Medici vs Chandler

Ah, the park. There were very few places as peaceful as this. Birds chirping, trees waving in the cool breeze.. just beautiful. Or at least, it would have been had the previous combatants not burned down nearly half of it and viciously defaced the other half. Still, a select few had found a clearing free of destruction and were happily enjoying park activity as normal... for now. A man of science was among them, standing before a small birdbath and setting up a fancy looking chess set atop it.

There were actually few features that pinned him as a man of science, but the long white labcoat would be a pretty certain giveaway. Aside from that, however, his appearance was far more attuned to an athlete's, being roughly 6 feet in stature with a large, muscular build. Beneath the unbuttoned coat was a tight-fitting muscle shirt and neatly pressed blue jeans, and upon his hands were thick, metallic gray gloves that shimmered in the sunlight, almost as it they were made of plastic. His face was clean and short brown hair slicked back with some form of gel to keep it out of his eyes... eyes that glowed a deep, penetrating, emerald green.

For now, however, his eyes were fixated on the last few chess pieces that needed to be set in place. His opponent was about to arrive, and he needed to be ready, after all.

The Doctor felt a disturbance in the time-space continuum; a strange tingle that was one part 'Your manhood is in danger..' and one part 'Was that a fourth wall I just saw?' Naturally, FIGHTERs had not been distributed yet, but some timeshifts were necessary to perpetuate an otherwise impossible story.

Still, it was enough to make the good doctor turn around, before he had the chance to place the last piece, to face the enigmatic young woman before him. Was this his opponent? Boy what a twist that was... but there was little reason to fall too far from his original plan, so she would get a smile and a small bow just the same.

"Ms. Arienette Chandler, I presume?" he cited, as if reading her name from an invisible paper between them. Then continuing without waiting for a reply, "It is certainly a pleasure to finally meet you. If it would suit you; I find the rigors of combat to be rather droll. As if we won't get enough of it in the tournament proper anyways. Would you care to spice things up a bit?"

He gestured to the chess board before placing the final piece and casually strolling to the opposite end where the black pieces stood neatly in their appropriate places.

"I have here a challenge of wits and endurance," he continued, still not waiting for a response... he seemed rather anxious to get things under way, "To test our wits, we will play a game of chess. To test our bravery and endurance, whenever a piece is captured, the owner must stand and take a number of unarmed hits equal to the relative value of the piece lost; where a pawn, knight, or bishop would be one, a rook would be two, a queen would be three, and the king... well... that would be checkmate."

Despite his long-winded nature, however, his hands were still up, though deceptively casual, and his mind was still racing with computer-like calculations. He knew very well the nature of many fighters here and was more than prepared to be attacked mid-speech.

A pause

.

..

...

Yep... she was serious. Pity.

"Time? Not if I have to explain it, no." he said finally, almost facepalming at the irony of this matchup. Unknowns, that bloody Murphy and his laws, this was why he hated this line of work. Still, there was nothing that couldn't be controlled with the right formula; he had just calculated the wrong one... it was time to re-figure.

She had weapons and minimal armor, easy enough to deal with.. it was what she was doubtlessly hiding that was not so easy; he would need to be careful... bloody unknowns. It was down to the question of, could her unknown trump his? Well... time to find out.

"So.." he stated casually as he placed his hands behind his back in the standard martial-artist's 'at ease' stance, "combat isn't typically a past-time for the.. poor... What brings you here?"

Naturally, the casual demeanor was little more than a ploy to bide time while he worked his silent technique behind his back. Even if she was gifted, a sense of magic would sound no alarms; the Doctor was a man of science and his art was the epitome of that genius.

--01--

Strange... was that another fourth wall breaking apart in the distance? He could have sworn he set up the board on a small birdbath; where she was pulling these benches and tables from was a mystery to him. Still, now was not the time to ponder over paradoxes. There was a kick coming at him, after all. A little blunt, but if she comboed it, it could hold some damage... if she had time.

The Doctor simply rolled his eyes and reached out with his left hand to catch the shin of the oncoming boot. If his large, well toned muscles alluded anything to his strength, the resistance she was met with would prove without a doubt that it was not natural. The palm that connected with her shin would seem almost metallic, and the grip much harder than the average man. In the same motion he twisted his wrist and bent his arm up, a move that would, in turn, twist the woman's leg around '180 and more than likely entice her body to follow. He then quite simply pushed up and forward in a rather commanding effort to toss her off the paradoxical surface she was standing on.

"Of that, I highly doubt."

--02--

A solid plop, followed by a kick-up... statistics favoring her as an acrobatic type. This formula would be easier to write than he had originally thought. Unpredictable? Such words did not exist in the mind of the Doctor. Though he didn't care much for fighting, he ALWAYS came prepared for whatever he was doing. Numbers were just as easy to read in battle as anywhere else, and the chance that a kick was coming at his face with her at that elevation was a solid 90%.

Science was a wonderful thing, with endless applications. If one could predict where a blow was coming before it was launched, the reaction time allotted to it was far greater, thus giving the guise of amazing reflexes. For example, from a crouched position there was a 40% chance that her next attack would be aimed low and an additional 40% that it would start low and quickly rise at the last second, leaving an 80% chance that her next attack would at least start below waist level. As an acrobatic style, there was a 60% chance she would close the distance with a roll and 35% chance she would close it with a leap. Using those odds the Doctor was able to calculate an appropriate reaction even as she took the time to speak... another rather entertaining move. Was she trying to use his own strategy against him? At his level of intelligence processing combat statistics, close observations, and casual conversation at the same time was child's play; a fact that he would often exploit amongst the fighters who shared a much more narrow span of concentration. Think he was too good for them? Oh, most certainly, but he would gladly keep up with this exchange.

"Certainly... not!" he stated, the last word emphasized with action. For, as her head came down, his left leg came up and delivered a solid ax-kick to the birdbath in front of him, cracking its feeble base and sending it toppling forward. About the time she was coming up from her roll, she would find her cover had become an obstacle, and much closer than she had originally hoped... in fact, it would be practically right on top of her. Concrete and water didn't tend to feel good at that momentum, though he mourned the loss of his chess set.

"My business here is strictly professional. Though 'kicking your a**' will be a pleasant by-product."

--03--

A successful counter, as expected, and now she was still crouched and complaining about her shirt. Heh, and she looked cold before.

Statistics still stood at 70% that the next attack was starting below waist level, and 60% that she would use that weapon again. At 20% humidity and with a westward wind of 5mph slipping into their little outcropping, he had to calculate for windchill on her wet shirt. Things were all looking good, and even his little surprise was long since ready. It was time to step the fight up a notch.

He brought his leg back down behind him, taking a right-forward side-stance as he listened to her complaint. "What a shame."

Then she burst forth again, rising upward as predicted, but not with her 'knife'? Ah well, that little detail wouldn't affect his counter much; he would simply add that behavior into the formula for later. As soon as her foot pushed off his right hand finally came out from behind his back, only this time there was a fancy metallic roman gladius in his grip, seemingly out of nowhere. His body twisted slightly as he brought the flat of the blade, which was pointed downward, to meet her kick as it came towards him and effectively push it to his left. The move was intended to meet her blade, but a leg would only require a little more strength, and would hurt her more.

Once her leg was no longer on a path to connect with his side, he would slip his sword up, flick his wrist, and send an off-side riposte to the side of her head. Essentially, a level bashing-slash to just below her left ear (low enough to make ducking an amazing feat, high enough to still do damage without being instantly fatal, and deep enough that leaning back would do little good from her position). The blade was sharp enough to cut through skin and strong enough to deal serious damage to the skull. It would be a pretty short fight if she couldn't maneuver her way out of this one.

Generally, pulling swords out of nowhere was considered a feat of magic, but a close observer would notice that the sword appeared to be of the same material as his gloves: a shining metallic gray that looked almost plastic. One would also notice that his right glove, while thick before he put it behind his back, was looking fairly thin now, finally showing the true shape of his meaty hand. What secrets was he hiding? Only time, and science, would tell.

--04--

Another successful counter, and now it was time for her to... hey, where'd her head go? The push knocked her down? She was less graceful than he had imagined. Well... let's see, the statistics of a...

Whoops

A leg impacted his forward stance and set him off, a lumbering giant towering to the ground before catching himself on a left knee and a right hand. He was relatively unscathed, which was probably more than he could say for the leg that hit his as once again she would find the impact to be far more solid than human flesh-and-bone; the sensation would be similar to sweep kicking a slab of concrete or a metal pole.

It wouldn't be long after before he then had a sword coming at him, though that move was far more predictable and he was beginning to recompose his formula. With his sword hand occupied on the ground, he raised his left hand to meet the blade, which would doubtlessly be heading towards him at chest or face level to compensate for the change in elevation. As he did this the material on the glove seemed to liquefy and it began to deflate, growing thinner and more dense until, just as fast as it had begun, it was back to its standard solid-glossy shimmer. Now, however, when her blade met his hand it would not make the expected slouice, but rather a reverberating ting as if his hand was made of metal.

Unfortunately for her, his actions wouldn't stop there this time, oh no. For as soon as the blade connected his fingers came to clasp around it, the joints momentarily shimmering a liquid form before solidifying again. Then just as quickly he would twist his wrist in an effort to break or bend the blade, whichever came first. If it bent he would then give it a sharp yank backwards in an effort to relieve her of it, and if she followed she would quickly find a sharp 'knife' (aforementioned gladius) rising from the right to pierce her gut. If not, well, he would have a fancy new weapon in one form or another... assuming everything went as planned.

--05--

Another succes... ah, forget it...

A hidden knife was really the only new addition to the formula... and that wasn't much of an addition, since it was a proven fact that every woman had at least one hidden knife on her somewhere. If extra weapons were her only backup, she'd be in for a rough ride.

It was entertaining to see her raise her arm to try and keep her blade from bending, and to his pull she followed as predicted. It was the folly of any weapon fighter to become too attached to their weapon (even the Doctor was no exception to this, though for entirely different reasons), and now she would find herself in an interesting little pickle. To her approach he would skid his right hand off the ground and stab his weapon at her gut as previously mentioned. Like the 'knives' she was so fond of relating everything after, a gladius was an amazingly effective weapon, especially when it came to stabbing. Then came the little detail that, even if their arms were of equal length (which chances were greatly against since he was a large man and she was a not-so-large woman), she was wielding a 10" dagger while he was wielding a 2' sword. Even calculating the algebraic slope of her body as she leaned forward in her strike, it would still be terribly unlikely that her attack would land first... or even at the same time.

Still, just in case she had some knife-extending powers, he would expend some brain power to calculate the trajectory of the knife and tilt his head enough to the left so that it would slice across his right cheek instead of gouging out his eye. He was rather fond of his eyes, after all.

--06--

The beauty of this situation came in two forms. Firstly, the maneuverability of the gladius was an ancient perfection from centuries of conflict. It was the ideal killing weapon, with the best aspects of short and long swords. Thus, as she dodged, a simple change in wrist angle would curve the sword enough to likely take some flesh from her stomach.

Secondly, while she apparently did not have knife-extending powers, he did. Thus, as soon as his sword extended to the end of his reach, he would quickly lash out in a slash at... whatever direction it was she had dodged to. Even if she leaped back, she would come to find his sword was growing beyond its expected reach, and rapid enough to affect his chances of hitting gut or legs during her sudden retreat. As this was happening, the base and some of the inside of the blade seemed to be shimmering a liquid texture as the sword literally rearranged itself. By the time she finished her handspring (if she finished her handspring), the weapon in his hand, what was once a roman gladius, would now be a European-based longsword.

Things were all looking good... that is... until she started throwing knives. He had already spent so much concentration on molding the sword that creating adequate defense for such a tactic at the moment was nearly impossible. By science, how many hidden knives did this woman have!? Sure he had gotten away with her primary weapon, but that seemed insignificant to the number of other weapons she was carrying. At this point all he could do was throw his arms in front of his face. The first knife would bounce off the tangle of metal in front of him, but the second would make an uncomfortable slice through his right shoulder, and the third would bury itself into the meat of his right forearm.

"Ow!"

The look on his face would doubtlessly be priceless to her. Pain and rage at the undignified wound she had inflicted upon him. It was in this rage that his rational thought was momentarily lost, and with nearly inhuman strength he hurled that weapon that he had just relieved her of right back at her. Spinning like some sort of wheel of doom and moving at a speed complimentary to any heavy projectile, the chances of it striking via hilt or blade were quite random. ((Upon the dice, even = blade, odd = hilt))

Oh, he was going to make her pay for ruining his coat!

--07--

A one-two motion followed his observance of the projectile she had just come in contact with, along with a sound understanding of the number she doubtlessly had. First, a small stream of liquefied material would seep from his glove to cover the wound in his forearm, solidifying around the knife to hold it in place. The two areas of his coat where he had been hit seemed to be turning an off-blue where the expected red should have been... was that blood? ...and here people thought it was a joke about arrogance making you bleed strange colors...

Second, his hands also came down to grasp a setting prop.. only his was a bit bigger. The bowl of the birdbath came up to meet the flying BBQ knife, and their brief conversation was loud and rather unproductive. Did he stop there, though? Oh, certainly not. If she was going to make this a throwing battle, he'd give her something real to throw.

With a heave the good doctor would rise to his feet and, in one smooth motion, toss the birdbath at the grounded woman. There were only a select few ways one could roll away from such a long object, and he would be sure to cover them just in case. Thus, not long after the birdbath's departure, the Doctor would be tromping steadily behind with sword poised and ready to stab at wherever she might appear next.

--08--

Ah, a dive to the side, just as expected. She was nimble, even while injured... but it wouldn't be enough. The Doctor came bearing down upon her and...

Smack!

...wait...

...did that slab of concrete just beat him to it? ...and better yet, was she out?

The Doctor stopped dead in his tracks, not quite sure what to think of this little situation. If it had been a direct hit from the birdbath, sure... but this? Most interesting. Ah, well. A win is a win, right?

With that his sword liquefied and returned to being a glove as he bent over to inspect the unconscious woman. As much as he would have loved to simply leave her there, there was a fairly clear no-killing policy and he needed to make sure he wasn't violating it. He was a doctor, after all.

...

Good, everything checked out for now. He would use her own garment as a means to bandage the cut in her gut, but everything else could be dealt with by the medics that would doubtlessly arrive shortly. For now, it was time to head off and get himself cleaned up. Knife wounds didn't feel too great, especially with one still sticking out of your arm. Besides, he needed a change of clothes... he'd have to recoup for the loss of his chess set later.

--09--

~Fin~