Sakura had arrived into town and squared away a small apartment for herself. Later tonight she planned to go start her career at vigilante justice. To begin the work of cutting a bloody path through the criminal circles. Right now however the job was a simple one, with a home and plans for the night the redhead needed one more thing, somewhere to train. Combat sports was her life. Six years old her grandfather said "Aka I wish to teach you" from then on Aka was a nickname she had taken to and the Rose looked to study every means of combat she could find. She drove around town and looked for the first gym to really seize her attention.
This lead her to the Infinity gym the owner was preoccupied at the time out doing something else. This was a slight bummer as the rose waned to try her hand at the membership deal. This seemed the best domain though to practice, Aka was immediately drawn to the warm atmosphere. She signs up and then goes to change. A black karate gi was switched into. The v-neck went a bit low though the martial artist hadn't minded. It lacked sleeves showcasing arms that were remarkably wellndeveloped especially for her age. Aka wasn't going to sneak into any bars, was no hiding she was still young. Her physique though was sharpened to a weapon.
Rose wanted a partner someone to maybe help manage weights or who she could help. Or better yet a spar, Aka knew that was arguably an unfair desire to have. That said the vigilante enjoyed the act of fighting to much not to. Back in Osaka the woman had agreed to a contest from anyone be they a young martial artist like she had been to seasoned veterans. At the moment though the gym was fairly silent and nobody to interact with, hopefully it wouldn't last long for the moment though Rose took to the bags solo setting up her phone to provide some music.
Filament by Yousei Teikoku playing as the redhead began to assault a heavy punching bag hanging from the ceiling. The martial artist though nearly made the bag dance with her strikes. It's heft not halting it from feeling the force of countless mixture of kicks and punches. The song choice was metal and yet the ronin looked to strike it with the same kind of speed such a song provided. "Really could go for some company. Need to pick up more hobbies with friend potential."
The martial artist wasn't sure if it was just bad luck or not. Aka though couldn't help from letting the words slip. She was perhaps a bit to honest and transparent for her own good. The redhead was new to the city with right now nobody to call friend. Attitude of hers while incredibly comfortable in the ring wasn't looking for isolation or being the edgy loner. Amusingly despite being a monster as a vigilante she didn't wanted edgy tropes of individualism and isolation.
Spork is on the hunt for a new gym. The one they usually go to is still fine, but the clientele has been slowly and not-so-stealthily infiltrated by middle-aged men. Like, seriously, so many of them. It’s drawing every dad and uncle in the area out of the woodwork, and it’s nearing critical mass. One Spork can only tolerate so much Alpha posturing and Old Spice. They don’t want to spend every workout listening to golfing techniques.
And, yeah, okay, they did break the finger of one of the dads when he tried to “help” them with their weights, but no one can prove they did that. At least, not yet. But that (among other incidents) might show up in their ledger soon, so that’s just extra fuel for the new-gym fire. It’s either that or beg Mari to erase the video feeds, and they’re still stuck doing dishes for the next three days after the last favor they asked. No, thank you, they’re a strong independent Spork who don’t need no hacking prowess.
It’s not like they’re technologically inept. They were able to find their way to Infinity Gym just fine. And here they are! Totally doing the thing.
Now it’s just a matter of… finding everything again. Ugh. This is why they don’t change gyms. Getting familiar with a whole new layout is more trouble than it’s worth.
They’re wandering around, tapping absently at things with their cane, when they pass someone absolutely blasting some anime-type music. They listen for a moment, and from the sound of it whoever it is is also whaling on a punching bag like it called them names. Those are solid hits, with a good amount of force behind them and no pausing to tend to bruises from poor form. Nice. They decide they can overlook the weeaboo shit if this turns out to be a promising sparring partner. Anything is better than another dadly type.
“Hey.” They’re standing just out of arm’s reach, their hands folded over the top of their cane as it rests on the ground before them. “You wanna go a few rounds in the ring, or is that punching bag just that annoying?”
They’re wearing their usual gym fare: a tank top with arm slits that go all the way to their hips, a Miku-patterned sports bra, and track pants. It’s a delicate balance, looking both cool and unhinged, and they like to toe the line. They like to think of it as the preliminary test to see who can handle them.
"It dishonered my family it's a deserved beating." The redhead remarked taking a moment to lower the volume of her music before turning to face the woman who spoke. It was a fascinating sight to Aka, work out attire had a way of showcasing ones physique and the definition was there. With it though was the glasses and cane of the blind. Those facts alone thrilled her, Aka was no blind swordsman and her training hadn't necessarily gotten to far in deprivation of senses. She came here looking to challenge herself and one look at this woman gave her ideas on how she could try and improve. There was also the request to spar though no need getting lost in training ideas when a chance to fight was on the table already. One that thrilled her, Aka saw a fighter and it made her picture the coming fight of her against the blind swordsman she wasn't. She didn't see a disability she saw a marvel.
Though the fashion sense was a bit more questionable. Seemed to bombastic and uncoordinated. Then again wasn't like Aka could judge fashion. Part of her immediately went to thinking it a disarming tactic however. No reason to think it so she just wanted the states to be fantastical. For her she latched on to the idea of the odd get up as a ruse, because it enabled her fantasy of being a warrior in strange lands. 'Names Sakura, or Rose. There's a ring about seven paces to your left meet you there."
She wasn't sure if the woman would know Aka bowed but the ronin did so all the same. She considered saying Aka, that nickname she liked more. The ronin knew though she was likely going to introduce herself as Aka when doing vigilante stuff however if she gave a name instead of some heroic title. Though in hindsight a moment after she smiled at her stupidity. Her title was Decaying Rose, perhaps that was a stupid move on her part then to chose Rose instead. At any rate the ronin dashed to the ring. With a leap to enter the squared circle, it couldn't be helped on her end. For all her composure she could have at times the eagerness to spar could easily win her over.
Aka also just wanted to be in the ring first to offer a helping hand if wanted. She hoped it wasn't an offending gesture she just liked being there for fight enthusiasts. To her it was a motion she'd have done for anyone. "
"Make the first move whenever ready. If I may though, whats your perception of this place?" There was a set of brief pauses there. "See" was the word that came to mind but she tried to correct herself with "perception" a less direct word. She also had wanted to say "me" not "this place". That seemed to intrusive though or perhaps forward. Aka couldn't help her curiosity though she wondered how a fighter read to someone blind. How honed in was those senses? There was an excitement to Sakura in learning how a fighter and suroundings were taken in when denied the means most knew.
“Nice.” Spork follows Sakura to the ring at her direction, their cane tapping out the distance ahead of them until it meets the side of the raised platform. They bend to lay their cane on the ground and duck under the ropes, emerging within the ring and leaning back with their hands on their hips to stretch their back out. Maybe they should’ve taken some time to stretch first before throwing the gauntlet down. Oh well. Hindsight, and all that.
Ms. Cherry Blossom’s question is met with a blank not-stare and a quirk to their lips that makes their smile somehow more crooked. “Iunno. It’s got good reviews on Google. Do I look like Yelp to you?”
They stretch their arms over their chest, limbering up for a few moments more. “At least it doesn’t stink of Old Spice or B.O., am I right? Five stars just for that.”
They decide they’re warm enough and step closer to the center of the ring, listening for Rose and throwing a somewhat weakened, telegraphed punch towards her. No sense in going all-out, not if they actually want a spotter or sparring buddy. They keep their arms up like a boxer, their stance steady. No tricky footwork for them, no sirree.
A laugh escaped her a bit at the review. Though she didn't necessarily mind such smells herself. She had a love for gyms of places to train and fight these were her home and sanctuary. To her these places were almost sacred she didn't hold a grudge for such smells if the people were of decent nature. Even that might be suspect. Some criminals were not good people but who they were in the gym and ring was a person of sportsmanship and respect. Then again Sakura also knew her senses though sharp were still of someone who had them all. Perhaps her view might change if missing a sense. Was said after all that the remaining senses tended to elevate at the absence of another.
She observes the stretching and waits. A telegraphed fist comes toward the rose. Weakened she understood, one often had a reluctance to hit with full force and vicious intent. The obvious nature though did bother Sakura though. She sensed she was in company of someone who could fight better than they let on. The body looked someone capable and the showing was something less than that. A fist comes and the ronin dances to the side. Her footwork quite literally the opposite dancing out of range of the punch.
"I would love a sparing partner. But please show me who I'm actually working with."
The rose dashes in the footsteps said coming head on, then not. A slight hop to the side and low duck as the ronin seemed to suddenly flank the opponent. Her left arm was up ready to run defense while e right arm snapped outward in a brutal hook. A strike looking to connect between the lower ribs. Force behind the action was measured intent to hurt but not risk bone or something. While a stinging jab was thrown she wanted it clear she was clearly capable of more.
The move in came with pushing off her back foot. Fancy footwork looking to gain distance away from the opponent a moment after the strike. Give distance for a better showing of what someone could really do. Sakura hadn't looked to overly push the attack. She wanted to see what the other woman could do. Despite hopes for the fight though elements of who she was couldn't be so easily hidden. Her strength and speed was human. Her opponents outside had guns and superpowers that Ideally dwarfed her. There was a level of performance and skill Sakura expected from herself. To her she wanted new friends and people to practice abilities with, but she wasn't allowed to be overly soft either.
Their first hit whiffs by a mile, which Spork was kind of expecting. They would’ve been more disappointed if they had hit her with that weaksauce jab. They draw their arm back in a quick snap, reforming their guard. “Hah, got me there.”
Alright, so maybe they can afford to be a little less delicate. In their defense, they’re a nasty, dirty, down-in-the-muck brawler at heart, and they don’t tend to make a lot of friends by whaling on them right out the gate. Well, maybe one, but they've run into some damn weirdos. It’s a talent they’ve finely honed.
They listen to her footsteps as she dances out of range, and smoothly pivot to follow the sound. They’re braced for her to come at them head on, and are pleasantly surprised when a foot slaps down on their left at the last moment. Delight colors their voice. “Ooh, you’re tricky!”
The hit they weather easily, because what’s a fight without a few good bruises? But rather than letting her rabbit away, they follow her, aiming to crowd her against the railing as they retaliate with a few quick, speed-over-power jabs of their own, aimed at center-mass. If they manage to corner her, they think, maybe they’ll go for a grab and see if she’s light enough for a good old-fashioned judo flip over their hip. Those are always fun.
There was a change in posture, a loosening of muscles here tightening there. The actual fighter was starting to be dug from its hiding. It was an exhilaration. Sakura also had some respect for just being able to hide such a thing. She took to much pride into her training and conditioning. While she may as well have been a ninja in many ways she struggled to mask anything in a fight. The combat skills of hers were her world she could pull a punch but never conceal her affinity for punching.
The hook lands and the Rose is followed. Blow endured as the opponent goes for a combo of their own. The ronin's own hands dance each deflecting the shot. Speed matched as the modern samurai had always tried to hone her skills to the peak of what conditioning would allow. A throw was coming though and Rose wanted to see kust what someone could do. One might here it the most recent step lighter. Course the story that told might be different to the ear. Some details could get lost in a fight. The throw was allowed though and soon the five eleven martial artist was being thrown.
She was a woman well trained sure but still only human. At a hundred and seventy pounds the throw was doable.
A slam reverberates through the mat of the ring as the Rose falls. And almost immediately the ronin is lashing out once more. Legs snap out in a pair of kicks that look to strike each knee. Brief pull back and then snaking outwards again. They look to go for a brutally swift leg hold that pulls the right leg to the side with a vicious yank. The rose rotating in the motion in such a way as to aid her in returning to a upright position. "Martial arts is my passion. Tricks, styles, live for the stuff." She wanted to banter, to quip. That felt like what heroes did. She was still always more a fighter though and that won out. Simply sharing about herself. This kind of thing was in her veins. Flexing or bragging didn't suit her she spoke with humbleness about it. There was a fire though to it. The opponent in the ring with Spork didn't fight just to know to defend herself, or as a recreational hobby.
Ah, there’s nothing quite like the sound of a body hitting the floor. Spork can feel the sting of it in their hands, and their responding grin is more than a little feral. “You can take the kid out of the fight, but you can’t take the fight-”
The kick to their knees takes them by surprise, and they fall hard and sideways, slamming into the mat shoulder-first. Well, okay, yeah, maybe they should’ve expected that, but they thought the round was over when they threw her. That’s how it usually works when they spar with normies.
They roll onto their back easily, putting their hands up in a small gesture of surrender. “Hang on sparky, how are we calling the rounds? First to the floor? Cause if so I call foul, you gotta give a guy a little warning before jumping to round two.”
They prop themself up on their elbows while awaiting the response, their ear tilted in her direction. Their sunglasses are slipping down their nose already, and they take the opportunity to take the damn things off before they can get shattered. The shades can hang out in the pocket of their overshirt, they figure, sliding them into said pocket and sitting further up so that they can shrug off the overshirt and toss it out of the ring.
There was a slight smile at the name Sparky. It wasn't one she had heard before, it also wasn't one she necessarily thought fit her. Having said that it reminded her of her grandfather. He was the reason she was Aka and Rose so frequently she liked Nicknames because they reminded her of her first sensei and the man who had meant the world to her. "Sparky" reminded her of her favorite person to train with. She wasn't here for nostalgia however. "I want a sparring partner not a sanctioned match. Didnt consider rules. I'd say atleast should be down for a three count however."
One could hear it she was used to the rules in the streets more. The Rose was a competitor sure, she had ventured to many championships. Now though she sought to be a vigilante and some of that nature bled into her present attitude. She craved fights till a fight was done. Point systems and tapping out didn't always exist in the real world. "Break over samurai." Granted Sakura didn't know if the blind fighter was a sword user by any means. Blindness but a fighter though reminded her of blind swordsman movies. Samurai she thought a polite way to say such a thing. Not given a name, the nickname she went with was one of honorable warrior.
A moment allowed to respond then Sakura was moving again. A swift right hook the kind most had to back pedal to avoid. Her raw power while it might be a knock out usually though just went for the shoulder of her opponent. She wasn't going for a knock out but looking to have fun and test an opponent. This was a spar and for fun she didn't want it over quickly but to learn what someone could do. It flowed into a rising knee seeking to while one normally retreated to bash into their stomach. Her left knee was swift but it to held back. She didn't want to learn what the opponent had for lunch. It'd be showing more as her moves came out. Sakura knew fighting her movements wanted the fun to last she wasn't interested necessarily in winning.
Last move, with knee already raised she would seek to drop down in a vicious sweeping kick. Enough speed behind it she might knock over someone twice her size. Knock them over though not endanger bone. And efforts to drop an opponent had no follow up to try for a three count or hold. Ending a fight was now her job as a vigilante, in a ring like this though. It was about the fight, this was playtime to the rose.
“Alright,” Spork agrees, popping back to their feet. They can work with that. “Thumb war rules,” they mumble, almost to themself, and they smile at the thought. They’ve always been pretty darn good at thumb wars.
It has been a while since they’ve properly fought without Miku in their ear. Instinct carries them further than it should, really. They weather the first punch, rocked back but not off-balance, and then they know where she is. A turn to the side sees her knee grazing their side, and they retaliate by bringing their elbow in a sharp swipe towards her torso, finding it strangely lower than it should be.
Ah. Kicks are a usually neglected part of their regime, but they can recognize one when they feel it coming. They propel themself back in a not-quite a jump, and her foot catches their ankle razor-scooter style. They stumble, off balance, but they can’t help but laugh. “Damn, what are you made of? Iron?”
It really does sting. They’ve pushed through worse, though, and they lash out with a kick of their own, shin-first, leaning into the turn to get their feet back under them afterwards.