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Apr. 15th, 2026 10:16 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
dustbunny105Wip Wednesday! I got "distance" as a prompt last week and it pulled up more than I thought it would-- including a couple things I'd forgotten even starting-- but not much ended up being usable. Got something out of it, though, so here's that:
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"-- had a deal," Slipstream's voice, pitched with agitation and oddly distorted, echoed through the corridor. "I don't know what's going on--"
She cut herself off with a burst of frustrated static as Elita rounded the corner, ion gun at the ready, and whipped up her right arm to aim her own, mounted weapon. Airachnid, focus on the wall of screens in front of her, caught that arm half-way. Slipstream looked around at her with a snarl but Airachnid just tipped her head to look over her other shoulder at Elita.
“I wouldn’t risk that, if I were you,” she said, speaking so softly that Elita shouldn’t have been able to hear through the distance between them but it was as if she was speaking right into her audial. “You don’t know what you might hit.”
“What have you done?” Elita asked, cold and clear. Her voice seemed to waver in the air of the cavern, taking the power out of it. Slipstream looked almost as disturbed as Elita herself was by the sound but Airachnid just smirked.
“You should be more concerned about what I’m going to do, Autobot,” she said, sneering. Her plating flared up as if it could hide her. “Not that there’s anything you can do about it, mind you.”
From behind her, Elita heard the familiar roar of an engine. She had just enough time to snap, "Chromia, stand down!" before a brilliant blue blur streaked past her.
But the command caught her before she was halfway into the room. She braked hard and somersaulted through a transformation, landing in a battle-ready stance with her axe held steady in her hands. Elita came up alongside her in long strides, keeping her weapon trained on the two Decepticons. Chromia didn't spare her a glance. Her entire, furious focus was on Airachnid.
"Where is she?" Chromia demanded, her voice seeming to make the air itself quake. "What have you done to Flareup?"
"Airachnid affected a look of puzzlement and tapped one long claw to the side of her mouth. "Flareup?" she asked, still so softly, the very picture of polite inquiry. Then she rounded her optics and let out a fake little gasp. "Why, Chromia-- you don't mean that you've lost that little mentee of yours?" She made a series of disappointed clicking sounds. Then her lips pulled into a smirk. "Surely not after Firestar trusted you to look after her...?"
Chromia's face fell, then twisted into a snarl. This time, Elita's staying order went ignored.
.
Arcee awoke to find herself staring at an unfamiliar ceiling, someone else’s charge running through her wires. She gasped as her processor lit up with alerts and warnings, emergency systems screaming.
“That’s enough,” said a voice, unknown but still somehow familiar. “Ease off. Arcee?”
With great effort, she kicked her processor into gear. It still took longer than it strictly should have to get the command to move through her processing queue. When at last it did, she found herself biting off a sound of frustration at the sight of a bulkhead. She’d turned the wrong way.
Gentle fingers under her chin led her in the right direction.
“Moonracer,” hissed the voice, “don’t just grab at her like that! She’s still disoriented!”
“Staring at the wall while she tries to talk to us isn’t going to make her less disoriented,” said, presumably, Moonracer. She came into view, all soft, soothing cool tones, as Acree’s head was rolled to the side. She was looking at her companions but turned quickly to smile at Arcee, encouraging and welcoming. “Hi! You gave us a bit of a scare.”
“I’m sorry,” she found herself answering automatically. She shifted her gaze to take in the rest of the group-- or the rest that was present anyway.
The room-- the repair bay?-- that she was in was small but she had no idea of the size of the ship or how many more there might be to this crew. For the time being, she was joined by three other mechanisms. Moonracer, hovering at her side. Her warm-colored rescuer, standing proud and handsome at a respectable distance. And, behind her, a complete stranger; her coloring was just outside the range anyone on Paradron would’ve associated with safety-- and the look on her face, suspicious and disapproving, a far cry from it.
“Don’t apologize!” Moonracer gasped. “I didn’t mean to make you do that, gosh-- we weren’t sure you’d come back online!”
“She was always going to come back online,” said the vibrant blue stranger, exasperated. “Firestar exaggerated her condition to guilt me.”
“If the tool’s in the kit, might as well use it,” Firestar said without shame. Despite the quip, the smile she bestowed upon Arcee was as warm as her coloring. Despite being painted up in the wrong end of the spectrum for a carer, she practically radiated comfort. Holding out both hands and telegraphing her every move, she moved toward the slab Arcee was laid out on. “Like Moonracer,” she gestured towards her friend, “already said-- hi. And welcome back. We weren’t properly introduced before you winked out on us; I’m Firestar. The grumpy lady behind me is Chromia. Don’t mind her too much-- that’s just her resting security officer face.”
“Thank you,” Arcee said. It wasn’t the most polite way to respond but they all knew her name already anyway. She might as well get on to the next portion of the program. She managed to dig up enough energy to smile. “I thought I was done for out there.”
Chromia’s expression twitched, just a little, before settling back into what Arcee hoped wasn’t a customary scowl.
.
"I'll stay here and get repairs started," Botanica said. "My plant mode can't make the kind of distance that your beast modes can and I can try to at least give you someplace safe to bring Cheetor back to."
"Good call," Optimus acknowledged, ignoring Rattrap's whining about Botanica getting to stay behind as he crowded into the elevator with the others, Rhinox rearing up awkwardly onto his back legs to accommodate them all. "The radiation is havoc on the comms, so we'll be out of touch. Keep a watch out for us as best you can."
"Understood."
The door shut, less of a snap than Optimus was used to due to the fullness of the elevator. It was sluggish going down as well, which he supposed was better than it just dropping the lot of them to the hard ground below. They'd have to put an overhaul of the hydraulics on the list of priorities where the ship's care was concerned.
"Which way did they go?" Rhinox asked once they were outside and all moving for personal space.
"Northeast," Optimus answered readily, looking off that way across the plain and trying to spot some sign of Cheetor. He called up his telescopic vision, having to fish around for a moment for the command codes. This new form integrated far differently with his root than he was accustomed to-- but then, he'd never taken an organic mode before. Perhaps this was normal.
"Hop on," Rhinox offered, shaking himself to draw attention to the broad expanse of his back. "Bad enough he's on his own, we three should stick together."
Optimus and Rattrap followed the suggestion at speed, scrambling onto Rhinox's back. Rattrap started to slip off as they got moving-- perhaps unintentionally, perhaps not-- and Opimus grabbed him by the scruff of his neck to pull him up in front, where he was held secure by Optimus's arms on either side of him braced between Rhinox's shoulders. He made a repetitive chittering sort of noise that Optimus, leaned over him as he was, could make out even over the steady pounding of Rhinox's galloping footsteps.
.
Blackarachnia shook her head and then seemed to steel herself. She looked down at Skold with all the authority she liked to pretend she had and said, "Enough of this chump patrol. Come with me."
She turned and walked away like she expected Skold to follow. And Skold did, without really thinking about it. She hesitated at the tree line and glanced back at the Darksyde. But, well, it wasn't like it had been Megatron himself to give her the assignment, right? Terrorsaur didn't have any more authority than Blackarachnia did, really. He was just loud and mean.
"Let's go," Blackarachnia called, hardly even turning her head to look over her shoulder. She waited until she heard the rustling of Skold plodding through the bushes and flipped into her alt mode.
Following Blackarachnia's lead, Skold shook a few loose leaves free from her seams as she dropped to all fours and hurried to keep up. Blackarachnia was faster and more maneuverable besides but although she acted like she didn't actually care whether Skold was following her or not, she was keeping a pace that Skold didn't lag too far behind.
Deeper and deeper into the forest she led them, offering no explanation and shutting down every attempt Skold made to ask for one. Just when Skold was about to stop and demand such an explanation, there came a cry from overhead. They both paused to look up through the foliage and could just see a shadow swoop past them high above the trees. Even from this distance, it was clear that the falcon was too big to be a natural creature here.
"That's Airazor!" Skold gasped. She flipped into root mode and swung her blaster up on instinct but Airazor was already out of sight. She wasn't attacking them-- she was headed for the Darksyde. "We have to--"
"Skold," Blackarachnia said, more plainly serious in that one syllable than Skold had ever heard her before. She was in her own root mode and looking at Skold dead on when she wheeled around to look. "Don't go back there."
"W-what?" she asked. Not a lack of confidence, for once, but a surplus of confusion.
"Don't go back there," Blackarachnia said again. She approached her; hesitantly for the first step but then with all of her usual poise and grace. "You didn't think I was coming back? It was for good reason. I'm leaving-- for good. I don't know yet where I'm going but I know that much, at least. I wouldn't have gone back at all except that I had something to go back for."
It was only through sheer force of will that Skold didn't glance around like a fool while Blackarachnia kept her gaze locked on her.
"But... I don't understand," Skold said. She twitched but she didn't draw up her blaster or turn away. "Why?"
"That is the question," Blackarachnia said. She laughed as she said it but she didn't seem to be laughing at Skold. She turned serious again and said, "You don't belong there, with them. They'd only crush you down until there was nothing left. You know that as well as I do. So why question it? Let's just go."
"What makes going with you any better?" Skold asked, her harmonics ringing clear in the glade. "You talk like you're better than them-- what am I saying, you think you're better than all of us. You might even be right. But what makes going with you any better for me?"
"I came back for you, didn't I?" Blackarachnia snapped. Her spider legs rustled on her back, the toes wiggling like she wanted to use them all to grab Skold and shake. "I didn't walk away and leave you there, when I could've. You gonna stand there and tell me that's not better than anyone else would've done?"
A low bar-- the lowest bar maybe. But Blackarachnia was still the only person who'd ever cleared it.
.
Mirage was rearranging the bottles under the counter when a presence sidled up to him, too far into his personal space even across the counter. He looked up and backed up in a fluid motion, fixing his patron with a look at once polite and reprimanding.
Getaway paid it no mind, projecting joviality as he made himself at home on the counter. “Hey there, Raj-- can I call you Raj?”
“I would prefer if you didn’t.”
A hint of laughter found its way into Getaway’s vocals but he otherwise didn’t act as though he’d heard Mirage protest. “Lemme get a repeat of that last order, would you?”
“You’re sure he hasn’t had enough?” Mirage asked even as he went about fixing up the requested drinks. They were complex things, in taste and appearance, but he still spared a glance toward Tailgate. He didn’t know the little bot well-- Getaway tended to do the talking for both of them-- but he could see him eyeing the empty glasses on their table with what looked like discomfort.
“Sure, sure-- asked before I bothered, didn’t I?” Getaway waved his concern away like exhaust fumes but leaned in a little closer too. “I’m keeping an eye on him, so don’t you worry that pretty head of yours.”
Mirage hummed noncommittally, putting the energy he might’ve wasted protesting into his work instead. He liked Getaway well enough, really-- at least someone was doing something about the Megatron situation and Mirage was gratified that it was a fellow special operative and grateful to be included. But the mech had little sense of personal space when sober and tended to forget what pocket he kept it in when tipsy. His current infringement upon Mirage’s own bubble-- when Mirage was working and Getaway himself was on a date, no less-- was only the latest in a long list of displays of his lack of decorum.
“Done,” Mirage said at last, pushing the glasses toward Getaway. He couldn’t quite help another glance over Getaway’s shoulder and frowned, grip tightening on the drink meant for Tailgate. “You’re sure he’s alright?”
Getaway looked back himself, waving when he caught Tailgate’s attention. Tailgate perked up and waved back, wobbling enough that it was visible even from the distance. Getaway laughed a little, a sound rather low on humor, before turning back. He took the drinks in hand, though Mirage didn’t relinquish them just yet.
“It’s good of you to worry, Raj, but it’s fine. We’re out of here after this round anyway, it’s just--” Getaway shot a look around and leaned in again, closing the already negligible space between them. Apparently satisfied of their privacy, he murmured, “Listen, he’s just worried about what we all are, you know? I couldn’t turn him down on just one more drink to try and get away from it.”
Mirage slacked his grip before he was entirely aware of meaning to. He probably shouldn’t-- but they did all have their reasons to be concerned, after all, and at least Tailgate had Getaway to watch out for him.
.
Ariel dodged, grunting as she hit the ground at a bad angle and gritting her dentae as she rolled with the impact anyway. She popped back up just in time to parry a blow from Alphastrike but stumbled, low level warnings popping up on her HUD as damage was registered in the armor of the shoulder she’d landed on. She scrambled to get some distance and switched her ax to her other hand.
“You took that fall badly,” Alphastrike said like Ariel didn’t know already.
The criticism and the condescension both rankled, lifting her sparse armor in a threat display that probably didn’t even register to Alphastrike. She darted forward, eager to reclaim the ground she’d lost. Too eager. The hurry made her sloppy and she telegraphed her next blow. Alphastrike had the audacity to look bored as she parried with her bare hand. Then she snatched the axe out of Ariel's hand to toss it aside.
While Ariel was still gawping at her weapon lying useless on the ground, Alphastrike lifted her off her feet and tossed her as easily as she'd tossed the axe. Ariel twisted in mid-air, bringing her arms up to protect her head, and rolled as she hit the ground so that she came back almost gracefully to her feet.
Alphastrike nodded in approval and said, "Better." It was the nicest thing she'd had to say to Ariel for the whole session.
.
"-- had a deal," Slipstream's voice, pitched with agitation and oddly distorted, echoed through the corridor. "I don't know what's going on--"
She cut herself off with a burst of frustrated static as Elita rounded the corner, ion gun at the ready, and whipped up her right arm to aim her own, mounted weapon. Airachnid, focus on the wall of screens in front of her, caught that arm half-way. Slipstream looked around at her with a snarl but Airachnid just tipped her head to look over her other shoulder at Elita.
“I wouldn’t risk that, if I were you,” she said, speaking so softly that Elita shouldn’t have been able to hear through the distance between them but it was as if she was speaking right into her audial. “You don’t know what you might hit.”
“What have you done?” Elita asked, cold and clear. Her voice seemed to waver in the air of the cavern, taking the power out of it. Slipstream looked almost as disturbed as Elita herself was by the sound but Airachnid just smirked.
“You should be more concerned about what I’m going to do, Autobot,” she said, sneering. Her plating flared up as if it could hide her. “Not that there’s anything you can do about it, mind you.”
From behind her, Elita heard the familiar roar of an engine. She had just enough time to snap, "Chromia, stand down!" before a brilliant blue blur streaked past her.
But the command caught her before she was halfway into the room. She braked hard and somersaulted through a transformation, landing in a battle-ready stance with her axe held steady in her hands. Elita came up alongside her in long strides, keeping her weapon trained on the two Decepticons. Chromia didn't spare her a glance. Her entire, furious focus was on Airachnid.
"Where is she?" Chromia demanded, her voice seeming to make the air itself quake. "What have you done to Flareup?"
"Airachnid affected a look of puzzlement and tapped one long claw to the side of her mouth. "Flareup?" she asked, still so softly, the very picture of polite inquiry. Then she rounded her optics and let out a fake little gasp. "Why, Chromia-- you don't mean that you've lost that little mentee of yours?" She made a series of disappointed clicking sounds. Then her lips pulled into a smirk. "Surely not after Firestar trusted you to look after her...?"
Chromia's face fell, then twisted into a snarl. This time, Elita's staying order went ignored.
.
Arcee awoke to find herself staring at an unfamiliar ceiling, someone else’s charge running through her wires. She gasped as her processor lit up with alerts and warnings, emergency systems screaming.
“That’s enough,” said a voice, unknown but still somehow familiar. “Ease off. Arcee?”
With great effort, she kicked her processor into gear. It still took longer than it strictly should have to get the command to move through her processing queue. When at last it did, she found herself biting off a sound of frustration at the sight of a bulkhead. She’d turned the wrong way.
Gentle fingers under her chin led her in the right direction.
“Moonracer,” hissed the voice, “don’t just grab at her like that! She’s still disoriented!”
“Staring at the wall while she tries to talk to us isn’t going to make her less disoriented,” said, presumably, Moonracer. She came into view, all soft, soothing cool tones, as Acree’s head was rolled to the side. She was looking at her companions but turned quickly to smile at Arcee, encouraging and welcoming. “Hi! You gave us a bit of a scare.”
“I’m sorry,” she found herself answering automatically. She shifted her gaze to take in the rest of the group-- or the rest that was present anyway.
The room-- the repair bay?-- that she was in was small but she had no idea of the size of the ship or how many more there might be to this crew. For the time being, she was joined by three other mechanisms. Moonracer, hovering at her side. Her warm-colored rescuer, standing proud and handsome at a respectable distance. And, behind her, a complete stranger; her coloring was just outside the range anyone on Paradron would’ve associated with safety-- and the look on her face, suspicious and disapproving, a far cry from it.
“Don’t apologize!” Moonracer gasped. “I didn’t mean to make you do that, gosh-- we weren’t sure you’d come back online!”
“She was always going to come back online,” said the vibrant blue stranger, exasperated. “Firestar exaggerated her condition to guilt me.”
“If the tool’s in the kit, might as well use it,” Firestar said without shame. Despite the quip, the smile she bestowed upon Arcee was as warm as her coloring. Despite being painted up in the wrong end of the spectrum for a carer, she practically radiated comfort. Holding out both hands and telegraphing her every move, she moved toward the slab Arcee was laid out on. “Like Moonracer,” she gestured towards her friend, “already said-- hi. And welcome back. We weren’t properly introduced before you winked out on us; I’m Firestar. The grumpy lady behind me is Chromia. Don’t mind her too much-- that’s just her resting security officer face.”
“Thank you,” Arcee said. It wasn’t the most polite way to respond but they all knew her name already anyway. She might as well get on to the next portion of the program. She managed to dig up enough energy to smile. “I thought I was done for out there.”
Chromia’s expression twitched, just a little, before settling back into what Arcee hoped wasn’t a customary scowl.
.
"I'll stay here and get repairs started," Botanica said. "My plant mode can't make the kind of distance that your beast modes can and I can try to at least give you someplace safe to bring Cheetor back to."
"Good call," Optimus acknowledged, ignoring Rattrap's whining about Botanica getting to stay behind as he crowded into the elevator with the others, Rhinox rearing up awkwardly onto his back legs to accommodate them all. "The radiation is havoc on the comms, so we'll be out of touch. Keep a watch out for us as best you can."
"Understood."
The door shut, less of a snap than Optimus was used to due to the fullness of the elevator. It was sluggish going down as well, which he supposed was better than it just dropping the lot of them to the hard ground below. They'd have to put an overhaul of the hydraulics on the list of priorities where the ship's care was concerned.
"Which way did they go?" Rhinox asked once they were outside and all moving for personal space.
"Northeast," Optimus answered readily, looking off that way across the plain and trying to spot some sign of Cheetor. He called up his telescopic vision, having to fish around for a moment for the command codes. This new form integrated far differently with his root than he was accustomed to-- but then, he'd never taken an organic mode before. Perhaps this was normal.
"Hop on," Rhinox offered, shaking himself to draw attention to the broad expanse of his back. "Bad enough he's on his own, we three should stick together."
Optimus and Rattrap followed the suggestion at speed, scrambling onto Rhinox's back. Rattrap started to slip off as they got moving-- perhaps unintentionally, perhaps not-- and Opimus grabbed him by the scruff of his neck to pull him up in front, where he was held secure by Optimus's arms on either side of him braced between Rhinox's shoulders. He made a repetitive chittering sort of noise that Optimus, leaned over him as he was, could make out even over the steady pounding of Rhinox's galloping footsteps.
.
Blackarachnia shook her head and then seemed to steel herself. She looked down at Skold with all the authority she liked to pretend she had and said, "Enough of this chump patrol. Come with me."
She turned and walked away like she expected Skold to follow. And Skold did, without really thinking about it. She hesitated at the tree line and glanced back at the Darksyde. But, well, it wasn't like it had been Megatron himself to give her the assignment, right? Terrorsaur didn't have any more authority than Blackarachnia did, really. He was just loud and mean.
"Let's go," Blackarachnia called, hardly even turning her head to look over her shoulder. She waited until she heard the rustling of Skold plodding through the bushes and flipped into her alt mode.
Following Blackarachnia's lead, Skold shook a few loose leaves free from her seams as she dropped to all fours and hurried to keep up. Blackarachnia was faster and more maneuverable besides but although she acted like she didn't actually care whether Skold was following her or not, she was keeping a pace that Skold didn't lag too far behind.
Deeper and deeper into the forest she led them, offering no explanation and shutting down every attempt Skold made to ask for one. Just when Skold was about to stop and demand such an explanation, there came a cry from overhead. They both paused to look up through the foliage and could just see a shadow swoop past them high above the trees. Even from this distance, it was clear that the falcon was too big to be a natural creature here.
"That's Airazor!" Skold gasped. She flipped into root mode and swung her blaster up on instinct but Airazor was already out of sight. She wasn't attacking them-- she was headed for the Darksyde. "We have to--"
"Skold," Blackarachnia said, more plainly serious in that one syllable than Skold had ever heard her before. She was in her own root mode and looking at Skold dead on when she wheeled around to look. "Don't go back there."
"W-what?" she asked. Not a lack of confidence, for once, but a surplus of confusion.
"Don't go back there," Blackarachnia said again. She approached her; hesitantly for the first step but then with all of her usual poise and grace. "You didn't think I was coming back? It was for good reason. I'm leaving-- for good. I don't know yet where I'm going but I know that much, at least. I wouldn't have gone back at all except that I had something to go back for."
It was only through sheer force of will that Skold didn't glance around like a fool while Blackarachnia kept her gaze locked on her.
"But... I don't understand," Skold said. She twitched but she didn't draw up her blaster or turn away. "Why?"
"That is the question," Blackarachnia said. She laughed as she said it but she didn't seem to be laughing at Skold. She turned serious again and said, "You don't belong there, with them. They'd only crush you down until there was nothing left. You know that as well as I do. So why question it? Let's just go."
"What makes going with you any better?" Skold asked, her harmonics ringing clear in the glade. "You talk like you're better than them-- what am I saying, you think you're better than all of us. You might even be right. But what makes going with you any better for me?"
"I came back for you, didn't I?" Blackarachnia snapped. Her spider legs rustled on her back, the toes wiggling like she wanted to use them all to grab Skold and shake. "I didn't walk away and leave you there, when I could've. You gonna stand there and tell me that's not better than anyone else would've done?"
A low bar-- the lowest bar maybe. But Blackarachnia was still the only person who'd ever cleared it.
.
Mirage was rearranging the bottles under the counter when a presence sidled up to him, too far into his personal space even across the counter. He looked up and backed up in a fluid motion, fixing his patron with a look at once polite and reprimanding.
Getaway paid it no mind, projecting joviality as he made himself at home on the counter. “Hey there, Raj-- can I call you Raj?”
“I would prefer if you didn’t.”
A hint of laughter found its way into Getaway’s vocals but he otherwise didn’t act as though he’d heard Mirage protest. “Lemme get a repeat of that last order, would you?”
“You’re sure he hasn’t had enough?” Mirage asked even as he went about fixing up the requested drinks. They were complex things, in taste and appearance, but he still spared a glance toward Tailgate. He didn’t know the little bot well-- Getaway tended to do the talking for both of them-- but he could see him eyeing the empty glasses on their table with what looked like discomfort.
“Sure, sure-- asked before I bothered, didn’t I?” Getaway waved his concern away like exhaust fumes but leaned in a little closer too. “I’m keeping an eye on him, so don’t you worry that pretty head of yours.”
Mirage hummed noncommittally, putting the energy he might’ve wasted protesting into his work instead. He liked Getaway well enough, really-- at least someone was doing something about the Megatron situation and Mirage was gratified that it was a fellow special operative and grateful to be included. But the mech had little sense of personal space when sober and tended to forget what pocket he kept it in when tipsy. His current infringement upon Mirage’s own bubble-- when Mirage was working and Getaway himself was on a date, no less-- was only the latest in a long list of displays of his lack of decorum.
“Done,” Mirage said at last, pushing the glasses toward Getaway. He couldn’t quite help another glance over Getaway’s shoulder and frowned, grip tightening on the drink meant for Tailgate. “You’re sure he’s alright?”
Getaway looked back himself, waving when he caught Tailgate’s attention. Tailgate perked up and waved back, wobbling enough that it was visible even from the distance. Getaway laughed a little, a sound rather low on humor, before turning back. He took the drinks in hand, though Mirage didn’t relinquish them just yet.
“It’s good of you to worry, Raj, but it’s fine. We’re out of here after this round anyway, it’s just--” Getaway shot a look around and leaned in again, closing the already negligible space between them. Apparently satisfied of their privacy, he murmured, “Listen, he’s just worried about what we all are, you know? I couldn’t turn him down on just one more drink to try and get away from it.”
Mirage slacked his grip before he was entirely aware of meaning to. He probably shouldn’t-- but they did all have their reasons to be concerned, after all, and at least Tailgate had Getaway to watch out for him.
.
Ariel dodged, grunting as she hit the ground at a bad angle and gritting her dentae as she rolled with the impact anyway. She popped back up just in time to parry a blow from Alphastrike but stumbled, low level warnings popping up on her HUD as damage was registered in the armor of the shoulder she’d landed on. She scrambled to get some distance and switched her ax to her other hand.
“You took that fall badly,” Alphastrike said like Ariel didn’t know already.
The criticism and the condescension both rankled, lifting her sparse armor in a threat display that probably didn’t even register to Alphastrike. She darted forward, eager to reclaim the ground she’d lost. Too eager. The hurry made her sloppy and she telegraphed her next blow. Alphastrike had the audacity to look bored as she parried with her bare hand. Then she snatched the axe out of Ariel's hand to toss it aside.
While Ariel was still gawping at her weapon lying useless on the ground, Alphastrike lifted her off her feet and tossed her as easily as she'd tossed the axe. Ariel twisted in mid-air, bringing her arms up to protect her head, and rolled as she hit the ground so that she came back almost gracefully to her feet.
Alphastrike nodded in approval and said, "Better." It was the nicest thing she'd had to say to Ariel for the whole session.
