[b]Yellow![/b]

She closes her eyes and takes in the Vision.

Did you know, Euna, what you were arming her with? Without that story she wouldn't have had a reason to fight. Now she doesn't have the ability to lose. Her armour is broken but the wolf is howling and she was dead before she set foot on this battlefield. All that remains to her is to write a poem to movement, a dance that will still be pounding in her heart when she opens her eyes again in the next life.

She has two swords, one in pink and one in green. 

She draws her green blade first, bending down so her hair cascades to cover her face. She slides her arms up along the scabbards, elbow-length green silk gloves, tracing all the way up and then back down. Her hands link with Green's, she grips - and with a pull and twist and turn she [i]unsheathes[/i]. Facing Cinder, holds up one silken glove in either hand, and lets them fall to the ground. She falls as they do, kneeling down in kowtow, touching her forehead to the ground, as her green blade steps upon her back, launches herself into the air, fist raising up for a full body punch. Tracing behind her all the while is a spiralling green ribbon.

This blade is flash and speed, the genius required to master complex aerial maneuvers, leaping punches and flying kicks, acrobatics and momentum. It's shock, awe, impact, skill - but it's also a style built entirely on power attacks and finishers. Two-handed haymakers, jumping cycle kicks, running launches, all visually impressive but they're all Green has the mindset to learn. The shock of the assault will wear off. It is time to draw her second blade.

The green blade cannot gracefully withdraw from her all-out assault; her rival will see the opportunity and press her. What she sees instead as her first blade pulls back is Yellow kneeling before her second. This sheathe is not on Pink's hands - Yellow has risen from her kowtow to kneel before her pink blade, running both hands up her legs, inside her skirt, to the top of her thigh-high socks - with a smile and a wink, [i]higher [/i]- and then down again. Pink steps out of her socks, blade-legs long and bare and gleaming with soft light internal and reflected. She engages.

Cinders has both sword and shield within herself; Pink is entirely shield. She takes a position of graceful poise and blocks - feather-fast blocks with open palms and knees, deflect and redirect. She can't bring herself to go on the offensive; the closest she comes is to come close, tangling up together by stepping inside of reach and letting her legs entangle her rival's. It's like fighting an angel, caught in soft and whirling wings and caresses.

Until the moment when Yellow pulls back on the ribbon-leash wrapped around her throat. The pink blade falls back like a blossom on the wind right as the green blade comes in with another haymaker.

So Yellow engages, her green blade leashed to her right hand, her pink blade leashed to her left. She casts out and reels in her ribbons according to the ebb and flow of the fight as she perceives it. And when Cinder finally pushes away her two blades for long enough to face her directly, Yellow lets them fall from her hands - to reveal a third ribbon-leash, dripping from her hands like an invitation, or a threat.

[b]Pink![/b]

She regrets that she isn't ready for this. Commitment to a project isn't the same as finished results. For an event like this the stage must go to those who have something to show. Tonight she is less than a guest; she is a maid. She and Brown have come together, wearing their matching uniforms with the intention of simply observing. Gathering inspiration, seeing how things work in reality, expanding their horizons. They are still new to this space and they should be humble while they learn - though as a concession to the theme of the event, Pink has dressed them both in paw-print underwear. A subtle touch.

Subtle, though, doesn't seem to apply to Red any more. If her disaster dragongirl outfit wasn't eye-catching enough she seems to have realized that she was only a more revealing shirt and microphone-lance away from having a half decent Elizabeth Bathory cosplay. She's gone in full blazing style, unready and unaware, her existence less a statement of what's possible with years of work and self reflection and more as to what's possible with an afternoon, a welding torch, and absolutely fearless commitment to the bit. Red walks with the raised head and flawless confidence of a vampire dragon idol, Pink and Brown follow demurely behind her like her retinue.