Eve Melona

[ĸara вelova★]

The MC's voice boomed throughout the theatre, "There are three guards. The competitor must disable them from attacking. They are not allowed to kill, or injure in a way that would kill, these men. Each guard that is rendered unable to fight, is worth one point."

A door opens, and light streams out. You can see the stage, and you are urged to go forward. When you enter the arena, the crowd errupts in loud applause and whistles. Some are chanting your name. But above this noise, the MC speaks to you, and you alone.

"Try to get as many points as you can, because the more you get in Stage I, the easier Stage II will be for you." The guards all turn in your direction.

"Let's see if Eve has Stage Fright!"

[Eve Melona !]

The determination in Eve's bright green eyes that day was daunting, and even though she was five foot nothing, petite and lightweight by anyone's standards, she stood on the stage with her shoulders back and her hands hidden in a pair of familiar black leather gloves, and truthfully, the girl was nothing short of formidable. She was a born athlete, nimble and clever with miles of natural slim muscle, strong bones and a right hook that had earned her Eve the Invincible. She had poured the better part of her life into boxing arenas and punching bags, determined and reckless and way beyond headstrong.

In truth, Eve wasn't really that different from anyone, she wasn't built special or superhuman. She was just a girl with strong hands and quick feet and the inability to set limits for herself. She had lungs that would keep breathing if you filled them with glass and a heart that could beat fierce enough to leave bruises on her ribs. The words no, give up did not exist to the Italian, and so the fear of losing, of quitting or just not being good enough had left her long ago, and without fear, people become capable of remarkable things. The road here was paved with too many broken jaws and bloodied knuckles to turn back. There were hours of promises and labor and demands, blood, sweat, spit, and in the darkest hours of the worst moments, in the sanctity of an empty locker room or the backseat of her car, there were even tears, and Eve fucking hated tears, and she hated injuries and so she figured that that they damn well better be worth something.

The crowd was making all sorts of noise, and generally Eve loved the racket, but this time she paid them no mind. She didn't look up, focused instead on the guards before her, and the announcers words above her. Eve already knew the faces that she would see in the crowd. Tristan would be there, because he was one of the few who had always been there, and Kaylen would too, even though she knew how little of the actual fight he would let himself watch. Draco might have been there, Elliot too, maybe, but strangely enough, the one person she was most that would be attending the gory spectacle was Neilen Darkshire; who was a friend of sorts, or more like a business partner and but mostly just like that uncle your mother never lets you hang around because he let's you drink beer and play with knives.

The announcer had quieted now, and the Italian girl was still doing her best to mentally breakdown her opponents past the fury of blood in her ears, ever calculating as she tried to decide if some broken wrists would do any good. She had fought multiples before, in the arena and the alley -because trouble never travels alone - but something about this was almost daunting, and a little out of place and it was then that like a light storm that the girl realized that this was probably the only sanctioned, legal fight she had ever been in. And she was getting paid for it (hopefully). The laugh that erupted from her then was sudden and surprising - even to her -, but it was easier than panicking and so her smile stayed firmly in it's place even as she charged forward, loosening her belt from it's loops as she did so.

[everything at the point is editable. 'what ifs' and what have you. i don't mean to godmod. all bow to the admins (: ]

Eve moved as quickly as she could, pressing her Gift and doing her best to avoid being too easy of a target as she suddenly reeled back her arm only to slam her fist into one of the guard's abdomen, hopefully causing him to double over long enough for her to grab the front of his shirt and fold it back over his head, trying to get the it as far behind his skull as possible. As soon as she had let go of the man's shirt, she grabbed for his hands with enough ferocity to leave bruises and gave her best try to keep her green eyes focused on the other guards as she wrapped her belt around the man's hands only to give him a swift kick in the stomach, knowing that he probably wasn't out of the game for good.

[Peyton Howard.]

There was something different about this girl. It wasn't even from being informed of the strange magic tricks the kids could pull, it wasn't from hearing the rumors about what some Leo guy did, or the rushed news of some diamond woman. It was in the way she stood, and the way she glared at them, the way she walked onto the stage, like she had nothing to prove and everything to gain. It was how there was no sense of fear coming off her.

Bruce was currently undergoing a legitimate experiment for the progressive purpose of science, or something, that required him to wear the Bat suit. The armor was heavy as hell but building his body to be that fit outweighed any kind of con that came with maneuvering or excessive physical activity. As far as his skill level in the suit went, that remained to be seen.

Logan was a little bit more conventional. He wore the standard issued combat boots given to him by the Corporation, and the rest were everyday jeans and a mere white singlet. He would have preferred to keep the metal claws with him, but props department for weaponry development or whatever had enforced a strict ban on taking equipment out of the labs; a highly publicized tournament like this was completely out of the question. Instead, he had a cigar. It probably wasn't good for his lungs or any other part of his body, he knew for sure that his hair smelled of smoke, but he could care less.

The third guard and the victim of Eve's first assault, remained unknown with the shirt over his head. Hands tied and more than sufficiently rough housed, he fell to his knees, hands bracing against the floor, a muffled groan coming through the fabric.

These men were fighters, or they were meant to be anyway. Fate was either unkind or just too knowing; Eve Melona attracted the most intense sort of attention. If anybody was going to have a hard time completing the first stage, it was going to have to be her. In the world, people like her were the ones who earned their lives, and these men were nothing more than intentionally placed obstacles to make it just that bit harder.

Bruce attacked first, going for a direct right hook while his left arm blocked, and then an uppercut that was strong enough to dislodge a few teeth. He was a bastard, even more so than Logan; always aiming for the head, not out of practicality but out of some sick form of inner satisfaction. Logan walked calmly over and used his foot to push the third guard out of the way, before steering clear of Bruce and aiming a high kick to the left side of Eve.

[Eve Melona !]

Eve looked at the men before her and she knew what it would come down to. This wasn't a battle of wits or Gifts or even strategy. It was a fight, because that's what they knew and understood and that's what worked. She couldn't make herself disappear or generate fireballs, and honestly, she didn't care because she didn't need the advantage, and her methods were impressive and effective enough as they were. That wasn't to say that strength alone was going to win this for her, because Eve was a tough little nail, but these guards were twice her size and Logan's arms looked nearly as thick around as her torso. Though, their strength, and more importantly, their size, she began to realize, could work to her advantage compared with her speed.

And then they were suddenly all within a breath of each other, and if Eve hadn't been the queen of the right hook, then Bruce surely would have knocked her on her ass right then. Thankfully, she recognized it and jerked out of the way, inwardly thanking her lightening reflexes only to be cut short by the man's vicious uppercut. The approach of the other opponent had stolen her attention and the man in the bat-suit had stolen it back with his fist. She gasped, teeth slamming together and eyes watering as she jumped back, trying to get out of their reach long enough for her vision to return and her bearings to set back in; she could practically see the little cartoon birds swirling around her head. She licked her lips, tasting the familiar copper twinge of blood as the static faded from her green eyes and then Logan's kick nearly took her head off and Eve couldn't really think about strategy anymore because she was just pissed. Fuck you she thought without even realizing it, spinning out of the way with her fists already curled tight. She hated how they much taller they were than her, significantly, because she wanted to kick both of them in the face. She wanted to headbutt them, just to show she could. Obviously, she was going to have to drop them down a few levels.
'Sancte Michael Archangele, defende nos in proelio;'

Eve dove in head first then. She gained a touch of sleep and flipped forward, landing with on her feet and with carefully bent knees to the noise of the crowd. She ducked past Logan, staying close enough to irritate him but whizzing by just out of his reach. What she did keep in her field of reach however, was Bruce's cape, which was something that she found a little ridiculous, but was nonetheless wildly thankful for. The Italian curled her fists around the dark fabric and used one quick burst of her force to yank him backwards, hoping to throw him in reverse and maybe to the ground, but at the least he would stumble, and even just that was good enough for her. It would be in the middle of this stumble that Eve reached for the man's wrist, hoping to yank his arm backward while she shoved her palm forward, into his elbow. She had the reflexes of The Matrix, but the outcome of Bruce's arm, - that is, broken, or not broken - really depended on if she was lucky enough to grab him in just the right places*.

* haha. that's dirty.

[Peyton Howard.]

The first thing they both noticed, was her speed. She was an agile little thing, and that was on top of everything else she'd displayed she knew. Bruce thought that if she had been a little taller, a little bigger, she probably would have gone for his face, damn the mask.

One unfortunate aspect about his suit, was his cape. Despite his complaints, they still insisted he keep it even though he knew it would come to bite him in the ass one day. The girl ducked out of sight and he lost her for a moment before the tug set him off balance. A girl of Eve's size would never really succeed in completely throwing him off, but he fell back all the same before he placed a foot back to steady himself, an arm stuck out from habit. That was his mistake and he realized too late what her intentions were.

He hadn't intended to have an arm down for the count this early, but though it wasn't audible, he had felt the disgusting shifting of bone even with the armor he wore on his arms. His elbow made a tiny snap when it couldn't go back any further and he repressed the exclamation of pain. Phantom of the mind, he told himself, and then when he couldn't help it, a quiet; "oh, fuck."
Bruce whipped around, pushing against the pain and adding more pressure to the hold she had on him, pinning her where she was as he brought out the issued steel batons, extending it in one, violent move as he aimed for her back.

Logan was a little bit more lucky, in that he could wear whatever the hell he wanted to, but more because she hadn't yet done anything to him. His kick had been lazy, but he was wary as hell; he couldn't be sure if her super quick reflexes were her gift or if she had more packing. So far, the third guy was still being useless and Bruce had lost the use of one arm. Logan had dropped back out of the circle, and when Bruce aimed for her back, he jumped forward and bent low a little, adding more force to the punch aimed at her side.

[Eve Melona !]

The twisted sound of Bruce's bones and armor crying beneath her force, filled Eve with another surge of confidence – not that she needed it. His sudden movement caught her off guard and it wasn't so much the pain of the steel baton at her back, but the perfect sharpness of it, that she found so suddenly cruel. Her bones seared beneath the force of the weapon, but she absolutely couldn't, wouldn't, didn't think about it. Logan was swinging at her and she was seeing red, so pissed and biased that she was hardly avoiding him. The Italian yanked on Bruce's injured arm once more, maybe out of strategy but probably more like spite, before aiming a swift, heavy kick right for Logan's chin with the toe of her man-eating combat boots and the emphasis of her lighting reflexes.

The Italian did her best to twist herself around in her position, so her back was facing Bruce's chest and she could aim a few vicious elbow strikes at his face, throat and chest area.

[Peyton Howard.]

Later on, the Corporation would go with the story that the contestants had been freaks with revved up DNA or something; one man with the strength of ten, and a girl with the strength of twenty. They wouldn't mention these losses again, but to be fair, they weren't really selective with their employees. Bruce was a floozy in reality; pretty underneath that mask, with a drink in hand and girl on the arm constantly. The man liked a good time and fast cars, he wasn't necessarily the cut-throat fighter that should have been required for the tournament.

He grit his teeth and his cry was strangled, he probably shouldn't have made her so angry. His elbow was completely gone and he couldn't even hold it against him to keep it out of the way. His arm hung loose beside him and the knowledge that his bat had made impact was fleeting.

Logan, who was an angry drunk at best, literally received a face full of cigar and rubber. He was close to her in the most optimum way, because of his previous punch, and her foot connected with his chin, snapping his head back, the feeling of bone being driven into the back of his skull the only conscious factor about him. The man fell back, body completely languid as his back and then his head bounced and thumped a few times against the concrete.

"OH MY GOD! WATCH THE REPLAY!! Logan is K.O'dddddddd!!!!!!!! You can't touch her!"
The MC was going nuts, and the crowd was even wilder. They loved an entertainer, and Eve Melona was worth the price of the admission ticket. She was exciting, enigmatic and damn cute. Her boyfriend in the crowd was freaking out, but the small contingent of Evites - The Official Army of Eve Melona - were even worse. They had signs reading, 'THIS IS EVE !!!!!' where her head was on the body of Gerard Butler, and they were waving around a collection of novelty boxing gloves about the size of a small child.

Bruce grunted, his suit constricting most movement. He copped an elbow to the throat just as he was bringing down the butt of the baton toward Eve. His aim became shot, and what was meant to have been directed to her stomach was instead diverted to her shoulder. He stumbled back and clutched his throat, struggling to breath.

In all the commotion the first guard, now the last guard, who's hair was really this long, had finally removed himself of the belt around his wrists. Will righted his tunic and gave her a smirk.

[Eve Melona !]

Eve was suddenly wildly grateful that they were TiVOing this competition. She had felt her boot contact bone, Logan's jaw yielding to the hard rubber and steel-toes, but she hadn't seen it. She had even missed him hitting the ground, the way his cigar exploded into a miniature firestorm and his head bounced against the concrete – but she knew the crowds hadn't, and the camera certainly wouldn't, and so the satisfaction that the man was out for the count, and that she could replay the sanguinary scene all she wanted later, would have to be enough for now.

Bruce was going down too, though not without a fight, and as he gasped for air somewhere behind her, the brunette had to muffle a noise of surprise as the baton whipped across her shoulder. She swung around on a dime and closed the space between her and the choking Batman. She aimed a sharp knee for his gut, or maybe somewhere a little lower, before snatching up his weapon*.

It was the first guard or rather, the last guard, that had her full attention now, and when Eve's eyes secured the gaze of her final opponent, the steady emerald was practically burning. Her expression was flushed, the blotches of red obvious against her dark cheeks, and she could feel – and nearly hear - her heart hammering against her chest, almost ready to take off by itself.
Sancte Michael Archangele, defende nos in proelio.
The Italian took a deep breath, her courage returning.

Eve curled her fingers around the steel baton, knees bent and shoulders back as she tried to ignore the way her mouth still tasted of blood. She raised her chin and the smirk glowed in her eyes, “You're it.”

[Peyton Howard.]

There probably wouldn't be any lasting damage to Bruce, except to his ego and faith in himself as a man, but that didn't mean it didn't hurt a hell of a lot in the moments that Eve stuck her elbow into his throat and her knee into his balls. Oh, he thought, his eyes going wide through the bat mask, his mouth open though air failed to enter, and his hands automatically went to between his legs even as he crossed them like a girl desperate for the ladies room after a few solid hours of drinking, eager to break the seal. Fuck, and he fell on his knees, not even taking into account the jarring, and fell to his side like a shell-shocked victim, to traumatized to move.

"SHE'S KILLED BATMAN!!!!!!!!!" The MC announced and the arena responded in a roar of approval. At present, there were 300 Evites in attendance, the next odd a hundred who wished to purchase tickets being served a sore rejection. Across from them were Project Eve. No one knew much about them except for that you didn't talk about Eve and that you most certainly did not talk about Eve. They boasted one sign only and it read, 'MISCHIEF. MAYHEM. EVE,' and for the remainder of the Stage, they aggravated everyone around them and yelled out poetically crude forms of encouragement.

Will, who could only look at her and feel like there was something familiar about her face, made him think there was something familiar about himself, twisted his lips to resemble a grin. She was a firecracker and he was even a little grateful that she'd taken out all the basterds before he'd had to deal with her, but despite the way she seemed to stand a whole two feet shorter than him, he wouldn't allow any of it to get in the way of his objective.
The pirate pulled out his weapon and beckoned to her to bring it.