"Da da da, dadaadada, da, da, da."

Wordless. Atonal to a fault. But nevertheless perfectly on rhythm. Mirror's voice guides her fingers across her complicated control board and serenades her once upon a time lover at the same time. The first time they fought, she used song lyrics as a shorthand to guide her through the list of best-use responses and macros. The words were meant to be a focus, something to turn her hands over to a part of her brain that wasn't being used to notice stimuli or create plans. Picking familiar phrases often overhead in the background while doing work to push the movement all the way down into the realm of memory.

Total disaster. Calling to mind actual songs put the music in her mind, and the rhythm was inevitably slightly off to very off from the patterns of an actual battle. The worst thing was that none of her field tests had revealed it as a weakness! It took Solarel, with her constant shifts and rushes and the utterly impossible fluidity with which she moved her body for Mirror to realize the degree to which she was confusing pattern associations for actually being on beat. What felt like perfect responses in practice were actually woefully inadequate against the real deal. They'd fought for a full day, but the truth was that she'd barely kept up the entire time. In fact, she hadn't kept up at all. Her loss was inevitable; the only victory to be had was in the achievement. 

So now she used her voice to tap out the beats she could actually perceive in front of her. She was right to associate battle with music, with dancing, but it took a superior partner to show her how deep it really went. On her own, she tried to impose the fastest rhythms and inputs possible. Even now with years of practice it was still her preference. Fast, fast, fast. Speed enough to compensate for imposing a barrier between thought and action. But this led to sloppy, inefficient movement, while the world around you spun on, uncaring and unyielding. It was not a bad thing to follow someone else's rhythm. 

For example, this rain of lasers from the Archimedes Array could trick an observer into thinking they were a curtain and only a full strafe action would be sufficient to avoid it. In actuality it sprays beams in tight clusters (part of the designer's desperate attempt to make it output any damage whatsoever), so the pattern of fire could be expressed in sixteenth beats. Da da da, darara, da da.

Nine-Tails flares with the brilliant blue-white halo of thruster fire, and so begins the dance. It is unnecessary, strictly speaking, to dodge this first salvo, but warmups are an essential part of peak performance. It spins rapidly around the edge of several beam clusters, shoulder flips over another, and slides in between the middle of the final volley. Mirror dodges at the absolute edge of the attack range, letting the lasers just kiss the paint of her Gods-Smiting Whip. Enough to provide data streams for her to read, to plug into a neuromesh later and experience in privacy. She lets the sequence carry her perilously high into the sky, a perfect target for what comes next. But so what?

> i will say whatever i want to about your relic.
> what does it matter to me how many cretins you defeated with it?
> i watched your previous round.
> says a lot more about you than it.
> that thing is nothing more than a net you are caught in.
> i will

Aha. The weakness of her setup, speaking requires the same fingers she uses for dodging. Very clever to exploit that. Mirror has to stretch frantically to stomp the lower pedal with enough force to move out of the path of the first missile. That's a kiss she won't survive with her decency intact. There is dancing to your opponent's rhythm and then there is bending to their will. Foolish. She narrows her eyes and scowls. She hates feeling foolish.

"Full throttle. Keep up if you dare."

The Gods-Smiting Whip dashes over the top of the canyon just ahead of the path of the rain of missiles strong enough to blow its armor to shreds. Where'd she get access to this kind of firepower? It doesn't make sense. Purchasing goods and services was a function even Mirror could barely wrap her head around, after hours of study! How had this idiot gone and done it so easily? She zags back across to dodge another barrage, and then a third. She floats untouched as the rack detaches from the Bezorel and falls into the river with a massive spray of water. The sneer is just curling its way across her lips when Sorarel's voice hits her ears.

She's boxed in. Impossible to dodge. A true kill shot. What can she do? What can she do?? Her too!? 

"Shit. Shit. Shit!"

The fireworks are spectacular. The individual explosions overlap in a truly impressive concussive and pyrotechnic display interlaced with crackling blue energy from her crystal fire drive. It's loud, bright, and hotter than the sun sweltering in the deepest part of the jungle. Even in this downpour it takes a full thirty seconds for the smoke to start clear.

And underneath it, a pristine blue glow. Eight free floating tails swirl about the last guiding tail curved up above the Gods-Smiting Whip's head. Between them, bolts of energy spark and interlock in a spherical hard light shield. The power quickly flickers and the shield shatters like glass, but mecha and pilot are untouched. Tails One, Three, and Six slump out of formation, and are quickly snatched out of the air and planted on its shoulders like cannons.

"N-Nine... Drive... System," Mirror's voice shakes with anger, "Full Configuration. Th-Third Form... Moonlight. Immemorial. Vanguard."

> your voice.
> still so beautiful.
> were you practicing? 
> your intonation impressed me, well done.

"But I'm going to kill you now."

All her effort. Hundreds of hours of it. A thousand new concepts and mechanical improvements made since that day. And one beautiful dipshit eclipsed it all in the space of two words. With, with nothing! With absolutely nothing, she'd!

Her trident [I]thrums[/i] with power as she slashes it through the air. Lightning crashes through the sky in response. One third. Her calculations said she could afford one third of her full repertoire before the major matches. Well mission fucking failure, thank you very much. A loss. There's no other thing this can be considered but a loss!

The thunder roars. Nine-Tails rockets down into the canyon at absolutely suicidal speeds that only don't shatter its legs because it burns out half of its thrusters in a last second counterburst, instead. A vicious kick to the legs knocks out several of the Bezorel's stability struts. Spin. Another kick to the chest makes it stagger. The trident crackles when it tears through the ancient mecha's right shoulder. Mirror twists it inside and slashes it free, taking the entire arm with it. One step back, two.

...It was like this in bed, too. Settled questions of power and dynamic suddenly flipped and turned into struggles to keep on top and control the flow of pleasure and vulnerability. It made her so fucking hot. Even now she twists her legs inside the cockpit, pressing her thighs together and panting like she'd just come up from a dive. 

Shameful. Pathetic. This... this is a loss. What else could she call it?

[Mirror activates Center of the Web, taking +1 ongoing for the rest of the scene. 
Fight: [b]8[/B]. Inflict a condition and take advantage in the form of literal disarming. 
Mirror is Smitten.]