Cardiac Crimson
Shien. The reversed grip was a dead giveaway. No other form used it with any real frequency, except maybe Ataru, and her foe wasn't currently darting around like a spiced-up mynock, so...
Form V, classical variant. Cautious. Focused on blaster deflection, counter-fencing. Developed prior to...
The flood of information turned into background noise. Vestra's smile grew wider. She appreciated a fighter who respected the fundamentals.
He wanted her, she was sure, to take the bait - lunge forward with all her might, commit to plunging her blade into his exposed chest. At that point he would bring his blade around with startling quickness, displace hers with some clever parrying maneuver, and, she didn't know, cleave her in twain. Or at least leave her with a very expensive bill from her cybernetics specialist.
So she'd probably still do something like that. Obviously.
But first, the Sith brought her blade up to her face, between her eyes. Her lips brushed against the emitter shroud, and then she swiftly sliced through the air, ending with the blade pointed at the ground behind her - the Makashi Salute. A greeting. A sign of respect. A challenge, first and foremost. Then began the approach; left hand, the organic one, in her coat pocket. Blade held forward, right arm relaxed but not loose. She picked her way through the debris she'd created with relaxed ease, though the lightning never stopped crackling in the air around her.
Finally, she was on stable ground, face to face with her opponent. This close, the picture was clearer. Her earlier impressions were right; he was like a coiled spring. Tension, waiting to explode. Still, she was reluctant to engage on his terms. If this were a formal duel, back at the University, she'd snipe for his face, maybe, but even Jedi could be tricksy, and she didn't trust her reflexes enough to be totally suicidal...
Again, her grin grew wider, the scar tissue on her right cheek straining to accommodate her smile. The hand in her coat tensed, and there was a crinkling noise. Paper tearing.
A burst of speed, Force-enhanced, followed, as Vestra slung the contents of her pocket at the Jedi, and a dense cloud of glitterstim formed in the air between them - perfect cover for the quick, exploratory lunge she took after.
It wasn't a serious strike - a test of his reflexes, non-committal. Play-fighting, by Sith standards.
Still, maybe it killed him. You never knew.
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