Owner	Pose
Ares	Some time had passed and the training had gone well. Eventually, however, she had been turned to her own devices after she had been told to continue her training on her own, and set to her liberty. A message would find her and would tell her when next she would be needed. A single address, a time, given to her on a slip of paper that had been carried in the beak of a crow that stood far far off from her, but cawed to gain her attention. But then the day had come, the chosen hour passes, and the place... was perhaps more daunting that she may have expected.     It was an address in Manhattan. China Town, deep in the bowels of that neighborhood that in part was a mishmash of twisting bending miniature streets with building overgrowing the sides of the apartments. The door it had led to was in the side of a rickety shack. A door that opened to a set of stairs and an old man that stared at her, grimaced, and then turned around and walked down the way. The stairs descended far, twisting, and down to a large dome-like area that opened up high above.     It had perhaps been a water supply storage tank at one time, and her door exited out to one side of it, with a set of makeshift balconies high above a place to watch from and observe. There was naught in front of her door save a bench, and a wizened old Asian man that gestured for her to sit. Two words were spoken to her, "Make ready."
Vanya	Vanya arrives looking much the same as when she last exchanged parting words with her new mentor and god of war. Unaged, brimming with a bottomless wellspring of pure, primal energy that's sheathed itself in human skin - in some ways timeless, and in some ways a creature of the instant she's living in.     Though the feral woman has a new shirt since last time. Her clothes aren't as timeless as the rest of her.          Tumbling her way down the stairs with light, staccato steps, her bare feet reach the bottom landing and the predator of predators looks around with a tall discerning bearing as her nostrils flare to take in her surroundings. Vanya grins a quiet grin as she looks to the old man and rolls her shoulders, starting a short routine of stretches.     "So who am I making happy tonight?" she asks conversationally. "It's not every day I get a message by crow."
Ares	The old man is dressed in work clothes, looking in some ways like a janitor. He has overalls of brown, and a grey shirt beneath, with yellowish shoes. But what makes him seem entirely into the role is that steam engineer's hat he wears as if affectation. He dusts off the bench seat for her to have a seat. "One school has challenged another, it is always the way. They do not tell me the details beyond that for true. Perhaps in case I must testify."     He sets a small utilitarian canvas sack upon the bench and opens it, "I am to make sure you have no weapons, that you are properly hydrated before the bout." He offers a small sealed bottle of water towards her. "Others will pass judgement."     And, as if summoned by the old man's words, two opposing balconies are now seemingly occupied. On her left she will see John, standing with his hands upon the railing that separates him from the ground below.     On the other side opposite John she will see a man cloaked in shadows, the canopy on the balcony drawn to cast him in darkness. But she will see an old wrinkly hand holding a cane, a brilliant ruby ring shining off the man's pinky.     Then, across from her, her opponent emerges from the metal door, closing it behind him with a clang. He's tall, perhaps taller than John, powerfully built though lanky, clad in naught save a pair of boxing trunks. Yet he is marked. By scar, by ink, all over his body not an inch is wasted in telling of story by image or remembered pain.
Vanya	Once she's limbered herself up some, Vanya takes the offered seat and the bottle of water beside it. As she unscrews the cap, her hand shows a pronounced set of claws before they recede back into normal fingernails. "No weapons that aren't natural," she assures and with the torn state of her pants there might not be many places to hide one anyway.     After only a small drink, the bottle is capped again and offered back. "Refreshing. Thanks, old man." And then the predator rises as she sees company draw around her.          The were-woman's eyes turn a raptor yellow as they look up at the balconies, crossing the distance with inhuman ease. Vanya smirks at the familiar sight just long enough for John to see before her gaze turns to her opponent.     "So... who are you?"
Ares	Her opponent... seems disinclined to chat. Or perhaps he does not know English, though at a glance she will see the marks of prison tattoos on him from Russia's worst facilities. He just stares at her for a time, then turns away to begin stretching as well, pressing a foot to the metal wall behind him and leaning into it. His own attendant, another older man, though Eastern European seeming. He is given his own water.     From above she may catch John's eye and he'll give her a single nod, a lift of fingertips. Her opponent gets no such greeting from his sponsor, though a rough and ragged cough comes from the man in the shadows.     Once she's set, the handler steps to her and meets her eyes. "Are you ready?" He lifts a hand to her arms, touches a hand to her chin and lifts her eyes, as if checking the dilation. "There is no end to this match before death. No weapon to be wielded, and if you have power it is not to be used, nor enhancements from drugs or otherwise. Dishonor and penalty will be strong against you and your sponsor. I ask again, are you ready?"
Vanya	Vanya's eyes alight on the man's tattoos and the predator of predators freezes for a moment as they bring with them a rush of memories. Then... she smiles and the imp of eagerness dances in her gaze.     Drawn away at the approach of her handler, the were-woman follows his guiding hand with reflexive routine, giving him a clear look at eyes unburdened by human limits. His instructions draw from her another pause as her smile slips for a moment into a frown. "One minute," she disputes as her eyes fade in their brightness and darken in their palour. A faint, easily missed pointedness to her ears, sharpness to her nails, and even firmness of her bones slips from the were-woman's form as she consciously parts from all the little swords and shields she constantly carries.     It's only a few seconds but in that time just a little primal fire seems to go out from Vanya's form. What's left behind is somehow more recognizably human with all its flaws and limits - but as a human scarcely less impressive of a specimen. There's more to the predator of predators than her taken power.          "Okay, now I'm ready," the Russian woman answers as she turns back to her challenger and presses her knuckles together, cracking them all as her body flexes in the motion, and a gamely smile returns to her face. "Come on, tovarisch. You first."
Ares	His own ritual of loosening up, his joint crackling as he twists his head to the side, then the other way. He rolls his shoulders and arches his back and she can hear that staccato crackle os aerating cartilage in his tall well-muscled form. His lip twitches slightly, a 'tch' sound coming from him and a bit of spittle is sent into the sand and the dust that covers the bottom of this makeshift arena. He brings his fingerless gloved fists together in a short /thap/ of sound, his own muscles clenching and surging as he presses in against his knuckles. Then he walks forwards.     There is no bell to signal the start of conflict. They are to stand there... ready. There's a faint scraaaaape as the wooden benches they had been sitting on are pulled back into the doorways, then the doors are closed behind them leaving them there to face each other... nothing else to interfere between them.     And then suddenly there's a loud metallic /clong/ as the power shuts down all around them save for the one beaming bright light above them, making the entire world nothing more than the two of them, the light, and the ground they stand on.     That is the moment when it starts as he steps in and throws the first punch.
Vanya	It might be the sweet coffee and cookies she had the night before. It might be the building tension of the moment opening the valves to her inner stores of adrenaline. It might be the long-forgotten memories now floating in her mind or the glimpse of her equal high overhead and the meaning of his presence. It might be many things and despite any rational thought to the contrary, Vanya is /wired/.     Licking her lips with a pink and human tongue, the Slavic fighter indulges herself another moment of preparation as she sees her opponent do the same, answering his crackling, primed body with an arm out to her side that clenches into a solid rock of muscle and bone with its fingers curled into a tiger's claw - the human imitation of what by now is second nature.     Taking a deep breath, Vanya regathers herself and pulls her arms into a tight boxer's stance, then exhales deeply, soulfully, with air that comes from the pit of her stomach. Tension leaves her shoulders and her arms sag down to chest and waist height. Her dark brown eyes stare intently, single-mindedly focused now upon her opponent. No powers, no tricks, but kill or be killed - those are rules she knows well.          And then the lights change and the battle begins. As the man comes in, the woman steps an angle past him and sweeps up her lead arm to deflect his punch past her shoulder. In the same motion, like weights connected by pulleys, her other arm comes out for a low punch at his side.
Ares	They begin to test each other, to match against the other with those quick and rapid punches. They're a blur back and forth, an exchange of statements in the opening of a debate with rather severe repercussions for the loser. He presses her, keeping up the steady hammering of several punchs jabbing out to keep her at distance, his own reach greater than her own, even as he tries to herd her back, press her to retreat so he can get her against the wall.     When she strikes out at his side she'll feel the impact taken on the swollen muscles of his arm even as he counters with a cross to try and keep her honest. A few more punches are thrown, the sand rasping under their bare feet as they move. The heat from the lone light above is oppressive and already has the first faint hint of a sheen upon her opponent's upper lip and shaved head.     But then he's stepping close, trying to hammer her with alternating knees, hopping into the movement and seeking to grab a shoulder is possible and pull her into it.
Vanya	Vanya's body welcomes the exchange, exploding effortlessly into the flurry it's been primed for. Her expression stays contained and focused even while her eyes continue to vibrate with energy. Weaving and dodging to the sides as much as back, the experienced brawler makes herself an elusive target. A surprise hook cracks her cheek as the human battles with its kin and fluidly shifts from her arms to her legs to contest his reach advantage in long-range fighting. There's a whip of the head, a toss of hair in the opposite direction, but then nothing. It scored, but there's no glass jaw there.     Then the challenger rushes in with a rising knee and Vanya twists to the side, knocking it safely away with her forearm but battling to keep more from rising up to her. Suddenly battling tight again, her own knees, elbows, and fists lash out in reply - not giving her opponent any attacks for free and pressing when each strike towards her creates an opening of its own.     A hard blow slams into the were-woman's stomach with a deep thump and the woman doubles forward towards her foe... but not without seizing the arm on her shoulder as payment. Breaking its structure with a sharp movement downwards, she digs her feet into the sand and pushes back on the man to gain enough space to maneuver before twisting them both and stepping out to throw her opponent by the arm.
Ares	It had been a rough exchange as they came together, his own strike connecting clean and getting that snap of jaw he's looking for. His eyes narrowing as he moves to follow it up. Another blurring punch that she's able to accept and push to the side, then those knees begin to connect with low /thuds/ of flesh striking flesh, yet she's able to endure and mitigate the impacts.     When he takes that shot to her abdomen he can feel the impact and immediately moves in, not expecting the change of movement as she digs in, grasping his wrist and pressing downwards, turning and twisting the arm to force the man to /move/ without, rolling forwards to cause a flashing spatter of sand to lift into the air as he hits the ground on his back.     His strong arm clenches as he tries to draw that limb from her grasp, his foot lifting and lashing out from the ground to try and strike with surgical precision to break her hold and pull her lower if she won't go into more knee and leg strikes, the ball of his foot trying to shatter her eye, her shoulder, her ribs.
Vanya	One sharp kick admonishes the man just as he reaches the ground before Vanya releases her grip and backs away, falling into a back handspring to clear distance from the flailing legs. Her tattered red pants flutter overhead like a war-weathered flag as she completes her flip and comes up standing tall with the grit of sand between her fingers and toes. The were-woman smiles in a moment's indulgence, exalting her position. That knee was more than worth it.     Shifting stances, the standing human lets her arms settle in a lower guard as she shifts to a sidelong posture - one familiar to her sponsor - and a different kind of fire begins to burn in Vanya's eyes. Waiting only long enough for her opponent to fully take his feet, she leaps forward with a fresh chain of long-reaching kicks, answering all his ferocity with a hunger for the hardy, fleshy feeling of her bones sinking into protesting flesh.     He had better have his guard up.
Ares	It took him a moment to rise, blood-stained spittle hurled into the sand as he turned his head to the side to clear the damage she had done to him with that rough kick. It had snapped his head to the side, the ball of her foot crushing into the side of his jaw and tearing the flesh of his lip against his teeth even as she drew her leg back. His own had fired once, his leg extending with a snap but finding much less purchase than her own.     Yet rise he did, a snarl on his lips, a forearm wiping away that first blood whose scent is now on the air between them. He grimaces and snaps his guard up and seems almost ready to march at her, to reengage and take her down when she twists into motion a whirling gyre of flesh and bone seeking like.     She can feel each impact, the jolt lancing up her long well-muscled legs. His shoulder turned takes one, then his lowered arm, then his raised shin as she fires in clean succession. He tries to check her with a low kick of his own for her to almost dismissively block it with her own shin and then snap her leg back up and around for another kick that catches him in the side. The toe of her foot held hard as it /stabs/ into his side and she can feel the bone in his ribs she strikes give that first jolt of resistance... and then that delicious giiiiive as she feels it crack.
Vanya	There's a dark satisfaction that shines just a little from somewhere deep in the woman's mind as her leg comes back and plants itself behind her, its moment's rest earned. Smiling a little wider, loosening a little more, Vanya foregoes a guard as a wide hook comes in and instead spins with the blow, taking another firm hit to her chin but whipping around with a sweeping backhand in reply. The feral human laughs with an adrenaline-crazed glee only to pause and spit a molar into the sand.     Swinging her arms high and low, slipping in close then back far, she peppers and pelts her opponent in a bloody trade that forces their endurance onto the sands. Guarding looser, offering herself more, and feinting to crack the man's shell, Vanya offers her own body in exchange for equal chances to wear his down. Blood runs from her chin, from small cuts that are building on her arms and sides, and the sand around them begins to discolour with flecks of vibrant crimson.
Ares	She can see the rage build in her opponent's eyes, the way he /goes/ for the openings she offers him, striking hard and clean and exultantly as he cries out a shout now and then, a rough, "RRAYAH!" as she'll feel his fist crack into her chin, only for her backfist to come around cleanly and smack his head around. It puts him on his back foot, his eyes narrowing intensely as he shakes his head to clear the cobwebs.     Then he moves in again as she tries to press him. He will not retreat, will not let her push him towards the wall as he takes what she offers with a manic intensity. He smashes a fist to just over her eye, splitting the flesh and giving her blood breath to the air. Only for him to pay for it with a wicked smash of her own fist straight into his sternum that causes a ragged rush of breath being drawn in.     No words from him, she can see the berserker rage being drawn from him. She is able to draw it from him, summon it from him as if she were a great conjurer and he was but a spirit summoned and accepting admonishment from her fists and feet.     A low sweep tries to steal her balance for him as he surges towards her angrily, his voice lifting in a loud grunt as he tries to force her down to the ground.
Vanya	As Vanya's own spirit rouses his own, she leads the way with building shouts and cries of force. Not rage but a bright, visceral joy is dancing acrss the sand in front of him - tickled by each collision of flesh and encouraged with each spill of blood. Even her own wounds seem to goad the were-woman's mood as one more note in their song, one more lesson to learn, one more piece of proof in how great her opponent - and how much greater the one toppling him.     Fists loosen and point as the feral brawler prepares to stab and claw with her blunter, nature-given nails, but before she can fully unload herself upon the tattoos and towering pillars arrayed before her, Vanya's heels skid through the sand and her world spins upwards as she slams onto her back. Her chin tucks and her arms swing back to blunt the impact against the sand but for a moment it leaves her exposed.
Ares	His own rage swells, his exultation in the moment a think akin to hers, and as he seizes the moment she can hear a sharp shout of challenge that speaks to the primal in her, to the wild even as they both strain against each other, striving for the victory.     The light above casts them both awash in heat, making their exertions feel all the heavier with sweat gleaming on their tangled bodies. There's no other sound to the place at all, entirely self-enclosed. For the two fighters there is nothing more than the slap of flesh striking flesh, coupled with their grunts of exertion.     She'll feel the abrupt /pain/ of a knee jammed into her side as he rises, his hands going for one of her arms that she brings up in defense. There's a hiss and rasp of sand fouled between them as they both shift and writhe on the ground, then him trying to grab her arm, lever it against one of is legs as he tries to snake the other across her chest, getting set to pull her limb back and hard with as sharp a movement as possible to try and shatter the joints in succession with the press of his hands and the lift of his hips.
Vanya	Vanya thrashes and growls against the sand and her eyes widen as she feels her opponent moving for a familiar hold - one she's enjoyed so many times herself. It's subtle, it's faint, it's easily missed except by a most well-attuned eye, but the woman's defense slips just enough to lose control of her arm and have it whipped out to her side with a force well beyond what even her inhuman body can match.     A piercing cry echoes off the battleground's roof as brute force loses to leverage and the would-be herald of war bends at a sickening angle.
Ares	With that arm broken, he releases his grip, flipping his legs up and over his head to roll over and away from her where he can now get to his feet roughly. Oh he may have gained that control, executed that maneuvar... but he is nowhere near as fast or as strong on his feet as he had been before. There are too many cuts on his face, too many bruises already darkening his flesh. A rivulet of blood trails down from his brow into his left eye and causes him to clear it with a brush of his gloved hand.     But with the chance he starts towards her again, moving in as quickly as he can to bring up a bare foot and try to bring it /smashing/ down on her throat to end this fight with one decisive stomp and to claim his victory from her lifeless corpse.
Vanya	Vanya's free hand leaps to her shoulder the moment it's released and she grits her teeth tightly while panting ragged, pained breaths, coiling herself to one side. Her dark brown eyes look up from beneath a curtain of dishevelled hair and a blood-stained brow at the tower of flesh and pale blue brands as he rushes in on her prone form and his foot comes down with the authority of Zeus himself; a sentence of death, on her back, lying on a pile of sand in an unmarked basement...          There's a moment of wide-eyed fear, a glimpse of mortality as its spectre passes over her - and then the woman smiles knowingly. Pressing off suddenly against the sand, she makes a life-saving half-roll that slams the crushing stomp into the ground just behind her head - and swings her good arm straight up between her opponent's open legs.
Ares	He had committed so fully to the strike, his leg /crushing/ the sand beside her head. He's perhaps so assured of his victory that his eyes lifted a split second before striking to look towards his benefactor even as he shouts loudly, "EEEYAHHH!" Expecting to grind bone and sinew and flesh under his foot before extracting that limb from the gnarled mess...     Only she is not there. He looks down and around quickly, guard coming up as he starts to turn his hits and then...     The world explodes in pain around him, causing his entire body to clench as he groans aloud. To his credit it does not render him entirely unable to attack, many years brawling on the streets and in the prisons of Russia have given him some endurance to such attacks...     Yet it still is enough to bring him down for a moment one hand dropping him from falling face first as he shakes his head, trying to recover from the staggering pain.
Vanya	With a moment's advantage before her, Vanya's arm comes back to slap the sand as she throws herself against the ground and rockets her leg into the air. A rising, primal roar follows the arc as her foot and toes curl far back to present hardened, calloused bones as she twists her waist to aim true and slam the full force of her body into the side of the man's head.
Ares	It's a single moment of a chance, a single opportunity. And she takes it fully. There is that rising primal shriek as she chambers her leg holding it ready and aiming for a split second, and then brings it crashing up hard into the side of his head, the ball of her foot with toes drawn back crashes into his temple where she'll /hear/ the sharp crackle of a broken skull, his head snapping to the side with the weight of the impact and his neck snapping from the pure force of her leg. There is that single final jolt up her leg from the weight of that impact and she can feel the exquisite give of bone under the pressure of the strike.     One moment the man is alive, holding together against her onslaught, and then the next... he falls lifeless to the ground, small pools of blood spilling forth to discolour the sand around him.
Vanya	The aftermath is stillness and an eerie silence. Guilty of the man's very same hubris, this too was Vanya's fully-committed finish. Unlike his, it worked.     Dropping her sky-pointed leg back onto the sand, one bloodied human squirms and pushes with her one good arm to get out from under the other. Covered in sand that cling to her sweat-soaked and bloody body, the woman climbs to her feet with the help of one hand while her left arm dangles at her side pitifully limp.     Looking down at her still foe, Vanya smiles to herself and shows her teeth as she steps onto his back and looks high above at the darkness around the glaring overhead light. Two sponsors are out there somewhere. Two witnesses to her victory and proof of her achievement. Her free arm shoots into the air as she claws at the aether, as if trying to draw in the world around her and force it to witness.     And out of her mouth, despite her injuries - *because* of them - tumbles a heady, glorious, whooping, roaring laugh.
Ares	The shadows of her enemy's benefactor are empty, he does not witness her victory, or her exultation. He has turned away from this moment of loss and embarrassment. But she will see the other man who had trained her, given of himself to her, and sought to find a worthy herald to hold his name and defend it should it so be needed.     Those dark gleaming eyes meet hers, and then he sets a heavy foot upon the railing that separates him from her. A footstep taken to take him up and over the barrier, letting him /drop/ down to the floor of the arena, the sand shaking with the impact like a small shockwave around the man. He then turns towards her...     And this might be the first time she has seen him dressed up. Gone is the unshaven man with jeans and a t-shirt. He has no beard, and he wears a suit of black finery, all save the jacket which he most likely forgot up in that small balcony.     There is no hesitation as he walks towards her, smiles a bit crookedly. He looks towards the arm, cocks an eyebrow in silent question, then shakes his head and closes the last distance with her to push a hand into her wild mane of hair and pull her to him where he brings his lips to hers in a strong, sensual, and entirely affectionate kiss by way of offering congratulations. It's a long moment shared, breath mingling, then breaking as he draws back and tells her, "I am proud, Vanya."
Vanya	Vanya's voice though not her exuberance fades as her eyes alight on the god above and latch onto him with a hint at the primal intensity still coiled within her skin. The victor stands tall and proud with a cocky tilt of her head despite the arm hangingly limply at her side and quickly coming to swollen bruises. Her features mute and her mouth draws closed but wider smiling at first as he approaches.          "Mmph-!"          The were-woman shuts her eyes and latches onto Ares' hair with her hand. The kiss is flavoured with her blood and a faint taste of apple, and when they part there's a tiny speck of red clinging to the warrior's lips - and a matching smear on Vanya's own. The predator lets out a breath and comes to a little dazed, smiling now crookedly back.          "You're more than that," she teases while ruffling his short-cropped hair. "I bet you almost had as much fun as me."
Ares	A snort comes from him and he meets her eyes levelly, one hand upon her shoulder as the tall man squints at her, his gaze severe and heavy with the weight of his regard. "Vanya," The way he speaks her name, she can almost feel the portent as he gives breath to her name and he /grabs/ her hair to lift her eyes upwards, as if to make her meet his eyes.     "You have spilled blood in my name." A short curved silver blade is drawn from behind his back, the edge catching the gleam of the lone light above.     "Will you stand against those who would harm my house? Who would do me and mine ill? Who would seek to rob us of our valor, our strength, and our victory?"     His lip curls, the crimson of her blood marring the curve of his smile as he holds her eyes.     "Will you take my own enemies as yours, trusting I will bring blade to those who would wish you harm?"     Then he squeezes her shoulder firmly, "Will you stand at my side in battle, and at the end of it all walk the fields of Elysian?"
Vanya	Vanya stills at the weight of the man's gaze and her feral features begin rising back out as she rouses her soul to meet it. The pointedness, the subtle rough edges, and the little more-than-human touches frame dark brown eyes as they regain molten bronze inner rings.     She considers thoughtfully, taking what for the wild predator is a long time. "That sounds like fun," she considers ambivalently. "So I fight your enemies, you fight mine... anything else in it for me? And where's Elysian?"
Ares	A snort comes from him as he shakes her, "A place at my table, my protection, and if there are those who would prey upon your soul in the afterlife then I will make sure they are confounded in their efforts."     He steps back, folding his arms over his chest, the curved blade's hook gleaming against his bicep as his eyes narrow. "Have some respect girl, this is no light offer made, no thing to be haggled. If you cannot recognize the moment for what it is, then are you worthy of it?"     He squints, "Make your answer."
Vanya	Vanya's loose hair swings against her shoulders as she's literally shaken from her thought and a few loose bangs fall into her face. The were-woman settles and offers a reassuring smirk that flashes a sharp canine. She missed having that a *lot*.     "I'll take your deal, but one thing..." Her bronzed eyes gleam in much the same way as the edge of his knife. "After this you tell me who you really are. You never said afterlife before."          Her peace made, she takes her foot from the fallen body she's conquered and steps to the side, holding out her good arm and lifting her chin to open herself to the warrior and his knife. "Where do you want to cut?" the predator offers.
Ares	A steady gaze is leveled on her, "I have been known as Orion, when I stood against my father. I have been known as Ares, as I brought war to the world. I have been known as Mars, founder of Rome." He gives her a small wry smile, "But I would rather you know me as John, of the house of Aaron. I would have you be my shield sister, protector of my son, and carry with you my name, and a piece of my heart, for seeing you as you live, reminds me too much to the true of my self, my past, and my soul."     He steps back, "But knowing this, do you still wish to stand with me?" He takes her arm and pulls her closer, just so he can look her in the eyes, face to face. Something in his eyes searching the depths of her own.
Vanya	Despite the gravity of the moment Vanya can't help but laugh at the revelation and a wide, toothy smile splits her face. "You dog, you have been holding out on me! I got to fight a god??" Incredulous, excited, but collared just enough by the warrior to keep focused on what's important, the were-woman leans up on her toes to stare back into the two black wells in the centre of John's eyes and take in a deep breath with her revitalized senses. Sweat, steel, blood, vigour...     The Russian tiger and wolf and bear and human standing in the sand doesn't flinch and the weight of dozens perhaps even hundreds of predators press back upon primordial war. "Of course, Ivan... John," she corrects in a nod to the moment.     "Cut me already, I hate suspense."
Ares	"The blade isn't for you, Vanya." John says as he looks to her. He brings his hand back from her own, holding it palm out towards hers. That long curved blade is brought to hover over his thumb only for a moment. Without looking away from her, without breaking eye contact at all, those small gleaming silvers of darkness in his eyes seem to burrow deep within her own. The blade comes up, then slides down along the curve of his flesh, the meat of his thumb, his palm, sliced open cleanly and a trail of blood wells forth, flooding the room with the scent of that coppery ichor.     It's an overwhelming scent, heady, with a tinge of ozone that might lend an air of potency to the room. And then he says levely as he brings that dripping thumb to her brow, "Then accept my mark, and let all those who look on it dread your strength."     And with that the thumb /presses/ firm over her brow and he guides it down over her nose, down to her cheek, the blood coloring her flesh and fur in that brilliant crimson. A crimson that flashes to life with a blaze of flame even as she'll feel the burn flaring to life upon her skin.
Vanya	Vanya's nostrils flare and her eyes shiver as her irises bleed fresh colours, becoming dark-edged bronze rings with inner licks of gold. Unconsciously and faintly her posture straightens, her chest and shoulders tense, and her lips uncurl into a neutral line. She holds the warrior's gaze as his hand passes before her and smears her skin with lifeblood. The were-woman's eyes widen and a breath hisses into her lungs as it begins to burn.
Ares	The heat grows and grows, the blood burning and consuming itself and her flesh for a short yet agonizing time. Just enough to sear the skin and mark her with that sharp and severe wound along the curve of lines of her face. His gaze is level on hers the whole time. His lips purse as the flame flares blue for the last moment of intense heat, and then abruptly flickers out of life.     At the end, however, he curves a small smile, eyes hooding as he nods to her and then pockets the blade in the sheathe behind his back, the weapon sliding home with a faint click. "Now, let's get that arm looked at. Shall I carry you?" His smile turns wry as he antagonizes her idly.
Vanya	John has a front row seat while the heat and pain rise and rise and rise upon Vanya's face. The were-woman grits her teeth as it begins to force her attention from his eyes, then grunts as she flinches and pulls a hand to the wound. She hunches over while drawing back and groans in pain suppressed alone by force of will. The smell of searing flesh fills the air, then it all ends with a blue flash.     Panting all over again as she waits for the blinding wound to subside, Vanya slowly lowers her hand back to her side and looks up to John, her demeanour haggard and her wild eyes framed by a new mark - his mark. Standing back straight, she smiles anew even while fresh sweat pours down her forehead. "God your hot," she cracks in jest at the experience, only to pause and screw up her face in confusion.     "When I say stuff like that, does it now go to you?"
Ares	"No," Ares tells her as he smiles a bit, then he amends his words by adding, "Unless you perform a ritual, sacrifice an ox perhaps, and maybe have a small talent for magic. Then, I /might/ hear you." His smile is gentle but he steps closer to lightly lift a hand as if to shade her mark from the light, touching a hand to her hair faintly.     Then he says simply, "Gives you character." John closes the distance with her to slip his arms behind her knees and the small of her back, lifting her into the air smoothly, making sure her uninjured arm is against his chest so she can hold on if she wishes. "Let's get you seen to."     With that having been said he begins to move towards the far metal door, the attendant opening it for them to step through.
Vanya	Vanya snickers quietly as she lets herself be seen and touched, dipping her head just slightly to protect her tender burn. With time the skin will heal - the mark itself is there to stay. "I'll just knock on your door," she considers, before she's hefted with the ease of a potato sack. The were-woman lets out a surprised whoop and laughs softly as she loops her good arm around John's neck and rests her bad one in her lap. She didn't ask for the lift but she's also not complaining.     "Da, da. I can heal this on my own with time but I bet you have a way to do it faster."