Dragon Ball: Forgotten Generations (IC)

Underground Tournament Arc​

We're all unwanted children.

Vanessa thought about that pretty often.

Looking around, how could she not?

Life in East Haven certainly wasn't easy, but for many, life under the streets was even worse.

You really had to have balls to survive... metaphorically speaking.

Sitting high up on a large slab of concrete that overlooked a set of ruined train tracks, Vanessa took another hit from her cigarette and glanced over at her partner Vincent. They were like two peas in a pod, and very nearly inseparable. Where there was one you were almost sure to find the other. There were at least fifteen or twenty other people around, but the two of them were like royalty.

With a beer held loosely in her other hand, the young woman shifted her gaze to a fight that was taking place not far from where they were sitting. Vanessa brought her cigarette back up to her lips for a quick puff and then flicked it away.

"How much longer are they going to take?" she asked as she blew out a thick smoke ring.

"You're getting harder and harder to please. You know that?" he replied.

"Yeah, so?" she snapped back.

For some reason she was incredibly restless, and her thin patience had worn even thinner over the past few days.

"Maybe you should get laid," Vincent joked.

"I don't think there's anyone here with a dick bigger than mine to fuck me with," Vanessa said as she drew out another cigarette and then lit it after placing it between her lips.

"How about his?"

Vanessa's eyes trailed after the young man that Vincent nodded towards, and she chuckled in amusement.

"Nope. Tiny little pecker," she said as she expertly blew out another fresh ring of smoke. "Besides, I doubt he could find his own zipper."

"Know what the penis said to the condom?"

"What?"

"Cover me. I'm going in."

Vanessa shook her head and laughed.

"You're such a fucking idiot."

"W-"

"Nuh-uh. One and done," she said.

Vincent decided not to press his luck. His corny joke had drawn out a quick laugh, but he knew better than to press his luck. He turned his attention back towards the fight that had broken out, but neither he nor Vanessa did anything to break it up.

They did, however, want the fighters to speed things along.

"One of you better win in the next five minutes or else," Vanessa called out, drawing their attention for just a brief moment before they resumed sparring. Both competitors went at each other with renewed ferocity, until one of them finally came out on top.

"It's about damn time," she grumbled as she flicked her second cigarette away.

The dark-haired woman pushed herself up onto her feet and then jumped down to join the others below. She brought both of her hands up to her chest and casually cracked her knuckles.

"Okay. Who's next?"

"Hey there honey. What's in the bag?" Sid asked the blonde woman who just passed by him. "Or in her pants." Laughed another gang member. "Shit." Rebecca thought to herself before plastering on a fake smile and answering. "You know, just makeup and stuff like that. Really boring." Rebecca said trying to keep moving forward. "What if I like makeup?" Sid sneered grabbing the woman and pulling her to the ground in front of him. The group laughed as she fell to the ground with a squeal. She tried to stand, but was quickly forced onto her back. "Please don't. I'll give you money, just..." "Shut up bitch!" Sid snarled slapping her across the face. Rebecca began to sob as the thug fondled her breasts through her sweater. "How 'bout we see what's under here?" Sid asked pulling out a knife. Rebecca screamed in fear as the five gang members laughed and mocked her. Rebecca was certain she was about to be raped when a brick flew through the air and struck Sid in the face knocking him to the ground.

"That's enough. Turn yourselves in now, and I won't put any of you in the hospital." Said a quiet voice from the shadows. "You're dead motherfucker!" Sid shouted getting up and running towards the figure in the shadows. The figure moved forward with lightning speed and slammed a nightstick across Sid's face. The thug fell the the ground clutching his broken jaw. "Who's next?" The man asked stepping from the shadows revealing his red and black clothing along with his signature sabertooth tiger skull mask. "Shit! That's that Fang guy! There's a bounty on his ass! Let's get him!" One of the other men shouted running forward with the other three gang members.

Fang smiled to himself as they rushed him. The masked warrior doged a swing from a crowbar from the first man, and responded with a kick to the man's stomach. The gangster fell to the ground clutching his stomach. "Get some more." Fang growled picking up the crowbar from the ground. "Man, fuck this." One of the guys said turning and fleeing. "And then there were two..." Fang said brandishing the crowbar threateningly in front of him.

Fang was unsurprised when the two men lunged at the same time, one thrusting with a knife the other swinging a lead pipe. Fang parried the pipe with his crowbar and returned the attack with a vicious swing to the man's skull, while simultaneously side stepping the knife jab. The man with the pipe crumpled to the ground leaving only the man with the knife. Fang didn't waste words on the last man; he simply threw the crowbar full force at the man. The crowbar spun through the air before breaking the knife man's nose and leaving him unconscious on the ground.

After making sure none of the gang members were getting up, Fang approached the sobbing blonde woman who was in a fetal position on the ground. "It's ok. You're safe now. I dealt with them." Fang said in a soft voice, offering the sobbing woman his black-gloved hand. She took his hand and flung herself to his chest. "Thank you so much! I was so afraid! I didn't think I'd get away alive." She sobbed into his chest. "Is there any way I can repay you?" She asked. "Call the cops and tell them what happened. Put these men behind bars. And be carful, these streets aren't safe." Fang said gently letting go of the sobbing woman. He climbed a fire escape and disappeared in the shadows again. "Thank you!" Rebecca called as she fished her phone out of her purse.

Crim's hands were both in his pockets, possibly to keep them from falling off. His suspenders were hanging down around his knees while he made his way through the city.

East Haven, there were worse places on the planet. Crim had even been to a few of them. Places where you had to be concerned about anything from giant wart hogs to carnosaurs. Here the only predators were human. . .or at least people.

Scratch that the things out in the wilds that wanted to hurt you had good reason. You were made of meat and they were hungry. It was a kind of brutal honesty that Crim could easily sympathize with. It was entirely different from the trash he observed in a slightly secluded area falling on a young woman with predatory intent.

Crim leaned back against a wall watching for a moment. "Not really my problem." He mumbled putting one foot up against the brick wall and shaking his head. The woman was definitely in over her head and if she wasn't dead she'd probably learn a valuable lesson about not going into dangerous parts of town. Or she'd get stronger. Either way that was the way things were suppos-

During the time Crim had spent musing a minor celebrity, the Fang had arrived and well those thugs weren't looking too hot. Hell one of them looked like he was probably not going to make it if the ambulance didn't get here in time. That too wasn't really his concern either.

Crim took a running start at a nearby wall and with several kickflips landed on the roof glancing around. "I know you couldn't have gotten too far Fang." Crim said hands still in his pockets.

Cheetu liked traveling between the cities of these humans. they had been considerate enough to put in these big pathways for him to run down, making it a lot easier for him to find them and a lot easier for him to run. Out on the plains he had to be careful of holes and logs and trees, but on these 'Roads' he only had to be careful of the slow moving things called cars.

He was heading for a City called East Haven. He had been told there were fighters of excellent quality there and he was eager to fight them. He had been traveling for a while now and had yet to find anyone of any note yet. Oh he had met some strong fighters it was true and he had learned a lot of new things, but so far no one had been able to come close to his speed.

He had used that to great advantage in his fights, gauging his opponents speed and always staying just that one step ahead of them. So far he had not had to use more than a quarter of his speed in any of his fights and he was seriously looking for a challenge. His masters had all told him he must push himself to the limit if he was going to get stronger, but how could he do that if he had no one to push himself against.

He hoped he would find someone in this new city that would be a challenge. It would be fun to finally be able to use his full potential, and if he lost then so much the better. It would give him something to strive for and make him struggle to keep up and that would surely make him stronger.

He smiled as he continued to race down the road, passing cars and waving to the children in them as he whizzed by.

Connor was about to change into his street clothes when he heard someone call out to him. He quickly re-hid the backpack containing his clothing before straightening up and moving closer to the man who called out to him. Fang crept through the shadows until he had a good view of the man. He was tall, and looked dangerous. He held himself with the casual confidence of a man who had seen, and conquered, many opponents.

Fang stepped out of the shadows, holding himself in a ready, but not threatening stance. "I'm here. Who are you and what do you want with me?" Fang asked on a cautious voice.

"I thought that was you. Impressive, but a bit uncalled for don't you think?" Crim asked. He took a few casual steps not really towards Fang just at a slight angle curious for a better view. "You seriously hurt those guys, heck one of them could die." He said in an obviously feigned concern.

He'd already seen Fang fight from a distance but he was definitely a cut above. Crim could tell just by the subtle things like his stance, relaxed but ready all the same. He certainly hadn't beaten those thugs purely because he caught them off guard.

"Well let me tell you about a dilemna I find myself in. See there is a tournament in town, one for fighters and well I'm going to enter it and I'm going to win it. And I'm not going to take my hands out of my pockets. The money will be nice, but I wanted a real fight. Now in front of me stands a vicious criminal. One who just beat down several men. Now my instinct is to teach him a lesson in why we don't allow vigilantes but the cops will get here eventually and I don't want them to think I go around beating up people I meet in the streets." Crim paused then opened his eyes wide as if he'd just come up with a brilliant idea. "Of course if that vicious criminal were going to be in the tournament as well. . .then I could let him go now and take a shot at him later but otherwise. . ." He trailed off until his eyes settled on a smallish rock. He kicked it up into the air then pivoted slightly and kicked toward Fang. Even if he had no training it wouldn't hurt him much if it hit, not that Crim really thought it had a chance of hitting anyway.

Pontifications on The Relative Ease of Being Green.

"And," she pointed out, sitting primly at the desk across from the rather dull, balding lawyer, tucking a forelock behind her emerald ear, "I'm really good at filing, and my typing speed is really fast-- I mean, I've never really measured it but I think it's more than 300 words per minute, I'm pretty sure that's fast."

The lawyer fella looked bored as Hell. This was the seventh interview he'd had to deal with just today. Times were tough all over, and any time a job opening got posted, tons of people showed up-- and almost none of them were remotely qualified.

"How are you with phones?" he asked, dully, "manning a front desk for walk-ins? This law office is a non-profit legal defense firm, we often contract with the East Haven public defender's office, but we also get people in off the street looking for legal advice, you have to be able to be friendly and informative and light on your feet."

"I wasn't exactly public-facing," she admitted without even a hint of subterfuge, her bright smile never wavering, "the offices I worked in were very out of the way, but I just love people, and people like a friendly face, I'm sure I could handle it!"

"And where, exactly," he wondered, dully, natch, "were these out of the way offices? Your resume consists of one personal reference two towns over that by your own account you really only knew for a couple of months."

"I was laid off," she bobbed her head a bit, a hint of dismay flickering in her eyes, "when they shut down this branch of Capsule Corp? Made... redundant, I guess is the technical term. I didn't think I could really get a professional reference from them under the circumstances-- not that I blame them, when that door closed, another one opened, that's how it works. But the man on the paper, there, he's a really nice guy, he was my sifu in Baguazhang--"

The bored dull man rolled his eyes, blew air out through his lips. "Okay, that's all the questions I have, we'll call you--" he hesitated. "I don't see a number on here, Miss, uh, Flute D'amour?"

"I'm new in town," Flute reminded him. "But I can swing by tomorrow or later in the week--"

He smiled thinly at her, squinted. "Well. That. Probably won't be necessary, actually."

Flute stared at him for a moment, and then it dawned on her what he was saying, and she looked-- crestfallen-- but it didn't manage to put much of a dent in that ever-present effervescent smile. "Oh. Well. That's fine, I have some other opportunities to look into. It's like the samurai used to say, 'fall down seven times, get up eight.' Plus, I'm sure this means by ruling me out, you're much closer to finding someone for this job who would be absolutely perfect!"

"Yyyyeah," the lawyer shook his head with sarcasm and disbelief, and made to usher her out into the shoddy, threadbare waiting room where a number of legal clients and a couple more job applicants were waiting, all of them with varying degrees of impatience. "One can only hope."

"Exactly," Flute nodded, pointing a finger at him. "One only can!"

The lawyer-- let's call him "Foggy," though that might reflect badly on other, better lawyers named "Foggy," it's a functional enough name and it's better than calling him "Saggy" or "Baldy" or "Wishing He'd Taken that Cushy Corporate Gig at Capsule Out of Law School Instead of Listening to His Conscience" --empathized with the impatience he felt radiating in that waiting room. He was impatient to kick this wacky green bimbo to the curb so that he could get on with the next time-wasting Harry Hardluck or Sally Sobstory that sat in the hot-seat.

"If you don't mind, Miss D'amour," Foggy gestured to the exit-- what kind of a name, speaking of names, was "Flute D'amour," anyway? it sounded like a Bond Girl name, and not one of the good ones --and managed another tight smile, "please show yourself out, then we can both get on with only hoping."

It was right about then that some leather-clad purple-mohawked punk staggered in, holding his side-- the leather hadn't deflected the bullet that had through-and-throughed through his left abdomen --and wielding a gun.

As he burst through the door, they all heard sirens-- louder and in greater number than the ones that usually intermittently-but-interminably permeated this neighborhood, to the extent that you barely even heard them after awhile --and it was clear that these sirens were directly connected to this young man's hurried gait and bloodied flank.

"I need a lawyer," the punk snarled, pointing the gun at the people in the waiting room, much to their screaming, cowering fright, "and I need hostages!"

"Oh, no," Foggy sighed dismally, and dutifully sank to his knees with his hands on his head. "Not again."

Before Foggy could finish kneeling, however--

--Flute moved--

--she moved like lightning--

--lightning with a good tailwind--

--grabbed the gunman's wrist, twisted it so that he screamed in pain and bones ground on bones, caught the gun in her other hand when he dropped it so that it didn't hit the floor and go off--

--pulled his arm out at an angle, dislocated his shoulder with an elbow strike--

--whirled into a kick, her ruby-red hair and fanciful cape billowing with the flow of her movement, her foot coming around like a battle-axe as it bisected his jaw--

--the kick dropped the mohawked lad heavy as a sack of coconuts--

--Foggy's knees touched the floor.

He blinked. Stared.

Flute popped the clip out of the gun and tutted worriedly. "Oh, golly, I hope I didn't exacerbate his wounds too much, can somebody please call an ambulance?"

Foggy sputtered incredulously.

One of the other patrons of the office grabbed their phone to call the emergency number.

Flute glanced at Foggy, curious like she was asking about the weather, or how the local kids' baseball team was doing this season: "Does this happen a lot?"

Foggy stared at her for a moment. And then at the unconscious bleeding mohawked kid. And then at Flute again.

"When can you start?"

Cheetu finally made it to East Haven and began to wander it's streets. He had stopped off to eat first in a respectable part of town and had then taken a quick tour of some of the cities sites. He was amazed once again at just how many people packed themselves together in such tiny spaces, but he had no problems moving through the crowds, or running along the roads.

After a few hours though he began to search for the rougher areas of the city. He had already learned that the kind of fights he was looking for did not happen in the good areas of cities, but rather in the poorer areas. He had learned this tournament was actually going to be televised and was being run by some big company, but he needed to warm up first.

Cheetu searched around and finally found what he was looking for. A gang of Humanoid animals on souped up hover bikes, dressed in leather jackets with wildly colored hair, lounged around on a street corner yelling obscenities at passers by and whistling at all the pretty ladies. They would definitely know of any fights going on. He walked up to what was obviously the leader, an overly muscled warthog, an tapped him on the shoulder.

"Excuse me, but can you tell me where any local fights are being held?"

The large warthog turned and looked at him. "Piss off little pussy cat. You don't want to get mixed up with any of the fights around here. In fact you don't want to even get involved in a fight with me. Now run along home to your Momma or I am going to have to pound your scrawny head into the ground"

The rest of his gang thought this was hilarious of course and laughed hard, but Cheetu just sighed. Why did they always make it so hard? He tapped the Warthog on the shoulder again. "Look just make this easy on yourself and tell me where the fights are and I will be on my way. Don't do anything stupid okay," he said smiling already knowing it was futile.

The Warthog's face turned a deep shade of crimson and his gang backed up expecting to see carnage in a minute. They would get it, just not the sort they expected. As they big beast threw his first punch Cheetu waited until the last second then sidestepped it, then again and again as the massive beast threw punch after punch.

"Really, you can just stop and tell me any time." Cheetu told him, knowing it would only irritate him more.

"Shut up and stand still"He bellowed, as he swung a powerful haymaker only to have the cheetah disappear again just before he hit.

The gang stood around perplexed as their boss staggered with exhaustion and the wiry cheetah stood calmly in front of him. Finally the second in command yelled "Get him" and everyone rushed in.

Cheetu smiled. Finally he might get a challenge. Stepping forward he hit the first guy four times in the face, flooring him before flowing past him to the next thrust kicking him in the midriff and then uppercutting him as he folded in half. Next he spun and delivered a thundering backhand blow to the next man in the jaw, using the momentum from that to spring up and spin kick the next in the temple.

Cheetu landed and looked around himself. Four toughs were on the ground knocked out, the boss was still panting trying to catch his breath and the second in command had just finished taking his second step towards him and had just realized he was now alone. He stopped dead in his tracks and looked around himself and a growing wet stain around his crotch told his feelings on his situation.

Holding his hands upright he began babbling and pointing to his right, finally managing to get out. "T.T.T.T.That way. Three blocks. Find the train tracks and follow them towards an abandoned building. There are always fights going on in there."

Cheetu smiled and began to turn and walk away when he heard the Warthog start to charge. Sighing he turned and rushed behind him and kicked him forward into a solid brick wall, knocking him unconscious. Turning to the last remaining member still upright he smiled. "It would have been so much easier if you had just told me where the fights were. Next time try to be polite." Then still smiling Cheetu walked off in the direction he had been told. He hoped he would find better fighters than this at this new place.

Toby Mac - Ignition

"You're okay. You're okay. Come on. Come on, get on up."

Vanessa reached down and helped guide the street fighter back up onto his feet, and after checking to make sure that he was alright, she quickly swept her leg around to trip him.

She hadn't done it to be mean, but that didn't stop the punk from taking it personally.

The fight had been mostly one-sided up until that point, but as the boy let his anger get the better of him, Vanessa had no trouble picking him apart.

She dodged his right fist when he came at her swinging wildly, and after blocking his next jab she hopped up into the air to avoid being knocked on her ass when he spun around to kick her.

Vincent gave a slight nod to two more fighters that had been watching, and without a word they circled around towards Vanessa's back and then charged into the fight.

Instead of simply dodging their attacks, Vanessa decided to spar with them a bit.

Three fighters became five.

Five became ten.

When Vanessa was in a groove, Vincent knew better than to hold back.

He gave another nod of approval, and even more fighters joined in.

Those that held back were struck the hardest by Vanessa's counter attacks, and she urged the rest of the fighters to keep on pushing. The dark-haired woman may not have had formal training, but there was almost a dance-like quality to her movements. Not only was she able to block, or completely avoid, their attacks, but it seemed like she was forcing them to attack her in a certain way.

She was in complete control of the fight

Take it up a notch...

Vanessa began throwing more punches, and it seemed like the entire building had erupted into one massive brawl.

It wasn't chaos... no.

Vanessa was still in control.

She'd simply turned on the ignition.

Cheetu had quickly found the train tracks and had proceeded to follow them. He had not run along them preferring just to amble along them and use his sensitive hearing to see if he could pick up any sounds of a fight.

It had not taken long for the unmistakable sounds of flesh meeting flesh, and bodies moaning and groaning in pain to reach his ears. It sounded like a large group of people so he was not sure if it was an actual tournament style of fight, or just a brawl, but either way it was a fight and maybe he could observe it or maybe even join in.

Now that he had the direction he sped up and jogged towards the sound, soon finding himself in an abandoned part of the section, surrounded by crumbling buildings. He rounded one such building an came to a quick stop finding the source of the noise. In the middle of the tracks a fight was going on.

he watched it for a minute then decided it was not really a fight, it was a sparring session and a very one sided sparring session at that. It may look like the single female was vastly outnumbered but he could see that it was the opposite way around. She was just toying with her opponents, and could in fact end the fight at any time she wished. She was faster, stronger and more skilled than all of them put together.

He smiled, this was the type of opponent he had come to this city to find. From her movements he could see that she was fast. Not as fast as him, but she looked very quick. She was also strong. She was holding back so he could not gauge her strength, but she might be as strong as him, maybe even stronger. He was not a strength fighter but neither was he a wimp. He had a few tricks of his own as well.

He wasn't sure if he should join in or wait until after her warm up to challenge her, but decided to wait. It would be impolite to interfere in another fighters battle after all. He moved to the edge of the designated area though and watched her moves eagerly though, studying her to learn any new moves and to also learn the way she fought for when he battled her. It was always good to be prepared as his masters had always taught him.

Green Means Go-Time.

Once Foggy had grokked, so to speak, Flute's potential for advancement within the firm--

--which was to say, she might not have a full paralegal education, but she might be able to keep Foggy from getting shot or stabbed or assaulted by an irate former/potential client--

--he had been pretty eager to get her on board.

She started tomorrow, so long as she could get an outfit that wasn't a cape and skirt in Bright Primary Colors.

Unfortunately, this new job didn't come with a signing bonus or a pay advance, so buying new clothes according to the dress code would make eating a little dicey this week. But that was okay, right?

Ramen and rice and water.

She stood outside near a small, rundown grocery store, paging through the last of the cash that her last sifu had given her as a goodbye-good-luck present.

There was just enough to make it work, she decided, nodding to herself.

And if other opportunities came along in the meantime, well, that was just The Universe being happy and helpful and friendly!

She tucked her beat-up duct tape wallet away and turned to go into the grocers'...

...but just as she did so she heard shouting, crunching, in the distance, and she whirled to gaze in that direction.

She took one step towards the chaos, couldn't make it out from here--

--just in time to hear a gun go off.

She didn't have time to process the idea that her subconscious somehow knew just from the sound of the gunfire that it was an M-4 pistol, likely police issue.

Flute D'amour was already running.

Running like the wind.

HotCider said:

Next thing he knew, he was thrown through the air with a yowl and his pistol was crushed within Grisha’s fist as he roared, “WHERE. IS. LENA~!?”

Click to expand...

The canine cop hurtled towards the unforgiving metal side of a food truck--

--threw his hands up to cover his face--

--but all of a sudden the world whirling around him changed direction and he found himself laying flat on his back with a green-skinned redhaired woman kneeling beside him, her hand still gripping the front of his uniform.

She'd bent and flowed somehow-- soft arts-- some variant aikido-- redirected him, slowed his flight, cushioned his impact--

"Are you all right, officer?" her eyes were soft and searching. "If you're not hurt, you should probably radio for back-up. Evacuate the area-- this person might be too dangerous to engage."

He nodded helplessly, wordless in his shock, but then she stood up and faced the bulletproof... thing... that had chucked him like a ragdoll-- or, well, like a chew toy.

Tucking a forelock of red hair behind her green ear, Flute eyed the hulking brute who had already done so much damage. Impact craters, overturned ruined cars...

...an outfit straight out of a Himalayan nightmare...

...this seemed, to use a military colloquialism, a little above her pay grade.

But she couldn't stand by and do nothing! All these people were so scared!

Taking a defensive stance, little bit of jeet kune do so she could roll with the changes, she bit her lip and hesitantly approached the beastie. She was a good fighter, she knew she was, but if she jumped into combat with him before trying to defuse (diffuse?) the situation, more people might get hurt or worse.

She murmured, gently but as firmly as she dared:

"Easy, there. Easy, big fella."

"Who is Lena? Can you tell me about her?"

"Maybe I can help you find her?"

Green Around the Gills.

HotCider said:

Green woman had his attention now. Grisha held his hand out, measuring the metaphorical Lena to be about 5’3”.

Click to expand...

Flute brightened. Okay, so this "Lena" was slightly shorter than Flute herself, good, this was progress!

HotCider said:

“Lena small,” he described—everyone was usually labeled “little,” “small,” or “tiny” to Grisha. He pointed at a hiding blonde woman who practically flinched from his finger point as though dodging an invisible bullet. “Hair…” He pointed up at the blue sky. “Eyes…Lena here. Grisha no know where. Grisha no smell. Stinky here! Noisy!”

Click to expand...

"Yes, yes, that's wonderful," Flute nodded with encouragement. "Blonde hair, blue eyes, petite frame, that's a great start-- maybe we can talk to some of these people and see if they've seen her, or--"

She meant well enough, but in her eagerness to help, she'd proven a tiny bit oblivious to Grisha's discomfort in these rather urban surroundings. This was, of course, immediately compounded by the arrival of the aforediscussed backup.

HotCider said:

Several sirens soon filled the air and the flash of red, white, and blue lamps. The police cars tried to pin both ends of the street. The giant took his eyes off Flute to stare at the strange vehicles with flashy lights. Uniformed officers like the dog man popped out of their cars and began directing their weapons at Grisha, putting him on edge.

Click to expand...

"Oh," Flute bit her lip, darted her gaze to Grisha. "Oh, dear. I'm sure they mean well, try to stay--"

HotCider said:

“Get down on the ground with your hands behind your back!” the demand came over a megaphone.

Click to expand...

"Wait," Flute gestured frantically-- "You should focus on evacuating the bystanders before--"

She was not, precisely, having extensively good luck in getting a word in edgewise.

HotCider said:

Grisha scowled deeply. The wails of the sirens swirled about his head in a storm of noise, people were yelling, and the air still stunk. It was enough to drive a person mad. Inhaling deeply, Grisha’s chest and abdomen began to swell. When he reached max capacity, he bore his teeth angrily and screamed.

Click to expand...

Many fascinating abilities lived beneath the emerald skin of a Namekian. Regenerative healing, shapeshifting, certain varieties of psychokinesis, a metabolism that could sustain oneself simply from water without requiring one to spend money on food. If one were born of the proper caste, one could even include mystical powers in that repertoire.

As a hybrid Namekian, Flute might find that she had only a handful of the abilities from this list, and some of those would be even at a fraction of the power of one who'd hatched from pure stock. For now, what abilities she did have were largely locked away, undiscovered and unknown.

This was, perhaps, not a good time to discover that she had, in fact, inherited quite an acute sense of hearing.

HotCider said:

RAAAAAAAAH!

Click to expand...

Clapping her hands over her ears, Flute D'amour slammed her eyes shut and half-sagged to one knee, barely able to stay conscious as the whole world around her became like the inside of a churchbell. "NNNNGGGAAAAAHHH!"

HotCider said:

The decibels of the Saiyan’s voice tossed the police cars like garbage, flipping them haphazardly in the street and sidewalks. Holding his breath, Grisha faced the other blockade of vehicles, startling the cops from their stunned stupor before he released his remaining breath on them. A few tears came to his eyes as his throat became as dry as a desert. Smirking at his destructive work for the city had temporarily fell silent enough for him to think, Grisha glanced back at Flute and pointed a finger up at the sky.

Crouching, the Saiyan sprang into the air toward the nearest building and caught the edge with his hands. Pulling himself up, he leapt to a much taller building that allowed him to see a few blocks of the city and was peaceful enough that he would hear only the howling of the wind. It was above the pollution and odors that gathered below. He just might be able to find Lena’s scent again.

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Watching him go, almost as shaken at the power of his leaps as she was at the power of his rageful cry. Removing her hands from her ears, she dumbly discovered that she had bled from her ears somewhat-- reddish-purple stuff clung congealing on her fingertips.

"OW," she decided-- though to her this was a mumble, aloud it was a shout-- she'd been temporarily deafened to the point that she couldn't tell how noisily her voice trumpeted.

Staggering to her feet, trying to find her equilibrium-- she healed quickly, but this was going to take her a minute --Flute assessed the best route to follow Grisha upwards. "EVERYONE TRY TO KEEP AT A SAFE DISTANCE, I'M STILL QUITE SURE HE CAN BE REASONED WITH."

(Of course, the constabulary and the general populace could hardly be blamed for finding Flute's assessment dubious, considering the havoc Grisha had wreaked just by raising his voice.)

And then, steeling herself, taking a breath, she ran up the wall of the shorter building onto which Grisha had first jumped. She only made it halfway, but this was more than far enough to grab a windowsill, swing up, grab a balcony, and then skip up the side of a fire escape like she was lighter than a feather.

Ascending the much taller building was a few more moments' work, and Flute had to steady herself a bit as her last vault landed her on the very edge of that rooftop.

"YOU SEEM VERY STRONG," she pointed out at what she thought was a reasonable volume. "I DON'T THINK THEY CAN HURT YOU. IT'S GOOD TO HAVE POWER, BUT IT'S IMPORTANT TO KEEP IT UNDER CONTROL. THAT WAY YOU CAN BE GENTLE WHEN YOU SHOULD BE GENTLE, AND BE TOUGH WHEN YOU NEED TO BE TOUGH."

Coughing, clearing her throat, her ears popping a bit but not quite enough yet that her hearing normalized, she tried again: "CAN YOU TELL ME WHEN YOU LAST SAW LENA? IT COULD GIVE US AN IDEA WHERE TO START LOOKING."

Cheetu watched the young woman with interest, but he also watched the crowd and found something amusing. They didn't seem to know what was going on. Oh they knew they were watching a fight of course, and that she was winning, but they could not work out why.

This puzzled him. Surely they could see just how easily she was bending them to her will. Not by any mind powers of course, but by forcing them to behave just the way she wanted them to. By blocking one persons attack in a certain way and turning in a certain way to block another's, she would force the others to come at her from only certain directions or get tangled up with those people. By doing this over and over again, she controlled the fight not the attackers, and they nor the crowd seemed to understand or see this.

She also used the cover other fighters gave her to launch surprise attacks against other fighters, appearing from behind one attacker and hitting or punching another that could not see her. Their own numbers played against them. Of course her speed and skill vastly outmatched theirs and it was this that allowed her to do these moves.

Cheetu only saw one other person following the fight easily. A boy looking to be the same age as the girl in the 'ring' was perched up on a concrete slab. His eyes and head followed everything the girl did without a problem. Perhaps he could be a fighter as well and Cheetu had stumbled upon two people to train with or against.

Smiling he looked back to the show. He could not even call this a match. The opponents were to outclassed and the girl was literally putting on a show, pushing herself, while at the same time restraining herself. Maybe it was time for him to step in just so she had someone to actually push herself against.

Sick Puppies - War

Should've stood up when you had the time
But you’re out of time...​

Vanessa was still holding back, but she'd at least managed to weed out the weakest of the weak. She nodded in approval at the handful of fighters left, and they circled around her like a pack of hungry wolves.

Patience was a virtue.

Slowing down the fight was in their best interest.

A pack of wolves might take down an angry bear... if they'd work intelligently and cooperatively.

Vanessa simply sighed when they charged in without really thinking about what they were doing. With a surprising display of agility, she launched herself up into the air to avoid their attacks. The heel of her boot struck one of the men on the top of his head, and she twisted her body in the air while she continued falling so that she could strike at the back of the man closest to her.

As the next of his men fell, Vincent could sense that Vanessa was starting to get a little heated.

There were subtle changes to the way she moved... and he'd been around long enough to catch on to a few of them.

For one thing, she wasn't simply blocking their attacks anymore.

Her kicks weren't meant to teach... they were meant to inflict pain.

Perhaps in the thick of things, Vanessa's thirst for competition had let slip something a bit more ferocious.

Vincent stood up and tossed away the cigarette he had lit. He'd gotten his men into this mess, so he figured that he'd have to be the one to bail them out. It wouldn't be easy. Vanessa was a pain in the ass to deal with when she was in the mood.

"Okay, Vanessa! That's en-"

Vincent didn't even have to finish his sentence for Vanessa to "drop" the last fighter. His eyes followed after hers, and he turned to look towards the object of her attention: Cheetu. Vincent was shocked to see the anthropomorphic cheetah, but not because of what he was, but rather how he'd managed to approach the group without really being noticed.

Vanessa really didn't care one way or the other, and her lips curled into a bit of a twisted smile.

Cheetu smiled back at the woman when she finally noticed him. He had noticed she had been becoming bored in the last part of her battle and he could not blame her. The men she was fighting against showed no ability whatsoever. They could not think or even strategize, not learning from the mistakes their fellow fighters made. He could understand why her kicks and blows had become stronger and the injuries they had sustained where going to leave lasting marks.

He stepped forward as the crowd fell silent and nodded to her. "Why do you bother fighting people who are obviously so weak. Even fighting so many it is obvious that they are no challenge for you. You will never get stronger if you train this way, you have to find challengers who are worthy of you. I have been looking for people like that, perhaps you would care to spar with me and we could show these people what a true battle looks like."

He smiled widely at her. "Well perhaps not as we would only be sparring, but they may get a little taste of what it might be like."

He began to walk towards the other side of the ring and then paused and looked back at her. "Oh please excuse me, where are my manners. My name is Cheetu, it is a pleasure to meet you. Your name is? I always like to know the name of my opponent before we battle. I normally find it hard to get their name afterwards when they are unconscious or too injured."

Greengoes are falling from the sky.

HotCider said:

A red hue of embarrassment bloomed across Grisha’s cheeks. The Saiyan shook his head and pointed at his throat to indicate, while she had gone partially deaf, well…with his last outburst, it was going to be awhile before he could speak again. He instead directed his finger from his throat off into the distance in the direction of what a more street savvy person would have perceived was the metro.

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Flute was very, very new in town.

But she'd only gravitated to East Haven because she'd heard rumors of the street fighting community here, and she wanted to test her mettle and improve herself against something edgier and less refined than a proper fighting style.

And, while she'd yet to actively seek out this community-- perhaps something not so organized as a fight club, but then again maybe so-- she'd familiarized herself with some of the likely places such a subculture might haunt.

Underground tunnels were a viable candidate, and thus when Grisha pointed in the absence of his functional voicebox and Flute's functional ears, she was juuuuust savvy enough to know where he indicated.

HotCider said:

Lowering his hand, Grisha crouched with his back to Flute and beckoned her with a wave to climb onto his back. She had been petite like Lena, and regardless if she had weighed more than a walrus, by now they both knew that he was pretty strong whether it was intentional strength/barbarism or spurred by his retardation. If Flute did choose to mount the giant, she’d find his mantle to be quite comfortable with all the beast furs layered into its design.

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Flute D'amour was not a fearful woman. But perhaps one might forgive her a modicum of hesitation.

She was unaware, of course, of the traumatic brain injury suffered by this man-thing who dressed like a Wendigo and jumped like a Hulk (indeed, she was unaware of Western comic books such that she wouldn't get any of those three references) --but he definitely seemed rather bullish and this whole city was his china shop. Perhaps now would be a good time to encourage more rational action?

HotCider said:

As cautious and alert as always for the city had kept him on his toes since he had arrived, Grisha overheard the loud buzz of a chopper approaching them. A breeze from its slicing blades whipped across the rooftop and Grisha frowned at the sight of the noisy bird. The technology was way over his head and his simple comprehension could only imagine the machines to be metal animals or just junk. The helicopter seemed like a bird.

“Hold it right there!” a voice shouted from the chopper. “Both of you put your hands in the air and stand down!”

It seemed the cops were starting to think that Flute was the brute’s accomplice. Grisha growled lowly to himself. He didn’t have time for this!

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The choppering blades sounded like a distant lawn sprinkler to Flute, and while she saw a policeman's mouth enunciate his bellow, she had no skill in reading lips to interpret speech in the absence of sound.

Flute cupped her hands around her mouth and yelled as loud as she could-- which, really, wasn't much louder than her speaking voice at the moment, as she had already been talking at nearly the top of her lungs--

(Someday, perhaps, in an unwritten, uncertain future, she might become sufficiently versed in certain aerokinetic Ki-jutsus that sound manipulation might become, heh, a forte of hers. But even if that time would ever come, it was not now.)

--"HE MEANS WELL, I PROMISE! WE JUST NEED TO FIND HIS FRIEND, YOU'LL SEE! HE'S JUST UPSET, I HAVE TO HELP HIM!"

And then she whirled, and she bounded onto Grisha's back, and she slammed her eyes shut.

She was not a fearful person, and heights were not a phobia of hers.

But this ride-- figuratively and literally --promised to be bumpy.

Raksha

As Cheetu walked forward, Vanessa couldn't help but feel like she was finally get the chance to really let loose. Perhaps the new arrival's words had helped revitalize the fighting spirit that had gone cold over the past couple of years. Yes, she was worthy of a real challenge.

Vincent, on the other hand, was at a loss for words.

Stunned...

Slightly amused...

He couldn't figure out if he should be insulted or not.

He looked over at Vanessa, and she had her hands balled up into fists while the rest of his gang collected and distanced themselves from her. They may not have been worthy of a fight with one of their leaders, but they certainly felt like they'd earned a place to watch one.

It was always fun to watch a new wolf take on the alpha.

Or rather... a cheetah take on the mama wolf.

Before Vanessa could give up her name, Vincent jumped down and placed his body between the two fighters.

"Look, dude, I don't kn-"

Vanessa stepped forward and took her place in front of him. The look she gave him clearly reminded him that she didn't need, or want, his protection.

"I'm pretty sure he was talking to me."

Vanessa smiled as she folded her arms over her chest. She sized up her opponent, and the smile on her face melted away once she took another good look.

"You're definitely new in town," Vanessa noted. "Otherwise I don't think you would have come down here without any backup. So your name's Cheetu, huh? Well, I hate to be one of those girls, but if you want my name you'll just have to beat it out of me."

Vanessa steeled her nerves, and she didn't lunge at him directly.

She guessed he had to be fast; plenty of other fighters were.

She'd give him once chance to prove himself.

Cheetu took up his own fighting stance across the ring from her and studied her as well.

He was impressed that she had not attacked him straight away. Many a foolish opponent had done so when first seeing him.

Maybe the fact that their physiques were very similar and she knew just how much damage she could do with hers gave her slight pause. Whatever the reason he decided he would have to make the first move.

He knew how fast she had been moving before, but decided she had not really been pushing herself, maybe traveling at close to half her speed. He upped it another quarter and flew across the ring launching a leg sweep, mid range kick, upper cut combo. It was just to test her defenses.

Then he shot back to his side of the ring.

As expected she was still standing after his first attack and he was impressed with her skills. She might not have been prepared for his speed but she had reacted well to it.

Still he grinned at her. "My compliments dear lady," Cheetu said with a little bow. "Not too many people have survived my first attacks. I believe I will enjoy this fight. In fact I might even be able to get out of first gear."

Crim's initial assessment turned out to be correct when Fang just barely cocked his head to one side letting the rock travel past him. "I see you're not entirely untrained." Fang said casually.

Sirens, dozens of them caught his attention and he turned toward the source by the time he turned back Fang had vanished. He probably hadn't gotten to far but out of sight was out of sight and Crim was less interested in tracking down the masked vigilante than he was in finding out what exactly was going on so he started bounding between the rooftops towards. . .

Whoa.

The police, all of them it seemed, had a man and a woman on a rooftop. They'd even bothered to bring out the helicopter. "I want absolutely none of that." Crim said aloud stopping a safe distance outside the perimeter. It wasn't that he didn't think he could dodge a bullet or possibly even survive one, it was that he had no interest at all in testing said theory and besides didn't choppers carry really unreasonably large guns? Things better defined as machine rotating cannons than actual guns? Wasn't one named Puff the Magic Dragon and it was known to cut down trees?! Yeah. "Zero of that for me thank you."

Still it was interesting enough to keep an eye on, especially since he hadn't yet located the giant neon sign reading "underground fight tourny this way" which was increasingly sounding like something he wasn't going to find for obvious reasons. PErhaps he should have thought that step of his plan out better?

"Green Line, Last Stop Lechmere."

Flute did not keep her eyes shut long.

Indeed, as she had very little (or any) experience with this sort of cannonball parkour, she had no reason to believe that she would not feel a certain amount of intestinal turbulence induced by the vertigo of such leaps. And yet, as Grisha swung from copter-skid to copter-skid like a spider-monkey, Flute couldn't help but crack one eye open and realize, to her surprise, how-- native-born she felt to this environment.

Her ruby red hair billowing in the wind-shear, her eyes lightly watering at the sight of the cityscape see-sawing beneath them...

...her heart leaped at this, unexpectedly, with the joy of one discovering a brand-new way to be.

Maybe it was a sign that Capsule's attempts to mentally condition her, still very much mostly submerged in her subconscious, had nevertheless succeeded at making her utterly unafraid of skydiving or BASE-jumping. Or maybe it ran deeper than that, to the pockmarked genetic memory built into the helices that Capsule had forcibly cribbed together to create her...

...but in either case, she was instantly distracted from such ponderings when Grisha dropped them like a rock towards the entrance to the East Haven subway...

...and her ears popped at the sudden change in altitude, restoring her hearing from the tinnitus that had dogged her since Grisha's outburst.

"Ah!" she cried, brightly delighted. "That's much better!"

--she immediately heard the people around them yelling in dismay as Grisha barreled through their midst like Donkey Kong.

"Excuse us!" Flute called to them regretfully, wincing at how unsubtle Grisha's train-station etiquette was, and waving apologetically to the uniformed man at the turnstile. "Gomen! Gomen nasai! Sorry, it's an emergency!"

Then Grisha lunged like an orca breaching, and they were aboard the train by the skin of their proverbial teeth.

Flute sighed with relief, the burst of air pushing a red forelock out of her face.

Grisha glanced back over his shoulder at her, flashing a thumb-up, obviously pleased with their progress.

But now that they were on (relatively) steady terra firma, Flute realized that they weren't out of the concrete woods yet.

Whatever programming seeped through into her higher reasoning, it occurred to her that law-enforcement tactics were not quite so easily eluded. Any one of those policemen could radio ahead and have reinforcements waiting for them (possibly heavier-armed) at the next stop or two or several. Especially if they coordinated with transit-authority security, like the fellow they'd just blown past at the ticket booth.

Not to mention, having such a volatile individual as Grisha in an underground high-speed metal compartment filled with civilians without a (presumably) calming influence like his missing Lena was a notably untenable situation.

"We need to get off this train," she informed him, blue eyes wide and expressive, attempting to convey the seriousness of this situation. "Before it stops again. There will be more police waiting for us, and you don't need to hurt them to get what you want! We can get to the surface using service tunnels, maybe they won't be expecting that!"