1114/Working Out in the Bronx

Working Out in the Bronx
Date of Scene:	24 June 2017
Location:	Bronx, New York
Synopsis:	Summary needed
Cast of Characters:	Ares, Molly Millions

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Ares has posed:
    Outside the gymnasium the place looks like a run down post-industrial warehouse that has seen better days. The windows are partially cracked and soaped over, the supporting siding is partially rusty, and the small doorway that leads to the stairwell inside has barely a hint of signage. It just has a single word in Cantonese that roughly translates into School, though with some negative connotations to it. Yet for the locals, the men and women who frequent the place... it serves its purpose.
    Inside there's the distinct scent of sweat and exertion, hundreds and hundreds of boxers and fighters pushing themselves to make themselves better for the next bout. Along the walls are posters of old prize fights, yellow with age and dark from grime. At the far side of the main room are free weights, hundreds of the all set in their places properly. The other side have some weight machines and some boxing bags for training. A boxing ring stands alone, unused at this time of night though at times people walk past it.
    But what has the most activity now is the small class being taught on a series of mats thrown onto the ground in the central area. A group of martial artists all lashing out at each other and sparring quickly. At times one will land a strike with a sharp /KIYAI!/ and then let their friend up again.
    But other than those artists, there is but one other person there. John Aaron. Perhaps she had followed him when he left the underground arena. Perhaps it is merely happenstance. But she will be able to see the man as he walks into the place, unslinging his bag as he moves to a locker and begins to change.

Molly Millions has posed:
    In it's own way, the gym's architecture feels like a less neon slice of home. Molly's Cantonese is not the greatest, likely made worse given the difference in world's. But such a place has important things... like showers and something to occupy her time at least for a while.
    The whip thin woman might seem to most of the people present to be an unusual addition, and with her jacket and fletchette shoved in a bundle in her sight the compact lines of muscle are more obvious. She's been sparring with one of the guys, and even though she's been trying, hard, to pull her punches, it's not hard to tell that she's already popped him a good one unintentionally based upon the bruise on his jaw.
    Which probably also explains his general irritation, the aggressive set of his stance and the way that she's adopted a more defensive posture. She's been content to let him get a few shots and try to keep him off her lenses when she spots a familiar figure walking through the door and raises her hands in a 'time' kind of gesture,"Sorry again. Lucky shot." is the best pidgin Cantonese she can manage for her opponent in an apologetic tone.

Ares has posed:
    Her sparring partner seems thankful for the reprieve as he's breathing hard and wiping a forearm across his brow. He smiles to his friends and they share a few quick words as their teacher slaps his hands together and points them towards the locker room and showers. It's enough to send them hurrying on their way even as it leaves Molly there for the time. Perhaps they had been looking to see if one of them could beat her, for they kept trying to test her at points. But she was able to endure, surpass, and defeat each of them that stepped onto the mats.
    But now there is that other figure there. That tall grim man who would at times speak with their teacher, offer a few words but never speak to any of them. Instead their old sensei at times would seem to defer to the tall American. One day one of them even made a snide comment about it, but then paid the price as they reset his shoulder later on.
    Yet for him, he pays no attention to them. Perhaps didn't even notice the sheathed razor of a woman until the pack had stepped away from her. It was just a moment. Recognition, understanding. His head turned slightly as he pulled the t-shirt from his shoulders and tossed it into the locker. During the match she might have seen his strength, his build to a certain degree. Though he did wear an overshirt during the match. But now, bare of chest, he is powerfully built and the contours of that musculature is sharply defined.
    He addresses her even as he pulls on a white t-shirt, "Molly." There's a pause as he slips the shirt over his head, "Should I be concerned that I come upon you again?"

Molly Millions has posed:
    It's the difference between someone trained in peace versus those who have had to use those skills to survive and kill. There's a bow towards the teacher from Molly, respectful, polite before her attention shifts towards to Ares. Stirring to motion with a faint smile. There's tattooing, along her arms, the nature of it alone not entirely ordinary for this world, and iridescent sheen that shifts over time. Chiba work, a vanity from affluent times.
    "Should you?" she asks rather than answer immediately,"I haven't been trailing you." she does add after a moment,"I just like this area of the sprawl... it's closer to home."

Ares has posed:
    "Nice ink," He comments off-handedly as he props up one foot on the bench in front of his locket, starting to unlace his shoes with his side towards her. His lip curls a bit as he murmurs sidelong, "So I shouldn't be worried. I'll hold you to that." He says as he pulls off one shoe and tosses it into the locket, then starts to undo the other.
    "And here I find you tormenting a few of Zhao's students, and giving one a black eye?" He straightens up and stretches to the side slooowly, wincing for a moment as if something caught before he twists his hips the other way. "But it is good to see you. I must admit that after we departed I spared a thought for you."
    He draws back to his considerable height and rests a hand on the locker, "Perhaps two."

Molly Millions has posed:
Molly Millions doesn't even glance towards her arms, acknowledging the words with a slight nod of her head and a low noise in her chest before she flashes a brief flicker of a smile,"Being worried keeps you alive, but for the record, I don't forget who my friends are. So no, no need to be worried about me." she does shift her gaze off towards the students milling around the lockers with a brief grimace before she turns back to watch him with those blank lenses,"He was faster than I expected and I didn't manage to pull it in time." she offers, settling her hands on her hips. Borrowed pants, more appropriate than her jeans, but obvious in the rolled hems and tightly cinched drawstring,"Likewise." though the correction manages to elicit a brief laugh from her,"About whether I might blow your chance to return to that place?" she asks with some amusement before shifting immediately to,"So are you here to fight Zhao? Or...?"

Ares has posed:
    "I had thought I'd exercise?" His brown eyes hold hers as he lets the last of those words lilt upwards as if he were asking her permission. But then he closes the locker with a small clang and then starts to slip on his sneakers, tying the laces and leaning over his leg with each in turn. "Though Zhao and I have an agreement, and it has served us well for the last few years."
    Looking up for a moment, John looks after where the other students departed, then he looks to her. "But no, I was worried you might do something drastic. But I'm glad you're taking steps to blend in." He eyes her arms and lithe frame, not to mention the lenses. "As you can,"
    But then he stands up straight from the locker, apparently ready for now. "And also wondered where you would end up, what choices you would make."

Molly Millions has posed:
Molly Millions dips her head in acknowledgment and spreads her hands,"You're a free man... I've never been one for free weights... but well, usually I don't have much in the way of... downtime, either." she settles back a step,"Should I be offended?" she doesn't sound like she's particularly concerned, one way or another,"Truthfully, I'm not sure that even if I did something drastic that it would necessarily be noticeable. Even if they did try to get me to remove my... glasses... earlier. And so far at least, I am in the same place. This... town? New York? Some of the places inside it... the names of things here are very similar to home... even if the details are different. It... helps."

Ares has posed:
    "I don't think you should be offended, but... to be fair, I'm biased. Just..." He starts to walk with her should she wish to follow, moving towards the free weights as he moves, though his gait is even and slow. "When someone is sometimes thrown into a situation like you're in, they can often end up taking steps that are rushed if only to feel that they can control something, anything."
    "You should probably stay here, and see what you can about the area. Just cover the important things." He rubs at his chin and smirks wryly, "If you need cash just bet on me for the first two fights tomorrow night, and for me to lose the third."

Molly Millions has posed:
Molly Millions is content to walk beside him, in no particular hurry to hit the streets, though she does raise a hand in acknowledgment as some of the students start to filter out,"I'm not inclined to find myself obligated to someone like Zone here... but job offers haven't exactly been flying in, either. Given some of the literal-ness of this world I don't think it would be a wise move to work for an organization with 'Evil' in its very name." she gives her own wry sort of smile then laughs,"I've scraped together a few yu... dollars." wow doesn't that still feel like a strange word to her,"But I'll keep that in mind. Been a while since I've had to work the street level."

Ares has posed:
    He gives her a single sharp nod, as if her decisions met his approval, but then again he gets a slight smirk as he perhaps considers that she has no need of such from him. He pauses there next to the free weights, one hand upon a fifty pound dumbbell and he looks to her sidelong. "So you don't work out with weights," He looks at that station that they're at, then over towards the weight machines. "That cancels these out."
    He gestures with the uncurling of one hand towards the mats, "We could spar some, unless you're too tired." He rolls one shoulder and then glances across the way. "And you could tell me more of your story after each time you tap out." His lip curls wryly, a small jape at her expense, but there's no malice with it.

Molly Millions has posed:
    "You work out the way you're comfortable with." Molly says,"Monofiliment lacing to support the hardware tends to make using free weights useless." there's a slightly rueful kind of smile that turns wolfish at his gesture towards the mats,"But that sounds like a //much// better idea. Even if you're liable to have to answer more questions than me." it's the slight shift of her stance and the motion of the brow over her lenses rather than her eyes in a challenging way,"Zhao's students are good... but they are not soldiers."

Ares has posed:
    "Oh, are you proposing a bet then?" John steps away from the mats and casually pauses before them long enough to step on the backs of his sneakers and step out of them, wearing just socks as he steps onto the mats. The tall man swings his arm across his chest and grasps the taut tricep on the back of his arm and streeetching to the side. He then switches arms and twists the other way, planting his feet to keep him steady. "Each time one of us taps, the other gets to ask a question that the other _must_ answer truthfully."
    He leans over and grasps the back of his ankles, bending halfways at the waist and then extending one leg to streeeetch out further. "Sound good?" He looks across the way at her, gauging her movements with a fresh consideration, as if to get a better sense for how she might conduct herself in a fight.

Molly Millions has posed:
"Yes." Molly agree's with a flippant flick of those nails, either unconcerned about what he might ask, or that confident in her own abilities. While he's stretching she circles over towards the mats, the tilt of her head suggesting she's keeping an eye on the filtering of the students. There's no stretching from her when she reaches her chosen point but simply patient observation. Granted, she's already done at least some 'warming up', but still... there's no fidgetting, no sign of anxiousness... and only the curl of her lips to suggest anticipation. The sleeveless undershirt that subtle-wrong of her own gear paired with the loose pants and her bare feet. Patient and poised as a mantis waiting for him to prepare.

Ares has posed:
    "I would appreciate if you keep those butter knives sheathed. Not that they'd hurt or anything, but I'd hate to ruin this shirt." His smirk is there, just a wry curve of his mouth as he gains his feet and turns to face her. One last stretch by turning his head to the side causing a faint crackle of aerated cartilage, then he meets her gaze and seems to take a breath.
    "Very well, Molly." There's some measure of formality to him, something wry, perhaps even dangerous as he meets her gaze. "I accept your terms." And then he turns his hips to the side subtly, angling himself side on to face her, accept whatever danger her lithe athletic form might hold. And then with a buried laugh he'll say,
    "Come and have a go, if you think you're hard enough."

Molly Millions has posed:
    "Wouldn't be very sporting to bring them out while sparring." Molly snorts, butter knives, hmph, there's the furrow of her brows at least briefly for the slight against her blades for all that her posture is loose and could hardly qualify as a stance. That formality in his tone makes her tilt her head just a little, the deeper inclination of her head a more formalized recognition even if she doesn't really have a particular clue about the underpinning's,"Not the lenses." is her condition,"Given that I can't exactly replace them.".
    She's testing, as no doubt, he will be, and the restraint probably obvious in the subtle motions. There's no haste, but at the same time no hesitation from her. If there was any doubt, the low and offside approach and razor flick swiftness between stillness and motion tell tale that this isn't a woman trained in peace to fight for show but one who is entirely used to operating under circumstances where 'failure' is death.

Ares has posed:
    "Just saying," He tells her as she makes her sporting comment. But then as he nods to her condition she steps forwards and suddenly she's upon him. And, to be fair, she is faster than he is. Though not as fast as she perhaps expected. For when she closes in, when she feels the first of her strikes connect with his forearm as he brushes it aside, she'll feel that jolt of impact dance up her arm.
    The beginning of a match between two people is all so strong to the senses. There's that feeling of the mats being crushed faintly under their bare feet, the air rushing forth at each step. There's the feeling of flesh and bone striking like. There's the faint sound of channeled and focused breathing between the two, and the short exhalations when each of them connects.
    But then he's turning, bringing an elbow in towards her side and forcing her to block and push it away. He'll step in with a low kick to her shin, stepping in to try and keep her honest. But through it all he has a calm and precise smile, even while he looks at his own reflection in her lenses.

Molly Millions has posed:
    He is faster than Molly expects, the shiver of impact transmitted along her arm. That he caught her with his speed no doubt obvious with the marionette swiftness with which she moves. Forgetting in a moment at least to keep her speed down to something humanly believable in the flash fire with which she blocks the strike, the density and artificialness underlaying her skin in the bruising impact for all that she flows out of the way of his kick not backwards but under the arm led by a knee.
    It's it's own kind of victory, the speed with which she abandons the pretense of normalcy in order to defend herself. That razor-tipped instinct keeping her in close and low where her comparative lack of height and reach is better served. Of course she's still underestimating him given the serenity of the expression below those silver lenses, and no doubt he's going to score the first knockdown because of it.

Ares has posed:
    She can read him as he moves. Can read the speed of his strikes as he lashes out and she counters. There are at times openings she would expect him to exploit, but now... this early? They are both testing each other. There's a moment as they're both exchanging a set of jabs, enough that they can slip around them. He has the reach on her assuredly, but then she makes up for it in her kicks as her legs are that much longer.
    For a moment she'll feel the impact of her kick as she gets through with one, it might even be strong enough that she'll get a moment of satisfaction at it since when they both started moving at speed... they weren't checking their punches as much either. They'll both assuredly have bruises in the morning.
    But before she can be too satisfied with herself he'll step in before she can withdraw that leg fully, slipping a leg in between hers and grasping a wrist as he turns to the side smoothly. If she has any training in judo she'll be able to read it easily enough if not entirely counter it as he moves. A simply and smoothly executed hip throw, seeking to take her down to the mats with a /whumpf/ of compressed fabric.

Molly Millions has posed:
    It's the wrist grab that gives Molly a moment, throws aren't something the Sprawl tends to utilize and that split-second surprise see's her launched. Recovery she's used to given the way she tucks and rolls back up to her feet outside of his immediate reach with a respectful dip of her head without taking her eyes from him,"The strength, I expected, and I knew you weren't simply slow muscle... but." there's that curl of her lips, he surprised her initial assessment, even if she lets it sit in the silence of her unfinished sentence, holding her ground in anticipation of being asked a question.

Ares has posed:
    "I win that fall?" Technically she didn't tap, he'd have had to follow her down and locked her down. But she could be offering it in return for a well done maneuvar. "Very well," He looks at her levelly even as he shifts subtly to retake his stance. His dark eyes meet hers, "What is the girliest thing you indulge in that you would hate to admit to a person who is about to whup your butt?"
    Oh no he didn't.
    But the smile on his lips are amused, a bit edged as he steps back and retakes his stance. So this is the tone he wants to set? Well he'll probably pay for it when she's able to get her own point. He rolls his shoulder and then gets ready for her answer... and her counterattack.

Molly Millions has posed:
"Back hit mat, it's good." Molly acknowledges. The lacing of her muscles no doubts helps with the contrast between stillness and motion, the poise intended to reveal nothing as to intent. The question does give her consideration,"I had a collection of nail polishes and interchangeable bases because I hate getting my polish chipped." she finally offers up,"Even though it would be cheaper to simply have them pre-tinted and use the same ones." pause,"And I have foregone augments to keep my shape." vanity, thy name is Molly.
    She at least gives him a moment to absorb the admittance, though there's again little warning as she shifts from stillness to motion. It might seem that she's going to come in for his offside again, certainly that's the way she approaches, but just outside of his reach pivots on the ball of her foot to switch directions with the intention of coming up into his space with a hard knee strike to the thigh. An attack that under other circumstances would clearly be led by her claws to severe arteries.

Ares has posed:
    "That's... pretty girly." He says as if passing judgement of her and shaking his head as if she had so terribly disappointed him. But he makes himself ready, his hands held forwards and his shoulders turned just to the side. He's ready for her as she starts to dart forwards, her footsteps absorbed by the mat fabric, leaving small prints in them as she moves in.
    There's that short /whumpf/ as she slams her knee into his though and he lifts his leg just enough to absorb it. But she'll see the slight scrunching of one eye as he winces. Normally that's a good enough strike to hit that pressure point and render the limb useless, but for him at the moment it makes him favor it a little as he backs up a half-hopped step, lashing out with a quick 1-2 to try and buy himself some time and distance.

Molly Millions has posed:
    The first strike goes just barely past Molly's nose as she shifts, pivoting to pursue with less concern as to keeping her speed down to lead with the elbow towards his ribs. Aside from the reminder not to use her claws by using the heavier striking surfaces of knee and elbow it's a respect in and of itself... a recognition that he's not someone she should take lightly. There's potentially recognizable elements of Muay Thai in that focus, even if the fluid avoidance is at odds with its philosophy,"People don't hire me because they want another joe-boy." the grunted offering that accompanies that elbow.

Ares has posed:
    That elbow connects sharply just after she speaks and there's a short flash of blood on the mats, just a small spatter but it's enough for him to bounce back and wipe a forearm over his mouth though his smile is still amused. "Hnh. Molly has a sting even without her butterknives." He says as he lifts his shirt to dab at the first beadlet of sweat on his brow.
    But then he steps forwards and executes a short half-hop half-jump and lashes out with a severe forward kick, seeking to knock her off balance, but then whether it lands or not he hits the ground and spins smoothly to the side, uncoiling with a whirling backfist aimed at striking hard into the side of her jaw.

Molly Millions has posed:
    "After market additions." there's the curl of Molly's lip as she drawls it, the marionette nature of her speed necessary to pull her out of the way of his kick, but where he spins she doesn't flow in the opposite direction as might be expected, used to having to press the attack with instinct rather than pause to consider. In her world, being less than relentless gets people killed, regularly, so it's with the predatory precision of a cheetah that she almost mirrors his actions in the way they slide and spin, but where he goes for the whirling backfist she takes advantage by dipping low enough that an unaugmented person might count as offbalance to strike at the tender place under his arm, knuckles and the sharp sound of her voice... but at least she remembered to keep those 'butterknives' sheathed.

Ares has posed:
    He had been a touch slower on that one leg she had struck with her knee, just enough that she was able to read him, to size up the movement and counter by making that smooth counter, dropping low as he slashes in with that backfist. For a moment it's merely a miss as he tries to recover. But then he'll feel that short sharp /stab/ of her knuckles striking hard up into the pressure point of his underarm, causing his arm to go limp as he staggers back a step.
    His arm goes to support that injured one as he reels on one leg, the momentum stolen from him and his balance precarious. He has only a moment to try and twist to the side and fire with a haymaker at the side of her jaw if only to try and clear her from him and buy some room or time.

Molly Millions has posed:
    Molly isn't used to taking breathers, and it shows in that even as he staggers back she comes in with all the precision of a cat. He gets her, alright, granted given that she'd already launched, it's a bruising impact that's going to make her own arm numb when she finally registers it, skittering along the embedded fibers and all too real bones underneath, but her momentum already such that it doesn't quite have time to register just how much it hurt as she brings her arms up try and bring both elbows down about his collarbones.
    It's likely obvious to him, both in the fully committed leap as well as the strike itself that this isn't a woman who fights for sport, usually, for all that she's being careful to remember not to lead with those blades of hers, but one for whom battle is usually fast, brutal, and to the death.
    On one hand, she might just be fast enough to get him... this time, but on the other hand she's lost the advantage of her speed and ability to dodge if he's faster.

Ares has posed:
    The strength of his arm slides along hers as she /leaps/ in. For a moment they're very close, just a single split second as she leaves the mats to make her strike from the air. It all happens in a fraction of a second. For a moment it's just the feeling of warm flesh against flesh, the subtle scent of the gymnasium and the two fighters, like nothing more than sweat and blood and steel. And there's that electrical jolt of impact as her elbows crash onto his collar and it knocks him back.
    His balance is stolen from him and she's able to land with him as his back hits the mats. It gives her a place of strength to stand for she can ready for a follow up strike that would assuredly be lethal. It's while she holds that strike back that he'll tell her, "Alright... ask your question."

Molly Millions has posed:
    It's hard to say what might be going on in her head given those empty lenses that reflect his face back at him. There's the sheen on her skin of sweat, but the control of her breathing and the fact that it's only a sheen instead of dripping given her exertion to this point likely dead give aways as to just how extensively the woman crouched upon him for a moment has altered herself in pursuit of her own weaponized perfection. It's also in the weight of her, extra kilos added with the foreign material in her slender form.
    There's some degree of trust, all things considered, in that she doesn't spring away like she thinks he's going to take advantage of her slowness in rising, the fingers of her left arm still twitching as the pain of his strike filters in,"Are you..." it's a question that she's hesitant to even ask. He's not augmented like her, she's sure, and people keep saying strange word like 'mutant', but she's only heard that applied to things that are obviously different. But she's not stupid either, he's too strong, too fast, a challenge that some part of her acknowledges she'd rather not wind up having to fight for keeps,"...human?" the word that finally comes out with all the reluctance of someone who doesn't even want to acknowledge that there exists a 'something other than'.

Ares has posed:
    The tall man's smile is gentle as she forces that question through, just enough of a hesitation to lend such an element of sincerity... and something else that has perhaps been a stranger to her for a long time. Innocence. For in her being reft of her land and her time, there is something... vulnerable to her that she most likely would hate to believe he sees in her.
    But as for him he has a slightly disarming smile as he meets her eyes. There's that sheen of sweat upon his brow, and upon the taut musculature of his flesh, the warmth staggering at where they touch albeit lightly. He takes a moment to wipe a forearm over that small trickle of blood and sits up, seeking to take her hand should she grant it to him to help him up.
    Helped or othwerise, he rises and tells her. "I believe I was... once. At some point when I was a child. But as I said, my family... it grants us a certain dominion of aspects of the world. So to answer you."
    He lightly steps forwards and makes a casual side kick at her shin, not hard, more to just tease her into motion again and let her know the game continues. "Yes. I am. And more."

Molly Millions has posed:
    The idea that she appears less than bulletproof would certainly be something to infuriate Molly, which likely is why her face is schooled in such a masklike expression, taking advantage of thoses lenses to adopt the posture of machine. That arm is going to hurt tomorrow, for sure, but she does offer it out if only to try and deny that it's not nagging her at least a little. She watches him with that insectile calm and the tilt of her head,"Aspects of the world?" she can't help but ask. The split second mental calculation it must have taken to recognize the power behind the kick indicative of her spatial awareness as she shifts her posture to block it with her own shin before stepping back to consider the answer, even if she's likely to be refused on the second count. A few extra moments to try and get used to the feeling in her right arm not something she's going to squander, even if there's every effort to conceal that there might be anything wrong outwardly. Weakness, after all, is something that could be used to the advantage of another... never let them see you hurt. The micro-movement of her fingers likely the only give away as she waits with patient poise, hiding it in a flicker of invitation for him to lead off this time.

Ares has posed:
    "You had your question, Molly." He holds up a finger as if about to 'tsk' her, but he does not do so. Instead he retakes stance and turns to the side, leveling a shoulder even with her and bringing his fists up. He again begins the first few steps of the dance, letting her get into the rhythm as he begins to throw a few punches to the left and right, leading in each direction to perhaps get her to favor one over the other with her hurt arm.
    "Want another, you'll have to earn it."

Molly Millions has posed:
    Quicksilver, Molly knows that blocking his strikes with her own flesh is a contest she will lose, so rather than block, or strike before she's ready the razorgirl slides out of the path of his strikes with hints of Capoeira's grace. Steppin' Razor, Zion called her.. Cat Mother, the Panther Moderns deemed her, the way with which she flows out of his way elegant, but in truth largely in this moment utilized to get the measure of her own weakness and adjust to it. It's that slight turn that could be mistaken for an error, but is the sacrifice of the already injured limb to another bruising impact in order to buy her the proximity for a hard sharp knee towards the torso. Acknowledgment in the form of a smile flitters across her lips, silent acknowledgment that it's not going to be an easy thing to earn.

Ares has posed:
    She is fast, staggeringly so. She is a wisp of motion and light caught only at the end of its wave where it materializes into a blur of pain when her knee strikes hard into his ribs. But it's a movement that she pays for as she'll learn in that instant that he... at times, can be rather fast himself.
    For one moment he steps in, grasping the back of her thigh as that knee cracks hard into him. They're close and she can see the wince cause his eyes to narrow faintly. Yet his strong arm snakes around her waist and up her back. From afar it might look like a single split instant in a step from a tango. Them both looking into each other's eyes, her leg up and against his side, and his arm holding her to him...
    But then the next step of that dance is a smooth turn and a twist, leaving him open for another strike from her knee or a palm-heel towards his jaw or nose should she be able to draw back far enough before the soft mats catch her back. There's no pain in the maneuvar, merely a locking her down to try and pin her enough for a forearm to snake over her throat. If she was aware of jiu-jitsu or judo she would realize he is trying to pin her and effect a carotid choke. But is she even vulnerable to such? Perhaps he will learn.

Molly Millions has posed:
    That leg being caught, and then an arm going about it gives Molly another one of those moments, the brain errors out for a split second at the sudden proximity. He's already started his twist by time she's sorted through her response, the presently weaker right arm going up to grab about his neck and pull him in to an elbow strike with the left, a short strike that does absolutely nothing to stop her from winding up on the mats. In her world, judo has fallen out of favor long before she was even conceived simply because the idea of not taking advantage to kill ones opponent is tantamount to suicide, so it's not something she's prepared for.
    Her invisible eyes are unable to reveal what kind of shock it might cause, or the frission of fear at his arm on her throat no doubt raises. It's instead rendered through the fact that the blades of her left hand are extended before she really thinks about it, that instinct to go for the kill well honed and primed by the restriction on her airway. The reaction just as telling that yes, air is necessary and she's capable of being choked as far as she's aware.
    It's microseconds, the flare of her nostrils and open mouth harsh with that ragged edge of fear before her she remembers and instead slams her palm down on the mat to acknowledge that he undeniably won this round.

Ares has posed:
    As quickly as that the pressure on her throat lessens and she's able to focus again, to draw breath as the slight darkness that hovered around her vision recedes. "You have strong control." He tells her as he meets her gaze. At this proximity she can feel the pounding of his heart and hear the deep calm breaths he's taken. That hand against the supple curve of her neck is terribly warm, though that touch draws away as she taps upon the mats.
    He sits up and looks at those reflections her lenses give back to him. And then very slowly, very gently, he touches a fingertip lightly to a small beadlet of sweat upon her cheek that might be hers or his as they had been so terribly close but moments ago. But it is enough to inspire his question as he murmurs, "I would know, Molly. Are you still capable of tears?" For a moment his fingertip touches there, a small caress given ever so faintly.
    But then he seems to remember himself and draws back, easing back onto his knees so she can rise.

Molly Millions has posed:
    "Sloppy gets you killed." Molly responds as her blades slide away again, not moving immediately now that the immediate visceral concern of death is no longer plaguing her. Her left hand goes to her throat briefly, head canting on the mat to be careful of his fingers straying too close to those lenses rather than any seeming concern about the proximity itself,"Yes." she informs, and although technically it answers the question posed, she elects to explain further,"My tear ducts were rerouted to my mouth, so if I need to cry.. I spit." and rolls over on her side to rise to her feet smoothly once more, rubbing absently at her right arm and not hurrying to take up a position once more.

Ares has posed:
    The tall man rises to his feet a little slower, planting his foot and then gaining his ful l height. He casts his eyes towards the door, and then towards the mirror-shaded razor girl and gives a small nod. "Fitting I imagine." He reflects on her words. But then he pushes a rough hand over his short stubbly hair and grimaces before he looks back to her.
    A slight half-smirk might be seen as he steps towards the edge of the mats towards the far wall where an old blue and white cooler sits against it. He pulls it open and grabs a chilled ice water, taking it out and twisting off the top. "I'll give you the next one for free, since I don't want you to hurt yourself trying to top that last one." Or perhaps he just wants to drink his water in peace, that could be an option.

Molly Millions has posed:
    "Never found much of a use for tears." Molly rolls a shoulder, prowling about in a circle as she hears him rise, only to smirk at the offer,"It's good. It's not often that I get a challenge, these days. Too easy to get sloppy without a challenge. Granted, the Yakuza's vat-grown clones aren't exactly the sort to play nicely." she finds a spot on the mat to squat, plucking at the knees of the borrowed pants to insure some measure of comfort in the gargoyle position. But he did offer a question, so she ponders it,"What nation did you fight for?" she elects to go for.

Ares has posed:
    There's a moment where the tall man's back is to her, the bottle of water in his hand as he looks aside. The time passes like normal to most, just the space of a few heartbeats and then the words that come. But for him it might seem longer, for that simple question calls up a mess of lore that plays itself before his eyes like the first time he saw blood on the end of the blade. Seems real, looks real, tastes real. But it's not real, just thoughts that drift away by a force of will that makes him back here and to the now.
    "All of them." Is his answer.
    Then he takes a sip of the water, tilting it back until he draws it and then tosses it aside. A few coins are pulled out of the jacket he'd left near the side of the mats, placed in that small box that's set next to the cooler. Honor system in the gym of all things. Crazy that it's there, crazy that it's respected.

Molly Millions has posed:
    The brow over one of Molly's lenses shoots up as she turns that answer over,"So you're older than you look." perhaps there's something in her acceptance of that so easily... granted in a mercenary's world today's employer might be tomorrow's enemy. But it's not a question, and there's no judgment in her tone, content to watch him patiently. She watches the ritual of the drinks cooler behind the insectile blankness of her lenses, elbows resting on her knees and carefully balanced on the balls of her feet, it's buying her time to let her arm regain sensation in the fingers and her breath to regulate again. Studying him to gauge any potential weaknesses out of the perversity of competition rather than particular malice.

Ares has posed:
    In what he gave her she'd see weaknesses, for when he matches himself against another in this recent turn of life he's often playing at a role within a role. Right now he's just a gritty old guy that's seen better days. And there's some part of truth to it, but never all of it. He looks sidelong over at her and gets a small smile, "Let's just say that if we married, they'd run me out of town for robbing the cradle." But that's all he offers for now.
    He grabs that jacket off the side of the mats and slings it over his shoulder, then he starts to head over towards the lockers. He pauses a moment, "I think I'm gonna go cool down, you make a fella tired, Molly." He turns back, "Figure out how to use a phone, give me a ring."

Molly Millions has posed:
    "Married." there's a bark of laughter from Molly at that, stretching to her feet lazily,"'ey, but don't you already have a wife? You mentioned your son." she is actually perceptive enough to detect the shift, given the way she goes,"I know how it goes... those days you don't want to remember. And I'm not buying for a second that you're that tired." she doesn't pursue him, however, in favor of padding towards the pile of stuff she left in her sight. Lockers. Can't trust 'em,"Even if I make you tired?" she can't help but toss casually as she toes her boots, adjusting them so she can step inside without having to bend down.

Ares has posed:
    "No, I did." John opens his locker, tosses in that jacket and withdraws a towel. He rests a hand on the surface of that old steel door, then looks to her and says simply, "She passed. Some time ago." But he doesn't elaborate on that. Some memories and thoughts are jealous and don't allow their summoning to be a casual affair, nor do they allow much room for others while they're there.
    He turns away then, over his shoulder he calls, "Go find yourself a place to sleep, Molly. Go find yourself some peace." Even as he heads off towards the showers.

Molly Millions has posed:
    "Sorry." it's the reflexive thing to offer in terms of condolences, nothing but the pitch of her tone to suggest that maybe she has more sympathy for it than the simple word itself suggests, grunting acknowledgment for his suggestion. She should probably go have her own shower, but instead she shoves her feet into her boots, slings on her gun and jacket and ghosts out the door without further word.