Welcome to Gaia! ::

Enrique had been silent for quite some time. Mounting himself up against one corner of the catering table(the one farthest away from the party) and accepting the lonesome duty of guarding the wall and hitting the booze. His legs dangled off the edge of the table, feet swinging back and forth sporadically to ward off anyone who might wander too close, while his body leaned back, a single hand splayed out behind him and establishing a no-go zone as far as the cheap end-of-the-table beverages were considered.

In his other hand, a bottle of wine(half-empty), with its throat throttled between his grasp. Every few seconds he would tip it against the mouthless mask, draining the liquor down into his throat through a means that were equally magical and disgusting enough to warrant no further explanation.

Off to the side Alucroas and the purple-haired porn star had entered a length and extremely loud debate about racism and how it affected the modern Multiverse. Not nearly as intelligent as it sounded, terms like “furfag” and “skank” and “s**t-faced nazi scum” had been slung from each party more than once, in uncomfortably loud voices.

The Xelite had already slid off with a dark skinned lady in a skimpy dress, proving to be more of a ladies’ man than any of his assorted party despite having no clue what to do with one.

In short, the non-Gaianesse section of the party was officially a s**t fest.

But Enrique expected no pity; it was fun enough to watch everyone try to kill one another. Sure he wouldn’t have a lady to kiss his wounds later at night, but there was a smug sense of satisfaction to be had in watching them tear each other down, saving him the trouble if you will…

Especially that Deitric fellow. He watched him like a hawk as the battle started with Omi Brasait, he had the deluxe edition of the second Tenkaichi Budokai and had watched it in full before signing up for the tournament, and the third was waiting in his hotel room. Omi Bairsat was interesting on his own, but that Deitric fellow…

Who was he kidding? Fellow? They were past that.

Enrique hated him already. The spear-chucker didn’t know it yet, but if looks could kill he’d certainly have felt the hold burning into the back of his skull. For all he knew Deitric didn’t even know the Prince of Scorpions existed, few people did, but they were associated none the less.

Ran was a nice kid, a bit of an idiot and a massive kiss-a**, but a nice kid regardless. Trained in the traditional art of the samurai, it was unanimously agreed that he had a lot of potential; he just needed time to grow. Deitric probably thought so too but that hadn’t stopped the big injun from ramming his fingers into the lads eye sockets in front of a roaring crowd and frying the frontal lobe of his brain.

Lucky for Ran, Gaia wasn’t the only place with an emergency medical staff to watch over their competitors, but it was a wonder that Ran had managed to fully recover.

More important than Ran’s future though was his money, and he had a lot of it. He had a lot of connections and on more than one occasion had paid the young mercenary prince to fight his battles for him. It wasn’t a glamorous job but he needed what work he could get. No publicity was bad publicity and all that.

So yes, ******** that Deitric fellow. Enrique took another swill of liquid courage and spoke up.

“Hey, check out that Deitric guy,” he cut off the arguing pair and motioned towards the raised dais. “Listen here I have it on good authority that he’s smelly.”

Yes smelly. It was a harmless rumor, so harmless in fact that few could doubt the truth in it. After all if he was looking to slander his enemies name surely he could come up with something better than smelly.

But that was the beauty of it. As harmless a word as it was, nobody liked being around someone who smelled. And worst of all it was probably true. Deitric, to the outsider looking in, seemed to do little more than start trouble, fight, eat, and then sleep. Day in and day out he drenched himself in the sweat, the blood, and any other bodily fluids his opponent left on the battlefield.

Some of that had to linger.

“Like a pig sty. Doesn’t even know what a shower is.”

[ And now there's 3 of me. Just because. ]


The one that stepped forward was likely not the one that he expected to see, however.

"I think you've had enough, friend." The young paladin Anson Brent stood in the open a few feet from where Yasuo had begun to shout; holding his hands at his sides nonthreateningly and trying to speak in a friendly tone to the ninja who couldn't seem to hold his own when it came to the sauce. The two had met once, briefly, during the past years' Heaven or Hell tournament and Anson remembered that the shinobi was supposed to be someone he could count on - a good man. Now was the time for one good man to help another out before things got out of hand.

"I'd tell you that you don't want to do this or that this isn't like you but... well," the boy started, shaking his head a little when he spoke, "I don't really know you all that well. So instead I guess I just have this to say:"

Reaching up with his right, the boy removed his dollar-store clip-on tie and tucked it into a pocket, chuckling despite himself at the B-movie line that had sprung to mind.

"I promise I won't beat you up too badly."

Dumbass.

Surprises only worked if they weren't expected. That coruscanting lightning? Not very subtle.

You know who James had for teammates in Heaven or Hell? Benjamin Nicholai. A Russian whose powers over electricity were so flamboyant, he used electrostatics to hold up his hair. And then there was the GTB Champion, Deitric Jocasta himself, the Human Dynamo, Struck by Mustang, whatever the current nickname for him was. Cyrus didn't stand a snowball's chance in hell.

His moves were well telegraphed, all of them. False strike or not, James took one violent step into his foe, the floor itself cracking under his application of zhen jiao, the charging step. Power traveled up through his legs, to his waist, and into his arms as he parried out both of Cyrus's strikes from the inside, cutting them short.

A split second later, both hands dived into the man's chest, the right, aimed at the base of Cyrus's throat, and the left just under his sternum. This pair of motions was accompanyed by yet another violent crack, as James's rear foot temporarily rooted and straightened itself out in a display of pure martial technique. In that moment, James was less of a man and more of a giant steel pole, one end of which was simultaneously smashing and being smashed against, while the other end and the rest was firmly entrenched.

This was the core essence of James's Soulchiou style of martial arts. Cyrus could try and shock the slayer all he wanted, but without a clean hit, the daemon-hunter would just run over him like a 175+ pound angry flaming human tank.

Mode: Path of Dou
4/10

Oh hey look, a pretty woman! Yasuo's attention was diverted to the woman who was begging for the shinobi's help. She had pointed to James Eredas - that guy from team whatcha mahuzit in HoH. This young woman had come with Roen as well, so she seemed to be pretty legitimate in her claims for help. Too bad Yasuo was in a different state of mind. He went off,

"What's yer name lady friend?"

But before he could even get it, good ol' Anson Brent, that awesome Paladin that he had met along with Tenkai back in Latent, had come to interrupt the shinobi's smooth booze-talk.



Yasuo found these words to be very honest. He respected their mentioning, and accordingly replied,

"Yup..."

With a huff and a frown, disappointed in his breaking of a personal promise, he turned to Anson - and ignored Faustina's existence - in a controlled form. He remembered the Paladin as both honorable and determined as an individual warrior - and was indeed a man he could count on.



The ninja's reply?

"Wha-... OH! I gotcha buddy."

And with a smile, a pat to the mans back, and a sobering shake of the head, Yasuo would attempt to get his stuff in order. It was too bad he was in a tux, and had forgotten oh... practically everything he used in a fight. For once, he was caught unprepared...

"I plan to take the sword, I am sorry to say."



"I'm sorry, ma'am, but I have to listen to his wishes."



"AAAAAHHHHHH!!!"



"To think that it only took me to acquire that which I wished for. Roen Jaeger, we will meet again. I know we will. Cereb. Nevermore."

[ Speaking of Anson #2 ]

With the bandages all tied Anson was able to take a step back and glance over the fae's arms again to make sure that none of the cuts had been overlooked. With clean, sharp cuts like what came from glass shards it was sometimes hard to see them once the blood had been wiped away; but instead he caught an eyeful of something completely different - before his eyes the disheveled figure of the woman began to warp and shift, a slurry of sparkles practically erupting from her skin as the change took place and when it was over she looked just as if nothing had happened at all.


"...amazing..." said the boy, a bit wide-eyed at the whole thing and arguably oblivious to the context of his statement just then. It really did look just as if nothing had happened at all, even the bandages which he had tied himself had melted away into the illusion and were no longer visible. He'd heard of this type of ability before but never seen it... although now he couldn't be sure that he hadn't. If she could change her appearance on a whim like that it was hard to say if what he was seeing now was the real her or something else entirely.

For a moment he was almost completely lost watching as she re-dressed her accessories on top of the illusion, staring specifically at her arms and shoulders to try and catch any hint of the bandaging but unable to find it. It wasn't until Stella snapped her fingers that Anson came crashing back to reality.


"Oh... no, no, nothing really," replied the young paladin dismissively. A good deed was its own reward and all that. "You just seemed like you could use a little hel-"


A what?

Caught completely off guard the boy stumbled back a step when the fae advanced on him; tripping on the edge of a barstool in his panic and nearly falling over backwards... Nearly, if not had it been for the hand of Stella reaching to the back of his neck and pulling him forward into the promised kiss.

'Oh shamrocks.'

He froze up; stopped breathing, stopped moving, no doubt the beating of his heart would have stopped as well if it were capable of doing so. She'd caught him entirely in an ambush and now... well, frankly he had no idea what he was supposed to do with this and it was kind of freaking him out.

It wasn't until the stool that he had knocked over hit the ground with a clatter behind him did the boy remember to draw a breath, and at that moment she released her hold on him and he fell back into that step he hadn't been able to take before with a smudge of glamored lipstick on his face and an deer-in-the-headlights expression.


"Ah... ah... ah... I... ah... Okay. Well. That's... good... and, um..."

Well, he certainly felt right awkward about this now. He hoped that she hadn't gotten the wrong idea from him about why he had offered to help but... at this point he wasn't sure what the wrong idea was anymore. The boy's hands balled into fists at his sides and he could only seem to stare down at the floor for some reason, unable to raise his eyes to look at the fae directly.

"Well... actually I was hoping to just be able to count you among my friends but..." Anson stammered slightly as he tried to make his sentences come out the way that he wanted them to; momentarily licking his lower lip at a pause in speaking without even thinking, "that's good too. I think."

"Bah..." he grumbled, "Ready whenever friend."

There wasn't much else to say now, was there. A man wanted to fight another, slightly drunken man, in the middle of a dance hall. Everybody's doing it! It's the bees-knees kids!

And with such thoughts in mind, Yasuo lifted his fists for a round of fisticuffs just as a rather fitting song blasted over the speakers, and after he had removed his top dressings.

Man... the soundtrack up in this here ball was incredibly diverse. Kudos to the directors, in Yasuo's opinion.

"Haha!"

The shinobi laughed! What was it he drank again? He couldn't honestly remember, but it seemed to be something that really drove the man into a fighting stupor - and it was about to get a little more powerful, too.

As Anson closed the distance between the two, Yasuo smirked and leaned forward, dragging his arms behind in a trailing flail. His dash forth was as steady as he could make it, and when he came within a few feet of Mr. Brent, his right arm flung out in lash for the left side of the young paladins face. His left arm, meanwhile, cocked back and clenched a tight fist. Anson was in for a little treat if everything fell into their proper places.

1/10