Celeritas [Jamie Bellafonte] (aimoboros) wrote in ofevil, @ 2009-10-01 22:09:00 |
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Lorraine Wells was an enigma. She was a mutant with a power Jamie couldn't identify, but one that he was sure was incredibly useful. She also had nearly as much experience and training as Jamie had, limited only by the fact that she was half a decade younger. And she was very, very good, from what he could tell. What's more, Lorraine was cocky. Jamie was about ready to wipe that smirk off of her face, and today was the day. When she'd come into the facility that evening, Jamie had made a bet with her. Bets, of course, were entirely in his spirit. He'd once bet someone that he could tell the exact temperature of a pool of water using only the air temperature and his senses. He'd gotten within a single decimal point. Jamie was quite the gambler. Or so people might have thought. He tossed bets around like they were nothing, but he was careful only to bet when he was nearly assured of winning. This evening's bet had been as usual as always.A burst of pain along his side made Jamie jerk back to the present reality. His senses were immediately taking stock, like the supersensors on a fictitious starship searching for hull breaches. One of her throwing stars had grazed him; perhaps his only saving grace had been in turning to the side as his memory played out. Two hours had passed already in their fight, and perhaps another two hours would remain. He estimated they'd be fighting all night, until finally they both collapsed from exhaustion. He was sure that sex was a possible ending scenario for this fight; with Jamie, it often was. And judging from her behaviour, she wouldn't find it awkward at all. Another snarl escaped him, and Jamie tightened up. Using a burst of speed and momentum borrowed from pushing off the wall she'd thrown him against, Jamie leapt at her. His knife was an afterthought, quickly snapped shut and deposited in a pocket while airborne. Everything was in slow-motion for him, though it was not the cliché that most might think it was. His awareness was so much faster than the average that to simply stand still in a room for an hour felt like he was being frozen in time. That, perhaps, was why it was a staple of his personal training. Patience was a virtue.
"I'll bet you that I can kick your ass in a fight," he'd said. She had accepted. He'd made but one rule. No weapons like guns, loud and cumbersome and painful. She'd agreed. Their fight had begun at two in the morning.