<Sup.>

The text would come with little context. The Samurai had honestly spend some time considering what to send on his little technological device. The femme fatale he was reaching out to was a dangerous woman. He'd considered many approaches in response to her stature... An explanation of his physical prowess? Too direct. A list of the prominent figures he'd bested in mortal combat? Too desperate. A @#$% pick? No, apparently that wasn't nearly as enticing as common sense might make one think

He'd read a few articles on it, stressed for a few nights, given up on it, and finally laid down at 6pm, in a certain tall woman's bed, and just simply sent out the one word that he'd been told was a sufficient greeting for Americans. 

Who was he to judge?

That text went ignored for three days and a night since she assumed it was either a wrong number or a prank. Annaliese didn't know anyone who tried to start a conversation with three letters and no introduction. Probably wasn't worth her time.

but....

On the fourth morning of her first actual day off, she started to wonder. She didn't give out her number to just anyone, so typically those who had it were either business associates, customers, or friends. Had someone drunk texted her?

<Who is this?>

She sent along a simple question back, while making lunch for herself and cleaning her guns.

<Who is this?>

Four days. It had been four days. She was truly skilled. Wait four days to grow his anticipation, and then treat him like he wasn't the most memorable person on the planet. He had to meter his response perfectly, if he was to survive.

What, then, could he say? Did he come on strong, with a rebuttal? Proclaim her faux ignorance a ruse, and state that he, and he alone would best her in her deadly game? Maybe he could list the prominent figures he'd bested in mortal combat?

He settled on the profound statement.

<Lol, it's Raijin.> A tactical move. Don't let her know you are falling into her trap. Play coy, and attack when she least expects it.

She was in the middle of flipping a half-cooked pancake when the text came through.

"R-Raijin?!" That hot guy from the park?

The pancake ended up stuck to her ceiling. She stared at it mournfully for a moment, allowing herself to distracted from the fact that he'd actually texted her, oh god, he was talking to her again after she'd runoff.

A little less than an hour later she texted back, after scraping pastry off of her ceiling.

<Oh, Hey! Sorry, I was a bit busy cleaning up after some stuff>

She paced around her living room nervously. Was that enough of a reply? Too much? Gah! She didn't know what to respond with, in like... a flirty manner!

<What are you up to?>

Maybe just stick with friendly. She wasn't 100% sure he was into her in a romantic sense, anyway. He definitely could have meant 'get to know you' like friends, no matter what her midnight fantasies said.

59 minutes exactly. What did it mean? Just under an hour. Maybe... Yes, a measured response. I will not wait a full hour to respond, or you might be lulled into thinking your position is secure. It was a delayed quick attack. Tactically, brilliant.

And that, to say she was busy. A strong combination. He thought of what to reply with for some time, before he got a text asking what he was up to.

. . .

She was trying to find out were he was, wasn't she? Telling her what he was doing would likely give away his location! He wiped his blade on the shirt of the nearest dead body, before sheathing his weapon and walking out of the gang hideout he'd been tasked on clearing out.

<Laundry. And you?> A safe response. He could be doing laundry at any one of hundreds of mats in the city. He wondered what she could be doing right now. Was she inbetween conquests? Maybe she lay with a man right now, blade tucked in behind her lingerie, ready to strike when her prey lowered his or her guard. The thought got him all riled up.

Laudry.

He was doing his own laundry.

... A man who took care of his own household chores! She swooned on the spot, and then glanced down at what she was doing.

All of her weapons were laid out on her table in various states of being dismantled, or reassembled. She cringed. She didn't want him thinking she was some dangerous nutcase.

<Just meal prep>

She chewed on her bottom lip for a moment. This was going nowhere. She was killing a potential conversation!

<Did you need something?>

She facepalmed as soon as she sent the text, pushed her phone to the side, and got back to putting her guns back together.

Oh yes, so sexy, Annie. Cooking and office talk.

He was smelling his pitts when she responded. Woof. He needed to clean up.

Meal prep. Is that what she called it? He imagined her cleaning weapons. Hot.

He was in the shower when she replied, and leaned out to stare at the text for a long moment. Okay. Okay, she was going for the throat. Go right back, then! He couldn't let her win this confrontation.

<You.>

No! @#$% no, wait, that was too desperate.

<To jog. Jogging partner. Send button lol>

Good save. Good save? Damn. He would need jogging garb. He knew he was better in person, right? He could look her in the eye, gage her killer intent.

Yes, he could meet her in the park once more, perhaps.

<you.>

She projectile spit coffee across her table and the wall, and then choked for a while on it.

When his next text came through she had barely just recovered.

<haha Of course. I'm going jogging on Thursday if you want to come along.> She paused before sending it. To add in a winky face, or not? Ahhhhh! Why was this so hard!

She decided against it.

<Wanna meet at 6am in the park?>

Thursday was one full day away. She had a range slot booked for later that morning, too. At least it would give her a little bit of a buffer to work out her nerves so she didn't seem like a rambling idiot.

When he got the text back, he was standing, berift of clothes in a living place on loan from the cult. He nodded. They were going to meet in person.

Good. The game was afoot.

<Yes. We will meet then. > was the winky face too much?

It was too late to take it back. No, he liked it. It told her in not so many word that he knew. He was playing along, but he knew.

He would arrive at the park early, sporting a red tack suit, his weapons still tied onto his belt. He never went without them.

HE USED A WINKY FACE!?

What did that meeean?!

She immediately scrambled to get ready, even with it being a day away.

~~

Thursday morning arrived and she entered the park and spotted him, red tracksuit and all. "You're gonna get hot in that." He was already hot, but still!

She was in running shorts and a tank top, with an half-open zipper jacket over the top. Her gun was at her side nestled against her hip comfortably where she could reach it in a holster belly band. The bottom of the jacket concealed it enough that she didn't need to worry.

"Ready? I already did all my stretching before getting here." She didn't want another embarrassing ordeal of trying not to faint at him massaging her calf again. She adjusted the sweatband over her hairline and made sure her pony tail was tight.

"Ahhh, An-Chan. I am not worried! If I get hot, I will take off clothes." He looked to her, nodding in approval.

She was looking dangerous; her clothing strategically placed to barely conceal her instrument of death. It got his blood boiling more than the track suit.

She'd opted to stretch before. Clever, he wouldn't be able to employ the same technique as last time. A strong opening, but one he might be able to combat if he were careful. He just had to wear her out enough to get her to need to stretch again...

Then again, she was a runner, was she not? He wondered if he could. He welcomed the challenge. "I am."

He'd... just take clothes off.

It was a miracle that she didn't instantly turn beet red all over. "Haha!" She covered how awkward and hot under the collar that made her feel with a laugh and made sure her shoes were tied tightly. The last thing she needed was biting it and eating dirt in front of him.

"Alright, let's get going then."

She started off slow as they first took off so she could gauge how familiar he was with it, and then ramped up her speed a little until it was just pushing a pace that made talking almost difficult.

"Do you go jogging often, or are you just getting into it?" Some people still wore tracksuits, sure... just she didn't see it often. Generally spandex and a tank top in good weather, or waterproof sweats and a jacket otherwise.

Or those few grey sweaters and sweatpants fanatics out there.

Speaking of sweatpants... Good lord, Annie, don't you dare look down. At least try to be the good Christian daughter your parents hoped for.

"Let me know if I start going too fast, too. I don't run with other people so I don't know how to pace myself around someone else."

... Hopefully, that hadn't sounded snobby. She didn't want him thinking she was one of those runners.

She laughed when he said he would take clothes off. He wasn't sure why, he hadn't told a joke. Wait, was she belittling him in order to gain an advantage?! A shift in tactics? Maybe... Maybe she was trying to provoke a competitive spirit in order to shake his confidence, and force him to make a move.

This was dangerous. She started moving at a slow pace, and he easily kept up; he was in excellent shape, after all. He couldn't help but notice, though, that every time he started to geta feel for the pace, she sped up. She WAS challenging him. How did he respond? If he pushed faster, it would make him seem less confident; anyone who freaked out and acted rashly in a situtation like this was easy prey.

No, he had to maintain a stoic air. Her attacks had no effect on him. He sped up, keeping the pace. "I work out often. Jogging, less. I am more used to sudden, intense workouts." It was a decent day, so you better bet he stole his fair share of glances her way. She was good looking... All the better to lure men to their erotic deaths to.

He swore he would defeat her.

Out came the warning. Or... an encoded message? Was... she opening up to him? Had... others failed to keep up with her in the bed room? It started to fall together. "Do not worry about me. I have excellent stamina. I can last for hours." That being said... It was going to be a good work out. She was clearly quite a runner, and be doubted she was pulling out the stops. She had an injury, after all. "Your leg... Has it been getting better?" It was just a random thought that popped into his head.

Sudden intense workouts? What kind of workout was that? Did he have a personal trainer that sprang out of bushes with on-the-spot exercises for him? Or... She successfully battled back a blush. 'Sudden' and 'intense' together could mean a lot of things, not just bedroom stuff, you stupid monkey brain.

"That sounds exciting." She offered in response, unwilling to let her dirty thoughts slip out any further.

"I'm just getting back into more regular workouts myself. Ran out of time for a while... I've decided to start slow though." Or, as slow as Leonid would let her. The man didn't look very fast, but when he wanted too he could sweep her off her feet in the blink of an eye. Her poor tush had a lot of bruises from harsh lessons of situational awareness.

She whisted slightly at what she assumed to be a boast. He could run for hours? How?? He didn't look the type for a marathon runner. "I've never been much of a marathoner. I tend to top a few minutes at a time if I'm not super serious about it. My best time is just under a minute, and then repeat that until I've run out of stamina."

That reminded her that she really needed to get out on the track again and see what her current limits were. It had been a few months since she'd last tried. She chuckled awkwardly. Oh, she'd run off on a tangent about running.

"My leg?" She hazarded a glance down at it and immediately felt dumb. Why's she need to look at it? "Oh, yeah. It doesn't really start to act up unless I run for too long, or do something stupid. I've been in physical therapy for a few years on getting back to 100%, and I'd say I'm about-" She mulled over numbers in her head for a bit while pursing her lips and looking skyward. "-...eh.. 70-ish%. I've still got a bit to go, but it's not nearly as bad as it was."

She was slightly ahead of him, setting the pace, so she likely didn't catch his eyebrows raise as she replied to his suggestive statement by saying it sounded exciting. Wait... Which intense thing? Killing people in deadly sword fights, or driving them to new heights of pleasure in dark rooms? He suspected she was experienced at both of those things at this point.

He tilted his head at her statement about getting into regular workouts. Was he... What was the american word... a Rebound? That was it. He was a black widow rebound... Provided he didn't win her over, and make her fall for him, and thus choose meet him in intimate combat, where he could best her and leave with his life.

He nearly fell over when she suddenly confided in him her incredible skills. One minute?! She was that good? And incourigible, considering she openly stated she liked to repeat over and over until she was out of stamina... She didn't attack her unforunate mates... She drained them of their very souls until they could go no longer. His jaw clenched for a moment, and he nodded. She was going in for the kill. Slow things down. Gods, he was imagining some things...

"Ah. Well... You must be exceptionally talented... Many must have fallen to you." Oh, right they were talking about her knee as well, weren't they? This conversation had taken a turn to the most fascinating. He hated to take her on when she was weakened, but did Miyamoto Musashi not down several opponents while being chased around the mountainside. She likely did the same... and at 70% of her maximum power no less.

He had to be a complete monster in bed. He started to wonder... could he tame her? He was getting ahead of himself. He needed to win the first game in order to even get a shot.

The Ronin started speeding up.