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 Posted: Tue Jun 29, 2010 5:28 pm
 VS.
To debut the opening of the new Beach Selena, which sits on the western coast of the GTB plot of land, Midus has decided to host the second round of the tournament in this lovely place. The sun is shining brightly as the warm breeze blows gentle waves along the clear crystal waters. Boats, surfers, and ski boats trail the waters as a large crowd of spectators gather around a single large wooden platform situated out in the middle of the water. This platform will serve as the fighting ground for both fighters as they are transported out here, either via boat or by their own creative method. The platform itself is made of wood, but contains a solid slab of stone underneath it that is four feet tall meant to keep the platform from being destroyed. Though you may think you can destroy rock with your attacks, this stone is extra tough, meaning knocking chunks out of it will be your only capability, so don't expect to punch any holes through it. Field Measurements: The platform is a square shape, with the distance measured from one side to the other merely 15 yards, which equates to 45 feet. You won't be able to run around this thing as freely as the last arena. The platform is raised a foot above water, so if you fall off, you can still simply climb back on. The platform is rooted underneath with a four pillars of the same stone at each corner, so it will always remain stationary. The pillars are ten feet long each (and quite wide), touching the sandy floor underneath. Ten Count Boundary: Falling into the water begins the ten count. If the other fighter goes into the water, too, or makes contact with the fighter in count-out in any way, the count resets. This does not apply if both fighters are in the water. Only when a fighter has both feet on the platform does the count stop for them. The flying rule remains in effect. Other Penalties: Do not attack spectators or attempt to destroy the platform's rooting underwater. Doing so will result in a DQ. Fight Ends: On July 9th, at 9 PM Central.
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Posted: Thu Jul 01, 2010 3:24 pm
Ah, the ocean. The sort of tranquil scenery, with the rhythmic and relaxing sounds of the tumbling surf and the far-off song of the gulls, that made for an almost too-perfect foray into the grandeur of nature. One could easily find themselves dozing off, lulled into relaxation by the white noise of calm waters and idle chatter from the spectators filing into the stands. So peaceful, so quiet..
Heads turned in the crowd, their collective gazes following the obnoxious, deafening roar of a motor as it pressed in around them. What the -- who the hell was making all that damned racket?
"There!" cried one of the anonymous spectators, pointing east to a black speck riding the crest of a shallow wave. As they watched, the dark splotch on the horizon seemed to grow in size, until one could almost make out the shape of this mysterious craft. A flat bottomed, narrow hull that tapered to a tip at the bow like a motorboat. Some of the audience members murmured to each other. Have you ever seen a boat like that in your life? What is that on the back, it looks like a giant fan!
Airplane propeller, actually, but given the rounded metal cage that kept the massive, spinning blades in place, it was understandable where the fanboat got its nickname. Jace had nearly fallen over himself when he spotted the cruiser in the local marina, tucked away near the back, neglected. Most of the competitors would be snatching up fancy speeders left and right to get them to their next destination, some perhaps might opt for the more family-friendly pontoon or even an old-fashioned rowboat, but the familiar shape of this swamper held a special place in the Cajun's heart.
~~~
"Ah don' believe't," Jace had cried with a growing smile, jogging to its side and running his hands over the glossy exterior, admiring the modern detailing. "Now where did chu get yo' hands on a sweet airboat such a' dis?"
The tournament representative accompanying him cleared his throat, tugging auncomfortably at his collar. "Er.. no one ever rents that one, sir. In fact, no one really knows what it is."
"Mais, that 'cause it don't belong in a place like dis, ami. She fo' get'n around t'e swamps, not t'e ocean. We u't to fix dese'n up out'a spare parts!"
"So, shall we pick out a more suitable--"
"No no no no, Ah'll take 'er!"
~~~
A synchronized cry of dismayed surprise rose up from the mouths of the crowd as Jace closed in, pulling a tight curve the sent a spray over the spectators, as if they were sitting in the front row at a Sea World exhibition. A few of them laughed and applauded, music to the Cajun's ears as he gave a wink and a little two-fingered wave. News of his victory in the last round had made the bayou-dweller even cockier, it seemed.
The boat pulled in to a stop at the side of the platform, and moments later the tall Southerner climbed out and made his way up the short ladder to the stage. He still wore that marbled leather jacket, the hem sweeping his lower thighs, and had his favored crowbar in a sling around his back. Those steel-toed boots thunked heavily against the hardwood, the sound causing a bit of a hush to befall the spectators as they tensed up in anticipation.
A gloved hand delved into the inner flap of his jacket, withdrawing a small bottle that remained mostly concealed by the curve of his palm around it. Jace twisted the cap off and gingerly shook a white Dilaudin dose into his palm, before lifting it to his mouth. He crushed the tablet between his teeth as the pill bottle disappeared back into the confines of his inner coat pocket. Cool, cobalt blue eyes scanned the perimeter of the arena platform, but saw no oncoming watercraft from any direction.
"Always t'e early bird, eh? How unfashionable." Jace raised his voice a bit, the chuckling lilt carrying out to the spectators. He reached over his chest, cupping his palm over his right shoulder and giving that arm a roll to stretch and loosen the joint.
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Posted: Thu Jul 01, 2010 4:22 pm
 Police were patrolling the beach this round, as it seemed that to increase the security due to a few incidents that have occurred since the ball, Midus had accepted the cooperation of the GPD. These were humble people of the law, the upholders of justice, and... "Maaan, she looks hot," said one of the police officers looking at a pretty babe walk by in her bikini. "Behave," said his buddy. "We're suppose to be professional here." Roen Jaeger was being marched down the beach, people spreading from their path as they watched the man of the nightly news pass by with police surrounding him from all sides. He was equipped in his battle uniform rather than the orange prison clothing awaiting him back at his cell. Boos were erupting from all around him as people acknowledged his terrible existence with disdain. They didn't care for this man. Some were shouting that he should be disqualified. Others were saying he should die. The cries were numerous as he was transported to an awaiting speed boat, police officers sitting inside as Roen is escorted upon it. BZZZZZZZTTTTTTT!The motor started up and the boat headed toward the platform. Two men were sitting on each side of Roen and two at the front. Three of them were equipped with guns, just in case. With Roen having a battle capable state, they were ready for anything he might try to do. Finally arriving at the platform, one of them said: "Alright. Get up there." And then Roen's tail glowed. The men got startled, directing their guns in his direction. Until... THUNK!Roen's sword fell from the sky, just like in the first round, stabbing into the wood that made up the fighting arena this time around.
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Posted: Fri Jul 02, 2010 9:33 am
The crowd's welcoming cheers around her soon turned at the sigh of the devil, sneering in disgust at the man as he approached his boat, some shouting their explicatives while others resigned to spitting and muttering. She herself grit her teeth, her hands balling into tiny fists so tight her knuckles turned white, her tail rigidly twitching in restrained rage.
The armed woman beside her blinked, vibrant red eyes shifting to stare down at her in wide-eyed wonder through her ruby-lined black masque. "Ah...Little Master..." she murmured, black-gloved hands instinctively moving nearer the hilts of her katanas, one strapped to each side of her hips.
Daria's words did little if anything to soothe the child's emotions, and soon the girl was running forward, pushing her way through the crowd to the shore. Her hands shot to the air, waving slightly, and she called out as loud as her sweet voice could, "DAD! DAAAAD!!!" Her feet met the water's edge, but she didn't care, further splashing through the water until it was up to her knees, getting as close as she dared to the boat drifting away. There, she would stand, hands cupped about her mouth, tail suspended precariously above the terribly cold waters, and yelled, "I LOVE YOU, DAD!!! DO YOUR BEST, WE BELIEVE IN YOU!!!"
The Masked was hobbling after her, pushing off aggressors and shooting glares at any that dared to approach The reckless Little Master. She, too, splashed a little ways into the water, only then stopping to turn her head to gaze across the waters and register what it was The Little Master was doing. Quickly catching on, The Masked began beaming, and soon her fist shot into the air, soon followed by the bold declaration, "THE MASTER WILL NOT DISAPPOINT!!!" ...it...was her own special way of saying "good luck."
The Devil's daughter and maid, standing proudly at his side (or, as close as they could, anyway), throwing caution to the wind, boasting their alliances for all to see. Let them see, and let them judge. It was well worth it to show The Darkened Devil, Roen Jaeger, that no matter what had happened or what had been said...
...he was not alone.
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Posted: Fri Jul 02, 2010 2:37 pm
"That girl has a Santa cap," noted the Devil dryly as he looked over the rim of his half-rimmed sunglasses, his eyebrows raising just slightly to the girl who hurried out of his and police officer's paths. "Christmas in July." Chuckling under his breath and shaking his head, Roen adjusted the cuffs of his scarlet shirt, righted the strap of his Peskett CQC weapon on his left wrist, then proceeded to shove his hands in the pockets of his knee-length trousers. It was nice to be out in the sun, he thought as he lifted his chin to look into the clear blue skies. Nothing could dampen his feeling of joy in this regard, not even the boos and shouts for his death that erupted in his very wake.
The police officers, to his evident delight, had done him the favor of keeping him unshackled during this small stroll, and his smile was almost contagious were it not for his towering and 'horrible' presence. Led to the boat, Roen's knee-high combat boots met the flooring with solid thuds, his tail slipping around to climb into the boat behind him most obediently. While the police officers sat, he was obliged to stand as a matter of preference, his tail lifting off the floor as the counter-weight it was while his feet spread mildly to compensate. With the start of the motor, the Devil kept his sights on the ring, yet someone from the shore grabbed his attention...
As the speed-boat began to pound the waters on its journey towards Jace and the stage of battle, Roen turned both his head and torso back to the shore, his deep-set sanguine eyes regarding a very familiar figure who stood in the water. His smile, previously subtle and contagious, blossomed into a proud and affectionate one. It was as warm as it was unbidden, and with a raise of his hand, the Devil waved back to his daughter. No words or shouts, only the silent gesture of gratitude as he approached the arena. It was a shame this good mood wouldn't last too much longer.
That burning sensation, which was becoming more and more prominent these days, returned to his tail. He expected as much with all things considered, and as one of the officers asked him -- well, demanded him -- to rise to the arena, Roen could quite plainly see his tail start to glow. It was theatrical if nothing else, and as if on cue, the World Splitter came from the sky and landed point first in the arena, sinking into the wood several inches. Pursing his lips, the Devil stepped into the arena and cleared his throat before speaking. "Relax," he began to the officers and his opponent should the tall Cajun be startled. "It's with me."
Reaching the Daemon Weapon and wrapping his left hand around the wire-wrapped hilt, the Devil pulled the near-obsidian colored sword out of the ground with a hard tug and paid heed to the runes along the flat that glowed with dreadful intent before dimming into silence. The entity within did not like the way it was being treated as was late, and an odd premonition of being devoured by the weapon soon came upon him. Clicking his tongue and flourishing the malcontent sword along his left flank, Roen listened as air rushed along the sharp edges of the sword and vibrated its length, producing a charming peal that was most pleasing to his ears.
Much like a reed this blade was in his hands, and as he flourished it and moved it to-and-fro in his left hand, he reacquired itself to both its weight and presence. Satisfied, or at least appearing so as he notched the tip into the ground, Roen slipped his right hand into his trouser pocket and pulled out his cestus, leaning the handle of his sword against his hip as he slipped the glove over his right hand. Flexing it and appearing satisfied once more, the Devil grabbed his sword again and heaved in a deep breath.
"Ready, old-boy?"
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Posted: Fri Jul 02, 2010 4:18 pm
"Ah, finally.." A rhythmic warble broke from the human brawler's lips as the roar of a speedboat engine fell upon his ears. He assumed a casual stance, his feet turning a bit into an angle that felt more comfortable, more solid. The glare of the sun beating down into his steely eyes made it difficult to make out the nature of the vessel's occupants, but he could tell easily enough that there were several of them, not the lone rider he had expected.
The Cajun lifted a hand to his jaw, wonderingly tracing rough fingertips over the shadow of bristles that marked his cheeks. Hm, what's dis d'en? That hand drifted upwards, forming a shield over his brow to ward of the garish sunlight and provide him a slightly better view of the oncoming group. Most of the figures appeared to be dressed similarly, an identical patch of blue forming the silhouette of their bodies. Uniforms?
Jace quirked a brow, an expression of skeptic and puzzled amusement that only grew markedly more pronounced as the boat finally crossed the threshold of his acute vision. The pilot eased up on the throttle and pulled the speeder expertly up alongside the platform upon which he stood, and suddenly the nature of their matching costumes became perfectly clear. "A police escort? O-ye, who d'ey got me fightin', Hannibal Lecter?"
The man that stepped from the boat did not appear nearly so intimidating; in fact, the lawmen had apparently not even deemed the short-ish gentleman enough of a threat to shackle his arms and legs for the journey. Jace sized him up with a fleeting glance, eyes widening just a bit at the figure's sole extraordinary feature: a long, supple, and unmistakably glowing tail.
Before he had much of a chance to react to his opponent (who reeked of nobility) and his illuminated appendage (probably prehensile), the sound of steel slicing through the atmosphere would earn Jace's full and immediate attention. The Cajun's body reacted instinctively, drawing itself backwards a step and out of the potential radius of impact. "What t'e.."
Jace's glance flickered from the jet-black, rune enscribed sword that shook faintly from the force of such a sudden stop, embedded an inch deep in the wooden ground, to the devil-tailed man that had presumably summoned it. He rolled his eyes in a show of pure disapproval. "More o' dese hoodoo magic users. Why 'm I not surprised?"
He watched the Devil retrieve his blade (a southpaw!) and make a show of displaying his skill with the majestic weapon, smirking. In every way that Roen was flashy and preening, Jace displayed an opposite tendency to get straight to the point of the matter. He reached his right hand over his shoulder, sliding the titanium bone-cruncher out of its sheath with nothing but a clean wssshtt.
Letting the crowbar hang loosely at one side, poised to be easily manipulated at the first sign of activity, Jace turned his left shoulder slightly towards his opponent to close off his body and lifted that hand in an open-palmed, "after you" sort of gesture. Those fingers then curved in, none-too-tightly, and a quick spin of his wrist and shifting of his elbow brought his armored forearm up for added balance as well as a defensive guard, slightly angled. His knees bent slightly, and he held himself with his weight distributed evenly and solidly over booted, well grounded feet. "Be my guest," the Cajun crooned, the corner of his mouth curling upwards into a lopsided, simpering grin.
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Posted: Sat Jul 03, 2010 7:16 am
[Hi. I don't mean to interfere, and I'm not making any judgement calls in this post. I just wanted to let both participants know that I am reading and keeping up with this entire fight, so if you have any questions or concerns about a ruling, know that you can come to me and I'll have read each of your posts up to/almost up to date.
Enjoy!]
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Posted: Sun Jul 04, 2010 11:30 am
They settled down, their arms fell back to their sides, and their faces beamed with warmth. Faustina, for one, was all but swooning, her face fixed with a content gleam brought on by her father's acknowledgement, his pride, his acceptance of her efforts, and the returned happiness that came with it. That alone made the outburst worth it, empowered her to continue challenging the people that might scold or ridicule her for supporting and loving such a "heartless monster."
No more hiding. No more denial. No more shame, and no more regret. Faustina would wear her garnet eye, her auburn hair, her slithering spaded tail with pride, if for no other reason than to bring her father happiness.
The Masked, on the other hand, was rather oblivious to all of this, her intentions instead concerned with the angry beach-goers that the two had pushed aside and knocked over, or that simply didn't approve of their support of the Devil. She hesitated but a moment, then all of a sudden her glistening ruby eyes took on their wild gleam, her hands flexing in preparation by the hilts of her katanas, a wide grin slicing clear across the full of her mouth. The insane look alone was enough to dissuade most of the would-be aggressors from advancing, but The Masked remained prepared, keeping a periodic eye on the crowd as she and The Little Master watched the fight, just in case someone got too cocky--or too drunk--and decided to start something with the two ladies.
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Posted: Sun Jul 04, 2010 10:55 pm
The Vansin [Hi. I don't mean to interfere, and I'm not making any judgement calls in this post. I just wanted to let both participants know that I am reading and keeping up with this entire fight, so if you have any questions or concerns about a ruling, know that you can come to me and I'll have read each of your posts up to/almost up to date. Enjoy!] OOC:: Enjoy the show. lol
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Posted: Mon Jul 05, 2010 5:26 pm
"For the Bloody Seer."
Clenching his sword-calloused finger-tips around the wire-wrapped hilt of the World Splitter, Roen furrowed his eyebrows and began a grim advance upon his opponent, one foot carrying on after the other as he cut the distance between down foot by foot with an almost implacable resolve. If Jace wanted to entreat the Devil, then it was in the Devil's nature to oblige, he never being one of the morose defensive sorts.
And while Roen began this hostile advance, he racked his mind and spirit for reason, anger, and resolve. This was common place during the initial motions of combat, he always finding it hard to get the juices going. Fortunately, there was ample excuse to ignite the hearth of rage in his chest. First, he thought of the police and his incarceration, and then tangents took over. That haughty interrogator, the incident at Puerto Diablo, and then the reasoning behind it. Like a Wyrm devouring its tail, his tangents fueled his rage and carried him to more heights of it.
By the time he reached the five foot mark between both he and Jace, Roen was quite close to spluttering his outrage and frothing at the mouth, his mind nursing his innermost demons while his demons nursed his fury; the prime example of some circuit fed by the mind. So long as Roen had things to be pissed off about, there could very well no end in sight to the heights of anger he could reach, but he didn't need that much fury lest he be blinded by it. He stirred his blood up and now he let it simmer, letting that thick smog of bad emotion out of his lungs with a subtle release of air.
It was time.
Upper lip curling into a snarl, Roen raised his arms and grabbed the last few inches of his sword's hilt as he hefted the weapon over his head into a high-guard while his chest rose with an inhale. Six feet between them, Jace was within the bite of the World Splitter, but Roen was out of Jace's crowbar's reach. These inches, not very much, meant the very distinct different between safety and danger. The Devil would rely on them more than anything to ensure his victory in this battle. Pausing with the hand-and-a-half sword overhead, Roen slid his right foot back and bent his elbows, muscles tensing before finally--
He swung downwards, aiming the last few inches of his weapon to the very center of his opponent's cranium.
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Posted: Tue Jul 06, 2010 2:38 pm
Time seemed to slow it's pace around them as the Devil charged forward, and Jace felt something within him surge. He knew this moment well, and loved it; when a swell of battlelust and adrenaline fueled the illusion and marked the start of the brawl like the proverbial gunshot.
He could see Roen's every step. Not hard to do at first, given the slow speed with which he moved, but even as the Devil's pace increased, his expression darkening with some unknown hatred, Jace could feel his muscles tensing in anticipation and his body shifting almost subconsciously into the appropriate action. The blade of his opponent's absurdly long weapon lifted into that overhead pose, and the brief lag on his opponent's part between that moment and the inevitable downward descent of his sword left open a golden opportunity.
The advantage of the twenty-eight inch staff of titanium at his side was that the metal was light, moved at the lightest of whims, in fact, but without sacrificing durability. Jace swung upwards and over his head, bracing his arm for the shock of impact while his left, gloved hand flew upwards to grip the crowbar just beneath the hooked end, allowing him the full stopping power of a two-handed overhead block. His elbows would stay slightly bent and give only the necessary amount of give to keep from jarring his bones.
"Heh, easy ami. Ju't what got'chor panties in a bunch?" the Cajun gave a warbling laugh, utterly smug in its undertone, just as he used the bar to rapidly thrust Roen's own sword upwards and backwards, taking advantage of the significant height difference between them, whilst making sure to carefully monitor Roen's reaction in case the situation called for him to think quickly on his feet. Metal squealed against metal as Jace took a great stride forward, keeping up with that upwards force and likely applying a pressure that would throw off the Devil's center of balance, though not quite knock him over, causing his crowbar to grind several inches down the massive sword's edge. Rather than follow through into a second step, though, he would center his weight solidly on one foot and draw up his thigh, sending the other forward into a powerful kick directly into Roen's sternum. The consequence of trying to show off with that two-handed strike; he'd left his torso invitingly open for the tread of Jace's devastatingly heavy boot. The force should have thrown the Devil back in the very least, but he was aiming to crack a few bones.
If Roen thought he was going to get an easy kill off of the rusty-haired human, well..
Jace would quite enjoy forcing this dandy Devil to think again.
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Posted: Tue Jul 06, 2010 4:17 pm
So long as Jace continued to throw his despite into the Devil's teeth, no quarter would be given to the Cajun.
Following the impact of sharpened metal against the thick shaft of his opponent's crowbar, the Devil relented, and chose to pull back of his wire-wrapped hilt instead of contesting the strength and resolve of Jace's defensive push against the sword. Whether or not this would disrupt Jace's own balance was irrelevant; Roen was going to go through the motions of battle regardless. Chest rising with the delicate intake of breath, he slid his left foot back and watched as his opponent advanced, eyebrows knitting in concentration as he watched the minute details that were the signs of his opponent's next move.
Whatever it was, the Devil would be prepared. Releasing the last few inches of the wire-wrapped hilt of his sword with his right hand, Roen drew the weapon away while twisting his torso to the left and stepping back once more, effectively moving him outside Jace's left flank just as the Cajun lifted his left foot to send a powerful kick into the Devil's torso. Instead of meeting flesh however, the man would find that he could only molest air, for standing before him just a few feet away and outside his left flank was the grimly determined Roen.
Off balanced, over-extended, and easy pickings, Jace stood at the Devil's mercy. Unfortunately for the Cajun, the Devil was not feeling very merciful. Lifting the World Splitter, Roen crisply snapped the Daemon Weapon down single-handedly on top of Jace's extended left thigh. It was only obvious what a blow like that could do; but certainly nothing close to dismemberment.
Roen was an agile fighter; a gentleman fighter. Finesse, prose, deft swipes of the sword, he lived and breathed these things. Just as before, he never committed full-power to any swing he was not certain of, and it showed in his delicate footwork and deliberate movements. Though there was rage and bloodlust, it was tightly controlled and regulated.
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Posted: Tue Jul 06, 2010 5:14 pm
If Roen thought that he was going to continue with his kick even after the Devil had retreated his weapon from Jace's guard, he was sorely mistaken. The locking of weapons was key to the Cajun's attack, because of the clear opening that it left him, but he had been set to adapt all along. As he felt Roen's sword pulling away, Jace would know that the opportunity he sought after had been extinguished. Only a fool would have tried to keep on the same doomed path, now.
It was obvious his opponent was planning something, and so steely, blue eyes followed the Devil's movements as he shifted to Jace's left flank. That leg would never fly out, but he did see prudence in keeping close to the same stance with only a few moderate changes, therefore letting him react quickly and with little lag time. Still holding that gleaming devastator above him in the parry form, the Cajun's right hand would flip, from both palms facing outwards in a bench-press grip to having one inverted. In most cases this would have been awkward, but not for the sideways strike he had planned, holding it as one would while driving a prybar or battering ram into the soft mortar cracks of a brick wall.
Roen had mistakenly chosen to whip towards the left side of Jace's instrument; the side where the curved, leverage end was placed. Reacting on a dime, the Cajun dropped that shoulder slightly and lifted the other arm a few inches, slanting the crowbar as he attempted to drive the bent corner of the bar on a downwards angle into Roen's nose. His expression was all too plain; Jace thirsted to see crimson blood spray from the broken cavity in the Devil's face like the crests of the wild waves around them. He would keep his profile towards the Devil while he did this, ensuring that his torso remained somewhat closed off while adding power to the blow by grounding his stance and bending a few degrees sideways from the trunk.
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Posted: Wed Jul 07, 2010 1:00 pm
Situation assessment:
With no rise of Jace's left thigh came no opportunity to strike it, and with no limb to mutilate, there would be no swing from a sword taking place. As was, at the end of the movements initiated between both Devil and Cajun, Roen stood several feet off of Jace's left flank with his sword at his side while the Cajun began gearing up to shove the curved end of his titanium crowbar into his opponent's face.
Cocking his chin and narrowing his deep-set garnet eyes, Roen watched with no evident pleasure as the curved end of his opponent's weapon came down to greet his face. Vain person that he was, he didn't fancy having his nose broken, and thus moved to step away. It wasn't that the Devil was faster than Jace, mon ami, it was just that Roen had years and years of training and battle experience under his belt. Jace, uncomplicated human that he was, was outclassed when it came to both knowledge of weaponry and tactical fortitude.
To the right and around Roen went, oily in his footwork as he fluidly slid from one position to the next, until he was watching Jace's crowbar narrowly slip passed where his nose should have been. It was once again a matter of range, leverage, and better skill between the two, and the Devil by means of his hand-and-a-half sword excelled in all three. He could continue dancing around his opponent for hours, inflicting the most minimal of injuries, and infuriating the human beyond belief. But what kind of fun was that?
A duel was never a joy unless both duelists had a sword, and Jace's crowbar, though formidable, was hardly what Roen called a workable blade. The father of lies and the author of atrocities had some semblance of honor to consider, after all. Flourishing his Daemon Weapon along his left flank and deftly catching the hilt in an underhand grip, Roen promptly stabbed the weapon into the ground before raising his hands to the buttons of his dress-shirt. And while the Devil went about the tedium of only Seer knew what, his deep-set garnet eyes watched his opponent with dreadful intent.
"Put that toy down," he murmured in a quiet voice, his rich voice well modulated against the wind that blew off the waves around them. "I'm getting bored with swinging metal around." Tossing his shirt to the ground and rolling his shoulder blades, the Devil revealed to both his opponent and spectators a predictably toned -- and surprisingly hairy -- physique. His Peskett CQC weapon was also discarded, disarming Roen entirely of bladed weaponry. Then, in a gesture as old as time, Roen removed the cestus from his right hand and threw it to the ground at Jace's feet, the metal of the gauntlet jingling as it hit wood.
"Have at you," Roen breathed, eyebrows furrowing while he stepped forward and raised his fists. It seemed the Devil was initiating hand-to-hand combat, and judging by his advance, it was an offer Jace wouldn't be able to refuse.
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Posted: Thu Jul 08, 2010 2:52 pm
Disappointing though it was to see the bent end of his crowbar thrust into nothing but air, hit or miss was the nature of these fights. Jace grunted, pulling back the momentum in arms in time to keep himself from sacrificing his balance. A quick turn of his feet against the ground would bring the man head-on with his opponent, assuming a guarded stance as his glare flickered over the Devil to gauge some idea of his opponent's impending move.
He'd expected Roen to take advantage of the Cajun's moment of recovery, to come barreling forward with his sword above his head like some enraged Viking, but instead found the man.. disrobing?
Jace cocked a brow, a puzzled crease forming across his tanned forehead. His lips formed a disbelieving question that bordered on amusement, like chuckling under your breath at a simpleton's momentary brain lapse. "Uh.. Ami, what'chu doin t'ere?"
"Put that toy down."
The rogue's weathered face split suddenly into a very pleased grin. That was how it was going to play out, hm? Hand to hand, toe to toe; just the way nature had always intended it to be. Well, if the man wanted a fist fight, that's exactly what he would get.
Jace's crowbar clattered to the waterlogged, wooden podium beneath their feet and he brushed it about eight inches away with the toe of his boot. His long, leather coat and the Bowie knife that hung by his hip would follow soon after, the former rattling quietly from the bottle of pills stashed away in his inner pocket, leaving the Southerner in his gloves and a t-shirt. It was also clear from the contours beneath that thin, white cotton that he wore an armored vest of some fashion underneath.
From the look of it, Roen had found an eager match in the Cajun. He gave a little stretch of each arm, curling those calloused digits into loose, comfortable fists, and then he was off. Raising his arms to the ready position in front of his torso, bent legs suddenly sprang off from the ground and carried Jace forward at a sprint until he was just inside his own arm's length - and just outside his opponent's, or at least not comfortably within range given their height differences. The Cajun didn't slow until the last possible moment. Any lag on his part would give the Devil too much foresight, an opportunity he couldn't afford to let Roen take. His left hand started to draw back, making it look as if Jace were getting ready to throw a punch, but rather than swing into an already guarded opponent, the Cajun let that hand uncurl and use the Devil's stance to his hopeful advantage.
At the beginning of the match he'd noticed that Roen favored his left hand, meaning he'd be leading now with his right; a target that he could work to his advantage. When Jace's hand rocketed forward, it would be with digits slightly unfurled, forearm flying out to collide with the side of the Devil's right wrist and knock it out of his way, then snap back just as quickly to keep his own guard up. That would leave a window for Jace's right to thrust powerfully upwards and catch the Devil under the chin with the heel of his hand. If the Cajun had played his cards right, Roen's head would snap back like an oversized Pez dispenser. In the very least Jace wanted to catch his opponent off guard and give the man a massive headache, but if he could hear that satisfying crunch of the Devil's jaw...
Well, that would suit him just fine.
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