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Neon Hearts in Derelict Futures [Briar & AlrunaRose]

Aolieon lackadaisically whirled the baton around, spinning it between her fingers as she lightly stepped slowly with the balls of her feet on the mats. "Perhaps you should consider keeping as many options open as you can, neh?" she flipped the baton into forwards grip and flourished it around in a flurry of what seemed to be an amalgam of feigned strikes, turning motions to parry strikes and sweeping hand motions with her free hand, but stayed out of Therrye's reach -- almost as if she was briefly reminding herself of some block of principles as she slowly circled with careful side-steps. "You never know what's gonna be a good idea, until an opponent gives you an opening for when it's a good idea, after all.." She then seemed to hip-roll egregiously awkwardly on the spot, grunting at the realization of no warm-up loosening her shoulders afterwards, all seeming like she was shaking off some rust.

When Therrye went for her shoulder, she simply flicked her own baton at her inner wrist, whacking it with a decent sting and minimal movement; in the process, Aolieon angled her elbow outwards to block the wide-arc of the baton at her own shoulder, wincing for a little bit but otherwise blocking the blow with a harder part of her arm. Once her baton found it's mark on Therrye's inner wrist, the tip of the baton thrusted outwards to prod her assertively in the crook of her right shoulder to provoke some distance gain, pulling back and gesturing like the baton was some wizard's wand playfully (while actually imitating a retreating rapier's guard). Aolieon's expression betrayed no annoyance or aversion to her attempts -- only a giggle of mirth as Therrye attempted to stay out of her range. She gestured for her to approach her with the baton, encouraging her to simply come at this like a traditional exchange of blows. "This duel ain't gonna get anywhere if you continue to play keep-away, sweetheart. I'd tell you I don't bite, but that would be lying... wouldn't it?" Aolieon jabbed at her with her words, letting her tone get low on that last bit as she licked her lips -- as of right now, it looked like Aolieon was in positive control, but that's only because for obvious reasons, melee weapons were her forte...
Once Therrye took the encouragement and began coming at her more traditionally, Aolieon would circle her slowly, turning away strikes, blocking and lightly swatting, while her free hand took turns also swatting, palming, and performing light touches. Her entire approach to this bout seemed subdued, gentle and a tad playful -- almost as if she wasn't taking this too seriously. But every now and then, there'd be a hooking motion, either with the baton finding it's way around Therrye's and going around her arm, or Aolieon's free hand lightly touching, backhanding or flowing around Therrye's own; where the outside of a wrist or a riposte of the baton would find a way to very loosely grip Therrye in what could barely be considered a grapple -- and yet simply following through with the motion would throw Therrye off her own footing. There was a couple of times where Therrye would go in for a strike, and a simple prod of the baton in the crook between her shoulder and collarbone would disrupt the movement before it could be carried to term. Other times, Aolieon would engage in a defense against an attack that barely had any measure of rigidity to it -- and Therrye would simply be allowed to overshoot her movements to where her body would otherwise be carried by Aolieon moving out of the way. There were even times when a concerted attempt to knock Aolieon off-balance would be met with a strange brick wall of internal power, where Aolieon's stance would suddenly become so grounded that she could thwart Therrye's advances with a two-handed shove or a simple hook-away from herself. After barely a minute of simply circling around, it would have seemed that Aolieon had settled comfortably into a fascimile somewhere between focus and serenity, as stances became wider and more delicately postured; movements came more gentle and more expressive -- even the baton itself seemed to settle into the ensemble of her movements and become merely an extension of Aolieon's left arm and a flowing, encircling style of martial art seemed to click into place.

Aolieon grinned from ear-to-ear, enjoying their little play-by-play into the movements, always on the lookout for any natural habits of Therrye's which might reveal a thing or two; whether a used tactic echoed the penchant of an old habit, or a tensing of restraint betrayed a feeling, emotion or quirk were included among the list of things being felt for, but still she was enjoying the exchange.
Finally, Aolieon released a quip. "So, you gonna knock me on my ass or something? I know I'm not as sturdy as a Militech turret, but c'mon -- mess me up; fold me into a pretzel, something!"
 
She certainly has the skills to back up that sass. "That  does sound like something you'd suggest," she remarked, with something else in mind entirely. Her gaze swallowed up the details of Aolieon's movements in their totality, however; while she was not a genius like the other Liandri, her intuitive grasp of fighting outpaced her own knowledge of it. It was one of the leading reasons for how she survived the imbalanced matches she'd been set up to die against.

"Tell me all about openings, dancer," she smiled, with more teeth than perhaps either of them expected. Therrye gave her own wince at the strike on her wrist, but avoiding pain ranked low on her priorities. Reading how, where and when she was struck told her precious information, and the pain itself was instructive when matched with the rest. This sort of behavior probably wasn't much of a surprise, all told. Aolieon had well seen her propensity for treating bullets as things one can block with their body.

The woman's playfulness reminded her of painfully fond, not-so-distant memories. Pretending otherwise was what most of her adopted.

Chuckling at her barb, her violets went partially lidded while she replied. "Shame you were too distracted to bite me for very long." Refusing to give her immediate satisfaction, the bruiser led with a series of feints and provocations to see if she'd actually dive into offense instead of offensively countering.

But then she did launch into active series of strikes. Therrye wanted to start pressing her guard and leaned more into power and speed. She would have preferred to make it a trifecta with technique, yet that was her largest weak spot. For all she lacked in offensive capability here, this nevertheless remained a profound lesson in defense. Every turn of her baton, every flaw in her guard, every push on her stance told her what she needed to know to improve. At some points, her grin overshadowed the pain delivered by the blows entirely, reveling in the dance that clearly favored her opponent.

The longer this went on, the more her stance adjusted. By degrees, she was assimilating these lessons and turning them into alterations of action. That wasn't all she was learning, though; the language of how she fought whispered hints of her past, personality and education. "Dancer describes you so well," she mused, almost as if a thought had escaped into speech unbidden.

Beyond her minimal tendencies for self-preservation (which communicated something deeper than an appetite for pain), Therrye traded off which hand wielded the baton on occasion. Her right hand was dominant, but her left wasn't terribly neglected, either. Echoes of two weapon fighting lingered in how she held her body and came into swings with just the one baton. Several times an opportunity came to try a kick, but she hesitated, however briefly, and passed it up. Extra tension lingered in the shoulder with her old plates, though its effects were mild at most.

In all of it, she remained more concerned with watching and interpreting Aolieon's movements than actually trying to hurt her. She didn't simply restrain herself - and could hardly see the samurai work for defense in enlightening ways if she gave it no effort - but Therrye became far more invested in provoking her responses than expecting blows to land.

"Are you always so eager for punishment?" While it rolled off her tongue easily, she wasn't much thinking of their spar when she said it.  That caused a flicker of conflicted emotion that was quickly pushed to the side. Shaking loose her arms and stretching her neck, she smirked softly as she adjusted her stance to something more restrained. "Let's find out if I can." Therrye still had no intention to aim for truly injurious blows, but she stopped holding back on force.

Unlike her previous aims of bodying or provoking Aolieon to school her, her attacks moved her much less afield from where she grounded her stance. It was more like a porcupine than a badger, applying constant threat within her reach without lunging away from it. She still took steps to follow and push, of course, yet they were much more restrained. Trading away more considered blows and placing, she embraced a flowing flurry of assault. Having seen more of how the woman defeated her, she shifted her angles or changed her follow-through to put more pressure onto attempts at defense. With the amount of force she was applying now, successful hits would be much less 'fun'.
 
"Ohh, I could try to tell you about all the infinite possibilities of how you could turn a fight around..." Aolieon giggled, fending off more strikes as she could, but she leered as she sent out another tongue-in-cheek quip. "...but hearing me go on and on like that might be too much trouble for you! I'd get bored, you'd get tired; you might have to take me home again..." she chuckled teasingly, betraying the probability of a scenario she wouldnt be opposed to -- however, she pressed it so casually that it could have quite easily been taken as a simple jest. She continued slapping the baton away and at one moment, she followed through which a riposte that whiffed over her head with a powerful whoosh through the air -- she left a split-second opening in doing this lofty attempt at intimidation, but if Therrye didnt capitalize on it; she'd bring the baton handle down and surprisingly go into a two-handed wushu push to make her stumble. Whether or not she was bludgeoning decently and given the chance to marvel at bit at the pain or the push followed through and enabled a little detente between their dance; Aolieon would chuff and lick her lips. "I could go for days, if I really wanted to. Not so sure about you, though," she concluded with her sass, winking at Therrye sardonically. She twirled the baton a little more, then gestured for her to come again -- resets weren't at all demanded by Aolieon; the sparring simply went through ever so brief lulls before they were encouraged to resume. She didn't seem to put much stock in resetting to work on poses, and that facet seemed to lend itself to not only continued learning, but a practical approach to combat that wasn't necessarily life or death, but fun in its own way.

Slowly but assuredly as Aolieon kept her loving game of baton patticake up -- Therrye began to adjust her technique and start to apply pressure. She started getting closer into her guard; she switched weapon hands and for awhile it just seemed like she was evening the playing field to rise to the occasion -- the decision to switch from her dominant hand was a strange one indeed, but it didn't seem at all like her skills had depreciated all that much, which was interesting to note for sure. There were some echoes of being generally familiar similarly with the weapon in her hand -- had she been practicing with escrima sticks or something, lately? Aolieon switched hands to respond in kind, electing to keep her opponent's focus one-sided, but it wasn't a definitive answer to this change-up and it wouldn't last long... Therrye had started to switch to tanking some of Aolieon's blows, rather than letting her defense be entirely occupied with Aolieon's give-and-take. Therrye started getting a few successful hits in, due to her ability to now keep Aolieon fully occupied on defense. Aolieon's eyes dilated and she grinned -- even she was beginning to get excited.

Aolieon started changing it up, including some simple and intermediate knife drills into her martial-arts mix-ups, allowing for quicker, snapper hits that ended up being a bit unconventional and hard to spot due to said drills being made for use with a significantly shorter weapon held in reverse grip. The baton began fluttering about in upright figure-eights, reverse figure-eights and other shapes, making it harder to tell which way the baton was going to go in deflection, or come from in attack -- it looked like something a strike force operator might do when backed up against the wall, or out of bullets.

🎶 Paul Hertzog -- "Bloodsport Theme Suite" 🎶

Still, Therrye pressed back and accepted her challenge -- no longer holding back on force, she started getting some decent, even heavier strikes in. This made Aolieon begin to grunt and hiss in pain, as she intensified her whirling flurry in an attempt to keep parrying. Grip tensed, allowing harder blows to be turned away, but she still kept closing, applying pressure -- her eyes began to sharpen. She started stepping back, baiting with her own faints, moving as if she was lowering her guard a bit -- when the fated swing near the head would finally come, Aolieon would weave backwards and suddenly fling her upper body to the side, tucking into an impromptu side-flip -- barely enough to be entirely gymnastic in form, but enough for her to bring her heel behind her and right across Therrye's face... an unexpected change-up into something altogether different from fighting in its entirety, and with enough force to at least to daze her target and send her reeling. Had Aolieon been caught in the throes of her own emotion and that kick had been delivered with intention -- there is no doubt in the world that it would have broken Therrye's nose or knocked some teeth loose, because no matter how benevolent one's intentions are in sparring; there's a special something to be said about full-body momentum attacks that come more naturally to someone and out of left field at the opponent...

After that little exchange, a single look at Aolieon would reveal just the beginnings of a sweat broken and a light pant; her eyes widened in surprise at her own instincts with maybe a tinge of remorse. Aolieon grinned with mirth, shrugging with the baton still in her hands. "... heh. Sorry," she offered, collapsing the baton into her free hand and flinging it to the side like discarded trash. "Still not giving those luscious legs the limelight they deserve, I see..." she managed to follow up, trying to play her instinctive brutality off as something that was relevant to their sparring lesson. She giggled lightly, however; not entirely sorry after a few strong whacks from Therrye's baton... then, Aolieon began to move in a way that Therrye probably had never seen before...

Even in such a diversified and nuanced field of practice such as mixed Martial arts -- Capoiera was a largely uncommon sight. It is said that this martial art found it's origin centuries ago in less developed countries, having migrated to others in the minds of plantation slaves, who would practice it in their free time in preparation of escape designs, as well as to teach themselves a method of self-defense. Many masters would ignorantly shrug it off as 'cultural dancing' in its observation, and so Capoiera would end up being mastered by those who practiced it among their shackled companions, much in the same way that Tai Chi could be mastered in complete isolation and with minimal living space. That being said, for such a niche and outlandish fighting style heralding from Latin America; it was both an unconventional and largely underrated martial art, as even though it appeared to present glaring weaknesses at first sight -- not only could a Master of Capoiera curb these weaknesses decently, but it kept an opponent at a range largely uncomfortable for many fighters to engage... as the legs more often than not have more reach than one's fists; the usage of full body momentum made strikes devastating if projected with worth, and fighting in an element that was somewhere between half-standing and prone was not something many martial arts and fighting styles lent themselves well to...

"Youre right about one thing -- Im a dancer through and through, bruiser. One thing I hope you'll realize though, is that your legs have the potential to be weapons just as devastating as those strapping gorilla arms of yours, baby. You should learn to get your whole body engaged in a fight; after all, in the same way that you miss every shot you don't take -- what you don't use, is something people can just use against you..."
Aolieon crouched down and began stepping side to side; her back foot pronouncing itself far behind her as the arm on the same side as the leg going backwards came up to sway in front of her face -- Aolieon's "Ginga", as the default fighting "stance" for Capoiera was known, carried a little something with it -- her hips sauntered backwards with her steps, and her upper body seemed to meander in its own figure eights, creating a highly active "stance" that gave way to infinite possibilities... after a few moments of doing this side to side dance and even circling her a bit -- Aolieon postured her hands in front of her with a mischievous grinning leer and beckoned Therrye forwards... Alerting the bruiser that this wasn't just some theatrical little skit she was doing in the middle of a match.
 
Therrye gave a soft chuff to her leer and tease. Part of her very much responded to the notion, and her eyes dilated momentarily. That wasn't the part currently in charge, though. "You're no fainting damsel in distress; you can bed yourself, can't you?" she retorted, clipping the samurai's thigh with a downward swipe before getting pushed back. Taking the breath and swishing unthreateningly with the baton, she smirked unimpressed. "Big words from the gal who fell asleep on me."

Aolieon certainly got more hits in with the change up, and made some quiet noises at the impacts. Watching her figure eights for a couple moments, she just doubled down on pressing the assault, turning blows to follow parries and make them struggle to release, and hooking her own baton following blocks to unsteady the dancer. The switch to her gymnastic-lite heel strike did get a good retort in, and all Therrye could do in response was turn her head slightly to spread out the impact on her jaw instead of take it straight to the teeth.

Regarding her with a grin, she stretched her jaw and imagined what level of bruise her cheek would be left with. Rather than deter her, it only made her more interested in what would follow. "Feisty," she said lowly, narrowing her focus with the discarding of the baton and the inevitable shift in approach that would follow. A nasal exhale was her only response to the legs comment; even though it was something she'd made the decision to remedy, she wasn't going to give her the satisfaction of telling her that. Then she'd definitely know she was the motivation for doing so.

The switch to Capoiera was not one the bruiser expected and it consumed her focus. Vague tickles at the back of her mind told her it reminded her of  something in the halls of memory, but there was a large difference between fighting against someone who knew an art vs someone who had learned from someone who'd been inspired by some old vid. "Then show me what that body of yours can do."

Given how their first exchange went, Therrye knew charging in would give her opponent the definitive advantage. Tossing aside the baton with more intention than the other woman's carelessness, she dredged through the murk of her past to pull her footing toward a more kick-forward footing.

Not because she thought it would provide her with any edge (and it wouldn't, given the minimal development there over grappling moves), but all to provoke Aolieon toward offense. Using her slightly superior reach, she threw some kicks at the woman's shins. Really, the more she could focus herself on dodging and parrying, the faster she could start to get a read on what this form brought to the arena.

Either which way, though, she fully expected to take a beating from it before she'd make any meaningful progress in responding to it.
 
"I think I'd rather play Russian Roulette," she stated -- of course the reference was quite literal, because the fact of the matter was home was not a place she wanted to be. Echoes flashed through her mind of thoughts she had attacked herself with only a handful of hours ago, but she brushed them aside. "And I had been awake five days prior, i think -- you were comfy. What can I say?" she jabbed, deciding that brazen honesty was a potentially more beneficial approach to getting inside her head.

When the bruiser flung her first kick at one of her shins; she had sensed the waters being tested -- using her momentum from kicking backwards, she twirled her body, pulling what was originally her forwards leg out of range as the leg originally behind her slid to whirl her about to the side... but she didnt stop there. Allowing her body to drop, the stepping leg continued on its whirling path; her hands behind her, they switchec up to support weight as she swept the first leg forwards in a left arc... then the right leg swept opposite; there was plenty of time to slip out of the way, but before Therrye knew it, Aolieon's legs had left the ground as both came up in a sort of cartwheel, coming at her like a sword threatening to split her in two -- even if she stepped out of the way, the cartwheel would complete itself, and with additional carried momentum -- her body would tuck into a sideways handspring. As the legs came up above her again, it would look like the same movement would come again... but her legs would turn to the side, swinging them in an overhead blow as momentum was canceled and she would go for additional head blows by twirling upside down.

Finally, shed back-handspring away from Therrye a couple of times, landing on her hands in a handstand. Her legs would point skyward -- her waist bent them forwards, then to the side, then backwards, almost allowing her back to nearly form an L-shape with her body. She'd then return to neutral and bring her knees in, assuming this particular handstanding pose.
"Well, don't just stand there -- show me whatcha got, bruiser." She'd smile from upside down, giving her time to figure this all out.
 
"That would explain a lot," she murmured. As much as Therrye felt inclined toward empathy and caretaking, Aolieon had already told her to fuck off in clear terms and there was nothing one could do for the unwilling. When the scorpion tells you its nature, you listen, and the bruiser took the words to heart. "You can say whatever you want, dancer. You're already saying plenty," she smirked, the honesty of her footwork more clear and forward than anything she'd ever expect from the Liandri's lips.

True to the form, it was hard to follow and predict. She'd already committed to the defensive, but these sharp blows rewarded her parries with continued strikes, and some painful impacts were her rewards. Shifting more toward dodging, she found herself getting pushed harder toward the lines on the mat.

Then she drew back into a stand that looked far more like a performance piece than a fighting stance. It was puzzling, it was threatening, and it was fascinating. This style seemed perfectly suited to her agility and grace, and she was already getting an inkling of how much she could get hurt by it.

That, of course, did little to deter the bruiser.

Suspecting that her fists were more of a liability here, she edged forward then swept with a palm toward a shin again, already readying to lean her upper body backwards and dodge a kick to the head.

Coming at this from a hand-centric approach would do her few favors, but she kept at it, striking with the side of hand and pushing at her swinging legs with open palms while she observed the fresh hell coming down on her. Focusing on her so intently, she didn't bother replying to her sass yet.
 
Aolieon waited patiently in the handstand for a couple of seconds, drinking in the amazement that the other Liandri had at her strange theatrics. Was almost enough to make her sigh flightily in nostalgia -- she began to recall the movements and eccentricities of an old drunken Xeno bikkhu who was as cultured and peaceful as a Maelstromer was known to be honorable. When Therrye advanced, Aolieon's legs kicked outwards, individually somehow managing a flurry of upside-down kicks that at least might encourage her opponent to back away for a split-second, and identify this handstand as a guard stance. Then, she pushed on her hands, spinning on her own head mildly as she whirled her legs about in a helicopter-like whirlwind of kicks, keeping her legs wide as she pushed and seemed to outlandishly navigate the mats while upside down. Aolieon haaaated performing this technique as it put an undue amount of pressure on her horns, and she had to be careful the slight upwards curl of her upper horns didn't snag the mats and cause her to simply fling herself prone -- still, she recalled something unhinged said to her about how pain was the agent of doubt and she needed to 'stop being a weak-kneed, watery-eyed wimp'. Aolieon twirled about upside down for two turns, swinging her legs wide and slightly upwards for goes at Therrye's midsection and head. Then mid-twirl, one leg abruptly arced backwards going for an overhead strike, before being hooked back around to whirl for another midsection blow. Finally facing Therrye, she went for a simple one-two combo of a side kick and a roundhouse (still upside down). Finally, Aolieon pushed upwards with a severe grunt in effort, pulling into a handspring that delivered her heels forwards in a dropkick -- falling prone but performing a split to restart momentum and start sweeping the legs.

Aolieon turned her body to the side, sliding in to deliver a few stagger kicks to Therrye's shins before whirling herself back around and kipping up slightly to bring both legs back around the other side and attempt another single handspring drop kick. Aolieon kept going for good strikes merely to keep Therrye on her toes, but what she really wanted was to get Therrye on the ground -- still she kept evading and relying on those stout gorilla arms to block her attacks. Aolieon went back to default position and then slid in hard and fast sideways, opening her legs into a scissor-kick in an attempt to close them around Therrye's ankles and twist her body like a rag to try and get Therrye to fall over backwards... however, the low kicks had been coming frequently, so a simple hop up could have been more than enough to get out of reach. Aolieon bent her core inwards like a slithering snake in order to dodge any potentially incoming Superhero Landing or other attack that might come from jumping.

She was going to have to get semi-serious if she really wanted to get her on the ground -- and so it was time she mixed in the grappling. She kipped up back into default, going into a sprint before executing a hands-free cartwheel; making it look like she was going for another strong overhead kick -- at the last moment, she turned her body with the momentum to face forwards, opening her legs and allowing her body weight to descend upon the bruiser. Whirling about her shoulders, she'd somehow clamber up past her guard and fixate her thighs around Therrye's head -- it seemed like Aolieon was about to pull the signature Frankensteiner from their previous encounter in the middle of the street, but her knee hooked around the ankle of her opposite leg... closing Therrye's head into a leg-based grapple that fastened the bruiser's head between the vise of her thick thighs. Aolieon grabbed her hair with one hand but didn't pull unfairly in any sort of way, just maintaining enough grip on her to maintain balance as she sat atop the standing Therrye -- the other hand reached down to clasp around the ankle corresponding to the knee that was holding the headlock in place. Therrye hadn't even been brought to the ground yet... and already, the dancer had her in a submission hold, threatening to smother the bruiser unconscious with her own crotch.

Aolieon let out a gleeful slight moan, giggling with derisive mischief as she simply hunkered into her grapple, knowing now that if she was committed, she needed to hold on for dear life. "Hahaha, you're in trouble, now, bruiser -- Clock's ticking..."
 
The shift in art was, as expected, a bit of a nightmare. Powerful kicks came in singles and flurries with unfamiliar bridges between the strikes. Watching her movements could help tell when a swing might happen to varying degrees, and where it might aim for her. That meant a rather large range of timing and placement for defense. Wisdom in fighting would have instructed her to back off persistently to have space to react and evade.

But if Therrye did so, fewer blows would be coming and she'd have less to learn from.

Earning herself bruises aplenty in the doing, she shifted to a persistent arm guard for her head while swaying toward dodges and palm-parrying what she could. This kept her from getting any more shiners on her face, but rattled her arm thoroughly and left her legs open. Hisses of pain came from the shin kicks and she backed up immediately after receiving them, giving her a tiny moment of breathing room.

If this was specifically about showing the bruiser just how effective legs could be, the dancer was doing a fantastic job of it.

Focused on defending, still, she barely cleared the attempt to knock her down, and did not push her luck at trying to get in a counter attack. This form of hers was undoubtedly full of responses she had yet to see and Aolieon was clever besides. An apparent opening could easily be a trap.

Anticipating another push into kicks and lower/upper body attacks, the thighs to head grapple was not the maneuver she expected (though now that it'd happened twice to her, she certainly would in the future). Huffing in an expression that communicated a certain sort of swearing, Therrye slapped the woman's hips hard and then dug thumbs toward the inside pressure points while her grip tried to loosen her. The ghi did her no favors, though, and made it harder to pull off this improvised deterrence. It didn't help either how this hold on her echoed their first night together, adding a different sort of flavor to the lightheadedness being inflicted upon her.

Not having any intention to yield, she remained standing and switched to hammer on her hips with punches. Even without her breakers on, she didn't want to go full force on Aolieon; she wasn't much letting up, though, and it wouldn't be long before she dropped from the blood choke no matter how defiant she felt. Her vision was getting foggy and the speed of thought was breaking down. Given her effort to make this happen, she doubted Aolieon would let up until she passed out.

Left with few options, and even fewer that weren't more savagely injurious, her eyes widened as she released a feral shout and grabbed the Liandri's arms to keep her in place. That was when she hopped up and forward, taking her down to the mat with a body slam. In the moment that followed, she pushed hard to slip an arm under and around her left while moving the other to scoop her neck and lift it before grasping that arm with the first to lock the partial pin. "Nice fucking try," she growled, more activated than she expected or wanted.
 
Aolieon's glee at having locked Therrye in a pin before she had even been brought down to earth was short-lived, as the bruiser wasted no time trying to figure out how to get out of the pin. The handful of concerted strikes to Aolieon's sides were particularly distressing, causing a decent amount of pain; she struggled to hold on -- she had taken many bullets and cuts in many places, but the abundance of flesh surrounding her hips betrayed a large amount of surface area to bludgeon... and of course, the nerves surrounding these areas were no less loud in their protest. Her grip on the bruiser's hair tightened and she grunted and groaned with each blow, but followed up with heaving sounds of determination, tightening her vise as much as she could without actually trying to cause damage. If this was an assassination target, a simple fling of her body would be enough to discombobulate or twist the neck -- Aolieon tensed in her muscles, freezing amidst the blows, pushing down on Therrye's head slightly to maintain he'd upright posture; reasserting her grip over the fact that she didn't wanna hurt her... It wasn't even intended for her to choke the bruiser unconscious -- this was just her showing internal grappling power, but now, underneath the bruiser's alarm, Aolieon was fighting to not let her body move in any unwanted directions... the risk elevated, and Aolieon was too caught up in the movements of this stage of their spar to know what to do to de-escalate...
Eventually, Therrye fell to one knee; Aolieon giggled a little bit, but withheld her mirth and even let a bit of nervousness in there. "Careful..." she managed to call out -- the reply was a loud roar as Therrye capitalized on the opportunity to send Aolieon crashing to the ground first before things got out of hand.

A searing lightning flash of pain seared from her core and wrapped itself around Aolieon's ribcage -- she felt something dislocate itself, and that sent viscerally electrifying sensations through her that she was not on-guard for at this point in time. Aolieon let out a scratchy cry of pain, sounding like nails on a chalkboard from deep within the throat -- a signal of harm that escaped all too quickly to not be noticed. At the same time that Aolieon's body thudded onto the mat, her muscle tension loosened with the freeze of impact, allowing Therrye to slip out and immediately proceed into a counter-pin of half immobilization. The bruiser's left arm locked her right side completely up as she leaned atop her, while the right arm settled its elbow into her sternum and rested her right hand upon her neck.

🎶 DOLLVOiD -- "Insatiable Havoc" 🎶

Pain. Subjugation in a strong grapple. The sense of a feral presence that posed a threat. Being counter-pinned so quickly took Aolieon by surprise for sure, but the settling of the hand on her neck became a rogue element to oppose the element of what Aolieon could only surmised could be a dislocated floater rib, or worse, a cracked one -- both immediately threatened the ability to breathe... and so all of the sudden open warfare broke out in Aolieon's mind as various hemispheres of a fractured psychology and aspects with a stake in this bid for interaction began to violently fight for the authority to command the next impulse of combat. The only thing that was an indicator was a brief expression of shock, the next few breaths out of her which lightly wheezed and her eyes twitching as the pupils showed minor staggering fluctuations.
You see, Aolieon's relations with the concept of choking could only be likened to her relationship with the business end of a certain snub-nosed revolver -- she had a twisted love for the taste of cordial and the dance of death it represented, but it also carried with it a subconscious terrifying aspect that threatened to plunge oneself into an instinctive storm of impulse -- the same one people might liken to fight or flight, or trauma response. In that manner, choking was one of the ways she faced her demon's directly and it was quite a thrill to her, but when she was unprepared for it? One might as well go searching for unexploded ordnance with a hammer...

Seeing the bruiser's anger finally roused once more was counted as a success, but the pain of the ribcage disarmed it entirely. Aolieon felt threatened, but seeing those violet piercers aimed at her and feeling hands on her neck aroused her. Something burst forth, plucking the ribbons out of the grip of self-restraint and began frantically wrestling and slashing at a primal force entirely different from itself -- one borne of blood, trauma and shadows of helplessness snatched from darkness and aimed at lashing out at anyone and everyone. Salacious thoughts intercede intermittently; time slowed as tactical matrices were analyzed for a logical way out, in addition to a rational resolution. But most powerfully, an aspect of unrealized being screamed and tore at her killer instincts. Amidst the whirlwind of split-second thoughts -- Aolieon's vision began to tinge, and she was starting to see flashes of red...
No-no-no-no-no, not now! Aolieon began meekly thrashing out of instinct against the bruiser's hold; her eyes dilated with that spark of lust as the grip began go tighten around her neck but exercised restraint in not becoming a full on blood choke right off the bat -- the Therrye she had come to initially become quite familiar with was still in there, and she needed to respond in kind... Don't... not here...
... a compromise she didnt entirely agree to herself was made; a deal struck against the will of reason, and the back of her mind let out a derisive and delusional spike of humor, which then was echoed by her lusty designs and primal instinct for combative courtship...
Aolieon stopped struggling to breathe -- what came out of her throat instead was a vibrant, hearty and delusional cacophony of Yandere-esque laughter as her eyes sharpened and began to glower violently. She swung her left leg upwards, chucking a left hook directly into Therrye's face to turn it and distract her for a split-second before her leg could come into view -- it crossed in front of Aolieon and underneath Therrye's right upper arm, hooking the knee behind her left shoulder. What followed was Aolieon's own feral snarl of an exerted groan, as Aolieon thrashed against her choking hand and pushed as hard as she could upwards to pull Therrye off of her. Her left arm clawed into Therrye's exposed side underneath her halter top, bleeding her to cause distracted sensations and allow her more leverage -- whenever at last Therrye could be yanked free of her, Aolieon would kip-up with both legs before pulling them into a full force dropkick into her face, using the remaining momentum to handspring away from her, but Aolieon would falter, landing on her knees for a second.

Not wanting to draw too much attention to her own injuries, she'd spring up and begin strutting, circling away a bit as she fought HARD to quickly regain control of her thoughts -- the wheezing in her breath could be audibly heard. "Whoo, that was intense -- yeah, we both went a little too hard there, Christ..." Aolieon's eyes were significantly dilated, clearly indicating that she had been given quite a tempting startle, as her hands felt her ribcage for a second. She breathed deep a couple of times, wincing as she troubleshot her own injuries, and found the problem -- hooking her right arm into her midsection just beneath the ribcage, she grasped the wrist with her left hand and then flexed her arm suddenly, shoving her elbow in -- a light pop could be heard, and Aolieon would let out a guttural groan of notable pain as she popped her own floater rib back into place... She still felt another rib being the problem, but Aolieon really really REALLY didn't want this fun to end, so she committed herself to playing off the pain as if she had cured the actual problem on the spot.
"Oh me, oh my -- what the hell are you, and why are you so much fun??" There was a change to Aolieon's body language; her struts were slower, more thought-out. Her gaze was more focused, sharpened and tje dilation remained to a normal degree, but there was a sharpening of color that brought the amber into something less natural -- making her eyes burn vibrantly with a more chartreuse color. Her wheezing dissipated, and she resumed her Ginga, but it was slower, simpler... like a lioness ready to pounce, there was a note of both fiery passion and delusion in her eyes... possibly a glint of murderous intent. "Amazing, truly, my sweet -- I gotta learn to stop underestimating you," something else changed -- her hands stopped moving in their default guard; claws started forming in her hands, and unusual palm maneuvers; she was switching between large back steps of the Ginga, tactical footwork and wide crouches. It seemed like she didn't know what she wanted to use, but she might also deceptively keeping her options open. A hand slid to where her hip pouch full of drugs would be -- nothing was there, went back to Ginga. Her eyes darted to her inner wrist, nothing. Something was reaching for things she didn't have, and her grips tightened -- something was wrong, but it seemed to be melting away for the time being. She took a deep breath, closing her eyes in an attempt to find her center... her eye twitched as she held back a cough or a larger indicator of pain, but she also opened her eyes, and the color/dilation seemed to be regaining it's bearings slowly. A brief look of concern, of mild worry crossed her face; then it went numb and she inhaled, seeming to be back to her normal self. What the hell just happened, there?
 
Something about the threat of being choked out had inevitably gripped her anger and pulled it taut; while she could generally keep herself level-headed and disarmed of such things in a training environment, this was clearly one of those triggers that called back on much darker days of life or death conflict. Or, perhaps, something in the exchange with this specific sparring partner had yanked it out of her where it otherwise could have been stymied.

The scratchy cry of pain from the Liandri's throat did a lot in immediately blunting the fury that'd spiked in her, and distracted her besides with concern over having caused significant and unintended damage to the dancer. However much she was upset with how things had gone down between them, taking it out on her in any physical way was not okay, and she briefly wondered if that had been pushing her in any of her response. Even if it wasn't, this was not the fighter she wanted to be, and had spent a great deal of time pushing out of since her escape into freedom. Why didn't I just take the L?

Her conclusion leaned toward negative on personal grudges driving her behavior, but she wasn't given much time to consider it as the woman tore at her and kicked in her in the face. Between the thrashing and her own internal conflict, she eased up more readily than Aolieon probably expected, and was promptly rewarded for it with a brutal slam to her face. "Fuck!" she growled out, clutching her now-bleeding face with one hand while the other pulled up defensively. When the attack wasn't followed up with another, she rolled away, coming into an almost animalistic crouch and glowering for a moment through her open fingers.

The heave of her chest thinned as she got a grip back onto her emotions. There was no missing the rattle in Aolieon's breath, and real concern cut through her chest. Wiping blood from her nose, she returned to her feet, but didn't assume a fighting stance immediately and winced visibly at the samurai popping a rib back into place. "So we did," she replied, an edge of disappointment in herself for it. What nonverbal movements followed betrayed confusion, vicious impulse, and pain; even if Therrye had felt a burning desire to pummel her into the ground, those were clues enough that something more serious had happened, whether a concussion, a traumatic trigger, or else.

Holding up her hands, she backed off a couple steps. "Neither of us are in the proper state of mind to continue a 'friendly spar'," she said with some consideration to her choice of words (though she felt more even than Aolieon currently looked to her, she included herself regardless, and felt responsibility besides), "and even if we were, I'm worried I seriously injured you, Aolieon." Her hands lowered and her gaze held clear, unrestrained concern toward the woman before glancing briefly at Matsuo. "Matsuo-san should take a look, at the very least."
 
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