Scene #7441: Fistfraught

Owner	Pose
Sylvi	In a previous conversation, Bercilak learned that his 'beauteous serpent' sometimes picked up heavy things for a while. For fun or because it helped her, it wasn't ever clear... But there wasn't that many actual gyms that catered to lunatic strength-heads in the multiverse that weren't attached to the grounds of the MECC grounds and associated punch idiot areas. The trouble was, of course, finding her. One day, fortuitously, Bercilak happened across a white-haired woman working out and had gone to approach her - in true King Stance - when his left elbow was tapped. "Hey, Jolly Green." Calls a voice, a good-humor tone in the lower register of feminine, before the shape behind him cocks back and takes a straight step forward and 'in', towards Bercilak's front, her fist following after with the mere playful force of a 'respectable' shove. Following through with less of a thrust-kick and more of a thrust-step, Sylvi hangs there, leg extended, grinning like an idiot. Still long and primarily white of hair, thick green and black braids twist through her falling mane like spun serpents. Her skin has a dark olive tone, and her simple 'workout clothes' are just a white towel around her neck, a t-shirt (ironically, for the 'Anaconda' movie), and loose workout shorts. "Did you set that yappy idiot Shaw right yet? Oh, wait, I probably should have asked before hitting you. That's okay, right?" She asks, her sneer more of the warm joke of 'whoops, got ahead of myself - you don't mind though, right?'.
Rubi-Kan Vagrants	Oh, is that her? He opens his mouth to make some kind of pass--only to have his shoulder tapped. Jolly Green? Only one person's made that joke before... he wheels around. "Sylvi!" The Green Knight, dressed in his usual edgy-wholesome attire save the vest, is socked in the stomach by that shove. "'Tis most afin," he says. He doesn't mind at all. "I ilike thy shert!" he adds brightly. The brawny green man slips an arm beneath her extended leg, playfully 'grappling' her limb as he steps closer. With her leg tucked under his arm, the opposite arm slips around her waist. "Not yet," he answers. "But thire is plenteth of time to do swich. Bileve thee that whanne I bisaie I shalt do som-thing, I do hit." His hand slides up from her waist to her back. A headbutt, light (for the two of them), placed against her forehead. "Yet sinnes thou'rt presencial... wondren I if thou wouldst enjoie a liti sporte?" Now he's grinning. Might as well throw some affectionate hands, right?
Sylvi	Balanced on one leg, with her other brought back and up to force her extension into Bercilak's grip, Sylvi grins, sharktoothed. "I like my shirt too. The band's a bit ssstupid but the albums are fine." Clearly pleased with 'I can just walk up and hit you, right?" bully-talk being warmly recieved, Sylvi turns to swing again and is stopped-up by her leg being twisted in as Bercilak's forehead thunks into hers. Eye to eye, whites to whites and wide pale-greens slit-pupiled and surprised, Sylvi struggles for a moment. Behind her, her braids tumble down into eyeless snakes, supporting her back. One black snake-braid feels around behind her for a weight, and with one in mouth, transfers the heavy dumbbell to her fist. A fist that she then cracks across the side of Bercilak's head, spinning her leg out of his grip and landing both feet against the ground. Thumbs slid into the waistband of her shorts, she leans forward, a soft 'hehe-n'. "Sport? Okay. You can start whenever." She teases further, right thumb pulling against index finger to pop it loudly. "If you want satisfaction from me, you'll have to come take it."
Rubi-Kan Vagrants	The dumbbell crashes into his temple, driving him back and staggering him. There is a dark green bruise in its place, and his grin is momentarily a little funny-looking. She might've broken something! It heals quickly enough, and it's not like he didn't invite it, besides. Plus, he's regarding her quite warmly. Cupping both hands before his mouth, "ME AND MINE LADI ART VERILY ABOUTE TO THREU HONDS!" He pauses. "FOR SPORTE! NOT FOR AN ILLE RESON." Other gym-goers remove headphones, peering in confusion over their Screaming and Yelling Compilations being yelled over. Oh, yeah. They might not Know. "So... in lasse thou'rt strengthi ynogh to withstonde our ifightinge... gate the fuck oute?" This draws a chorus of 'ohhhs' of recognition, even despite the Middle English, and people begin filing out, save those truly dedicated to Gains or strong enough to deal with a little collateral. With that taken care of, Bercilak moves to take that satisfaction. Cracking his neck and giving his arms a few warm-up wind-ups, he gives her a smoldering grin and takes off at full sprint towards her, getting behind his shoulders to make a full on football tackle into a rack of weights. Falling to the ground, he attempts to straddle her and crush her abs with his thighs, while preparing a haymaker punch to the side of her head.
Sylvi	"Your lady?" Sylvi asks, her hand cracking back like a gunshot across Bercilak's righting face. "Only technically correct, the worssst kind of correct. You're a hopeful to be my man. Not the other way around." She corrects, her hand lingering at his jaw, appraisingly, as he hollers. She waits, resetting her thumb under the band of her shorts and waiting as people clear out, a sneering 'yep, mmhmm, fuck off normies' given to the other Gym Lunatics screaming and leaving. The average response is, in fact, beyond surprise, shrugging and getting back to it. This is probably not the first fistfight started at the BICEPS MULTIVERSAL GYM AND HEAVY THING LIFTING STATION. Finishing an eye-dragging forked-tongue-out-sneeeeeeer at one particularly huffy lookieloo, Sylvi's left eye glances at the onrushing freight train and cartoonish windup heartbeats before even Sylvi's wide stance is smashed into a scattering clattering 'k-tang!' of weighs, bars snapping and twisting around her limbs as she crashes into the pile. 'Sat down on', one jolly green knuckle sandwich is fed to her after the others, her cheeks puffing and being pounded flat like a sandpaper dough. As one fist comes down, Sylvi's hand shoots underneath it, gripping the fist in her smaller palm and wrapping her fingers about Bercilak's. "Is this the sport you want? Be clear and use your words, please." She teases anew, twisting under him like a single sinew to grab his head by the hair and palm his skull, and use her two points of leverage plus the buck of her hips to flip him over the rack and into the pile of scattered, twisted, person-dented metal. Half-rising, she rolls onto her toes and shoots forward on hands and feet, hair-serpents rising in a wave of fangs and independently seeking muscle to bite and find purchase at his wrists and ankles so she can return his charge earlier by pinning him to the wall for her own series of chest-slamming punches and elbows.
Rubi-Kan Vagrants	Sylvi's tease is well received, with a single belly laugh--"HAH!"--before he is grabbed by the hair and thrown off. His broad back further dents the bars of those weights with a cacophony of clanks and groaning metal. Rising to his feet, he is pinned to the wall, snakebitten. Between gutpunches and elbows strong enough to cause cracks in the wall behind him, meaty thuds raining down on his chest, "It..." Elbow. "Shalt..." Punch. "Do-for..." Elbow. "Nau!" He raises a meaty palm in time to swat another punch aside, and that's when he makes his counter attack. She's a good deal stronger than he, but why bother fighting completely around that fact? It's too much fun to be reminded of. Quick on the heels of that, her snakes still biting, he slaps both arms down and barrels forward for a grapple. For just a moment, he wraps his arms around her, snarling with delight as fangs pierce his tough green hide. Fuck it, why not? He attempts to crush again, then retaliates at last against those biting snakes by hauling off and just biting into Sylvi's shoulder. His teeth dig in as hard as he's able to--they'd need to, to pierce her scales. Knowing that he can't hold her like this for more than a few seconds, he twirls around... And tries to shot-put her into the ground, before leaping above her with a flying elbow drop.
Sylvi	'Embraced' in a snarling bear-hug as her hair-snakes grapple at his wrists and ankles, Sylvi doesn't expect the bite. She growls in surprise, throat a rattling hiss as Bercilak's jaw clamps down. The stress on his jaw is odd, his teeth sort of settling into the groove of a scale far, far, far bigger than her body ought to have on it. Shifting under his jaw strength, the struggle of the snake-woman against his efforts causes something to fall free, and the thing his teeth have latched onto comes loose-- And gets annoyingly stuck in his teeth, a dense 'something' caught between two molars, more 'hard and jagged-smooth' than actively sharp. "You want bite?" Sylvi hisses, low, forearm shoving against Bercilak's neck as she her fingers smack against his face and shoves while the Green Knight is mid-throw. Her descent is meteoric, thudding into the impact resisting mat like it, and the concrete beneath, was a jelly mould. She looks up at him, the color draining out of the mat into her forearms, padding-grey and athletic black bulging like bracers against her arms as Bercilak falls. Her eyes seethe with intensity, two points of light as the color washes out of her. He falls, elbow first, and as he strikes the whole shock-absorbant material coating blasts off of her like ink, splattering the floor underneath her like a bucket of paint had dropped. Both hands grip the leading elbow, bicep and forearm, and she grins, each snake-mouthed animated lock of hair fanned out around him. "I want to bite too." She rattles, heat steaming off of her unnaturally as her skin reddens darkly. The burning, molten-within heat of her hands and arms and belly sear into Bercilak's captured elbow for a moment as Sylvi's shadow boils with burned foam and plastic. "Is your sport really that you want to bite me? That's hot." She rattles with molten approval, before lifting her leg up under his stomach and shooting Bercilak back into the cieling like he was shot from a particularly volcanic cannon.
Rubi-Kan Vagrants	Does he want to bite her? Well... damn. Now he does. "Verily," he growls, as the flesh on his elbow begins to heal. His eyes don't leave hers, red and intense, burning with desire and adulation. It's because of that close gaze that his fighting instinct catches the shift below, the change of momentum, the natural give-and-take of combat. He's still not quite fast enough to cash in on it. Her heel cracks his ribs as he tries to roll off, and the force is still enough to launch him partially into the air. His back hits the mat with that familiar 'thwap' noise of body on foam, but he's not done yet. He defensively kicks out a leg--still wearing his motorcycle boots, as he hadn't come here to work out. "Whi wouldst I not? Thou'rt over-comli," he says, making a kip-up that's honestly impressive given his bulk. His fists are up, bulky forearms in a defensive posture. She'll see the blow coming. A right cross, stepped into with his leg, aimed across her face. Another step forward, a knee. He chuckles, then tries to knock her back onto her back with an uppercut.
Sylvi	Sylvi doesn't roll to the ground or draw herself up, instead just pushing up off the mat with her hair-snakes and quarter-cartwheeling to a standing position from an arched back, languid and smooth. She glistens with the kind of full-body workout glow that some people treat their entire time at the gym as an exercise to chase. It helps that her flesh visibly bubbles molten under the surface of her skin, fat globuoles of magma shifting inside her broad core. He swings and cracks her head back with the force of his blow, shoulder turning aside with the force. She grinds her face back against the inside of his arm, a return headbutt from the opening as both hands check his rising fist with an immovable-force block, her forearms bulging as she shoves the hand back. "Be careful, Jolly Green." Her 'physical presence' -- the presence of her size and shape in the air -- expands into something so wildly out of scope that the atmosphere from the room is forced away from her. An outpouring of sheer volumetric pressure, the ear-popping free-fall of a planetary body about to collide with another and the pressure pinch flaying in and of itself. "Do you really want to get caught in my gravity?" She booms, less a voice and more a thundering high-pressure front of a hiss. She 'shoves' him like a schoolyard bully - with an arm backed not the mere mechanical force but ultracondensed scope, 'lightly' pushing him away with a tectonic force.
Rubi-Kan Vagrants	Bercilak's fist struggles against her block. He is delighted. "VERILY!" His eardrums burst for a second there, and he shouted thinking they were still gone. He'll play it off like he meant to shout, because it's not like that's unusual for him anyway. The shove knocks him through the air, his impact ruining two and most of a third perfectly good treadmills. With a hearty laugh, he lifts it overhead and hurls it. The force of Sylvi's density causes it to crumple before it can reach her. It doesn't discourage him in the slightest. Grabbing an armful of extremely heavy weight plates, he begins flinging them towards her, running at full tilt. They're aimed upwards, to try and counteract the force she's exerting. The closer he gets, the harder it is to stand, the more effort it takes to approach her. But he continues. "Verily, I do," he utters between gritted teeth, his footfalls beginning to crack the floor beneath the mat, tearing through the foam. Are we doing space now? Sure, let's do space. "For ne'er hath thire ben a celestine bodi so radiant in hits strengthihed..." At just a few feet away, the force would be lethal for a lesser person. Even for Bercilak, it's enough to have his bones audibly creaking. "...so wondrouse in hits savageri." With a triumphant bellow, he leaps forward and manages to make a drop-kick before his weight is slammed into the mat. Despite the immense force brought against him... last time they fought he'd said with a smile that there was nothing 'mere' about his force of will. That's proving to be the case here, because even as his fingers splinter he forces himself back to his feet. "Biside thee, iman is treuli fraisted as he might ne'er be som-other-quar." His chest heaves with exertion, but his face is utterly glowing. One last stroke of defiance, as if signing his name on a Valentine's card--he picks up one of those thrown weight plates, massively heavier than it was before, and attempts to use it as a bludgeon to drive straight into her chest.
Sylvi	It all works. That's the challenge. The threat posed - push back. She is the earth - move it. She is the vast expanse to cross, and the grinding finality of vast things re-settling. Crossing it takes some effort, of course. But Bercilak has more than mere force of will. A two-legged kick, spinning into a plated blow, bends Sylvi at the waist, a creaking budge that sends thick forests of spiderweb cracks backwards across the gym. Patrons WOULD cry foul, but those that are still in the room are smushed up against the mirrors and retaining walls of the place whimpering. Bercilak runs out of gas having brought himself before Sylvi, and she takes a clear pleasure in lifting her bare foot, toes in and heel out, high in the air. The sound it makes is like a waterfall head but in earthen roars, an avalanche building up steam. When it falls, heel down, on the center of his chest, the force hammers into him like an Era-ending meteor. Friction sparks from the air dance like fireworks from the descent of her foot, a sort of slow-motion implosion that ends with her whole foot planted triumphantly on his chest. It's really not so bad. The thick, discolored and warped padded mat underneath holds his countour well, making the whole thing into a rebounding force-immersion. The pressure, and the harmonic frequency of his atoms, calms down like the tapering end of a pleasant trip, and Sylvi flexibly leans down, planting a light 'smek' of a kiss on his right cheek. "Nice workout, dumbass. If you want to do better, get stepped on less. That's my tip this time. She lifts her leg slightly at the knee as she rises back up, just touching his broad chest with her dangled big toe. "Need a leg up, Jolly Green?"
Rubi-Kan Vagrants	The heel smashing against his chest breaks something, drives farther in than a person's chest should be able to withstand and survive. The (Jolly) Green Knight is pinned, down for the count. It isn't so bad! Because he's hanging out with Sylvi, and she's pretty great. He radiates warmth, pressing his cheek into that nice little peck, chuckling as his lungs re-form inside that broad chest. Her barb is borne with a quip for repartee. "Thou awene mismeningli if thou ithinke I like ille of hit," says Bercilak with a sly grin. He does accept her offer of help, though, so that he can stand up and brush a lock of her hair aside. "Thou'rt most sportli, Sylvi." he says warmly, fingers gingerly brushing across her chin. She's a lot of fun. "Mm. Ithinke I hit shalt be a few dais bifore I bete Samhain's asse. Him nedes of an asse-betinge for mo resons thanne his misbethinkinge, ani-wis. Hah!"
Sylvi	Sylvi's balance is perfect as she helps lift Bercilak to his feet. With an annoyed gesture the cracks and color disappears from the area, little fissures righting themselves with the exact same energy as someone annoyedly closing all the open drawers in the kitchen after a midnight snack. The stolen traits of the mats, and the reshaped crater Bercilak had come to rest in, smooth over. Sylvi's annoyance fades as Bercilak agrees that Shaw's assbeating is deserved and soon. "Good. Don't blow it. Since you asked for sport, how about we continue with the sport of kings? Me annihilating you at XBOX?" Sylvi asks while her thumb and middle finger pluck Bercilak's hand from her hair. Just to hold. For his answer.
Rubi-Kan Vagrants	"Bahaha. Wori not." When it comes to your bros, only a fellow bro, sis or otherwise pal can properly mete out the assbeatings. Vibe checks are the responsibility of all good friends who throw hands. The mention of XBOX draws a bright grin from the big green man. "Yea, verily!" He gives her hand a gentle squeeze. "I shalt come at thee thire as yerningli as in batail." Whether 'sport' is beating the shit out of each other, contact sports, or video games, Bercilak gives it 110% every time. "Lede the wai, beauteous Sylvi."
Sylvi	"It at least makes the contest a little more fair for all the other scrubs." Sylvi agrees, leading Bercilak off out of the gym. Hours later, he has shitty pizza and wings in the realm of Hel. For some reason, Sylvi uses the enormous XBOX classic controllers. Unlike contests of strength, Sylvi is far more beatable with proper shotgun active reload timing in Cover Shootmens.