seveninchmotto | The Institute, New York, Friday

Entry tags:

The Institute, New York, Friday

Isabelle had meant to visit Flick at the Academy in Idris today, but something's things just didn't go according to plan. There had been a couple of major incidents of demonic activity in Manhattan earlier in the week, and so Isabelle had ended up doing patrol after patrol (missing her class in Fandom in the process) and staying at the Institute while the Conclave focused on tracking down whoever was causing so much trouble.

So she'd sent Flick a fire message, telling him she'd arranged the portals for him to come visit. And when he'd shown up, she'd told him they were going to be sparring. She was in the mindset for it, and she was curious about what it was like to fight him now, after so long at the Academy.

(Especially because she'd stopped sparring with him before he'd started his studies.)

And now they were in the training room at the Institute. Just the two of them; everyone else currently at the Institute were far too busy elsewhere.

Often, Isabelle trained in gear because she most often also fought in gear and so it made sense, but by Friday, she felt as if she'd been practically living in Marked gear all week, so she'd opted for more mundane workout clothes. You weren't going to see any sports bra/top and clingy exercise pants combos in the training halls of Alicante.

She finished putting her hair up into a bun, then stretched her arms. "You ready for this?"

[ooc: NFB and for the boy lovingly modded here.]

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Flick had dressed for the occasion, sleeveless shirt and loose pants, and was currently swinging his arms back and forth to loosen himself up.

"Been awhile," Flick told her, smiling. "I don't know if I remember how to do this."

He remembered very well.

"If you've forgotten, I'll have to file a complaint with your instructors at the Academy," Isabelle replied, shifting her weight from one foot to the other. Casually warming up, even though history told her this was unlikely to be very casual. "They need to step up their game."

"And what would a complaint accomplish?" Flick asked her, laughing. "I bet they'd burn it and make me sweep up the remains."

"My father is the Inquisitor, my word might hold some weight," Isabelle replied, and stretched her neck, first one way, then the other.

And then she moved. Idle, kind of. But also looking like she was intent on circling him. On sizing him up. "But it's a moot point," she said, "because you haven't forgotten a damn thing."

"You're right, I haven't," Flick said, curling his hands into loose fists and moving when she did. He smirked at her. "In fact, I've learned a little more each week."

"I think that's the point of schools," Isabelle replied sweetly.

Still moving, very light on her feet. She feinted a step towards him but went back on it, didn't advance. Not yet.

When she feinted close, Flick took a slow swipe at her, just letting her know he was watching before grinning.

"Sizing me up?"

"Testing you," Isabelle quipped, because she could. She didn't have her hands raised, or anything, but they were above waist level, occasionally balling into fists only for her fingers to flex out again.

She was still moving slowly. Still idly trying to stalk around him like he was prey and she was looking to play with him. "Little mundane."

She smirked at him.

"I'm calmer now. You're not going to get a rise out of me," he said, sending a halfhearted kick in her direction. "Try harder, woman."

Maybe that comment was the test.

Isabelle wasn't quite close enough to be in any danger of the kick connecting, but she swayed out of the way anyway.

And then fluidly continued right out of that movement into charging at him, shoulder aimed at his midsection.

Flick saw her moving, saw her coming and managed to plant his feet to try and catch her against him and use that momentum to toss her aside and off his hip.

He stopped her attempt at toppling him over, but she didn't let him toss her aside. Nope, she made a quick strategy change.

So instead, she tried to grab a hold of him and force one leg between the two of his for an attempt to then sweep one of them out from under him.

Flick might have been better than last time but she was still quicker so he hit the ground with a muffled grunt. He didn't stay still long, getting his legs moving and trying to drive the heel of his foot against her shin to knock her off balance so she couldn't get on top of him.

And Isabelle had indeed been trying for that, and failed when his foot connected. With a hiss, she staggered backwards for a step, trying to put that little bit of distance back between them as she straightened up.

"Not gonna be that easy, my darling," Flick said, springing to his feet and smirking. "Hope you didn't expect this to be all that quick."

"This wasn't quick or easy even when you were less disciplined," Isabelle retorted, rolling her shoulders. "And that's good. I'd hate to be bored."

"I've never been a boring person," he said, smirking at her. "I'm just a little more disciplined now."

"And still not being very interesting right this second," Isabelle noted idly.

Yes, of course she was baiting him into attacking her. She wanted to see what he'd do! So she was shifting her weight from one foot to the other, watching him and keeping alert.

Looking like she was ready to pounce at any moment.

"Still trying to bait me, huh?" Flick asked, smirking. He waggled a finger at her and shook his head. "Keep trying. You're not going to goad me into something I don't want to do."

He tapped the side of his head and said, "Disciplined, remember?" He feinted like he was going to come at her but just laughed instead.

Isabelle was ready for him to pounce. But she was also expecting him to toy with her. So, she twitched into a slightly more defensive stance but relaxed immediately when he feinted charging.

"You were so easy to bait, then."

It was kind of a compliment. Anyway, she was changing her approach, slightly.

She moved closer to him. Slowly and deliberate, obviously not looking to attack - not in the same movement, anyway. No, she was trying to raise the stakes by putting them closer to each other. Harder to anticipate things that way.

"I was a different person, then," Flick told her, shrugging and getting his feet moving. He didn't move away though. He stayed close, as close as she going to put them and circled, bringing his hands up but staying loose.

Deciding to see just how prepared she was, Flick kicked out at her quickly, aiming his foot for her calf. It wasn't meant to do anything but sting slightly.

Isabelle saw the kick coming, but the closer proximity did what it was supposed to: it made the margin of time for reacting much shorter.

So, she chose to take the sting of the kick and hoped he'd be distracted enough by it not to block the punch she threw at his ribs.

(Not at full force, but it wasn't going to feel nice if it connected.)

While he hadn't been celebrating his hit, he hadn't expected her to retaliate as she had. He grunted, doubling over slightly to protect his ribs from another shot. He knew he couldn't stay there long so he took a few steps back, grabbed for her shoulders and drove his own knee up into her gut.

Isabelle did her best to twist in his grip, but still ended up giving a quiet gasp when his knee connected anyway, just at a slightly less advantageous angle.

Already trying to grasp onto his arms while his hands were still on her shoulders. Her aim was to twist one arm and try and force him to the floor.

Finding his arm behind his back wasn't ideal but Flick refused to go down. He spread his legs, giving himself a lower center of gravity and dug in as best he could.

He knew he couldn't do much with his feet if he wanted to stay upright so he thrust backwards with the point of his elbow, hoping maybe he'd found her stomach.

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject