ArchivedLogs:Let's Play

Let's Play
Dramatis Personae Flicker, Steve
In Absentia	2017-03-06 "Challenge accepted."
Location <NYC> Harbor Commons - Rooftop - Lower East Side
An open-air escape especially popular with smokers and fliers, the Common House rooftop makes good use of its limited space. The railing that circles it has child-resistant gates where walkways can be extended to connect to the other buildings in the development. A colorful and ever-changing table with sometimes-matching benches provides an ideal spot for an urban picnic. There are two garden boxes on the south-facing side, one for vegetables and the other for herbs and flowers, a tool shed and small patio table with chairs between them. The late afternoon sun is still warming the roof pleasantly enough. Not too much breeze, not too much chill where Flicker sits in a bright warm pool of light. Currently poring over a textbook, a pencil spinning through his fingers at a blur too rapid to easily see. He's dressed lightly in the mild weather. Khakis, long-sleeved polo. His brow is furrowed deep. Jaw slightly tight. Nearby his claw-hand, on the table, there's a large bottle of water. The tip of the claw clicks against it at slow intervals. Tap. Tap. Tap. Steve steps out onto the roof, blinking in the light. He's recently showered, his blond hair spiky-damp, wearing a tight black t-shirt and much-mended old jeans, carrying his shield by its harness over one shoulder and a tan canvas jacket slung over the other forearm, a sketchbook under one arm. He waves and offers Flicker a smile, draping both jacket and shield harness over the back of an empty chair. "Buenas tardes. I can sketch elsewhere, if you think I might distract you here..." The swiftness with which Flicker looks up from his book isn't so much startled as hopeful. "/Por favor/. Distráeme. I think my eyes are starting to glaze." His smile is quick. Amused, unapologetic. "I pestered Hive for a while but he's gone quiet. /Actually/ working." He sounds mildly indignant about this. He points his pencil toward the sketchbook. "What are you working on?" "Challenge accepted." Steve beams a cheerful smile and flips his sketchbook open to a work in progress. The drawing is simple as yet, composed of long, clean lines that seem more concerned with movement than outline as such. To a familiar eye the sparring figures are still plainly identifiable as Natalie and Shane, captured mid-clash, she wielding a short staff and he a wakizashi. "I don't think watching me sketch will be /quite/ engaging enough to keep your mind off..." He leans forward and squints at Flicker's textbook. "...that. What are you feeling like -- a show, a game, a fight? Something else?" He sets down his sketchbook and leans on the back a chair, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. "Can't hurt to try. My brain is cluttered with microbes. It could use some scrubbing." Flicker pushes the textbook a little bit away from him. Leans back in his chair, picks up his water to take a swig. "Wait, explain to me." His smile broadens. His eyes are wider, lighted with a warm guilelessness. "What's the /difference/ between those last two options?" "Well, I suppose 'game' is kind of broad. 'Fight,' too." Steve 'hmms' quietly, considering. "The main difference is I'm much less likely to come out bleeding when you trounce me at most of the games we have downstairs. Mind you," he adds, grinning, "I'm not opposed to bleeding." "You really want to fight me?" More eager than skeptical. Flicker puts his pencil down. Already on his feet. "I'm assuming we're not playing by Fight Club rules. Do you keep your shield? How do you usually call this?" "I would be honored by the opportunity. Generally, I hang onto the shield if my opponent has any sharp weapons, natural or otherwise." Steve rolls his shoulders, muscles flexing under the tight fabric of his t-shirt. "We go until someone taps. I would appreciate if you make an effort leave me in shape to walk away, tonight at least. I'm going to see the Tessiers later." He steps away from the table and lowers his weight, pale blue eyes fixed keenly on Flicker. "Other than that...I know what I'm getting into." He blushes suddenly. "And you know how much I can take." Flicker glances down at his claw, shrugs. "This one's pretty harmless." The statement is immediately followed by a deep blush. "In itself, I mean. Not -- /made/ for combat." In a blink he's away from the table too, landing on Steve's far side. His shoulder rolls. In counter to Steve his weight is light, almost bouncing on his toes. The smile on his face is broad. "Come on, then. Let's play." "I wasn't made for combat, either. But I make do." Steve does not need to be invited twice. He surges forward, remarkably fast by /human/ standards, feints left, then aims a quick right jab at Flicker's solar plexus. Flicker's solar plexus is not quite where it had been a second ago. There's just a faint blur of motion, a soft flutter of noise behind Steve. The blow that comes next can't match Steve's for power, though its speed brings a solid force all its own. In quick succession, a jab aimed somewhere between Steve's shoulders. Then one at his ribs; Flicker's moved again, back to about where he started. Steve follows through with the jab that fails to connect, and so is still moving forward when Flicker strikes back, albeit at a comparatively glacial pace. Both of the teleporter's blows land solidly. Hitting Steve isn't /quite/ like hitting a brick wall, but there are enough similarities to justify making such a comparison. He does not stagger forward or utter so much as a grunt, and is beginning to pivot on his leading foot when Flicker appears in front of him again. Unfazed, he uses the turn he had already begun and kicks out with his trailing foot, low. Flicker, on the other hand, does let out a grunt. Small. Quiet. Sort of a huff at the impact when his fist strikes Steve. This time when Steve kicks at him it /does/ actually connect, after a fashion. No sooner has his foot made impact than, this time, neither he /nor/ Flicker are quite where they begun. Both relocated in one dizzying lurch, nearly six feet up above the rooftop. Flicker -- tipped kind of askew, off-kilter where his midair posture still reflects his previous path halfway to the ground -- doesn't try to right himself. Just snatches at Steve on his way head-over-heels to pull them both back up one length higher off the roof. Only then bam. The hard swing of his fist up and under toward Steve's jaw seems just slightly improbable in freefall. Only a flash of surprise registers on Steve's face after the first jump -- though, admittedly, he does not have a great deal of time before Flicker teleports them both up higher. He's not nearly so disoriented after the second jump, but he gamely accepts the fist to his jaw while aiming a knee to Flicker's abdomen. Though he had braced for the uppercut and his head does not snap back with especial violence, his entire body somersaults backwards. He twists mid-air, trying to correct his path and avoid landing on his head. Steve doesn't land on his head. Doesn't land at all. The knee that strikes Flicker's stomach -- square enough, though not as hard as maybe Steve was aiming for -- results in both of them springing higher yet again. Flicker ends up just slightly below Steve on this jump. Briefly, anyway. Long enough to slam an elbow toward the larger man's solar plexus before reappearing just above him, spinning down and around in a kick at his back. If Steve is at all /alarmed/ by their continued elevation, he does not show it. He does block the elbow to his solar plexus, if only barely, but the kick that follows it connects with a heavy thud with his back and sets him spinning in mid-air. Whether out of pain, disorientation, or a keen desire to /not/ get any higher up, he does not strike back this time and only tries to right himself as he falls. Once again the kick comes with a jump in height. Flicker shifts below Steve mid-spin -- then alongside him -- then over top. Each sudden change of position is accompanied by another swift jab of strike, another lurching adjustment of height before they have a chance to fall too much closer to the roof. The teleporter doesn't seem particularly concerned about attempting to re-orient himself with regards to the ground -- mostly only with regards to his opponent as he shifts and turns, a blur of motion around Steve. Steve's attempts to even /sort/ of keep up with Flicker are becoming increasingly futile as he grows more disoriented, but he suffers the quick blows without much more complaint than the occasional quick breath out. He returns quick jabs as he's able, but Flicker is so quick that he just cannot track his progress. Finally he seems to stop trying. Actually just closes his eyes and throws a punch, a bit slower than he's been (though it doesn't look like a /tired/ sort of slow). The punch connects -- maybe surprisingly, maybe not. Thwacking with familiar meaty thud against Flicker's shoulder, to be met with another rapid jolt of elevation. Several jumps later they're a few stories higher -- this time Flicker just lets go, tracking his own jumps back downward neeearly in time with Steve's fall but not quite in reach. Even in actual freefall, Steve doesn't panic. He rights himself in the air and looks down, judging the distance. His jaw tightens, but the expression resolves into a crooked grin. "I yield!" he shouts over the roar of the wind, stretching an imploring hand out toward his opponent. Flicker smiles bright. His hand reaches to grasp Steve's firmly. The trip back down to the rooftop is not exactly /pleasant/, still a rapid series of flashes, but it's oddly smoother, less stomach-churning jarring than the lurching jumps upward had been. They alight smoothly. Flicker is still grinning as he releases Steve and rubs gently at his own shoulder. "You hit like a truck, you know that?" For all his grace under rapid-fire teleportation, Steve looks somewhat relieved to find his feet planted firmly on the rooftop again. "I do, actually," he says, blushing fiercely all of a sudden. "It was a painful lesson. But you are harder to hit than I gave you credit, and I gave you a /lot./" His eyes dart to Flicker's shoulder. "You alright?" Then, as an afterthought, "Sufficiently distracted?" "It was /Matt/." Said like this needs little other explanation. Flicker's eyes widen after this. "Oh! Man! I'd totally forgotten about work." "I...didn't fully appreciate the breadth of Matt's powers," Steve admits, "and I was a bit patronizing in my overconfidence. I have been thoroughly disabused of both notions." He glances over at Flicker's textbook. Blushes. "Lo siento, I distracted you /too/ well! I should let you get back to it, and get ready to go, myself. See you around!" Gathering up his things, Steve flashes Flicker a smile before, with an easy running start, jumping off the edge of the roof in the general direction of his own house.