Monae could feel herself being analyzed, the attention wholly different from the growing crowd. For a spy, someone looking too long was a bad sign. In this case, there was no helping it. Might as well make it work. Slowly, deliberately, she stretched her arms upward, showing off her body. Turning herself this way and that, subtly flexing calves and abs, displaying herself like a rare gem. If Deathstroke was so hungry for data, she might as well give that blue eye a feast. Their gazes locked as she gave back was she was given. His clothing was casual and downright plain, but the fabric and cut were quality. There’d be more give and flexibility than it would seem. He’d be able to fight. She discarded the information for the time being. Musculature? Sturdy, but his movement was just too fluid for his frame. Nothing she didn’t know. Confidence? Overwhelming, if that smile was any indication.

She could use that.

The energy was just reaching the perfect pitch. Cheers, whistles, bets and boos. She was warm, the stage was set, the audience was prepped. All that was left was  - 

[i]“You know, I have a simple question for you.” [/i]

Monae raised her brows in silent response. Did she read as such an amateur that he thought he could throw her off before the curtain rose?

[i]“Was it seven kicks, or eight?”[/i]

“GO!”

Downbeat.

And [u]dance[/u].

It seemed he was coming to get his answer the old fashioned way. The space between them splintered and shortened, and she let him get close enough to check his hands for calluses. His display was genuinely impressive. Clean, no frills, a soldier’s two-step – but he was faster than she expected for a man his size. He leapt her test kick from the ground and kept coming. Her dodge was almost too late. Almost.  On the outside, it looked like she was simply being outclassed.

Monae was driven back from center stage until she could feel jeers on the back of her neck. Just as it seemed like she would be shoved out of the ring entirely, she chose to pick up the tempo.

The strike that should have sent her into the crowd hit air as she hit the ground a blink too early. She didn’t stay there, though. With fluid grace, her body arced up into a blurring whirl of capoiera. Ba gua was fun, but she was rusty and it was too restrictive for a real opponent. Now she needed to actually get going. Some of the crowd wouldn’t be able to see too much. It was too small of an arena to hit her full speed, but this would be enough to take a man who was used to winning off guard. So many people underestimated how useful being willing to fail on command really was.

Once she’d attacked back to center stage, she pivoted to a single hand stand. Her other hand set under her eye, middle finger tucked under her thumb and the rest spread. It [i]had[/i] been eight kicks. He had asked, and she answered him a taunting grin before righting herself and continuing the duel.  

Monae Queen had long mastered how to make something hard look easy, and something simple look staggeringly complex. The world was a stage, and the curtain was up. It wouldn't be any fun to give it all away at once.

If Slade Wilson thought those eight kicks were the best she had, it would be a true pleasure to correct him.