Round 3: Arbor Banks vs. Jonathan Kent

Arbor's mother loved lavender. In better times she would decorate the house with it, the purple flowers dappling different windowsills and surfaces across the house. She didn't know if the fields flowers were indeed her mother's favorite. They sure looked like them. In better times she'd love those flowers, but those times were long dead, and she picked up a small sprout in turn to crush it in her hand. It fell through her fingers like sand through an hourglass. She looked at her opponent, brown eyes sinister in their observance.

He had a bow. When classes began, she had a choice of a weapon, and long ago, she chose a dagger, a curved blade she never used. She'd brought it to each fight, but never used it. She didn't want to; it didn't fit well with her fighting style. Nevertheless, it was observant she was at a disadvantage there. She would need all the help she could, not in targeting her opponent. No. The bow was her target.

She withdrew the dagger from her back pocket.

He was gonna shoot. Arbors original plan to charge him was too late; he was loading, getting closer would get her killed. Rather, she stepped backwards, and backwards once more, loading her 'railgun' as quickly as she could, almost fumbling the coin. The first bolt fired when she took a dozen steps back. It sailed with a deceitfully lazy arch, but traveled far; she found herself floundering to the ground to keep out of its range. It took her a half second to stand, to reload her railgun, and sure enough another bolt was loaded. Another shot, another deceitfully lazy arch, and she was back in the ground. She didn't get up for the next one. She sat there, and when the next shot landed at her feet, she kept from flinching. Rather, she aimed, and she fired.

She shot. She shot. She...didn't shoot? Arbor tried to make the penny fly, but it would not go. What the hell was happening? Why was it not working? It was clear that was was getting ready for another bolt, so she kicked back as it left his weapon. What was aimed for her chest instead went in her upper thigh; she let out a small sound but suppressed it. She had no time to dwell on pain. She had to get up.

Was it the leg that bled out a lot? She wasn't sure. All she knew was that she would not remove the bolt to find out. She stood up, ignoring the red buzz of pain that came with stepping on that leg. Rather, she saw a window of time, and began to ran as fast as she could, withdrawing the dagger from her back pocket. She had separated them, but he had closed the gap in his shot. She moved, faster and faster, the fire in her leg getting more intense with each step as the arrow bolt jutted from her leg.

When she reached him, at the cusp of the time he could take to reload, she leapt forward to tackle him.

His lashes hit her. Forceful blow went into her head, threatening to knock her back, but she stayed on top of him, looking for that crossbow. Where the fuck was it? She needed to take it. Seeing it as a useless venture, and getting sick of the hits to her face that were starting to make her head throb and whistle, she tried to stick with him, tried to press her thumbs into his eyes, but he wriggled away. She tackled him again, this time sideways, their bodies making a plus sign as she tried to keep him from moving. It was difficult; he was a big dude. In his struggles, she tried to jab her blade down into him, but it was like trying to stab a raging bull.

As Arbor struggled on top of him, she muttered something under her breath, in the midst of the struggle. "What did you do to me?" she breathed, trying to hold on, multiple times in succession. His recoil, however, worked. Like a child off an adult, she was flung to the side. She rolled away, as far as she could, and attempted to stands in the daze that came from spinning. She, stood, a little wobbly, and began to scan the field of flowers for that crossbow. It couldn't have gotten far. Did he hide it?

Arbor learned what to do when a larger opponent came after her. Many classes with the black belt instructor that she threatened with a penny had prepared her for it. Where he was big and strong, she was small and nimble, ducking and spinning out of the way of his assault. She ended up behind him and kicked him square in the back.

Another attack. She seemed to perpetually be on the defense; she had to change that if she wanted to turn the battle in her direction. When he attacked, however, she did not expect him to change up his move so quickly. A slash came across her chest, ripping up her vest and causing her to step backwards to avoid a thrust. Jonathan's hand thrust forward, however, and she made sure to grab it, bending his wrist with a hard yank and bringing him in in an attempt at a hold.

Arbor's hand reached down for the knife as she lost control for the hold; It met the blade, which dug a thin line across her palm, etching blood into it as she traced her fingers further down to the hilt. The girl's hand met his, and she yanked at the knife, bringing a foot up and kicking him in the stomach, back as the bolt rushed up to meet her neck; it passed her skin with a whoosh, and they parted, she with the knife. It was smeared auburn with her blood. She squeezed it so hard that the dark red pushed further over the hilt.
"You can't kill me," she said in a low voice, an emotionless voice. Despite this, her teeth were gritted with pain. "You can't fight me. I'm stronger than everyone in this school."
She held both his knife and her dagger in her hands. She wiped her right palm over her mouth and licked the blood that trickled from it, small streaks coming across her cheeks.

Arbor's initial reaction to his feinted stab was to block with her own knife, and she reflexively brought it to meet where the bolt was. That was, until a foot tried to sweep her off hers. She tried to jump but it clipped her toes, causing her to stumble forward, pressing her weight towards him for a little bit. For a second, they almost seemed in a lover's embrace, but she pushed further off him, for a moment, stumbling back a few steps and coming forward once more. She yelled a warrior's yell and came at him with both knifes in her hand; one upper and one lower.

Arbor felt her knees crack as they bent backwards, the weight of the boy toppling over her as he bent her arm. Her free arm, on the other hand, went around his back in something like a hug. It was reflexive, her body trying to keep itself up unsuccessfully. A knife was still in it, however; her back made an unpleasant sound as they toppled down to the floor, but she stabbed at his back when they did.

He was too heavy. She tried to wriggle her pinned arm free, all the while stabbing again and again at his back, the side of his neck. She was getting closer and closer to the mark she wanted to hit. She wedged her arm further and further over the arch of his shoulder, and then two sharp spikes of pain entered her. She couldn't breathe, she couldn't breathe; for the first time in years her eyes widened in something of fear. Blood spurted from her neck, entered her eyes in a vision of red, and she knew she had one chance. The remaining, sapping strength that was in her body was concentrated into her fist, into the place she had been trying to hit. She extended her arm as far as she could, choking on her blood and wriggling to cover her fatal wound, and drove the knife at the side of Jonno's head.