[Round 2] Arian Lennox vs. Reyin Nova

Description: Though Midus knew there was a storm approaching, instead of closing the ceilings of the fighting arenas, he has instead decided to keep them open to add an interesting aspect to the next round. Instead of a nice, warm sunny day, the fighters would instead be fighting in the harsh condition of ten mile per hour winds that will sometimes gust to thirty mph, heavy rain drops (though not disturbing enough to cause total distraction to sight; maybe 20% reduction), and the occasional thunderbolt lighting up the skies. To help make the arena more comfortable for the fighters, the floor has been turned into low cut grass to help keep traction. However, if the ground is dug up too much, mud and dirt will be added to the terrain.

Despite the weather, the crowd of people have come to watch the fight, wielding umbrellas over their heads.

Special Conditions: Fire is a bit weaker here since it'll be harder to start up one without the rain putting it out. And electricity will get a bigger boost in strength, though it will also short out much faster than if wielded normally by the fighters who posses it.

Field Measurements: Ring: 70 yard diameter

Ten Count Boundary: As soon as a fighter enters the bleachers, the count begins. The flying rule remains, as well.

"I don't do what I do because I want recognition-"

She was late. Always with being late, dammit. Darting around the bystanders hovering about outside the arena, either getting snacks or umbrellas or ponchos, Arian fervently wished she was bigger. She wouldn't have to duck under arms, slip through small gaps, and shoulder people aside with a flash of temper if they got pissy. She'd just freaking walk on through.

Another few minutes, and the crowd would see the smaller, black cloaked figure dashing into the arena, a foot and a half of a wooden staff sticking out to the side from beneath her cloak, a black gloved hand slipping out for her to grab the rain slick bar of the fence-and swing the rest of her over it, landing in the low cut grass with a bit of sliding.

Hell-she nearly fell on her ass.

A murmur of laughter filtered around the crowd at this odd entrance as Arian windmilled her arms and righted herself-her red untertoned, brownish dusky skin tone hiding most of her slight coloring across her cheeks-but she shook her head and ignored the laughter.

The cloak was heavy, weighed down with a lot of water. The hood had collapsed, spilling water onto her nose and down over her full lips-and it really wasn't surprising when Arian Lennox, outlawed native of Courtelli Isle, impatiently pulled her hood back with her right gloved hand, revealing dark, glossy black hair and vibrantly colored eyes, the exact shade and depth of tropical seas off the coasts of islands.

She looked young as well-in fact, she was just a year younger than he was. She'd hit twenty two in September-not that Arian would remember or care about her own birthday, but that was no matter.

She was beautiful, but determined looking-and also displayed no supernatural aura, no fun magical stuff, and nothing altogether special. She was pulling the cloak off, untying the strings before her throat-and then draped the heavy cloth over her right forearm, the wooden, six and a half foot long staff now fully visible slanted across her back-as were the woman's other weapons, all sheathed in a weapon belt that hung off one curved and leather armored hip.

She was five foot two, but seemed more intimidating than her size warranted-clothed in black leather armor up to her chin, her dusky skinned legs and arms were bare, for the most part, as were her shoulders, the jet black inked tattoo on her right shoulder blade surrounding the double v brand, a mark the crowd knew well, as did many others. Hanging from the inside of the belt were leather flaps to protect Arian's toned thighs and add some decency. Thick forearm guards, thicker than her arm could possibly be, protected her arm past the gloves, stopping a few inches from her elbow. And above those elbows...were two spiked straps, blackened spikes of three inches each, meant to tear a man apart.

Her body was feminine, clear curves even though constricted beneath the leather-and toned muscles that expressed conditioning, but not to a point of steroid use or something. Feminine, not manly.

The rain instantly soaked the hair that slipped past the ear flaps of the helmet-and slickened the leather and metal studded helm, along with her armor-to a shiny black. Her feet were clothed in simple cloth boots. They were black too.

She seemed rather armed to the teeth. And fiery looking. Ready for a fight.

"Arian." She said over the rain in introduction, before- "I hope you'll be better than the last guy." Arian could respect Damon's use of his talents-but in her mind, that wasn't really fighting.

Fuck that. She wanted some clashing of blades and metal, blood drawn through punches, slashes, cuts and scrapes, throws and holds and stabbing.

Her tone was both curious and slightly fiery-not altogether unfriendly, and indeed-if he was here to offer up a fight, she was more than glad to meet that with her own steel. Her English was accented-an exotic lilt on her vowels and a softening of harsh sounds made her speech pleasant to hear, nearly musical-and altogether foreign, though he would have no problem understanding her-she was fluent in English, accent or not.

Her knees bent, the distance about fifteen feet or so-Arian taking a mild stance, yet drawing nothing, still. Her cloak was still draped over her bent right arm, her left hand up and just hanging out before her.

Fifteen feet was all that separated these two fighters-and Arian, for once, seemed to be waiting for a first move or a confirmation of battle before she jumped headlong into the battle.

(Slight Edit-changed twenty to fifteen)

"I do what I do because they've been wronged, and I want to make it right."

"I don't do what I do because I want recognition-"

Arian hadn't spoken verbally to answer his question-just an impatient nod, brushing off his concern-or his mocking. She decided he was sincere-and didn't get amped about it.

He returned his name and smiled-and Arian, with a slight tilt of her head-offered the faintest of half smiles as well, full lips curving on one side. He seemed like a nice guy. She'd try not to break him too much, she supposed-then again, it could be him doing all the breaking, never knew.

He uttered a word and then tugged on his hat, his right hand moving to the hilt of his long sword-and her smile vanished, replaced with an impassive expression-though her eyes glimmered with expectation of a good fight. God damn was she ready for one too-she could feel it throughout her body, the need for action.

Tournaments were all fun and games for Arian-a less serious manner of fighting than the violent lifestyle she kept. So long as she got her fight-she was pleased, win or lose.

His last statement didn't make much sense to the native-but she gathered it's meaning.

"Always." She said, slinging the cloak over her shoulder, letting the sopping wet cloth hang evenly over her form-it wasn't too much added weight. Arian could handle it, was conditioned for it. She pulled her short swords from each hip, the blades two and a half feet long with no cross guard, just a thick metallic handle.

Her gloves seemed to have quite the bit of gripping power, grabbing hold and drawing the blades with no slipping. Arian held the left blade before her, the other at her side and out, nearly parallel with her right thigh, pointed towards the ground as her knee was.

She considered him a moment. And then burst forward in a surprising show of starting power far as speed went-her eyes alert, legs pumping as she shoved off the ground, coming to meet him.

"I do what I do because they've been wronged, and I want to make it right."

"I don't do what I do because I want recognition-"

Arian nearly laughed out loud in delight-there was no magic coming for her, no blasts of air, no odd invisible attacks she couldn't play with-he was coming at her with a sword and a sword scabbard. He was bigger, but not a giant like Vince or Tank-this would be fun. Finally, a fight worth bleeding for. Or drawing blood for. Ideally-it'd be both. Her right hand came up to grip her cloak in her fingers-all while dashing towards him, Reyin doing the same. The cloak was soaked-which would make it better for what she wanted to do with it.

Her lips curved into the faintest of smiles, eyes glittering with amused determination-even as he took his swing for her left side. The alert, instinctive feeling to her eyes remained-along that ever present determination to fight and fight hard.

Left hand had already been before her, and it took only a simple manipulation with Arian's deft fingers to twirl the blade downwards in her gloved hand, the flat of the blade facing her (and the opposing flat facing his sword), the sword diagonally held across her body now- moving her arm sharply to her left to meet his blade on her own. CLANG! Metal met metal, his strength and his swing's momentum now pit against Arian's strength-the smaller woman no match for brute force, forcing the flat of the sword into her ribcage and waist with some painful force-sending Arian to her left with violence.

BUT! At the same time her left hand had been twirling her blade downwards-her right had been dropping it's shortsword in order to better grip the cloak-which Arian whipped out at HIM. His strike would clang against her sword as her cloak wrapped several times around his face and head, his neck included-and somewhat like a wet towel, smacking him at it's apex. His hat might offer a tent of sorts-or the bill might be sticking out while his face and upper head were wrapped.

As the force of his strike knocked Arian violently to the left-the cloak would be yanking him with the same force his strike had hit her with-jerking him to his left-and in a way, swinging Arian in a curve around him, the lady dancing to keep upright, her grip on the cloak unrelenting, the pain in her side breath stealing. But she still held on, and if she managed to regain her footing before he could do anything (blinded as he might be) she would yank violently back on it again-all in an attempt to bring him down.

Given the slippery grass, however, Arian would use just the strength in her upper body, as opposed to her legs and core. But we'll see about that.

"I do what I do because they've been wronged, and I want to make it right."

"I don't do what I do because I want recognition-"

Bruised ribs, maybe. But none of them were fractured. She was thankful for that. Breath rushed into Arian's lungs as he went for his slide-turning her body, the cloak pulling her a bit-before he was free of it and Arian whipped it back, her right hand opening to release the cloak. The right went immediately to the staff on her back, dancing back away from him another two feet, her left hand already having sheathed it's short sword as she pulled the staff from her back and brought it to bear before her, held in both hands, the end towards the ground closer to him than the end in the air, which was over her right shoulder, about.

His light manner caused a blink-and for a moment, she seemed genuinely confused. He sure was in a good mood. It was kind of odd, for her to be fighting and she wasn't even angry. Hm. And then fire filtered back into her gaze, a lift of one dark and delicately arched brow as her grip tightened on her staff, lifting it slightly. He rolled. He looked away from her.

She was nearly four feet away from him, his feet pointed away from her, head closest. (Confirmed through im) Attacking his face was out of the question-such an act was disrespectful and offensive in her culture-she wasn't angry enough to go for his face, not now, not yet.

But he was on the ground. Arian's brain worked two ways. Instinctively, she knew to go for him now. Heart wise-attacking a downed opponent was not only cruel-it was downright wrong.

How many times, however, had this value bitten her in the ass? How many times had she been pinned down and beaten to shit by an opponent bigger, heavier, MEANER than she was from the get go? Arian wasn't pissed-but she was Arian Lennox. Expected to be cruel, ruthless. He had gone down. She wasn't going to make a win easy for him. The crowd was roaring, those familiar with her waiting and demanding blood, those who weren't but had seen her last fight and her last fight only demanding she go back home to her 'kind.'

He was downed, but he didn't have to stay there. He could have gotten up. He wasn't hurt. She would have gotten up.

His laziness, or at least-his care free manner in dealing with her-would have to cost him. She was branded, dammit. That ought to warn people enough.

All these thoughts occurred at insane speeds, all while everything distracted Arian, as it always did. The rain hitting her skin, the ground smooshed beneath her cloth boots, the rants of the crowd and the boy on the ground-it never occurred to Arian she was his age. Now she realized it, and felt weird. It was hard to believe she was only two decades and a year old.

She had caused much more trouble than that.

He was on the ground. He was uninjured. It would cost him. Her thoughts were again shoved to the outside of the little bubble of focus Arian had to struggle to obtain-but always did well creating. She would take the price for his foolishness. That was the thought that brought Arian back into the game, for all the few precious milliseconds she had been only partially in it.

He was beginning to tilt his head back to look up at her-he would see her slightly to the left of him, now, having moved a bit. Why? Better access.

"Afraid so." Arian's accented English answered-before she jabbed downward with the staff, going for the hollow of his throat-but at an angle in order to strike him better.

The staff was six and a half feet long, Arian was three and a half feet away. It was going to hurt.

"I do what I do because they've been wronged, and I want to make it right."

"I don't do what I do because I want recognition-"

He rolled, and Arian found her staff being thrusted, instead, into the mud. She was glad it hadn't hit him, surprisingly-but she was not jerked with the impact-no. She hadn't been jabbing with all her might, because Arian knew the dangers of that.

Crushing a windpipe was not only not nice-it was murder.

She wasn't here to kill people. Well-people in the ring, anyway. Hurt them maybe-but maiming or killing them was just not what Arian did.

Pulling back on the staff in a quick movement, the little amazon danced back another foot, his attempted hooking either missing altogether-or sliding off her slick staff shortly after. She was quick. Very fast. And frowning at him. "...I don't think I've fought without being angry in a long time."

Seriously. He wasn't...pressuring her into desperate moves and attacks, fierce fire and flames-nor was he an asshole pissing her off. It was weird. Not even the attempted throat jab seemed to unsettle him all that much-just made her feel guilty, as she had before doing it.

It annoyed her, to have any reserves or feelings about fighting. She preferred not to think on it-to throw all she had into something. to fight dirty when it was required. Concern never got her anywhere-matter of fact, fighting Vince-it had gotten her cut in half.

She had to be angry. If he couldn't fuel the fire-than other things could. Thinking of her father, of her first few years on the mainland, of Naria's death and Tristan's arrogance and Charlie's blackmailing-oh, she could fuel the fire. But would she stand the guilt?

"Get up damn you." She said now, nearly with an insistent sort of manner-asking him, rather than just cursing him. At the same time...dually-she seemed angry. Angry that he wasn't making her angry, if that made any sense-Arian was a paradoxical woman. She was also light on her feet, tense-shifting her weight foot to foot to keep her muscles warmed up, ready to make a move or dart away or to the right and left-ready to GO. She held the staff before her, elbows bent, staff diagonal slightly before her body-but mostly horizontal.

She was out of sword range, but he wasn't out of her staff range-yet she still did nothing to attack him. The blasted compassionate streak, the thing that kept her human, kept her from being what everyone thought she was, what even SHE wondered if she was-hitting hard now, becoming apparent. "Come on-get up, fight me." Insistent, nearly impatiently friendly. "I'm worth some effort, dammit, on your feet, let's go-you're battling an outlaw here, not somebody's housewife." The exotic sounding words were odd against the clashing thunder and sound of rainfall, Arian soaked but not seeming to mind-vibrant eyes upon him.

"I do what I do because they've been wronged, and I want to make it right."

"I don't do what I do because I want recognition-"

He stood. His comment drew a laugh-a pretty, bell like sound-and Arian shook her head. If only he knew. Well. He would soon.

He bowed, and Arian's arm muscles twitched, the outlaw nearly striking him then and there out of reflex. It was all she could do to leave him unassaulted until he caught the scabbard once more-surging forward.

Finally. And as he began his charge-Arian's genius but distracted mind fast forwarded through every ounce of pain, humiliation, and shame given to her before she was Arian Lennox, demon woman, monster, outlaw.

Quote: Wrote:

> High Intellect & Exacting memory-Arian possesses a very high IQ, and an exacting memory, somewhat like an autistic idiot savant person, without the idiot portion. Everything Arian takes in with her senses is committed immediately to long term memory. She is able to instantly recall ANYTHING she's ever come into contact with, and simply does NOT forget. Anything. The amount of information intake requires a higher IQ and quite a bit of self discipline as far as focusing on what DOES matter. Due to a lack of organized education, Arian seems ignorant of some things, such as standards of grammar and the like, while inhumanly capable of others, such as music. Her knowledge of newer technologies are limited, but through books and experience, she gets by well enough when she goes to invent or create something.

She thought of Naria Whitewood, blown up into a billion pieces before her eyes, her best friend, her only friend, her dead friend. She thought of the reasons behind it. How pointless they had been. She thought about a little winged toddler with no mother and no father-because she had failed to save the former and had murdered the rapist latter.

She thought of Charlie, using that winged little boy-Arian's Godson-the knowledge of him against her, forcing her into tournaments while hunters circled around cursing, waiting for her to return to her life on the run, waiting for her to return to her usual activities of overthrows and murder, campaigns of chaos and terror.

She thought of her father.

Arian's right hand left her staff, moving to her right side-which he might've noticed, seemed to have some protusion that didn't exist on her left side in her armor. From the top of one protusion-Arian drew what appeared to be a vial of water-and some grey stuff at the bottom. She pulled her arm back.

The scabbard came for her head-and Arian did nothing more than thrust her head forward to meet it.

Quote: Wrote:

> Leather helm > > This is a simple leather helm with a lightweight metal plate over the forehead/crown area and the back of the head between the two layers of leather. All this does is help protect Arian's skull from striking the ground and or other people's skulls. (Headbutt protection. Yay~) Leather goes over ears but stops just past them.

The scabbard would strike and then deflect off, knocking Arian's head back slightly-but the metal plate spanned the blow and so protected against, for the most part-a MAJOR headache, and the underhanded throw wasn't strong enough to cause whiplash (confirmed through im). But still. Ow. How many times had the butt of HIS hand struck her forehead, demanding her attention as she backed away from him, his anger quickly bringing forth the use of his fists?

Arian's inner fire wasn't just lit-it exploded. How many times INDEED!? Did this man think she would be downed by such light attacks?! She was going to MAKE him fight her, damn him-damn everybody! Taking her lightly would result only in PAIN!

She-she growled. It was the only way to describe the sound, hardly heard over the rain and thunder-her expression nearly feral, beautiful in it's wild kind of fire-but suddenly lethal seeming at the same time.

She wasn't your calm kind of pretty. She was your wrathful kind of devastatingly beautiful. Nothing calm or 'cute' about her, anymore.

Arian hurled the vial at him with enough force to punch through car windows-something she had done, once or twice. Her staff lashed out violently in her left hand, quickly joined by her right after the throw-just in time to strike at his sword arm before he was close enough to swing it at her, her intent to make him let go of the blasted thing with the baseball bat like swing-though it only had half the power considering she didn't turn her torso much to build it up, not wishing to give him too much an opening to throw something else.

As for the vial...

Quote: Wrote:

> “Fire Making Shit”(Actual quote from the outlaw) > Three glass vials are sheathed along Arian’s right side, vertically aligned up that side of her armor, in special metal sheaths to prevent them from being broken-or, for some reason, if they are broken, the mixture will be without oxygen and so unable to burn. The lower half of the vial contains the same mixture found on the tips of the fire shot in the staff, sealed off by glass-and the top half contains water. Arian pretty much draws one and CHUCKS one at an opponent, which proves to be unfortunate.

Quote: Wrote:

> Mixture-"a rather medieval mixture-oil, sulfur, and quicklime, mixed with tow. This mixture bursts into flames in the presence of moisture-any contact with water (sweat, spit, etc) brings this fiery effect. Trying to put it out only makes it worse."

It would smash open either against his chest just beneath the collar of his shirt-maybe hitting bare skin on his neck-water and some slimey, icky material exploding from it along with broken glass-bursting instantly into flames. He was already soaked, and the chemical spread easily through his wet shirt or wet skin. The falling rain didn't help matters-it spread the mixture further, hastening the amount of distance it covered-though it also spread the chemical out, weakening the power it had until it was nearly so overspread-he was barely burning, his over saturated shirt on fire, maybe, but it was going out.

Still though-the initial blast of heat would be PAINFUL. It'd burn him pretty badly before being spread out by the rain, which would take a minute or two to happen, maybe as many as five depending on how HARD it was raining, and if the rain could get to his chest completely.

"I do what I do because they've been wronged, and I want to make it right."

(Edit:

Actions: Arian threw one of her 'Fire Making' Vials straight at his chest/low, low neck area, avoiding his face on purpose. The thing exploded into flames. It was cool.

Arian also attempts half a baseball bat swing for his sword arm.

Damage taken: Pegged in the head by the scabbard, that didn't feel nice-but is superficial damage at best.))

"I don't do what I do because I want recognition-"

DAMMIT! The lucky son of a-actually, that was kind of interesting. She'd have to remember the whole...flaming sword thing...

Her staff struck his arm solidly, no doubt numbing the fuck out of his arm and sending jolts of pain spiraling along his bicep and the bone there. He was turning, ducking beneath her staff, definitely not a slow bastard-but Arian didn't just stand there. Like hell-since her swing had not had a full wind up, the recovery time was much less-and she was quick to begin with. Arian yanked the staff back in her left hand with a jerk, tilting it slightly up and letting the slick wood slide back in her loose grip as her left hand released it.

She was angry. Angry-but also thinking in fast forward, knowing what was happening, knowing what to do some impossible way-because she had dealt with it before. Arian Lennox forgot nothing.

As he was pivoting, Arian executed a quick step to her right, intending to move in a curve around him to try keeping him in front of her-all while her left arm, bent at the elbow, lifted up and across her body, held just before her lips. (The inside of her bent elbow up before her face.)

He was nearly finished with his turn-Arian's step to her right bringing her nearly completely behind him, torso twisted away in a fashion that he'd be hitting her back/side more than full on side-the twist also causing her lower two layers of leather armor to stiffen yet further, folding together beneath the stiff upper layer-he was finishing with his turn, bringing the pommel of his sword hurtling for her side as Arian brought her elbow crashing back to strike him in the back rather painfully-or intended to.

Arian was very fast. Recovery time and the like-not to mention, her shoulders were bare, allowing easy movement. But she wasn't superhuman fast. And damn, as that sword handle struck her in the side, sending Arian staggering to her right, the spiked elbow strap slashing across his back rather than puncturing or tearing into it-she sure wished she was.

Quote: Wrote:

> -Spiked bands > > Leather strap wrapped around Arian's upper arm, just above her elbow, displays wicked spikes jutting from the sides away from her-about two to three inches long, very strong. She has one on each arm, and they are used to wound when she rams her elbow into an opponent, literally meant to tear their flesh apart, when used effectively. The strap is held securely with a plain belt fastener. Meant to last through countless battles, and the ones she's bearing seem new.

Still though-painful, bloody slash on his back-t shirt wrecked for SURE now.

Arian wasn't off scot free. Hit hard in her left side, she nearly fell down-and only avoided it by jamming her staff down into the mud, swinging/stumbling around it so that it stood between him and her, held tightly in her left hand. Her right soon joined it on a lower portion, giving a slight twist.

In this rain and lighting-he wouldn't be able to tell what she had done-but if, for some reason-he DID look closely enough at it-he'd think there were holes in the lower portion, now. ...odd.

"I don't know how to fight any other way." Arian's accented English answered him belatedly-standing no more than four, maybe four and a half feet away from him. Alert. Watchful. Waiting for his sword. Her tone was heated-yet somehow, insanely-nearly apologetic. He had done nothing to warrant anger, after all. She just didn't know how to fight without being pissed.

He was light hearted. Arian wasn't sure how to be, anymore. There were times, she supposed-but was her guard ever really down, these days?

No.

Once again, fire flashed through with renewed violent intent through those vibrantly colored blue eyes-a sort of burning rage that was trying it's damnedest to build.

Arian replayed things in her head. She listened to them all over again. Saw it. Heard it. Tasted blood, smelled fire, FELT impact and bruises no longer there, no longer existing-just the hit he'd managed. That ached. "Come on." She pressed once again, wanting him to be just as mad-or at least come at her again, dammit. Attack, for Christ's sake.

"I do what I do because they've been wronged, and I want to make it right."

"I don't do what I do because I want recognition-"

Decoration? Like hell. Arian had ripped men to pieces, torn muscle and eyes and scraped BONE with those nasty little implements-they were for close call fighting, striking unexpectedly while your hands were otherwise occupied. Imagine trying to get a hold-and keeping that hold-on this woman. Damn near impossible, or at least-not without stitches.

He would be turning to look at Arian just as she twisted her staff, throwing his words over his shoulder. Kid had no idea. No idea at all.

"I was amazed when I hit twenty." Arian responded, and indeed-she had been. No one had killed her off yet? None of her plans had gone awry enough to land her in a coffin? Arian had been buried alive once. Not a good day.

His sudden step back did, indeed-catch Arian by surprise. His seizing-but not pulling-of her weapon also were not things she expected, had seen before, or thought to deflect. But she was not startled into losing time. No-he grabbed hold of HER weapon. Arian had worked herself in a fiery, pissy mood. Arian was rather possessive of her things while angry. You didn't take ANYTHING away from HER-not unless she WANTED you to.

And she liked this staff.

[INTERRUPTION!]

Without thinking, Arian's right hand released the staff-and she decked his arm from below in a semi upper cut. For a woman-Arian sure could hit. But it wasn't the punch he would be thinking about, particularly-it would be the blast of pain that erupted where she HAD hit, spiraling through his forearm and all the way to his shoulder and neck, spreading through him-but strongest in those two areas, the voltage not high enough to fry ALL of him. Electric shock arced along some beads of water-but mostly through HIM, for Arian's gloves were themselves a closed circuit-much like a taser.

Lucky for Reyin-Arian hadn't had her right glove on full power-but it'd still hurt like a bitch, and no doubt make his arm numb and possibly useless. Son of a BITCH!!!! She wasn't just a walking house of blades-she had freaking gadgets galore on her!

Quote: Wrote:

> -Electrified gloves > > These black leather looking gloves are woven with metal wires, blackened-Arian's hands are coated in a rubber liquid mixture to prevent shocking herself before battle-and produce a chosen level of voltage. The gloves electrify when Arian's hands are fisted, pressure pads in the palm working as the switch. She can turn them off the same way she changed the voltage-a simple adjustment of her gauntlet-as they can be adjusted separately. The effect of these she usually keeps centralized to the area she has struck-a low enough voltage to avoid shocking the person's entire body-but high enough to add damage to her punches to the area her fist strikes. She can up the voltage to a taser level common to police officer taser guns-and shock the hell out of someone, if she chooses to. Knowing first hand what such a shock feels like, Arian rarely will resort to this option. > > **Gauntlets-These are armor too-but contain the batteries for each glove. The top of the Gauntlet (the part NOT touching the glove, closest to her elbow-) is the dial to adjust, simply by turning it and then pressing down again to lock into place.

The assault had been impulse-but Arian didn't feel bad about it. No-she was furious at him now. Nevermind how irrational-the logical side of Arian's mind was told to can it-he was the ENEMY, he was a MAN, and he had just tried to take or use HER weapon. "And I'll be DAMNED if the lazy fuckers let me live to be twenty five." Her words were much more accented now, exotic, fiery, nearly musical representations of English, carrying alot of heat to them. More than before. Actually-a scary amount in comparison to before.

If Reyin had stumbled, Arian would grip both hands over her head on the staff-and lift her legs up, swinging back in order to swing forward and KICK him, hard-or if he remained there, tightly gripping the staff-she would do the same-just with much less force to her two footed kick.

Either way-the end result was the same, and she was out of the way-her staff would FIRE from the many opened barrels drilled in the lower half when Arian's weight brought the top half together with the bottom half. And as the several dozens of thin, three inch long needles launched out of the barrels, sure to make a pincushion of his legs and lower body (3.25 feet is the height range the pins are firing into), they burst into little points of flame in the rain, little fires literally dripping off of them into the wet grass.

She'd drop down on the wet grass, her staff now held over her head like a blunt weapon-and that's exactly what Arian would follow through with. She'd bring it down, harshly, upon him, if he was still standing at all, no matter what condition.

If he had fallen or stumbled, she refrained from socking him square in the head-and would instead bring her staff to bear in both hands before her, at ready, the left side behind her, right forward, slanted.

Quote: Wrote:

> -Flute Staff > Info: Arian invented this staff as a means for crowd control. Inspired by the instrument it takes it’s name from, this staff originally had only seven holes in one line. It was later modified to the weapon it is today. > > Description: This wooden Staff is strong enough to use in regular combat-but it has a wild card built in. The staff is actually composed of two hollow tubes of strong, metal reinforced wood, top half able to slide a little on the metal pipe when engaged. The bottom half of this special weapon is simply twisted to the right to allow use of the triggering mechanism and to uncover the many barrels in the top half. By slamming the staff (bottom first) into the ground and pole vaulting, Arian can launch many projectile shots at a surrounding group while avoiding damage to herself. Twisting the bottom half back to the left closes the barrels and twists closed the trigger. It also reloads the firing barrels. A maximum of four volleys can be launched due to space, but only two volleys if the flute staff is loaded with fire shots. > > Dimensions: 6 ½ ft of height, the flute staff has a two inch diameter thickness. Dark stained wood with steel tubing reinforcing the inside, springs as trigger and to launch projectiles.

Quote: Wrote:

> **Fire Shots: The tips of these thin little darts are coated with a rather medieval mixture-oil, sulfur, and quicklime, mixed with tow. This mixture bursts into flames in the presence of moisture-any contact with water (sweat, spit, etc) brings this fiery effect. Trying to put it out only makes it worse.

"I do what I do because they've been wronged, and I want to make it right."

"I don't do what I do because I want recognition-"

Fucker was just as fast reacting-Arian's vibrantly colored eyes narrowed on the realization, her attempted 'let's turn Reyin into a pin cushion' attack failing with something as simple as a jump.

Damn.

Pushing off of her kick, Arian's body swung back once more, her feet no longer held tightly together as his pushing off of them had forced her right foot slightly away from her left. Just in time for him to suddenly let go-sending the staff leaning backwards with one outlaw attached-and for him to kick her.

Arian had turned her head just slightly when he released the staff, the turn and the falling back of the staff causing his foot to catch the underside of her chin-but more on the right side.

Pain exploded throughout Arian's jaw-and it would no doubt hurt the hell out of his toes and foot as well. Arian had not gotten out of HoH scot free.

Quote: Wrote:

> ((Should be noted-the right side of Arian’s jaw bone has been replaced with a lightweight metal stronger than steel. This is because the right side of her jaw had been shattered and then RESHATTERED in HoH. Arian has gotten some healing and then some talented doctors to replace it completely with the lightweight metal. There is no outward sign of this-merely the long, pale scar running along the underside edge of her jaw on the right side. ))

CRASH! SPLOOSH!

Arian hit the mud on her back with no small amount of violence, the kick having only added to the fall of the staff-the pain and impact sending Arian to the mud and grass.

She snapped her right hand up to shove her helm back on her head-rolling over to all fours with a shake of her head, all about the same time he landed fully. Staff in her left hand, her right joined it as she pushed up on the muddy ground-the slippery stuff sliding off the back of her arms and leather armor in the falling rain.

"So...any more booby traps I should be aware of?"

He wouldn't be able to tell she twisted the staff closed again. The movement looked so natural as she pushed herself up...and pivoted, bringing the staff around to bear in both hands before her, left back and down at her left side, right up and just before her chest as she worked her jaw a little-giving up on the dull ache as her lips closed once more, teeth gritting lightly together.

"So...any more booby traps I should be aware of?" The words replayed in her mind, and Arian gave him a blank, 'are you serious?' look.

Another shake of her head-and she burst forward to close the distance once again, powerful legs bringing her forward. Seems his question didn't even warrant answering.

"I do what I do because they've been wronged, and I want to make it right."

"I don't do what I do because I want recognition-"

Not even Arian predicted THAT happening. The surprise was enough to jolt her out of her self induced pissiness with the accented shout- "HEY! Where the fuck are you going!?" She sped up, not sure what the heck he had in mind-but not letting him run from her either.

"I'm over HERE!" Changing direction in order to meet him closer, Arian swept her staff in a swing to trip him, her upper body twisting slightly, Arian turning to face his back as he went down (if he went down)in a neat little bit of footwork-trying to skid to a stop to change direction FORWARD, her cloth boots lightly carrying her back a foot or two before she threw herself forward once more. The staff was in both hands back in the previous position, Arian on Reyin's right side-where she would attempt to jab the lower left portion her staff harshly into the back of his head.

Owie.

"I do what I do because they've been wronged, and I want to make it right."

"I don't do what I do because I want recognition-"

For fuck's sake-couldn't this guy stay still? Arian growled, again feeling angry at him for this illogical reason-particularly as he rolled out of the way of her attack, taking a good smack to the head before she jerked her staff back, turning her body in the intent of STOMPING on him or something-when he snapped up the bow.

Arian's mind registered this as bad, despite the lack of arrows. And Arian's mind was right. The FUCK was he doing!? The damned idiot-she backed off a step, just as the wink came, and so did the sword.

SHIT! Arian's right hand moved down while her left shot up to deflect the sword with her staff-but not before the point stabbed into her shoulder nearly, cutting her. Her deflection would hit from under the blade, flipping it up and over her shoulder-and causing the wound to be that much worse, a line of red down her skin, stopping at the leather of her armor. The point had gone in maybe half an inch, probably less. There would not have been much power behind the sword, after all-it was a long sword. Not something as light weight as an arrow.

Hot blood seeped from the cut and scratch, rain washing the red away-but the red kept coming. It wasn't a bad wound. Arian knew this. But it could have been.

The outlaw smiled. It was not a pleasant smile. It was her 'outlaw' smile, the sort of intimidating grin that showed Arian lived a life of violence-and did well by it. She was crazy. Had to be. Ignoring the throb of the cut in her arm, the pain of it-or trying to, distracting as the cut...and her jaw...and her side...was-Arian wouldn't be just standing about, pissy about her cut. Like hell.

She watched him start to rush in-then stop. "If they're talking to you-" Arian said, a certain kind of...morbid humor in her tone as she twisted her staff once again, barrels again sliding open, ready to fire their painful pins.

"Maybe you should follow their advice." Arian had no idea he had the start of a damned good song in his mind-and she didn't care. She was bored, tired of playing around with the 'good guy'. Good guys were boring, turns out. Least-she was thinking so, at the moment. The preachy ones at least pissed her off enough to kill them.

He just made it hard to want to fight. It annoyed her. Arian's staff was nearly in the right position already, it didn't take much to shift her hands to the top. She shoved off both feet, jumping up, stabbing her staff into the ground before her once again, knees bent and swinging forward to be on either side of the staff, arms pulling her up-right one more than left, for any weight on that hurt-and once again, a volley of three inch long needles fired out in all directions at a three and a half foot height-the rain setting them all aflame.

She wanted his legs to be pin cushions.

The instant the shot was fired, Arian was able to drop back down in the little circle of safety within and behind all the fired needles. she was coming for him, ditching the now spent staff to draw her remaining short sword in her RIGHT hand, reaching across her torso to do so, and a spike dagger from her belt in her left-coming for him hard and fast once again, following right behind the painful blast of pins.

Right hand would attempt to slash with the sword from his left shoulder to his right hip-while her left hand held the spike dagger tightly at her side, electricity arching over her knuckles in that glove.

She was lucky she had protection against electricity-or in this rain, she might've shocked the hell out of herself.

"I do what I do because they've been wronged, and I want to make it right."

"I don't do what I do because I want recognition-"

...the fuck?

This kid was so damned confusing. First he wants to come into this fight like it's a bout between friends. Then he does everything BUT attack her, taking damage and not doing much more but give her an aching side and a throbbing jaw. And now...now this strange, light hearted kid...was fucking singing.

Arian didn't know what. She didn't care what. It was fucking weird, and she half wondered if he had taken that hit to the head harder than she had thought. He stumbled back, and Arian had half a mind to inquire if he was alright, if perhaps they should stop because he might be suffering a concussion. He drew a knife and managed to avoid a serious injury-still singing all the while. Maybe she should stop, back off.

All doubts about his state of mind vanished when he came back in, stabbing downwards as her sword was carrying itself on despite it's target being passed already, momentum carrying the steel on through. The leather and wire meshing of the glove would not save her from a stab wound-the wires were torn through like aluminum foil, the leather giving with hardly any resistance-the knife cutting through Arian's hand, a short, startled gasp as the sword was dropped, the back of Arian's hand bearing a nasty, deep slash that bled freely in the rain, and made every small movement of said hand painful. The human hand however, did not have a lot of meat on it. Most of the muscles that controlled it were in the arm, not the hand itself. So while she bled, yes, while clenching her fist would now bring a heck of a lot of discomfort-she was not hindered much in using the appendage.

Her sword dropped to the muddy ground-and Arian's building rage burst into flames for REAL this time. This kid was playing around with her, and even now-he was trying to back off after stabbing her, but Arian would have none of it. He had to learn why you couldn't walk into a fight with Arian Lennox smiling and making jokes. She killed people, dammit.

With a half growled, half screamed foreign word of feminine rage, she was ON his ass, her uninjured and powerful legs propelling her forward while her left hand shot forward with HER knife, the spike dagger, stabbing into the meat of his right thigh. His knife, after all, had been in his right hand, and he had stabbed down into Arian's right hand, meaning he had had to reach across his body to do so. Arian pressed her attack before he could get away, before he could entirely move his arm-leaving his body somewhat protected, but his thigh open for at least six inches of steel to ram into it.

Quote: Wrote:

> Spike Daggers-These are all rather nondescript, though a metal rod in the handle shares the same metal as the blade-conducting heat and electricity. It should be noted these daggers do not have flat blades-the blades are, instead, round sharp 'spikes', sharp and about seven inches long.

She rammed the knife into his thigh, her upper body crashing into his shortly after to attempt pinning his right arm between them-she wanted to bring his ass down, she wanted to deck him until he gave up, until he couldn't think straight enough to give up-until he was DONE, and she had either WON or been beaten into unconsciousness. There was no grey area. If he wanted to win-he'd have to beat the win out of her, before she beat it out of him.

Arian's left hand slipped free of the knife, curled into a fist-and pressed her electrified knuckles into the top of the dagger handle, where the exposed metal rod carried the not quite taser strength voltage straight into his body, spiraling painfully around his pelvic area and thigh-hopefully bringing him down in throbbing pain.

Her right hand was ready to act should that happen-or should he somehow get his right arm unpinned. Either way-she was much too close to smack around with the bow, and much too pissed to back off and let him gather his resources.

Reyin had found himself in the thick of things now, where one fiery little warrior was wanting to deal things out blood for blood, hit for hit-and was infamous for her violence when driven into a rage. One glance at those beautifully colored blue eyes told, clearly-he wasn't getting out of this easily.

And neither was she.

"I do what I do because they've been wronged, and I want to make it right."

"I don't do what I do because I want recognition-"

This was more like it-and thank God for it too, because she had been drifting this fight-distracted and having no real rage to focus her, just pseudo pissiness.

And DAMN this fucker for getting all froggy on her. Arian hadn't anticipated him reacting to HER reaction, bringing up his bow in his left hand, the lucky bastard catching her left fist right through it-jerking her knife and arm upwards with it. Arian hardly had time to react as her body hit his, her right, aching hand moving to her right side, just as his knee came violently up for her solar plexus-dealing out a nasty surprise for Reyin.

Quote: Wrote:

> Third layer of armor-The stomach of the armor has a strong square metal plate over it, blackened, to prevent being gutted. This metal plate is also ridged with minuscule spikes on the outside-providing an uneven and painful surface to strike or try laying on, despite the forth layer of armor.

Quote: Wrote:

> Forth layer of armor-Longer horizontal slits over the stomach area, so the ridged spikes can be effective.

His knee would be a bloody, scraped up, hurting thing after colliding with THAT. Not that Arian got off scot free-the metal saved her from a hit to her solar plexus, but also spanned the blow across her stomach and lower ribs-rather painfully shoving air out of her, indeed causing her to bend forward slightly, hissing air though her clenched teeth.

He flipped, rolled across her back but without actually...shoving her down any...landing right behind her. Arian hadn't bent much, and at the realization he was BEHIND her now, she straightened suddenly, her vibrantly colored eyes widening-JUST as the knife struck home in her left upper arm, the crowd going WILD at the blood shed, at the 'Lennox Bitch' getting caught by surprise.

Arian's mouth fell open in a noiseless cry before she ground her teeth together against any sounds of weakness-she reacted even before the knife was all the way in, somehow working through the INTENSE PAIN of it as her left arm was forced slack, the muscles spasming despite her focus to keep them lax.

Her left foot shot backwards, weight on her right as she hooked her foot around his ankle-jerking forward to yank his right leg backwards violently, rather unexpectedly as well-Arian had some strong ass legs.

And to help with trying to knock him onto his stomach, Arian's right elbow, spikes and all, came slamming back as her left foot jerked foward, Arian's upper body kind of twisting with that, turning on her right foot somewhat-in order to drive the three inch long, blackened spikes straight into his back. Owie.

Her right hand itself was fisted around a glass vial, drawn from her side earlier. Her left arm was useless now, the dagger plunged into it, sending warning flags of pain jabbing all over the place, straight to her brain, demanding she stop whatever she was doing that was CAUSING said pain-but Arian overrode it, her rage helping her in this. It wasn't that she didn't feel pain. It was that, honestly, Arian was USED to pain. Her jaw, brand, and left knee hurt ALL the time. Her ability to focus past things could not be underestimated-not only that, but Arian remembered every painful event she had been through, down to the same psychotic replay of EXACT, VIVID remembering talent she had with everything else. Compared to having her jaw shattered or her knee cap broken, the arm stab was nothing.

It hurt, but not enough to stop her, not enough to drop Arian Lennox, the 'Demon' woman. No...if anything, it only fueled her rage. Blood would be met with blood. Lots of it. If Reyin was the 'good guy'...then Arian was a damned good fit for the bad one, and she would play the part to the fullest, short of killing him.

It was finally time to play.

"I do what I do because they've been wronged, and I want to make it right."

"I don't do what I do because I want recognition-"

He went down all right-though not in a way Arian expected. She was surprised, to say the least-but could do nothing to halt her elbow flying back for his head-his scream, regardless of the misfortune of it's cause, made Arian sickly satisfied.

The crowd was cursing her out rather venomously, however. Reyin was a favorite, it seemed like. Too bad for them, because Arian wasn't going to halt the fight just because she had, against her personal code of conduct, attacked his face. If anything it was an accident-but let the crowd hiss and jeer at her. She didn't give a damn.

"Will you shut up about the damned song!" She demanded in a fiery manner, ending in a growl as Arian slipped her foot loose of his leg and kicked the ground on it-pivoting on the ball of her right foot just as he ducked his head forward, the vial still in her right hand, which-as Arian caught sight of his sudden, odd reaching for his own right shin for some reason-seemed like a good idea. A damned good idea.

Next thing Reyin would know, he'd be throwing himself to his left-and something glass would shatter against his bleeding back-and that something burst into flames both in his blood-and because of the falling rain. HOLYFUCKINGSHIT-INTEEEEENSE HEEEEAT! Least. That's what it would feel like as the insane heat burst into life right on his back, right in his blood and sweat and rain soaked body-concentrated just where the vial shattered, and spreading out across his back as it went. Even if he stopped, dropped and rolled-it'd be a while.

If Reyin continued or was able to continue his attack through the intense back burning, Arian would indeed have a foot jabbed with the little needle fuckers. It hurt. Alot. And pissed her off. The LAST thing Arian needed was her speed hindered in any way-especially with her left arm rendered useless.

He rolled onto his back (assuming he does complete his attack after the back burning thing), which pressed the fire into the wet grass-where it too lit up, the chemical mixture spreading-operating on the water with what little oxygen was trapped there, and even if the fire was put out-the fire making shit still burned like hell, and had done it's damage to him from the get go.

Arian didn't pull another one of those. Hitting his chest while he was down might mean it'd get on his face, slip from his chest to his neck-and while she'd punch a man in the face, if he pissed her off enough-she wouldn't burn one. Not ever. Considering the brand Arian bore on her right shoulder...it wasn't hard to figure out why.

He would be looking up at a woman holding another spike dagger-dropping on his chest with her knee aiming for his solar plexus. That would be a hundred and twenty four pounds, plus her equipment, all coming down in that concentrated point to render him breathless and in a WORLD of pain, if it hit, and this is all assuming he completed his attack.

And through it all-Arian's left arm hung there, the dagger STILL rammed into her upper bicep, losing blood. She didn't dare remove it to bleed yet faster.

"I do what I do because they've been wronged, and I want to make it right."

"I don't do what I do because I want recognition-"

The crowd...wasn't quite sure what the hell to think. Some people laughed, braying with cruel sort of delight-others stared, and yet more screamed at Arian for setting the young hero on fire.

And yet some...some cheered on the more violent competitor, even as she bent, calm as day, to pull the pins out of her right foot-hissing as she did so, barely able to get a grip on the slippery fuckers. She tossed them to the side. She tested her weight on the foot. She bled.

Well shit. It wasn't so bad though. Painful-but hell, she'd just have to deal. Her arm was the bigger problem. The pain from that was throbbing, sending jolts of pain down her arm, which hung at her side. Arian cursed violently as she tried to lift it a bit-and dropped it again. Fine. Just fucking fine. Gritting her teeth as she turned her attention back to the rolling, on fire, light hearted kid-would she be that carefree if life hadn't taken her where it had taken her?-Arian's eyes narrowed. She hoped he was hurting. Was...the outlaw...jealous?

Yes. Yes she was. She was only a year younger than this kid. The difference in attitudes, in the life style and childhood their attitudes alluded to-fuck yes she was jealous. He had no idea what it was to-well. She shouldn't get to judging him.

Just beating him.

Reyin sat up and flailed to get rid of his shirt-and Arian's upper body tilted forward on her left foot, knee bending-a classic start to a sprint. She shoved off the muddy ground, right foot coming down with jolts of pain throughout, causing a brief falter-before Arian threw it out of her mind and flat out charged him full tilt. This would be the 'scrambling to his feet and attempting to avoid tripping over himself as he rushed to get up before Arian arrived' scenario.

Which half made those same cruel crowd people laugh.

"You better run kid!" "Here she comes again!" "She's going to tear you a new one!" "Better watch out!"

And others to warn and cheer. "Go get her!" "Come on, you can do it!" "She's a criminal, put her down!"

Seems the crowd was divided, rather than all for him. Arian sure could stir up some violence, after all-but Reyin was the 'good guy', and so adored by others. He was also young, and while yes-Arian was only a year younger, no one seemed to think of her as such. The infamous outlaw, the demon woman, the bitch-was ageless to Gaia's population. She came from nowhere and was nobody but Arian Lennox, Outlaw-no longer a person, but an entity.

And that entity was coming for his ass, her right hand holding another vial, the last one on her.

Oh. Shit.

As for weapons-when Arian had rushed forward to stab Reyin's thigh and collide with him-her staff, dropped short sword, and HIS fired sword had been behind her. He had rolled over her, so he would have been facing the scattered weapons-and then he rolled to his left, Arian turning to face them also-and then turning to face him as he rolled away a while to get himself put out.

In this way, he wasn't going to be able to get to anything-not without going through Arian first. And she suuuuure looked intimidating, coming for him again, her left arm slowing her considerably-but not as much as it should have been. She was in lots of pain-but still coming.

Her pain tolerance was something to be admired-and feared.

"I do what I do because they've been wronged, and I want to make it right."

"I don't do what I do because I want recognition-"

He replaced his hat. He continued to sing that weird lyric'd song. He had to go DOWN. He had to LEARN. He had-"C'mon." There went the singing, finally-"Hey, I can talk now!" Arian screeched to a stop, sliding the mud-not swaying this time, just hissing as her arm protested, the dagger still sticking out of her left bicep. God did that hurt.

She wanted to be bitter. Why on earth would he think SHE cared?! What did he want, praise? She wanted to throw venom at him, tell him to shut up, of COURSE he could talk, the stupid son of a-she wanted to be angry. She wanted to be full of rage, so that pain and distraction and being wet would mean NOTHING. Just HURTING him would be all she would focus on, not jealousy, not the past, not the blackmailing bastard that brought her here to be jeered at by bloodthirsty onlookers-not the fucking screaming pain in her left arm-just focus on spilling his blood.

Arian had screeched to her halt, breathing hard through her open mouth, vibrantly colored eyes narrowed on him as she stood there, as straight backed as the roughed up woman could-leaning a bit to her left, instinctively wanting to protect her injured arm.

His statement had just been-so damned innocently happy. How on EARTH was he happy about anything!? He should be MISERABLE. He should be HATING her. Even Vince, who claimed to be her friend, had gotten himself worked up fighting her, cut her in half. Arian had the uncanny ability to make people just as angry as she was, in battle. But this kid, Reyin...She felt like she was fighting a little boy. Honest to God-it was hard to BE angry. Arian growled in frustration, her look of dissecting him disappearing into one of frustration.

"Can you-can you just let me be angry, for Christ's sake?" She demanded over the shouts of the crowd, over the rain-they were about ten, maybe twelve feet away, Arian moving to her right a bit, the vial still in her fist, though at her side for now. "We're fighting. I'm trying to cause you bodily harm. Stop being so-so-" She struggled for the English word to describe it, her accented words cutting off as she fought to find the correct word in the right language, gesturing with her right hand, vial still held tightly-but pain, anger, and everything else distracted her from thinking properly, far as 'communication' went, anyway. "God DAMNED whatever it is you are!"

Um...what?

The crowd seemed to think the same, staring at Arian yelling at him to quit being 'whatever it is he was'. A laugh or two. Then more. Then it just erupted all over the place, bringing a tinge of color to Arian's already dusky skin tone on her beautiful face.

Arian was being laughed at. She made a sound that, had she been a demon, would have been called a growl, and spoke once more in her accented English. "Okay? I'm trying to be pissed, over here. Quit making it hard."

...this woman was crazy.

She didn't move to attack, either, or continue her charge.

"I do what I do because they've been wronged, and I want to make it right."

"I don't do what I do because I want recognition-"

Arian blinked at his suggested answer. God dammit-he was impossible.

Altogether impossible. She grit her teeth, lowered her stance-and stalked slowly, purposefully, to her left, watching him. He was right. It wasn't fair. But she couldn't really help that...."It's just hard. I half don't want to hurt you." Arian suddenly wasn't sure she actually WANTED the short sword she'd dropped nearly at the very beginning of the fight. "And hell kid, I spend half my time wanting to hurt damn near everybody." This seemed, oddly-friendly sounding. Even the 'kid' part, despite her being younger than he was.

The tone was back to the way things were at the beginning of the fight. Was Arian bipolar or something? Certainly paradoxical, crazy woman.

He had that little sheath-she hardly needed her sword. Plus...she was hurt, bleeding, and not entirely sure backing off too far was a good idea. He was moving slow-but it could be an act.

Arian had the vial-but she didn't entirely want to throw it at him. She remembered what had happened to the sword-and knew he did too. But...she only had one hand, and she couldn't do what she wanted with it occupied.

Arian lifted her arm and hurled her hand forward with all her might-her gloved fingers splaying open. OH NO!

But nothing actually would hit him, though that sure was a convincing feint-the vial was tucked securely between her thumb and palm, the trick accomplished by simply splaying out her fingers to hide as such, palm downwards after the 'throw'.

And then Arian threw the fucking thing for real, right for his chest (hopefully with his arms straight out, if he had used the scabbard to defend himself against the 'first' throw, tried to knock it to the side.) She'd be aiming for his exposed chest where the vial would make it unhindered, depending on how he reacted to her first 'throw'.

And then Arian bolted forward once again, cursing not at him-but at her arm, drawing-!?

A curved elbow blade, one of her tonfas. She intended to use it as a blunt weapon, rather than chop Reyin up. Twirling the blade in her right hand, Arian didn't have much time to build it's spin as she dashed across the last eight feet-ducking low to drive the flat side of the blade STRAIGHT into his stomach.

If she got there, that was. Eight feet wasn't far to dash-but he probably didn't just stand there waiting for her, and if he was on fire yet AGAIN-he probably wasn't standing still at all.

"I do what I do because they've been wronged, and I want to make it right."

"I don't do what I do because I want recognition-"

(....I love you.))

"Fuck." Yeah. That pretty much summed it up. To make matters worse-Arian's outer layer of leather was stiff, no absorbency to it-the rain was slicking right off, and as the vial shattered-it burst into hot flames, not felt through the three layers of leather-but sure as fuck felt as she straightened up in surprise, the mixture sliding down her back and onto Arian's bare legs in no time.

What was worse-Arian's dark hair. It was long, past her shoulders at least-upper mid back length. The mixture had splashed onto the soaked stuff-and that, was very bad. Vibrantly colored eyes shock wide, toned calves being burned and singed as fire dripped off her back, climbed her hair-Arian wasn't sure if she should pretty much copy his earlier movement-or press her attack. Dancing backwards, uttering words in a language he couldn't understand-Arian seemed, funny enough, to be mildly panicking.

She hadn't been kidding. She really didn't know how to fight without being angry. Too many things distracted her-she remembered the burning piano, skies filled with black smoke and the sand stained with red-she remembered her fight with Wil, how badly she had burned her own arm to take him down-Wil. She remembered her fight with Wil.

Perfect.

Refocusing on Reyin as he shuffled backwards, the kid probably trying to BREATH-she gave him credit for still standing at all-Arian did, once again, a move that reminded her of the Great Sah lai-she dipped her left shoulder down as her legs suddenly shoved off the ground to begin a short sprint, taking the two or three steps with great thrusts of power the toned legs contained, thighs and a damned fine ass powering what speed she could build up AS...!!!!!!

Arian went for a form tackle! The sudden explosive power of her legs sending her forward and up into middle-her left shoulder EXPLODING in pain as it rammed into him, her right arm blindly swinging out to wrap around his back as the crowd went NUTS-look at this little girlie go!!!!

Arian weighed a hundred and twenty four pounds, plus her equipment. Reyin was not a big beefy brick wall. He was athletic, and only a hundred and eighty or so pounds. Still-when the five foot two woman went for a form tackle against the six foot tall man-people noticed, and cheered like mad.

Most likely, Arian's sudden attack would bring him DOWN. That was the hope anyway. Arian wasn't thinking much when she actually hit him. Nothing but mind numbing pain, now, having rammed her left shoulder into his middle, the back of her calves on fire (the leather flaps saved her thighs), and her hair singeing, the scent quite available to both of them.

Arian wasn't going to be happy about that.

"I do what I do because they've been wronged, and I want to make it right."

"I don't do what I do because I want recognition-"

The crowd was on it's feet, shocked expressions all around as the scene unfolded before them in the mud and rain. They shouted as one, cheers and shouts and excited words of praise-this was an AWESOME fight!

It was all a blur to Arian. She was in a world of pain, her left arm screaming with it, her calves burning just like her right arm had once been burned, skin peeling away-thank God the rain spread out the mixture, thinned it, made it less. But still. She was on fucking fire, and the rain couldn't fall FAST enough to water the mixture down until it was overspread-not to Arian's liking.

She ripped her right arm from him, kicking at the mud to propel herself foreward, sitting up-she was gasping for air, practically, her senses overwhelmed with input-rain hitting her skin, the sound of it, the mud on her arms, on her legs, the FIRE burning her, the scent of flesh and hair curling up, fueling flames-everything was dark and dim and fucked up, and for some crazy reason-it scared her.

She wasn't in control. She didn't know what was going on anymore, nothing made any God damn sense except she was HURTING-save yet another thing. Reyin was on the ground, beneath her-and his arms were up, not trying to regain himself or flip the tables on her. He was doing something, and as Arian's collar pressed against the back of her neck-she understood just WHAT that something was. Vibrantly colored eyes widened, clarity slashing through the chaos that was Arian's mind long enough for her to remember what the fuck it was she was doing. Unable to straighten fully up because of his scabbard and baldric, Arian was bent but half sitting on his hips, her knees in the mud on either side of him, her right hand reaching to his wrist-but much too late to stop the tightening. Their positioning induced some cat calls from the crowd. Poor Reyin's mom.

But of course-it didn't matter, his tightening...something about her throat. Vibrantly colored eyes blinked once, focused on him-and fire filtered back in through the confusion, logical thinking. He was...trying to strangle her?

The poor bastard.

Quote: Wrote:

> *Third layer of armor. Stiffer than the one before it but not as heavy, it includes the detachable high collar that protects most of Arian's throat from both knives and fangs. Vampires had been a big problem a few years ago. Special cloth sewn and folded on the inside front of the high collar can be pulled up over Arian's nose and mouth to prevent breathing in smoke and such.

Quote: Wrote:

> **Collar--imagine a turtleneck. This piece of leather has a thin metal meshing built in, which prevents stab wounds-but is also intended to make it next to impossible to get a firm/tight enough grip on her throat in order to cut off air completely. This gives Arian more time to react to such a hold, and prevents strangulation by stronger opponents.

Even if Reyin tightened the strap around the collar as tightly as he could go-it'd still resemble the bunched up top to a bag. You couldn't press it tightly to Arian's throat. You couldn't cut off her air completely.

She didn't grin at him, didn't smile, didn't mock him his mistake-but pulled her fist back and pulled as much as she could against the restraint-and decked him straight up and under his chin with her right fist, a weakened punch because she didn't have much room- but did Arian need strength to deal this damage? No. The knuckles of her glove pumped a nice shot of electricity into his body-short of a taser shock, but no party-he'd have trouble swallowing and the like, his jaw might be hanging open the remainder of the fight-God only knew what else. Arian wanted to end this, here in the mud.

She wouldn't pound his face in-but she would fight like hell.

"I do what I do because they've been wronged, and I want to make it right."

"I don't do what I do because I want recognition-"

Arian resisted the pull-but only for half a second. Reyin was much stronger than Arian, after all, and the jerk took her by surprise. Her hand opened, no longer shocking him, and as he bucked his hips up, Arian not about to let up on the tight grip her knees and thighs had on him (for she feared he was trying to send her over his head).

Ripping the knife out of her arm was Arian's undoing. A cry of pain left her lips before she could grit her teeth against it, briefly senseless from the amount of PAIN that shot through her shoulder and arm, legs no longer pinched tightly together on either side of his hips. She tipped off to his left, Reyin indeed managing to turn the tables.

Her right shoulder hit the mud, knees still drawn up somewhat-and then her back was pressed into the wet grass and squishy mud as Reyin rolled over onto her-but not able to get the same position Arian had held. She was hurting, hell yes-but she was also desperate not to let him get her pinned in a mount.

Two things would be wrong. One, Arian's knees were up, her shins pressing into his lower body, Arian's strong thighs keeping his body spaced from hers, tensed muscles doing what they could to try and keep him from being able to get a mount. And two-he tried to pin her forearm to the muddy ground by pressing into it-and would find his hand slipping off, the thick, somewhat squishy forearm guard turning in which ever direction he had had more pressure-Arian's actual arm smaller than the guard showed. His hand would plop into the mud. Shit.

Quote: Wrote:

> Gauntlets/Forearm guards: These are not weapons. They merely protect her, and serve as the battery life for the gloves. HOWEVER! While the inner layer is tight to her skin, it’s actually three layers. Mercury, liquid at room temperature, keeps the outer layer loose-not so loose as to turn on it’s own accord, but enough that gripping the outlaw’s wrists or forearms tightly is difficult-and leaves Arian twisting room, as the outer most layer can turn, nearly entirely around.

Shit was right-not just for him-but for Arian. She was freaking out, mentally-down on the ground on her back, just like with Chance, any minute now he'd start punching her face in-or maybe not, he had the knife, maybe he'd stab her in the eyes, through the underside of her jaw, in the throat-Arian had no idea what the hell he'd do, and she didn't intend to let him do it.

Her right hand didn't go for another weapon (her tonfa being lost, somewhere in the scuffle), but for the back of his neck, pulling him in towards her (not hard, he was already leaning over her to pin her forearm, or had been). Arian's legs straightened out with speed, the outlaw hissing as the strain was felt in her toned thighs and straightening knees-but he was only 180 lbs, she could do it-rocking back onto her shoulders and kicking Reyin over her head, forcing the kid into a roll of sorts, off of her.

He'd hit his back on the ground, head near Arian's-the outlaw rocking back forward again, ass in the mud, before she rolled violently to her right, shoving up on that arm-and kicking the mud as she madly 'dashed' forward, JUST to knee Reyin violently in the head, if he didn't move quick enough. Mud was everywhere, both of them no longer on fire (or shouldn't be) but covered in mud, Arian furious and no longer entirely clear thinking-just desperate as hell not to let him pin her down or hurt her left arm anymore than it already was-hot red blood slipping pouring from her wound.

Had to end it, had to end it now, dammit.

"I do what I do because they've been wronged, and I want to make it right."

"I don't do what I do because I want recognition-"

Reyin thought HE was confused-Arian's head snapped forward as the hilt of his knife smacked the back of her helmed head-causing her world to briefly spin, for while she was protected-nothing stopped her brain from bouncing about in there.

Luckily-she didn't black out.

Or not so luckily. Arian wasn't sure-for in wrapping his legs around her waist, he had also pinned her left arm down-somewhat pulling it taut, pinned as it was to her body. To say that hurt was an understatement. ANY movement to her arm was agony, let ALONE having it forced straight, the muscles screaming at her in her left bicep-Arian's breathing off, quick and somewhat distressed as she shook her head and realized she was caught.

Trapped. Held against his chest by legs much stronger than she was, Arian's sore side was also in play here-along with the fact Arian didn't LIKE being trapped.

She snapped. That's all there was to it. Her legs kicked at the muddy ground helter skelter, no doubt forcing Reyin onto his back-her free right arm reaching back, glove and all, fingers looking for his hair, his face-anything. If she found his hair, she'd be pulling on it to the side, trying to get him to let go of her. If she found his face, same thing-trying to tear at his skin, gouge his eyes-it wasn't intentional, anything she found or attacked-just wild, crazy ass flailing, desperate sort of lashing out.

She was a surprisingly tiny little thing-kind of psychotic, a woman who stood only five two, with a feminine build-to be armed to the extent she was, all her tricks and gadgets, all the damned DAMAGE she could and had caused-and now the native was proving harder than hell to subdue, going nuts on him.

It wasn't with rage or calculation, this time-but panic. Trapped. Arian couldn't stand it.

"I do what I do because they've been wronged, and I want to make it right."