Jansal hit the deck. BANG. The bolt collided with the wall just overhead, raining down fiery sparks around him; dammit, again, the no-armor-ordeal. As the splinters of flame died on his bare skin, burning wildly with sizzling ferocity, he drew himself to his feet again; where did he put his comlink? No time to wonder, flames were enveloping his ally. Raising his blaster, he contemplated a shot; not worth it, he agreed. His whipcord was destroyed - at least until he could reload another charge; something also left behind with the armor. Frustrated, he barreled in on the attacker; range was an advantage, initially - but when the enemy could block his attacks, his next bet was to get under his defenses. The mercenary drew himself in, close - while the cyborg opponent concentrated on the Tusken, he intended to buy the clone more time to manage a counterattack. Caught in a saber lock, with no means of defense, Jansal ignited what remained of his whipcord, allowing the remaining rope to slither from his wrist. Approaching Actakos from behind, he wrapped the extension around either hand tightly, leaving a slack line about a meter in length in between; by the time he reached his target, he sprung into action.
Leaping up, Jansal wound the cord twicefold before attempting to loop it around the opponent's neck - not so much as a chokehold (though that certainly wouldn't be unwelcome), but rather, as a support. Leaning back, using his own body weight in an attempt to catapult them both the ground, he drove both boots into his metallic popliteals (the soft depression behind your knee). Intending to knock the mechanical being off-balance, and drive them both into the ground, the mercenary heaved back with a roar - and, well, should it not work, something good was to come of it. Thus, the equation of bravery came into play, at least in Jansal's very own mind: in one of the sparse moments spent with his uncle, it was a little fable he earned in the form of arithmetic: bravery, plus irrational action, oft-equal heroism. Only, having forgot the second part of the equation: heroism, plus uncertainty, of-equal death, did he drive himself into the fray. "Do you even have any lungs in there?" Jansal breathed, deep and roaring, in between the pants, brought upon by muscle fatigue. "Or are you just, overall, a meticulously arrogant clanker?"
[member="Actakos"] [member="Jakkor Kess"] [member="ARC-15"]