[ Gravity's colluding against him. Breath swimming out of his lungs, Tartaglia's footfalls weave and stagger as he abruptly tumbles backward. Not without dragging Mira right into the undertow, though, messily clutching at their arm as he goes down. Rolling, rolling, into the underbrush, Tartaglia manages to come back on top like some rising nightmare, and then he's just whaling on them just a bit. A few good hits at most, hinged upon the expectation that Mira will absolutely retaliate in kind.
Plenty of openings in his stance, if they're watching him for weaknesses to exploit. His prowess lies in close-range weaponry. Without any blade to rely upon, his technique's more shoddy and instinctual, utterly reflexive, like it's something Tartaglia taught himself. Technically, it is. Three months spent in the Abyss before he could claw his way back to the surface and now he's just a little ravenous for violence in all the ways that he can find it. ]
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Plenty of openings in his stance, if they're watching him for weaknesses to exploit. His prowess lies in close-range weaponry. Without any blade to rely upon, his technique's more shoddy and instinctual, utterly reflexive, like it's something Tartaglia taught himself. Technically, it is. Three months spent in the Abyss before he could claw his way back to the surface and now he's just a little ravenous for violence in all the ways that he can find it. ]