"Glory to the working man."
A chant to parallel her's. For the working man was who deserved such glory. Such praise.
Whoever She was, she deserved no glory. Sounded like a play on a band name--coughHIMcough--or maybe an homage to Satan.
Who probably didn't even exist.
But when she uttered those two simple words that she always seemed to, Am could not reject. He nodded, with the slightest of smiles, "We shall." And to Am's pleasant surprise, she was unarmed. A fairer fight, no? He threw fists in the air quickly, having arms bend and keeping those hands near his chest. A standard fighting stance. While her's were out just a bit more, and it was clear she was going to be the one to take the offensive first.
The close quarter combat went on for quite some time, with each fighter so determined. Pride fueled them. The young man was able to get in one hell of a punch that would get her down. He withdrew his hand, which was still outstretched. His other fingers coming to rub the palm. Hell, that even hurt him.
She was on the ground, hands to her stomach. Am looked down to her, soon offering his hand and pulling her up. A strange thing for him, camaraderie. "You good?," he asked. Alnette would nod, though thoroughly weirded out by his act. Why wasn't he smashing her face it?
"Good."
With that one word, he left.
Alnette still with brows cocked. Just standing there.
"Uh..."