Who: Mao and Lukas When: Thursday night, 8 pm What: Fight fight fight! Rating: Medium for violence and probably cursing?
Luke paced the deserted parking lot with quick, restless steps. He wore the tight-fitting clothing he normally reserved for wrestling or working out and he'd swapped his glasses for contacts, telling himself that this change was to increase his peripheral vision, that it had nothing to do with the off-chance that Mao would actually be able to reach his face to knock he glasses off. Running a hand through his messy curls, Luke inwardly chided himself for being so nervous. What could Mao, a short, not terribly athletic Asian kid possibly do to him? Granted, he was a hell of a dancer and probably very quick and light on his feet, but Luke was a wrestler, a swimmer, and a rockclimber for God's sake! There was just no contest. Still... something about Mao's ridiculous degree of confidence was off-putting. Not that the little shit didn't always have far more confidence than was in any way reasonable. It was just strange how quickly he'd challenged him, and odder still how he'd refused to back down when Lukas called what he'd assumed must've been a bluff. But oh well. It was Mao's loss. And it was probably just as well. After all the nasty verbal sparring they'd been doing, physical blows just seemed like the next logical step in the sequence. They both needed to blow off a little steam anyway.
As adrenaline began to pump through his veins, Luke could feel the little pricking sensation at the tips of his fingers that he'd come to know so well over the past few weeks. The corners of his lips turned up in a satisfied smile; just in case Mao did somehow have a trick up his sleeve, Luke at least knew he wouldn't be totally unprepared. He may not have been able to control his inexplicable Jedi-like powers just yet, but even his rudimentary knowledge meant that he'd have a few tricks of his own to counter with.