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Out of uniform, he was still working on picking up the pieces -- and in uniform, he was doing it even more so. He'd discovered that while it was prohibitively difficult [for someone lazy, anyway] to break into places and do whatever they wanted, it was really easy for a Dark Moon Senshi to do it. Just find a mirror, two steps through, easy as pie.

It was like a video game, but [blasphemy!] better, because the rush of adrenaline was like drugs through his system, leaving him bright-eyed and energetic.

Today, he'd found his way into the middle of the Hits computer lab, and stood surveying the equipment, realizing their had been a major flaw in his plan to upgrade his own machine for free: the school equipment was s**t. Not for school equipment, of course. For that, it was probably top of the line. But it didn't compare anywhere to what he wanted, what he needed, a machine powerful enough to keep up with the new games he wanted so badly to play...

As it was, all he had in hand worth nabbing was one mouse, and one monitor, and it put a scowl on his face.

Al-Janah was humming: humming something that sounded like classical music and, once upon a time, probably had been. Except in his head, it was classical music laid over growling vocals and throbbing drums. Some metal mix he'd been listening to, with a bit too much relish. He always missed metal when it was away.

It explained why he'd missed the approaching footsteps and the aura as it came down the hall, and also explained why he started a little at the sound of Celsus's voice, tipping his head back toward the door. For just a moment -- a split second, even -- he looked guilty. Nervous maybe. But it didn't last long before it split into a grin and his mouth went without thought.

"I can't carry much more than this. Wanna help?" Of course he didn't. He smelled like Order even from a distance. But he could still ask.

"Pretty sure you'd remember, if you had." It came with a flash of white teeth, with a tilt of his head, eyes bright with amusement. Slowly, Al-Janah stepped forward to put down the monitor he was lugging around, and set the mouse down next to it carefully. If this was about to get nasty, he didn't want to end up dropping it.

And it was probably about to get nasty.

"You don't just forget that kind of beat down." A threat, maybe, but it was a bright and excited sort of threat. The past year had certainly made him more inclined to a bit of fight. It even showed in the shift of his posture.

"It's what we do, isn't it?" This was less of a joke, at least, was more serious, some of the smile slipping away into a shrug. MuCephei had asked him what he fought for. Al-Janah could only imagine that the Squire across from him had strong feelings on this matter, would go on about the path of good, would sarcastically comment on the fact that he'd caught the enemy in the act --

For Al-Janah, it was simpler. This simple. It was what they did. And better to give in than feel powerless.

He puffed out a sigh and rolled his shoulders, preparing. "Got some magic?"

"Of course I have magic. If I didn't have magic, what would be the upside to this get up?" It came with a flash of amusement, a gesture down to his own costume. A costume which, in the grand scheme of things, actually wasn't that bad. At least all the vital parts were covered, he wasn't in shorts anymore, and the bracers had style. But it was still a prissy senshi uniform, and would remain so.

"My point was more, you want to bust out the big guns early, or go toe to toe?" With that he adjusted his posture, rocking onto the balls of his feet and bringing up his hand. If nothing else, it did look like he was ready for anything. Light on his feet. Well-guarded.

He could handle himself, these days. Do or die.

The way Al-Janah fought would be neither graceful nor elegant. He was not a karate master, he wasn't well versed in any kind of martial art, and he wasn't a gymnast, either. The idea of actually swinging a roundhouse kick at someone outside of a martial arts movie or a performance piece was pretty much unthinkable to him, which meant he didn't even try to dodge.

Of course, unless Celsus practiced a lot, that wouldn't be much of a problem. He'd take the blow, hard enough to bruise maybe, and here was his strength: someone who'd had the s**t beaten out of him enough times to shrug off the small pains and step into it, instead of away.

No kicks here, just a swing of fist toward Celsus's gut.

It would hit, but it was already too late: while Celsus struggled to catch his breath, Al-Janah kept coming, knowing more than well enough that when you have the advantage you pursue it. A strike to the side, awkward and swinging, would definitely happen as Al-Janah reached to catch him about the waist and take the pair of them down to the ground for a proper rough-and-tumble.

Not the fun kind. The other kind.

The ground was where all the real fighting always seemed to happen anyway.

That would hit, at least, but Al-Janah fumbled to get on top -- drawing in short, uncomfortable breaths as he did, and hands swatting for Celsus's. There was no attack, not just yet: he wasn't working to hurt right now, just to pin the Squire, to give himself a little breathing room.

Mostly, right now, he wanted to break those glasses. Petty but true.

"Maybe I should take pictures for my girlfriend." It was just a little wheezy, and he blinked as he said it. Did the term 'girlfriend' really apply? Well. "She'd probably all kinds of like that."