[ Laughter is in him where they've slid to interlock, clutching and entangled under this terrible closeness. All the bruises remind him of the truth: he can't really stand up to someone who lingers awfully close to godhood. Not as he is now.
Even so, amusement is catching in his face, breaking the severity as his grip eventually falls loose, not mean-spirited by any conceivable measure. Instead, it's joy in him. Joy that he could land a hit on someone like this, who seems so infallible. Not like he can tell the extent of it, whatever it is that Achilles is hiding or how power he must possess that's since been stripped away. ]
I'll go for it. And I'll keep going, until you acknowledge me.
[ All he can truly recognize is that inimitable strength behind each blow, so much like the heroes his father would spin tales over. So, out of his depth, Tartaglia sinks back into the floor. Maybe next time, then. If he can earn the goddess's favor, perhaps she'll undo whatever curse is suppressing his powers. ]
... Will you let me up? I can't exactly introduce myself properly like this, can I?
[ On the floor, pinned in a completely compromising position, asking for a proper greeting is kind of suspect, but it's fine. As he waits, Tartaglia's rubbing at his own forehead, eardrums ringing. It's a good thing he didn't get concussed. Passing out now would be so embarrassing. ]
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[ Laughter is in him where they've slid to interlock, clutching and entangled under this terrible closeness. All the bruises remind him of the truth: he can't really stand up to someone who lingers awfully close to godhood. Not as he is now.
Even so, amusement is catching in his face, breaking the severity as his grip eventually falls loose, not mean-spirited by any conceivable measure. Instead, it's joy in him. Joy that he could land a hit on someone like this, who seems so infallible. Not like he can tell the extent of it, whatever it is that Achilles is hiding or how power he must possess that's since been stripped away. ]
I'll go for it. And I'll keep going, until you acknowledge me.
[ All he can truly recognize is that inimitable strength behind each blow, so much like the heroes his father would spin tales over. So, out of his depth, Tartaglia sinks back into the floor. Maybe next time, then. If he can earn the goddess's favor, perhaps she'll undo whatever curse is suppressing his powers. ]
... Will you let me up? I can't exactly introduce myself properly like this, can I?
[ On the floor, pinned in a completely compromising position, asking for a proper greeting is kind of suspect, but it's fine. As he waits, Tartaglia's rubbing at his own forehead, eardrums ringing. It's a good thing he didn't get concussed. Passing out now would be so embarrassing. ]