong in the old warehouse... Some level of preperation had been put in creating Delilah's arena for combat. Her comment was obviously ignored by the contemptible German. Instead, the German would begin walking past her... beelining himself straight for the stairs.
"Ja. Have fun."
...Rather quickly, the German marched off upstairs, leaving Delilah and Richard together. And for a moment, Richard did absolutely nothing, saving flick through a page and then another of his old magazine. And then he would lick his finger before sliding rather deftly to flip through another... but bringing the cover over it rather reverently. He closed his eye, sighing rather audibly, closing his eyes, before sliding the magazine behind himself at his side, slowly pushing himself up.
The old Militia driver stared up at her with piercing eyes, as he began to unbutton his overcoat, tossing it indifferently behind himself as he deliberately stood in front of her. To the untrained eye he would appear rather skinny and gangly... But with adjustment to the dim light, he would be revealed to be rather shredded for a man of his smallish demeanor. His neutral expression was not that of utmost seriousness, but rather a determined... aloofness. It was a strange expression he wore that made him rather famous amongst the Militia.
Kicking his boots and socks behind himself, he was only attired in just a white wifebeater and some comfortable looking black slacks...
It was hard to tell if he was pleased or not about this whole arrangement himself, considering his expression.
[7/16/2013 2:51:17 AM] Gemmy/Delilah: Resisting the urge to turn her eyes to follow 'Teal' up the stairs, she remained standing as she was, in the centre of the room as she quietly observed the ever silent and stoic Mr. Stock.
...it pleased her greatly to see the man was still very much alive and kicking. Had he been with'Teal' all this time? She rather thought he had.
...Or perhaps he was tasked with something else she mysteriously couldn't know about for whatever reason?
The small smile widened slightly as Mr. Stock got to his feet (with an air about him as though it were a chore, a minor grievance that he had dallied on long enough before deciding that it was time to get to work).
She returned his gaze with one of measured caution. Not as aloof or piercing as his, but simply...calm, certainly by comparison. After a moment, she to removed her boots and socks, casting them off to the side and leaving her in her jeans and loose fitting tank top.
Maintaining eye contact.
The mechanic inclined her upper half at a slight angle before straightening again. "Onegaishimasu."
[7/16/2013 2:59:28 AM | Edited 3:00:27 AM] Michael De Vera: He would center himself in the room, as though beckoning for her to follow, but definetly keeping a six foot gap between them, if she would allow it. Otherwise he would step back and simeltaneously backhand fist her with his left hand while pivoting his hand, holding out his arm to counter balance himself, before promptly rolling forward to her front right flank and keeping himself in a low, almost crouched position.
Otherwise, he would wait until he led her to the middle of the room...
...And promptly stomp on the middle, wooden floorboard, to bring up the floor beneath her up. An obviously underhanded ploy by the Militia to get the one-up on the obviously more powerful Delilah Black by tripping her up and perhaps making her fall on her ass by the unexpected treachery.
Today, they were sparring.
[7/16/2013 3:09:14 AM | Edited 3:21:15 AM] Gemmy/Delilah: Patient as always, Delilah let herself be led slowly into the centre of the room. The mechanic padded slowly forward, a prowling motion almost beginning in her shoulders. She saw him raise his leg a little differently, watched him stomp on the floorboards--
There was a small flash of movement beneath her and Delilah felt something strike the bottom of her chin. Moving backwards with the momentum of the floorboard, the mechanic neatly bent in half by touching her palms against the floor and then on the balls of her feet, bending at the knee into a slight crouch.
The smile was decidedly more wicked now. "Interesting."
If Mr. Stock hadn't advanced on her while she recovered from the blow, Delilah would do so first, launching herself forward with a minor leap into the air to touch down a few feet in front of him (and to the left of the floorboard he had knocked into her, so as to avoid getting hit by it as it came back down). If unimpeded, her leg would lash out as she twisted her hips and dropped to her knees, aiming to take him off his feet.
((OOC: 1/2 physical nulls used))
[7/16/2013 3:20:07 AM] Michael De Vera: In a matter of seconds, the man watched the result (that being a bent-in-half Delilah.
As "Teal" had instructed him... she was an aggressive fast type. A sneaky, white ninja. Mr. Stock could appreciate that now. He could also appreciate that counters and sleight of hand would be required against the speed demon. So he had advanced towards... towards her left.
Counters. If the man had been quick enough, maybe he would have had a palm to reach and greet her face as she slid down on her knees.
Instead, he had been thinking of making usage of her smaller stature and had decidedly almost crouched to a lower position, his hands in front of him, knees bent as she came towards him, in anticipation of the speed he had been warned against.
The result was a leg lashing out into his knees, dropping him to his knees, but she wouldn't feel too much of a crunch since he hadn't the time to brace himself for her, so that they'd be facing each other directly, on their knees.
However, Richard's hands and arms had been extended out already, and would be at her sides, so he try bringing up both his arms underneath her shoulders and lean forward to land her on her back, to effectively mount her as he widened his leg stance. Then he'd try to hook his legs underneath hers.
Already, this had the looks of something terribly awkward. Mr. Stock appeared unaffected.
[7/16/2013 3:36:15 AM] Gemmy/Delilah: If Mr. Stock hadn't already dropped to his knees by the time Delilah was committed to her strike (that is, if he had remained standing for the sweep), she would have had enough momentum to twist her lower half once, and rise into a standing position.
As it was that she had wound up taking him out at the knee instead as he dropped his body weight, her momentum had stalled and the mechanic barely had enough energy from the sweep left to face him. Her smile faded a small fraction. Tch. Too slow.
..And then he was suddenly on her.
Off balance as she was on her knees with the dregs of her kick being pulled back to her body, it was easy for him to bring her down to her back, and he was able to grip her under her shoulders in the same beat.
Ah. Ground fighting. How Delilah hated it.
In a normal fight circumstance (that is to say, with actual enemies), it would have been simple to activate her Qi, morph it into the form of spikes, and turn the man into swiss cheese. But this was Mr. Stock, an aquantaince and comrade if not a friend (or someone she considered thus). Though the instinct crossed her mind, she shoved it down for the time being.
Instead, as she fell backward, she brought her knees up quickly and again threw her palms down behind her head to catch herself as she fell,helped along by his momentum. This evolved into a handspring...but with Mr. Stock clinging to her like that (if he still in fact was doing so), the pair would land, unless he adjusted himself mid -flip, onto HIS back, her hands braced on either side of his neck and her knees firmly against the floor to give herself the best position of balance.
Girl liked to be on top.
If this succeeded, she would stare at him for a split second in mild appraisal--before lifting her right knee to drive it into wherever it would land.
If this didn't turn out oh-so-perfect, the result would be Delilah attempting to buck the man off her person to roll on top to gain the advantage, attempt to slug him in the head once or twice, and then try to bail to her feet.
[7/16/2013 3:54:39 AM | Edited 3:54:47 AM] Michael De Vera: Elegant fighting.
This was most certainly not this.
Delilah Black had brought her legs, that is to say her knees, well between his own in the low position. So her knees would press uncomfortably between the inner thighs of his legs as well as an extra appendage sealed carefully along his left leg which would cause the Stock some constertenation, which in itself would help loosen the Englishman's grip around her shoulders, though he would not express it, save for a audible grunt.
Even amongst his fights with "Unfettered," the Bartender still could not imagine the core power that 259ers possessed at such low angles. He could feel Delilah's muscles flex and strain underneath him as she bruteforced them into elegance. Mr. Stock's arms, though well placed, simply did not possess enough physical strength, in spite of the jointlocking he was trying to perform, a thought he had to admit to himself with some base reluctance in the heat of the moment.
If the man was concerned with expressing himself, he might have looked at her admirably, and felt the time necessary to pelivic thrust himself to peel himself off backwards. At least, in his mind he would do this and imagine himself to be a Michael Jackson before his time. One that was born white. But this was a figment of his imagination and mostly neglible.
Instead, the reality was that Mr. Stock would in fact land on his back, though not end up nearly as winded, his arms unclapsed and find the Engineer's hands on either side of her neck and her knees firmly against the floor... Straddling him?
The lady doth not protest too much, evidentally.
They would appraise each other. The man failed to give Delilah the incredulous look that she deserved and instead felt a knee... slam into his thigh? If it had been a proper drop and they weren't so low to the ground, the impact might have been egregious, but instead, most of the impact, with the man already on his back, would dissipitate. A a bruise would form later, undoubtedly, but the man's arms would go behind her thighs and up her buttocks... and attempt to push her off him, to allow her to forward roll, which would allow the man to backwards roll before standing and pivoting to face her---
---Essentially, a reset of sorts, back to the center of the room, surprisingly enough.
[7/16/2013 4:05:27 AM] Gemmy/Delilah: DELILAH WAS ONLY TOO THANKFUL when she was able to roll off Mr. Stock after he grabbed her MOST inappropriately ('Teal' is probably having a fit). But, as she rolled to her feet, the smile appeared again, for a moment.
Depending on where the knee strike landed, as Mr. Stock got to his feet, he would notice one of two things: if the strike had landed to the outside of his thigh, he would find that as he put pressure on his leg that it would seize unexpectedly around the knee, this making it painful and difficult to unbend.
If it had landed on the inside of his thigh, on the other hand, he would find that his knee was suddenly...unable to support his weight, a vital tendon having been numbed by the force of the strike for a short period of time.
Whether or not he was able to stand successfully, Delilah would be on him again, darting forwards, attempting to plant her foot (rather purposefully) on the one belonging to the uninjured leg. If this went unimpeded, it would be followed by an upper cut to Mr. Stock's rib cage, followed by a right hook toward his left kidney. The uppercut hand (again, if nothing stopped it at all by this point) would aim for the center of his mass and just to the right...the liver, if you will.
[7/16/2013 4:17:34 AM] Michael De Vera: Mr. Stock had expected to feel the knee on top of his thigh as opposed to the inside or the outside. As it were, it was the outside, allowing himself to stand... Only to find that his left knee was now unable to bend and thus prepare himself for any attack on his person by preparing a proper leg stance. Mr. Stock would have winced, except that it would be considered rather unbecoming, the significance of his duress instead indicated by the furrowing of his eyebrows.
Fortunately, Mr. Stock had a solution.
Immediatly as Delilah darted forward again, he reached into his pocket for a hankerchief and whipped it out, just in time to get kicked in right and now formally uninjured shin, forcing the man's left locked leg to shoot out between hers, and instead getting a right hook to the left side of his face. Blood smattered across her fist, as he was punched again in the right side of his face, sending blood sputtering about across his other fist and forearm.
...All the while his right arm was reaching out to dab her forehead of sweat with the hankerchief as he kindly received with a uppercut to his chin. Thankfully, he wasn't exactly a vocal type and didn't chop off his own tongue as he kept it snug within the region behind his casing of teeth. Even as the Englishmen went from seeing red to black, the hand that had reached for and went to dab at Delilah's hardworking face would flutter off, leaving the hankerchief over her face, as though to blind her from the violence as Richard Stock would fly upwards into the sky and land with a dull, sprawled thump with blood from his cut gumlines dribbled and spattered from his lips in a most unsightly matter, leaving the Englishmen in a most ghastly, if catatonic, state.
[7/16/2013 4:25:09 AM] Gemmy/Delilah: Needless to say, the mechanic was...surprised that she had been so...effective. And by the strange, gentle way he bothered with her 'well-being' in the midst of a fight.
With a shake of her head, the handkerchief would dislodge and flutter down to her shoulder. Arms lashed out from her body again--only to catch the man before he crumpled completely to the ground, adjusting him so he wouldn't injure himself in the fall, kneeling beside him.
(...also discreetly taking measures to awaken certain pressure points to alleviate pain)
She looked up into the 'upstair' of the place where 'Teal' was undoubtedly watching, not saying anything and looking expectant.
[7/16/2013 4:35:36 AM] Michael De Vera: The man's cheeks were swollen to an unsightly level as the mechanic caught her prize. He pulsed with life yet, as he was laid to the ground. As Delilah looked up to the stairs though... she would see no one in the hallway. Perhaps "Teal" had kept himself upstairs.
[7/16/2013 4:39:27 AM] Gemmy/Delilah: The mechanic scowled at the lack of 'Teal' standing where she thought he would be. A tiny part of her still wished that he was in the wheel chair only for the purpose of being able to eliminate where he wasn't.
Gently, she arranged Mr. Stock as comfortably as possible and dabbed any blood from his face with the handkerchief. She thought about giving it back to him...and then looked at the state of the thing, thinking the better of it. She tucked it into her pocket.
With a final, scrutenizing glance upwards, Delilah made her way toward the stairs where 'Teal' presumably was.
[7/16/2013 4:42:18 AM] Michael De Vera: As she got into the doorway, she would find the German instead standing, facing out a window and out to the streets, where an expectant "Teal" was standing, hands clasped behind his back, standing rigidly. The room was more office like... except the floor was rugged in gray, and the walls were concrete. There was a desk that the German was turned away from, but no chair in which to sit.
"...So, Herr Stock, how does das First stand in her performance?"
[7/16/2013 4:52:53 AM] Gemmy/Delilah: Delilah took in the concrete walls and floor of the warehouse's office(?) before blue eyes rested lightly on the back of the German, facing the window.
"...So, Herr Stock, how does das First stand in her performance?"
Delilah bristled visibly (even though she knew the jibe was more than likely just her irk her), " 'Das First' knocked out her opponent." she replied somewhat blithely.
[7/16/2013 4:54:54 AM] Michael De Vera: There was a pause. After the moment, the German would nod again, though seemingly to no one.
"Very gut. Your next rematch will be seven days from now, same time, same location. Du are dismissed."
[7/16/2013 5:00:29 AM] Gemmy/Delilah: A frown creased her brow, "If I might argue, sir, but I would not reccomend Mr. Stock fight so soon after receiving blows to the head."
[7/16/2013 5:02:10 AM] Michael De Vera: ...There would be no statement, as Delilah was decidedly ignored.
[7/16/2013 5:03:28 AM] Gemmy/Delilah: The frosty silence that hung in the air would only serve to increase the depth of the frown.
[7/16/2013 5:04:04 AM] Gemmy/Delilah: "I really must insist."
[7/16/2013 5:08:09 AM] Michael De Vera: A pause. Cold as ice, the German would turn around rigidly. He stared at her. Hard. When he finally spoke, his voice would sound mechanical.
"Your disobediance is noted, First. He will be most disappointed du decided to give up on his training, especially vith such an enthusiastic volunteer."
[7/16/2013 5:12:10 AM | Edited 5:19:56 AM] Gemmy/Delilah: ...there was a noticable flinch in the mechanic at his words, particularly the word used not once, but twice. Not in her face or body, but rather in her eyes, a slight crumbling of the chips of ice for irises that seemed to melt them, partially to water.
...which almost immediately turned to steel in a flash of ire. She took a step forward.
"You know damn well I am fine with training with anyone. I, however, am not alright with causing excessive harm to a comrade. He probably has a concussion. I hit him again in the head, or something slips like it did today and it happens by accident, I could KILL him. "
She stared hard back at him, seething.
"...if you must insist on putting him in front of me before he's healed, I suppose I have no choice but to obey."
...Strangely, though, she felt her heart seize a little with a sudden emotion she could only associate with longing. He would probably tell her the same things...just reassure her quietly, maybe tell her to 'trust' him...
And she would.
The mechanic bit back a wistful sigh and continued to stare at the 'Teal' haired man.
[7/16/2013 5:12:20 AM] Gemmy/Delilah: (ahsdgkjsadhgsjhga dammmiiiit)
[7/16/2013 5:22:58 AM] Michael De Vera: ---Some shuffling would be heard from the floor below. Followed by a stop. Followed by more shuffling. However, this would not be acknowledged by "Teal."
"So, you'll kill Richard Stock?"
[7/16/2013 5:31:27 AM] Gemmy/Delilah: Delilah heard the noises below...but didn't acknowledge them either. "I will fight with him," she had to keep herself from hissing vehemently, struggling to sound calm yet determined, "More specifically, I will spar with him. I will not kill him."
Hence her abject refusal in the first place to fight him when injured. Her shots had been aimed at the body to prevent a concussion or head injury of any kind...and it had wound up happening anyway. She had been fighting to kill for so long now that a spar, even a playful one, made her body want to overreact to even the slightest threat of danger. The tiniest slip-up on her part could end a life, not just Mr. Stock's, but anyone's, even her own.
...also him fighting with injuries against Delilah was like putting a wounded deer in front of a pack of wolves. The old saying went that if there's an injury, whether or not they know it's there, that's where the first hit is going to go.
[7/16/2013 5:34:16 AM] Michael De Vera: ...There would be a slight twitch in the German's eye.
"Very gut. Du have a week to ponder over das first lesson. Dismissed."
...And like that, he would turn away again with a pivot. As the shuffling continued again.
[7/16/2013 5:40:29 AM] Gemmy/Delilah:DELILAH CLAWED AT HER FACE IN FRUSTRATION
She stared hard at the man's back for a moment, torn between asking what on earth that was supposed to mean. Probably not worth it to ask. And she was sort of done talking anyway.
...A soft growl accompanied by a smattering of Japanese curses left with the mechanic as she strode out of the doorway and back down the stairs...and toward the sounds.
Warehouse #17
-"T"
[7/16/2013 2:00:00 AM] Gemmy/Delilah: ...Several minutes later...
Arriving home after the usual early morning training session with Tengu, cup of coffee in hand, Delilah stepped through the door of her quarters and into her living room...when she heard a light crinkle as her boot touched down on the floor.
Peering down, she noticed the corner of a paper sticking out from underneath her boot. With a sigh, she bent to pick up the note and read what little was scrawled there.
Another sigh, "Fuck meeee."
Setting her cup down on the shelf near the door, Delilah stepped back out and shut it behind her, towards Warehouse #17.
With a creak of the rusty metal doors, Delilah stepped through the threshold of Warehouse #17. It took a minute for her eyes to properly adjust, but what she saw--
[7/16/2013 2:10:34 AM] Michael De Vera: ---Was a mostly cleared out room. One of the older safe houses with the windows all boarded up from back when the borders of Crows territory still wasn't as solidified. There were a few lanterns that swung eeriely above by about ten feet, with stairs that led upwards on both sides, but the rest of the room had been "redecorated." Hay was strewn across the floor, whatever loose nails that would be sticking out had been painstakingly pulled out. It distinctly smelled of almost a barnyard atmosphere.
Standing across the rather wide room was the familiar stand-in, in his S.S.-esque uniform, his teal hair having grown out some. It had only been several weeks after Kiyoshi's funeral still. His eye wasn't visibly seen as his cap shadowed over it, though he wore a fairly grim look on his face.
...What was odd was that a certain fellow was sitting cross-legged next to him. His light blond hair was tied up nicely in a ponytail behind him, his sharp eyes staring on down at a certain magazine that featured scantily clad women over each page. Without any look of disgust or lust, the man went neutrally from page to page, viewing the old Maxim magazine in the dim light. He stared upwards in acknowledgement before staring down---
"Lady Black," "Teal's" gravelly voice interrupted.
"A surprise sparring partner. Ich trust du remember Herr Stock slightly?"
Richard Stock, one of the original Militia, continued to stare at the lovely women posing themselves sexually for the viewer. The old English bartender had never been much for words.
[7/16/2013 2:20:16 AM | Edited 2:26:39 AM] Gemmy/Delilah: Delilah blinked at her surroundings. Not the lack of stored goods, not the state of disrepair the exterior was in, not the two men standing on one end of the room, not the lanterns swinging gently from the rafters, but the hay.
It might have seemed odd for anyone other than herself, but Delilah had never so much had ever seen an actual barn in real life. It was even more strange to know that this hay was in what used to be an industrial centre.
She shook away her look of surprise and turned her attention back to 'Teal', striding towards them...briefly meeting eyes with the gentleman flipping through...a skin rag?
If his appearance hadn't rung any bells for the mechanic, the seemingly random introduction of the magazine certainly reminded her of someone...
"Lady Black,"
"Herr Krickente"
"A surprise sparring partner. Ich trust du remember Herr Stock slightly?"
Blue eyes returned to the gentleman sitting at the chair studying the pictures of the naked women as though he were reading the weather out of the "Times". A smile graced her lips.
"Hard to forget a dead man." she turned her gaze pointedly back to 'Teal'. "Also, 'sparring partner'?"
[7/16/2013 2:20:23 AM] Gemmy/Delilah: ((SHIT editing))
[7/16/2013 2:40:54 AM] Michael De Vera: Of course the hay didn't belong in the old warehouse... Some level of preperation had been put in creating Delilah's arena for combat. Her comment was obviously ignored by the contemptible German. Instead, the German would begin walking past her... beelining himself straight for the stairs.
"Ja. Have fun."
...Rather quickly, the German marched off upstairs, leaving Delilah and Richard together. And for a moment, Richard did absolutely nothing, saving flick through a page and then another of his old magazine. And then he would lick his finger before sliding rather deftly to flip through another... but bringing the cover over it rather reverently. He closed his eye, sighing rather audibly, closing his eyes, before sliding the magazine behind himself at his side, slowly pushing himself up.
The old Militia driver stared up at her with piercing eyes, as he began to unbutton his overcoat, tossing it indifferently behind himself as he deliberately stood in front of her. To the untrained eye he would appear rather skinny and gangly... But with adjustment to the dim light, he would be revealed to be rather shredded for a man of his smallish demeanor. His neutral expression was not that of utmost seriousness, but rather a determined... aloofness. It was a strange expression he wore that made him rather famous amongst the Militia.
Kicking his boots and socks behind himself, he was only attired in just a white wifebeater and some comfortable looking black slacks...
It was hard to tell if he was pleased or not about this whole arrangement himself, considering his expression.
[7/16/2013 2:51:17 AM] Gemmy/Delilah: Resisting the urge to turn her eyes to follow 'Teal' up the stairs, she remained standing as she was, in the centre of the room as she quietly observed the ever silent and stoic Mr. Stock.
...it pleased her greatly to see the man was still very much alive and kicking. Had he been with'Teal' all this time? She rather thought he had.
...Or perhaps he was tasked with something else she mysteriously couldn't know about for whatever reason?
The small smile widened slightly as Mr. Stock got to his feet (with an air about him as though it were a chore, a minor grievance that he had dallied on long enough before deciding that it was time to get to work).
She returned his gaze with one of measured caution. Not as aloof or piercing as his, but simply...calm, certainly by comparison. After a moment, she to removed her boots and socks, casting them off to the side and leaving her in her jeans and loose fitting tank top.
Maintaining eye contact.
The mechanic inclined her upper half at a slight angle before straightening again. "Onegaishimasu."
[7/16/2013 2:59:28 AM | Edited 3:00:27 AM] Michael De Vera: He would center himself in the room, as though beckoning for her to follow, but definetly keeping a six foot gap between them, if she would allow it. Otherwise he would step back and simeltaneously backhand fist her with his left hand while pivoting his hand, holding out his arm to counter balance himself, before promptly rolling forward to her front right flank and keeping himself in a low, almost crouched position.
Otherwise, he would wait until he led her to the middle of the room...
...And promptly stomp on the middle, wooden floorboard, to bring up the floor beneath her up. An obviously underhanded ploy by the Militia to get the one-up on the obviously more powerful Delilah Black by tripping her up and perhaps making her fall on her ass by the unexpected treachery.
Today, they were sparring.
[7/16/2013 3:09:14 AM | Edited 3:21:15 AM] Gemmy/Delilah: Patient as always, Delilah let herself be led slowly into the centre of the room. The mechanic padded slowly forward, a prowling motion almost beginning in her shoulders. She saw him raise his leg a little differently, watched him stomp on the floorboards--
There was a small flash of movement beneath her and Delilah felt something strike the bottom of her chin. Moving backwards with the momentum of the floorboard, the mechanic neatly bent in half by touching her palms against the floor and then on the balls of her feet, bending at the knee into a slight crouch.
The smile was decidedly more wicked now. "Interesting."
If Mr. Stock hadn't advanced on her while she recovered from the blow, Delilah would do so first, launching herself forward with a minor leap into the air to touch down a few feet in front of him (and to the left of the floorboard he had knocked into her, so as to avoid getting hit by it as it came back down). If unimpeded, her leg would lash out as she twisted her hips and dropped to her knees, aiming to take him off his feet.
((OOC: 1/2 physical nulls used))
[7/16/2013 3:20:07 AM] Michael De Vera: In a matter of seconds, the man watched the result (that being a bent-in-half Delilah.
As "Teal" had instructed him... she was an aggressive fast type. A sneaky, white ninja. Mr. Stock could appreciate that now. He could also appreciate that counters and sleight of hand would be required against the speed demon. So he had advanced towards... towards her left.
Counters. If the man had been quick enough, maybe he would have had a palm to reach and greet her face as she slid down on her knees.
Instead, he had been thinking of making usage of her smaller stature and had decidedly almost crouched to a lower position, his hands in front of him, knees bent as she came towards him, in anticipation of the speed he had been warned against.
The result was a leg lashing out into his knees, dropping him to his knees, but she wouldn't feel too much of a crunch since he hadn't the time to brace himself for her, so that they'd be facing each other directly, on their knees.
However, Richard's hands and arms had been extended out already, and would be at her sides, so he try bringing up both his arms underneath her shoulders and lean forward to land her on her back, to effectively mount her as he widened his leg stance. Then he'd try to hook his legs underneath hers.
Already, this had the looks of something terribly awkward. Mr. Stock appeared unaffected.
[7/16/2013 3:36:15 AM] Gemmy/Delilah: If Mr. Stock hadn't already dropped to his knees by the time Delilah was committed to her strike (that is, if he had remained standing for the sweep), she would have had enough momentum to twist her lower half once, and rise into a standing position.
As it was that she had wound up taking him out at the knee instead as he dropped his body weight, her momentum had stalled and the mechanic barely had enough energy from the sweep left to face him. Her smile faded a small fraction. Tch. Too slow.
..And then he was suddenly on her.
Off balance as she was on her knees with the dregs of her kick being pulled back to her body, it was easy for him to bring her down to her back, and he was able to grip her under her shoulders in the same beat.
Ah. Ground fighting. How Delilah hated it.
In a normal fight circumstance (that is to say, with actual enemies), it would have been simple to activate her Qi, morph it into the form of spikes, and turn the man into swiss cheese. But this was Mr. Stock, an aquantaince and comrade if not a friend (or someone she considered thus). Though the instinct crossed her mind, she shoved it down for the time being.
Instead, as she fell backward, she brought her knees up quickly and again threw her palms down behind her head to catch herself as she fell,helped along by his momentum. This evolved into a handspring...but with Mr. Stock clinging to her like that (if he still in fact was doing so), the pair would land, unless he adjusted himself mid -flip, onto HIS back, her hands braced on either side of his neck and her knees firmly against the floor to give herself the best position of balance.
If this succeeded, she would stare at him for a split second in mild appraisal--before lifting her right knee to drive it into wherever it would land.
If this didn't turn out oh-so-perfect, the result would be Delilah attempting to buck the man off her person to roll on top to gain the advantage, attempt to slug him in the head once or twice, and then try to bail to her feet.
[7/16/2013 3:54:39 AM | Edited 3:54:47 AM] Michael De Vera: Elegant fighting.
This was most certainly not this.
Delilah Black had brought her legs, that is to say her knees, well between his own in the low position. So her knees would press uncomfortably between the inner thighs of his legs as well as an extra appendage sealed carefully along his left leg which would cause the Stock some constertenation, which in itself would help loosen the Englishman's grip around her shoulders, though he would not express it, save for a audible grunt.
Even amongst his fights with "Unfettered," the Bartender still could not imagine the core power that 259ers possessed at such low angles. He could feel Delilah's muscles flex and strain underneath him as she bruteforced them into elegance. Mr. Stock's arms, though well placed, simply did not possess enough physical strength, in spite of the jointlocking he was trying to perform, a thought he had to admit to himself with some base reluctance in the heat of the moment.
If the man was concerned with expressing himself, he might have looked at her admirably, and felt the time necessary to pelivic thrust himself to peel himself off backwards. At least, in his mind he would do this and imagine himself to be a Michael Jackson before his time. One that was born white. But this was a figment of his imagination and mostly neglible.
Instead, the reality was that Mr. Stock would in fact land on his back, though not end up nearly as winded, his arms unclapsed and find the Engineer's hands on either side of her neck and her knees firmly against the floor... Straddling him?
The lady doth not protest too much, evidentally.
They would appraise each other. The man failed to give Delilah the incredulous look that she deserved and instead felt a knee... slam into his thigh? If it had been a proper drop and they weren't so low to the ground, the impact might have been egregious, but instead, most of the impact, with the man already on his back, would dissipitate. A a bruise would form later, undoubtedly, but the man's arms would go behind her thighs and up her buttocks... and attempt to push her off him, to allow her to forward roll, which would allow the man to backwards roll before standing and pivoting to face her---
---Essentially, a reset of sorts, back to the center of the room, surprisingly enough.
[7/16/2013 4:05:27 AM] Gemmy/Delilah: DELILAH WAS ONLY TOO THANKFUL when she was able to roll off Mr. Stock after he grabbed her MOST inappropriately ('Teal' is probably having a fit). But, as she rolled to her feet, the smile appeared again, for a moment.
Depending on where the knee strike landed, as Mr. Stock got to his feet, he would notice one of two things: if the strike had landed to the outside of his thigh, he would find that as he put pressure on his leg that it would seize unexpectedly around the knee, this making it painful and difficult to unbend.
If it had landed on the inside of his thigh, on the other hand, he would find that his knee was suddenly...unable to support his weight, a vital tendon having been numbed by the force of the strike for a short period of time.
Whether or not he was able to stand successfully, Delilah would be on him again, darting forwards, attempting to plant her foot (rather purposefully) on the one belonging to the uninjured leg. If this went unimpeded, it would be followed by an upper cut to Mr. Stock's rib cage, followed by a right hook toward his left kidney. The uppercut hand (again, if nothing stopped it at all by this point) would aim for the center of his mass and just to the right...the liver, if you will.
[7/16/2013 4:17:34 AM] Michael De Vera: Mr. Stock had expected to feel the knee on top of his thigh as opposed to the inside or the outside. As it were, it was the outside, allowing himself to stand... Only to find that his left knee was now unable to bend and thus prepare himself for any attack on his person by preparing a proper leg stance. Mr. Stock would have winced, except that it would be considered rather unbecoming, the significance of his duress instead indicated by the furrowing of his eyebrows.
Fortunately, Mr. Stock had a solution.
Immediatly as Delilah darted forward again, he reached into his pocket for a hankerchief and whipped it out, just in time to get kicked in right and now formally uninjured shin, forcing the man's left locked leg to shoot out between hers, and instead getting a right hook to the left side of his face. Blood smattered across her fist, as he was punched again in the right side of his face, sending blood sputtering about across his other fist and forearm.
...All the while his right arm was reaching out to dab her forehead of sweat with the hankerchief as he kindly received with a uppercut to his chin. Thankfully, he wasn't exactly a vocal type and didn't chop off his own tongue as he kept it snug within the region behind his casing of teeth. Even as the Englishmen went from seeing red to black, the hand that had reached for and went to dab at Delilah's hardworking face would flutter off, leaving the hankerchief over her face, as though to blind her from the violence as Richard Stock would fly upwards into the sky and land with a dull, sprawled thump with blood from his cut gumlines dribbled and spattered from his lips in a most unsightly matter, leaving the Englishmen in a most ghastly, if catatonic, state.
[7/16/2013 4:25:09 AM] Gemmy/Delilah: Needless to say, the mechanic was...surprised that she had been so...effective. And by the strange, gentle way he bothered with her 'well-being' in the midst of a fight.
With a shake of her head, the handkerchief would dislodge and flutter down to her shoulder. Arms lashed out from her body again--only to catch the man before he crumpled completely to the ground, adjusting him so he wouldn't injure himself in the fall, kneeling beside him.
(...also discreetly taking measures to awaken certain pressure points to alleviate pain)
She looked up into the 'upstair' of the place where 'Teal' was undoubtedly watching, not saying anything and looking expectant.
[7/16/2013 4:35:36 AM] Michael De Vera: The man's cheeks were swollen to an unsightly level as the mechanic caught her prize. He pulsed with life yet, as he was laid to the ground. As Delilah looked up to the stairs though... she would see no one in the hallway. Perhaps "Teal" had kept himself upstairs.
[7/16/2013 4:39:27 AM] Gemmy/Delilah: The mechanic scowled at the lack of 'Teal' standing where she thought he would be. A tiny part of her still wished that he was in the wheel chair only for the purpose of being able to eliminate where he wasn't.
Gently, she arranged Mr. Stock as comfortably as possible and dabbed any blood from his face with the handkerchief. She thought about giving it back to him...and then looked at the state of the thing, thinking the better of it. She tucked it into her pocket.
With a final, scrutenizing glance upwards, Delilah made her way toward the stairs where 'Teal' presumably was.
[7/16/2013 4:42:18 AM] Michael De Vera: As she got into the doorway, she would find the German instead standing, facing out a window and out to the streets, where an expectant "Teal" was standing, hands clasped behind his back, standing rigidly. The room was more office like... except the floor was rugged in gray, and the walls were concrete. There was a desk that the German was turned away from, but no chair in which to sit.
"...So, Herr Stock, how does das First stand in her performance?"
[7/16/2013 4:52:53 AM] Gemmy/Delilah: Delilah took in the concrete walls and floor of the warehouse's office(?) before blue eyes rested lightly on the back of the German, facing the window.
"...So, Herr Stock, how does das First stand in her performance?"
Delilah bristled visibly (even though she knew the jibe was more than likely just her irk her), " 'Das First' knocked out her opponent." she replied somewhat blithely.
[7/16/2013 4:54:54 AM] Michael De Vera: There was a pause. After the moment, the German would nod again, though seemingly to no one.
"Very gut. Your next rematch will be seven days from now, same time, same location. Du are dismissed."
[7/16/2013 5:00:29 AM] Gemmy/Delilah: A frown creased her brow, "If I might argue, sir, but I would not reccomend Mr. Stock fight so soon after receiving blows to the head."
[7/16/2013 5:02:10 AM] Michael De Vera: ...There would be no statement, as Delilah was decidedly ignored.
[7/16/2013 5:03:28 AM] Gemmy/Delilah: The frosty silence that hung in the air would only serve to increase the depth of the frown.
[7/16/2013 5:04:04 AM] Gemmy/Delilah: "I really must insist."
[7/16/2013 5:08:09 AM] Michael De Vera: A pause. Cold as ice, the German would turn around rigidly. He stared at her. Hard. When he finally spoke, his voice would sound mechanical.
"Your disobediance is noted, First. He will be most disappointed du decided to give up on his training, especially vith such an enthusiastic volunteer."
[7/16/2013 5:12:10 AM | Edited 5:19:56 AM] Gemmy/Delilah: ...there was a noticable flinch in the mechanic at his words, particularly the word used not once, but twice. Not in her face or body, but rather in her eyes, a slight crumbling of the chips of ice for irises that seemed to melt them, partially to water.
...which almost immediately turned to steel in a flash of ire. She took a step forward.
"You know damn well I am fine with training with anyone. I, however, am not alright with causing excessive harm to a comrade. He probably has a concussion. I hit him again in the head, or something slips like it did today and it happens by accident, I could KILL him. "
She stared hard back at him, seething.
"...if you must insist on putting him in front of me before he's healed, I suppose I have no choice but to obey."
...Strangely, though, she felt her heart seize a little with a sudden emotion she could only associate with longing. He would probably tell her the same things...just reassure her quietly, maybe tell her to 'trust' him...
And she would.
The mechanic bit back a wistful sigh and continued to stare at the 'Teal' haired man.
[7/16/2013 5:12:20 AM] Gemmy/Delilah: (ahsdgkjsadhgsjhga dammmiiiit)
[7/16/2013 5:22:58 AM] Michael De Vera: ---Some shuffling would be heard from the floor below. Followed by a stop. Followed by more shuffling. However, this would not be acknowledged by "Teal."
"So, you'll kill Richard Stock?"
[7/16/2013 5:31:27 AM] Gemmy/Delilah: Delilah heard the noises below...but didn't acknowledge them either. "I will fight with him," she had to keep herself from hissing vehemently, struggling to sound calm yet determined, "More specifically, I will spar with him. I will not kill him."
Hence her abject refusal in the first place to fight him when injured. Her shots had been aimed at the body to prevent a concussion or head injury of any kind...and it had wound up happening anyway. She had been fighting to kill for so long now that a spar, even a playful one, made her body want to overreact to even the slightest threat of danger. The tiniest slip-up on her part could end a life, not just Mr. Stock's, but anyone's, even her own.
...also him fighting with injuries against Delilah was like putting a wounded deer in front of a pack of wolves. The old saying went that if there's an injury, whether or not they know it's there, that's where the first hit is going to go.
[7/16/2013 5:34:16 AM] Michael De Vera: ...There would be a slight twitch in the German's eye.
"Very gut. Du have a week to ponder over das first lesson. Dismissed."
...And like that, he would turn away again with a pivot. As the shuffling continued again.
[7/16/2013 5:40:29 AM] Gemmy/Delilah:
She stared hard at the man's back for a moment, torn between asking what on earth that was supposed to mean. Probably not worth it to ask. And she was sort of done talking anyway.
...A soft growl accompanied by a smattering of Japanese curses left with the mechanic as she strode out of the doorway and back down the stairs...and toward the sounds.
