Izzy gave a frustrated growl when nothing happened. Only when Theurge asked if she was giving up, did she realize two things: first, he had not come at her to attack as she would have expected in her distraction, and second, she probably looked ridiculous just standing there in the middle of their rather one-sided fight. She glanced quickly around the field, hoping to find something to use as her own weapon against him, but the only thing there was a soccer net someone had forgotten to bring in.
	The unfairness of the whole wretched mess settled over Izzy, making her snarl.
	“You’re a coward, you know that?” she snapped, bearing her fangs. “I get one good grip on you, and you need to bring out [i]those?[/i]” She gestured to his transformed arms, then noticed a flagpole without its flag about eighteen feet tall at the end of the field behind Theurge. She had forgotten about the flagpole.
	“Give me liberty, or give me death,” she muttered under her breath. With a quick glance to Theurge, she made a run for the pole. Though she doubted it would do much especially if [i]she[/i] could snap it, at least it would be better than standing there like a nitwit with nothing and giving up.
	In reaching it, she jumped and reached up to grip and break the shaft higher up so it would not be too unwieldy, the metal giving a squeal in protest as she broke it in passing. She marveled for just a moment mid-air that she had actually broken it.
	She landed back on the ground none too gracefully and, gripping her roughly nine-foot-tall makeshift staff in both hands a couple feet apart, she swirled around to face Theruge. Its pointed gold-colored tip facing him and the shaft extended as far out as she could make it without compromising her grip, she advanced on him, watching his blades with wary eyes.