Fight Club

[Trillian]

reserved


CICERO CHOSE A HOUSE THAT was abandoned and dilapidated, in a block that had more of the same.  Only squattors lived here, and they wouldn't call the police.  Police weren't their friends, and they wouldn't be friends of Ami and Cicero either.  He didn't tell her what they would be doing, he just brought her here.  This was quite some time after Venture's opening and his decision to get Ami a VIP membership.  It had taken some time to find someone rich enough who Cicero could get on their own to mentally manipulate.  Very rich people usually travelled in packs or with people to protect them.  He worked on the woman for quite some time, planting the idea of funding a personal scholarship for a local musician, then letting her think about it for a number of weeks before returning to her and helping her decide that Ami was the best recipient for her wonderful charitable idea.  He then planted the notion that the woman eventually found Ami's studious and intense musical study exemplary but also extremely boring, so she wouldn't worry about any further follow ups.  It was always better to leave a memory about where a huge chunk of money had gone missing.  At least they didn't have to worry about her husband, since she'd already buried him a decade ago.

Now Ami had access to Venture as a backup, and better access to Jeanne.  He doubted if anything should happen to him that Jeanne would look out for her, but stranger things happened.  He didn't count on anything happening to him though, but as a good sire it was his duty to prepare Ami for every situation.

He took her inside the house, which creaked every time they took a step, and took a brief tour of the place.  The house was very small, with two bedrooms to the right of the front door, and a combined lounge, dining and kitchen to the left.  The bathroom hung off over the back porch like an after thought.  At least no smell came from it.  He returned to the narrow corridor and faced Ami with a growing smile.

Pretend I'm Lazarus, and come at me.  No mental skills.

The blonde Ancient had his protective ring, after all.

[Harlequin]

At first Ami had bitched about the Venture membership – she didn't need it, she said, she got everything she needed from the place 'cause of the band. But she was wrong about that  (as she was about a great many things when it came to being a vampire). The perks of being a VIP member went far beyond the prettier donors and the access to special areas – it also came with access to a wiser, older and all-around better class of vampires. She supplemented the learning Cicero gave her by observing them, quiet and calculating.

Tonight she had gone with him wordlessly when he'd summoned her, expecting another lesson in brain-fucking, of which her sire seemed to have an infinite library, each a little bit more tedious than the last. She valued his teaching and took to it quickly, of course,  but the monotony of it was beginning to rankle. As was the constant supervision; she'd become snippier in the last few weeks, and slightly more withdrawn.

So when she stepped over the lintel of the abandoned house, her interest was thoroughly piqued, and remained so as she followed her sire through the house, sending questions that – of course – received no answer.

Pretend I'm Lazarus,

A flash of hot rage flickered through her at the mention of her grand-sire's name, along with an image of the blonde devil, covered in blood laughing like a madman. They didn't speak of him, much.

And come at me. Confusion, there. Mental attacks didn't work on –

Oh.

A half-smile crept over her own face, eyes a-glitter as she understood. This was something she could sink her teeth into. He knew she was coming, so the best she could do was act quickly.

She was moving before the thought was fully finished. She darted forward, rushing him on light feet, loud on the creaking floorboards. Her hands raised in a classic fighting stance, fisted and close to her body; right hand high to shield her face, left down low to guard her ribs. She aimed to get up in his guard with a swift left-hand jab to the solar plexus before he could react. She kept her eyes on his hands.

[Trillian]

She was very fast, but she was almost two milennia his junior.  When he moved, he was graceful, and he always felt slow, to match everyone around him.  Ami's attack at him felt like normal speed, and such a thing impressed him.  Normal for him was very fast indeed, but not the speedy kind of celerity he'd hoped she would tap into.  He'd suspected that she would react quickly; Ami wasn't a woman of hesitation, she was all action all the way, and it was this he admired most about her.  Siring her had been an impulsive decision, a rebellious decision, but also an emotional one.  He'd been growing close to her when Lazarus had interfered, and had suspected the pair of them might have a real connection.  He didn't want to be cheated of that.

He side-stepped her punch and half raised his hand to help her along on her way before he realised she was focussed on them.  He stopped his initial half-reach to her and hooked a foot out to collect her feet instead.  Ordinarily he would kick at her shin in an attempt to break it, but they weren't at that stage yet, he thought.  He didn't want to do her real harm, not until her skill had improved a little, and certainly not without warning.

[Harlequin]

The trip was not entirely unexpected, but Ami went down anyway. Her knees hit the floor hard but she was moving again before any pain could register, spinning on one knee to face him, one arm raised to protect her face from any kicks he might be thinking of landing. She'd lost a few teeth to this particular maneuver when she'd been mortal – it wasn't the type of mistake one made twice. By taking the fall, she hadn't given him any ground, though – in no small part because she had no ground to give.  The space was narrow, keeping them close (which she liked) but her change had position had put a wall at her back (which she didn't).

When she gained her feet in record time she was right back in his face – shooting up with her right fist raised to deliver a punishing uppercut that carried the whole weight of her body behind it. This time she was faster, using some of the celerity that her sire had hoped to see from her in her original assault. Lazarus had used it against her, so there was no reason she should think that power was off limits.  Her left fist went for another punch to the ribs, close and tight, while her eyes searched her opponent's body for a signal as to his next move. Her mind was uncommonly serene; committed entirely to the action, to reading the fight.

She was glad she'd worn her usual tight black T-shirt and jeans uniform tonight; the leather skirt would have been hell for this. The knife in her boot was an afterthought – she always had one, and Cicero knew it – but she wouldn't use it until absolutely necessary.

[Trillian]

Cicero heard the quality of the hit and knew from the sound that Ami had gone down hard, he followed after her, intending on pinning her to the floor.  Her reactions were remarkeable; he hadn't expected her to fight through the pain.  Of course it was Ami all over, but most anyone else would have a moment in which to reflect on the quality of the pain.  Vampires weren't impervious to it, they simply healed from it faster.  There was no less pain handed to their kind.

Because he was on his way down and her fist was on the way up, there was very little he could do except to brace for the punch.  She got him on the ribcage, and a starburst of pain flared there.  How ironic that he would be thinking about how she'd recovered so well and he had to take a moment (a mere split second, but a moment nonetheless) to push past it.  He chose not to pin her down as a result, in case she decided to rabbit punch him in the same place - he would only put up with so much punishment there - and so he went up instead, pushing his fingers into the plaster of the walls and creating his own fingerholds as he scrabbled upwards.  The expression on her face was comical, but he was fairly sure this action looked humorous as well.

It was a trick Lazarus had taught him and a good one because of the surprising nature of it.  Now that he had some space, and taught Ami to think three dimensionally when she judged space.  There was width and length and height.  He'd assumed rather than known she was using the narrow space to her advantage.  It stood to reason that someone who knew how to fight would've trained themselves to fight a certain way; like a human would.  But she wasn't human anymore.

He dropped his feet, swinging them out at her head.  If she didn't move he would either kick her face or land on it.

[Harlequin]

He caught the blow, but went up with it before she could keep nailing that spot. Smart.

But then he kept going up, Spiderman-style. How in the Fuck?

Her brain just had time to register the cracks in the plaster snaking out from his fingertips – a slow grin creeping across her face at that, a world of possibilities suddenly – before he was coming at her, her dodge almost too late. She overcompensated for that, jerking herself back so quickly that she stumbled, but her guard was back up immediately as she pivoted to face him.

This time she'd let him come to her. That was how she preferred to fight; what she was used to.

She was also used to being tired, breathing hard and riding on adrenaline. Now she didn't need to breathe, and the thirst brought on by exertion was a niggling annoyance at best. This was not the back-alley brawl she usually ended with brutal efficience out of necessity. Her focus was still  razor sharp, and the fierce smile had stayed.

[Trillian]

He was facing her again, in the corridor.  Unlike Lazarus, he was more patient.  They stood facing off for a long moment before he realised she was waiting on him.  Did that mean she would do that with Lazarus?  It was possible.  It would be stupid for one her age to attack an Ancient in any case, but being on the defensive usually meant staying on the defensive.  She was better attacking - otherwise she wouldn't have managed to land the punch she had (already the bruise had formed and disappeared, leaving behind no evidence that Cicero had taken a hit).

He glanced at the doorway on his left and went through it, out of her sight.  There was another doorway close to where she was, and he intended on gathering an armful of items (whatever was loose and heavy or would shatter) and then pitching them at her while he approached.  His most vulnerable moment was when he was zooming around the room picking up pieces.  He wondered if she would wait him out or make her own move.

[Harlequin]

Just like that, he was gone, sidled off through the doorway. A flicker of a frown crossed her face. Where had he gone? What should she do?

Move.

It was the obvious answer, and she went with it. Indecision had never fit her well.

Snatching a broken chair leg from where it rested against the wall, Ami chose door number 2 – not because she knew her sire was headed there, but because she knew she could never keep up with him if she gave chase; she would always be two steps behind, and that would never do. Better to take her chances with the rest of the house, see if she could get the drop on–

and oh God there he was

Almost immediately as she took her first step through the doorway, she was face to face with her agressor again – though now he had an armful of stuff.  Of course, she didn't have tome to register this before she reflexively swung her chair leg  toward his face, up and under. She was fast, but he had obviously caught her by surprise.

[Trillian]

He was halfway reaching for another item - a misshapen glass thing that was supposed to be a vase, perhaps - when he caught a glimpse of her.  Even though he wasn't using his mental powers, representing Lazarus as he was, he was also aware that his sire would have no trouble tapping into his celerity.  It was interesting, that Lazarus could enhance his physical prowess in such a way, for Cicero theorised the nature of these abilities (strength and speed) were also part of mental skill.  Ancient beings were faster than fledges, as long as they practised.  Lazarus liked his physical abilities.

Cicero tossed everything in his arms her way without needing to look directly at Ami.  He knew he'd targeted her accurately, though it was a shame that the things he'd launched at her happened to be chunks of broken fireplace mantle or pieces of furniture or lamps, and not thrown with any real speed given their close proximity.  Heavy and awkward, if these things made contact it would certainly surprised her for a moment, but they wouldn't deal a good blow.  Without waiting to see what her reaction would be, he reeled backwards, surprised when the chair leg she held whooshed very closed to his face.  He caught it at the end of its upswing, grabbed it and pulled.  The things that he'd launched at her were now falling at her feet, but the majority of them were still on the way down.  He'd effectively managed to provide her with a shield of a kind, because even though these things had hit her, they were blocks to stop his fist from pulverising into her stomach.

[Harlequin]

Curses exploded from between her clenched teeth as debris rained down, striking her shoulders in ribs in dull, heavy blows. That part was done in a moment, though, and more annoying than painful –

But the distraction served its purpose; she was too busy shielding her face to prevent her sire from pulling her into his fist via her improvised weapon (which she was in no way going to just let him have). His fist met her gut and she crumpled. Not having to breathe proved a boon in this instance, however, and she caught her feet before her back hit the floor – plus, she managed to keep her dogged hold on that chair leg. Crouching now and gritting her teeth against the pain of her spasming abdominal muscles, Ami swept one leg out to catch her sire behind the ankles in hopes of toppling him backwards.

[Trillian]

[ooc]Sorry to make you wait so long![/ooc]

He was too old, her moves too slow.  He was impressed with her fight, her spirit, but as he stepped out of her swinging ankle, he realised that no matter how aged his blood, she would still be terribly vulnerable to Lazarus if he ever came after her.  Or if any ancient wanted her blood.  She would have to pay her respects to them in order to survive, and she'd done well so far in that regard.  There was an intelligence to her that had attracted him from the start; and even then he hadn't realised the depths of it.  She was a reflection of him.  He'd always been the survivor, doing what needed to be done in order to move onto the next obstacle, overcoming that one so he could explore more dark areas of his psyche to sustain a handhold into some kind of power.  Sometimes opportunity came to you because you made it, sometimes it came to you because you survived just long enough to meet it.  Lazarus had benefited them both, in this way.  He was a tainted angel, to Cicero.  A merciless demon, to Ami.  Yet he'd brought them both together because of his fickle ego.

This concept and memory came to him in the flash that it took to step over her swinging feet, and then he was upon her, clearing off debris, straddling her to keep her on the floor, though in an uncomfortable way (as he didn't want her kicking him in the groin).  He was not raining blows on her.  If she gave him the chance, he would attack her with the lust he was feeling at a connection so strong it would eternally bind them - much closer than Lazarus could've ever considered, when he made that stupid/brilliant decision to take her life.

[Harlequin]

If her heart could beat, it would have torn itself out of her chest. Caught again with a man's thighs around her hips, impossibly strong, her throat ached with phantom death-pain. The face of Lazarus leered down at her, toothy and luminescent.

Like an animal in a trap, Ami thrashed against her sire – her face a rictus of hate and terror, fingers clawing for his face until his hand closed around her slim wrists and his mouth crushed hers. A pause, then a sound halfway between a snarl and a groan, and she met him frenzied kiss for kiss. She felt the last of her hesitation slipping away like sand through a child's fingers.

Cicero was everything she everything she feared, and everything she had ever wanted to be. Too fast, too strong, too impossibly beautiful and silent. She had wasted too much time resisting him; her surliness and prickly skin did nothing to keep out their shared mind – and if she couldn't fight him, what was there left to do but become him?