The Honor Circle Returns! (IC)

[llearch n'n'daCorna]

Witt ploughed through the crowd, sweeping the stool down and flinging one of the green skinned visitors off to the side, over three rows of drinkers and starting a new furpile at a table over near the wall, or at least at what used to be a table before he arrived. The back-swing sent another one flying over to collide with the big demon fellow who was facing the other way, looking at the incoming lioness. At about that point, Despina arrived.

Her first strike collided with the barstool with a clang that shook her arm to the shoulder. The backstroke knocked it completely from her hand, and sent it flying across the room to embed itself in the wall next to the barthing's head, and vibrated there with a thrum. As the next forehand and backhand landed shattering blows on her shield, Witt's unladen hand flipped up a table, spun it, and brought the flat side down on her head, or at least as far up towards that as he could reach, with just about as much force as the barstool was bringing to her knees. And, provided the table stood up to the abuse, he looked like he could continue whaling on her all day...

[Lisky]

The doppelganger Bas felt his wing get stomped, and yelped slightly in surprise.  He watched as Andrace tried to perform a mid-air grab.  The Demon started reaching towards her arm when he felt something slam into his back causing him to stagger. As the large lioness flew by,  his head ducked instinctively, bringing the long and vicious horns straight towards the passing lioness, and, as her arm found a grip around Bas's neck, he felt his horns lightly graze through something soft and fleshy.

Andrace would find solid purchase on Basilisk's throat, however, upon landing, would also find a slightly wounded behind.  Bas started bringing in his wings.  He brought one arm towards the hand gripping his throat, and the other was sent with a flat palm-heel, straight towards Andrace's elbow.

[SpottedKitty]

Despina thought she was prepared when Witt came close enough again to attack her directly. She'd just heard a familiar roar of fury from across the room when the hedgehog's first strike broke her concentration, and almost her wrist. Dammit, he's strong, she thought as she took a two-handed grip on her staff, he can't be a Being, got t' be a disguised Creature o' some sort — ow! Witt's second wrist-straining smash with the badly dented barstool ripped the staff right out of her hands: it flew off over her shoulder, and she didn't dare take the time to see where it went.

The lioness shifted mental gears at once, although it was becoming harder to concentrate through the pain in her legs, and now she was beginning to notice the broken-plumbing noises coming from her stomach. Witt didn't make it any easier when he grabbed a table and began to smash at her shield with both blunt objects at once. It was holding for the moment, but every crashing blow knocked the shield — and Despina herself — a little bit further back. Only her claws' grip on the floorboards were stopping her from tumbling backwards and bouncing off the furniture, and the other fighters.

"That's enough!" Despina roared at last after one particularly hard crack over the head with the table left her ears ringing just from the noise that came unhindered through the shield. As her stomach rumbled and gurgled loudly, the lioness sheathed her fists in miniature cyclones and waited a moment until just after Witt's next strike. In quick succession, she dropped her shield, sent a small lightning bolt through the barstool, punched the table with a compact tornado-strength wind, and followed through with a similarly boosted haymaker punch aimed right at Witt's jaw.

At the other end of the bar, the fake Andrace's roar became a yowl of surprise as she slammed the canine Demon's back against the floor, and she felt something sharp rake down her back and cut into her rump. Blood trickled down her leg, but not too quickly, so it probably wasn't a serious wound. It would weaken her leg, though, she'd have to work around any problems that gave her. She saw the Demon's hand reaching for her own, and started to dodge, but she didn't see the other hand until it smacked into her elbow. The lioness yelped as her arm went numb. A discarded bottle rattled along the floor nearby; she reached with her working arm, grabbed it, and smashed it between the Demon's horns with her full strength.

Back in the real bar, the real Andrace winced, then grinned toothily. She grabbed a pretzel from a bowl on the countertop and tossed it at the canine Demon's snout. "Oi, horny!" she yelled cheerfully, "Be careful what "you" do wi' "my" butt!"

[Lisky]

Bas had been watching fight rather intently, while a few thoughts came to mind, the first was why a supposed replica of himself would be fighting with such a pre... and then his train of thought derailed as a pretzel slapped off his snout, somersaulted into the air, and landed on the table, next the hand that wasn't propping up his chin.  His head tracked the original location to the large lioness, who's doppelganger his own doppelganger was in the middle of a bar brawl with. 

A smirk crossed his face at her comment, though rather than replying verbally, the demon grinned wickedly and gave a shrug.  He turned his attention back to Keaton and the display of the battle.

"fake" Bas felt his arm get a solid blow, probably just a sprain because she managed to remove her arm from his throat in time, but a powerful blow none the less.  Suddenly a bottle came pummeling down between his horns, and he was powerless to do anything close his eyes and rear into the blow, trying to slam her fist against his skull.  He turned his ears way from the bottle and winced as shards of glass sprayed everywhere as he felt the shards stop pattering against his snout. Bas was slightly stunned while opening his eyes.  Stars danced across his vision, and despite his state, he tried a rather sloppily executed move anyways.  Swinging his legs out wide, while rolling onto his side, Bas tried to sweep kick Andrace while rolling towards where he expected her to fall... he hoped, oh so desperately to wind up on top of her.

[Dekari]

The door of the bar burst open as a white wolf type Being dressed in all black combat gear, reminiscent of 21st century Earth Black Ops gear, came flying though head first, perhaps thrown in by an unknown advisory.  Boots, pants, shirt, combat vest, gloves, all were smoking lightly as though he had just managed to escape the outer wall of fire of a large explosion.  His hands came in contact with the floor of the bar first and quickly directed him into a frontward tumble finishing upright on his feet.  He then spun around to face his right profile towards the door while drawing his gun from his right thigh holster and unsheathing one of the two Kodachis that were strapped to his back in an X pattern.  Aiming his gun at the door, he looked down his arm through the gun sight with a look that hinted that only death awaited who or whatever was supposed to follow him in to the bar.  As the seconds passed the Being remained motionless, the tension in his muscles could be seen thought his skin tight shirt, he was ready to strike at a moments notice.

After a minute passed, the Beings muscles relaxed as he lowered his gun.  The look in his eyes changed to one of disappointment, then faded to confusion.  "Funny, something almost always follows me through.  This time it's like the rift never even opened on this side."  The Being said to himself as he holstered his gun and sheathed the Kodachi.  He began to look around his unfamiliar surroundings until, of course, his eyes focused on the bar.  "Ooo, they got a bar," he said aloud, eyes wide with excitement.  "I could use some organics.  Yo, barkeep, four shots of the strongest stuff you got."  He finished as the walked with haste to the nearest seat at the bar

[Arroyo Milori]

Citrine's ears soon picked up a loud bang near the entrance, but she did not turn her head. She sat on the stool motionless as the white wolf sat near her. "A little over dramatic with the entrance much?" She smirked a bit, as the tension between her and the white wolf thickened from her words.

"It's not wise to consume alcohol before or during a fight." Of course, she forgotten the fact that some people were better fighters drunk, like her father for example. She was curious if she inherited that fighting style from her father and not just his temper but she rather not try now.

[llearch n'n'daCorna]

The bolt of lightning shot through the stool, blowing a hole clear through it, and sending trailing fingers out in all directions like a giant plasma ball. With much the same effect; as soon as one finger reached Witt's hand, they all congregated there and raced up his arm like a centipede on coke. The sparks through his nerves made his hand spasm open, dropping the burnt, melted remains of the stool to the floor. While this was happening, the second strike blew the table to splinters, nearly taking his fingers with it. And, as a final straw, still off-balance from the sparks that were crawling down his body to the floor, the haymaker caught him cleanly under the jaw, boosted him into the air, and back over three tables, narrowly missing a suave, imperturbable gentleman holding a large hat. He spun end for end in the air, and landed squarely on another table, shattering it almost as well as Despina's punch.

He pulled himself out of the wreckage, shook himself like a dog, spraying splinters in all directions, and was about to throw himself back into the fray when a thought struck him. "What day is it today?" he grunted to the man with the hat.

"I do believe it's Thursday, today, sir."

"Ah, shit. I bloody knew it." With that, he reached over and grabbed one of the incensed patrons of the table he was standing in the remains of, and flung him, one-handed, back across the bar with unerring aim at Despina. As he did so, he started screaming. "There was a young maid from Aberystwyth," Grabbing another patron, and sending that flying ahead of him, he began to accelerate in her direction, punctuating his approach with flying patrons. "Who took grain..." This time, a table. "...to the mill to get grist with." Latching onto another bar stool as he passed, he flung a table at her, like a discus, still continuing his peroration, at the top of his lungs. "The miller's son, Jack," At this point, he flung another unlucky patron who happened to be too close. "Laid her flat on her back, and united" Another table, followed by a large seat, nails still hanging out from where it had been ripped from the floor. "...the organs they pissed with!"

And with that, he arrived, fresh table in his left hand, and fresh bar stool in his right, ready to continue the pummelling.

[Dekari]

Dekari tilted his head slightly to look at Citrine.  A small grin streaked across his face as he shook his head.  "What I drink and when I drink it is no concern of yours.  That, and four shots of anything this guy could possibly stock wouldn't even get me slightly buzzed.  Besides, I only intend on drinking two of the shots."

[Arroyo Milori]

Citrine just stuck her tongue out a bit. "Whatever..." She tapped her foot impatiently, usually places like this tend to have a way to welcome newcomers that involved a brutal fight with one of the strongest members. Her eyes wandered around in the ring with fascination. "Magic users huh... kind of hazardous to the crowd isn't it? No matter, it's there fault for sitting too close."

She chuckled, although she unfamiliar of what kind of creatures lurk around in this part of the world, she knows she also have that upper hand, no one knows who she is or what kind of fighter she is as well.

[Dekari]

Dekari was now staring at Citrine out of the corner of his eye.  His irises quickly shifted from blue to red then back to blue.  The grin on his face grew slightly as he began to talk.  "Overconfidence has been the down fall of many great warriors.  It tends to be nothing more than a means of masking ones fear.  When you're afraid, your mind is unfocused.  When your mind is unfocused, you cannot be at your full potential.  When you're not at your full potential, even the most unlikely of opponents could be your downfall."  Dekari paused for a moment and looked up and down the bar.  "What is this place, self serve?"

[Arroyo Milori]

Citrine leaned back against the bar's tabletop and sighs. "It's a fight club. It wouldn't be that hard to figure out after taking a second looking around." She let out a sigh, being bored of watching the fighters in the ring. 'I want some action in the ring now, it would be good for me to vent on the poor bastard who is up against me to relieve this boredom...'

[Dekari]

Dekari let out a short laugh and shook his head.  "Fight club eh?  I guess the drinks and their uses will have to wait a little while longer."  He said as he stood up from his seat and started walking towards the door.  "Guss I'm going to have to do my part to uphold rule number eight."  Dekari paused as he reached the door and looked back at Citrine.  "You just going to sit there or what?"

[Arroyo Milori]

Citrine chuckled a bit and stands up, staring at him with her brown eyes. "Is that a challenge? Well then...I accept on one condition...true fighters don't use weapons." She eyed his gun and then back up at him. "Or are you pretty worthless without your little toys?"Her smile grew into a large grin, she knew that she got a decent challenger, nether parties know what each other are capable of.

[SpottedKitty]

Despina gasped and sagged back against the bar for a moment after her last attack had sent Witt flying across the room. "Dammit, this hurts," she growled, "what th' hell did th' little SOB do t' me?" She pushed the front flap of her skirt between her legs and studied the pincushion wounds on her thighs. They'd stopped bleeding by now, leaving only patches of blood soaked into her fur. The pain and burning itching was still getting worse. Time to do something about it, now that she had a moment to think. Probably not much more than a moment, though, as she noticed Witt starting to move again in the pile of wreckage that used to be a table.

A few quick gestures and her hands glowed with soft green light. She held them against her thighs and sighed in relief as the pain faded under the influence of the healing spell. A glance over her shoulder found her staff sticking in the wall nearby. She jumped onto the bar, wrenched it out and scrambled back down. Her stomach rumbled again, making her wonder if there was some connection: this was an odd time for her to come down with food poisoning so abruptly, but it had only started after Witt had stuck her with his spines. Hopefully nothing drastic would happen until after she'd finished pounding on him...

No such luck. Despina saw the incoming figure with barely enough time to throw herself to the floor. The spikes on his absurdly huge shoulderpads ruffled her fur, then he bounced off the bar and crashed into the shelving behind it. Her ears perked up as she spotted Witt running towards her. She jumped to her feet and tossed out a series of shield spells to deflect the missiles he threw at her. Tables, chairs, the people who'd been sitting on them, all came flying towards the lioness as Witt charged closer.

Her ears perked. Was the idiot reciting a limerick? No more time to worry about that: she set her pawpads firmly on the floor, dug her claws in, and took a two-handed grip on her staff. She wasn't going to lose it again. As Witt came closer, she raised her shield and took a swing with her staff, trying to at least loosen the hedgehog's grip on his makeshift weapons.

At the other end of the bar, fake-Andrace snarled as she was forced to let go of the Demon's throat. She shook her numbed arm: it didn't seem to be badly hurt, but it wouldn't be much use until the tingling paralysis faded. She tossed away the remains of the bottle, it had disintegrated in her hand, not leaving enough to stab the Demon with.

The lioness was almost caught out when he tried to kick her legs away. She let her knees collapse and fell forward as he rolled to the side, holding her injured leg clear and letting all her weight hammer into the Demon's gut — or possibly his kidneys, he was moving fast — with a single-knee piledriver. She threw herself clear of the reach of his wings and rose into a crouch, ready for his next move, although her stance was a little lopsided. Blood dripped on the floor from her injured backside, and splinters from the smashed bottle had been stuck painfully into various parts of her anatomy when she tumbled. None of the cuts were serious, so she ignored them for the moment.

She did feel a sudden draught, though, and she didn't need to look down to realise the Demon's horn must have snipped neatly through the draw-string around her waist: the shock of the piledriver had sent her trousers drooping to half-mast, and they were now held up only by the tail-fly at the back.

Back in the real bar, Andrace stared in disbelief at her double in the viewer, then she glanced over at the canine Demon and snickered evilly.

[Lisky]

In the real bar, Bas's attention was split between Keaton and the fight.  He watched the sloppy attempt at a sweep kick and winced at the result.

Fake-Bas felt contact, and had a triumphant smirk, he rolled, and as he approached where Andrace ought to be, he thought he'd just pinned the lioness down.  Instead, he found a knee, slamming him in the gut. He suddenly started coughing for air for a few seconds.  Crouched on his hands and knees, with mild aches all though his abdomen.  As soon as he recovered, he flared his wings, as his eyes locked onto his target.  However, his right wing snapped against the shin of something, right about at his wrist joint.  Looking over, Bas saw the jeager.  It reeled slightly from shock and pain from the unexpected blow.  Then, his lips curled back as the beast-man started for the demon.  Both of Baseel's wings shot in, and the demon exploded outwards, tackling the toothily grinning green-skin.  Bas became entangled in a flurry of blows and rolls. A slight pause in the fluid-like commotion ended up with the shepherd demon on the ground,  The jaeger poised over Bas, arm starting back as he prepared to deliver a devastating blow.

A flash of green, and Basilisk's knee was under the Jager's chest.  Just as suddenly, both feet were sitting in the air, fully extended.  The Jager was flying, doubled over and heading straight towards Andrace's last known position.  A smirk crossed the demon's face as his wings flew straight into the ground, flipping him onto his feet in a wavy and and elegant motion.  On his feet, Basilisk rolled his neck around, flexed his shoulders back, then took a rather relaxed, shoulder-width pose. He had his right foot forward, left foot off at 90 degrees, the death's head-like grin Bas was giving Andrace made his malicious intent obvious.

[Cogidubnus]

The panther's eyes widened - the man was charging through hurricane-force winds, with nothing more than a sword and the clothes on his back. He should be struggling to stand, let alone leap forward as he was.
He strummed the strings, the changeling song again shifting melodies.

He pushed with a foot, the big cat jumping into the air even while sitting, and the winds shifted, buoying him up and pushing him backwards, over the debris and on top of the green-hued moat. It let him down gently, a single footpaw touching the water. The winds whirled about his feet, translucent with their fury, and just barely kept him from falling into the water. His balance must have been impeccable.
Gently, the other foot lowered. He stood gingerly, not-quite touching the water, but only just.

There was no way he could be heard over the din of the wind, so he played instead. Somehow, it carried across the water. The wind brushed like velvet over the top of the algae-soaked pond, and as it rose it sparkled in the daylight. It mixed with the other winds, sparkling in the sun, until it sparkled in a clear, unbroken line.

It shattered into a million pieces. And then like a million knives it descended, slicing through ruins and trees alike, carrying the debris along with it, now like a knife made of sandpaper, and in a circle surrounded the swordsman and rushed him at once.

* * *

Cog was very, very drunk.

He wasn't sure exactly what was going on in the bar anymore, but several new people had walked in, he'd thought he'd seen two Andrace's at some point, and that made him worried, and he was pretty sure that wasn't supposed to happen.
He hiccuped.

"I think...I think I've had too much." he burped, and promptly fell off his barstool.

Somewhere in his shadowed corner, Laertes sighed. "I'm not about to get up and move him around. And furthermore..."

At that moment, the door to the infirmary opened. Eyes bloodshot with rage, a black-armored man with a bandage around his head was looking around the room wildly. There was a hint of froth around his teeth.
"BY GOD, WHEN I FIND THAT SONOFABITCH..."

He looked around the bar room. He didn't see the guy. His eyes narrowed. He took a deep breath. "Well. I guess he left. Good." he practically hissed, and shortly thereafter noticed Cog on the ground. Cog giggled something unintelligible and asked loudly if someone had done something to the bar, he didn't recognize the light fixture on the wall.
"I leave for..." he looked at a wall clock, and frowned. He'd been out some time. "I leave for awhile and you drink yourself into a stupor. I ought to let you lay there."

Cog murmured something. Giles muttered in distaste. "That's hardly the point," he said. "You're not wearing a two hundred pounds of...er. Well."
He looked around the room lamely, and then grabbed the were by his shoulders, and then began to drag him across the room and up the stairs. "Fine, I'll take you to your room. You owe me for this."
Cog's boots thumped lamely on the stairs, like a strange punctuation to this occurrence.

[Dekari]

As Dekari walked over to one of the rings he removed his gloves, unfastened the gun from his thigh, and unzipped and removed his combat vest and Kodachi scabbards.  When he reached the ring he placed them on the ground outside of the ring and sat down and started to untie his boots.  "So, am I to assume that we will be attempting to refrain from killing each other?  I only ask this because I'm sure that we both have still have a greater purpose left for us in life."  He said as he stepped into the ring barefoot and began to remove his shirt.  Aside from the tone and definition of all the muscles of his upper body being visible even underneath his short fur, there was something else that would catch the eye on any onlooker.  Over the length of his inner forearms and neck were several long and deep scars that had been well hidden by his shirt, some intersecting and overlapping each other.  "There's also the fact that I don't die very easily."  He said as the threw his shirt on the pile of this other belongings.

[Arroyo Milori]

Citrine walked into the ring as well, adjusting her belt that's around her waist that held her dress-like shirt down and slightly pulls up her tight-looking black shorts underneath her shirt. "I concur." She responded then sets her position into her regular idled fighting position. "But don't get cocky, just because your a soldier doesn't mean you can best me." She clenched her fists tightly, Her right foot rubbing against the floor roughly, watching Dekari with a keen eye as she waits for his first move.

[Dekari]

"I hope you will forgive me if I'm a little rusty."  Dekari said as he ran towards Citrine at a full sprint.  With clenched fist he drew his right arm back with intent to strike.  However noticing the Citrine raised her guard slightly, Dekari saw what looked to be an opening.  He then spun to his left to gather momentum for a kick.  After coming around full 360 leading with his hip, knee bent, the top of his right foot was on direct aim for the soft spot between Citrine's bottom rib and hip.

[Angel]

When Stygian's gaze remained the same harsh, pessimistic glare, Sylvie's previous calmness began to fade. As a matter of fact, it was changing into anxiety. The noises outside in the bar only added to this sense of wrongness. Even before Stygian made his skepticism and disapproval clear, she knew what was coming was bad. But what she heard was worse than him simply telling her he hated her, or even than being laughed at for her feelings. It was, quite frankly, an emotion she hadn't known could hurt her: despair. It hurt her so badly, in fact, that she felt herself blink back tears at least twice.

As she listened to what he said, her heart sank into a cocktail of sadness, heartbreak, pain and shock. Some of what he was saying was true, but most of it had a much-too-heavy negative twist to it. When he looked down at her hand and compared it to his own, she almost covered it, which would have been pointless. But even though she couldn't deny that not just distance but species and time periods and societies kept them apart, couldn't he see that she'd known about that? Why did he need to point it out?

When he finished, she couldn't think clearly for a bit. So for a while, she just sat there, unable to look at Stygian for more than three seconds at a time without looking back down at some point to the left and behind him. Then, once she was sure she could speak without yelling at him, she answered him, now looking not just sad but a little angry and hurt as well.

"How can you assume that just because all I can say I feel right now is care, means I don't love you and never will? I've never even fell in love with another Green and you expect me to know how to explain what I feel for you? We've only known each other a few hours. I know that helps your case as well, but that's no reason to accuse me of being incapable of ever loving you." She was doing her best to keep her voice quiet, or at least level, but given the commotion in the bar, she knew she didn't have to worry much. "What I feel for you is as close to love as I've ever felt in my life. I may not be able to express it very well, and I may not want to rush into anything, but don't you dare say I don't have to feel anything for you, because I already do and there's no changing that."

After that small outburst, her anger faded somewhat, and she realized she'd actually stood up. Her eyes remained just a bit narrowed as she sat back down, though now that the anger was lessened, hurt shone through more easily. "I won't force you to feel anything for me, if you really think that I don't love you. But just understand that my feelings for you are nowhere near as shallow as you think."

[Arroyo Milori]

Citrine's eyes focused harshly on Dakari and motions herself into a forward lunge right when he got close enough for her to counter. "Rule 1 of the ring: Never forgive." She muttered under her breath as she backs her fist up a bit and delivers a swift, head-on punch to his chest. Of course she didn't have time to dodge his leg which caused her to get knocked down to the side, but she quickly tumbles her way up on her feet.

"Rule 2 of the ring: don't take too long to ready an attack" She stared harshly at Dakari, beckoning him with her hand. "You best not be holding back because of my status, otherwise I will make you deeply regret it."

[Dekari]

"Well then."  Dekari coughed, head hung low, eyes closed.  "I recommend you take your own advice about holding back.  Someone with your skill and technique should have at least been able to brake a rib or two."  A large grin streaked across Dekari's face as he raised his head.  "Warm ups are done.  Adrenalin is flowing."  He opened his eyes to reveal his irises were now blood red and his sclera were as black as a starless night.  "Shits about to get serious now."

Dekari once again took off towards Citrine as a full sprint, however now seeming to move twice as fast.  When he got within striking distance of her, he vanished in a blurred image.  Just then Citrine heard a voice from behind her.  "Also, you think too loudly."  The voice was that of Dekari.

[Stygian]

Dancing between the raging winds, his clothes billowing around him, the swordsman gritted his teeth with effort and disdain at how easily Linos appeared to avoid his strikes. For a moment, his concentration seemed to slip, and he lost his footing as a gust pushed him to the side. Then, he seemed to stiffen, hardening his grip on the hilt of the sizzling sword. In an instant, it was as if the tossing air barely even touched him again. He spun to face Linos, as the panther touched down lightly on the surface of the pond. He began moving, resisting the gales.
  The air cracked and burst into innumerable razor edges. There was barely any time to react. The man stopped, spun his sword, turning the blade tip down, and then slammed it into the ground. A wave pulsed through the air, throbbing with a sound like a heartbeat. And then, like an expanding soap bubble, a semitranslucent wave of distortion blasted out through the shuddering air. It smashed the approaching shards into fragments, then into particles, and then into nothingness. A sympathetic ripple ran over the pond.
  The man did not pause. Theatrical though the counterattack might have been, the opening it left was too small. He pushed himself forward, while the air was still clear, making for the edge of the pond, moving like a sprinter.

- -

Stygian's stare simply continued, unflinching unlike the elf's. There was no shame or compassion there. Just a bitter sort of comprehension. He let her exhaust her words, and then her nerve, her eyes searching for somewhere, anywhere but his face, to settle.
  She hadn't understood. Not all of it, at least. She hadn't backed off though he had attempted, in his way, to warn her, and now she was accusing him. He could see the events of before repeating themselves, different paths branching out and only unraveling into failure and depression. Worse, he felt her insistence, and the shameful little thoughts that wedged themselves in while she spoke. And, with an unnameable feeling, he realized that there was no honest way he could do anything but do precisely what he had anticipated. Slowly, he set his feet on the floor, and stood up.
  'So you want to understand me?' he asked, not waiting for an answer. 'Very well then.'
  He was not a telepath of the same sort as Andrea; he'd thought about that before, of how the strengths that stemmed from the same source of development and power could vary so much between individual Furies, and why. He didn't know what it was that made her able to force her control on someone else so effectively, while he could not, when plainly his sheer strength in other fields spoke lengths of who was the greater in terms of pure strength. Perhaps the talent was just individual, perhaps a critical skill was a sort of readiness to bend and break the will and self-concern of others. But either way he had found ways to work around that. What she did with forceful strokes and sheer power, or more often made sure she didn't have to do, he did with subtlety and technique. She might have had to resort to forcing something up in the elf's mind. But what he did was far more intricate than that, and yet simpler. Before the elf could react, he reached out, placing a pair of fingers from his intact hand on her forehead. And then, he shared with her.
  It was like a rush through her body, starting somewhere in her chest, and then Sylvie felt as though her stomach had been pulled out. A shudder made her muscles feel like jelly and her already watery eyes and sore throat ache. Had she still stood up, her legs would probably have folded up under her. The feeling cascaded forth through her body and soul; a horrible, dark loneliness that seemed to fill her heart with liquid nitrogen and empty her innards; a sorrow so deep it not only made her want to curl up around her aching self and wither away, but made even that feel so pointless that she could barely move. She was unwanted. She was a pitiful, lonely creature in a meaningless world. There was not a soul out there willing or capable of sympathizing with her or helping, and no one had ever cared for her but to gain something for themselves. No one had ever loved her or would ever bother to. She and everything she did was utterly hopeless and without meaning, and all there was and ever had been was despair.
  Stygian removed his fingers, and as though some circuit had been broken, the feeling disappeared instantly, leaving a shocking emptiness behind it. Only a physical pain remained, somewhere in the elf's abdomen. The sort of pain that felt as though it would only be relieved with heaving sobs.
  'Is that enough understanding to satisfy your curiosity?' he asked. He waited just long enough that he saw her figure out what he had just done, before he spoke again. 'Time is not the issue here, we both know that. That is not how we know each other.' Calmly, he bent down, and stared her in the eyes. His gaze accused her of murder.
  'You dangle those promises in front of me - the promise of something I haven't even dared hope for - but you are holding yourself back. There is something in the way, something you're hesitant about or which you are too anxious or unwanting to deal with. And still you don't settle for simply showing interest. You tempt me with the idea of hope,' he said, his voice scathing, 'but you are ready to take it away at a moment's notice, for reasons that are entirely your own. And you expect me to understand that? To not hate you when you inevitably steal it away from before my eyes, or lie, or leave me for someone else who appears more convenient to care about at the moment? Because that is all that caring amounts to.'
  He stood straight, and sighed. Then, he looked down at his ragged self. Snorting, he felt a pocket, and encountered, underneath the half-damp and ragged cloth, a crumpled up and soaked package. His fingers worked around numbly, and then came out holding a cigarette, which he promptly stuck in the corner of his mouth. He didn't bother with a lighter, but merely snapped his fingers under the end, causing a brief flame to ignite it.
  'It's called "infatuation",' he said, turning and walking off, heading down between the rows of beds toward the door. 'Get it right next time. Now, I'm going to find some clothes...'
  The door shut with a clack behind him.

- -

In the illusory bar, the replica of Sahlena had barely moved. The machine seemed to merely study the fight, drink in hand, ruefully taking a step here or there or leaning to a side to avoid a brawling shape or flying splinters or shards of glass, and the occasional screaming patron. A piece of splintered table came flying. The machine flinched, bent, ducked, and only barely managed to avoid a leg. She took a big step away from Despina, toward the counter. A man howled as he was flung through the air, and she caught a shoe in her hand, leaning back and setting down her drink. Starting to seem flustered, she appeared to wonder whether if she should enter the fray, but to decide against it. Then, just as she picked up her glass once more, the hedgehog rushed past her, bumping her with a ripped up bar stool, causing vodka to splash down her shirt.
  ':hey!' the annoyed machine barked at the hedgehog's back.
  In both bars, real and fake, a pair of irate figures in torn black rags emerged simultaneously. Tramping steps perfectly synchronized, both men crossed the bars, one heedless of a fight, the other of a calm, and then opened the doors to each bar's respective back rooms, vanishing behind them.

[Arroyo Milori]

Her eyes widen from what he said and quickly leaps forward before he was able to strike from behind, doing a 180 degree turn in mid air. 'Thoughts? Is he probing my mind...no keep calm, this guy is just some nut job who gets sick thrills out of freaking people out...'

She resumed her fighting stance, ready to strike whenever he was able to. Rule three of the ring: never underestimate anyone, doing so is a sign of mercy and thus contradicts the fourth rule of the ring: No holding back.' She let out a small chuckle and listens closely to her surroundings, very carefully. The crowded bar room around her started to sound distorted as she was in the midst of a trance-like focus. Her eyes closed as her short haired fur started to pick up the wind following Dakari whom was in midst of moving around her, to psyche her out.

[Dekari]

Dekari stopped behind Citrine and backed off a few feet.  "Come on!  Make a damn move already!  Or is that all your capable of doing, citing rules?  If you aren't going to fight, then why the hell did you come out here?  Fighting a punching bag isn't my idea of fun."  He yelled sounding obviously irritated by Citrine's lack of offense.  "Perhaps I should just end this now and go find someone else to have fun with."

The air in the ring began to feel heavy as all sources of light around the two combatants seemed to dim.  Dekari looked down at his right hand as small sparks of black colored bolts jumped between the tips of his fingers.  He winced slightly in pain as the bolts grew larger engulfing his hand and moving up his forearm.  "We are both going to regret this one, though I think I may more than you.  But as you said, no holding back."  Dekari said as he walked towards Citrine, reaching up for the back of her neck.

[Arroyo Milori]

Citrine's eyes opened as she heard his attack sneaking up behind her."So you are lurking in my mind..." She nimbly ducks before his hand got her neck and elbows him below the belt. "How perverted, but then again maybe you should have listened to my rules, at least then it will spare you..." She quickly does a 180 as soon as she nailed him with her elbow and grabs a hold of his head, bringing it down and knees him in the face. "From humiliation."

She soon yanked his hair, causing him to fall down onto the ground and she quickly jumps back away from him for a second. "A disciplined fighter can endure many rounds, one after another. That's what separates me from people like you."

[Dekari]

"'People like me' huh.  Nah, that's not the only thing that separates someone like you from something like me."  Dekari said with a sigh as he lay on his back.  "It's a good thing you don't know how to use shadow magic, otherwise I'd be boned.  Hell, you can't even use any kind of magic, except for that little technique that your still hiding.  God, open fricken book."

Dekari sat up looking surprisingly unfazed by the short onslaught he just received aside from a bit of blood dripping from his nose and mouth.  However there were now black streaks that branched out like vines from the sides of his eyes.  The ones on his left eye were particularly interesting as they partly revealed his white clan marking.  He wiped the blood from his nose and mouth with his right hand that was nothing more than charred flesh and blackened bone and yet was still fully functional.  "Yeah, I'm just full of surprises aren't I?"  He said as he placed his hand back on the ground slightly out of sight of Citrine.  The blood he had wiped off started seeping into the ground and formed a circle of runes before fading.

"So, are we done spouting off rules, or are we in this for real now?"  Dekari asked.  As he finished his last words the ground behind Citrine suddenly shook and a metal spike came shooting out aimed at Citrine's back.

[Arroyo Milori]

Citrine cringed a bit from the spikes stabbing the back of her leg and quickly jumps away before the spikes did more damage. 'Close call...'She starts to wonder how she would be able to avoid his passive skill to read minds, but her focus turned back to the fight as she readies her stance.

"Fancy sorcery isn't going to scare me. I fought too many people who knew the same. exact. spells. Maybe even stronger, don't believe me? Why don't you tap into my memory seeign your already reading my mind."

[Boog]

Boog noticed the newcomers too late, seeing them already getting set up in a free circle. He winced; he'd been so caught up in the barfight he hadn't told them the rules. He shrugged, figuring it would work itself out. Besides, there hadn't been a fatality yet. If there wasn't before the owner got back he'd think something was wrong.
He lazily turned toward the other commotions in the room, Stygian and Giles' respective reappearances. The first got a look of mild curiosity, like a cat glancing at a running engine, while the other received a grin disproportionate to events.

Marya sighed, keeping her eyes on the barfight. It really was a crying sha- Wait, was that her?

--

As the barthing duplicate ducked with a yelp, a mongoose scrambled over the counter in faux-barfight, laughing. She'd broken three noses! Three! In a row! She licked a bloodstain off her knuckles as she rummaged through the bottles stacked on the shelves behind the bar, took a swig from one and tossed it, half full, back into the crowd in the hopes of hitting someone before diving back in onto some hapless horned individual (reasoning that he probably had it coming on the basis that he had a funny accent, and was there at the time), pummeling him as she landed on his shoulders.

--

Back in the bar, Marya grinned. Today was awesome.

[llearch n'n'daCorna]

Witt blocked the swing with the table, shattering parts of the tabletop in all directions, but leaving his grip still fairly firm. He followed that up with a return strike to the knees from the barstool in his other hand, then dropped the table, flipped the stool into a reverse grip, and hammered it into her belly area.

At the same moment, his other hand reached up and snapped a flying bottle from the air, moments before it hit the back of his head. He tilted his head to the side, jammed the bottle between his teeth, and started drinking, then put both hands to the stool, and shoved it upwards, hoping to catch at least one arm trying to hold it down, and took a couple of quick steps forward into the freed space - the first just a step, the second aiming to stamp one boot into a shin and scrape down onto a foot, while the stool kept them out of view...

Edit:
Shin, not calf. d'oh. Sorry, my bad...
  -- llearch