Owner	Pose
Alexander Aaron	There had been twelve daggers that appeared before Alexander in the days following his return from Olympus. Twelve curved blades that seemed to lift and soar and flow through the world around him, barely upon the edge of his sight like motes of dust in the mind's eye that dared to draw his attention. Yet as he had returned to the city of Manhattan he had found that at times they would beckon, lead him along one path or toward another. Whether they were meant to offer a symbol towards a person, a place... or something of import was difficult to discern. Sometimes he would follow them and it would seem as if it was so clear what they were trying to tell.     Then other times, it was naught save mystery.     But the young Olympian's footfalls had carried him once again along the paths of a year ago. Neighborhoods and buildings and sites that he had wandered through in the past. Such as tonight he found himself walking along the streets near Empire State University. His old stomping grounds when he had been a Freshman in school here, before he had wandered off with his father to Mount Olympus.     There had been Pablo's Bar and Grill. Across the way was the Falafel Food Truck he enjoyed in between classes. Yet here, just before Greenwich, in the old storefront with its covered windows. This was Master Oyama's dojo. Which had been the source of many memories that he felt fondly of.     Perhaps it was open tonight. Perhaps it wasn't. He did remember where Master Oyama left the key under the bamboo plant in its pot near the door. If nothing else he'd get to walk around and reminisce. Unless there were late night classes.
Stefani Houston	It was sometimes hard for Quiet to find herself a place to work out, a place to relax and simply enjoy herself. Not to mention the difficulties when it comes to socializing when she was effectively mute. Perhaps that was why the 'Super Soldier' woman who'd been referred to in the past by some of SHIELD as the 'World's Deadliest Bikini Model' preferred to stay working. Going to train was going to have to do in the meantime, as the next best thing. Herself dressed in shorts and a midriff baring tanktop to allow her skin to breathe, Quiet had managed to offer a little financial incentive to let her stay late. She might not have a sparring partner, but the simple punching bag hanging at one wall of the Dojo was currently rattling loudly in protest as she worked the dummy of leather and sand with a steady rythem of strikes.
Alexander Aaron	As the youth climbed the stairs, the faint shift of weight upon the old wooden steps would cause the wood to complain with soft creaks as Alexander ascended. Perhaps enough of a warning, enough of a shift of air pressure to let the super soldier realize that another was coming. Then there was the slight tinkle of keys at the door which would give all the more evidence to the truth of that fact.     The Olympian, however, had a hint someone was perhaps there. There was a sound of that impact, fist and feet slamming into the heavy resistance of the bag that swayed with each impact from her. The chain that holds it to the ceiling jostling faintly. She might have a second. Perhaps two to break for cover, to slip into the shadows before whomever was entering called out.     And when they did, it was a man's voice. Or a young man's. There was that hint of youth though fairly vibrant. "Hello?"     Perhaps one of the mirrors along the wall where the artists who were training their katas would look upon their form, perhaps one of those mirrors caught his reflection in the doorway. He was tallish, an inch over six foot. Pale features, golden blond hair, a small beard that fit the contours of his features well. He was wearing jeans, a black t-shirt, a pea coat that he was slipping out of as he emerged.     Then, a moment later he was stepping out of his shoes before finally turning his attention to the dojo floor proper.
Stefani Houston	Superhuman perception wasn't quite required when the place is meant to be empty, but it certainly helped that the noise fell outside the 'beat' of her strikes against the bag and ended with her turning to face the source of the noise. Her hands lower, knuckles wrapped and only the faintest bit of sweat visible on the darkhaired woman's exposed skin. She could slip away, hell she -could- activate her ability to camoflague herself even if it was far from flawless and the mirror parallax would likely give her away... But she doesn't. Instead she simply lifts a hand to steady the bag from its wild rocking with an audible slap of impact, the silent sniper tilting her head questioningly and not speaking a word as Alexander steps into the dojo space.
Alexander Aaron	Bare feet light softly upon the hard wood floor, not making a sound now though when he emerges through that doorway their eyes meet. Often when she meets another she can get a read from them assuredly, a vibe. The way their eyes move, take her in. Some clearly slip almost instantly toward lecherous thought or steal a steady glance which one can read even without enhanced senses.     Yet the youth before her can be read as well, but the way he moves and looks, it might remind her of some of those she's fought beside. Trained, and trained well, with recognition in his eyes of her at first as a figure. Then her stance as she holds the bag. A quick glance at tell-tale signs on hands, feet, her form. But then others would stop there. This blond man with the calm handsome features tilts his head slightly and his gaze flits left, right, barely perceptible as he marks the possible presence of others.     Then a slight look to his shoulder. It's only then that the smile eases into place with the perfected motion of one naturally at peace with himself and others for the most part. It's a warm smile that precedes a single word.     "Hey,"     A few more steps into the room. His clothes are... much baggier than hers, much harder to discern the silhouette and shape of the young man beneath them. But he moves with that practiced ease, and his long arms have the tight lines of hard trained musculature and biceps as well as hints of vascularity that speaks toward strength training and long work.     "I... don't suppose Master Oyama is here?" His gaze drifts across the dojo floor, toward the office where the lights are out. It seems like it is likely them and them alone.
Stefani Houston	A hand raised, a shake of her head, Quiet offers her answer readily but still speaks a word. Any lecherous look? It'd be noticed in passing, but compared to what she tended to wear when working the sniper was practically overdressed. Then again, a bikini, leggings and some limited tactical webbing was probably going to earn an odd look on the street, so thin materials and socially acceptable skin-showing would have to do. A hand raised with a single digit indicating for him to wait for a moment, she reaches for her smartphone laying nearby and starts tapping away at the screen with her speech-to-text. <He has gone out for the night,> the phone speaks in her stead. <It is only me here.>
Alexander Aaron	At first his eyes had fallen upon the phone as she went to take it up, puzzlement in those pale hazel eyes as he watched then looked back meeting her gaze evenly. Then she tapped on it and created the message which he heard the phone speak. The first part had him look again at the office and nod, then the second part his gaze was brought back and his lips parted as he breathed in silently, but doesn't say anything at first.     But there was that hint in his manner, that slight hitch when someone learns that she perhaps cannot speak. A momentary faint glimmer of sympathy. But then it passes faster than it might for most others as he argues against her need for it by looking at her form and athleticism, but also the way she had seemed to be working the bag. She was not someone that needed pity.     "It's ok. I..." A ghost of a smile slips over his lips, eyes lowering slightly, then back. "I used to train here, ages ago. Well..." A glance to the side to one of the soaped over windows before he looked back to her. "Well a year ago. I just got back into town and..." His nose crinkles slightly, a curiously 'young' look like something he had been doing since he was small. But his smile is that same easy-going thing.     "I dunno, nostalgia. Don't let me interrupt you though." He lifts a hand, gesturing slightly to the side, "I was going to look around and..."     For a moment his smile broadens and almost seems as if he were embarrassed as he confesses, "And see if my old trophy is still in the case." The tone he uses, he knows how lame that sounds. But still, he'd rather tell the truth than not it seems.
Stefani Houston	<Go ahead> Permission given by the woman via the phone rather than attempting to see if he understood sign language. ASL simply wasn't that common after all. With that in mind, Quiet pauses to adjust her hairtie before she makes to throw another punch at the bag, flowing comfortably into a simple three-strike combo. She could easily continue, keep up her pase, but she does make to slow as he draws over towards the throphy cabinet she hadn't really bothered to look for or at. She'd needed a target to get out a little frustration on, there wasn't any history or nostalgia for the woman to drink in as there was for Alex. That being said, she was curious about what the other visitor might find.
Alexander Aaron	It wasn't an elaborate display, just a handful of trophies, some retired belts, some notes written around them partially in Japanese but some in English as well. Just in the corner opposite and away from the dojo floor and near the office where people would sit to observe classes when they were being conducted.     Easing into a crouch before the display he looks it over and gets a small half-smile, though he does roll his eyes slightly at one of the old thoughts that flit through his mind. After a moment of consideration he rises and turns, taking a leisurely walk around the training space. He considers some of the weapons hanging on the walls, then one of the murals that depicts a dragon and a tiger both roaring and leaping at each other. But other than that the hall is rather simple. It has the weight of years to it and that subtle scent of sweat that clings to such places where warriors have trained for so long.     After a few moments pass he moves back into her line of sight while she trains. His hazel eyes meet hers again and he seems like he might say something. But instead of doing so he looks to the bag and rests a hand on it in between one of her combinations, then quirks his eyebrows as he offers to brace it for her. If she trains with others in the dojo sometimes she might know it's a small habit that the school has, whenever another is training you give them a hand if you aren't doing anything else yourself.     He'll wait, however, until there's a brief moment and then he'll ask. "Does Master Oyama still teach, or has his son taken over?"
Stefani Houston	The offer of bracing? It brings a moment of consideration, a shift of her strike but she continues. Of course, perhaps if his senses were keen and his knowledge astute enough, he might notice that the silent woman was pulling her punches more than she had been moments ago. Even in a work of mutants and aliens, advertising her strength to humans tended to cause complications more often than appreciation. A topic shift, his question of the master earns a raise of her hand, a little wavering of her hand suggesting an answer somewhere in the middle. The old master offered advice here and there, but leading the classes all the time was getting beyond his age.
Alexander Aaron	Curiously enough he seemed to get it and nodded. But then fell into the silence needed when training. A deep breath was taken and then he leaned into the bag, bracing it with a shoulder and then taking it as she threw a few more shots into the heavy canvas. Each time it hit there was a resonant thump, and he seemed able to hold it firm.     For a time that's all it was in that old dojo with the moon shining outside and barely through the slivers of a tall skylight above. As she trained his eyes wandered the room, drifting from place to place. Perhaps a few moments before his consideration returned to her. His eyes drift over her stance, her form as she strikes, following the line of impacts, adding his arm's strength to the bag when she brings a kick into play.     Yet how she holds, she moves. It's a testament to his own training that he can read that she's holding those punches back. In a brief moment when she pauses he looks her in the eyes, then double thumps the punching bag where she just hit, nodding to her again. As if to say silently, 'Bring it. I can handle it.'
Stefani Houston	Well, he -was- holding strong enough even if she was dropping off the power a little bit, as the silence comes to the space as the two of them continue, only the impact and the swing of the fixed chain above splitting the quiet leaving her to pause. She actually considers for a moment, her lips pulling to a light quirk of amusement. She'd be lying if she said it didn't remind her of some better days, of bravado from the mercenaries she'd made her life with even if almost all of those men were dead or retired these day. They'd been confident, taken a look at her and thought of their strength despite the feats they'd been told of by the collegues and she'd offered a little humbling. Shrugging her shoulders? She slips backwards, shifting her stance and lifting her guard for a moment...then there's a loud sound of impact, a sharp and seemingly impossibly fast impact of the roundhouse kick she'd thrown moments ago now repeated and 'turned up to 11' as it was. The sort of force that can and indeed had thrown full-grown and armored men into the air. But how would Alexander handle it?
Alexander Aaron	There was that subtle tension between them. That realization that there's something there and that faint hint that perhaps... just perhaps each of them were hiding something. It was there in her eyes and that way her lips twisted, and for him it was in that faint tilt of his head just so and to the side as he watches her gather herself, draw inward, then unleash with that rough and powerful kick /slamming/ into the bag.     And it was a perfect strike. She could tell as that whole bag and the feeling of impact lanced up her leg, that telling feeling when a hit is a strong hit and if she were facing an opponent there'd be the crunch of bone and the groan of surrender.     Yet as quick as she might gain some satisfaction, it might well be replaced with a hint of surprise as that bag /whumpfs/ back and into Alexander. And to her credit it knocks him back, first onto his back heel, and then forcing a half-hopping step as his bare foot squeaks on the wooden floor.     That was the moment they likely new. There was that hint of danger to her. And when their eyes met the tension might grow as if any moment one might attack the other. Only for in the next it is disarmed... when his smile curves and lights those calm features of his.     Then he grunts a little, and taps on the bag again. "C'mon." He finally says.     So looks like she may well have her workout as she wishes.
Stefani Houston	Now wasn't -that- something? The silent woman actually looks a little bit suprised, her brow raised as he manages to brace the bag that itself probably couldn't take that many more of those strikes itself. Yet he was fine...how curious. That look of suprise turns to a smirk, her gaze locked to his own for that moment of understanding before she lifts her hands and shifts her stance. Then the attacks begin, that same swift three-strike combo beginning in earnest all over again. It just happens to be a hell of a lot stronger then before! Soon enough the bag would be straining from the perfectly aimed strikes, the material threatening to split and spill sand all over the gym floor.
Alexander Aaron	Of course maybe this was a mistake...     Yet there is an element of pride to the Olympian. He keeps that shoulder in place, those arms spread. This close she can see the supple lines of controlled strength as he holds that bag and resists. The tendons in his arms, along the clean muscular lines of his neck tighten as he gauges her rhythm and exerts his own strength in perfect counterpoint. It goes on for a time, a minute, two... then five. She's able to uncoil and unleash, then drawn and tense, moving through the well-trained motions.     And from his angle, his point of view, she is almost like a machine, steady rapid-fire strikes impacting that bag, jostling it at times in his grip, the chain complaining loudly each time she draws back. His own gaze follows as he marks the points of each strike landing hard. And after a time even he is getting a small sheen of sweat upon his brow.     But it's when the bag threatens to tear, when it's reaching that point of being overwhelmed with that long string of punches and kicks that he lifts his voice and a hand to stop her during one of those pauses.     "Wait." And should she take that word to heart he'll take a moment and inspect the heavy bag, running long fingertips slowly over its surface. He looks back up and meets her eyes, that small ghosted smile settles at the corner of his mouth. Then he shakes his head slightly.     The bag... had had it.     For a moment he bites his lower lip thoughtfully. Then he turns his head and looks across the distance of the room. No replacement. The speed bag could serve. Or hm.     His eyebrows lift as he meets her eyes, then he motions toward the mats in the corner of the room with a nod, where students in the dojo honed their sparring and groundwork. He cocked an eyebrow silently offering that option to her if she wasn't quite done with her work out.
Stefani Houston	She was probably going to have to drop a few extra bucks here to pay for the damage to the bag, after this, but well...she could probably afford it, right? Still, the mercenary lowers back to her 'at rest' position, stepping aside from the bag and looking the Olympian up and down. Well, his arms were unbruised and he didn't seem any worse for wear, that was curious in itself.. Of course she was expecting things to come to an end, a little shift of her form that has her headed towards her belongings. Then he stops her, that offer made with the meeting of their gaze and a moment of consideration. A nod, a step onto the mats with her bare feet and she beckons for him to follow.
Alexander Aaron	Following after in the same silence, he walks with that casual surety, comfortable in his body, at ease with that smooth gait. Thoughtlessly graceful at a glance as he moves across the room in her shadow. Then it's onto the mats, the material crinkling slightly under his steps.     His side is to her as he moves to the edge where some of the equipment is kept. Half kneeling he starts to push around some pads that are there, that the prior class had set aside. His back to her partially it will give her a chance to look at him without him returning her gaze. A chance to take his measure, to perhaps get some insight into how he may be different. Yet there is nothing too obvious. He was handsome, his skin was pale, the t-shirt hugged the smooth contours of his muscular back as he chose two pads and rose. He clearly trained, and with how he moved and was able to endure he must train hard as well as be gifted in his own right.     Yet that was all the time she'd have as he turned and was pulling a pair of square pads onto his hands. Those pale hazel eyes met hers again and he glanced at those pads with a quirked eyebrow, another silent question.     Did she wish to target those pads as he used them to take practice swings at her... or did she wish to spar with him personally to see what secrets there may be?
Stefani Houston	It didn't require perception so attuned she could pick pressure and wind from over a mile away with ease to know the man was different, after all his lack of suprise or falling to her strikes earlier said that plain enough. Of course, she had no idea to know -what- it was that made him different, no idea that their little contest was one of magic verses science. The pads? They're glanced at, but instead the woman lifts her hands to a guard and beckons with a finger toward the man. Silent or not, the message/invitation is clear: Show me what you can do!
Alexander Aaron	The response she gets is him narrowing one eye as if giving her the stink-eye, knowing that she's got some strength behind her punches, so her invitation to him to show her what he can do... might be just because she wants to be able to go all out against someone. And that'll probably hurt.     But that small half-smile that flirts with the corner of his mouth might well lend a different context to that look. Playful? Perhaps. Amused, assuredly. With a nod he starts to pull those pads with the glove backing on them off of his hands and tosses them back onto the stack with the others.     Then he steps forward, more toward the middle of those mats as his eyes meet hers, that curious green and blue to his irises lending something a little other-worldly to him even as he lets the smile grow a hint before he banishes it with a nod. Then focuses fully on her.     Then that tension grows between them. She can feel his gaze drifting over her, taking her measure, considering the way she stands, how she struck, the reach of her long limbs, and those tell-tale hints as to her training. He steadied his breathing, nodded to her as he stood straight, clapped his arms to his sides slightly and gave her the bow deserved in this dojo, holding it for her to return it. No murmured 'hajime' as he settled into the ease and quiet between them. His breathing was controlled as he turned his hips to the side and eeeeeased slowly into stance, one foot forward the other back and turned behind him. The mats crunch under his steps as he shifts that stance, his arms held partially low, the left forward and open. He exhaled a controlled breath sounding faintly like a 'sssaah.'     And only when she was ready did he move forward, and chambered a kick forward, short, sharp, the fabric on his leg snapping with the extension as he struck and kicked middle then higher. Easier though, not full speed, perhaps letting her set the pace and escalate as she'd wish.
Stefani Houston	The wrapping on Quiet's knuckles was pretty much just for decoration rather than actual protection, anything busted easily regenerated before it became more than superficial...so she simply grasps it with her teeth and pulls it free, unwrapping the protection from the deceptively delicate digits before she lifted her arms. His first kick coming forward and setting the pace? She responds with a surge forwards, stepping sidelong to the strike and lashing out with a 'block' intended to push him off-balance. Her attack that followed was super sharp, brutal and...very military. Something born out of practiced CQC rather than usually taught in a dojo, an amalgamation of decades of training and exchange between the mercenaries she'd spent her time with. After the set tempo of her attacks on the bag, the rapid-fire surge of opening strikes culminating in an attempt to throw him across her hip was...frighteningly violent even if it wasn't intent to actually injure.
Alexander Aaron	It was like he offered her a handshake, and she in return launched toward his throat seeking blood. She had seen it before, a partner expecting to take it easy on her, to hold back, expecting gentle back and forth, perhaps even something more just light movements without actual contact.     And those times when she exploded forward she often ended matches before they even truly started. For a single instant she might already be thinking that. For she steps in, a rush past the kick, stepping in and slamming her forearm against his shin, breaking his balance and fouling his land and plant. Then she brings an elbow into play as she seeks to thump some wind out of him, enough to distract, to ruin his concentration, and then the throw to bring him down for a finishing strike or technique considering how he lands and what present he might give her, an arm, a leg, or even his neck.     Yet if this was her going for the throat after he offered a handshake, within the first few seconds she'd realize he had held his metaphorical hand back and it was ready.     That second strike comes in and she'll feel it register, a crunch of impact, only it's felt partially shunted with a downward motion, enough to prevent her getting that hit clean. Enough to push him onto a back foot. Then she twists in close, bringing an arm around and trying to draw him over her hip. She perhaps already has the next movement ready, the muscle memory keen. Something just as brutal and precise as a moment ago...     She'll feel her grasp of his shirt and side, able to hold and pull. Perhaps one thing she'll realize abruptly is that he's /very/ warm, the touch of flesh to flesh, then the rush down toward the mats... For an instant they're glaring into each other's eyes as he hits. But he's more ready than he should be. Almost instantly recovering as he twist inwards closer to her, a strong arm wrapping around her planted leg and twisting with his hand digging into the sensitive skin behind her knee, fingers pressing into the joint as he twists his hips and in turn tries to bring her down face first onto the mats...     Where he'll try and roll with and come up behind her, attempting to bring her leg with him as he seeks to plant a knee toward the small of her back as he goes for a leg lock.
Stefani Houston	It probably seemed that it was vicious, perhaps over-competative...yet he'd see it when they were in close like that. The smile on her lips, the clear enjoyment shown as they exchanged blows. When the attack hits her leg, she actually cries out, a non-verbal exclaimation that suggested she was able to make noise, even if she hadn't spoken at all during their entire exchange. His attempt to roll with her has the 'super soldier' continuing her motion, making use of some rather impressive flexibility in her hips to avoid ending up on her belly...except she was already at a disadvantage and sure enough she feels herself pushed into the ground with that knee on her back. Last moment to move, she drives her knee down into the mat trying to throw herself diagonally and change his weight pinning her before he can lock her down. She just needed to be able to shove him off her, a sweep of her leg attempting to land a kick against his form on the ground.
Alexander Aaron	Now this is perhaps what she remembered, those times when she was training with one who came close to her talent. It was all movement, muscle memory, precision. And during these moments he was just as silent as her.     As he brought her down he saw that smile, it was mirrored in part in those ethereal eyes of his, narrowing subtly as his lip twisted. Then she cried out as he flowed with that movement. She could almost feel the surprise in him as his grip loosened subtly on the smooth curve of her leg and a release of pressure on the small of her back.     It was a chance, she was able to twist and with that perfect flexibility she launched herself diagonally, landing upon the mats causing them to /hiss/ with the sudden shift of her weight, light as it was. Yet the cry that surprised him only lasted a half a second? Less? Suddenly he was in pursuit, reaching out for her ankle...     And then her other lithe leg twisted around in that sweep and she would /feel/ the heavy _crack_ of impact as the ball of her foot slammed into the side of his jaw. Hard enough to cause him to make sound now, a loud grunting /uff!/ as his head snapped back and he fell onto his rear on the mats, one arm catching him as he shook himself trying to clear the cobwebs in his head.     Yet when she looks across that distance, she'll find another small surprise. For as he lifts a forearm to wipe at the blood and the ragged tear of his lip... she'll see him lick that blood with the tip of his tongue faintly. And then see that small flow of blood stop as the lip knits together. Healing easily and as quickly as her.
Stefani Houston	He could heal, he could match her for strength, but as that wound knitted together her eyes narrowed for a moment. Focus, not anger or fear. She could tell it was different, that at the very least he hadn't recieved the same treatments that she had. Still, she could really, -truely- work off a little steam without worrying about breaking a partner? That was exciting. She slips back, springing to her feet with startling acrobatic ability to come to a ready stance and smoothing her hands to readjust her shirt before giving a jerk of her head. An invitation, his turn to make the opening salvo.
Alexander Aaron	She gives him the room, he takes it to rise, planting a leg and twisting smoothly to his feet. He's taller than her, has better reach, but the strength of impacts, their durability, it might be more even than even they know. She can also tell his style's changed. At first, the first few strikes, he had used what he had learned with Master Oyama...     But now?     He was hunkered down behind raised arms, one fist slightly forward and partially open, his head moving subtly left and right. A quick /hut/ exhaled between his lips as he threw a short sharp thrust kick toward her, then ducks low and tries to step in and throw a punch from the left, the right. Yet it's similar to her own training, military, quick, sharp. And seeking what opportunity he can.     Should she counter and lash out as well he adapts quickly. What she gives him is subject to attack, or to a push of one hand to try and slither his around and shift her stance or posture. And when they fully engage... it'll be that rapid-fire whisper of movement, strike, turn, movement. Each of them looking for a hole, a gap, in that CQC style that is staggeringly deadly and fast.
Stefani Houston	And so they began their 'dance', although using such words for the brutal exchange back and forth would do a disservice to the sheer strength and speed they were both amping up to. Blows landed, bones cracked and flesh bruised only to heal, swelling to disappear and trauma to knit itself back together. Each mark she could give, he'd likely be able to return, each strike offered, throw completed or lock performed exchanged between the pair of them. She'd eventually pulls back, form dirtied from the struggles and hair falling loose only to pause. Who knows how long they had been fighting, but without the sun to nourish her? Well, her stamina wasn't going to be limitless!
Alexander Aaron	It had been a blur of movement, a steady twist and turn where one after the other each would gain the edge over the other. One moment she had him reeling and swept his legs out from under him, the next he had caught her arm and twisted it sharply to the side. There was a point she moved and locked him into an arm bar that he tapped quickly, only for them to spin around, slip back and engage again.     Until finally, how long had it been? The moon had moved, those slivers of light from above were no longer there. Just the few halogen bulbs gave them that halo of illumination from above those mats where they trained. Each of them sported small marks of their contest, his short had torn and hung loosely over his broad chest, a small price to pay really to find a sparring partner of such caliber who could contend so fiercely.     As she stepped back he was breathing steadily, slowly, heavier than normal but no so much so. Yet she could see the glisten of sweat and effort upon his brow, his shoulders, a beadlet of sweat trickling down the curve of his neck to disappear in that valley of his pectorals. For a moment he swallowed and focused, a little hazed, but still ready as he reaffirmed his stance and nodded to her.     It was his turn to lift a hand and gesture for her to come at him this time. Yet despite the pain, the rough impacts, the agonizing submission holds, he still gave a small smile as she readied.
Stefani Houston	Her guard shifts, her foot moves, a simple shift of her body, but there was more to it. It was decades ago, movements she'd seen from a man who'd become a legend, who'd served as her partner...and who was now long gone. It's that same combination combine with a surge of motion that she flows into, the air behind her seeming to almost waver from the acceleration behind her. Fists fly, each step and strike lashing out in the series of punches that almost seem to spring from the next, a rapidly accelerated barrage of straights and short-punches intended to force him on the back foot, to move his guard low and have him moving...until she stops her steps, counting on his own motion to be continuing backward...right into the arc of the kick the next 'step' snapped into.
Alexander Aaron	There was a whisper of her movements, a flicker of motion, some hint of a wisp as he kept his guard. His attention was steady on her as she seemed to blur, to strike with such precision. And to Alexander's credit he's able to maintain, to make those blocks needed cleanly, only for the staccato rhythm to build. The look of concentration in his eyes was an intense thing and as she struck he held her gaze. Until he felt her building to that crescendo that he takes that extra step backward only for her to halt and leave him pushing off with one foot...     And straight into that whirling kick as her foot slices around and /cracks/ hard into his side. The impact as strong as that first against his jaw, feeling that push back from the initial strike, then the low crunch of he ribs surrendering to the power. It's enough to twist his face into a scowl and knock him onto his side, one hand slamming down hard on the mats as he goes to one knee, at least stopping his fall and from that kick taking him to the ground.
Stefani Houston	Usually, this would be the part where she'd draw her gun and either finish her foe or interrogate them, albeit the latter with a tape recorder. This time however? She sweeps down sideways and moves with an inhuman ease around his unbalanced form, drawing her arm up around his throat and pulling into a choke with her form pressed tight against his back. Of course, she didn't -really- intend to choke him out fully, just to prove that she -could- if things were real.
Alexander Aaron	It's quick, executed cleanly and the pause from tightening it clearly signals that for now... the bout is over. Still wincing, Alexander manages to grimace a bit as she gets into that position and draws him back. They're both very warm, and the nearness isn't unpleasant. But he knows that for now they're done. He'll tap lightly on her forearm twice to signal the fall is hers. A small exhalation of breath slips between his lips as he shakes his head, wincing a little as those cracked ribs knit together slowly.     Turning his head to look over his shoulder he gives a nod to her. Then, after how many hours... he finally murmurs a few more words as he tells her with that same smile. "Not bad."
Stefani Houston	Quiet herself releases him, stepping back and...the strangest thing, as their fighting had continued she seemed to no longer be breathing faster. Indeed, there was a complete lack of rise and fall from her chest for a few moments while she made her way over to her belongings, retriving her water bottle and drinking deep. Breathing through her skin had made things pretty unnerving in the past, but she was back to 'normal' pretty quick before she finally retrieved her phone to answer him. <You're pretty good.>
Alexander Aaron	There's a nod that comes from him as he seems to agree with that sentiment,and it's shown a little more in that smile that grows. He pushes himself to his feet hen, still wincing a little as he rubs at his side. But, of course, that's the moment he actually realizes he's torn his shirt which earns her a little glower of recrimination. Since she plays rough.     Sighing a little he tucks what he can of the shirt back into the waist of his jeans then steps across the room with a slow ginger gait, crinkling hs nose at the pain of the cracked ribs. One hand uncurls as he gestures toward her bottle, eyebrow quirking as he asks silently if he can have a sip. And if so he shall.     One way or the other, afterward he uncurls a hand toward her, palm up as he says. "You're very good as well. I rarely get to let loose."
Stefani Houston	The water is tossed his way, readily and indeed she waves for him to keep the rest as they speak. Or at least, one of them did! Quiet turns to scoop her phone up and tuck it into the pocket at her backside. His glowering? It doesn't seem to be earning much in the way of apology from her if the expression on her face way anything to go by.
Alexander Aaron	Catching it he took several swallows then he looks back toward the door of the dojo, then back to her. She was hard to read, though through it all they seemed to be enjoying that time spent together. Though perhaps for her it might have just been getting to really push herself.     A few steps carry him over that pile of pads and the windowsill near. Settling back against it he looks across the way at her then asks, "Would you like to meet again some time?"     A pause, then his smile shifts wry, "And not spend the whole time beating on each other. Maybe just half the time."