[ Peter has time enough to make his customary, Oh, shit, face before he reels away from the swing, narrowly avoiding the blow to his head.
Won’t maim me, he thinks bitterly, as he tries to dodge her next few strikes. Kinda doubt that.
Early on, Peter learned that in a lot of cases, his speed and his wits would be his greatest assets. He was stronger than an average human, from what he could tell, but there were some folks here out in the black who were practically built of stone. He had to be clever about how he went about attacking them, using his blasters to empower his punches, his jets to speed his kicks, keeping his distance when necessary. Had to be fast, too, to get in as many blows as possible at once before dodging and dancing away to some unheard rhythm.
(“Cherry Bomb,” usually. )
But Gamora is faster and stronger and just— better. He manages to dodge out of the way for a bit, though all of his focus has to go into not getting hit; he never has time to retaliate. She feints, and Peter falls for it, ducking left when he should’ve gone right. He leaves himself open and pays for it, taking a few hits, and—
He tumbles to the floor all over again, the air punched from his lungs.
Well. At least the rubber mats cushioned his fall. Kind of. ]
no subject
Won’t maim me, he thinks bitterly, as he tries to dodge her next few strikes. Kinda doubt that.
Early on, Peter learned that in a lot of cases, his speed and his wits would be his greatest assets. He was stronger than an average human, from what he could tell, but there were some folks here out in the black who were practically built of stone. He had to be clever about how he went about attacking them, using his blasters to empower his punches, his jets to speed his kicks, keeping his distance when necessary. Had to be fast, too, to get in as many blows as possible at once before dodging and dancing away to some unheard rhythm.
(“Cherry Bomb,” usually. )
But Gamora is faster and stronger and just— better. He manages to dodge out of the way for a bit, though all of his focus has to go into not getting hit; he never has time to retaliate. She feints, and Peter falls for it, ducking left when he should’ve gone right. He leaves himself open and pays for it, taking a few hits, and—
He tumbles to the floor all over again, the air punched from his lungs.
Well. At least the rubber mats cushioned his fall. Kind of. ]