(the scarf seems a bit ludicrous now, when the alien charges, a titter of a laugh at what may possibly be her last fight...
yeah, right.)
I guess good looks can be a curse, huh, big guy? ... I mean, you can't relate.
(and sombra's fast enough to dodge—impressively so—as a slick knee-slide takes her out of this lumbering saurian's direct path of engagement, giving victor and the well-groomed mass of curls liberal room to work with (really, she can't help but huff at the speed walk, perfectly capable of finding the shred of humour in a very grim situation). just short of the door, too lucky, it plants great limbs to skid and stop and stare around.
she'd be upset at the unfair match-up, pushing up with her legs to step lightly around its scaled flank, if its its recovery time was slower. but, for a brute, she has to give credit where credit's due. surprises the hell out of her, when a thick tail swings in abject fury at the shiny plaything bent on escaping, catching her shin when she tries to jump.
there goes her balance.) —Mierda.
(it's not long after he accesses the terminal that victor will hear, through the mouth of the conveniently human-sized access hatch, a rapid spray of bullets. machine pistol, over forty rounds no one will ever bother counting, the flash of a firefight and the howl of unspoken, guttural dialect leaving nothing to imagination. far more worrying is the silence that follows. there has to be a winner and a loser, if "winning" carries a loose definition and includes eventual escape.
thankfully, there's the eventual clatter of a glowing device being tossed up the corridor, scratching metal as it spins to a stop.)
no subject
yeah, right.)
I guess good looks can be a curse, huh, big guy? ... I mean, you can't relate.
(and sombra's fast enough to dodge—impressively so—as a slick knee-slide takes her out of this lumbering saurian's direct path of engagement, giving victor and the well-groomed mass of curls liberal room to work with (really, she can't help but huff at the speed walk, perfectly capable of finding the shred of humour in a very grim situation). just short of the door, too lucky, it plants great limbs to skid and stop and stare around.
she'd be upset at the unfair match-up, pushing up with her legs to step lightly around its scaled flank, if its its recovery time was slower. but, for a brute, she has to give credit where credit's due. surprises the hell out of her, when a thick tail swings in abject fury at the shiny plaything bent on escaping, catching her shin when she tries to jump.
there goes her balance.) —Mierda.
(it's not long after he accesses the terminal that victor will hear, through the mouth of the conveniently human-sized access hatch, a rapid spray of bullets. machine pistol, over forty rounds no one will ever bother counting, the flash of a firefight and the howl of unspoken, guttural dialect leaving nothing to imagination. far more worrying is the silence that follows. there has to be a winner and a loser, if "winning" carries a loose definition and includes eventual escape.
thankfully, there's the eventual clatter of a glowing device being tossed up the corridor, scratching metal as it spins to a stop.)