A Light to Call Her Own: Winter Songbird vs Shimmerlace Snuggleblossom (Apex Qualifier)

[Malkavia]

That was neat.

The bit with light was the flight—flight as real, as huge, as bright as any skystreak Shimmer had ever spied. And that sucked the breath right out of her lungs and stretched a big goofy grin on her face.

But what twisted her stomach with just a quick bite of jealousy was the half-second or so your weightless Songbird spent balanced on the rope. Perfect. Tightrope walker. It was blink and you miss it setup, but also a skill not easily torn from the cold jaws of craft.

Your Songbird lept, caught wind, and dove at Shimmerlace, ribs into face, and the Feychild went stumbling back, careening. Then she caught her balance, and... Winter was in her arms.

"Man. That was—" Shimmerlace looked down at Winter with newfound appreciation. Her lips quirked a half a smile. It was like day one as a new wrestler, when every body chop gleamed with the promise of something spectacular. She shook her head. "I mean, it didn't do a ton. But. I still fuckin' hate you for that. Lil skybird."

And with that, she took that kernel of envy, shifted her grip to cup Winter's hips, and flipped her upside down. In the same quick motion, she lifted her up, gave a hop, and aimed to drive the wee angel's head into a bedtime fluff of blue canvas. Brainbuster!

Though one of these days, she mused, it should be. Crossbody! Except. Lethal!

[Monsy]

Flying was how you reached the Sun.
At least, that's how she internalized what Nikki said:
It's important they see you fly, Winter. You become inhuman to them, far beyond their skillset. Much like you are on-stage, they will admire you like the Angel that you are. And that's what's important to me.

Of course... She didn't gloss over the consequences of this style. The crashes, burns and landing in ferns. Nor that she can simply be absorbed! Frankly, this was a first time for Winter, who looked confused. She expected something to happen, really, but -- alas, she was frozen in Shimmer's mid-air. "Uuuuuum--"

A flaw in Vorona's teaching was that Vorona herself wasn't a highflyer. So, when it came to this, what to do next was a full-on blank brain. She did appreciate Shimmer's comment, however, smiling and nodding. "Many thank yous!" But... Skybird? Winter piped in, "Angel."

Fully limp, Winter was steadily heaved like a burlap sac, filled with potatoes. First, the blood rushed to her head, then her head was locked, hips pressed on and she kicked the air before dropping straight onto her neck and head. GONNGGGGG.... There went her thoughts.

Winter's momentum carried her up-right, where she blinked rapidly, arms slack, body slack -- then slowly crashed to her back again. She sprawled awkwardly with her arms and legs.

[Malkavia]

Yeesh.

LAW liked their mats noisy. It was one of the things Shimmerlace noticed the first time she stepped into the squared circle. The entire ring was one big drumhead, and going for a light stroll sounded like like a bolero drumline. Plunk plunk plunk. So. When your Feychild took an angel and tilted her around and CRACKED the girl's head into the middle of it, the sound it like a mountain splitting. She almost felt guilty—though that didn't stop her from having some fun. Winter rolled up, and before she slowly slammed back down, Shimmerlace slipped around in front of the Angel, pursed her lips, and blew on her.

Thump. Down she went.

Shimmerlace stretched, like a cat getting up from a nap, then worked her way to her feet. She rolled her neck, squeezing out the cricks and cracks, while she considered Winter. Even horizontal, she was a beautiful sight. Perhaps the gods really had gifted the ring with an angel. Her hair formed a halo the color of a late-twilight sky, with a line of sunset cresting through to her cloud-soft masked face.

I oughtta take that mask.

But—such was a rude impulse. One didn't deface angels. She shook it off. Instead, she looked to the ropes, fingers on her chin. She'd hungered for sky for a good while, now, with Eleanor buoying her up with practice chalk targets.

...Still, if she was gonna go for it, she was going to make damn well sure it landed. She leaned down, took Winter by her shoulders, and dragged her about a third of the way towards the ropes. She bit her tongue, head cocked and brow curled, then lay the girl down. And brushed off her chest. "Mmmmhm. Good good. Right 'n proper. And..."

...And—presto! Time to make light. She charged away from Winter towards the ropes at the far end of the ring, hit and bounced and got going. Full speed! Fey wings at twenty Seelie knots! Then she got back to the close-in ropes, lept to the second rope and dove backwards with a corckscrew spin with her elbow out, aiming to crack the sweet angel face with an elbow drop!

[Monsy]

Seven different flavours of ow griped her.
Ow. Ugh. Mmngh. Guh. Hughhh. eeoughooo… blegh.
She became a potato sack that rested fresh on the canvas, preem and proper for whatever our Seelie friend had in mind. The crowds certainly had a stir of it, and reacted in favour of their crossbody-countering brainbustering fairy. Somewhere in those seats, oddly separated by at least one empty chair on either side, was someone who didn’t take the reaction too pleasantly. Her brow was raised, legs over the other, hands in a pile and she sat silently like the crow that she was. Thinking.

Shimmer already took good advantage of Winter’s drunkenness. Dragged, her body slid and squeaked across the mat until laying flat, spread eagle in almost every direction. She started to stir, with the mat rumbling beneath her body and the shadow of Shimmerlace swallowing the sun. Winter awakened to a shooting star.

“EEK-! No-No!” Then turned over, and let it crash as unsafely as they might.

She had crossed her arms in this singular motion, with her cheek laying over crossed forearms, peeking out one eye, and said through a drawn out, laboured voice, “Aaack. I… Sorrying.”