The bus door squealed to admit a new passenger and let two more depart. Just one stop remained until Greg was due to get off, but Kano seemed intent on milking the time left for all it was worth. The rather twisted smile that appeared on the other boy's face only deepened this notion. “Never done that, though it's been on my bucket list for quite some time.” He took a quick look out the window at a bright, flashy advertisement. “The rain here's nice, really is.” Following that brief exchange, the effeminate guy paused for a moment, most likely searching for more material. At Kano's declaration of destination, Greg's own eyes went wide. “There's an arcade around here!? I'll have to pay it a visit sometime. Not today though. No loose change.” He hoped that Kano wouldn't get any companionable ideas, but such a suggestion seemed right up his ally. “The whole deal with Kazuko's such a mess,” he said, rerouting the subject, “A tragedy, even. Don't know where to begin...though I hope she's alright.”

-=-=-

There was some satisfaction in watching Scarlet Thorn hurting, but Ironclad didn't pause to enjoy it. All his life he'd been fighting Alter Egos, so he knew all too well that no single well-placed blow would have any great effect. And just like that, Thorn was back on his feet, only this time instead of breakdancing he extended nasty-looking spikes from his armor, accompanied by an amaranth glow. Was this clown finally getting serious? In response, Ironclad prepared to project his own spikes as a defensive measure while Thorn showed off his ability to kick by striking the air between them. The display, he assumed, was some sort of taunt to throw him off guard. Something was about to happen.

As Ironclad predicted, Scarlet Thorn followed up his kicking demonstration with an attack at blistering speed, so quickly that Ironclad's prediction didn't allow him any more of a counterattack than to slide the spikes out of his armor. The side-kick connected to his gut, and while the armor kept it from crushing his innards, the kinetic force of the blow still almost pushed him over. To maintain balance, Ironclad moved a foot farther behind them to create a solid forebalance stance. As he was making the correction, however, a pointed knee slammed into his face. He uttered a metallic grunt and took another two steps backward, molten fluid dripping from his pierced left eye onto the forest floor. His claws retracted into standard position and a hand clapped over the wound. Where his 'blood' fell, it sizzled and burned.

“Impressive, for a short round! Perhaps your skill in battle might come to define you more than your queer mannerisms.” In a single, fluid motion he drew the two sabers from their sheaths on his back. They hummed in the air, vibrating slightly with potential energy. “Then again, maybe not.” Ironclad darted forward, low to the ground, and rose with a flurry of slashes and slices. He made sure to keep moving at all times, presenting both a perilous offense and defense to Scarlet Thorn, and strove to maintain the precision in each blow rather than thrashing around.