Violent Yankee Quest

[shaderic]

You don't have a lot of personal possessions.

Your clothes tend to be threadbare, practical, and cheap.

The computer you do your coursework on is dwarfed in processing power by Luvia's phone.

Your apartment is small and almost empty. Food, a toothbrush, a couple of other mementos. Most of your life could fit into a tiny box.

But one thing you do have, is pride. A lot of it. It's that pride that led to more fights, more pain, more bruises, cuts, and broken bones than you can remember. It's that pride that demanded whenever you lost that, even if you were a good sport about it, you came back for a rematch. That demanded your all in everything you did.

It's that pride that managed to get you into university.

And now, it's that pride that drives your fists.

Luvia isn't fighting you with everything. Her breathing is too steady, her body too calm, her eyes too measured. She's too in control of herself and her body. You haven't pushed her to the edge, if you've been challenging her at all.

You should do something about that.

In a normal fight, your will just guides your reactions. Each blow is too fast to waste time thinking about, so your body does it for you. Your brain just spots details and works out where to hit, leaving the 'how' to your arms.

Your eyes have already started to sting from the sweat.

No weaknesses, too fast, too stable.

So you abandon defense for offense, shifting your stance further back and lower, telegraphing loud and clear that you're going to deck her in the face with a punch that can lift her clean off her feet.

Against Luvia, this is normally a recipe for disaster. She's a practitioner of a certain grappling style that could waltz right through this move and use it to throw you into a wall. But that's OK.

Your fist sails forward, her arms snake around it, hips already twisting for the launch. And you pull her into it, over balancing the throw and kicking off the ground, turning it into a whirling twist that manages to rip her off her feet and into the corner. The ropes tangle her hands up just enough for you to start whaling on her.

Hard and heavy hits, straight to the gut.

The kind of blows that would have a normal person spitting up blood and where you'd normally be able to feel ribs start to creak. The kind you and Luvia have only exchanged a few times before.

A few seconds later, you pause, breath hitching in your throat as the oxygen you brain so desperately needs gets caught in a stupid gasp. Your hands ache with a very familiar warm and wet feeling that tells you there's probably something red dripping out of your knuckles. Like you've been punching an iron wall. Luvia's leotard is covered in bloody stains, but there's not even a tear in the material. Her exposed skin is pale, healthy, and unbruised. There's not even a hair out of place on her head.

All that red's just from your hands.

And if she wasn't sure you noticed something up before, Luvia's certainly aware now. And judging by the way she's biting her lip, she's actually hesitating in telling you for some reason.

[ ] Fuck it, you don't care. She wants to have secrets, fine. Not like this is the first thing she's kept from you.
[ ] ... We're friends Luvia, right? This... fuck you're bad at the touchy-feely shit. The point is, is she... you don't fucking know, OK or something?
[ ] ... That's actually an awful lot of blood. Maybe you should think about cleaning that up before somebody gets the wrong idea.
[ ] What the actual fuck, Luvia? It's like you're made of god-damn titanium, the shit is going on?

 

[shaderic]

Absolutely drenched with sweat, your shirt feels heavy and sticky. Wiping your forehead with your arm gives you a glance at your bloody knuckles, which sets a pragmatic part of your mind partitioning out bandages and disinfectant for later. Even your hair feels stupidly heavy and makes you consider not for the first time just cutting it all off.

Luvia on the other hand, barely looks winded.

A light sheen on her brow, but there's not even a hair out of place. The most you've managed to do is stain her leotard with your own blood.

Years ago, you would've cussed her out. Maybe just kept wailing on her, targeting her head directly. Even if her skin is suddenly like iron, her weight hasn't changed. Giving her a concussion by jostling her brain in her skull is still something entirely possible through blunt trauma.

But Luvia's a friend, and you've acquired some tact from hanging out with all this time.

"What the actual fuck, Luvia? It's like you're made of god-damn titanium, the shit is going on?" Not a lot though. Just enough to hide the fact that you're pissed off by how much she held back and replace the rage in the question with some genuine curiosity. And here she flinches. On another person, it'd be a freakishly tiny wince. But you know her. You've fought her.

And you're right next to her.

It's impossible to miss.

You grit your teeth and step back, giving her some room to catch her breath. Not because she actually needs to, but some space when you're feeling pressured is always nice, and you just did throw a lot at her. It takes a minute for her to find the words, which must feel like an eternity to Luvia. Years of quick wits and a quicker tongue have meant that she's always had quick response on hand, or been able to find one in the seconds bought by a mocking laugh. In fact, this is the longest you've ever caught her flatfooted on anything.

You can understand, and that's why you're being patient.

Doesn't change the fact that you want some answers.

Thankfully, she finds her words before your fuse starts burning again. Gathers herself to open her mouth-

"Memory Eraser Strike!"
drip
A piece of plastic clonks against the side of your head.

For a second you don't know what to say. Then you look down at the wriggling... thing on the floor. It somehow makes a moaning sound. From where, you don't know. It looks like a toy. Except toys don't move like they're alive. Or struggle to pick themselves up off the ground.

"... Silver, I now have the privilege of introducing you to Kaleido-Sapphire, an... artifact I have been entrusted with." Luvia begins her explanation as the toy continues moaning. "She is supposed to be a secret, and thus reacted far too zealously in an attempt to conceal evidence of her own existence. Isn't that right, Sapphire?" Luvia's voice drips with cultured charm, sweet as honey and cool enough that butter wouldn't melt in her mouth.

"Eh-eh?! Miss Luvia, why are you-erk!" Before the little thing can finish whatever it's saying, the drill head has the little toy scooped up and clutched between her fingers. That are now squeezing tightly on the thing, bending the struggling little wings on the sides.

"Sapphire, this is Silver. A dear friend of mine. They may look like a dangerous thug, but let me reassure you that appearances are quite deceiving. Like myself, this person is another attendee of the University. In addition, there's also the fact that unlike a great deal of our peers, Silver practices more combative arts. As you've no doubt noticed." Her fingers curled around the tiny thing a little bit more, drawing out a rather strained gasp as it tried it's level best to not be turned into a pile of scrap in her hands. "I do believe you also owe them an apology for attempting to meddle."

"Sorry! Sorry!" It immediately squeaks out.

[ ] Just shrug. See where this goes.
[ ] ... Luvia, your rock is talking.
[ ] Huh. So, I guess this makes you a magical girl or some shit?
[ ] Sorry for what, ya damn rock?
[ ] ... That's still an awful lot of blood...