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Post by Ryu-star! on Feb 20, 2010 22:20:42 GMT -5
The arena was quiet, save for the sound of a gentle breeze occasionally whistling in through the open ceiling. As it was the off-season here in Olympus, the stadium went generally unused, the bleachers remaining vacant until the famed tournaments began once again.
But today, the Coliseum would be seeing some unexpected use.
A portal of darkness opening up in the middle of the debris-strewn battlefield, a scarlet-haired man appeared, weapons already in hand, cracking his knuckles with a smirk on his face. "Hey, mutton chops. Been a while, huh?" He called at the similar portal manifesting on the opposite side of the field, from which he knew his quote-unquote 'ally' would soon be appearing.
Why were they there, one may ask?
Training, of course.
And it was going to be fun. [/size] |
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Post by Beaver Dude on Feb 20, 2010 22:28:49 GMT -5
Xaldin gritted his teeth.
"I reserved these training facilities-"
The midget dwarf with goat feet rose an eyebrow. It was fairly impressive seeing as it nearly reached his forehead as it was.
"Uh-nuh. Says here: Axel of the Glorious Flame annnd-" his hand switched over to the next name scrawled with near illedgibility. "Mutton Chops of the Woody lances for two o'clock. While it is two o'clock and Axel's in there alright-"
He pointed directly at Xaldin's face.
"Those, boy-o are sideburns. Mutton chops are... well... poofier." Paine mimed it with his own face. "And plus, you call yourself," his mouth curled in distaste. "'Xaldin.' What kind of doofus warrior calls himself 'Xaldin?' Of the woody lances? Watcha trying to do, mock us?"
"Sorry, kiddo. Can't let you in."
Xaldin restrained the urge (that he didn't really have, anyway) to kill the insufferable trainer and did the only thing that would get this resolved nice and quickly.
He summoned his brooms.
The goat-person fell onto his back laughing and waved him through.
-=========================-
"I am," Xaldin announced as soon as he was within earshot of the Assassin. "Going to kill you."
And to make good on his promise, he sent six very lances straight at Axel's all-too poofy hairstyle. He hadn't quite acclimated himself to the winds (or lack thereof) inside the Colisseum but he was the type to work better under the pressure of the fight anyway. |
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Post by Ryu-star! on Feb 20, 2010 22:38:12 GMT -5
"Hey!" Axel exclaimed with a frown crossing his face as the brooms came flying at him in a nature that was really far more dangerous than was necessary. Blocking them with his own weapons - his actual weapons, mind you. He wasn't about to use those pizzas he carried around for some inexplicable reason - the Flurry of Dancing Flames launched himself at his ally-who-needed-a-haircut-badly, his instincts crying out for him to call on his signature 'arena of flame.'
And, being the 'go with his instincts' kind of guy he was, he attempted to do so.
And failed.
"The hell...?" He inquired as he aimed to rugby-tackle the wind-wielder, enjoying this battle-that-wasn't-really-a-battle a bit more than he should. |
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Post by Beaver Dude on Feb 20, 2010 22:47:00 GMT -5
Huh. Xaldin would have sworn he'd used his lances.
Well...
Huh. Weird. It couldn't possibly be anger that was clouding his judgment. Embarrassment, as far as such things went, was an even more remote emotion. And echoes couldn't possibly affect him, anyway.
Still it was... decidedly odd. He would have sworn he meant to skewer him and instead of his six razorsharp lindworms he'd sent six bristly broomsticks.
Must have been an off-day.
With a snap of his wrist, the lancer summoned his actual lances this time. Before the other warrior would have been able to hit him, he grabbed three and rushed to meet his opponent, lances twirling as they sought blood and flesh and bone.
"You put me down as Mutton Chops." He'd cooled down quite a bit by now. "Officially." He emphasized the last bit as if it were exceedingly important.
Which it was, let no one tell you different. |
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Post by Ryu-star! on Feb 20, 2010 22:58:19 GMT -5
Axel was one of those people that generally prided himself in being on top of his game. Being able to react to the most unexpected situations in the blink of an eye, and using said situations to his advantage.
He was the Flurry of Dancing Flames, after all. And 'Flurry' generally implied that he was fast. Which, admittedly, he was.
But he was really, really rusty.
Thus, he only managed to block one of the wind-wielder's lances, the other two striking into him and sending him flying backwards, skidding to a halt about ten feet away, shaking his head in dissatisfaction.
He needed to come up with some kind of defensive mechanism.
Bad.
But first, trash talking time.
"Having a bit of an identity crisis, are we? Well newsflash, hairy. Shave those things off, and you won't be Mutton Chops anymore." Offering a smug smirk, the Flurry launched himself at Xaldin once more, forming a chakram out of flame and launching it at the wind-wielder, his two actual weapons remaining loose and ready for use in his hands. |
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Post by Beaver Dude on Feb 20, 2010 23:04:03 GMT -5
"We cannot change. We cannot adapt. We cannot feel." Xaldin intoned, a common rote passage they all knew. "Our identities are all that keep us from dissolving into the Nothing that we truly are."
Well, that was the theory, anyway. Xigbar had stated many-a-time that he was preeeetty sure that that sort of talk was bollocks, but Xaldin wasn't going to start shaving his sideburns to see if that were true.
Oh, and on that note.
"And these are sideburns."
Axel, of course, hadn't waited around to see what the reply would be - he'd gone on the offensive and attacked.
Instinctively, Xaldin batted the fire projectile - intending to block or send it flying away. While he could have used the lances that were stationary and sitting right behind him, his instincts were always bodily: nine times out of ten he'd use the weapons in hand rather than the weapons held in the thrall of his magic. It was just the way he was wired. [/size] |
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Post by Ryu-star! on Feb 20, 2010 23:14:52 GMT -5
"Oh, heh. I keep forgetting. You're one of the robots. Poor guy." Axel stated as he kept him his attack, not at all stopped by the rejection of his false chakram. Launching a blazingly fast chain of attacks, his hands almost a blur as he did so, the Flurry felt a look of confusion cross his face. He'd never been that fast before.
Perhaps he wasn't as rusty as he'd thought.
Eh.
Nonetheless, he finally threw himself backwards, away from the Lancer once more, cracking his neck as he smirked at his ally-temporarily-turned into a foe.
"Those are so not sideburns." He added, awaiting Xaldin's next move. |
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Post by Beaver Dude on Feb 20, 2010 23:27:02 GMT -5
Xaldin was hard pressed to keep up. And if nothing else that was unusual. As far as he knew, his attack speed was exceeded only by Larxene, and even then that it was hard to say who was faster when her clones weren't factored in.
When they broke apart, Xaldin had not been touched - but neither had Axel.
"They so are sideburns." Xaldin would have shuddered if he'd had a heart as he parroted the sentence. He actually did shudder a tiny bit, but it was mostly imperceptible and even the most finely trained eye would have only seen the very little beginnings of a grimace - not unlike an expression of pain.
Pause.
"You've improved," Xaldin said grudgingly. While the sideburn issue was important - he had always been a warrior. It was necessary to have keep the fighting aspect as a priority. "That speed is nearly master class." |
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Post by Ryu-star! on Feb 20, 2010 23:47:14 GMT -5
"Yeah, well." Axel replied, scratching at the back of his neck in an embarrassed sort of way, not even thinking for a second that he was letting his guard down. After all, as he was - supposedly, anyway - almost as fast as the Lancer, which was really all that the poor Mutton Chopped jerk had going for him, what did he really have to be afraid of? Not even noticing III's slight grimace as he just absorbed the compliment, feeling rather accomplished, a though occurred to the Flurry. Maybe, just maybe, with this newfound speed he'd oddly acquired, he could do that.
That thing he'd been working at for a while.
But... not yet.
Nah, it might be better to spare III from having to deal with it. The pansy.
Cracking his neck, he whipped one of his chakrams at the Lancer once more, a thought occurring to him as he did so. A technique that he hadn't used much, but... eh. Maybe it'd get rid of those damned sideburns.
As the chakram drew closer to III, the Flurry snapped his fingers, causing the thing to erupt in flames, as though it had exploded.
"You okay, Sasquatch?" He called, unable to see through the smoke, formed by the now singed dust that had been floating around.
He could only hope he hadn't killed the poor guy. |
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Post by Beaver Dude on Feb 20, 2010 23:55:15 GMT -5
Instinct was a poor and hollow echo of an emotion. But danger - on the battlefield, in the Castle, on the training grounds, on the streets, at homes which dared call themselves homes - it had been vital to Dilan's existence. And Xaldin could hardly dare call himself Xaldin if he'd been unwilling to listen to it at all.
All this to say, Xaldin had seen the attack, had nearly blocked it before seeing something (a smirk? a spike in power? nothing at all?) and had moved. Standing nearly a hundred feet up he motioned to his three lances still at ground level and with a little tendril of power they replied - and began attacking.
"Worry about yourself, kid." |
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I did post in shades of grey if anyone even remembers that lmao