13630/Test your Might

Test your Might
Date of Scene:	16 July 2021
Location:	Central Park, Manhattan
Synopsis:	A flashmob-fightclub ends with flash of unbound energy.
Cast of Characters:	Ivory, Willow Rosenberg

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Ivory has posed:
Central park is not only the green lung of the city. It's also one of the centrals of cultures. The hub in some ways. There's groups of youngsters that take the place as their meeting spot - several at once actually. Because the place is big. It's even rumored to host a coven of witches, satanistic gatherings and vampires at the very same moment at times. But then again, it's a huge park spanning about three miles on the long axis and about a third on the short. Space enough to be the central hub for almost everything in the city. All but Wallstreet that is.

To Ivory, Central park is a hub of ideas. A spot where they sketch stuff. Kittens mostly, even if no cat is in sight. Because often, whatever they see and scribble, ends up as some sort of cat on their sketchblock. The blue alien with the golden metal mohawk turns into a Russian Blue punker cat. Supergirl turns into an egyptian Mau and that stage magician into a Tuxedo cat. Because Ivory... well, Ivory is cattish. Catish enough to run through central park with no visible ears for what is most likely clever hairstyling and a cat eared hairband matching those white hairs. And a jacket with a white persian kitten staring down from the bow of a yacht, seeming to think about pawing at some fish below.

Willow Rosenberg has posed:
Manhattan. Central Park. One of Willow's favourite places. Not only is it a perfect place to check out people, but the scenery! Sure some places are nice and neat for most people, but there are bits and pieces which are wild!

That's what Willow prefers. The wilds.. well sort of. After all, she'd never been out in the wilderness per se.

Today she sits under a tree by the treeline, reading a book, and drinking a cold coffee.

Ivory has posed:
The tamed wilderness of the Central park not only held the appeal of a few really untamed animals in their zoo enclosures, but it also attacted the ferral parts of society. The gutter punks kept away for it was still a clean place, but some of the more clean-but-rowdy groups still gathered in some areas. Out of eyesight from the normal street cruisers and easy to disperse... the place also offered prime capacity for some illegal fighting matches.

And here it happens:
Around the area where ivory starts to sketch something with a red pencil, a cat hunching over a book starts to manifest on the paper. Medium long fuzz all around, a tortoiseshell pattern starts to emerge...
Two guys in jeans jackets appear, throwing their backpacks onto the cleared out lawn closeby. A pair of young women, not even twenty, slips close in running gear, tossing their water bottles to turn the improvised line into a square. Not even a minute later, some ten, fifteen of them have gathered around that square marked by a few things and a pair is starting to prance in the center, bickering and bitching at one another while those around trade green paper for bets... What was an idyllic spot not even two minutes ago, turned into a stand-up arena for a streetfight.

Willow Rosenberg has posed:
For a bit, Willow was deep into her book. Satchel carrying her laptop, along with a sandwich, and a clump of fresh sage. But eventually..

At first it was a small gang. Then bigger. Pushing each other around, until they formed a loose ring and money started to exchange hands.

*That's* where Willow put down her book, and frowned.

Ivory has posed:
"Twenty on Blue, three on Brown..." wafted over from the bookie in the small crowd as one of the two contrahents tossed off his T-shirt. Lean and not the most muscular, a morning stubble on the cheeks and chin, the auburn hair in some disarray, he sported some just healing wound along abdomen. Then his partner in crime followed, a young raven haired female tossing her jacket off to show off a sportsbra clad lithe body that was made from sinews and bones, her electric blue died hair tied into pigtails.

Ivory blinks as Willow starts to shift, turning the head to the commotion also, sighing as they try to move away from the improportu ring fight.

Willow Rosenberg has posed:
Well, whomever it is fighting, Willow appreciates them - girl /or/ boy. She has to giggle just a little bit as they get down to business. Buffy was definitely better than they are. Even though the group seemed better than her, even Willow knew the basics.

Putting her book into her satchel, she siddled over to the group and watched from the periphery.

Ivory has posed:
While Ivory shuffled closer too, the two in the ring started to get on with the action slowly. A little feint here, a short punch there under which the other ducked. Bets and the crowd seemed to favor the girl in this pairing, but the shaggy guy was easy to dodge under the first more serious punches throm his way. And then answer with a knee making the first contact in the fight. Into the outer thigh it moved, throwing off the balance momentarily. It wasn't a winning move though, as it was answeblack by a quick jab at his shoulder and abdomen, breakign the short distance into a slightly longer one. This wasn't honorable boxing, this was like anything goes.

The small crowd cheeblack at the exchange of punches and knees while the fight itself started to devolve to become more heated by the minute. The cheers almost became a singsong of the words black, brown, to the blood. Almost chanting them...

Willow Rosenberg has posed:
It was weird their little song. In fact Willow stopped watching, and instead listened to the words. It almost sounded like magic.

Almost.

Chants can be hypnotic, though. And this crowd seemed to be under its 'spell'.

Ivory has posed:
Black Brown To the Blood. Black Brown To the Blood. The words come almost in unison from the group gathered around the fighters, arms of them held a little forward to push back should they stumble out of the ring. Keep them confined in their circle as the two danced, trying to draw that demanded blood but neither landing a proper hit like that. Pushing and shoving intermixed with slams and punches to the sides. Bruises, yes. But no blood yet.

That is, till the black haired fighter finally lands a nice hit with a high kick, sending her shaggy contrahent into the crowd. He impacts the arms, the fall softened some, then is flung back into the ring with a cheer. A single droplet of blood gathered on a nose. Not the fighter's. The one of Ivory, who a tumbling watcher had collided with. Slowly the droplet gathered and then started to fall, the two fighters already back at it...

Willow Rosenberg has posed:
Willow was so involved with listening to the chant, that she didn't even know about the blood that Ivory was now drip*ping.

*driiiiiip*%

Ivory has posed:
The droplet hit the ground, a little speck of brown on dark soil as finally the combattants froze. Neither moved. Neither drew blood. Just... frozen for what seemed to be a long moment. The words of the crowd had stopped. Did... either of them drew blood? Or was the contact between the two a silent standoff, either hoping the other would relent?

Somehow, the grass errupted on the ground where the droplet had hit, throwing some of the people off balance and stumbling. It wasn't much, just a few people stumbling all at once away from the point of impact. As if something at their feet had silently detonated. Shaken, those few looked around warily, then suddenly started to leave. Others followed, the fighters filing in with them. As if... they had broken their own rules and postponed the whole thing. Within less than a minute, the fighters were gone.

Willow Rosenberg has posed:
Willow looked up at the exact moment the ground 'erupted'. And then it was still.

This was strange.

Nobody was casting magic *except* for the fraction of a second when there seemed to be something happened without purpose. Like it was almost.. and that fizzled with no reason. Sorta letting go of an extra charge into the atmosphere.

But try as she might, Willow can not find its source.

With the group now dispersed, she might as well be off too. She half-smiles at Ivory as she goes. "Some fight, huh?"

Ivory has posed:
Ivory themselves brushed back a streak of hair that had escaped their ponytail, but no ear to tuck it behind, it fell back again. "Eh, good fight but... Somehow they seem to have aborted..." they answer with a little shrug, brushing over their slightly mangled nose to right it a little, but it wasn't more than a small pinch of pain there. "The watchers were rough though." they give with a little snicker, showing off a little of drying blood on the back of the hand.

"You'd make a good cat though."

Willow Rosenberg has posed:
Unfortunately she didn't make out the connection of the blood to the magic - she was deep in pondering the music and its nearly magic quality - too see that Ivory was the source of sheer energy.

Too bad.

"They did seem a little bit much, didn't they?" Now Willow totally smiles. "A cat? Really? I'm Willow. Maybe sometime another time when you're around.. You can tell me about it."

Ivory has posed:
"Ivory. But yea, Another time!" With a ittle nasal sound, they geyture to a side. "Got to get that nose fixed. See you Willow!"