Duel Making a fist, checking you twice

[Vella Forte]

The strength of the swipe wasn't perfect. Usually her strikes were like a knife through butter - but as her blade struck true through the layers that composed Sam Rodarch 's limb, Vella felt her arm jolt. She followed through on the arc, ending by landing forward on her cut up hand. Her good knee was on the ground, the other awkwardly suspended so she didn't put pressure on it. Her blade was thrumming loudly by her side.

The pathetic, hopeless hand (the one she still had) of her opponent pulled at the front of her clothing, drawing Vella and Sam almost eye to eye. Her brows furrowed, knitting together above that bloody gaze. Her sneer deepened, and she clenched her teeth and leered at the drivelling woman. She'd given it her all, overcome with violence and blinded by the hate she had for the Inquisitor. It was remarkable. It practically oozed from her pores, and the Sith Knight admired it in reserve, then turned that admiration into pity. With all that fury contained inside her, Sam could be moulded. Indoctrinated and then pointed at the nearest object -- all she'd need was a shove and a green light and she could punch her way through; pummel to a pulp any obstacle.

Her bloodied hand moved up from the floor to wrap around the fist of her enemy, coating the sweaty knuckles of the Mandalorian in Vella's blood. The control she was feeling over this situation -- despite her pathetic knee, bloodied face and marred hand -- was preposterously good for her self esteem. This was power.

The inquisitor tightened her grip, and drew Sam in so close that she could see the very pores that dripped with sweat and wretched rage. Vella hissed out a promise, the words buzzing through her clenched teeth. "You're going to die, Sam."

"GET OUT OF MY CANTINA!!" Lorana screamed, her wrinkled face contorting in outrage at the interlopers. A few brutes who'd been observing activated from the sides, lumbering towards them menacingly, smacking some club-like things against their open fists. There were about seven of them, and Vella was not in prime condition.

With a scowl, she maneuvered her hand to press her palm against Sam's -- prying her fingers from clinging onto her clothes. "Not today. But I will kill you."

Once her threat was issued, the hand that was still somewhat connected to Sam's burst out in a stream of telekinetic energy that excitedly gathered all the heat in their immediate proximity together. The negative energy culminated at her fingertips, and belched out in a forceful torrent of electric tendrils that would blast the Mandalorian backward, and stretch and sizzle out to any of the foreboding bodyguards.

Meanwhile, Vella pathetically obeyed the direction of the shopkeeper and collected herself. She drew the stool to her, making short work to cut off a leg and strap it to her own; whirling about some cloth with an invisible hand and making a temporary splint so she could limp off and back out to where her ship waited.

 

[Sam Rodarch]

It was, different.

Sam had lost fights before, lost plenty in fact. Leaving blood and sweat upon the canvas alongside a litany of bruises and broken bones, pissing crimson for days after from battered kidneys and suffering headaches that sometimes never seemed to shift. Yeah, it hurt, stung the pride too but there was always the next fight.

It didn't feel like that.

Everything felt suffocated, leaving nothing behind but smouldering ashes and pain. It hurt, feth, it hurt.

She was pulled closer and found herself helplessly staring into the tattooed fury of the victor as an insidious promise was given. Rodarch's mouth could only hang open in response, forced to draw in ragged, gasping breaths that struggled through a punctured lung.

What would she have said?

The Mandalorian didn't kid herself that she was particularly enlightened or eloquent at the best of times, would she had made her own threat in kind? Or just have cursed blindly for blood-stained revenge? She didn't know. She knew it was hard to breathe, knew that her newly cauterised stump burned with a fury she'd never felt before. That was all there was.

Before the woman's parting words could even be comprehended Sam was suddenly blasted backwards, her world turning white as all the receptors within the woman's brain were suddenly lit up at once, making short work of any remaining resilience and pacifying the bodyguards in one fell swoop.

Still disgruntled but content that the brawl was firmly over, the owner of the cantina stood in vicious silence and observed the Sith use her broken property to fashion a splint for herself before limping out, hopefully never to be seen again. The other perpetrator was laid out flat on her back, and truth be told, probably didn't have long left. She might have cared had the woman not made a mess of her bar.

Recalling that the loser of this little fracas had come here with another man (and not the geeky little alien either) she stormed off to find him, hoping that some form of compensation could still be reaped.

By the time Samantha Rodarch came to, she found herself staring upwards at the mirrored ceiling with tired, hooded eyelids and still struggling to breathe, body wracked with pain.

The fight was over.

Vella Forte