07/06/06
Characters: Terry, Adelheid
Harbor
The center of Southtown's rich importing and exporting trade--as well as
the Syndicate's far wealthier arms dealing and drug trafficking business--the
harbor consists of a series of piers, docks, and warehouses, all filling the
area to the brim with activity at almost all hours of the night. At any given
time, large cargo ships are coming in and out, and the entire zone is
perpetually busy with men loading and unloading the ships. As of late, a war
between organized crime factions has likewise made the harbor into something
of a warzone, with outbreaks of violence an almost weekly occurence.
[Exits :
Lisa's Office, West to Downtown, South to Sound Beach,
and to Pacific Ocean ]
Winter has long released its grip upon Southtown's streets, but this day is hot
even by the renewed standard - the sun burning high and strong in the sky well
through the afternoon. Now that early evening slips in to bring a scent of cool
breeze, it comes as a most welcome boon to those forced into working through the
heat. Or even those that choose to do so. In the central part of the city, the
effect is stated well enough, but nothing like as much in the harbour district.
Several ships are docked today, either for refit or simply to unload their
seaborne burden, and dockhands have been hired cheap and fast to make up
numbers.
Luckily for the harbourmasters, there are enough luckless folk with good
strength - failed fighters, those still in training, or merely recent
school-leavers with unburned energy - that the daily tasks have been completed
for the most part. Luckily for the workers, they've had a little unexpected
help. A group of relatively scrawny youngsters had been struggling with their
load until the aid was offered, and this is likely /why/ it was offered. Not
that their blonde saviour would ever admit this. He's here for the workout and a
chance to meditate away from any intellectual concenrns. Life has been rather
trying lately... and after that disatrous bout with Kain Heinlein, the Hungry
Wolf needs to sweat off a few late nights.
Terry is enjoying that peace now, his external cares abolished as he sets down a
heavy crate and leans up against it for a few moments of breath. His colleagues
for the day sit nearby, tossing dice into a circle between them and catching a
longer spell while the American covers for them. He's capable of it, and glad to
do the favour, but no man is entirely immune to their body's whims. His muscles
are tiring and need to unbunch for a few minutes, so with a sigh he hauls the
crate back up, carries it bodily over to its fellows, and then turns around with
a more casual air - drawing a forearm back across his sweaty brow and looking
about the seafront. That eventide breeze hits him at the precisely needed
moment, and his posture eases; shoulders dipping low, pectorals untightening. A
smile is conjured by the sensation, and those blue eyes glow with vigour already
renewed as Terry lets himself flow back to full consciousness. Deeper
philosophising is all well and good, but for a while he should focus on more
base human matters... refreshment, and camaradery.
Void of different cares, the Wolf moves over to his fellows and offers a few
brief words, nodding to one man as he stands up to rejoin the work effort. His
place in the circle is not taken immediately though, and after dealing a brisk
pat to the back, the elder Bogard drifts past the seated men to get over to his
ever-present duffel. It lies at the edge of a short pier, upon which no boat is
docked. Leaning down to snag a bottle whose top peeks tantalisingly from the
bag's top, he hauls the drink up and remains motionless for a few moments as he
uncaps it and takes a long, thirst-quenching drag.
Ah, a crisp, fresh breeze. Or is that the smell of fish stands and similarly
fragrant trawler hauls wafting about the harbor? At least it's not quite so
overpowering as the temperature abates with the sun's waning rays. Terry Bogard,
dock labourer. It's not a picture that Adelheid would have expected anyone to
draw, but it's impossible to deny. The information filtered back to him earlier
in the day, likely not long after Bogard began his little jaunt. Which has a
vague irony to it, since the mundane toilings of the Hungry Wolf let pass the
unloading of quite some amount of nefarious 'R' cargo only a few piers down,
under the heir-apparent's watchful eye, of course. That is, if a man who's life
goal is to become immortal really has an heir.
The shipment's security and subtlety is priority one, since Rugal is not
precisely forgiving of failure, but as evening presses on and the ship puts back
out to sea, well... there's nothing stopping Adel from investigating, now is
there? With the job done and the crew departed, the 'R' Lieutenant has a bit of
freedom, and while he may have numerous ideas for the night ahead, the first
involves furthering his own agenda, and education. Whatever truly motivates the
young Bernstein, he leaves the pristine late-model silver and black sportbike
where he unloaded it from the boat, and walks up the harbor towards the area
where Bogard was working. Dressed in a streamlined black-and-silver bodysuit
that looks to be mostly leather, with gloves and heavy boots to match, the
platinum blonde is certainly... out of place. But, he doesn't seem interested in
fitting in, lacking Terry's... appreciation for his fellow man, in this case.
The group shooting dice gets a scornful glance out of the corner of Adelheid's
eye, his course aligned straight for Terry, the young fighter murmuring, "What
good is one who cannot even shoulder their own load." But perhaps taking on more
is the secret of Bogard's strength. Dark eyes lose some of their pensive
distance as they lock onto the elder Wolf, and Adel pauses a few spans off, "You
are Terry Bogard." Adelheid identifies, rhetorically, his voice not carrying any
of the awe or fan fanaticism Terry might be used to. Matter of fact, rhetorical,
a simple observation, though there is respect in the tone, "I wish to see if
your strength measures up to your reputation. That is, if you aren't too tired
from doing these bludgers' work for them for a... demonstration." It's not
malevolent, though the kid definitely isn't exactly happy go lucky about this.
Curse the evil-doers, for they operate even under the senses of their
doombringers! Or not. For Terry Bogard has not overly concerned himself with
stamping out all that would oppose truth and justice - he is no man to judge
these ideals. His reputation as a defender of Southtown /is/ well earned, but
nothing but compassion and good sense brings his hand to act under any righteous
judgement. The obvious criminal is a fool to step in his path, as many have
done, and even more foolish yet to challenge the safety of those he holds dear.
No, Terry cannot defend the world. He should not. But he'll clean up his own
town, if need be.
A shame, then, that he did remain so clueless over the covert operation. A
congratulation in order for the Bernstein family though - the last thing Rugal
needs is to incite the Hungry Wolf into action, when his rash side searches for
any excuse to break a made vow. Perhaps it's good for the ponytailed blonde that
he is not approached by other than the younger son.
Adelheid's appearance at first brooks little noticeable reaction. Terry's gaze
flickers away from the distanct horizon, the mark of the ocean's end, to briefly
take in the approaching figure. His aura is a telltale sign, but there is no
need for alarm. How many fighters have approached the living legend? How many of
similar or greater power to the boy's own? Enough. There is something distinctly
familiar in both the aura and behavioural patterns, but again.. the Wolf is
cautious in ways deeper than others. Making no attempt to hide himself as might
be expected in a lesser man, he instead raises other guards, sliding emotional
dictators into place and preparing for whatever this meeting might herald.
Externally? He lowers his water bottle, capping it closed with his thumb as the
other hand busies itself drying his lips. Perhaps it's coincidence that, when
Adel approaches, he has just that instant dropped the bottle back into the bag
at his feet and reached back to pull a black leather bundle from his back
pocket. But most likely not.
"Guess I am," he confirms idly, distantly to the initial rather abrupt greeting.
Not unusual in itself, but there is that unplaceable hint in the young man
before him. Intent eyes study his appearance more closesly, his posture and his
manner before meeting that crimson gaze. Hmph. He's seen /that/ before too, in
more than one place, and the similarity with his own student does not go
unheeded in the least. This, or any other. This youth is clearly a fighter of
ability. "An' we all have our wishes, kiddo." Rolling his shoulders back to
loosen them, Terry pauses before offering a slight, lopsided grin. Lifting his
hands, he begins to pull on those fighting gloves, the material pulled into
place with deft movements and dull creaks as he continues speaking. "I might
just be tempted to grant this one, but it's kinda rude to tell a guy his name
without presenting your own... don't ya think?"
Defending this, defending that. Justice, injustice, cruelty, kindness... where
does one road end, and the next begin? If there's been one defining theme of
Adelheid's very existence... it's that sometimes, things are simply
circumstantial. The truth not always what it appears to be, and people certainly
not what they seem, "I do not mean to insult you. But I've little use for
pretense. Either you would grant the request, or you would not, and there is
little to be gained in insulting you by attempting to butter you up or disguise
my agenda, no?" Adelheid's lips quirk in a slow grin, somewhat wolfish in and of
itself. Yes, he's a fighter of ability... but it's not boasting rights or
arrogance that brings him here. He's well aware he's not a match for Terry, and
really, that's the entire point.
"Nonetheless, you may call me Adel. That will have to do." At least until Bogard
gives him reason to say more, or earns rights to demand it. The young Bernstein
tightens one thin black leather glove, and then the other, stretching his neck
lithely and considering the larger, elder fighter, "I'm afraid rude is quite
relative, in a world where both clamoring adoration and violent rage come
knocking on a man's door on a nearly predictable basis, wouldn't you agree Mr.
Bogard? I think you'll find my way a trifle more realistic, at least."
There's a light sound of amusement from Terry as he's put in his place by the
darkly clad youth, and his grin widens a touch before he can fully suppress any
outward display - not so much for his own purpose, but so as not to further
incite whatever is concerning this warrior. A simple spar happens often enough
but, indeed, appearances can be incredibly deceptive. Truth is too easily found,
too easily proven false, and then entirely easy to lose for good. There was no
real harm in trying to obtain answers directly, all it takes is an allowance for
instinct to continue... any living being wants to know what they're getting
into. How else do they hope to weather the storm?
This concern aside, Adelheid's sentiment strikes a chord. In normal
circumstances, without an itch to scratch, the Wolf would be more honest
himself. Something about the lad, even and especially in that predatory
expression, troubles him greatly. Not with fear, foreboding or anything too
concerning, more a burning curiosity. There's a story here, but no matter.
"Adel." He acknowledges when the name comes, finishing his preparations with
middle and index finger running down the palm of his right hand, testing the
resistance of the leather. Still supple, with just enough grip to get the job
done. A fine heirloom to meet a powerful heir. Little does he know.
"That'll do nicely," Terry adds after a moment, drawing in a short breath and
then giving a brisk nod. Unclad in his customary body-warmer - bearing only a
sweat-streaked white t-shirt - he looks about as ready as he can be in the
warmth. His opponent clearly unbothered, the older man does not provide a direct
answer to the first question, nor does he immediately reply to the
philosophising finale. He slips past Adel with a sidelong glance and makes his
way out toward the group of workers. Already watching the pair, they take the
hint and gather their possessions, scrambling off to one side out of harm's way
- they've seen this look in the Wolf beforee. Turning about to face his apparent
opponent, the becapped blonde raises his hands, one binding to a fist and the
other casting out a one-two beckoning motion to the nearby youngster.
"You got a bit of style. Let's see if that's backed up. C'mon."
COMBATSYS: Terry has started a fight here.
A story? Here? Naw, nothing enigmatic or particularly mysterious about this boy.
He's just your normal, run of the mill, appears-from-nowhere fighting prodigy.
Hell, he doesn't look a day over sixteen, that's for sure, but he doesn't show
any hint of fear in the face of the legendary predator himself. No weakness, or
hesitation... he is, however, alert. Keen to every movement, every step, every
hint of the rhythm and style with which Bogard himself moves. Sure, he's seen
fight vids - who hasn't? But it's very different to be face to face with a
fighter, to sense their chi, to see how they move. Analyzing and understanding
these things is fundamental to the Bernstein school of combat, and Adelheid is
almost certainly its prized pupil.
Instinct, training, skill, talent... whatever sum of these parts make up each
fighter, and influence each fight, they are certainly present here... it nearly
radiates off Bogard, it's not unlike facing down his father. But, Adel doesn't
show anything but strength before Rugal, and he seems inclined to continue the
trend, "Very well." Adel concedes simply, brushing a gloved hand through his
bangs to set the blonde mane back from his face, before rushing in on Terry,
wasting no time in putting the Wolf's defenses to the test, his right bootheel
swinging up and in as he twists to the side, snapping his foot up for Terry's
chest... a mere preliminary to the one-two flurry that follows, should he find
any degree of success, kicking around in a swift roundhouse for Bogard's temple,
and following into an immediate, fluid axe-kick that launches from his other
foot the instant the roundhouse touches ground, aligned with the Hungry Wolf's
jaw.
COMBATSYS: Adelheid has joined the fight here.
COMBATSYS: Terry blocks Adelheid's B's Destruction.
[ \\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\ < > ///////////////////////////// ]
Adelheid 0/-------/-------|-------\-------\0 Terry
Just like Rugal. Perhaps in power, in simple destructive potential. But Terry's
strength is as entirely different as his manner and choice of company, based far
more upon awareness both in himself and his own surroundings. Not upon
attempting to surpass and destroy these things. His evolution is more natural, a
fluid progression that does not thrive on pain but rather on what one takes from
that pain - there is no disguising a man who hurts things for a living, for an
existence, but there are ways to reduce the trail of destruction left in their
path. Why, one of the Wolf's most kindred spirits spends only too much time
duelling between his two sides. Sides Adelheid would know well, though his may
be somehow rooted in genetics.
Regardless. Philosophy and deep thought are sidelined for the action to follow,
and as he stops considering the youth as a person - instead training full focus
upon him as a fighter, a force of nature, Terry visibly draws himself inward.
Muscles bulge and tighten, his jaw straightens with resolve. Most notably, those
deep blue eyes gain at once a necessary distance and a piercing intensity...
familiar enough in all the finest warriors. His stance, though, only really
changes dramatically once that acknowledgement is through. Arms raise to
customary positions and his Converse heels scuff against the stone as he adjusts
his spacing minutely.
This all comes just in time to meet that opening assault, the first kick evaded
with a backward incline. The roundhouse is caught expertly with the snapping
motion from a right forearm, and the axeing final blow is pushes backward with
the opposite palm - not enough to unbalance Adel, but more than enough to give
Terry what he needs.to slide smoothly backward and execute a swift spin of the
body. Speed comes from those lithe, powerful legs but power comes purely from
upper body torque. The hand used for a simple block remains near his chin, but
the other has retracted and then been thrust out once more, in a fast and true
straight turn punch to the chin. "HAH!"
COMBATSYS: Adelheid blocks Terry's Medium Punch.
[ \\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\ < > ///////////////////////////// ]
Adelheid 0/-------/-----==|-------\-------\0 Terry
Philosophy and fighting... they seem an odd mix, at least at first glance. But
really, what good is a warrior, with nothing to fight for? The mind gives the
reason, the drive, the will... the body, merely the means, the outlet. An artist
and a brush, a poet and his pen, a fighter and his fists and feet. So it is that
this battle begins, with no-holds-barred close quarters slugging. Not the most
eloquent of expression, perhaps, but well suited to showing both men what the
other is made of.
Terry's footwork and defensive motions aren't surprising... simply impressive,
and Adelheid observes, even as he's delivering the blows that could rock lesser
warriors to the dirt straight away. A nod of respect is delivered quickly,
perhaps so quickly as to be missed in those instants between Adel's attack and
Terry's rebuttal, which Adelheid twists /into/, bringing up a vertical left
forearm in line with the potent punch, Bogard's fist impacting with bruising
force, but little more. A twist of the young Bernstein's arm deflects the strike
fully, and then that left hand shoots in, looking to heft Terry up bodily by the
front of his sweaty, grimy, nasty white shirt. Ew. At least he's wearing gloves!
Should Adel find his grip? Well, he twists around, right fist delivering a
reverberating single blow to Terry's midsection... enough power behind it to
fulfill Adel's intent of launching Terry right back into one of those oversized,
resilient crates.
COMBATSYS: Adelheid successfully hits Terry with Scorpion Blow.
[ \\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\ < > ////////////////////////// ]
Adelheid 0/-------/-----==|==-----\-------\0 Terry
Sometimes the oddest combinations can prove the best. Most would not consider
that a fighter of legendary status need toil upon the docks with labourers, but
already the rewards of Terry's excursion are obvious - a workout, time alone in
the quiet, a good deed, and... now a meeting he might not otherwise have had.
Every fight is an opportunity to learn, as is every new acquaintance though the
education will be very different. And Adelheid is proving a fascinating
experience already, still that familiar note in his brutality but a fresh grace
that clouds the nagging concern.
In any other but a man like Terry, ir would likely be gone completely. It would
not distract him generally, but as his strike is defended so successfully in
such supple motions the nagging reaches his subconscious ears and provides a
momentary lull. Drawing into the entrapping motion as a result, he attempts to
roll with it regardless, feeling the grip and starting to shift in both
directions at once - an attempt to turn about whatever slam or toss the youth
has in mind. But this, understandably, is no defence at all. Granted, striking
the Wolf likely feels something like impacting frozen meat, but Adel strikes
none the less.
After Rugal, he'd be used to the sensation.
Terry takes the blow exactly as intended, hurtling back into the 'resilient'
boxes behind. And they do stand true to that description. The blonde is slammed
harshly against once corner, but he falls no other and only splinters are made -
he moves away too quickly for the impact to last. It's a glancing blow. Leaving
the Wolf relatively fresh, and moving directly back toward Adelheid. "You're
good," he comments as he moves, sparing a single nod of approval to his opponent
before wasting no further time. Darting forward in a swift doublestep, he's
right under Adelheid's guard before he drops low, one leg trailing out front in
a fast sliding sweep. "Hah..." The expulsion marks a forced alteration to the
momentum, as should Adel's ankles be found wanting the Wolf swings himself
upward even as he continues forward, following the staggering Bernstein with a
high, swinging roundhouse which is accompanied by no flame at all.
"FIRE KICK!"
COMBATSYS: Terry successfully hits Adelheid with Fire Kick.
[ \\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\ < > ///////////////////////// ]
Adelheid 0/-------/=======|====---\-------\0 Terry
The universe works in strange and wonderous ways, or is full of coincidences
through some other means. The truth there isn't as important to Adel, perhaps,
as the reality. It's just something one deals with, and builds upon when the
opportunity appears. Of course, whatever his skills, he's a bit out of his
league here... and despite the formidably executed offense, Terry is right back
in on him. Before Adel can dart away, clear himself of Bogard's range, he's
struck hard in the ankles, staggered long enough to take the roundhouse full-on,
the blow sending the young Bernstein reeling backwards, feet nearly giving out
underneath him. Gritting his teeth, and sensing the sudden taste of blood,
Adelheid is nonetheless up in a flash.
He may not be able to /win/, but that's not his goal here... and apparently,
that goal involves pressing Terry even after getting kicked to the proverbial
curb, because it's with a sudden, swift uppercut that Adel closes the last bit
of space between himself and his adversary, right fist snapping up from his
waist, aligned squarely with Bogard's chin. He may just be a cub on the alpha
wolf's home turf, but damned if he can't make sure to leave just a bit of sting
behind on this little self-teaching expedition, "Strong as I expected." The
youth's rich tenor does utter, only slightly terse from the pain in his jaw.
COMBATSYS: Terry endures Adelheid's Strong Punch!
[ \\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\ < > ////////////////////// ]
Adelheid 1/-------/=======|=====--\-------\0 Terry
Strong as expected. The words do not cause Terry any form of pause, only gain
brief acknowledgement through a flicker in his eyes, a slight tug on the lips
marking either a witheld change in expression or some words unsaid. It cannot be
considered this is some new compliment for him, but would it be for Adelheid?
Light banter, a sentence to distract and focus all at once - and this actually
raises the respect coming from the older man, however minutely. Words are there
for a purpose. Focus /should/ remain on the physical, but speaking is no bad
thing. Generally.
In this case, the jury is out. Adelheid's wily movements catch Terry still open
in the spinning finale to his strike. He comes around with guard raising only to
find Bernstein's heir lashing in on him already, with the same hesitance he
almost showed from that last blow. There's time to complete his defence, surely,
but that time is denied in favour of another path. Fist finds flesh, grinds
against bone, and the Hungry Wolf's head jerks back. Then, he rolls with it.
Turning his face to one side, completing a joint's turn to ease off the mental
numb that can follow such a weighty punch, he once again wastes no time in
rejoining the fight.
Adel /is/ fast, but so his opponent.
Given their proximity, there are a thousand moves which could follow and most
would have a fair chance at success. But a more devastating effect could reduce
the chance of success, open up for a similar counter. It's all simple enough
tactically, and all computed by both warriors in an instant. Terry's mind is
made up before more mundane logic can intervene, and he dips low to ram a
crushing shoulder into Adel's ribcage. This, is followed upon contact by a
rising uppercut from the same arm, lifting the boy off his feet and propelling
him high into the air. "POWER-"
Launching upward to meet his slender opponent, the Wolf draws back the opposite
fist with a *whoosh* of air, and a further vacuuming sound as chi energy
crackles to life, flaming red-gold enshrouding the ponytailed one's forearm as
it flies back through the air... and then comes down on Adelheid with all the
force of Thor's hammer. Energy explodes upon impact and pitches them back toward
ground in a violent rush.
Only one for a guaranteed safe landing.
COMBATSYS: Adelheid fails to interrupt Power Dunk from Terry with Reppukyaku.
- Power hit! -
[ \\\\\\\\\\\\ < > ///////////////////// ]
Adelheid 1/--=====/=======|=======\-------\1 Terry
Alright. Steeled nerves. Check. Ready focus. Check. Unfortunately, being ready
and executing that readiness at just the right moment aren't quite the same
thing, and as Terry capitalizes on the proximity and Adelheid's own strike to
retaliate, well... the young Bernstein's own rebuttal doesn't go as planned, and
he's launched skyward, the wind rushing from his lungs, all pretense of a
counterstrike lost as he's simply /blasted/ back to the harbor, skidding over to
the start of one of the piers and rolling onto his back with a bit of a groan.
That hurt. It wasn't the /hardest/ he's been hit, but it's certainly up there,
even steadied for the initial impact as he was.
Somewhat less quickly, the younger fighter rolls to a crouch, and begins picking
himself up, really all he can accomplish for the moment. A hand rises to the
singed section of his jumpsuit, Terry's fiery blast leaving quite the sting on
the flesh beneath. Adelheid's eyes rise to Bogard, but he doesn't rush again,
still working on stopping his head from ringing as he pushes the last, arduous
motion back to a standing posture. Ouch.
"DUNK!!"
It comes on impact, a tight cry instantly cut off by clenching teeth and the
moment of collision. As his knuckles fall to punish the prodiguous warrior,
Terry does feel the boy's own energy rising in response to his own, he glimpses
the first vestiges of movement and interprets them correctly. That was likely a
very close call - and proves the younger martial artist has moxy, as if this
wasn't obvious already. After following through with his attack, the Wolf lands
not too far from Adel's first landing point, dipping briefly to a crouch as he
absorbs the impact, and then rolling back into his stance with only a swift
adjustment of his cap marking the transition. Seamless.
Something which is less than can be said for the pummelled opponent. A glance
lingers on Adelheid as he pushes himself upright, all the time he needs given
for the returning of posture. Terry is here for a spar, and while the first half
of this brawl has been based on speed and high-impact at close quarters, he's
more than happy to relax the momentum now. Nothing will be learned unless every
possible angle is explored. Or at least, as many as possible. So, casting out a
faint smile, Bogard straightens his back and lowers his arms, fists remaining
clenched but as his sides as he focuses upon his energies. They can both get
something from this lull.
Energy flickers beneath Terry's feet as he waits.
COMBATSYS: Terry gathers his will.
[ \\\\\\\\\\\\ < > ////////////////////// ]
Adelheid 1/--=====/=======|=======\====---\1 Terry
Adel doesn't protest the moments offered... he could use a deep breath or three,
after that exchange. Booted feet stabilize beneath him, and despite the pain
he's feeling, and the blood running from his lip, the young Bernstein merely
raises his guard once more, studying Terry calmly overtop of his fists. He could
rush in with abandon, but... something tells him he wouldn't be getting back up
from the attempt. So, he takes the moments as Terry centers that tremendous
charge of chi to regain his own bearings, brushing a sweat wettened lock of
blonde back from his forehead as he draws another deep, reaffirming breath. He
may not be in the best condition, but he's not down yet. His gaze steady on
Bogard, the young Bernstein seems inclined to speak, but this time, he doesn't
find the words... there are questions, concerns, curiousities perhaps...
But nothing that isn't superceded by the need for observation, focus, right this
moment. He's going to need every bit of his strength and instinct to have a hope
of giving this Wolf a real run.
COMBATSYS: Adelheid gains composure.
[ \\\\\\\\\\\\\\\ < > ////////////////////// ]
Adelheid 1/----===/=======|=======\====---\1 Terry
That energy continues to flicker until it becomes a blaze, little flamelike
motes glittering off the concrete and then dissipating in golden streams of
mist, up the full course of Terry's lower half. By the time these reach his
chest they are gone without trace into the void - or perhaps, somewhere worse
for the recovering Adel. Channelled deep into the inner reserves of the Wolf,
who keeps his focus up while his opponent lingers. There's no rush on this end -
and no words either. All feeling is expressed through a constantly locked gaze.
And in there?
Respect. And mirrored intrigue. Many questions can be asked in the thick of
battle, but through are worth the effort - those who provide answers shyly will
not break their vows when aroused. The willing can be interrogated away from
different flows and focuses.
When he judges enough time has been offered, and when the summoned charge of chi
involuntarily begins to encroach less on his being, the Hungry Wolf breaks the
silence with a fierce expulsion of breath, and rushes forward to meet Adelheid
once more. Plastic heels tear across the concrete, reddish tendrils still
clinging on by a whisker, and in the space of half a second the distance has
been covered and violent action has been taken. Launching himself off one foot
at the last possible instant, Terry's right arm whips out in a thunderous
straight punch - far greater than the one which began this bout, and accompanied
with a trademark twist of the arm. This one should look familiar.
"BURNING!!" All that gathered chi pours forth to meet at the slender boy's
sternum, Terry's fist driven home with all the resolve and intensity in his
body. The explosion upon impact is almost as great as that offered by the
earlier airborne strike. But it's better - more trained, focused, less of a
forced assault and instead marked with deadly ease. It's the demonstration, as
requested.
COMBATSYS: Terry successfully hits Adelheid with Burn Knuckle.
[ \\\\\\\ < > ///////////////////// ]
Adelheid 2/<<<<<< ////////////////// ]
Adelheid 0/-------/--=====|=======\=------\1 Terry
The blowback from Terry's attack is substantial, and as the living legend lands
he is engulfed in a retreating ring of energy - its lowers portion actually
chipping a layer from the concrete underfoot, leaving it shiny and new beneath.
This reflects the sun and only adds to the effect presented while the Wolf draws
himself up from a recovery crouch, rolling his shoulders back and loosely
throwing a side punch into the air. Perfectly loose, he has time only to retreat
a single step, warily watching the incoming Adelheid, before he is met with a
charge that reminds him strongly of one man. The style, the hair, the fighting
style... if only he hade more chance to reflect, he might get it in one.
That will have to wait for next time.
Determination meets its kindred spirit, an 'x' block much like Adel's own. But
sturdier by far. Silver-lit boot meets the guard hard and propels the ponytailed
blonde back a good eight feet, the front half of his form obscured in a renewed
mist of fading chi. But that gothic silver so different from his own fiery
red-gold - a sign of their differences, if other actions have shown their
similarities. Famiiar indeed. However, this /is/ a fight. Hang around too long
and risk giving less than your best, and worse yet; failing to find that one
insight that makes the battle worthwhile, a glimmer of knowledge to give it all
meaning. Perhaps Terry has found enough already, but perhaps not. He who
strives, finds. With a nod at the power of the technique he lowers his arms,
waits for Adelheid's landing and surges forward to meet it.
"SYAAAA!!" Crying out well before his instincts kick in with the attack for the
situation, the Hungry Wolf rears back a fist and covers the last foot until
contact with a lunging motion that provides all the momentum he needs. Slamming
his arm down, he flings himself to an offensive crouch, knuckles crashing
against the pier's surface a moment later and sending a devastating shudder
through the stone. Cracks appear as chi wells up in a violent spring, briefly
flaring around the landing Bernstein with surprising strength for the display.
It's a fair lesson in exactly how fierce the older warrior's energies burn.
COMBATSYS: Terry successfully hits Adelheid with Round Wave.
[ < > ///////////////// ]
Adelheid 1/----===/=======|=======\====---\1 Terry
Alright, the deft deflection of his most powerful technique leaves Adelheid
/just/ about out of cards, here. There's not a lot he can do except throw his
momentum out behind him as Bogard guards against the brunt of the amped-up
Genocide Cutter's force, and sets up that devious trap for the landing
Bernstein. His momentum may shift with the motion, but he doesn't land far
enough away, the churning blast of chi catching him in its wake and all but
blasting him back to the harbor ground, skidding once more into a desperate
roll. He comes up in an unsteady crouch, his reserves well and truly tapped...
there's not much option left to him, now, but... Adel still looks to take the
one he sees, sheer determination if nothing else fueling the last-ditch assault
as shaky legs push him into a haphazard sprint, all but hurling himself at
Bogard.
Adelheid seeks to simply grip the front of the Wolf's shirt, and heft him up
with what strength is left in his arms. Then... simply /blast/ through the air,
feet leaving the ground, intent on carrying Terry along on the breakneck flight
until such point as he blasts Bogard's back into the side of the nearest
warehouse, likely leaving a nice indentation in the metal. Of course, that's the
best case scenario, and it's just as likely the weary Adelheid will stumble and
fall away before cementing his grasp... he's certainly prone to topple over once
the attempt is made, either way, knees giving out beneath his battered frame.
COMBATSYS: Adelheid can no longer fight.
COMBATSYS: Terry just-defends Adelheid's God Press EX!
[ \\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\ <
Terry 0/-------/-======|
Devious in its way. Direct and to the point, Terry in full flow moves with a
precision and instinct rivalled by few - certainly not a 'perfect' style in any
way, and one that can appear far less dominating than those of others at his
level, but one that will adapt to almost every situation and find the right
leverage in the right moment. In this case, it's a deadly combination set to
ensure whatever Adelheid throws for his final shout will be futile at best. The
Wolf's searing energy opens up the field, and gives him plenty of time.
Observing the Bernstein heir in action is educational in itself. A powerful
resolution is visible in his movements, that determined note carrying through in
everything, and tells the older man all he needs to know. Names and places be
damned. This youth is one to watch out for - those who do not realise this and
raise a wary surveillance will be defeated in time. Perhaps nobody is safe,
given the potential evident in Adel's body and style. 'Safe' is deceptive in
itself... he is not overly sinister, not possessed of a dangerous anger... but
that certain something still tears at the consciousness, an obvious point trying
but failing to hammer itself home. Regardless of this, the last attack comes in,
setting further alarm bells.
The important one is rung, at least. Terry has had enough time to prepare, the
space to focus his energies, and they rise now to meet his charging opponent in
dramatic style, whipcords of chi trailing up the Wolf's arms as they raise and
push forward. Two palms meet Adel's chest and then turn outward with swift
grace, a surprising form of defence that entirely dispels his offensive. He's
left to stumble on, but with nobody to face as Bogard launches into a tight
flip, curling over and around before landing just behind Adelheid. "You put up a
pretty good fight for a kid your age," he comments quietly, falling to a relaxed
posture as one hand lifts to adjust his cap, "That style's not entirely yours,
right?"
COMBATSYS: Terry takes no action.
COMBATSYS: Terry has ended the fight here.
The air leaves Adelheid's lungs a bit more forcefully than he'd like as he
exhales with the last rush, and the sudden shove about that leaves him falling
off Terry's flank, rather than adding a bit of final, defiant pain to the Hungry
Wolf's day. Adelheid pushes himself half upright on one hand, groaning lightly
as he closes his eyes tightly a long moment, taking that time to simply steady
himself, try to retain consciousness as best he can. He doesn't right himself
entirely at first, offering, "All our styles... are passed on from somewhere."
Hey, it's the truth. All these 'ancient arts' and 'family traditions' aren't
exactly original styles, whatever flair or personalization an individual
practitioner might add.
"All styles take and give pieces of themselves to one another, through the
fighters who utilize them through the years." the young Bernstein continues,
pulling himself to his feet with a suppressed grimace, "Thank you, yours was a
style I needed to see personally." Adel rubs at one shoulder and stretches his
arm out to the side, apparently not tired of being evasive just yet.
They seem to be taking turns, weaving between the direct and the mysterious as
quickly as they were weaving between the offensive and defensive in that first
exchange. There's a metaphor for combat in everything though - this has little
real meaning, another mere observation much like those the fighters have found
in one another today. Nuances in style, a certain attitude or a specific move.
Whatever they were searching for, some satisfaction seems present in both.
This sense of fulfillment does not seem to dwindle as Adelheid's answer reaches
Terry, the older man lowering his hand from cap's brim and idly hooking a thumb
into a beltloop. Leaning back on sturdy heels to rest his legs, he glances down
at the younger Bernstein with a penetrating gaze. Considering him for a few
moments before he offers any form of reply, the Hungry Wolf's emotions are
fairly well disguised. Plain enough is the agreement in the half-smile he gives,
the faintest bowing of his head functioning as a more directly communicative
reply. They've both grown themselves in the same way, though their backgrounds
no doubt differ in another manner - only too greatly, if his hunch proves
accurate.
"Give and take," he echoes finally, smile widening to a frank expression of
gratified acceptance, "Only too welcome. You've got some interesting moves goin'
on - could barely keep up at the start, there. Don't take this badly... but I'll
be keeping an eye on you, kid." Terry does not wait for a reply to fall before
he nods and turns away, slowly making his way over to his bag and hauling it up
in a single, smooth motion that sees it hooked across his back. The body-warmer
hangs on a post nearby, which hangs wonky after the battle but has not shed its
burden. Garment tucked in the crook of his arm, the living legend turns back
around to his opponent, hand on his jacket-bearing arm lifting to send off a
two-fingered, casual salute. "Seeya 'round, and my regards to your master.
You've learned well."
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