Sleeping Dogs Wake Up Anyway. [T |PM2ENTR]

[Deleted]

The Drowsy Dog pub. A place that's as filthy and unintelligent as it's title. The macabre establishment is walled in with eroding concrete and decaying plaster. The tables are rustic and comprised of no particular material or structural style, ranging from basic wood flat-backs to wooden stools and plastic chairs. The whole place reeks of ale, cigarette smoke and grunge. Leaks that sprout from the ceiling and go unnoticed, litter is completely disregarded and the bartender will serve pretty much whoever walks in.

The people who come down here are mostly street brawlers or junkies, and fights break out on an hourly basis. The Drowsy Dog is the lowest point in the otherwise lawful and clean Takigakure society. Just entering this tavern is proof of one's courage.

Overall, this place is good for only two things.

Alcohol and a good brawl.

[Deleted]

[/quote]

[0 | 10]

I sat upon a splintered wooden stool at the front of the bar, hands clasped in front of my face, elbows propped up on the bar. My turquoise-green eyes gazed absently forth, seeing what those around me, cackling drunkenly and joking with their intoxicated pals, could not. I didn't mind the ruckus; it distracted me from my wandering thoughts. But not in the way that a good brawl could.

The bartender served me the shot I had requested, and I promptly downed it in one, bottoms up, slamming it down with unnecessary force. Anywhere else the bartender would've probably looked at my face and asked "Hey, how old are you?" but here he simply snuck me a grin, as if he approved of my daring. I didn't take much notice.

But apparently someone did. From beside me I heard a voice, rough and distinctly male. "Hey, girly, ain't you too young to be drinkin'?" He jeered, sounding slightly inebriated. I rolled my eyes testily from behind my curtain of hair, and then turned to him slightly. "Mind your own business." I snapped back at him.

He seemed overjoyed at this reaction. "Perhaps you should step out, missy, 'fore you break a nail." He said, leading me on now. I could tell he was trying to piss me off, and it was working; but it would ultimately be to his detriment. But I refused to be on the defensive anymore. If it was a battle he wanted, it was a battle he'd get. "I'm more concerned about your bones." I replied, sounding as if I was reluctantly admitting it.

My verbal opposition sounded as if he was about to snort, but stopped himself just in time. Such a poorly articulate retort would mean an instant loss. I turned to him now, really looking at him for the first time, my eyes hard, but with no other intent showing in them. All part of the act; leading him on; stirring up his anger.

I got my first good look at him. He was a pretty big bloke, perhaps a head taller than me, with a solid build, with olive skin, no hair to speak of and a mean face like a bulldog. He was sitting on a stool two across from me, leaving one empty in the space between us, and was flanked by three guys, all of which could've been his brothers, except the black guy in the back, who was slightly taller but less muscly. Each one had adopted a threatening gesture, from the cliche fist-in-hand pummeling, to what appeared to be a neck warm-ups. Only my verbal opponent remained calm and seated.

He had composed himself enough to come up with yet another retort. "I think you'd better scram, girly, 'afore the big boys decide they've had enough of your tough-talk." He grinned impishly at me. I pondered that for a moment, my eyes reducing to slits as I glared at him. I was beginning to get better at this taunting thing, the words of my adversary drawing out a fresh reply to best him.

I could see through his calm composure, the way the nerves were showing on his hands as he gripped his beer bottle; the way an intense loathing burned in his beady little eyes. I knew one more good statement would have him over the edge, and then I could unleash some of my anger on him and his gang of thugs.

I lowered my voice slightly. "At least this girly is more than tough talk." I almost hissed, sneering.

And then he charged at me.[/ul][/font]

[|Ayame Unbound|]

+10

[Deleted]

[/quote]

[0 | 30]

The guy was up in an instant, spinning off his stool to throw a formless punch in my direction. I was off my seat in the same moment, spinning two-hundred-eighty degrees in my seat to the right - and away from him - grabbing it with two hands and holding it aloft as a defense. It connected with his gut, but it did little but ward him off. He stood up now, all quipping pretense gone. His cronies promptly took up positions all around him, two to his right, one to his left.

Sneering, I threw the object down at my feet, proceeding to stomp on one of it's decaying legs just below the seat. The wood snapped under my foot, and I quickly snatched it from the floor, holding it in front of me like a sword. Improvisation was a vital part of this kind of impulsive brawling. I squeezed the wood gently. It seemed sturdy enough, but the damp and dank had left it slightly weakened. Hopefully it would be enough to crack open these brute's thick skulls.

A vein popped in my main adversary's temple. Following my example, he grabbed his bottle of alcohol off the bar, took a long, final swig, and brought it down upon the desk's surface that it shattered in two. The relatively innocent glass had now been turned into a menacing, jagged weapon that glinted at me in what tiny amount of sunlight leaked into this grungy establishment. Then the guy rushed forward and took a swipe at me.

"Round one, fight!" I muttered sarcastically under my breath. Strategy wasn't something I thought about much; I lived more for the moment, fight-wise anyway. So when the brute lunged at me, I let my conscious mind shut down, and instead relied on the base instincts; and those instincts told me to fucking parry right bloody now.

He came at me overhead - probably because he had a height advantage - swinging the glass weapon downward, aiming for my head. I responded by using my own makeshift instrument, gripping one end of it with each hand, stepping surely inward and using it to block my attacker at the wrist. I buckled slightly under the weight, but my opponent had it much worse, the blunt impact on his forearm causing him to recoil, gripping the injured area in pain and leaning over slightly. I immediately lowered my weapon, shifting my grip back to a single end. I winded up horizontally, and, trying to get a feel for my temporary weapon, swung a baseball shot right at his exposed skull.

I didn't get the positioning exactly right; the attack connected with his temple a little further along the wood than I would've liked. But nonetheless there a sickening crack! as I hit, knocking the guy sideways and causing him to stumble into the bar, knocking the breath out of him and sending him sprawling to the ground.

Not showing any hesitation, I raised my weapon above my head and swung it down towards his face, boiling, indirect anger bolstering my strike. It broke his nose on impact and knocked him out cold.

"Player one wins." I muttered, keeping up my personal theme.

Furiously incredulous, the guy's three followers simply stood there and gawked at me for a moment. In fact it seemed everyone in the bar had their eyes on me; I'd sorta forgotten about those guys. The pause kinda ticked me off, especially because now I was the absolute center of attention. I used the moment to toss my weapon back and forth between my hands tauntingly, getting to used to it's feel there. It was good to know how to handle a weapon you could create in an instant; I tried to cement this knowledge in my mind.

In that instant I heard a grumble, and my attention snapped back up to my three remaining opponents. They had thawed out, and looked about ready to get down to business.

"Round two, fight."[/ul]

[Deleted]

[/i] My gladiator's instinct. The voice that knew what was best for my survival at all times. So, unquestioningly, I obeyed.

I bunched down on my heels for a second, building the energy necessary to jump. Then I leaped toward the tabletop, issuing a second jump as my feet connected with its face. I raised my weapon all the way back behind my head, and watched, everything going a little slower than I thought it should have, as my enemy gazed dumbly at my air assault. I brought the weapon down at the exact moment it should have, the timber smacking firmly into his forehead, and I had no doubt that he would be seeing stars; that or nothing at all. I hit him before my legs hit the ground, sending a massive jolt through my entire body, and so my landing was a bit off.

When I was finally standing proper, I looked down to observe my work. The guy's head was bleeding, and he wasn't moving; a good sign for me. I grinned momentarily before I came to grips with a fairly obvious fact. The groaning stopped. One to go.

And so, with one final effort, I pivoted swiftly on my heel, stick in hand, building momentum all the while...

I spun almost three-sixty, so there was quite a bit of force in my drive. The wood connected with the second guy's jaw, giving off a satisfying crunch, and after a moment he crumpled to the floor. I twirled the wood in my hands absently as I looked over the bloodied, ruined figures at my feet, leaning slightly on my stick.

And that's when the clapping started.[/ul]

[Deleted]

[/i] guy had been the leader all along.

He sauntered forward, slowly, nonchalant, and I once again raised my stick up and sideways, so that it pointed at the ceiling to the right of my shoulder. Threat was laden in my gesture. He didn't seem to notice, trekking forward very slowly. "I have to admit, I'm mildly surprised you were able to beat all three, and without a scratch." "Yeah, I intend to keep up the winning streak." I spat back at him.

His eyes narrowed, pleased by my aggressive comeback. "We shall see." He said darkly.

Then his fist was right in my face, and not even my natural fighter's instinct could keep up. It was all I could do just to strafe to the left and avoid his attack; but as soon as I had completed this action he rotated slightly and shoved a kick out with his big boot behind him, aimed at my midsection. I managed to bring my weapon down and block his foot, but, quick as a striking snake, he had turned and thrown another punch at my face.

But I was quicker. I responded by stepping lightly to my left and ducking my head, his hand whistling by my face, stirring my orange locks, causing them to whip out like tongues of vicious flame. He was open for the moment, so with as much force as I could manage I swung my weapon at his stomach. It connected, but, to my surprise and horror, he didn't seemed very perturbed by the impact, simply gasping a little and stepping back slightly. I immediately jumped backwards, a self-preserving instinct, now in a fairly open arena, most of the bar's attendants sitting cautiously in their seats, watching the rumble with interest in their eyes.

"My money's on the girl." I heard someone whisper, but I was too shocked to be amused. That same attack I had just used on the leader had rendered his cronies out of action for ten or twenty seconds, whether as he just stood there, as calm as before, a small smile on his face. "Surprised?" He asked. It was obviously a rhetorical question; that emotion was written all over my face. "I'm afraid I'm much more... sturdy than my subordinates." He said, waving a careless hand at the three unconscious bodies behind him. Then, serious now, he said, "I'm afraid you're in over your head, little girl."

Suddenly my shock heated up, and suddenly it was fuel for my anger. There was nothing else in the world now; just me, him, and our arena. My eyes burned with the desire to beat him, and, shouting a war cry, I charged at him.

First I came at him from overhead, an attack which he blocked one-handed, almost toying with me. I hated that; I attacked a second time with even more force, coming at him from the right. He blocked that with other hand, and then came at me with the opposite one, attempting to hit me with his palm. I side-stepped that, and tried my luck at hitting him in the gut again. Once again, it connected, but once again, he didn't seem to be all that hurt.

I followed up swiftly, smacking the timber into his left hip; but it was like hitting a brick wall: My attack all but bounced off, sending me stumbling backwards. My enemy massaged his hip for a second, the way I would have if a child had hit me there. A growl ripped through my throat, and, with one final effort, I swung at his head.

My attack hit, clunking against his head. But to my dread, there was a horrible splintering sound, followed by a spray of sawdust, as my weapon split in two.[/ul]

[N A T S U M I]

+30; Learned.

[Deleted]

[/quote]

[0 | 10]

I leaped back from my resilient opponent, tossing the now broken stick that I had hit him with a few times - with little result - to the side. It clattered against a wall of some sort, before I heard it hit the floor. The surrogate weapon had served me well in dispatching three of my enemies, but now a much more skilled fighter - the leader of the group, as it turned out - had presented himself before me, and he was proving to be an adept opponent, someone I could fight on with equal footing.

This irked me a little; I'd never had to really consider or strategize my way though a battle; most of the time it was all in the moment. But for once I couldn't rely on instinct alone; I had to actually think before I acted. I decided that, since he seemed so proficient at parrying attacks, that I'd divert his attention away from my strikes. The question was how.

The guy recovered from my blow - the final strike my makeshift tool could stand - while I deliberated. The coffee-skinned guy shook his head a bit, and I was glad - and a little relieved - that my attack had damaged him. He had seemed almost impenetrable before, not at all responding to my blows. And as such, I knew my only chance was to hit a sensitive spot; the groin, perhaps, but I was thinking the neck. And to hit such a well-guarded area I would need a distraction; a distraction that would come in the form of a foot-stomp.

The dude's eyes blazed momentarily with what appeared to be a combination of excitement and lust for retribution. He charged at me.

As he closed the short gap between us, I pondered my tactics one more time. Get inside his attack, leaving him open, and stamp on his front foot, then wham an uppercut into his jugular. That was the plan: Plans never work out quite right.

We both met in combat once more. The guy, predictably, threw a massive haymaker directly at my head. He used his right arm, extending his left foot. My target was locked. I snuck inside his attack, moving slightly down and to my right. I followed up immediately by bring my leg up to my chest and slamming it down towards his unguarded foot.

Unfortunately for me, he recognized the motion. I wasn't paying much attention to his face, but I got the impression that his eyes widened, at least judging by the almost inaudible gasp he let out. He swung his foot backwards off the ground from where it was planted at the last second, leaving me to tramp on the hard floor, jarring my leg. Ow. I winced. But that wasn't the least of my troubles. The guy had shifted all his weight onto his back foot, and now used his balance to swing the winded up leg directly into my midsection. I gasped, the breath whooshing out of me as I spat blood. A sick, crushing pain surged through my gut. I was momentarily stunned, and he used this vulnerability to proceed with a punch to the face with one of his big, burly fists.

His knuckles connected with my face, and the sheer impact of it caused my brain to jostle around in my head, flashing stars and bleeding spots of black into my vision. I blinked a few times, to flush these images out, as my mind registered the blunt, cruel agony in my jaw. It may have been broken. I gripped at it instinctively, wanting the pain to end; my other hand went straight to my gut.

LOOK UP, FOOL! The voice in the back of my head screamed frantically at me, and I responded just in time. The guy was right in front of me, even though I was pretty sure I went back at least five paces, and had another punch wound up, just ready to finish me off. There was no time to think, no time to plan, and no time to hesitate. The gladiator in my brain instantaneously summoned up the last technique it remembered, and sent the signals to my muscles in the same millisecond. I pivoted slightly round, my leg lifting slightly before it struck down like a snake before his punch could even be thrown.

I forced all my body weight down on the assault, and he seemed to feel it. He groaned sharply; his punch came forward with but a tiny bit of power and nil accuracy. I quickly bunched down on my muscles, winding up an attack of my own, and rose up with a raging uppercut that smashed right into his throat. What might have originally been an exclamation turned to a gurgle in his constricted throat, and he crashed to the floor as I moved my fist.

"The bigger they are..." I managed, my breathing haggard and rough. "The harder they fall."

And everybody cheered. I heard some people saying things like, "Pay up." and, "Told you so." But I barely noticed. I trudged over to the bar, where one of the felled cronies' drinks lay untouched. I gulped it down quickly, exhausted, before slamming it down on the tabletop.

"You'd better get out of here, kid." The bartender suggested lightly. "Before one of 'em wakes up."

I was all too happy to oblige.

[Exit][/ul]

[KARKAT]

+10 ; <3

[Deleted]

[/quote]

[0 | 30]

So now I found myself in the pub again for the umpteenth time. As soon as I sat down I ordered a quick round of sake and slurped it down quickly. I wasn't particularly moody, nor did I really have any sorrows to drown, but sometimes it just felt good to lose myself in the depths of the drink. And maybe beat someone up. I usually ended up doing that pretty much every time I came here.

The damp, dank and alcoholic emissions all seeped up my nose, forming an altogether unpleasant, but nonetheless familiar, odor. I was also somewhat accustomed to the raucous of intoxicated laughter that echoed around the crumbling walls. For a while I busied myself with the drink, just sort of absorbing all the surrounding sounds.

Laughter, banging on tables, chatter and something else...

There was that twinge; that twinge that told me I was in serious danger. My Gladiators Instinct. It was telling me that... something was close... very close... RIGHT BEHIND YOU.

My eyes widened as I felt the presence suddenly zero in on me, and suddenly the stupor that may or may not have been was gone. I ejected myself off my stool, sensing that my attacker wasn't quite that close yet. I couldn't hear anything else but the clomp of two heavy footsteps behind me, likely from the same being, and in that instant I made my decision. I shifted my weight onto my left foot, rooting it firmly into the damp concrete. I then threw my hips in a leftward rotation, my right foot taking flight, and and as a result torqued my body in a 180º spin. My attack glided through the air with me, a feat that would not have been possible without my continued anchor, the opposite foot.

And then I saw the guy, an instant before my attack clunked into his jaw. The black guy. From before. And he looked in the mood for a fight. His face painted the perfect picture of anger, and he was moving in fast. At the current velocity, and at my attack's trajectory, we'd hit in just a m-

Then my attack clunked into his jaw, jostling both parties almost in equal. Perhaps my footing hadn't quite as adamant as I thought; at any rate, my attack created a sharp crack: It felt like I had just tried to kick in nearly dried concrete, only normal concrete wouldn't have groaned in pain. But still, rather than conquering my opponent's jaw and following through, my leg ricocheted off his face and I recoiled, stumbling a little before hitting the bar and leaning against it, my hands pressed against its surface. I promptly pushed off it and stood up in a ready position once more.

"You!" I shouted, my eyes blazing fire. I hadn't thought I'd see this bastard again, after the main course of ass-whooping I dished out in our last encounter. Still massaging his jaw, the black dude replied, "Yes, me. Didn't think you'd get away with destroying my entire gang, did you? No. I'm here now. But I'm not the only one."

Reading his inferred meaning I glanced to my right. Then to my left. Finally I looked further up one of the rows of tables. The last guy had been sitting alone, but now his chair scraped back and he stood up, walking over and taking his place beside his boss. I recognized this guy as the one that had hit the deck last time I faced this little 'gang'. They were here. And they looked madder than before, if that were possible.

Oh... shit.[/ul]

[Deleted]

[/i] I though with some amusement, but it didn't show up on my face.

"It appears as if you're trapped." The gang leader said simply, shrugging, not showing any indication that he had been smashed across the jaw by a roundhouse kick mere seconds ago. As he said this, the two cronies on my left and right side began to move steadily towards me, shuffling slowly forward, fists held up in an aggressive position. I bit my lip grimly, and now my main focus was shifting back and forth between them, and only them. I knew a few more paces and they would assault me simultaneously, and I couldn't afford that. The dude on the left blocked the only exit, so I took the only course of action I could visualize in this situation.

I spun on my heel and launched myself straight at one of the guys.

The one on the right, more specifically. It only took a few long strides to reach him, and he was a bit too slow to react to my sudden attack. People like him didn't expect to be attacked back, oh no. So I had no trouble slinging my fist back and punching him, completing a full-on bulrush, knocking him back, and out cold.

But it appeared as though my opponents had learned a little from our last counter. Rather than standing dumbstruck and gawping at my impromptu charges, I could hear the guy behind me rapidly approaching. Luckily I was already on the topic of dealing with attacks from behind.

I quickly stood up straight and relaxed my muscles, utilizing the instant before the rapidly approaching blow struck, to close my eyes and take one sharp, centering breath. That done, I bended my knees down - hoping that this upgrade would improve the stability of my assault - using my right foot, once again, as a firm ballast. I then used all the gravity and mass off my hip muscles to set my entire body on a course to the dude's face. The motion of the center muscles jerk caused my foot to ascend, and as I pivoted the force of my turn kept my striking limb aloft.

When I was about half way through the turn I saw the guy. It turned out I had judged the distance between us almost perfectly: He was exactly where I had pictured him to be, face contorted with rage and a haymaker wound up and ready. I gritted my teeth in an animalistic growl, making sure that the last moment he would remember till he inevitably woke up would be one of fright.

And so I completed the wheeling maneuver, and, sure enough, my foot struck the guys temple - if I remember correctly, that was the place I had hit in our last meeting, but the gang members all looked pretty much the same - and he let out a gasp. I had a much better experience this time, my leg flowing through the attack past the guys face. He sort of hung there for a moment as I ceased my rotation and put my attacking foot firmly back down on solid ground, and then he fell, either dazed or unconscious. Either one was good for the time being.[/ul]

[Deleted]

[/i]" and that made my decision for me. It had to be one of his members, not him himself. That would've required a far stronger course of action.

I was already standing, and from my short experience in this sudden rotating technique I had learned to roughly judge the timing right, making my whirling attack hit the desired point just as the target entered the attack zone. So for a moment I remained frozen, narrowing my eyes. Most people in the pub were completely gone from my mind; but, surprising myself with my instant of tactical genius, I looked up into the bartender's eyes, who was undoubtedly staring at the approaching figure, and used that to help my deduction.

Then, in the millisecond that I felt that the rapidly approaching figure would be a sufficient distance from me, but also close enough for my assault to land. I once again bent down onto my left leg, feeling repetitive, but doubting that my enemies were intelligent enough to recognize and effectively dodge the attack anyway. This time I made sure all my weight was concentrated on my right heel, as from experience I had discovered that this was the most effective rotor. I twisted sharply around, positioning my hands so as to maintain stability more effectively.

As predicted, I snapped around at more or less the right moment. And as my foot connected with the guy's cheek, I further used my hips to drive my attack downward, continuing the force even after the initial impact. I heard something snap in his face. Good. He hit the floor hard, and I knew I wouldn't have any more trouble with him.

And then there was one. Well, two if you counted me, but... one more enemy.[/ul]

[N A T S U M I]

+30; Learned. Loved it!

[Deleted]

[/quote]

[0 | 5]

And then there was one. Well, two if you counted me, but... one more enemy.

I looked up at the final guy, coffee-skinned and looking serenely amused as ever. He didn't seem to have registered that I'd just decimated his entire party, but this time I wouldn't let his calm pretense unnerve me. He was just like the rest of them; big, stupid and slow. I could beat him. No problem.

Perhaps he was trying to create the air of a final fight, because he didn't move much. He just sort of smirked in my general direction and clenched his fists ever so slightly. I was reminded of the classic Western pistol duel. I almost expected a tumbleweed to blow through the door for a minute. He even narrowed his eyes. My god, the whole atmosphere was so dumb.

I almost guaranteed I'd come up with at least a couple hits from this battle - which I hoped would start soon - and I decided I didn't want to remember it too much. I inclined my head backward almost imperceptibly toward the bartender. "Give me something strong." Was all I said. My opponent grinned broadly as I looked at him, and then ever so slowly he started to advance, taking small, nonchalant steps. The bartender seemed not to realize he was being spoken to, and then suddenly he got the meaning. He stumbled a bit and then I heard something hit the table. "How much?" I asked, grabbing the bottle of... whatever he had decided to give me. He just mumbled something incoherent, so I dished out the usual amount of Ryo from my pocket and grabbed the bottle, up-ending it and skulling it all down in one go.

All the while my opponent ventured closer. When I'd finished the drink I put it slammed it back down on the tab-

CRASH!!!

I blinked stupidly, feeling very dizzy all of a sudden. After a second I moved my gaze to the source of the noise and my eyes met the sight of hundreds of glass shards splashed across the floor. Oh. I missed the bar. Damn.

So why was I here? Oh yeah. I remembered. Shaking my head, I looked back up at the guy, who wasn't that far away now. Drowsily I lifted my fist, my arm limp and feeble. Fuck. Maybe this hadn't been such a good idea. I managed to keep it in place, but this used almost all my focus. Straining my woozy mind, I managed to lift the second one. The hell did this guy give me? Some crazy shit, that's for damn sure.

My opponent smiled, seeming pleased at my obviously inebriated state. Shit. Shit. Shit. But hang on, calm down. He was coming, faster now. I only had a moment before he'd be on me.

I squinted, trying to get a feel for my arms: I had trouble coordinating them. But they were there, same as always and everything. I just had to make 'em work properly. I projected my mind down to my legs, trying to picture my center of gravity. I shook back and forth a bit, but I was getting a feel for this drunken state, like I could control the the unruliness. The sways were almost like a pattern, and if I really strained my mind, I could control their direction, like a goddess of some kind of sea of alcohol coursing through my veins or some trippy shit like that.

I fixed my eyes back on the black guy. He was about to strike; I could tell.

It was time to test these new abilities of mine.[/ul]

[OOC: I realize the 'quality of writing' and metaphors and whatnot degrade as the post goes on: It's meant to be like that. It's first person and she's drunk. Yeah. Creativity. Sort of thing.]

[Ancestor Febrie]

+5

[Deleted]

[/quote]

[0 | 10]

So now I was in a pub, drunk, about to face a much larger and physically enduring opponent than myself.

Crap. This was going to be a challenge.

Despite the fact that I had somewhat grown accustomed to my woozy state, I still wasn’t confident with going head-to-head with this guy while not at one hundred percent fighting can-do capacity. He was only a couple of paces away – within moments he would strike. The question was, would I be able to counter?

A little smarter than his comrades, the black guy did not perform the classic wind-up-over-the-shoulder, which had failed his subordinates on numerous occasions while in combat with little old me. Instead he threw his entire body back, keeping a hand held up in case I chose to attack him while he prepared his assault. I didn’t. Instead I calmly waited out his attack, swaying back and forth ever so slightly, trying to keep the undulations in time, everything appearing to move a little too slow.
He then swung, utilizing all his brute force, directly at my torso. The moment he did this I was just about to shift backward in my slightly tamed result of intoxication. Instead of simply slipping backward slightly, I exaggerated the movement greatly, flipping backwards till I my spine was almost horizontal. How I did this I wasn’t quite sure; I must have been stretching my flexibility limits beyond, well, their limit, but I didn’t feel a snapping in my back or any sort of pain, and thus my face stayed perfectly indifferent. My opponent’s attack sailed harmlessly over my body, and I immediately used all the strength from my back muscles to force myself back up into a standing position.

The fuck did the bar guy give me? It was giving me fucking superpowers. Or maybe I’d just never been this drunk before. I was probably seriously damaging my spine.

Either way, I arose just fine, and I was suddenly face-to-face with my enemy. All his momentum had gone with the attack, and he had no choice but to follow through, leaving him hopelessly vulnerable. I decided to make use of his weakness.

The fluidity of my movements seemed to have advanced, because I no longer felt the need to tense my muscles and brace for impact, or for the fast movement and exertion of my body. I simply used my backward swaying motion to fluently move back, charging up my attack. I splayed the fingers of my right hand and pulled back the corresponding arm, but bent my index digit onto the curve of my thumb, effectively loading my weapon. My left hand went out to his face, hanging aloft just in front of it. By now he had almost recovered from his attack and was readying himself for round two. But I was one step ahead of him.

With a forward waving motion like that of water, I whipped my whole body forward and snapped my attacking arm at the guy’s face, pulling my guard limb back in the same moment.

In the last instant, I let my middle finger slide out of it’s holster, which flicked forward almost instantaneously, carrying the power of all my forward momentum on that tiny point: My whole assault was not unlike the striking of a snake, the body moving sinuously forward in a killer motion, the head striking forward and biting at the enemy…

With all that force behind my attack, even though its idea was childish and ineffectual, the impact was still considerable. I hit my adversary right between the eyes, and he instinctively closed his eyes and yelped in pain. His head even ricocheted a tiny bit, and I knew that, just for a second, he was completely at my mercy. And I would grant him none.[/ul]

[JiMmIyZ - Hel]

+6 Talk more about actually training the technique

[Deleted]

[OOC: The training was meant to include taming the drunkenness, as well as the attack. I mean honestly. Try to write 10TP worth of flicking someone in the face =_=]

[/i] was admittedly quite intoxicated, having just rashly drunk alcohol of unknown nature given to me by the bartender.

With determination reinforced by disgust at the sight of my adversary's face contorted in loathing, I quickly attempted to strike for a second time. I decided that it was best to be ambidextrous with this technique in case of the need of such versatility ever arose. My hand which had once struck flew to my enemy's head, partially cutting off his view of the actions I was about to perform. Trying to utilize all my speed I snapped back my opposite hand, once again curling my finger deftly into the immature trick, which would now become a deadly weapon. My digit was coiled neatly in the curve of my thumb, and I swayed forward, adding even more momentum to my attacking maneuver...

Once again, like the serpent, I pulled back my guarding hand and used the elastic effect to whip my flicking hand forward, all the while keeping my eyes pinpointed on the miniature target; the very center of the black guy's nose. I gritted my teeth as I swung my assault forward, and as it reached a suitable distance from my opponent's face I let the tension in my fingers explode, cracking my enemy squarely between the eyes. He gasped indignantly, probably not expecting me to try the same tactic again. This time he seemed genuinely disoriented, not being able to focus on me properly.

Now to dish out some serious punishment.[/ul]

[ladymia]

+4 <3

[Deleted]

[/quote]

[0 | 80]

So now my enemy had been momentarily stunned. I knew that he was likely to recover in a matter of seconds, so I promptly attempted a second maneuver, one that I’d simply plucked from my cortex, that would be extremely difficult to pull off but devastating if I actually managed to perform it correctly.

The first part of the attack demanded that I perform a forward handstand, a move that effectively left my spine wide open, but I risk that I’d take anyway. I swayed backwards, lifting my hands up as if I were about to bow in prayer to something and looking remarkably like a puppet being manipulated on strings by some sort of child. But this was all part of the routine. I’d then whip my entire body forward, keeling over as I did so, moving forward and following my opponent as he stumbled slightly back from my strike to his eyes moments ago.

‘I must be pretty smashed to actually be doing this.’ I thought as my hands connected with the ground, and for a moment I looked almost like a quadruped. I had performed many handstands as a child, but that practice had been abandoned, as I became a teenager. In that tiny instant, I thought back to my childhood, where I’d topple time and time again in our backyard; this was of course before both my mother and father had died. I remember feeling the strain on my hands and arms, grinding them deep into the earth and throwing my legs up in the air not unlike a horse. I recalled, after being too afraid and chickening out for the umpteenth time, that I finally took it a tad too far and simply threw my entire weight forward, going head over heels. The trick was to find a balance between the two forces.

And as such, my muscles responded to my mind’s short reminisce rather well; I kicked up my heels, attempting to keep my chest straight as I flipped up over onto my hands. There was a horrible, sickening moment when I thought I had overdone the attempt and that I was going to roll over, like a fool, onto my back. But after a second I righted myself and I was effectively balanced. I dared to raise my head, and I looked at the guy, who had almost recovered from his brief instant of confusion.

It was time to hit him. Hard.[/ul]