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Maximos' mouth slammed shut. His teeth ground against each other, a dry grunt escaped him, as his abs tensed. Normally he would loosen, letting the blow impact and wash over him as his body moved with it. But he was falling, there was no moving with this blow.

He kicked himself, knowing full well he could have caught the fist, or caught Joe, or something if not for his distraction as the man so violently ******** Reaper!"

It touched him.

Not like a soft song or a good book, it touched him somewhere deep and angry. It tapped him like the sticky contents of the bottom of a jar screaming at you to be eaten while defiantly resisting the efforts of your spoon.

Do I know you...?

The recognition dug in his gut like a knife, swirling with the burning ache of a set of hard knuckles, and all of that cascading over the butterflies set free after that last bottle of rum.

It was an experience, one he nearly lost himself too, he eyes seemed to grow groggy, his tense smile loosened until he was awakened by the hard reality that was the solid wood-tiled ground.

He had a man on his chest. A man beating out a lifetime of frustration on the arms he put in between them. Maximos was fast, but like any good fighter, he knew the value of the high ground and he simply did not have it.

Why are you suddenly so angry!?

This man was enraged, he had gone from retreating to primal rage. These fists could have easily been traded for the snapping jaws of a dog that had been pushed too far. Or a lion who sensed someone trying to steal its meal.

His eyes sparked, his left arm screamed, his right simply gave off a series of dull metal dings, like striking a steel bar. Streams of violet danced across both limbs, and down his temples riding along the floor. The shadows of both men intertwined under the Casino lights into a black mass which extended out behind the enigmatic Mr. Smith.

You really need...

It was deadly silent. A thing out of nightmares, some sort of giant monstrous hand, outstretched from the conjoined shadows and reached forward to grab Joe. Its palm easily the size of his entire torso. Its fingers aimed to wrap around his shoulder and waist in one fell swoop.

...to GET A GRIP!

The hand would wretch back. The crowd would gasp. Its enormous form, moving to peel Joe clean off Maximos and toss him straight back into a pile of chairs and tables which formed the edge of the "ring". A series of unearthly faded howls, screams, and laughter seemed to poor from the grasp. Almost as quickly as it came it would then slither directly back into the black.

Theres something familiar here...

He didnt spare a moment, no not a second. He had no idea how tough this guy was, for all he knew that arm would barely stun him and he'd be barreling back across the distance. Maximos brought his legs to his chest, clenched his taught abs and kicked forward performing a quick kip and landing back on his feet.

His eyes immediately locked on his target. On this man, this Mr...

But I dont even know his name...

...Sadly he didnt even know his name. What he did know, by sight, by sound, even by the feel in the air was that this situation had becoming so much more interesting. Maximos flicked his wrist sending something flying up from his sleeve, a black rock, maybe a marble. It twirled in the air, two or three times before he snatched it up in one clean swoop from the far left to over his right shoulder.

There was a loud snap, as a jet black blade soared into his grip. It looked as if it was made of obsidian, forged of one solid peace and it even hummed, when it cut through the air leaving a swath of black in its wake as it was pointed directly forward.

Whoa...!

Was it the room putting those tingles in his stomach? He could have sworn that punch killed those butterflies. Maximos' eyes were off his opponent for a second, not even two! And now there was a sword teasing off clothes, glimmering muscles, a perfectly cut body, symmetry and even a dashing scar across his chest.

"That was... a nice... Trick..."

Maximos smirked, a coy smirk.

Not so bad yourself...

He said, using his sword like a teacher uses a pointer to gesture at the parts he was impressed by. Which of course turned out to be something of a wave up and down covering the whole general area of this nameless figure.

I dont think I would forget that...

What's your name, kid?

"Joe Smith, good sir"

Save the sir business.

Maximos responded back, with a smile and loose wave of his left hand. As if he was brushing off the sir before it reached him. It didnt fit him.

He brought the free hand back, stepping out of the shadow of the pillar he had been tackled behind. With a swoop it snatched another abandoned drink off of a table that had just miraculously avoided the swoop of the giant black limb moments ago.

Waste not want not!

He said, cocking it back, and tossing the drink over his shoulder. Where it would land on an unconcious man, covered in shiny golden coins, who might later wonder just how powerful that drink was to knock him and the machine out.

Maximos didnt skip a beat. He took a step forward. He fixed his jacket and sleeves to look as properly stylish as can be and said.

My apologies for my rudeness. Honor and such. I fear I'm having entirely too much fun to worry about all that jazz.

He gestured loosely in the air, dismissing honor..and such. His fingers loose, his arm looser, pumped with rum, vodka, and whatever a Screwdriver is. He was loose, and just the perfect amount of smooth that cut directly short of clumsy. He smirked, one of those playful smirks.

My names Maximos.

And returning the kindness given him, he took a very formal bow. Extending his left hand outwards, while holding his sword in his right so nimbly behind his back.

Care to dance?

Always a gentleman.

Alright then..!

He said, his long legs carrying him straight forward with reckless abandon. Perhaps the drink was at fault for that. Joe' sword washed through the ground like a alcohol hallucination, but Maximos wasnt so convinced. He twisted his upper body to the left, turning himself sideways, and bending at the knee. He was the taller of the men after all, but like this head head came up to about Joe's chest.

His left shoulder leading the right, his left hand on the hilt of his blade, as Smith's blade sliced flawlessly through the ground, the left handed slash just barely missing the sideways Maximos. That meant he had all the opening a speedy fighter needed.

Without missing a beat, Maximos straightened his right, bent, leg. Standing up tall, to his full height, just as Joe exited the slash, pushing his cheek right up against Mr. Smith's.

Tango it is...

Your not Tangoing, if your not cheek to cheek. Up close, Maximos smelled alot like sweet bath soap. It even over rode the scent of booze on his arm. A DJ obliged them with a suitable track to be played over the Casino stereo.

...Lets dance!

He'd give just enough time for the contact to register. Before he shoved forward onto his right leg about half way, and thrust his right arm forward for a very stern, elbow to the gut.

That was meant to stun.

Immediately follow which would be a forceful step into his opponent, as he extended his left leg. It was meant to push the man back, using his right shoulder to lead the shove as fluidly he brought his sword in a diagonal slash from his lower left, to his upper right. At point blanc range. In a swath of black. With all the speed and grace Maximos was known for.

The leverage of the sword shoved between them, and Joe's hopeful shaky footing should clear some space between them, and give Maximos a chance spin around, turning and taking a step or two in the opposite direct. Then quickly without notice he would turn round, spinning his sword down holding it diagonally from his left side, toward the ground. Very gracefully.

Regardless, the crowd would go wild.

And so it was a dance!

With his single twirl and the screech of a violin he took, he turned. His sword spun once overhead sending a small line of red mist out in a circle, painting a deep crimson ring across the faces of a few slot machines. A ring, which, as Mr. Smith rushed forward encircled both fighters.

It was a tango! The two met, one retreats, the other dashes across the distance, forcing the two to meet again. The second meeting always more fervent than the first.

He felt the blade kiss his back, causing it to arch, his mouth opened just slightly, he caught himself just before a sound slipped out. His right foot managed to extend just to stop his spin. His left was a step behind, making it look almost as if he had fallen helplessly onto Joe. Look, not feel. In truth, the slight arch of his back moved him back, he leaned into the pain, and of course onto the man pressing up behind him. Maximos settled into a wide, Cheshire grin. His right exited its swing, falling loosely by his side for just a second as the last drops of red framed the area.

The click of shutters captured the moment, it'd sell for thousands on the right fan sites.

The music rushed. Joe's sword sliced upwards, cutting a clean line straight across the shadow's back. The cut split his jacket and snazzy shirt right up and across. With its force it sent Maximos spinning away in one direction, while Joe spinned the other.

The twirl split Maximos' jacket in it motion giving the first glimpses of his pale skin and of the deep violet tattoos that spread across his back. It was by nothing but pure chance that both men would stop at exactly the right moment. Maximos immediately turning to face Joe. His right arm extended, holding the sword straight forward. His left slid up his back running along the fresh would as it cried its first crimson tears, catching a bit on his finger tip. He winced, half a wince, half a devilish grin.

Not bad Smith.

He would say, while bringing his red stained index and middle finger across his lips, a pale pink tongue licking them clean and slightly staining his bottom lip.

...not bad at all.

The beat cascaded down, and rushed upwards again. He dashed forward, his sword held low at his right silently cutting a black line across the wooden planks of flooring. His left shoe slid to a stop while his right arm brought up his sword and thrust it forward, straight toward Joe's chest! He knew the man would defend, but if there blades never meant Maximos would have felt horrible leaving there "partner's" out of the fun!

Was it safe to say Maximos was distracted? Two and a half bottles of Nocturne knows what sort of drink, enough shots to make a machine gun blush, had filled his mind with little more than foggy snippits of memories. Memories that jostled around like marbles in a black velour bag.

Now he was caught in the aching tingle that raced up and down his spine. Like fire and ice, the cut was thin as a blades edge and it burned. But...well...we'll save the rest for later. A thought came to him. This thought barely survived in a sea of churning...we'll save that for later. Save to say that its difference allowed it to stand out.

Hey! I'm supposed to be leading!

A thin breath on his ear. The whine of a violin coaxing him from dark corners. It wasnt a gasp so much as his breath caught for a moment.

Eh...what the hell...

The pressure released, and the breath slipped from him softly. As he embraced the realization that he had just been dipped.

Something was said or done, and he had pursued. Chairs. Shadows. And now the culprit pressed against him. His right arm pushed to the side, useless, his left had moved around and up his "opponent's" chest, smearing blood up until he met the wound and then followed it to the X shaped scar moving down the top V of the scar, and up, painting it read.

Just as he reached the top of the V, the music cut sharply. Maximos moved suddenly, smoothly. He quickly stepped to the left, twisting at the hip, side stepping Mr. Smith. In that uncertain moment in which gravity had yet to pull, and Joe had likely yet to realize that his support had moved, Maximos caught him. His right arm held the man across the back, angled even father back. Maximos draped over him, inched just close enough to seep into personal space without making it seem like he was making "a move".

Joe had been properly dipped.

Claps filled the air. Roses were tossed into the ring from all around.

He looked Joe dead in the eyes, deep almost luminescent blue eyes meet Maximos' mismatched black left eye and brilliant white right eye. His left drew a line down the other end of the V at the top of Joe's X scar. Effectively, drawing a crimson "M" over the X.

Mmmm...that looks alot better....

The music jumped again, as Tango's tend to do, instructing the dancers when to change positions, when to break away, when to slide together. As it did this time, Maximos lifted his right arm, bringing Joe's form closer. Alot closer.

At heart...I've always said, I'm....

A camera men and women held their breaths. Hours from now when this aired on the internet fan-girls would hug there pillows and squee. There was left than a foot of space between the men to begin with, to move closer...with that suspicious grin smattered across his face...it just seemed like Maximos was going....like he was about ki....

Kick some fight back into this fight.

His left hand was already placed on Smith's chest, with his right lifting the man, it gave him proper leverage. Sparks could be seen dancing from his hand at the very last moment, entirely too late for it to matter. His shoes squealed along the floor, as he shoulders aligned, his right foot dug into the ground, his left pushed like a piston, and his left hand flew forward in a very, stern, very direct palm to the chest meant to send Joe back at least 7ft. But....as there was a support pillar only 5ft back he'd likely stop there. Some monks called it the Buddha Palm, for Maximos it was called the Shadow Palm.

He brought his sword up, in the space between the two men, gesturing at the M. Again using it to gesture, as well as using it to hold defense across the space.

....dont you think?

Oh he smiled, he smiled wide. Even bringing his left hand up to his mouth to taste a bit of his "paint", sparks dancing across his eyes.

...a fighter not a lover.

No comment?

Likely because the impact seemed to have sapped the breath from the mans lungs. Its ok, there would be plenty of time to examine and appreciate the art the two would create together, in a medical office with stitches and gauze.

Violet sparks danced from the corners of Maximos' eyes, down the sides of his face before vanishing around his shoulder. It was an instinct reaction Maximos had when he relishing something particularly tasty. In this case, he moved from finger to finger slowly. Index, middle, ring, pinky, and lastly thumb. Gently licking off the crimson that stained them. You see his gloves were fingerless. Maximos loved to feel his fights.

All the while he kept his sword up between both men.

He heard that first true breath of air, as Joe's lungs recovered from the sudden shock, and looked up from his hand. His eyes wide, hungry, something primal in them. Something that was blinked away as Mr. Smith's sword was swung straight for his left arm.

Intoxicated by the coppery, irony flavor staining his lips, mixed with the swirling tickle of liquor dancing up and down his spine Maximos really had only one option.

As the violin squealed, he brought his left arm up. The string instrument played a single long cry, and Smith' sword did the same. The kevlar in Maximos' gloves only did so much to protect the palm of his hand as it slide along the obsidian length. Threads popped in either direction, soon followed by a streak of crimson as Maximos hand zoomed down the blade, and finally grabbed around Joe's hand, lifting it up and smearing red across his glove, as well as a trickle of vitae down his sleeve.

Maximos slashed, bringing his right hand in a fluidly graceful slide from right to left across Joe's torso, as he stepped under the man's sword arm and outside of his reach.

This left Maximos standing at Joe's side, his releasing his swording as his right moved to quickly from back across the same path from left to right. This time however using the flat of the blade to sort of push Joe into a spin away from Maximos.

Connect, depart. That was the flow of this bloody dance.

Regardless, after completing the second motion Maximos would move his left hand to snatch a red rose out of the air staining it even redder with his own vitae as he held it gracefully in his left hand...and took a bow.

The dance wasnt over, put people certainly were cheering. And well...he was a gentleman, through and through.