Madeleine looks down at the tools and debris. She looks up at Lios. She looks around the street, at people alternately fleeing for their lives or gawking at the spectacle. She looks at Lios again. At the leg in her hands. Down to the scattered tools and glass again. At Lios. At the leg. Up at the window.

She frowns.

"...Yes, I don't see why not. Though I will point out I am not wearing synskin, so if you wouldn't mind striking me with the flat of your blade I'd really appreciate it."

[i]Or you could aim for my leg[/i], a voice inside her mind whispers, though it cannot force the words through her lips. She opens her eyes as wide as they can go, and draws a breath sharply through her nose so she can hold it in her belly. No. Begone, you. Go haunt someone else.

Now Madeleine lowers herself to the ground, clutching Machia's leg close to her center of balance like the treasure it's become. The balls of her feet tighten against the earth, the synthetic rubbers of her shoes creaking as she readies herself for launch. Her ponytail flops forward over her shoulder, its tip now brushing back and forth against the ground. 

"To be honest, I don't believe that I can beat you. But it's been given to me to crush you anyway, so I suppose there's no point in holding back. Would you like to compete for secrets? There are things about you and Titanomachia I would like to know. Or you can name your own price, of course. I don't really care."

She doesn't wait for negotiations to finish. The muscles in her thighs tense once and then she is off on a dead rush toward the door. Her pale legs are flashing in the sunlight as they push the rest of her forward like a shadow. The wind is in her hair and even with the weight and awkward shape of an artificial leg hugged against her ruining her form, she is motion itself. And for at least this one tiny instant everything is right with the world.