IC INBOX | RYSLIG

[standless]

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.

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[detectivision]

[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.

[standless]

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!

[detectivision]

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.]

[standless]

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!]

[detectivision]

[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.]

[standless]

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!

[detectivision]

[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!]

[standless]

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