as above, so below
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.

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.
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