Serenity. The blissful ambiance of being at one with nature wasn't a foreign concept to Fleur. Wanderlust filled the woman, forcing her to travel on all occasions for the sake of enjoyment and exposure. Since the arrival of the melodic town, the ghost wandered aimlessly, offering her services to a beautification named Fernando. Other than that, her encounters were limited. So today she sat, the mellow meadows of the Baskan Hills rolling over each other and creating overlaps of greenery. In no regular circumstances could Fleur be caught in rompers, despite owning several pairs. Today she donned a black one, decorated with pinkish floral designs that matched the setting she placed herself in. Flat grass lie across the plains. Only one thing was off - the fact that a young woman was cleaning her blade across the grassy dunes.

There was no recent bloodshed; Fleur promised never to use Yoru against civilians, only evildoers who proved to be a challenge. Sitting cross-legged, a breeze swept across the land, flinging her hair across her face. But with the utmost focus, the ghost ignored the dashing strands of black and continued to sweep the cloth across the dark sword.

Tidying up Yoru wasn't the only reason the glamorous girl wandered around the Baskan Hills. After saving the day countless times, as minuscule as the problems may have seemed, she gathered up a name for herself. Having hardly introduced herself to anyone, obviously they didn't know of her name, but rather 'the gloomy girl'. Perhaps it was a prank, but she had received a letter saying that she would die today. Bloodied fingerprints ran about on the note, decorating it with all of its nonexistent glory. Deciding to play it safe, she hung on an open field on the Baskan Hills, where miles upon miles of flat grass provided zero cover for any sneak attacks.

How would it all play out?

The soothing flow of a saxophone filled the autumn air. The dark, rich sound gave Fleur an idea of its size - perhaps a baritone considering how abrasive the sonance was. The ghost regarded musicians in the highest aspect, throwing nothing but absolute esteem towards those who could wield an instrument so effectively. Seldom did she reminisce to the olden days when her family was still intact, for she feared the heartbreak that could come like a bullet when she realized it was just a dream trapped within a nightmare. When she did, scenes of her and her brother holding hands, swaying in the living room crowded her mind. In the background were archaic compositions. Back in reality, her head turned towards the instrumentalist, the virtuoso. What a mistake.

Her expected poker face remained - she had nothing to say. All admiration and reverence towards entertainers as a whole shattered on the spot. Scarlet eyes inspected the bum, pondering at what an expensive object could be doing in his hands. Closer he came until he was a meter away from herself. "Hey there!"

In an instant, the note flashed in her mind. There was no one else around and this man came out of the blue, towards Fleur. Could he have been the one? She decided not to take any chances. Having little experience as far as fighting went, she tried her best to mimic the shows she use to watch as a kid. The muscles in the Coyote's cheeks stretched, forming a smile. Acting on that moment, Fleur forced herself up. She stabbed her blade into the floor and cried a little on the inside when she did. I just cleaned it. The position of the scrap of metal was closer the man's left side. With a heave-ho, she lifted herself up and sprung into a kick with her left foot. The other foot remained on the floor, holding firm with bent knees. The upper body slightly tilted backwards in order to keep balance. Only when she turned and added explosive power with her hips did she pivot her right heel. The powerful turning kick tried to crucify the villain, directing her devastating foot towards his temple.

Just for precautionary measures, Fleur readied her grip on the blade with both hands. Landing the kick was ideal but not all situations could end up in her favor. Therefore, she began to perform an aggressive dance. If her lethal blow didn't connect, she continued to pivot and use that momentum to immediately rip her over-sized knife from the buttery ground. Before the swing, her left foot stamped the floor and stood her ground, taking control of her form while her back foot supported from behind. The ghost lady ended the performance with a clean diagonal cut across the man's chest.

Her weapon ate right through him, splattering the red plasma that aided in human life across her apparel. The pink floral pattern drenched in blood was pretty - red like roses.

"If her lethal blow didn't connect, she continued to pivot and use that momentum to immediately rip her over-sized knife from the buttery ground."

This allows me to follow through with my kick and pick up my sword, etc. Taking statistic numbers into account, it's hard for you to pause a kick with extra destructive power (thanks to the twist of the hip), even if you attempt to cushion it.


From the beginning, the ghost recognized that her footwork was lackluster. When the Coyote avoided her punt by dashing inwards, she wasn't demoralized but instead trifled with confidence. He had fallen into her web and in time, she could feed. The false soloist may have grabbed her thighs, but his mistake was assuming he had control. This adventurer stood eons above him. The jet of a weapon that others conceived as a leg continued to plow through, neglecting anything that dared stand in its path.

She had to give credit where it was due - his iron-like grip on her thighs allowed him to soar through the skies for a moment. Perhaps he showered in a second of bliss before toppling into the ground in utter defeat. Fleur did not wait for others, especially in a life-or-death scenario as the one that was presented before her. Her dance followed through spiraling about before elegantly planting it into the floor. During the spiral, her grip on her blade gave her permission to immediately yank the saber from the creamy ground. Speckles of dust and dirt piloted the air as Fleur brought her almighty blade to run itself diagonally across the Coyote's chest.

Was he still alive? She didn't want to equate to murderers. Not wanting to take the risk of being too compassionate, she slowly shuffled back an extra meter. If he tried to pull any punches, she outranged him with her scrap of black metal.

Exiting this thread because Faust refuses to post. With that in mind, this fight doesn't count as an official battle in any case and will be treated like a social.


Only a few seconds worth of blows were exchanged before the ghost had trapped the man in her web. Entangled, he became nothing more than a lifeless doll on the floor, corresponding to the aesthetics of a clown spawned across his face. What a disgusting individual.

The beautiful blade, Yoru. Fleur purchased such a brazen blade because of its beauty, exquisite in every way, shape, and form. But sadly, she wasn't informed of its purpose in the world. The blade knife served as a ward against the creatures of night, particularly vampyres, lycanthropes, demons, and liches. The innocent bystander that had her hands on Yoru was oblivious to that. As she slashed across the false muse's chest, the blade seemed to seep deeper into his skin. Alas, but a beginner, Fleur didn't take notice of such trivial matters; after all, all that mattered was that she got the creep that caressed her leg fair and square.

Fleur refused to wait around. Without a doubt, the few seconds of smashing and crashing drew attention of those nearby, perhaps even as far as the town of Baska too. She didn't feel like explaining such a sight to the authorities - only one thing remained on her mind. "Where can I clean Yoru in peace?"