[ Keeping his stance so wide, he stumbles into imbalance nonetheless, flung backwards into gravity. Sloppy with the pushback, his step falter, messy with momentum. Built only for fighting, Tartaglia's retaliating like honed reflex, hands clutching to dig as he crumples around the arm rigidly bracing his throat. Chafing through the gloves are the calluses over his fingertips; from fighting with everything he is, every cruelty he's willing to give, he catches Achilles by the limb, even pinned underneath breathlessness. No breaking his windpipe yet, blessed hero.
Litheness abandons him, though. Now, his body's too low to the ground, and Achilles is overwhelming the entirety of his sight, up on top like victory's already sided with him. ]
... On your knees on me already? It took nothing at all.
[ Bitter, so bitter! Tartaglia's just mortal, trying to take what he isn't owed at all. He has nothing to him but these pestilential feelings, rotten with the pursuit of strength. Digging up resolve takes nothing at all out of him, yanking Achilles down by the collar so he can head-butt the guy and promptly go tussling around in the dirt. ]
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Litheness abandons him, though. Now, his body's too low to the ground, and Achilles is overwhelming the entirety of his sight, up on top like victory's already sided with him. ]
... On your knees on me already? It took nothing at all.
[ Bitter, so bitter! Tartaglia's just mortal, trying to take what he isn't owed at all. He has nothing to him but these pestilential feelings, rotten with the pursuit of strength. Digging up resolve takes nothing at all out of him, yanking Achilles down by the collar so he can head-butt the guy and promptly go tussling around in the dirt. ]