Flashback - Tempered Steel (closed)
Feb 12, 2013 3:09:26 GMT -5
Post by Deleted on Feb 12, 2013 3:09:26 GMT -5
Clang! – the sound of Elita’s fist, carrying the force of a small cargo freighter, clipping the side of the Prime’s helm as he turned out of the blow. Narrowly evading a certain lights out and only barely deflecting the follow up knee-strike that followed, Optimus traded a series of less-than-graceful blows with her – their proximity tangling them briefly before they broke off, Optimus quickly shoving back from the One before she put another fist in his solar plexus. They both caught their feet and instantly went about watching the other mechanoid’s optics. Optimus was aware, peripherally, of shouting down the hall, of his own hydraulics humming within the frame of his body, the aggro-tech high-definition glow lent to the world by battle sub-routines running hot.
He circled warily to the left and she followed suit.
Optimus took up a slightly more schooled stance, the angle and plane of his extended hand adjusted slightly his other like-wise before him, his stronger arm leading. The heat of is Spark through his structures seemed concentrated, molecular – electromagnetics between them and a thousand calculated trajectories for the next blow. He watched her optics. She watched his. There was something to be said for a battle-visor, for a pure glass-optics – it meant the enemy couldn’t read your next move from them. They never had to learn how to not look and, instead, react through EMF alone. Optimus held Elita’s gaze but knew it would not likely make a difference – she did not give herself away in her eyes.
That was something he did.
Something he did presently, in fact, when he feinted right and attacked again.
He circled warily to the left and she followed suit.
Optimus took up a slightly more schooled stance, the angle and plane of his extended hand adjusted slightly his other like-wise before him, his stronger arm leading. The heat of is Spark through his structures seemed concentrated, molecular – electromagnetics between them and a thousand calculated trajectories for the next blow. He watched her optics. She watched his. There was something to be said for a battle-visor, for a pure glass-optics – it meant the enemy couldn’t read your next move from them. They never had to learn how to not look and, instead, react through EMF alone. Optimus held Elita’s gaze but knew it would not likely make a difference – she did not give herself away in her eyes.
That was something he did.
Something he did presently, in fact, when he feinted right and attacked again.