[h3]MgRonalds, District 7[/h3]
[@Crimmy][@GreenGoat]

[color=a187be]"Oh, shut your damn mouth!"[/color]

It was unclear as to whom these words were addressed in the tumult of action, but Karasawa's voice rang true through the fast food joint nonetheless. With everything happening at once, he really only had time to pin Hisui with a glare that intensified upon her retort, before their more mobile prey sped off in the scooter, dodging Anti-Skill and tearing up pavement—

Then something dark grew into the corner of his eye, sending every fighter's instinct he'd either trained in a dojo or on home turf ablaze. Was it a punch? A kick? He had no time to tell, but his reactions were sharp enough to defend against either. He turned back towards Pompadour, raising his right arm in a folded block, hand meeting shoulder and head protected behind the crease between bicep and forearm. Just as well, too, since he'd not quite managed to move his head off-line. The attack mercifully had skidded off of his arm instead of potentially clobbering him a new one.

[color=a187be][i]Though, if this schmuck's got hair so hard he's willin' to clobber a man with it, I bet that shit's got a whole load of spray caked in.[/i][/color]

Before the Pomp could retract his 'do for another strike, if that was indeed how it worked, Kara-han's smirk turned into something more savage than humorous.

Why not introduce it to a curling iron?

The grape-flavored lad helped himself to a fistful, and turned the heat up to something close to three hundred degrees Fahrenheit.