Mar 31, 2011 09:49
[ff7] tifa lockhart,
[sin city] miho,
[dc] clark 'superman' kent,
[naruto] uzumaki naruto,
[resident evil] jill valentine,
[firefly] river tam,
[naruto] uchiha sasuke,
[naruto] tenten,
!crematoria,
[ff13] claire 'lightning' farron
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This one was a new one, though, one she had yet to encounter since her sentence began. And she -- because it was a she, that much Tifa could discern in the dim lighting -- seemed just as quick to recover as the rest, if not moreso, as if there was a purpose that needed to be fulfilled.
Seeing the other instantly flip back to her feet was enough of an alarm for Tifa to double her alertness. Then she hissed and the young woman knew she was in for an interesting fight, indeed. Already halfway to her fighting stance, fists balled and muscles poised to react at the first sign of movement, it was only a matter of when the other would decided to continue forward.
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Jill didn't hesitate beyond that thought -- striking first had its advantages. She would simply have to keep defense in mind more than usual. She remained close to the ground, aware hers was a unique (the only) style that took advantage of traditional fighting techniques, keeping her unpredictable and often out of reach when she stayed low while not sacrificing any of her abilities.
With no sign of preparation prior, she suddenly darted forward. Whatever the power adjustment, her speed was still at the peak of what was humanly possible here, and her strength was more than enough to crush a delicate human throat or break bones -- simple feats that anyone could perform if they tried. Jill could simply do it faster and with better precision.
He did always say he was so proud.
Still a ways out of arm's reach, she abruptly dropped to the floor to slide forward on her hip, aiming a simultaneous sweep at the enemy's ankles and an upward kick at her chest, giving her two areas to defend, two maneuvers to counter, all while Jill's attention -- and arms -- were free to coolly watch her reaction and act accordingly herself if needed.
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After learning the basics of hand-to-hand, being able to read her opponent had been one of the first lessons Master Zangan had taught her. And it had come in handy on several occasions, both on her journey through Gaia, and in her life in general. There were frequent customers at the bar who sometimes became irritable and, for lack of a better term, ballsy after they've had a few drinks in them. The sway and instability of their stance would have made them hard to handle for most, and if it weren't for her knowledgeable background on the subject, Tifa would have been out of business long ago. Even so, the low crouch and the way she carried herself made it hard for the young woman to predict what would happen next.
And in a blink, she seemed to phase out of sight in a blur.
The next sight that registered were of incoming feet speeding towards her at an amazing speed. Too amazing. And with two points of vulnerability to protect, it became a game of figuring out the best course of action within seconds that would save her from a huge backstep so early in the battle. Because, indeed, this was a battle from the looks of how serious the other woman seemed intent on attacking. And the best strategy in dealing with a ground assault? Take to the skies, she thought, thinking back to a time when the same tactic had been used against the armed forces of the WRO.
And it was with that thought that she jumped up and grabbed onto a thick pipe running overhead, lifting up her feet to avoid any further contact before dropping down again on the other side of the woman's slide. But before the other could normally recover, Tifa was already charging forward herself, turning towards the end to bring her foot down in a high arc intended to land squarely against the other's chest.
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She dug a heel into the floor to brake, following the younger woman's movements with a quick eye and instantly deducing the intention behind that attack--
The P30 virus was not capable of emotion. It was only what Wesker told it to be, and while that left room for certain quirks, as it were, it possessed no personality. It did not think beyond the boundaries he defined and it did not feel anything that was not physical or the simplest of psychological reactions -- surprise being one.
But it knew what it meant to be frustrated, to a degree. Its host's resistance, for one, was frustrating, an unnecessary and confusing setback that had been a painful battle all on its own in the first months. With time, it had learned the best methods of suppressing Jill's influence -- helped largely by its assisted evolution -- and these days it only had one weakness in its mental hold on her. A weakness who, fortunately, was not present.
So when she calculated where her opponent's blow would land, both instinct and habit moved her. A kick was nothing, nowhere near powerful enough to shatter the administration device, but that even beating on her chest was P30's lifeblood all the same and it could not be tampered with because only Wesker was permitted to touch it and she remembered how it felt, what it meant for that vulnerability to take damage--
Jill's hips twisted sharply, throwing her onto her knees and narrowly out of the path of that intended stomp; rather than pausing or retreating at that point, she kept moving, not really stopping in her low kneel before shifting her weight easily onto her left hand and bringing both knees together to aim a double blow at the back of her target's legs that contained most of her weight, trying to make the other buckle.
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There was no real intention in that blow, just that it was easily unpredictable and the quickest one she could think of under the circumstances. The other had been already crouched down low so anything involving her fist would've meant too much movement and a lot of openings for her opponent to take advantage of while she was struggling to find a good angle to come in. In moving out of the way of her strike, however, she had been provided with a brief glimpse at the machine attached to the other woman's chest. But before she could see the exact detailing, the other woman was moving and attacking, and it took all of Tifa's skill and learning to dodge that blow as well. Because from what little she had seen of the other, the young woman knew that if she had fallen then there would have been a small chance of getting up afterwards.
It would be hard to aim straight for it, she knew. The chest was one of the easiest places to protect. And one of the most vital. So many vital organs were caged within the ribs there, or even under the abdomen. Even with a normal human, it was only instinctual to ensure every single blow aimed for that area of the body needed to be intercepted. But in the few moments that she had fought against the woman, it became clear that there was certainly nothing normal about her.
Though the stomp had missed its intended target, the momentum behind it was still there. And if there was anything that would be useful in that moment, it was the quickness that would come from the residual energy that came from that move. Using it to her advantage, Tifa flipped forward, once to move her legs out of the way from receiving a swift double boot to the back of the knees, and again to ensure that her arms would miss the hit as well. And once she was on her feet again, the young woman twisted her hips and brought her foot around in a back kick aimed at whatever was leveled with the heel of her boot.
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Jill's abilities did have a glaring flaw. Stripped of her guns, she had to rely on her body as her weapon -- not a problem in terms of experience -- but her limbs could only reach so far. Without actual weapons, she was limited to fighting short range -- not an issue with her usual speed because she could cross distances quickly and easily enough, but now she was slower, limited, not as strong, and now tangling with someone who could be called level with her. It was a first -- for all her training, she'd never had to go up against anyone half as talented, and even Wesker, for all his ability, relied on his strength and speed (superior even to hers) to take the initiative and have the advantage. In that regard, Jill believed it probable that her fighting ability actually surpassed his.
So she was still thinking in terms of the normal expectation when she immediately moved, eager to put the opponent back within reach, inside her comfortable fighting zone, and end it. That expectation did not include a reaction that fast.
She tried to shift mid-dash, but only partially succeeded. In a last second jerk of her head, the kick missed Jill's face but connected solidly all the same with the side of her throat, made all the more effective by the edge of a heel and not a blunter object. It crushed the air she was exhaling, offsetting her along with her surprise enough for that subjective thing called gravity to suddenly -- briefly -- put her on her side and stop her trek.
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Tifa was a survivor.
Granted, there was a big part of her that despised fighting and battling in general. Too many people were hurt and too many innocent souls were always caught in the crossfire of their battles. But war and battles happened. And if she didn't fight for those who couldn't, who would? If this woman had finished with her sooner due to her lack of skills, she would have moved on to someone else. And that meant Tifa would have to do her best to stop her now before she could.
Adrenaline running through her veins and an instinct to protect even those she didn't know, Tifa rushed forward once more before the other could recover. And with all the strength still left to her, the young woman grabbed the front of the other's suit and dragged her across the floor. Then with a hard and forceful grunt, Tifa brought her up and pushed her hard against the nearest wall. Voice equally as hard and nearly as unwavering, she spat out the first question that came to mind. "What do you want?"
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Ricardo Irving, for example.
In short, Jill didn't open her mouth unless otherwise directed. As it was, this young woman's inquiry fell on deaf ears; Jill possessed no current obligation to answer.
Using that brief pause during the other's question, Jill recovered easily enough, making eye contact in a blank stare as her senses instantly took in everything else
Position estimated weight predicted strength and speed parameters most probable course of action based on anticipated fighting ability and projected moral standing heart rate breath rate--
and then acting with that same smooth speed, clamping hard onto the woman's shoulders and using her for balance as Jill brought her legs up, bracing her heels against the wall at her back and kicking off, forward, with all the strength she possessed to drive her opponent backwards and hopefully off her feet. On the ground -- if she could get her target on the ground and pin down her light weight with her own, there were any number of ways Jill could kill her at that point.
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...That is, until she ran into the railing...
It wasn't a hard bump or anything that could be considered particularly dangerous or disastrous for their fight, but it did manage to provide her with that last leg of support she had been missing and struggling to get while she nearly stumbled to stay on her feet. And in a move of desperation and last minute planning, she threw let her opponent slide over the edge.
But Tifa was not a killer, and would never choose to be. So she kept her grip, hard and strong, on the front of the other's body suit. And her muscles gave a light murmur in protest against the weight as it began to tear away at her remaining strength. But there had been a hollowness to the woman's stare earlier. And Tifa remembered feeling... pity for it as well as a sense of familiarity. She had seen the same look in Clouds eyes once before...
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She didn't wonder at the turn of events -- there was no change of feeling or intention in the virus's protocol, but it wasn't stupid, either. The most logical course of action for optimal self-preservation and continuation of her mission was to accept the assistance. She gripped the railing with her other hand as well and hoisted, pulling herself up, ignoring how the pressure on her suit had caused the zipper to slip down another couple inches, further revealing the mechanism on her chest.
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But even with her best effort and what still remained of her almost inhuman strength, she was met with resistance. And not just from the device itself.
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It was enough for the embedded wires to pull at her skin and muscles -- enough for the virus' flow to be disrupted, however briefly, and Jill Valentine -- the real Jill Valentine -- was always desperate, always lurking and watching and waiting for an opening, and she seized this one before the virus could recover from its momentary lag.
Her left hand darted up, covering both the other woman's and the chest device -- but instead of resisting, Jill dug her fingers beneath the mechanism, down between its metal backing and the skin of her chest, and poured what strength she had into a rough pull. The effort incited a cry from her lips as the wires stretched and tugged, agitating old wounds and threatening to split her flesh, but she didn't relinquish in the slightest.
She had about two seconds, and then P30 recovered. Her pained yell hardened into a snarl, a frustrated and defiant cry that was more animal than human, and then time was moving again. She was high up enough now that she felt minimum danger of falling; her right hand grasped the railing while her leg instantly snaked up and over it to hook her knee around it, giving her a hold should she pitch backwards.
P30 did not know panic, and it did not know alarm -- but it knew caution and the circumstances were against it. Death was at her back and a threat in front -- a threat who was (impossibly) on her own level and who knew her weakness. She needed space, she needed time to think, and that was difficult at this short range. The hand she'd fleetingly lost control of was hers again: she instantly released the device and arched her arm back over her shoulder to aim a hasty punch at her opponent's face, wanting her away, needing a split-second of recuperation because that disruption had left her slightly winded and she needed to reconsider her strategy.
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For a brief few seconds, the both of them had been working together as one, fighting to rip the device off and allowing Tifa to see the real woman. Those few moments was enough to see that there were forces working to hide her away from the world for some other purpose. And for an instance, it was like there was still a spark of hope that... neither one would die or be seriously injured in this encounter. But just as quick as it had come, the woman she had wanted to meet was gone again, just like that.
The hit landed with the best of accuracy against her shoulder and jaw as the young woman tried her best to move out of the way. But for her own life and no other thought remaining but to hold on to that glimmer of life she wanted to save, Tifa didn't let go. And in keeping her hand there, fingers gripped as secured as she could in that brief moment of salvation, she pulled. And pulled pulled pulled with a hard stop of her foot against a lower rail until the both of them were pulled back on firm ground. And fighting to find a winner to this battle.
That was how it began. Soon though, Tifa knew, it would become a means for survival.
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Several sparks erupted from the device; the metal backing lifted a couple centimeters further off of her chest than usual.
She screamed. Angry, desperate, and knowing what the first mistake would cost, the virus forcefully subdued its host's struggles with an effort of will that was painful on its part, adding to the throbbing in their already sore skull.
Quickly, Jill turned the woman's momentum against her, moving with the pull on her chest to shove forward and drive her shoulder into the other's center of gravity, aiming to put them both on the ground. She caught the wrist below the offending hand, but the suit designed, in part, to minimally protect Jill now worked against her: she couldn't dig her fingernails into the soft space of skin between hand and arm, couldn't tear and shred through her opponent's skin until she found the radial artery and ripped it open. While Jill's fingers still gripped hard enough to bruise, her superhuman strength was gone -- and her muscles continued to spasm under the virus' pain of assault. Even as far as peak human ability went, she couldn't apply enough force to break the thin bones.
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She was not a hero like Cloud. But she was every bit in tune with her maternal instincts. And she was certainly a fighter. And every instinct telling her to hold on and hold on strong. Through the struggling, through the discomfort, through the pain. But with each passing second, that became more and more difficult to do.
She hit the ground hard, elbow first and against solid rock. And there was a moment where it seemed as if her entire body became numb with the shock of it. But Tifa was familiar with taking hard hits and getting a little scratched up along the way. All the same, it took every bit of conscious thought and forced awareness to keep holding on and fighting to pull the device off of her. Even with strong fingers pressing in to tear her bones apart from the rest up.
Using her free hand, she pushed back against the other's shoulder with all her might, hoping beyond hope that it would be enough.
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--but it never landed.
She froze halfway as the device reached its limits: the remaining wires slipped slowly, agonizing, from their places, not going easy but going, and Jill's vision flashed between light and dark as pain seemed to rip through every sensitive nerve. Her body went into an involuntary arch and she let go ago, hauling backwards -- but the motion only helped to tear the machine free faster with several whining tangs of the cords snapping free, barely audible under her cries.
She stumbled back, up and onto her precarious heels as her body continued to shudder, torn between both exhausted wills battling for control that was already lost. Jill barely felt the pain of her bleeding chest.
It didn't take long: she hit her knees, fell forward onto her arms, and from there hit her side, panting and gasping from fatigue that came from more than just the previous fight. Her shoulder twitched, her fingers scratched along the stone floor, but the virus was metabolizing. It was dying.
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