>>5546970>>5546961>>5546867>>5546820>>5546811>>5546794>Guessed Cleo's plan and added additional support to see it succeed. You realise that calling off the willful wolf could potentially squander the opportunity afforded by your Ops officer's excellent throw. You decide to instead capitalise on the chaos you predict will inevitably erupt from Cleo’s ‘bonfire’ plan, and make a snap decision.
“Clifton, we’re going to blow the welding fuel behind those crates you’re at, fan the fire so to speak!” You keep your voice steady, despite the tense situation, making sure your orders are conveyed loud and clear to all. You don’t want anyone getting caught in the crossfire.
“You can make the shot, La’afette?” You ask belatedly.
“Yes, Captain.” He replies without hesitation. “Even if I have to burn through some spare parts crates to do it.”
“Acknowledged,” Cleo replies, “Wait for my signal, Guns!” She warns the Tactical officer, “I’ve got a three bastard pile-up to arrange!” her alto voice coming across the comm in the musical way her translator interprets malicious glee.
“On your mark, Ms Clifton.” The Laedra man replies stoically, already having shifted his position to line up the shot.
“Alright, small fry,” Cleo calls to the Marrok by her side, “follow me in low and soften up the competition while I butter up crabby here!”
“You’re lucky I <span class="mu-i">am</span> small, else I wouldn’t be able to slip past you, fatass!” Kiro responds in kind, though his good natured tone takes any heat out of the jab.
With their nerves settled somewhat by the banter and bloodlust alike, the two rush the final few steps up to the steadying C2.
Cleo moves in first, shield raised - her baleful glare reflected in the small viewport she uses to see. Taking note of the two Spikers she intends to drop a (hopefully) self immolating crustacean on, she is distracted as the enemy before her begins to glow ominously.
The Crab, making one last ditch effort to finish what it started, raises its single undamaged claw - the red glow building in intensity as Cleo stares right down the barrel.
“None of that now, partner!” With a vicious snarl she sweeps C2’s claws away with her shield. The powerful blow is so jarring that Cleo loses grip of the handle but can't complain with the results. Both the Crab’ weapons are wrenched from the clutches of whatever invisible force controls them and they clatter away across the deck along with her discarded shield.
Grinning wide, the Ulveng reaches out almost tenderly as she bends down to take the black, prismatic form before her in a deathgrip.
“May I have this dance?” She breathes, with a low, throaty growl.
Head snapping up she locks her gaze on her target, and her muscles tense, ready to throw.
