[Nothing speaks to the quality of another's soul like how they act in the wake of grievous injury. Someone who cared to keep their own life would have backed down by now, so what does he call Tartaglia? Brave? Foolish? Does the distinction even matter?
Without his claymore, deflecting those daggers is a matter of hand-to-hand combat, but it's a relatively simple matter with Tartaglia's vision clearly betraying him. His refusal to yield still means he manages to land a cut or two, a laceration across his bad arm, but little more.
Frustratingly enough, they're evenly matched. Diluc waits until Tartaglia's swiped poorly with those watery blades and strikes the underside of his elbow, promising a fracture or a bruised bone at the very least.]
Give up.
[You're flagging, Tartar. Even Fatui scum must have some base desire to live and preserve its own life.]
no subject
Without his claymore, deflecting those daggers is a matter of hand-to-hand combat, but it's a relatively simple matter with Tartaglia's vision clearly betraying him. His refusal to yield still means he manages to land a cut or two, a laceration across his bad arm, but little more.
Frustratingly enough, they're evenly matched. Diluc waits until Tartaglia's swiped poorly with those watery blades and strikes the underside of his elbow, promising a fracture or a bruised bone at the very least.]
Give up.
[You're flagging, Tartar. Even Fatui scum must have some base desire to live and preserve its own life.]