Unfortunately, Kano didn't seem to be taking the hint. As he laughed too loudly, Greg realized a change of tactics was in order. Perhaps, by playing this game, he could make Kano lose interest—in elementary school, he had learned too late that the bully's torment was no fun if the victim didn't allow himself to be the victim. It would have to be subtle, though; overdoing it would likely only escalate Kano's enjoyment. “Ah, I'm from the land down under. Australia, that is. Shrimps, barbies, and all.” Greg let out a slight chuckle of his own. He didn't move except to quizzically raise one eyebrow when Kano picked at a strand of his short, curly hair, even though he very badly wanted to recoil. “Can't say I do, really. Never had much of a use for cosmetics.”

He kept a neutral expression, both eyebrows relaxed, while Kano crossed a leg and maintained full-on eye contact. Few other students could boast as much of a talent for expression as Greg; years of making funny faces with his friends and watching live-action movies endowed him an impressive range of facial movement. “I'm heading home, actually. Nothing on the agenda, though there's this book I'm into -one of those Jack Reacher novels- that's really got me hooked. What's up with you?” Greg turned his body slightly to face Kano and placed an elbow on the window-side armrest.

-=-=-

Though Ironclad made a note of his opponent's jet-black gauntlets and greaves, his momentum carried him forward as an unstoppable force. He hadn't expected the smaller, nimbler Thorn to try and block the jump strike, in fact, he hadn't expected to land such a directional, telegraphed attack at all. Still, the speed and agility with which Scarlet Thorn fell flat to dodge the double slash before regaining his feet with a stylish flourish was impressive. A pity that ebony armor didn't cover more of Thorn's body, particularly after Ironclad's spikes had decimated his foe's clothes but totally failed to deal any real damage to him.

Like lightening came the kick. If Ironclad had been flesh and blood rather than steel and lead, the blow might have fractured half of his ribcage. Worst case scenario, the extremely sudden and violent movement of the bones might puncture vital organs, and he would have been in unspeakable agony, though death by internal bleeding would have soon relieved him of such an existence. As it was, however, the black boot made a minor dent in the thick armor there, and with noteworthy dexterity Ironclad moved his right arm to clamp around the leg and keep it there. In the span of seconds Scarlet Thorn had dealt a worthy blow but at the same time locked himself into close quarters with an Alter Ego specializing in blades—a dire prospect.

As his arm seized Thorn's leg like a serpent constricting its prey, Ironclad replied, “Seems more like a battle of strength to me.” At once, his tail and free arm moved to strike. The tail whipped forward in an attempt to coil around Scarlet Thorn's other leg, after which a quick yank would bring him to the ground. To distract his foe from this underhanded snare, Ironclad's free arm made a wide slash at Thorn's face, which had little chance of really connecting but definitely looked and sounded dangerous.