3109/WMAT C2 Testarossa Fate vs Jeannette Thompson

WMAT C2 Testarossa Fate vs Jeannette Thompson
Date of Scene:	27 September 2015
Location:	WMAT Arena - Diablo Desert
Synopsis:	A hard-fought match between Testarossa Fate and Jeannette Thompson!
Cast of Characters:	401, 410
Tinyplot:	WMAT 2015

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Testarossa Fate (401) has posed:
    Between the sweltering heat, and oppressive scorching sun, and inhospitable conditions, the Diablo Desert is rather up there, when it comes to terrible settings for a fight. And yet here she is.

    Fate had considered herself lucky in her victory against Material-S. That fight took every ounce of skill, ingenuity, and quick thinking the girl had, and after that some would thing that it would be smooth sailing for the rest of the tournament perhaps.

    Not Fate.

    Taking her next fight just as seriously as the last, the small blonde is already on the field. Silent as a stone from her perch high atop a rock spire, scarlet eyes staring solemnly down at the sand and dust of the field below her, surveying the surroundings and terrain, forming strategies and calculations aleady on how to best put it to her advantage, cloak billowing in a wipping wind as she waits...

Jeannette Thompson (410) has posed:
"Why in the bloody blazes of the circle of hell we are in am I back in this sandbox again?" Jeannette has the question asked to... well, no one in particular. The RTMC security team she had brought with her (this time without the special and dramatic rotocraft apperance) were off at the sidelines, waiting to see the end of this fight, and Jeannette was sweating profusely by herself on a steppe below the rocky spires. At least she wasn't digging her shoes into constantly shifting sand. She couldn't tell if that scratching, unpleasent feeling of sand everywhere was from the last fight or this one; even if the uniform was new, skin repaired, armor fixed, it still felt like she might have taken some of it with her metaphysically.

The thought of wounds taken during the last match has her pause, forgetting the heat, if only for a moment. Closing her eyes, taking a breath. It wasn't going to get any easier. That was a certainity. But she had to try and fight through. She had come this far, and stopping because you didn't want to get hurt (badly) again... that was for people who weren't duelists, officers, nobles.

Now, the only thing she needed was her opponent to arrive. A quick look around the arena in front of her, hunting for shadows and moving shapes, before she pauses... and slowly looks up.

Testarossa Fate (401) has posed:
    There she is. So quiet that only the rippling flutter of Fate's cloak is the only reply Jeannette is going to get. Scarlet eyes meet blue and a rather chill wind blows across the sands, sending long blonde twintails blowing in the breeze.

    SNAK!

    With a machine-snap, the black axe-like Device in her grasp shifts, the dark metal axe head snapping up and crackling alive with clear intent, as a bright beam of gold light forms into a humming energy scythe blade.

    [GET SET.] Bardiche drones, the axe's smooth masculine voice giving Jeannette her first, last, and only warning of the fight.

    And then Fate is just gone. Off her perch in a blink, little more than ab lur of black and gold, the distance between the two is crossed in the span of less than even half a breath, that scythe poised to strike dead on.

    The chillingly silent ten-year-old looks the woman square in the eyes as she brings it down in a smooth cutting arc.

Jeannette Thompson (410) has posed:
Jeannette Thompson looks up for a moment, watching the woman standing on the rock above for a few long seconds. A few thoughts go through her head. Best way to deal with someone like this... pistol fire? From this distance and angle, it would be a waste of ammo she was limited in supply on. Granted, if she decided to aim for her, she'd have no choice but to attempt to... well. The snap of an energy build up ont axe she was holding indicated how she would get close enough to do some damage. She'd probably wouldn't even have to move from her current positon, either. The girl on the mountain seemed to want to come to her.

At the quick disappearance of the girl, Jeannette's eyes could barely follow the way she zoomed down, with both speed and accuracy in her slash from the montain. And it does some damage, slicing past closthing, through armor, scraping the side of the arm... but not the center mass the girl was looking for. Jeannette may not have been able to move as quickly as that, but she was still fast, and was simply somewhere else when the slash came.

That somewhere else had a few intermediary stops, though. Specifically, across Testarossa's left side, the blade in Jeannette's offhand coming out with a snap and a few electronic commends, run parallel to the ground to slice at her abdomen. "You're quick. That's a bit distressing, to be honest."

Testarossa Fate (401) has posed:
    Just as fast as she had swept in for the initial kill, Fate is quick in recovery; shifting her weight almost the very instant she hits the sand, dropping to knees and sliding in the dust as the child's body twists in the act. Lightly armored as she is and disinclined to trade blows head on, that blade scrapes along Fate's Barrier Jacket, the magical protective cloth of her bodysuit shredding in a neat line and drawing cut for cut, in a light parting of skin that starts a slow trickle of liquid crimson.

    Smooth as silk, she practically slides over the sand, trying to hook around behind the older woman in the process, left hand snapping up, gauntlet-clad fingers spreading.

    "Mn."

    Barely a response if any, verbally, as her fingers glow, golden light visible arcing between her digits before snapping outward in a jolting tazer shock aimed for Jeannette's back.

Jeannette Thompson (410) has posed:
That was simply too fast for Jeannette to do much of any sort of damage to the girl that moved around. She thought she saw sme sort of damage from the blade, but, agaist the jacket and the bodysuit underneath, but she was too focused... had to be too focused on the target to replay it in her mind. She's already trying to turn around to meet the girl who moved past her, but wasn't fast enough to avoid that arcing electricity. Electricity. She expected /something/ like this at one point, but she had figured, maybe with the skin burning off her from summoned magma, or the sand brushing and pressing into open wounds, it wouldn't be as bad as she thought it might be. Maybe it wasn't. But it still /hurt/.

There's a strangled gasp from the woman as she collapses to the ground, muscles twitching and spasming. The armor she was wearing provided some protection, but she was, for a few moments, blinded with a mass of gibberish and electrical interferance, displayed on her retinas, white noise hissing into subdermal speakers. Muscle ticks along her face... it was a wonder she even knew what direction she was facing right now.

GIven the attack, she might have been seen as completely helpless... but she couldn't be that, not at this time. She had to take what she didn't have and replace it with what she did.

With a quick spin around her, her working hand grabs a handful of the sand at her feet, and tosses it in an arc across where she thought Testarossa might be standing, before her offhand (it's blade doing an excellent job of automatically locking at the electrical spike) grips the pistol at her belt. She's firing blindly in Fate's direction, holding the trigger down and directing high velocity flechettes in the general area, but their were a lot of them. HOpefully some of them would hit. If they didn't... then maybe some of them would keep her back. Give her some time to recover.

Testarossa Fate (401) has posed:
    Unlike most mages who like to hang at a distance and cast, Fate's upbringing was... Clearly different. Once she's started the assault in close, she's not going to STOP. Intending to use that blinding speed to overwhelm and wear down is such a vicious strategy for one so young, and she clearly seems to excel at it, if she's made it this far in the tournament.

    Throwing sand goes under the assumption that Fate is standing in place to take it- when the fact of the matter is Fate doesn't evert stop in place once. Ever on the move, she's already jinking aside with a sudden and jarring shift of direction. But for all she remained stoic and silent before, there's a small, clear, gasp of shock and pain over the harsh desert winds, one gauntlet snapping up to her face as several sharp grains of dust still catch her anyway.

    To her credit, the blonde doesn't panic. Or if she does, she rallies in the same heart-quailing instant it occurs, and shifts her focuse off the offensive for just a beat when that hail of fire starts wildly chattering at her. Golden spheres of light form rapidly at the blonde's side, orbiting her tightly as they shift in form to arrowheads made of pure lightning, sizzling menacingly in the air.

    [PHOTON LANCER: COUNTER FIRE.] Her scythe pings lowly, the sizzling arrowheads snapping forward with a crak, off like bullets to try and shoot down the fire while it's oncoming, and punch through to Jeannette herself.

    Still, one gauntlet-clad hand is left clutching Fate's shoulder, in the end, a small wince on the girl's face as the black fabric of her bodysuit darkens damply.

    "Lucky..."

Jeannette Thompson (410) has posed:
Jeannette Thompson knows this wasn't a match where someone had to fight fair. Standing back and sportsmanship were things you encountered during a duel, with set weapons, set rules. Here, the rules were, simply 'don't kill the other person'. Anything else was simply a strategy, and the best strategy was to kick someone to the ground and keep kicking until they lost the memory of how to get up. Granted, though, it was more effective on soldiers who weren't used to this level of fighting, bruisers who weren't used to incapaciation. At this level, simply, Jeannette knew what was doing, knew she had to counter it... and had an idea of /how/ to counter it. The cry was all she had needed to point her gun in the right direction. By the time the rounds are on their way, the electrical attack that had been coursing through Jeannette is fading, pain receeding to dull achs as video and audio slowly clear up as systems reboot. Just in time for her to see those arrowheads forming around the other girl. The first flies forward and slams aganist her already cut arm, leaving the pistol to almost fly out of her hand. The next volleys, though...

In a flash, her sword is out of it's sheath, and the blade swings, and dances through the air, flashing as her body turns and shifts. She might have gotten hit with the first wave, but the second set was quickly dodged and deflected, seemingly both at the same time. And, as she dodged last, her own sword is suddenly in striking range of Fate.

The sword comes up in a diagnol slash, from bottom to top, right aganist her torso, the reach of it ensuring just the tip would flash and cut. It was meant to be a quick blow, one that sliced the surface instead of digging in. "I agree. Very lucky. Always glad to have it, but I hate to relay on it. Shall we settle for skill?"

Testarossa Fate (401) has posed:
    That... Was respectably fast.

    Nimble she may be, the fact of the matter is Fate is lightly armored, relying heavily on that speed and reflexes to see her through. Once the sand is out of her eyes, she was going to press her assault. That was the plan, to viciously wear Jeaneatte down. But when the Triancian draws her blade as quick as a flash of the very lightning Fate has mastery over, scarlet eyes widen in an instant of brief, visible, panic.

    Blood splatters the sand in a liquid scarlet line, seeping into the dirt and pattering quietly as Fate sinks to a knee almost instantly from the force of a swing she practically threw herself into at top speed. Stars of pain float across the blonde's vision, a nasty cut down her Barrier Jacket.

    Trembling fingers clasp around the shaft of her Device, before she looks up, eyes as cold as winter as she picks herself up to stand, scythe clasped in two-handed stance.

    Skill on skill it is, then. For all her fancy aerial acrobatics before, it would seem, the girl is just as skilled head on; a sudden twirl of her body whirling Bardiche in a vicious arc, arresting the scythe's momentum and spinning it in an opposing diagonal cut, beginning a flurried series of slashes and cuts, before sweeping the crackling blade upwards in an upcut intended to try and launch Jeannette skywards.

Jeannette Thompson (410) has posed:
In the case of Testarossa v. Jeannette, both would be found to have similar strategies. Jeannette's might have relied on percision, while Fate with strength, but both of them were lightly armored individuals in a knife fight. They both knew that the first few cuts would establish the winner... or so Jeannette thought, anyway. It beared out that this was true, though, as Fate's attacks were designed to keep attacking and never stop... and that her armor wasn't as strong as others. There's a slight smirk on the Commodore's face. as she sees that geasture of panic, of being forced to react, instead of act. Not so much in the damage she did, though, seeing the blood aganist the sand, flicking her sword almost dissmissiely away from them to toss the remaining blood on it to a different direction. It was due a proper cleaning, but not yet. Not until the job was done. At least, at the very least, though, she had given the girl something to fear.

That simply wasn't going to be enough.

That smirk quickly falls as Jeannette sees the cold look in the other's eyes. Her sword can't get up as quickl as she needs it to, so she raises her forearms instead. Slashes strip clothing and armor, one of them peeling through skin to cut into the dense material undrneath that passes for a bone there. Still, she was able to block a few of them before that last attack strikes, smacking her up and actually lifting her off the ground, dazed and disoriented before she falls back into the sand.

"Good... God." She manages to groan to herself. She hated this position, weak, unable to get up, and with an enemy that was going to take advantage of it. Her hand still gripped the sword, magnetically, as her expelled clip automatically ejected from the pistol. There was a flick of her hip as she tries to scrambe to her feet, one of the other clips of ammunition flicking out just enouth for the pistol to come down on it.

She might have time to rise and come to defense after her next attack. This wasn't an automatic barrage. This one was focused and aimed. The rounds that hit her didn't seek to penetrate the barrier jacket, like the flecehettes did. These flattened on impact. They were... technically non-lethal, but that doesn't mean they didn't brusise and make you feel you'd been hit with a sledge hammer.

Testarossa Fate (401) has posed:
    If Fate has her way, she won't be allowing the commodore to get back up for that reprisal. The blonde has already taken to the air in a leap, scythe poised to strike down and capitalize on the moment. Fate simply can't let that wound stop her, no matter the pain it causes, nor the blood loss. It can be tended to later, she didn't come this far to let up simply because her armor was not intended to take such devastating strikes.

    Her momentum is arrested however, stopping herself in the air when Jeannette resorts to her pistol again.

    [DEFENSER!] The blonde's scythe declares, forming a half-dome of golden light in front of her. The first initial rounds slam it head on, the golden light visibly forming hairline fractures, each slug impacting and flattening against it like a pane of bullet resistant glass. But one too many cracks forming in that defense causes it to shatter, a tinkling glass-like crash as the shield finally gives in and Fate gasps, clutching her stomach with a choke.

    It'sa very childish look of confusion on the girl's face as her body struggles to pull in a breath for that initial instant of the blunted slug knocking the wind out of her. But that too fades.

    "Guh... Bardi<span class=" bold_fg_y bg_n ++ he."

    chy">[YES SIR.]</span>

    A swipe of that scythe and it once again <span class=" bold_bg_y fg_n ++ himes.

    chy">[MIDNIGHT BIND.]</span> He declares the spell, rapidly aiding Fate in running through her mother's precise calculations, before the air SNAPS audibly, blocks of dark purple light seeking to clamp down on tje commodore's gun hand and restrict its motion, funneling a searing electricity in painful pulses for every second they remain attached, as she points her hand, palm out.

    [PHOTON BULLET.]

    "Just stay down and make this easy on the both of us. I really don't like hurting people."

    That doesn't stop the next whisper she utters.

    "Fire."

    Launching a solid sphere of purple energy straight at her foe.

Jeannette Thompson (410) has posed:
Two people attempting to beat each other into a pulp, it seemed. Killing blow after killing blow sought to end this fight as quickly as possible, before the other could come to more harm. And each stopped before they could accomplish this task. The problem Jeannette was facing is that she was still stuck... reacting to blows, one by one, unable to initiate much of her own attacks. The next one has some small amount of satisfaction in throwing Fate off her game, in shattering the defense she managed to come up with and sending het to the ground, and then disappointment that it simply didn't last as long as Jeannette needed it to. The glip runs dry just as the final attack hits, and the girl is ready to strick again. The clip is ejected from the pistol, but before she could load a freash one in, those bands snap foward and press aganist her off hand, the electricity making her cry out in pain as it deactivates the magnetics keeping the gun held ther, interrupts the link between it and her cybernetics... and forces her to actually drop the gun, right before that photon bullet slames into her chest, bringing her down agian.

This was... excessively embarassing. Her off hand fingers twitch and flex, as she works to get some sort of control over them. She had lost her ranged option, and couldn't reach for it, not now. Not enough time to bring it back before the attack was upon her again. She had only one option at the present, and it was, undoubtably, a stupid one.

"I'd extend the same offer to you. But I doubt either of us wants to avoid such trouble at the cost of our own victory." She says, before running forward toward Testarossa, full tilt, her sword drawn, coming up to slash, rising as she approches...

And then, with a fling at the very end of it, the blade shines in the heated sunlight and sails up and over Fat in a flash, as Jeannette pivots smoothly on her heel. She does a twirl, almost like a ballet dancer, spinning twice, before her heel digs in again, stopping with her back to Fate's...

And catching the blade as it comes down, sending it behind her in a smooth motion, and, hopefully, into Testarossa herself.

Testarossa Fate (401) has posed:
    The level, flat, stare that meets Jeannette's reply says more than words ever could. Those steely scarlet eyes, so firm with determination, have but one answer.

    It is a total, resounding, no.

    With the commodore charging her, the Mage rushes to meet her head on and--

    She threw her sword.

    Were it a magical weapon, or one capable of its oen propulsion this could potentially have been expected. But for all intents and purposes, Fate had just assumed it to be a completely normal blade. With a squeak, Bardiche is hoisted, seeking to try and turn the flung blade aside and earning a nasty gash on her arm for her troubles, before, thanks to the sheere surprise, Jeannette dances clean behind her and catches it.

    "NNGH!"

    Now that earns a sharp sound of pain, though through a herculean effort of will, the blonde strangles it between clenched teeth as the sword pierces her armor easily and digs into her back. Fate staggers forward, just in time to keep the piercing tip from hitting something vital, yet still deep enough to make the girl see stars. But Jeannette is not the only one who can hook her weapon backwards...

    With a scythe, Fate can literally HOOK it back, intending to catch the woman across the middle and HEAVE.

    [ARC SABER.]

    That golden electric blade detaches- Fate clearly intending to send Jeannette flying with it as it whirls circles around the Triancian like a buzz saw, before a much more ominous...

    [SABER EXPLODE.] That triggers its detonation with immense concussive force.

Jeannette Thompson (410) has posed:
Jeannette should have expected a number of things. Did expect one of them, in fact, that she would have said no to the incredibly reasonable option of surrender and scarfice of possible price money. The other... that a scythe was an excellent weapon to move behind her and stab... and spin. She had been concentrating on the execution of her own strike, of course, attempting to use the one chance she had to suprise the other well. And it worked. It didn't work as well as she'd wanted to, unfortunatly. Not right through the back, underneath the ribs to catch something vital, but maybe enough to cause some distracting internal bleeding.

What she /should/ have been thinking is of very little importance to what's actually happening, as the blade presses into her body. /That/ hurt. That had her coughing up blood for a moment as internal organs felt the press, knowing that she wouldn't be able to last long like this. Even before the sycthe twirled around, spinning her around and then flinging her toward the deck... but.

The explosion that happens comes just a tiny bit too late, as Jeannette tries to a manuever. It comes up in a spray of sand and heated air, but Jeannette had managed to divest herself of it. And this is where processors in one's head, reaction enhancers built into nerves, all came in handy. She knew which way she was going, what arc, where her pistol is. And, in what time she had, she came up with a plan.

Her feet touch the ground digging into the dirt (and making her try to keep from aspirating more blood at the shock of her landing with all of her might) before her spare hand presses out. The shock had causes systems to reboot, but this close, the electromagnets in both the gun and the glove she was wearing work in unison, letting the gun fly the short few feet to her hand, snapping in place. It's there before she's even done skidding backwards, another clip pressed out, pressed into the weapon, and then the weapon pointed forward.

As she rushes, the rounds are fired, three bursts... that are aimed at the ground, the rock covered in sand that sends up a stattaco bursts of silca and sendentary chips around Fate. It was obscuring, distracting, and might give her enough time to rush forward. The pistol flicks down to the holster at her side, blade extending from the same hand as it's brought up, and then, hopefully, pressed /deeply/ into Testarossa's shoulder.

"Like throwing people around?" She tries, the dignified sentence coming up in more an unhealthy burble of blood, her momentum in the strike forward redirected to the side, so that her sentence ends just after a spin and a blade reaction would hopefully through Fate hard to the ground.

Testarossa Fate (401) has posed:
    This is a rough fight. The sands are getting bloody as the two, despite all attempts over the other, end up locking in a battle of back and forth attrition.

    Unfortunately for Fate, battles of attrition are not ones she can win, as evidenced when the flurry of shells that kick up so much dust. Once again Fate is backing up, squinting to try and keep any of the obscuring dust from getting in them.

    And then, from out of the murk comes that blade again. A sharp cry this time, as she's slammed into the sand and that blade pierces, cold steel biting deep and agonizing. For a moment, Fate stares at the wound, keen and bloody, at the cusp of adrenaline's sweet embrace, clenching her teeth. "Nnh... Not really." She admits as the pain sinks in.

    It's Bardiche that saves her. The scythe crackling with a low ping.

    [REACTIVE PURGE!]

    In a flare of gold light, Fate's Barrier Jacket erupts outwards, a sudden concussive blast with no warning as the mana used to fuel her own defenses are reversed, turned outwards, and funnelled in an offensive blast to try and force Jeannette back, while Fate staggers to her feet, armor gone and sloqly working on piecing itself back together.

    "... Load <span class=" bold_bg_y fg_n ++ artridge."

    chy">[YES SIR]</span>

    With a hum, the Device's revolver cylinder revs in a spin before locking briefly, expending three of the six shells within with a loud CHUNK-CHUNK-CHUNK as she affixes the commodore with a look of dire seriousness.

    "I don't want to hurt you but... I'm not going to hold back anymore, now. Please do the same if you really want to win."

    It's an ultimatum.

Jeannette Thompson (410) has posed:
Jeannette Thompson could hope aganist hope that the land below them would permenantly be stained red. A monument to the fight that was leaving life and energy and pain littering the sands of this desert arena. It wouldn't, though. Sand would be blown away, blown in, cleaned up, and every trace of it would be erased here... Not on Jeannette's body, of course. There had to be a few scars left on her after this. And certainly not in Jeannette's mind. It was very hard to get used to fighting smaller kids... esspecially ones that made you bleed excessively.

It almost made Jeannette feel bad about things before attempting to throw her to the sand. Almost. Not quite, as that blast of concussive energy presses her away from Fate, blade moving from the shoulder with a wet 'schlp'. At least it hadn't dug into the bone, or both of them might have had a more painful disengagement.

The concussive blast doesn't do much to wound her at least, and she's still on her feet (or as much as she can be) when she remains. She is breathing hard... but her breath catches at those two words she utters, and the device looks to reload.

"Oh... my." She says, looking at the weapon. A quick wince, as her free arm hugs her broken adomen in pain. "I don't suppose I could... encourage you to scale back if you don't want to hurt me...? No, I don't expect I could." She gives a small smile as those shells start to eject. "I'm afraid if you're expecting more, I will be a dissapointment. I've given you everything I can, so far, and you're still standing." She notes, before her blade is out again, and she's rushing foward. It's drawn back... but it's not the first thing used in the attack. Her off hand forarm swings forward, attempting to slam aganist the bridge of the girl's nose, so she can feel the dense material the bone had been replaced with (directly feel it, given that wound from earlier in the fight would probably streak her face with blood. And /then the sword comes up, slashing down, and then up in a reverse V. "The very least I can do is to keep doing what I've been doing."

She had to stay close to Fate. That weapon she had... she wanted to beleive it was a last act of a desperate opponent, and maybe it was. But that didn't mean it wouldn't possible end this if she got a chance to get distance and fire.

Testarossa Fate (401) has posed:
    Here is Fate, giving her all. Willing to go as hard as she can for this fight, as she is for every one past, and the potential ones to come. And Jeannette asks her to hold back. The girl's expression flutters in a myriad of feelings, confused and perhaps a touch hurt, as she locks that intent staring gaze with blue eyes once again.

    "I won't be standing for long." She admits freely. She doesn't have the stamina, nor endurance to keep taking the commodore's blows, regardless of her own attack output. It has to end and it has to end fast and decisively. "That's why I want to give you everything I have. I won't hold it against you if you're at you're limit too." Replied in a gentle murmur, before she's forced to react. Rather than parry, the tiny blonde weaves, shifting her weight and working her feet to keep out of the vicious range of that blade. But not enough to keep from earning a few bloody welts grazing her for her trouble, face scrunching in a wince.

    But... When Jeannette moves to keep close as she does... There's a gleam in those scarlet eyes.

    It's exactly what Fate had wanted.

    [ZANBER FORM.]

    With that announcement from her scythe, the axe-like head snaps back all the way, splitting and spreading apart into a twin pronged cross-guard, the Device's shaft shortening into a two handed grip as the weapon takes on a form reminiscint of sword grip.

    Before that crackling golden blade flares to life again.

    Nearly a foot wide and MUCH longer than the girl herself is tall, the scythe morphs into a collossal two-handed sword, and while Fate dances just inches away from the tip of Jeannette's sword, her own has a MUCH longer, more devastating reach as she heaves it to one side. "Don't worry. It's not lethal. But... For Nanoha and Seikou's sakes. I won't lose!"

    Her voice rises, a clear shout of defiance, desperation, and everything she has, thrown into one immence horizontal swing of that collossal blade.

Jeannette Thompson (410) has posed:
Certainly the girl wouldn't hold it aganist her. But Jeannette herself would have. She'd come this far, and to have victory this close to her grasp without being able to seize it because she couldn't keep it up would be devasting. "Don't sell yourself short." She says. "You don't have to be standing for long. You just have to be standing longer than me." A slight smirk, before she moved forward with her previous attack. And that... /that/ was the mistake she made.

She new this would hurt, seeing the energy form up to the heavens, the golden radience of the sword above her alighting her face in a burning yellow glow. But she was thinking about earlier. Those loading of a cylinder... She thought that it was some sort of ranged weapon. She had made a choice that she needed to get close to neutralize it. And she had tried her best. Done what she had to do. In this case.. she was simply outsmarted. "I'll take your word for it."

She is sent falling back, the blad digging into her body and sicing through clothing, bone, flesh, searing into her, and leaving her, at the end of it, smacked against the wall of a rock spire, limply there, coughing up blood. And, for the longest time. She's still. Still enough that Testarossa can see the marines on the side lines form up, bringing weapons up to move in for the recovery, to pick up a defeated woman.

And then, as one, they stop. And Jeannette's eyes blink for a moment, as she presses up from the rock she was on, standing on both feet. She coughs again, blood spitting onto the rock below her... hands still gripping her sword, with a sad smile on her face. "No... No, I don't think you will. Thank you for offering me.. quarter earlier. I'm... afraid you'll have to make me take it."

There's no strategy, now. She didn't have the energy, the ability to forumulate one mad dash or dance or juggle of equipment. There was just a charge forward, and then the blade moving in... this to press, simply, as deep, as devastingly far as it could go into that young body, with /every/ ounce of strength she had left.

Testarossa Fate (401) has posed:
    Fate just has to be standing longer... That's hard to accomplish, when her knees are buckling after that swing. ... Even harder when that blade bites deep once again. It's a bad stab, and to her credit, Fate takes it rather quietly. Though she sags where she stands briefly. But she proves she's not down when she speaks.

    The girl's voice is a thin, tight, whisper; words hissed through pain-clenched teeth.

    "Okay."

    Another CHUNK-CHUNK sounds off as Bardiche's revolver cylinder expends two more cartridges, crackling energy building in the very air itself.

    The skies seem to darken, as stormclouds roll in. And the blackened sky suddenly fills with stars.

    Except they aren't stars.

    Over a hundred spheres of sizzling voltaic energy wink into existence in the air behind Fate, popping to life within small, circular guide rings as they reform into arrowheads made of pure electricity.

    Fate takes a step back off the sword with a terrible wet sound and a small whisper...

    [PHOTON LANCER: PHALANX SHIFT.]

    "... Fire."

Jeannette Thompson (410) has posed:
Jeannette Thompson did what she had to do here, holding the sword in the woman for a long time, holding her there. It wasn't out of malice, or some sadistic pleasure. She simply didn't have the energy to keep her grip on the sword and push back with enough force to free it. The slight word that was uttered was... defeating, in it's origin, but at least something that meant this battle was already over. "Sorry, then. Had to do it. Not in the habit of giving quarter to myself." She whispers back into the girls ears, hearing the loud sound of those cartiridges being pumped out, looking as the landscape around them darkens. She doesn't look up to see the stars above them. Doesn't need to, really, though she'll decide later if it was well-meaning resignation or a deeper seated fear to look at what doom was coming. She grits her teeth, herself. Whatever was going to come was going to just /hurt/.

But when Fate helps herself off the sword that was embedded within her, Jeannette realizes isn't ready to give up. Despite this being the end, she realized she wasn't doing what she told Fate she would do. She could still hold her sword, and still stand, and so, she looks up. Her steps are clumsy, her sword work low, but she manages to avoid one shot, then the next, leaving another cut on her arm. But blocking another shows she can't deal with the numbers, as one arrowhead slams aganist her chest, sending her to the ground as the other arrowheads home in.

Testarossa doesn't have to wait for the smoke to clear to see Jeannette's broken, unconscious body sprawl'd across the sand to know she'd won. As before, the Marines at the edge of the battlefield move forward. No cautious advance, this, running at full tilt with what strength augmented armor could give them, assault weapons systems pointed up and toward Fate in a semicircle. "I think that's enough." One marine says, not sounding at /all/ happy about it. "Good match."

Two marines pick up Jeannette's body, not bothering to check her vitals before hoisting her in a fireman's carry. They probably knew already. Probably. And, as one, the marine's fall back, keeping weapons trained on Fate as they retreat.

Primarily because, no matter what state she was in at the time, and how fresh and well equipped they were, she still could have kicked their asses back across the sea to home.

Testarossa Fate (401) has posed:
    Even among the hail of fire, as that machinegun hail of thunder bullets bears down, before Jeannette loses consciousness, there is probably one last thing she'll hear from the small, bloodied blonde.

    "... Sorry."

    Fate doesn't wait for the dust to settle as her Device HISSSSSSSSSSSSSSES, twin prongs snapping open to vent steam and bleed off all the accumulated magical heat.

    [RESPECTABLE.] The Device intones. Curt and to the point on his thoughts of the fight.

    With a buzz, the immense sword revers back to its original axe-like for mas Fate drops to her knees in the bloodstained sand, leaning heavily on Bardiche and panting.

    The marines are treated to a hyperborean glower as she sits there panting. "Mn."