Preacher vs Stranger - Incomplete

Preacher
{As my blade soundlessly weeps.} It had been a battle. Literal and figurative mind over matter, every action tuned to a tactic, yes it had been quite the thing fighting one Noriko Stars and for the briefest of times, our Preacher fellow could just forget. Sadly there was only so much time that he had that could allow him to forget because of the battle. Thus the quandary the man always found himself in; forget for a little bit, remember what you forgot, AND remember even more. The fight brought out more of past memories, other battles, people, things that defined the person he had come to be today and at the end of it all, when his clothes were rung out and cleaned, when he found he did not have a wound left to patch up, when every item on his person was checked, Preacher could only frown. It was that familiar frown one could view from a distance away, mixed in with the tilt of his head to cast a shadow over most of his face. Yes, that frown and memories, they were the very reason he had once again moved throughout the coliseum and found himself amongst the battle sands they were known for. Only then did his head tilt up, revealing those dark eyes which cast a look to get a full view of the coliseum battle fields before they shut close. He knew what he wanted and it was something he had wanted for a while. When his eyes opened but mere seconds later, sands and the familiar brick and motor of the Coliseum had changed into an endless ocean with the worlds largest battleship sailing in it. A cool ocean breeze graced the massive hunk of metal known as the Yamato, artificially created despite its previous sinking, devoid of any crew but all the things that made up a battleship, Preacher and hopefully someone that'd soon be his opponent. Inhaling the scent of the endless ocean our Preacher fellow paced forward, soft metal echoes going off upon the ship, feet falls seeking and finding the most open spot on the outside of the ship and sitting upon it, legs crossing over one another as his eyes shut once again, fists balling atop his knees. Tier-Ciello, his Jian sheathed off to his left hip, Nexxusthe oddly made 'Rod-Handgun' holstered off to his right, aye, it was a day to battle. Ship sailing through the endless ocean, overcast set above his head with a dull dreary sun occasionally flashing itself through clouds, thus did our Preacher fellow wait and thus did he think. Let come what may so for just a few moments in time, He could forget.

Stranger
Rises up from the seat he had been resting in for the last few hours and proceeds to stretch out the old, tired bones and joints of his body. Without a word he descended, hands working upon the buckles and ties of his cloak and armors and mismatched clothing until the only thing left on his person were were the bottoms of his shozoku. A pause was made as he came to pass the knight and her friend, his hand reaching out toward the glass she held to have it blink into his palm; the bitter sweet contents would be drained before he casually tossed the glass back toward her, sticking out his tongue to childishly tease before he hopped off the edge and landed straight legged in the sand. As he touched the ground, three straight blades would drop from above, sheathed in dark cases that came to stick straight up as they sunk into place around him in a triangle formation. Each weapon was a rough four and a half feet at the blade, with single handed grips that bore four pointed, upward-curved cross-guards for defense. With a step forward his right hand would curl around the one directly before him, while the left seemed to reach out into the air and pluck from it an all white mask; the mask seemed to be made of ceramic, bore scratches and cracks across the surface and seemed designed to his own features that were twisted into a wide stretching and permanent smile. The only two holes upon it were the eyes, something anyone could clearly see his shining through once it was affixed to his face. The swing of his sword arm would come off as light... But the shot of the sheath clearing the arena as it came toward the pensive Preacher would be like a bullet. If he wasn't quick, this would be over before it even started.

Preacher
{Fortune.} Ears twitched and dark eyes lulled open. It did not take long at all for an opponent to present himself before Preacher and seeing Stranger brought a small smile to his lips, his left arm raising. "Hel--....!!!!" BLAM, KASHOOM ! One clear loud reverberating show towards Preachers person. It was not a bullet but it was nearly as fast as one and long if his quick guesstimate via eyesight could tell him anything. "Urph..." PUMPH, KERRRAAANNNG! Seeing his current opponent and having enough room and to move before he was hit saved him here, any closer and, well, we could find ourselves with Preacher impaled and possibly dead! Two sounds were let lose as a result, one soft and not so audible the second loud and echoing, the first being Preacher quickly shifting were he sat and leaning to his right side, the second sprouting as a result of the Sheath missing and careening about the ship. Ok, spare friendly greetings, Preacher could and would attempt retaliation here and now. PET PET PET, sharp cracks would be let loose as Preacher returned the favor towards stranger having drawn Nexxus from its holster when he shifted and fired off three hallow point rounds from the 'Three-Rodder' Handgun. It was an awkward angle, more meant to get the man moving and out of sights than actually hit, but if they did? Well that was nice to. Preacher wasn't counting on it however and whether the bullets missed, hit, or were deflected or shielded he'd be on the move. Right arm pushed as his legs uncrossed and in a practiced fashion he'd be on his feet and immediately darting behind one of the smaller gun turrets for cover. Well, that was quite a way to open up a fight, wasn't it? Eyes narrowed, steady but quick breathes being breathed in through his nostrils, a glance was given towards those odd rods about Nexxus' body. One was slightly filled with a red color, one was pretty much the same but white colored but the third one, transparent with a white outline, was a tad bit higher than it's brothers. "...Do you normally greet people you just met that way or are you feeling particularly murderous my masked friend?" His right hand patted his hip; three magazines filled with ten bullets, 37 counting the one in Nexxus at the moment. He winced as he spotted that sheath that had been shot buried into the metal haul of the ship, yikes! Good thing that wasn't any part of his body!

Stranger
Guns? Bullets? If only his religious friend could see the smile spread across his actual lips... But still, he has to respect the opponents choice in weaponry. Not everyone was so old fashioned as Nikolas. With a rapid flourishing movement of the Estoc, he slapped all three shots aside as easily as one might hit a barn with a baseball bat; providing these bullets had no extra effects, they would find themselves lodged into the walls around him. With a push of his right ankle and a seemingly gentle kick off the ground, Nikolas would launch full pelt into a sprint that would have him on the deck of his opponents ship in less time than it took the average being to blink; though he wasn't in combat stance, not with that sword tucked behind his back and casually gripped between the fingers of both hands. "Who says I'm murderous? I had confidence in your ability to avoid that little welcoming, just like I'm sure there is more to you than little guns..." Nikolas would stop. Eyes closed as he drew a deep breath through the nostrils and let out a sound of satisfaction.... "Especially when you smell so very much like home... And you do. I doubt we walked the same grounds, I don't think we knew the same people... I don't imagine your blood has ever graced the old Colosseum... But beneath everything else, I still smell the Nexxus on you." His left hand reached for his mask, lifting it up to reveal a visage that was smiling as wide as the mask. Human in appearance, all but for the momentary flicker of some horribly torn up creature. "Now, did we still want to keep testing the waters... Or should we both step into the pit and fight square? No tricks, no fancy toys or special powers... Though I imagine it'll be hard to keep the strength in check." He nodded toward the sands, dropping his mask before walked back toward it and dropping off same as he had with the stands, waiting for his new friend to join him.

Preacher
{Keepers.} "Pardon me and my Assumptions." Eyes trailed back to that shot sheath sticking into the ships metal haul. The next comment made our Preacher fellow flinch, eyes head tilting to look up. "You're very wrong, as my blood was spilled there many times sir..." His free hand reached and touched the leather pouch on the rear side of his belt. Frowning his eyes shut as Memories flooded his mind at the mentioning of home. What a long long time ago that was. At that moment reality seemed to bend as the scenery Preacher set down as a different sort of battle field mended and snapped and cracked as the sandy local the Coliseum was known for our Preacher fellow could not help but sigh through his nostrils. Whelp, color him the odd one for just wanted something different. Ideas were shelved and Nexxus was holstered as he stepped out of his cover. Reality crick snapped and popped back into place and in that instance, cool ocean and ship based breeze were replaced with the usual look one can situate with the coliseum; sand, walls, an audience section, all the works. Hands stuck in his pants as he got a look at his opponent, Nikolas. "...I had a different name back then. I go simply by Preacher now." Booted feet carried him forward from where he stopped, a pause taking place. What route to go? Mental energies spun, twisted, and turned for a second and yet he took into consideration what Nikolas said. "Melee, then? Hand to hand, weapons?" It never hurt to ask.

Stranger
Oh? How his ears would perk at the sound of those words... "Did you say, hand to hand?" Just the thought sent a shiver down his spine, that smile on his face stretching even wider now. Most people liked their sparkling super awesome world ending attacks... And while he wasn't exactly in short supply of those, there was something so beautiful in the simplistic clashing of fists that Nikolas wouldn't even hesitate to respond. The estoc was tossed, only to seemingly dissolve in mid-air back to the dust it had come from. The mask as well. A fair hand to hand fight meant no obstructions, no defenses, nothing to absorb the blow of bones digging into your liver as someone boxed your organs until they ruptured. "Friend, I will never turn down a good, old fashioned fist fight. What are your terms?" It was visual how itchy he was for this to get underway... To much talking, he hated all the talking and in truth if Preacher here didn't smell of Nexxus than he would have probably already attacked... But this was a special day. It wasn't often he ran into someone from his home world... He had no doubt this individual had spilt plenty of blood upon its soil, he only meant that... Given how the Nexxus was, he doubted they had ever split blood on the same soil. Still, this was a cherished day. To think he would find someone from the old world just wandering around these parts. Nikolas couldn't wait to kick his ass.

Preacher    {Handed.} "No weapons, no use of the environment, grappling, hands, feet, knees, head are allowed. Choking out, TKO, submission or obvious injury to the point of not being able to compete are victory conditions, no killing . I don't care about the resurrection field or what have you here, I don't enjoy or being forced to kill." Click, shupt. Off came that belt that held his blade, gun, bullets and Bullet-Grenades and gently placed onto the ground. Gloves fallowed suit. Standing upright, our Preacher fellow peered up, eyes shutting as a long warm whiff of air left his nostrils. Fingers wiggled, stopped, popped, and after the mini-ritual took place he turned on his heel to face Nikolas, a firm determined look on his face. "I wish only for your name should I win, what is it you want if you are to be the victor?" It was a simple stance he took; right foot sticking out a tad bit and bending at the knee. Arms shifted with his right shifted outward a bit yet hovering in front of his waistline while his left arm bent at the elbow, hand coming up close to his face. Both hands were curled into fists and his left side seemed to shift backwards just a tad bit. It was something relatively new but something Preacher also studied; The Hitman Boxing stance. Such was meant for tall long armed individuals like himself, though with a few adjustments to make it somewhat personalized and thoughts ringing around more than just punching. Calm overcame him yet his muscles tensed. Should he star? Was his stance recognizable? Did he give intentions away? Our Preacher fellow didn't know but he liked to think he was ready for what was to come.

Stranger    To some lesser or better extents, all styles of combat were recognizable for the man; what he could never know is the extent of the users mastery, what maneuvers they might use and if they had ever blended it with other martial arts along the line. In short he didn't underestimate his opponent. "Ahhh... It isn't often I find the man who puts life or death in the clause.... I think it takes out some of the sport. But that's fine. I can abide by that rule, or I will try my absolute best to do so. As far as what I want? Well..." In his quarter dressed state of being one could clearly see the rope around his neck and the small tongue it was strung through; it looked as if it hasn't aged a day. "I guess I just won't get what I want for now; but your word that next time we cross paths like this that we play for keeps..." Skipping from one foot to the other, hands swaying as if he were almost running, the man seemed to take on a gimmicky stance that made him look more like Jet Li than any serious warrior... But the way he moved, constantly on edge and ever shifting. It left seemingly obvious openings, while always giving him a moment to respond. "Whenever you're ready my friend... I'll let you take honors of making the first move."

Preacher    {Hand to Hand.} It didn't take a psychology expert to see that the man before our Preacher fellow had a few screws loose. Further confirmation via a fucking tongue on a rope around the mans neck confirmed this and, well to sum up Preachers inner thoughts: 'By Gods Dick, what the fuck did I just get myself into'? None the less a frown laced sharp nod was thrown Nikolas' way at everything he said as reluctant as he was. Stances taken, first blow offered our Preacher fellow let lose a breathe of air through his nostrils and approached. Movement was apparent on both sides of the field; Nikolas looked erratic and unorganized but our Preacher fellow knew better; this could be a ploy or clever trap which was why Preachers advance was somewhat reserved but loose, ready to react on the go. Should distance be reached the primary Boxing function of the Hitman Style would come into play. Though he had moved his stance had not changed and he seemed to consistently be leading with his right and for good reason; a quick flicker of a jab was let loose, Preachers right arm thrusting forward in an upward angle, expansion the length of his long arm extending in the process the target clear as day; the bottom side of Nikolas' chin with the top of his knuckles while keeping the mass of his away from easy contact and well defended. The jab itself was a tad bit stronger than it should have been given Preacher was leading with his right Superior arm and defending with his left so should it hit or be blocked physically, Nikolas might feel it was definitely an above average jab despite serving as a flicked and testing ground. Body tense, but palpable, eyes aware of any changes, the and distance of the jab was a perfect start in Preachers mind to the melee about to unfold.

Stranger    His body would move just as the Preacher came in, kicking off the left foot to lean into his right side, before kicking off the right foot to close the distance between them. This should bypass the jab, allowing it to pass by his skull without ever even touching him and simultaneously using the bounce of his body to rapidly carry himself forward. Hands up, elbows pointed down, palms spread open; he attempted to catch his opponent with a clap of the hands to either side of his neck and a digging grip into the meat. Not to choke, but for support and control. At the same time his left foot should come down in an attempt at driving the heel into the top of his opponents leading foot. The flat of Nikolas skull would swing in for the bridge of Preachers nose, momentum making the thrust of his head happen seamlessly with the rest of his movement; simultaneously to everything else, his body would twist at the hips and the flat of his right knee would aim to drive just a few inches stray of the groin, to the inside of his opponents right thigh. If the initial attack should land, he would attempt to follow through by pulling Preach forward, putting pressure at his neck in a way to force him to bend face first to the ground where he would be greeted by a second blow of the knee directly to the same point he had met with Nikolas hard head; the bridge of the nose.

Preacher    {Hand to Hand pt. 2} All seemed perfect and Nikolas was seemingly on his way to a full neck grab as he got closer and closer and everything but Preachers center mass and left arm seemed to adjust. Hands zoomed with intent; a foot away, inches a near inch...WHAM , and thus if all went Preachers way his left fist would come into play. Part of the Hitman Boxing styles flaw was the ability to bypass the length of the flicker jabs, however, a crucial defense for this scenario was both the length the opposition could get into, and the non-flicking arm. The second is obvious but the first mattered because it gave a window of opportunity for the Hitman user to see his opponent. He could estimate things, see what was going on, and through this act accordingly. Couple this with the fight itself being all aspects of melee, just not fists being flung and well you get Preachers calculated counter counter right here; his left arm angled itself to a proper lower position while Nikolas moved, and once his hands came in and just BARELY got to the point of touching Preachers neck, Preachers left fist would be flung forward in-between the whole of Nikolas' neck attempt grabbing arms, and aiming to viciously strike him dead center on the chin. In some rings when this kind of thing landed it was a near if not instant knockout blow at the worse, the 'best' being a ton of pain and a near immediate push back fallowed by the opposing once jabbed fist, in this case Preachers right fist attempting to land a solid quick few fallow up jabs to the face. Slight risk was involved but the positioning served as Preachers greatest weapon. He saw, he quickly observed and with what he gave himself he acted and opted to defend-offensively rather than panic and defend and thus we get the chin one-two strike attempt.