Thread: Open Skies, Smoking Guns(Myself x F R O S T)

If the mercenary blonde who was being lead away had to summarize what she knew of Merc so far, she would have to go with terrifying sexy. Sharp fingers and talons, which he made plenty sure she knew about, were complimented with a tail that was just as capable, clearly, of flicking around in pleasure as it was dispatching foes and handling weapons, even if it was only to toss them around. As a warrior, she wasn't sure whether she should be scared or aroused, and that very uncertainty only served to kindle the fire building in her core. She spent most...well, at least a fair amount of her time on the battlefield, adrenaline pumping and blood flowing readily through her veins. It wasn't too far a cry from the intensity of combat to the passion of sex and she had, on occasion, mixed the two, though letting the latter compromise her performance in the former was strictly unacceptable. The Neko rolled low to avoid the gunfire, which had all been loosed at chest height to catch the charging dragon, which meant that she easily slipped beneath them with, again, catlike grace. The Greenbacks, while clearly not all veterans, were sensible enough not to try to reload. In close quarters, even if Merc hadn't been clearly able to close the rest of the distance before they could manage, the walls on either side, and their fellow soldiers, mean they would be elbowing each other trying to load subsequent rounds, to say nothing of needing to bring their weapons back to bear and fire again. No, they were now nothing more than glorified spears, which, while certainly nothing on the technology that some other Empires used, were still effective, in a primitive sense. Even the magic weapons, which were far more likely not to need to be brought into melee combat, were unlikely to be much more once close combat was joined, all of their magic serving them poorly in melee, with only so much room, so to speak, in a weapon for enchanting. Swords, daggers, maces, could be made fearsome melee weapons, but it was said that it had been deemed more important to make the bullet fly true, rather than the blade. As far as the clockwork weapons, those were a jealously guarded secret, with few making their way through the borders, fewer still finding their way into the hands of other Empires, and none useful enough to recreate the mechanism. Some claimed that they were designed to break down if not cared for specially, others said that working them was merely too difficult for untrained gunsmiths. Whatever the cause, the result was the same, but these rifles were neither magic nor advanced, merely rugged and effective. Less effective, however, when one found themselves faced with a dragon. That being said, one of them managed to score a blow, if not a terribly effective one, though that could be credited to luck, more than skill. In those quarters, a swing didn't have nearly the room to work as a thrust, but with an angry dragon bearing down, the soldier could be forgiven for that oversight, though said forgiveness would not earn him his life. Two out of three soldiers already seemed down for the count, one to a tail whip, and the other to a pin, while the third seemed to have already given up on the fight. One might suspect that this was not the cream of the crop, to be left behind to guard the back, where an attack was unlikely, but they were still threats to be neutralized, and that was one of the many things Mercury was very good at. Indeed, one of their rifles was used to impale one of said threats, pinning him, if only briefly, to the wall. As impressive as the strike had been, the wood wasn't thick enough to properly support the bayonet under the soldier's weight and he would, slowly, sink to the ground, eyes widened in surprise, mouth twisted in anger or fear, looking as if he wanted to cry out, but finding no voice with which to do it. His cowering companion looked ready to turn and run, unless Mercury stopped him, either fatally or otherwise. Suffice it to say, with his morale shattered, Merc would very quickly have another dead soldier, a fleeing one, or one pleading on his knees for life, depending on how he handled things, though with his bloodlust in full swing, the first was the likeliest outcome. Admittedly, the narrow hallway meant that the neko couldn't see much of the battle, beyond the unmistakable crimson red of blood and the fact that Merc was, as always, moving in a vicious blur. She couldn't tell if the blood on his arm was his, but it seemed to be, though if it was, it clearly wasn't a blow that was going to put him down, and he seemed just as capable of dishing out damage. It was hard to tell if their ends were swift or not, but she felt little pity for them. The sensible ones would surrender or hide, such as the blonde in the cargo hold, who, while some would label her a coward, the neko preferred to label her as...pragmatic. Smart. Likewise, the elf that stepped out to attack her was smart, and, in another situation, after her own heart. Short blades for close quarters, waiting in ambush for the stronger foe to pass by, striking swiftly. He didn't look bad, either, fierce in an almost tribal sort of way. The necklace, the tattoos, it was all a very charming look. Unfortunately, far less charming was the blade moving to kill her, she had to assume. An outcome she wasn't keen on, and so her own dagger, plain, but plenty sufficient, came up to turn away his first blade. His second strike she had less of an answer for, batting at his arm to help turn the blade, and shifting the weight of her body to move out of the way. That wasn't enough to entirely dodge the blow, but once again, through dexterity and luck, she kept it from drawing blood, hooking in her shirt and, demonstrating its sharpness, slicing clean through it, now serving more a vest or open jacket than a shirt, only a small, tight garment that did its best to contain her chest, but without the money for a proper bra, it didn't look like it would take much to give way, particularly with no shirt to assist its effort. That being said, as enticing as the view of her shirt splitting open, and how wonderfully inviting the catgirl's ample chest was, there was still the matter of life and death to decide. She didn't want to kill this mercenary, unaware that they had lost, and presumably willing to bow to practicality the way his partner had, but she wasn't going to take a knife to spare him, either. While she wasn't as strong as him, in all likelihood, and she had no armor to speak of, she was quick, and she used that to her advantage, doing three things all at once. First, she smashed her head against his, headbutting the elf, grateful that he was around her height. It wasn't hard enough to break his nose, but it would hurt, and hopefully stun him. As she did so, she hooked a foot around his and then smashed into him with her shoulder, using what was left of her forward momentum and aiming to knock him over, or, if she didn't have the strength to manage that, to stagger him. The fact that he had a nice eyeful of half-dressed neko probably didn't hurt, either. Why not use that distraction? With both of them holding knives, and in close quarters, the fight could very quickly turn into something that neither of them won, and she was reasonably certain that he would turn to caution, once his ambush failed, lest they just end up stabbing each other and bleeding out on the floor. Maybe she could reason with him, if nothing else, but she couldn't talk and fight at the same time, so she needed to create an opening first, or subdue him through proper combat. Whatever worked.