1144/The Match

The Match
Date of Scene:	13 April 2020
Location:	Abandoned Warehouse - Chinatown
Synopsis:	A heart stopping finish to the fight between Lady Shiva and Alexander Aaron.
Cast of Characters:	Alexander Aaron, Sandra Wu-San

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Alexander Aaron has posed:
    When Shiva offers challenge she likely has seen many things happen in the past. There likely is a large portion of them that never show. The cowards that rush off, that go into hiding, that flee to another part of the world. It likely is enough to dismiss them entirely from her attention. Unworthy, for cowardice is not among the traits that is sought in a maser martial artist.
    Then there are those that try to bargain their way out, to try and offer her something, better prey or bribery because assuredly that is what she wants is it not?
    And that of course fails.
    But then there are the ones that make her efforts worthwhile, that respect her enough to accept the challenge and meet her at the place and time of her choosing. Such as it was with the one she knew as Alexander. The day came to pass. Then the appointed hour. He had taken some of the hours between then and now and used them to train some, to focus on the flaws he had learned about in his time sparring with Sensei Wing. It had been fruitful.
    But she might be surprised that he showed up in that old abandoned warehouse used for that fly by night underground fighting ring where they had met. Only now, with the crowds gone, with much of the equipment moved, it was little more than a large empty room with catwalks above in the rafters. The ground was at least still clear, the space open and suitable for a match.
    And, to be fair, he didn't /know/ she wanted to kill him. But such was life.
    Usually the ones that show up early, however. They often move about, pace nervously, fidget. It's the ones that stay still that often offer the greatest promise. And when she arrives she'll likely see him there, settled in seiza upon the open floor, waiting and looking thoughtfully at the catwalks above, the place where they met, conjuring that memory to the fore of his thoughts.

Sandra Wu-San has posed:
Lady Shiva moves in a world different than most. The same. Yet different. Each moment being itself, each moment requiring her full attention, no matter how mundane. Someone who had sat meditation under the tutelage of a zen Master or followed the way of the Tao would understand the subtle distinction. So much can be said about that state of mind, the main tenet for her being: If you are unable to find the truth right where you are, where else do you expect to find it?

So she walks into the warehouse with no expectations. If he was there then she would meet him on the common ground of the 'now'. It's not necessary to clutter her view of who the young man is or how he would meet her in the ring; she's always ready to abandon her views of things.

Still a smile of recognition ignites in her dark eyes when she enters the room and pauses to adjust to the change of light. Unwrapping the knee-length coat and laying it over a chair, she nods, voice carrying in the still room, "Alexander. Well met."

Alexander Aaron has posed:
    The room is quiet. A long cry from the frantic frenzied cries of the crowd and the loud guttural grunts of the men fighting. The way the place looked now with the accoutrements of the contests long gone left the warehouse seeming like little more than the detritus of the city.
    Except for those two beings within.
    He was not dressed as he once was. Instead he was wearing a pair of black tightly fitted pants that still hung loose enough upon the hips and around the knees to allow a freedom of movement. Tucked in the waist of those pants was a form-fitting fabric shirt that offered little purchase for another to grasp or hold or twist, making any sort of grappling have to be made purely by the grip of the one fighter upon the other.
    When she arrived he rose to his feet and addressed her by her name that he most likely learned from elsewhere, "Lady Shiva."

Sandra Wu-San has posed:
The smell of bodies sweating in fear and excitement lingers in the air. The raucous voices a memory only. One that Shiva puts aside as she measures the young man who has taken the time to learn her sobriquet. He had perhaps done his homework then, certainly his clothing showed preparation. They mirror one another in that regard, the lean lines of her muscled body revealed in the black sheen of her pants and top, silken, hard to grasp but supple enough to not hamper her movement. Simple slippers, Chinese in origin, shod her feet.

They are yin and yang. His blond hair bright in the low light, her black hair, dark as a raven's wing.

Moving across the room to stand before him, she says without preamble, "It is not my intent to kill you.  But I will give you no quarter and expect none. Clear?"

Alexander Aaron has posed:
    Standing opposite her in the thin light offered by the moon beyond and the faint flicker of old halogen bulbs, his silhouette is no longer hidden by the over-sized clothes he often wears, no longer trying to avoid the eyes that fall upon him. His blond locks are pulled back from his eyes, held in a small elastic that creates a haphazard pony tail though not very long. She can likely see in his lithe physique the long hours that he's put into training, evident in the cut of his build and the way he stands at the ready, but also at an ease.
    "I understand, Shiva." He keeps his place there, as if entirely trusting that the combat will begin when she wishes, holding no fear nor hesitation within him.
    Then he tilts his head, "And the winner gets the knowledge of the other's story. To their satisfaction." At the last three words his lips twist up a little, remembering the initial reaction she had to that condition.

Sandra Wu-San has posed:
Arms at her sides, Lady Shiva does him the honor of a short dip of her head. Then flows into a one legged stance, one arm extended above her head, the other palm out to his face, a foot neatly balanced almost touching her knee, body turned sideways to him. Heron stance. She holds it with perfect balance inviting him to battle.

Alexander Aaron has posed:
    She'll see him straighten up, drawing three deep breaths slowly as he seems to draw inwards on himself, his broad chest growing and relaxing with each long intake of breath. Then he nods and matches her by taking a low stance, starting with one leg forward, his back knee bent, he brings one arm around to smack his fist into the palm of one hand, then unfurls like the snap of a sail, his leg forward with toe turned, one arm extended low and palm up, the other held high with elbow bent toward her, fist ready. A low stance from Shaolin, and a perfect counterpoint to her own.
    If nothing else, it is clear that he has studied. Can he execute? Is another thing entirely.
    There is a time as he looks into her eyes and she can see her own reflection cast back in those pale hazel irises. His breathing steadies, matches her own, and then with no hint of aggression nor antagonism he is moving, quickly rushing forward in a whorl of kicks that leap him into the air, and has him slashing around cleanly each movement strong enough, powerful enough to shatter bones and break bodies.
    And yet even as he moves he knows it will not be enough.

Sandra Wu-San has posed:
The look between them lasts an eternity and is over in a thrice. Lady Shiva tests him, having nothing to prove and no goal. Face serene as a mother looking down at the child in her arms, she fades before the kicks, sliding to the floor to whorl her feet at his own, leaping high when he is low. It is a classical exchange of kung fu artists, too classical.

Four exchanges into their fight and suddenly she is no longer facing him but leaps into the air, cartwheeling to land behind him and back kick into his kidneys.

Alexander Aaron has posed:
    It's a perfect exchange and his form is expertly crafted, each movement trained a thousand times and unleashed upon targets both flesh and fabric in the times he has focused upon his training. Alexander's lineage is storied and his teachers have been great masters themselves. And even as he lets loose...
    He cannot hit her.
    She evades, moving smoothly, twisting around his kicks, and then expertly flipping past and landing, then uncurling with a blurringly fast kick into his side as he's turning. There's a faint crunch as that jolt leaps back up her leg, telling her the message of such a clean strike even if she did not have the acuity of her eyes to tell her as much. For then he staggers back, wincing only for a fraction of a second before he retakes stance.
    This time, however, he changes to flow into a forward stance, one leg ahead of the other both hands raised and partially closed. Ready to accept what she brings to him, to twist it aside, turn it, or take her down should he be able to.

Sandra Wu-San has posed:
Playing with him, she makes a classic riposte, crouching, one hand in a fist, the other languid bowed downwards. That lasts only long enough to leave an impression on the eye. They are both beautiful and deadly. She rises to feint a fist to his face, to whirl into a series of strikes, knees pummeling him, feet and elbows. Dancing the universe like her namesake, life and death in each shift of her weight.

Alexander Aaron has posed:
    Circular motions greet each strike, clean and precise as he moves meeting her sally forth, the soft sounds of flesh striking flesh are quiet there in that warehouse where even the noise outside is filtered out. For now it is just them, the slight sounds of their breathing, the thap-thap-whap of fists and forearms, feet and shins. Like the joining of hands between two Hung Gar practitioners when they try to each get the edge with a twist of their hands in that age old exercise.
    And for once, a person is able to keep up with her. To match and defend, and push, and flow. Instinct is strong in him, and the training is exquisite. She can see the artistry of old masters, of her contemporaries, and of things... she's likely not seen before curiously enough.
    There's a moment where he is standing so close that they each feel the brush of breath across their cheek, before she pushes him back and he follows with a turning kick toward her extended leg.
    No further hits landed, almost more like a shared dance.

Sandra Wu-San has posed:
The rarity of meeting someone who could excel over her tantalizes Shiva, it shows in the glitter of her eyes, the quick exhale when he makes contact. Breathing him in, the whisper of skin as they dodge the killing blow flushes her face. She does not spare him now, reaching beyond form into another realm.

A smile, he fascinates her. Floating she one-two kicks him in the face, then drops to the ground to his side, rib punching to take his breath away. From high to low, she leaves bruises now, the blows promising fractures but she pulls her punches not wanting to kill her prey outright.

Alexander Aaron has posed:
    First blood is drawn as his head snaps back and to the side, a small spatter of crimson lighting upon the rough and dusty wooden floor, quickly absorbed by the sawdust and grime. Each blow delivered quickly and precisely staggering back and shaking his head to clear and focus.
    A wild backfist is thrown to try and buy himself some time, spinning to the side and then planting his back foot as he brings his hands back up into line.
    There's a rivulet of blood that trickles down the curve of his mouth as he grimaces, feeling the pain and shortness of breath now from those strikes in his side. A forearm is brushed across his mouth as he tries to stop his lip from bleeding.
    But no quarter is asked, and as quick as that he moves in once again on her, stepping forward quickly a foot thrusting out for the ball of his foot to try and slam into her abdomen even as he twists and uncoils with a spinning back kick seeking to keep her back and keep her retreating.

Sandra Wu-San has posed:
The tang of fresh blood, metallic and salty, threads the air. Shiva lets him hit her, lulling him into a sense of making progress. A free hit before she drops to both hands, swinging her feet into his abdomen, her breath hissing as she uses the momentum to make a full turn and push him backward. Nearly too fast for the eye, she punches, grunting from deep within her, adding more bruises to his face, pummeling his chest then an uppercut just below his ribs fueled by a deafening scream - eeeeeowwwwya- cutting his air off.

Alexander Aaron has posed:
    The rhythm is off now and each time he seems to seize an instant to place a mark on the tapestry of their conflict, she is able to grasp it and weave her own series off of it. His strike lands and then she uses it to grant herself the opening needed to slam her slippered feet into his abdomen and knocks him back a step, two, even as she spins inward and uncoils with that blurring speed.
    Faster than he can perceive she strikes across his jaw, under his eye, slamming a flattened palm into his chest, then that fist into the hard muscles of his side crashing through into the organs beneath as she offers that loud kiyai.
    And suddenly there is no more breath to be had as he staggers to one knee, balancing there, still trying to maintain focus as he shakes his head. A hand comes up as she steps toward him, a defense held ready as if he still had the strength needed.

Sandra Wu-San has posed:
Shiva's heart has begun to trip hammer as she prepares to finish him, admiring the line of blood that trickles down his chin, the heaving of his chest as he strives to oxygenate himself.

Brushing off the hand he raises with the outside of her arm, she steps forward and open handed slaps him, the blow resounding through the empty warehouse.

Levering him upwards from his off-balance stance on one knee with a hand under his armpit, she uses her her considerable strength and lifts him off the floor to tiptoe teetering. One fist is drawn back in perfect parallel to the floor.

She is capable of touching someone and leaving them writhing in pain an hour later, the touch bending nerves into excruciating patterns. This is measured. She doesn't ask herself what the consequences will be when his breath stops. The moment merits only this. A strike straight into his solar plexus intended to stop his heart. A high piercing cry, pressure shock like the crack of a sonic boom - sssssshhhhh aaaaccck fills the air. He deserves no better.

Alexander Aaron has posed:
    There's confusion in his eyes as he feels the jolting impact into his chest, feels the shock waves emanating out through his body as the realization, the agony blazes through him leaving in its wake blazing burning nerve endings that clench even as he feels his heart's stillness. Even as he feels his legs weaken, and then give out.
    And then he hits the ground, falling over, no longer able to sense anything anymore.