The Emerald of the Isle

[A Dragonian]

(Rizuk beat me to first post on here...damn you! >_>)

There comes a time in every man’s life where he makes a major mistake, and in that time, little does he realize that the mistake he makes is actually a mistake. When he first goes into the situation, he is smooth, relaxed, and totally oblivious to everything else around him. All advice that he may hear goes through one ear, and out the other. They run in full force, take on the opportunity, and for the time live life by ear.

However, when the mistake hits them, it swings in with the force of a ton of bricks, and shatters every bit of their reality...Everything that they ignored before comes back to haunt them, their pride is tainted with the factuality of the truth, and just like before, only the thought of the mistake becomes the only thing they think of...just on a whole other spectrum...

This is just one of those stories...

Rues is a beautiful place. The horizon looks like an oil-painted landscape, a cloudless, azure sky, rolling hills, and a bright and shining sun standing as a beacon of hope and prosperity. Rolling, mountain-based hills expand in every direction that the small continent lies on. The hills are covered in massive prairies of emerald grass, along with the occasional shrub and towering tree; some hills are covered in nothing more than fields and fields of daisies, daffodils, tulips, petunias, and many other colorful flowers, while some are naked to just the grass. The air tangles the grass with playful zephyrs, while the oxygen is relaxing to anyone who takes a breath. Many breeds of animals find shelter in the rolling hills, for it is the only home that they have ever known.

The people of Rues are nomadic: many of them live in traveling companies that traverse the country, seeing the beautiful sites, and living in nature, as the people once did before the invention of housing. Those who refuse to constantly travel either move into one of the small towns that are miles and miles away from one another, or they travel to one of the other continents like Lavertia, Guardinia, or Western Parmecia.

The nomadic nature of Rues cannot be personified better than in their capitol city: Pao. The town of Pao is nothing more than a large wagon trail, much like the ones during the western expansion; there are three wagons in total, and each has nearly a thousands of wagons to hold the tens of thousands of people of the city. Made of wood and stone, the wagons are massive-- the square footing in one is like a small building, and each can comfortably house a couple thousand people-- yet the large metal wheels necessary for the wagons do not destroy the ground as they cross the rolling prairies.

The front is led by a powerful steam engine, capable of pulling the long wagon trail on its journeys. Several large bridges that connect the wagons, made of mithril chain, which is light and easy to bend-- an asset when crossing the rolling hills-- yet is strong enough to endure the pressure of carrying multiple wagons together, allow people to safely cross from one wagon to another. However, they are more important for their ability to keep the wagons together without need for multiple engines.

Each wagon itself holds a different purpose: some are used for meals, where the many people gather at different times of the day to get their provisions. Some of the wagons are divided up like hallways in a hotel, where each provides rooms for everyone to sleep in; each room has electricity, plenty of hot water, and the luxuries someone could possibly need or want. Some are divided into storage, some are general stores for peoples’ needs, and there is even a sickbay for those who need somewhere to recover from sickness, fever, or a broken ligament.

The wagon on the end of the trail houses a tavern. Tankards of alcohol are hidden behind a wooden wall, only accessible behind the stone counter that spans the entire perimeter of the room. Benches are weighted, so they do not roll all over the place, yet are easy enough to move closer to and away from the counter; the tables and chairs that sit in the room also share the same characteristics. Holes in the wall bring small amounts of sunlight into the room, but not even the sunlight could pierce the fog of smoke, dimmed lights, and haze that a bar usually provides.

Seriyu sighed, reclining back in one of the weighted chairs. He kept one of his feet on the ground, just in case he would lose his balance. His blue hair that normally faded down to his temples now covered his eyes. “Why is this the last place I want to be this afternoon?”

[A Dragonian]

At the moment, the tavern was in its usual level of activity. People drank, smoked, talked both loudly and obnoxiously, puked their guts out...the natural atmosphere. Waitresses walked around, carrying platters covered with empty mugs, and others full, being sent to “parched mouths.” The bartenders behind the counter were busy taking in orders and filling them out.

Seriyu’s jacket drooped on his chair, revealing his black fighter’s gi, black and short-sleeved, bearing his lightly-muscular arms. His hands, covered in fingerless, black gloves, held onto the side of the wooden table sitting in front of him. One of his feet was firmly planted to the ground, and the other hovered slightly in mid-air. Donning almost a perfectly black outfit-- other than his white belt-- he could have looked like a cult follower if he dyed his hair black, turned his skin paler than marble, and watched a couple of Seether videos now and again.

“Can I take your order, sir...?”

Seriyu nearly lost his balance there and then. His mind had been occupied on other thoughts, and the woman who caught his attention brought him spanning back into reality. His chair rocked back, and with its weighted body, along with the moving wagons of Pao-- also accounting for Seriyu’s size and weight-- he should have fallen face-first onto the floor.

How he didn’t was a miracle in itself. As the chair rocked backwards, Seriyu applied most of his weight into the front of it. Even with its weighted properties, the weight of an adult would nullify the effect. The chair came rocking back, and clattered as the front feet hit the floor.

Recollecting himself, Seriyu pivoted in his chair, looking up to the woman who had asked him the question. He smirked lightly to himself, the usual thoughts of a male running in the back of his mind. “Are you sure that you’re old enough to be working here...”-- he took a moment to look at her chest, which made her body look like it was three sizes too small, to a nametag that clearly read her name in engraved letters-- “...Miss Laura...?”

The woman before him stood about five-and-a-half feet in height, half a foot shorter than him, and in many respects was mature for her age. She wore blue shorts that revealed quite a bit of her legs (they cut just short of the thighs, so they left plenty for the imagination), a button-down blue top, and a large pink cloth wrapped around her waist like a belt. Her body was thin, yet possessed every curve to make a coyote howl. If Seriyu had never trained himself to seclude his masculine lust for women, then he would have been lucky to be sitting at a table.

“Bite me,” came her curt and uncourteous response. “I’ll repeat...would you like a drink?”

Seriyu half-smiled, and coyly responded, “I could do more than bite you...I’d just...--” He stopped short, feeling the back of his neck stinging.

Looking over, Laura had Seriyu in a hold by just two of his pressure points. Although the pain did not harm him, yet it would hurt like a bitch to even try and move. Through gritted teeth, she seethed, “One more comment like that, and I’ll show you exactly what happens to a daisy when you pinch the stem too hard...” Seriyu had decided in that moment that this woman was not the one to hit on, and he did his best to nod without hurting himself. “Good...” She smiled innocently, as if nothing had happened between the two of them, and released her hold on Seriyu. He rubbed the back of his neck soothingly.

“So....about that drink...”

“I’ll just take the house special,” Seriyu responded, still holding his neck.

“Coming right up, sir.” And with that, Laura began to slowly walk away. Before she could get too far, his voice called her back. “Just a moment!” She pivoted a one-eighty on one foot, turning to face Seriyu once again. With a smirk, he mused, “You know? That hold you had on me was pretty good...If you’re as good in bed, you’d surely knock everyone’s boat over.”

Laura was not the one to take sexual humor very well, but even she could take a slight compliment-- even from being hit on-- in lightheartedness. She laughed softly, and without saying anything, turned right back around and continued to walk away.

Seriyu was no psychic, so he would never notice Laura rolling her eyes. Men...seriously, if I had a penny for every man who wanted to get in my legs... She turned her head to look back at Seriyu one last time; luckily, he had taken interest in one of the walls. Half of a smile painted on her lips, she continued to walk away, one last though running through her mind.

He is kinda cute, though...

[A Dragonian]

* * *

Laura weaved in and out of the many tables spanning the tavern floor. Each table either stood empty, or was occupied in at least one seat by the regulars of the bar. Drinks reclined in their powerful grasps, or they sat not too far from their grubby reach. The stench of a barn plagued the air (farmers sometimes wash their horses down with alcohol to add a sheen to their coats). The cumbersome effect of her tray between her arm and side making it harder to sidle through distant gaps; on numerous occasions, she knocked into one of the men, forcing her to resort to a curtsey in apology before returning on her way.

When she reached the counter, she placed her tray onto the counter; the light clatter alerted one of the young bartenders (not as young as Laura-- somewhere in their mid-twenties) to her. “I only need one, Ricky.” She spoke at his arrival; he curtly nodded and went to pour the drink.

Laura sighed low enough for no one to hear as she reclined an elbow onto the stone countertop. She looked out at all of the hopeless faces, drinking their pain away a mug at a time. Some drank with friends for the sport of it, some were so depressed that they hoped the alcohol in their veins would help, and others only did it because they could. The sea of drunks went out for quite some difference.

And there she saw him-- the man whom she was currently waiting on. He was quite tall, even while he was sitting down (in comparison to all the slouching drunks, this also makes quite sense). His dark-blue hair stuck out like a sore thumb as well. He seemed relaxed and poised from where he stood, naturally having a serene calm. He wore all black, save for a tan trench coat that reclined on the back of his wooden chair. Laura had to admit that he was quite the looker. This doesn’t make any sense...why would a guy like him be in a bar!?....Men are so confusing...

And with that, her thoughts began to wander.

Laura did not remember how long she had been working as a waitress. The years had slipped by like grains in an hourglass. Whenever she reflected on the many hours she spent of her life in the tavern, she could never decide if it was time well wasted, or if it was just time wasted. Ever since she was fifteen, she had been a hired hand to the bartenders, making it four years almost to the day...four years she had given up her education...four years she had given up her friends...

Four years she had given up her life...

Laura had never been anything like the other girls she knew. They hung around in malls, conversing about men, clothing, and gossiping about any news that the vultures could scrap from a corpse. The few things that appealed to them were men, sex, and money. Without one, they would decline into despair; without two out of the three, they would surely die, and without three, their parents might as well have signed them off a tombstone.

Laura was different; she never was the same, and most of the time she was glad she was not like those hungry scavengers. Laura was more or less a tomboy, and the friends she had reflected this aspect. She liked guys for other reasons than for carnal desires; most of the friends she had prior to her job-- if not all of them-- were masculine, and she appreciated them for it. They treated her as an equal, and were not declined to having her tag along.

However, Laura knew exactly why she was like this; she never had had a father figure to look up to in her life. Her father had mutually split up with his wife for reasons they both knew they could not escape. Laura had never known this of her father, yet she could tell from her mother that she did not despise him, nor did she long for him; she waited, but she never longed. She could easily get by with just a little help from her friends, and the little family that she had (Laura was the only one left to her name).

Laura’s mother had a beauty to her name indescribable in words. Her body was slender, yet not too thin. She donned an outfit of the typical mother, and she looked fine doing so-- in fact, she was more than fine. The femme fatale stood tall for her gender, long blonde hair cascading down to her hips, a perfect match to her sparkling azure eyes. Her persona and wit were perfectly jointed to one another. Her eyes always shone with courage, proving her inner strength to anyone with a whim of a doubt.

Laura had always respected her mother for this strength, and deep inside, this strength brought out a desire in her soul to be exactly the reflection of the woman she knew. Laura represented her mother almost to the letter, save for her brazen attitude and her readiness to swing from happy to angry (she sometimes wondered if that was a gift she got from her father, or if it came from farther back in the gene pool; she knew for a fact that it was not from her mother).

Most women without a father figure are shy and timid around men, because they lack the social interaction that a father figure would give them; Laura, however, was the exact opposite. She hung around men because she saw the same courage, determination, and inner strength from them that she saw in her mother.

She despised the prudes because of their abundance of innocence. She remembered the words of someone who had once said that the loss of innocence was mistaken for the loss of one’s virginity, but it was never so. Looking into another’s soul and feeling for them required a stronger emotion than innocence could ever hope to possess. Laura had compassion, and no person can have compassion and innocence at the same time. The prudes had no compassion, that was for sure.

And she remembered why she had employed in the bar when she had...

Laura had always wanted to help her mother in any way she possibly could. In the end, Laura decided the best way to do this was to fend for herself, allowing her mother more of an ability to do what she wanted without needing to worry about her daughter (this was when, Laura believed, she had lost all of her innocence and replaced it with compassion). Her mother was resilient at first, but finally gave in, realizing how mature Laura had become. In the end, Laura had given up a lot to help out her mother, but she did it with no qualms, and she was always proud to do so.

And in the end, it was not all losses; her friends would come by and see her now and again, and she had a social life in the bar...at least, even with the drunks collapsed on the floor; most of the regulars knew her name, too! She made plenty of money in the business-- enough to provide for both herself and her mother...along with a little extra on the side.

Laura had one other reason for why she worked in the tavern. And after seeing Seriyu, something had jogged it back into her memory. She closed her eyes, sighed, and the same thought she had conceived for nearly four years came back into her head.

I will find you again soon...father...

“Hello, world to Laura!” came a voice from the other side of the counter. Ricky had returned with the drink, and Laura, completely out of it, missed his arrival entirely. Her heart jumped, almost skipping beat as she turned to the barkeeper.

“Why must you do that...?”

“Does it matter? It brought you back into reality...now get the drink to the customer!” Laura was clearly annoyed, and in her anger, she wanted to tell him to blow her...of course, it only took her a second to think better of that remark. Instead, she just took the drink and began to walk back to Seriyu.

[A Dragonian]

Laura dived once again through the sea of tables on her return trip to Seriyu’s table. Her hips swayed from side to side naturally with each step, while her legs extended forward and retracted as one jumped in front of the other. Her tray-- now occupied with an alcoholic beverage-- made her travels the more difficult. Her years as a waitress, however, gave her the skill she needed to weave in and out, not bump into a soul, and not spill a single drop.

Her temper, however, was not prepared for the event about to occur...

Most of the regulars in the bar did not hear the sound of a clattering tray, breaking glass, and the spilling of beer all over the floor; those within a few feet of the radius perked up and turned their gazes on the waitress near them-- especially the group of men sitting at the table closest to her. Everyone else just tuned it out and continued on with their usual conversations-- or, whatever the hell they were doing. The ears of a certain blue-haired man, however, tuned in clearly to the sound, and he turned his full attention to the scenario before him.

The look on her face was pure shock, her eyes the size of saucers and her mouth gaped open like a doughnut. Every muscle in her body tightened in place, and minus the expression on her face, she resembled a soldier, standing perfectly erect. A large, masculine hand had found its way to her backside, and it squeezed tightly.

The hand connected to an arm that ran up to a heavy-set man with short, buzz-cut, auburn hair. A sleeveless, dark green tank top covered his bulging chest and large stomach, companied by a tight pair of black khakis. His stern eyes were set on his ‘prize’. Half a malicious-pleasured smile crossed his cracked lips. He stepped up from his seat-- his grip still on its goal, as he walked closer to Laura. His heavy voice bellowed like a bass when he spoke. “Hey, baby, let’s ditch the scene and slip off into the back room...I bet you can I could make the whole caravan rumble.” The group of at least a half-dozen men all broke into hysterics over his remark.

Laura only gritted her teeth and ignored their laughter; her temper had been ignited now, and she was ready to slam this man in the gonads if he was not careful. “If you don’t feel like being castrated...you’ll let go of me...NOW...”

He laughed heavily with a morosely-evil tone. “I don’t think you get what I just asked...I-- the great Mizuho-- have offered you the chance of being one of the very few to sleep with me...it’s a chance of a lifetime...” He smirked and adjusted his hold to her waist, clamping down tightly. The claw machine then turned to be in front of her-- his hand was now wrapped from his shoulder, around her side and back to her left hip. His eyes met hers. “So what do you say, why not make this easier on both of us and just say yes?”

“Let....go...of me!” Laura hissed, struggling to get away from his grasp; even resisting with all of her might, his powerful arms tamed her and left her stranded in his foreign grasp. Even she knew good and well that this man had no intention of letting her go. Her legs were too close to his own to use them in any forceful way (his were way too large for her to make any damage to him...besides, she couldn’t even move them).

“Great,” he chuckled loudly; the men sitting at his table chortled under their breath in reaction. “I love it when they resist...I’m sure you’re a virgin, too. All the better!” Her attempts at resistance were more than futile as of the moment, for this man’s determination was set on what he wanted; nothing would stop him...or at least that is what he thought.

“Excuse me...” Even in Laura’s struggles, she recognized the voice as the man she was-- had been waiting on. She went limp and listened to his voice; she felt relaxed by his tone, even with the current tribulations of being in the arms of a potential rapist. Mizuho adjusted his neck and turned to look down at the man at his height, but at least a hundred pounds under his weight. “I believe that you’re deaf, because I am sure she insists that she wants let go...and if you are, your friends over here should have advised you to leave her in peace; she has a job to do, and you’re just disrupting her.”

Silence stood for a few seconds, and then the laughter from the men continued...all of them winced with joy as their chortles filled the air; now, even more people paid attention to the situation in front of them.

“So, we have a wise-guy, eh?” Mizuho mused with a smirk crossing his devilishly-wicked face. Seriyu did not falter once staring into this man’s expression with stern eyes that hid his true emotion. Laura, still watching from inside of Mizuho’s arms, was rendered speechless. Just who is this guy...? “So, who the bloody blazes do you think you are, and why shouldn’t I just beat your scrawny head in?”

“I am a wanderer...anything else that I say is just a waste of my time and energy, for I doubt you could even comprehend the first part...”

“What did you just say?!” He let go of Laura, allowing her to fall down onto her limp knees. He bore his teeth, his brown eyes blazing in rage. The men at the table took the signal and stood up, walking to form a circle around Seriyu and Mizuho. “You better watch what you say, or you’ll find your head were yer ass is.”

For the first time, he laughed. This caught Mizuho and the others off guard; even Laura stared in amazement at the man she hardly knew that had just saved her from a night of pain and misery. “You realize jobs like this barely make a dent in my incurable boredom?” He cracked his knuckles and stretched his arms as the circle of men stared on at him. He cracked his neck from side to side, muttering, “I won’t even need to break a bead of sweat against all of you...”

That spark set off the powdered keg, and the circle enclosed in on the man. Those closest to Laura just knocked her aside as they encircled him. Her eyes glanced up at his face...calm, poised, and determined on the events facing him. She was scared, but not for her own safety...this man had come out of nowhere, asked for a drink, and then saved her for no reason at all. Whoever you are...you better win...

“Whoever you are, be prepared to face a whole fuckin’ world of hurt...”

A hidden smile crossed his lips that only Laura noticed. “The name’s Seriyu...and bring it on...”

[A Dragonian]

The first man to toss a punch at Seriyu came from behind, sending in a right hook right to the back of his neck; the force of tension caused by the man’s fist forced small amounts of oxygen to rush towards the back of Seriyu’s neck. This tiny breeze was enough to alert him of the oncoming blow (he sensed it from the tiny hairs on the back of his neck), and with swift grace, he moved to the right, ducking the blow in its entirety. He brought his fist up below the fighter’s neck as he fell, forcing up on his larynx. With the initial pressure and the pull from his momentum-- along with the pressure on such soft of a point on the body-- the man had fallen into a puddle on the floor, unconscious.

There was something about Seriyu’s grace that alerted Mizuho right away that Seriyu was no regular man; he moved seconds before the initial strike. There was no way a regular man could have avoided a blow like that. And within seconds of the missed blow, Seriyu had brought up his fist and hit the man right in his larynx. He did not even have to look or falter his hand in an elegant motion. Only a professionally-trained...no, there’s no way that this man is an assassin...

Seriyu did not stop there. He still moved in his dive, plowing in between two of the other men, a short-haired blonde and a medium-built man with hair like a blaze of flames. After slipping through them, he collected himself on the floor, springing back up behind the pack of fighters. He was now grinning from ear to ear. “I was right about breaking a sweat...” He adjusted the white cloth around his waist, paying little attention to the fighters; he cared not of the perplexed emotions on the faces of all but Mizuho, who gritted his teeth in rage. In a blunt rage, he shouted, “Get him!” and a barrage of men came charging at Seriyu.

By now, the people in the area were smart enough to evacuate; other than the tables covered in assorted items, the area was desolate like the now abandoned chairs. People rushed back to form a circle around the group, almost ten feet in radius. They watched in awe at Mizuho, his clique, and a stranger to the town clothed in a black gi, blue hair, and sparkling sapphire eyes. This man, whoever he was, showed no signs of fear at the stampede of people; he stood where he was, smiled, and scanning the scenery.

Laura watched this as she staggered back to her knees. Mizuho was facing with his back to Laura, his muscularly-obese arms crossed around his chest. Hair stuck out from the neck of his tank-top. Eww...someone should give him a razor...that’s disgusting!

“Laura, are you alright?” She looked up at Ricky-- a smiling blonde with sapphire eyes, wearing the traditional outfit of a Ruen bartender. She nodded bluntly and turned to continue watching the men in front of her. Ricky took her by her hand and slowly directed her back into the crowd, and like a child being led through a unknown area, she was led, but she kept hey eyes open to everything else around her.

And like clockwork, the battle was once again in full swing. Three of the men were charging at Seriyu in the front ranks, the other three closing the distance between them and the first group. The first three shot out their ligaments and launched an attack towards the man. The first tossed a fist at his stomach-- easily caught by holding his cupped hands right in front of the fist. The second aimed for his left shoulder, which he quickly ducked away from by pivoting on his right foot. He had to let go of his first opponent’s fist to do so, freeing him once again for an attack.

The third had tried something different; he crouched down onto his left hand and knee, extended his right leg, and swung his leg around in an attempt to knock over Seriyu. Once Seriyu had pivoted from the second attack, he had lined himself up for the attack. He got caught off guard, and resultantly lost his balance. He fell backwards, landing onto his backside. In the moment of advantage they felt they now possessed, the three men smiled.

Little did they realize Seriyu knew plenty more about combat strategy than they did...

He positioned his fingers so they faced away from his front, and he applied a sudden jump of pressure to them. By bending his knees and keeping his feet flat on the floor, the sudden trigger in pressure coursed through his entire body. All of his weight was applied into his feet, and with the lowest level of undetectable ki used as a catalyst, Seriyu came flying back up into a standing position. All of this had happened in less than a second, leaving anyone who watched his choreography of falling down and rising back up clearly amazed.

While he rose, he manipulated the swing of momentum in his favor. While rising, he curved his body angle in an arc, swinging his own fist right in the faces of one of the men in front of him. His fist was closed up, but the palm remained open. His knuckles were aimed at right so his middle finger was aligned at the square middle of his face. The man, still in a state of shock, collapsed backwards behind the initial pressure of the blow.

However, within a split-second, Seriyu’s other hand slammed right between his lungs in the same formation as the fist before. All of his defensives had been suddenly changed to his face from the first blow, making the second much costlier in effect to the man hit. The wind was knocked out of his lungs, the strike pushed his ribcage down on his organs, and that’s not even mentioning the sudden pressure applied to his heart.

Without question, the man fell backward. He was out of this fight, and he stood no chance of returning any time soon: The combined pressure knocked him out long before he hit the ground...

[A Dragonian]

(Author's Side-Note: Damn...took me a month to finish this thread...oh well, it was well worth it! ;D)

Two down, five to go...

Seriyu jumped back again from an oncoming punch coming from the left, as he ducked down as the same time to avoid a hook aimed for the back of his neck. Those who watched awed his graceful movements, cheering his name in profound glory. It was a spectacle, for he never lost his balance when he moved, all the while avoiding every oncoming attack in his direction. Mizuho’s patience slowly depleted as he watched the fight, gritting his teeth silently. They’re the best Dragonia has to offer, my ass!...I spent good money for these men, and they can’t even stand up to a pansy! Damnation!

Seriyu was however slowly losing his ground, he could not see behind him, and by diving to the left and right, he was slowly backing into one of the heavy tables behind him. Another swing came at him, and he swayed backwards and to the left; his back budged against the perimeter of a table. The five men, realizing the predicament Seriyu was now in, smirked to one another as they slowly encircled around the three main ways of escape: two guarded the left, two to the right, and one straight ahead of him. With each step, they moved closer and closer in to where Seriyu was standing.

Dammit-- Mikomora! You got yourself in a fine mess this time! He did not plan to expose his anger to his opponents, for then they would believe that he was a nobody, and that was not the type of impression Seriyu wanted to leave on the horde. He pushed his body back in an attempt to make more space. In doing so, his hands groped against the table, and his fingers touched glass...

Perfect! he thought, as the cranks in his skull began to turn. All he needed to do was take the mug, dispense the alcohol from inside it into the eyes of one of the men, and then he would go from there. A smile parted his lips as he looked to the men to his right. “A toast, gentlemen, to kicking your ass!” His hand groped for the mug’s handle, and he went to toss the liquid inside into the eyes of his opponents...

Too bad Seriyu had picked up an empty...

The three men took in the failed attempt of an attack for only a split-second before they broke into hysteria. Mizuho could not hide his heavy chuckles, either. Laura just looked on with a look that could easily be described with her words to follow...“What the hell is that guy thinking?...Men, I’ll never understand them...” Everyone else just kept a silent on looking gaze, keeping their concentration on Seriyu.

It was not very surprising that Seriyu kept his calm. He shrugged his shoulders, and muttered aloud, “Oh well, no use crying over drunken beer...” And with that, he lunged to his right, darting straight into the heavy-set brunette to the right of a much smaller blonde. While he ran, he swung his right arm in a clockwise arc. He brought the mug down onto the brunette’s head. Then, Seriyu nudged to his right, causing him to topple on top of the blonde in a passed-out daze. The blonde would be unable to make the larger man move, and he would be pinned for the remainder of the battle.

Mizuho, meanwhile, had taken all he could stand. “This ends here...” And with that, he parted through the crowd and slowly edged his way towards Seriyu and his men. However, he would not get far, before someone grabbed him by the back of the neck, holding him by two pressure points. Mizuho was now pinned, craning his neck backwards to see Laura holding him in place.

“Oh, no, don’t think you’re going anywhere...” She took a leaf out of Seriyu’s book, tossing alcohol-- this time, full-- into Mizuho’s eyes, blinding him. As he rubbed them to cleanse his eyes of the liquid that flooded them, Laura broke the glass as hard as she could over his head. In a matter of seconds, Mizuho was passed out on the floor. Satisfied with her work, she turned her attention back to Seriyu, who was meanwhile running for his life.

Seriyu had taken off in a run, the other three men-- taken aback by the sudden attack on their comrades-- following not too far behind in pursuit. Seriyu did not halter as he approached the crowd of people, whom quickly parted for the exodus of the four men. Seriyu continued to dart for another ten feet of so, before another idea struck him. This one would work much better than the failed alcohol attempt, and he knew no drawbacks. Well...worth a try...

Seriyu dived to the left, still in a full sprint. The men in pursuit, faltered for a moment in attempt to see what he was up to, before they continued to follow the trail. Seriyu paid little attention to this as he continued to run straight ahead of them. They followed his figure, not realizing Seriyu had played a dirty trick on them...

As he ran, he used the ability of Zanzouken to make an after image of him appear running from the figures. He, however, had run in a large circle, finishing up close in front of them. He clasped his hand against one of the tables close to him, and as he pulled onto the table with his other hand, he swung himself around the tabletop. The momentum of his force caused him to lose the grip with his right hand, but being only used for additional momentum, it did not matter. The weighted legs gave it support, making Seriyu’s weight unable to topple it to the ground. Everything on the table top was cleared as his torso and legs swiped them up and tossed them to the floor. Eventually, he had swung in a perfect circle. At this time, the three figures had run straight up to the table.

Seriyu’s legs first hit the man in the rear, hitting him with the blunt force of his feet. His knees collapsed on him as he went soaring into the table only feet apart; his exposed neck hit the side, knocking him to the ground, out cold, but not yet dead. The second man got the curve of the attack, Seriyu’s legs slamming directly into his back on either side of his middle spinal column. At this time, he let go on the table and plowed directly into his back, toppling both fighters. The fighter beneath the second quickly moved the body of his passed-out ally, slowly staggering to his feet. When he gathered his posture, he was facing right in front of Seriyu. Seriyu just pushed up on the soft pallet between the fold of his neck, right next to the larynx, and he was out cold...

A cheer broke out from the crowds, watching a feat never seen before: a lone stranger took on seven men at once and survived, not sustaining much-- if any-- damage. A riot of celebration broke out, especially coming from a certain twenty-something year old female. Seriyu, watching all of the people around him, smiled lightly in appreciation of their cheer...

Something, however, brought him back to attention.

A small trickle ran down his forehead, slowly but heavily. It was focused from a source somewhere on his forehead. Seriyu placed his hand onto his forehead to feel what was there, but no source revealed it. He parted his bangs and wiped the liquid on his fingers. By now, everyone was watching Seriyu wipe his forehead, the silent cheers slowly dying away into nothing. Again, another specific twenty-something year old was the most worried about him. Was he bleeding? Was he experiencing a head trauma? Was he dizzy?

When Seriyu inspected what was the culprit, a smile crossed his face, and he began to laugh. Everyone continued to watch, wondering if the man before them had gone insane. However, he muttered to himself, examining his wet palm, “Looks like I lied about not breaking a sweat...too bad they will never know...”

The cheer raised up once again, accompanied by the chortle of laughter. Seriyu watched around the sea of heads to see the many happy expressions on everyone’s faces. He himself cracked a small smile, thinking, This must be the first time someone has stood up to Mizuho and his partners in crime...maybe they’ll stop their harassing for a while, now... He turned in circles, savoring the sweet victory, and his foolish nature appreciating all of the cheer he received.

He turned once again, and a young female had jumped him. Her age was somewhere in her mid twenties, wearing a blue shorts, a button-down blue top, and a large pink cloth wrapped around her waist like a belt. Her body was thin, yet possessed every curve to make a coyote howl, and had the softest baby-blue eyes Seriyu had ever seen. As she jumped him, she wrapped her arms around his neck, resting her head on his right shoulder-- all to the holler and whistles of many of the envious men. Seriyu was slightly taken aback by this, but he smiled and stood there as she held him in her arms.

When she finally let go, she looked up into his eyes and was lost for words. “How can I...thank you? You just saved my life, and risked your own in the process...there has to be something I can do for you...”

“You don’t owe me a thing. I do this kind of stuff for fun...but if you insist...there is one thing I would like...”

He winked at her, and her appreciation for him slid down a notch; her mind had figured out already what he wanted. “Something that keeps my clothes on, preferably...” she muttered, annoyed.

Seriyu laughed for a moment, and Laura just stared at him. “I was talking about that drink...” She nearly hit herself for how stupid she must have sounded to him once she realized this. She bowed her head in embarrassment, a light blush crossing her cheeks. However, he just smiled and placed a hand on her shoulder. “However, if you want to join me, it’ll be my treat...what do you say?”

All Laura did was look up into the man’s icy blue eyes and lightly smile...a warm smile that was all her own. “...It’d be my pleasure...”

- Fin