When the Rusalka caught Lavana's meaningful gaze, she shook her head. It wasn't that she didn't love to fight dirty. What she wanted that night, however, was to give the Hounds a beating they'd never forget. She wanted to win in such a decisive manner that none could accuse her of cheating with a weapon like the archer had in the tavern. She wanted to send Gibney and Dana another message.
Part of Max was jealous of the imperial that she had the luxury of leaning over to catch her breath. With the archer back on his feet and ready for more, it was one she could not hope to afford. She shared her friend's pain. They had both reached a point where no amount of alcohol or drugs could spare them the effects of this brawl. Each were digging deep into their reserves to keep themselves standing. Their bodies were tired. Neither would be able to keep up the act for much longer. As much as she wanted to offer Lavana a word of encouragement, she needed to save every breath. The archer stalked toward her to make his final stand.
Come and get me.
His fist blow dipped under her guard to soften her body, but his closeness only gave her the opportunity to hurl her head into his face. If his nose hadn't been utterly broken before, it sure was now. He stumbled back with a stream of expletives, eyes involuntarily watering and guard raised while blood streamed down his face. Max's body lunged forward as though her life depended on taking the rare, temporary advantage. In a way, it probably did.
Her jab predictably was halted by his guard, but her right hook to his rib cage and the shin between his too-wide stance were left uncontested. When his body leaned in with the pain her uppercut rose to pummel him. With her other hand's fingers laced in his short hair to hold his head in place, there was virtually no escape. A last ditch effort to shoot in for her legs only resulted in her rapidly dropping all her weight onto his head. His forehead struck the hard ground with a speed and force he wasn't properly prepared to off-set. He was in a haze thicker than hers after that. All there was left to do was slip her arm under his windpipe and squeeze tight.
The moment his body went limp to signal his unconsciousness, Max released her hold. She collapsed over him, lungs heaving and muscles aching something fierce. The beads of sweat on her forehead were cold in the Cylus wind but her cheeks were bright red. Her sights looked to Lavana then. As much as she wanted to fade into the black in search of her bed and a new bottle, she wasn't inclined to leave the imperial locked in battle alone. Maxine made one last push to her feet, spat upon the unconscious archer, and made way for her friend.
Should Lavana need it, she'd be happy to intervene by grabbing the brute by the back of the head and slamming him down onto his back. The Rusalka was finished. Completely and utterly finished. That wouldn't stop her from finding it in her to bury her heel in a face if need be though. It was the least she could do for the woman that had agreed to enter her quarrel with ex-coworkers.
Just show me the opening.
Part of Max was jealous of the imperial that she had the luxury of leaning over to catch her breath. With the archer back on his feet and ready for more, it was one she could not hope to afford. She shared her friend's pain. They had both reached a point where no amount of alcohol or drugs could spare them the effects of this brawl. Each were digging deep into their reserves to keep themselves standing. Their bodies were tired. Neither would be able to keep up the act for much longer. As much as she wanted to offer Lavana a word of encouragement, she needed to save every breath. The archer stalked toward her to make his final stand.
Come and get me.
His fist blow dipped under her guard to soften her body, but his closeness only gave her the opportunity to hurl her head into his face. If his nose hadn't been utterly broken before, it sure was now. He stumbled back with a stream of expletives, eyes involuntarily watering and guard raised while blood streamed down his face. Max's body lunged forward as though her life depended on taking the rare, temporary advantage. In a way, it probably did.
Her jab predictably was halted by his guard, but her right hook to his rib cage and the shin between his too-wide stance were left uncontested. When his body leaned in with the pain her uppercut rose to pummel him. With her other hand's fingers laced in his short hair to hold his head in place, there was virtually no escape. A last ditch effort to shoot in for her legs only resulted in her rapidly dropping all her weight onto his head. His forehead struck the hard ground with a speed and force he wasn't properly prepared to off-set. He was in a haze thicker than hers after that. All there was left to do was slip her arm under his windpipe and squeeze tight.
The moment his body went limp to signal his unconsciousness, Max released her hold. She collapsed over him, lungs heaving and muscles aching something fierce. The beads of sweat on her forehead were cold in the Cylus wind but her cheeks were bright red. Her sights looked to Lavana then. As much as she wanted to fade into the black in search of her bed and a new bottle, she wasn't inclined to leave the imperial locked in battle alone. Maxine made one last push to her feet, spat upon the unconscious archer, and made way for her friend.
Should Lavana need it, she'd be happy to intervene by grabbing the brute by the back of the head and slamming him down onto his back. The Rusalka was finished. Completely and utterly finished. That wouldn't stop her from finding it in her to bury her heel in a face if need be though. It was the least she could do for the woman that had agreed to enter her quarrel with ex-coworkers.
Just show me the opening.
