Feral [Nireva]

[Christian Moynahan]

Go back and forth until it's learned
To suffer now or nothing's gained
Then wake within a freezing sweat
Push and pull, collecting doubt
Starting seeds
-Chevelle, "Tug-O-War"

Regaining an ideal weight was difficult when one's metabolism was accustomed to maintaining the current state of one's body. Christian was learning that the hard way. After going some two or three weeks with little and irregular sustenance, and losing weight because of it, he was attempting to regain his usual figure, rather than looking like a well-dressed skeleton. That was not as bad as it was, but he perceived it that way, and it was true that he was thinner than he had been just a month before.

That was still the case, to some extent. In a bid to defeat his metabolism - which was usually a boon, but was now working against him - he was eating often, large meals to build up some bulk. But while that did add to his weight, it did nothing for his figure, which is where the exercise came in.

He had returned to his usual practice of going for runs every morning he could, and he was setting aside more time to work out. There was a particular gym downtown that was especially large, and included a variety of workout of options, from the usual weight rooms and running equipment to swimming, racquetball, basketball, and martial arts. The last of those rooms was often cleared of its mats and used for dance lessons as well.

Christian had tried all of those save the dance classes, to help mix up his routine and make the workouts more interesting, and to vary the parts of his body that he worked on. He had always taken a sort of pride in his shape, so it was no problem for him to take time out of his schedule for it. When she heard of it, Fallon added that the image would be better if he were nice and toned than if he had the same frumpy shape as most CEOs. Christian had rolled his eyes then, but he did know she had a point. He was part of a new generation of CEOs, younger, brighter, and more apt for media attention, a model for others to aspire to just as actors and musicians were.

"Business is the new sexy," as she had put it. He certainly had not needed her motivation, but it did give him another reason to get up early in the morning, or late at night, or in the middle of the day sometimes - usually Sundays - to get back in shape. He had done his due diligence toward ending the cholera outbreak, and, although he knew there was another calamity looming over their heads, it was the sort that did not require him to spend days in a laboratory. It might require him to fly a bit, but otherwise, he would not be nearly as sedentary as he had been.

So he reported to the gym once again, this time dressed in a loose sleeveless grey T-shirt and dark blue jogging pants, because he had already decided that he would practice with the others who might have gathered in the martial arts training room. He could usually find someone there available to spar with him. Some of the regulars recognized him and thought it funny to fight with the CEO of Ark Industries, right until their faces met the mats. Others did not recognize him, and sparred with him for the practice. He preferred those.

This time, when he walked in, there was only a small crowd, which he also preferred. He almost always had the upper hand in these practice sessions, so it was not a matter of being embarrassed, or of being a public figure; he just liked the quiet of a nearly empty room. There was something serene about it, like in karate-themed movies and the like where the practicing was done under cherry trees in bloom or somesuch.

A small wire traveled from his right pocket to split into a set of earphones. Perhaps in contrast to the rest of the patrons who were listening to music, there was a horn concerto streaming into Christian's ears. In other cases he might have chosen rock or alternative, but before any kind of self-defense practice, he preferred something that would properly sharpen and focus his mind. He walked in and dropped a small duffel bag into one chair and sat himself in the chair next to it, his eyes closed, allowing the horn concerto to finish. It was entirely possible that the few individuals there might have seen him enter, or might have missed him completely; he had a tendency to come and go quietly, slipping past almost like a shadow, even when he was not trying to be discreet.

When he opened his eyes, his gaze immediately fell upon a familiar figure. There were others in the room, of course, but one always tends to recognize those one knows first. In this case, it was both strange and a touch unsettling. One encounter was chance, two were coincidence, but three…. In truth, the first time they had met, he had arranged it on purpose, and the second time, he had not completely expected to see her, but he had seen her name on the Jung Facility roster, so he had been aware of the possibility. This third time was completely and utterly by chance. He knew, of course, what it would look like, and he would absolutely not blame her for thinking he was stalking her. He could do without the restraining order, however.

He was not sure whether she had already noticed him. There was a way out regardless; he could simply choose to do something else today, and likely not cross paths with her at all. But Christian was not the sort of man to bow out of something he had already set his mind on just because of appearances; and in case she had seen him, it seemed more prudent to own up to having been there. Besides, anything else would have been cowardice.

After turning off his music player and tucking it into his bag, which he left on the chair, he stood up and, stretching his arms as he did, walked up to Nireva, offering her a smile. "We've got to stop meeting like this, Miss Hale," he joked lightly, although there was some earnestness to his tone, as betrayed by the next part of his statement, "or you may begin to think unconscionable things of me." The stalker theory might have, if one knew Christian well enough, been dispelled anyway, by the way he was dressed; if he wanted to meet with someone, the gym was one of the last places where he would do so, and workout clothes were one of the last forms of attire he would be caught in. While he was not exactly a fashion snob, he did like to project a certain image.

All the same, he had already decided he was going to "go with the flow" on this. "How are you today?" he asked, while starting on his usual set of stretches lest he become too distracted by talk to remember to do them.

[Nireva Hale]

Fragments of torture!
Existence revealing the whispers of a lonely ghostland...
...by shadows enlightening the souls of the evil of darkened graves and mortal pain!
______________________________Rhapsody Of Fire - "Sea Of Fate"

With her life steadily growing more hectic as a result of both her university education and her work with the Jung Facility, Nireva had realised that a few facets of her life - facets she freely admitted she enjoyed - were being neglected. Before her stepfather - or would stepmother be more appropriate now? - had offered to pay her way through to a medical degree, the problem of exercise was one quickly solved. Before she decided to expand her already considerable knowledge by immersing herself in academia, she considered herself to be a rather free-spirited soul. Having been estranged from her similarly immortal mother - the seven-hundred and thirty-one year old Felicia Rahal - for the better part of four centuries, Nireva was uniquely able to truly do as she wished, without the nagging feeling of possible disapproval lurking over her shoulder.

The latest in a long, long line of such activities was her decision to take up exotic dancing. Although it was a rather callous train of thought to which someone could cling, Nireva didn't care what the more restrained members of the populace could or would have thought about an attractive "twenty-something" baring almost all she had to offer while gyrating to music or contorting herself around a steel pole. When she was capable of outliving just about every person, machine, organism or other biological phenomenon she saw in the world provided she was willing to wait, the notions of the time meant remarkably little to her. Things which were the definitions of social existence to some, such as selective intolerance and overblown reactions to various slights, were nothing more than flavour-of-the-month fads to her. The attitudes of governments and the politicians who comprised them were a lot like the plotlines in professional wrestling; elements of both being recycled every few years.

It was during one evening, when her performance had been punctuated by a brawl in the audience, that Nireva was able to realise something startling. Although she had lived through wars, pandemics and various forms of bigoted mistrust, her only combat experience had been in the form of Renaissance-era fencing. Modern legislation had made owning a sword illegal outside of use as a display piece and, after many years of stagnation, she now had no real inclination to take up a blade. Settling disputes of honour wasn't even legal anymore; at least, not in the way she remembered and, while she could have simply bought herself a gun and gone through all of the necessary training to obtain a concealed carrying permit, she had instead elected to do something more fun which would help to keep her body in shape.

After searching the internet for the locations of local martial arts dojos, she eventually settled on learning Aikido; a style which focused more on countering incoming assaults rather than dishing out the punishment although, in order to apply the numerous techniques correctly, practitioners of the martial art - known as aikidoka - were required to practice intently on doing both. In the three years preceding her enrolment at university, she had gradually risen through the ranks as her free time allowed and, before her lifestyle had effectively forbidden her from attending lessons at a dojo, she had only just finished celebrating becoming a yudansha; a holder of a black belt.

This meant that, at least at the dojo she'd attended, she was now permitted to wear a hakama - a pair of usually dark-coloured, wide pleated pants - in addition to the training uniform worn by everyone else. She had bought one but, as of yet, she still hadn't worn it in an official environment. Both it and the rest of her gear lay in a box in her wardrobe, all but forgotten. Rather than allow her expertise to stagnate, however, Nireva had simply resorted to practicing in her local gym. Over and over, she ran through as many of the waza, or techniques, as she could recall from her sensei's lesson structure. Occasionally, she found herself challenged to a friendly spar by another similarly inclined individual. Arguably, testing her skills against someone who wasn't an aikidoka was even better than attending the dojo. The attacks which came her way were inherently unfamiliar, forcing her to delve deep into her muscle memory in order to find the correct technique to effectively fend them off instead of simply knowing what her partner was going to do and using the corresponding opposite.

As such, her record wasn't flawless by any stretch. There had been a couple of people here and there who were equally studious in their craft, such as the middle-aged Chinese restauranteur who had hidden a wealth of knowledge of Wing Chun beneath his otherwise sedate exterior. Both he and a hotheaded - and decently attractive - mixed martial artist had taken her completely by surprise, rendering her flat on her back over the course of their three or four-minute showdown. They'd all come away fitter and more knowledgable for the exertion and there had been no harm done. The restauranteur had been especially pleased to know he could still give people "half his age" a run for their money.

Today, however, the gym was mostly empty. Having arrived on a Thursday mid-afternoon, the majority of adults were still hard at work and it was only because of a rare day off that Nireva herself was even present. The large, mat-covered area which dominated the room reserved for martial arts training was similarly desolate and, with it being the quietest place in the whole area, she'd chosen it as her place to begin. With her flat shoes sitting on a chair beneath the bag she'd brought, she had busied herself with stretching out her limbs in silence for the past ten minutes. The fact she was barefoot was a habit brought over from her time in the dojo. Shoes and other types of mundane footwear were generally not permitted in order to avoid damaging or dirtying the tatami mats on which they practiced and, as such, it was encouraged that aikidoka left their footwear in an adjacent locker room until their lesson had concluded.

"We've got to stop meeting like this, Miss Hale..." Nireva was busy stretching out her legs when she heard Christian's voice. With her shins and feet against the mat, the rest of her body was draped over them, her vision pointing skyward. It was an awkward pose to serve the purpose - and one which may or may not have revealed her dancer's flexability - but she felt it did the job nicely, especially when in conjunction with the more mundane stretching exercises. Swinging her head back up, she returned to a seated position on her knees and rolled her shoulders with a smirk on her face. "...or you may begin to think unconscionable things of me."

"Unconscionable things?" Feeling that she had done more than enough stretching to avoid accidental injury, her body remained still as she almost meditated while she spoke, her breathing deep, slow and calming. "Of you? Why would I ever do such a thing, Mr. Moynahan?" With a brief glance over her shoulder, she noted that Christian's attire was decidedly uncharacteristic for his position; his finely pressed suit gone in favour of a set of jogging pants and a t-shirt. Of course, with her own clothing similarly abnormal, Nireva was unable to deliver an amusing comment on the subject.

Although they'd met in a restaurant and effectively had lunch together on the UCLA campus, this was the first time that she had seen Christian Moynahan doing something truly mundane. Like many other people, he went to the gym to keep in shape. Could it be that the new head of the oft-reviled Ark Industries was actually human? "How are you today?", he asked, beginning to stretch out his own body as she had done earlier.

"Not bad," she sighed, remaining seated with her vision fixed on the corner of one of the mats. Bringing her body into a semblance of spiritual serenity was just as important in Aikido as the techniques themselves and, after having the habit drummed into her for three years, it was proving hard to break. Then again, when she felt good afterwards, why would she? "I actually have a day off for once, so I thought I'd come out here. What about you? Needed time away from geneticists, PR people and Armani suits?"

[Christian Moynahan]

Finding symmetry so hard to achieve
Expectations test abilities
Life is but a dream
And I sleep, let us see…
-10 Years, "Patiently"

Although he had noted the oddness of her stretching pose upon approaching Nireva, he was not entirely confused or surprised by it. There was little that surprised him at all; Nireva's presence had, but, following that, the idea that she might be proficient in some form of martial arts had only come naturally. This was the self-defense training room, after all, where everyone - the few people present now, at least - were practicing some form of such training. He was there for the same.

The possibility that they might end up sparring had also been a natural conclusion. Up until now, he had not practiced with anyone he knew, largely because he knew hardly anyone in the city aside from his coworkers. Many of those coworkers probably worked out, but he had not stumbled across them in this particular gym, which was some distance from the Ark Industries headquarters. Additionally, he was at the gym at strange hours of the day. He had decided to take the afternoon off this time, which had made for a fairly empty gym - the patrons it attracted being university students and businessmen in significant numbers - which was a nice option for the day. He was still very self-conscious about the amount of weight he had loss and the weight he was putting back on, depending on the day; sometimes it bothered him, sometimes it did not.

Today it did, and he had just happened to visit at the same time as Nireva Hale. He doubted she cared about his shape, and, being that they were only distant acquaintances still, it did not bother him in terms of her presence specifically, but the general thought of someone seeing him in this state was a bit distressing. Lucius would have tsked at him. The last time Lucius had seen him, Christian had already lost most of that weight, but that meeting had purely been via video chat, and the loss would only have been apparent in his face, if that.

The Kilvaynes had, in conjunction with the CDC and many other parties, found a stable and reliable treatment for the strain of cholera that had threatened so many American lives, and that treatment had wound up being based on Christian's antibodies. He had proven immune to every version of the strain's mutations, and, according to his own testing, would have continued to be immune if the disease followed the same general pattern it had; that led to Christian being not just a part of the studies, but of the cure itself. It was an odd thing to be proud of, but Christian was glad for the role he had been able to play in bringing that disease down. The FDA had approved the treatment quickly - due to no small amount of pressure delivered by Dr. Kilvayne Senior, Dakari Johessman, and an army of other lawyers, as well as the CDC and other departments, and very soon, it had been distributed widely, and had, by most accounts, saved tens of thousands of lives. Only then had Christian allowed himself to return to his normal habits.

There had led to here, with Christian observing Nireva as she seemed to mediate in that odd position. He was also stretching, and, admittedly, also in somewhat uncommon ways. He had learned a bit of many self-defense techniques, which he was aware made him very much a "jack of all, master of none," but he liked the variety. Wing Chun, Krav Maga, karate, and taekwondo were a few that he had dabbled it, but the ones he had stuck with - as much as one can "stick with" one thing while bouncing around several others - were kickboxing, Capoeira, and Brazilian jiu-jitsu. Each of those included elements that appealed to him - the practicality of kickboxing, the acrobatic nature of Capoeira, and the focus in jiu-jitsu of a smaller person being able to defeat a larger, stronger opponent. At six foot two, he was not entirely small, but he was slender, and, in his opinion, not incredibly strong. Additionally, he did not like to be dependent on his ability alone; he wanted to be able to defend himself on his own, or at least use the two in combination, which was why he had also picked up some weapon-based arts in the eight years since his manifestation.

He chuckled at her assurances, whether they were meant sincerely or humorously or both. "That's good to know," he said, starting to stretch his calves, which in this case meant he was standing on one foot, with the other folded behind him, and his torso bent parallel to the leg he was standing on, his balance perfect. Previously, after greeting Nireva, he had been on the ground, stretching from his thighs and feet in various positions. He had always been somewhat flexible, but the study of so many techniques had made him more so, and even when he was not at the gym he often did stretches to keep his limbs from falling sedentary - while sitting for long stretches of time in his office, or while working or reading at home. That practice had fallen by the wayside with those weeks spent in the lab, unfortunately, as his attention had been focused on tests and research.

He was still upside down when Nireva commented on their separate reasons for being there. Again he chuckled, while keeping his balance, because it amused him to do so. He switched to his other leg to do the same. "I thought I would call it an early day so I could spend some time out here. It's quieter during the day." Indeed it was, as Nireva had already noted.

"I've been doing this for a while. Not only here, long before I moved to LA." Having spent ten seconds on each leg - with pauses in conversation subsequently in between - he returned to standing normally and turned to look at Nireva. His hair was spilling into his face, into his cerulean-colored eyes, and he tossed his head lightly to knock it back, unsuccessfully. His hair had grown out a bit over the lab time as well, but he did not mind the longer hair, having grown used to it now. Besides, unlike his weight loss, it was a nice change. As long as it stayed neat, which it never seemed inclined to do unless he paid it attention. He was just at the gym at the moment, so the only attention it got was him running a hand through it to make a second attempt at keeping it back. It was slightly more successful than the head toss.

"Are you here often?" If so, they had been missing each other, but that was hardly surprising. Their schedules probably differed greatly. "Not during the day, that is, as you implied. I'm hardly here during the day myself, with the exception of some Sundays." He was always busy with work, one might say, but to him, it was hardly work. It was a career, but it had also become his passion. Ark had affected him more deeply than he had ever expected. As he had said to Nireva over lunch, he had planned to tear Ark down; instead, he was building it up. Life changed so imperceptibly yet so decisively at times.

He bent his body at the waist and reached the opposite arm over his head, held it for another ten seconds, then did the same in the opposite direction. "It's a distraction from the media frenzy and from the tedium of board meetings, yes. I just met with the board of directors this morning, in fact. Between you and me, it is hardly ever much more than a dull mix of reports and bitching." The word "bitching" from Christian, given in his usual deep, songlike tone, was an amusing sound even to him. Yet it was appropriate. He went over Ark's financial reports on his own time, and the rest of the time was consumed by complaints and requests, from a bunch of powerless figureheads, no less. He only put in appearances because he was expected to be there.

"I take it Jung and coursework have given way for you to spend a bit of time working out today." After straightening up, he pulled one arm over his body and held it in place with the other, then did the same with the other. "Do you practice martial arts?" He had not thought she did, but then again, that possibility had never occurred to him. While she knew of him from the media and their other meetings, and also from IntelliTouch's chatroom - having gone so far as to detect him behind his anonymous account - there was much and more that he did not know about Nireva Hale.

[Nireva Hale]

Can't you help me as I'm starting to burn all alone?
Too many doses and I'm starting to get an attraction.
My confidence is leaving me on my own.
No-one can save me and you know I don't want the attention!
______________________________Avenged Sevenfold - "Bat Country"

"That's good to know." Just like her, Christian was stretching near the middle of the room, focusing on one group of muscles at a time before moving onto the next, ensuring that his whole body was thoroughly stretched out and warmed up before he attempted anything strenuous. It had been his thighs and feet after greeting Nireva and now, he had moved up onto his calves. What surprised Nireva quite a bit however was how Christian was able to bend himself at the waist to such an extent that he was able to almost peer backwards through the empty space provided by his bent leg. She and Jenna were both dancers and they struggled to do something like that. As she'd already proven, however, she was able to fold herself at the waist in the opposite direction, albeit for not as long.

The inquiry as to why he was here was an expected one. Businessmen, especially important ones, were seldom able to make a trip to the gym in the middle of a weekday, after all. "I thought I would call it an early day so I could spend some time out here." Exercise was definitely important, especially to those who kept themselves in shape for work. While Nireva wasn't as required to do so anymore, it was still something she enjoyed. It was an identical reason, she surmised, that Christian regularly came to the gym whenever he could. "It's quieter during the day. I've been... doing this for a while. Not only here, long before I... moved to LA."

Recovering from each of his elaborate stretches caused a break in the conversation and, following suit, Nireva got up from the floor and began to stretch her arms, keeping them straight as she pressed them to her chest one at a time while holding them there with the other. "Oh, I bet," she began, smirking as his short hair fell into a mess as he rose to his feet. It had grown out a little since they'd last crossed paths but, compared to her, it was still very much a short style. "It must get really tiring to carry around all that paperwork as you walk from meeting to meeting." She was playfully poking fun at Christian and his CEO job. As far as she knew, CEOs weren't the type to do the grunt work. Of course, Christian had proven to her that he wasn't like most CEOs.

Rather than delegate the tasks to others as he was easily able to do, he had been part of the Ark Industries team who had attended a hospital to look in on cholera patients in a search for the cure. He had been there, in the proverbial trenches, doing what he could to help, just as Marshall had been. Of course, some - Marshall included - had argued that he was only making an exception to the normal actions of a CEO because he was so desperate for redemption after April Fourth, but it didn't matter. At least not to her. There was something about him which was different. As far as she was aware, Christian's predecessor, Noah Rydberg had been cookie-cutter CEO material. She had only learned his name after searching about Ark Industries on Google and Wikipedia.

"Are you here often?", he inquired, running a hand through his dark hair. He hadn't been intending to sound as though he was flirting with her, but Nireva couldn't help but chuckle as the phrase left his mouth. All that was missing was bad music and arguably worse beer. "Not during the day, that is, as you implied. I'm hardly here during the day, myself. With the exception of some Sundays."

"I try to come out here on some sort of regular schedule. When I was--..." Damn, that was close. If there was one thing she was reluctant to do, it was to let slip that she had once been an exotic dancer. Sure, she technically still was, but she was effectively on a hiatus for the duration of her studies. Catching herself, she backtracked and started over. "When I wasn't studying, I made an effort to come out here... maybe a couple of afternoons a week? Now, though, I'm lucky if I'm able to get here during a weekday at all. Doesn't stop me trying. though!" Rolling her shoulders a few times, she stretched out her neck a few times before returning to the conversation. "Anyway, joking aside, why do you come here?"

Christian was now stretching his waist and arms, leaning over to his sides and reaching over his head. If he kept this up, he would come dangerously close to proving to be more flexible than she was. "It's a distraction from the media frenzy and from the tedium of board meetings, yes. I just met with the board of directors this morning, in fact." Ah, so she had been right. Kind of. "Between you and me, it is hardly ever much more than a dull mix of reports and bitching." He paused for a moment, dwelling on his own distaste of board meetings. Having put in most of the work himself and making most of the conversations irrelevant at best, he had grown tired of people in conferences retreading the same ground; telling him what he already knew. The meetings weren't even needed and, with all the things he did between them and in his own time, the discussions might as well have been mo(y)nalogues played back on a tape recorder. That way, he could've got more shit done.

"I take it Jung and coursework have given way for you to spend a bit of time working out today," he observed, taking into consideration the time of day and the day it actually was. Although their circumstances were different, their weekdays were similarly taken up by things they needed to do. "Yeah. My last two classes today got cancelled. They were both lectures too, so I'm more than happy to do something more interesting." Although not ogling her body, Christian's investigative eyes then took account of her clothing. They were the height of what were considered casual and, for the most part, made of materials which were very flexible and able to withstand elaborate movement. The fact that she was also barefoot also expedited his arrival at a conclusion. "Do you practice martial arts..?"

"Uh-huh." The affirmative noise left her lips as she finished the last of her stretching exercises. "Aikido. I'm a student at a dojo about two miles from here. Well, kinda. University's sort of made my attendance there lapse as well. Why'd you ask?"

[Christian Moynahan]

This is the hidden truth
The world between the lines
Where there is no understanding us
-Coheed and Cambria, “World of Lines”

Stretching was paramount in attempting to do any kind of exercise. Fools forgot that. They learned easily, though, Christian was certain. A few pulled muscles here, a few bruises there, and anyone should be able to pick up on the idea that they were missing an important step. Even dancing took some preparation, he figured. Perhaps not casual dancing, but anything more than that. He would not expect to see anyone doing stretches at a wedding, for example.

This was a form of dancing, to him at least. Graceful in many ways, usually requiring a partner, fluid movements, occasionally knocking people over. He had almost finished stretching, however; there was only so much one could do, and there was such a thing as over-stretching. He felt he had covered everything pretty well, anyway.

As she started to joke about his work as a CEO, Christian moved into a Capoeira position, one called the ponte. “Ponte” was the Brazilian Portuguese word for “bridge.” In one smooth movement, he got down on all fours, flipped over his right hand, and landed with his feet on the ground and both of his hands, landing to support his weight.

Essentially, he was bending over backwards.

He held that position for about ten seconds, raising one (upside-down) eyebrow at Nireva and then gave her a playful grin. Then he flipped over his left hand, backflipped, and landed in a half-split. Showoff? Maybe. Maybe definitely. The actual movement was not meant to end in a split, but since Christian had already warmed up well, he figured it would not hurt to put a bit of artistic flair into it.

No, he was not the average CEO. Far from it. He had come from middle-class roots, yes, and worked his way up, yes, but where many CEOs had learned their trades as being managers at companies, Christian had actually been part of the business; and, even when he was a middle manager, he had been one of the team. There were a number of patents pending that included his name somewhere in small print on the form. He had always been in in it for the science, for the rush of discovery, not the glory or fame that came with major inventions and innovations. The reward for him was seeing it in use. Sometimes he did. In the air, in cockpits, on medical counters. If Lucius and Gabriel had expected him to be the kind of manager that sat at his desk all day and read papers and accepted or rejected suggestions and led board meetings, then they had chosen the wrong man.

Or whatever it was that CEOs did.

He was fairly sure the two men had hired him exactly because he would go against that stereotype.

In a similar vein, he really would not have thought poorly of Nireva due to her background as an exotic dancer. That just really did not bother him. He was not the sort of man to visit such an establishment, but that had more to do with his asexuality than any sort of distaste for them. He caught the slip in her words, but thought nothing of it. Why would he?

Aikido was not a discipline he was very familiar with. Even one man could do so much, after all. “Aikido? I’ve always found that one interesting. It’s a beautiful discipline. An excellent choice.” He had not known there were any dojos around, but then again, this was Los Angeles. There was plenty of everything. He had adapted to smaller so smaller cities too much, he figured.

“I’ve tried a few things here and there. Never aikido, I’m afraid. Mostly kickboxing, Brazilian jiu-jitsu, and Capoeira.” He was, of course, standing by now, and shaking his hair back again. No dice. This time, he ran both hands through his hair while shaking his head, and the hair stayed, more or less, out of his face. Success.

“We’ve run into each other so much, we may as well make this time interesting as well.” He smiled. He knew of three meetings; there had been four. The first was the number in which he had commandeered her time, the second when his team had run across Jung at a hospital during the cholera outbreak, and now this one. The one he was missing was Nireva’s attendance at Ark’s town hall meeting. He had not known of her presence there. Three times were enough in any case.

“What would you say to a bit of sparring?” The different disciplines would certainly make for an interesting match, and Nireva could always say she had fought the CEO of Ark. If she beat him, she could say she had won against the CEO of Ark. And he got to test his skills against someone who was likely very proficient. Wins all around.

“Of course,” he teased, reaching for a water bottle and placing it within practical reach, “if you’d rather not, I’m sure we could each find partners n the room who just might be on our levels. As for me, however, I find the prospect of going hand-to-hand against you very intriguing.” He nodded to the practice area. “On your word.”

[Nireva Hale]

Mutta minä olen ja elän ja hengitän!
Yhtä suurta jumalaa, Elämänhalua!
Sen temppeleinä toimivat kapakat, ilotalot!
Markkinat, marketit, kaupunkien värivalot!
______________________________Kotiteollisuus - "Minä Olen"

"Aikido?" Being a large city, Los Angeles certainly had its fair share of martial arts dojos and gyms which were more than happy to take on new students. Deciding to research on the internet before electing to put down her time or money, she had looked for something which suited her strengths. She was slightly above average when it came to her height and possessed a rather slender, lithe frame; one which she would have preferred to keep. This, for the time being, ruled out disciplines which relied on the practitioner possessing a certain degree of physical strength, such as the Brazilian jiu-jitsu often employed by mixed martial artists.

In spite of her size and dancing experience, she wasn't exactly gymnastically inclined. She could hang upside-down from a dancing pole, sure, but not for very long. This ruled out the almost dance-like repertoire of Capoeira. What she instead decided to focus on was something which dealt with abusing the laws of momentum and disabling attackers by utilising techniques which minimised overall effort. Aikido, with its limb-trapping holds and throws which fed from movement which wasn't entirely her own, was right up her proverbial alley. "I've always found that one very interesting. It's a beautiful discipline. An excellent choice."

"Well, thanks." The small smirk on her lips betrayed her amusement. As well as watching him struggle to keep his hair under control - a subject on which it would be rather hypocritical of her to comment - she couldn't help but wonder if this meeting would end up being something special too. It seemed as though, whenever they met, Christian and Nireva ended up doing something which others would have thought unusual, given their status as a corporate CEO and a university student. The first time, they'd had lunch together on the UCLA campus. They had barely learned each other's names, yet they found themselves in the midst of both a polite discussion and a sandwich.

The next time hadn't been that far in the future. Ark, as was often the case, found itself in the limelight, leaving Christian to organise a press conference. The appointment of a new CEO had dredged up all of the old feelings surrounding April Fourth, whipping the news and the public into a frenzy, punctuated by derisive remarks and protests. Jenna hadn't taken things remarkably well, either. Having had an ability thrust upon her for four minutes like (almost) everyone else had been a harrowing experience for her. Were she offered the opportunity to ease herself into the sudden capability to fly, she might have found herself enjoying it more. As it stood, she regarded the whole affair as a near-death experience, though not without its benefits. The firefighter who had helped her down from the wall-mounted flagpole had been pretty good-looking; a tale with which Jenna had regaled her girlfriend time and time again.

Unlike the encounter in the restaurant, Christian and Nireva hadn't had the time or the opportunity to meet up and talk. In order to escape the protests, the CEO and his sizeable entourage had slipped out through another exit following the press conference, leaving Nireva to go about her day as normal. This, she surmised, had been something of a blessing. Although the one-on-one conversation had opened her eyes somewhat to Christian's intent, Nireva hadn't yet seen anything resembling proof of the man's convictions. For all she'd known at the time, his words were empty and, despite his dreams, he would end up just as much a reviled failure as Dr. Rydberg had been.

That day at the university, she had been faced with a choice. Either she became part of the audience at the press conference and listened more to what Christian had to say or she joined some of the detractors out front and protested against him and his company. Both had been tempting, which had actually surprised her. Even at the age of four hundred and forty-something, she was still able to find herself swayed by the words of mortals. Thankfully, she had enough worldly experience and presence of mind to decline the offer. At the end of the day, protesting did very little at most. She'd known that for longer than anyone at the university had been alive. So she'd made her way to the auditorium, listened to Christian and felt better for doing so. She wasn't about to tell him that she'd been tempted - even if only for a moment - to grab a sign and protest his company. "What about you?", she asked instead. "I didn't have you pegged as a martial artist, so anything you say right now's gonna be a surprise."

"I've tried a few things here and there. Never aikido, I'm afraid. Mostly kickboxing, Brazilian jiu-jitsu and Capoeira." Martial arts disciplines were like languages. Although possible, it wasn't easy for a single individual to learn more than one. As mixed martial artists proved, two was the usual limit which people set themselves for fears of losing their overall fluency with techniques due to an overflow of information. Christian, it seemed, didn't subscribe to the philosophy and had boasted his knowledge of three. Then again, Nireva could fluently speak three languages. Of course, she had the immortality card to give her an unfair advantage. "So... MMA with a twist, huh? Literally, too."

"What would you say to a bit of sparring?" The question wasn't entirely unexpected. Just as in their previous meetings, Christian had expressed a desire to make the occasion more memorable by doing something other than simply talk back and forth and, with the both of them actively practicing martial arts and standing in the middle of a gym, sparring was the only logical choice. It would certainly have been a more effective exercise regimen than simply sparring with the air. "Of course, if you'd rather not, I'm sure we could each find partners in the room who just might be on our levels." Was he actually goading her? He was just full of surprises. "As for me, however, I find the prospect of going hand-to-hand with you very intriguing. On your word..."

"Hm..? Oh, sorry." Feigning distance to hide her surprise at yet another facet of the CEO's personality, Nireva slowly strolled her way towards the centre of the practice area. "Normally, when Jen talks like that, she's got some sort of wager lined up. Usually, one she's planned beforehand so she can't lose, but that's just what she does." Taking up a decent position, she waited for Christian to take his place opposite her. "But this is just sparring and you're just an important CEO. You'd never even dream of coming up with a fun wager, right?" So she might have been employing tactics of her own to make their time together more fun. What of it? Only when Christian was standing before her did she dip her torso in a respectful bow - just one, as there was no sensei in the room to whom respect needed to be shown - and only when the formalities had been dispensed with did she finally assume her neutral ready stance.

[Christian Moynahan]

This is a fight for the day, night
Black and white
A victory dance
A burning riot
-30 Seconds to Mars, “Conquistador”

The idea of sparring was, of course, both irresistible and unavoidable. For one, Christian enjoyed practicing against friends. For another, with Nireva having studied only the one disciple and he having stretched a bit over a few of them, it would certainly be challenging. Besides, it would be almost rude to exclude Nireva from his practicing now that they had noticed the other’s presence.

He chuckled softly. “It’s a common enough happenstance. I suppose I come off as something other than what I am.” Alexandria Constant had not suspected that he was into “the spicier things in life.” The entire press tended to forget that he was more than a businessman, when he was actually a biochemist and a propulsion engineer with a zero percent failure rate, and other things as well. He had other hobbies as well, and had studied more than just hand-to-hand combat, but those he practiced in their respective arenas.

Nireva commented on his training being much like MMA. He laughed softly. “Oh, hardly. I wouldn’t stand a chance against anyone who had seriously studied martial arts. This is more of a hobby and a form of self-defense.”

What she said as she dawdled toward the practice mat sounded very much like a challenge to Christian. He did not miss the tease in her tone, but still, a challenge was a challenge, and Christian never shied away from those.

“I did not have a wager planned, but now that you mention it….” A sly smile formed on his lips. “I’m sure I could figure something out.” He moved into the center of the mat opposite Nireva. “Let’s see. Perhaps the loser buys lunch tomorrow, of course, and also has to wear bunny ears for the next two days.” He grinned. “Creative enough for you?”

Once Nireva responded and was ready to begin, Christian returned her bow, then took up his stance as well, one foot forward, hands raised. The first move was crucial; it largely determined the form the fight would take. So, while in just about everything else he would have been a gentleman, Christian moved first, stepping forward and aiming a straight, low punch that might have struck Nireva’s abdomen had he not turned it around to wrap against her left side. If that was successful, he would wrap his other arm under her right arm, then sweep his foot against hers, knocking her off balance and bringing them both down to the mat with Nireva locked in solid position.

[Nireva Hale]

My reflection, dirty mirror. There's no connection to myself.
I'm your lover. I'm your zero. I'm the face in your dreams of glass.
So save your prayers for when we're really gonna need 'em!
Throw out your cares and fly! Wanna go for a ride?
______________________________Smashing Pumpkins - "Zero"

Nireva wasn't entirely sure if modesty was a character trait which usually entered into the minds of high-profile CEOs. Yet, here Christian was, declaring that he would be no match for anyone who, in his mind, had seriously studied martial arts. She couldn't help but offer him a small smirk as she listened to his response. He had taken lessons in three different disciplines which required certain degrees of physical strength, agility and flexibility and he still considered them hobbies and a method by which he could defend himself without his ability. It was admirable, but Nireva couldn't help but think that his utterances rang slightly false. After all, he must have exercised some sort of commitment if he had attended enough gyms and dojos to study under a trio of experienced tutors.

Of course, it wouldn't have been too polite of her to remark on the subject, not when she was capable of speaking three languages as adeptly as Christian could speak English. The knowledge had come to her over the course of almost two centuries, but to call her anything other than a polyglot - albeit just barely so - would have been inaccurate. Although she had been actively learning aikido for two years - and had a black belt to show for it - Nireva's reasons for taking up the discipline had largely been identical to Christian's. "It's the same for me, really," she eventually remarked as she took her time getting prepared. "I felt that I could make myself safer at work if I had some way to fend for myself." It may have been the Plan B club to which she was referring as opposed to the Jung Facility, but the point stood.

Christian found his interest once again piqued by the woman across from him. At the mention of a wager, a smile began to creep across his face. "I did not have a wager planned," he began, making his way towards the middle of the matted section of the gym. By now, Nireva was awaiting his arrival and, with his sense of propriety, he was somewhat loathe to keep her waiting for too long. "But, now that you mention it, I'm sure I could figure something out. Let's see. Perhaps the loser buys lunch tomorrow, of course... and also has to wear bunny ears for the next two days." The smile spread into a grin as he heard Nireva's amused chuckling. "Creative enough for you?"

"Bunny ears?" Christian was full of surprises, it seemed. Whenever the two of them met, Nireva would encounter something about the CEO that shattered the normal preconceptions about high-ranking businessmen in general. It was this mould-breaking personality that had, over time, managed to win her over and convince her that Christian might actually be capable of changing the public opinion of Ark Industries or, if his time ran out, at least set the ball rolling for his successors to finish the job. "Well, only if we leave here immediately to go buy 'em together." Her gaze grew slightly sterner as she regarded her sparring partner. "It's not that I don't trust you, of course. It's more that I'd like the peace of mind. Blame my girlfriend. She can be pretty slippery when it comes to wagers, sometimes."

By the time Christian responded to her bow with one of his own, the conversation was pretty much over. Their bodies were stretched, their stances were established and they were about as prepared for their round of sparring as they could have been. Nireva chose mostly to react for the time being, allowing herself an opportunity to gauge how Christian fought and attempt to work around him as opposed to lunging in blind. It didn't take long for the insights to start coming her way. The fact that Christian threw his right arm out first told her that he had most likely decided to lead off with Brazilian jiu-jitsu. The mainstays of his other disciplines revolved mostly around kicking and, as the CEO's arm began to loop around her waist, her body was already shifting in order to defend against it.

The grasping motion may not have precisely fit the bill for her to resort to the munetsuki kotegaeshi - the "mid-level strike forearm return" - but it was close enough. Swinging her left arm out to meet Christian half-way, Nireva began to rotate herself to the right as she grasped hold of his arm. It was a little awkward from there to straighten out his arm and start to pull it around with her rotation, but she persevered. Although it was a relatively basic technique, the next part was still a little tricky; one which could quite easily have been countered in all sorts of ways. The tenkan motion was how she was trying to gain the advantage here; turning around and bringing Christian's arm with her and hopefully forcing him to follow.

With Christian's hand grasping nothing but air, her left hand was free to latch around his wrist and, by pulling even further, was able to spin him around to face her. By bending the wrist, she could contort his hand out of its earlier configuration, leaving it more controllable. Hoping that he wouldn't spot the momentary shift of momentum the motion was giving him, she gave his arm a sharp pull downward, hopefully sending him crashing to the mat before he had the chance to recover. The motions had to be kept small as she locked his wrist in her grasp. Too big, and they would end up taking too long, giving him way too much opportunity to counter her. If she could help it, she wasn't going to be the one wearing bunny ears for the next couple of days!

[Christian Moynahan]

Switching command
Just because I can
And if I let my guard down
Who knows what then?
-Deftones, “CMND/CTRL”

Well, then. Nireva had been quick to spot his opening move and counter it with one of her own. He had expected as much; she had studied aikido exclusively and, he imagined, an expert at that. He was brilliant at just about all of his major disciplines, but not a master at any of them. But he had learned enough to get him out of tough situations, and enough to show off.

His offer of lunch and bunny ears as a wager seemed acceptable to Nireva, and so began the spar. He knew the first to move took the greater risk, but someone was going to be first, and he would rather make his move first rather than dance around the mat. That got so boring and childish after a while. He had seen enough kickboxing matches where this happened; he had been in some where this could have happened, so he had learned to simply feint one way and move the other. He had little intention of using kickboxing moves here, however, as they tended to be very forceful. Those he reserved for actual defensive maneuvers, such as if he happened to be attacked.

He paid for that choice, of course. Nireva saw his move coming and countered by taking his arm and turning him around, first to the side, then the reverse, to face her. She could have taken him down to the mat then, and attempted to put him in a hold there, although that would be a hell of a thing to do given how quickly and easily he could get off the ground.

But there was a moment, just a brief splinter in time, during which Nireva did not have full control of his body, and he used that to his advantage. It was nothing on Nireva’s end; she had pulled off the move, as far as Christian could tell, to complete perfection. But he was trained to spot inconsistencies, not only in fighting, but in just about every aspect of his life. That was how he had met Maurelle Lacroix. That was how he had helped cure the cholera outbreak. That was how knew about Helena Rahal, as well as Shawn Johessman. Ever slight in a moment was an opportunity.

But in that moment, he could have landed a punch at the side of her face, or perhaps at her shoulder, hard enough to put that arm out of commission for awhile. He did neither. Instead, he took a slight step back, then forward as she sent him to the mat. That was about all the prep he was going to get, but it turned out to be enough.

He had switched to Capoeira; he flipped himself into the air and issued a kick to where Nireva’s right cheek was or should have been. His instructors would have been extremely unimpressed with his preparation steps for the achutato he had just pulled off, but exceptions had to be made when one was up against a different sort of opponent.

There was not much Nireva could do but let go of his wrist in that moment, and watch him land quite gracefully out of her immediate reach. With a grin, he started stepping back, then forth, back, then forth; something was clearly coming.

And sure enough, he came in with a double kick; his left leg spun out first, bringing him close enough for his foot to connect with Nireva’s head, followed rapidly by a right kick that could easily send Nireva spinning down to the mat.

If she did not know how to or did not have any way of blocking those kicks, then Chrsitian would very much enjoy lunch on her and seeing her wear bunny ears for a couple of days. Ge would have to make sure they were Playboy-style ears. That would make it all the more amusing.

[Nireva Hale]

Okay, so you want to try to be God to me?
I know you can't be. So stop it. (Beat my head against the wall!)
Don't want it. (As I pace within this hall.)
Why bother? (Sick of lookin' for the key)
I'll find another. (You're still alone! Why can't you see?!)
______________________________Slot - "Lego" (Break The Code translation)

Nireva knew enough about a few of the various martial arts of the world - she had, after all, been born before most of them - to know what Capoeira was. Deliberately crafted to be passed off as a form of rhythmic dance in order to allow the early practitioners to train so they could successfully mount a rebellion, it was replete with large sweeping leg movements and somersaults in order to create momentum for their various techniques. Aikido, in comparison, was dreadfully mundane. Out of all the fighting styles Christian had rattled off earlier, Capoeira was the one she'd been dreading the most. It was just unpredictable enough for her to feel wary. The kicks could come from just about anywhere if he'd been training for long enough.

It was the one style Nireva hadn't wanted her opponent to use but, as if his analytical businessman's mind had picked up on her train of thought, it was precisely the style to which Christian reverted as he backed away. The achutato was a spectacular high kick, one made recognisable to those in the know by the inverse backflip one needed to perform in order to bring the kicking leg to bear. By recovering from his brief trip to the mat, Christian allowed his left leg to retreat first, twisting around in order to turn the rest of his body away from Nireva for a moment. Collecting momentum in his other leg, he swept it through the gap in a long kick as the planted leg pushed up hard from the floor.

If she hadn't been the one tasked with trying to counter the sudden assault, she might have thought the spectacle to be rather a beautiful thing to behold. At first, she was tempted to try and use one of her other techniques in order to try and trap his leg as he came down. It made some sort of sense at the time. Kicks were rarely blocked or impeded with an aikidoka's own body. Instead, the usual course of action was to see if there was any easy access to the knee joint and, if so, shift around to the side and attempt to trap her opponent there as she moved forward. With the achutato, however, there was no such opportunity. Christian's body was simply moving too quickly and, as the momentum carried him through the air, he was actually moving away from her. It had been a mostly defensive kick, she thought to herself; one intended to catch her out if she tried to press an advantage.

So she backed off. Being far away from an opponent, especially when fighting hand-to-hand, was a less than ideal position for her to be in. Aikido took the term "self-defence" about as literally as it was possible to do so. There were very few techniques in Nireva's repertoire which had her actually initiating an attack. Most of them were simply responses; a string of actions she would perform if certain criteria were met. Even the part of her body which was grabbed - and how many limbs were used in the act - could potentially necessitate the use of a different technique. As he landed, Christian slipped effortlessly into the ever-mobile ginga stance; the series of repetitive steps which swept the alternating trailing leg around in a stylistic manner while the arm on the same side bent at the elbow before him. It was a way to conserve momentum and ensure that he always had the opportunity to transition into a new technique. All he had to do to summon the energy... was speed up.

Christian, it seemed, was rather intent on winning the wager and, as he eyed Nireva's combat-ready form, he made his choice and brought his feet into position. Planting the trailing foot on the floor as he twisted slightly to one side, he swept the lead foot around in a high, wide arc. By stepping forward as he performed the sequential pair of kicks, he sent the side of his heel crashing into the side of the immortal's head. That certainly got her attention.

Grunting in pain, Nireva was sent stumbling to one side, her perfect ready stance dashed away in an instant. It may have been a full-on sparring match, but she hadn't expected him to hit her that hard. Maybe he just had really bony feet. When Christian began to shift his adjusted weight around to the other side, however, Nireva realised that the winding kick wasn't going to be alone and, as "punishment" for the hit she'd taken, she'd got the perfect technique in mind. She knew that he wanted to win the wager as much as she did and, after managing to land a decent hit, she expected Christian to do what any other fighter would do and attempt to press home his advantage. Sure enough, he switched the position of his feet and began the brief wind-up to deliver an identical kick with his other leg.

In a more controlled set of circumstances, her partner would have been directly ahead of her. But, as she'd been taught time and again in the dojo, real life never handed out controlled circumstances. She would have to make do. The kick Christian chose to deliver was a little high for what she had in store for him but, having been taught to move without fear - to settle on a course of action and employ it without dwelling on the consequences - she felt she could adapt. Moving forward at an angle, she reached out with her hands and tried to surprise the CEO with a nikyo.

The angle of his leg might have been all wrong, but she allowed herself to flow into a better position as she tried to get her hands in the right place, with one pushing against the back of his knee while the other controlled the limb's direction. By forcing him to pivot around on his vertical leg, she could simply bend his leg naturally at the knee and push forward in an effort to bring him down. His hands would then, naturally, break the fall, leaving him with only one limb to errantly thrash around in order to get her away. Of course, that was the theory. "What colour ears would you like, Christian?", she inquired, in remarkably good spirits given she'd just been kicked in the head. "Hot pink? Or would the traditional black-and-white do it for you?"

[Christian Moynahan]

Like your face
getting forced
to the floor!
-Chevelle, “Face to the Floor”

In the different disciplines he had studied, Christian had never been the best, but he had always been the craftiest. After a while, his fellows had begun to dread working with him, simply because he was too unpredictable. No matter how much their instructors placed emphasis on expecting the unexpected, they never did. Christian reveled in it. His life was built on the unexpected. If he deviated from the norm in anything, it was because he wanted to, and because it amused him to do so.

He would have preferred not to take himself up on his own idea of lunch and bunny ideas, however, so he gathered his energy and momentum and issued a double kick, the first to Nireva’s face. He had not meant to hit her too hard, which was why he had kept his kickboxing knowledge on the backburner, but it seemed he had misjudged his strength (or his boniness) and done just what he had been trying to avoid. He grimaced as Nireva recoiled from the hit; he would have to remember to apologize for that later.

It seemed, though, that he would be disciplined much sooner than that, as his follow-up kick was suddenly stopped at the knee. He attempted to kick his way out of it, but he spun on that leg, and the mat was coming up into his face. He stopped the fall with his hands, but he had only the remaining leg free, and with that, he could not do much. For all his bending, spinning, and flipping, he could not come up with a way out of this one. So he exhaled and tapped out. “All right, Miss Hale,” he said, standing up and brushing himself off, “it looks like you’ve got yourself a CEO in bunny ears. I’ll let you pick the color.” He gave her a side grin. “I’m sure you’re much more coordinated than I in that.”

With a grand sweep, he bowed to her in the traditional manner, ending the round.

[Nireva Hale]

Your future lies within my eyes.
What I predict will terrify.
I can't control what comes to be.
From the past to the present, to eternity!
______________________________Judas Priest - Prophecy

Sparring, Nireva thought to herself, was a little like chess. Once all the inherent violence, pain and exertion was stripped away, it was little more than a dance in which strategy and forethought was king. It wasn't enough to simply counteract each move as it came her way. She'd learned to try and stay as many moves ahead as she possibly could; to have a number of different ways in which she could progress from her current position depending on how her opponent reacted. The nikyo was simply one of half a dozen responses she had lined up to respond to Christian's kicking and, once she had his leg in her grip, his only real reaction was to do what came naturally.

Kicking out with his leg didn't work and, as he was twisted around and forced downward, his arms couldn't help but extend in order to break his fall. It took a lot of training to force oneself to fall flat on their face on purpose and, for all of his martial arts experience, it was a talent the CEO hadn't added to his repertoire. With no real recourse open to him, he brought his arm outward and slapped his hand on the mat a few times; issuing his surrender. Immediately, Nireva released her grip and allowed his formerly arrested leg to fall back to meet the other. "All right, Miss Hale," he sighed, rising back to his feet before starting to dust himself off in a dignified manner. "It looks like you've got yourself a CEO in bunny ears. I'll let you pick the colour."

With a small grin, he turned to face Nireva and bowed at the waist, a gesture she quickly reciprocated. She had to stop herself from turning off at an angle and bowing a second time; something she had been taught to do in the dojo. They were expected to bow twice; once to their opponent and once to the sensei who oversaw the lessons at hand. "I'm sure you're much more coordinated than I in that." Leaving the sparring mats behind, Nireva set off to reclaim her shoes and other belongings and, once fully dressed, she waited for Christian to join her. Having had more than a few experiences with wagers - both winning and losing - thanks to her girlfriend, she had suggested that they get at least part of the forfeit out of the way as soon as possible.

It was a proviso on which she was fully intent on making good and, with intricate knowledge of the city, she knew just where to go in order to succeed in her objective. "I'm flattered that you think me better at such things, Mr. Moynahan," she responded, a smirk accompanying her slightly archaic turn of phrase. "Anyway, if you're not busy, we can go get you your new ears. There's a couple costume stores near here that'll do the job pretty well, I think." Having not brought very much with her besides the clothes on her back, Nireva was out of the gym and back in the outside air in pretty short order. The only delays to the short trip outdoors was to ensure that Christian was still in her wake.

Given his importance in the fiscal arena, she understood the possible misgivings he might have had about wearing a set of bunny ears for forty-eight hours but, like herself, Nireva got the impression that he was a man of his word. If he said that he was going to buy her lunch and wear bunny ears if he lost a sparring match, than that was precisely what she'd expect to now be on his personal itinerary. Quietly, she wondered just where he'd take her for lunch tomorrow. Would it be somewhere relatively simple and inexpensive, like the sandwich place at which they'd first met? Or would it be somewhere more upmarket; more his end of the spectrum? It was certainly food for thought.

Just as she'd thought, there was a small costume store a couple blocks down the street from the gym. While nowhere near the biggest such place in the city, it was still a place which would cater to their particular needs. After pushing her way through the door, Nireva made a beeline straight for the row of animal-themed costumes and their related accessories. Luckily for Christian, Nireva was merciful enough to make the process of purchasing the ears in question an expedient one. She knew what she was looking for, knew that she could afford them and wasn't in the market for being tempted by anything else. She was there to go in, buy some six-dollar bunny ears and leave.

"A wager's a wager, Mr. Moynahan," she announced with a grin, holding up the fluffy headband she'd bought. "Your forty-eight hours start now. How do you feel?"

[Christian Moynahan]

Plain white T-shirt and a pair of jeans
That’s all a real man needs, you know~
-Meisa Kuroki, “Kind of Guy”

Since Christian did have more time left in his schedule, he did accompany Nireva to the costume shop of her choice. “But of course,” he answered her, with a gallant, traditional bow. Then, with a grin, he went to pick up his own belongings, pulling on a gym jacket over his shirt, but otherwise remained as he was. He slung his bag over his shoulder, and they were on their way out.

Nireva seemed to develop a habit of looking back to ensure that Christian was still there. He had given his word, hadn’t he? And yet the best way to prove one’s word is to see it through; he did not blame Nireva for lacking faith in him. She did not know him that well; she did not know that his word was very much his bond. She could look forward to finding out.

As they walked the couple of blocks to the shop, Christian took out his cell phone and dialed his PR office. “Miss Daugherty… yes, it’s me… what? No, I just came from the gym… … …because I wanted to know whether you had scheduled any press conferences over the next forty-eight hours…. Don’t ask why, just answer the question…. All right, and which channels will broadcast it? …Thank you. I’ll see you at HQ.”

He hung up the phone and rolled his eyes. “Typical Fallon. At any rate, I do have a press conference tomorrow at ten A.M. It won’t be broadcast on television, but most of the online media outlets will be present. Do you think I should dress to match the ears, or leave the ears separate for greater shock value?” That question answered itself; he shot Nireva a grin as they entered the shop.

Nireva seemed to know exactly where she was going and, in short order, produced a pair of fluffy white bunny ears on a headband. Christian inspected them. “I think these will bring out my eyes,” he said approvingly, and not seriously. He settled the headband over his hair. “I feel like a new… bunny,” he remarked with another grin. “I think I’ll attach some thin wire to the tips, tie them to my fingers to get them to bend a little every now and then. That ought to be interesting.” He thought that over again. “Of course, I could also use my ability for that. Hmm.”

They stepped on up to the counter, where the attendant accepted Christian’s payment and handed him back his card and receipt. The young woman seemed to do a double take, however, having looked at the name on the credit card and then at the bunny-ear-wearing man. Christian simply smiled and took the two items to put them away.

“Let me know where you'd like to take lunch tomorrow,” he said to Nireva on their way out.