Disclaimer: Dead or Alive and all characters belong to the retired creator Tomonobu Itagaki, the publishers Tecmo and the developers Team Ninja; GrimGrave does not own anything regarding those, nor is he making any money out of writing fiction.
Requested by Supreme Distraction. I hope this story lives up to your expectations!
Ulterior Motive
She had never been able to understand it. In their long time together (she had forgotten how long they had interacted with each other by now) she never once managed to understand just why she remained close to the blonde woman. There were clues, of course, but two or three pieces of a puzzle don't complete the picture.
No, Christie would never understand her own reasoning for remaining close to Helena Douglas. The blonde Frenchwoman hated her, and that was merely an understatement. Even though they had proved to be able to work together and even be on "friendly" terms, aka a state where they exchanged insults and harsh remarks with even space.
Irksome as it was though with the few clues, they proved to be enough for the British woman to at least tear at the veil covering the answer. A few more interactions with Helena would surely help tear it down all together, a task that Christie felt very eager to commence as soon as possible.
There was definitely something about Helena Douglas, something that would be exposed for the British assassin's sadistic mind. After all, worst case scenario, Helena could fall at the hands of another killer and/or fighter – not that she was weak, far from it in fact. But if Helena was to leave the mortal realm, it would be by Christie's hands – it was her privilege after all.
What better way to kill two birds with one stone?
::::::
"I had hoped to never see your face again." Her voice, light and flawless and elegantly dressed with the French accent that wrapped around every letter and syllable managed yet to sound stern, if not spiteful as the blonde sipped gently on her martini. The glass, being held firmly by the silky glove of azure coloration reflected in the dim light of the bar lamps, a reflection of the shock white-haired British woman standing merely a few steps away. "To whom do I owe the displeasure?"
Christie simply smiled at that – smugly, but a smile nevertheless as she walked up to the bar. "I could be saying the same thing, but this time I was actually hoping you would be here."
Helena's green eyes tore away from the half-empty martini-glass, now locking with Christie's steely-grey orbs in a mild scowl. Just as she opened her mouth, Christie silenced her by the simple motion of raising her index-fingers, thus taking over. "I came because I had nothing better to do… So what better way to kill time than to see your face again?"
The curiosity, mixed with irritation grew in Helena's features to which Christie simply propped her elbows against the wooden surface of the bar counter, resting her chin on the palm of her hand with a grin. "Humour me, dear. You have me, your mother's killer, right beside you. Why is it that you're not attacking me? I recall a certain distraught face that you made when I told you…"
The green eyes narrowed, finely thin like razorblades. There lied spite inside of those emerald orbs, yet they slowly softened and averted back to the glass. "I could kill you a thousand times bâtard, but it wouldn't bring her back… I don't wish to waste my time right now with an irksome fly. I've got better things to do… Like eating blancmange or walking my dog."
"Not a healthy thing to say, when such a good opportunity presents itself."
"Look who's talking about health." Helena shot back, a light smirk forming. "Besides, I never said I wouldn't kill you." She sipped on the last remains of her liquor, a grinning Christie now taking up the seat next to the blonde, still eying her through observing eyes.
"As long as you pay me attention, I'm content." Her reply caused Helena to look back at her, her gorgeous features riddled with disarray. Christie snickered lowly. "Don't tell me you disliked the relationship we had, professional as it may have been. You want the truth? I had fun." Her smirk widened. "And not only because of the thrill of knowing that I, your mother's killer, was walking right beside you and you didn't even know."
Helena tensed up – her body-language spoke for itself as she shifted on her seat, quickly looked forward, straight into the wall of numerous shelves, decorated with bottles upon bottles of liquor. Her sinews were contracting in the build-up of anger.
"So you came here to gloat, to mock? You haven't changed Christie."
"You're avoiding the question, dear."
Helena sighed. It was prolonged, and steeped in annoyance. "I didn't mind you being around back then. I tolerated you. Happy?"
Christie stared at her, her smirk now gone and reverted into a casual poker-face. Her steely-grey eyes kept looking at the Frenchwoman next to her, searching for whatever may help her tear down the veil, to find more pieces for the puzzle. It had irked her, as well as spurring her on since day one; a morbid fascination towards the mystery and the younger woman alike.
"No…" She replied, still studying the blonde. "Not at all…"
Helena scoffed. "Too bad. That's all you're going to get."
"Feisty tonight, aren't we?" Christie grinned, her malicious and sadistic nature resurfacing. "Now we're getting somewhere… For old times' sake, humour me."
Helena looked back at her, cautious and curiously. She was alerted, but Christie counted on it. It was in her nature to assume they were, i.e. the people she was about to kill or simply make fun of for her sadistic sense of humour.
"That face you made when I told you I was your mother's killer… Care to show me again?"
It was with a delightful laughter, chiming with maliciousness that Christie parried the incoming strike; an open hand coming at her like a whip. Smooth and flexible, but sharp and hard, as expected of a Pi Gua Quan martial artist. Throwing herself off the barstool, the British woman quickly took on a stance, blocking the next fluent strike; a windmill of swift, sweeping attacks that would confuse any other fighter with the circular motions.
But that was the beauty of it.
And Christie began to see it more clearly by each minute that passed, by each attack that they managed to land, block or counter as they fought on in the bar. Patrons hurried out in fear of getting caught up in the crossfire of muscle and killer instincts, as the two women continued to fight with increasing fervour.
Helena's whip-like attacks snapped in the air, much like the aforementioned namesake, their impacts either forcing Christie to quickly back away or take the full force head on. If there was one thing Christie had to acknowledge about Helena, it would be that her fighting style definitely had an advantage with its long-range attacks – Christie's were always more up-close and personal. Managing to block an incoming attack aimed for her head, the British woman quickly grabbed onto the arm, locking it in place as she jabbed at Helena's solar plexus and effectively forcing the Frenchwoman staggering backwards. Chairs and tables flipped over and broke down in their wake.
Quickly resuming her stance, Helena glared with a narrowed expression at her enemy – her mother's killer – and launched herself forward with a low, sweeping kick as Christie aimed higher, her long leg fully extended in its high kick.
As Christie's leg made its impact against Helena's temple, so did the Frenchwoman's foot against Christie's ankle, robbing the British woman of her single foothold. In their simultaneous hits, the duo was sent crashing onto the floor amongst the broken table.
It wasn't until the whirling dust had settled that the two women began to get back on their feet, aching heads and sore limbs following suit. Coughing lightly due to the dust, Helena rubbed her aching temple, wobbly legs barely helping her up.
Out of the corner of her eye, a grey-coloured glove made its way towards her as far as she could see – instinctively, Helena spun around, arms ready and hands loosened for countermeasure … that wasn't needed.
Christie's hand remained in place, extended towards the blonde and held in mid-air. Her green eyes watched it cautiously, her sight shifting between the hand and Christie's smirking visage.
"Here." She finally said. "Let me help you up." Helena continued to observe the hand, her eyebrows knitting together into a frown as she hesitantly placed her hand in Christie's.
She was instantly pulled up from the floor, now standing right in front of her enemy – a cloaked feeling that neither knew for sure how to feel about it. But the sly smile on the British's lips begged to differ, steely-grey eyes fused together into a visage of a predatory smile.
The veil that had covered the mystery Christie sought now had holes.
Holes that were big enough for Christie to peek through.
Before either of them had time to register what was happening, it was already over. It had been out of the blue, too fast for them both to see it coming.
By the time Helena decided to recoil and the shock wore off, Christie's plump lips had already left their mark, a faint pink lipstick, on Helena's cheek – barely an inch away from her own lips.
"Let's do this again sometime, my petite French bird…" Christie smirked, a single wink batting from her right eye as she spun around, ample hips swaying with every step, until she was out of the bar. Alone, Helena stood frozen solid with eyes locked firmly at the exit where she last had seen her enemy.
The dim light from above barely helped hiding the vague tint of rosy blush that decorated Helena's cheeks, eyes flared up and mouth agape in her state of disbelief. "Christie…"
To be continued(?)
Having never played any of the DoA games, I had to do some thorough research on the characters – I'm fairly certain I managed to nail their personalities, but any criticism is welcomed as long as it's professional and not flat out flaming.