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He'd had a bad experience in one library -- but instead of learning from experience, shifting hunting grounds to a different social scene, Al-Janah'd just hopped from one school to the next. It was too tempting. Crowds of students slumped over heavy textbooks, half or three-quarters asleep, tucked into nooks and crannies that were private and quiet so that they could escape from noise of their fellows. Teenagers mostly, here, and maybe that contributed to Al-Janah's choice as well.

He hadn't started, not just yet. Instead he lurked near a quiet table in the back, currently empty, abandoned books sprawled across the table. He'd found the little nook just as the girl stood, slipping away to hunt down something to drink, the bank of machines down the hall, and had been forced to round a corner and retreat, watching her go.

Now he shifted, mouth set into an uncertain line, trying to decide if he should follow and risk being spotted or just wait her, quiet, for her to return. Or perhaps to find new prey.

He felt it as she powered up: enough to make him turn, surprised, blinking, and then frustrated as he realized that once again he was up against someone more poweful than him. If he'd been wise, that would have meant running for the bathroom [and the mirror within] with his tail between his legs, scurrying off before the more powerful senshi could really get at him.

No one had ever accused Al-Janah of being wise, however. He froze, hesitated, chewing it over, and then took one step in her direction, an attempt to round the bookcase instead of retreat into the distance and potential safety.

It was likely the only thing that saved him, too, this time around. Rushing headlong into danger meant that he wasn't standing beneath the bookcase as it tumbled over, wobbling and swaying and shedding volumes as it went. Half-asleep girls studying for exams blinked awake at the sound, and Al-Janah looked surprised too, gold eyes lifting onto Sirius and widening.

He wasn't used to senshi being quite that aggressive.

So be it, then; her teasing did its job, Al-Janah not exactly difficult to provoke. He squared his shoulders, quickly, and set his feet, chin lifting as he faced her. A wise man would have feared the girl, would have known that he was well outmatched and that retreat was the better of his two options.

Al-Janah was more balls than sense.

"How's your mom?" It wasn't particularly clever, but his voice came out clear and dry and he cocked his own head to the side -- arms folded over his chest and posture a mocking echo of hers. Not coming at her, just yet, but he was damned well going to hold his ground.

Wary eyes tracked her, but it wasn't until she was halfway into the first punch that he realized exactly where this was going. Al-Janah dodged, but not fast enough; a quick tip of his head and stumbling step backwards meant that the first blow only glanced off his jaw, and the second one hit with about three-quarters strength, instead of full.

Three-quarters strength was still enough to solidly knock the breath out of him and leave him blinking at her in startled surprise for a solid count of three.

His ears still ringing, he moved back another quick step, trying to get a breath in and ignore the dull ache overtaking his jaw, the slow, dawning realization that he was going to be outclassed here. That he needed to train more. And maybe indulge a bit less with Leto when he did.

At least he still had one solid weapon in his arsenal. He got enough breath for his voice, at least, gesturing quickly upward for his attack. A mumbled phrase, a quick flick of fingers even as he staggered back another step, and the bird was abruptly there: a red specter of a falcon that circled above Sirius's head, its eyes narrowed in threatening warning. One step out of line, and wicked claws would come for her.

Al-Janah drew in a breath, struggling to focus on the girl. And didn't stop moving. Not just yet, anyway.

The beast's target was, decisively, Sirrius: the moment she stepped out of the bounding circle, she'd see the blur out of the corner of her eye, a flash of red above them, sense the flutter of ghostly wings as the beast swooped for a dive.

How quickly did it move? It moved fast.

The timing would be close, talons scraping sharply, roughly, against one of her shoulders, tangling in the fur around her collar, even as she slammed into Al-Janah and knocked him flat onto his back. At least, in this, she had been successful, perhaps moreso than she excepted. Entirely flat-footed, he went down with a somewhat-girlish yelp, startled and unhappy and scrambling awkwardly to shove her off and wiggle out from under her.

She'd go for his hair, and the bird for hers: as Sirius's fingers tangled in the bright red of Al-Janah's fallen 'hawk, she'd feel the scrape of talons across the back of her skull, scrambling for purchase and failing to find it. It wasn't going to stick around for long; it would sting more than it did permanent damage, though the scratches on her head might bleed enough to be annoying.

Like that, it disappeared, and Al-Janah was left defenseless. Well, not entirely defenseless. He had, after all, been in a couple scraps before, and while he didn't have BMC training, he had 'hey kid you look funny and foreign and have a smart mouth so we're going to wait for you after school' training. Mostly this involved protecting his face and wriggling. Wriggling to an obnoxious degree, enough to hopefully unsettle her and let him regain some control of this situation.

"...if you insist..." It came out breathless, but at least her insult jarred him aware enough to say something -- bringing up one elbow toward her face. His goal wasn't, any longer, to win this fight. This wasn't a fight either of them could win. No. He just wanted her off of him so he could run like hell. Find a mirror. Get himself home, to recover.

She could scramble toward one lashing boot, and either take it in the face or let him go, damnit -- Al-Janah striking out at her even as he hop-ran backwards, more than done with this battle. A suitable lesson in taking on someone stronger than he could handle.

A lesson that would linger, maybe, a week.

"Yeah, ******** you too, honey." All he needed was to get loose and break into a full-out run.