sunnydalealum | (no subject)

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It's not worth the effort, at this point, to make herself firmly visible.

Instead, Meg concentrates on making her voice as loud and solid and present as possible as she zips through the building, ignoring such petty obstacles as walls and floors and extremely surprised lawyers and mentally checking off sites of battle: "All out! Everybody out!" she shouts to Wells and Spoon, and "They're coming down, get ready!" to Buffy and the others in the lobby, and "We're all done, it's time to go!" to River and Spike, and "Find the others, get out now!" to Harth and Mel, and then back to the first group again, as fast as she can.

Everyone has to hear.

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Juliet's by the wall. Amy's backed away almost to the opposite one. The Frays are between them.

When Juliet turns on her heel, the two of them leap simultaneously.

"Not my point-!" Harth begins, then pivots instinctively to meet the incoming Juliet with an arm thrown up to deflect a blow, followed by a hard kick to one hip.

Instinct is a wonderful thing.

"Then what is..."

Mel ducks and spins around, low, thrusting a shoulder up to roll Amy over her, drawing her gun so she straightens up.

Looks like they're going to argue later.

Amy goes over, but scissor-kicks once she's down, trying to take Mel's feet out from under her.

Juliet's pulled a stake out of her shirt, and launches herself at Harth again.

Harth grins, eyes gleaming, fakes a feint and grabs the wrist holding the stake to twist it hard upwards, throwing his other fist into her stomach.

The buzz of instinct plus senses is so thick between the four of them, he can almost taste it.

This is rocketship.

"Oh for..."

Mel falls backwards onto her ass, and her shot goes wide. This is less of a problem with electricity than bullets of course, because bullets don't want to ground in convenient conductors, like bodies.

"...I'm trying to save your life here!"

Because that'll work.

Edited 2008-02-24 19:58 (UTC)

Amy's on her feet before Mel, and then she's on her, one knee planted on her chest and one hand gripping the wrist of the hand that holds the gun. "That why you shot at me?" she hisses.

Juliet, meanwhile, doubles over from the gut-punch, but comes up swinging. A backhand blow catches Harth full in the jaw, hard enough to stagger him.

Harth spins with it, tasting blood and kicking a foot out backwards to sweep out Juliet's ankles.

"Stop holding back, Melaka!" he yells, irritated and lisping slightly, then makes a grab for his opponents hair.

Because nothing says maturity and fearsomeness like hair-pulling.

"Yeah."

Mel, bless her heart, sometimes has a hard time remembering that guns, in this day and age, kill.

"'Cause of how unconscious people don't tend to go running headlong into battle 'til it's ov - shut up, Harth."

On 'up', her body convulses, jerking both chest and wrist up hard at the same time to shake off her pinner.

"Unconscious--?"

Between the confusion and the sudden jerk, Amy loses her grip on the wrist and starts to topple sideways off of the other woman.

She's noticing, now -- and isn't it funny how you notice things like this in the middle of a fight -- there's something decidedly weird about that gun....

Juliet's hair is braided closely to her head; there's not a lot there to pull except a short tail at the nape of her neck. Harth's grip on that short tail is solid, though, and it hampers her movement considerably.

It also keeps one of his hands occupied, though, and she takes advantage of that to aim a slamming kick at his chest.

Harth grits his teeth as it comes, then pulls hard downwards just before it hits, to take advantage of her lack of balance even as he hears a rib crack. He hisses, and hooks his other hand at her throat to try and get behind her and cut off her air supply.

And maybe bite her. If need be. He vamps out, just in case.

Mel leaps to her feet, keeping her gun ready but not aimed yet.

"If I wanted anything else I'd have it by now - hey."

This shouted quickly to the side.

"Don't make me come over there!"

By chance or design, Harth's got his thumb down on the perfect spot; Juliet's still fighting, but weakly, and her eyelids are at half-mast.

Amy's staring at Mel's gun.

"Oh, no way."

Harth keeps up the pressure, holding on grimly to one wrist to keep from getting clawed, and listening intently to the pulse of Juliet's blood to make sure he doesn't let go too soon.

Or, you know. Too late.

"No way what?" he calls across, shifting sulkily but non-argumentatively back to human face.

"Uh huh."

Hey, if Amy wants to stare at Mel's second choice in weapon, that's fine by her, even if she doesn't get why.

She's just going to take a step towards Harth and Juliet, keeping her gaze fixed on the other girl.

"So are we agreed that you dying is a bad thing?"

Very softly: "Who are you?"

Her eyes track from the gun to the Scythe and back again, and widen.

"And why're you here?"

That was so not the question Mel was expecting.

Blame Mike for what comes next.

"...I'm Spartacus?"

Harth eyerolls around a semiconscious Juliet.

"Yeah, and I'm the Emperor Fabulus," he says.

Amy's fists clench, but she doesn't make a move.

"Just admit it!" she shouts.

And then, much lower: "You're from the future, aren't you."

Mel gives Harth a sheepish look.

"What ga... stop that already... gave it away?"

"I don't want her waking up! She's unreasonable!"

Also, probably really pissed off. Harth does, however, loosen the hold enough to check on Juliet's state. She's very definitely unconscious, with a throat bruised all to hell, but she'll live. He slides her to the floor with exaggerated care and an eyeroll for his twin.

"But what are you doing here? Now? What's this about?"

Amy's only barely paying any attention to Harth now. This is important.

Mel makes a concerted effort not to look like she's trying not to look at Harth, and lies outright.

"Saving your life."

Harth...

Says nothing. Conspicuously.

He pats Juliet idly on the head, keeping his expression blank, and waits to see what Mel comes out with next.

"...what?"

Amy stares.

"From what? Why me? How...?"