standless | IC INBOX

Tearing off a head, human or animal, does leave its traces behind.

[All of this is hypothetical, but it's fun to idly imagine, to think about what he would have done, had he been around to investigate those traces.]

But, here we are.

[They are coming up on a low building with metal mesh over its windows and an unfriendly look. Sherlock cheerily raps on the door, then calls inside:]

Mr. Karlsson? It's Sherlock Holmes! I've come to use your facility! I've a fellow monster with me -- open up and let us in!

[Jonathan's mouth opens. Jonathan's mouth closes.] ....That is indeed quite a good point, though that rather begs the question of why no one apparently found anything then...

[Incompetency, dear Jonathan!

.................anyway moving on-

Peering around his manticore friend, Jonathan beams in a way that one most certainly never sees in this place, and waves.] Hello!

[Yeah the official police sort of just suck--

--but, here comes a human, opening the inner, solid door while leaving the metal-and-mesh outer one closed as he peers at the visitors. He's older, grizzled, and cauliflower-eared, and he looks from the manticore to the demon with deep-lined frowning suspicion.

He's quiet a moment, lip curling at Jonathan's bright smile.

Then, he reaches out and unbolts the metal screen-door.

"Always a pleasure, Mr. Holmes," he says, stepping aside. "Ring two's free till the afternoon." It's growled, but it seems sincere.]

Thank you.

[He steps inside and leads Jonathan down a grimy, ill-lit corridor.]

This way!

[With a polite nod to the man- he must always be polite after all- he is happily following along after Sherlock.] Rather plenty time for a few bouts if we've until the afternoon! [he cheers, practically bouncing in his excitement.] I quite enjoy the energy of this building somehow!

[Spooky....ominous....he loves it.]

[Holmes's brows furrow, and his mouth quirks in unexpected amusement.]

Indeed?

[It's like looking at a puppy. This guy, honestly! Holmes looks wry, but his spirits seem a little lifted, despite the unshaven face and dark circles he's sporting.]

I'd have guessed it was a far cry from what you are accustomed to.

Oh yes! That's precisely the reason I would think- there's an aura of something unfamiliar, even daring! It's a little akin to how I think proper expeditions into the grand unknown would feel!

[Oh, you precious dumb aristocrat. You're the kind of person who would stroll into the Artic like it was Hyde Park, aren't you. By God, if Jonathan weren't such a wholesome fellow, Holmes would want to pull his cap down over his eyes and shove him out the door, but somehow he tapdances right through annoyance into endearing.

This great lumbering fool, Holmes thinks, with a fond kind of stress. He is going to fly to space and get himself killed.]

Well...welcome to the other side.

[He pushes open a metal door, rusty and covered in the scribbles of years of patrons inclined to vandalism, and steps into a cavernous open practice room: industrial, graffiti'd, cleaned to minimum standards, smelling of bleach and sweat and athletic vinyl. The light that comes through the nearly opaque ceiling windows is gray and grimy, and the humans practicing in two of the four rings with their knuckles wrapped and brows streaming are hard-edged and grimy as well.

Holmes heads for the lockers closest to the only empty ring, peeling off his gloves as he goes.]

[Jonathan, perhaps impossibly, seems to smile yet even wider when Sherlock says that- following along like a great excitable shepherd dog, deceptively docile and eager in appearance. There can be no doubt after all, that once he's in the ring it'll be a bout for the ages, even if they're treating it as a mere spar.

Eyes trailing briefly over the practicing humans, he's quick to follow after Sherlock, pausing only when he realizes a somewhat important matter.] Oh-

Sherlock, is there going to be equipment I can actually wear though? I assume we're to use gloves of some sort after all.

[Or perhaps wrappings? Those count.]

Let us see if it is still here.

[After all, theft, legal. Sherlock inspects the lock for a moment, then spins it open -- and, lo and behold, a few things remain in the locker, including hand-wraps, bandages, and some ointment for bruises and plasters for cuts. He gives a pleased sort of hum.]

It seems most of it was left in place after all. Someone has helped themselves to some of the ointment, but I can hardly begrudge them for it. Now, for gloves...

[Here, Sherlock starts down the row of lockers, his fingers hovering an inch or so over the metal, reading traces left behind by their previous users. Finally, he stops in front of one, sniffs the air, and --

-- pulls out a set of lockpicks and gets to work?!]

Oh?

[He's about to ask what Sherlock means by someone helping themselves to his things- it was locked though??- when the manticore pulls out a lockpick of his own.

Ah. It.

Well he supposes it makes sense now.] ...I see. I take it there is a sort of....unspoken agreement in place then?

All crime is legal, [Sherlock reminds him helpfully, his tongue blepping out between his teeth as he concentrates on getting the bent pin in at the right angle.] Anything left here is at your own risk.

[click! The lock pops open.]

There we go. As I thought.

[He reaches in and tosses a pair of boxing gloves to JoJo, taking a second one for himself.]

Oh! Quite!

[He's not sure if that means yes, or no, but he does catch the gloves with ease and sees if they fit on. On human hands, they would be a mite large- which is astounding from his perspective- but thanks to that little bit of leeway his claws won't be ruining some poor sap's gloves.]

Perfect! I'm ready when you are then!

[He does a quick job of shedding his waistcoat -- it's been altered to accommodate his wings, and he won't risk it being damaged -- and lays it over the ropes at the side of the ring. With a quick hop -- higher than a human could, manticores have natural doublejump -- Holmes vaults those same ropes, and lands lightly on his feet in the ring.

He puts up his hands in a fighting stance.]

In your own time, Mr. Joestar.

[Time to go! They're already turning a head or two from the rest of the room: it's a monster v. monster match!]

As with you! [Jonathan announces, doing much the same. Jonathan, to probably little surprise for Sherlock given the Felfri bouts, starts off with caution- pacing the ring, watching to see how the other will move. He is well aware after all, that despite being human in Felfri, Sherlock has the grand advantage- he knows how the demon fights, and more than that, knows the ring. Jonathan's feet are feeling around as he goes, getting a sense for the give of the floor, the weight that can, or cannot, be thrown.

Like some horse, or ox, he exhales deeply through the nose as he pauses in these motions- a conscious spurt of flame following the air and crackling out of sight in an instant.

What opening can he find, in the cat...]

[They circle each other at first, getting a feel for the ring.

Sherlock will make the first move -- testing little jabs, not full force, getting an idea of range. Jonathan's arms are longer, he has an advantage there, but Sherlock's quick. His strategy for the match will be to goad and bait JoJo into sending a punch, slip it and get in past Jonathan's guard, strike, and get out: he'll also work angles, try to get strikes in from the side. He fights fair but smart!

Any punches he does take from JoJo hit hard: he'll stumble and reel, but recover fast. ]

[Jonathan is not a small man, so his tendency for avoiding a blow is to back away rather than to try and sway to the side- he'll certainly do his best to read the direction and do the latter as needed however. He certainly doesn't want to be playing the defensive for the match however- that's not why they're here, and there's hardly any fun in a bout that poses no challenge.

Jonathan's hits are pulled- he aims for areas that are assuredly non vital, either through protection or otherwise. The blows move down, and come often from the front, a direct shot forward- and when he himself takes a blow it is as if he felt nothing at all.

Certainly he is- feeling it, rather- but Jonathan is one who has taken a knife by the blade using a hand, taken a saw to the arm, and done so without flinching.

The only tells that will be given for a blow, will be the bruises that come at the end.]

[Why does he know all these guys with incredibly insane pain tolerance? It makes it difficult to gauge, with monster-strength, how hard is too hard...

But Holmes pulls his punches with humans so much that it's nice to be able to free up that mental bandwidth for a change, and focus on technique. He fights clever but clean, above the belt with no risk of organ damage. He blocks a blow to his stomach with a crunch to the side, taking it on the upper arm and elbow, and though it hurts, he feels it reverberate through him. Yes, that's better, that jolt of adrenaline is putting him back into place, back where he belongs, in his entire body and not just behind his eyes -- it's what he needed from this.

Holmes feels like he's finally awake, for the first time since the Sjora's song pulled him under.]

You're as good as I recall, even without your hamon, [he says, during a circling-break, where they've made a little distance to catch their breath.] But you're holding back.

Naturally so- [He doesn't even hesitate to admit it- and in fact, sounds almost jovial as he does.] I expect that the both of us would be quite capable of putting a hole directly through the other if we were to truly focus my dear friend, but that's hardly the point of such a bout is it?

[Another strike, a slide, a jab-] After all, such tactics are befitting an assassination more than a tussle!

Worry not however Sherlock- I'm not holding back so much so that I could be aiming to teach another how to properly block; all I have restrained is the brute force, and no more!

Very well, [he replies, mollified by the assurance, and also a little bit by my dear friend. There is another exchange of blows and blocks, as Sherlock says:] As long as I have your word that that is the case.

[And he'll pick the fight up again in earnest, cheerier, starting to have real fun with it! Some humans are unimpressed, and some are watching with interest.]

Edited 2023-07-16 13:51 (UTC)

But of course!

[Jonathan never uses his feet, but after all this is boxing; his side jabs become a little more energetic as they go however, and the more excited he gets the more visibly heated he is- literally. Steam seems to rise off his skin, which for a manticore, will no doubt be no problem at all!]

[Nope, the heat doesn't bother him! Sherlock is also cheerier: he's left the events of April behind entirely, and all that matters is the game, the match.

The humans have started to divide the bout into rounds: there's a bell, now, and ninety-seconds-on-thirty-seconds-off.

Eventually, though, Sherlock will start to lag: he's put up a very good fight and kept it up with speed and harrying blows, but he's no simulacrum, he can't go forever. His reaction speed slows, and his hands grow heavy -- eventually, as the bell rings, he cries:]

Hold! Enough!

[There's sweat soaking his shirt, streaming down his brow, not from the heat but the exertion.]

Phew..... [And Jonathan does so- only now perhaps proving that he as well was being chipped at, bit by bit by little bit. Sweating himself, he straightens from his boxer's 'crouch', wiping at his brow as he nods.]

We're calling it there then I presume? [he calls out, beaming despite the exhaustion.] A wonderful showing, Sherlock! You're quite the combatant!

[As he fights to catch his breath, his clothing soaked:]

Thank -- thank you. You are -- you -- did not disappoint --

[wheeze! give him another second! he feels better than he has in ages and also like he's about to pass out!]

I am quite happy to hear that! [Jonathan wheezes himself, nodding vigorously.] Perhaps now however, we ought get ourselves some water?

IC INBOX | RYSLIG

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this is the part where i remember im pants at combat writing

THAT'S FINE WE'LL PAINT IT IN BROAD STROKES. ESTABLISH HOW IT BASICALLY WENT.

OKAY....I CAN DO THAT....

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WELCOME TO YOUR PRIVATE CHANNEL, JOJO. FOR SECURE COMMUNICATION, USE 336.66.256.63 * JOJO has joined 336.66.256.63 <JOJO...?>** Technically this message doesn't exist. Jonathan doesn't actually have a laptop. I just needed an Inbox.