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Time passed like a whirlwind these days, blurring days into weeks and weeks into months. Any question of the time or day was forgotten or dismissed, as the young man seemed to only judge loosely by what horrendous decorations were plastering doorsteps and storefronts. Mistletoe or cherubs, jack-o-lanterns or fireworks. It meant very little, except a better party now and again.

Everyone in his life had either gone missing or advanced so far into their jobs and duties that he was left behind in the dust, forgotten at rock bottom. It didn't matter, he was pretty comfortable there by now. At least at rock bottom he knew things couldn't get any worse.

A drunken laugh escaped him as the thought occurred, surfacing in a rare moment of recollection. The sound of his own laughter seemedd strange to him so he simply tipped back the sweaty bottle of his summer ale and took a swig, drowning the empty sound of joy beneath more booze and hoppy aftertaste. His grip on the bottle never faltered, but he let it rest again his propped up knee, leaving a water ring on his faded jeans.

The stores around him had all since closed, otherwise he'd likely have been run off for loitering. The street was mostly deserted with so few businesses left open but not entirely, granting a fair amount of safety from surprise attacks if the negaverse decided to pick on unsuspecting civilians. Not completely safe, he knew, since some of those ******** were certifiably insane, but safe enough that he could people watch in peace. No one seemed to notice much as they passed by the dark figure sitting back against a brick corner wall. He said nothing and they weren't bothered.

He tipped the beer bottle back again and drained it, letting it fall haphazardly with several others at his side as he reached for the half empty box sitting next to him. With one in hand, he fumbled only a moment to get it open, then let it rest on his knee much like the other before it. It was a dance he was familiar with by now, repeated almost every night that he wasn't required to stay sober enough for work.

The man was just one more drunk, lost soul - a statistic in the growing discontent of Destiny City.

The man she addressed rocked his head to the side where it was leaned back against the brick wall, letting his eyes scan the area around him until they settled on the person that had stopped and was, obviously, addressing him. For a moment he just stared, too inebriated to put two and two together, before a slow and lazy smile spread his lips.

"Orah," he said slowly, not quite certain if he had summoned the right name to his tongue. Although his own was strange, hers was certainly not something he came by every day either. His dark eyes stared at her for a long moment, checking and re-checking the source in his mind. Yes, definitely Orah.

"Oh me? Juss' people watchin'." He saluted her proudly with his beer and tipped it back for another swig, impressively (at least to himself) downing nearly half of it in one greedy, gluttonous gulp. "S'not as much noise out 'ere. More norma' people. No chatty ladeees." Though, even as he said that, a moment of regret flickered to his face. The chatty ones were always annoying but, also, normally quite easy. He'd chosen the lesser of two annoying evils, but had given up any chance of getting lucky tonight.

"Whazzat look fo'? Is just beer, Ora.." The look on her face made him chuckle then, deep and throaty, and he leaned his head back against the wall to support it against the motion.

There was only one person in all of Destiny City that would argue for Gehenna's ability to fight off any attack, at any time, regardless of his civilian inclination to be s**t faced at all hours of the day. That person, unsurprisingly, was Kamboja himself. As she spoke up about her fears of him fighting off the evil forces of Metallia, his laugh echoed once more, then quickly devolved into a hysteria that had him clutching at his side and sloshing the rest of his beer onto his jeans.

"Don' be so silly, Am not that drunk.."

One strong hand braced against the ground and pushed as he drew his legs up and underneath him, though he began teetering the moment he had to rely on the steadiness of his own feet. The hand on the ground moved to the wall and he leaned his weight into it, dragging himself up inch by careful inch until he was looming at an ungraceful six feet.

"See? Coulda drunk man do that?"

Obviously he was suffering from some form of drunk goggles that distorted his own view of himself. The eyes that lingered on her were hazy, wandering every few moments to a flickering street lamp or a passerby that quickened their pace immediately under the attention of the drunkard. With his nearly empty beer bottle still in hand, he turned to face her, then spread his arms out to his sides in a show of grandeur and triumph. Of course, Orah had never said that the challenge was solely to get up on his feet.

"M'not drunk unless am on the ground an can't gettup. I can take 'em still."

Orah had every reason in the world to believe that Kam was too drunk - because he most certainly, absolutely, completely was. Unfortunately, there wasn't a single soul in the world that could talk reason into Kam once he'd made up his mind and , unhelpfully, he was most especially stubborn when drunk.

"You couldn' beame if you tried, doll," he slurred at her before punching one balled up first into the flat of his palm. There was even time for a long, deep laugh that erupted from his belly and ended with a sloppy burp that made him scrunch up his face in the most unappealing expression one could possibly imagine. The revenge of the beer. Uncontrolled body functions didn't seem to bother him in the slightest and he plowed through the motion without missing a beat. "Deal!," he exclaimed emphatically, leaning forward a little for show - or because he was having a hard time staying steady on his feet.

Only moments after his acceptance, his gaze leveled on Orah where she stood, pretty and pristine in her civilian clothes. The expression on his face changed suddenly from pure amusement to that deep sadness that comes from the exaggerated emotion felt only by the completely intoxicated.

"Am not gonna beat up a girl tho, Orry. I'd fell bad." The balled up fist uncurled slowly and both palms went up between them, as if he were warding off bad juju. "So change into yer frilly skirts, thas more fair." It hadn't yet occurred to him that they needed to find somewhere other than the highly visible street corner for both the change of outfits and the poor excuse for a battle. He'd probably have powered up right then and there if he weren't following his code of ladies first.

Kamboja just stared calmly after Orah as she disappeared into the darkness, noting the little flashes of purple light that he knew, even as drunk as he was, were the signals of her transformation. When she reemerged from the darkness, he was still standing there, exactly where she had left him. Though he swayed slightly on his feet, it didn't seem like he was going to make any effort to move by himself. It was a good thing she grabbed him rather forcefully and pulled him to the back of the building.

The only protest he managed was to try and stoop down and grab a beer as he passed his stash. Thankfully he had neither the coordination or proper depth perception for such a feet. As his fingers grabbed nothing but air, he groaned, but let her keep directing his feet without much attempt to stop.

"Yeah, yeaaah," he mumbled at her as he reclaimed his arm, giving her an exaggerated narrow of the eyes for effect before he shut them. His thick, dark brows furrowed into a deep 'v' as he tried to concentrate on the elusive feeling of power lingering just outside his senses. The seconds ticked by and his strain became more and more noticeable, though he appeared almost as if he were constipated - and not in a magical kind of back up. His teeth grit and a vein near his temple began to pulse.

After a moment he just sighed and opened his eyes, then straightened up a little. He said nothing, refusing to admit that he was having a problem drawing his magic. He could do this. He had done it a hundred times before. Instead, he turned his back on her and stared back out of the alley. Though it was no different than shutting his eyes, he felt better having her eyes boring into his back instead of his face. It still took a moment to draw the magic to him, but eventually drunk Kam was replaced with drunk Gehenna - who was equally in denial.

"Why would ah take it easa on ya?" he was laughing as he turned around to face her, experimentally punching one fist into the flat of his other palm.

She was obviously waiting for him to make the first move so he crouched and bent at the knee, dramatically lower than any real fighter ever would. Just as suddenly as he was in position, he was lunging, expecting to be able to take her by surprise - even if it was a sloppy surprise.

"Aaaaaaah!" he added, for effect, as he pulled back his fist and attempted to aim it at her shoulder - or, rather, the blurry area he thought was her shoulder.

Gehenna wasn't expecting her to jump out of the way - or for her to throw a shove into his shoulder. In fact, he had been expecting her to stay right there and let him throw his punch without having the time to react. He was sure that he was running at the speed of light, with the way everything around him blurred out of focus. Yet, one moment he was staring at her face, and the next he was staring at a set of trash cans set up behind the store.

The hulking brute went barreling into them like a flyaway bowling ball, knocking them down and sending lids and trash hurtling in an arc around him. He groaned as he shoulder checked one of the large, metallic cans but managed to remain upright by the way it caught his weight. As one hand pushed hard down against the bin to shove him back upright, he wobbled, over compensating and sending his center of balance severely off kilter.

"Am juss warmin up, doll.." There was an attempt at amusement in his tone, but the frustrated look on his face suggested that he wasn't pleased, at all.

He turned back then to face her again, locking his dark eyes with her own. It was hard for him to muster up enough anger to really want to hurt Ida, but the frustration at being humiliated was a good start. There was no way he was going to swallow his pride and admit that he was drunk now, and he didn't think he needed to. He'd always been able to engage in a good scuffle while buzzed and now was no different, no matter that his blood alcohol level was approaching the danger zone. Once his feet were planted more securely, he hunched down into a more logical fighting stance. His eyes strained to focus and for a moment, he was convinced that there were two of her - clearly some new senshi trick.

"Just stay still, girl," he grumbled under his breath, an admission meant for his ears alone, albeit loud enough for her to hear with such poor judgment on his part.

As soon as he had a better grasp on where she stood, he charged again, though this time it looked as if he might just tackle her head on - aiming a fist be damned.

Inebriated, there was no time to react.

Gehenna watched half in awe and half in dread as his target leaped up above him with more grace than he could remember seeing in his whole life. It was probably just the alcohol speaking, but she seemed like an angel, fluttering away in skirts and frills as he stared after her, helpless. Too bad he wasn't looking out for what was in front of him.

Distracted, he came face to face with the wall of the store, smacking into it with his chest so hard that it echoed through the narrow alleyway. Thankfully he'd been looking up at her, or he'd likely have split his skull open with the force. As it was, the wind fled his lungs like someone has plowed him over and he crumpled to the ground with ragged, desperate breaths. One hand went up to clutch at his chest while he attempted to push himself up onto his elbow with the other.

"No-" he started, but didn't have the air to finish the thought. His wild eyes shifted until they found her, pouring all his defiance and unwillingness to give up into that one gaze. His breathing was returning, if very slowly, and with every small victory of oxygen intake he was struggling to push himself up with his free hand. Onto his elbow, then almost to a sitting position. He refused to give up, to let her beat him, to owe her anything. That was not who he was. He just.. needed to buy himself a little more time.

At least, drunk as he was, there was still that rampant stubborn streak that proved he was still Kam after all. Just a drunken, sloppy mess of a Kam.

For a split moment, Gehenna continued to struggle against his own inebriated stupor and the new weight placed on his chest by the smaller, if stronger woman. His stubborn streak ran so deeply to his core that he might as well have been in magic rage for all that he intended to stop.

At least until he heard the sound of her voice. When he stopped struggling and just really, truly heard it.

His dark eyes swiveled up to stare into her face and even through his drunken haze, he saw the emotions there. A night long ago crashed back down upon him, of another time when Orah looked too weak to withstand the pressures this life was putting on her. All at once, he was ashamed of himself, and he crumpled under the weight of that realization until his back was firmly upon the ground once more. When it was just him that was suffering through his problems, alone and drunk enough to forget, it didn't matter. But here she was, a gentle soul that was genuinely and truly worried about him, and he didn't have the will to fight her anymore. Gehenna couldn't stand to disappoint anyone else.

"Alrigh', alrigh'," he murmured, defeated, shutting his eyes and letting his dreads cradle his head above the hard cement of the alley floor. "Ahm sorry." If Ida wanted him to stop, he would stop, at least tonight.