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Post by Patrick O'Connor on Mar 3, 2009 19:03:22 GMT -5
Sulking Patrick walked down the hallways. It was something he had been doing of late but now this was something deeper. A renewed hate in society and its means? Most probably that was the case. He walked the hallways that were crowded with people with an increased viciousness. It would not bode well for the person who tried to get in his way. He practically exhumed hatred and violence through the intense stare of his piercing green eyes. His red mane of hair, in its untidied state was held out of his eyes by the pure white bandanna that was tied around his head. His hands were covered in black gloves that were fingerless and bore holes where the knuckles were. His black tanktop revealed the tips of a curious set of scars on his back that were obviously carved in by a knife. The scars were actually an intricate pair of wings that were well knwn around the nation as another symbol. Khakhi cargo shorts adorned his legs.
As he stormed through the halls he was pushed. The kid had come up in front of him and pushed him to show supieriority, dominance spitting out the word, transfer. It was another one of those kids that hated the transfers. Perhaps he had picked the worst one. Actually he had. Pity, he wouldn't have time to regret his mistake...
Forced to take a step back but not shoved down Patrick stared at the individual with intense eyes. Patrick's facial scar gleamed as anger seemed to radiate out of it. The Punk apparently was not done however as he swung a sloppy right hook towards Patrick's head. A lazy left arm was sent to guard as the hook came in while the Irish boy sent his right palm upwards, towards the face of the punk. The palm connected unopposed to the bottom of the Punk's nose, where it had been obviously aimed. The fragment of the nose bone flew up into the punk's nose, killing him instantly and sending a spray of blood out staining Patrick's once pure white bandanna.
The stains would remain there forever, unable to be cleaned off...
Patrick would not be pushed around. The crowd that had grown during the preliminary name calling was now hushed and whispering. This fight was no longer a fight. It had been an excrutiatinh slaughter. Excessive force...
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Post by seishounohana on Mar 3, 2009 19:41:57 GMT -5
"Don't tell me you're still into this sort of thing." Emily said, walking out of the crowd. She had been watching for far too long, and it seems she had stepped in too late. The native was already dead. It didn't take Emily much to figure out he was dead, she had done her fair share of kills in her short, insignificant lifetime.
"Now where are the pillars..." she wondered aloud, as she crouched down to look at the dead boy. "They should be cleaning up your mess, not me."
Emily would stand up, looking at Patrick in the eye.
Some people in the crowd decided to leave, it was a smart move. The rest of the people here would see very well what sort of person these two were; how different they were in word, thoughts and in deed.
"I'm not surprised that you were transferred here, mister..."
Wasn't sure if Emily knew patrick's name @__@ If she doesn't, please tell me. I'll do something about this post. @_@
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Post by Patrick O'Connor on Mar 3, 2009 22:39:28 GMT -5
"Don't tell me you're still into this sort of thing."
Patrick watched The one known as Emily walk out into the circle. Apparently miss do good was going to try and help the kid. Too late. She should know that he was already dead. The more interesting thing was that she was here. It seemed that 259 was crawling out of the wood works here. But of all the people, this do gooder? She was too idealistic, too naive. She didn't know what the world was like. She just lived in her little fantasy world believeing that everything was black and white. Patrick spat back, "Please, he was asking for it."
"They should be cleaning up your mess, not me."
"Nobody asked ye to," Patrick shot back. He had not remembered her stopping him from killing anyone. She must hav heard the horror stories. The stories of kids ending up dead or worse. It would only be a matter of time before people stayed out of his way here. Patrick went on to say darkly, "The pillars never stopped me in 259 what makes ye think that they'll will even stop me here?"
"I'm not surprised that you were transferred here, mister..."
She stood up to face him. To try and intimidate him. She was failing. No one scared Patrick, even those that ought to. They were two entirly different people. She was whatever the epitome of good was and well he was not. He was the remorseless killer that could and would kill you with out a bat of an eye. He had killed so many he could no longer count the bodies. It was of no signifigance other then there was a lot. However there was something that Patrick found odd...
"If you're not so suprised then why are ye here? One of the most violent schools in the state? Does that mean that the pure angel has fallen?"
There was tons of cynicism mixed in the deep irish accent that always remained. The crowd could feel the tension rising. From their perspective it would seem as two monstrous rivals were prepareing to fight. They, the few that remained lie in silence simply waiting.
Patrick however wanted to push the envelope further however, a fight might happen but he really didn't care either way...
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Post by seishounohana on Mar 4, 2009 7:06:44 GMT -5
"Nobody asked ye to, The pillars never stopped me in 259 what makes ye think that they'll will even stop me here?"
Emily laughed, adjusting her gloves. Why, this guy was just asking to be beaten up again, like she did before. "Ha, that could actually be arranged. Guess what, I know the captain personally. Maybe you'd like an appointment?"
Emily wasn't trying to intimidate him at all, or scare him. She wasn't the epitome of good either, as she had her own dark side. But she was idealistic, and somewhat naive. She could kill, but never for the reasons this man had.
"If you're not so suprised then why are ye here? One of the most violent schools in the state? Does that mean that the pure angel has fallen?"
Emily laughed again. Boy, this guy had it all wrong. "Mmm, I transferred here before everyone else did. Apparently, I moved here a month before the Long beach Earthquake -- just my luck, huh?"
Emily said all those as if nothing was wrong. She wasn't hiding any annoyance either. She was just trying to be civil.
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Post by Patrick O'Connor on Mar 4, 2009 20:13:39 GMT -5
"Ha, that could actually be arranged. Guess what, I know the captain personally. Maybe you'd like an appointment?"
Patrick gave a slight chuckle. He already knew the school captain. Not personally but by name reputation and face. He had also fought alongside her at one point. 552, was her starting place. Home of the dragons. There were other reasons on why he didnt really fear this, what appeared to be a threat. That was for another time though. Cynacism bid him on to joke, "Sure why not?"
"just my luck, huh?"
"Agreed," Patrick replied. He did not want to be here, nor did he want to be with anyone from 259. The only uses that had was that most of them knew his name and reputation. He didn't have to build one up with them. But here his violence would spike until people bloody well got out of his way. But with the seemingly morally upright population of 259 here iappeared as if he would have som nuisances. Morals were annoying anyway. They were restirctions that were slowly failing in this society. Once upon a time they had a purpose but no longer. Now all they did was end up getting innocent people in the crossfire so they were even more dangerous to those who had them.
Anyway more to the point it seemed if this one was here there was a purpose. Why else would she step out if she were going to let him go? So Patrick asked tersely, "What are ye doing here Emily?"
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Post by seishounohana on Mar 5, 2009 20:26:14 GMT -5
Emily smiled and crossed her arms, looking at Patrick. No, Emily had never been protected from the perils of corporal punishment ever since she stepped out of Elementary. Nay, all throughout japanese Middle school and now, American High School, she had to fight her way through.
Emily didn't exactly like to fight, but it was a necessity she needed to fill. One thing she told herself though, was that she would never kill. At least, not until she needed to. Emily was idealistic and naive, but not totally all that. She had her own evils to face, and her own alter ego to hide.
She was no angel, just a person who had decided to step onto the road of hope. The fighting would not stop. It would never be. It's already been embed into the culture of the youth, and most the world could do is live with it, as should Emily.
"What are ye doing here Emily?"
"Making sure you won't add more damage." She said, bluntly. Should he begin attacking another student, she would step in and try to stop him. One casualty is enough. "Then later I'll drop this guy over at the morgue..."
There was no reason for her to lose her patience. Saving this guy already had come too late. He was gone. What's done is done.
Most Emily could do is stop him from taking more students for the kill.
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Post by Patrick O'Connor on Mar 10, 2009 17:50:49 GMT -5
"Making sure you won't add more damage. Then later I'll drop this guy over at the morgue..."
"Hm," Patrick gave a curt chuckle. That meant nothing to him really. She really wasn't a deterrent, "Making sure I wont add more damage? Please ye could no more do that then evade yer own shadow."
Too obvious it was, "Can ye really follow me around all day? What about that one trip to the morgue for that pathetic sack of flesh? If you leave I could easily blind a kid, cripple a kid, light one on fire. And ye know what? I don't really give a rat's ass. These lives mean absolutely nothing to me. They'll die and fade away just as easily as I draw breath. Ye can not be there all the time. Take the weight of the world on yer shoulders and it will easily crush ye. Amusing to watch that would be, really. It won't take much. One failure here, another failure there. Slowly ye begin to realize that there is no hope, that yer a failure. People will die. By my hand? Probably, I'm no where near to being finished, it would seem. As long as they get in my way, I'll crush them and cast them aside. Slowly watching them die and ye'll be too late again and again. Ye'll break. Ye'll break. And I'll be there,laughing all the way."
Patrick honestly had no idea why he had just gave away so much breath. Perhaps it was all idle threats. Perhaps it was a hidden story. Perhaps it was truth. But anyway, truth was that Patrick liked antagonizing her and her ideals. He could keep it civil or he could fight. He'd prefer not to fight but regardless he could care less either way. Regardless movement or drinking it would keep his mind of the pain of being alive. The pain of his own past. The pain of the ascension of knowledge. Knowledge that the world was beyond saving. It was too far gone. The only thing that you could do was enjoy as much of it as you could. Take as much as you could get away with because ultimately there was no morals. Corruptableity was the only absolute.
"But," Patrick said offhandedly, now with sinister tones, "Ye can stop me with all finality..."
OOC: wewt another post in the boondocks!
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Post by seishounohana on Mar 12, 2009 4:44:27 GMT -5
"Can ye really follow me around all day? What about that one trip to the morgue for that pathetic sack of flesh? If you leave I could easily blind a kid, cripple a kid, light one on fire. And ye know what? I don't really give a rat's ass. These lives mean absolutely nothing to me. They'll die and fade away just as easily as I draw breath. Ye can not be there all the time. Take the weight of the world on yer shoulders and it will easily crush ye. Amusing to watch that would be, really. It won't take much. One failure here, another failure there. Slowly ye begin to realize that there is no hope, that yer a failure. People will die. By my hand? Probably, I'm no where near to being finished, it would seem. As long as they get in my way, I'll crush them and cast them aside. Slowly watching them die and ye'll be too late again and again. Ye'll break. Ye'll break. And I'll be there,laughing all the way."
"The only failure I acknowledge at the moment is giving up." She said, taking her fans from her belt and sighing. "It didn't have to come to this, really."
"But," Patrick said with sinister tones, "Ye can stop me with all finality..."
Emily would just flash him a smile, before she sped forward, aiming to stab him with the rounded end of her left hand's fan to try and hit the apex of his sternum. He would soon find that her strength was much more than that of when they first fought.
And she didn't use her Qi anymore.
If she should miss with Patrick stepping backward, she would take try to take one step forward and swing her right fan onto the boy's humerus. It was enough strength that would give him substantial skeletal injury; a crack in the bone, or a bruise at least.
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Post by Patrick O'Connor on Mar 12, 2009 12:06:54 GMT -5
And here we go, the curtain closes.
Patrick had won. There was no way around it. He had won and she had lost. That attack was aimed at an area that with that object and strength had a potential to be fatal. She would try to end it. It was his for the taking. He would die. It would be beautiful, even though he would not be there to watch. In the end there was no other way really. She had no hope of beating Patrick at this game, for he knew it too well. In passing away he had won. Maybe not today, maybe not tomorrow. As previously stated Patrick's single and only regret was that he would not be there to watch it.
Or would he? All that would be decided.
The funny thing about stabbing is that although it contains ever so much force, unlike a slash that force it transient. It is easily ascended above by those without much strength. That and it is often terribly predictable. Though Emily, with-the-really-long-name, had done so well as to finely prepare the attack Patrick was ready. Though he would not step back. Sometimes, often times the best way to counter was to grab the bull by the horns. As she sped forward Patrick was merely lying in wait so to speak. Her stab meant to push him back would not get the ellict response. Instead Patrick would step into the stab. Doing this he would merely redirect the force of the stab with his right hand by pushing the hand away, past him as he stepped in with his left foot shooting his left elbow at her face. With her strong momentem moving directly at him and his own towards her the blow would be quite substancial. More particularly he was aiming for her nose, if he had that it could very well be broken but at the very least it would stun her and cause her eyes to water up for some unknown physiological purpose.
His left foot, the one he had stepped in with would have been placed, cocked out about forty five degrees. This was for his followup attack. His right hand which had been originally redirecting her stab out would be guiding in her arm, allowing it to brush past his hand. At the moment of his elbow counter his hand would close around her arm, nails first intending to grip her, painfully. This would make it so that the elbow would not drive her back. Then after the elbow, with a cocked left foot he would raise his right knee, bringing it around to drive it into her left side somewhere between her kidneys and lower back. His cocked foot would place him in perfect position to deliver an even more powerful blow due to sheer momentum as his hips would rotate with the blow to add in more muscle, core muscle, instead of just leg muscle He did this with intention of ragdolling her across the hall. If he had been low it would hit her kidneys causing severe pain and possibly internal damage. If he was high it would splay her back out causing increased damage, in turn slowing her down most likely if she still could get up. If he hit where he intended it would most likely give her a taste of both, though to lesser degree. Either way if his knee made contact he would let go with his right hand to eneble her to go flying.
In a condescending tone Patrick would have said at the time of her charge, "I win..."
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Post by seishounohana on Mar 14, 2009 22:21:25 GMT -5
"I win..." Emily was not afraid of death.
She was afraid of murdering someone -- again. Patrick probably knew that, to an extent.
Death was an escape from life, or at least -- sometimes, it looked like it. Emily had yearned for it long ago, and it never really came. The closest she came to that --... she couldn't remember. Probably that time with Linda. Emily could've died with the amount of strength she had.
That was the strength Emily wanted to have for herself; just so she would have a sense of worth. The thing is with some people with no confidence, is that they try to fill the gaps of their lives with other things.
There were many gaps in Emily's heart, and of course -- fighting was a filler... or at least one of them.
Damn the lack of self-worth.
He caught her fan, and that pause in movement already gave Emily the signal to abandon ship and swim to something else. She had enough experience to know that a hit would come next. Not impossible, considering her current abilities.
Feeling herself moving to the right , Emily would quickly use her new direction to her advantage. Her right foot would try to move forward in a semi-big step to her north-east as to stop herself, doing so would have her bend her knees slightly, and Patrick's elbow hit to her nose would obviously fail. her body would be slightly twisted to the right, as if 'charging' for some special move.
The position they were both in exposed several weak points in patrick's body. You want a slash? Here's one: Emily push her body upward to try and bring her left fan directly at Patrick's left flank right by his floating ribs and, with quick succession, try to bring her right fan onto his left arm.
From there, Emily's left foot would take a step back from where the rest of her body was facing, and lift her right leg to try and hit him on the soft spot on his left side, where his spleen would be.
If you've got any problems with this, just let me know ^_^;; Kay?
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Post by Patrick O'Connor on Mar 24, 2009 20:25:29 GMT -5
Now fighting was a game of cat and mouse. You gave a little, and you took a little. As brutal as the civilized people made it sound it really was nothing more then a physical game of chess; if you outmanuevered and out smarted your opponent, then you won, plain and simple. That was basically what fighting was, the reality though was that there were more complexities. It was based off of physical abilities as well as a person's inteligence. This wasn't to say that those stronger, or faster were always going to win but they had the definate advantage. Still though if you weren't fast enough, you weren't fast enough. There was a window between skill and ability. In this case, Patrick knew that Emiliy was both stronger and faster then him, though only slightly. (Items are stiil frozen, correct?) Still it was in Patrick's best interest to end this sooner rather then later.
Now Emily had dodged his elbow, but even worse she had given up her back. She took her right step forward but Patrick followed in hot pursuit. His left foot had been cocked out at the 45 degree angle, making it that much easier to spin with her to keep her back exposed. He stepped forward and around with his right foot following her. Now yes she was faster then him, but not blindingly so, not in close quarters at least, he had enough speed, he figured to keep him in league with her. As he stepped to spin with her he would yank his right arm, which coincidentally was still holding on to her left are down and to the left towards his hip and under it. This would probably slow her spin down to a stop, just shy of the intented position allowing Patrick to more easily catchup. the pull happening during her momentum also menat it was more likely to succeed as one was less stable during movement. More importantly this brought her left arm down away from her head, or more particularly, her neck.
With her in front of him and her back exposed Patrick would, in timing with his tug, wrap his left arm around Emily's neck, wrapping his forearm and arm around Her throat. The added nicity of his tug was that it may very well have made this easier for him as if she was trying to be a good fighter and keep her eyes on the enemy this would give her a tug upwards on her head, exposing the neck further. Anyways, if his arm was around her neck he would then squeeze tightly while letting go of her arm with his right and bringing it up and placing it on the back of her head, putting his left hand on his right bicep locking it at the elbow. Then he would increase the tightness of the grip by both pulling her head back into his while pushing it down to the arm with his right hand. Not only did this increase the pressure tremendously but it locked her into place making it near impossible to get out on accident or otherwise. Once this hold was in place Patrick would use his height advantage to left her of the ground, removing her leverage, whilst rotating his abdomen back and forth left and right. This was to swing her slightly to make any of her attacks less effective and accurate. If this hold worked she would be out in a matter of seconds with no air and blood flow to and from the head...
OOC: sorry this was so late, I had spring break and then when i got back from my friends house a midterm to study for. Sorry again for the lateness...
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Post by seishounohana on Apr 11, 2009 9:42:34 GMT -5
Dammit. He had caught her hand and pulled her forward and it looked as if this would be a grappling match. The tug pulled her forward, spinning her lightly so that she would be against his back, however Emily didn't plan on making this go easy. She knew she was far stronger, faster and had more endurance that he did so there was no stopping her as of now.
As she spun towards him, her free arm would try to hit him by the gut with her elbow, using the momentum of the spin to further increase it's power and speed. If it hit, Emily would suddenly move her body forward, using her hand to grab him by the arm currently holding her and pull him forward in an attempt to flip him over to the floor.
If that happened, Emily would snap her hand away from him and take a few steps back and say: "You're such a troublesome guy."
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Post by Patrick O'Connor on Jun 3, 2009 19:26:17 GMT -5
Patrick loved grappling. The thrill, the rush. Simplicity wrapped in complexity. Simply put you screwed up you lost, you had perfect technique and timeing, you won. Complex in that you had to memmorize so many counters and so many moves. The thrill of voctory or the pain of defeat. They were really both escapes for Patrick at this point. That was Patrick, Sick of living, unwilling to die. Death was the escape and dying the means. No he was not suicidal but death was a welcome friend. And this right now was too easy. At the moment he seemed to be the better grappler. Striking? He damned well knew she was better then him. That is why the second she started combining he was in trouble. The elbow was easy enough but then she caught him in a throw.
He caught himself tumbling mid air. Gracefully he landed skidding on his left foot and right knee, kneeling. At the conclusion of the slide Patrick stood up and heard Emily's response. With disdain he spat, "Yer one to talk, naive little girl. Ye can't seem to understand the basis for life in this world. It's natural selection. Survival of the fittest. It's unavoidable. Ye will kill," Patrick stopped and perred into her eyes as if searching for something, "Actually ye have killed haven't ye? Huh, and ye probably enjoyed it. Ye will kill again. Ye will enjoy it and it's rush because in that brief moment ye can enjoy the greatest thrill. Ye can play God. Ye can't lie. Ye will break yer morals and ye will change. Ye will see that these people are not worth fighting for. Then ye'll turn into me."
Patrick was done here, "I'm done with this fight. We are done here. This is fruitless and because of this waste of time. Someone will die. Goodbye."
Patrick turned around and walked away. Down the halls and into the distance.
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Later that day a corpse of a boy would be found, his throat slit. He would be found in a pool of crimson blood that stained the floors and the back of the pboy's clothes. His pale face looked forth, eyes open, half accusing, half suprised. On the wall the message was clear written in blood, the words were streaming down, smearing. Only one person would know who it was and what it meant. The message, in blood would read:
YOU WASTED MY TIME...
BECAUSE I CAN...
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