Johnny Cage (j_cage) wrote in crownplazaic, @ 2021-05-06 14:53:00 |
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Entry tags: | !log/thread, johnny cage, sabrina spellman |
Who: Johnny and OPEN
Where: The Lobby
When: 5/6, 2:45PM
What: A very confused arrival
Status: In Progress, Open
Warnings: Language
Shang Tsung's Island May 6th, 2021 10th Mortal Kombat Tournament, 3rd Round Johnny ducked and weaved around those blades like his life depended on it. It literally did, so that helped. Baraka was faster than Johnny would have expected for some... weird, toothy, Lord of the Rings reject thing with swords for arms. Thankfully, Johnny was faster and he knew it. He'd been practicing on how to deal with this asshole, among others, and put that to full use here. Stepping back again, he shifted his weight left and felt the wall behind him, which meant exactly one thing. Johnny needed to think creatively for a second, or he was fucked. He ducked a strike from Baraka's right arm, leaving the blade protruding from its elbow embedded six inches into the wall, cracked up the middle from where the bone had shattered on impact. As he brought his elbow down to break it off, Johnny grinned at Baraka and had to make a quip. "Hey, you look a little beat. Why don't you take a break?!" On cue, perfect scene delivery of course, Johnny snapped the blade, freeing Baraka from the wall but leaving him half as armed. That only pissed the ugly thing off and Johnny was now backing off even a little more. He didn't like to give up ground, but there was no getting around some of this. Thankfully, he could still do a perfect split, and left Baraka hurting. The Tarkatan responded by bringing its good blade down, aimed right for the soft spot in between Johnny's collar bone and shoulder blade on his right side. "Oh fu-" Before Baraka could make the kill, Johnny saw a flash of white light. When the light faded, he fell four feet out of the air onto the floor of the hotel lobby. ======================================== It took him a moment after that to process where he was and what had happened. He'd been cleaned up and healed, it seemed. His button-down shirt was immaculate, still white and no longer stained with blood. Corduroy pants perfectly pressed and creased as if he'd gotten his suit back from the dry cleaner just that morning. Glancing up at the sky, he threw his hands up in a half shrug and tried to talk, assuming he could be heard. "Jeez, thanks for the save from the uh... fatality there, Raiden. But could you have just put me on the fucking floor?" No reply came, so he glanced around and eventually found someone, then tried to get their attention. He could have sworn he'd been seeing ghosts, so that meant he'd lost right? Right. That sucked. "Hey, hey... Can you maybe tell me what's going on here? This is hell right? I'm dead and this is hell?" |