Scales of Justice

Between Vierge and Nemesis, there's more than enough pretty-pink firepower to go around. That's what the assailants must think, anyway. Grunts of effort issue from both cockpits, pilots assisted by no Drive nor Drones as they scrap to hold the line.

It doesn't matter if the onslaught comprises Faces or Gears, soldiers or supersoldiers.

Elly's batons push them back. Fiora's swords slice through to slay them there.

No shouts, right about now, however. No wild lacerations and exclamations of enjoyment, for am I good, or am I good?

Is Fiora good, though? Elly has to wonder. Her opinion and esteem usually go without question. At this very moment, however...

"Are you alright, Fiora? Can you hold them?"

Steeling the batons is rather the easy part; some enemies are meant to slip around them, so that they might be cut down. Sort of an inverse pincer attack, right? Is that what you call it?

(It's not that the girls are too empty-headed to properly moniker strategy. Elly is trained, and Fiora is not. They've got better things to do.)

There are just two- no, three left. Clear sight to them all. But if Fiora's flagging, then it won't do any good anyway.

A heave comes from Nemesis, head joint lolling. "What say we swap? I'll-" slump, then re-energize "-I'll hold the position."

Elly gives a grim nod, just out of peripheral view. A few counts, a beat for the yielding of another strike...clear. Here's the transfer, a careful maneuver: Nemesis sheathes one sword and uses the free hand to grip one end of the batons held parallel, point-à-point.

The attacking Gear hovers impatiently as it observes this apparent opening with no clear path to strike - after all, both mechs have hold of a baton and could easily bash it back without need of an exact direction or angle. They're almost more focused now than they'd just been.

Then, Vierge grabs the sword off the left hip holster and they repeat the process just a little bit faster, more frenzied, with the opposite arms. Now Elly flits up and back to strike, while Fiora sinks firm on the rods, driving resistance into the rocky ground.

That's a cue to strike, if ever an enemy unit has seen one: strong mech downed, quick mech in perfect unbalance ready to be knocked off its engine blocks.

It underestimates Elly, however, and her brilliance to drill back not to kill but to reposition, so that Fiora can use one of the batons, while braced against the other, to slam into its back. Then Vierge can deal the deathblow, one strike from the butt of the sword's hilt and the other from the foot of the mech. The remaining two are offed in short succession, cursing the ease with which they'd been dispatched.

Satisfaction comes only in the reckless drawing of relieved breaths. This one arena of combat means little, in the grand scheme. Fiora and Elly both are important soldiers, high enough in ranks to command and shepherd the lower ranks of Gebler, but not high enough to actually do anything.

They'll press on, of course. They just have to. Fiora will throw herself in front of any challenge as if it's a raging bull just begging for the quelling, and not one step of a thousand endless entreaties. And Elly...Elly will follow her, stepping to the right as well.