[1v1] Friendly (Lawr + America)

[Baneful]

Just as he'd said, Lawr was at the training fields at 1AM on the dot, dressed in the long black mission cloak he typically wore when he intended to summon Butch in view of other people. He had assured America that he would remain unarmed, but whether he would or not was entirely down to chance and how this little encounter played out.

fureverrrr> Butch was already getting worked up in his thoughts and he let him, it made up for the cold, flatline calm that he felt as he strolled across the fields in patient search of his prey.

The last time he fought on even footing had to have been back in school, he avoided confrontation and physical exertion like the plague. But sometimes life called for strategic concessions.

 

[lizbot]

astrazilla

Text to:Konstantin

gonna go spar on the training grounds with lawrence dont worry its unarmed

Quote:

Text to:Konstantin

dont follow or fuss unless i dont message back in an hour

Strolling down to the field in sweats and a tank top, America's gait was smooth and loose, her cheeks slightly flushed from recent exertion. It was fairly obvious that she'd seen fit to stretch and warm up prior to the fight. She looked at the cloak with eyebrows raised, "She really has gotten you into those books, now hasn't she?"

In the back of her mind, Stryker was all ruffled feathers, unhappy that she was facing someone down without him in hand. Particularly this someone.  

[Baneful]

Lawr didn't bother to smile, nor to don his usual casual Jan mannerisms. The cloak was a persona unto itself and with every inch of him covered bar his mouth and the rest of his face cast in the shadow from the lighting around the training area he felt like someone else entirely. Pretending to be Jan here and now seemed simply ridiculous. The comment about the books twinged at his ego, he unequivocally did not enjoy them and setting them in association with him, with the real him prompted him to correct her in his proper accent. "I abhor those trash fiction abominations."

"I have actual taste. Aren't you lucky to be part of that?"

 

[lizbot]

She cocked her head, a slow, knowing smile spreading across her face at the accent and mannerisms. "From a man who wears ugly sheets and worse jewelry on a daily basis, can't say that I am."  

[lizbot]

Closing the gap, America jabbed experimentally at the man, only to have him slide smoothly out of the way. Biting her lip in a wry smile, she wondered if his ability to read her physical reactions would extend into sparring as well.

If so, he was going to be a lot more formidable than she'd have expected for a lazy-a** pacifist.

HP: 30
Dmg: 0  

[its me debz]

lizbot

To: A. Jones

Understood.

lizbot

To: A. Jones

Be kicking a**.

 

[Baneful]

He was satisfied by the comments about the outfit and jewellery. Most people found it so easy to remember them rather than anything else about him. "I have worn far worse in the line of duty. But don't let uniforms mar your view of my tastes. Business and pleasure. Untangle them. "

As she moved into his personal space he prepared himself for the first swing, displaying a mechanical sort of self control as he stepped aside.

In his head Butch ceased to form words, simply screeched and howled like a straitjacketed lunatic. It was music, of a sort.

"You are going to have to show far more passion than that." he said without a single trace of emotion himself. Even as he said it he swung out a sharp, bony hand, intentionally wide, goading her. "You are a Sun. Isn't that supposed to be all you are good for?"

HP: 30
DMG: Miss
 

[lizbot]

"Uniform? So the tacky toga is Jan, then?" She kicked out, low, and once again he moved in almost perfect, mocking tandem. The girl's lips compressed at the idea of being passionate here, in this place. "I don't bring anger into spars, Sun or no." America's jaw was tight as she spoke, and she knew that abiding by her own rules, not to let spars get personal, not to make them about revenge or personal grudges, was not going to be easy with this man.

At least she'd planned ahead for it. No weapons or charges would keep things reasonable. No fire, no explosions.


HP: 30
Dmg: 0  

[Baneful]

"Clever girl." he said, allowing just a slant of sarcasm to curl around his tone, once again moving to determinedly avoid her. Frustration would be key here, patience and frustration, press her, push her. Everything was focused on evading her swings. "Why wouldn't you bring your anger into a spar? How will you ever know how to control it when you are out in the field? When someone dies in front of you and you want vengeance for them." And they would, if he had anything to say about it.

"Seems negligent to me." he said. "A waste of a weapon." A weapon not everyone even got to possess.

HP:30
DMG: Miss

 

[lizbot]

"I'm controlling it right now," she offered through a gritted grin and punched him in the jaw. "So there you go." America could not deny that she enjoyed hitting him, but here it was matched and balanced by her enjoyment in the motion and skill of her own body as well. She could do this. "I'm not making this personal."

HP: 30
Dmg: 5  

[Baneful]

The blow connected, quicker and harder than he anticipated, pain lancing along his jawline like lightning. And once again he almost felt it. He wasn't sure what it was about her. Some factor he no more understood than he understood what the world would be like seen through a lens of feeling and desire.

He wanted to fight her because in a spontaneous whim that was what he felt like he should do, there was no reason, no hatred, no real love, simply that longing the aching hollow. She was a black hole in his universe. He smiled and it was all wrong because it wasn't tied to happiness, it wasn't tied to satisfaction, it was to goad her, it was all he could do.

"Why would you want to control it?" he said flatly. "I am genuinely curious." And still rubbing his jaw where she'd struck it, he swung out sharply, aiming up into her ribs

HP:25
DMG:2

 

[lizbot]

She slammed a fist down on the arm he used, not quick enough to deflect the blow butch fast enough to make him pay. "Because then it's only useful until it's turned back on me," America replied with maybe not the most well-considered honesty. "If I don't control my anger, somebody else can." She grimaced a bit as she tried to move back, the memory of her hands around his throat and the blind, black rage that directed her body still clear in her mind.

HP: 28
Dmg: 2  

[Baneful]

He narrowed his cold blue eyes under their hood as she managed to nail him right on the arm, a sharp instinctual intake of air through his teeth the only response it elicited. "Even if you ignore it and try to push it aside, it will always be there, just under the surface, waiting for someone to reach in and pull it up."

He flexed his hands as if considering something as he moved forward to keep in her personal space, close enough to strike, far enough to leave himself room to manoeuvre. "Some people would kill to have what you have."

HP:23
DMG: Miss
 

[lizbot]

"I don't ignore it, I control it. This is not a situation for anger, in case you never noticed how ******** up other hunters have gotten over spars, it's a thing to avoid. It's the wrong tool for the job, and I refuse to bring myself down to that level." She stepped sharply down on his instep, "And yes, I think just about my everything is worth a ******** ton envy, thank you for noticing."

The girl tried to get a bit of distance between them. The closer his proximity, the more drawn she felt to reach past her own rules and beat the s**t out of him.

HP: 28
Dmg: 3  

[Baneful]

Another hiss of breath and a mental whine from Butch preceded him backing away from her, glad he wasn't wearing the sandals he normally wore for Jan. "You have not controlled it with me. I have been nothing but pleasant to you, nothing but amenable. You have been a bully."

He shrugged his bony shoulders. "I believe in using whatever tools you have. Controlling something is not setting it on a shelf and convincing yourself it is inappropriate. You make it your own, you wield it, you make it bow before you."

"If I had anger. I would make it work for me, I would never twist and run from it the way you do and then tell myself I was winning." There was a flash of ethereal blue and vivid white runes stood out against the shadows cast by his cloak. Butch's talons were long, held at his side the blades almost brushed the ground.

"I would simply win." and like that he moved in as close as he could get, seeking to drag the talons along her sides the way he had his normal nails in the closet, close and undeniably vicious.

HP: 20
DMG: 3
Charge: 1/3